Grid Kids
Grid Kids
Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers
Summary: your adopted family may be chaotic but you wouldn’t change it for the world
Max Verstappen: Jailhouse Rock
It’s an ungodly hour of the morning when your phone rings. You groan, fumbling blindly on the nightstand to silence the offender. The name glowing on the screen gives you pause: Max Verstappen.
“Seb,” you mumble, nudging your husband awake. “Max is calling. It’s 3 am.”
Sebastian grumbles something unintelligible, face squished into the pillow next to you.
“You take it,” you insist, poking him again, “I spent three hours on the phone with Lewis last night promising him that Roscoe doesn’t hate him for being left at home this weekend.”
Reluctantly, Sebastian sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He swipes to answer, his groggy voice filling the silent room. “Max, do you know what time it is?”
You hear a hurried explanation from Max’s end, something about a go-kart race, a party, and a tiny misunderstanding with local law enforcement. Your husband’s face becomes more incredulous with every word.
“Wait, you’re where?”
***
Ten minutes later, you find yourselves at the police station, bleary-eyed but amused. Max is sat behind bars, a sheepish look on his face.
“I promise, it wasn’t my fault,” he insists, blue eyes pleading.
You both manage to suppress your laughter. After signing a few papers, Max is free but the smug grin on Sebastian’s face tells you that he’s not going to let him off that easy.
“So, this is our life now?” you whisper to Sebastian, wrapping your arm around his. “Running a day care for unruly F1 drivers.”
He chuckles, giving you a light kiss on the forehead. “I think we make a pretty good team.”
Charles Leclerc: Open the Floodgates
It’s a stormy evening when your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text message from Charles Leclerc: Hey, can I crash at yours? My flat’s kind of … flooded.
Sebastian, reading over your shoulder, raises an eyebrow. “Flooded?”
Before you can respond, a photo arrives — Charles’ living room, a sea of murky water with floating furniture: Okay, maybe more than just kind of.
You look at each other, suppressing laughter. “Guess we’re running a bed & breakfast now too,” you comment, already texting Charles back: Come over. Bring a mop.
***
Not an hour later, there’s a knock at your door. Charles, drenched from head to toe, stands at your doorstep, carrying what appears to be a plant pot with a small, equally wet cactus.
“I saved the cactus,” he says, looking as pitiful as a drowned rat, albeit a very cute one. He offers a half-hearted shrug, “I didn’t want it to drown.”
Sebastian bursts out laughing, his contagious mirth echoing around the hall. You can’t help but join in, hugging your sides in an attempt to remain composed.
“Well, come in. We can’t have you and the cactus catching a cold.”
***
Over the next few days, you quickly adapt to the unexpected housemate situation. Charles proves to be a surprisingly tidy guest, always washing his dishes and even cooking dinner one night (although you had to discreetly order pizza after trying his special lasagna).
In the evenings, the three of you curl up on the sofa with Sebastian’s old race replays, laughing and teasing each other. And every night, before he goes to his bed in the guest room, Charles says goodnight to his cactus — the newest member of your eccentric family.
Lance Stroll: The Cat-astrophe
A week later, you get a frantic call from Lance Stroll. “Guys, I found this cat,” he says, panting heavily, “It was all alone in the alley and I couldn't just leave it there.”
The line goes silent for a moment before Lance coughs then sneezes loudly. “Uh, guys, I think I might be allergic ...”
***
When Lance arrives, the culprit — a tiny, scruffy looking kitten — is perched on his shoulder while Lance himself is a picture of misery: puffy eyes, runny nose, and all.
Between his sneezes, Lance pleads, “Can you please keep her until I figure out what to do? I can’t just abandon her.”
You glance at Sebastian, who looks at the tiny furball with a mixture of amusement and concern. He’s been a dog person all his life but how can you say no to those pleading green eyes?
And so, your home expands to accommodate another kid — this time, a four-legged one.
***
The next few days are full of chaos. The kitten — whom Lance named Speedy — turns out to be an agent of destruction, knocking over everything in her path and giving Charles’ cactus a few worrying near misses.
You try to give Lance advice on finding a new home for Speedy while dealing with cat-proofing your own. But, during the ensuing pandemonium, you can’t help but laugh.
George Russell: The Shrunken Sweater Saga
One sunny afternoon, George Russell bursts through the door, a panicked expression on his face. “Guys, something terrible happened!”
Sebastian and you exchange a concerned look, jumping up from where you were cuddled on the couch. “What is it, George?”
He holds up a shrunken cashmere sweater, once a luxurious wardrobe piece, now resembling something only a toy poodle could wear. “I accidentally put all my sweaters in the washing machine! They’ve shrunk!”
As the reality of the situation sinks in, you can’t help but chuckle. “George, you do know cashmere isn’t machine-washable, right?”
“I thought they were!” he laments, looking at his miniature sweater in disbelief.
Sebastian claps a hand on George’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. We’ll figure this out.”
***
Over the next few days, you and Sebastian embark on a quest to save George’s beloved cashmere sweaters. Armed with online tutorials and gallons of fabric softener, you attempt various rescue techniques.
Some of the sweaters regain a semblance of their former glory while others are beyond saving. You present George with a colorful assortment of shrunken clothing which he accepts with an embarrassed grin.
***
A sudden thought strikes you and you can’t help but giggle. Holding up a particularly tiny sweater, you call out to Speedy.
“Look, Speedy! It’s your size!” you exclaim as you gently dress her in the shrunken garment. It fits her perfectly, making her look like the most stylish cat on the block.
The sight of Speedy strutting around in a cashmere sweater breaks all of you into laughter. Even George can’t help but chuckle, despite his heartbreaking loss.
***
In the following days, Speedy parades around the house, flaunting her new wardrobe. George’s shrunken sweaters have found a new purpose, and despite the initial panic, everything worked out in the end.
“This is the most high-fashion cat I’ve ever seen,” Sebastian comments one day, watching Speedy strut her stuff on the living room rug. “She should be on a runway.”
George, watching his beloved sweaters being put to good use, grins. “I think they look better on her than they did on me.”
Speedy watches you with a lazy stare, now comfortably nestled in her new family’s hearts (and cashmere sweaters).
Lando Norris: Call the Milk Man
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rings, jolting you out of your peaceful nap. Groggily, you stumble towards the door, pulling it open to reveal a sheepish-looking Lando Norris.
“Hi, I was just wondering,” he starts, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “Do you have some milk I could borrow? I ran out and the shops are closed.”
Suppressing a smile, you nod, motioning for him to wait while you go fetch the milk.
***
When you hand Lando the milk, he seems relieved. But then, he looks at the container quizzically. “Why is it in a glass bottle? Don’t you use cartons?”
Your laughter fills the hallway as you explain your household’s eco-friendly policy. Lando listens attentively, his previous discomfort replaced with genuine curiosity. You can tell he’s taking mental notes.
***
Over the next few weeks, Lando pops by more frequently. Sometimes he borrows more milk, other times he just wants to chat about sustainability, an interest sparked during his first milk visit.
One day, he arrives at your doorstep with a broad grin and a glass bottle in hand. “Look, I’ve switched to glass milk bottles too!”
Sebastian will be proud.
Mick Schumacher: Comfort in Company
One evening, you find Mick Schumacher sitting alone in your backyard, gazing at the stars. His usually cheerful face is thoughtful, his eyes a little glossy.
“Mick, everything alright?” you ask, settling down next to him on the grass.
He looks at you then at the stars again. “I just ... I miss my dad, you know?”
The silence hangs in the air, thick with emotions. You reach out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to miss him. You don’t have to hide it. Especially not here with us.”
He nods, wiping his eyes. “I know. It’s just some days it hits harder than others.”
You stay with him, listening as he talks about his dad, his memories both sweet and poignant. You realize that while you’ve adopted your grid kids into your chaotic family, they each come with their own sets of joys and sorrows.
***
Sebastian joins you two after a while and the three of you sit under the stars, sharing stories and remembrances. Mick smiles as Sebastian tells him stories about racing with Michael, the camaraderie they shared, and the respect they had for each other.
By the end of the night, Mick seems lighter, the earlier sadness replaced with a soft smile of remembrance. He thanks both of you for listening and understanding. “You guys really are like a second family to me.”
The Big Announcement
One sunny afternoon, you gather all your grid kids in the living room. The chatter is lively, the room buzzing with energy as they try to figure out why they’ve been summoned.
Sebastian gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you both stand in front of your unconventional family.
“We’ve called you all here because we have some news,” you begin, heart pounding in your chest.
***
When you finally tell them you're pregnant, the room falls into a stunned silence, their wide-eyed expressions making you chuckle. But then, as the news sinks in, the silence is broken by whoops of joy and congratulations.
“Wow, so we’re going to be big brothers?” Max exclaims, while Lando jokes about teaching the baby to prank Sebastian, Mick looks almost teary-eyed with happiness, and George immediately volunteers for babysitting duties.
