#nah its too many to tag all

[cedyat]

The next time you are dreading a teams call with your co-workers, just be glad you don't have to put up with these dudes. I legit forgot Junot wasn't a marshal. Just imagine Napoleon hasn't found a way to perma ban him yet.

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[hauntingblue]

Ace being jealous of the old pirate because luffy wants to spend time with him 😭

[iamat0m]

I think the important part is that they feel it's 'theirs' in between changes, because that resets what makes up the ring each time. The material makeup can slowly change, but the logical construct of 'their thing' is both immaterial and maintains continuity.

When working at the jewelry store I referenced the ship of Theseus all the time without actually being able to reference the ship of Theseus.

People would get emotional about needing to swap out gems or work on the metal. I’d say, “If you had a violin and had to change the strings it’s still the same violin, right? If you have to put new tires on your car it’s still your car. Your ring will still be yours even if we change a small component of it.”

This generally worked extremely well in overcoming the emotional component because they couldn’t deny that it would in fact still be their ring.

Ship of Theseus solved by mass consensus.

[damselneedssaving]

I wish you were mine.

JASON TODD X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: You're Dick's girlfriend. But when you patch Jason up, when it's just you and him, he likes to pretend you're his instead.

★ TAGS: forbidden love, angst, hurt/little comfort, yearning, so much yearning, background!dick grayson x reader, mentions of violence, very slightly suggestive themes, no cheating though dw, just longing, unrequited love, jason fell and he fell hard

line divider by @cafekitsune

There's not a lot of things Jason gets to have in life.

For as long as he can remember, it's just always been that way. From something as small as a waiter not getting his order right in a random, dingy diner, to something bigger like not being blessed enough to have both his parents still be alive—Jason has never been one to have things.

Many would call it sad, and hey, maybe it is, but he's come to terms with it—

—or at least, he thought he had.

But then you came along.

You with your warm touch. You with your kind eyes. You with your perfect, pretty lips he just can't help but want to kiss senseless every second of every day.

And suddenly, Jason Todd was no longer okay with not getting to have things.

You're Dick's. Because of course you are. Perfect golden child that he is—why wouldn't you want to have him over his younger brother?

But fucking shit, would it really be so much for Jason to ask for you to be his? For you to look at him the same way you do his brother? For you to have and hold and love him instead?

Every day he's without you is another day he feels like caving his head in, like clawing at his chest and ripping his heart out to stop the dull ache not being next to the girl who lights his world up like no other spreads throughout his body.

It's why he so cherishes moments like right now, sat on the couch with one leg propped up and the other dangling down, his back towards you as you press a cloth to his wound, no cockblocking older brothers in sight.

'Cockblocking older brothers'? Seriously, Jason? Don't be a dick. She's not yours.

"—Jay? Jason?"

He blinks, head tilting just over his shoulder to meet with your own, that cute little sassy brow raise you do greeting him almost as soon as he does.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?"

He blinks again, lips quirking up at the corner as he stares at you through lidded eyes. "Nah."

Then he winces, face scrunching up as your hand meets his back with a resounding smack that sends tingles down his spine (whether or not they're from pain or something else, he won't say).

"You are unbelievable."

Almost immediately, his wince is wiped clean off his face, and in its place, sits a lazy grin instead. "Believe it, doll."

With that familiar huff you do whenever you're sick of his attitude but too tired to say anything back, you return to focusing on cleaning his wound, and he uses the moment to take you in.

You're sat there, knees tucked under your body and lips parted ever so slightly, looking as though they're just begging for him to meet them with his own, as you concentrate on the task at hand.

Do you even know what you do to him? The way he'll fall to his knees in an instant should you say so? The way he longs to wrap his arms around your waist and plead and beg at your feet for you to leave his brother and be with him instead?

It's wrong—God, it's so wrong. But Jason just can't help it. He wants to be selfish. You make him want to be selfish.

No. Stop it. She's Dick's girl. Not yours.

He curses.

You pull away immediately.

"Sorry," you say, and it's with brows all knitted and tight and worried all over. "Did that hurt?"

The edges of his eyes go soft. "Nah. You're good, princess."

Then, instead of immediately going back to cleaning his wound like he thought you would, you pause—linger—and your lips pull into a frown.

He mimics your expression. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"Just..." you start, lowering the cloth like it's your guard, like you're letting down your defences just for him, and his heart flutters at the thought, "worried I guess."

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Then you go back to tending to his back, slower than before, but still just as gentle, still just as kind, and maybe, if he can allow himself this pretend, still just as loving.

A few beats pass before you pause again, and he sees the way your eyes glaze over in real time.

He parts his lips, ready to call for you, when you interrupt him.

"Jason..?"

He melts. "Yeah?"

"You... you're not getting into any serious trouble, are you?"

When he quirks a brow, you continue, albeit, hesitantly.

"It's just... well, your injuries have been getting worse lately, and I... I just can't help but worry." You furrow your brows, shaking your head violently after a moment passes. "Nevermind, what am I saying? You can handle yourself. I'm just being stupid."

It's then that he chooses to turn his body around, to stop craning his neck in order to look at you despite the way it aches to do so—and as he does, as the couch lifts from his lack of weight before sinking down again not a moment after, he can see the way your eyes, sparkling and pretty as ever, go wide with surprise.

That surprise only heightens when he takes your hands in his own.

"You're not stupid, doll," he says, soft and certain. "You just care."

Your breath hitches, and he thinks his own is caught in his throat too as he registers just how close you are to him now, just how you're a breath away from his lips.

The heat of your body radiates against his own, the feeling like a warm fire in an ice-cold cave, like something he needs in order to survive.

It's pulling, this magnet that draws him closer, that weighs down on his eyes and blocks the very air from leaving his lungs until all he can focus on, all he can breathe in, is you.

Perfect, loving, sweet little you. Who sits so close to him with big eyes, and parted lips, and his brother's name written all over you—

Fuck. Pull away, Jason. Pull away.

He doesn't have to, because you do instead—

—and his heart shatters in his chest.

"I should... I should get you wrapped up." You clear your throat, averting your gaze to the side, and Jason desperately wishes to move with it, if only to stay in your eyes for just a little longer. "You'll bleed out at this rate."

And as he sits there, your body now right behind his own to finish wrapping his wound, he can't help but somehow feel like you're farther away than ever before.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

You're my ruin (but you're mine)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 28

Prompt: Pining

Rated: E

Tags: No UD AU; Record label owner Eddie; waiter Steve; sex worker Steve; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; blowjobs

Notes: Part of my Upside Diner mini series

“How d’you wanna do this?” 

Eddie, who’s been fiddling with the dimmer switch and drifting off into a spiral of frantic thoughts, jumps and whirls. Which turns out to be a mistake, because the image that greets him does nothing to alleviate his nerves. 

Steve is seated on his bed, the hazy light bringing out the highlights in his hair and the golden specks in his eyes. He came over straight from his job at the diner, so he’s still in the tiny shorts and knee-high socks, the shirt that’s just shy of too tight. The silly smiley face on the name tag beams up at Eddie. 

Steve is not smiling. 

“Did you listen to a single word I said?” he scowls. 

“Erm…” Eddie says. “You were talking about your rules?” 

Steve nods, unimpressed, and ticks them off on his fingers while Eddie walks over to the bed. 

“No name calling. No sweethearts or darlings or honeys and most certainly no whores or bitches or sluts. No hair-pulling and no slapping.” As he comes closer, Eddie catches sight of the fading bruise on Steve’s lip, where his last customer broke that particular rule. “And no kissing. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” Eddie quips, clicking his heels together. “Wait, can I call you sir?”

Steve gives him a look. “Don’t make this weird, Eddie.” 

Eddie thinks it’s already plenty weird, but he keeps his mouth shut. He was the one who suggested this, after all. 

“Okay,” Steve says, all calm and business-like. “How should we go about this? Anything you want? Things I should know about?”

That I’m in love with you, Eddie wants to say. That I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers. That I want you in so many more ways than this. That it scares the shit out of me. That you can’t ever know, because then you’d leave, and I don’t think I could take that. That I’d rather have you like this than never have you at all. 

“Nah,” he says. “Just do your thing, man. You’re the pro, right?” 

Steve huffs a dry laugh. 

“Yeah, right,” he says. “I’ll leave the uniform on. It does things for you, doesn’t it?” 

Eddie’s mouth goes dry. Those pretty eyes look up at him, and for a horrible second, he’s convinced they saw right through him. But then Steve gives himself a shake and the moment breaks. 

And then he drops to his knees and Eddie’s world spins off its axis. 

He’s fully hard before Steve’s fingers even brush the crotch of his jeans, and Steve must notice, because his eyes flick up, large and surprised. In the low bedroom light, Eddie imagines he sees a blush spread over the bridge of his nose. Then, Steve lowers his gaze and focuses on his task. 

Eddie’s belt and fly come open with practised ease, and desire coils in his abdomen, tight and hot and so urgent it’s almost painful, and he needs to bite down on his own bottom lip to keep himself from blurting out something stupid. How this is going too fast. How they need to slow down or he’ll come in his boxers before Steve so much as gets his hands on him. But then Steve pulls him out, hand wrapping firm and steady around his base, and it’s too late for second thoughts. 

Eddie makes a sound - a low, pathetic thing somewhere between a moan and a gasp and a whine - but this time, Steve doesn’t pause to check in on him. Instead, he shuffles closer, and then the tickle of a breath against his leaking tip is all the warning Eddie gets before he’s engulfed in that warm, wet, beautiful mouth. 

It’s heaven. Steve’s throat constricting around him as he slowly takes him all the way down. It’s hell. Steve’s tongue teasing the underside of his cock, Steve’s hands sliding up his thighs for leverage. Eddie moans, trying to keep his hips from twitching, but Steve squeezes his ass as if to signal it’s okay, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. Still, he tries to go gently as he starts to fuck into Steve’s mouth, allowing Steve to control the pace and rhythm of it. His fingers twitch, eager to bury themselves in that gorgeous swoop of hair, so he crosses them behind his own head, pulling on his curls until his scalp hurts, watching through half-lidded eyes how Steve bobs back and forth on his cock. 

He was planning on warning Steve before his climax, give him time to pull off, but it comes out of nowhere and with enough force to make his vision black out. When he regains his senses, he feels Steve swallow around his length, and the thought of Steve drinking down his come makes his softening cock jump again. Steve swallows it all without complaint, pulling off only once Eddie has spilled every last drop. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, finally finding his words as Steve tucks him back into his pants and climbs to his feet, shaking out his numb legs. “That was … wow.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Steve says, and for the blink of an eye, Eddie catches sight of his smile. Boyish and bashful and a little smug. It makes him wanna do stupid things. Things Steve explicitly said weren’t allowed. “Next week, same time?” 

Eddie blinks. “I- … yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll- … Lemme walk you out?” 

“It’s okay, I know the way,” Steve says, wiping a stray drop of white off his lips as he shrugs into his shoes. Eddie’s spent cock twitches in his jeans. “See you at the diner tomorrow.”

Then he’s gone. Just like that. Eddie waits until he hears the sound of the apartment door closing before he sags heavily onto his bed and buries his face in his hands, wondering what on earth he has gotten himself into.

Pining for Steve Harrington like a hopeless idiot while getting his dick sucked by the very man. Eddie Munson, ladies and gents! To be continued ...

More holiday drabbles

Tag list:

@grtwdsmwhr @p0lybl4nkk @fairytalesreality @colidamae @dissociatingdemon

@steddhie @formosusiniquis @steddiehasmywholeheart @ellaelsinore @braincell-pingpong

@sofadofax @foolishness-and-confusion

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝒫𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔯𝔢𝔧𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 Until dawn males x male reader

Summary: 4 scenarios featuring each of the men from Until Dawn. Meeting them an year after the prank and Hannah and Beth’s disappearance. Each scenario exists in its own standalone world, completely unconnected to the others.

Tags: He/Him pronouns used for the reader. Romance and/or smut. Mike Munroe x male reader; Matt Taylor x male reader; Josh Washington x male reader; Chris Hartley x male reader. Set during the events of the game at chapter 1. All of these are separated and not connected. All of these with bottom male reader. Friends to lovers/ established relationships. Smut. Gay smut. Dom Mike Munroe. Gentle dom Matt Taylor. Dom Josh Washington. Pinning. Anal sex. Sex in the open. Matt and Emily broke-up before the events of the game. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Chris is a flirt.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words counts: 9000 words (around 2000 for each character).

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

ℳ𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓂𝓊𝓃𝓇ℴℯ

You sat on the bench just outside the cabin, the cold biting at your exposed fingers as you scrolled through your phone for the hundredth time that evening. Your heart was doing its best impression of a jackhammer as you opened your chat history with Mike Munroe yet again.

The threads were littered with messages, both casual and charged, and no matter how many times you scrolled through them, you couldn’t stop your face from heating up at his words.

Your thumb hovered over one conversation in particular, a mix of texts and a photo that had been on your mind all day for weeks.

Mike [7:13 PM]: So I just left the gym. Guess what I saw?

You [7:15 PM]: A treadmill that wasn’t terrified of you for once?

Mike [7:16 PM]: Wow, rude. My cardio game is STRONG.

You [7:18 PM]: Sure it is. What’d you actually see?

Mike [7:20 PM]: Someone broke one of the bench press racks.

You [7:21 PM]: He broke it? Like snapped it in half?

Mike [7:23 PM]: Nah, he was just being an idiot and overloaded it without a spotter. It cracked. Dude nearly took his head off.

You [7:25 PM]: Jesus. That’s terrifying.

Mike [7:27 PM]: You tell me.

He followed the message with a photo. You’d stared at it for longer than you’d ever admit.

In the picture, Mike stood in the gym. Behind him, the cracked bench press was visible, but your eyes had been glued to his frame for far too long. Sweat glistening on his skin, his simple white tank top clinging to his broad chest. His hair was slightly mussed, strands sticking to his forehead, and there was a teasing grin on his face, one brow raised in a way that screamed smug.

You could still feel the way your face had burned after seeing that photo. He was infuriating in the best way possible.

The soft thud of snow against your chest startled you so completely that your phone slipped slightly from your grasp. You barely managed to grab it before it hit the bench, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as you looked down at the patch of snow now scattered across your clothes.

A triumphant shout rang out and you looked up to see Mike standing a little ways up the slope, his grin wide and victorious. “Bullseye! Right in the heart!”

Your lips twitching into an unwilling smile. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, jogging down the hill toward you, his cocky grin never faltering. “That was an incredible shot. You’ve gotta give me some credit.”

“Credit for assaulting me?” you shot back, though the humor in your tone betrayed your mock annoyance.

“Hey, it’s a tradition,” Mike said as he reached the bench. Without breaking stride, he vaulted over the wooden fence separating the path from the seating area, landing beside you with graceful ease. He plopped down on the bench so close to you that his knee pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne and winter air clinging to him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Now,” he said, pulling you just slightly closer, “you gonna forgive me, or do I need to buy you a hot chocolate to make it up to you?”

Your laugh came despite yourself and you turned your head to meet his gaze. “You think one hot chocolate is gonna cut it?”

Mike gasped theatrically, his free hand clutching his chest. “I thought you knew I was a man of many talents, but clearly, I’ve been underestimated.”

“And what talents are those, exactly?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“For starters, I have an excellent aim. That’s already been proven. I also happen to be fantastic at keeping people warm. Very cozy. Ten out of ten, highly recommended.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though the smile tugging at your lips made it clear you weren’t entirely serious.

“Ridiculous or amazing?” Mike asked, tilting his head in mock thought. “Actually, don’t answer that. I already know.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth of his arm around you and the easy humor in his voice made it hard to keep up any pretense of annoyance. “So,” he said after a moment, his tone softening slightly, “how are you doing? Really.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “I’m… okay,” you said after a moment, though the uncertainty in your voice was impossible to miss.

Mike’s grip on your shoulder tightened ever so slightly, a silent reassurance as he waited for you to continue.

“It’s just…” you began, your voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure about coming here. I mean, after everything that happened with Josh’s sisters…”

Mike nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah, I get that. It’s… a lot, being back here.”

“I was surprised he invited me,” you admitted, your fingers brushing over the hem of your coat. “It’s not like we were super close, you know? And with everything that happened, it just feels…” You trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Weird?” Mike offered gently.

“Yeah,” you said with a small nod. “

Mike was quiet for a moment, his thumb absently brushing over your shoulder. Then, with a small, playful smile, he said, “Well, at least there’s one good thing about you being here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Me,” he replied, his grin widening.

You groaned, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I try,” he said with a wink, but his tone shifted to something softer as he continued. “Seriously, though, I’m glad you came. And if you ever feel like it’s too much, or you’re not sure if you belong here, you can come to me. Anytime.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you found yourself looking up at him, your chest tightening slightly at the warmth in his expression. “Thanks, Mike,” you said softly.

“Hey, it’s what I’m here for,” he replied, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The sound of soft crunching snow caught your attention and out of the corner of your eye, you saw something moving just beyond the bench. You turned your head slightly and were greeted by the sight of a magnificent, curious elk with wide, inquisitive eyes and soft fur that glistened under the sunlight.

Beside you, Mike’s arm instinctively tightened around your shoulders, his fingers pressing against your jacket in a protective squeeze. It was only when he took in the elk’s nonchalant demeanor that his tension eased.

“Careful,” he said softly, his voice low and cautious.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, your tone calm as you gently slipped out from under his arm, much to his clear disappointment. He sat back, watching as you reached for your bag.

Fishing through it, you found the remainder of a snack you hadn’t finished earlier. Unwrapping it, you extended your hand toward the elk, holding the fruit out in your palm.

The elk stepped closer, its warm breath brushing against your hand as it sniffed at the offering. With surprising gentleness, it began nibbling on the fruit, its large tongue lapping at your palm as it ate. You chuckled softly, the sensation tickling your skin, and Mike fell silent, his gaze fixed on you.

He couldn’t look away. There was something magnetic about the way you smiled, your laugh so unguarded and genuine as you interacted with the massive animal. The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching in your hair and illuminating your face in a way that left Mike completely mesmerized. His mind spun with thoughts he couldn’t quite put into words.

God, you looked so good like this.

He glared at the elk. That thing was getting all of your attention and he found himself growing annoyed with the creature.

“Lucky bastard,” Mike muttered under his breath as he drank in the sight of you.

When the snack was finished, the elk gave your hand one last affectionate lick before lifting its head and turning away, ambling back into the trees with a serene grace that only added to Mike’s begrudging admiration of the animal.

As you looked down, brushing the moisture from your hands, your gaze fell on the perfect mound of snow at your feet. An idea struck, and your lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Hey,” you said, drawing his attention. “Could you check my bag? I think I might’ve left my phone in there.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” Mike said, blinking as he snapped out of his trance. He leaned forward, reaching for your bag with a slight frown of concentration.

The second his focus shifted, you bent down, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it quickly into a tight ball.

By the time Mike turned back to you, his hand holding your bag the snowball has already been launched, striking him squarely in the chest.

“Bullseye!” you declared, grinning triumphantly as the snow splattered across his jacket. “Right in the heart!”

Mike stared down at the mess for a moment, then looked up at you with wide eyes and an exaggerated expression of betrayal.

“That’s it,” he said, dropping the bag unceremoniously onto the bench as he bent down to scoop up a handful of snow, his voice a mix of disbelief and humor. “You’re dead.”

He soon hurled a snowball at you. You dodged to the side, laughing as the snow missed you by inches and you started collecting more snow for your next attack.

What followed was a chaotic, exhilarating flurry of snowballs and laughter as the two of you launched attack after attack, dodging and weaving across the snow-covered ground.

The next throw was fast and while you managed to shield yourself with your arm, it distracted you just long enough for Mike to close the distance. He tackled you rapidly, his arms wrapping around you as the two of you tumbled onto the soft, powdery snow.

You landed on your back with Mike hovering over you, his weight carefully balanced so he didn’t crush you. His face was flushed from the cold and exertion, but his grin was wide and triumphant, his breath visible in the chilly air.

