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after-witch · 7 months

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Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out.

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you.

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”?

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?”

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep.

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live?

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this.

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing.

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.”

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone. You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared.

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little.

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered.

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now.

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle you could write home, how would you even word the letter?

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item.

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended.

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them.

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…”

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat.

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you.

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness.

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it.

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them.

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light.

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page.

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted.

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined.

She didn’t act right away.

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning.

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind.

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you?

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!”

Before you knew it, you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away.

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it.

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords.

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t.

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor.

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent.

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears.

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing.

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist.

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead.

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now?

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand.

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways.

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table.

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said.

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.”

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out.

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home.

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms.

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments.

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain.

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage.

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you?

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down. “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–”

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side.

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.”

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.”

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?”

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here.

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you.

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now.

Freedom was confusing as hell.

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle.

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink.

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied.

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun.

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

#yandere #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #ren hana #ren hana x reader #afterwitch writes #/pets prologue done! dunno how many chapters this one will end up being.

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geeky-politics-46 · 1 year

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Kinktober 2023 - Day 6

Sex Tape with Doctor Stephen Strange

"A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words"

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: You are feeling self-concious & down on your appearance, but Stephen has an unconventional idea of how to make you realize how sexy & beautiful you really are.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - body image issues, voyeurism & exhibitionism via photo & video, dirty talk, swearing, pet names, oral sex, creampie, vaginal sex, slight daddy kink, a bit of fluff & a little angst.

You weren't even sure what had triggered your self-image issues at the moment. Honest to God, you were just sitting in bed watching a YouTube video, pursuing the sidebar recommended videos when you started comparing yourself to other people.

It didn't matter if it was just a random ad or a promo for a TV show. You started sizing yourself up to all the actresses, models, and even some normal people. No matter who it was, you felt you couldn't compare.

Your stomach was too big. Your butt was too small. You were too short. Too plain looking. Hell, sometimes you weren't even sure how you compared to average. You didn't think you were hideous, but you forever felt like the ugly duckling. Like the potential to be beautiful was there. It just never blossomed. Or, like you sabotaged being pretty by not having enough restraint to eat better or lose weight.

For once in your life, you wanted to be the bombshell. You were too weird to be the girl next door. You always fell into the quirky/cute and funny category. People fell for you once they got to know your personality, but you knew that never once had you stopped a guy dead in his tracks across the room.

In an effort to make yourself feel smaller, you dug around for your massive old sweatshirt. The one you wore whenever you were feeling sad. The material had piled up in places, and it was starting to get holes in others, but the super stretchy material still felt just as big and cozy as if it was brand new. The dark eggplant purple color was also somehow soothing compared to the mostly blacks and grays of your daily wardrobe.

You had settled back in, deep in your own thoughts, when your partner entered the bedroom. You had been with Doctor Stephen Strange for a while now. Long enough that you had more or less informally moved into the Sanctum. You got to spend more time with Stephen and didn't have to pay rent. It was a win-win. The only downside was that you couldn't hide from him when your inner demons reared up.

You didn't even realize he had been talking to you as he changed out of his sorcerer's robes and into his sweats for bed. It wasn't until he sat down in front of you and lifted your chin up to look directly at him that you realized you weren't paying any attention to a thing he was saying.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

You hated the genuine concern on his face. He spent his days literally saving the universe, and here you were trapped inside your own spiraling thoughts.

"Nothing is wrong."

You said it while staring down at your hands. You were never good at hiding things from Stephen when you were face to face.

"Even if I wasn't a brilliant doctor, MD, and PhD, I know that's your 'I'm sad' sweatshirt. So something is definitely wrong."

You closed your eyes and shook your head, trying to jiggle loose the thoughts that were waying you down. Not wanting to waste Stephen's time with your shallow worries. Yeah, he was your boyfriend, but he had plenty more vastly important things to do than talk you off a self-image cliff.

"It's stupid, Stephen."

"Don't care. You've listened to me say stupid stuff plenty of times. This just makes us one closer to even."

You rolled your eyes at him, and you knew he wasn't about to give up. Stephen was the most stubborn person you had ever met. In fact, his stubbornness was part of why he pursued you for so long before you finally agreed to go out with him. If he was set on finding out what was bothering you, nothing would stop him until you told him.

So after another moment of trying to get him off the topic, you finally relented and told him what had you feeling down. Shrinking down farther into your sweatshirt as you spoke, fumbling for the right words. Letting the cozy fabric serve as its own kind of armor.

"I don't even know what got me thinking it, but I'm just feeling down on myself. That there just isn't anything about me physically that is special. I don't think I'm ugly, I just don't get why you bothered to even give me a second glance. Let alone what keeps you interested. You are the great Doctor Strange. You are so hot, Stephen, and I'm just me. I'm just plain. I'm chubby with stretch marks. You are gorgeous. You could literally be with the most beautiful women in the world."

You could see him almost flinch when you called yourself plain and that you doubted how enamored he was with you. Even if he knew it was only a passing thought, he never wanted you to question his love for you. Ever.

When it took a few moments for him to say anything in response, you immediately started to take it all back. Not wanting to drag him down into your funk with you.

"See, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm just having a bad night and -"

Stephen cut you off with a passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that could make you forget your own name. Cupping your face in both of his hands before pulling away from your lips to place several more small kisses on your forehead and in your hairline. Gradually adjusting so he could pull you closer and wrap his arms tighter around you.

"First of all, I love you so much you don't even know. So don't think for one second I would rather be with anyone else. Second of all, I know that you don't necessarily see what I see when you look in the mirror, and you don't even have to believe me, but you are gorgeous. Do you not see that half the other guys practically trail you around like puppies? Rogers turns bright red when you smile at him, and it's a wonder Barnes and Wilson haven't followed you home like strays yet."

That made you laugh. You did know Steve had harbored a crush on you before you started dating Stephen. Tony had let that spill one night after a party. Both Sam and Bucky were such flirts all the time with everyone. Of course, they always acted sweet on you. You assumed it was just them or their way of being nice. You would have to pay better attention next time you saw them, though. Just to see.

"If one of them does follow me home, can I keep him?"

You squinted your eyes and pouted your lips at Stephen. You loved giving him a hard time, and he loved giving you one right back.

"Absolutely not. Even if they scratch and howl at the door all night long. I'm the only one who gets to keep strays, and that only applies to America. On a good day, maybe Parker."

You giggled and shook your head in agreement. America was definitely a great addition to your little family. It did lift your spirits a little thinking about all of that, but it still didn't leave you feeling better about yourself.

Stephen could see the way you were picking at the skin on your hands. Like you were trying to pick away the self-consciousness or what you felt were imperfections. It was a habit he noticed you fell into when you were extra hard on yourself. So, in an effort to distract you and stop you from picking at your skin, he took one of your hands in both of his.

"Do you remember the day you held my hand the first time? Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I was terrified that you were suddenly going to realize how broken and ugly my hands are. How damaged I am, and realize just how below your own league you were dating. Still are, by the way, so maybe I shouldn't say anything. You are the sexiest most beautiful woman I have ever met, inside and out. Every inch of you is incredible and perfect to me. I thought that before you even said a word to me, and getting to know you, and falling in love with you has only made me more sure. There is no one in this universe I could ever find sexier or more special."

"Tell you what, I have an idea..."

Stephen stood up from the bed, moving over to shut the bedroom door. Throwing the lock, too. Now that you had a teenager running about the Sanctum, it was better safe than sorry. Then, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Setting it on airplane mode as he walked back over to you.

"How about I show you what I see? Give you some actual physical proof of how beautiful you are? A picture is worth a thousand words. I imagine some more revealing, naughty photos would be worth even more."

You chuffed at him and raised a questioning brow at his suggestion.

"Stephen, are you seriously suggesting that I let you take naked photos of me as a way of making me feel better about myself? Are you sure that isn't just gonna make you feel better?"

His signature cheeky grin was plastered on his face, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Can't it do both? Besides, you know I've asked before for something I can enjoy when I can't have you with me, and I think you look perfect right now. Already in our bed. Already cozy and dressed for bed. Few layers to take off. This is the you I want to see when I'm not here with you."

He came over to where you were still sitting on the bed. An extra swagger in his step and a grin because of the blush you were now sporting. He started to pull teasingly at the hem of your sweatshirt with the hand he didn't have his phone in.

"Come on, take this off. I want you to see how sexy you are. I promise I will let you delete them if you want, although I certainly wouldn't mind keeping a couple for myself, but I want you to see how you look when it's just you and me. Right here, in this bed. The version of you that only I get to see, at least I do hope it's only me. A woman who puts all those supermodels and Playmates to shame. Even first thing in the morning. A goddess if one ever existed, even with bedhead and morning breath."

Layer by layer, you let Stephen slowly strip off your clothes and arrange you on the bed. His fingers and lips adoring every new inch of skin that he exposed before proceeding to take picture after picture. Lovingly caressing every spot you deemed less than perfect. Letting him talk you through pose after pose. Some were simple and basic, normal poses. Some a bit more sultry with little left to imagine. The less clothing remained, the more bold he got with your poses.

As your impromptu photoshoot went on, he also tried to distract you from feeling self-conscious about your body coming into view. Sometimes, by making you laugh. Sometimes, by getting a goofy look on his face as he just kind of stared at you. Almost awestruck.

"You really have no idea how much I fantasize about you, do you? How much of my day I spend trying not to think about you? How when we first started dating, I felt like a teenager trying to control his raging hormones because all I could think of was this. What it would be like if I got the privilege to get this beautiful, incredible woman naked in my bed. That I swore if I got you here, I would never let you leave. I hate that someone ever made you feel like you are anything less than gorgeous, whether in your ratty sad sweatshirt or all dressed up. Although, this, no clothes at all, is definitely my personal favorite."

You tried not to tear up at his genuine sweetness. You could feel your cheeks blushing at his statement, too. You buried your face into the pillow you were holding before softly turning and peeking out at him from the side. Only to find him waiting for the moment you locked eyes with him to take a photo.

In a sudden burst of confidence, you bit your bottom lip and rolled onto your back. Letting the entirety of your body be on display. Laying back and resting your head on the pillow and stretching your arms up overhead, your legs spreading on their own. You closed your eyes and arched your back as you inhaled deeply. Like you were a cat basking in the warmth of the sun.

Your mind was completely clear of all thought until you heard a stuttered breath from your lover. It was a sound you had never heard Stephen make before. It sounded like he was looking at a priceless piece of art or one of the seven wonders. He sounded like he was in awe. Like he was in awe at the sight of your body and your beauty.

You were about to dismiss his, what you were sure had to be, over embellished praise, but then you opened your eyes. You were rendered speechless by the look of utter wonder on his face as he let his cerulean blue eyes wash over every inch of you. For possibly the first time, you saw him really seeing you, and it melted any remaining self-doubt you had in that moment.

You immediately reached out to pull Stephen to you. Wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly. Rubbing your nose against his and whispering loving thanks against his lips.

"Thank you, Stephen. I love you, and even though I don't necessarily see what you see, you always make me feel beautiful. Why don't we take a few pictures together, or maybe a video or two? Maybe I want something for when you aren't here too."

Stephen's eyes darkened at the suggestion. You had your suspicion that Stephen had a bit of an exhibition kink. You had sent each other pics before, a short video clip or two, and sexted all the time. You knew the idea of filming the two of you fucking would intrigue him. A wicked smile found it's way to his face.

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how many times I've thought of you asking that or that I've thought of asking. Are you really okay with filming us fucking? Of course it's just for the two of us. Sorcerer's honor. "

Stephen started trying to fiddle with the phone, trying to figure out the best way to set it up to film the two of you. Finding it hard to concentrate after you started leaving kisses on his neck. Stopping to bite and suck at the spot just below his earlobe before continuing to whisper his darkest desires in his ear.

"Well, Stephen, actually the idea does get me a little hot. Maybe if the video turns out really good, a few seconds or minutes can get leaked to a naughty site or two. Anonymously, of course. I don't want to share you with any other woman, but I wouldn't mind showing off all the ways I worship you. Let everyone see how lucky I am. Maybe get some outside opinions of how we look together."

Stephen's eyes practically rolled back in his head at the thought. He never would suggest it himself, but he kind of loved the sound of that. Of the world getting to see how good the two of you looked together. Of seeing how well you both fit together. How your bodies were made for each other.

He scrambled off the bed using the pile of books on the dresser to create a tripod to set up the phone. Hitting record and making sure the bed was centered in the frame before coming back to join you in the sheets again. He used his magic to strip himself of his clothes. If you two were going to make a sex tape, he was gonna put some extra showmanship in it.

You couldn't help but giggle as you reach your arms out towards him. Stepben didn't waste a minute before he started crawling up your body. Teasing and nipping at your bare skin and making sure to snuggle and rub his goatee against you. Your hands immediately grabbed in his dark brown hair, loving how soft and full it felt in your fingers.

As your lips connected, you both groaned in pleasure. Your bodies grinding and rubbing. Letting your hands roam all over Stephen's body now that you had plenty of him to touch. You could feel Stephen's cock already erect between you. Truth be told, taking those photos of you had essentially acted as foreplay for him. He was ready to go by the time he was setting up the camera.

You moaned when you felt his hard shaft slide against the crease of your hip, so close to your sex that was starting to ache for him. Your legs reflexively spread even more on the large bed, and your nails scraped down Stephen's sides.

"Is there something you want, baby? Tell Daddy what you need."

A sly smile on his face as he spoke. Loud enough to make sure the camera heard. Descending back on you and starting to kiss your neck. Sucking a patch or skin into his mouth hard enough to ensure you would bear a mark the next day.

Your brain finally coming back into focus when he playfully bit the same sensitive spot. His bright blue eyes met yours, and he gave you a cheeky wink.

"Come on, pretty baby. Don't get all shy on me now. Not after you let me take all those naughty pictures of you. Plus, this part was your idea, after all. So you better speak up."

A soft groan pulled from your throat as you arched your back and ran your hands up his strong arms. Letting your fingernails scrape along his shoulders. Leaving little red scratches marking him as yours.

"Want you, Stephen. Want you to fuck me. Pretty please, Stephen. Fuck me like only you can, baby."

He rewarded you with a deep kiss, letting his teeth nip at your bottom lip before he started working his way down your neck. Stopping to whisper a "that's my good girl" in your ear before continuing down to your collarbones. Raising his voice once again so it would be audible on the video when he started speaking again.

"You know you are the only one I want to fuck right? This is the only body that gets me this fucking hard. Your's is the only pretty little pussy I dream about filling up every chance I get. Want you full of my cum all the time. Want everyone to know you're mine."

You felt over the moon as Stephen started to kiss his way down your body. Stopping and spending a little bit of extra attention every time he hit a spot that elicited a gasp or moan. Making you arch your back to give him access to every inch of bare skin you could.

He momentarily popped back up to kiss your lips. Suddenly taking your hand in his and lowering it so you were cupping his hard length. Letting his hips rut forward as you started to eagerly massage his hard cock. Already moving to sit up, anticipating taking him in your mouth, only for him to push you back down on the bed.

"Nope, I'm not done with you, baby, lay back. Just wanted you to feel how hard you got me. Feel how much taking those naughty photos of you turned me on? And they are all mine to enjoy, just like my cock is all yours to enjoy."

With that, he promptly began working his way back down your body. Coming to rest between your thighs, pulling your legs up over his shoulders. Leaving small nips on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh and rubbing his facial hair against your skin to tease you.

A soft "Stephen, please!" escaped from your lips as you impatiently waited for his lips and tongue to work their magic on you. Feeling your hips thrust on their own when you felt him blow against your wet cunt. Making your sex flutter and clench. One of his favorite sights.

"Make sure you don't hold back any of those pretty noises darling, want to make sure everyone can hear. Look at the camera as I eat you out, baby."

You followed his instructions and let your head turn to the side. Keeping your eyes open as you stared into the lens. Trying to fight the inkling of self-consciousness tugging at the back of your mind.

Those thoughts vanished completely the moment you felt Stephen's warm tongue make its first pass through your folds. All you could focus on was the feeling of his mouth on you. The scratch of his goatee against your most sensitive spots. He was taking his time. Lavishing your cunt with long licks and sucking kisses.

Stephen was a perfectionist, and that translated into every aspect of his life. Including sex. His photographic memory helping to make sure he knew exactly what way to lick and suck at your pussy to bring you to climax in record time. Only using his fingers on occasion. He could get you there with his mouth alone. Tonight was clearly going to be one of those nights.

Your back arched as he suckled on your clit. Keeping your gaze locked on the camera lens. Making sure to give Stephen the sights and sounds he wanted for your video. A long moan falling when you felt his tongue thrusting in and out of you. Hitching your legs up higher and farther apart so he could go deeper while letting your hips start to rut against his face.

As soon as he could feel you getting close to orgasm, Stephen pulled away and pounced on you once again. Wasting no time before he started to slowly thrust his hard cock into you. His lips biting at your neck.

He growled when you whimpered at the feeling of his cock bottoming out inside you. Holding perfectly still and letting you start to squirm beneath him. Wanting you to beg him to move.

"Tell me what you want. Want you to say it again. Say it to the camera, sweetheart. Tell them why you're whimpering."

Your face now contorted into a pout as you tried so hard to get any sort of friction. Stephen's hips pushed flush to yours, holding you firmly in place.

"Want you to fuck me, Stephen. Need you to fuck me hard. Make me feel good, daddy. Please make me cum. Please."

He smiled and kissed you deeply. Bringing his hands to cup your face and giving you another moment of sweet intimacy before he gave you what you wanted. Pulling away and pulling your legs up over his shoulders. Scooting you just a little so the camera would be able to see his cock stretching and filling you. Once he had you right where he wanted you he began thrusting.

"You asked for it, sweetheart. You turn me on so fucking much. This is just gonna be the first time I make you cum tonight. I'm not gonna stop until you feel like a goddess. My goddess."

You reached up to intertwine you fingers with his as he started fucking you harder. Leaning forward so your ass was slightly lifted up off of the bed and his tip was pummeling that sweet spongy spot on your front wall. Making you clench around him each time he hit it. Your voice coming out in little squeaks and the sound of skin slapping punctuating Stephen's movements.

You could already feel your orgasm building when Stephen moved to bring one hand down to begin rubbing at your clit. Pulling his cock out long enough to smear some of your wetness on the swollen bundle of nerves. Your cunt immediately clenching around him as he started tracing small circles there with his thumb.

"That's it, my love. Can feel you getting close. You better cum soon because I'm not gonna be able to hold on much longer. Wanna fill you up every day. Mark you as mine. Inside and out. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum."

Stephen's own dirty talk getting the best of him. His head dropping down to watch his cock slamming in and out of your drenched cunt. Your pussy gripping tight around him sending him over the edge. His thrusts getting faster and his fingers on your clit mirroring his hips.

He let out a deep groan as he started cumming inside you. The feeling of his warm thick cum filling you triggering your own orgasm. Your cunt drenching his cock and his cum filling you completely. Your moans mingling in harmony with Stephen's. Your hands that were still clasped gripping each other tighter.

Stephen's body falling onto yours and your lips meeting for slow, sweet kisses as your highs continued to ebb and flow. The sensations slowly fading as you came back down together. The feeling of Stephen's weight on top of you lulling you closer to sleep. All worries and neuroses disappearing and receding back into the depths of your mind.

You were with Stephen, and Stephen loved you exactly as you were. He only had eyes for you, and he would love you no matter what. Even on days when you couldn't see your beauty, you knew he would help you to see it. Even when you didn't love yourself, he would give you enough love for both of you.

Eventually, Stephen rolled to the side and pulled you with him. Settling you under the covers and holding you close. Pressing kisses all over your face as you floated in the twilight space between waking and sleep. Not moving or pulling away until your breath settled into a steady rhythm that told him you were close to sleep.