***
With your pregnancy announcement, your grid kids go into overdrive. They begin to dote on you in a way that’s both touching and a little overwhelming. From Charles insisting on cooking you healthy meals (despite his previous lasagna disaster) to Max bringing you comfortable pregnancy pillows, everyone tries to make you as comfortable as possible.
Lance even makes Speedy wear a bell around her neck in case she inadvertently startles you. The cat isn’t pleased but the sight of her jingling around the house keeps everyone entertained.
***
As the weeks go by, their concern borders on overprotectiveness. They fuss over you at the smallest things, like Max insisting on driving you to your doctor’s appointments because he’s “the fastest driver” or Lando continually adjusting the house temperature to ensure you’re never too hot or cold.
While their actions are well-intended, they often become hilariously excessive. One day, you find Mick baby-proofing the house even though the baby isn’t due for months. He sheepishly shrugs, “Just trying to be prepared.”
***
Despite the chaos, their actions stem from love and concern, which warms your heart. One evening, you find yourself surrounded by your grid kids as you sit in the living room, their laughter filling the air.
As you watch them, your hand gently resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful. These young drivers, your grid kids, have become such a vital part of your life. Their genuine care and, at times, overzealous concern during your pregnancy only emphasize the strong bond you share.
Your family may not be traditional and your daily life may be filled with mayhem but it’s your life with Sebastian and the grid kids. It’s chaotic, hilarious, and unpredictable — and you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
The Big Day
The day finally arrives when you’re rushed to the hospital. Sebastian is by your side, holding your hand through every contraction, while your grid kids anxiously wait in the waiting room, pacing and biting their nails.
A few hours later, when your newborn daughter makes her entrance into the world, Sebastian walks out to the young drivers, his eyes sparkling with joy and exhaustion. “You can meet her now.”
The joy and anticipation in the room is palpable as they rush in, crowding around the hospital room door in their eagerness.
The sight that greets them is nothing short of heartwarming. You’re in bed, looking tired but blissful, a tiny bundle nestled in your arms.
As they take turns holding the little one, their faces light up in awe. From Max’s gentle cooing to Lando’s finger being gripped by tiny hands to Mick’s unashamed happy tears to Charles’ whispered lullaby in French and George’s soft-spoken promise to be the “coolest brother,” the room is filled with a warm sense of family.
Even Speedy, smuggled into the hospital in Lance’s jacket, gets to sniff the newest human member of the family, much to the nurses’ chagrin.
A Baby in the Paddock
Several months later, the paddock welcomes an unexpected visitor — your baby daughter, wrapped snugly in a cute onesie with a tiny racing helmet print. As you push her stroller through the crowd, your grid kids and their fellow drivers are visibly smitten by the adorable sight.
Your grid kids instantly surround your daughter, their faces lighting up as they coo and make silly faces to elicit giggles. They take turns pushing her stroller and you can’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm in their newfound roles as big brothers.
Sebastian, ever the proud father, looks on with warm amusement as he watches your daughter bond with her extended family.
***
Amid the hustle and bustle of the paddock, your daughter experiences her first pit stop as Charles and Lando try to change her diaper. Even Mick, the baby-proofing master, hovers nearby to ensure everything goes smoothly.
You can’t help but admire their dedication and the way they’ve embraced their roles as her protectors and playmates.
***
At the end of the day, you gather the whole group for a family photo. Your daughter, held by Max and Mick on either side, steals the show with her toothless grin.
As you look at the photo later, you realize that this quirky, chaotic family has grown and changed in the most beautiful ways. Your daughter has been embraced by these young drivers, who have become her brothers and protectors, just as they’ve become sons to you.
A New Racer on the Track
Years pass in the blink of an eye and soon your little girl is no longer a baby. She’s grown into a lively child with a love for speed, much like her father. Today, she’s ready to participate in her first karting race, and the whole gang — your grid kids now with seven World Championships between them — are here to support her.
As they gather around the track, an old joke resurfaces. Max points at a particular bend in the track, nudging Charles with a smirk. “Remember the inchident?”
Charles groans, rolling his eyes, “Not this again. It was years ago!”
Laughter breaks out among the group, their bond echoing through the years.
***
Before the race, each of your grid kids offers your daughter their sage advice. From Lando’s “always keep your cool” to George’s “remember to enjoy the ride,” her brothers are keen to impart their wisdom. Mick even attempts to show her how to properly do a pit stop, using a toy car and tiny plastic cones.
Your daughter, with a sparkling helmet almost too big for her head, listens earnestly, her wide eyes moving from one brother to the next.
When the race finally starts, your grid kids cheer on loudly, their voices carrying over the vroom of the karts. The sight of your daughter, determined behind the wheel of her tiny kart, brings a surge of pride and a few tears to your eyes.
As the race ends, your daughter crosses the finish line in third place, a beaming smile on her face. She’s welcomed back to the pit by a roaring cheer from her family, her brothers lifting her onto their shoulders.
***
That night, the celebration is filled with laughter, teasing, and an impromptu re-enactment of the inchident by Charles and Max, much to your daughter’s amusement.
Sebastian lifts his glass for a toast, “To our little racer, may you always find joy on the track. And remember, an inchident is only funny if it doesn’t happen to you.”
Laughter fills the room once again, and you can’t help but marvel at the love and joy surrounding you. These are the moments you cherish the most, moments of laughter and unity shared with this extraordinary, unconventional family.
As you watch your daughter being coddled and celebrated by her brothers, you realize that this legacy of love and support will always continue, and for that, you couldn’t be happier.
More Posts from That-jax and Others
No Place He’d Rather Be
Pairing: Daycare Teachers!Sope
Genre: The Fluffiest of Fluff| Domestic Vibes
Word Count: 5.3k
Prompt: Chocolate Covered Faces
Rating: G
Summary: Yoongi gets called to help out at Jin’s daycare and the following is a small, fluffy oneshot of him realizing Hoseok’s wonderful at childcare and that he’s fallen head over heels for the man.
A/N: @apotatomashedbybts I’m so sorry it took me so long ; w ; this was changed and revised so many times but I hope the end result is still enjoyable. This was almost a Taekook easter bunny thing but i missed the window oops. Please enjoy and feedback is always welcome~
AO3 Link
Yoongi sighed as he nervously ran his hands down his pants leg. Today was his first day as a helper for a daycare owned by his close friend. He normally wasn’t much of a people person, and high-energy kids would surely take a lot out of him, but Jin, the owner and his friend, had all but begged him to help out for at least a month while he tried to find someone to fill in.
Worldwide Smiles was the product of all of Jin’s love and hard work, having invested all of his time and money to open a large daycare in Seoul that took in elementary school-aged kids. Jin had hired several close friends to take care of the kids with Namjoon and himself as the caretakers for the children from the fourth and fifth grade. Taehyung and Jimin for the first through third grades, while Jungkook and Hoseok had taken over the children in both pre-k and kindergarten.
Jungkook was going off to college, and since he had signed up for morning and afternoon classes, he wouldn’t be able to assist Hoseok anymore until he graduated.
That’s where Yoongi came in, as per Jin’s request. The older man had asked his long time friend to step in until he could find someone to permanently take up the position.
Yoongi stopped outside of the room with the sun painted on the door, lips pursed as he heard the chaos unfolding inside spilling out into the brightly colored hall. He inhaled deeply and twisted the door handle, taking a step inside.
Almost immediately, a hand shot out in front of his face and he flinched, letting out a startled scream.
Keep reading
Dionysus represents much more than the God of Madness and Frenzy; he embodies the essence of mental health. Dedicating time and effort to healing your mind can be seen as an act of devotion to Dionysus. This is why advocating for, discussing, and learning about mental illness and your experiences can be so beneficial.
He is more than just the God of Wine; he also embodies sobriety and restraint. He teaches us moderation, guiding us not to overindulge in what our bodies cannot handle. Choosing to abstain from alcohol or maintaining sobriety can be a profound act of devotion as well.
Excessive consumption, whether it's alcohol, negative thoughts, or anything else, can be harmful. Dionysus serves as a reminder that healing from such excesses is possible.
While he embodies the spirit of fun, enjoyment, and hedonism, I don't believe he would want you to indulge for the wrong reasons. Whenever I felt too serious or caught in a downward spiral, he would remind me that it's okay to let loose, but also to stay attuned to my feelings. I don't think he would shun you if you're not having too much fun. If you're not feeling okay, then you're not feeling okay. There's nothing wrong with that.
If anything, Dionysus seems like the ultimate god of self-care. Taking your medication, staying hydrated or drinking other beverages (I personally find that hot chocolate boosts my mood), spending time with friends, or even enjoying a solitary walk in nature—all these activities can feel like acts of devotion. He is love and full of love. A god of duality and balance.
He can embody the warmth of summer and the freshness of spring, just as he can evoke the chill of winter. He's complex and multifaceted. He is a god of rebirth, death and immortality. He to me, resembles a phoenix. He means so much to me and my practice. My heart has so much room for him. He has shown me that regardless what I've experience, it is possible to change and heal. His own love feels poetic.