“Gotcha,” he said, his voice low and teasing as his hands pinned your wrists gently in the snow.

Your laughter faded as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable, his usual playful demeanor softening into something deeper as he took in the sight of you your flushed cheeks, your bright smile, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath.

His heart was pounding in his chest.

Mike’s hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his grin turned softer, more sincere. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his voice warm and full of meaning.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both bold and tender.

The snowy ground beneath you was cold, but the heat radiating from Mike’s body made it feel distant. His kiss deepened, growing more fervent, his lips capturing yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

His arms encircled your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him, your bodies pressed so closely together that you could feel every contour of his broad, muscular frame.

The kiss was unrelenting, his tongue exploring every part of your mouth with a possessive fervor. His light beard scraped against your skin, the sensation adding a sharp edge to the soft heat of his lips.

When he finally pulled away, both of you gasping for air, he didn’t go far. His mouth trailed down your jawline, leaving a burning path of open-mouthed kisses. He moved to your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before sucking lightly, his tongue darting out to soothe the marks he left.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and breathless.

You shivered beneath him, your hands clutching at his jacket as he kissed lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone. His hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly as his mouth returned to your neck, sucking and nipping with a mix of tenderness and urgency.

When his lips found yours again, the kiss was almost brutal in its intensity. His tongue slid against yours, dipping into your mouth to claim and explore, the wet, heated clash of it making your head spin. He shifted his weight slightly, pressing you further into the snow, his hands moving with purpose as he tugged at the waistband of your pants.

The question was silent but clear, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unspoken need. You nodded quickly, unable to trust your voice not to betray how desperate you felt in that moment.

His lips quirking into a brief, cocky grin before his focus returned to his task.

He pushed your pants down just far enough to expose your ass, the cool air biting at your skin for only a moment before his hand was there, warm and firm, kneading the soft flesh. His other hand wrapped around your length, stroking you slowly at first, the friction maddening in its contrast to the urgency in the rest of his movements.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and rough as he watched your reactions. “So perfect. All mine.”

The words sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as his fingers pressed against your entrance. He didn’t waste time, his impatience evident as he worked his fingers inside, the stretch a sharp but delicious contrast to the heat building in your core.

His mouth returned to your neck, lips and teeth working in tandem to leave marks that were sure to bloom into dark bruises. His free hand continued to stroke you, the combined sensations pulling soft moans from your lips that only seemed to spur him on.

“Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making you feel,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips, your body arching into his touch as he added another finger, the stretch pushing you closer to the edge. His movements were fast, efficient, as if he couldn’t wait a second longer.

When he finally deemed you ready, he withdrew his fingers, the loss leaving you gasping. He leaned back slightly, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants as he freed himself, the sight of his length sending a mix of anticipation and nervousness through you. He was big, thick and achingly hard, the head glistening with precum as he stroked himself once, twice, before positioning himself at your entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though the urgency in his movements remained.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you braced yourself. Slowly, he pushed forward, the thick head stretching you in a way that was both intense and indescribably good

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slid further inside, the tight heat of you nearly driving him mad.

The stretch was overwhelming but addictive, each inch filling you in a way that left you gasping. Mike paused once he was fully seated, his breath ragged as he let you adjust.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself still.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He groaned softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “Good,” he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure as his hands roamed your body.

He pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in, the force of it sending a shudder through your body. His rhythm started slow, deliberate, but quickly grew faster, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, until the cold snow beneath you felt like a distant memory.

One hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again, the angle messy and desperate as his tongue delved into your mouth.

The noises spilling from you only seemed to drive him further, his hips snapping against yours with a growing intensity. His hand left your jaw to grip your length again, stroking you in time with his thrusts, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough and breathless as he buried himself deep inside you.

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body tightening around him as your release built to a crescendo.

“Come for me, I want to feel you.” He murmured, his tone commanding yet tender.

With a cry of his name, you came, your body clenching around him as your release spilled over his hand.

The sensation of you tightening around him was enough to send him over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust into you one last time, his release spilling deep inside you as his body trembled with the force of it.

Mike collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of emotion.

And in that moment, with both of you painting heavily from the heat despite the cold surrounding you two, everything felt perfect.

ℳ𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝒯𝒶𝓎𝓁ℴ𝓇

The crunch of snow underfoot was the only sound breaking the silence as you trudged down the icy trail, your breath visible in the frigid mountain air from cursing softly to yourself. The bag with your clothes was still in your car at the base of the mountain. Now you had to descend the trail and take the cable car again, with the sun already starting its lazy dip below the horizon.

Halfway down the path, you spotted Matt sitting on a rock, his shoulders slumped under the weight of unseen burdens.

His usually sunny demeanor had been replaced with a shadowed expression, his body language heavy and defeated. When he noticed you, he straightened, his dark eyes lighting up momentarily before dimming again, his face attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, the lodge is that way, you know,” he called, his voice tinged with forced humor as he gestured up the mountain.

You sighed, brushing a hand through your face as you tried not to think about all the long path you still had to do. “Yeah, I know, big guy. I left my damn bag with my clothes in the car.” You gestured vaguely down the path, your tone dry. “So now I’m on an impromptu adventure to go get it before the sun sets and I freeze my ass off”

Matt pushed himself up, brushing snow off his jacket. “You’re going down there? Now?” There was a faint note of concern in his voice. “It’s getting late.”

“Not like I have a choice.” You gave him a crooked smile, shrugging. “I’ve got these, don’t worry.” You flexe an arm in an exaggerated manner, earning a faint chuckle from him.

“Right,” he said, his grin flickering but quickly fading. His gaze dropped to the snow for a moment, as if he were weighing something heavy. Then, hesitantly, he glanced up again. “Mind if I, uh, tag along? You know, to keep you company…” His voice faltered briefly, but he picked it up again with a nervous laugh.

There was a vulnerability in his expression that tugged at you. His usual playful energy was subdued, like a lamp turned down to its lowest setting. It was unlike him this quietness.

“Sure,” you said, stepping forward and reaching out to grip his arm lightly. Your fingers brushed against the solid muscle beneath his jacket and he stiffened slightly under your touch, blinking at you in surprise. His throat went dry and his thoughts raced in a jumble of half-formed realizations.

You probably didn’t mean anything by it. But God, it felt like more. He tried not to stare, but his gaze kept flickering to you.

He had always admired you. You’d always been a little out of his league, at least in his mind, but that didn’t stop the small crush he’d harbored before everything went sideways. He thought about the way you smiled, the way you’d always been so kind to him. Maybe this was his chance to be someone you could see as more than just a friend.

For a beat, he didn’t say much, just walked alongside you in silence until you were face to face with the cabin. His lips twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “Uh, I could help with your luggage, you know. If it’s too heavy or something.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your curiosity piqued. “luggage?” you teased lightly, quirking your lips into a smirk, “Matt, it’s just a bag. I can manage carrying my own clothes.”

“Yeah, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze dropping to the snowy ground. “Seems like that’s all I’m good for, anyway.” His tone was soft, mostly murmured just for himself, but you caught the self-deprecating edge to it instantly.

You stopped walking, turning to face him with an offended look on your face. Matt nearly tripped over his own feet trying to stop alongside you.

“Matt,” you said, crossing your arms and fixing him with a look. “You cannot be serious right now. That’s all you think you’re good for? Carrying stuff? For other people?”

He blinked at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Don’t even try to defend yourself,” you stepped closer and poked a finger lightly against his chest. He looked down at your hand, the warmth spreading across his cheeks making him look ridiculously adorable.

“You’re telling me that’s all you’re good for? So what about all those insane jumps you pulled off last winter for your team? Or the fact that you can probably outrun anyone in your sport group? I'm still convinced you could play blindfolded. Not to mention your ridiculous strength. I mean, seriously, have you seen your arms?”

“I-uh… I guess—“ Matt stumbled with his own words at the series of compliments thrown his way.

“I’m not done,” you interrupted, a playful edge to your tone as you continued, stepping even closer. “It’s nice to be with you. You’re fun. People like you, Matt. I should be offended on your behalf for even thinking something so dumb. You’re so much more than that.”

Matt stood there frozen for a moment, his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Finally, he let out a breathless laugh, his face breaking into a shy, almost bashful smile.

"Uh… wow," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly. "I, uh… I didn't know you thought about me like that.”

"Of course I do," you grinned, giving his arm a playful squeeze before turning back to the trail. “Now come on, Matt. We still have a long way to go.”

As he followed you inside the cabin, his mind was spinning. The way you’d smiled at him, the way your voice had been filled with both teasing warmth and genuine sincerity flipped something in him. Any lingering doubt he’d had about his feelings for you dissolved right then and there.

Matt was officially, unequivocally head over heels.

The cabin swayed slightly as you stepped inside and took a seat close together, the old structure emitting a low groan that sent an unsettling vibration through your feet. You reached out instinctively, your hand landing on Matt's arm to steady yourself. His bicep tensed under your grip, solid and warm, the fabric of his jacket doing little to mask the muscles beneath.

Matt's breath hitched and his gaze darted to your hand for a split second before snapping back to your face. He noticed the way your expression tightened, your lips pressing into a thin line as you glanced out the window.

He didn't say anything, not wanting to draw attention to your nervousness.

When the cabin finally stabilized, the creaking subsiding, you exhaled in relief and your grip on his arm loosened. You pulled your hand back, murmuring something about how rickety the cabin felt, but Matt barely registered your words.

A pang of disappointment tugged at his chest.

He had already missed the moment, hadn't he? He cursed himself silently, his heart aching at how quickly the fleeting connection had slipped away.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence as the cable car began its slow descent. You stared out the window, your face lit softly by the golden hues of the setting sun.

You didn't notice it at first, but when Matt turned to look at you fully, the sadness on his face was unmistakable. It was the same defeated look you'd seen earlier when you'd first run into him, only this time it cut deeper, like a wound reopening.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked suddenly, his voice low, almost a whisper. His eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability that made your heart twist. "With Emily, I mean. What could I have done differently?"

You turned to face him, your brow furrowing as frustration bubbled quietly in your chest. "Matt…" you started, your tone soft but firm. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But-"

"No, listen to me." You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder and his breath hitched again, his gaze flicking briefly to your hand before returning to your face. "You keep talking like you have to justify what happened, like if you had just been better somehow, she wouldn't have left. But that's not fair to you, Matt. Not even close."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn't give him the chance. The words came tumbling out, your frustration mingling with the need to comfort him. "You can't keep putting yourself in her shoes, trying to figure out what you did wrong when the truth is, you didn't deserve to be treated the way she treated you. You deserve good things too, you know?"

Matt's lips parted, but he said nothing, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

"And for the record," you added, a hint of teasing creeping into your voice to soften the intensity of your words, "It’s her loss. She's going to regret losing the best boyfriend she ever had. Meanwhile, you'll be off living your best life."

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at the ground. "You really think that?"

"I know that," you replied, grinning now.

The smile on Matt's face grew, spreading slowly until it lit up his entire expression. He looked back up at you, his dark eyes shining with something warm, something vulnerable. For the first time in what felt like forever, he believed he deserved something good.

And right now, that good thing was sitting inches away from him.

You smiled back, though the intensity of his gaze when he looked up again sent a jolt through you. His face lit with an expression you couldn't quite place but it made your heart race all the same. You realized, belatedly, just how close the two of you had leaned toward each. His knee pressed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek as the cabin swayed gently.

Matt hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between yours as if searching for permission. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he raised a hand and cradled your cheek, his palm broad and calloused but impossibly gentle. Your breath caught as his thumb brushed lightly against your skin and before you could second-guess the moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

The cable car rocked gently as the winter landscape stretched endlessly beyond the frosted windows. The dying light of the sunset bathed the mountains in fiery hues, the soft orange and pinks painting the snow with an ethereal glow. It was breathtaking. Something you'd expect to see on a postcard or an oil painting.

But as stunning as the scenery was, it couldn't hold a candle to what was happening inside the cabin.

Your hands were pressed against the cold surface of the mirror door, its frosted sheen reflecting the two of you in the dim light. Matt's sturdy body was flush against your back, his warmth sinking through your clothes and grounding you against the cool glass. A pair of warm lips were on your neck, slow and deliberate, each kiss sending a ripple of heat down your spine.

"Is this okay?" he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was soft, tentative, but there was an underlying hunger in it that made your stomach tighten.

You nodded, a small sound of affirmation slipping from your lips as his hands roamed over your body, strong and sure yet trembling ever so slightly.

One of them slid down to cup your ass, his fingers flexing against the curve as he pressed you closer to him. The heat of his touch burned through the fabric of your pants, making your breath hitch. Matt paused, his lips lingering against your neck as his grip faltered for a moment.

"I want to make sure you're okay," he whispered, his voice laced with a mix of uncertainty and desire.

"I'm okay," you assured him, your voice breathy but steady. Turning your head slightly, you caught his gaze in the reflection of the mirror. "I want this, Matt. I want you."

His eyes darkened at your words, a soft groan escaping him as he pressed his forehead briefly to the back of your head. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Matt's hands moved to your waistband, his fingers hesitating for a moment before undoing the button and zipper. He slid your pants and underwear down, baring you to the cool air of the cabin. His hands returned to your skin immediately, kneading the soft flesh of your ass as he let out a low, reverent sigh.

"You're so… perfect," he murmured, almost to himself, as his hands explored you.

Broad palms sliding over your hips, thumbs brushing the curve of your spine, fingers dipping lower to tease. He was taking his time, making sure you felt every ounce of his care and adoration.

When one finger pressed gently against your entrance, he paused again. "Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice earnest. His movements were careful and deliberate as he pressed the finger in slowly. The stretch was slight but noticeable and he paused to let you adjust, his free hand stroking soothing circles on your hip.

"You’re okay?" he asked, glancing up at your reflection in the mirror.

"Yes," you breathed, a small smile curving your lips. "You're doing perfect"

His expression softened at your words, his insecurity melting away under the weight of your trust. He added a second finger, his movements slow and deliberate as he worked to prepare you. The tension in your body eased under his care, the warmth of his touch chasing away any discomfort.

By the time he added a third finger, you were panting softly, your forehead resting against the mirror as you pushed back against his hand. Matt pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, "You're so good for me."

When he finally pulled his fingers away, you felt both relief and anticipation flood through you. You heard the rustle of fabric behind you as he undid his own pants and then, the unmistakable warmth of him pressed against your entrance.

Matt's voice was soft but filled with need as he asked one last time, "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded, your voice firm despite the breathlessness in your tone. "I want you, Matt. Please."

The groan that escaped him was deep and throaty, filled with both desire and relief. He pressed forward slowly, the stretch of him filling you inch by inch as you gripped the mirror for support. He paused when he was fully seated, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he tried to steady himself.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your breath hitching as you adjusted to the fullness of him. "Yeah," you managed, "You feel incredible."

Matt let out a shaky laugh, his head resting on your shoulder as he started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. His hands slid up and down your body, gripping and caressing, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The cabin swayed gently with his movements, the creak of the structure blending with the soft sounds of your shared pleasure.

As he found a rhythm, his lips returned to your neck, peppering kisses and soft bites along your skin. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless moan, and he groaned in response, his hips snapping forward with more urgency.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Each snap of his hips sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, your moans echoing softly in the small cabin.

Matt's lips found your neck again, sucking and biting gently as he thrust into you, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, angling it to pull you into a heated kiss as his other hand squeezed your ass, pulling you closer with every thrust.

The glass behind you fogged with your combined heat and the view outside was forgotten entirely as Matt buried himself inside you, his breath coming in ragged pants against your ear.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice hoarse, and you nodded, your own climax rapidly approaching.

"Me too," you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body tensed.

His thrusts grew erratic, his grip tightening on your hips as he chased his release. When he finally came, it was with a deep groan, his body trembling against yours as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding through you.

The warmth of it sent you over the edge, and you cried out, clutching him tightly as pleasure washed over you in waves.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet hum of the cable car the only sound as you both caught your breath. Then Matt wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze in the reflection of the mirror. "So are you," you replied with a small, tired smile.

And for the first time in a long time, Matt felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

𝒥ℴ𝓈𝒽 𝒲𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓉ℴ𝓃

Josh sat hunched over on the massive leather couch in the lodge's main room, his elbows digging into his knees and his head cradled between his hands. His fingers tangled into his hair, tugging lightly as he mumbled to himself, barely audible words blending into the eerie silence.

"Keep it together," he murmured under his breath, fingers curling tightly against his scalp. His voice was barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the wind howling against the windows. "Just… keep it together."

He repeated the words like a mantra, but they did little to quell the storm brewing inside him.

His sisters' faces flashed behind his eyelids, Beth's soft smile and Hannah's nervous laugh, and his stomach twisted like a vice.

His foot tapped a frantic rhythm against the floor and his gaze darted toward the hidden cameras he'd planted days before. They were all in place, every angle meticulously planned.

But it didn't feel controlled. Nothing ever felt controlled anymore.

The sudden knock at the door made him flinch. His head snapped up, his heart racing in his chest. It wasn't time yet. It was too early. He froze for a moment, his mind spinning.

Quietly, he rose from the couch, his socked feet making no sound against the hardwood floor. As casually as he could manage, he glanced around the room, his eyes darting to the hidden cameras he had set up earlier. They were all still there, their little red lights glowing faintly in the shadows.

Satisfied, he moved to the door, pulling it open with a practiced smile ready on his lips.

But the smile faltered the moment he saw you standing on the porch.

Josh didn't know what to do. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as he took you in, the cold wind brushing past you and ruffling your hair. You stood at the edge of the porch, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, your shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.

"Hey," you said softly, offering a tentative smile.

Josh's throat felt tight and it took him a second longer than it should have to respond. "Hey," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

There was an awkward pause, the kind that would've never existed between you before. Before his sisters. Before he pushed you away.

"Uh, come in," he said finally, stepping back to let you inside.

You nodded and stepped over the threshold, your boots squeaking slightly against the polished wood floor. Josh closed the door behind you, the lodge suddenly feeling much smaller with you in it.

He watched as you looked around, your expression shifting as your eyes moved over the familiar space. The place hadn't changed much, but he knew this place probably felt as haunted to you as it did to him.

"You're early," Josh said, breaking the silence. His voice sounded strange to his own ears-too casual, too detached.

"I wanted to talk to you," you said, turning to look at him. "Before everyone else got here."

Josh swallowed hard, his heart pounding again for a completely different reason.

"Oh."

Another pause.

He gestured to the couch. "Uh, sit? If you want, I mean."

You nodded and moved to the couch, sitting down on the edge as if you weren't sure you belonged there. Josh sat a little farther away, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees.

For a while, the conversation was surface-level-small talk about the weather, the drive up, little things that didn't mean much but filled the silence.

But even as you spoke, Josh couldn't stop his mind from wandering.

You looked good. Just like he remembered. Better, even. There was something about the way the firelight caught your face, the soft glow making you look almost ethereal.

He hated himself for pushing you away, for hurting you, for letting the walls he built around himself trap you on the outside.

He found himself fixating on the sadness in your eyes. It hadn't always been there. You used to look at him with so much warmth, so much trust. Now, you looked… fragile.

It made him sick.

He realized you'd said something and forced himself to tune back in, nodding as if he hadn't just been drowning in his own guilt.

"…I was worried about you," you were saying, your voice tinged with hesitation. "I mean, I still am."

Josh swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. He didn't know what to say to that, didn't know how to admit that he wasn't okay without opening the floodgates.

"I missed you," you added after a moment, your voice quieter now.

That was the breaking point. Josh's breath hitched and he looked down at his hands, his vision blurring slightly at the edges.

"I missed you too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Josh felt you shift slightly closer, your presence grounding him in a way he hadn't felt in months.

"I don't blame you for shutting me out. I know you were hurting. I just…" You hesitated, your voice breaking slightly. "I wish you'd let me help you."

Josh's chest tightened painfully, guilt and longing warring inside him. "I didn't want you to see me like that," he said, his voice raw. "I didn't want you to pity me."

"I never pitied you, Josh," you said firmly, your eyes locking onto his. "I love you."

Josh's heart pounded as your words lingered in the air.

