#where to learn mean stack course

[tanzoshi]

/ I'm finding my old posts/metas/thoughts on t.suru and I'm like omg- did I really think all that???

[gangplanksorenji]

Her (Risky) Invitation.

Pairing: Chuu x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,432

A/N: Hello Orenjideul! This fic was supposed to be out as a BFH but I got busy so whatever haha. I feel like this should out in the draft hell since my folder's getting stacked and dusted (rip) but anyways, hope you guys like this pretty quick bit.

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The ebullient sounds of the audience roars around the stadium, and you contribute to it with a single percentile. The match is getting exciting at this moment, considering how a single home run changed the course of the game yet someone isn’t in the same boat as you.

“This is pretty boring, argh—” The girl is unfiltered, not giving a care on who may hear her despite her opening pitch earlier that made the crowd erupt in cheers.

“Don’t say that—a wrong word that comes out of your mouth could get you in trouble, Chuu.”

“So?” She raises an eyebrow, following a coy smile as you sigh in little disbelief.

She doesn’t care, and you couldn't care less—her pettiness is something you despise, an attitude worth removing with teaching her a lesson but that won’t even make her learn anything.

“What do you mean ‘so’?”

She brushes you off, looking at the distance, reeking with boredom, and with nothing much for Chuu to say right after, you just avert your attention back to the game where it’s getting spicy.

“You know what—whatever, I’ll go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t care less even if she leaves the stadium (metaphorically, you do, yet realistically, you won’t let her) knowing how you’re getting more hooked with the game in front of you.

Letting Chuu by, you nod to her as she just looks at you and flashes out of your sight, through the door, then averted your attention towards the possible climax of this stupendous game.

“Hope this delivers an exciting ending.” You hope it does, and you’re looking forward to what happens in the next minutes.

---

Almost a home run, and the waves of cheers erupt as the pitcher poises himself to throw the ball until a buzz in your phone piques your attention.

jiwooya__ at 5:58 PM - “come at the restroom rn plsss”

You at 5:59 PM - “why am i gonna go there with u?? something wrong?”

jiwooya__ at 5:58 PM - “yeah, just come over pls pls”

The ephemeral conversation sums up: her needing your help on something, an immediate call for you, and possibly another game from her—you know how this can end and whatever the outcome may be, you would welcome it with open arms because it’s Chuu and you can’t resist her.

You’re quick to get off your seat and excuse yourself, not giving a damn if the game’s getting spicy or not.

“This better not be a waste of my time...” You’re optimistic it won’t be, rather suggestive or not, you’re in positive spirits with what trick she may have up her sleeve.

---

You’re an easy bait and no one can blame you for that—like earlier, you can’t resist Chuu, not even in public places like this and you doubt anyone would care if something may happen here, the eruption of cheers that quakes the stadium says otherwise.

“It’s pretty compact here, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t look like it—” Chuu’s eyes wander around the bathroom, sensing possible dangers to unveil such profanities. “Besides, this is the perfect place.”

It was all part of your plan, and hers—it was all an act out there, because deep inside, the both of you want to discover the thrill of the underlying threat of being observed, but you’d love to keep all of what’s bound to happen for you and you only.

You’d make it clandestine, a secret that will be locked just between the both of you.

“Can’t wait any longer~” Chuu’s tone teases you, legs uneasy as you could sense her wetness beneath such a hot pair of jeans that accentuates the fine build of her ass. You can’t let yourself die out of impatience, a cruel death that’s not worth as your hands did an audacious move—gripping her ass and pulling her closer to you.

“Me neither.” It’s simple, enough for Chuu to receive the message with clarity as your lips lock hers. An entangled mess comes right after, hungrily exchanging torrid kisses with tongues dancing around gracefully with the aim to taste each other.

She’s insatiable and you can’t wait to just do the unthinkable. Knowing her patience is running low too, she knows this isn’t the reason why the both of you are alone together in a restroom.

“Been wanting this for a while.” Her breath blesses your face, just inches away as her seductive barrage of words comes after, not without her hand finding its way onto your clothed bulge that’s growing with every second that passes.

“Elaborate, Chuu.”

“Huh, you wanna hear the things I want to do with your cock?” She chuckles as you nod, Chuu then fixing her hair and tucking it behind her ear just to whisper these words: I want to stroke your cock until it leaks all over my fingers, then, I’ll suck it sloppily just like you always wanted, and then, you’ll cum all over my face, and it’s not just going to end there, because you’re going to pound me in front of this mirror until you drain your balls into me.

You’re fucked, and you love it. Chuu doesn’t just say it all because she wants to, because she’ll mark her words and she’ll fulfill her needs whatever it takes.

“So, you in?” Simples words as a smirk paints your face, then nodded knowing how much you fucking liked the dirty talk she’s escaped.

She doesn’t need to be commanded, because it’s in her nature to know what she’s an expert at, and she’ll show you why you won’t find a girl like her—she’s just that type of girl. She drops down to her knees, dexterous fingers coming right after, unbuckling your belt and undressing what fabric that just hinders her to her deserved reward. She can undress you with her eyes closed, and with just your boxers as the last bit of defense, she exhales and drops it down with one, swift motion.

Her eyes glimmer in lust and admiration, your erect shaft in sight for her to savor for the umpteenth time. She places her hand around it and brings shivers down in you, the coldness of her hand rivaling the emanating heat of your cock.

She strokes it, you wincing with that hint of pain until she spats on her hand and continues her expertise. “Just want it slow? Give you some room?”

As much as you want to tell her to pacen up her strokes, you want to savor every second of her dexterous talent, a pleasurable drive that’s downright commendable. “Like t-that, Chuu—god, your hands are a blessing.”

“Already stuttering? Oh my, I really did turn you on, hm?” Those doe-eyes that only have innocence as its façade, begs for your answer as she continues her work until the base of your shaft.

“What do you think, hm?” It’s rhetorical and you know it as her laugh says otherwise. She averts her eyes onto your already throbbing cock, leaking such a minuscule amount on the slit where her tongue laps the gifts, making your knees weak.

“I fucking love you—and this cock, god.” Her handjobs are just the side dish, because the main course is being delivered immediately, lips enveloping on a tight snug that earns a moan out of your lips. Her strokes on your base are continuous, massaging the hardness where it stands tall yet you crumble, and it's evident with her lips venturing deeper, almost taking half of your shaft to really test you.

If she’s not careful, she’ll knock down the architecture of your legs, and she’ll pick up the pieces once she’s done. 

She just swirls around your sensitive crown, dethroning your attempts to resist her utter control. She licks with passion unwavering, moreso, her lips sucking you off like a lollipop with a suction that rivals even a vacuum. It doesn’t end there, because she’s just starting this, and she’s not even bobbing her head frantically to the point where the both of you become a mess.

Well, speaking of that, she’s fulfilling her promises, one by one.

“Shit—that feels good, Chuu.” You’re hissing, a hand cradles her head, then your fingers running through her locks as she bobs with a pace that’s moderate, yet her experience shows evidently—her absence of gag reflex, her tongue licking wherever it lands, her hands fondling your balls and her lips that’s wringing out the best bits of pleasure from you. Her bobs are in this recurring pattern to die out the inevitable building inside you—slow, fast, slow—and it’s just perfect, because you’re moaning like you mean and encouraging her that she’s doing great.

“Keep sucking—shit, you’re really a filthy cocksucker, aren’t you?” You taunt her but it falls deaf onto her ears, continuous with her pace and what she’s great at.

Saliva seeps out of her mouth, dripping onto your balls that she’s taking care of, until such a hot pursuit was hindered, ejecting out and looking at you with delight. “I am your filthy cocksucker.”

Then she continues, only this time, she’s locking eyes with you as down she goes, relentless with her oral pursuit of greatness.

Her nails are digging deeper, gripping your thighs harshly yet not enough to mark you, as she’s bobbing more furiously, the saliva staining her orange top and the puddle of worthless clothing of yours—rather rendered as worthless, the intention of the commotion says otherwise. She’s slobbering all over your length, gawking with the succulence as her actions are repeatedly dangerous and rightfully audacious—she doesn’t care if her mascara runs rivulets onto her cheeks or she messes the clothing full of saliva, because all that matters is the fulfillment of the need.

She’s just bringing you down slowly, piece by piece until you break as she’s relentless, but she knows what her limits are, and releases such warmth out with a loud pop.

“Are you close? You’ve been throbbing more than before—like my mouth that much?” She’s igniting you, words that unlock a safe that’s your reservoir, slowly filling in and nearing the end. You’re not going to be under her spell, not this time, and as much as she thinks you’re lying, there will be a single answer to her rhetorical question.

“No and yes, Chuu.”

She’s stroking, wringing it out leisurely and you inevitably grunt as she does so, a mischievous smile directed towards you as she seems appalled with your answer. “Elaborate, please?”

She knows she’s fucking you up, barely got any space to genuinely articulate a sentence, what more about a simple elaboration? Well, it doesn’t matter whether you answer or not, because your earlier reply is enough to stroke her ego, and she’s giving it all, stopping the feverish pumps and letting her mouth do the job.

Let’s be honest, with the suction Chuu provides, the plumpness of her lips and her mouth complementing the shape of your cock, you’re not going anywhere far as the inevitable builds up quick on par with her pace. Albeit the lower ground, she keeps your lower body in check, ultimately powerless to move as all you can do is embrace the warmth she brings. You’re gripping those dark locks as a leverage, not restraint and decelerating her pace because this is the outlet you have to combat the pleasure she delivers.

You want to thrust and fuck her throat just to suffice the filthiness that’s orchestrated at your end, and with those doe-eyes glimmering with lust, she’s quick to assess the situation and nods as her lips just puckers at the tip of your cock.

“Do it—” She laps the drool that dribbles onto your underside, licking fervently as she continues her verbal approval. “—fuck my face—I know you’re dying to do that.” 

With her disheveled look begging to get your job done, you know it’s the green light. She doesn’t need a breather even if you ask her to have one, because she is that addicted to your taste that she can’t bear the vision of being depraved by it even for just a second. Your pace is immediately ruthless, and you wouldn’t give such an introductory act considering how she slobbered all over your length earlier without giving a damn with the mess she can make.

The pace dictated didn’t render herself useless, being used like a toy, but instead battled against your roughness as she bobs repeatedly alongside your thrusts, which makes her falter a little, gagging onto the rapid actions of filth. Your thrust, do a couple and she gags—it’s beautiful, all that pretty countenance just to be ruined within minutes as your control dominates her. Chasing the nearing high, your hands grip a handful of her hair, a leverage to muster greater pace, skin clapping and her repeated gags reverberating around the restroom. 

