vortexdoll

[vortexdoll]

hehe me again (🕯 anon if you must), could I request anything w Pope with a reader who collects things? doesn't matter but if you need ideas, like funko pops, cds, pokemon cards, maybe seashells? and how their dynamic would work? since he is a pretty organized person and whatnot, he could like organize their collection of things since they have it just kinda thrown together? idk 😔🙏

A Place for Everything

A/n: Thanks so much for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think or if there’s more you’d like to see!

Pope Heyward x reader

Summary: Pope brings order to the reader’s beautiful chaos by helping organise her eclectic collections, showing his care through quiet, thoughtful acts of love.

Warnings: N/a

Word count: 1,050

Your room looked like a secondhand shop and a tide pool had a lovechild. The cracked windowsill was covered in mismatched jars filled with seashells—spirals and fans and half-broken bits that still looked beautiful to you. Your CDs lived in a few milk crates you’d stolen from behind the gas station, no rhyme or reason to how they were arranged. You liked the chaos. Mostly.

Pope didn’t say anything the first few times he came over. Just glanced at the piles of shiny discs and vintage ticket stubs, and the tiny stuffed alligator someone had given you as a joke, and your cluttered nightstand that always had a seashell or two perched on it like it was their home now.

You caught him once, staring at a cracked CD case that had no cover art.

“Is this Nirvana or, like… Enya?” he asked cautiously.

You blinked up from your spot on the floor, where you were painting a shell with glitter nail polish. “Honestly? I don’t remember.”

He smiled, setting it down gently like it might break. “That’s kind of impressive. It’s like a mystery collection.”

That was the moment you realized Pope wasn’t judging your chaos. He was just… trying to understand it.

About a week later, he showed up at your door holding something behind his back.

“No offense,” he said, grinning, “but your CD organization is a war crime.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you! That’s years of effort you’re insulting.”

“Effort?” He raised an eyebrow. “You literally tossed them all in a box. Some of them are upside down.”

You shrugged, playful. “They like it that way.”

He held up a small, handmade wooden shelf, painted your favorite color, with enough space for at least fifty CDs. “Well, they’re about to like this better.”

You blinked. “You built me a CD shelf?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I mean, yeah. Thought you might want a way to show ‘em off. You’ve got some cool stuff in there.”

Your heart did something very embarrassing in your chest.

He spent the next two hours helping you go through every CD you owned. You sat cross-legged on your bed, naming albums off the top of your head, while Pope gently wiped off dusty cases and sorted them into piles.

“You want them by genre? Artist? Year?” he asked, fully in project mode.

“Surprise me,” you said, watching the way his brows furrowed when he focused.

He ended up arranging them alphabetically and color-coordinated the spines. You didn’t even know he could color-coordinate spines.

Once the shelf was full, you stared at it, kind of stunned.

“This looks… legit,” you said.

Pope sat next to you, brushing his shoulder against yours. “Told you it would. You collect the coolest stuff—you deserve to see it.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re gonna spoil me, Heyward.”

He chuckled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

⸻

The next time he came over, he brought tiny mason jars. “For your shell collection,” he said. “We could label them by beach, or size, or weirdness level.”

“Weirdness level?” you laughed.

“I feel like that purple one with the hole in the middle is like, at least a Level 8.”

You ended up spending the whole afternoon reorganizing your seashells, sitting on your porch with the sun warming your legs and Pope writing tiny labels in his neat handwriting.

“This one’s from that day we skipped school and went to the north shore,” you said, handing him a tiny scallop-shaped shell. “Remember? You swore we saw a dolphin.”

Pope smiled. “We did see a dolphin. You just weren’t looking.”

You rolled your eyes. “You saw a wave.”

He gently tucked the shell into a jar labeled North Shore Finds and passed it back to you. “Agree to disagree.”

You stared at the neat little rows of shells, now organized and shiny and somehow even more special. It wasn’t like you needed everything to be perfect. You liked your clutter. Your randomness. But Pope made it feel intentional. Like your collections weren’t just messes—they were memories worth preserving.

“Thanks for helping me with all this,” you said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

He nudged your leg with his. “I like being part of your world. Even if it’s made of seashells and bootleg Avril Lavigne CDs.”

“Bootleg?” you gasped. “That’s vintage!”

He laughed, leaning in to bump your shoulder again, this time letting it linger a little longer.

“Okay, okay. Vintage. My bad.”

You smiled, watching the sunlight dance through the jars. Everything looked brighter when he was around. Not just your collections—but you, too.

Maybe that was the best part about Pope: he didn’t try to fix your chaos. He just made space in it for himself.

[vortexdoll]

wait you write for obx?? may I ask what characters you do write for? I'm mostly interested in the pogues so I'd hate to req for someone you may not write for like pope or cleo since not many ppl write for them :,)

Hey! I’ve just started writing for OBX, both kooks and pogues and recently decided to branch out into more of the fandoms I love, so I’m really open to writing for pretty much anyone—including Pope and Cleo! I know they don’t always get as much attention, but I’d honestly be excited to write something for them. So please don’t hesitate to send in whatever you have in mind—I’d love to try it!

[vortexdoll]

☣︎༺ MASTERLIST ༻☣︎

๋࣭ ⭑ All my works and fandoms in one spot!

Slipknot Imagines

Joey Jordison

- Under The Stage Lights

- In The Wings

- Take A Break

- Unsent Letters

-backstage passes

- Sick

Corey Taylor

- crowd control

- Helping Him With His Mask

- Until the end

- Birthday Surprise

Sid Wilson

- Hands Off

- Sweet Moments

- Not Getting It Back

- Reckless Hearts

Chris Fehn

- Your Voice Feels like home

- His Mask

- Backstage Surprise

- The Groupie Surprise

- Unsent Letter

Jim Root

- A Piece of Home

Mick Thomson

- Stalker

Saw Imagines

Amanda Young

- The Price Of Freedom

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight

- Just… For a little longer

Obx Imagines

Blur Imagines

Harry Potter Imagines

Bat Boys Imagines

[vortexdoll]

Could I request a x Reader fic of comforting Joey Jordison after Slipknot or murderdolls had to cancel a show because he is sick? Idk super fluffy and cute and a bit angsty!

Sick

GIF by @missmxtherfxcker-blog

A/n: Hey there! Of course I can — thank you so much for the request! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. If you have any more ideas or requests, feel free to send them my way — I love hearing from you guys!

Mick Thompson x reader

Summary: After Murderdolls cancel a show due to Joey’s illness, the reader comforts him with sweet, emotional support, leading to a deep, comforting connection

Warnings: n/a

Word count: 2,245

The hotel room felt too quiet.

No guitars shredding in the background, no laughter spilling from open doors, no Joey’s voice cracking some half-sarcastic joke about the chaos they’d just caused onstage. Instead, there was just the hum of the air conditioner and the faint, steady drip of rain against the window.

You’d known something was wrong the moment Joey came off the tour bus that morning. His face was pale, skin clammy under the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d brushed it off like he always did, waving a hand and mumbling something about being fine.

But you knew Joey.

And “fine” in Joey-speak usually meant “I feel like death, but I’m too stubborn to admit it.”

Now here you were — a canceled Murderdolls show and one sick drummer later — watching him lay bundled up in the hotel bed like some grumpy, exhausted burrito.

“Y’know,” Joey rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with congestion, “this fucking blows.”

You smiled softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I know, baby,” you murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from his face. “But you needed to rest. Your body’s been screaming at you for days.”

He let out a sigh, one that turned into a rattling cough. His usual energy was nowhere to be found — no quick-witted remarks or defiant smirks. Just tired, bloodshot eyes and a lingering heaviness in his expression.

“I hate letting people down,” he admitted, voice cracking. “The fans… the band… you…”

Your heart tugged at the vulnerability in his words. Joey rarely let that side of himself show, even to you. Always the performer, the fighter, the one who pushed through everything with a middle finger in the air.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was just Joey — the guy who played drums too loud at two in the morning, who hoarded horror movie VHS tapes, and held you like you were the only solid thing in the world when the noise got too much.

“You didn’t let me down,” you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t have to be invincible, Joey.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, like the weight of those words actually hit him.

“I’m so fucking tired,” he muttered.

“I know,” you whispered, running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “That’s why you need to rest. The world can wait. The stage can wait. You matter more than all of it.”