It was both a balm and a dagger.

He wanted to believe it was still true. That somewhere, beneath the sadness in your eyes and the awkward distance between you, that love remained. But as you sat there, your voice soft and soothing, his thoughts began to twist, spiraling back into the familiar chaos that had consumed him over the past months.

His gaze drifted to the cameras he'd hidden, their red lights blinking faintly in the dim light. He hadn't planned for you to arrive early, hadn't prepared himself to see you alone, so exposed. You were supposed to be with the others, part of the game, part of the plan.

But now you were here, sitting so close, your presence stirring something raw and conflicted inside him.

Should he spare you?

The question lingered like a shadow in his mind. You weren't supposed to be here, not yet. If he told you to leave, to get far away from this place before the others arrived, he could keep you safe. But if he kept you here, then what? Would you understand him when it was all over?

Only one thing became clear to him.

He didn't want to lose you again.

"Josh?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him, and he realized he'd been silent for too long.

He looked up at you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I was… thinking."

"About what?" you asked, leaning forward slightly.

Josh hesitated, his fingers twitching against his knees. "About us," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, your lips parting slightly in surprise. "Us?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. About what I did. How I pushed you away."

Your expression softened, a flicker of sadness crossing your face. "Josh, you were hurting. I understood that."

"That doesn't make it okay," he said quickly, his voice gaining a sudden intensity. "I shouldn't have shut you out. I shouldn't have—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't have let you go."

The silence that followed was heavy, but Josh pushed through it, his eyes locking onto yours.

"You were the best thing in my life," he said, his voice raw and unsteady. "And I ruined it. I ruined us. And for what? So I could sit here and drown in my own misery?

"Josh—"

"No, let me finish," he said, his hand reaching out to grab yours. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said softly, his thumb still tracing slow circles on your hand. "I don't even know if I deserve it. But I want to try. I want to fix what I broke, if you'll let me."

You didn't respond right away and the silence stretched between you. Josh's mind raced, doubt creeping in like a cold wind, but then you squeezed his hand gently, your expression softening.

"I missed you," you said simply, your voice trembling slightly.

Josh's breath hitched, and he felt something warm and fragile bloom in his chest. "I missed you too," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Josh felt his paranoia waver, the weight of his plans slipping to the back of his mind as he leaned closer to you. Your faces were inches apart now, your breath warm against his skin, and he hesitated for just a moment before closing the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant and unsure. As your lips moved against his, it deepened. Josh's hands cupped your face, his fingers trembling slightly as he poured everything he couldn't say into the kiss.

It ignited something in Josh he hadn't felt in so long it nearly overwhelmed him. A year's worth of bottled-up emotions exploded all at once as your lips pressed against his, soft but insistent.

His hands slid up to cup your face, his fingers trembling slightly as they moved to tangle in your hair. He kissed you deeper, harder, his breath hitching when you pressed closer, your body fitting perfectly against his.

When you broke away for air, both of you gasping, his lips trailed along your jawline, then down to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

"Josh," you murmured, your voice breathy, and the sound of his name on your lips made his knees go weak.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as his hands gripped your waist. "I need you so bad."

Your answer was a soft moan as you pulled him back into another kiss, your hands tugging at his shirt, your urgency matching his. He let out a low groan, helping you push the fabric over his head before his hands found their way under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your warm skin.

He wanted to memorize every inch of you, to re-learn every curve and angle of your body. The feel of your skin against his palms sent his mind spiraling, and he found himself unable to focus on anything else.

Somehow, the two of you managed to stumble off the couch, your hands fumbling with each other's clothes as you made your way to his room. Josh couldn't stop kissing you, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

When you finally reached his room, he pressed you against the door, his chest heaving as he looked at you. Your shirt was hanging off one shoulder, your lips swollen from his kisses and the sight of you made his heart ache in the best way.

"You're so handsome," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "God, I want you."

Josh let out a shaky breath, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs as he lifted you, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes raking over your body as he climbed on top of you, his lips finding yours again.

Every kiss filled with unspoken emotion as his hands roamed your body, his touch reverent as if he were afraid you might disappear. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your pants, his breath hitching when he felt how warm and soft your skin was.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly as he pulled back to look at you.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his. "Yes, Josh. I want you."

His heart swelled at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you again as he carefully removed your pants, leaving you bare beneath him. He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, his hands trailing over your thighs as he whispered, "You're perfect."

He reached into the drawer beside his bed, pulling out a bottle of lube. His hands trembled slightly as he poured some onto his fingers, the anticipation building in his chest as he positioned himself between your legs.

Your trust in him is evident in the way you relaxed beneath him. Josh's heart pounded as he pressed a finger against your entrance, the slickness of the lube making the motion smooth. He pushed in slowly, his breath hitching when he felt the tightness around his finger.

How was he supposed to handle this?

He worked you open carefully, his free hand stroking soothingly along your thigh as he added a second finger. Your soft moans filled the room, each sound going straight to his already hard cock.

Josh added a third finger, his movements deliberate as he stretched you, preparing you for what was to come.

When he finally pulled his fingers away, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock aching with the need to be inside you, his breath hitching as he pushed forward slowly, the tight heat of you surrounding him inch by inch. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out, his body trembling from the sheer intensity of the feeling.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice rough as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first.

Josh's hands roamed your body, gripping and caressing as he poured every ounce of his emotion into his movements.

When he finally reached his peak, his body tensed and he let out a deep groan as he spilled deep inside, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he buried himself as deep as he could.

The only sounds audible were your ragged breaths and the faint creak of the bed beneath you. Josh collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓁ℯ𝓎

You pressed your gloved hand against the cold rock face, steadying yourself as you climbed up the wall near the lodge gate. The gate had been locked and you'd found yourself scaling the icy terrain instead of taking the easy way in.

As you hoisted yourself onto the top ledge, you heard a familiar voice from below.

"Hey! Was there a lot of traffic, or did you just take the scenic route?"

You looked down to see your older sister, Sam, standing at the bottom of the wall with her hands on her hips, a bemused expression on her face.

"It was a nightmare," you shot back. "Endless hours of brake lights and honking. And to top it off, there was a note from Chris on the gate saying it's locked, so I had to climb up here like I'm in an action movie."

Sam groaned, tilting her head back dramatically. "Of course it's broken."

"Your turn, big sis. Want me to guide you?" You said with a grin, holding out a hand.

Sam rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smirk tugged at her lips as she grabbed onto the wall and started to climb. You stayed close, offering encouragement and holding out your hand when she struggled for the final push. "C'mon, I've got you."

With one last huff, Sam grabbed your hand and you pulled her up and over the top. The two of you jumped down together, landing with a satisfying crunch in the snow below.

The path to the cabin cable was peaceful, the sound of snow crunching underfoot the only noise. The trees stretched overhead, their branches heavy with snow and the cold mountain air was sharp but refreshing. As you approached the cable car station, Sam pointed toward a bench near the platform.

"There's Chris’s bag," she said, gesturing toward the familiar backpack sitting against the wooden bench.

"But no Chris," you added, scanning the snowy clearing. "Chris?" you called out, your voice carrying through the stillness

There was no response, only the faint rustle of wind through the trees. You frowned, walking a few steps forward as your gaze swept the area. "Where'd he go? He wouldn't just leave his stuff out here, right?"

"Maybe he is inside the bag," Sam suggested, her tone humorous.

You were about to call out again when you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Turning, you spotted Sam crouched near Chris's bag, her head bent slightly as she stared at something in her hands.

"Are you snooping through Chris's phone?" you asked, your voice filled with mock scandal.

Sam looked up at you, her expression unapologetic as she smiled. "No," she replied, holding the phone out of your reach.

"Uh-huh. And you didn't think to invite me?" you teased, stepping closer to her. "Come on, let me see."

She laughed, shielding the screen with her body. "No way. I know what's best for you, little brother."

"Oh, come on," you protested, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse of the screen.

"Trust me," Sam said, her tone teasing as she stood up and held the phone behind her back. "You don't need to see this."

"That just makes me want to see it more," you countered, crossing your arms.

Sam laughed again, but as you reached for the phone, she turned her back to you completely. For a brief moment, her expression softened as she glanced at the screen. The chat was still open on your conversation with Chris, and she debated what to do.

Should she tell you how Chris saved your name?

Her lips twitched as she imagined your reaction, the flush of embarrassment that would spread across your face. But ultimately, she decided against it for now.

The stillness of the snowy clearing was shattered by a loud rustle and a sudden, unexpected voice.

You and Sam both jumped, a startled yelp escaping her as you instinctively took a step towards your sister. Chris appeared from behind her, grinning like a kid who'd just successfully pulled off a prank.

"Geez, Chris!" Sam said, her hand clutching her chest as she glared at him.

"Did I accidentally hire you as my secretary?" He pointed at the phone on Sam’s hand before taking it back.

You rolled your eyes, your lips curving into a smirk. "Sorry, sir. We didn't realize your bag was a classified area."

"Alright, alright. I'll take better care of my precious belongings in the future, starting with finding new friends. Now come here. I've got something to show you." he said, motioning for you and Sam to follow him.

He led you a little further down the path until you reached a small clearing. A wooden structure loomed ahead. A rustic shooting range, complete with a rifle resting on the counter and several targets set up in the distance.

Chris turned around, grinning like a kid in a candy store. "Ta-da!" he announced, gesturing grandly at the range.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "So, your 'cool find' is a place to shoot stuff?” She shook her head in disbelief.

Chris turned his full attention to you. "What do you say? Are you interested in seeing just how great my aim is?” Chris said, his grin widening as he moved toward the old rifle propped up on a stand.

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk growing. "Alright, Chris. Impress me."

“Gladly," Chris said, his grin turning smug as he stepped up to the line.

“You’re about to see a true marksman in action." He picked up the rifle, turning toward you with a cocky tilt of his head.

Sam snorted, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "This I've gotta see."

He took his time setting up, his movements exaggerated just enough to make you roll your eyes. He aimed the rifle, his gaze narrowing as he focused on the first can.

The shot rang out, the sound echoing through the small space as the can flew off the railing. Chris straightened, a satisfied grin on his face as he turned to you.

"Not bad," you admitted, leaning against the wall.

"Not bad?" Chris repeated, feigning offense. "That was a perfect shot!"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone could hit something so big that close."

"Challenge accepted," Chris said, aiming for the next target.

As he continued to fire, his tone grew more playful, his remarks directed almost exclusively at you.

"If you ever find yourself in a zombie apocalypse, I'm definitely the guy you want by your side," he said after hitting another can.

"Good to know," you replied, your smile widening.

Sam clapped her hands together, breaking the moment.

"Alright, lovebirds," she said, pushing off the wall. "Let's move this along before we freeze out here."

Chris laughed, shaking his head as he set the rifle back on its stand.

The cold air hit your face and you couldn't help but glance at Chris, his easy grin still firmly in place. He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly and for a moment, the chill of the mountain didn't feel quite so sharp.

The hum of the cable car grew louder as it approached, its bright light piercing the snowy dusk. You, Sam, and Chris made your way to the platform, the crisp mountain air biting at your cheeks as you walked.

"Finally," Sam muttered, hugging herself with both her arms. "I thought this thing would never get here."

The three of you stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of snow crunching underfoot the only noise. But as the cable car slowed to a stop, Sam turned to you, her brow furrowing slightly as she remembered something.

"Hey," she said, tilting her head, "did you lock your car?"

Her words hit like a bolt of lightning. You froze, your mind racing as you tried to recall the last few moments before you'd left the parking lot. Had you locked the doors? Pressed the button on your keys? The memory was frustratingly blank.

"I…" you began, but the uncertainty in your tone betrayed you.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Go check before you give yourself a heart attack."

You let out a groan, already turning toward the trail that led back to the parking lot. "I'll be right back. Don’t wait for me."

As you jogged away, Sam turned to Chris, who stood awkwardly on the platform, shuffling his feet. His gaze flickered between you and the cable car and he hesitated, his mouth opening as if to speak but then closing again.

Sam raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle war in his expression. "Well?" she said, nodding toward your retreating figure.

Chris's eyes widened slightly. "Uh, you mean…?"

"Go," Sam said, her voice warm but firm. She smiled knowingly, crossing her arms as she stepped toward the cable car. "He'll appreciate the company. And, you know, you might actually get to talk to him."

Chris blinked at her, his hesitation melting into a sheepish grin. "You sure? I mean, I don't want t-"

"Chris," Sam interrupted, her smile widening. "It's fine. Go."

Grinning proudly now, Chris nodded and took off after you, his boots crunching against the snow as he jogged to catch up.

"Hey!"

The sound of Chris's breathless voice made you turn, and you couldn't help but laugh as you saw him bent over, hands on his knees, his chest heaving. "Out of shape already?" you teased, folding your arms as you waited for him to recover.

Chris shot you a mock glare, though his grin betrayed him. "I'll have you know," he said between breaths, "I am in excellent shape. I just… wasn't prepared for the sudden cardio." He protested, straightening up and adjusting his glasses. "This altitude is killer. Plus, I'm carrying, like, two extra layers."

You shook your head, laughing softly as the two of you began walking back toward the parking lot. Chris stayed close to your side, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he glanced at you every now and then, his grin lingering.

When you finally reached your car, you pulled the keys from your pocket and pressed the button. The lights flashed, confirming the doors were locked, and you let out a relieved sigh.

"Well, crisis averted," you said, slipping the keys back into your pocket.

You glanced at the next cable car making its slow descent down the mountain, its light barely visible through the snow. With a shrug, you turned and hopped onto the hood of your car, brushing some of the snow away before settling down.

Chris hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as he watched you.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing patterns in the thin layer of snow beside you. "I don't know," you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's weird being back here after… everything."

Chris nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah. It's been a lot, hasn't it?"

"More than I thought it would be," you said, letting out a soft sigh. "Part of me wasn't sure if I even wanted to come."

Chris was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground. Then, with a small, teasing smile, he said, "You know, we could just bail. We'll head to my place, order a ton of pizza and spend the whole night beating my game library. What do you say?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the suggestion managed to ease some of the tension in your chest. "Tempting," you admitted, shaking your head.

"The offer's always on the table," Chris said, grinning. But then his smile softened and he took a small step closer. "In all seriousness, though…"

He placed a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "I think this is a good thing," he said, his voice steady. "Coming back here, I mean. It's a chance to… I don't know, start over. Maybe even get things back to how they used to be."

You looked up at him, your chest tightening at the earnestness in his gaze. "You think so?"

"I know so," he replied, his grin returning. "And, hey, if it gets to be too much, you've got me. Anytime you need to vent, or take a break, or… you know, crush me in Mario Kart or something. I'm here."

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way, and you felt a small smile tug at your lips. "Thanks, Chris," you said softly.

"Anytime," he replied, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer before he stepped back.

Chris felt your hands on his shoulders. His breath hitched as he looked down at you, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the soft, warm smile on your face.

God, you look so good when you smile like that.

The thought came unbidden, but he didn't push it away. How could he? You were so close, your face lit by the soft glow of the sun’s distant light and the way you were looking at him was enough to make his chest tighten.

Chris couldn't help but notice how much brighter you seemed in this moment, even though he knew this place carried so many heavy memories. The fact that you could still smile like that, still radiate that warmth despite everything, left him feeling both in awe and completely unworthy of you.

And then you spoke, your voice pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hannah and Beth's disappearance," you began softly, your smile faltering just slightly, "it made me realize how quickly everything can change. Like, in just a couple of minutes, your whole life can be flipped upside down. It scared me," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "It made me think about how much I keep inside, how much I don't say because I'm too afraid, or I think it's not the right time."

You paused, letting out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "But who knows? Maybe tonight some monster will show up and kill me in the snow. So…"

Chris blinked at your attempt at humor, though his heart was already racing. He felt a rush of nervous energy flood through him and when you tilted your head up to look at him, the sudden proximity made his breath hitch.

"What—" he began, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound steadier. "What is it you wanted to say?"

His eyes betrayed him, flickering down to your lips for a fraction of a second before darting back up to meet your gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and panic swirling in his mind as he waited for your response.

You hesitated, your expression shifting into something more vulnerable. Chris could see the nerves in your eyes, the way your hands fidgeted slightly against his shoulders.

"I like you, Chris. " you began, your voice barely audible. You took a shaky breath, your gaze dropping briefly before meeting his again. “I've liked you for a long time."

The confession hung in the air, your words fragile but sincere. Chris froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what you'd just said. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

His gaze flicked to your lips again, the movement unintentional but impossible to stop.

"You…" he began again, his voice shaky. "You have no idea how long I've—" He cut himself off, his breath catching as you leaned in, your eyes never leaving his.

The first brush of your lips against his was so soft, so tentative, it felt like a spark catching fire. Chris's breath hitched, his body going rigid for a split second before he melted into the kiss, his hands lifting to rest lightly on your waist.

The world seemed to fade away. Everything disappeared, leaving only the warmth of your lips moving against his.

Chris's heart pounded as he tilted his head, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he pulled you closer. His lips moved against yours with more confidence now.

You made a soft sound in the back of your throat and the noise sent a jolt of electricity down Chris's spine. He couldn't stop himself from pressing closer, his hands moving up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if to anchor himself to the moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping softly for air, Chris didn't move far. His forehead rested against yours, his glasses slightly fogged from the warmth of your breath.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "I've liked you too. For so long. I just… I didn't think…"

He trailed off, his words failing him as he searched your face. His heart ached at the mix of nervousness and hope in your expression and he let out a shaky laugh, his lips curving into a small, self-deprecating smile.

"I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to say it," he admitted softly. "You're amazing, smart and funny. I’m just some guy that cracks jokes with an awful aim."

"Your aim isn't that bad," you teased, your voice lighter now as you leaned into his touch.

Chris laughed, the sound soft and breathless. "You're my best shot," he said, his tone turning teasing but his eyes holding a depth of sincerity that made your chest tighten.

You smiled, your hands sliding from his shoulders to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your palms. "You're such a dork,” you murmured fondly.

"Yeah," he agreed, his grin turning sheepish. "But I'm your dork now, right?"

Your smile widened, and before you could reply, Chris leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one was deeper, more confident, his hands moving to cradle the back of your head as he poured every ounce of his feelings into the movement.

His lips were soft but insistent, his touch firm yet tender as he held you close. The warmth of his body against yours was enough to chase away the chill of the snow around you, leaving you completely caught up in the moment.

Chris didn't care about the cold, or the time, or the fact that the cable car was probably waiting. The only thing that mattered was you.

When you pulled back again, your breath mingling in the cold air, Chris let out a soft, almost dazed laugh. "Wow," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was… wow."

Your smile returned and Chris felt his chest swell with something he could only describe as pure happiness.

Note: Do you have a favorite among the four? I think you all know which one is mine, but I’d love to hear your thoughts! <3 I’m also open to any feedback or constructive criticism you might have.

[runnning-outof-time]

Not At All | Tommy Shelby x Reader

PART 3 of A Series of Interactions at The Garrison - but can also be read as its own story

Request: yes by @brummiereader - sent in as a blurb request

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Things between Tommy and (Y/N) come to a head after a different kind of interaction happens at The Garrison.

Warnings: language, smoking, mention of drinking (it takes place at a bar, y’all)

Word Count: 2308

A/N: I’m so happy that everyone’s enjoying this unexpected journey so far — I hope this next part doesn’t disappoint! I’m sorry it’s taken a little longer than would’ve been expected for me to put it out….I hope y’all are still interested in it. I’m really proud of how it came out. The prompt I used is bolded in the story. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THE STORY!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

Things were different at The Garrison today. Not many people had been through the Small Heath watering hole, and it finally gave (Y/N) a chance to breathe behind the bar. No one was yelling rudely for another drink, no one was arguing on who arrived at the bar first, and there were no terrible messes that needed to be cleaned up.

There was this one man though.

His name was Daniel. He was unlike the majority of patrons that frequented the pub. Instead of being demanding, he sat and waited for his order to be filled, tipped (Y/N) way over the normal amount, and struck up a normal conversation with her….one that didn’t make her feel inferior or like she was in harm’s way.