At this point, someone may suspect something suspicious between the both of you, and thank god her mouth is shut thanks to you because you know how much noise she can create in such a filthy session with you.

“Fucking like t-that, hm?” You tug her hair as she looks up at you with glee beneath the dishevelment, nodding with just those eyes as you continue your assault, yet she never resisted, only carving more.

You’re dying to paint her body with your cum, you really do—nobody can blame you for that, not when her outfit perfectly accentuates a godly figure. Despite that, you can’t just do that immediately when she’s still all dressed but just a mess.

Just a mess. Well, you should really fulfill her needs and add up to the monstrosity.

You pull out as the saliva-sheathed cock is throbbing relentlessly, as Chuu catches her breath but her words contradict her visible struggles.

“Hah—hah, I c-can—can take more of it—fuck me more, please.”

Her grip on your thighs weaken and ultimately, you’ll do what you need to do. 

“But I can’t, Chuu.” Your hand raises her chin, as she smiles and anticipates what you’re about to do. What she had in mind might be right, and you’d know it’s imminent. “Stay fucking there and make me cum.”

She does what she’s told to and does it with eagerness. You’re on your wit’s end as Chuu’s fingers wrap around them and muster a velocity unparalleled, slick with her drool and messing her up. She closes her eyes as she knows what’s about to come, and she embraces it.

White, pearlescent streaks paint her porcelain skin, splattering and coating almost every feature of her face as her awaiting mouth receives plenty of her reward. She hums in satisfaction with what you’ve given her, the warmth complementing the hotness the both of you are in and the succulent taste that she’s been yearning for quite some time.

This is far from over and she knows it, but for now, you marvel at the fruit you bear—an outstanding sight, her face covered with your cum and it’s filthy in all of the right places.

She parts her lips, hitches a breath and opens her eyes just to meet yours painted with utter satisfaction. Sweat forms on your forehead and it’s worth effort, ruining her in a space where risk lingers around the corner.

Even with the marvelous sight, you’re still not done with her, and she knows that.

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” You didn’t hesitate to outpower her, grabbing her by the wrists and flipping her over, facing the mirror. “And I’m fucking you up to get the job done.”

You meant it, and she gets herself ready.

Your eyes just darts onto her fine ass accentuated by those tight jeans (thankfully), its scrumptious volume allowing you to really test its integrity with a single, harsh spank that makes her yelp, and bite her lip. You see it in the mirror, a clear vision that she’s genuinely enjoying this and so you did another until you know to yourself that you shouldn’t play with your food.

You tug, she wiggles and you spank. It repeats for another time as the lust emanates the air the second that inviting face of hers exactly points out her reasons to fuck her—it doesn’t get any better than this and you know it, you’re damn impatient as much as she is. You undress her pants slowly, down to its ankles as your cock throbbed to the sight of a monumental wonder of nature and you’re glad to see it firsthand, nobody being blessed as much as you are. 

“Red ones, hm?”

“Like what you’re seeing? It’s your favorite shade.” Chuu knows you well, and you can’t lie. You just can’t help the fact that this looks like she orchestrated herself for you to fuck her publicly, anticipating with the right moment of the possible embarrassment to come and risk of being caught.

“You’re really a fucking slut—you did this intentionally, didn’t you? You wanted me to fuck you at this very day, hm?” More spanks wrings out cries at her end, a sweet disposal of the masked pleasure. She laughs and kept that gleeful face on hers, nodding because you debunking her sole reasons was just a piece of cake.

“You alwa—o–oh! Fuck, t-that’s great…” She grows weak, the second finger teasing the cameltoe formed onto those panties, feeling her wetness evident as her hands grasp the concrete of the sink and close her eyes.

“Keep d-doing that—oh!” 

“Grab the sink, Chuu.”

“What—ow!” You spank as your command renders deaf on her ears, the pleasure finally getting into her and she’s submitting slowly to you faster than you’ve expected.

“I’m fucking you with my fingers—be ready. Grab the fucking sink.” She does what she’s told to, gripping tighter as you plunge a finger, half with its depth and she moans in reply—that alone is the driving force to tease her, plunging another just to elicit that same, sexy moan you love hearing. 

You thrust in and out, a repeated process that orchestrates sounds in such a rhythmical and discordant pattern even with such a benign way of introducing yourself into her clit. You swipe and slowly make her descend down to her carnal desires, and your eyes sparkle with each passing second that passes, drooling with the fact how much it turns you on to see her dripping, glistening under the lights and her legs shuddering due to your own actions.

Guess you need to really start the show, for the better for both worlds.

Chuu knows you can’t contain it anymore, unleashing the beast, setting up the pace and going to “home-run” all over her backside—

“Fuck!” She swears at you, laced in goodness of what she’s feeling as your exposed lengths envelops another eventful paradise, plunging in deep and withdrawing with just the tip resting in it. The pace is sluggish, much intended for your comfort rather than hers, getting accustomed to her tightness that still surprises you until this day. You hold her hips and she holds the side of the sink tighter as your thrusts grow harsher and deeper, the profoundness driving you into insanity as Chuu spews profanities that reverberate around the puny restroom. It’s not just her dulcet tone that is an ear-candy, but also the clapping of your bodies against each other, a sound that adds to the erotic soundtrack that’s purely an abomination, your greatest creation.

She grows louder and it alerts you, so with an immediate action against it, the domination truly shows and it starts with you reprimanding her. “Shut y-yourself or we’re going to be fucked and you’re not gonna like it—do you understand?”

It’s surprising how articulate you could still be even with thrusts nigh-unbearable. Your other hand is occupied shutting her mouth up, letting her muffled screams vibrate on your hand as her eyes portray the sight of being satisfied, and it’s all shown in the mirror just to fuel you to take it into the extremes. It will be, but you’re still having the semblance of humanity left to just fuck her in a pace that she can take but if she talk right now,  you know that she’ll beg for more and she won’t break—the former, an absolute chant yet the latter can be debatable.

Thank god the cheers and the sounds outside rivals the absolute sinful cacophonies the both of you muster, and you’re thanking the blessing in disguise with that. With the climax of the game being evident outside thanks to the sounds of the audience, now brings the opportunity to bring spanks onto her butt that makes her grit her teeth in pain and pleasure.

You let go of your hand on her mouth to let those beautiful moans out for your ears to be blessed again, and she wails in pleasure with your pace and the harshness your hand makes contact with her ass. The sight of a rosy hue is the fruit of your efforts, and the events occurring in such a stingful session is a sight to see—a jiggle of her ass was enough to make you riled up even more.

You’re gripping her hips and you can foresee what can be her—

“Shit! Fuck, more, more! G-god, just fuck me real g-good…” Chuu is utterly fucked and she’ll thank you for it. She snapped and there she goes, you reading her like a book—she’s going to beg for more and with her numerous pleas that isn’t even registering in her head totally, you fulfill it anyways knowing it’s the route that you’ll inevitably pass.

“Fuck m-me—my ass—shit, more!” Your hips muster a velocity that is uncertain, but ultimately frantic and in for no-return. Her juices just stain the tiles and thank god you still have some time to discard her pants away to the sinful scene where her nectar will fall into, and at that point you know you’re breaking her apart slowly. At this point, Chuu is just blabbering with nonsensical jumbled pieces of existing words that will soon be more incoherent when you put the final in the coffin.

“You fucking like that, huh?” She nods in the mirror, those cum-glazed lips smiling after as she closes her eyes, savoring whatever that’s stimulating her and the pleasure you’re bringing all over her body.

“God, fuck! Ah, you’re crazy!” You pull her hair and make it as a leverage for you to fuck her truly. The pain stings but is translated as pleasure the second she feels it, and it’s evident because she’s been secretly talking about it and with the live reaction, oh, it’s all right there for you to hear.

You spank her and she bites her lip, you hissing at her remarks. “What did I say? Shut your fucking mouth.”

You’re vulgar and she didn’t care, even dropping the honorifics when you’re dropping her pants. You thrust repeatedly until burying it deep in her, making her moan so sultry and cry in pleasure, as lean towards her and whispered, “You want my cum again, hm?”

You slowly oscillate your hips, kissing her nape and ear as she replies an audible yes that enables the green light for the denouement of this spectacular show—spoiler: you did this before and you’ll never get tired of doing it again.

You pull yourself back, grab Chuu’s waist and run your hands towards her clothed tits, caressing it as she moans with your actions and cries once you return to your original pace. It went for possibly twenty seconds that felt like minutes on how heavenly she feels until you lean towards her again, this time, announcing the very thing she wants to hear again.

“I’m going to fucking cum, Chuu.”

You’re nearing the end and it won’t be in her pussy.

Well, here are the reasons why: firstly, you don’t want people to see your reward marked onto her pants and that would be unhygienic; second, she haven’t earned that luxury yet as per the situation the both of you are in; third, it’s a damn risk to it knowing it’s a sudden invitation by Chuu because you don’t want to risk these things; and lastly, you might just need to add up to the mess on her face you plastered all over her earlier.

Reasonable arguments, and it’s easier to be done than being said.

She doesn’t argue with your principles and wants, but eagerly obliges as she brings herself down to her knees again, stares at you with anticipation and her mouth agape. You know she really does know what she’s doing when she’s initiating the actions, stroking your cock frantically as your knees shake a little due to the pleasure her hands bring.

“Come on—cum on my face, right he—” She doesn’t need to finish her sentence when yours does, spurting strings and strings of cum on her already disheveled face, flinching whenever it gets on her forehead and savors with her hums when it gets on her tongue and lips. With the final orgasm that possibly lasted about ten seconds, she still wrings out the leftover cum in your slit, even licking it clean to savor your succulence, then smiling towards you because of the gratification.

“God, you still came a lot…” She still grips your length, admiring it as she slowly strokes it for good measure as an ending.

“It’s all your fault, Chuu.” You reply back, chuckling as the both of you exchange smiles. Chuu licks her lips and wipes her face full of your cum, the messy liquid being tasted by hers and she commends that taste, and you roll your eyes because of that.

Now, with the adrenaline diminishing slowly, the both of you are grasping the situation as the both of you get dressed up quickly, and Chuu is cleaning up the mess you’ve made on her face.