His throat worked around a lump, and for a split second you thought he might actually cry. He didn’t — not quite — but he did reach for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, holding on like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“You’re the only thing that makes this shit bearable sometimes,” he murmured. “I don’t… I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t do that. You deserve every good thing in this world, Joey Jordison. Including me.”

He huffed a soft, humorless laugh.

“Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?”

“Damn right you are.”

You stayed with him like that, your hand in his, listening to the rain and his uneven breathing. After a while, he shifted, tugging your arm gently.

“C’mere,” he rasped.

You didn’t hesitate. You slid onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle him too much, tucking yourself against his side. His arms came around you instinctively, pulling you in close despite his fevered skin and weak limbs.

“Sorry I’m gross,” he mumbled.

“Shut up,” you said, smiling into his chest. “You’re my gross, sick rockstar. And I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

His laugh was a little stronger this time, though it still turned into a cough halfway through. You sat up, grabbed a bottle of water off the nightstand, and held it out for him. He took a few sips, then leaned his head back against the pillow, eyes heavy.

“You should go to the show,” he said after a moment. “You shouldn’t miss it because of me.”

“Joey… there is no show. You’re the heartbeat of Murderdolls. Without you, it’s just… silence.”

He smiled, tired but genuine.

“I like the way you say that.”

“Because it’s true,” you said softly. “And right now, your only job is to get better. I’ve got everything else covered.”

He gave a soft, satisfied hum, eyes falling shut.

You stayed by his side, fingers tracing idle shapes along his arm, watching the rise and fall of his chest. It wasn’t often you got moments like this — stripped down, unguarded, raw. There was a strange sort of beauty in it, even in the sickness and canceled gigs and quiet hotel rooms.

After a long stretch of silence, Joey spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.

“Thank you… for loving me like this.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You kissed his temple.

“Always,” you whispered. “Every version of you. Sick or not. Onstage or off. I’m here.”

He drifted off after that, his breathing evening out, one hand still tangled in yours.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, you held him through the night, your own quiet promise lingering in the dark.

[vortexdoll]

Stalker

A/n: Hey there! Someone had requested a Mick Thompson Imagine but sadly I lost it before I could answer it. I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. And just a little note — Stacy is absolutely gorgeous, and I love their relationship so much! If you have any more ideas or requests, feel free to send them my way — I love hearing from you guys!

Mick Thompson x reader

Summary: Mick Thompson confronts a stalker fan who crosses boundaries with his model girlfriend during a meet-and-greet.

Warnings: Stalker

Word count: 2,220

You were used to people staring.

It came with the job. As a model, you were constantly under the microscope, whether on the runway, at photo shoots, or behind the scenes. You were used to it. You smiled, posed, and moved through it, doing what you were paid to do.

But there was something unsettling about being watched — especially when you didn’t know the person.

The Slipknot meet-and-greet had been a whirlwind. The usual group of screaming fans, excited to meet the band — and you, by association, since you were Mick’s girlfriend. You didn’t mind it. You stayed off to the side, watching quietly as Mick and the others greeted fans, their heavy masks hiding the faces you knew and loved.

You were perched against the wall, wearing Mick’s hoodie, feeling like an outsider in this world of heavy metal, blood, and masks. Yet, it felt safe with him nearby.

That’s when you saw him.

The guy was in line, grinning at the band like a fan would, but there was something off about him. His gaze kept flickering back toward you, his eyes following your every move. You shrugged it off — maybe he was just excited to meet everyone. Maybe he just thought you were pretty, as people sometimes did. You didn’t think much of it. That was until he was standing right in front of you, a shy smile on his face, holding a Slipknot photo for you to sign.

“Hey, could I get an autograph?” he asked, voice low and almost hesitant.

You smiled politely, taking the photo from him and uncapping your marker. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Matt,” he said, eyes never leaving you as you wrote your name on the photo. “I’ve been following you for a while. I think you’re really cool.”

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. He was just a fan, right? Nothing unusual about it. You handed the photo back with a smile. “Thank you, Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

His grin widened. “Thank you. You’re way cooler than I thought you’d be. Some models… they’re not as nice, you know?”

You laughed, a little uneasy but trying to be kind. “I try to be friendly. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

He hesitated, as if wanting to say something more, but then his voice dropped lower. “You know, I’ve been to every one of your shows. Every. Single. One.”

Your stomach fluttered, and you smiled, trying to keep the conversation light. “Wow, that’s a lot of shows! That’s really sweet of you.”

“Yeah,” he continued, his voice taking on a strange edge. “I like to keep track of things. You’re amazing. Beautiful, really.” He leaned in just a little, his smile growing more intense. “I’ve got a lot of photos of you, actually. A lot.”

You blinked, feeling a prickle of unease run up your spine. “Oh… really?”

He pulled out his phone, showing you a folder titled “Y/N - <3” before you could say anything. The folder was filled with photos — not the ones from photo shoots or public appearances, but personal photos. They were images of you walking to your car, of you at different events, even candid photos from backstage. The last few were recent — too recent.

Your heart started to race. Something wasn’t right.

“They’re from all the shows I’ve been to,” Matt said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I just… I like to keep them. You’re so much more beautiful in person, you know? I bet you’ve never even noticed me, but I’ve been watching you. Always watching you.”

The smile on your face faltered. “Uh… I didn’t know you were… following me.” Your voice was shaky, the creeping discomfort turning into something much more sinister.

He nodded, completely oblivious to the change in your demeanor. “Yeah. I know everything about you. Your schedule. The places you go. Who you hang out with. Like Mick.” His tone turned darker at the mention of Mick’s name. “He’s not good enough for you. You deserve someone who can really take care of you. I could take care of you. I’ve already got everything ready…”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “I think you need to leave.”

Matt didn’t take his eyes off you, his smile never wavering. “No, not yet. I just wanted to let you know. I’ve been watching for so long, I think you’re meant to be with me. Mick doesn’t see you like I do. I’ll make sure of it.”

It was then that you realized just how deep his obsession ran — this wasn’t just a fan. It was something worse. Something far more dangerous.

“Matt, I need you to go,” you said, your voice firm despite the nerves crawling up your spine.

He took a step closer. “I just want to be with you. I can’t be the only one who sees how perfect we’d be, can I?”

Before you could react, a shadow loomed behind you.

Mick.

His mask was on, his presence a looming force.

“Get away from her,” Mick’s voice came through low and menacing, muffled by his mask but unmistakable.

You turned to Mick, the relief washing over you. Matt’s eyes shifted quickly to Mick, a moment of hesitation before he smirked.

“Oh, it’s you,” he sneered. “You really think she’s yours, huh?”

Mick took one long stride toward him, his large frame casting an intimidating shadow over Matt. His hand shot out, grabbing the stalker by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The room went dead silent.

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Mick growled. “And if you ever come near her again, I’ll make sure you regret it. Do you understand?”

Matt struggled, gasping for air, but the expression on his face wasn’t fear. It was twisted with obsession. “You can’t stop me… she’s mine… I know everything about her… I’ll always find her…”

Mick squeezed harder, his jaw clenched behind the mask. “You’re not welcome here. And if I see you again, I won’t be as nice.”

With that, Mick dropped him. Matt crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping, still glaring up at him with that same unsettling grin.

“Now get out of here,” Mick commanded coldly.

Security rushed in, dragging Matt out of the room, but not before he turned back toward you one last time, a sickening promise in his eyes. “I’ll be watching, Y/N. I always will.”

Mick slammed the door shut behind him and turned toward you, his mask still in place, but the fury in his eyes visible beneath.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, filled with concern.

You nodded, still trying to shake off the chilling words from Matt’s mouth. “Yeah… but that was… terrifying.”

Mick pulled you into his arms, his hold fierce but gentle. “He won’t get near you again, I promise.”

You buried your face in his chest, the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest. “I just didn’t realize…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mick whispered. “He’s gone. And if he ever shows his face again, I’ll take care of it.”

You clung to him, the fear fading in the warmth of his embrace. He was right. No one would ever hurt you with him around.

You were safe.

With him, you were always safe.

[vortexdoll]

omg so random and feel free to ignore, but could I request a joey jordison x biker!reader thing? oneshot, drabble, I don't care, I just crave biker!reader in fandoms I'm in 😭🙏 anyways I hope you have a good day/night!! :)

Backstage Pass

Gif Credit @mattel

A/n: Hello! Ofc I can! Tysm for being my first request. I didn’t know how I would go about it and this is what it ended up as. I hope you like it!