Then Stephen stood up and went over to the phone. Stopping the recording and bringing the phone back over to the bed. Setting it down on his nightstand and purposely not setting his usual morning alarm. He wanted to sleep in with you tomorrow. He would deal with Wong later.

You were too exhausted to review the products of your photoshoot right now, but the next time you were feeling down or self-conscious, Stephen would be ready to show you just how beautiful you really were. If you still didn't believe him, maybe he would bring up the idea of an outside opinion like you suggested. You would have the world drooling over you, and he would get to gloat that you were all his.

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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @ghxul-x @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @slashersrus @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @inlovewithloki16 @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @namor-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @ppatricia34me @rougepetale @tis-vereon @divinearchangel @sherlux @hiddlechive @ginnykate @thatesqcrush @friendofplenti @yuugenmomo @holdmyowos @the-royal-petals @lokislov3 @captaincarmel164 @lucimorningst4r @mydearalmira @petalcranberry @singhfae @emotionsareforuglypeople @trappedinlimbo15 @veryladyqueen @icytrickster17 @kentucky-criedfricken @briefhandsstudenttoad @calamityismyspecialty @sinisterstrange616 @patbrdac @trojanaurora @azu21 @massivehahaao3tree @strangesgirls @tobios-shawty @evelyn-kingsley @rmoonstoner

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lossisyours · 3 months

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@taylortruther broke my brain a little with hoax analysis, and it got me thinking of how sweet nothing reminds me a lot of lavender haze in that both of those songs, in retrospect, reframe drastic switches in originally stated plans/intentions and romanticise it.

taylor’s always sung about a desire for marriage: from mary’s song (debut), “take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle / our whole town came and our mamas cried / you said, ‘i do,’ and i did too” to love story (fearless), “he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said / ‘marry me, juliet, you’ll never have to be alone, i love you and that’s all i really know / i talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress / it’s a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’” to speak now the whole damn song to starlight (red), “we could get married, have ten kids and teach ’em how to dream” to how you get the girl (1989), “i want you for worse or for better” to lover’s (title song) bridge’s mimicry of wedding vows to paper rings’ thesis to it’s nice to have a friend (lover), “church bells ring, carry me home / rice on the ground, looks like snow”. only to drop midnights with lavender haze as the first single, the start to the album; an album that bargains a LOT with her discography (and herself). and that doesn’t make lavender haze a lie, necessarily... but it does make it an immensely thought-provoking narrative to switch to.

sweet nothing’s not that different! it was all over fearless (2008) from that initial, youthful romanticism of fearless (title song), “you know i wanna ask you to dance right there / in the middle of the parking lot”, to the spectacular dramatism of love story’s entire genesis/lyric-story, to the cheeky flamboyance of hey stephen and you belong with me. she’s known that she wants fireworks & grand gestures. actions & proof! she missed “screamin’ and fightin’ and kissin’ in the rain” and being “so in love that you act insane”. she herself loves in huge ways, and to cite examples for that would be to quote most of her discography. and she cares about the showing up – that’s why she wrote the moment i knew (red). and that narrative started to morph a little when she met joe; she said as much in miss americana, “i was falling in love with someone who had a wonderfully normal, balanced life. we decided together we wanted our relationship to be private. i was happy. but i wasn’t happy in the way i was trained to be happy. it was happiness without anyone else’s input.” their new beginnings weren’t secret to her, they were sacred. and then she sang, “we still worship this love / even if it’s a false god” and called their love “faithless” in hoax. she took over the role of being the fire to keep his brittle heart warm. she took ownership of being “the liquor in [their] cocktails”. she took the dreaminess & fated-soulmateism of invisible strong (folklore) and made it mastermind (midnights) — which everyone joked about at that time, but now hurts to think about.

there is a pipeline from “all that you ever wanted from me was... nothing” to “and i’m fadin’, thinkin’ 'do something, babe, risk something, babe, say something / 'lose something, babe, risk something / choose something, babe, i got nothing' / 'to believe, unless you’re choosing me” that makes my tummy hurt. how long could they be a sad song? (hoax. the sad song is hoax.)

#ntp #swiftrot #ts parallels

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ironstrange1991 · 6 months

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You're My Comfort

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The reader has a bad day at work and Stephen comes to take care of her.

Word Cont: 2,1k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: I am still struggling with authors block, but I'm happy for finishing this little something. It's not much, but I was in need of a comfort fic. Hope your guys like it and have a good read.

You arrived from work without even realizing how you managed to drive home. Stephen was busy talking to some Avengers in the living room and you just walked past them up the stairs and straight to your shared room.

You were too tired to even get undressed even though you knew you would feel better after a shower, but still all you could do was kick off your shoes and fall face down on the bed letting a wave of silent crying take over you.

You were tired of your job, tired of the way your boss seemed to suck out your soul along with all your energy, but at the same time you felt bad for feeling that way. After all, you should be grateful to have a job in the first place, or at least you should be grateful that your job doesn't put you in danger or be as physically draining as Stephen's. You lost count of how many times he came home injured and yet he never complained. You on the other hand, seemed like a crying little girl and thinking that way only made you feel even worse and it was a vicious cycle that you couldn't get out of. Feeling bad about feeling bad and so on.

You were still face down, tears silently streaming down your face, when you heard the soft creak of the door opening and closing and the muffled sound of boots on the floor announcing the approaching footsteps. You immediately turned your face away because you didn't want Stephen to notice you were crying and then you felt the mattress dipping.

He touched your arm gently.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His baritone voice held a note of concern.

You didn't answer, you just shrugged your shoulders like you did when you were a child and your mother asked why you were crying. Many times you didn't even know why you were crying, but you cried anyway and that was exactly how you felt today.

You felt his hand on your head stroking your hair gently and before he could say anything, you crawled closer to him and laid your head on his lap wrapping your arms around his waist. He seemed to like it because his body shook with what you thought was a small laugh. Contrary to what your irrational side told you, Stephen didn't care about your anxiety crisis or those moments where you couldn't say exactly what was happening. He was already used to dealing with your fluctuating moods.

"Can you at least tell me you're okay, so I don't worry?" He asked and you nodded.

"You're okay then. Nothing bad happened?" He insisted and you nodded again.

"Good." He continued stroking your hair in silence.

"I know I've been working a lot these last few days, but if that's what's making you upset..."

"It's not that." You replied with a choked voice. Of course he would find a way to blame himself. When Stephen learned to be less selfish and egocentric, he simply turned completely the other way and became extremely altruistic, which you didn't like, much less approve of.

"Then talk to me, sweetheart. I don't like seeing you like this." His hand had now gone down to the middle of your back, playing with the strands of your hair.

"I'm just tired, I guess."

He sighed "You think so? Y/n you've been working non-stop for the last few weeks."

"There was nothing else to do. You weren't here most of the time and the company needed me."

You can almost see Stephen's eyes rolling back in his head. "They like to take advantage of you, that's what. You're too good for them."

You did not answer. You knew he was right, but you didn't want to give in. He returned his hands to your head and began to caress your scalp with his fingertips lightly and you let out an involuntary groan.

"Feels good, uh?" You could hear the smirk in his voice. Always so proud that he managed to turn you into a puddle of goo whenever he touched you.

"I'm exhausted. I need to sleep. I barely slept at all last night." You confessed to what he vehemently rebuked.

"You know I don't like seeing you in this state. You need to take better care of yourself."

You shook your head. "Right now I don't think I can take care of myself at all. I'm too tired."

He chuckled, surrendering to your charm and drama.

"Do you want me to run a bath for you or would you prefer the shower?"

He asked, already running his fingers through your hair to get it out of your face. He did his best to tie them into a bun.

"You will stay with me?"

"If you want. But you know where this is going to take us, don't you?"

You denied "No funny business tonight. I'm too tired."

He hummed "As you wish, love. Come."

He patted your shoulder for you to allow him to stand up and extended his arms to help you up.

"Too tired to walk." You grumbled and he let out a small laugh.

"Come on. I'll carry you, little girl."

You found somewhere within you the strength to smile and tease him, "Yes, daddy."

He scoffed, but picked you up bride style and took you to the bathroom. He sat you on the toilet and ordered "Raise your arms. Let's take these clothes off."

You obeyed and let yourself be undressed by him slowly. It was different. Although he was used to ripping off your clothes and fucking you senseless, in that moment he was actually being gentle and there was nothing in his eyes but affection.

"Get up so we can take off that skirt." He asked and you did as he ordered. He took off your panties too, leaving you completely naked for him. A light shade of red tinting your cheeks.

"Bathtub or shower?" He asked to be sure and added it right after. "There's no way I'm leaving your side."

You nodded "Bathtub. With lavender and bubbles. Lots of bubbles."

He nodded, but instead of doing the whole process like a normal person, he moved his fingers and the bathtub filled with hot water. With a smirk he snapped his fingers and the water turned lilac and your nostrils were invaded by the delicious smell of lavender as you watched the water fill with foam. "As you wish, madam. Come."

He gave you his hand and helped you get into the tub, and you moaned contentedly with the feeling of the hot water surrounding your body.

He quickly undressed in front of you and that was a sight you would never get used to. Your eyes devoured every inch of his body before he entered the bathtub and sat right behind you.

He moaned softly as well letting the hot water relax him completely.

"Christ, I needed this." He confessed and you leaned your back against his chest feeling yourself being hugged by his strong arms and you leaned your head back letting your eyes close for a minute.

"What a shitty day I had" You blurted out, earning a small laugh from Stephen.

"It is not funny"

He buried his face in your hair, "I know. Want to tell me about it?"

You sighed, "Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I think I'm just tired of that environment, those people. Of doing the work of two or three and not getting any recognition for it. I'm tired of leaving that place feeling empty as if I had left my soul there."

Stephen listened in silence. He was good at that, at listening silently and letting you vent. It was one of his many qualities.

"And I feel bad for feeling this way. It feels like I'm being ungrateful. I know I should be grateful for being in a job in the first place, but I can't feel grateful right now and on top of that I feel silly complaining about my silly problems when you have to deal with so much..."

"Hey, don't do that!" Stephen scolded you. "Don't belittle your problems by comparing them to the things I do. It's not fair. Your feelings are valid, sweetheart and there's nothing wrong with feeling the way you're feeling right now. We just need to think of a way to make it better because I've noticed that this days when your come home like this have become more constant. You're always too tired and sad and I don't like seeing you like that."

You sighed feeling his lips on your neck and your skin prickling.

"I think I just need to stop thinking for a few minutes. My mind is my worst enemy, you know. The more I think the worse I feel."

Stephen hummed and continued placing kisses on your neck "I can help with that." His hands went down to your breasts, caressing them lightly.

"I said no funny business." You scolded him and he giggled softly and you felt him conjure up a soft sponge still under the water and started rubbing your back and neck with it. You can't stop a little moan from escaping your lips.

"I don't deserve you, Steph." You confessed to what he hummed, using the sponge to rub your arms, your belly, your thighs, every place he could reach.

"I usually think the same thing when you take care of me."

"Guess we don't deserve each other then." You teased.

"Or we were made for each other. I like this option better."

"Because you're a romantic. You want to be tough, but deep down you're soft, Stephen."

He let out an incredulous laugh "I've been called many things, but romantic is the first time."

You smiled, keeping your eyes closed and reveling in the touch of his hands when he puts down the sponge and started massaging your shoulders gently. His hand was shaking, but you even liked that feeling.

"You're different with me." You insisted. "I watch you with everyone else and you're different when you're with me, sweeter and more affectionate."

He hummed petulantly. "You didn't expect me to treat Stark and Wong the way I treat my girlfriend, right?"

"It's not that. I just think you allow yourself to be your most natural self when you're with me and I like that."

"I like it too." He agreed kissing the back of your neck.

The two of you were silent for a few minutes, his hands continued massaging your shoulders lightly and although he couldn't put too much pressure on the act, it was enough to relax you. The sound of cars passing on the street occasionally broke the silence of the Sanctum, as well as the sound of the water that was slowly cooling and his calm and steady breathing.

Eventually your eyes started to get heavy and Stephen must have felt the way you let the weight of your body rest on his because he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the top of your head.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked genuinely worried.

You hummed positively and he sighed looking relieved.

"Good. Now I think we can finish here and go straight to bed, what do you think?"

You didn't have time to respond because your stomach growled embarrassingly loud to which Stephen let out a small laugh.

"Food first, then. Come." He asked and the two of you got out of the tub.

When you finished getting dressed, Stephen in just pajama pants and you in a nightgown, you ran to get under the covers and get comfortable.

"I'll get you something to eat. How about a sandwich?"

You nodded and then asked "What did you have for dinner?"

He shook his head "To be honest, I didn’t even remember to eat. It was a pretty busy afternoon."

You scolded him with a look, "Then I guess you can bring sandwiches for both of us."

Stephen nodded.

He came back a few minutes later with a plate with some sandwiches cut in halves, which you quickly devoured. When you both finished, neither of you was willing to get up, so Stephen just placed the plate on the bedside table and adjusted himself on the pillows, letting you lay on his chest.

"I know I've said this before, but you're so good to me, Steph."

He sighed, stroking your arm gently.

"I love you." You said, closing your eyes and feeling the tiredness of the day overwhelm you.

Stephen placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Taking care of you is what I love doing most, sweetheart. I love you. You have no idea how much."

You hummed softly "Yes I do because I love you just the same."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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auras-moonstone · 1 year

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hello there could i request jack x actress!reader where they’re co-stars on a show or film and they obviously have feelings for each other but it’s like “everyone knows about it BUT them” kinda thing lmao they act like a couple but neither of them has brought the subject up

let’s just say they were nominated for an oscar and at the vanity fair after party jack’s talking to a girl when he sees the reader talking dancing a little too close to an actor (who’s literally just a friend) and he just goes up to them like “hey can i steal you for a second? great thanks lets go” and just drags her to a more private part (maybe a romantic balcony?) and he’s like “wtf was that???” and she’s like “well i can ask u the same mr.” and it’s just angry love confession and they kiss (no smut pls!!) please and thank you so much 😁

angry confessions are the best😫 hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏻

you belong with me — jack champion

word count: 1,729

pairing: jack champion x fem!reader

summary: y/n and jack belong together and, while everyone knows it, they acknowledged it. though, at the vanity fair party, the very awaited thing happens.

EVERYONE JUST KNEW Y/N AND JACK BELONGED TOGETHER. And every person who knew them agreed in something—it was very frustrating to see them act like a couple and completely deny there was something going on between them.

The cast of Avatar watched their bond born and blossom. It had been two years since they finished filming that movie, and the cast thought that, by now, they had already admitted their feelings, as they continued to work together after Avatar. And, by the way they were acting around each other throughout the Oscar ceremony, they were sure they were finally a couple.

“Holy shit, Jack, Andrew Garfield is two tables away from us” she said excitedly. “Oh god, is that Margot Robbie? Jack please pinch me I think I just saw Robert Pattinson, also known as the love of my life”.

“I’m not going to pinch you, and your fan girl side is absolutely adorable” Jack said, leaving a kiss on her nose. Y/N laughed and hid her heated cheeks on Jack’s neck.

“I’m so happy for you two!” Zoe told them. The whole table was looking at them as if they were the most adorable creatures in the world.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked confused.

“It was very obvious, you two had always acted like a couple around set. We all knew you would eventually get together” Sam said.

“Oh! No, we are not together. We’re just friends. And we do not act like a couple” Y/N said. The whole table let out a groan.

“I can’t with these two anymore” Stephen sighed.

Jack and Y/N exchanged glances, but said nothing, letting the ceremony continue.

AT THE END OF THE CEREMONY, THEY ENDED UP GOING TO THE VANITY FAIR PARTY. How could they not? Especially after Avatar won an Oscar. They had to celebrate. And above all, Y/N and Jack wanted to get Zoe’s words out of their minds.

“Y/N?” a voice that sounded familiar asked. The girl turned her head around to see one of her ex co-stars, Nick.

“Oh, god. Nick! Hi. It’s been so long” she said excited. He was one of the first people she worked with, and one of her first friends.

“You look amazing!” he said, looking at her emerald dress.

“Thank you, you too” Y/N smiled politely.

“Wanna dance?” Nick asked. Y/N looked around, Jack was supposed to bring some drinks, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was about to decline, when she caught his figure. Jack was talking with a very gorgeous girl, who had her hand on his bicep and was smiling at him in a flirty way.

“Actually, I’d love to” she clenched her teeth, eyes not leaving the scene as Nick led her to the dance floor.

“You okay?” Nick asked. Y/N blinked, finally looking at him. She faked a smile and nodded as they made a conversation.

Hearing Y/N’s laugh, Jack’s head turned around and closed his hand in a fist at the scene in front of him—his Y/N dancing with some boy and laughing at something he was saying. And his hand was on her waist. Her. Waist. Not caring about being polite to the nameless girl—who can’t seem to get her hand off his bicep—anymore, Jack marched towards the dance floor.

“Hey, can I steal you for a second?” Jack asked, not bothering to greet the boy dancing with Y/N. “Great thanks, let’s go” he said before Y/N could even open her mouth.

He led her to the large window at the end of the room, which led them to a beautiful antique balcony. “What the fuck was that?” Jack spat angrily once he closed the door, blocking the sound of the party. The chilly wind of the night embraced them.

Y/N looked at him in surprise, then in annoyance and crossed her arms in front of her chest “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That… in there” his tone was hard “You were dancing with him, and giggling and flirting… what was that?”

Y/N scoffed “I could ask you the same question, mister. I mean, what was going on there between you and Mrs. Clingy?” her nose scrunched as the image of the girl touching Jack crossed her mind.

“Nothing was going on between me and-” he paused and frowned “Mrs. Clingy? What?”.

“Oh, Jack your hair looks so pretty tonight! Oh Jack, your suit is very stylish and the fabric is so soft! Can I touch it? Oh Jack, have you been going to the gym lately?” she imitated the girl’s pitched voice, while touching his arms “Holy fucking shit, the mice from Cinderella sound less annoying than her”

“That is not what she was saying at all!” Jack rolled his eyes. Lies, that kinda was how the conversation went “What about your boy, then? As if he wasn’t being all clingy, with his arms on your waist and showing you his charming smile, which in my opinion isn’t as charming as the girls on twitter say”.

The girl furrowed her eyes “The girls on-? never mind” Y/N sighed “We were literally dancing! What was he supposed to do with his hands?!” she exclaimed in a loud voice.

“Well, why were you dancing with him in the first place?” Jack asked, his tone matching hers.

Y/N moved her arms frenetically, it was something she did when she got frustrated “He’s my friend! We did a movie together a long time ago, we were catching up”

Jack let out a dry laugh “He sure as hell doesn’t want to be your friend”

“Oh, you read minds now!” she said sarcastically.

“I’m not stupid, I certainly can tell when a guy wants a girl”

“You’re totally wrong, but if he did, what is the problem?”

“There’s no problem!” he forced a laugh. “Why would there be a problem? You can flirt with whoever you want, dance with whoever you want, date whoever you want!”

“Then what is this discussion for?!” Y/N looked at him, she was basically breathing flames when she talked. “There clearly is a problem—you can flirt with girls but for some reason I can’t flirt with boys?? And you have to drag me away to cause a useless fight and can’t even tell me what’s the real reason”.

“So you were flirting!” Jack pointed an accusatory finger at her.

She let out a groan of irritation “That’s what you got from all that?! Really?! Why are you being so insufferable right now?”

“Because I fucking love you!” Jack’s statement was as loud as the beats of her heart when she took in his words. “And I can’t stand seeing you dance with him, looking so fucking angelic. It drives me nuts how he gets to hear you laugh and your sweet voice. I want you to dance with me, I want you to laugh with me, I want the hand on your waist to be mine… and you know what else I want?” he asked, his voice gradually lowered as he spoke, and now it was soft as silk. And his face was only inches away from hers. Y/N was speechless, so she just shook her head “I want to kiss you, and I want everyone to see—especially him”.