“Shit—I’m sorry, Chuu—was I too rough? Sorry if I came too much—”

“No, no, it’s fine—I can retouch and reason with them later. You got me pretty sore though.” Her bubbly smile takes effect and reassures you, and you trust what she can do to reason herself out of this mess. You got her ready and you know it’s still a risk even going out, even with the busy atmosphere around the stadium.

Chuu just smiles at you, smirking even with a single sentence that follows. “We should do these things again, I never knew it would be this fun…”

You’d be truly damned if it was to be fulfilled but you’re foreseeing the inevitable, and it’s just about when would be the next time such sin would happen.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 2, Part 2

Masterpost (Thank you jaythefae for reading over this so that I could post it! This migraine has me writing a lot of swapped words.)

Okay, okay fuck. That wasn’t what Wally was going for at all!

It was a tower! Like Titan’s tower and the lightning bolt was supposed to be him. He was trying to tell them who he was, not spell doom. Who made a tower doom?

Wally put his fingers to his lips and paced. Or paced as much as he could. If he went too far from Danny (and boy had it taken a long time to even learn Danny’s name) he would… disintegrate, for lack of a better word. And wow did Wally want a better word because he did not like disintegrating. People shouldn’t disintegrate!

“Okay, okay, I can work with this! I did go through a major—” Wally leaned in to try and hear the conversation. Danny was clear enough, but anything Mina (or not Danny) said was like listening to the words through wind storm.

“…upheaval and destruction. Change, basically,” Mina said.

He wished she’d shout.

“And… change is doom?” Danny said. He sounded as dubious as Wally felt about that.

Mina shrugged. “People don’t — change. Like — so they get grum— and then— and tada! Change bad.”

“Well, I mean. Of course they went through a change, they’re dead,” Danny said.

Wally winced so hard he bumped into and through Danny’s shoulder. Danny shuddered at the touch.

“Or if not dead, trapped somewhere,” Danny added with a glance towards where Wally was standing.

It was a good sign that Danny was starting consider that Wally wasn’t a ghost. Wally really, really didn’t think that he was dead, after all. But how to get across that he was trapped in the Speed Force? He didn’t think there would be a card for that.

Wally zipped over to Mina’s side, took the cards, and shuffled through them. He really wished that he knew what these damn things meant. A small part of his brain said that messing with the cards like this was messing up the meaning, but fortune telling wasn’t real. (At least not normal human fortune telling.) Once he had finished stacking the spread set with cards he hoped would be useful, he put the cards back and returned to Danny’s side.

The world blurred and crackled around him.

This was using too much energy that he didn’t have. Something had to come from it.

Please.

This had to help.

-

“Well, that wasn’t any help.”

“Don’t say that Danny,” Mina said, but even she was frowning slightly down at her cards as if they were a puppy that had piddled on the floor.

“Do you want to go grab some food? I’m craving one of those avocado, tofu, and facon sandwiches from that place you love.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds excellent,” Mina said, perking up. She stood from the table and started back towards the kitchen. “But before you go, I want to give you some of a special tea. It will help you settle into a sort of zone so that maybe you can have a better chance of connecting with your spirit without you being hurt.”

“Mina Aleshire, are you giving me drugs?” Danny gasped dramatically as he wandered after her, Hubris held limply in his arms.

She paused in opening the cabinet, as if really having to consider the question. “Well, nothing illegal?”

“Mina!”

“It’s an herbal blend!” she argued. “Just, maybe don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do for a few hours after taking it. You know, just in case.”

Danny sighed. “The worst part is that I’m really considering taking this mystery herb blend.”

“It’s better than having seizures,” she pointed out as she handed him a little satchel.

“It’s better than having seizures,” he agreed and took it.

-

The tea smelled like rain and honeysuckle. Danny cradled the mug he was using more carefully than the thick, chipped ceramic warranted. The warmth seeped into his palms and bones. He breathed the pungent smell in and then let out the breath slowly.

He didn’t know if this would work.

It was almost certainly a bad idea, what with him being not entirely human, but it was at least an idea. Danny had never seen one of Mina’s readings go so badly. It went so badly that Danny felt certain that the ‘ghost’ had been interfering. The problem was, is that Danny didn’t know if the sabotage was on purpose or from ignorance.

He wanted to believe that it was ignorance. That the ghost had been trying to tell them something, but in doing so had messed up the reading. But Danny always wanted to believe the best in people.

It had gotten him burned too often.

It might get him burned again if the ghost was really out to hurt him. Mina couldn’t give him the clearest answer on what the tea was going to do, but Danny was pretty sure that it was going to make his spirit less attached to his body for a bit so that he could commune with the things not of this realm. A less attached spirit meant one that was easier to sever.

But he was already half dead, so what did it matter?

Or so he told himself.

Before he could run around the logic again, Danny tipped the mug back and took a long, slow sip. It was spicier than he expected, but in a good way. He drained half the cup steadily as he slowly settled into the mound of pillows that made up his bed. It really wasn’t half bad, for magical drug tea.

“I think I can smell that from here. Which, dude, is saying a lot because I’m stuck in the Speed Force.”

Danny hummed. “What’s the Speed Force?”

“What’s the—can… can you hear me? Can you actually hear me? Did the weird tea do something?!?” the words came in such a rush that they were hard to follow. It didn’t help that they sounded like they were coming from a badly tuned ham radio.

“Slower. You have to be slower. I can barely understand you. You’re static. You’re always static to me,” Danny said.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry I am and that I hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t mean to. But you’re the only one that I can hear and see! I need your help!” The words sped up and up again until they were a blur—a roar—a scream—

The mug hit the mattress and bounced onto the floor with a crack as Danny clutched at his head to try to block the sound out.

The talking stopped.

His head continued to ring.

Danny curled up into the pillows with a whimper.

It was a minute or days later when Danny felt fingers running through his hair. They were wonderfully warm.

“—always hurting you. You keep trying for me though, don’t you?”

“Wanta help,” Danny mumbled.

The fingers stilled then picked back up their path. “I need the help too, which is… I’m supposed to be the hereo here, you know?”

“You’re dead,” Danny said.

“Ugh, no! Come on, you were finally moving away from that idea, Danny! I’m not dead! I’m trapped in the Speed Force.”

Danny finally found the strength to roll himself over. Bright blue eyes set among fiery hair and a beautiful scattering of freckles blinked down at him. Danny reached up an unsteady hand to brush over one of the freckled cheeks.

“Speed Force?”

“What gives me my powers. Something went wrong and I’m trapped. You seem to be the only one that can hear or see me and it’s hurting you.”

“Yeah, seizures suck,” Danny said. The world around them was just a swirl of color. Like when a ride at a carnival was spinning so fast that nothing was real anymore. “I don’t think I’m going to be okay when I wake up.”

They laughed, but it was a bitter, choked off sound. “No, Danny, I don’t think you’re going to be okay either.”

“Oh. How can I help you?”

They shook their head, red hair flew about. “You should focus on yourself.”

“Already hurt,” Danny pointed out. “Make it worth it. How can I help you?”

Their blue eyes searched his and then closed as they gave an almost keening whine. Man, they really were worried about him, weren’t they?

“If you can remember, go to Titan’s Tower,” they said finally. “Ask for Nightwing and… and tell him that I said that he's a real dick, okay?”

Danny blinked.

The world spun and spun and spun.

“What?”

“He’ll know what I mean,” they insisted. “He’ll know it’s from me. Tell the Titans that I’m with you and I’m trapped in the Speed Force and I need them to get me out.”

There was an alarm screaming now. Was it time to get up?

“And take care of yourself a little, okay?”

People were shouting.

“Okay.”

The world went dark.

[munsster]

fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong. 

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,” he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

more like this

masterlist

[fleetingtemper]

when you get lost

possessive unhealthy behaviors! heavily implied yandere

SUNDAY

you were only supposed to be gone for a few hours, doing shopping around the dreamscape. of course, sunday would be damned if he didn’t assign designated oak family agents to closely accompany you all day. you are, after all, mr. sunday’s precious darling.

but he could only blame the incompetence of these agents for losing you. he will have to punish their families quite severely, he thinks to himself. this could only be an act of treason, sunday reasons.

his wings twitch in annoyance.

“i suppose any good pet returns to their master after they’ve realized what an unforgiving world we live in,” he muses

and would he be the head of the oak family if he wasn’t always correct?

there you were, shivering in his doorway, dripping like a wet puppy.

poor (y/n), he thinks. how likely of you to be entranced by street performers and wander off like a child. stars fill your eyes, struggling to take in all the gleaming lights. you are enchanted by these sights for quite some time, until you realize you are lost.

suddenly, the world wasn’t quite as beautiful.

you shakingly walk over to sunday, looking up at him through tear soaked lashes. he tsks before brushing your hair out of your face.

“my dear, how ever did you get lost?” his gloved hand caresses your hair. “i’m afraid i’ve been so careless with you,” how could he let you, a poor, stupid thing, leave his sights again?

“you worry me too much, my dear”

“i’m sorry—“

he pressed a finger to your lips

“as the head of the oak family, i must protect all of my citizens. including you.”

“you best not leave the estate at all.”

JINGYUAN

when jingyuan is informed of you never returning from your outing, he abandons the stacks of paper work at hand. he truly wonders if you just enjoy the punishment at this point.

you had fallen asleep at the base of a tree after a long day of entertaining friends and family. you just needed a break.

deep into your slumber, you felt a raindrop hit your face. groggily, you open your eyes to finally see rain puttering down upon your head. you curse silently before a loud clap of thunder surprises you. however, the thunder was quickly drowned out by the sound of hundreds of armor clanking towards you.

you rub your eyes, only to finally see yourself suddenly surrounded by cloud knights. your stomach drops. how long had you been asleep, you wonder anxiously.

oh no, jingyuan will be—

speak of the devil.

the cloud knights part to make way for the general himself.

the thunder crashing and downpour don’t feel as threatening now that he had shown up. and of course, with the lion.

he silently picks you up bridal style, and you do not dare fight it. you only just recovered your legs recently, after all.

“may i suggest that you take a nap in my sights next time?” ah, but he didn’t really mean that there would ever be a next time.

“yes, general.” you mumble

he gently, but firmly, takes your chin. “you need not maintain formalities, my love,”

“however, as your general, i do not wish to have to imprison you for high treason.”

your eyes widened. high treason?

he lowers his head until his lips are against your ears. “you are my spouse and it is your duty to be as such”

“you cannot absolve yourself of this duty for as long as the mara-struck live.”