Joey Jordison x biker!reader

Summary: After a high-energy Slipknot show, you catch Joey Jordison’s attention backstage, leading to an unexpected night of conversation, cigarettes, and a quiet escape from the chaos.

Warnings: N/a

Word count: 870

The energy from the show still thrummed through your veins as you leaned against the cold concrete wall of the backstage hallway. Your ears rang from the pounding drums and screaming guitars, but you didn’t mind. The show had been everything you’d hoped for—raw, aggressive, and completely unforgettable.

And now, you were backstage, waiting.

You had lucked out, scoring a pass to meet Slipknot after the show. But you weren’t the type to fangirl and beg for autographs. You were here for one reason—Joey Jordison.

You’d followed his career for years, fascinated by his talent, his energy, and the way he seemed to pour his entire soul into the drums. You weren’t some obsessed fan—you just admired the hell out of the guy. And maybe, deep down, you wanted to know if the man behind the legend was anything like the one you’d imagined.

The door at the end of the hall creaked open.

Joey stepped out, his mask nowhere in sight. His dark, sweat-dampened hair clung to his face, and his eyes, sharp and piercing, flicked toward you almost immediately. Dressed in all black, he had an effortless presence—one that made it impossible to look away.

“You were in the front row, weren’t you?” His voice was rough, slightly hoarse from the show.

You nodded. “Yeah. Hell of a performance.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You looked like you were having a good time.” He gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your leather jacket. “You a biker?”

“Since I was sixteen,” you replied. “Can’t stand being stuck in one place too long.”

His smirk widened. “I get that.” He leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed. “Most of the people back here just want a picture. You don’t seem like the type.”

You chuckled. “I’m not.”

Joey tilted his head, considering you. “So, why are you back here?”

“Figured it’d be cool to meet you. No bullshit, no fan-crazed screaming. Just… talk.”

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to that answer. He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a first.”

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, but the energy between you was anything but dull. Joey glanced around, then gestured toward a side door.

“Come on. I need some fresh air. You up for a smoke?”

“Yeah,” you said, pushing off the wall to follow him.

⸻

The alley behind the venue was dimly lit, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Joey pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features.

He took a drag and exhaled, watching you from the corner of his eye. “So, what do you ride?”

“Custom-built chopper,” you said, leaning against the brick wall.

Joey let out an approving hum. “Bet that thing turns heads.”

You smirked. “It does. You ever ride?”

He shook his head. “Never got into it. I like speed, but I get my rush on stage.” He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Drumming’s the closest thing to flying for me.”

You nodded. “Makes sense. You look like you’re in another world when you play.”

Joey chuckled. “That obvious?”

“Yeah,” you said, watching him. “But it’s cool. You don’t half-ass anything.”

“Neither do you,” he said, flicking ash onto the pavement. “I can tell.”

The way he was looking at you—like he was actually seeing you—made your stomach do something stupid. He wasn’t just making conversation. He was interested.

“You got plans after this?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Depends. Why?”

He smirked. “Thought you might wanna hang out for a bit. Nothing crazy. Just… get out of here. Find somewhere quieter.”

The idea of ditching the noisy after-party and spending time alone with Joey Jordison? Yeah, that sounded a hell of a lot better.

You pretended to think about it for a second before grinning. “Alright, rockstar. Lead the way.”

Joey chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Let’s go, then.”

And just like that, the night took a turn you hadn’t seen coming.

[vortexdoll]

Just… for a little longer

Warnings: N/a

Adam Stanheight x reader

Summary: After John Kramer leaves Adam to die from a gunshot wound, an apprentice, defies his teachings to secretly help him survive, offering him a brief moment of mercy and connection.

A/n: I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

Word count: 1,530

The room smelled of damp, decaying filth. Blood stained the tiles, the echoes of the agonizing screams still ringing in your ears. You stood in the shadows, hidden from Adam’s view, your heart heavy with the burden of your secret. The game was over, and yet, it wasn’t. The man in the corner—the man who had become a victim of John Kramer’s twisted sense of justice—was still breathing. Barely.

Adam Stanheight was dying.

When John had called the game over, his words felt like a slap in the face. There was no triumphant moment of justice, no sense of victory. Only a suffocating sense of helplessness. And then, John Kramer had left, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Adam’s fate in the hands of time and the brutal gunshot wound in his shoulder that would soon claim him. But you, the silent observer and reluctant apprentice, couldn’t just let him die. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the desperation in his eyes when he had looked up, when he’d begged for help, his voice raw and cracked. Maybe it was the way his body trembled with pain, his will to survive still flickering despite the overwhelming odds.

But whatever it was, it had ignited something in you—a conflict you hadn’t anticipated. You were supposed to be a part of John’s plan, an apprentice in his twisted games. You were meant to enforce his cruel vision of survival, to watch as people fought for their lives. But what if, just this once, you could do something different? What if you could act as more than an observer? What if, in your own silent way, you could offer Adam a chance?

You knew it was dangerous. Helping him would be an act of defiance against John’s teachings. But you couldn’t just stand by and watch a man bleed to death when you had the power to stop it. You were already too deep into John’s world, and you couldn’t leave. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make a difference, even if it was a small one.

Slowly, quietly, you approached Adam. His body was crumpled on the filthy floor, eyes glazed over from exhaustion and pain. The gunshot wound on his shoulder was deep, a dark, blood-soaked hole in his torn shirt. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in slow, labored gasps. You crouched down beside him, careful not to make a sound.

He didn’t notice you at first. His eyes were focused on the grimy walls of the bathroom, his gaze distant, lost in his own thoughts. But when you gently touched his shoulder, he flinched, his body tensing. His hand shot out instinctively, trying to push you away, but his strength was fading.

“What…?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and his eyes flicked toward you. “Who… are you?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Technically, you were his enemy. You were a part of the very system that had placed him here, and yet, you were the one offering him aid. You had been trained to be silent, to remain unseen, but something about his pain made you want to break that rule.

“I’m here to help,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. It didn’t matter if he understood or trusted you. All that mattered was that you did what you could to keep him alive, even if it meant betraying the man who had taken you under his wing. The man who had made you into what you were.

Adam looked at you with confusion in his eyes, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you would want to help him. But he didn’t question you further. His gaze softened, a mixture of hope and disbelief flickering behind his pain-filled eyes.

You opened the small bag you had brought with you, taking out a clean cloth, some antiseptic, and a small packet of food. Adam’s eyes darted between the food and the cloth, and for a moment, he looked as though he might protest, but the hunger and thirst in his gaze spoke louder than any words. He reached weakly for the food, his fingers trembling as he tore open the packet.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, even though you weren’t sure if that was true. The gunshot wound on his shoulder was severe, and you had no medical training to help him properly. But you couldn’t just leave him to die.

Gently, you pressed the cloth against the wound, applying just enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Adam hissed in pain, his body tensing, but he didn’t pull away. He was too weak, too tired to fight anymore. The only sound in the room was his labored breathing and the faint rustle of the cloth as you cleaned the wound, your hands shaking as you worked.

“I’m not going to make it, am I?” Adam asked quietly, his voice barely audible. He seemed resigned to the fact, as though he had already accepted the darkness that would soon claim him.

You didn’t answer him right away. It was hard to say anything when you weren’t sure of the outcome yourself. You had seen people die before. You had witnessed John’s games play out in front of your eyes, and each time, you felt a small piece of yourself slipping away, lost in the chaos. But helping Adam was different. It felt… personal. Like you were trying to make up for something you couldn’t undo.

“Don’t say that,” you replied softly, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. “You’ve fought too hard to give up now.”

You wrapped the cloth around his wound, tying it as best as you could to keep the pressure on the bleeding area. Adam’s breathing was still shallow, but it had slowed just a bit. You prayed that the pressure would be enough, that the blood loss wouldn’t be enough to take him.

When you stepped back, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. But there was also something else—something you hadn’t expected. A flicker of gratitude. It was a look that made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you almost regretted your decision to help him. But you couldn’t undo it now.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Adam murmured, his voice weak but steady. “But… thank you.”

You gave him a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, the weight of your actions hanging over you like a cloud. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you had done something right. Even if it was small. Even if it was just giving him a moment longer to live.

You stood up, your knees aching from the crouch, and started to leave the room. But before you could take another step, Adam’s voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned, surprised to hear him call out. His hand was outstretched toward you, trembling slightly, but there was a sense of yearning in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say, but there was something in his gaze that spoke volumes. You didn’t understand it fully, but you could feel the weight of it. The need for connection. For something human.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… for a little longer.”