It was a welcome scenario that she was thankful for on a day that was going slower than usual.

They kept their conversation going, only stopping when (Y/N) needed to tend to a customer or restock the bar. It switched topics frequently, their discussions ranging from the goings on around the city to what Daniel did for work: he was a writer for the newspaper, and the boy did the stories he share make (Y/N) laugh.

“So this one time I was assigned to what my boss called a festival that was way too far outside of the city limits for my liking, but the pay was good so I agreed to it,” he started up on another story, resting both of his elbows on the bar so that he could lean in on them for effect, his grin growing as he continued, “turns out he wanted me to report on this sheep herding event that some local farmers were doing…you wouldn’t believe the size of the bloody crowd that this thing attracted!”

“Miss can I get another round of shots?” a patron interjected a request into the story, effectively pausing it and making (Y/N) go about filling the correct amount of glasses he was wanting.

“You’re going to need to make two trips for them,” she told the man as she placed the bottle of liquor back in its position on the shelf.

“Nah, I’ll be able to take ‘em,” the man disregarded her statement, then going about grabbing as many of the glasses that he was able to hold. He managed to get a grip on all but one of the glasses. “Put that one on top of this one here, will ya?” he then asked (Y/N) to assist him.

“I can bring it over to your table if you’d like,” she suggested another plan.

“I said put it on top of this glass,” the man insisted, his patience now clearly wearing thin.

(Y/N) pursed her lips into a fine line, obviously not wanting to follow through with what the man was suggesting. But she obliged, managing to get the last glass to balance on of the glasses he was already gripping in between his fingers so that she could avoid his temper rising any higher.

All was well until the man began to lift the cluster of drinks off of the bar top. Sure enough, the glass that she had balanced wobbled and fell back to its previous place, making the liquid it held splatter everywhere as it did.

“Fuck,” (Y/N) sighed under her breath, quickly grabbing a towel so that she could stop the spread of the spilled drink’s contents. She then shot a look to the man who was standing with the rest of the drinks in his hands. “Take those to your table and I will bring the last one over,” she said to him, the tone she spoke with telling him that her plan was not up for debate.

The man nodded and followed through with it, leaving the bar for his table.

“I’m sorry, give me a moment,” (Y/N) sent an apologetic smile in Daniel’s direction.

“No worries at all. Do your job,” he smiled back at her.

She then went about the motions of completely cleaning up the remnants of the spill on the counter before she refilled the glass and brought it to the table of awaiting men. They thanked her and she smiled at them before returning back to her spot behind the bar.

“Never a dull moment here,” she commented to Daniel, laughing softly as he smiled at her. “I’m sorry again for interrupting your story.”

“Love like I said, it’s no worries. You were doing your job,” he grinned at her. He then gently reached out and used his thumb to wipe what (Y/N) quickly realized was a wet spot on her right cheek. “Though it seems you missed a spot in your hasty clean up,” he grinned at her, his thumb lingering against her skin for a moment longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered her thanks, feeling her skin heating up where his finger brushed. She subconsciously leaned his touch, quite liking the feeling of his smooth skin touching hers.

“Oi, out!”

Another voice entered the conversation. (Y/N) knew exactly who it was without even looking. The commanding nature of it was a dead giveaway.

Daniel jumped back from the bar top and turned to face the gangster that called the city ‘his’, the smile he was previously wearing now nowhere to be found. “Mr. Shelby, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, I…”

“Out. Now,” Tommy didn’t want to hear any of what he had to say. His steely gaze was honed in on the man he was going to get out of his pub by any means necessary, if it came down to it.

Daniel didn’t try to continue with his rebuttal. He knew that continuing talking would get him nowhere in this situation. Everyone in Small Heath knew who Tommy Shelby was…they knew that what he says is what happens, regardless of what anyone else thought. He lowered his eyes from the intimidating man and turned to look at (Y/N) again, sending her a look that said “I’m sorry”.

(Y/N) didn’t quite know what he was sorry for. She was flabbergasted by what was occurring and couldn’t even think of anything to say in response to it.

Tommy’s eyes stayed trained on the man he was kicking out, watching intently as he stood from the stool and began walking to the door. Pleased with the outcome of the establishment’s door shutting, he made his way to the snug, leaving the situation without further comment.

(Y/N) had to blink a few times to make sure that what had just happened in front of her was actually real. There’s no way he came in here and kicked that man out for no reason, she thought to herself. The more she thought about what had occurred, the more she began to feel angry at Tommy for how he handled it.

A scowl formed on her face as she made a beeline to the snug’s closed door. Upon opening the door she found Tommy sitting in his usual spot, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette as if what had just gone down hadn’t happened at all.

“What was that out there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level as the anger continued to bubble up inside of her. She motioned her hand in the direction of the bar to accentuate her point as she spoke.

“What?” he asked for clarification even though he knew full well what she was referring to.

“Why did you treat that man like that?” she happily gave him the clarification he was looking for.

“I didn’t like how he was acting,” he responded with a shrug, taking a long drag of his cigarette after he finished speaking.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together in an incredulous expression. “What do you mean you didn’t like how he was acting? What could he have possibly been doing wrong?” she fired off more questions.

“Who’s at the bar now?” he tried to veer their conversation off of its course.

“Harry’s got it covered, now answer me,” she wasn’t falling for it. She put him right back in the hot seat before adding: “if anything he was doing everything right. He has been the highlight of my day.”

Tommy’s expression changed the second he heard what she had to say about the man he’d just kicked out. His lips pursed into a fine line, his eyes narrowing as he stared straight ahead.

It was slight and quick, but (Y/N) noticed it. Her lips twinged upwards as she realized why he was acting the way he was. “I think I know why you’re acting this way,” she began, her statement making his eyes snap to her. “I think you didn’t like the attention that man was giving me…I think you didn’t like the fact that it was good attention.”

In the weeks that had passed since she patched him up after his late night…altercation, both Tommy and (Y/N) had been dancing around the fact that there could very well be some deeper feelings at play between them. Feelings that go beyond the ones that a boss would show to his employee, and an employee to her boss. They kept toeing that line, neither wanting to cross it.

But now it was apparent…Tommy had entered The Garrison and found (Y/N) in a position with another man that she should have been in with him, and he hated it.

He wasn’t going to admit that outright though. Silence hung in the room as he leaned forward in his seat. The smoke from his ciagarette wafted around him as he looked up at her. “You think I’m jealous, eh?” he asked her, his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

“I think there’s got to be some reason behind you throwing that guy out just for being nice to me,” she countered, her expression staying stoic although she was secretly loving the fact that he’d admitted to exactly what she was thinking.

A soft scoff left his lips when he heard her response. He shook his head as he spoke: “you’ve got it wrong, love.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong, Tommy,” she wasted no time in turning his statement right back on him, “you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

(Y/N)’s blunt statement was met with silence. She huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting intently to see what he would say in response. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and it was now almost like they were having a silent challenge; seeing who would crack first.

Tommy’s voice broke the silence: “I have the right to kick whoever I want out of me pub whenever I see it fit.” His comment came from way out in left field, and it was one that pushed (Y/N) to her limit. The manner that he said it in irked her even more. He was so apathetic with it, breaking their staring contest to snuff out his cigarette as he spoke.

“Yeah, well your pub now has one less employee…” she snarked back at him, “I’m not going to continue to work here if this is how things are going to be.” She waited for a moment before making a move to the door, watching to see if anything changed in his demeanor. He stayed stoic. She turned to the door of the snug. “I’m done. Flowers aren’t going to get you out of this one, Tommy,” she made sure to get the last dig in, her hand reaching for the door.

“Stop.”

Even though she had every intention of leaving, his voice still stopped her in her tracks. Tommy Shelby just had that power over her…he had that power over every situation; over everything.

(Y/N) just about jumped when she turned around to see what more he had to say. Tommy was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Now he was standing right in front of her. “What?” she questioned him, her brows raised.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead his hands found her cheeks and he pressed his lips firmly to hers. His kiss told her everything she needed to know; told her the real reason behind him kicking Daniel out of the pub; told her that those feelings they’d been dancing around for weeks were real. And she made sure that she kissed him back in a way that told him those very same things.

The kiss left them both breathless, and when they pulled away (Y/N) took immediate note of how Tommy’s thumb felt as it gently brushed her cheek. It was much more rough and calloused compared to Daniel’s smooth skin, and she was instantly convinced that she preferred the former feeling to that latter.

“It’s taken you long enough to do that,” she was the one who broke the silence this time.

Tommy tried to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her statement, but he failed miserably. “Would you mind if I did it again?” he asked her, his voice just above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she grinned, closing the space between them to match her lips with his once more. They shared another kiss before she spoke again: “oh, Tommy…” she paused, moving back far enough so that she could look at him, much to his dismay.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze flitting down to her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them again.

“Maybe flowers can get you out of this one,” she said with a grin, harking back to her previous statement.

“Oh I can give you a whole lot more than flowers, love,” he grinned, hearing her giggle as he closed the space between them to kiss her again.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @littlepeakydevil @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee

@dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @everythingelseisextra

@little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[lacydollette]

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially younger gf ! pt. 3

jensenackles 6min

youruser

Liked by madelyncline and others

youruser officially too old for dicaprio 😶

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yourbestiesuser shits been way too freaky 🫦

youruser my heads’ still spinning 😵‍💫

ange1bites THE CAPTION IS TOO ICONIC

ellasbows the way I just realized.. 😭

fory/n HOLD UP- IS THAT MADELYN CLINE??

obxpiczz yup they’ve been friends for like 2 years now

jacklesfan1 his hand placement?? hello??

cvntyblogz I think my invite got lost in the mail 😔

madelyncline bday girl swag 🫡🫡

youruser u know the drill mads

clinestar literally all my faves in one room wtf

fordestiel still can’t believe we’re the same age 😭😭

tatemcrae happy bday it girl ❤️‍🔥

youruser coming from the it girly herself 🫂 ty love, imy!

popgirlyblog tate 🤝🏼 y/n

jensenackles

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jensenackles Happy birthday to my girl, my partner in crime and the best pool player I know. Beyond blessed that I get to spend this one life with you. I love you ❤️ @/youruser

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jacklesfan1 stop.. his little paragraph 🥹🥹

forjackles she is so so lucky

youruser damn right I am 👀

destiellcver her concentrated face is killing me lmao

youruser at a loss for words. You made this day so special. I love you hubs ❤️

girlwithablog you can just tell how much he loves her

jaredpadalecki today we celebrate the amazing y/n. to many more “I’m gonna have a bf” moments with you 🫂 @/youruser

gibson-g1rl wait- did jared just quote ‘white chicks’ 😭😭

youruser duh 🙄 its our fav movie! and i love u @/jaredpadalecki

vampdecn what’s bf? boyfriend?

youruser BITCH FIT

jaredpadalecki bitch fit

ellawinchester did she finally turn 18 or what??

jensenandy/nfan bruh, she is literally a grown ass 26 year old woman, get ur shit together

casmybeloved my favorite couple

girlblogzz hbd y/n ⭐️

youruser thank u !!

youruser

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youruser if I left u on read, here’s why 🌺

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y/nlcver bodTEA !!

elliescam my jaw literally dropped at the 7th picture

forjackles literally my dream vacay w/jensen

yourbestiesuser glad you’re having fun <3 now come back to texas mama, the kids miss u 😩

youruser just say u miss me so bad 👀

girlwithablog god, i wish i was y/n

fionabae does she even work?

mygirly/n she was literally paul wesleys manager for a few years and is now working as production assistant for mgm studios !!

ortegafan02 omg this is how i find out? 😭

fionabae cmon she only got that job bc of jensen

popgirlies her life is like a pinterest board

casmybeloved they are adorbs 🥹

jensenackles

Liked by jaredpadalecki and others

jensenackles bon voyage or something like that 😎

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jacklesfan1 finest man ever ong

y/n_defender seeing y/n through his eyes is so cute!!

winchesterstan try not to say daddy (impossible)

h3llgirl1 ik his girl just hates these comments 😭😭

beausling nah she’s hella secure and too busy for this bs

youruser liked this comment

sevens1ns look at them go 🥹

urfavwinchester they’re still dating??

jackles4life why wouldn’t they? 🤨

urfavwinchester maybe he finally got tired of her

gibson-g1rl bro 😭 get out of here

2jstan can’t believe she is having that man every day

acklesbaby geeeeez jensen 😩

as requested, another part of the jensen sm au 🎀 pt. 1 pt.2

i think I’ll never stop making these, it’s so fun!

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @lailawinchesterr @nuemanfilms @alluvthegurlz @drewsarms @starkeysprincess @hischrrypie @sammyluvr

[lestink]

IVE GOT MORE THUNDER LEGION/RAIJINSHUU CRUMBS THAT IM GOING TO EXPLODE ABOUT

CW: FAIRY TAIL GAME 2 SPOILERS BELOW

tagging @freedjustinemywife and @selfawarecobalt (also if youre reading this come join us on the thunder legion community)

Before I get to the goods I wanted to point out something that made me laugh:

Wendy has often said in the game how much she admires Laxus’ kinder side (not her calling him the gay uncle of the guild) but whenever she does so MIRA almost always reminds her and the player that ‘nah i remember when u did this shit back in 2009’ ITS SO FUNNY

OK NOW HERES A CUTE EXCHANGE OF ELFMAN GIVING LAXUS GIFTS (i don’t understand the occasion tho, xmas during the war?? idkk) FROM THE THUNDER LEGION

my freakout thoughts:

bixlow making a mini doll???? im gonna cry thats so fucking CUTE,,, imagining bixlow sitting down to carve one out for laxus with a silly face,,ough,,bixlow is so sweet i NEED TO SEE HIM

freed knitting a sweater.....ok so the entire thunder legion are all arts and crafts oriented ok i will explode. AND A PROTECTION ENCHANTMENT TOO?? the bodyguarding never stops even if he's offscreen he's still got it FUCKK i miss my wife. and youre so right elfman WEAR IT LAXUS U DICK. also,,,,laxus recognized the sweater from the pattern itself so freed has knitted things with that similar pattern before...AUGHHHHH freed knitting the thunder legion and laxus outfits what if i suddenly combusted

EVERGREEN MAKING A STEWWWW and the elfever crumbs with chef evergreen and taste tester elfman,,,man if elfman doesnt marry her I WILL. this is quite possibly the softest and coziest little side event ever, where the hell is the thunder legion when i'm freezing in my apartment....

ALL 3 OF THEM GIVING LAXUS CASH JUST IN CASE ok this reminds me of the talks i had with @yellow-guiding-lantern about the thunder legion being the keepers/the only ones who could reign in rabid dog laxus, this just affirms whats TRUE theyre taking care of his dumb ass

moving on:

youre so right lucy the thunder legion DOES love him im so sick of them /aff (if i dont see them soon i will make it on international news)

THUNDER LEGION FORMATION CRUMBS????

i always did wanna learn how they got to be together and though i know the gaiden had its own interpretation i wondered how else it could have happened, and this is a very interesting and different approach the way FREED is the one who wants to fight laxus first (angry freed????? CAN I SEE????)

i have so many questions like?? why did he get so angry??? did laxus break a rule that enraged him?? like maybe threatening the safety of others??? did freed give laxus a good fight?? were bixlow and evergreen involved at this point??? and what does that mean freed only wanted laxus for his strength???? elaborate??????

OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD

mira is so funny the way she can quickly uncover laxus' facade of trying to stay tough and hard, in the source material + game she's always been the anchor of staying true to one's feelings. in other words, she's all "aaaaaaahhh i caught you caring"

elfman catching laxus blushing too HAHAHA his whiteness will work against him. (also- manhood????? was there no other word they could have used???)

NOT TOO MUCH ON THE THUNDER LEGION LUCY??? to be fair i also love gift giving, i love to give my friends lots of little things i know they'll love so i don't see the "obsessiveness" of this.

MY TAKEAWAYS:

Mirajane Strauss will forever be Laxus' greatest opp (undefeated streak)

the Thunder Legion are the best gift givers in the guild, they're the equivalent of the rich aunties who want to spoil you rotten

I want to see no more Freed characterization calling him a pushover or cheerleader for Laxus, he's literally the one consistently defying his arrogance ON AND OFF SCREEN🗣️

Laxus and the Thunder Legion are private people, but everyone can see their love and devotion to each other and I think that's so beautiful

If I don't see new Thunder Legion content soon WHERE I CAN ACTUALLY SEE THEM another CEO will pay for it

[lalalychee-x]

"Teenage Dirtbag— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 6

"She's walkin' over to me, this must be fake" romantic. + platonic

♡ Ayyeee, I'm back with part 6, this will NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT PART READING THE OTHER PARTS, SO DO MAKE SURE TO READ THEM! GOD THIS ONE IS SO LONG I'M SORRY GUYS IT'S LIKE 8K+ WORDS... like wtf, but this is basically Spring Dance (idk I'm British and the American school system baffles me) gone wrong and stupid garage afterparty. Welcome to part 4 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh) reference, the chocolate fountain thing , cheating (on You), misogyny, toxic relationships, cannon characters in this part word count: 8409 masterlist of all parts song4this: "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheetus

-------story starts here-------

And yeah, you didn't. You didn't see him for the whole of midterms, even the music room was closed during exam season just before spring. You keep thinking about him though; thinking about how he probably skipped all his exams while staring at your phone half in regret that you never got his number.

What were you? Friends? Friends don't look at each other that way. "Just-friends" don't meet when you're about to off yourself, nor do they lay on bathroom floors with you and drown your dress in antiseptic.

You're halfway up a ladder, arms stretched above your head as you staple one last Spring Fling poster onto the bulletin board by the gym. The air smells like chalk dust, cafeteria bleach, and cherry lip gloss—yours, obviously. The sleeves of your cardigan keep slipping down as you reach, but you don't care since you're like 6ft above everyone else on this thing and yeah its a breath of fresh air from a crowded highschool gaggle.

Then you hear it.

The distinct, dragging shuffle of scuffed boots on linoleum.

You don't even need to look to know who it is. The air just feels different when he's around—denser, like everything's about to tilt off-balance.

Rodrick.

Of course it's him. Back like nothing happened. Same bandshirt from God-knows-how-many-days ago, same hair like he lost a fight with a lawn mower and still came out cocky. He's got a flyer in his hand—probably picked it up off the floor or stole it from a desk—and he's just standing there, staring up at your legs.

"Real subtle," you mutter without turning, keeping your focus on the staple gun. God, why did you say that? What happened to hi? Hello?

Rodrick blinks, mouth twitching. "I wasn't—okay, maybe a little."

You roll your eyes, stepping down off the ladder with a little thud. The moment your heels hit the ground, the weird tension drops too.

"So, what—finally got tired of ditching class and pretending you're too punk rock to care?"

Rodrick smirks. "Nah, I just heard there'd be glitter. Couldn't resist."

You pause, holding his gaze for a beat longer than you should. He looks... the same. And also like he's been living in grayscale until now.

You shove a poster into his chest.

"Here. Make yourself useful and tag along. The more the merrier."

Rodrick stares at it. "'Spring Fling: A Night to Remember'? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?"

You barely have time to roll your eyes at Rodrick's sarcastic comment before the sound of thundering footsteps barrels down the corridor like a stampede. You already know who it is. Only one pack of teenage boys is ALLOWED to be that loud, that obnoxious, and that full of expensive body spray.

"NATHAN! Yo!" one of them shouts, tossing a football down the hall like you're not literally standing in the way. You duck instinctively.

"Sorry, babe," Nathan grins, suddenly appearing at your side with an arm slung over your shoulder like a claim. His team hoots and hollers like they're in a music video, not a hallway. He's already sweaty from warm-ups, jersey clinging to his chest. You feel Rodrick stiffen next to you, just barely—arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Didn't know you were out here putting up decorations," Nathan says, glancing at the posters with a lopsided smirk. "That's cute."

You force a small smile, leaning away from his grip a little too subtly. "Yeah, well. Not all of us get excused from student body work just 'cause we can throw a ball."