“You are so… frustrating” she sighed, now her tone was calmer “He is just my friend, I promise. And I don’t want anyone but you, Jack. Ever since I met you on set, you have been the only boy on my mind. I don’t care how charming his smile is” she said, and Jack whispered ‘not that charming’. “He is not you”.

Jack smiled at those last words. He brought his hand to the side of her face, to pull away a strand of hair that fell from her ponytail “I’m sorry for acting like a jealous boyfriend. I had no right, it just… it pissed me off as much as it scared me”.

“Scared you?” she asked confused, leaning into the softness of his palm.

“The thought of you being with someone else, and losing you before I even got to tell you how I felt… it scared me” he confessed.

Y/N basically threw herself in his arms “I love you, Jack. And I’m sorry too, I also acted like a jealous girlfriend. And if it makes you feel less guilty, I was two seconds away from leaving the place with brunette strands of hair as a trophy”

At that, Jack bursted out laughing “You remind me of that villain bunny from The secret life of pets”

“Jack!” she laughed, pushing his shoulder gently.

“You’re so cute. I love you” he smiled as he left short kisses on her cheeks.

“Just for the record, you are also the least intimidating-looking guy ever. You are literally a golden retriever”

He grimaced “I’m a cat person”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling from ear to ear “Just kiss me, dork”.

Jack’s hands grabbed her cheeks as she raised her head to meet his lips. Their chests tightened as they became addicted to the softness of each other’s lips and the taste of cherry that Y/N’s chapstick provided. Her fingertips lost between his long curls as his traced circles on her blushed-covered cheeks.

They cursed the oxygen as they pulled away, breathless and complete mesmerised by the other, as if there were under the influence of some kind of spell. The magic broke with the sound of an opening door, and Y/N couldn’t help rolling her eyes at the sight of the brunette girl.

“Jack! I have been looking for you” her high pitch tone made Y/N’s jaw clench. “Oh, sorry. You don’t mind if I steal him, right?” she asked Y/N, a fake smile plastered on her face.

Y/N mimicked her smile “He’s busy right now. Come back never”

Jack tried not to laugh “Sorry, I want to be here with my girlfriend. There’s a guy on table 5 called Nick who is totally your type, though, you’ll like him”

The girl, clearly confused, turned around and left them alone. Y/N looked at Jack “Can we get out of here? I hate parties”.

“Sure, love. Movie and ice cream?” he asked, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. Their hands, as always, fitted just right. Like they were made to go together, like they belonged together—just like Y/N and Jack.

Y/N smiled and kissed his knuckles “You know me so well, I love you”.

#jack champion #ethan landry #jack champion x y/n #jackchampion #jack champion x reader #jack champion fluff #jack champion oneshot #jack champion imagine #avatar the way of water #avatar twow #jack champion fanfic #ethanlandry #scream iv #ethan landry x reader

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h5eavenly · 6 months

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Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

Thirty-Five - Flickers Of The Past I.

TW: mentions of disordered eating, diets, mental health issues and suicide.

wc: 8.3

playlist: dollhouse - melanie martinez / cardigan - taylor swift / until i found you - Stephen Sanchez

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The first time you ever saw Hyunjin you were seven years old. It was amid a hot June summer; the scorching hot weather and unforgiving sun were unrelenting. Swearing to make the process of you and your family moving into a new neighborhood absolute hell. Not for you though, the only thing that was causing you discomfort is your long hair. Adding unnecessary layer to provide heat on your neck and causing beads of sweat to roll down it.

Your mom had muttered countless excuses to you. Something about how this time your dad is finally gonna make it. His business is gonna flourish and soon enough you’ll be rich. You didn’t really understand what does having money make any difference? You only wanted three things right now, your mom, dad and one of the cookies that your mom had placed on a plate on the table in front of you. A rumbling in your tummy only confirms your hunger.

“Stay still Y/N.” she warns, pulling slightly on your hair as you had inched forward without noticing. You nodded earning a tsk in return. You stilled, shoulders slumped and trying not squirm in discomfort. The thigh highs your mom forced you to wear cling to your thighs in sweat. Your mom continued brushing your hair, tying your hair in pigtail to start working on the left section of your hair.

“Can I have a cookie mommy?” you ask with a hiss when she finally tied the remaining hair in a pigtail, like the right one. Your mom stood up; her brown hair falls beautifully over her shoulders, resembles silk. She sighs, a line of annoyance between her brows “it’s not time for your snacks yet Y/N.”

“But mommy I’m hungry” your small palm clutched the end of her red dress, a pout that would be described as adorable to anyone else but to your mom it was an eyesore. It was what she always said.

“Don’t be an eyesore Y/N. I don’t care if you’re hungry you need to wait.” She scolded with a stern voice and a glare you were too used to in her eyes. And just like that your small heart crumbles, breaking into pieces right at her feet. She turned away with a huff, her black heels stepping all over your broken heart. Breaking it into smaller pieces just to make sure that you won’t be able to pick it up.

You didn’t cry, despite the lingering heaviness in your heart. You told yourself it didn’t matter; your mom was probably just stressed. She always is whenever you guys moved and with this being the third time already in a year. She was probably overwhelmed. You adjusted the overall strap of your dress that had fallen to lie beside your elbow. An ache in your knees as you stood up. Your big eyes had stayed on the narrow corridor leading to your parent’s room.

You counted to ten and when there was no sign of your mom coming out, your small hand reached for one of the cookies in a hurry. Panic has your heart picking up its pace, a fear clinging to the tips of your fingers. Your other hand clutching the ear of your stuffed bunny, your small feet scrambling in hurry towards the door leaving a trail of cookie crumbs on the floor. The sound of the front door closing echoes in your empty house. Reminding your little mind that this isn’t home it’s nothing but another stop sign along the way.

Once you’re outside, you sit down on the steps of the front porch. Your stuffed bunny sitting by your leg as you chew away on your chocolate chip cookie. Humming in delight with a smile as you turn to watch the two boys playing soccer on your one of neighbor’s lawn. It wasn’t fun to watch simply because you did not understand a thing, did not understand if they were good or bad. Why was the girl cheering, on the ground with catlike eyes and a big smile. Was she cheering them both or one of them?

As if on instinct one of the boys had noticed you, leaving their game unattended to look at you. Locking eyes with you had you frozen in place, the cookie half way into your mouth. For an odd reason an uncomfortable feeling had travelled its way through your body, like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have perhaps that’s why when the boy with midnight black hair, a mole under his right eye, waved at you with overflowing excitement, your face burned, and you turned away. Walking back to your house in hurrying manner. A strange feeling in your chest. You blamed it on the boy’s smile, it was as bright as the sun.

Three weeks exactly after that you saw him again. You were waiting at the bus stop, short legs swinging back and forth as you sat comfortably on the wooden bench. Your dark hair is tied into a high ponytail and away from your face. Your pink skirt and matching thigh highs were added cuteness to your already chubby cheeks or at least that’s what the lady next door had said to you. It had earned you two small cartons of strawberry milk. One that is between your hands and its straw in your mouth while the other is protected in your pink bunny backpack.

The sound of sniffles had your ears perked up; attention stole. Looking to where they were coming from you saw a small boy, almost the same size as you, curled up on the sidewalk. Head in his hands. You eyed him curiously, a bit surprised by the number of adults passing by and not sparing him a glance. You weren’t really a brave kid, always more on the shy side, refusing to talk to strangers and clinging to your mother’s leg during social events. So, what you did next was definitely out of character for you.

Jumping down the bench, you threw your now empty carton of milk into a nearby trashcan. A hop in your step, the sun warming the coldness in your palms as you settled right beside him. Shoulders brushing and with your presence he looked up, eyes red and tear streaks over his pretty mole. You were surprised, didn’t expect it to be the boy from your neighborhood.

“Why are you crying?” you had asked, head tilting in spirit of inquiry. The boy eyes sharpen, a childish glint in them as he crossed his arms over his chest “I’m not crying!” he defended weakly, bottom lip trembling “mom said big boys like me never cry!” as if mocking him a tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another just to break down the act he worked so hard on putting on.

Your chest had tightened painfully in sympathy, an emotion you still didn’t know what to call.

“But it’s okay to cry when you’re sad doesn’t matter if you’re big or small.” The words came to your small brain like common sense, colored in innocence. He shook his head stubbornly, despite the sniffles escaping his mouth. Your own lips have formed into a pout, searching your brain for a way to make his sadness disappear.

“What happened?” you finally asked after a while, a black cat taking its place next to your leg. You scratched behind its ear with a smile and Hyunjin watched you with tear clouded vision.

“I-I think my dad is sick.” He muttered between sniffles; you furrowed your brows “tell him to take some medicine. Mommy always gives me that when I’m sick. It tastes awful but it makes me feel better.”

“I told my mom that too.” Hyunjin replies, his own hand reaching over your lap to scratch at the cat’s ears. It starts purring, eyes closed in bliss “but she says he’s sick in here.” He explains by pointing to his head with his index finger and a pout on his pink lips. You grow even more confused haven’t heard of people being sick in the head, but you keep quiet. Nodding in faux understanding as you tell yourself you should read about it later. A short silence settles between you two when the cat jumps into Hyunjin’s lap and curls on itself.

Hyunjin chuckles, the only evidence of his sadness is the lines of tears drying on his cheeks “she likes me!” Hyunjin mumbles cheerfully as he turns to you with a big smile, the same one you saw three weeks ago and that was as warm as the sun. You smile back at him “yeah.”

At the end of the street, you notice your familiar school bus making its way towards the stop “I have to go now.” You announce standing up and adjusting the straps of your backpack. Hyunjin pays you no mind, nodding slightly as he is too immersed in his excitement about petting the cat on his lap. You loiter, staring at the boy before unzipping your pink backpack and taking out the strawberry milk you were planning on drinking later.

“Take this.” You said, outstretching your hand to him with the carton. Hyunjin looked up, eyes widening slightly in surprise “I don’t like strawberry milk.”

“But why? It tastes good and it helps me when I’m feeling down.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I was feeling down this morning but now I’m so much better!” you boosted, an enthusiasm in your voice that had him growing slightly excited as well. He took it, a pink coloring his cheeks as this has been the first time he had ever taken anything from a girl aside from Yeji “Okay!”

“Later sad boy!” you waved with a big smile, his own words of protest left unsaid when you turned around and ran towards the bus stop.

After that day you never saw Hyunjin, not around the bus stop and nowhere around the neighborhood. You heard your mom and the women next door talk about how the Hwang’s moved away because her husband has passed away. It didn’t make much sense to you back then, but you only remember realizing that you never asked for his name, and he never asked for yours.

You don’t see Hyunjin again until you’re sixteen. It’s another wheel of destiny that spins you around just to throw you in the same spot as him, for you guys to clash into one another. But back then, you hadn’t realized it yet. It was a similar cycle, an old record that had played repeatedly till you memorized all the tracks. You had just moved to a new neighborhood, a house bigger than your last one, a more modern version than the last one with marble floors and big glass windows, a slick black aesthetically pleasing kitchen. It all meant nothing to your mom though, not good enough because even though your dad was making a lot more money than last year. He wasn’t rich enough for his name to mean something. It’s evident in the way your mom grumbles all afternoon, brows knitted and a scowl permanent on her face. You ignore her, lazing around on the couch in the living room and counting the number of black dots decorating the ceiling.

The faint sound of music coming from the turned on tv aids you in keeping your mind off your reality.

“Y/N! come on it’s time for your meal!” she calls for you from the kitchen, voice sounding a bit far just to remind you of the bigger space of this house. You sigh, rolling off the couch and onto your feet, passing by the unopened boxes and through foyer the only seems to grow longer with every house. You make it to the kitchen to be greeted with the plate your mom had made specifically for you, a bunch of steamed vegetables. Broccoli, carrots, and peas.

A sour taste settles in your throat, the emptiness of your stomach nudges to ask for more and you contemplate it, fingers drumming on the kitchen island.

“Can I at least have protein?” you finally ask, voice weak and unsure and your body wavers in similar weakness when your mom turns to face you with a hateful glare. As if she’s offended “You had protein for breakfast that’s enough.” She spits with disgust dousing her tone, and you don’t need her to say more to know exactly what she’s thinking, it’s the way her eyes trail over your body with a wrinkled nose. As if she hates to look at you.

“But I’m hungry.” You try to argue, ignoring the goosebumps raising on your body due to her harsh eyes.

“Being a little hungry won’t kill you Y/N. Now eat your food and shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” She rubs her hand over his face and then through her hair, an act of stress and your anxiety renders you mute. But your mother never stops and that’s always been her downfall. A greed that’s never full and it’s the same way with her mouth, always spilling venom and leaving it behind for you to clean up.

“Just look at your body, always talking about how hungry you are no wonder none of the diets are working.” She’s talking to herself, you realize that. And it’s not something you haven’t heard before, so you don’t know why it triggered you that day. Maybe it was another card destiny had thrown on your unfortunate table.

“I don’t fucking care about my body” the words have divulged from your mouth without warning, spilling like vomit. It was the first time you cursed in front of your mom, the first time you argued this long for a while, but you don’t get to dwell on the thought, don’t get to reflect long enough when her palms come in contact with your right cheek in a burning slap.

It’s not the first time she has hit you, it happened a few times before, so you wonder why does is it more agonizing each time? Why do your eyes still fill with tears and why does betrayal seep into your eyes, into your shocked look at her. As if she was anything different than a snake who sank her teeth into you. But she looks at you as if you’re a criminal who had stabbed her right in the heart, feed on it and threw the rest to dogs.

“Go to your room no food for you today.” It was a punishment you knew was waiting for you down the line the longer you had talked. And the best way to deal with all this was to take it but instead you run away. An ocean of tears had clouded your vision and you had somehow ended up on the beach. Sniffling as you hugged your legs to your body.

Now that you think about it you know fate had played you, placed you in another position where you would have no choice but to run into him, you had no choice but to be cursed by him but that’s not how you felt when his ball hit you, it’s not what you felt when even more tears had streamed down your face because what else could go wrong?

Frustration had bubbled in your blood, blending itself with your sadness to form a puddle of overwhelmingly painful emotions that you had no choice but to lay in. It gets worse when Hyunjin had jogged your worry, his apology dies on his tongue when you make eye contact with him. Teary yet fiery eyes pierce his soul, and he was never the type to be left speechless. It comes to him like a flame blown out from a candle and the heat burns him.

At his name being called, he picks his ball and turns away. The face of the crying girl on the beach leaves him awake an hour longer at night.

The second time you see Hyunjin it’s in the halls of your school. It was early in the morning, the halls bustling with students rushing to their first class. You were by your locker, getting your biology book out and once you closed it shut the last thing you expected to see that morning is the face of none other than Hyunjin. Leaning on the locker next to you with a tight smile on his face

“Hi.” He says and somehow his voice is nothing like you expected, it ends up being on the sweeter side, pleasant to hear.

“Hey?” you reply with an edge of confusion in your tone, clear enough that it makes him nervous. Pushing a hand through his already pushed back black hair “I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” You nod signaling for him to continue, by now you already knew who Hyunjin was. It was impossible not to know him when his name was on everyone’s tongue. The talk about the endless impressive acts of his are a record you had to endure daily from every student you come across. From his outstanding dance skills at the dance club to his impressive plays on the field during soccer games. Getting the captain title was a piece of cake for him, a piece he hadn’t even planned on eating, but it ended up right on his plate by its own.

His silence stretches a minute or two too long as if he’s waiting for you to say something back, when you don’t, he clears his throat in attempt to regain his missing confidence “Uh- I hit you with my ball last week. At the beach? Remember?”

“I do,”

“Great! Uh I’m sorry about that.”

“it’s okay.” You assure with a smile in hope it will dissipate the awkwardness “how is your head by the way?” he trails bunglingly, fingers pointing to your head.

“I still have my memories so I’m probably fine” You reply with a soft smile. Amusement swims in your eyes at the way he acts, the way he won’t meet your eyes for longer than a second before they travel elsewhere. Randomly staring at a few lockers away.

Hyunjin’s blush colored lips twitch upwards in mimicking smile, a breath of a chuckle escapes him “that’s a relief.” He says, bouncing on the heels of his feet with his hands buried in the front pockets of his school uniform.

Another awkward silence settles between you two, he looks as if he has something more to say but the words won’t come out, you try not to rush him, try to wait for him to just spit out but when it stretches. You clear your throat to capture his wandering eyes, they lock with yours, widening as a nervous pink blush takes its place on his pale cheeks “Well I better head to class.”

“Yeah of course.” He nods. Taking a step to the side to move out of the way and with another faint smile of yours you go on your own way. Once you pass by him the smell of peaches and cream coats the inside of your nose and stays there far longer than you anticipated.

If you count the time, you’re sure it’s exactly sixty seconds and if you’re a little bit off then it won’t be more than eighty seconds before you feel his hand circle your wrist, halting your movement with a rushed out “wait!”

His palm is warm, yet his rings are cold as ice, and they leave you more buzzled when you turn to look at him with inquisitive eyes.

“Your name,” he sounds breathless, and you wonder why “you didn’t tell me your name.” the halls had started to empty, reminding you that you’re late to your first period already. The dying noise brings attention to the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and something else in the distance. If you focus hard enough you swear you could hear the chirping of birds as if they’re signaling the beginning of something you aren’t aware of yet.

If your life was a book this will be the chapter where everything changes and flips upside down, the chapter where you begin to see how large the real world is compared to this small bubble you thought was the world. And all what it’d take is a singular look at Hyunjin’s dark eyes. And if this was somehow a movie it would be the beginning of a fairytale like arc and a soft tune with overflowing lovestruck words would be playing right now. Swirling around and tempting you into a spell that tastes like nothing but pure gold and affection.

But this wasn’t a book nor a movie.

“Y/N” you say “Song Y/N.”

This was a game fate had started and choose you as the main player. The only problem was the rules were never explained and your purpose has yet to be found. Years later when you look back at your meeting you remember how Hyunjin never asked you about the fact that you were crying or the glaringly obvious red mark on your cheek.

You’re thankful.

The next time you see Hyunjin it’s in detention. Given his reputation you shouldn’t be surprised but given your reputation he is more than surprised when he notices you there. His bored and cold stare had transformed into a wide eyed one, eagerness filling his limbs into jumbled tapping of his foot on the floor. Grinding on his teeth as he chewed slowly on his mint flavored gum. Eyes pasted at you, you who was sitting a few seats way from him, you who was too immersed in whatever you were doing on your notebook to spare a glance in his way. Your dark hair falling over the side of your face like a barrier depriving him of stealing glances at your face. It left him withering away in disappointment he didn’t quite understand.

Truth, is you didn’t deserve to be here, well at least partly. Last night you stayed late, working on a brand-new idea you had for a jacket design. You were so focused on it and hadn’t realized the number of hours that had passed by. Once your neck had started aching from your position, fingers sore, you had finally looked at the clock placed next you, you were shocked to see it’s already 3 am. So, when you ended up dozing off the next day and falling asleep in chem class. You did not expect the punishment to be detention. You had argued with your teacher. It was a bad idea because it only resulted in a week worth of detention.

However, now that you’re here you realize it is not that bad. It was quiet, the other students dozing off along with the teacher that was assigned to watch you. It was an opportunity for you to finish your designs. Away from your mother’s nagging and your father’s freezing stare.

You feel it then, something hitting your shoulder to steal your attention from your drawing. You look down at the crumpled piece of paper by your shoes.