For a moment, you debated whether or not to stay. But then, without thinking, you found yourself walking back to him, sitting down on the cold, grimy floor beside him. It wasn’t much, but in that moment, it was everything.

You didn’t know if he would survive. You didn’t know if you had done enough. But for now, you could be there. You could offer him something, even if it was just your presence in the silence of the dark room.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[vortexdoll]

Welcome to my blog

⋆｡°✩ Some things about me

⋆˙⟡ 18 | she/her

⋆˙⟡ Leo

⋆˙⟡ Hufflepuff

⋆˙⟡ heavy metal, Blur, and Gorillaz in my playlists

⋆˙⟡ horror movie lover

⋆˙⟡ loud music, and deep lyrics are my love language

⋆˙⟡ i love write messy, emotional love stories & haunted daydreams

✃*𖦹𐬺 What you’ll find here

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Slipknot imagines (Although I’m taking a break)

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Blur imagines

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Saw imagines

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Harry Potter imagines

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ obx imagines (Specifically Rafe and JJ)

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Bat Boys Imagines

All rights to the content in this post are owned by Vortexdoll. Reposting or translating any of my work is not permitted.

[vortexdoll]

The Price Of Freedom

Warnings: trap, Blood

Amanda Young x reader

Summary: You wake up in a deadly trap set by Jigsaw, forced to confront your addiction and fight for your life, only to later awaken under the care of a mysterious stranger.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,620

You wake up with a sharp gasp, your breath caught in your throat. The harsh metallic taste of fear fills your mouth as your eyes snap open. You find yourself in a dark, grimy room, the air thick with the scent of dust and rust. Your hands and feet are shackled to a cold, metal chair, and a sharp pain in your chest makes you wince. The cold seeping through your skin is almost unbearable, and the metallic clink of chains rattling around your wrists sends a pulse of panic through your veins.

The weight of the situation sinks in as your mind races to piece together how you ended up here. You can’t remember how you got here—one moment you were walking home, and now… this. The unfamiliar environment and the chilling sensation of helplessness claw at your insides.

A distant, distorted voice cuts through the air, sending chills down your spine. The faint buzz of static precedes the eerie words.

“I want to play a game.”

Your head jerks to the side as the voice comes from a dusty old TV set in the corner of the room. The screen flickers, static hissing from the speakers before the voice continues, cold and commanding.

“You are here because you have failed to control your addiction. You have allowed it to consume you, harming everyone around you. You’ve taken people for granted, destroying the trust of those who once cared for you, all because you were too weak to stop.” The voice pauses, the static hums louder for a moment, then it resumes, colder now. “Live or die, it’s your choice. The rules are simple.”

The room seems to grow colder, and your hands tremble against the cold metal, the chains digging into your skin. The faint whir of machinery fills the silence, and you know this is no ordinary trap. This is not just a game. It’s a reckoning.

“You are wearing a device around your neck. It is a collar, designed to tighten with every minute that passes. As it tightens, the pressure will increase until it crushes your windpipe if you do not act quickly enough. The collar has been fitted to prevent you from breathing, but you can still survive if you manage to retrieve the key.”

The voice pauses again, the words hanging in the air, thick with the weight of the warning. You can feel the pressure of the collar at your neck, its cold, metallic form against your skin, as you struggle to breathe. It’s too tight already, constricting the air in your lungs, and you know if you don’t act fast, it’ll be over.

“The key to release yourself is inside a glass box placed directly in front of you. The box is filled with sharp glass shards. You must put your hand inside, cut through the glass, and retrieve the key. If you hesitate, the collar will tighten further, and you will die.”

A lump forms in your throat as you feel the weight of the situation press down on you. Your body trembles against the chains, the shock of being in this strange place mingling with the overwhelming sense of fear and regret. You know the rules now—this is not just a test of your survival. It’s a test of your will to change, to break free from the addiction that has consumed you for so long.

“The clock is ticking,” the voice continues. “You have one minute to act. Fail, and you die.”

The room grows even darker, and the distant sound of a clock ticking louder and louder fills your ears. Panic rises in your chest. You glance down at the box in front of you, the small, clear container filled with shards of glass that gleam like broken promises. You know what you have to do—your survival depends on it. But the thought of putting your hand in that box, of cutting through the glass, of feeling the sharp shards cut into your skin… it feels impossible.

The timer continues, its relentless ticking a constant reminder of the time running out. You know that hesitation is death. Every second counts, and yet your mind goes blank. The addiction—the cravings, the numbness, the obsession with your next fix—haunts you, clouding your thoughts. The harsh reality of your situation sets in: the trap before you is a metaphor, a reflection of your life, and this is your moment to choose.

You try to steady your breath, but it comes out in shallow gasps. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you strain against the chains, trying to free yourself, but it’s no use. There’s no escape but to act. You can feel the collar tightening, suffocating your breath, and you know that if you don’t do something now, it will be too late.

With trembling hands, you shift your gaze back to the glass box. The sharp glass shards glisten like knives, daring you to make a move. For a moment, all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart, and the suffocating weight of the situation. The addiction has always been a silent, ever-present thing, always with you, always pulling you back into its grasp, making you question everything.

You can feel the pressure rising, the desire to do anything but face this moment—the fear of pain, the fear of failure, the fear of dying. But you’ve lived with that fear for so long. It’s what’s kept you in this cycle of self-destruction, this endless loop. And now, you have to break it.

You reach forward, your body protesting, your fingers trembling as they hover over the sharp edges of the glass box. The thought of it—the glass slicing into your skin, the blood that will flow—makes your stomach churn. But then you think of the people you’ve hurt. The family members, the friends who tried to help you, the ones you pushed away because of your addiction. You’ve done so much damage, but you’ve also been given a chance. A chance to break free. A chance to survive.

With a deep breath, you force yourself to do it. You plunge your hand into the box, the sharp shards tearing at your skin as the glass slices through your palm. You bite back a scream, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull your hand away, but you hold on. The pain is excruciating, each cut sending a jolt of agony through your body. But you grit your teeth and push forward. You can do this. You have to do this.

Your fingers finally close around the key, the cold metal a brief relief amid the chaos of sharp glass cutting into your hand. You pull it out with all your strength, your vision blurred with tears and blood, but you don’t stop. The clock is ticking louder now, but you’ve got the key. You stagger back, every movement feeling like a fight against the very weight of your own body. You fumble with the key, your hands slick with blood and shaking uncontrollably as you struggle to unlock the device around your neck.

The moment the key clicks into place and the collar loosens, you fall to the floor with a gasp, your body weak from the pain, the exertion, and the fear. You barely have time to register the fact that you’re free before the world tilts, and the blackness pulls you under.

⸻

You wake up with a sharp intake of breath, groaning as your body aches with soreness. Your eyes flutter open, but the room is still dark, save for the faint glow of an overhead light. You’re no longer trapped—though the remnants of the chains are still embedded in your skin. A soft rustling noise breaks the silence, and your vision focuses to reveal a woman sitting by your side, watching you carefully.

Her face is pale, her expression unreadable, and she leans in slightly, her eyes scanning you as if assessing your condition. She looks familiar, but you can’t quite place her. She’s not who you expected, but she’s here now, and it’s enough for your foggy mind to focus on.

“You’re awake,” she says softly, her voice oddly comforting yet chilling. “You made it out.”

You try to sit up, but your body protests. She’s quick to stop you, pressing a firm hand to your shoulder.

“Stay still. You were in bad shape. I had to clean you up,” she adds, her tone softer than you would expect from someone so closely tied to Jigsaw.

Your mind races, the fog of the trap still clouding your thoughts. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, you’re left staring at her in confusion, unable to form a coherent question. Who is she? Why does she seem so familiar?

The woman doesn’t seem phased by your silence. “You’ve survived, but there’s more to it than just escaping. Jigsaw’s games are never truly over. The lesson is always in the process, the struggle. You may have lived, but you have to ask yourself: Did you truly value your life before this moment?”

You blink slowly, the fog of fear lifting slightly, but only to be replaced by a deeper sense of dread. She reaches forward, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, her expression unreadable.

“You’re safe for now,” the woman says, her voice cold but not unkind. “But this isn’t the end for you. You will see the truth—whether you’re ready or not.”

With that, she stands and walks toward the door, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this twisted game may have just begun. The woman, the one who helped you, doesn’t stay. You’re left alone in the room, with nothing but the echoes of her words haunting your thoughts.