Rodrick lets out a low chuckle behind you. You can practically feel the "get his ass" energy radiating off him.

Nathan ignores it, eyes zeroing in on you. "Practice is starting up soon. Come by the field? I want you to see my new plays—Coach says I might be MVP again."

You nod, "Yeah, sure."

Nathan plants a quick kiss on your cheek and jogs off, yelling something back to his team. And just like that, the hallway returns to its low buzz hum of chatter.

You don't turn around at first. You just stare at the floor, a little too long.

"Must be nice," Rodrick mutters, and when you glance back at him, he's not looking at you—just at the now-empty corridor like he's trying to burn a hole through it with his eyes. "Having the whole hallway clear out just 'cause your boyfriend walks by."

You blink. "You jealous of the hallway?"

He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, guarded. "Nah. Just wish people cleared out when I showed up."

You snort, shaking your head. "They do. They just run the opposite direction."

"You're meant to selling this dance to me, not acting like a prick so I don't want to go." Rodrick scoffs, though there's no real bite behind it. 

"Well, come if you want, just don't oh, I don't know..." You pause, deliberately to drag it out, "Knock over the chocolate fountain this time?"

Rodrick could absolutely sock you for that, but the little smirk you have on your face makes him pause and he just... can't get mad.

"Oh shut up." He groans a little, half annoyed and half relieved he's talking to you again after so many months.

Rodrick wants to die. And certainly doesn't want to go anyway.

.

"You're going," Susan said, arms crossed, voice firm in that I've had three kids and I will not be tested tone.

Rodrick flopped dramatically on the couch like his bones no longer worked. "Why? Why would I willingly walk into a school function where they play Pitbull and judge your shoes?"

"Because it's a dance, Rodrick. A school dance," she emphasized, moving to block the TV screen so he'd actually look at her. "You're a senior. This might be one of the last chances you have to make a real memory before you graduate and start... whatever it is you think you're going to do."

"I have a band, Mom," he groaned, trying to peer around her, nochalantly shrugging at whatever she says. "We were gonna go mess with someone's car again. You know. Real memory-making stuff."

Susan didn't move. "Your band can wait. Besides—" she tilted her head with a mom smirk—"I heard someone's been skipping a few too many classes lately. Maybe this is your chance to show you're still involved."

Rodrick looked personally attacked. "Who told you that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I have eyes, Rodrick. And the school sends me emails. You'd know that if you checked anything besides your phone."

"Unreal," he muttered, sitting up halfway. "I don't even have anything to wear. What do you want me to do, show up in my Slayer tee and jeans that smell like pizza rolls?"

Susan smiled too sweetly. "I bought you a shirt. It has buttons."

He stared at her, betrayed. "A button-up?"

She patted his shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. "You'll live. Be ready by six. And Rodrick?" she paused at the top, eyes twinkling. 

Rodrick groaned, his hands hitting his leg in annoyance as he peered down at her from his room.

"Maybe try brushing your hair this time."

He groaned again, flopping back down with a dramatic thud, staring at the ceiling like the world was ending. A button-up. And worst of all—he had a weird feeling he might run into you.

And that terrified him more than Pitbull ever could, enough that he had to redo his buttons like five times because he kept attaching them on a diagonal.

Okay, maybe it wasn't pure horror that was making him do that, maybe it was because he genuinely can't button up a shirt because the last time he wore one was when he got kicked out the church for showing up without pants.

He's so damn useless.

.

The bedroom looked like a boutique got drunk and exploded. Dresses clung to door frames, half-zipped garment bags draped over chairs, and the scent of heat-damaged hair and Bath & Body Works body mist made the air humid and nostalgic.

  "Somebody find the lash glue!" someone yelled, probably Madison, because she'd been pacing around in nothing but a towel for the last twenty minutes, clutching a tube of Baby Lips like it was a mic. You should know because she was screaming at you to get out the bathroom because you took too long covering your scars with thick layers of foundation; I guess foundation doesn't stick to glitter very well.

"I'm not going if my eyes are naked. I will simply perish." Trust me, no one's eyes were naked; all very much smoky eye and lip gloss.

You adjusted the sweetheart neckline of your dress in the smudged vanity mirror, trying not to flinch at the flyaway curl that refused to obey gravity. You debated whether adding MORE glitter spray would fix it... or just stick that lock of hair into a random braid. It was pissing you off, and you really did consider gluing it down with lash-glue.

Everywhere was one of the bold jewel tones; electric blue, hot pink, royal purple, or the classic black 'nd silver sparkle combo and it made your eyes hurt like you were staring directly into strobe lights.

 Someone's curling iron hissed behind you. Pop music from a Spotify playlist blared through tinny speakers—something Ke$ha-y and glittery. Every few seconds, a flash went off. The Valencia-filtered mirror selfies were piling up already, each one messier than the last.

"Okay but is this dress too much?" you asked no one and everyone, smoothing the skirt down nervously. It was a poofy, hi-low dress that made you look a bit like a peacock: cut short at the front, but trailed behind you around the back.

A chorus of "nooo, you look hot" echoed without pause, followed by "Nathan's gonna lose his mind when he sees you," and then someone cackled, "or whoever else is looking."

You smiled, but didn't answer. Instead, your thumb hovered over your phone screen, checking Rodrick's story again. Nothing. Not that you were checking. Not on purpose. Not like he'd even go. Not like he'd even care, since they banned student-performances after what happened at Heather's sweet-sixteen and she threw a fit at the Principal.

Still.

You looked back at your reflection—mascara still slightly clumpy, the hem of your dress brushing your knees just right, the chunky rhinestone bracelet twinkling under the bedroom light. You didn't feel perfect. But you looked it. And tonight, that would be enough.

Downstairs, someone's mom yelled, "LIMO'S OUTSIDE!"

Shrieks. Scrambling. Perfume mist in the air like fog. 

It wasn't a limo, of course, it was some jock dude's dad's convertible, Nathan in the passenger seat already manspreading like he owned the damn road.

"Shotgun's mine, losers," he called as you stepped out in your heels, balancing a tiny purse and your phone like your life depended on it. He leaned back with his arm slung behind the seat, tossing you a wink. You smiled, but it didn't reach all the way.

"Ugh, I'm sitting bitch again," Madison groaned as everyone crammed in. Someone had to sit half on someone else's thigh; someone else's hair immediately got caught in the door. There was a shriek of "MY DRESS!" before the engine roared to life, and the car peeled off into the suburban road, glitter and chaos trailing behind.

The drive felt like the start of a music video—wind whipping through carefully styled hair, cheap jewelry rattling, everyone laughing too loud, too forced. Die Young by Ke$ha blasted from the speakers, and someone yelled, "This is our night, bitches!"

Nathan reached over to put a hand on your thigh, just a casual flex of control. You didn't pull away, but you didn't lean in either. Your eyes were on the road, on the way the sun dipped behind the school gym's roofline in the distance. That weird feeling was back—like a pit in your stomach dressed in rhinestones.

The school parking lot was already packed. String lights lit up the path to the entrance, and some teachers awkwardly hovered outside like underpaid bouncers. Balloons in spring pastels framed the doorway, and you could faintly hear the thump of bass inside, like a heartbeat behind the walls.

Nathan swung the car into a crooked spot, barely braking before hopping out and offering you a hand. "Ready for prom 0.5?" he said with a smirk.

"It's not prom, babe" you muttered with a half-smile, fixing the hem of your dress as you stepped out.

He didn't hear. Or pretended not to and continued to clutch your hand as you walked inside.

The gym had been utterly transformed. Streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, fairy lights hung like stars, and the DJ booth was already pumping out some remix of a song that was barely a year old. People were crowding the dance floor, others were perched around the edges like it was some glittery battlefield.

You blinked, heels clicking against the gym floor as you walked in, Nathan's hand ghosting the small of your back.

And across the room—somewhere near the bleachers, still as ever—Rodrick Heffley stood like a misplaced shadow. Mismatched black tie. Slightly wrinkled dress shirt. Hair a little messy, but not in the usual 'I just woke up in a trash can' way.

He was here.

And he was staring right at you.

But somewhere between Call Me Maybe and an aggressively off-key group scream of Timber, you lost track of where Nathan was.

The dance floor was a minefield of sweaty bodies and sticky soda spills, and you were caught right in the middle—arms looped around shoulders that weren't yours, your own hand gripped by some girl you barely even knew from chem, spinning you like you were best friends.

"Dance with us, oh my god, stop being a priss!" someone squealed, pulling you closer. A guy in a shiny vest bumped into you hard, laughing like he didn't notice. Even suits, on guys were obnoxiously shiny with vests and open-collar shirts like some Shakespearan twink.

You stumbled a bit, catching yourself, heels wobbling on the gym floor.

"Jesus," you muttered, trying to laugh it off, but your smile was pinched. The music vibrated through your ribs.

And in the corner of your eye—through the haze of disco lights and poorly ventilated fog machine clouds—you caught sight of him.

Rodrick.

He was raiding the snack table with the confidence of someone who clearly had not been invited, tongue out slightly as he tried to stack like, six cookies on a single flimsy napkin. Dressed like someone whose mom had ironed his shirt five minutes before he left and gave up halfway through. Tie crooked. Hair not quite right.

He looked...exactly how you remembered him. Out of place. In his own world. And weirdly invincible for it. You're a little jealous.

You stared a little too long. Like you were trying to memorize him again. Then someone yelled "Move!" and a pair of shoulders shoved past you. You blinked and looked away.

Time blurred after that—chattering girls, photos with forced smiles, soda spills that smelled faintly of fake fruit, Mr. Lacey threatening to shut everything down if someone didn't stop making obnoxious sex noises by the speaker.

You needed air.

The gym doors creaked open as you stepped out, the cold night air biting pleasantly at your cheeks. The lot was mostly empty now, just the sound of music echoing faintly behind you, until—

You froze.

The convertible. That convertible.

Heather Hills sat perched in the driver's seat, her legs up, golden hair tousled like she'd just come from a magazine shoot. Lip gloss smeared in a way that wasn't accidental. And Nathan—your boyfriend—was leaned in close, hand on the headrest behind her, laughing. That quiet, smug kind of laugh.

You watched as she touched his chest, planting another fat, wet one on his lips.

And he didn't move away.

Something inside you sank slow and sharp, like someone had cut the strings holding you up.

You just stood there like an idiot, glitter catching on your lashes like it was trying to decorate the silence. You can't even go down there and confront him because you're sure if you even tried to walk down the steps in your current condition you'd tumble over and break your back.

Behind you, the gym doors creaked open again, and a familiar lazy voice groaned, "Dude, they ran outta punch, what the hell—"

Rodrick.

He spotted you immediately. Stopped mid-step, still holding his cup and a tragically bent cookie. Brows furrowing, head tilting.

"...Hey," he said, quieter this time.

Upon closer look, you realised looked unusally thick and creased with a faint outline of another shirt underneath. This dork.

And even though the air was freezing, and your heart had just cracked clean down the center, you gave him the tiniest, smallest, fakest smile in the world.

Rodrick didn't even clock your expression. He felt like something had just neuron-activated in his brain, seeing you in that obnoxiously bold dress, sweetheart neckline around your breasts and the glitter catching in your collarbones and along your shoulders like you were dipped in stars or wearing a real life Instagram filter—he swore he forgot how to breathe.

Jesus Christ.

Why did you have to look like THAT.

He felt like some part of his teenage loser brain just got sucker-punched awake, but no he couldn't discern the expression on your face.

Or maybe he did and was just, y'know...being Rodrick.

"Yo, you know they've got mini donuts in there?" he said, voice way too loud for the dead quiet outside. He held one up proudly, like the tiny thing would hide his reddening face. "I thought it was a meatball at first so I like, bit it and I was like, 'Why's this meatball sweet?'—"

"Rodrick," you hissed, panic snapping through your throat.

He paused mid-ramble, donut halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Your hand latched onto his wrist and you yanked him back toward the gym before he could even blink. He staggered a bit, mouth full, confused as hell but letting you drag him anyway.

"What the—, I just got out here! You dragging me for round two on the dance floor? Because I'm telling you now, I don't grind. That's like, against my religion or whatever."

You spun him around by the back door, ducking beneath the glowing EXIT sign, breathing hard.

Rodrick blinked down at you, finally catching the look on your face. Your shoulders were tense, hands still clenched, chest rising like something was caught there and wouldn't go down.

"...Okay," he said slowly, "either someone pissed in your punch or you just watched Nathan pull something seriously dumb."

You didn't say anything.

But you didn't have to.

Because now Rodrick's eyes flicked past you, through the cracked door where Heather's laugh floated on the breeze like a knife. And something in his face settled into that rare, quiet stillness that only came out when things weren't a joke anymore.

"...Shit," he muttered. "That's what you meant by shut up."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurt. "No, Rodrick. I just really didn't want anyone to interrupt your story about donut meatballs."

He winced. "Okay. Fair."

Silence. Not even the fun kind.

Just the kind where the music from inside bled through the gym doors, thumping like a heartbeat neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

You had your hands hovering just above your face—not touching, not really—just... floating there. Like you wanted to press in, hide behind them, but you remembered the effort it took to get your eyeliner symmetrical and said no thanks to the meltdown. Your fingers twitched near your temples. A sigh tried to escape you and everything was annoying you even if it was unfair you said:

"...are you wearing a..." You squint, leaning in so close he swears he's going to get dusted in glitter too, examining the scratchy letters that formed a sort of V-shape, "Rammestein shirt?"

"Look, this button-up isn't even mine, its my dad's."

You pull back, laughing softly and he thinks its music (not his screaming-metal type but more like a catchy pop song) to his ears, especially after seeing you so disraught only a moment ago.

"That's so fucking stupid." 

Rodrick stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, holding back a grin that you knew the band, but was still calling him stupid.

"I dunno a single word in any of their songs. German sounds badass though."

You roll your eyes, "Did you fail German back in middle school? Or did you try taking Spanish instead?"

"Neither. I can't read shit in English, why would I know Spanish?" Rodrick deadpans, clutching his tiny donut and cup of punch.

You smile, your lips suddenly feeling stupidly sticky with lipgloss and everything you were wearing was suddenly a sensory issue.

He scratched the back of his neck like his skin suddenly didn't fit right either. He watched your glitter catch the light and decided this was the most painful crush he's ever had.

Yeah, he's gonna admit it, he has a crush on someone else's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, in the near future probably, but it still felt weird because he's self-aware his ego isn't that inflated to pull someone else's girlfriend.

God. Yeah. He had a crush.

Not just a "oh, she's hot" kind of crush either. Not the kind he used to have on some older chick from a magazine, or even that stupid, overhyped thing with Heather Hills because she had blonde hair and nice legs. No, this one was personal. Sharp-edged and humiliating. It made his stomach knot and his face burn and his tongue trip over itself anytime you looked directly at him for more than three seconds, even if most of the time you looked at him like a piece of shit.

And it sucked.

Because you had a boyfriend. Quarterback dude with abs and a car and one of those faces that parents love, even when he's a dick. And Rodrick wasn't gonna pretend he was some noble guy about it either—he wanted to hate the guy just for existing, but also...didn't feel like he was even in the same league. Not with the band tees, the sarcasm, the chronic inability to ask for anything without sounding like a joke.

Still.

He watched the glitter on your shoulders flicker like starlight. Heard the way your laugh cracked like glass earlier when you were trying not to cry. And it hit him. Hard.

Yeah, no way out of this one. Rodrick Heffley had a full-blown, pathetic, slow-burning, feels-like-getting-punched-in-the-gut crush on you. And losers with crushes do stupid things.

"Wanna dance?" he blurted out, because clearly his mouth didn't have the same filter as his brain tonight.

You stared. Hard.

Eyes over your manicured fingertips dolled out with heavy press-ons, blinking slow.

His confidence wavered fast, like a kid realizing the slide is way taller than it looked from the ground. "I mean—not like, grind or anything. I got kicked out of church but I still feel like Jesus or something is watching me," he added quickly, joking but also kind of wishing the floor would eat him.

You just kept staring.

Then—

"...You're such an idiot."

And you dropped your hands and let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Maybe. Almost.

But you didn't walk away.

Didn't scoff or shoot him down or roll your eyes like he half-expected. Instead, you just kinda... melted. Like all the fight had slowly drained out of you and left behind something soft, something sad and open. Your hands hovered awkwardly near his arms before settling at his shoulders. Close. Closer than he thought you'd ever let him be.

Rodrick blinked. Panic set in—but only for a second—because holy shit you said yes. You were dancing with him.

Or, well, trying to.

Because within five seconds, he'd managed to step on your toe and nearly elbow someone behind him in the ribs. His hands were hovering somewhere between your ribs and waist like he was holding a bomb. His knees bent weird. His head was doing something strange.

You stared up at him like you were watching a toddler try to walk.

"The fuck are you doing?" you blurted, half-laughing, half-offended. "That's not how you—what even is that?"

"I dunno!" he whisper-yelled, defensive already. "I panicked! I've never slow danced with someone before, okay? I thought it was like...swaying or some shit!"

You couldn't even be mad. You just snorted and leaned your head forward, bumping into his chest lightly. "You're such a dumbass, take that shirt off you look far too...hot."

You had to pause at the double meaning in that; yeah, maybe you did have a thing for Rodrick but you felt like you had nothing to lose now.

"What, right here—"

"Like, warm! You're literally overheating," You tug him to the side, waddling backwards in your sparkly shoes and start to unbutton his far-too-large dress shirt behind the desserts table.

Rodrick let you drag him like some half-reluctant, half-thrilled mannequin, his boots scuffing awkwardly across the gym floor as you pulled him behind the dessert table, all glittery and glowing and far too determined.

"I mean, who wears flannel over a band tee to a dance?" you muttered, fingers already popping open the buttons like you were defusing a bomb. "It's like ninety degrees in here."

"I didn't know there was a dress code," Rodrick grumbled, standing there all stiff with his arms half-raised, heart thudding hard enough to make him dizzy. "Also, rude. This shirt's vintage."

You gave him a flat look as you yanked the flannel fully open. "It's a worn-out Rammstein tee with a mustard stain on the hem."

Rodrick looked down. "Battle damage."

You didn't dignify that with a response. You just slid the flannel off his arms and tossed it somewhere behind the punch bowl, huffing. But you didn't step away. Not yet. You stayed close, fingers lingering a second too long on the edge of the tee like you were thinking about something you shouldn't think about.

And Rodrick? Rodrick was fighting for his goddamn life.

You looked like that—like this—and your lip gloss was catching the light and your dress was hugging your waist in a way that made his brain static. And for once, you were touching him, tugging at him, focused entirely on him.

So yeah. He took the moment to admire you. A little too long. A little too obvious. Eyes trailing over your neck, the curve of your collarbones, the shimmer along your jaw.

"You done gawking?" you said, quirking a brow.

Rodrick cleared his throat. Loudly. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Shut up."

"Too many maybes, I'm going to flip out." You groan, fiddling with his buttons, "I mean, maybe I'm some slut who dances with the first guy she sees after her boyfriend cheats on her since well, you're a fucking loser and I'm a hypocrite huh?"

The words just started tumbling out your mouth, tightly-laced with frustration, before you could stop yourself.

Rodrick's mouth dropped open. Like his brain had blue-screened. Just static in his skull, completely unprepared for the self-destruction you just spit out. He blinked hard, hands twitching at his sides like they wanted to hold you but didn't know how, didn't know if they were allowed to.

"No—wait—you're not—I mean, you're not like that, you're..." He made a strangled noise. "You're cool, like really... like you're just—fuck—you're wonderful, okay?!"

It came out like he was having an allergic reaction to sincerity. Like the word "wonderful" had to be ripped from the back of his throat.

You just stared at him.

"...you just call me wonderful?" Your voice cracked half in disbelief, half in... something else. Of all things, he picked something corny like that? Talking like an almond mom?

Rodrick immediately turned red, like he'd been caught naked mid-thought. "I—I didn't mean it like a grandma way, I just—like, you're—shit, you're so much sometimes, I mean it in a good way, I swear—"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed. And for a second, just a second, the ache in your chest loosened. Just from how sincerely bad he was at saying something nice. And how hard he was trying anyway.