Hyunjin gauges your reaction, watches as you elegantly tuck your hair behind your ear. Brows furrowing in confusion as you bend down and pick up the paper. Pulling your pretty lips into an even prettier pout as you open the paper only to find it empty. Only to discern it was an attempt to capture an ounce of your attention. You’re surrounded in softness that has him drowning in jealousy, wishing he was a piece of paper just to be held by you.

He watches as your eyes scan the room, looking for a culprit to blame and then they’re landing on him. Bullseye.

Hyunjin plays his role way too well, leans in his chair with his soccer varsity jacket on. A spread in his legs. Undeterred by the speeding beats of his heart, palms watering in nervous sweat the longer your darling eyes are on him. His own hand raises in a wave, a wink colored in confidence he lacked last time is thrown your way. You feel a wave of shyness wash over you at his unexpected forwardness. Your lips curl into a sheepish smile, a shake of your head as you look away and back down at your notebook.

As if you have given him the green light. Energy surges through his body, overshadowing his nerves and he moves as if your smile has been a magic spell you so willingly put on him. And the empty seat in front of you is taken by him. You smell him before you see him, a whirlwind of emotions swim through you when he’s face to face with you, his back to the sleeping teacher.

“Song Y/N.” he greets with a grin, charm clings to his features and your eyes linger on his mole. Sending familiarity to your mind. Raking through it but finding nowhere to place it.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back, leaning back in your seat, arms stretching in front of you to cover your notebook.

His eyes flicker to it momentarily before going back to your face. A fresh glint is in there, a pleasant one like he’s happy you remember his name.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” There’s a pleasant breathy edge to his voice.

“I don’t fit in here?” you ask playfully, tilting your head and he’s almost suffocating on your beauty. Didn’t think it’s possible for someone like you to exist.

“Good girls don’t belong in detention.”

“How do you know I’m a good girl? I might have a wild side to me.” You challenge with a raised brow. With his heart beating wildly in his chest when he reaches forward, his fingers drum on the wood of your table almost brushing against your hand “I’d love to see that.”

You hum, his hand radiating heat that spreads through your body despite the fact that he isn’t touching you “well I expected seeing you here, so I guess that helps with your bad boy image.” You comment.

“Bad boy image?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you walk around with a cigarette tucked behind your ear?”

“Oh.” His other hand reaches for the poisonous stick he forgot he placed there “that’s why everyone was glaring at me earlier.”

There’s a short silence that fills the small spaces between your bodies, melting on your skin and in your throat begging you to speak the longer his eyes watch you “what are you here for?” you ask after a while, Hyunjin blinks as if he had forgotten the moment he was in, as if he was lost in you, aa if you were anything deserving to get lost in.

“I got caught smoking in the bathroom.” He says stonily “and you?”

“I got caught sleeping in class,” you reply with a shrug, and he chuckles, amused at how different you two are in the best possible way. It ignites something in him, waters a field he didn’t know was abandoned in his heart.

“What are you writing?” he asks, pointing with his eyes at the notebook you’re still hiding. You hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip before tentatively removing your hands, allowing him to look. And he does, ever so eager as his eyes study the sketch of your design.

“You did this?” he asks with wide shinning eyes, and you wordlessly nod “Y/N it’s amazing!”

“You really think so?” you ask and Hyunjin’s grin widens in response “yes! You’re so talented holy fuck!” he exclaims in strives to convince you. His tone raising in volume before he slaps his hand to his mouth, eyes wide and he turns around to check if he disturbed the sleep of the teacher. He still snores peacefully.

You break into a fit of giggles, a sound he did not expect to hear and when he turns back to you. Your small hand is covering your mouth. The sight has butterflies roaming through his stomach, violently as if fighting for a way to come out. His own lips stretching into a smile until your laughter dies down, settling into an awkward silence as you avoid his eyes.

“You’re cute, Song Y/N.” he says absentmindedly, as if he didn’t mean for them to run away from his mind to his tongue but he doesn’t flatter, doesn’t take it away and you bask in the way it makes you feel. In the way your face burns as you grip your pencil and resumed the swirls of your hand, running away from his words only for them to hunt you down again.

The rest of detention had passed in a tranquil silence, despite the windows being closed you had felt incredibly warm. It courses through your heart, bumping life into the dull ache that has settled there. The warmth of Hyunjin’s gaze had lingered, it seared on your being even after weeks of not seeing him again.

You don’t see Hyunjin for a long while after that, not until the end of the semester. A week before summer break and during preparation for your school’s summer festival. A yearly event that they held. In the midst of your group making a sign with unmatching colors for your class you had ran out of color, grumbling and complaining they argued on who should go get more “I’ll go get it.” You volunteered, killing their argument successfully and earning thank yous in return.

You strolled along the running track on your way to the main building taking your time as you had grown tired from working all day. It felt like a nice break. Your hand swings back and forth capping and uncapping the sharpie pen you didn’t realize you picked up when you got up. Your eyes linger to your left, watching the soccer practice that is taking place. It wasn’t hard to notice him, the star of the team. The hushed whispers of nearby students remind you that you’re all enamored by the same person.

It is these specific moments that have you grasping the reality of how different you and Hyunjin are. It dawns on you like a cold bucket of water, you didn’t think about it much, didn’t think about him much but it’s like when you see him you can’t stop. Every time you see him you know he will haunt your mind for a few nights after. Perhaps that’s why your steps had come to a stop. Hyunjin had once again managed to filch attention you weren’t willing to give but that was just the kind of person he was. He easily captured the attention of everyone around him, admiring him. That’s the thing with Hyunjin, it was so easy to admire him. And maybe that’s why you had made it a challenge with yourself to be different. To not be a person who waits around the corner just to steal a look at him.

When Hyunjin notices you, eyes widen in gleam and a beam on his face. You don’t think about how fast you fail. And when he waves at you from a distance. A scene so strikingly familiar it has you confused. Your challenge collapses as fast as it comes, lying pathetically by your feet as you wait, just like every other admirer you wait as Hyunjin says something to his teammates. Two of them you recognize because they’re always around him, Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. You had smiled at them, in attempts to be friendly and kind. It was part of your building reputation after all.

Back then, you were once again proven to be naïve. Constantly pushed into the shadow as destiny liked to fuck with you. You didn’t know it back then, that soon enough Kim Seungmin, the Seungmin you smiled so willingly at would be the same person who’s aiming a blade at you, you didn’t know the amount of pain he’d inflict on you.

Hyunjin is jogging towards you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he isn’t fast enough, his soccer uniform is a tad too big on him. His lithe body leaves space.

“Song Y/N.” he’s out of breath when he’s next to you, sweat rolling down his exposed forehead as he grins at you.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back as usual.

“I didn’t know you were watching me.” His hand starts wiping away at his sweat, brushing through his hair multiple times as if he’s suddenly feeling self-conscious about his disheveled appearance. It has smile tugging at the corner of your lips “I was just passing by,” you explain lightly, a palpable tension oozes around you the longer he keeps his eyes on you. His stare burns as hot as the sun above.

“Nice ears by the way,” he comments, eyes flickering to the top of your head, and you subconsciously reach for it, your hand touches the fake fur of your cat ears that you had completely forgot you put on. Your face burns in embarrassment while his eyes light up as if witnessing a rare scene.

“My class is doing a cat slash zodiac café thing.” You fumble with your words to explain, your nerves show in the way you go back to capping and uncapping the lid of your pen “sounds like a lot, Y/N.”

“It is.” You answer shortly and he hums into the momentary silence “what’s your zodiac sign?” he suddenly asks and you’re thankful for the change of subject, you show him your wrist, the symbol of your sign your group had drawn for you.

“What’s yours?” you ask, tone curious and gentle. Feels like feathers against his skin as he swallows back nothing “not sure, I was born on the 20th of march.”

“Ah, you’re a Pisces.”

“What does that mean?” he wonders, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“That you’re a sensitive baby.” You let a playful smile climb to the corners of your lips, lifting over the wall of slight awkwardness that stays around you two. He pauses at the glimpse of it, his own lips quirking upwards, and he rolls his eyes “are we at least compatible?”

“I think we might be the worst match out there.” You reply, giggling faintly. Hyunjin watches you, a garden of flowers blossom in his throat, taking every word he could say back to you. Your softness is prodigious, delicate in ways he wasn’t aware of.

“I have to go.” You say after a while and Hyunjin blinks rapidly, realizes he had done nothing but stare at you like a fool.

“Wait,” his voice is hoarse, his hand that stop you only touch you for a mere minute before he retracts it, it leaves you burning for more “Can I uh-“ he nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hand, eyes lolling everywhere “Can I have your Instagram or something?”

“I don’t really use Instagram.”

“oh.” Hyunjin’s eyes drop in disappointment, so glaringly obvious and you feel like a criminal who had stolen his light. Maybe you felt sorry and maybe that’s why you decided to light a match for him.

“I can give you my number instead.”

Was it then? That your heart had decided to surrender? Or was it when he messaged you for the first time that night with a link to an article, talking about how your signs are in fact compatible.

When was it exactly that you had become a willing victim of his?

On the last night of your summer break you saw Hyunjin again, passing by a skate park in your off white vintage two-piece your mother had picked out for you, your heels leaves a dull ache in your body leaving a trail of disappointment behind you with every step you take, evidence of another failed blind date your mother had set you up on.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You had spoken first that night and he froze, a cigarette mid-way to his lips as he stared at you in complete awe. As if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if you were a mirage and you were gonna be gone if he blinks. You looked so beautiful to him, you always did. You were the only person capable of making his breath hitch.

“Song Y/N.” he says breathlessly “Wow! You look amazing,” his eyes rake over you appreciatively, you were incredulously pretty. A goddess that threats to steal his remaining sanity.

“Thank you,” you mumble, something akin to relief had spread through your body at the sight of him, you hadn’t realize how rigid you were until your eyes met, melting the tension in the folds of your feature with a single glance of his.

Have you already surrendered?

“Back from a date?” he asks clearing his throat after noticing how hard he was staring at you, he twirls the white stick of poison between his fingers. How lucky, you can’t help but think.

“A blind date,” you specify “it was horrible.” You trail off, eyes fliting to his group of friends behind him before they’re back on him.

You’re not sure of what kind of expression you had on, not sure if Hyunjin had maybe pitied you. If maybe he felt nicer than he’d like and that’s why you ended up sitting next to each other on the beach. He lent you his dark flannel and you used it to cover your bare legs. Your shoulders bump as he splits his sandwich in half and hands you the bigger piece. Your heart was beating wildly, the warmth of his shoulder somehow spreads through your entire being leaving you wondering how could a single person radiate this much warmth?

“It’s kinda spicy,” he says through a bite, acting so naturally and it’s unfair the way he leaves you caught between his dark eyes and his nice gestures.

“I like spicy food,” you retorted taking a bite from your own half, he hums, watches as you chew and doesn’t look away until you’re nodding in satisfaction.

“So, how bad was your date?”

“It had me questioning if I’m even attracted to men. That bad.” Hyunjin chuckles but doesn’t say anything, he looks captivated by you. Watches the way your fingers wipe off the corner of your mouth despite it being clean, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. The way you hum in delight as you take another bite of your sandwich, the sullen expression you had earlier is nowhere in sight. Was it normal to be this interested in such small mannerism? He felt peculiar.

“Do you think soulmates exist?” You ask after a while of silence, tone soft and content and your food is long gone.

“My answer is a little complicated.”

“Tell me, “You say, turning to look at him as you lay your head on your bent knees. He sees the moon in the flickers of light in your eyes. How exceptional you are, stealing the attention of the great moon. How could he ever not be defeated by you?

“I do think soulmates exist, but I don’t everyone is lucky to meet their own.”

“How come?”

“I just don’t think it’s not realistic for everyone to meet their soulmate. Not everyone can be lucky and happy that’s not how the world works.” He replies with a shrug, mirroring you as he leans his head on his knees. The sound of the waves fills the empty spaces between your words “What about you? Do you believe in soulmates?”

“I don’t,”

“Why?”

“I don’t know I just don’t think they exist. I don’t believe in forever and all that other stuff.”

“You don’t think someone is gonna love you forever someday?” he asks, tone soft and faint. And somehow it feels like there’s no room in your heart anymore for oxygen. It’s all taken by him. And you’re suddenly consumed by him without realizing it. His delicacy waters your heart, it’s in the flannel on your legs, in the scent that had now stuck to your body and it’s in the food you shared. His tenderness was unwonted for you.

Is that why you craved for more? Is that why you wondered if you could just fall?

“The idea of loving someone forever sounds ridiculous.” Hyunjin never said anything back to that, a tranquil hush had fallen over you two. Both of you quietly gaze at each other, entranced by one another. And a foolish little sparkle had formed in the middle of your heart, spreading its light through your being and birthing even more sparkles into your soul.

Was this another a test by destiny you failed or was it possible for him to fall too

Hyunjin had lingered by your doorstep that night, swaying on his feet. The night breeze is cooling as it brushes against you. And his flannel is now around you. His scent mixes with yours, leaving you feeling intoxicated.

“What?” you asked with a hint of a smile. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes vulnerable as they stare you down. “I’m just feeling somewhat sad.” he makes no attempt to conceal it.

“Why?” your voice sounded as frail as your swaying feelings.

“I don’t know. I guess I regret spending the entire summer chickening out when everyday could have been like today.”

Back then you had found his sadness to be indiscreetly foolish . It’s not like you were gonna dissolve into thin air. You had next summer and the one after. You had the upcoming winter and the one after. You had so much time coming or at least that’s what you thought. You wonder if Hyunjin felt it, if he felt your time running out already and just like you, he had desperately tried to clutch onto it. To squeeze himself into every passing second where you coexisted in the same space.

You didn’t know it then, that your own words would return to you tenth fold. You didn’t know that the words you spoke ever so causally were gonna be your dreading reality. You didn’t know you’d break down to the point where you’d hold on to a sliver line of hope wishing for it to someday bleed into the forever you once said you didn’t believe in.

You were constantly at the edge of your seat, every time Hyunjin had turned his back to you it left you drowning even more and wondering if tomorrow he’s gonna be there. You had prepared yourself all this time and yet when Hyunjin turned his back to you for the last time. It broke you.

The sliver of hope had ended up killing you.

Looking back at it now you think that your sixteenth summer might have been the last moments of your sincerity, the last few moments before change had barged in, breaking your door down and taking place in you to turn you into something you weren’t able to escape. a snake that you pretended to like being in the skin of.

On the morning of your 17th birthday the planets had shifted and just like always you were a pawn in this game fate liked to play. your fairytale like arc had ended. To commingle into something new, an agony that had spreads its roots into your life. Vow to not never leave unless it made a mark on you, unless it sucked the life out of and diluted you to nothing but an immense penumbra.

You were taking a stroll outside on your bicycle, the wind dancing its way in your hair. A cool breeze that draws a smile on your face settling into a peaceful warmth in the center of your chest. You hadn’t anticipated the break of it all. The dull darkness that had replaced every sense of and shape of light you had ever known. It all came in sudden waves, seeing your dad’s car parked three streets away was a surprise that had soon melted into curiosity as you inched closer to look. You didn’t think of why, didn’t think about the consequences. You were naive and that became your downfall when you peeked inside the car and saw your dad with another woman, your dad kissing another woman, your dad’s hand in another woman’s hair.

That morning you had experienced your first heartbreak, and it was caused by no one other than your own father.

“Make a wish Y/N.” your mother said, placing the sugar free vanilla cake she had purchased two days ago, and you ended up seeing in fridge in front of you. You didn’t feel happy, not an excited bone in your body. Instead, all you felt was betrayal and rage, melting into liquid to run through your veins. It transmitted through your eyes, sharp as they glared at your father who sat across of you. Sipping on his coffee.

“Go on.” Your mom urged you with a push to your shoulder. You stared at the candle, your heart catching on fire alongside it. You close your eyes, you draw in a deep, shuddering breath. And you blow on it. Your mother doesn’t clap and neither does your father. He’s scrolling through his phone and your mother takes the cake from in front of you.

“I’ll give you a piece after dinner.” She says and you wordlessly nod. Fresh pain swims in you the longer you look at him, the longer you notice how indifferent he looked. Was a guilty man supposed to be this relaxed? Did he even care? Just for how long he has been doing this? The questions overwhelm you, leaving you feeling choked.

Your phone’s screen lights up and your eyes flicker to the coming message.

Hyunjin: Meet you at our spot in 5? I have something I wanna give you.

“I’m going out for a bit,” you announce, standing up from your seat with one last glare sent your father’s way.

“What? Dinner’s almost ready. Where are you going?” your mother scolded, followed you as you were putting on your shoes “I’m seeing Hyunjin for a bit.” You explained frigidly, not letting her huff of annoyance affect you.

“Again? All you do is spend time with that Hwang kid! I told you a million times he isn’t good-“you close the door shut with a slam.

Once you see Hyunjin standing on the beach, his back to you as he stared at the sea immersed in the crashing waves, you felt the same waves crash against the walls of your heart. Washing it into a tempest of blues that you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling. It wraps around your ankles and drags you down, threatening to make you one with the sand. Taking wobbly steps to him, you wish it would happen.

“Hyunjin.” You call once you’re close, once you’re in an appropriate distance for your heart not to jump and attack his. He turns around and your heart is weaker than you hope for. Jumping out of your grasp and into him.

Please give it back.

“Y/N!” his voice is airy, light enough to blend in with your blood, light enough to have you wishing he was running through your veins.

“Hey.” You breath in faux cheerfulness, a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes but he doesn’t get to dwell on it because with three quick steps he’s in your presence, destroying your safe distance as he pulls you into him with a hug, arms around your waist. His scent invades your space and your fingers desperately clutch the fabric of his white shirt, tears brimming in your waterline.

When he pulls back, his cold hands are cupping your cheeks. It has goosebumps and tingles littering along your spine. “what’s wrong?” he asks gently, his concerned eyes search your own. Letting loose, your tears fall like a waterfall that can’t be stopped “I’m just overwhelmed.” You chuckle, humorlessly.

“About what?”

“I’m getting old,” you sniffle and Hyunjin is smiling, a comfort he doesn’t know he can provide “you’re an idiot Y/N.” he shakes his head at you, and you agree.

“Well hopefully this will cheer you up.” He tells you, eyes glinting with happiness you wish to never leave him, you wish for him to always shine this brightly and maybe that’s why you didn’t tell him back then, the burden you carried felt too heavy for his softening gaze. You watch as he reaches in his pocket, he gauges your reactions as he pulls out a silver chain, a bracelet. Eyes dancing with overflowing emotions as he clasps it around your wrist.

You look at it only to realize that the letter ‘H’ dangles at the end of it, he raises his own wrist to show you a matching chain around his, your initial dangles from it “We’re matching.” He tells you with a grin and just like that Hyunjin had once again managed to pick the broken pieces of your heart and glue it together with emotions you shouldn’t feel.

You bury your face in your hands, overwhelmed and stolen away again by his charm. He had pulled you from the sinking sand under your feet and into his embrace instead. Wrapping you into the delicacy you run away from only to end up drowned in.

The day you turned seventeen your serial mendacious had began with two lies, the first was a witless venture to protect your family. You thought if you kept quiet then you could save them maybe someday, you’ll be able to mend them back together. It was an idiotic idea.

The second lie didn’t matter because you were certain Hyunjin would never feel the same way about you. It was an idiotic idea to explore as well. How could the sun possibly be attached to a dying speck of light?

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bitterkarella · 3 days

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Midnight Pals: Carrie

Stephen King: check it out guys! King: they're publishing a book of essays about Carrie! King: we got richard chizmar, bentley little, mick garris, norman prentiss, tom deady, Anthony Breznican Angela Carter: are there any women involved in this King: oh yeah of course of course Carter: King:

Carter: don't you think, steve, that a collection of essays about carrie should include some womens voices King: oh of course! we've got bev vincent Carter: bev vincent is a guy King: King: what? Bev Vincent: yeah its fine, this happens all the time

King: look it's not all guys in this collection King: we also have caitlin kiernan Carter: oh really? caitlin, what do you think? Kiernan: i think that black people have a special gland in their brain that makes them do crime Carter: Carter: i meant about carrie

King: ok maybe the roster for this collection is a little guy heavy King: but, you know, maybe guys have some interesting thoughts about a story heavy on mother-daughter relationship issues and menstrual themes? Carter: King: it's possible!