BNHA masterlist
Aizawa Shouta:
Oneshots:
Background Music
Midoriya Izuku:
Oneshots:
Moral Support
Todoroki Shouto:
Oneshots:
Worried
Shirakumo Oboro:
Headcanons:
Helping his S/O who has a strong quirk
Shinsou Hitoshi:
The Mentor’s Child (a multichapter fic): Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Oneshots:
Your Feelings Matter
Amajiki Tamaki:
Headcanons:
Having an underclassman S/O
Dabi:
Oneshots:
The Smell of Jealousy (Omega!Dabi x Alpha!reader)
By The Moon; ONGOING
(pls ignore time stamps)
disclaimer: spelling and grammar mistakes are included. ♡
↳ warnings: swear words
namjoon x reader au; soulmate!au
In a world where two souls are bonded for life, your soul tattoo or mark appears once you lock eyes with your soulmate. Y/n, was born with hers. She’s not really curious as to why though, so she just lets it be. She was too busy causing trouble and living her best life with her best friends anyways. It’s her last year of high school and she’s determined to to make the very best of it. No worries, no drama, just having fun. But what happens when she locks eyes with this nerdy looking kid who transferred at the start of senior year? She finds herself with a burning tattoo and bond she not even sure she’s ready for. Who was this kid? how does he know her friends? what’s in his past that he can’t seem to get over? and most importantly, what the fuck does the moon have to do with all of this?
prologue
1 - head game strong
2 - problems???
3 - R A V E N
4 - selfish
5 - 25 to life
6 - i would kill for you
7 - purple
8 - one step at a time
9 - reality check
10 - civil
11 - on my soulmate bond
12 - i’m struggling here fellas
13 - namjooning
14 - art
15 - missed you
16 - i’ve disappointed myself
17 - it’s the bunny smile
18 - shit show
19 - that’s rough buddy
20 - careful
21 - skank waffles
22 - i fucked up
23 - confused and stupid
24 - exquisite if you will
25 - i’ll kill her
26 - what if?
27 - food coma
28 - so did you
29 - ooop there it is
30 - for a long time
31 - baby
32 - i hope you stay
33 - hands of a goddess
34 - make me choose
35 - exhausted
36 - hook, line, and sinker
37 - don’t act
38 - that’s what i thought
39 - now why tf
40 - i lost
41 - void
42 - her over me
43 - i don’t care
44 - i love her
45 - thank FUCK
46 - moon souls
47 - whether you love him
48 - i’m an idiot
49 - kookie wookie
50 - you think it’s fun?
51 - the project part 1
52 - the project part 2
53 - toe licker
54 - hell yeah he is
55 - By The Moon, The end.
epilogue
Hot for Teacher (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x fem! Reader Oneshot)
Summary: After being private about your relationship, your professor boyfriend, Tom Hiddleston, introduces you to his students.
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: Some thirsty comments and cursing, but no smut. Established relationship and lots of fluffy moments. Grammar and spelling mistakes that slipped past me. Reader not being a student and being an Adult Adult (tm). A big fancy ball because I decided not some hum drum party was gonna do. (I'm the writer, I can do what I want). I rip off YouTube comments and Ana Huang and stuff I see on Tiktok and Instagram.
A/N: For @holdmytesseract's request! I am sorry this took a while due to stuff happening, but here it is!!!
A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad
Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr
You always visited the campus coffee shop on Mondays at 10 am to overhear students being thirsty for your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at their comments. They were leaving their English Literature Survey class. Only they weren’t discussing books.
“Sooo nice of him to lower the word count for the essay, he knows it’s a lot.”
“Holy crap, did you see how tight his shirt was today? I could practically see his titties.”
“He needs to quote Shakespeare again. I think I’m developing a kink.”
“If I caught my girl in bed with Professor Hiddleston, I’d tuck him in.”
“If I was at the club and Professor Hiddleston was hitting on my girl, I’d start to cry…because he didn’t choose me.”
“I’m a hardcore lesbian, but Professor Hiddleston is on my cheat card.”
“I’m a hardcore asexual, but Professor Hiddleston is so hot that if I had to get pregnant I’d want him to do the honors.”
You sipped up your drink, sitting in a far corner. Smiling bright as you heard them. Stifling a laugh so hard you could feel your drink always threatened to snort out of your nose. You would cup your face, ensuring they didn’t take note of you. Even get out the notes app on your phone to type them down. Not that you’d ever show him.
He was their hot Professor. But to you, he was just Tom.
Just Tom. A boyfriend who cared for you respected you, and listened to you. Who did the bare minimum and so much more. They didn’t know his flaws, living with each other's smells and body odors and functions and insecurities. And the little, beautiful moments that made you all the more in love with him. How you would both go to bookstores and geek out after certain works, make a mess in the kitchen trying a new recipe, or stay in your pajamas until 1 pm watching something on the TV. Did they know how loud he snored at night? Or how sensitive his neck was? Or that he was fidgety if he sat too long?
Then one of them said “His girlfriend is one lucky ass bitch. I wonder what she’s like?”
“Oh…he hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend, do you think…he’s single?!” one asked.
They all shot up like meerkats with big smiles.
You froze, only staring quietly at your drink.
Tom didn’t talk about you in class. Nothing. Nada. Goose eggs. They didn't know you existed.
So far you were sure they were not little homewreckers- not successfully, at least. You trusted Tom and he trusted you and his students respected his boundaries. But he blocked them on social media so they wouldn’t dig anything about him. Tom was a private person and he wanted that to be respected by his students.
When you both met to hang out and make dinner later that evening- his special Spaghetti bolognese recipe, he gave you a hug and kiss on your head.
“Oh, you missed a spot!” you teased.
His eyes crinkled beneath his glasses.
“Oh- uh,” he voiced out.
You dived in to kiss him on the lips, his beard scratching your chin.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Oh, just fine. Your students were…wondering about me today. I saw them at the shop.”
“They didn’t recognize you?”
“No- they don’t know what I look like. Or about me, period…we’ve kept it that way…”
Both of you got into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves and preparing the pasta and sauce. It smelled of garlic, onion, and olive oil, making your stomach rumble. How easily smelling that in a kitchen could solve all of your problems!
He smiled at you. Then, as the pasta was set to boil in the pot, he turned to you. His sleeves rolled up (making you giddy inside) and his face was a little flushed from the heat of the steam from cooking.
“My angel, I don’t want to keep you in hiding- and you shouldn’t.”
“Tom, what do you mean?” you asked. You stirred the sauce, then tapped the spoon and set it on a jar for attempted cleanliness.
I love you. And this is a part of my life…would you like to meet them? I promise you, they won’t hurt you. I won’t let them!”
He went up to hug you from behind and you watched the simmering food.
You paused, taking in a breath. What were you afraid of? Were you ashamed of Tom or being with him? No, not a bit.
You turned around to face him.
“They’re college kids. They’re basically puppies…I think I’d like to meet them.” you agreed
--:::------::------------------->◇<--------------------::------:::---
You both decided what event it should be that you would meet them. There were events called Bookish Balls that were all the rage now. It was a prom for adults. Proms where everyone dressed like fantasy characters and showed off costumes and even cosplays. It was everything from complex armor to a dress with some elf ears on.
You knew he had a Shakespearean-era outfit from a play he did that he kept you just had to find the right look. It would be more exciting and less creepy then if you jumped on them at the mall like a pair of stalkers.
And the ball looked like fun.
You and Tom both arrived. He was in his Shakespearean garb and crown. You had your own outfit- you adored it. You couldn’t help but look at each large mirror you walked by as you walked down the dim hallways with carpeted floors.
All the students were talking about it- tickets were 60 percent off for students. Since they were all raving about these hot new fantasy books between their required reading of Dickens. They all rattled their iced coffees like maracas and gossiped and shared pics of their outfits on their phones every day before class according to Tom. Most of them would all be there.
Little did they know their Professor was going to be there, as well as his girlfriend.
You both arrived at the fine, fancy hotel. Tom was dressed in his leather doublet and pants with a large cape and a grand crown. Ever the king. You had splurged on the fancy outfit you wanted badly- and you felt as if you were a heroine in a story as you walked through.
“You look stunning- they’re going to adore you,” Tom assured you.
You hoped so. If they met you and humiliated you in some way tonight or after, you would move to Antarctica and learn to speak penguin.
Taking his arm and feeling like royalty, you both went down the fine large building. You saw people gathered. There were some stage lights and the large gala room had trees with flowers everywhere as well as thrones, little game booths photo booths, and a banquet. And, of course, a packed dance floor. A live band played. Many people wore crowns and wings and elf ears and were dancing away with zeal. Women twirled their ballgown skirts with smiles so big it lit them up. Many flicked their capes dramatically or wrapped around them like blankets. There were fairy lights and glitter everywhere and there were photo ops and even a costume contest. It was in full sway.
Including a crowd that included Tom’s students. They jumped up in time to the song, breathlessly singing along to every word.