You laughed.

Not a cute, closed-mouth laugh either. An actual, full-on, open-mouthed cackle that made your lipgloss smear just slightly across your top lip, catching the light in a way that made Rodrick's already-fried brain just fully implode. Your shoulders shook, eyes crinkling, and he could feel the way your fingers tugged at the last button on his shirt—pop—and it all felt way too intimate for something happening behind the dessert table at a high school dance.

And then it happened.

In his dazed, flustered haze, he shifted his foot—just slightly—bumping into yours as you leaned closer. You both tilted, a shared gravitational pull, and—

CLUNK.

The table jerked. Something metallic creaked. The both of you turned just in time to watch the chocolate fountain wobble like it was trying to decide its own fate. You didn't breathe. Neither did he.

Then, in slow-motion doom:

CRASH.

Chocolate. Everywhere. Cascading like a sticky waterfall of regret.

You both froze. Silent. Horrified.

"...Shit," Rodrick whispered, eyes wide, hair sticking up from stress like static. "Was that... expensive?"

What is this stupid sense of deja vu?

The room exploded.

A collective gasp. A shriek. Someone yelled "MY SHOES!" from across the gym like it was a war crime. The scent of cocoa thickened in the air, hot and dramatic and very visible. A freshman slipped trying to escape the blast zone. One of the chaperones shouted something about liability. Phones were already out—flashes popping like gunfire.

Rodrick's eyes were wild.

"Okay—nope—nope," he mumbled, grabbing your wrist before you could even form words, yanking you behind him with all the coordination of a guy who'd only ever sprinted to avoid doing chores. "We're leaving. I'm not getting banned again."

"Wait—again?!"

But he didn't answer. He ducked under streamers, sidestepped a trail of melted chocolate like a landmine map, and beelined for the back door like a man with zero dignity and zero intention of getting caught. You stumbled after him in your sparkly shoes, glitter flashing with every chaotic step.

The gym doors slammed behind you. The cool night air bit your skin. You both half-tripped, half-tumbled down the concrete steps like some low-budget romcom crash cut.

You swear you meet Nathan's eyes as he perks up alarmed at the commotion coming from inside—of course, with Heather's dress half undone beside him in the front seat.

You knew you could never do that with him; not with your scars because you're so sure someone like Nathan would pull away. Maybe that's why he went for a valley girl like Heather who's only got "first-world problems". Not the kind of problems where you think you should kill yourself every other day.

Not that it mattered right now, because they passed across in a big, glittery, half-naked blur.

The parking lot was dark and half-empty, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as  but its not like you stopped there and he dragged you across the ashphalt.

"RODRICK!" 

You barely manage to keep ahold of your tiny purse as he practically shoved you in the back. You hit your head on a stray cymbal on the floor.

Rodrick finally crawled into the cab of his van, settling into the driver's seat with relief, unaware you're sprawled like a ragdoll. "Hide in there," he panted, "...they won't know."

That was the least of your worries right now. Your heart was thudding in your ears, god you want to punch him. He sensed a disturbance in the force and he slowly turned around, peeking into the back and staring right at your irriated, glittery, smudged face.

He smiled a bit nervous, "Uh.."

"You have made me snap my heel."

He looked concerned, brows furrowing, "What like a broken bone?!"

"No," You say, shuddering like you're trying to compose yourself, "My fucking SHOE."

He winces with an apologetic expression that makes your anger melt.

"Just step on it." You slowly get up, groaning at the ache in your back.

"What? Where you going? Because last time I pulled up to your house, you got your ass beat."

You sigh, crawling FROM the back into the passenger seat with immense difficulty, legs first, "Ugh, well, where are you going? My parents aren't expecting me back until like 11. Let me stay out since it was Nathan."

Rodrick's mouth goes dry as you push past him and setting down into the passenger seat, your massive poofy skirt taking up half the space in the front cab. You looked like one of those CUPPATINIS dolls with skirts so big and round they would turn into a teacup when you flipped them inside out.

"Uh, home..."

You stare at eachother.

Rodrick clears his throat, his hands gripping and shaking on the wheel, "Is it too early to invite you over?"

You note the crack in his voice and let your arms flop down into the sea of organza around you. Your voice comes out small, whispered almost, "...no, that would be great."

Rodrick had to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Not that you didn't see it. 

The van rumbled to life, coughing like it had chain-smoked a pack before prom. You settled into the seat with a sigh, your sparkly skirt ballooning around your legs like some kind of cursed prom-themed marshmallow. Rodrick had to keep peeking over the tulle just to see the gearshift.

The radio buzzed to life without either of you touching it—blaring loud, thrashing rock from some crusty band he probably thought was underrated genius. You braced for the usual impulse to eye-roll or snap at him to turn it down, but... you just laughed instead.

Rodrick side-eyed you with suspicion. "You didn't just—laugh?"

You shrugged, chin resting on the edge of your seatbelt. "You've got a whole chocolate crime scene on your shirt, I'm not exactly in a position to complain."

So the rest of the drive passed like that—quiet, charged, and awkward, with guitar riffs filling the space neither of you had the guts to fill. You'd occasionally catch him sneaking glances, drumming fingers on the wheel like a nervous habit. Your leg brushed his once on a turn and neither of you moved it.

By the time the van slowed in front of the Heffley house, you were starting to feel the buzz of adrenaline wear off. The porchlight was on, buzzing gently. Rodrick put the van in park and turned to say something just as the front door slammed open.

"GREG, I SWEAR TO GOD—"

"RODRICK?!"

The screaming overlapped. A blur of plaid pajama pants and bare feet skidded to the threshold, Greg looking like he'd aged a decade. Manny barreled into view right after, shrieking like a banshee with a Nerf gun in hand and chocolate smeared across his face.

You blinked. "Is he—does he have a sugar problem—"

"Don't engage," Rodrick muttered grimly, already opening the door. "He feeds off attention."

Greg stood frozen in the doorway like he'd just been hit by a brick. His eyes ping-ponged between Rodrick—disheveled, flushed, still chocolate-stained—and you, standing behind him in a glitter-covered prom dress that had clearly been through war. Like, literal war.

"...What," Greg said slowly, "is that?"

Rodrick groaned. "She's a girl, Greg. Ever seen one before?"

"No, why is she here? You look like you mugged a bakery and she looks like she was dragged backwards through a limo."

"I was not—" you started, trying to smooth down the giant puff of your skirt, which had now collected an impressive bouquet of twigs and cupcake frosting. Greg just stared, slack-jawed.

Manny screeched again and shot a Nerf dart right into your cleavage. You flinched and tried to fish it out and Rodrick had half the mind to do it himself but he'd look like a perv. Rodrick grabbed it from your hands instead and threw it back at him with surgical rage.

Greg finally came to. "Wait—are you bringing girls home now? Like to the house? What the hell is happening, did someone swap your brain out or something?!"

Rodrick spun on him, wild-eyed, palms out. "Greg, shut up! Don't say anything to Dad—please."

That was all it took. Greg's brows shot up so far they nearly vanished into his hairline.

"Ohhhhhh," he said slowly, eyes widening with glee and horror at the same time. "You brought a girl home, and you don't want Dad to know. Oh, he's gonna kill you."

Rodrick looked like he was about to throw up.

"Greg, please."

"...What's in it for me?"

"Greg—I'll give you twenty bucks and I'll do your chores for two weeks just please shut up—"

You stepped around him and blinked at Greg, arms crossed over your sparkly, sticky chest.

"Listen, I just watched my boyfriend cheat on me and the heel on my shoe has snapped, I'm not in the mood."

Greg's mouth clamped shut, mumbling something to Rodrick,

"I thought you were one of those dudes like, up for hire like a male prosti—"

Rodrick smacks him in the back of the head. And you hope you didn't hear that correctly.

Rodrick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay. Okay. Cool. Let's go before anyone else sees us."

You followed him in, glitter trailing behind like fairy dust, and Greg just stood there, staring after you like Rodrick had just brought a literal alien home.

You limped across the hall, one sparkly heel in hand like a war trophy and the other still dangling off your toes, threatening to break apart with every uneven shuffle. Your other foot was bare and probably sticky from the frosting you'd stepped in during the Great Chocolate Fountain Escape, but you were too fried to care. You just followed Rodrick through the narrow hallway past the kitchen and down into the garage.

It looked exactly like something out of a teenage garage band fever dream.

Old, cracking band posters lined the walls—some peeling at the corners, some held up with duct tape and what looked suspiciously like chewed gum. A rusting drum kit sat in one corner, half-covered with a flannel shirt that was either drying or being used as a dust cloth (who knew). Empty soda cans and crumpled fast food bags littered the floor around the amp cords, which tangled like snakes on the concrete. A crooked whiteboard on one wall had half-faded notes like practice tues?? and call Bill abt gig??? scrawled in Rodrick's barely-legible all-caps.

A makeshift couch made from what was probably three different pieces of furniture sat crooked beneath a flickering basement light, cushions long worn into a cratered shape by hours of teenage boy lounging.

You blinked at it all for a second before flopping down onto the couch with a soft "ugh," your skirt puffing out like a broken parachute around you. Your glitter left an instant trail on the old corduroy cushions.

Rodrick stood awkwardly in front of you, scratching the back of his neck and shoving some guitar picks off the seat next to you with his foot. "Uh...yeah. This is the garage."

You gave him a tired look. "No shit, Sherlock."

He cracked a weak smile. "Sorry. I just—uh—don't usually have girls in here. And they don't wear...you know." He vaguely motioned to your massive glittery dress.

You smirked, holding up the snapped heel. "You're welcome for the fashion upgrade."

Rodrick snorted and sat down beside you—close, but not too close—shoulders brushing for just a second before he shifted a little like he didn't trust himself not to combust. His knees jutted out wide, his band tee slightly wrinkled, hair still messy from running and a little glossy with sweat.

"Want water?" he asked after a beat. "Or like...a popsicle? That's all we got."

You smile. That sounded really good.

You both ended up sitting there—half-dazed, half-recovering from the sugar crash—sucking on those cheap neon freezer pops from the back of the fridge like kindergarteners at recess.

Rodrick had a red one. You had blue.

There was nothing but the low hum of the mini fridge, the distant muffled sound of Greg yelling at Manny to stop biting things, and the occasional squeak of the garage door shifting in the wind. Your knees were curled sideways on the couch now, dress cascading down onto the floor, heels abandoned by the amp like a glitter crime scene.

"These always make my throat weird," you muttered, voice raspy as you sucked on the end of the plastic tube.

Rodrick looked over at you, lips stained crimson and already half-dissolved popsicle in hand. "Yeah. It's like you're eating frostbite."

You laughed, your voice a little choked. "Why do they taste like window cleaner?"

"'Cause they are, probably." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and immediately winced when he saw the bright red smear he left behind. "Shit, I look like I just kissed a clown."

You stuck your tongue out at him, stained bright blue and freezing cold, like a cartoon character. "You look like one."

"Oh, real mature," he grinned, half leaning into your space now. "Say that again, smurf mouth."

"Smurf mouth?" You let out this tired, high-pitched giggle, cheeks glowing even in the dim garage light. "You're one to talk, blood mouth."

He blinked slowly, letting the silence hang for a second before cracking a smile so wide it made his nose scrunch. "This is the dumbest afterparty ever."

You nodded, sucking the last bit of blue juice from the corner of the tube. "Afterparty while the actual party is still going. Shit's sad but I kinda don't wanna leave though so it must be something."

Rodrick shrugged and stared at the half-melted popsicle in his hand, the red streak dripping down his fingers and soaking into his palm.

You were both just sprawled out now—melting, basically—like a couple of discarded action figures tossed onto a couch. The couch springs poked through a tear in the side, and Rodrick's bare socked foot was resting dangerously close to a pair of drumsticks crusted in god-knows-what.

The popsicles were finished. Your lips were tingling and throat felt weirdly numb, but your body was relaxed in a way it hadn't been in weeks.

You glanced sideways. "Hey...that your electric?"

Rodrick followed your gaze to the chipped black guitar leaning against a busted amp, duct tape hanging off one corner like it was trying to hold the instrument's soul together. "No it's Drew's spare." He tilted his head, squinting at it. "Still technically works."

You hummed, eyes dragging over the fretboard. "That's like the one I played that night, huh?"

He blinked. Then gave a sharp exhale through his nose. "You mean the night you emotionally obliterated me with, like, three chords and a death glare?"

A lopsided smirk formed on your gloss-smudged lips. "I was going through it."

Rodrick picked at a loose thread in his jeans, mock casual. "You wanna play again? I mean—I can, like, back you up this time. Or, y'know...hover awkwardly while pretending I know how chords work."

There was a beat. Then a short laugh from you, almost disbelieving.

"I don't even remember how."

"Good," Rodrick said, eyes flicking to yours with this soft, crooked grin. "You'll fit right in."

Rodrick plugged in the guitar with a dramatic flourish like he was in some kind of budget movie trailer, then immediately fumbled with the amp knob because it made a loud crackkk sound and nearly blew both your eardrums out.

You laughed so hard you doubled over, your poofy dress spilling over your knees like a deflated balloon. One of your press-ons popped off earlier while opening the popsicle wrapper, and you'd gotten fed up trying to save the rest. So now you were unceremoniously biting them off with your teeth, balancing the last one between your molars like some kind of petty act of rebellion.

Barefoot and exhausted, your skirt gathered around your lap like a quilt, you watched Rodrick make a face at the buzzing static coming from the amp.

"Okay," he muttered, pressing buttons he clearly didn't understand. "That's, uh...a noise. That's fine."

You just grinned at him. "You're such a pro."

Rodrick gave you a side-glance, but it was laced with this boyish pride he couldn't quite mask, and he perched the strap over his shoulder. "Alright. What do you wanna hear, Your Majesty?"

"I dunno. What do you think?" you said, tossing your chewed-off nail to the floor and shaking out your curls like a messy queen on a throne made of old amps and pizza boxes.

The minutes blurred as you picked up the guitar and he slumped behind his drumkit. Between messy rhythm, out-of-tune strings, and you humming nonsense lyrics to nothing in particular, it was the most alive either of you had felt in weeks.

Eventually, the music tapered off. Not because you ran out of energy—though, to be fair, your eyelids were getting heavy—but because the moment didn't need anything else.

Rodrick flopped back dramatically onto a pile of bedsheets, the guitar sliding from his chest with a soft thunk. "I'm dead. You killed me. Congrats."

You peeled your dress off the floor where it had pooled and curled your legs to the side. "You've been dead. You're like... undead. A walking cringe."

He groaned into his arm. "Shut up."

But when he peeked at you through his messy fringe, something soft flickered in his face—like he was still reeling from the fact that you were here, in his garage, glitter and all, sitting right beside him on the floor in silence.

Not that the silence was awkward.

It settled over you both like a warm blanket, heavy but comforting, punctuated only by the soft hum of the amp still idling in the background and the occasional creak of the garage walls cooling with the night. Outside, you could hear the faint bark of a neighbor's dog and the distant whoosh of a car driving past.

You sat cross-legged now, your dress poofed around you like a wilted flower, toes peeking out. Your lip gloss was half-smudged, your makeup fading in that kind of raw, human way that made you look even more real. More you.

Rodrick turned his head toward you from where he laid, the back of his wrist under his skull, and just stared for a second too long.

You noticed. Of course you noticed.

"What," you said, barely more than a whisper, lips quirking up like you were about to tease him. But you didn't. You just looked at him. Really looked.

And he swallowed.

"I dunno," he muttered, voice rough and caught in his throat. "You're just...here. In my garage. Like it's normal or something. And it's not."

You blinked. "Why's it not?"

He sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbow. "Because. You're...like..." He gestured at you vaguely, his hand flopping uselessly. "That. And I'm me."

You didn't say anything for a second. He was still staring, and you didn't break eye contact. It was like neither of you could. There was a buzz in the air, but not like the amp—this one was electric. Right beneath your skin.

Then softly, you said, "You're not just you. You're..."

You trailed off. Because you didn't know what you were going to say. Or maybe you did, but it was stuck behind your teeth.

He was leaning in before either of you realized it. Just a little. Just enough to feel the shift.

His hair was falling in his eyes again. His breath tasted like cherry popsicle and cheap soda, and yours was barely held together behind glossed lips, parted slightly because you were frozen. That little breathless moment, like someone pressing pause right before something stupidly irreversible.

You leaned back on your palms ignoring it the best you could, dress folding around you like a crumpled cupcake wrapper, your chest rising slow under the sweetheart neckline. Your lips were glossy again, faintly smudged with the remnants of red dye, and your eyes—though tired—were fixed on Rodrick with this glimmer of something he didn't think he was allowed to name.

He blinked slowly. "...Are we doing this, y'know like...? Because I wanna know if I should admit I haven't done this before or if that would just embarrass myself."

Your laugh was so small it could've cracked. "I—I don't know."

He was really focused on your face, but he had no idea where to look. 

Nothing everything down to the way your lashes casting little shadows across your cheeks. He didn't even think—you were this close. Your hand twitched toward his, fingers brushing his wrist like a test, feeling the bumps of healing scars under your hand.

"Don't," you said suddenly, sitting a little straighter. "Don't look at me like that. I'm gonna get confused."

His brows creased. "Confused?"

"Yeah. Like..." You trailed off, eyes darting between his. "Like maybe I'm supposed to feel something. Like maybe you do."

Rodrick's throat bobbed. "And what the hell do I do if I do?"

Your noses were nearly brushing now, your breath hot with sugar and artificial cherry. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second, then to your eyes, to your chest to anywhere because yeah he didn't know what he was doing despite the big game he talks. If anything, your head tilted just a little.

And right when his mouth nearly brushed yours—

"RODRICK! YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT!"

Greg.

Rodrick flinched so hard he nearly fell backwards, knocking over a pile of empty soda cans.

You just sat there, blinking in disbelief.

"...Was that a jump scare?" you mumbled.

Rodrick groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Kill me. Just actually kill me."

You laughed softly, breathless, flopping back onto the rug. The kiss didn't happen—but god, it almost did. And now the air buzzed with it. Like electricity crawling up your spines. But also with relief because you're not sure what you would have done if it did happen.

"I DID NOT LEAVE THE DAMN MILK OUT."

Greg cleared his throat really loudly and you paused.

"I SAID YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT."

Rodrick's eyes widened. His mouth parted, breath catching, and he turned sharply toward you like his body made the decision before his brain caught up.

"Shit." He was up in a second, grabbing your hand—not harshly, not rough, just fast. "You gotta go. You have to go."

"Rodrick—"

"No, I'm serious," he hissed, low and urgent, already guiding you toward the back of the garage, stepping over guitar cables and a torn drum pad. "My dad's back. You can't be here. He'll—he'll lose it."

You didn't need him to say it. You already saw it in the way his voice shook, in the little tremble in his fingers as he fumbled with the old, creaky side door near the tool shelf, where the scent of oil and old wood hung in the air.

You hesitated. "I can't just leave you here."

"You have to."

There was this split second—just one—where you wanted to fight it. To grab him and scream 'come with me then,' to drag him into your glitter-hairspray world with your own blood and scars, and tell him you'd protect him too.

But you weren't at that point yet. Neither of you were.

So you slipped your broken heel into one hand, and the other he still held like it was a lifeline, and you let him lead you out the side door into the cool night air.

He didn't kiss you goodbye.

He just looked at you—really looked at you, again—and whispered. "Uhhh, I'll find you, promise."

He paused just as he ushered you out, with a sarcastic half grin, "Maybe we can continue where we left off, yeah?"

And then the door shut. Just as the familiar bass-heavy bellow of what you assumed was Frank Heffley's voice echoed from somewhere in the house.

You didn't protest to stay. Because you were barefoot outside on their driveway and you were wondering yourself how you were going to get home in the dark in a dress like this. And explain to your own parents what had happened. 

click for part 1 click for part 2 click for part 3 click for part 4 click for part 5 click for part 6 click for part 7 click for part 8 click for part 9 click for part 10 click for part 11 click for part 12

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS System Reveal Fic round up!