VENTI

venti knew you were lost.

there was nowhere in mondstadt where you could ever wander off to where he wouldn’t know your every move. he admired your furrowed brow and how you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. you were lost, indeed.

oh dear, it seemed as if you were about to walk through an area notoriously frequented by hilichurls and slimes. he thinks to himself that you’ll just have to learn your lesson.

he watches as the hilichurls take notice of you and alert the others.

he only watches as he watches one notch an arrow and lets it soar, narrowly missing, yet scraping your leg.

you yelp out in pain and he almost gets the urge to help you.

but maybe in a little while.

the anemo archon is amused by how you fumble to grasp your sword imbued with your (element) vision. he makes a face, revolted by the reminder of how one of his fellow seven had blessed you, his darling, with their power before he did.

finally grasping your sword, you swing at the hilichurls charging at you, knocking down a few. the pain in your leg makes it hard to fight but archons, you couldn’t afford to lose.

you stifle back groans as clubs bash against your unarmored back. you feel your head spinning from hours of dehydration and hunger.you swung violently at the monsters, not realizing the commotion your fight was causing.

how did that eye of the storm get there?

when you thought you had finished off the monsters, you felt a strong gust of wind knock you down. dirt and debris swirl around you, filling your lungs. you cough violently, eyes filled with fear at the storm in front of you. no way, you internally scream.

you reach for your sword but it is blown out of your weak grip several feet away. fuck, you had no option other than to crawl away.

just as you thought you were finished, an anemo imbued arrow soars past your head and right into the storm, dissipating it. you whip your head around to see venti, the drunkard bard you had befriended.

“are you alright, (y/n)?” he gazes at you worriedly. tears fill your eyes as you throw your arms around the bard, knocking him back onto the grass.

“t-thank you venti,” you hiccup, burying your head into his shoulder.

he rubs your bruised shoulder soothingly. blood stains his hands and he resists the temptation to taste you. how naive, he thinks.

to think you were so badly spooked by a little wind,

he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to dvalin.

[charliedawn]

how about a reader who just loves making their vampire beloved smile? Reader loves making them happy, and just really wants to see them smile and have them laugh and. I just want to make them happy 🥹💜

(There has been a lot of controversy around the characters of Bert and Joan. I will make it clear right now. When I write about them, I will not associate them with the group they were a part of in the movie for obvious comfort reasons. With that said, enjoy. ☺️)

Remmick

You see Remmick standing outside. He seems far away—in a far away land of wonder and love. You smile to yourself. Your smile is sad for you know what that look means and where he is…In a world of green, love and family long gone. But, there is one thing that remains. You step closer to him, flashing him an expectant smile. “Hey Remmick���since you’re the boss of smooth moves, how about you show me that Irish tap dance of yours? I wanna see if I can learn a thing or two.”

He snaps out of his daze and eyes you for a long moment, that sharp grin you grew to know and love creeping onto his face—like he’s sizing up a worthy challenge.

“Why not?” he agrees with a twinkle in his eye, “Could be fun.”

He lifts his foot, tapping out a quick, rhythmic beat on the ground—sharp, precise, almost hypnotic. The sound echoes, crisp and alive. It sends dust and tiny rocks flying…

“Come on then. Try to follow, lass/lassie.”

You mimic his steps, a little clumsy at first, but catching the rhythm. He watches you intently and nods in approval.

“Not bad,” he admits with a rare chuckle. “Ye might just survive the next round of this dance.”

He offers you a hand, fingers cold and yet so sure. “Keep up, or I’ll have ye dance for eternity.”

You laugh, grabbing his hand, before looking into his eyes and catching a mix of pride and joy in his gaze. He leads you into another dance and you realise that even if you had to dance for all eternity…you wouldn’t mind. As long as your Remmick keeps smiling at you the way he does when he dances alongside you.

Mary

You find Mary sitting quietly in the corner, her usual stoic expression firmly in place. But not for long. You plop down beside her with a small, knowing grin.

“Hey, Mary,” you call her softly, “I bet you’ve got a smile in there somewhere. What do you say I help you find it?”

She glances at you sideways, unimpressed. “Good luck.”

Your grin widens. You then raise a finger for dramatic effect as you start searching for something in your bag. You then pull out a kitten out of nowhere and just settle it on her lap. The kitten looks up at her with big eyes and the tiniest mew escapes it.

For a moment, nothing.

Then—a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

You lean in closer, encouraging. “See? Even the toughest can’t resist that one.”

Mary’s lips curl into a tentative, shy smile—the kind that’s been waiting for permission to come out.

You smile back warmly. “There it is. That wonderful smile. Told you I would help you find it.”

She shakes her head, almost embarrassed, but you catch the warmth shining behind her eyes. Sometimes, all it takes is a little patience and a little silliness.

Stack

You catch him alone by the garden. Stack stands there, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted just enough to make it clear he’s deep in something—memory, regret, or the kind of silence that’s lived too long inside a man. You approach slowly, holding something behind your back. He notices you, of course—he always does—but he doesn’t say anything. Just offers that subtle glance, as if to say “What brings you here, trouble?”

You step close. Not too close, not at first. And then, wordlessly, you hold out your offering: a small, battered harmonica.

“Play anything that’s in your soul tonight.”

He blinks. His eyes flicker from the harmonica to your face and back again. He hesitates before taking it. The sound that comes out is soft, smoky, and just a little broken. Not sad, but not quite whole either. A gentle blues melody, simple and slow, the kind that feels like rocking on a porch in the deep South with a storm in the distance and someone you love nearby. 

When the last note fades, he lowers the harmonica, exhaling slowly. His fingers tremble, just slightly, as if they’d been holding more than music.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and lifts it gently to his lips. “That…was me.”

You don’t need to ask what it means. It’s all there—in the music, in the weight of his silence, in the way he now leans against you like he’s done running. The two of you sway together, slow and steady, your heartbeat keeping time where the harmonica left off.

“You’re trouble,” he whispers, voice low and warm. “The kind I never wanna lose.”

And right then, with the garden around you, the stars overhead, and his soul laid bare in your hand, you realize something simple and stunning: You’d give him a thousand harmonicas if it meant he’d keep smiling like this.

Bo

You find out about the sweet tea by accident.

Bo’s sitting on the porch one late evening. You bring him a mug of coffee, and he takes one sip before wrinkling his nose like you just served him poison.

“Jesus. That bitter shit again?”

You raise a brow. “It’s coffee, Bo. It keeps people alive.”

He squints out towards the treeline. “Yeah, well. Dead men like sweet tea.”

You blink. That’s all he gives you. No follow-up. No explanation. Just a dismissive shrug, a soft grunt, and back to whatever he was doing. But something in the way he said it sticks with you. So you take it as a challenge.

It becomes a little ritual. Each afternoon, a fresh pitcher appears in the fridge labeled:

Bo’s Sweet Tea. Touch and I break fingers. ��️

You start slipping notes alongside it—tiny, scribbled-on sticky notes stuck to mugs, doorframes, even his boots when you’re feeling particularly bold. A doodle of Bo scowling at a sun wearing sunglasses becomes your favourite.

“You know this is excessive,” he comments, pretending he’s annoyed.

“You know I don’t care,” you retort, mimicking his unhappy frown.

And when he thinks you’re not looking? He traces one of the doodles with his fingertip. Smiling.

A few days later, you find one stuck to your mirror.

It’s not from you.

It’s a doodle. A rough, blocky drawing of a glass of sweet tea…with fangs. At the bottom, in a neat handwriting:

For the pain in my ass who makes even bein’ undead worth wakin’ up for. – B

Annie

Annie’s laughter is music—not the soft, delicate kind, but the kind that fills a house. It echoes down hallways, wraps around furniture, settles in your bones like a healing balm. You live for it. No joke is ever too dumb, no moment too small, if it ends with her eyes squinting shut and her hand slapping her thigh like she’s just heard the funniest thing in the world.

It’s not just laughter. It’s a sound that makes bad days forget they were ever so bold as to try. A sound that pushes back the dark.

A laugh that warms a room and chases away bad dreams.

You leave flowers by her bed. You cook next to her just to get her to smack your hand away from the spices. You recite her old hoodoo proverbs back to her incorrectly, on purpose, until she shakes her head and says,

“You are not right, child.”

And then she laughs. That rich, real laugh.

You treasure it. Collect it like loose change in your soul. Because that sound, that smile, those eyes crinkled with joy?

That’s magic. 

“Keep that joy on you,” she whispers later. “It protects more than garlic ever could.”

And you will. Because that smile? That sound?

It’s worth everything.

Joan

She’s got that arms-crossed, thousand-yard-stare energy like she’s been surviving off spite and strong coffee for years. You approach her cautiously like you’re poking a sleeping bear—with a flower in your hand. She’s standing stiffly, arms folded, face all sharp lines and quiet rage. You tilt your head, giving her your most disarming grin.

“Joan. Darling. You ever tried…smiling?”

She’s standing with her arms crossed, elegant and unbothered, lips tight, chin lifted—like smiling would lower her credit score.

“I read somewhere that smiling releases stress. Wanna give it a go?” You attempt again.

Her gaze is ice. “I don’t feel stressed.”

You blink. “Really? You’re undead, bound to a hive mind, and stuck with Bert. That sounds stressful.”

She blinks at you like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. Okay. Wrong tactic. You hold up a badly drawn doodle of her you made earlier—exaggerated scowl, smoke coming from the ears, the words “World’s Grumpiest Sweetheart” scrawled underneath.

She blinks. “You’re lucky I haven’t buried you yet.”

You lean closer, teasing. “You almost smiled. Admit it. That was a pre-smile. A proto-smile.”

Joan turns away, muttering under her breath—but not before you catch it. The tiniest smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth.

You smirk. Victory.

Bert

He’s sitting in a chair upside down. Literally. Legs tossed carelessly over the backrest, head hanging off the seat like he forgot what gravity is. One boot is missing (thrown? stolen? hard to say), and the sock on his visible foot has a hole right where his big toe sticks out. His arms dangle limply, like a dead possum flopped on a porch swing.

You lean over him with a hopeful expression. “Bert, smile for me.”

At the sound of your voice, he whips his head around so fast you’re worried for his undead spine. “Ya wanna see me smile?”

You grinned. “Yeah.”

He pauses. Eyes narrow. “…Ya makin’ fun of me?”

You snort. “Only a little.”