Carter: ok fine, i would like to hear some of these interesting thoughts that you men have on carrie Bentley Little: did you ever think that maybe you should change the title from "Carrie" to "The Carrie?" Carter: King: King: you know what, i'll take that under advisement Carter: don't do that

King: c'mon guys don't let me down! Tell me your deep thoughts about Carrie! King: people want to know what you think of this story of a psychic teenage girl Richard Chizmar: psychic girl? wait, girls can do that? Mick Garris: whoa thats bad ass Josh Boone: this changes everything!

Chizmar: this whole time, i didn't know girls were psychic Garris: that explains why they're always setting things on fire with their minds Chizmar: yeah i was wondering about that Boone: everything makes sense now Little: guys i really think it would be better if it was "THE carrie"

Chizmar: [reading carrie] whoa whoa whoa Chizmar: what's all this menstruation stuff? Carter: [whispers in chizmar's ear] Chizmar: EVERY MONTH?!?!?! Chizmar: holy shit Chizmar: that's metal Garris: what are you talking about, i want to know too!

Garris: and blood comes out WHERE?? Carter: [whispers in garris's ear] Garris: ha ha gross! Little: this doesn't sound real, i think you're making this all up

Carter: ok so show of hands Carter: do any other men here need the concept of menstruation explained to them? Poppy Z Brite: no i think i'm clear

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #angela carter #poppy z brite #mick garris #richard chizmar #bentley little #caitlin kiernan #bev vincent #josh boone

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youcouldmakealife · 5 months

Text

KS Fill: Gabe/Stephen; not on the list

For the prompt: I would say Gabe and Stephen’s wedding because I want that more than anything in the world, but I suspect that’s coming without my prompt? But if it’s not…

It would come either way, probably, but this started the ball rolling.

More Gabe and Stephen, more lists. No actual wedding, but we get pretty damn adjacent.

Gabe knew the list would backfire the moment Stephen started making it. He even told Stephen as much, but Stephen just shrugged a shoulder and kept working on it. He got into it as it grew too, enjoying it so much that Gabe told himself he was probably worrying about nothing.

And maybe the list wouldn’t have been a problem if the only person he’d told about it was Gabe. Probably would have been fine even if knowledge of it extended to the Marksons and Petersens, which happened sooner rather than later.

But telling Gabe’s teammates — that was a mistake.

“A what list?” Jared asks when Stephen first mentions it.

“An anti-wedding list,” Stephen says.

Bryce sits up. “You guys aren’t getting married?”

From this angle, Gabe can’t see how withering the look Stephen gives Bryce is, but the kick Jared aims at his ankle is probably related.

“Obviously we’re getting married,” Stephen says, like he wasn’t panicking for a good few days after they got engaged, and only the potential wrath of Miriam Markson kept him from fleeing on the next flight out of Vancouver. “It’s a list of shit we don’t want at our wedding.”

“Um,” Bryce says.

“You know,” Stephen says. “The wedding traditions we’re vetoing.”

“We is such a strong word,” Gabe says.

“Unanimous approval or none at all, Gabriel,” Stephen says. "A veto only needs one."

He's right. And Gabe guesses he would know, consdiering he's the one vetoing everything.

“So wait, what exactly are you vetoing?” Jared says.

“Nobody’s wearing white,” Stephen says, starting to tick items off on his fingers. “I mean, white dress shirts are fine, obviously, but nobody’s a virgin here, we’re not doing any all in white shit. No flower girls or ring bearers. No little groom cake toppers. Fuck knows there aren’t going to be any garters involved. I don’t remember the rest off the top of my head, but I have it all written down."

“I like the little grooms,” Bryce says, sounding hurt. Gabe hasn’t seen any pictures from Bryce and Jared’s wedding, since it was very much on the down-low — and he truly wishes he could see how those two managed to put together a wedding on the sly when they couldn't even sit across from each other without Gabe figuring out they were married — but he bets there were little grooms on top of their cake. He also bets Bryce still has those little dudes hanging around somewhere.

“Can I see the list?” Jared asks. “I’m kind of curious how many our wedding had.”

“Sure,” Stephen says, with a hand wave. “I’ll email it to you when I’m finished. Have a few more items to add first.”

“Cool,” Jared says.

After Bryce and Jared leave, Gabe mentions it might not be a good idea to send Jared the list, but Stephen just scoffs.

“What’s he going to do?” Stephen says. “Wear white to my wedding? Put little grooms on his piece of cake? He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not going to anything that actually fucks with the day, he’s not Dmitry.”

“Our wedding,” Gabe says.

“Oh come on, you already know what’s mine is yours,” Stephen says.

“You stabbed me with a chopstick over the last soup dumpling last night,” Gabe says.

“Stop saying I stabbed you,” Stephen says. “I didn’t even break the skin.”

“It hurt,” Gabe says, and Stephen takes his hand, planting an officious kiss on the back of it.

“Better?” Stephen asks.

“It was the other hand,” Gabe says, smiling when Stephen sighs dramatically before kissing it too.

“You’re really going to give Math that list?” Gabe says. “Blind trust isn’t usually your thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll lead to something hideous,” Stephen says. “But think of it this way: your idiot teammates are going to do something, so I may as well give them some parameters.”

“Huh,” Gabe says. “Good point.”

“I’m not exactly new to this, you know,” Stephen says.

“No, I know,” Gabe says.

At least whatever it is that’s coming, it won’t come out of the blue.

Gabe did not foresee this. Sure, when he gave Stevie and Dima and Bullet bachelor party planning rights he anticipated some variety of disaster, but he underestimated them, he thinks. Or overestimated them. There was some mis-estimation occurring.

He looks around. What initially looked like chaos seems oddly recognisable. Almost familiar.

It’s sort of wedding themed, which makes sense, considering the occasion, but everything’s slightly off, and not just because they’re in a venue more suited to clubbing than matrimony.

His eyes land on the big cake at the centre of everything. It looks more like the kind Gabe saw at Cup celebrations than a wedding one, decorated to look like a rink, with two little figures at centre ice. He’s too far to see the details, but he’s pretty sure they’re hockey figurines rather than grooms, and someone has decided to use the manipulable joints for, well, evil probably isn’t the right word, but maybe immaturity — Gabe’s pretty sure one of them is straddling the other. He guesses he should just be grateful no mounting is taking place, considering Dima’s probably the responsible party.

There are so many elements, and they don’t seem to fit together at all — elegant baskets of flowers that look almost painstakingly put together, surrounded by a scatter of rainbow confetti that feels like it's moonlighting from a completely different event. Some kind of crooner — Bublé? — playing, also from a completely different event. None of it seems to fit Gabe's picture of a bachelor party planned and attended by hockey players, even if the wives and girlfriends present also got involved in the planning.

It’s the guests themselves that help Gabe put it together. There was clearly a dress code, one that only Gabe and Stephen weren’t informed about, everyone all in white, neon bright under the black light. Like an item of a list come to life. Like one of many items of a list come to life.

He can see Stephen put it together a mere moment after he does, his eyes narrowing, mouth going flat. Playing at unimpressed for the — many — eyes currently on them, avidly waiting for a reaction.

“I’m going to fucking kill Jared,” Stephen says, and Gabe decides not to tell him just how proud he sounds.

“I wonder which one of the Canucks is wearing the garter,” Gabe says, and grins when Stephen forgets his audience and his composure for a moment, throwing his head back with a laugh.

#fic snippet #gabe markson #stephen petersen #jared matheson #bryce marcus #dmitry kurmazov

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thefiery-phoenix · 5 months

Text

YANDERE TONY STARK X READER X YANDERE STEPHEN STRANGE

Get ready to be completely spoiled rotten and doted on 24/7/ 365 by these 2 since they will literally smother you with affection and love day in and day out

Very clever and crafty yanderes, quite a pair I tell you. And also literally impossible to escape from since they have science AND magic on their side. So, good luck escaping from them

Both of them don't have too much patience but I can see Tony being a tad bit more patient that Strange. No matter if you're a villain, Avenger, SHILED or HYDRA agent or even a civilian for that matter once you catch their attention you're dunzo

They'll take care of any pest in the way of you and them in less than 24 hours. These men here are not playing around when they tell you that crazy for you and they're madly in love with you

You won't be able to escape from them, ever since they've rigged the house with cameras in places you didn't even think or know that they could be there (No worries at least nothing's in the bathroom) and Strange's magic will prevent you from escaping. Now, if you act up with Tony, he'll just take your favorite stuff away and scold you like a disappointed dad. Now if Strange catches you acting up.... well, you'll be needing your running shoes and run as far as you can from him. That's all

Tony is kinda more lenient and laid back than Strange that's for sure. He'll let you get away with stuff and will lay it easy on you when you do some nutty stuff. Strange on the other hand takes discipline very seriously. As much as he loves, adores and cares for you he will NOT tolerate bad behavior from you at all. Even if his heart breaks and he feels like someone's stabbing him with a blade through his chest, he will make sure you behave like a good little girl/ boy for them

Tony can be a bit... over smothering at times which is why Stephen will drag him off of you anytime you want to be left alone or you need some space

Just play your cards right and assure them that you'll never leave them and you're good to go :)

#yandere tony stark x reader x yandere stephen strange #yandere tony stark x reader x yandere stephen strange headcanons #poly yanderes tony stark and stephen strange #poly yanderes #yandere tony stark x reader #yandere tony stark imagines #yandere tony stark headcanons #yandere stephen strange scenarios #yandere stephen strange imagines #yandere stephen strange x reader #yandere tony stark oneshots #yandere tony stark #dark avengers #dark avengers x reader #dark marvel x reader #dark avengers scenarios

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imaginespazzi · 11 days

Note

Nivi, bestie… have you seen the horrendous takes on Paige in the #paigebueckers tag…?

They just had a horrendous take on Azzi as well if you want to read something that will make your blood boil 😁 (here’s a quick summary, they said that Azzi isn’t a first round draft pick!)

Right so first of all, anyone who puts CC and CP in the same take and then goes on to suggest that CC is better, is not someone we should be taking seriously at all.

But I did see the take and second of all, someone who's "watched her a little bit" again, absolutely should not be someone we're taking seriously at all.

This girl has played 40 games total and maybe only about 15-20 that you could actually count as her being fully healthy. Despite this, beyond the dumbass casuals online, everyone who knows anything about the sport is still extremely high on her. Stephen Curry, idk if y'all have heard of him, is clearly still riding the Azzi Fudd train. The mock drafts all have her going at least top 10 with many having her top 4 and there isn't a single one that has her going out of the first round, let alone going undrafted. Excuse me if I'd rather trust the experts than fans who think this one random girl is the only good wbb player to have ever graced earth.

Let me make one thing abundantly clear, if Azzi Fudd is healthy, she is going to be a first-round pick and there are pretty high chances, especially if it's next year, that she'll be a lottery pick. Because the minute Azzi Fudd is healthy, as we have continuously seen, she is one of the best players and best prospects in this draft or the next.

And quite frankly, if y'alls favorite white girls (and y'all know exactly who I'm talking about) can get drafted and stick on a roster, you can bet your ass that Azzi fucking Fudd can do it too.

#ask #azzi fudd #she's going to make y'all look so stupid this season i can't wait

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stevesbestgirl · 2 years

Text

Their Girl - Game Day

Soft!Daddy!Stucky X Little!F!Reader

Warnings: age regression, brief descriptions of food, passive alcohol consumption (nothing major), reader gets overstimulated, younger than usual regression, crybaby queen reader, reader’s hand gets swatted, but no real violence

4275 words

A/N: This is part of Season 2 of Their Girl! Season 2 is still in progress and won’t be posted until it’s finished, but there is a new character in this part that hasn’t technically been introduced yet. Rest assured, the remaining pieces will come in time, but it’s Super Bowl Sunday here in the U.S., so enjoy!

"Papa, I don't wanna watch football," you pouted as Steve pulled a Giants jersey over your head.

He cupped your chin, "Can I tell you a secret?" You gave a solemn nod and he cracked a half smile, brushing his thumb over the line of your jaw, "I don't really care about football either. But it makes Daddy happy and helps him get along with Uncle Tony. Do you think you can help me?"

"Can I take my game with me?"

Steve pressed his mouth into a thin line; he should have expected that. "Yes." Your face split into a grin, but Steve held up a finger, "But we're staying until the end of the game. And if I hear any complaining-"

You shook your head, "I won't."

He tapped your nose, "Good girl. Now let's get going." He hoisted you up on his hip, grabbing your backpack with his other hand.

You leaned out to watch him scoop it up, a curious look on your face. Steve chuckled, "What is it, sweetheart?"

Your cheeks warmed, "Daddy is strong." You never got tired of how easily he carried you around.

He squeezed your leg, "You like it when I carry you around?" You buried your face in his shoulder in lieu of answering. He pressed a kiss into the top of your head, "Good thing I like carrying my baby around too."

You smiled, still feeling shy as Bucky came into view, leaning against the couch. "Look at my girl," he grinned, pushing off and striding toward you.

As Bucky reached for you, Steve spun you away, clearing his throat and puffing out his chest. Bucky grinned, changing course to cup the back of Steve's neck, "And my guy, of course."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Sure thing, Buck."

Bucky pulled him in for a kiss anyway. "Now c'mere, you," Bucky held his arms out and Steve handed you over. "Are you ready, doll?"

"Did you get my game, Papa?"

"Got it," Steve held it up before he zipped it up inside the backpack.

The three of you headed to the rec room, which Steve had promised would have fun things to do.

You could smell the rec room before Bucky even opened the door; the scent of pizza and chicken wings wafted out. The sound of chatter followed, growing exponentially louder as Bucky opened the door.

Inside, Peter and Wanda were making a racket at the foosball table. Tony, Thor, Loki, Nat and Bruce were seated at the ring of sofas that centered around the enormous television. To your surprise, there was another adult present, seated on the opposite end of Tony's sofa. It was your new friend from the office, Stephen Strange. You offered a shy wave, your comfort around him having dwindled since your last meeting.

"Thought you guys were gonna miss kickoff," Tony noted.

"It took a little bit of convincing to get everybody here," Bucky grimaced, setting you down.

Bruce held out an arm for a hug and you climbed onto the sofa next to him, tucking underneath and into his side, "Hi Bruce."

"Hey kiddo, how's it going?" You shrugged. "That bad, huh?"

"I don't like football."

"Why not?"

"Too much yelling."

He grimaced, "People get excited, huh?" You nodded. "What if you got excited too? Would it be okay then?"

You shrugged again, "Maybe."

"Why not give it a try? You might like it."

You stayed quiet; you didn't know if you wanted to like it.

Loki caught your eye from the sofa across from you, drawing a chuckle from Bruce, "Go on."

You hopped across the aisle to climb up next to Loki, "Do you like football?"

He shrugged, "Would be better with weapons."

You glanced at the TV again; you didn't think weapons were the problem, but you weren't going to argue with Loki. As one team kicked the ball all the way down the field to start the game and the crowd went crazy, you couldn't help but think that your daddies could have done a better job. But they were both watching the screen, even Steve, who had said he wasn't interested.

"Did you bring your game?" Loki's gaze flicked from the screen to the group of adults, back to you.

You nodded, "In my backpack."

The corner of his mouth lifted, "Do you want to play?"

Glancing at Steve, you nibbled at your lower lip; it might be a bit early to ask. But you slipped off the couch and trotted over to Steve, hands clasped behind your back, "Papa, can I play my game with Loki please?"

He gave a soft chuckle, his gaze flicking to Loki on the other sofa, "It hasn't even been ten minutes, sweetheart."

You glanced over your shoulder at the TV, "But it's screen time, right?" You let your lip jut out a tiny bit, shuffling between Steve's legs.

A little crease appeared between Steve's brows as Tony snorted a laugh, "She's not bad."

"You two can play, but not the whole time, alright angel?" Steve offered, ignoring Tony. He tipped his chin at the backpack by the sofa, "Go ahead."

You beamed, "Thank you!" Scuttling over, you rifled through the bag, pulling out your game and clamoring back onto the sofa beside Loki.

"Wait, I wanna play!" Wanda's voice piped up from the foosball table, a note of resentment at not being invited in her voice.

"Me too!" Peter echoed, scrambling to follow as Wanda grabbed her own game and climbed up next to you.

Shuffling over to make room for her, you bumped shoulders with Loki, making him glance sharply away.

"Sorry," you murmured, pulling in to try giving him more space as Peter squeezed in between you and Wanda, crowding the sofa further.

"It's fine."

"Babydoll, do you want to sit with me?" Bucky patted his lap.

Nodding, you disentangled yourself from the others and scurried over to Bucky, who pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arm around you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked to Loki, "Are you ready?"

He nodded, though he looked a bit displeased, his mouth pressed into a thin line as Peter and Wanda chattered beside him.

You played, but Loki no longer seemed in the mood for it. He kept glancing at Thor as though he wanted to go home, but Thor, whose face was painted and had a plate piled with food, didn't seem to be going anywhere soon.

When the Giants made a big play, the room exploded with noise, even Bucky, who was usually so soft-spoken. He threw his free hand in the air in a fist, "YES, WHAT A THROW!"

You tensed, squeezing your eyes closed as though it would muffle the sound. For once, Bucky didn't notice- he was focused on the game. Stifling the threat of a pout, you set your game down and wriggled out of Bucky's grasp, expecting him to protest. But he let you go, his fingers grazing your arm absently.

Since you'd already gotten up, you had to find something to do. You slunk over to the food table, appraising the snacks, but you weren't really hungry. Glancing over at your daddies, you wanted them to notice you. Usually, they were so attentive that you couldn't hide anything from them, but today you couldn't seem to compete.

"Too loud?"

You'd been so busy watching Steve and Bucky that you hadn't noticed Peter trotting up to you; it looked like game time had been abandoned. Wanda was snuggling in with Natasha and Loki was speaking urgently in Thor's ear.

You hesitated before nodding; Steve had said no complaining. But Peter gave a knowing nod, "Me too." He held out a hand, "C'mon."

You followed him over to the closet. Inside, board games, blankets, and spare snacks filled the shelves. Eyeing a thick comforter at the very top, Peter climbed the shelves with ease, never wavering as he pulled the blanket out with one hand and tossed it down, following with two others before leaping from the top to land on the newly cushioned floor.

You watched him wide-eyed, breathing a soft, "Wow," as Peter grinned up at you from his dismount.

He began spreading the blankets out in a dense pile on the floor, carefully closing the closet door to muffle the noise as another cheer went up from the sofa area.

Once he was satisfied with his nest, he fixed a serious gaze on you, "I'm gonna go get our stuff. I'll be right back."

He grabbed the door knob, but you touched his hand, "Wait, um," your cheeks flushed with warmth, "Could you get my paci from my backpack?"

Peter smiled and nodded before disappearing, closing the door behind him. You decided it was kind of nice in here; the door muffled the sound nicely and the blankets didn't even smell like a closet. You took another from the shelf, wrapping yourself up as Peter returned, slyly slipping back in and closing the door without a peep.

"Here, pretty girl," he said with earnest enthusiasm as he gave you your things: your game, your paci, and your sippy cup, also from your backpack. He also gave you a cookie from the snack table and a pair of blue headphones.

"I don't like loud noises sometimes either," he said nonchalantly, as though that explained everything.

"Thank you," you murmured, suddenly feeling shy at his attention. Peter was always nice to you, but this was different. He was looking at you the way small children often looked at babies, or children smaller than them; like he was honor-bound to make sure you were cared for.