Tom held out your hand, both of you feeling like the king and queen looking over their jubilant subjects. You both walked down. Hoping your outfit looked as nice on you as you hoped it would.
The song was entering its last chorus. The student's backs were turned and their capes and wings were bouncing as they danced. They hadn’t noticed you yet.
He went to his group of students and cleared his throat. At once they turned their heads.
They looked at him and then you and their jaws dropped.
Tom said.“hello, here is Y/N, my beautiful, amazing girlfriend.” He then leaned you in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.
All of their eyes bugged out of their skulls and jaws dropped like broken nutcrackers among them.
You were worried the girls in the group would glare at you like they were going to rip out your stomach intestines.
But instead, all of them collapsed into a collective “AAaaaaawwwwwww, hello!” and “What?! WHAT?!” Their eyes flitted toward Tom in tight leather (who wouldn’t?) and you in your presence.
You went up like in any social situation. You gave them a smile- warm, genuine, polite, and friendly.
“Hi there, it’s nice to meet you- I heard all about you guys!”
You shook their hands. You got to meet them and learn names- Kelly, Hailey, Jessie, Emily, Daniel, Isaiah, Chase, Cameron, Kat, Miranda, Edgar, and so many more your head spun. But you eventually got it with practice.
But they let you dance with them. Be relaxed and have fun. It moved from a band to a playlist of all the classic dance songs. The band blasted Single Ladies and the girls invited you, dragging you in. You tried to copy the moves from the music video, but couldn’t quite and they all burst into laughter anyway.
It then slowed down- it was a ballad, the Cody Fry song about falling in love being like a symphony.
“Well…could I have a dance with my lady?” Tom asked, holding out his hand.
They gasped and looked at you.
“Oh, what a gentleman! I’d be delighted!” you said, accepting his hand.
They let you and Tom have a slow dance- how handsome he looked in the light, beaming at you. They smiled as if they were watching a rom-com at the end. There were no angry glares- at most, some looked a little reflective and sad. But none dared interrupt the moment with you and Tom.
Would they hate you after seeing the affection?
If so, they shut their mouths and minded their beeswax about it.
There were loads of pictures- you were willing to take some (they were seeing you as the surrogate Adult Adult more than their adults) and they included you in some, including some selfies.
Tom excused himself and returned with even brought you a little plate of food. a plate full of little sandwiches, cheeses, and fruits. You both rested your feet and shared some, feeling their eyes on you. For dessert, there were some gooey brownies that melted in your mouth. Tom eagerly grabbed some, his large hands packing as many brownies as he could.
But you realized his beard had streaks of chocolate brownies on it, you burst into laughter and you heard some giggling from the students too.
“Oh, let me take care of that!” you offered.
You got out a handkerchief and wiped it off of him. You definitely heard “awwwws” in the distance. Looking at it, his beard was now clean.
“There you go! But dashing as always!” you said.
He held your hand and kissed it. The “AWWWWWS” got louder in the back and you both had to suppress your laughter.
Rejoining the students, you saw them less as little judges or would-be homewreckers. You got to talk to them. Maybe you judged them harshly- you remembered being in college when you were that young too. Of course, they grumbled about the coursework sometimes and you gave your own insight.
“Oh- you’re seriously reading Persuasion? Oh, just wait! Austen takes some time to get used to when you read her stuff- read them slowly and you will catch onto what’s happening! The yearning in that one is beautiful” you encouraged a distraught Hailey.
You even discussed what fantasy books they were into and got some more recommendations for your ever-growing TBR. And at the end, every last person in the crowd gathered and danced. You and Tom joined the students with big grins and aching feet, but you wouldn’t stop until that last song ended its phrase. No drama. No pettiness. And no hiding. No fear. Just people at a party. Young and happy and alive.
--:::------::------------------->◇<--------------------::------:::---
The other morning, you were back at the coffee shop. Waiting on them. Soon enough, they arrived in their band, though you remained in the corner.
“I couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend!” Daniel gasped.
“Really?! I’m not! A man that fine can have his pick,” Kelly commented.
They began to all get iced coffees and gather around.
“She is gorgeous- didn’t you see her at that ball!? And she’s super nice!”
“Yeah…I want them to be happy and he seems so happy-”
“Oh, he is cheesing after her- you saw how he smiled?! And how he got the plate for her? Like, he’s a walking green flag!”
‘She’s so lucky!
“Listen, I am glad they’re happy…I just wish it were me…”
They all sighed and agreed,. You waited for that whole vibe of that phrase to blow away.
Then, quietly you walked over.
“Hello everyone,” you said.
They gasped and turned heads.
“YN! YN, hi!” one boy, what was his name- oh yes, Cameron!-said.
“Oh, I just wanted to pop by,” you added.
Then, Emily stood up. She got out a chair from one table and moved it over to where everyone sat .
“Do you have anywhere to be? You can…you can join us! You’re welcome to!”
You smiled at them and took a seat.
Hi, yes......um I love this so much and I need this in writing 🥴😁
Ok uh monster hunter au? Cryptid au? Idk how to describe it. Sorry for how long this is I got more and more ideas as I wrote it down
Basically, Dream is the neighborhood cryptid of this little town in the forest. The town is basically the Dream SMP, except without some of the newer members because I don’t know them that well. Dream is a mysterious shapeshifting entity/urban legend that lives in the woods.
Tommy and Tubbo have recently become obsessed with monsters/monster hunting, and when they hear legends about the demon ‘Nightmare’ who lives in the woods and steals people away, they have to find out more about it.
Wilbur and Techno, a much more experienced pair of cryptid experts, try to keep Tommy and Tubbo from searching for Nightmare because they’ve lost many friends to the forest.
Other people’s roles in the au:
Nikki: Runs the town bakery, along with Fundy. She’s not too interested in monsters and would rather just live a simple cottagecore life in the small town. She runs a small but lively garden with Eret.
Fundy: While Wilbur is the official mayor of the town, Fundy, as his secretary, ends up doing most of the work. He has access to the town records, and when properly motivated, can pull up little-known facts about just about anything. However, he’s often grumpy, and it’s hard to find him on a good day. Doing him a favor might help as he’s always overworked.
George: Runs the town general store, along with his pals Sapnap and Badboyhalo. Is the only one in the town to have ever had an encounter with Nightmare, but has never spoken about it. However, all encounters with cryptids are logged in the town records, if you know where to look. George always seems to get into trouble, but through some combination of coincidence and luck always gets out of it. It’s almost like someone is looking out for him...
Sapnap: Works at the general store with George and Badboyhalo. He’s talkative and quick to argue, but always knows what the general store has in stock and when the next shipment will be. He knows something is up with George. Ever since George went into the woods, he’s been different somehow, but Sapnap knows better than to ask about it.
Badboyhalo: He knows everyone in town, and is generally on good terms with everyone. When the forest was a safer place, he used to lead tours around to show tourists the wildlife. He still knows the woods like the back of his hand, and unbeknownst to everyone else, he still ventures in on occasion. He’s never met Nightmare, that he knows of anyway. Don’t get on his bad side or you’ll really have fucked up.
Eret: The town carpenter. He builds houses and buildings, and he loves to design. Nikki and Eret occasionally sell flowers at the general store when they have extras from their garden. (Au spoilers for if I ever write anything about this) secretly a cryptid (like the traitor thing?? Hm???) and never takes off her glasses so as not to show her white eyes and reveal that they aren’t human. Eret’s powers are yet to be determined/discovered/used. Even Dream doesn’t know what his powers are.
Techno: The town’s mercenary. No one knows why he decided to come to this specific town, or why he decided to settle in a small town at all. He’s always ready to help with hard labor or menial tasks, but prefers to skip the talking, except with Wilbur. He gets nervous easily but you’d never know from his outward demeanor. He still is extremely good with a bow and a sword from his monster hunting days, and occasionally trains Tommy if he’s in the mood for it.
Wilbur: He’s the mayor of the town, but is more of a figurehead than anything else. He cares a lot about his town but isn’t always the most motivated to fix real issues. He used to be a cryptid hunter, but refuses to talk about those days. Tommy and Tubbo have managed to pry a couple stories from him, but he refuses to answer why he stopped his monster-hunting or how he got that scar across his face. He’s skilled with a bow and a sword, but doesn’t get much chance to use his skills.
Dream: His main power is shapeshifting, which is why no one has ever seen him except George. George caught him in human form, and as soon as he saw Dream’s faintly glowing eyes and face that just... wasn’t quite right... he turned and ran back to town as fast as he could. George didn’t believe the legends before, but after that he most definitely did. Dream stretched out a hand after him as George ran and a whisper fell from his lips, “wait...” but George didn’t hear him as he crashed through the brush. Dream has many different forms but his favorites are wolf, various birds, horse, and human. Dream also has some smaller powers like stronger than normal strength, slight resistance, and a quicker reaction time than a normal person.