If you know one that hasn’t been recc’ed, then please put it in the comments/tags! I’ll add it to the post!

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate.

Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

What is Seen by CaveteDracones

…is not [always] the real truth.

Truth-compelling artifacts in the hands of an enemy to one side, SYSTEM-mandated silence on the other, and Shen Qingqiu caught between the two. Is it too late to go back to the Water Prison? (NOTE: This one was recommended three times, and I have personally reread it multiple times. It’s one of my favorites and I really do want to read more fics in a similar vein lol)

open my lungs to let you in by ghostybreads

Shen Qingqiu had a secret. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before he was hit by a truth serum wife plot.

//

“How are you?”

“Horny. Kind of want Binghe to rail me, I guess. But it’s manageable.”

Liu Qingge’s hand on his forehead froze, and he was close enough that Shen Qingqiu could hear his breathing stop. He stared back expressionlessly, the mortification distantly crawling up the back of his neck. Honest One-Horned–

The frustrated scream that he usually vented in his head, came out straight from mouth.

“aaAAAAAHHHH GODDAMNIT AIRPLANE–”

Futility in Practice by TGP

When Luo Binghe is fourteen years old, his shizun suffers a terrible qi deviation and fever that completely changes who he is.

and judgment is just like a cup that we share by Kieron_ODuibhir

The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

First, do no harm by Terias

Shen Qingqiu has been acting especially erratic since awakening from his three day coma after a severe qi deviation.

Mu Qingfang investigates and discovers a great many things about his new shixiong. (NOTE: This one has Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu as the same soul, technically, but it still works I think!)

Show The Screenshots by A_Non_ymousWriter

When a rogue foreign System sends out a subtle virus, some outsiders are shown chat messages between a certain two transmigrators and their Systems.

AirplaneBro: nah dude shen jiu would never lay a hand on his female disciples like that, hes gay

Liu Qingge tripped on thin air while Mu Qingfang choked on his tea as Shang Qinghua (their god? creator??) casually shattered their view of their original Shen Qingiu. The fake Shen Qingqiu at least, was sharing their shock.

CucumberBro: EXCUSE ME WHAT??

CucumberBro: The fuck he is?!?! He literally GOES TO BROTHELS! LIU QINGGE FOUND HIM IN BED WITH A WOMAN THAT ONE TIME?

AirplaneBro: aight bro buckle the fuck up cuz imma take u on a joyride all about shen jiu >:)

—————-

Binghes#1Fan: I don't want to send Binghe into the Abyss...

System 2: User must comply, if User cannot do the task User will be punished and the account will be terminated.

Mobeis #1Fan: sorry bro unless ur okay w being ded af u gotta push binghe into the abyss

Ning Yingying's fists clenched. Okay, so trying to get Yuan-ge and A-Luo together would be harder than she thought.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Astarion stumbles upon a new skill and the legend of Two Hand 'Starion is born!

Tags: Humour, fluff, crack, violence, dirty jokes, slight Astarion x Reader.

This fic has been inspired by the amazing @radish-breath , whose late night BG3 conversations with me (on how re-spec of characters changes the whole party dynamic) have fuelled this madness. Merry Christmas, Radish! 🎄🎊

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Faerun was a land of contrasts, if your adventures were anything to go by. On the one hand, new and varied wonders unfolded before your eyes each day, while on the other, those same wonders sometimes sprouted a few too many teeth, claws (and in some cases, tentacles) for anyone's liking. 

Today was that kind of day; today the dice rolled against luck, and you and Astarion were its unfortunate victims.

Ogres, of all things.

After that rather daunting meeting with three of the aesthetically-impaired species in the Blighted Village, you'd fancied yourself a bit more careful going forward. One would think that after such a mistake, you might have recognised the signs.

And Gods, were the signs noticeable. Maybe if Astarion hadn't started an argument about Scratch slobbering all over his tunic while he slept, you wouldn't have been quite so distracted and may have picked up on the smell (like a latrine frequented by fifty oxen with the flux) or maybe the bones (femurs the size of your torso scored by the marks of large teeth) or perhaps the smell of roasted dwarf on a spit over a campfire (with its remarkably unique bouquet).

The hunter's stash that you'd found the co-ordinates for, and marked on your map, had yielded disappointing results. Someone had got to it first, evidently, only leaving behind some weaponry and a few alchemical ingredients.

Among them were two finely crafted hand crossbows which Astarion had regarded with barely concealed disdain. He'd been on the lookout for something that dealt more damage. Temperament soured, he'd started bemoaning the state of the camp with that 'flea-ridden bag of blood' prancing around.

And so it was that you'd strolled, rather nonchalantly, right into the middle of an ogre dinner. You'd stopped dead, all arguments for the healing powers of Scratch's saliva promptly forgotten. Beside you, Astarion opened his mouth to counter you, spotted the ogres and slowly cranked his jaw shut again.

Silence reigned in the clearing. One of the ogres wiped sheep fat off his lips politely, presumably waiting for you to introduce yourself. Collecting your wits, you stepped forward, far more boldly than you felt.

"Well met. We're just passing through."

The ogre grunted, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Nah."

"You see, I - "

"You lookin' tasty, little piggy."

Another ogre, with an alarming growth of fungus along the side of its face turned his full attention to you, picking gristle from between his teeth with a pike.

"I mean, that one looks tasty. The other un' be lookin' runty. No flavourin'".

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you, good sirs, my flavour is just sublime."

"Oo you lyin' to, wormy?"

You cut in before any further damage could be done. It was time to bring out the charisma. And a flash of inspiration had struck you, that daredevil little spark that seemed to emerge whenever the odds were stacked against you.

"Oh, his flavour is nothing to be laughed at. Don't you know who he is?"

Beside you, Astarion tensed. His voice was a hiss, audible only to you.

"What do you think you're - "

But now you have the ogres' full attention, and you're not about to waste this window of opportunity. Stepping forward, you pulled off your hood, gesturing to Astarion with a flourish.

"Have you never heard of 'Two Hand 'Starion'?"

Fungus Face belched loudly, eyes sliding inwards to the bridge of his squashed-pudding nose as he gave this question the consideration it deserved.

"Nah?"

"Oo in the seven 'ells izzat?"

Your hands spread wide, inviting them into the weave of your tale.

"Oh, he's known by many different names across the realms. I've only been his travel companion for a fraction of his long journey. He also goes by Starblazer, or Boltazar, the fastest draw in Avernus."

Astarion's glare was now eating into the back of your head like an acid-spill, but you were in too deep to retreat. Skipping lightly forward, you mimed the action of drawing and firing two crossbows.

"He's unmatched in speed, graceful as a panther, his hands nothing more than a blur as he rains bolts of flame and ice down upon his foes."

You spun on your heel and the third ogre, who had been quietly occupied with stuffing his face, hoping that nobody else would notice the food disappearing down his gullet, dropped a dwarf leg in surprise.

"He stalks the astral realm, beyond where even a seasoned traveler like myself dares to roam, and braves the wrath of the fiercest githyanki warriors. Even they cannot pin him down, because his draw is faster still."

Fungus Face scowled.

"What if I eat one o' them arms? Then he'll just be One Hand 'Starion."

Sheep Fat seemed to be the smarter one among them, because he was beginning to look a trifle nervous. He made a shushing gesture at Fungus Face.

"This sounds awful f'miliar. What if she's telling the truth? About this Starblazer? Swear I 'eard the name before."

You're not sure which of the many embellished tales this ogre has heard and confused with your own hastily-spun fantasy, but that's hardly your concern. Clearing your throat, you take a few more steps towards safety, gesturing expansively at Astarion. He looks singularly unimpressed.

"But you must have heard the tales, or at least some form of them!"

You raise a hand, expression turning suddenly sombre.

"Please, in your best interests, friends. Don't impede our journey. I see you're all enjoying a good meal, around a roaring campfire. Don't let our intrusion cause an unnecessary skirmish. I only say this with your lives and safety in mind."

You jerked your head subtly at your companion. If this ruse was to work, it needed one final demonstration from him. Granted, you weren't expecting a lot, just enough to sell the story to a bunch of gormless (if rather terrifying) ogres who the two of you would definitely struggle to take in open combat.

What you weren't anticipating was the entirely separate persona that seemed to inhabit Astarion's body the moment your signal was given. As disgruntled as he'd seemed at your initial ploy, he was certainly playing along beautifully now.

Kicking lazily off the tree he'd been leaning against, he sauntered into the firelight, bringing with him the sure-footed elegance of a seasoned bounty hunter. The two crossbows you'd discovered in the stash earlier appeared in his hands as if by magic, a deft twirl of the wrist settling them in firing position. His eyes gleamed scarlet in the gloom, dangerous and calculating.

"Now, I don't see the point of revealing my identity unless truly necessary."

Even something about his accent had changed, the timbre of his voice lower, deeper, edged with malice.

"I do recognise, however, that you three are worthy of being called strong. I'd hate for your lives to end here. After all, when you've wandered as long as I have, strong opponents are hard to come by."

The ogres were now silent,  uncertain. Or at least, two of them were. Fungus Face was slowly reaching for his club. Before you had a chance to shout a warning, Astarion's hand came up, a soft 'zing' sounding through the clearing before the club spun from the ogre's grasp, flying a few feet away. Another bolt had been loaded and strung before anyone could react, the vampire's jaunty posture a direct challenge.

What in the - Had Astarion always been that good of a marksman?

You hastily adjust your expression. Whatever the outcome, you couldn't be goggling at him in the same manner as the ogres. You had a performance to complete. Astarion's drawl cut through the tension pervading the camp.

"Dont make me riddle you with holes, there's a dear."

Fungus Face, finally convinced, sat down heavily. You nodded, cautious.

"Let's ... be on our way then. No use in troubling these fine ogres any longer."

As soon as you were out of the ogres' perception, you broke into a sprint. Only when the clearing had been well and truly left in the dust, did you slow down, panting heavily, hands resting on your knees. You turned, one finger stabbing at the pale elf who jogged up beside you.

"What in the hell was that?"

He sneered.

"I should be asking you the same question. 'Two Hand 'Starion'? Was that the best you could do?"

You waved aside his naming concerns, struggling to catch your breath.

"No, not that. I mean ... when did you get so skilled with a crossbow?"

As much as you'd only been traveling together for a month, you knew enough about Astarion to pick up on his little tells. While he seemed to be trying to hide the fact, he was also somewhat confused by the convincing nature of his own charade.

Glancing down at the crossbows, he gave a graceful shrug. 

"Well, I've had many years to practice with missiles of all kinds. I suppose my skill with other bows must have carried over."

"So what you're saying is ... that you're actually a natural? And this is really your first time dabbling in this particular skill?"

He cleared his throat and your eyes narrowed. Were the tips of his ears turning ... pink? Since when had praise of any kind unsettled him? Astarion was quick to change the subject.

"Can we please get back to camp now? You've had me traipsing through this damn forest for hours and my fingernails are in an absolute state."

On the way back to your base, you eyed him surreptitiously. He seemed deep in thought, fingers occasionally drifting down to trace over the crossbows which now had place of honour on his belt.

"All right. Out with it. What's going on with him?"

It was Gale who posed the question while preparing dinner a few weeks later. You were helping him slice vegetables into the large cast-iron cook pot. On your left, Karlach, who'd been peeling potatoes, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, it's not like him at all. What happened, that day in the forest?"

Sighing, you vented your frustrations on a hapless carrot.

"Look, it's exactly what I told you. We ran into those ogres, he improvised with the crossbows and now he bloody well won't let them out of his sight."

Gale's brow was knitted in thought.

"He does favour them, yes. And then he keeps disappearing into the forest - "

Karlach gasped.

"Wait, you don't think he - "

You shook your head vehemently.

"He wouldn't. And besides, if he really was wandering into the forest to kill creatures left and right, we'd be seeing the bodies, yes?"

Karlach gave you both a blank stare.

"Oh. No, I was imagining more along the lines of him wanking off to them."

Gale choked on air and you almost sliced off a finger.

"Karlach - "

"Elaborate?"

She waved a hand, the potato within it dwarfed by the size of her palm.

"Dont ask me about the logistics, mate. Astarion is creative when it comes to those things, right?"

Gale massaged at the growing furrow between his brows.

"As skilled as I have no doubt he is, I think even Astarion would find it difficult to - "

"To what, my darlings?"

All three of you froze in position.

When had he arrived? Astarion had always been stealthy, but not like this.

Gale glanced up at him, eyeing the crossbows that had now been holstered in a special harness across the shoulders that Astarion had fashioned for himself.

"Ah. Astarion. We were just - "

"Talking - "

"About stuff and ... you ... and - "

"About ... you know... your crossbows and - "

"Wanking," concluded Karlach, solemnly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow before sashaying over to the campfire and draping himself over a nearby tree trunk.

"As much as I love the idea of all three of you tickling your little pearls in longing for me - "

Gale grimaced.

"Never happened, I assure you."

" - I've got a more ... immediate issue."

"Oh?"

You stare at him curiously. Since the ogre incident, Astarion has been particularly reticent, and him seeking out your help was an unusual, if welcome change.

Karlach, ever eager to assist, perks up immediately.

"Well, out with it then."

Astarion's eyes dropped to the ground and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked slightly bashful. He unsheathed his crossbows and placed them carefully within the circle of firelight, where you can all see them clearly.

"I - I need ... "

His words come out in a rush.

"I need some help naming them."

Gale promptly dropped the ladle he was holding.

"Naming?"

Astarion rose, looking slightly agitated, and began to pace before you.

"Look, I know how it sounds. I know how unlike me it is to become attached to something, even if an inanimate object. I know, all too well, the impermanence of the material, but ..."

He turned to you, and the earnest appeal in his eyes surprised you to no end.

"I like how the crossbows make me feel. It's the first time something has come this ... naturally to me. It's effortless. Not something I have to elaborately craft. Just - Just help me with this. Please."

Karlach made her way over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You can rely on us, Astarion. We'll help with anything you request."

You felt a little misty-eyed yourself and even Gale cleared his throat and dabbed at his eye suspiciously. Karlach clapped her hands, taking charge of the situation.

"Right. So, good people, Astarion needs help finding names for his trusty weapons. I'm partial to a little naming myself. I had a Blood Drinker and a Kidney Shredder, once upon a time."

Gale waved his hands hurriedly, as Astarion's nose abruptly wrinkled.

"Lovely names, to be sure, but maybe Astarion is looking for something a tad less on the nose."

You hummed thoughtfully, taking in the strong, delicate lines of the crossbows.

"Hmm. How about, Sting and Strike?"

Your vampire companion moved closer into the firelight, eyes gleaming, stroking his chin.

"Direct, yes, but ... too pedestrian."

Gale stood, the cook pot forgotten.

"Warp and Weft."

"More suitable for a wizard, I think."

Karlach slammed a fist into her palm.

"Growl and Thunder."

"My crossbows are not of the canine persuasion."

Slowly, the whole camp gets drawn into the naming exercise, their enthusiasm growing. Wyll, Shadowheart and Halsin were next in line to provide their suggestions.

"Valour and Honour."

"Wax and Wane."

"Briar and Nettle."

To his credit, Astarion gave each of their ideas due consideration before rejecting them. Nice of him, considering how outlandish some of the names brought forward were.

"Bulette and Shroom!"

"I'd rather not have memories of that place."

"Rough and Tumble."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Frank and Furter!"

"... what?"

You shrug.

"Sounded appropriate."

It is, surprisingly, Withers who steps in to save the day. Quite suddenly, he is among you, pale eyes calmly taking in the crossbows while the fire flickers along the gold tracery adorning his face. His voice, soft as it is, immediately silences the good-natured bickering around you.

"There are many instruments of death, some reliable, primitive. Others speak of ingenuity, the kind directed at dealing pain. Strange they are, the subjects that stimulate human creativity."

He turns to Astarion, expression distant, as always.

"For one whose name has already been recorded, pain must be your constant companion. You must be a disciple of chaos and mayhem. If these weapons must be yours, let them have fitting names. Be the death that comes swiftly, and leave sorrow in your wake."

So saying, Withers made his calm exit. Astarion was nodding to himself, eyes kindling with ... something you couldn't quite be certain of.

"Swift and Sorrow. Hmm. Yes. I think that'll do nicely."

Soon enough, you realise what Astarions's lengthy disappearances into the forest had been in aid of. He had been ... practicing.

You're not quite sure what kind of regimen he had put himself through, but the results were quite astounding.

The first time you saw it in action was during a raid on a bandit camp that your party has been planning for a while. You'd received intelligence of an medical text in a vault, stored deep within the mountain, that might give some insight into how your parasite might be removed.

The trouble began with the discovery that a group of bandits had settled right outside the entrance, completely unaware of the significance of the chambers beneath them. Their camp was well-fortified and guarded, almost impregnable by anyone's standards. The sheer cliffs surrounding it saw to that.

You had no choice but to approach from the lower ground, which gave you a distinct disadvantage, in both numbers and position. Nonetheless, the text within the vault was important. You had to get hold of it to give yourself every opportunity available.

On the morning of the raid, Astarion caused a bit of a stir when he emerged from his tent.

Gone was the light leather armour he favoured, the lace-edged collars and sleeves jutting rakishly out at neck and wrist. He was now dressed in Drow armour, lithe form encased fully in the dark leather. Some enchantment had been placed upon the ensemble, shadows gathering about him like a shroud.

By the time you'd reached the enemy encampment, it was late evening. The crudely drawn symbols on ragged red pennants flapped vigorously in the wind, a warning of what was to come should you venture further up the winding mountain pass.

Just as you were all moving into your respective positions, Astarion's hand came down lightly on your shoulder.

"Would you be so kind, my pretty dove, as to allow me to go in first this time?"

In the growing gloom, his form was even less distinct. The hood that came with the new armour had been pulled up, his glossy, pale curls completely concealed. You'd never noticed before quite how predatory his eyes seemed in the darkess, polished garnets lit from within with unholy fire.

Nodding slowly, you agreed.

"All right. We'll be right behind you. Be careful."

Slowly, cautiously, you ascended the rocky path, Shadowheart and Lae'zel in tow. The githyanki warrior was unusually quiet. Under regular circumstances, she'd have passed some biting quip on others' lack of strength or fighting ability, but tonight she looked ... almost anticipatory. Excited.

Soon, you're in a fairly favourable position, crouched in some bushes on the outskirts of the camp. You have a clear view of the sentries and the bandits milling about at the centre. However you looked at it, it would be a difficult battle, what with that palisade barrier and those -

"Oi. Where's Marcus got to?"

"Said he was brushing down the horses. Why?"

The blonde bandit who had asked the question shrugged, looking slightly puzzled.

"Well, that's where I saw him last. Can't find him now. Oh well."

You exchanged glances with Shadowheart, but held your position. Shortly afterward, another bandit, a halfling with a long dagger strapped to his back, wandered past, looking confused.

"Hey, did anyone see those powder satchels I left on the casket?"

"Be more careful, idiot! Look around. It'll turn up."

An aggravated shout came from across the camp.

"Marcus, you lout! I've been looking for you high and low, where have you - Wait. Wait. Marcus? What in the hells are you - "

"That's - that's not Marcus!"

"Run!"

Narrowing your eyes, you made out the figure of a man, presumably Marcus, shambling into the firelight. It was obvious that he was no longer among the living, but his limbs carried him with jerky, spasmodic movements towards the blaze. Strapped around his form were the missing powder satchels.

From beside you, Shadowheart gave an approving hum as the bandits swarmed in panic, diving out of the way as 'Marcus' made a beeline for the fire, leaping right into the midst of it. An explosion rent the air, a cloud of acrid smoke pouring from the centre of the camp, accompanied by a rain of what appeared to be the remnants of Marcus.

Floundering within the cloud of smoke, the bandits soon realised that their number was being cut even further. First one, then two, then four, each brought down with a gurgling yell, dark tendrils lacing their skin where the fine bolts pierced their flesh.

"Who is it? Where is it coming from?"