[vortexdoll]

Finally home

Warnings: N/a

Chris Fehn x reader

Summary: Chris Fehn returns home from tour, exhausted but at peace in his partner’s arms.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,237

Chris Fehn had been away on tour for months, and you hadn’t realized just how much you missed him until you saw his silhouette at the door. The exhaustion on his face was obvious as he entered the apartment, dragging his duffel bag behind him. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of the road and the grime of tour clung to his clothes. His long hair was matted, and his eyes, usually bright and full of energy, were dull with fatigue.

You immediately stood up from the couch where you’d been waiting for him, your heart racing with excitement and relief. The tour had taken a toll on both of you, but now, he was finally home.

“Hey, baby,” you said softly, crossing the room to meet him.

He looked up, his eyes lighting up just the tiniest bit when they landed on you. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was clear that he was drained. “Hey, love. I’m finally home,” he murmured, dropping his bag to the floor before pulling you into a tight embrace.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his chest. The familiar beat of his heart beneath your ear soothed you, even as you could feel how exhausted he was. “I missed you so much,” you whispered.

He sighed deeply, a mix of exhaustion and contentment. “Missed you too, more than you know.” His hands gently ran up and down your back, as though the simple act of touching you was the only way he could ground himself after the chaos of the road.

Pulling back, you took his hand and led him to the couch. “You look wiped out. I’ll make you something to eat, and you can just relax for a bit.”

But Chris didn’t seem to have any desire to eat. Instead, he shook his head and flopped down onto the couch, patting the spot next to him. “Nah, all I want right now is to cuddle. Come here.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest at how much he wanted to be close to you, especially when he had so much else he could be doing. You sat down beside him, and without another word, he pulled you into his arms, settling you against his chest as his large hand gently stroked your hair.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled. “For waiting up for me. You didn’t have to.”

You chuckled softly, the sound comforting. “Of course I waited. How could I not? You’ve been gone forever, and I miss you every second you’re gone.”

He exhaled, clearly exhausted, his head sinking into the cushions as his arms tightened around you. “It’s been one hell of a tour, babe. Long drives, loud crowds… it’s all starting to blur together.”

You rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. His hands slid up and down your arms, a calming gesture as he tried to unwind. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain from days of performing, traveling, and constant motion.

“I know it must’ve been hard,” you said softly. “But it’s over now, right? You’re here.”

“Yeah, it’s over for now,” he agreed, letting out a slow breath. His fingers traced a gentle pattern along your skin. “I think this tour really wore me down more than I expected. I don’t think I’ve had a moment to actually breathe until now. All I want to do is lay here with you.”

“Then let’s do that,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of the couch as Chris shifted slightly, pulling you even closer to him. His hands continued to run through your hair, his fingers gently massaging your scalp, and you sighed, completely relaxed in his embrace.

“How bad was it?” you asked after a while, your voice quiet. “The tour, I mean. How tough was it for you?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, then sighed heavily. “It was… brutal, honestly. Long hours, loud shows, shitty bus rides. We were always on the move, barely had time to rest. And I swear, there were nights I’d be so tired I couldn’t even remember where I was. Every day felt like it was dragging on forever.”

He let out a breath, his hand coming to rest against your back, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. “I kept telling myself it was worth it. That the fans, the shows, the music—it was all worth the exhaustion. But sometimes, when I’d think about coming home, I just couldn’t wait to get away from the noise.”

You kissed his chest gently, letting him know that you understood. “I get it. I really do. But you made it. You survived the chaos, and now you’re here.”

Chris nodded, his arms tightening around you in appreciation. “Yeah, I made it through. But I think the real reward is being here with you. I don’t care about the applause or the crowds. I just care about this—being with you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. You had always known that Chris cared deeply for you, but hearing him express it so openly made your chest swell with affection.

“Tell me more about the tour,” you said softly, wanting to keep the conversation going, wanting to distract him from the exhaustion that was still clinging to him. “What was the best part of it for you?”

He tilted his head, considering the question. “There were a lot of good moments, honestly. A few nights where the crowd just got so loud, I felt like I couldn’t hear myself think. That’s when I realized how lucky we are to do what we do, even if it’s hard sometimes.” He paused, his fingers brushing against your hair again. “But there was a moment, near the end of the tour, when I looked out into the crowd and saw a bunch of people wearing your favorite band’s t-shirts. I don’t know why, but that stuck with me. It made me think of you and reminded me that no matter how far I go, you’re always with me.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sweetness of his words. “You really are something, Chris.”

He chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “I try. But really, I just want to be here with you, that’s all I need right now.”

And as you settled even deeper into his arms, the world outside seemed to disappear. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the warmth of his embrace. You didn’t need anything else.

For the first time in months, Chris Fehn was home. And in that moment, everything was perfect.

[vortexdoll]

Unsent letters

Warnings: N/a

Joey Jordison x reader

Summary: You discover Joey Jordison’s unsent love letters confessing his feelings for you, changing everything between you both.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,299

You were never one to stay in one place for too long. That was how you’d ended up on tour with your older brother, Jim Root, the guitarist of Slipknot. You loved music, the chaos of the road, and the excitement that came with being around the guys. You spent most of your time with Jim, hanging out backstage or exploring new cities, but there was one person who always caught your attention in a different way: Joey Jordison.

You had no idea that Joey’s feelings for you had been building up for months. To you, he was just the funny, energetic drummer who always cracked you up between shows and looked out for you like an older brother. But Joey? He was holding back, trying to keep his secret crush buried deep beneath his playful exterior.

It wasn’t until one day in the tour bus, when you were rummaging through the compartments looking for your headphones, that you found something you weren’t expecting.

You had opened a drawer in one of the side tables—intended for the guys’ personal items—and inside, tucked between various notebooks and receipts, was a small stack of letters, each carefully folded and written in Joey’s distinctive handwriting. You paused, heart racing, as you read the date on the top one: March 12th – First day of tour.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued. You were sure Joey had never mentioned writing anything down, but the moment you unfolded the first letter, your heart sank. The words were raw, vulnerable, and so Joey.

March 12th – First day of tour

“It feels strange to be away from home, but I keep thinking about you. I’ve gotten used to seeing you every day, and now it’s like there’s this hole where you used to be. I know I’m supposed to be focusing on the band, but I can’t help it—I keep thinking about you. It’s probably dumb, right? To get attached to you like that. But I can’t stop myself.”

You felt your throat tighten as you read the rest, each letter spilling more of his feelings—his crush on you, his fear of ruining your friendship, and his confusion about whether or not he should tell you.

The letters were all unsent. All written with such intensity, yet never shared. The idea that Joey had been silently carrying this for so long made your chest ache. You had no idea that he’d been struggling with these feelings, hiding them under the surface while you had always just thought of him as a close friend.

There was one more letter left at the bottom of the pile. Your fingers were trembling as you unfolded it, reading the final confession that seemed to sum up everything Joey had been feeling.

July 23rd – Tour Finale

“I almost told you today. I swear I was about to, but I chickened out. It’s stupid. You’re probably never going to read this, but I need to get it out. I think I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now, and I don’t know what to do about it. But I can’t tell you. It would ruin everything.”

You stared at the words, your heart hammering in your chest. You never imagined that Joey—your Joey—could have these feelings for you. You had been completely oblivious to his crush, thinking he was just another guy on the tour who you were close with. But now, reading his raw, unfiltered emotions, everything made sense. The little glances, the extra moments of care, the way he’d always made sure you were okay. He’d been trying so hard to keep his feelings hidden, and here you were, holding the truth in your hands.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, lost in your thoughts, until a knock at the door broke the silence. You quickly shoved the letters back into the drawer, hoping Joey wouldn’t notice the slight panic in your movements.

The door opened, and there he was—Joey, with his signature mischievous grin. He looked at you, then at the drawer, his expression softening just a little as he stepped inside.

“Find something interesting?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You froze, trying to read his face. You could tell he was nervous, like he was waiting for something. A part of you felt guilty for having read the letters without his knowledge. But the other part—well, you had to admit, you were glad to finally know.

“Yeah,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “I did.”

Joey raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting your response. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You hesitated, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I found something that was meant for me, wasn’t it?”

Joey’s face immediately flushed, and he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I—I didn’t think you’d ever find those.”

“You didn’t want me to,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But I read them anyway.”