Dream has had encounters with other members of the town, but none of them realize it. Fundy has met him in the form of a fox, Bad has met him in the form of a wolf, and George has met him in wolf, parrot, and most recently, horse, though he has yet to realize that those were Dream. Sapnap has met him as wandering traveler who came into the general store once. George and Bad were both off duty, and Dream wore a cloak and a hood that cast his face in shadow.
Tommy and Tubbo have each had their own encounter with Dream as well. Tubbo has met Dream while he was a bee, they were both in Eret and Nikki’s garden. Tommy has seen Dream as a stray cat around the town, and has fed him some leftovers.
All the legends of Dream are greatly exaggerated. Somehow the story of lost travelers being led back by friendly animals has turned into travelers being pulled deeper into the woods by a demon until they couldn’t get out again.
I might change some stuff around eventually if I feel like it, but this au is open so feel free to draw art/write something using this if you want! I’m going to post this without reading through it so there might be some errors/discrepancies
Tagging @dtvibez because I think you’ll enjoy it
( LOVERBOY. )
ミ☆ he’s been working up the courage for this very moment for a long time. he can only hope you say yes.
⤷ PAIRING kth x m!reader
⤷ WORD COUNT 4.5k
⤷ TAGS model!reader, anxiety-ridden gays being dorks
⤷ REQUESTED
taehyung x reader 😼 tete in a distress on how to propose reader
“i love you,” taehyung whispers against your lips. it’s dark in the private room, and taehyung’s over-the-phone request for candles had been kindly obliged by the staff. this week is his turn for date-planning, and he brought you all the way across seoul to a restaurant so luxurious that even he feels intimidated by it.
you chuckle, folding your arms over the table. your suit fits you so well – taehyung does his best to keep his eyes on your face, but that, too, is swoon-worthy. he feels like a teenager all over again, staring at you longingly when he thinks you’re not looking.
“you’ve said that a thousand times tonight, baby,” you murmur. “you seem stressed. are you okay?”
he shakes his head absently. after a moment, upon realising that your question had been ‘are you okay’ and not ‘are you stressed’, he bobs his head rapidly, blushing. his soft hair flops over his eyes and he sweeps it away.
“i – i’m okay. sorry. it’s just… i know i haven’t really been present in our relationship lately, and i don’t want you to think i don’t love you – i really do! – or that i’m not as invested anymore, and i just want to make sure you know that you mean the world to me.”
Keep reading
Better than Perfect
You meet a cute rapper at the BBMAs.
Request: I would like to request a Yoongi x Reader Oneshot in which the reader is a young Singer-Songwriter and they meet at the BBMAs (it’s the readers first time there) :)
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Genre: Flooooffy fluff
|mlist|
“You’re kidding.”
Sana shakes her head, biting her lip to hold back a grin. “Cross my heart. You’re nominated for Top New Artist!”
“Oh my god!” you shriek, jumping up and down. “I didn’t think– I can’t believe–”
“Hey, you earned this.” Sana’s eyes go from gleeful to focused in a second. “Now, we need to take advantage of this while we can. You’re not performing, which is fine– it is only your first time there. As for your outfit … I can cash in a lot of favors to get you something from Gucci’s new line, and then we have to practice interview questions… I think we can find you a late night spot–“
“Sounds great,” you interrupt, clapping your hands. If you let Sana go into Full Agent Mode, she won’t come back for a while. “I’m gonna head to the studio, text me when I can, y’know, do anything.”
Sana nods, gripping your arm. “Alright. Y/n, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you.”
You blink hard to hold back tears. “Th-thanks.”
“Get going, superstar.”
Twenty minutes later finds you in the extra room that you converted into a music studio when you first moved to the city. Biting your lip, you scribble lyrics into your battered notebook. Sure, you can dance– sort of– and singing is a strength of yours, but for you it’s always been about the lyrics. Nothing matters more to you than the message you send, and finding the perfect rhythm and syllable count to convey that message is always your goal. You’re just working on a new song, tapping out a beat on your thigh, when your phone rings.
“Hello?”
“AAAAAAAH!”
You laugh. “Hi, Sunmi.”
“You got nominated oh my god I’m so proud I’m already crying why didn’t you tell me?!”
You lean back in your chair. “I found out less than an hour ago, girlfriend.”
“That’s literally too long,” Sunmi whines. “I need time to plan your BBMA-winning party.”
“You know for a fact that I won’t win– my first nomination? No way.”
“You’re winning or I’m fighting you,” Sunmi insists. “You’re good, y/n, really good. You just need to go to the BBMAs and be your beautiful badass talented self and they’ll be throwing trophies at you.”
“Sounds terrifying.”
Sunmi scoffs. “Not as terrifying as me if my best friend doesn’t win. Call me when you’re getting ready for the BBMAs so I can help out.”
“Will do,” you laugh.
“Oh, and do you know Korean?”
To anyone else, it’s a weird question, but you’ve always been a polyglot– you pick up languages with ease. You’re fluent in English, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, Mandarin, and Russian.
“Not too well, but I’ll practice. Why do you ask?”
You hear Sunmi giggle. “Definitely practice, and no reason.”
You sigh in bemusement before hanging up and going back to your lyrics. You’re working on a power ballad, and you’re struggling with the balance between empowerment and unkindness. As much as you’d like to be strong and opinionated in your songs, you can’t afford controversey right now. “Having something doesn’t mean anything… I’m mine alone, don’t need a ring.” You stare at the words before scrunching up your nose and crossing them out. The lyrics need to be perfect.
Time passes, and soon enough the awards show is in less than a week. You’ve spent the last month practicing everything– interview questions, polite clapping, walking in heels, and (just in case) an acceptance speech. You’ve also worked on memorizing the names and faces of all the other nominees. It’s a lot, but at least you can prepare.
“Who would you love to collaborate with?” Sunmi reads from an index card.
“Probably Ariana Grande,” you reply with a smile. “She seems amazing.” Breaking character, you shake your head. “Was that too vague?”
“I think you’re good,” Sunmi replies, tossing the index card aside and reaching for the next one. “Sana told you to be vague, after all.” She squints at the latest question. “How does it feel to be nominated for Top New Artist alongside blah, blah blah?”
You giggle at your friend’s impatience. “It’s a huge honor. It still doesn’t feel real…” you falter, reaching for the perfect words. “Uh, I can’t believe it–”
Sunmi shakes her head. “Nope. You can believe it, remember? You can’t act like you’re not good enough.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “But I’m not. I’m not perfect enough–”
Your friend rolls her eyes. “When are you gonna stop thinking that? You’ve worked ridiculously hard. You’re the most talented person I know. Get over yourself, because you deserve this.”
You inhale shakily at her words. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“Good. Now I’ve got to get going, and don’t you have a meeting with Sana? Good luck,” Sunmi says, blowing you a kiss. “Dedicate your Grammy award to me in a few years.”
You smile at your friend. “Of course.”
As soon as she leaves, you get a text from Sana: My office. Now.
Faster than you think is humanly possible, you find yourself in Sana’s office.
“What’s… wrong…?” you pant, leaning on the wall. Sana looks up from her desk.
“Hm? Oh, nothing,” she says. “I just wanted you here quickly so I could show you these.”
With a flourish she holds up a set of clothes hangers.
“This is what you’re wearing to the airport,” she murmurs distractedly, handing you a stylish outfit. “These two are for your late night interviews, I forget which… Oh, this is for after the awards show, I got you an invite to Justin Beiber’s afterparty… aha!” she pulls out a dress, and your jaw drops.
You’re looking at the most gorgeous black dress you’ve ever seen, a dress shimmering as the light hits it.
“Isn’t it too much?” you whisper in awe. You reach out, but you’re scared to touch it. The cloth looks more expensive than you’ll ever be.
“Nah, you’re gonna wow them. Trust me on this,” Sana winks. “Wigs’ll be flying as soon as you show up.”
You take the dress, stroking the fabric in awe. “I hope you’re right.”
“Aaaand I’m joined by y/n l/n, who’s been making a splash in the charts! Y/n, how does it feel to be nominated for Top New Artist alongside such amazing new stars?”
“It still doesn’t feel real, honestly,” you laugh, alternating eye contact with the red carpet interviewer and the camera. Around you… so this is the hustle and bustle before an awards show. “I’m honored.”
“And who are you wearing tonight?”
You smile graciously. “Gucci.” Giving you just a hint of cleavage and hugging your curves in all the right places, you’ve never felt more powerful.
“Well, you look great, and best of luck to you tonight!”
You’re about to thank the interviewer when a sudden chorus of screams makes you jump. What the hell? You strain your ears, making out a consistent cheer.
“BTS! BTS! BTS! BTS!”
Holy shit, they’re here. You’ve done your fair share of googling on the nominees– BTS is easily the biggest boy band in the world, known for their dedicated fanbase. You’ve listened to some of their songs, and they’re talented to say the least– but you don’t have time to get distracted, as you’re soon approached by another interviewer.
Your feet are aching by the time the cameras follow the guests inside, and you’re led to your seat. Why a barely known singer like you has been seated in the very front row, you don’t understand, but you’re not complaining– Sana will be squealing at the additional screentime.