The leader of the bandits, a hefty man in plate armour, wielding an enormous axe, brandished his weapon, eyes streaming from the smoke.

"To me! To me!"

His rallying cry brought a stumbling group to his side, their weapons held at the ready.

"Show yourself, you stinking coward!"

A voice came coiling through the night, mocking, sultry, full of dark delight.

"My, my. We are fierce aren't we? Pity your ... large, stiff swords won't be of much use here."

Another bolt, shot with unerring precision, through the smoke, straight through the heart of one of the bandits.

"Behind the wagons! Now! Take cover!"

Lae'zel grunted, her nostrils flaring. The scent of blood was making her itch for battle, but you still didn't give the signal to break cover.

"There's the bastard!"

From behind the fire, a sleek shape stepped into visibility. One of the men crouching behind the wagon slung a smoking vial of acid his way. He sidestepped neatly, tutting like a school marm at a rowdy bunch of youngsters.

"Where are your manners? You haven't even allowed me to introduce myself."

"Who the fuck cares! Fire his way! Don't stop!"

Astarion dodged another arrow, then danced around a volley of bolts laden with an ice enchantment.

Was he -

Yes. Yes, he was giggling.

"Gentlemen, not all at once! Please. My sore little body can't take any more."

In spite of herself, Shadowheart's mouth was twitching. You groaned internally. If you used a spell to speak to the dead that littered the camp, you swore that they'd all sit upright screaming about sexual harassment.

The leader of the bandits seemed to be growing more and more enraged with every one of the insouciant vampire's taunts.

"Who in the fucking blazes are you?"

Astarion came to a dramatic halt, arms spread wide, eyes positively shining.

"Oh darling, I'm so glad you asked. They call me Two Hand 'Starion, and these lovely ladies are Swift and Sorrow."

The crossbows appeared like lightning in his hands, twirling, dropping, leveling. His voice lowered an octave, suddenly lethal.

"Now watch closely, or you'll miss the show entirely."

So saying, he vanished once again. And that was your cue.

"Now!"

Lae'zel leapt from the bushes with a roar that startled the bandits so badly that one of them promptly wet himself. Her sword carved a swathe through your hapless opponents, brushing off cuts and blows as if they were mere insect bites.

From the shadows, Astarion's gleeful shriek of laughter sounded.

"Mother, scold her! She isn't leaving any for me!"

Bolts carrying necrotic blasts and purple flame speared from every angle, miraculously bypassing your party to pierce the flesh of the bandits. One of them made a run for it, towards the entrance of the vault, only to have two explosive bolts fired directly into his buttocks.

"Naughty! No dine and dash allowed!"

Clutching at his backside, the unfortunate man screamed in agony as - well, imagination can fill in a fair few blanks.

The leader chose this moment to launch himself at Astarion, where he was now visible on a small incline above the camp.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

The greataxe came down on a shimmering illusion and Shadowheart smirked, waving away the remnants with a flat motion of her palm. The brawny man spun on his heel, eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, sweetcheeks."

The words were a venomous hiss, the blades punching upwards, through the leader's ribcage with the speed of a striking cobra. Astarion slid away across the scorched earth, and came to a halt at Lae'zel's side, watching with dark satisfaction as the drow poison with which he'd coated his swords went to work.

Axe clattering to the ground, the captain of the bandits fell. 

The stragglers who'd managed to survive this far either made a break for it, or surrendered in abject terror. You sheathed your blade. Honestly speaking, you'd barely had cause to use it.

Beside the fire, Lae'zel turned to Astarion with a sharp smile and slapped him rather hard across the shoulders.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Elf. I may just allow you to lick the sweat of battle from my skin after all."

"Oh, how delightful. I can hardly wait."

In spite of his grimace, you could see that Astarion was secretly pleased. He preened as Shadowheart complimented him on his crossbow skills and then his eyes turned hesitantly in your direction.

You cleared your throat.

"Well. Looks like Starblazer's made a name for himself."

"Oh Gods, you know I never agreed to be called that."

A smile curves your cheek, warm and genuine. Well, as much as it could be surrounded by present carnage.

"I think that we should leave the monikers up to the bards. After all, they'll be singing your story far and wide for years to come."

Astarion looked flustered, patting at his hair. The action seemed a little incongruous, considering that he'd almost single-handedly leveled an entire bandit base.

"You think so?"

"Yes. Now let's get back to camp. The vault can wait. We need to celebrate your ... considerable skills."

And thus the dark legend of Two Hand 'Starion, Master of Swift Death and Silent Sorrow, The Poison Tempest, Harbinger of the Sore Bottom, (and in some circles, Nasty Asty) was born.

Your own role in his much needed healing and self-discovery was not often spoken of, but that was something you didn't mind in the slightest. He remained at your side by his own choice, and that was all you really wanted.

The evolution of his skill was something you embraced fully. After all, change often comes like a bolt from the blue, or, in this case, with the roll of the dice in the hand of an unknown God.

[sixflame438]

Makeup Shenanigans

Synopsis - While your makeup artist had left to get a few things, your girlfriend comes to do your makeup instead.

Pairing - Hong Eunchae x 6th lsfm!reader

Tags - Fluff, I know nothing about makeup, possible errors, established relationship, kissing

A/N - [Request] This has a second part but can be read as a standalone fic. Part two is another requested fic which is [here] Pretend that Lsfms first fansign was during antifragile era mk?

Wordcount - 1138

Breathe in. Breathe out. You repeat this mantra in your head as you continue to do breathing exercises trying to calm your nerves. Opening your eyes you stare into your reflection on the table mirror, face half covered as the make up artist had to briefly step out of your dressing room to as she had the wrong shades for you.

Today was the groups first fan signing event and it was normal to be nervous but you were also super excited as well. You would be meeting the people who believed in and helped support Le Sserafims success since the beginning and you couldn’t be more grateful to pay them back. The event was just a simple meet and greet session and then attendees would have a chance to talk to each member for a short while as they signed their albums.

Nothing about it sounded too hard and you had a great feeling that the day would turn out well. Hearing the door click open you assume its your makeup artist coming back with the supplies but to your delight its not.

“Babyyyyyyyy”

“Pumpkin! what are you doing here?”

“Nothing in particular I just missed you” she replies as she nuzzles her face into your neck

“Is your makeup done already?” Questions your girlfriend when she gets into a comfortable position.

“No the person doing it had to leave and get a few things”

“Oh yea i know” Sensing your confusion Eucnchae continues. “I was bored and saw your artist leaving so I came here. Plus i couldnt do this-“ she leaves a kiss on your temple- “if she was here.”

“Ulterior motives i tell you” you say shaking your head in disappointment.

“No no no 100% innocent no ulterior motives i just missed my adorable girlfriend” she defended with a pout and pleading gaze.

Eunchae was a repeat offender and you were her number 1 victim, never being able to resist her large puppy eyes. With an amused roll of your eyes you dismiss the thought as you motion for Eunchae to take the seat next to you.

As the maknae sat down she noticed all the stuff laid out in a mess on the table top. Brushes of different sizes, palettes of varying shades, lipsticks and other beauty products just waiting to be used by someone.

“Baby can i do your makeup?”

For a second you were taken aback but quickly give into the request as you sit back properly into your chair. Eunchae pulls her own closer so that shed have an easier time applying everything.

Browsing the tools at her disposal Eunchae quickly gets to work making your face even more beautiful than it already was.

—————————

It had been about 6 minutes of quiet when Eunchae finally stops working. It wasn’t an entirely horrible attempt but you could easily tell by looking at your reflection that your girlfriend had no idea what she was doing. Some areas had been blended weirdly as you could tell from the incorrect colouring and there was too much blush on one cheek and not enough on the other. These were amongst the many issues you could see but at least you had a fun time.

“Last but not least some lip gloss to finish it off. Hey this looks great on you with that light pink tint i wonder if itll look good on me too” Eunchae stated thinking out loud (eunchae more like ed sheeran)

“You want me to put some on you?”

“Nah ive got a better idea” is all eunchae says before leaning in to press her lips onto yours, transferring the product. As if nothing just happened she turned to the mirror to examine herself. “Awww i dont think it showed much”

“You just need to put more on” you say with a smirk. Eunchae picking up what you were putting down giggled to herself before closing in to connect your lips again.

The kiss was sweet, a combination of your cute partner and the lip gloss you were now sharing. It had a strawberry undertone to it and altogether was a delightful experience.

In a way it felt like the lip gloss was calling you out for being just as fruity as its flavour but you were too in the clouds to care, focusing on Eunchae and only Eunchae.

You pull apart first as you had run out of air but your arms stay linked around her neck as you lean your forehead onto Eunchaes. Together you bask in the closeness and warmth, simply enjoying being together.

Your moment is cut off when you hear the click coming from the door. Cautiously you lift your head up to see the makeup artist walking in mumbling something to herself, eyes focused on the products she had been holding. When she looks up you can see the shock colouring her face with horror.

“Oh my god what happened to your face….”

“We got bored so Eunchae did my makeup” you say embarrassed that you were caught.

“Oh this is…. something….”

The artist says clearly not impressed by Eunchaes attempt. “We cannot have you going out looking like this were going to have to start over. Where are the wipes….”

As the makeup artist starts looking around for things to remove your makeup with Eunchae takes that as her sign to leave. She doesnt make it far out the door though as she turns around to blow you an air kiss, one you giddly accept and reciprocate by sending one back.

“Ill see you later Yn” Eunchae says with a wink before she actually leaves to return to her room.

You turn back around to see they had finally found some wipes and immediately gets to work removing everything. You turn your attention to your phone when you hear a specific ping noise. One you had set specifically for Eunchaes messages.

Hey cutie miss you already 😘

If the stylist saw anything or had any suspicions she didnt voice them, staying professional to the job and skillfully doing your makeup (unlike the previous attempt)

You quickly reply back to her message and swipe out of your chats into one of your miscellaneous games that you could play mindlessly, careful not to move to much so you wouldnt disturb the makeup process.

The earlier interactions with Eunchae left you excited and now with that excess energy you coudlnt help but look forward to the fansigning.

Recording and learning the choreography to antifragile had been a blast and you were thrilled to be getting to meet the fearnots who supported your group since debut.

As the makeup artist did their thing, every tap and brush stroke precise to a tee, you sat as still as you could, beaming with excitement for Le Sserafims first fansign event.

No Celestial best song on album. Fight me.

[bamsara]

A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

[theastralsage]

Year of the Dragon

❤︎ tags and content: mating season trope, Sting x Rogue x F!Reader ❤︎ author note: re-uploaded from old tumblr. 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

If there was one time of year you both loved and hated, it would definitely have been spring. It was a beautiful, joyous time where flowers had blossomed and birds had sung their songs to signal the longer days and warming atmosphere.

That was mostly why you had enjoyed the spring. Except for the fact it had been your mating season.

You had been a dragon slayer for as long as you could remember, your dragon mother teaching you all the ways to use your element, and yet, nothing could have prepared you for the agony that was heat.

With a groan, you rolled over in your bed and tried to ignore the painful ache in your lower half. Nothing was helping, either. And you could only do it yourself so many times before your libido kicked back in, anyway. Thinking to yourself, you wondered if there was any old fling you could call. Maybe shacking up with someone for the week could work.

“Nah,” you had heard yourself say. “Not worth that emotional dumpster fire.”

As you rose from your bed and made your way to the opposite end of your room, you reached for a towel and your shower essentials. The cramped quarters of the dormitory bathrooms had been challenging enough, but the persistent plumbing issues had added another layer of inconvenience. Consequently, communal showers beneath the guild hall had become the norm for everyone until Sting could get someone to fix the personals.

Each step you took was like a knife to the gut- an indicator that you had not done nearly enough to keep your heat in check. The discomfort had caused a flush to emerge on your cheeks.

To those who didn’t know you well enough, one could almost have assumed you were falling ill. Honestly, at that point, you had begged for sickness- it’d have been better than this shit, at least.

You had arrived at the communal showers and found it pleasantly deserted, the midday hour meant most guild members were on commissions or other various quests. The hot water had sprayed down over your muscles, a languid sigh escaped you as you leaned back against the cool shower wall.

The familiar itch of desire had coursed within you, and you couldn’t resist its call any longer. Your hand moved downward, touching yourself softly.

Biting back a moan, you continued to touch and tease your bundle of nerves before plunging two fingers deep into your wet core.

“Fuck,” a gritty voice had cut through the air. “You’re gonna kill me, yn..”

You froze, eyes wide as the voice of your best friend and guild master, Sting, had brought you back to reality. The heat in your cheeks grew as you silently cursed the fact that he, too, had been having this issue.

With a cough, you managed a reply. “I uh.. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

You could hear Sting sigh. “I just got here when I could smell your hormones.”

“I didn’t realize this shit was actually as bad as you had said before,” you whined, begrudgingly pulling your fingers out of your cunt.

“Yeah…” Sting cleared his throat. “It sucks. I’m gonna be completely honest with you, yn. This is gonna sound absolutely batshit and you’re welcome to say no, but… would you like to help each other out?”

In all the years you’d known him, you’d never heard his voice so… desperate before. The three of you had always done things together. But this?

Groaning, you grabbed your towel from the hanger and wrapped it around your body. Peeking out from the curtain, you saw Sting sitting on one of the benches, legs splayed and his elbows resting on his knees. He was sweating, resisting the call of heat leaving him worse for wear.

“I don’t want things to change between us,” you whispered. “We’ve been through so much together and—”

“You’re the only person I trust besides Rogue,” Sting had cut you off. “We know each other, and aren’t going to overstep anything. We’re all suffering, so why not? It’s.. it’s not like me and Rogue haven’t thought about asking you before, anyway..”

“Really? Why haven’t you?” You had found yourself asking, much to yours and Sting’s surprise.

He ran his hands through his already messy hair. “Well, you either always had a partner, or were away on missions. If it’s too weird it’s fine, we’ll survive but I just figured I’d ask.”

The blonde had stood up to go, grabbing his own towel and headed toward the shower.

“Wait. Yeah, that’s fine. I’m about losing my goddamn mind,” you said to him, causing him to turn around with a grin of relief.

“Can you handle the both of us?”

You bit your lip, considering. It had been so long since you last were intimate with anyone, but the temptation of getting rid of this awful feeling was too much.

“When have I ever not been able to?” 

Sting smirked. “Fantastic. Wait right here, then.” He took off through the showers doorway and out of sight. 

A few moments passed until Sting reemerged into the communal bathrooms with Rogue in tow. Suddenly, you couldn't help but feel a little awkward.

Rogue seemed to feel the same, as he gave you a curt nod. “Yn… um, I just want to say thank you for–”

“Don’t make this weird, Ro. We’re all struggling right now it seems, so… let’s just get on with it.” You sighed and looked between the only two men you’d ever trust.

A few beats passed in silence, the three of you staring at each other until Sting made the first move. He walked over to you and pulled you into him, his lips on yours before you had a chance to react.

His kiss was feverish, tongue already darting into your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan, the contact driving you mad. 

Your sounds seemed to wake something up in Rogue. The shadow dragon came and hugged you from behind, kissing your neck with his own desperation. His bulge was already firmly pressed up against your towel, grinding into you for any form of relief.

Pulling away from Sting’s kiss, you whispered. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere no one can walk in on us?”

Sting gave you that signature cocky grin of his. 

“Nah, where’s the fun in that? Too afraid to be seen getting fucked by us?”

The heat in your cheeks rose, feeling both embarrassed and incredibly turned on. With a shake of your head, Sting gave Rogue a grin.

The raven haired man picked you up wordlessly, and followed behind Sting.

Normally, you’d grumble to be put down, but every touch of skin against yours was causing you to grit your teeth in frustration. 

Sting hopped into one of the shower stalls, the water cascading down onto him as he quickly removed his clothing. Rogue gently set you down, pausing for a moment before slowly unwrapping the towel around your form, as if you were a gift on Christmas day.

“Fuck,” Sting groaned, the sight of your body setting off his already fried nerves.

“She’s so fucking delicious,” Rogue whispered. A faint blush appeared on your cheeks– this type of comments from the boys were a far cry from the usual banter you’d always been used to. 

Sting pulled you over to him, letting the warm water run down your body as he leaned in for another searing kiss. His hands traveled down your body, mapping every inch of beautiful skin. His breathing faltered as the kiss grew more intense, his hips rutting into you for some form of friction. 

Behind you, Rogue knelt down and pulled your thighs apart, exposing your most vulnerable spot. His fingers traced up your slit, causing you to groan into Sting’s lips. 

Sting smirked against you and pulled away, before leaning down onto his knees. 

“Last chance, yn. Are you good with this?” 

You nod weakly, looking down at the blonde in front of you. Without missing a beat, Sting leaned in and swiped his tongue against the front of your cunt, smiling as you buckled from the contact.

“Easy, yn,” Rogue chuckled, easing a finger inside you as his friend licked the arousal already dripping down your legs. 

“S-stop teasing,” you huff. “Fuck me already.” 

“Damn, I thought I was impatient,” Sting laughed as he stood up. “Come here.” 

You did as instructed, and followed him to the little bench just outside the shower. Sting sat down and pulled you on his lap, making sure to kiss your neck and play with your nipples. 

With a groan, you felt yourself arch against him. Rogue watched on, fisting his cock to the sight of your pretty body splayed out on his best friend’s lap. 

“This is how it’s gonna go, pretty girl,” Sting rasps in your ear. “You’re gonna bounce on my cock, I’m gonna fuck the life outta you and you’re gonna milk Rogue dry with your mouth, got it?”

With a shiver, you nodded. The boys exchanged a glance before Sting grabbed your hips, angling you up. 

“Sit.”

You moved down onto his cock, relishing the feel of something bigger than your fingers finally stretching you out. The moan that escaped your lips was sinful.

“Fuck,” Sting breathed. Without warning, his hips thrust up into you, causing you to cry out. 

You gave Rogue a look, and he approached. “Open for me, okay?”

Rogue pushed past your lips and nearly came at the contact of your wet mouth. Doing your best to maintain motion, you roll your hips down onto Sting, sucking on Rogue. 

The boys were a pair of grunts and pants as the three of you worked to ease the heat building inside you. 

“That’s it babe, ride my cock,” Sting grit his teeth, his words a sharp whisper. 

Your eyes were on Rogue, the poor shadow dragon barely holding on to some semblance of reality. His hips jutted into your mouth, his growls of arousal at the tears prickling at the side of your eyes. 

“Sting,” he panted. “She looks so fucked out.. fuck her f-faster.” 

“Gladly.”

The blond bullied his cock deeper into your cunt, your whimpers vibrating in your throat, much to Rogue’s delight. 

“Come for us, yn,” Rogue whispered. “Show us how perfect you are.”

The slap of skin and sweat and shower water echoed through the air, save for the breathy moans coming from the three of you. The warm honeyed heat pooling in your belly grew, and you knew you were close.

“Mmf-“ you tried to speak, but Rogue fucked your mouth deeper until he felt the back of your throat kissing the tip of his cock. 

“Oh fuck- ahhh,” he hissed, his cum squirting down your throat in endless ropes, dribbling down your fucked out chin until he pulled out of your mouth to observe his work. The taste of him was what pulled you over the edge.

Sting guided your hips up and down his length as you moaned out through your orgasm. 

“That’s it baby, get ready I’m about to fill you up,” Sting said, his thrusts suddenly pushing you into overstimulation. 

“Fuck- Sting.. s’ too much,” you mewl. Whether he heard you or not, he didn’t relent. His cock bullied deeper inside you until he groaned, his own arousal filling up your cunt until he stilled.

It was quiet in the showers for a few moments, each of you collecting your breath and processing what just happened. 

“God I feel so much better,” Sting whistled. He looked between you and Rogue, flashing a soft grin,

“We’ve always been a good team, haven’t we?”

With a meek smile, you nod.

Rogue chuckled in response, and out of the corner of your eye you could see he was already hard once more. 

“Shall we swap places now?” 

Sting grinned. “Fuck yeah we can. Good thing I left that ‘Keep Out’ sign on the door. I could do yn all day.”

With an amused look at the boys, you realized to yourself that mating season might not be so bad after all.