Joey stood there for a long moment, not saying anything. You could see the internal battle in his eyes—should he laugh it off? Should he pretend it didn’t matter?

Finally, he met your gaze again, his expression serious but vulnerable. “You weren’t supposed to read them, [Y/N]. I didn’t want to mess things up between us.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm, a small smile breaking through the tension. “Joey…”

He exhaled sharply, as if relieved to finally have the weight of the secret off his chest. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to think I was making things weird.”

You shook your head, the smile never leaving your face. “You never made things weird, Joey. I just… I didn’t know. But I’m glad you told me, even if it wasn’t the way you planned.”

Joey let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He looked at you for a long moment, his lips slightly parted. Then, slowly, he reached for your hand.

“I meant every word of those letters,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, heart racing. “And I think I might love you too.”

Joey’s eyes widened, as if the words had taken him by surprise. A grin spread across his face, and before you could blink, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he murmured.

And just like that, everything changed. The letters—his secrets—no longer had to stay buried. You were finally on the same page. And as Joey held you close, you knew that this was only the beginning.

[vortexdoll]

Reckless Hearts

Warnings: N/a

Teenage!Sid Wilson x reader

Summary: On a late summer night, you and Sid share a quiet moment that turns into something more, revealing feelings neither of you had admitted before.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,046

The air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and gasoline, the usual aroma of late summer nights in Des Moines. The flickering streetlight above you buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the cracked pavement of the gas station parking lot. You leaned against Sid’s beat-up BMX bike, watching him argue with the vending machine like it had personally wronged him.

“Dude, just give me the damn Snickers,” Sid muttered, smacking the side of the machine with his palm.

You snorted, crossing your arms. “Pretty sure it doesn’t respond to threats, Wilson.”

Sid turned to you with a smirk, his dark curls messy beneath his hoodie’s hood. “Nah, it just needs a little persuasion.” He shook the machine one last time, and the candy bar finally dropped. “See? Gotta show ‘em who’s boss.”

He tore open the wrapper with his teeth before tossing it to you. “Here, all yours.”

You caught it, raising a brow. “That was a lot of effort for something you didn’t even want.”

Sid shrugged, leaning on his handlebars. “What can I say? I like seeing you happy.” His voice was light, teasing—but something about the way his eyes lingered on yours made your stomach flip.

You rolled your eyes to play it off, biting into the chocolate. “Charmer.”

Sid grinned, kicking off the curb and rolling his bike in slow circles around you. His energy was restless, always moving, never still. It was one of the things you liked about him, the way he was unpredictable but never in a way that scared you.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, nodding toward the empty lot behind the gas station. “Let’s get outta here.”

You tilted your head. “And go where?”

Sid smirked. “Just trust me.”

That was usually the start of some kind of trouble, but you found yourself following him anyway. He walked his bike as you walked beside him, the two of you cutting through quiet suburban streets.

“You’re not gonna get me arrested, are you?” you joked.

Sid laughed. “I mean, I can’t promise anything. But it’ll be fun.”

Eventually, you reached an abandoned lot near the train tracks. There was an old, rusted-out car sitting in the overgrown grass, its windows smashed long ago. Sid hopped onto the hood, patting the spot next to him. “This is the best spot in town.”

You climbed up beside him, the metal warm beneath your palms. From here, you could see the city lights in the distance, the stars peeking out between patches of clouds. It was surprisingly peaceful.

Sid leaned back on his elbows, glancing at you. “You ever think about leaving this place?”

You exhaled, staring out at the horizon. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Where would you go?”

You shrugged. “Somewhere bigger. Somewhere where things actually happen.”

Sid nodded. “Same. I love music, you know? I wanna make something out of it. Not just mess around, but really do something.”

You smiled, nudging his arm. “You already do. You’re crazy talented, Sid.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Yeah, well… not everybody thinks that.”

“Screw them,” you said, swinging your legs. “They’re just blind to how cool you are.”

Sid chuckled, his eyes flickering back to yours. “You think I’m cool?”

You rolled your eyes. “I take it back.”

“Nah, too late. You definitely think I’m cool.” He grinned, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made your pulse quicken.

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the distant hum of the highway and the occasional chirp of crickets.

Then, Sid spoke again, quieter this time. “You know, you’re the only person I don’t have to pretend around.”

Your heart did a weird little skip. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have to act like I’ve got it all figured out. I can just be… me.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I like you, Sid. Just as you are.”

Sid turned his head fully toward you now, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nodded.

For once, he was still. Completely still. Then, before you could overthink it, he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours—hesitant, testing. But the second you kissed him back, something shifted. Sid wasn’t hesitant anymore. He cupped your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss like he’d been waiting forever for this.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tangling in the curls peeking from beneath his hood. He exhaled against your lips, his fingers trailing down your jaw, your neck, resting lightly against your collarbone like he didn’t want to let go.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless.

Sid let out a shaky laugh. “Well, damn.”

You bit your lip, your face warm. “Yeah.”

He grinned, nudging his forehead against yours. “Took me long enough, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, Wilson. It really did.”

Sid slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You leaned into him, smiling. “Guess I am.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[vortexdoll]

Birthday Surprise

Warnings: N/a

Corey Taylor x reader

Summary: Corey’s birthday on tour takes an unexpected turn when his band surprises him with the one person he misses most—you.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 751

The backstage area buzzed with pre-show energy—crew members rushing around, instruments being tuned, the distant hum of the crowd outside growing louder by the minute. Corey sat on a worn-out couch in the green room, rolling a bottle of water between his hands. The rest of the band was scattered around, either warming up or chatting, but his mind was somewhere else.

Birthdays on tour were always weird. Sure, the guys would make a big deal out of it—probably get him drunk after the show, maybe prank him during the set—but it wasn’t the same. Not when the one person he wanted to see the most was miles away.

He leaned back, exhaling sharply. He knew you’d call later, maybe even FaceTime if the timing worked out. But it wasn’t the same as having you here.

Jim’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Hey, man. You coming? We got a little something for you.”

Corey raised a brow. “This some kind of hazing? Because if it involves a cake to the face, I swear to—”

Jim smirked. “Just shut up and get in here.”

Corey sighed but stood, shaking out his shoulders as he followed Jim through the dimly lit hallways of the venue. He could hear laughter and muffled voices coming from the main green room, and something about it felt off. Too…planned.

When he stepped inside, the first thing he saw was the cake.

A ridiculous monstrosity of frosting and candles sat on the table, surrounded by bottles of whiskey and beer. Clown stood next to it, grinning like a lunatic, while Jay and Mick were already cracking open drinks. The rest of the crew clapped and cheered, the energy buzzing.

“Happy birthday, old man!”

Corey smirked, shaking his head. “You guys are idiots.”

“And yet you love us,” Jay quipped, tossing him a beer.

He caught it easily, popping the cap off and taking a sip as he glanced around. It was nice—having the guys put this together, even if it wasn’t home.

Then he saw movement near the doorway.

And suddenly, nothing else in the room mattered.

You stood there, a small smile tugging at your lips, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, looking as perfect as he remembered.

For a second, he thought he was imagining you. That the longing had finally driven him insane.

But when your eyes met his, full of warmth and love, he knew it was real.

You didn’t say anything.

No happy birthday, no teasing remark—just that look, the one that always made his chest tighten, like you were the only real thing in the world.

“Surprise, birthday boy,” you murmured.

He crossed the room in three long strides, wrapping his arms around you before you could say another word. The beer bottle hit the floor with a thud, but he didn’t care.

“Holy shit,” he breathed against your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, the familiarity of it making his chest ache in the best way. “You’re really here.”

Your arms tightened around his waist, still silent.

The room erupted into cheers and whistles, but Corey barely registered them. He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he took you in.

“How?” His voice was rough with emotion. “When—”

Jim clapped him on the back. “We figured you could use a better present than booze and cake, so we made a few calls.”

“I’d like to take credit,” Clown added, smirking. “But really, it was all of us. We know how much you miss her.”

Corey swallowed hard, glancing at his bandmates before looking back at you. His heart was pounding.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

You just grinned.

“Believe it. I’m here for a few days.”

A few days. Not forever, but enough.

His fingers curled into your shirt as he pulled you in for a deep kiss, ignoring the loud groans and fake gagging from the band. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

When he finally let you go, his hands still holding onto you, he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“You still haven’t said it,” he murmured.

Your lips twitched. “Said what?”

His brows raised. “You know what.”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “I mean… I just traveled all this way. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You little—”

Before he could finish, you leaned up, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before whispering, “Happy birthday, Corey.”