The front row is barely filled in by the time you sit down. There are seven empty seats to your right, and you’re left twiddling your thumbs, your body tense with nervous energy.
A few minutes later, you hear the roar of another thousand teenage girls, and you twist around. Looks like BTS has entered the building, and when one of the members raises their hand to wave the volume of the screams increases tenfold.
You stare in awe. That’s what it means to be famous. These guys… these guys have made it. They’re perfect. They’re talented. They’re… sitting next to you?
You hold your breath as the members settle in their seats. Beside you, if those Wikepedia articles you read are correct, is Suga. He’s… wow, he really is even more attractive in person.
You keep your eyes trained on the stage as the MC of the night begins to talk, but you can’t help but focus your attention on your peripheral vision. You’re entranced by the ethereal beauty of the men beside you.
“And we’ll be right back!” you hear the MC say, snapping you out of your fog. The first commercial break already?
You turn, and you’ve never been more grateful to your best friend– you’ve been focusing on Korean ever since Sunmi mentioned it, so that now…
“Hello,” you say to Suga.
He notices, his eyes widening in surprise. “You speak Korean?”
You hold your thumb and index an inch apart. “A little bit. I’m learning.”
“Hyung, we’re getting some drinks,” one of the members– RM, perhaps?– says. “You coming?”
“In a second,” Suga replies, his eyes trained on you. Something in his gaze sends shivers down your spine.
“You should go with them,” you breathe as the members file away. “The cameras will want to see you all together.”
“The cameras see us together enough,” Suga says, leaning back and folding his arms. “How do you know Korean?”
You shrug. “I’m good with languages. My friend told me to improve my Korean–” you laugh. “Now I know why.”
Suga smiles. It’s a cute smile: his lips pull up above his gums and his catlike eyes sparkle with delight. Inside your chest your heart flutters, but you calm yourself– you’re not here to pick up guys, and idols like him basically can’t date anyways–
“Are you nominated or here as a guest?” he asks.
“Oh, uh, I’m nominated for Top New Artist,” you say, beginning the sentence in Korean and finishing in English. “I’m small fry.”
Suga raises his brows. “Seems like a big deal.”
“Not as big as you,” you reply. “Top Social Artist, right? That’s impressive.”
“Yeah.” Suga tries for a smile, but his eyes dull a bit.
“Is… is something wrong?”
“Ah, no.” Suga rubs his temples. “It’s just… don’t get me wrong, a BBMA is a huge honor for a foreign group like us, but I feel like people care more about our fanbase than our music.”
He shakes his head, covering his face with his hands. “Aah, that sounded bad, sorry.”
“Not at all,” you reassure him. “Trust me, I’m a songwriter, and I get more questions about my outfits than my lyrics. It can be frustrating, huh?”
“You write your own songs?”
You open your mouth to reply when the lights start flickering to signal the commercial break’s end. The other members of BTS return to their seats as the MC takes the stage once more to introduce the next performer.
“Are you performing?” Suga whispers while the audience applauds.
“God, I wish. I’m not nearly famous enough,” you whisper back. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Suga winks at you, and you blush happily. “Look forward to it.”
You feel your phone buzz and you check it discreetly.
Sana: Quit flirting, there are cameras on you.
Your head snaps up and you notice the familiar red blinking lights of dozens of cameras around the grand room, some of them apparently trained on you. Or rather, you acknowledge, trained on the members of BTS.
You focus on the stage once more, glueing a smile to your face as two more trophies are awarded.
“After the break, Ariana Grande is back with her latest single!” The MC says, smiling brightly into the camera. “Coming up, Top Social Artist and Top New Artist. We’ll be right back!”
As soon as the lights brighten to signify they’re no longer broadcasting, you lean over to Suga.
“Gee, I wonder who’s gonna win Top Social Artist,” you tease.
Suga shakes his head bemuseadly. “No clue.”
“Turn around and make a heart with your hands,” you suggest. “Every single scream is a vote for you winning. And I’ve heard some of your stuff, you guys deserve it. Your lyricist should get a raise.”
Yoongi laughs. “I’ll tell the others, but I think we’re pretty well off already.”
“Huh?”
“Me, Namjoon, and Hobi-ssi, sometimes the others– we write and produce a lot of our music.”
“Really?” you ask in wonder. “I thought… I mean, you’re such big stars…”
Suga shrugs. “We love the music as much as the performance. Could you ever quit songwriting?”
“Never,” you reply instantly, and you’re about to say something else when the lights dim again. Suga turns back to the stage and for a second you can’t help but be struck by his side profile. He truly is inhumanly beautiful. And funny, and kind, and passionate… he is perfection, you decide.
Another buzz from your phone.
Sana: If u keep staring at him ur gonna be a meme before midnight smh
Blinking guiltily, you tune in just in time to hear the MC finish up the nominations for Top Social Artist.
“…and BTS!”
The accompanying screams drown out any hope you have of wishing Suga luck.
“And the Billboard Music Award goes to…”
You cross your fingers behind your back. Sure, you only met Suga this evening, but there’s something about him that makes you feel as though he’s an old friend. You want him to win.
“BTS!”
You clap politely as a clip of the group’s latest single begins playing. Suga turns and says something to you before standing, but it’s lost amid the rabid screams of the fangirls. The septet files onstage to accept the award and RM makes a speech, all graciousness and gratitude. When the music swells once more the group disappears backstage to take pictures, and a sudden realization turns your blood to ice: your category is next.
The MC makes a short introduction full of scripted puns and half-clever witticisms before introducing the nominees for Top New Artist. You’re screaming inside as you hear your name:
“…and y/n l/n!”
From the crowd you can hear the yells of some of your fans or those that’ve heard your latest single. The song blew up way past expectation, landing you this nomination.
“And the Billboard Music Award goes to…”
Time slows down. Or does it speed up? Are you even breathing? You don’t think so. Your skin prickles in anticipation and your heartbeat is deafening, but the cameras are trained on you and so all you do is smile hopefully, twining your fingers together. It’s fine. You won’t win, no way. It’s fine.
“Y/n l/n!”
Huh? You’re frozen for a second, surely you misheard, for a second you thought they’d announced your name, and around you people are clapping and the guy to your left is nudging you forward and when you stand up the cheers get louder and wait a second they’re cheering for you.
You walk– actually, you practically float– to the stage. Do you really deserve it?
You accept the trophy from the MC and step up to the mic.
“Wow.” You look at the audience and swallow. You have precious few minutes to speak, and you’ll use them.
“Every moment of my life is spent working towards becoming perfect,” you say. “Whenever I get close, ‘perfect’ seems to get farther away. And I’ve realized that being an artist means not being perfect, but being better. Thank you to my parents, my amazing agent Sana, of course Sunmi. Y’all make me better.” You smile at the camera. “But my biggest thanks have to go to my fans. You inspire me every day to become better, and you make me believe that I can be better. Every note, every lyric– that’s all you guys. Thank you!”
You walk backstage to the sound of applause, swelling with pride.
“Y/n! Over here!” A photographer waves you over, motioning to a backdrop. “Could you stand right here? Hold up the trophy– like that, perfect! Okay, we’re good. You can get back to your chair now. Door’s that way.”
Well, that was easy. You head in the direction the photographer indicated, turning a sharp corner and suddenly bumping into someone.
“Oh! My bad, I– oh.” You’ve accidentally run into another member of BTS– Jimin, you think?
You switch to Korean. “Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.”
The singer’s expression changes to delight at your words. “Yoongi hyung, is this the girl you mentioned?”
Suga suddenly appears from behind Jimin, and you let out a surprised squeak.
Suga chuckles. “Yeah, she was sitting next to me. Had the nerve to say she wasn’t fluent.” He eyes you teasingly.
You decide to ignore his snark. “What are you guys doing back here?”
“Jimin-ssi had to use the restroom, and I wanted to greet the top new artist,” Suga says with a smirk. “Whoever it may be.”
“Bullshit, you heard me win,” you reply.
He shrugs, and you notice Jimin has already hastened back to his seat. “Maybe I wanted to chat,” Suga continues. “Without the cameras, because I’ve already gotten scolded for talking to you so much.”
You laugh. “Hey, me too.”
“We never really introduced ourselves,” Suga says. He offers you his hand and you shake. “I’m Min Yoongi– Yoongi’s my first name– I’m a rapper, lyricist, and overall pretty average person.”
“Y/n l/n,” you reply. “Singer, lyricist, and overall incredibly awkward nerd.”
Yoongi laughs, a surprised and mirthful sound that makes your heart skip a beat.
“Are you going to an afterparty?” you blurt out.
Yoongi thinks. “Joonie mentioned… yeah, I think so, if our managers are okay with it.” He clucks his tongue. “Parties here are hard, with only one translator. It doesn’t give us a lot of freedom to move around.”
“That’s a shame,” you say, sudden confidence overtaking you. He’s been nothing but flirtatious all night, why shouldn’t you reciprocate? “If we were going to the same party, I could be your personal translator for the entire night.”