Part of you wanted to reject his help; you didn't want to be the baby of the group, but you supposed Peter knew what that was like too. So you slid the headphones over your ears, muffling the sounds of the game even further, before you put your paci in and played your game.

Never being allowed to play your game for this long at home, you lost yourself in it. It wasn't until the closet door opened, Tony on the other side, that you remembered where you were.

"Found them. What are we doing, playing Seven Minutes in Heaven?" He smirked, "I get next round."

Feeling extra small, you just stared up at him, eyelashes fanning your cheeks as you blinked in the bright light.

"It was too loud, Daddy," Peter explained, placing himself resolutely between you and Tony.

"Pete, you can't-"

"Tony found them, Steve, in the closet," Bucky was calling back over his shoulder. Peering over Tony's shoulder, his expression melted into a smile, "What are you doing in there, babydoll?" Registering the doe-eyed look on your face, he gave you an easier question, "You comfy?"

Nodding, a contented smile peeked out from behind the pacifier.

Peter didn't budge from his place, "See? She's comfy. We're having fun!" His fists were balled up, even though no grown ups had demanded the closet be vacated.

Steve appeared over Bucky's shoulder, "What is she doing in-" Much like Bucky, Steve instantly softened his tone at the sight of you swaddled up and dewy eyed, "What are you doing in there, angel?" Bucky murmured something in Steve's ear before turning his attention back to you, "It's halftime, princess, do you want to come out for some pizza?" He paused to placate Peter, "You two can come back when the game starts again, if you want."

Peter nodded adamantly, but it was your nod Bucky was waiting for. You were feeling slow, like Bucky's string of words needed to be untangled before you understood what he'd asked you.

With a soft whisper in Peter's ear, Tony guided him back to the party, leaving Steve and Bucky with you. Steve knelt in the doorway, offering a hand, "You hungry, sweetness?"

You blinked at him once before messily untangling the nest of blankets you'd buried yourself in and clamoring over to his hand. But instead of accepting his help standing, you raised both arms, "Up?"

Steve grinned, hoisting you up under the arms and taking you out of the closet to sit on his hip. He removed the headphones Peter had loaned you, setting them back in the closet with your other things.

You babbled softly to yourself, suddenly entranced with the way Steve's blonde hair caught the light, your fingers drawn to the glistening gold. Steve and Bucky talked, though you didn't have enough capacity to truly listen.

"You don't think something is wrong, do you?"

"She seems happy."

"She doesn't usually get so small, Buck-"

"I know, Stevie," Bucky said soothingly. "We'll talk to her when she lets us." He kissed Steve on the cheek and you on the forehead before he veered toward the snack table, "I'll get her something to eat."

Steve fixed you with a puzzled look, "Is everything okay, sweetheart?"

He brushed hair away from your face and you leaned into his touch, "Papa." The word was slurred and barely audible, but Steve heard.

Fingers still buried in the hair behind his ear, you smushed your face into his neck, granting him a sloppy kiss, accented by a muffled, "Mwah." You giggled to yourself as Steve took his seat back on the couch, cradling you carefully in his lap.

You returned your attention to Steve's hair, fingers quickly undoing any attempt he'd made at styling it. He allowed it without complaint; it wasn't a secret that Steve liked having your attention, especially with an audience.

"Papa pretty," you declared, both hands shrouded in Steve's golden crown, now tousled and messy. Natasha laughed, drawing a derisive look from Wanda. Loki, who had been unsuccessful in convincing Thor to leave, looked miserly and disinterested, tucked into the corner of the sofa with his game, though he wasn't playing.

"Oh no, I don't think so," Steve suddenly tutted, capturing both of your hands in his, "My baby is the pretty one." And he buried his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling and tickling, your giggles devolving into gasping breaths by the time Bucky returned with food.

Steve relented, gathering you back into his arms to make room for Bucky, but before he could settle, you were straining against his grasp, trying to get to Bucky, "Dadadadada."

"Hold on," Steve chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place. "Wait just a minute, sweet pea-"

"Dadada," you insisted, undeterred by Steve's interference. Reaching insistently for Bucky, you were no match for Steve's strength, eyes welling with frustrated tears.

Once Bucky was settled, he moved the plate safely out of the way, pulling you into his lap from Steve's grasp.

He cupped your chin, wiping a stray tear away, "No need for that, Daddy's right here, princess." You sniffled, urgency forgotten now that you had Bucky. He leaned in closer, cooing, "We know you're extra little, but try to tell us what you need with your big girl words, okay doll?"

To his surprise, you shook your head, "Uh-uh."

"You don't want to use big girl words?"

But you only babbled back at him, the sounds not quite forming all the way.

Steve caught Bucky's eye, but Bucky didn't push further, keeping a close eye on you as you grabbed a fistful of goldfish crackers from the plate he'd brought, sloppily spreading a trail of them from the end table to your seat on the sofa.

Steve captured your fist in his hand, trying to work the crackers loose before crumbs ended up scattered all over the rec room, "Here sweetness, we'll feed you instead, hm?"

But you let out a squeal of protest, fist instinctively jerking away and scattering crackers across the floor.

Before you could process, there was a sting to the top of your fist; Steve had given you a sharp tap, "Hey!"

As the realization set in, you stared at Steve with a wobbly lip, sucking in a breath, but before you could cry, Peter exclaimed, "That's not nice!"

"Pete-" Tony began, trying to shush Peter from the snack table, but Peter ducked his arm and charged over to the sofa, crossing his arms expectantly at Steve.

"Hitting is mean."

Now that the attention was on someone else, you buried your face in Bucky's shoulder with a soft whimper, watching Peter and Steve.

"Peter, honey," Steve tried to explain, "I didn't hit-"

"Yes you did, I saw," Peter insisted, though he glanced at your face, verifying your watery eyes and sniffles before he challenged Steve for the second time.

"I would-"

"I saw too," Loki chimed in. Wanda was quiet under Natasha's guidance, but she nodded her agreement.

Steve looked pained, "That wasn't to hurt-"

"Steve just needed to get her attention," Bucky tried to help.

But Peter wasn't having it, "Pretty girl is little, she doesn't know." Catching the note of ferocity in his own tone, Peter dialed it back, stealing a glance back at Tony to make sure he wasn't in trouble yet, "You're strong Uncle Steve, what if you did hurt her hand on accident?"

Steve took a deep, calming breath, "I would never hurt her on purpose. I'll be more careful, okay Pete?"

Peter didn't appear convinced, but he nodded. Steve urged him over closer, speaking low, "You're doing a good job looking out for her, okay buddy? I appreciate it."

Peter nodded again, stealing another glance at you to make sure you were really okay. But before he could return to Tony, who was still at the snack table chatting with Stephen, you held out your hand, offering the last goldfish cracker clutched there.

Politely accepting a cracker, Peter scuttled back to Tony, his courage depleted after standing up to a grown up.

Steve turned his guilty gaze back to you. You stared at him, tucked into the safety of Bucky's chest. He captured your now empty hand, pressing kisses into the back of it, "I'm sorry if I surprised you, sweetheart. Will you let me feed you, please?"

You nodded slowly, making no move to lift your head from Bucky; he was rubbing your back and it was making you sleepy.

"Buck, she won't sleep tonight if she naps now," Steve warned, taking the plate from Bucky's free hand and offering you a bite of pizza.

Bucky chuckled at your groan of protest as he removed his hand, propping you up in his lap so you could eat, "C'mon doll, eat something for us?"

You nibbled the pizza half-heartedly, but it was enough for them, both men raining praises on you for being so good. You only ate a little, but Steve and Bucky were more focused on keeping you calm and happy.

Suddenly remembering the party, you peeked at the others. Wanda was laying with her head in Nat's lap, playing her game solo. Peter was with Tony and Stephen at the snack table still, looking a bit shy. Thor was engrossed in the halftime report on the TV, bringing a large flagon to his lips for a deep drink, oblivious to the thunderstorm of atmosphere surrounding Loki beside him.

Loki looked miserable. His game was turned off, resting on the arm of the sofa. He had his knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them so his chin rested in the gap in between.

Tugging Bucky's sleeve, you pointed, "Dada?"

Bucky spoke gently in your ear, "What is it, princess?"

You struggled for the words, "He sad."

"He does look a little sad, huh?" he murmured, stealing a glance at Steve to see if he was listening, but he was chatting with Nat and Bruce. "You wanna help?"

You nodded and Bucky dutifully carried you over, patiently waiting for you to speak, "Loki?" It didn't sound like it usually did- the syllables were disjointed, but Loki was already paying attention.

"Yes," he replied plainly.

"I sit?"

"Sure."

Bucky settled you in between Loki and Thor, "Shout if you need me, okay baby?" He kissed your forehead before he returned to Steve, who urgently spoke in his ear, his gaze on you.

Loki didn't strike up a conversation. Words weren't your strong suit at the moment, so you just leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder, "Okay?" Loki gave a short hum that sounded like approval, so you closed your eyes.

After a minute or two, Loki shifted, lowering his legs. You sat up as he readjusted, and he glanced at you, "You can stay- if you want."

Smiling, you leaned on him again as he grabbed his game. Lighting up further, you pointed, "I watch?"

He gave a tight nod, "Sure."

So you watched him play for a few minutes, disturbed only slightly when Thor finally stood to refill his mug and get more food. When Thor came back, plopping into his seat and shifting the sofa, you were pushed further into Loki, sliding down into his cushion with him.

You let out a soft, surprised squeal, fingers curling around Loki's arm for support. You saw the way Bucky's head snapped to you, instantly seeking you out to make sure you were okay. Steve, who had never stopped watching, narrowed his eyes.

"My apologies, little one, are you alright?" Thor patted your head.

Giggling, you nodded, allowing Bucky to relax as the game started again. As the ball was kicked again, everyone settled back into their seats to watch, although the noise quickly picked back up.

Before long, there was a collective inhale across the room and then all of the adults started shouting.

"Come on!"

"That was pass interference! Are the refs blind?"

Thor thumped his fist on the arm of the sofa, "Foul play!"

Peter caught your eye from his place next to Tony before he stood. Moments later, he was in front of you, the pair of blue headphones and your pacifier brought from the closet.

Rather than hand them to you, Peter carefully put the headphones on your head, though they weren't plugged in, and held the paci up to your lips.

"Fank you," you slurred around it, grateful to Peter but suddenly shy at the attention.

Peter grinned proudly before climbing back up next to Tony, who ruffled his hair.

Loki grabbed the end of the headphone cable, plugging it into his game so the sound would cover the noise.

Resting your head back on Loki's shoulder, you could hear the faint murmur of chatter and the occasional exclamation following a big play, but the sound wasn't so overwhelming.

And despite the dull uptick in the volume after each play, your eyelids grew heavy, your cheek smushed against Loki's shoulder.

You woke as your seat suddenly shifted again, the collective shout loud enough to pierce the protection of the headphones.

Jolting up to see Thor jump off the sofa, his fists raised in the air, "YES! YES!" The other adults cheered with him, but the sudden change in atmosphere was a shock. With a single sniffle, you burst into tears, the sound muffled underneath the din.

Before you could inhale for a wail, a pair of arms hoisted you up, Steve's scent soothing you before you'd even caught a glimpse of blonde hair.

"I've got you, sweetness," he cooed in your ear, whisking you back to his place next to Bucky.

You sniffled weakly, lip trembling, but no one other than Loki seemed to have noticed anything was wrong. By the time Bucky finished cheering and Thor sat back down, Steve had you cradled in his lap, Peter's headphones playing soft music in your ears.

Bucky smiled at you, brushing his thumb idly over your ankle. You blinked at him and Bucky instantly noticed the glitter of tears on your lashes, giving your ankle a soft squeeze and lifting a headphone to talk to you, "You okay, babydoll? You need to go home?"

Sloppily rubbing an eye, you shook your head, "Daddy havin' fun."

But Bucky shook his head, leaning in closer, "You tell me if you need to go, okay?" He cupped your chin, "My baby is more important, alright?"

Cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze, you nodded. Looking satisfied, Bucky sat back, though he rested his palm on your ankle, his thumb resuming its path.

You curled your fingers into Steve's jersey, watching the people run around on the screen for lack of anything else to focus on. With Bucky's thumb tracing over your ankle and Steve's warm palm tracing your back, watching the game wasn't so bad.

As a man in blue ran down the field, another cheer went up, growing louder as his long strides carried him down into the very end of the field. Thor launched from his seat shouting again, oblivious to the sharp look he got from Steve. But you were ready for it this time, clapping along with everyone else.

The room quickly got quiet as all the players lined up by the goalposts, the tension obvious.

Bucky's fingers slowed on your ankle, squeezing softly as the play started. You struggled to keep track of the ball, but the room exploded in cheers again and Bucky hoisted you off Steve's lap as he jumped up to match Thor's enthusiasm.

Giggling, you clapped again, "Did we win, Daddy?"

Bucky grinned, looking as excited as you'd ever seen him, "We sure did, babydoll."

"Yay!"

Bucky looked so happy to see you excited about something he liked, blue eyes lit up with little crinkles around the corners of his eyes. Maybe you could like football too.

#daddy!stucky #daddy!stucky x little!reader #soft!dark!daddy!stucky #little!reader #agere #sfw agere #their girl #their girl series

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alexendria-rose · 29 days

Text

Who are you?~

Stephen Strange x Reader!Stark

Warnings: smut, baby girl nickname, dominate Stephen, age gap (20 ish years) cussing, choking.

Stephen sat by the bar a martini in his hand regretting telling Tony Stark that he would make it to yet another victory party- even though Stephen was pretty sure it was just an excuse for Tony to have another party. With the mission they all had; it was probably a good idea on Tony’s part to release some tension that was weighed on their shoulders from the mission.

“Hey pretty boy- do you want more of that drink?” Natasha said with a soft laugh as she leaned across the bar counter. Stephen rolled his eyes but a smile placed on his face.

“You know I could just refill it myself.” He commented a slight cocky look on his face- Nat just rolled her eyes.

“Hey im being nice to you- don’t be cocky mr magic.” She laughs taking his cup and refilling his martini drink. She handed to him and he did a quiet thank you. His eyes snapped towards a young woman in a black dress- who laughed loudly at what Thor was saying to her; most likely trying to impress the young girl. Stephen almost dropped his drink when she caught his eyes. Why hasn’t he seen her before? She was gorgeous, h/l h/c hair and when she looked around he caught the color of her eyes. They were so bright and full of youth and life. Natasha notices this laughing lightly.

“Ah so you’ve finally caught your eye on her?” Natasha says titling her head at the sorcerer seeing the way he didn’t want to remove his eyes from her. He looks back mouth slightly open before clearing his throat.

“Who is that?” He questions rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Nat just smiles knowing exactly who she was but wanted to see how this would play out.

“Why don’t you go see.” She hummed before turning around to prepare more drinks for the guests. Stephen had a cocky smile on his face before doing exactly what Natasha had suggested. He straightened his suit before walking over to the mystery girl.

“And that’s why I can be the only whom can hold the hammer!” Thor boomed loudly as she laughed at how loud and energetic Thor could be.

“So you have to be worthy? So if it’s on an elevator- does that mean the elevator is worthy?” she cocked her head to the side- her gaze pure and full of interest.

“You’re very funny Lady- Oh Mr. Wizard!” Thor exclaims looking at Stephen who was behind her ready to go up to introduce himself. She turns around to face the sorcerer smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh hi.” She chuckles bringing up her martini up to her lips. Stephen swore his breath caught in his throat when he saw her up close- she was stunning.

“Hi. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange.” He said bringing his hand out- she giggled before taking his hand giving it a firm shake.

“I knew that already but hi.”

“So you’re not going to tell your name?” He chuckles bringing his hand back away from her touch suddenly missing the feeling of warmth.

“I’m afraid if I tell you Doctor- you’ll run away and I don’t know about you but I don’t want you too.” She smirked- ah so a flirt she was. Stephen grinned leaning against the wall closest to them.

“Oh? Is that so?” He sipped on his drink as he looked at her- she couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young- maybe a little too young for him but god was she the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen. “I think I can handle it.” He hummed. She walked closer to him tilting her head.

“No- I don’t really think you could Doctor Strange.” She smiled softly poking his chest. “Have a great night.” She winked at him before walking away from the sorcerer. Stephen watched as she walked away- her hips swaying. She knew she was a tease, she knew that Stephen strange was completely attracted to her. Only if he knew she loved to play games.

Stephen rubbed his forehead with his fingers as he looked up at Tony explaining their next mission. That’s when she walked in. The mystery girl from the party.

“Aye there’s my girl.” Tony smiles softly. She smiles widely giving Tony a side hug- her eyes landing on Stephen.

“Hey Y/n.” Natasha smirks looking between the two knowing Stephen had no idea yet and that made it much more entertaining.

“So y/n is your name?” Stephen smirks leaning back on the god awful office chair. Y/n smiles softly looking at Tony- who was glaring daggers towards Stephen.

“How do you know my daughter doctor?” Tony asked as he crossed his arms his gazing never leaving Stephen. Stephen almost choked- eyes wide as Natasha sat there giggling like a maniac. Y/n bit her lip nervously watching Stephen’s reaction.

“I met him at the party dad- don’t worry about it.” She said flicking her dad’s nose a smile on her face- that made Stephen basically swoon.

“So you’re Y/n Stark?” Stephen whispered rubbing his gotee mentally face palming himself. He flirted with Tony’s daughter- god she must be so young then. Tony kept his gaze on Stephen.

“Stay. Away.” Tony groaned. Stephen smirked lightly moving his gaze from Tony back to Y/n as she used that little flirt smile; basically begging him to not stay away.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Y/n grins walking away from the meeting. Stephen heart thumping against his chest as he watched her walk away.

“No- don’t think about it.” Tony warned pointing a finger towards Stephen. “She is 23 years old-“

“So why isn’t that I didn’t know you had a daughter Tony?” Stephen laughed leaning against the chair crossing his arms.

“Because- I like to keep her safe and away from public eye.” Tony grumbled. Stephen hummed smirking a bit. “Now stay away!” Stephen tried to… he really did.

And there she was again- he’s bumped into her everywhere now. The kitchen, in the training room, anywhere and everywhere. He watched as she read in the common room, her knees curled up to her chest- as she let the tv roll with a random show as a background noise. He knew it was creepy to watch but she looked so peaceful. He kept hearing Tony’s voice- “stay away” but god was it so hard. She was beautiful and brought a certain light in the room. He watched as she slowly chewed the bottom of her lip- reading glasses framing her face, a messy bun on top of her head. Stephen needed to talk to her- instead of small talk it was driving him crazy. He ran a hand through his hair before walking up to her on the couch.

“Must be interesting whatever you’re reading.” He mutters lightly. She looks up from her book a small smile on her face.

“I mean it is Harry Potter- of course it is.” She giggled placing her book down on her lap. “I mean you would know about wizards huh? Did you come from Hogwarts?” She jokes- she was a lot like her father.

“Haha-“ he laughs sarcastically sitting himself down on the couch before looking at her. “I’m a sorcerer by the way- not a wizard.”

“That’s not what my dad says. I’m pretty sure you’re a wizard.” She smirked tilting her head in a cocky way that made Stephen’s heart thump.

“Does it look like I have a wand?” He joked back at her- she just laughed lightly rolling her eyes moving herself dangerously close to him.

“I don’t know. Do you?” She flirted batting her eyelashes- she knew she was cute, she knew she was a flirt and she used that to her advantage when it came to Stephen strange. Stephen looked at her when she moved herself closer to him- her batty lashes and pouty lips.