His chest warmed at the words, at the way you said them so softly, just for him.

Yeah. Definitely the best birthday ever.

[vortexdoll]

A piece of home

Warnings: N/a

Jim Root x reader

Summary: Jim is surprised by a visit from his partner and daughter backstage during a tour.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 547

Jim always knew tour life wasn’t easy—not for him, and definitely not for you and your daughter. It wasn’t just the long hours, the travel, or the endless cycle of shows. It was the way he missed the little things: bedtime stories, morning cuddles, the sound of your laughter filling the house. No matter how many years passed, leaving never got easier.

Tonight’s show was in Chicago, and as Jim sat backstage, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he sighed heavily. The energy of the crowd was electrifying as always, but it didn’t quite fill the empty space in his chest.

Shawn smacked him on the back. “Good set, man.”

“Yeah,” Jim muttered, forcing a small smile. He grabbed his phone, expecting the usual post-show messages from you. Maybe a picture of your daughter, a sleepy ‘miss you’ text. But as he unlocked his phone, he saw something unexpected—a message from Mick.

Mick: You might want to get your ass outside.

Jim frowned. Mick wasn’t the type to send cryptic messages, but something about it made his heart beat a little faster. Without a word to the others, he pushed himself up and made his way toward the back entrance of the venue, the air still thick with the scent of sweat and smoke.

As soon as he stepped outside, he heard it—a small, excited giggle that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Daddy!”

Jim barely had time to register the little body barreling toward him before his daughter threw her arms around his leg. His heart swelled as he bent down, scooping her up in one fluid motion. “Oh my god, what are you doing here, bug?” His voice wavered, emotion thick in his throat as he pressed kisses to her forehead.

She giggled again, her tiny hands gripping the collar of his stage-worn shirt. “Mommy said we could see you!”

Jim looked up, and there you were—standing a few feet away with a knowing smile on your lips, arms crossed over your chest.

“Surprise,” you said softly.

For a moment, he could only stare, as if afraid he was dreaming. Then, with his daughter still clinging to him, he closed the distance between you in just a few steps and wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you in tightly. The scent of home—of you—filled his senses, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, brushing damp strands away from his face. “I figured. Thought we’d bring a little home to you.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, his grip tightening on your waist. His daughter made a small noise of protest, squirming between you both. “Ew, Daddy,” she giggled.

You laughed, stepping back while Jim chuckled, pressing another kiss to his daughter’s cheek. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m kissing your mommy.”

She scrunched her nose. “Mommy’s mine.”

You shook your head with a smile. “She’s been saying that the whole drive here.”

Jim grinned, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in weeks. He glanced toward the tour bus, suddenly aware of the exhaustion in his bones, but it didn’t matter now. “How long are you staying?”

“For a few days,” you said. “I wanted to surprise you before you headed overseas.”

He exhaled in relief. “Best surprise ever.”

[vortexdoll]

Until The End

Warnings: N/a

Corey Taylor x reader

Summary: Corey proposes to the reader in a heartfelt moment, and months later, they marry in an intimate ceremony filled with love and promises for the future.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 712

The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window, casting a golden glow over the room. You stretched, feeling the warmth of the sheets tangled around your legs. The scent of fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen, and you knew Corey was already up. It was one of the little things you loved about him—he always made sure there was a cup waiting for you.

Today was supposed to be a regular day. Just another morning with the man you loved. But as you padded into the kitchen, barefoot and still in your oversized sleep shirt, you noticed something different about him. Corey stood at the counter, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, but his eyes weren’t on the newspaper or his phone. They were on you.

“Morning, love,” he murmured, his voice still a little rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek against his back. “You okay? You’re staring.”

He chuckled, setting his coffee down and turning in your embrace. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

He hesitated for a second, his blue eyes scanning your face, as if searching for something. Then he exhaled deeply. “About us. About forever.”

Your heart stuttered. “Forever’s a big thing to think about before breakfast.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was something serious in his expression. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I just—” He ran a hand over his shaved head before reaching for something on the counter.

A small velvet box.

Your breath caught in your throat as he flipped it open, revealing a stunning ring—classic, yet uniquely him.

“Corey…”

“I don’t need a fancy speech,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I don’t need to tell you how much I love you, because you already know. But what I do need is you. Every day, for the rest of my life.”

Your hands trembled slightly as he took one of them, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin.

“I never thought I’d want to do this again,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But then you happened, and suddenly, forever doesn’t seem long enough.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You knew Corey had been through his share of heartbreak. You both had. Love was messy, unpredictable, sometimes even painful. But with him, it never felt like something to fear. It felt like something worth fighting for.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he added quickly, noticing your silence. “I know this is a big—”

“Yes.”

His breath hitched. “Yes?”

“Yes, you idiot,” you laughed, wiping at your eyes. “Of course, yes.”

Relief washed over his face before it was replaced by pure joy. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite the rush of emotion between you.

And then his lips were on yours—soft, urgent, filled with the promise of everything to come.

⸻

Months Later…

You always thought you’d be the type to panic on your wedding day. To feel the weight of the moment settle in your bones and send you into a spiral of what ifs. But as you stood in the mirror, adjusting the final details of your outfit, all you felt was peace.

Corey had that effect on you.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see one of his best friends, clown, Shawn, standing there, a smile on his face.

“He’s ready,” he said.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “So am I.”

The ceremony was intimate—just the way you both wanted it. A handful of close friends and family, nothing too extravagant. It was never about the event for you and Corey. It was about the promise.

When you walked down the aisle, Corey was already blinking back tears. He looked incredible in his suit, but what took your breath away was the way he looked at you. Like you were his entire world.

And when he took your hands in his, he whispered, “You’re everything.”

The vows were simple, honest. He promised to stand by you, to love you even on the hard days. To fight for you, for this. And you promised the same.

When he kissed you, sealing the moment, the world around you faded.

It was just you and him.

Until the end.

[vortexdoll]

The Groupie Distraction

Warnings: N/a

Chris Fehn x reader

Summary: After a tense encounter with a groupie, Chris reassures you by shutting down the situation, leading to a heartfelt confession of mutual feelings and a tender moment between you two.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,401

You had been with the band for a while now, working backstage as part of the crew, and had grown particularly close to Chris. Over time, your friendship had blossomed into something deeper, though neither of you had fully defined it yet. You were happy in your small, quiet moments with him—when he’d joke around with you, share his stories, or just sit in comfortable silence. But tonight, something felt off.

It started when the show ended. The band members were all high off the adrenaline, their faces flushed and beaming from the performance. You had just walked into the backstage area, catching sight of Chris as he spoke to Mick. He was grinning from ear to ear, still riding the high of the crowd’s energy.

But before you could even reach him, a groupie had approached. You didn’t mind the occasional fan interaction, of course, but there was something about this one that set you on edge. The girl was tall, her blonde hair cascading in waves down her back, wearing a tight black dress that clung to her figure. She made a beeline for Chris, and within moments, she was standing far too close to him, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Chris,” she gushed, voice breathy, “you were absolutely amazing tonight. I’ve been to every show this tour. You were perfect up there.”

Chris, ever the professional, gave her a warm smile, though his mask remained firmly in place. “Thanks, glad you liked the show.” He took a sip of water, clearly trying to keep the conversation casual.

But the groupie wasn’t done. She leaned in a little closer, flashing a smile that was far too intimate for your liking. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I can’t stop watching you play. Maybe after the show, you could—”

You couldn’t hear the rest of her words, but you could feel your chest tighten. A familiar pang of discomfort twisted in your stomach. You had always known the reality of being around a famous band, but it didn’t make it any easier when you saw Chris surrounded by people who didn’t know him like you did. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was just… discomfort. A feeling of being invisible to him in this space, in this world where he was treated like a rock star, and you were just the girl who helped out behind the scenes.

You tried to distract yourself, turning away and focusing on helping with the equipment, but you couldn’t stop glancing over at Chris. You could see the way he kept his distance from the groupie, nodding politely but not engaging with her the way she wanted. Still, she didn’t seem to get the hint.

It was then that Chris noticed you standing off to the side, looking uncharacteristically distant. His eyes flickered toward you, and in that moment, he must have realized what was going on. His smile faltered, just for a second, and he abruptly turned his full attention to the groupie.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his voice low but firm, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Listen, I appreciate the support, but I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling, okay? I’m here to do my job and go back to my friends.”