Yoongi looks at you, a mischivious glint in his eye. “Whose afterparty are you going to?”
“Justin Beiber’s.”
“Huh. Well, c’mon, we have to get back to our seats,” Yoongi says, gesturing to the backstage exit.
Just as you open the door, you hear the MC’s voice: “We’ll be right back!”
“A commercial break already?” you hiss at Yoongi, and he shrugs.
“To them, it’s all money, isn’t it?”
“Hyung!” RM suddenly rushes up to Yoongi. “We need to get changed, we’re on after the next two awards!”
Good luck, you mouth at Yoongi as RM leads him away.
Thanks, he mouths back, winking.
You settle in your seat as the commercial break ends and the next two awards are given away. From time to time you smile randomly– how could you not? Yoongi is by far the most attractive man you’ve ever met and he’s more than attractive; he’s just so cute…
You’re snapped out of your stupor by the announcement of the next performance: “And here’s the record-smashing phenomenon with their latest single. Give it up for BTS!”
After the performance, you’re still in a daze. They were just so good. You couldn’t help but be captivated by Yoongi’s raps. Whatever he may think, you’re not fluent, and so you only got about seventy percent of his verse but still it was so good…
You’re still thinking about it when you’re led to your trailer to change into your afterparty outfit, a tight-fitting but not uncomfortable cocktail dress. You’re still thinking about it when you arrive at the party location with no clue as to how you got there. You’re standing in Justin Beiber’s living room, positively dumbstruck, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You whirl around to see–
“Yoongi!” you want more than anything to give him a quick hug, but you refrain. The other members surround him.
“Hi, I’m y/n,” you introduce yourself nervously. That much beauty at once is intimidating.
Yoongi says something quickly to the other members in a dialect you don’t understand, and the six of them surreptitiously melt into the crowd.
“What was that?”
Yoongi smirks. “I was promised a personal translator. I don’t want to share you tonight.”
Somehow his words sound far from innocent. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not that kind of girl,” you warn him.
Yoongi snorts. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a walk in the backyard. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” As if to prove his point, he jams his hands into his pockets.
You giggle, following him onto the perfectly manicured lawn. You and Yoongi stay outside for hours or maybe days, and at some point you look down and notice his fingers intertwined with your own.
“Didn’t you say you’d keep your hands to yourself?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Do you want me to?”
The word is out of your mouth before you have time to regret it: “No.”
Yoongi grins widely. “You’re too smart for a hurried party hookup. I have an idea, if you’re interested… it might mean we can see each other after I fly home?”
“Tell me.”
“Want to collaborate? I heard that clip of you singing earlier, god, I could write a thousand songs for that voice of yours.”
“Collaborate… with you? On a song?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Yoongi says hurriedly.
The human embodiment of perfection– better than perfection– is asking to collaborate. “Are you kidding? It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, in more ways than one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You lean towards Yoongi until your noses are mere centimeters apart. The space between your bodies feels electric. “Whatever you want it to.”
A/N thanks for the request, @minanna01! I hope I did your vision justice. As always, my inbox is open and feedback is welcome and appreciated :)
still working on requests but i suddenly remembered that this post exists and immediately wanted needed to write touch-starved astarion. hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did!
a fervor, a sweet (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur’s gate 3)
As thrilled as he is to be free of Cazador’s control, Astarion could do without the constant need for blood.
Deer and boar just aren’t cutting it these days, not when he’s expected to fight goblins or harpies or whatever other damnable creature whose midsts you keep gallivanting into.
Which is why he’s using all of his roguish tricks to approach your sleeping form without notice, intent on nicking a few mouthfuls from your throat before you wake. Nothing outlandish - just a little nibble, enough to keep him going. Keep him strong.
Of course you wake just as he’s kneeling down with fangs bared. Of course. Astarion is quick to explain himself, wary of a stake through the ribs, but you’re surprisingly amenable to having a vampire in your midsts.
You’re surprisingly amenable to many things, actually, including offering him the blood he so desperately needs.
Are you that trusting, he wonders. Or that naive?
Either way, Astarion has learned never to look a gift horse in the mouth. He urges you to get comfortable and then dives into his first real meal in centuries, nearly sighing as the sweetness of your blood spills over his tongue.
It’s splendid, the taste of your blood thick in the back of his throat. He’s never tasted anything like it, never felt anything like it, the sheer rapturous joy of giving his body what it needs, and to have your blood be offered so willingly only seems to add to the euphoria of the experience. Gods, but he could spend ages buried in your throat.
He’s lost in a pleasurable half-state, numb to everything but your blood coating his tongue, and so he almost doesn’t notice your arm rising, not until your hand has settled on the back of his head. Disappointment curdles in his gut; you’re about to push him away and that, as they say, will be that. Ah well. It had been generous enough of you to offer this much.
But you don’t push him off. Your fingers are moving, yes, but not in an attempt to dislodge him. You’re simply… touching him. Pushing wayward curls into place, trying to tame his hair into some semblance of order, no small feat considering how mussed it’s become from his journey through the nautiloid ship and days in the wilderness with you and the motley crew you’ve gathered.
You’re careful about it, gentle. Astarion - well, he doesn’t quite know what to do in response. Even the sweetness of your blood fails to distract from the soft sensation of your fingers carding through his curls.
Even as they slow to a stop atop the crown of his head, Astarion can do little but stare blankly at the skin of your throat, nearly forgetting to swallow his mouthful. And then you pat his head, your palm gentle to avoid mussing up the job you’d just completed on his hair, and Astarion is so surprised he lets go immediately.
“Ah, that will be all, I think,” he murmurs, unable to discern if the warmth in his chest is from the meal he’d just indulged in or the way your fingers had felt combing through his curls. Either way, it would be a good idea to leave, now, lest he do something foolish.
He feels your eyes on his back as he walks - walks, not runs - away. He feels them for even longer after that, a gentle weight across his shoulders that fails to dissipate even as he gorges himself on boar and deer in the dark of the night.
*
The camp is awash in celebration - Halsin has been rescued, the Druid ritual halted, and the goblin scourge destroyed. Merriment flows in the form of drink and song, and everywhere Astarion looks there is joy to be found on faces both familiar and not.
He searches for you, certain that this night will allow him the perfect opportunity to strengthen your bond. You’re already charmed by him - but then, who wouldn’t be, with all of his talents? - and a night together would serve to secure his place by your side, secure his safety. His freedom.
He’s stopped multiple times by inebriated tieflings, all eager to give him thanks for his part in the goblin massacre. One pushes a bottle of too-sharp smelling wine into his arms, and bereft of any other choice, Astarion accepts the bounty with a pasted-on smile.
Surely you’re the one they should be fawning over, he thinks, taking a pull of the wine and grimacing at its taste. It should be you in the midst of this celebration, being plied with trinkets and tasteless wine and heralded as the hero you are.
And yet -
“You do realize you’re the guest of honor, don’t you?” he questions, unable to contain the curl of his lips when you shoot him a startled glance. Apparently you hadn’t expected anyone to find you in this little hidey hole, tucked behind an outcropping of rock with the newest acquisition to your group nestled against your knee. The owlbear has its head resting on your thigh, cooing gently as your fingers stroke along its crown.
“Are they asking for me?” Your voice is hushed, the faintest hint of a slur to your words, and Astarion huffs a laugh. He wasn’t the only recipient of subpar wine, it seems.
“Not yet.” He approaches you and your little shadow, grateful that the owlbear cub seems more preoccupied with your fingers than turning those sharp claws onto him. “But they’ll come calling eventually. Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not!” you insist, though your words lack much conviction. “I’m simply - recovering. From the wine.”
Astarion smirks, taking a seat beside you. “From the adoration, you mean.”
You huff a breath, your fingers scratching lightly between the owlbear’s ears. “That, too,” you admit quietly.
“The life of a hero not quite what you expected?” You’d taken to it like you were born to do so, never failing to offer your aid to any poor soul in need. Yet the grimace that twists your lips speaks of a keen dissatisfaction with the moniker. Interesting.
“I’m not a hero - “ you start, only to falter at the placid look Astarion gives you. You huff out a breath. “Just because I enjoy helping people doesn’t mean I’m entirely comfortable with all the fanfare that comes with it.”
“Understandable.” Astarion leans back on his palms, idly listening to the tiefling bard’s song as it filters through camp. “Surprising, but understandable.”
Your brows climb. “Why is that surprising?”
“Oh, come now,” he teases. “Isn’t half the fun of playing hero the praise and accolades that come after?”
You shake your head, a soft laugh bubbling from within your throat. It’s a pleasant sound. “I’d rather be giving the praise than receiving it,” you confess. The owlbear chirps as though in agreement and you take to cupping its plump cheeks in your palms, an affectionate glint in your eye. “Yes, you understand, don’t you, my brave little one?” Your fingers scritch gently through the owlbear’s feathers and the creature purrs, a rumble that Astarion can nearly feel in the soles of his feet.