He does a backflip and lands with the grace of a cat. He’s immediately grinning. Full, fanged, and wicked. It’s the grin of someone who has either just committed arson or is about to ask you to join. His smile is huge—too big for his face, all sharp teeth and crinkled nose and wild eyes. It looks like it belongs on a feral dog and a five-year-old at the same time.

“Does this count?” he asks, baring every fang with chaotic pride.

You pretend to recoil. “You look like a vampire and a raccoon made a baby.”

He cackles—loud, weird, delighted. It’s not a normal laugh—it’s a banshee wail through a car engine. “Thanks, baby. You sure know how to make a corpse feel wanted.”

He drapes an arm around your shoulders like he belongs there—like you’re his favorite person to bother in the whole wide world (which you are).

“Tell me more,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “Tell me I’m a sewer rat. Tell me I look like I chew drywall for fun.”

“You do.”

“I have!”

You snort, which only encourages him. He might follow you around for the next three hours just hoping you’ll insult him again.

Cornbread

“Hey, Cornbread?”

He looks up and you give him twenty dollars.

He looks at the money. He looks up at you. He looks down at the money again. Then, he gives you the biggest and most genuine smile he can muster.

“That’s what am talkin’ about! Free money! Ya just know how to brighten up my day, dontcha pumpkin’?”

Yeah. Pretty easy.

How do they make you smile?

You come home after a long day. The manor is unusually quiet. No crashing, no shouting, no Remmick singing and no Bert or Stack trying to light something on fire.

Your eyes narrow like Joan.

Suspicious.

You round the corner and stop dead in your tracks.

There it is—leaned carefully against the wall in the drawing room, covered with a deep red velvet cloth. A note stuck to the top, in Remmick’s handwriting:

“This one’s for you, lass/lassie.”

You pull the cloth back…And your breath catches.

It’s a painting. A portrait. And not just any portrait—it’s a carefully arranged painting of every vampire in the house…posed around you. In the center. Sitting calmly, softly smiling, like you’re the heart of it all. Their faces are painted in. But something feels off. You then realise. Each face is painted in a different style. All of them. Hand-done. And then it hits you. Each vampire painted themselves.

Joan’s section is flawless, regal, and exacting. Her posture is perfect, her hand resting lightly on your chair like she owns the room (and maybe she does). Her expression? Subtle, proud. As if daring the canvas to defy her.

Remmick’s is dynamic, mid-turn, captured in motion like he’s walking in from the shadows. His smirk is barely visible, as if he’s sharing a secret with you no one else gets to know.

Bert’s part is completely out of proportion. His grin is too wide. He gave himself two shotguns and seems almost child-like at the same time. Clearly…Joan is the artist between them.

Mary’s section is quiet, tucked slightly behind you, painted in the softest colors. She painted herself looking at you, not the viewer, like she couldn’t fake interest in anything else.

Annie’s section is strangely haunting—she painted herself reaching towards your shoulder, like a protective presence, her eyes gentle but watchful. There are wildflowers around her feet. They weren’t in anyone else’s.

Bo painted himself looking straight at the viewer—with a soft, almost amused smirk. He seems to be whispering something to the portrait you. A secret. Or something else? Hard to say…

Stack’s section is the darkest one—a shadowy corner of the painting, where the colors fade into deep charcoal and steel blues. You almost miss him at first. And here’s the thing: while most of the vampires painted themselves looking outward or at you…Stack painted you resting your hand on his shoulder. A subtle connection. One you didn’t even notice until you traced the lines with your fingertips.

That’s when you realize: The others might guard you. Fight for you. Dazzle you.

But Stack? He carries you.

Cornbread painted himself as a stick man at the bottom of the portrait. Sleeping.

You stare for a long time.

In the center, they’d painted you—soft, real, glowing. A living being among the un-living. Your chair the throne. Your expression the glue holding the frame together.

And on the back of the canvas, someone (probably Annie) had scrawled:

“Thank you for being the reason for our smiles, child.”

[moesthoughts]

Van rigging the cards but then Shauna changing her spot means R picks the queen

Van going feral/ruining the hunt to protect R

Van is so loyal and I literally cannot get what Liv said about Van having “medieval knight qualities” out of my head and thinking about how they would be portrayed in the wilderness

Queen card

pairing ⛧ van palmer x fem! reader

warnings ⛧ human hunting, major death mentions, mentions of blood and cannibalism, Mari dies in your place, implications that you fell in the pit before and not Mari

summary . . The plan was going smoothly, Natalie was ready to depart once the hunt began, Van and Misty had the communicator fixed. All that was left was the card draw, though once Shauna insisted on switching places, you knew the plan was going south. (disclaimer I might've not remembered the card draws correctly bear with me lol)

Adrenaline coursed through your veins; all you could hear was your heartbeat. You’re confident that the plan will go smoothly, Nat will escape during the hunt to call for help, and unfortunately, Hannah will be the distraction for Shauna. It felt so inhumane, but you've learned that sacrifice brings fortune in a place like this. You bit your lip while Hannah went to each person, making them draw their cards. Your fingers clench around the fabric covering you, and you realize Shauna switched her spot. Van looks at you with a worried look in her eye, you avert your gaze, focusing on the card drawing.

4 of clubs

Misty displayed the card she had drawn, showing it around the circle to ensure everyone saw its face. You notice that some people seem disappointed.

6 of diamonds

Van pulls her card next, revealing it to the circle of girls. The plan seems to be going okay, as false hope spreads through your body, hoping that Shauna will return to her original spot.

10 of spades

Nat takes her turn, and you can see how worried she looks. If you noticed, Shauna must have as well. You bite your lip in anticipation. After looking at her card, Nat turns it around to show the group. Lottie seems relieved that she didn't draw the queen.

2 of hearts

Then it was Lottie, who was visibly excited to draw hers. Her face drops and she spins the card around to show everyone. You wonder whats going through her mind.

the joker

Taissa confidently pulls hers, taking a glance at it before turning it away from her. She turns to Shauna with a serious expression.

“I think you should return to your spot,” She mutters out.

“Who let you take AP stats? It shouldn't matter where our spots are. I trust whatever ‘it’ picks.” Shauna responds.

1 of spades

Shauna takes hers out of the stack, a satisfied smile comes to her face as she shows the group her pick. Your stomach drops, this could only mean one thing.

queen of hearts

You’re before Hannah in the draw, you take a deep breath before pulling your card. You aren't surprised when it is the queen of hearts; you exhale before showing the group, a scared look sparkling in your eyes.

“Tough luck, huh?”

Shauna speaks up, and you shoot her a glare. Your breathing quickens as you remove your outer layer of clothing; only a brown coat and pants remain to cover you. The cold wind cuts sharply against your skin. Taissa looks at you with sorrow in her eyes, and you can't quite put your finger on what Van was feeling. You furrow your brows as Shauna approaches, holding Jackie’s necklace—the marker used for these hunts.

Shauna backs away from you, a smirk pulling at her lips. You would do anything to wipe that expression off her face, wishing she’d gotten the queen of hearts instead. You grimace as Lottie walks to you, wearing a soft expression.

“You should be happy, the wilderness wants you.”

You shake your head and look away toward the forest that you'll soon be running into. Thoughts of your family back home flood your mind: you'll never feel the warmth of a shower again, and you'll be leaving Van all alone. At least she will have Tai. You take a sharp breath as you turn around, waiting for the countdown to begin.

12

You book it into the woods, running as fast as your legs can. You know it isn't smart to wander around the forest blindly, you you change to a jog to examine your surroundings.

8

You feel like time is slipping through your fingers, no matter how well you know these woods, you'll never know where to run.

4

You listen for the howling of the girls, relief running through your system once you realize they haven't started yet.

2

Your feet sting from the snow, pain coursing through your veins.

1

Finally, the animalistic noises start. You don't know whether you should be thankful that it will all end soon, or be scared for your life. You were so excited to be rescued, your soul filled with hope as the days of winter passed by. In a way you still are, maybe death is the second-best way out. You sniffle as the weather starts to get to you, the bright snow making your eyes water.

You wonder why this will be your way to die; it couldn't have been from the plane crash? That would have been the easiest way to go, no matter how sad that sounds. You stop to catch your breath and quickly look around, taking in your surroundings. Fear rushes through your veins when you hear one of the girls too close for comfort. You dash in another direction, hoping to outrun whoever is nearby.

Unfortunately, you bump right into Lottie, causing you to crash onto the snowy ground. You use your legs to push you away, tears starting to well in your eyes. Is this how you will die? Lottie nailing you straight in the head with an axe?

“You’ve already been here, you could let it different..”

You don’t take the time to calculate a response to one of her many riddles,Instead, you stumble back on your feet and run away from her, hoping she won’t pursue you. You come to a stop in an open area, looking around desperately for a place to hide. You choke on your breath when you hear two sets of footsteps approaching. Quickly, you hide behind a nearby tree, praying that they won’t spot you.

“Get away from me!“

You hear a voice yelling at someone, fear lacing her voice; you recognize it as Mari's. Confusion sets in your brain, who is trying to sabotage the hunt? But, you don't feel disappointed. It's disturbing to think this way, but you can't help but hope someone else will take your place.

“I won’t let any of you, hurt her.”

It’s Van, she sounds almost feral. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your body starts to shake. Either, Van will twist the rules and kill Mari right here, or they'll both see you behind the tree, killing you in cold blood. Only the first option appeals to you.

“You can’t—”

Van shoves Mari with her shoulder, making her cut herself off with a scream. All you hear is a sickening thud, accompanied by the sound of someone getting impaled. You quickly reveal yourself from your previous hiding spot, approaching the pit that appeared in front of you both. All you see is Mari at the bottom, spikes piercing through her body. You shakily raise your hand to your mouth, queasiness taking its place in your body.

Van embraces you, holding onto you for dear life. You can't peel your eyes off the scene in front of you, you can't believe you survived a hunt. You’ve all turned into animals, hunting prey, desperate for some kind of food to fuel you for the next day. Now Mari is dead and you’re alive, the queen card weighing heavy on your shoulders. Van’s fingers curl into the fabric of your coat, you lean into her further, your lips quivering.

You both turn when you hear footsteps approaching, you could practically hear the hunger which each stomp. They stop once they see you alive, and a new hole in the ground. Lottie is the first to walk up, her face not changing from her usual expression. Then they all peer into the hole, everyone having different reactions.

“Holy shit..”

Shauna speaks first, an unsettling grin spreading across her face. Nobody expected Mari to die instead of you, a fate similar to Javi’s. Van’s hand gently rubs your arm in a comforting manner. Your knees give out from under you, your adrenaline running dry. In the end you were saved, by something out there.