The groupie blinked, caught off guard. She clearly wasn’t used to being turned down so bluntly, especially by someone as sought after as Chris Fehn. “What? I—I just wanted to talk,” she stammered.

Chris took a step closer, his body language no-nonsense. His mask stayed on, his identity still a mystery to her. “You’ve had your chance to talk. Now go on and find someone else to bother. I’ve got a life outside of this tour.”

He didn’t wait for her response. With a final look at you, he turned his back on the groupie, guiding you toward the back hallway with a hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and warmth flood through you. He had protected you. He had put an end to the situation before it could escalate, and in doing so, he had sent a clear message.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as you both walked further down the hallway, away from the chaos of the venue.

You swallowed, trying to hide the knot of emotion that had settled in your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” you trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… awkward sometimes, you know? Seeing you get swarmed like that. I know you’re used to it, but it still gets to me.”

Chris stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression soft but serious, his mask still on. “I’m not interested in any of them, (Y/N).” His hands moved to your shoulders, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze. “The only person I want to be around right now is you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. You looked up at him, your eyes locking. There was no mistaking the emotion behind his words. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better—he meant it.

You smiled, a little shy, but it felt genuine. “Thanks, Chris. I appreciate you shutting it down. I know it’s not easy.”

He shrugged, a playful grin returning to his face. “Hey, no one messes with my girl.” He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a soft whisper. “And if they do, they’ll have to answer to me.”

Your stomach fluttered at the term of endearment. You weren’t sure when it had happened, but in that moment, you realized just how much you cared for him. It wasn’t just the way he treated you in private—it was the way he respected you, the way he cared, and the way he never let anyone else take your place.

“I think you’ve got it covered,” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

Chris chuckled and pulled you into a quick hug, his arms strong but tender around you. “Just so you know, (Y/N), you’re more important to me than any of that stuff. Never doubt that.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the comfort of his embrace. When he pulled back, his hand lingered on your arm, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soft, almost absent-minded motion.

“Can we—” he started, his voice quieter now. “Can we go somewhere and just… talk? I don’t want to be around the chaos anymore. I just want to be with you.”

The vulnerability in his words made your heart swell. You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “I’d like that.”

You both found a quiet spot backstage, a small lounge area that was away from the rest of the band and crew. The world outside seemed to fade as the two of you sat down together, talking about everything and nothing. The music, the tour, and your shared moments over the past few months filled the air. But the conversation slowly shifted to something more intimate—feelings you hadn’t fully acknowledged before now.

Chris leaned in, his eyes searching yours, the mask never once leaving his face. There was something so tender in his gaze that you felt like you could see every part of him. “You know,” he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while, but I wasn’t sure how. But I don’t want to keep pretending. I really like you, (Y/N). More than just as a friend. More than just a crew member. I think you know that, right?”

Your heart raced, the words you had wanted to hear finally spoken. “I like you too, Chris.”

The distance between you seemed to shrink, and in that moment, everything felt right. The world outside, the fans, the groupies—all of it was a blur. It was just you and Chris, finally admitting what had been there all along.

With a soft, slow kiss, he sealed the moment, the warmth of his lips against yours sending a spark through your entire body. And as you pulled back, the smile on his face mirrored your own.

No more distractions. Just the two of you.

[vortexdoll]

Helping him with his mask

Warnings: N/a

Corey Taylor x reader

Summary: After a performance, Corey Taylor shares a quiet, intimate moment with you, revealing a deeper connection between you two.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 1,115

The deafening roar of the crowd had faded as the last note of the show echoed through the arena. Backstage, the energy was still high, but you could feel it beginning to wind down as the crew started to pack up and the band began to shed their instruments and gear. Corey Taylor, as always, was one of the last to exit the stage, taking a moment to soak in the lingering applause, the spotlight still warm on his back. You watched from the wings, a smile tugging at your lips as you admired his performance.

But you could see it—the exhaustion hidden beneath the adrenaline-fueled buzz. He’d given everything during the show, just like always, and now, it was starting to catch up with him.

You had worked with Slipknot’s crew for years now, but there was still something surreal about being this close to the chaos of a live performance. You had always admired Corey from a distance, but over time, you’d become much more than just a crew member to him. Late-night chats, inside jokes, shared glances—there was an unspoken bond between you two. It had taken time to develop, but now it was clear that whatever this was, it was something deeper.

The sounds of shuffling footsteps broke your thoughts as Corey appeared at the side of the stage, a towel wrapped around his neck, wiping the sweat off his face. He gave you a tired but genuine smile, his eyes slightly squinting from the stage lights. “You still here, huh?” he said, voice hoarse, but there was a playful edge to it, a glint of something mischievous despite his fatigue.

“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t pass out before you get backstage,” you teased, meeting him halfway.

He chuckled, but it quickly morphed into a small groan. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, dragging it down his face before looking up at you. “Hey, could you do me a solid? Help me out of this thing?”

Corey was referring to his mask. It was a staple of his performance, something that defined his stage presence. But it also meant he spent hours in the heat, the mask clinging to his face, trapping sweat and making it nearly impossible to breathe freely. By the time the show was over, he was always eager to remove it.

You nodded without hesitation, already walking toward him. You’d done this for him a few times before, carefully removing his mask after shows when he was too worn out to do it himself. But each time, it felt more intimate, more personal.

You helped him sit on one of the folding chairs just outside his dressing room, gesturing for him to relax. Corey sank into the chair, eyes half-closed as he let out a heavy sigh, running his hands over his face. “God, I need a shower. This mask is a death trap.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing his as you reached for the straps of the mask. “You’re telling me. You’re practically drenched in sweat.”

Corey tilted his head back, giving you more room as you gently undid the straps. The mask came off with a soft, muffled sound as you carefully lifted it away from his face. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his skin clammy from the performance. But as you pulled the mask off, you saw his face fully for the first time that night. His features were softer now, without the intimidating layer of latex, his eyes tired but still holding that spark that drew you in.

You set the mask aside and grabbed the small towel you had brought with you, gently pressing it to his forehead. Corey closed his eyes at the touch, a low hum of relief escaping him. “That feels amazing,” he muttered, his voice gravelly from the exertion of the show.

You moved the towel down to his neck, wiping away the sweat that had collected there. He leaned into your touch, his body relaxing under your hands. There was something so intimate about this moment—the way he trusted you to take care of him, to be there for him when everything else was so chaotic.

“I always forget how much this thing weighs until I finally get it off,” he mumbled, his hands resting on his knees. “It’s like carrying around an extra ten pounds on your face for two hours.”

You smiled, working the towel down his jawline now. “Well, you make it look easy. You’ve got a way of making everything look effortless, even when it’s not.”

Corey cracked an eye open and met your gaze, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Is that so?” he said, his voice teasing but soft, clearly grateful for your attention.

You nodded, your smile widening as you finished wiping his face. “It’s true. You’re like… a rock star or something.”

He chuckled, but there was a softness to his expression that you didn’t often see. It was rare for Corey to let his guard down, especially after a show when he was surrounded by the adrenaline of performance. But with you, he could afford to be vulnerable.

“Guess I owe you a thank you,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the hum of the backstage noise. “I know you’re always helping out, but you never complain. It means a lot to me.”

You paused for a moment, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes that made your chest tighten. It was raw, unfiltered, and you could see how much he appreciated your presence. You shrugged it off with a small smile, trying to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. I’m happy to help.”

Corey took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, his shoulders seemed to relax. “I mean it,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You froze for a second, the weight of his words sinking in. He didn’t just mean it in the casual way people said things out of habit. No, there was real sincerity there, and for a moment, you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze.

Before you could respond, Corey gently reached out, cupping your face in his warm hands. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold you close. You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The contact was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth through your entire body.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, but the weight of it hung in the air between you.

You swallowed, trying to process the surge of emotions that had flooded your chest. “Of course, Corey. You don’t have to thank me. I’m just here for you.”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he rested his forehead against yours. “I know. And I’m glad you are.”

The world outside the dressing room faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. You stayed there for a while, just the two of you, your hands gently caressing the sides of his face as he closed his eyes, letting the moment settle.

In the aftermath of the show, with the adrenaline ebbing and the mask finally off, there was no rush, no need to say anything more. You simply existed in this quiet, unspoken understanding.

Corey Taylor, the rock star who ruled the stage, now leaned into you for comfort, and in that moment, it was just two people who cared deeply for each other. And that was more than enough.