You shoot a triumphant glance his way. “See? Much better.”
“Well, as long as you’re doling out praise,” he murmurs expectantly, some small part of him wondering why in the hells he’d decided to say such a thing and swiftly laying the blame for his loosened tongue on the awful wine.
A look of surprise passes over your face before it’s swiftly replaced by an expression that Astarion can only define as fond. He should be thrilled about that - he’d set out to charm you to his side during your first meeting, after all, and here before him was the proof that his machinations were working. He waits for the satisfaction to spill through his veins, the joy of a job well done, but instead all he truly feels is… warmth.
Warmth and the callused pads of your fingertips settling gently against his cheeks. He blinks in surprise at the unexpected touch, mutely staring as your eyes track his face and your lips tilt into a soft smile.
“You were very brave, too, Astarion,” you croon, in much the same tone as the words you’d cooed to the owlbear, and despite himself, Astarion feels a hot flush work its way down his chest.
“Really now, darling,” he begins, adopting a lofty tone to distract from the shock of his own body’s reaction to your words.
“Fierce as well,” you continue undeterred. “Cunning and swift. Utterly brilliant.” Your palms gently squeeze at his cheeks in much the same way you had just been handling the owlbear. That bit should offend him, probably - he isn’t some beast to be swayed by pretty words - but the expression on your face serves to soothe his ego well enough.
You’ve a mind for deception when the situation calls for it, but the wine and general merriment of the evening seem to have stripped you of all but sheer sincerity. You mean what you say.
“Well, I - “ Astarion struggles for words - a first for him, in all truth. Perhaps the wine has addled his mind, too, for the only thought he seems capable of is how nice it might feel to slump against your hold, allowing you to be all that holds him aloft in the world.
The owlbear trills between you, the call enough to distract you. Your hands slip from Astarion’s face and for reasons he chooses not to study too closely, it takes a valiant effort for the vampire not to snatch them back up again.
That, he reasons, is his cue to leave, and with a swift farewell and a promise not to rat out your hiding place to the rest of the revelers, he goes.
It doesn’t strike Astarion until he’s back within the safety of his own tent that his plans for the evening - to seduce you into his bed and bolster your growing bond - had been completely waylaid. He should be furious with himself, and he waits for the bitter sting of disappointment to settle on his tongue -
But it doesn’t.
Strange.
*
Camp is mostly silent when Astarion returns from his late night feeding, though you appear to still be awake, nestled on a log by the fire and staring silently into the depths of the flames.
He debates bypassing you entirely but that feels too much like retreating. The night of the tiefling’s celebration remains fresh in his mind, his body’s increasingly confusing reactions to your touch stalling his feet, but Astarion is no coward.
In truth, you look so lost in thought that he could have passed you completely uncontested, and he might have tried his luck, if only he weren’t so sure that he himself was the source of your turmoil.
The Gur hunter had been a nasty little surprise. Astarion had given little thought to the possibility of Cazador sending someone after him, or perhaps he’d always known it was an inevitability and merely elected not to give credence to the thought. A folly on his part, to be sure. He would have to be much more vigilant in future.
“Don’t tell me you were waiting up for me,” he quips, taking no small amount of pleasure in your startled expression as he settles onto the log beside you.
You open your mouth - perhaps to deny his accusation - but seem to sense the futility of such a claim.
“We can’t be certain that Gandrel was working alone,” you say, turning your gaze once more to the flames. “I felt better, waiting.”
“Ah,” Astarion murmurs. You were concerned for him, then. He’d known as much - even after dispatching of the hunter and facing down the hag afterward, you had refused to rest until the party was well beyond the borders of the swamp. A blessing, really, considering the stench of the place, but even Lae’zel and Wyll had raised a brow at your haste.
Silence falls between you for a moment, slightly awkward but also strangely comfortable, heavy with words unsaid. You look fit to bursting, however; Astarion can feel your gaze darting to him when you feel he isn’t aware, and he resists the urge to smile. He has centuries on you - he can be patient.
“Your arm?” There it is, your voice deceptively light when you finally speak.
Astarion huffs. Was that what had worried you so?
“It was only a flesh wound, pet.” The Gur’s arrow had sliced a furrow into his forearm, leaving behind a stinging, bloody mess, but it was nothing a few mouthfuls of blood couldn’t fix.
You nod jerkily, brows furrowing. “I know,” you mutter, though you don’t sound entirely convinced.
Astarion sighs, though even he can hear the fond exasperation in it. “See for yourself,” he says, holding his bare arm out for your perusal.
The skin is pale, unmarred, as though the wound had never been inflicted at all. He expects the silent look of awe that passes over your face; he even expects the relief, though the vulnerability of the expression - the proof that you’ve grown to care for him - is enough to make him second guess his earlier decision to approach you.
He’s not expecting your fingers, roughened at the tips with calluses from wielding your weapon, to wrap gingerly around his arm.
Astarion goes still, watching as you study the offending limb with far more intensity than it deserves. Your nails drag lightly over the stretch of skin where the arrow had struck, leaving a tingling sensation behind in their wake.
He’s rocketed back to the night you’d first offered your blood to him, to the moment during the tiefling’s celebration when you’d gathered his face in your hands and touted him brave. He’s freshly fed and pleasantly full, but the warmth in his belly has little to do with blood.
It’s you.
It’s you and this damnable urge you seem to have to touch him - his hair, his face, his body, all seemingly without thought, without sexual intent, without cruelty.
When had such a touch ever been bestowed upon him? Before his death, certainly. Before Cazador.
The thought roars through him like a wailing beast.
Why are you doing this? Why do you care?
Why does Astarion never want you to stop?
“I’m glad there was no lasting damage,” you murmur, your hands curled loosely around his arm. You’ve no intention of letting him go anytime soon, it seems, but that’s alright. That lost, fretful look has vanished from your face, leaving behind sweet relief and a small, lopsided smile.
Astarion wants to taste it, to feel the texture and give of your mouth against his. Not to manipulate, not to coax you into bed, but simply because he wants to.
Gods above, he actually wants.
*
He carries the feeling, for a time.
The want, the need. The ache.
It builds and it builds, a sweet desperation that he’s never quite felt before, until eventually even Astarion’s centuries-born patience runs reed thin.
The Elfsong Tavern comes as a welcome respite after spending weeks in the wilderness. The entire upper floor is yours, and even Lae’zel seems more approachable after a few nights spent in the comfort of a real bed - much as she may hiss when Astarion tells her so.
A confrontation with Cazador lies just around the corner, a looming threat that hangs over all of your heads. You’re strong - stronger than Astarion had ever thought possible - but there’s a very real chance that none of you will see the light of day again after you breach his stronghold.
If this is to be his last night on earth, Astarion reasons as he comes to a halt outside your door and raises a hand to rap at the wood, then he’ll be damned if he spends it without the comfort of your touch.
You call for him to enter, and at his first glance of you, his resolve firms. You’ve discarded your armor, clad in loose clothing that makes you look soft, open.
The urge to tease, to pester and charm disappears. Astarion climbs atop your bed, settles himself at your side, and for the first time in recent memory, asks for something he actually wants.
“Touch me?”
Your brows jump, mouth parting on a slow, sharp breath. You set aside the tome you’d been reading, eyes searching his own. He half-expects you to question him, to gently urge him from your room.
But you don’t.
Your palms are warm against his jaw, your touch tentative, exploratory, until Astarion sighs and sinks against you.
You murmur his name, your voice soft, full of surprise, of wonder.
“Please,” he whispers, and you laugh, a soft, shaky thing, disbelieving, awestruck. Fond.
You thumb at his cheekbone, drag your nails along his jaw, trace the bow of his lips until he’s gasping for breath, a fire sparking in his blood. Your fingers shift gently through his hair, and then firm within his curls whenever he releases a low, trembling moan.
Each touch you bestow upon him is a solar flare, blinding, brilliant, hot: your hands stroking over the crown of his head, dragging through the short curls at his nape, scratching lightly over his throat, his shoulders, his waist.
His chin falls to your shoulder as your palms spread out along his back, dragging a trail of fire down the length of his spine. He presses his lips against your throat and bites out your name, warm and wanting, and you croon against his ear, nonsense words interspersed with his name. The scent of your own desire, your skin, your need is a heady concoction, making his head spin and his fangs ache. Thoughts of the parasite, the Absolute, Cazador - they all fade to the back of his mind, unimportant, insignificant to the heat of your hands upon his skin.
“Don’t stop.” It’s a desperate order, his voice gravel, his blood afire. His buries his hands beneath your tunic, feels your body shake as tremulously as his own, and knows in that moment that he could never let you go.
“I won’t.” Your voice is a balm, a declaration, a vow. You press your lips to his brow and say it again, the cadence of the words sinking deep, taking hold, stronger than Cazador’s cruelty and the parasite’s hunger and everything else that you’ve yet to face.
It should be terrifying - it is terrifying, but Astarion has long grown accustomed to fear.
He'll welcome this one with open arms.
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