“The wilderness has spoken.”

Van breaks through the silence and pulls you up to your feet. Laughter falls out of your mouth, not only is your plan working, but you survived. Shauna is distracted and Nat is nowhere to be seen, rescue is finally coming your way finally.

this was actually so fun to write a different scenario for pit girl death (miss you mari), I hope I did your req justice!! 🤍

req me!

masterlist

[luvmahae]

masterlist — previous — next!

SM DOME how the fuck we feelin?

it’s motherfuckin rave day and guess where we are? sm dome baby!

what’s better than being surrounded by dudes rocking jerseys, half-buttoned shirts, or just straight up going shirtless? and the girls? they’ve got the looks on lock—tiny tops, bottoms barely covering their asses, and of course, the fishnets.

everywhere you look, there’s kandi stacked high on wrists, led gloves lighting up the crowd, and the unmistakable haze of cigarettes, weed, and a rainbow of vape flavors hanging in the air. mango, watermelon, blue razz… you name it!

outside the main doors leading to the floor, some people are already completely fucked up. the night’s still young... right? spoiler: it’s only the openers playing right now. the main section of the venue is pure organized chaos—lines snaking to the bar, the merch booth, the bathroom. and the longest line of all? you guessed it. the water stations.

and this? this is just the beginning of what promises to be one hell of a night. 

chenle leads the way to the water stations, his camelbak slung over his shoulders. you and the others follow, weaving through the swarms of people, the energy of the venue running through your veins.

“me, chenle, and jisung are in charge of water tonight.” renjun says, filling the pouch inside of his camelbak at the dispenser.

once the boys finish loading up their camelbaks, the group rallies together, heading toward the floor entrance. mark’s hands rest on Ningning’s shoulders while she clings to chenle’s hand, letting him take the lead. you fall into place behind jeno, fingers gripping his shoulders like a train of carefree, slightly chaotic college kids.*

the crowd is packed, a sea of people all swaying, talking, dancing, you name it. john summit’s final stop in seoul has brought out a massive crowd—more than you had expected, but it’s the kind of energy that gets your adrenaline pumping.

the group moves through the crowd, inching forward towards the middle, where you’ve learned from past events that the view from here is the best. as you get closer to the center, the sights become even more overwhelming—the neon lights, the lasers cutting through the air, the thumping bass reverberating through your body. the visuals are going to be insane.

“right here.” 

the group forms a loose circle, finally getting a chance to breathe for a moment before the madness begins.

“y/n you have the baggie right?” 

“oh right i do!” 

you glance down at your top, tugging on the fabric to pull out the small ziplock bag tucked in your bra. as you pass it to jeno, you notice everyone staring at you with a mix of surprise and amusement—especially the guys.

“you hid it… in there?!”

“i mean… it works out all the time. mark, do you really think security is gonna pat my boobs down?”

“honestly that’s smart as fuck.”

“i mean thank god y/n has tits!” jaemin adds, earning a playful shove from you as the laughter continues.

jeno scans the area, his eyes flicking around for any sign of security before unzipping the mini ziplock bag. 

“john summit’s set starts at 9:30, so let’s pop these now.” 

one by one, everyone pops their pills, and there’s something about it that feels weirdly intimate. you take a quick sip from chenle’s camelbak after, the cold water hitting just right against the growing warmth spreading through your body.

the opener’s set is still going as the pill starts to settle inside you, your body already humming in anticipation. the crowd roars with excitement, the opener throwing down banger after banger, turning up the energy in the venue.

thirty minutes later, the opening notes of “shiver” echo through the venue, crisp and electrifying, vibrating straight through your chest. the whole group erupts into cheers, their excitement blending seamlessly with the roar of the crowd. the lights flash brighter, neon beams slicing through the darkness as the music builds, and the energy of the night kicks up a notch.

and then, it hits.

at first, it’s a gentle wave of warmth that rolls through you, and then it intensifies—almost like the music is coursing through your veins, the euphoria spreading from your chest to your fingertips. the energy is contagious, with everyone belting out the words, hands in the air, bodies swaying to the beat.

renjun pulls out a pack of gum and starts handing it around. you take a piece, popping it into your mouth just as the familiar jaw-clenching begins to set in. the sharp, sweet flavor helps ground you, even as your body starts buzzing, every sensation heightened to an almost unreal intensity.

jeno waves a handheld fan at the group, his effort to combat the heat appreciated as the air thickens with the crowd’s energy. the sweat, the flashing lights, and the pulsing music all blur together, each sensation melding into the next. your skin sticky from the heat, the lights flashing too fast to follow, the music vibrating through your bones, every beat hitting harder than the last.

the group is fully in it now, rolling hard as ever. eyes half-lidded, jaws working on the gum, bodies swaying and bouncing to the music without a care. mark and ningning are practically bouncing off each other, moving together in perfect sync, feeding off each other’s excitement. 

“look at you guys gooooo!” chenle shouts, laughing as he jumps into the circle with exaggerated moves, making ningning double over with laughter.

you can’t help but join in, the sheer joy of the moment pulling you closer. the music, the lights, the people—it’s all blending together into one perfect, unforgettable night.

karina is the first to stumble, her eyes blinking rapidly as the effects of the pill settle over her. she stumbles back, her shoulders colliding with jeno’s chest.

“whoa, whoa- easy.” he says quickly, steadying her with a firm hand.

she looks up at him, her eyes wide and glazed over, chewing her gum aggressively. “i don’t feel so good right now.” she admits, her voice soft but shaky.

jeno, rolling just as hard as she is, grins at her, his face softening with concern despite his own euphoric state. “you’re good. i’ve got you,” he reassures her, his hands gently massaging her temples.

“renjun, water.”

renjun nods and immediately pulls the mouthpiece of the camelbak and hands it over. he flashes karina a quick thumbs-up, his attempt at lightening the moment.

“it’s all in your head rina. you got this! just have fun!”

she takes a long sip, the cool water washing down the rising heat in her chest, grounding her just enough to breathe easier. jeno fans her with one hand, his other still steady on her shoulder

“thank you.”

the overwhelming sensations start to mellow, and for a moment, she just leans into him, finding comfort in his presence.

his grin widens as he looks down at her, holding her close until she’s ready to move again. 

“anytime.”

the energy in the group builds as the music pulses through the venue, but ningning suddenly stops dancing, her eyes wide with excitement.

“can someone please give me a shoulder ride?! this is my favorite song! i need to record it NOW!”

jaemin’s grin is instant, mischievous and wide. he crouches without a second thought, patting his shoulders.

“get on!”

she doesn’t hesitate, her laughter bright as she hooks her legs over his shoulders. with a swift push, he lifts her into the air, her squeal of delight blending with the music. she wobbles for a second before steadying herself, one hand gripping his hair lightly for balance while the other raises her phone high to start recording.

“holy shit, john summit is REAL! i love you!”

“you better send me those videos later!”

“jaem don’t let me go okay!”

“i got you! just go crazy!”

“you’re seriously the best!”

he sways to the beat, effortlessly keeping her balanced as she waves her phone around, capturing the moment. his grin never falters, his energy syncing with hers as the track explodes into its euphoric drop.

jisung is completely captivated by the lasers, his eyes locked on the vibrant display, wide with awe. a grin stretches across his face as he chews on his gum, lost in the rhythm of the lights. a girl approaches him, her energy just as high as his, and they start dancing side by side.

she leans in, her voice playful. “you like the lights, huh?”

“they’re fucking insane.”

she laughs and pulls him by the hands, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music, effortlessly guiding him into the groove.

“dance with me, yeah?”

you, on the other hand, are feeling the effects a little differently. while the others are bouncing around and grinning like crazy, you feel lighter—almost like your body is floating. you sway to the music, eyes closed, your body moving with the beats like a feather in the wind.

it’s when you stumble backwards that you feel haechan’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you gently against him.

“you good?”

you smile, leaning back into him, your body relaxed in his arms. “yeah… this pill is strong as fuck, holy shit.” you admit, your voice slurring slightly, but it doesn’t even matter.

he chuckles softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver through you. his breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “told you.”

the music swirls around you, and in that moment, you lose your footing again. he catches you effortlessly, pulling you back into his embrace, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“i got you.”

you lean into him, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you in the otherwise dizzying world of lights and sound. 

“just feel the music y/n.” he murmurs, his voice soft, steady, and comforting in contrast to the chaos around you.

when the opening beats of “what a life” burst through the speakers, the group instinctively comes together, forming a loose circle. arms draped over each other's shoulders, pulling everyone close as the music sways in time with the electric euphoria filling the air.

“i love you guys soooooo muchhhh!” 

���best fucking night everrrrrr!” 

“guys i’m seriously rolling tits right now!”

“tell molly i love her too!”

“god i am literally so happy. let me kiss all of you… NOW!” 

you giggle as you stumble from person to person, planting a quick, sloppy kiss on each cheek, feeling the warmth of the crowd and the love flooding around you.

“that’s our girl. classic y/n.” chenle teases from the side, the group erupting in laughter. 

then it’s haechan’s turn. when you reach him, the kiss lingers—just a second longer than the others. you feel his skin grow warm under your lips, and when you pull back, his eyes are already locked on yours, their intensity cutting through the haze of the night.

♪ what a life, what a time to be free

as the night winds down, the group finally makes its way back to the cars. the buzz of the pills has faded, but the sense of connection remains. you walk side by side with haechan, your hands brushing occasionally as the faint hum of conversations floats between your group.

you glance at him, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i’ve got something for you, by the way,” you say, pulling a small green beaded bracelet from your pocket.

“you made kandi just for me? cute.”

“i actually made some for the group... but i couldn't forget about you too.”

“you know what’s funny? i actually made one for just you.”

your breath catches slightly as he pulls a pink beaded bracelet from his jacket pocket. the way the beads shimmer under the streetlights makes your heart flutter, but it’s the glimmer in his eyes that really gets you.