“You know you’re a flirt don’t you?” He chuckled lightly his face moving dangerously close to hers-

“Only with you- I told you, you’d run when you found my name.” She smirked moving her head away from his- Stephen let out the breath he was holding noticing the small smirk on her lips. He knew she was playing a very dangerous game. He looked around his surroundings to notice no one was in fact here- he decided to take a very dangerous step, that could end up getting him killed by Tony but god she was all he could think about. He grabs her chin moving her head closer to his- his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips.

“I didn’t run.” He mutters softly- smirking lightly seeing the blush that covered her cute face. He brings his face closer rubbing his nose against hers- her eyes fluttering close as his breath hits her soft lips. “I can tease too, you know.” He grinned letting go of her chin pulling his head away noticing the slight whimper and pout escaping her lips and face.

“No- you cannot get to do that and walk away.” She huffs standing up from the couch her arms crossed as she stared down at him. Stephen laughs lightly standing up to tower over her.

“You’re cute when you get mad.” Stephen chuckles deeply winking at her before walking away- he could hear her huff and plop back down on the couch.

Stephen was determined to make Y/n stark blush, and wanting to more. They hung out all the time- of course when everyone was asleep. They would talk and flirt but most importantly he got to actually know the young stark- he found out she loves reading, and quite like her father; sassy, witty, silver tongue. He was enjoying her presents more and more. Dare to say he was actually falling for her.

Stephen groaned again as he was at ANOTHER party of Tony starks- it wasn’t even a celebration. It was just a party because Tony got bored. Stephen smiled as he watched Y/n wearing a red mini dress trying her absolute best to get Stephen’s attention and god it was working. He sipped on his martini as he stared at her talking to Wanda- she kept glancing at Stephen behind her shoulder the red lipped smirk aimed at him, and every time she looked at him she would bit her lower lip in such a seductive way. She was waiting for him to break- and he was so close to. Stephen chewed the inside of his cheek before setting his glass down and marching over to her. He slyly wrapped an arm around her waist giving Wanda an apologetic smile.

“Wanda- May I borrow y/n?” Stephen asked- y/n eyes wide as she looked up at Stephen her head tilting in confusion. Wanda laughs waving her hand.

“Please do- she can’t stop looking at you anyhow.” Wanda sipping her wine. Stephen laughed lightly before guiding Y/n away from the party and into a secluded area- the idea of secluded area was the furthest bathroom away from the party. He brought her inside closing the door behind them before slamming her against the door. His look was full of lust- the teasing was too much for him at this point. Her eyes widen when he pushed her against the door. His hand on her lower stomach and his other on her cheek- his face was close to hers. He watched as she bit her lower lip nervously but a small smirk wanted to escape.

“Ah so you’re breaking huh?” She giggled lightly moving her leg in between his thighs, rubbing her foot up and down his leg. Stephen breath hitched moving his hand to place on the wall besides her head.

“You know I can show you what I do to naughty girls.” He purred lightly his heart beating against his chest not believing his own words that fell out of his mouth.

“Me naughty no-“ Stephen smashed his lips against hers before she can come back with a sarcastic and bratty comment. She almost gasped loudly at the contact but instead she decided to move her hands to his hair gripping onto it like her life depended on it. He groaned into the kiss his hands moving down to her waist gripping tightly which made a quick squeak escape her lips. He pulled back before immediately attacking her neck creating small love bites on her neck and making his way down to her chest. She moaned tugging on his hair roughly. “I want to go slow… but I cannot wait- don’t want people to be suspicious now do we?” He mumbled against her skin before turning her around to face the wall a gasp escaping her lips.

“N-No I guess not.” She whimpered, he chuckled deeply his hands on her hip. He ran his hand up and down her bare legs.

“Was this short dress for me love?” He smirked in cocky way. She chewed on her bottom lip at the way he caressed her legs, moving his hand between her thighs getting dangerously close.

“Maybe…” she squeaked. He just chuckled darkly before hitching up the dress to show her lacey black underwear.

“Oh my darling- as much as I love these. They need to be gone.” He growled before ripping off her underwear- which caused her to gasp loudly when he did so. The pool between her legs starting to become even more wet- if that was possible. “Look at you dripping for me darling girl.” He cooed. She blushed deeply trying to close her legs but he immediately kicked them apart. “No, keep them spread.” He purred- she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants which made her mouth go dry. She didn’t have much time to think as he shoved his hard cock inside of her tight pussy. She moaned loudly her hands going in front of her on the door to support herself.

“Fuck!” She shouted- Stephen chuckled gripping onto her hips as slowly moved himself in and out of trying to get to adjust to his size- her pussy was delightful was warm, tight and delicious.

“Baby girl- you are the most delightful thing I’ve ever had.” He groaned. “Think you’re fully ready for me?”

“D-Don’t hold back. N-need.” She stuttered gasping at every thrust- he was hitting her g-spot just right; everytime he would pull back slowly and then push himself inside of her just right. It made her mouth just water at the way he knew what he was doing. Both of their heads snapped when the door knob started turning. “Someone’s in-“ Stephen chuckles quietly before thrusting himself harder in her. “H-here!” She looked back and shot him a glare at his cocky face. He was loving this.

“Oh I’m sorry lady y/n! We were just looking for you!” Thors voice booms through the door. Y/n hitched a breath when Stephen started increasing his pace- that same cocky look on his face. She tried to calm down her uncontrollable breathing, trying not to slur out profanities and moans.

“N-No it’s okay! I’ll b-be out soon!” She was able to gasp out but it wasn’t helping that Stephen moved one of his hands to massage her very sensitive breast over her dress.

“Are you okay in there lady y/n?” Thor asks in concern. Y/n felt the tears threatening to come out of her eye pocket- not out of pain no out of pure pleasure. Stephen moved his hand to push the hair out of the way of her neck to place gentle kisses as he continued to pound into her his grip on her hip never leaving.

“I’m fine! I’ll be out soon Thor! Please!” She exclaimed her hand on the door scratching lightly throwing her head back- making Stephen wrap his hand around her neck.

“Alright alright- I’ll tell your father that you’ll be out there soon.” Thor laughs- she hears his footsteps walk away. Stephen laughed a bit gripping her neck more.

“Good girl.” He cooed making her pussy tighten around his hard cock making him grunt in the process. “Now sweetheart we’ve gotta make this fast- prepare yourself.” She nods not being able to make any sentences- but moan. He moved his hand down back to her hips; before forcing her hips to hit more into him. He rocked his hips against her- her moans sounded like pure bliss in his ears. The sound of skin and skin smacking together. He threw his head back grunting and moaning feeling himself close to the edge; and he knew she was too- with the way she was clenching around him.

“Fuck Stephen. I’m so close please.” She moaned out. Stephen grinned moving his head down to her ear kissing and nibbling her ear gently.

“Cum for me baby girl.” He mutters- as soon as those words escaped his lips. She screamed loudly her juices cumming around his cock. He smirked before going faster getting him closer to his edge. He gasped loudly before spilling his seed inside of her(god he hoped she was on the pill or something) he lazily placed his head on her back finishing himself out. He pulls out of her groaning at the loss of contact. He watched as his seed dripped down her leg- with the swish of his hand he removed and cleaned the seed off of her. She turned around to face him- her face flushed as she fixed her hair.

“You lost.” She hummed- he chuckled lightly placing his hand on her cheek before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“And I’ll lose a 1000 times over if it means that I get to do that as many times as I can.” He muttered. She giggled lightly picking up her underwear from the ground. He started fixing himself up- buckling his pants back on.

“If you’re cool with it- I never want this to stop.” She flirted before shoving her underwear in his pocket. “Now we should get back huh?” Stephen smiled lightly tracing her lips with his thumb.

“I was hoping you would say that; but yes we should probably get back.” He laughed gently- she giggled as well before opening up the door.

“Wait for a bit and then come out.” She said turning to look back at him. He nods smacking her ass in the process.

“So commanding my love.” She rolled her eyes before leaving Stephen alone in the bathroom. She walked back into the party- still seeing everyone was here. Tony looked over at his daughter- he walked over to her a drink in his hand.

“Where were you?” He asked titling his head at her -sipping his drink. She tried not to blush, and bit her bottom lip.

“Bathroom.” She muttered trying to turn away from him. Tony scrunched his eyebrows grabbing his daughter’s wrist pulling her back and when he did she saw the hickeys on her neck- more like covered all over her neck.

“Who the flying f put that on your neck!” Tony roared eyes widen- thinking of his daughter that way made him internally angry and mad. Y/n tried to look in his eye-line but then mentally face palmed herself. Fuck. Stephen soon shortly came walking in the same direction she had which had Tony look over. His face was red- when the dots connected. “Stephen Strange!”

Uh this was not going to be a fun conversation for any of them.

Let me know what you think! You dirty little hoes 🫡🥰

#x reader #fanfiction #oneshot #sherlock holmes.#benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #doctor strange #sherlock x reader #doctor stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #marvel x reader #marvel #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #Stephen strange x starkreader

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wannabehockeygf · 24 days

Text

calgary - matthew tkachuk

part of the think later fic series

“I’m drunk, oh wow,

All my habits came back around.”

***

this has two parts!

part 2

***

request: “could you do calgary with matty tkachuk?? maybe something fluffy, and him being overprotective?”

summary: an attempt to relive your highschool glory days turns into a night of drunken confessions.

word count: 7k

pairing: matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, unnamed pills

notes:

- ty for requesting! fun to write! keep ‘em coming <3

- ^ you guys already knew your girl had to go all out for her hometown, because calgary natives fuck it up the best!

- the plot is basically the lyrics of the song

- some friends to lovers because it makes me feel so lonely and I have to make y’all suffer too

- not super proof read

***

At some point in every Calgary native’s life, those wild, reckless nights of stumbling down Stephen Avenue after too many shots morph into something that feels suspiciously like maturity—like finding yourself sipping ritzy, overpriced cocktails on Seventeenth at six-something pm, wondering when your life turned into a scene from a yuppie rom-com.

The moment you realized this was your new reality, you spiraled. The “Oh my god, I’m so old, I can’t have fun anymore” pit of despair opened up beneath you, and you were falling fast. You had your shit together—no, scratch that, you have your shit together. You’re a bona fide adult. But still, you can’t help but yearn for the glory days of sneaking into clubs with a fake ID at fifteen, batting your lashes at some guy named Jason in a cowboy hat just to get him to buy you a drink.

But then, just as you’re about to spiral further, you remember tonight’s mission. Matthew, one of your closest friends, is back in town. The guy is practically a legend in your life—a hockey player sent off to South Florida but always makes his way back to Calgary for Stampede. You met him in the most random way—some Tinder date with a different Flames prospect gone awry. Who could have guessed that a failed date would lead to one of the most solid friendships of your life?

Matthew is that rare breed of guy—fun, charming, and completely non-threatening in the “someone’s gonna catch feelings” department. At least, that’s what you’ve always told yourself. But let’s be honest, there’s something about him that’s always felt…different. You’ve sworn up and down that, it’s not you, that you’re just friends, but there’s always that little nagging thought in the back of your mind. Could there be more? Should there be more?

Nah, you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about overthinking. Tonight is about channeling your inner fifteen-year-old, if only for a few hours. You’re on a mission to relive the glory days, and Matthew—well, he’s the perfect partner in crime.

The pulsating bass of the club thunders through your veins, the kind of beat that makes your heart race and your feet move, even if you didn’t want them to. But you do. Oh, do you ever. You’re dancing like you’re possessed, limbs flailing in a way that’s somewhere between “I just got electrocuted” and “I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.” You’re definitely more of a mosh pit person than a rhythmic dancer, but tonight, it’s all about the vibe, not the technique.

The lights are flashing wildly, casting everyone in an array of colors—red, blue, green, pink. It feels like you’re inside a kaleidoscope, everything spinning and twirling and making your head buzz in the most exhilarating way. The crowd is a sweaty mess of bodies, a hotbed of random hookups and questionable dance moves, but you’re right there in the middle of it, soaking it all in like the club’s ambiance is your life source.

“Another one?” someone yells over the music, thrusting a shot glass in your face. You don’t even see who it is, but hey, free alcohol is free alcohol. You down it in one go, the burn of the tequila (or is it vodka? Who even knows at this point) sliding down your throat and settling warmly in your belly.

You’re officially shitfaced. You can’t even remember how many shots you’ve had, but counting stopped being a priority after the third one. Or maybe it was the fourth. Whatever. You’re having fun—so much fun that you’ve completely lost track of time. How long have you been here? Is it still tonight? Did you miss Matthew’s arrival?

No, you tell yourself. There’s no way you could miss him. Matthew Tkachuk is not the kind of person who goes unnoticed, even in a crowded club like this. He’s the kind of guy who walks into a room and makes heads turn, who laughs so loudly you can hear him over any DJ set. You’d know if he was here.

Still, a small part of your brain—a part that isn’t totally soaked in alcohol—reminds you of tonight’s mission. You try to channel your inner teenager, that reckless, carefree girl who did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And right now, what you want is to dance. And maybe make out with someone. Or eat a greasy cheeseburger. The list is long, okay?

It’s in this haze of euphoria that you notice him—a man with a slicked-back ponytail that’s trying too hard to be edgy but just comes off as greasy. He slides up next to you, his cologne almost as overpowering as his confidence. You give him a half-hearted smile, not really paying attention, too busy reveling in your own carefree abandon.

“Hey,” he shouts over the music, leaning in too close, his breath warm against your ear. “You want something to really get the night going?”

You blink, trying to focus on his words through the fog of alcohol. His hand is outstretched, palm up, and there, sitting innocuously in the center, are two little pills. Your mind stumbles, trying to catch up with the situation. Pills? Like, drugs? The room seems to tilt slightly, the strobe lights throwing everything into sharp, disorienting relief.

The room seems to spin faster as you stare down at the tiny pills in the man's hand. They look so innocent, like candy, but you know better. Your brain, soaked in alcohol and barely clinging to reality, tries to do the math. Pills equal bad. Very bad. But you're also floating on a cloud of recklessness, and there's a small voice in your head whispering that maybe, just maybe, these little white ovals could make the night even crazier.

You can't quite decide if that's what you want or if you're just drunk enough to think it's what you want. Your vision blurs, the man’s face morphing into a smudge of colors and cologne. He leans in closer, his greasy ponytail brushing your cheek like a wet mop. “Come on,” he urges, his voice slicing through the booming bass, “just one, for old time’s sake.”

Old times? You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen this guy in your life. But then again, you’re also pretty sure you saw a unicorn prancing through the dance floor five minutes ago, so who knows what’s real at this point?

Just as you're about to reach for the pills—because why not?—you feel a hand grip your arm, firm and unmistakable. You whirl around, nearly losing your balance, and there he is: Matthew Tkachuk, your knight in a tight-fitting black tee that clings to his shoulders like a second skin. Even in your drunken haze, you can tell he’s pissed. Like, really pissed.

You’d seen him mad before, like that time when someone cut him off on the Deerfoot trail and he laid on the horn for so long that you thought it would get stuck that way—or, that one time when a ref made a call that had him throwing his helmet at the glass, shattering it. This feels so different, especially since he just got here.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matthew’s voice is like a thunderclap over the music, his eyes narrowing at the greasy-haired guy who suddenly looks a lot less confident. There’s something about Matthew when he’s angry—a fierce, protective energy that’s as magnetic as it is intimidating. He’s not the tallest guy in the room, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s Matthew Tkachuk, for god’s sake.

You blink, trying to process the scene. This isn’t the carefree, dancing-like-you’re-on-fire vibe you were going for. This is… something else entirely. The man with the pills tries to pull a sneer, but it’s more of a grimace. “Hey, man, just offering her a good time,” he slurs, attempting to puff up his chest in a way that’s more pathetic than threatening.

Matthew’s grip on your arm tightens, and you can feel the tension radiating off him like a furnace. “Yeah, well, she’s not interested,” he snaps, stepping between you and the guy, effectively cutting off your view of the man’s greasy face.

And for a moment, you’re glad. You’re glad Matthew’s here, glad he’s taking charge, glad he’s keeping you from making a possibly life-altering mistake. But then, that little rebellious streak in you flares up. Who is he to tell you what to do? You’re a grown-ass woman, a bona fide adult, remember? You don’t need a babysitter.

You yank your arm out of Matthew’s grasp, wobbling slightly as you do so. “I can handle myself,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. It sounds stronger in your head, but the words come out slurred and weak. Matthew’s eyes flicker with something—concern, frustration, maybe a mix of both.

“Yeah, it sure looks like it,” he says dryly, and even in your intoxicated state, you can catch the sarcasm. You want to snap back, say something witty and sharp, but your brain is moving in slow motion, and the words get tangled in your throat.

The greasy-haired guy takes a step back, clearly not wanting to get into it with Matthew. “Whatever, man. Just trying to help,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Who even are you, anyway?”

Matthew steps forward, blocking your view of Ponytail Guy entirely. The energy in the air shifts from fun and carefree to something sharp and heavy. The club’s lights seem harsher now, flashing in sync with the tension bubbling between them. Matthew is all broad shoulders and clenched fists, the muscles in his neck taut like he’s seconds away from doing something reckless.

And as for you? You’re swaying slightly, blinking like you’re trying to remember where you are—or maybe why you’re here in the first place. The tequila haze is doing you no favors, and all you can focus on is how intensely Matthew is glaring at Ponytail Guy. It’s like watching a lion size up a gazelle, except you’re the one caught in the crossfire.

“Who am I?” Matthew’s voice drops, low and dangerous, a tone you’ve only ever heard him use when talking about losing a game he should’ve won. “I’m the guy who’s about to ruin your night if you don’t get the hell away from her.”

Oh, god. Oh, no. You can already feel this heading toward disaster, but your reaction time is slower than usual. The alcohol has turned your brain into mush, and you’re having a hard time deciding whether you’re more turned on by Matthew’s sudden intensity or mortified by the scene unfolding in front of you.

Ponytail Guy, to his credit (or lack thereof), doesn’t back down. “Relax, man,” he sneers, taking a step forward like he’s trying to prove something. “She’s not your property.”

It’s a bold move, considering the sheer size difference between him and Matthew. And judging by the dark look in Matthew’s eyes, you’re not sure this is going to end well for Mr. Ponytail.

You should probably intervene. You should definitely say something, do something to diffuse the tension before Matthew decks this guy in the middle of the club. But you’re still trying to figure out why the room keeps spinning, and why your feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.

“I’m not anyone’s property,” you slur, finally finding your voice. It’s not as commanding as you intended—it’s more of a drunken mumble, but hey, you’re trying. Matthew glances back at you, his expression softening for a split second before snapping back to hardened fury as he turns toward the guy again.

The guy doesn’t seem to take the hint. “She said she can handle herself,” he repeats, puffing out his chest like some budget version of an alpha male. “Why don’t you back off?”

There’s a pause, and for a split second, you think maybe—just maybe—Matthew’s going to back down, let it go, and this whole thing will blow over without anyone throwing hands.

But then, Matthew steps forward, closing the gap between him and the guy with a terrifying calm. “Listen carefully,” he says, his voice so low you can barely hear it over the pulsing music. “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I’m going to make sure you regret ever coming here.”

Okay. Yep. This is escalating.

Your drunken mind is slow to react, but you know one thing for sure—this is not going to end well if it keeps going. You need to say something, anything to stop this from turning into a full-blown fight in the middle of the club.

“Matty, come on,” you say, stumbling a little as you step forward, reaching out to grab his arm. Your fingers barely graze his sleeve before you lose your balance and fall right into him. Smooth. So smooth. “Let’s just—let’s just go get a drink or… or something.”

Matthew catches you with ease, his hand steady on your waist as he looks down at you. “You’re drunk,” he mutters, his voice softer now. “You don’t need more drinks.”

You blink up at him, trying to focus on his face, but everything’s a little fuzzy. He’s so close—close enough that you can smell his cologne, a mix of something woodsy and clean, like he just stepped out of a forest after a fresh rain. God, why does he always smell so good?