“you know what to do,” he says, holding the bracelet out, his tone both teasing and sincere.

peace. you both raise your hands, forming matching peace signs and holding them for a beat before moving on.

love. your hands curve into hearts, the symmetry between you so natural it feels like second nature.

unity. your palms meet, warm and steady against one another. there’s an intimacy in the quiet contact that makes your chest tighten in the best way.

respect. your fingers interlace with his, soft and deliberate, but instead of letting go, he holds on. his grip is firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment as he slips the bracelet onto your wrist with his free hand.

you slide the blue and white kandi onto his wrist in return, the action simple but so much more meaningful than it has any right to be.

he doesn’t let go. instead, his fingers stay threaded with yours as he guides you toward the rest of the group, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand.

you know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “this might be my favorite part of the night.”

you glance up at him, a soft feeling blooming in your chest as the night air wraps around you. “mine too.” you admit, the words barely more than a whisper.

and as you walk toward the others, your hand still in his, it feels like a quiet promise—something neither of you needs to say out loud.

♪ what a life, what a time to be you, and me

wc: 2.2k

notes: update on christmas day lets get it 😎 long awaited rave chapter and i am honestly.... living for it 100%. writing this made me relive the past events ive been to irl and ugh 10/10 feeling (not the comeup but everything past that YESSS!) plus im actually dying at the john summit twitter account LMFAO merry christmas and happy holidays to all of u lovely cuties!!! sending u all kisses muah. chapter is based off john summit's "what a life"! such a good song :D

taglist: @4amirwin @wonbin-truther @hearts4hee @jungaji @sundamariis @urlovelily @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @luvvhaechan @douqhnxtss @tynlvr @haesluvr @hcluvie @pinknjm @nanaxwi @catpjimin @slayhaechan @awktwurtle @myfavoritedelusion @stqrgr7 @t-102 @jianreadsaus @haechanhues @gomdoleemyson @hyuckmoon @haechology @mystverse @hyuckies18 @sunflowerbebe07 @jae-n0 @onlyforyoukook @yizhrt @gwookie @zzzmrk @kukkurookkoo @nightcat101 @tinyelfperson @haefelt @haechsworld @tenjyucat @worldwidecutiemaya @sunghoonsgfreal @snoopyjimin @ypoom151999 @meowtella @honeynanamin @haechanmybaechan @nctrawberries @nosungluv

[accio-boys]

lost in his dance | fiyero x reader

summary; you confronted Fiyero’s careless attitude, leaving him behind, wondering if he’d notice. btw here's the part 2 of the story.

The wind roared past the window, rattling the glass and filling Fiyero’s suite with a biting chill. Ozma Towers, with its grand halls and lavish rooms, felt colder than ever.

You sat at his desk, staring at the stack of neglected assignments and half-finished projects, the frustration boiling in your chest. You’d spent hours trying to pull him out of his downward spiral, but it always felt like trying to fill a broken jar—no matter how much you poured in, it leaked right back out.

“Fiyero, what do you mean you’re going to Ozdust again?” you called out sharply, hearing him rummage through his wardrobe behind you.

“You’ve been there every night this week with Galinda. Don’t you think it’s time to focus on your work? You’re failing half your classes.”

His laugh echoed from the other side of the room, light and careless.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, stepping into view with his shirt untucked.

“You’re always so tense. You really should learn to let go.” He leaned against the edge of the desk, his smirk infuriatingly lazy.

“I see I still haven’t corrupted you yet.”

“Corrupted me?” you snapped, turning to glare at him.

“Is that what you call this? Dragging everyone down with you? Your friends, your grades, your future? Do you even care about anything?”

His smirk deepened as he reached for his coat, moving with the same infuriating ease he always did.

“Of course, I care,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.

“I care about enjoying life. About living in the moment. You should try it sometime.”

“Living in the moment?” you shot back, standing abruptly.

“You think ignoring your responsibilities is living? Pretending nothing matters isn’t freeing, Fiyero. It’s pathetic.”

His expression flickered for a moment—just a moment. Something raw and unguarded flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before you could name it.

“What’s so wrong with not caring?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than before.

“What if none of this matters? What if it’s all just… meaningless?”

You froze, the anger in your chest dimming for a second. “That’s why you do this, isn’t it?” you said, your voice quieter now.

“You act like nothing matters because you’re scared it doesn’t. But Fiyero, hiding behind parties and charm isn’t living—it’s running away.”

For a second, you thought you’d gotten through to him. He looked at you like he might say something real, something honest. But then, with a shrug, his mask slipped back into place.

“Maybe,” he said, his grin returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“But at least I know how to have fun. You? You’re so obsessed with trying to matter that you don’t even know how to enjoy yourself.”

You stared at him, your fists clenching at your sides.

“Do you think this is fun for me?” you snapped.

“Do you think I enjoy cleaning up your messes while you throw everything away? You’re selfish, Fiyero. And I’m done.”

His grin faltered. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice laced with something you couldn’t place—confusion, annoyance, maybe regret.

You grabbed your bag and stormed toward the door, your chest heaving with anger and disappointment.

Pausing for a moment, you turned back to him, your voice cold and cutting.

“Do your own work for once. Or don’t. I don’t care anymore. I’ll just be dancing through life, like you said.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with bitterness. You didn’t wait for a response.

The wind howled louder as you stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind you. It cut through your coat, chilling you to the bone, but you didn’t stop walking.

Your mind raced, replaying his words over and over, the ache in your chest growing with every step.

You told yourself you were done. Done with his excuses, his charm, and his endless refusal to care. But as the cold wind whipped around you, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even noticed you were gone—or if he’d just keep dancing through life without a second thought.

should I do a part 2? should I also do requests? what do you guys think?

[osamucide]

⊹ SEMI-CHARMED LIFE

SHE COMES 'ROUND AND SHE GOES DOWN ON ME AND I MAKE HER SMILE LIKE A DRUG FOR YOU . . . ft. Sigma and Osamu Dazai

wc: 6.4k

cw: sigma x dazai x gn(they/them)+afab!reader, post-canon/canon divergent, language, some plot, explicit sexual content—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, coaching/guiding, fingering, handjobs, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetration, double penetration, double creampie, spit, teasing, dirty talk, so much kissing, praise, communication, squirting, soft sex, rough sex, hints of fluff and angst, soft dazai, a little bit of mean dazai, switch leaning soft dom!dazai, switch leaning sub!+virgin!sigma, switch!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, slut, whore—last two used very affectionately), use of cunt/pussy referring to reader’s anatomy, gambling/strip poker, alcohol+slight dubcon on account of that but otherwise all parties are happily consenting prior, references to pm!reader (and ada!sigma if you squint) but it’s not super relevant, some spoilers for vampire infection outbreak arc/prison break, god will judge me when i’m dead

reid: i have limited knowledge of texas holdem and a huge boner for sigzai. that’s all enjoy

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“Son of a bitch.”

You sigh and lift your martini to your lips again. It should be too late for a martini, but Sigma's living quarters in the casino is outfitted with a less-than-modest liquor cabinet and while he didn't strike you as much of a drinker himself at first—not while he was on the job, anyway—he could bartend like you wouldn’t have believed had you never seen him do it. Vodka martini, no olive, please.

He had transferred it from his hand to yours with a soft smile that echoed his customer service face; however, he was significantly and refreshingly off the clock, so he addressed you playfully, “007,” as he did and laughed a little as he settled back onto the bed, cross-legged in a triangle made up of you, him, and Dazai.

But that was hours ago. The martini you sip now is your third, and Dazai had graciously made himself at home enough to messily pour up shots between poker games, so it’s safe to say you’re at least a little drunk. Sigma had been looking on in quiet irritation at him spilling remnants of expensive alcohol all over the expensive snakewood. The casino manager couldn’t seem to help but be disarmed by the detective every time he turned around, though, face beneath his messy brown hair alight with intoxication and beaming as he distributed yet another over-poured ounce of sake to both of you still on the duvet. You all drank, poker commenced, money was won and lost.

But that was just the first game. There’s higher stakes this time around.

“I have to fold.” You curse at your shitty hand once more and glance to Dazai, who’s flicking all of his little plastic chips toward the pot.

Of course it was Dazai who’d suggested the stipulations for this game, and of course it’s Dazai who is now letting the words “I’m all in” roll off his tongue while he looks charmingly bored and tipsy.

A few games would not be enough to figure out Dazai’s tells. In fact, a few hundred games would probably not be enough to learn to read him. If it wasn’t evident enough already from his excitement about the idea that he was unconcerned about his chances of being the one with the most clothing left on, it’s certainly evident in the way he’s relaxed now, his fist propping him up by his cheekbone. He peeks at his cards again from where he lounges on his side before he looks up to Sigma with bright eyes and a grin, quiet with mischief.

Sigma could go either way, it seems, from the way his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he idles with an unruly stack of chips. He’s far more expressive, but this is his livelihood; it showed when he faked Dazai out of a 30,000 yen pot last game. Still, this time, this showdown, he pushes the rest of his pile into the center. All in.

The detective flips his cards, pinched between his middle and index finger. Straight flush.

Sigma clicks his tongue and whips his cards down onto the duvet. Straight.

“Hah!” Dazai kicks his feet like a child before sitting up to hoard the large pile. “You both know the rules,” he sings, copying Sigma’s posture as he grabs handfuls of his newly-won chips and lets them rain down over his head. A couple fall into his empty whisky glass.

You and Sigma look briefly at one other before both holding your drinks out for the conniving bastard in front of you to hold, which he does. There’s no agreed-upon piece with which you would begin to undress, so, like any sane person, you reach for your socks.

“Mh-mm,” Dazai hums his dissent through a sip of your martini. “I wanna change one rule. Losers have to undress each other.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s socks, Osamu.”

“Precedent,” he claims with a shrug, switching to take a sip of Sigma’s French 75.

So you and Sigma commence removing each other’s socks in a way that particularly lacks even a little sexiness, but when Dazai starts giggling, you both do, too. You ball Sigma’s socks up and toss them at Dazai’s head, which he dodges and swats back at Sigma. Sigma chucks your own socks at you in return for the indirect fire.

“Hey!” you bite jokingly through your teeth, discarding your socks off the little island of a bed that you exist on right now with these two men, and a moment of reflection strikes you as Dazai buries his face in his hands and Sigma almost tips backwards as they both laugh.

It started months ago in Meursault when you tumbled into the block where Gogol was challenging Dazai and Fyodor to his game after freeing them from the Infinite Dice Room. You, as a low-profile, high-priority Port Mafia affiliate aligned closely with the gravity user Chuuya Nakahara, had followed him into the prison as reinforcement; how Gogol and Dostoevsky were even aware of your existence then, you still aren’t sure. But you ended up there, watching Dazai and Fyodor shoot up lethal poison before dispersing to make their escape. You originally stayed with Nikolai to watch it unfold, but scampered off at some point when Chuuya appeared in danger of drowning. Your ultimate goal had been to help the Detective Agency and by proxy Dazai, but you’d be damned if you stood by while your executive was in a dire situation. It all turned out well, except for Sigma’s prolonged comatose state immediately after the prison break and everything that followed. But all that wasn’t important—not to right now, anyway.