“I’m not that drunk,” you protest weakly, even though you totally are. The tequila haze is thick, clouding your judgment, and you’re still thinking about those little pills in Ponytail Guy’s hand. It would be so easy to take one. Just one. You’d feel amazing, right? Invincible, even.

But Matthew’s grip tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. “Let’s get out of here,” he says firmly, his eyes flicking back toward Ponytail Guy, who’s still lingering like a bad smell. “Before I do something stupid.”

Ponytail Guy seems to get the message this time. He mutters something under his breath—something about how you’re not worth the trouble—and slinks off into the crowd, disappearing in a sea of bodies and strobe lights.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room still feels like it’s spinning, and your head is buzzing, but you’re suddenly grateful that Matthew’s here. Even if he’s being overprotective, even if you’re still mad that he’s acting like your personal bodyguard.

Matthew keeps his arm around your waist as he leads you out of the club, guiding you through the sweaty, writhing crowd. The cool night air hits you like a splash of cold water when you step outside, and you sway slightly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. The bass from the club still thrums in your chest, an echo of the chaos inside, but out here, the world feels quieter, slower.

“Okay, you’re definitely done for the night,” Matthew mutters, more to himself than to you, as he helps you toward a bench near the entrance. You plop down, the wooden slats cool against the backs of your legs. Your head tilts back, and you look up at the sky, where the city lights drown out most of the stars. The world is spinning, a slow, lazy carousel, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself.

Matthew kneels in front of you, his hands firm on your knees as he tries to get your attention. “Hey,” he says softly, and even in your drunken haze, you can feel the concern radiating off him. “You okay?”

You open your eyes and blink down at him, the edges of his face blurring slightly as you struggle to focus. He looks so serious, so worried, and it tugs at something deep inside you. You don’t want him to worry. Matthew’s supposed to be your fun, carefree partner in crime, not your babysitter.

“I’m fine,” you slur, trying to wave him off, but your hand misses the mark and flops uselessly against his shoulder. “Just… spinning. Everything’s spinning.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he replies dryly, his brow furrowing as he studies you. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. The word sounds nice, comforting, but also distant. Like it’s miles away instead of just a short walk. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Matthew’s chest, and he stiffens for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you steady.

His heartbeat is strong and steady against your ear, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the chaotic whirl in your head. He smells so good, like fresh pine and clean linen, and you take a deep breath, trying to anchor yourself to him, to the solidness of his presence.

“You’re so nice, Matty,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Like, really nice. And hot. Why are you so hot?”

You feel his chest rumble with a quiet laugh, but there’s a tension in the way he holds you, like he’s trying to keep his composure. “You’re drunk,” he says gently, one hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Let’s focus on getting you home, okay?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes wide and earnest. “No, seriously. You’re like… you’re like a hot lumberjack or something. All rugged and… and strong.”

Matthew’s lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes are still filled with that soft concern. “I think you’re mixing me up with someone else. I’m not that rugged.”

“You are,” you insist, your fingers fumbling to grip his shirt. The fabric is soft under your fingertips, and you run your hand down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath. “You’re… you’re like… if a grizzly bear was also a teddy bear.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “That makes no sense.”

“It does,” you argue, though your voice is thick and sluggish. “’Cause you’re big and strong, but also… also soft and warm. Like, I just wanna hug you forever.”

You press yourself closer to him, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm, and you can feel the faint prickle of stubble against your cheek. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you sigh contentedly, your body relaxing into him.

“Come on,” Matthew says, his voice a little strained now as he tries to coax you to your feet. “Let’s get you home.”

But you don’t want to move. You’re too comfortable here, wrapped up in his scent, his warmth. It’s like being swaddled in a blanket made of pure safety and affection. Why would you want to leave that?

“Nooo,” you whine, your arms tightening around his neck. “Wanna stay here. With you.”

Matthew sighs, though there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “You can stay with me, but let’s at least get you up.”

He stands, pulling you up with him, and you stagger slightly, your legs unsteady. He keeps a firm grip on you, one arm around your waist as he starts guiding you down the street. The city is a blur of neon lights and passing cars, and you lean heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder.

“Okay, but do you know how hot you are?” you ask, your voice soft and dreamy. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’re the hottest guy in Calgary. And Miami, or… wherever it is you’re playing now.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, though there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck. “And talking nonsense.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouting up at him. “You’re so sexy. And nice. And I bet you’re really good at kissing.”

Matthew clears his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”

“Why not?” you press, your eyes half-lidded as you gaze up at him. “’Cause I bet you’re amazing at it. Like… like you know exactly what to do with your hands and your tongue and…” Your voice trails off into a giggle as you try to imagine it, but your thoughts are too jumbled to form a clear picture.

Matthew doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he focuses on getting you down the street. You don’t notice the tension in his shoulders, too lost in your drunken haze to pick up on the way he’s fighting to keep his composure. All you can think about is how close he is, how solid and warm he feels next to you.

Matthew unlocks the door to your apartment with one hand, the other still holding you steady against his side. The hallway is dim, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the walls, and the familiar smell of your home—clean linen and a hint of vanilla—greets you as you step inside. But you’re too lost in the comforting haze of alcohol and the warmth of Matthew’s body to notice much else.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” you mumble, your words slurring together as you nuzzle closer to his neck. “Like, really amazing. And hot. So, so fucking hot.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he guides you through the living room and toward your bedroom. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his voice, like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check.

Your head spins as you lean heavily into him, your body swaying with the remnants of the alcohol coursing through your system. The room seems to tilt slightly, and you cling to Matthew, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He helps you sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling down in front of you as he starts to untie the laces of your shoes. The motion is gentle, almost tender, and you watch him through half-lidded eyes, your vision blurry and unfocused. But even in your drunken haze, you can see the concentration on his face, the way his brows knit together as he works to loosen the knots.

“You’re… you’re the best, Matty,” you mumble, your voice thick with affection. Your words come out slurred, but the sentiment behind them is clear. “So good to me. Always so good.”

Matthew lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something strained in the sound, like he’s trying to hold back a flood of emotions. “Just trying to make sure you don’t sleep in your shoes,” he says, his voice low and calm as he pulls off your first sneaker, setting it aside before moving on to the next.

Your head lolls to the side as you watch him, your gaze tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. He’s so close, so solid and warm, and you feel an overwhelming surge of affection well up inside you. It’s like a tidal wave, crashing over you and drowning out everything else.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the side of his face, clumsily brushing against the stubble on his cheek. The texture sends a shiver through you, a spark of electricity that ignites something deep in your chest. “I don’t deserve you, Matty.”

Matthew’s hands still for a moment, the laces of your shoe halfway undone. He looks up at you, his expression soft but serious, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze. “You deserve the world,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid of saying it too loud. “And more.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. It’s like he’s seeing right through you, straight to the core of who you are, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. You’re not used to being seen like this, not used to someone looking at you with such raw, unfiltered care.

He keeps moving, finishing with your shoes and gently lifting your legs onto the bed, his touch careful and precise. He doesn’t respond to your words, but there’s a tenderness in his actions that speaks louder than any reply. He’s taking care of you, making sure you’re comfortable, and that’s all you can ask for right now.

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” he says softly, his voice soothing as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

You let him lift the fabric over your head, your arms limp and uncooperative, but he’s patient, guiding you through the motions with practiced ease. You’re left in your underwear, feeling oddly vulnerable but also safe in his presence. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no discomfort—just pure, unadulterated care.

He’s trying to focus, to keep things as platonic as possible, but your touch, your words—they’re making it difficult. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for your pajamas, and you can’t help but notice the way his breath hitches when your fingers brush against his.

“Matty, you’re so warm,” you mumble, your voice thick and slurred. You cling to his arm, burying your face in the crook of his elbow. “And soft. Like… like a big, comfy pillow.”

His chuckle is soft, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to keep himself from reacting too much. “That’s a new one,” he says, his voice a little strained as he helps you into your pajamas. “Never been compared to a pillow before.”

You giggle, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt as you try to pull him closer. “But you are! So warm and nice. And you smell so good…”

He’s trying so hard to keep things light, but your words are cutting through his defenses, making him acutely aware of every little touch, every breath you take. He knows you’re drunk, knows you won’t remember half of this in the morning, but that doesn’t stop the way his heart clenches in his chest at your every compliment.

“Let’s get you into bed, okay?” he says softly, brushing your hair back from your face with gentle fingers. “You need to sleep this off.”

But you’re not ready to sleep, not yet. There’s too much you want to say, too much you’ve been keeping bottled up. The alcohol has loosened your tongue, and you find yourself blurting out things you’d never have the courage to say otherwise.

“I love this shirt,” you mumble, nuzzling into the fabric as he helps you pull it over your head. “Smells like you. No matter how much I wash it, always smells like you…”

He freezes, his hands stilling on your shoulders as your words sink in. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink up at him, your vision blurry but your heart full of unspoken emotions. “It’s yours,” you admit, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I took it before you moved away. Couldn’t… couldn’t stand the thought of not having you with me, so I… I took it.”

The room feels like it’s holding its breath, the air thick with the weight of your confession. Matthew’s grip on your shoulders tightens slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re joking, but all he sees is the raw honesty in your gaze.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, his voice rough. “I thought I lost it.”

His hands tighten on your shoulders, a grounding touch as he steadies himself. He can’t dwell on that now, not with you looking at him like that—soft, bleary-eyed, and so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he helps you finish pulling the shirt over your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Your arms flop uselessly as he tugs the shirt down, your drunken limbs not cooperating, but Matthew’s hands are steady, guiding you with a gentleness that makes your heart swell.

“Matty…” you mumble, your voice trailing off as he helps you stand, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. The world tilts slightly, and you grip his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you try to steady yourself.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, his voice a steady murmur against your ear. He’s so close, so solid, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, soothing the edges of your spinning thoughts.

He leads you to the bathroom, each step slow and careful as he supports your weight. The cool tiles under your bare feet send a shiver up your spine, and you lean more heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and you close your eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence.

Matthew lifts you up onto the counter with ease, standing between your legs. His fingers brush your cheek, tilting your face up so you can meet his gaze, and even through the fog in your mind, you can see the worry etched in the lines of his face.

“I’m just going to help you clean up, okay?” he says softly, his thumb stroking your cheek in a soothing rhythm. “Then you can get some sleep.”

You nod, the motion making your head spin, but you don’t care. All you want is to be close to him, to feel his hands on you, gentle and caring. You let your eyes flutter closed as he reaches for a makeup wipe, the cool cloth sliding over your skin as he carefully removes the remnants of the night. “God, why do you even wear all this gunk anyway?” he mutters, more to himself than anything.

Matthew’s fingers move with such tenderness, tracing over your skin with the makeup wipe, and you can’t help but giggle softly as the cool cloth sweeps across your cheek. The sensation is oddly comforting, like he’s erasing more than just makeup—he’s wiping away the stress, the insecurities, the fear that’s been knotted in your chest for far too long.

You blink up at him, watching through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrow in concentration. His touch is so delicate, so reverent, like you’re something fragile that he needs to take care of. The thought makes warmth bloom in your chest, spreading through your veins until it tingles in your fingertips. You can’t resist reaching out, your hand finding his on your face, and you let your thumb rub along the edge of his wrist. The soft, steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips makes you sigh, content and drowsy.

"You're so... nice," you slur, even though you’ve said it about a million times tonight. "Like, really nice. And strong. And... you smell good."

Matthew doesn’t say anything, just hums softly in acknowledgment as he moves on to brushing your teeth. He grabs your toothbrush, carefully squeezing the toothpaste onto it like he’s done this a thousand times before. The bristles hit your teeth, and you wrinkle your nose, the minty taste sharp against your tongue. You attempt to brush, but your hand is wobbly, barely cooperating, and soon enough, Matthew’s hand covers yours, guiding the motion in slow, methodical circles.

You close your eyes, letting him take over, and your mind drifts again, this time to all the little things you’ve never said, all the feelings you’ve buried because they’re too big, too scary to voice. But now, with him here, being so sweet and careful, the words come tumbling out before you can stop them.

“I think about you all the time, you know,” you confess, your voice muffled by the toothbrush still in your mouth. “Like, all the time. It’s... it’s stupid. But I do.”

He pauses, his hand stilling for just a moment, and you blink up at him, your gaze fuzzy but earnest. His eyes meet yours, and even through the haze of alcohol, you can see the way his expression softens, something tender and raw flickering across his face.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I think about you too.”

The admission settles over you like a warm blanket, comforting and soft, and you can’t help the dopey smile that stretches across your face. “Good,” you mumble, your words slurring together as the toothbrush is finally taken from your mouth. “’Cause I’m crazy about you, Matty. Like, really crazy. Like... I wanna marry you, crazy.”

Matthew’s breath catches in his throat as your words hang in the air, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm, like the very walls are leaning in to listen. “I wanna marry you, crazy,” you’ve just said, and the words are like a punch to his gut—equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

He forces himself to focus, to stay grounded in the moment, because you’re here, drunk and vulnerable, and he can’t afford to lose his head, even if his heart is racing like it’s trying to break free from his chest.

You’re still smiling up at him, your eyes droopy but sparkling with the kind of affection that only comes when the alcohol strips away every last ounce of inhibition. He can’t help but smile back, his heart squeezing at how utterly adorable you look, all soft and pliant, just a little messy around the edges.

“Marry me, huh?” he teases, trying to keep his voice light as he puts away the toothbrush and reaches for the hairbrush. “Didn’t know you were planning on proposing tonight.”

You giggle, a sound so sweet it sends a shiver down his spine. “Mmmm, maybe…” you mumble, swaying slightly as you lean forward, your hands finding purchase on his chest. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you let out a contented sigh. “You’d say yes, right? You… you love me, right?”

The question is so simple, so innocent, and yet it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. Matthew swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, and he’s thankful you’re too drunk to notice the way his hands tremble slightly as he starts to brush your hair.

He feels like his heart might burst from the sheer force of how much he adores you, and he has to blink back the sudden sting of tears that threaten to well up. You’re so open, so honest in this state, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. He doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve you—but God, he wants you so badly it hurts.

The brush catches on a small tangle, and you whimper, the sound so pitiful that it pulls him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, quickly working the knot out with his fingers before continuing. He can feel you relaxing more and more with each stroke, your body leaning into his as if you’re trying to meld into him.

You’re so beautiful to him, even like this—especially like this. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy from the alcohol. You’re vulnerable, open in a way that makes Matthew’s throat tighten. He’s never seen you like this, not really, and he’s terrified that if he blinks, you’ll disappear, or worse, that this version of you will be gone by morning.

He’s trying so hard to keep things platonic, to not let his feelings slip through, but every brush of your fingers against his skin, every slurred word of affection, makes it harder to keep the walls up.

His thumb brushes against your cheek again, and he can’t help but smile at the way you nuzzle into his hand, like a cat seeking warmth. “You’re gonna feel so embarrassed in the morning,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “But you’re lucky I’m such a good friend, huh?”

You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes his chest tighten. “I’m not embarrassed,” you say, words slurred but insistent. “I’m just being honest. You’re amazing, Matty. The best friend ever.”

He chuckles, a soft sound that rumbles in his chest, and he can’t help but shake his head. “Yeah, well, I try,” he says lightly, though his heart is heavy. “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”

You whine, a soft sound that tugs at his heartstrings. “Don’t wanna sleep yet,” you mumble, your hands fisting in his shirt. “Wanna stay with you. Wanna… talk.”

Matthew sighs, but it’s more fond exasperation than anything else. “You can talk to me all you want tomorrow,” he says gently. “Right now, you need to rest.”

But you’re not having it. Your grip on his shirt tightens, and you look up at him with those big, glassy eyes that make his resolve waver. “Please, Matty,” you whisper, voice so soft and pleading it makes his heart clench painfully. “Just… stay with me a little longer. Please?”

And damn it, how can he say no to that? How can he say no to you, when you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in the spinning world around you?

“Alright,” he relents, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a little bit, okay? Then you really need to sleep.”

You nod eagerly, a bright smile spreading across your face, and he can’t help but mirror it, his own smile soft and adoring. He guides you back to the bed, helping you sit down gently, and you tug him down beside you, your hands still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

You can feel the world spinning in slow, lazy circles as you nuzzle into Matthew’s shoulder, your hands weaving through his messy curls. They’re soft and unruly, just like you imagined. You’ve always wanted to do this, to run your fingers through his hair and tell him he looks like some sort of Disney prince that got lost on his way to a ball.

“I love your hair,” you mumble into his shoulder, your words slurring slightly as the alcohol works its magic. “’S..so fluffy, like a… like a golden retriever.”

Matthew laughs, the sound vibrating against your cheek where it rests on his shoulder, and you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sound. You’ve always loved his laugh—how it’s deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and makes your heart do weird, fluttery things that you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.

“You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. If anything, he sounds amused, fond even, like he’s secretly enjoying this, watching you unravel and spill your guts like you’re auditioning for some tragic role in a romance movie.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you turn your head slightly to look up at him. He’s so close, his face just inches from yours, and you can see every detail—the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corners, and that stupid little dimple that only shows up when he’s genuinely smiling. It’s not fair how pretty he is. It’s not fair that he gets to be your best friend and also make your heart do that weird, fluttery thing you’re definitely not thinking about.

“Why are you so pretty?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not fair. You should be illegal.”

Matthew’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck. “Pretty?” he repeats, his voice a little strained, like he’s not sure if you’re serious or just really, really drunk. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me pretty before.”

“Well, they should,” you insist, your fingers curling tighter in his hair as if to emphasize your point. “You’re like… like a prince or something. A really hot prince who’s also really nice and sweet and—”

Matthew clears his throat, his face turning a deeper shade of red, and you giggle, the sound light and airy. You don’t know why he’s so embarrassed. It’s not like you’re saying anything that isn’t true. He is pretty. And nice. And sweet. And also really, really hot, which you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.

“Okay, okay,” he says, cutting you off before you can go on another drunken tangent. “I think that’s enough compliments for one night.”

You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that you know drives him crazy because he’s always telling you to stop doing it. “But I’m not done,” you protest, your voice whiny and petulant. “You’re… you’re the best, Matty. The best friend ever. And I just… I just love you so much.”

The words are out before you can stop them, and you immediately feel a flush creeping up your cheeks, hot and mortifying. Did you really just say that? Did you really just blurt out your deepest, darkest secret like it’s no big deal? God, you’re an idiot. A drunk, stupid idiot who can’t keep her mouth shut.

Matthew is silent, his gaze soft as he watches you, and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the thump-thump-thump almost deafening in the quiet room. You want to crawl under a rock and die, or maybe just pass out and pretend this never happened. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

But before you can make your escape, Matthew reaches up, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he tilts your head up to look at him. His thumb brushes against your skin, soft and warm, and you shiver at the touch, your breath catching in your throat.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re my best friend, and I… I care about you a lot.”

You blink up at him, your vision swimming slightly as you try to process his words. He loves you. He cares about you. But… does he love you like you love him? Does he feel that weird, fluttery thing in his chest when you’re around, or is that just a you problem?

Before you can ask, Matthew is guiding you back down onto the bed, his touch gentle as he tucks you in, pulling the covers up around your shoulders. You’re too tired to protest, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, and you let out a soft sigh, your head sinking into the pillow.

“Sleep, okay?” Matthew murmurs, his hand brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “We can talk more in the morning.”

You want to argue, to tell him that you’re not done, that there’s so much more you need to say, but your body has other plans, and before you know it, you’re drifting off, the sound of Matthew’s steady breathing lulling you to sleep.

As you drift off, you can feel his hand resting on your head, his thumb brushing softly against your temple. The last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under is his voice, quiet and filled with something you can’t quite place.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, crazy girl,” he whispers, and then everything fades into darkness, his touch the only thing anchoring you to the world.

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