What sticks in your mind and resurfaces now was the way you had watched on the monitor as Dazai—a former associate of yours, to say the least—paraded Sigma through the halls of the prison, teasing him, poking at him, dancing with him. It would’ve been borderline-adorable behavior from anyone sane in a normal situation, but Dazai had a way of driving people to the edge with the timing of his antics, and Sigma was quick to crumble under the pressure of the circumstance. What sticks more is how quickly the casino manager surrendered his trust to the quirky brunette inmate along their journey out of the building that day.

And what sticks most is how Dazai looked at him.

You remember observing a hint of something in his gaze that was usually only reserved for people who held important information, nurses in hospitals who’d taken his phone, occasionally you and Chuuya back in the day if he was feeling especially unhinged—the like.

And you remember looking at Sigma the same way over the screen—all sharp features, milky skin, elegant locks, and a hot trigger finger. His conviction over his purpose was alluring to you, who always understood your purpose to be pure survival. To Dazai, whose purpose seemed to be dying. Sigma was something entirely different from either of you, and when you all reconnected by the chance of business after the chaos, it was difficult to ignore the feelings dredged up from such a stressful time. It wasn’t like you’d always had your eye on Dazai or anything—no, surely not—but anyway, the click between the three of you back in Yokohama was inevitably pursued outside of work. A former DOA associate, an Armed Detective, and a Port Mafia subexecutive meeting up in the Sky Casino for drinks and Texas hold ‘em was certainly unprofessional in one capacity or another, sure, but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as Dazai hands you your martini back, face pink from cracking up.

It’s funny to you, how you never feel out of place between them. Sigma is leaning over onto your shoulder to stifle his dying laughter. You just shake your head as Dazai picks up the cards to deal.

The next game whirls by. You are the first to end up without a shirt, where Dazai and Sigma, both with their seemingly endless respective streams of luck, split the winnings over an evenly-matched two pair. You sit sheepishly after it’s your turn to deal, trying desperately, now that you’re losing in a tangible way (the three of you never use real money), to conjure up ways to gain back some ground and maybe not finish out the night as the only one naked.

“Sigma, deal,” Dazai purrs as if this isn’t Sigma’s show. You have your arms crossed over your chest as two cards flutter down in front of you, and you look at them, thinking, hoping—yes, maybe if Sigma would put a Jack down you could—

But any strategy you’re beginning to formulate is effectively zapped off, like a power button on a remote extinguishing a television’s display, as Dazai takes your wrists in his hands and guides them down to your lap.

“Why are you sitting like that?” he asks so innocently. “You’re hot. Stop hiding.”

You’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the alcohol making an appearance on your cheeks already. You giggle a little again, his touch making you feel more lightheaded than anything you’ve drank thus far. Sigma turns to you for your action, but your eyes are locked onto Dazai’s, so he does the only thing that makes the most sense in his own intoxicated mind—he grips your chin, not too harshly, and turns your head toward himself, in all his pastel, angelic beauty.

“Your turn,” Sigma says gently. While he doesn’t comment on what Dazai has said, and although his hand doesn’t hold the same menace that Dazai’s seems to, the tilt of his lips speaks a silent agreement.

Just as both of their fingers are beginning to overwhelm you, they retreat.

And you look down at your cards again, and your train of thought is as good as gone.

“Um—sorry, uh…”

You push 6000 yen into the pot, and Dazai follows.

And soon enough, like clockwork, you’re removing your pants—no, Dazai is removing your pants as Sigma gathers his winnings, and you’re unbuttoning Dazai’s shirt, and this has to be some sort of plot against you, you think, because the room is suddenly hotter, nevermind the alcohol, and you swear Dazai and Sigma are exchanging looks the way you and Dazai had months ago before leaving Meursault.

But you keep your composure. If there’s one thing you were used to dealing with, it’s sexy, scheming men, and it’s rare you ever let them get the best of you. Poker aside, you won’t crack. You can’t. Your drunkenness, now subsiding into hazy exhaustion and a twinge of need you won’t admit to yourself just yet, bolsters your pride, if anything. These two will not break you. You’ll make sure it’s the other way around first.

Another two games pass, and you finally have the mind and hand to win, which is what leads you to the scene of Sigma inching Dazai’s underwear down his thighs.

The casino manager’s face is broken out madly. He’d lost his own shirt but in all remains the most clothed out of all three of you; your dignity is preserved in your undergarments, and Dazai only ‘tsks as he steps out of his boxers just to lay back down on his side, propped up on his hand, in his spot on the bed.

“Well,” the detective laments, his practiced dramatics coming out to play. “I’ve officially lost. What to do now…?”

You look as unfazed as you can by Dazai’s nudity; Sigma’s eyes, however, are everywhere but the brunette.

You hum thoughtfully, considering your nails. You have your little heatstroke from before under control, it seems, but you’re biting your bottom lip raw at the shift in the energy of the room.

You crawl to sit against the headboard of the bed, shooing Dazai out of your way as you do so—it’s the same luxurious snakewood that the liquor cabinet is made from, and it doesn’t budge when you lean back against it. Dazai sits beside you, one leg curled beneath him and the other hanging off the edge of the bed as you kick the duvet down at Sigma, adjusting yourself so your bare legs are extended and crossed at the ankle. You smirk, only softly. Dazai scoots closer to you when your pinkie wraps around one of his fingers.

Sigma, hunched in on himself at the end of the bed, breathes deeply as you turn your gaze to him and pat the spot on the other side of you. He’s willed up by the expectant look on Dazai’s face, and he takes his seat at your side; he looks to the brunette across your side profile, and you hook each of your legs over one of theirs.

“What else is there to do?”

The question comes from you as you look between them, stroking both their knuckles; Dazai’s expression grows more sinister by the second, and he looks past you too, to Sigma, whose eyes are wide. You follow Dazai’s vision.

Sigma gulps and finds himself nodding. He knows what at, but he can’t bring himself to say it as you flick your gaze down to his parted lips.

You lean in.

“This okay?”

He’s still nodding. His head only stills when your hand leaves Dazai’s and reaches up to cup his face.

And you kiss Sigma with an open mouth. He shivers and leans into you. Your hand falls back to blindly search for Dazai’s cock.

Dazai is half-hard just watching you slip your tongue past Sigma’s lips; you thumb his tip teasingly, giving him a few squeezes and drawing soft breaths from him as the pastel-haired man reaches up for your neck. It’s obvious Sigma’s never kissed anyone like this before, but he follows your lead like a first-time ballroom partner, letting you nip the beginnings of moans out of him as Dazai watches, watches.

When you pull back, Sigma is in awe. His eyes don’t open for a few seconds, and you smile, endeared.

“You’re a good kisser, Sigma.”

His eyes snap open. “R-really?”

You nod. “But I think Osamu could train you even better.”

Something flashes across Sigma’s face—not discontent or anxiety but pure surprise, and you turn back to Dazai for his appraisal. He’s biting the inside of his cheek as your fingers work him up and down, torturously slow. Before anything else can happen, you lean into Dazai; he’s eager to receive your lips, force the gasps that belong to you into your mouth. You think you’ll play them like a pair of cymbals, if they let you. If Dazai lets you. It’s looking like he might.

You tilt your head back as Dazai works his way down your throat, leaving bruising bite marks as you touch him. You find Sigma glazed over in awe—the next thing you do is encourage his face toward yours again, so you can kiss him while Dazai marks you. You don’t hold back the sighs that come from your diaphragm. Sigma swallows your breath with greed. You cup his jaw, your noses bump; he grows more confident by the second, and as Dazai traverses back up your neck, you leave him whining, removing your hand from his cock to push the two men’s faces together.

Soft hums reverberate between their kiss. You look proudly upon your work as their hands find one another, frantically, on jaws, on shoulders, on chests. Sigma reaches to pick up where you left off, but second guesses himself.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm.” Dazai bites into the other man’s bottom lip. Sigma yelps into the lack of air between them. You guide his hand, which finds Dazai at his base and sends him moaning into the kiss.

With your hand wrapped around Sigma’s wrapped around Dazai, you latch onto Dazai’s neck to return his bites. Your head buzzes with anticipation; it’s so hot to watch them, low-lidded and on two different levels of experience, talking to each other without speaking. You move Sigma’s hand up, down, up, down. Dazai breaks away to let a full-bodied moan into the air; he makes up for contact by resting his forehead against Sigma’s, peering down at where the two of you are working him into a mess.

“That’s it,” Dazai pants, but he looks smug. “Unh—feels good.”

“Hear that?” With your free hand you tuck a thick lock of Sigma’s silvery hair behind his ear as you mumble into it. “You’re doing so good.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sigma breathes, and he sounds so desperate that it makes you throb. “Don’t know what ‘m doing, please, tell me what to do.”

“Exactly what you’re already doing.” You let go of his hand and let him stroke Dazai by himself. Dazai nods weakly, needily, cock twitching as Sigma explores; the pale-haired man’s thumb circles his tip the same way yours did, but faster. When you lean over to spit on his cock over Sigma’s hand, the brunette’s jaw falls slack and the two melt into another kiss; you don’t even have to enlist Dazai’s hands as, through his pleasure, he fumbles for you. You uncross your ankles, and he rubs you impatiently over the final bit of cloth that remains on your body. Your lips find Sigma's throat next.

All heaving breath against each other, you move like this for a bit, learning one another. Dazai reaches to pop the button on Sigma’s pants as he’s tugging at your underwear at the same time.

You both turn your focus to Sigma as you kick your last layer off; he stumbles upward, back onto his feet, and you and Dazai pursue him as he’s helping you both push his pants and boxers off in one collaborative swipe. He’s never been hard like this before—sure, Sigma’s not a stranger to sexual arousal, but he’s only ever touched himself. Call it a side effect of the imposter syndrome or throwing himself into his casino or the fact that this is his first time being alive, but as Dazai sits on the edge of the bed looking like a hungry animal and you toss his pants away, he can’t imagine why any two people as physically gorgeous, intellectually dominant, and purpose-driven as the two of you would want to engage with him like this. He’s excited, he can’t deny it—his cock is straining almost painfully as it bobs in the air now—but there’s a line of tears forming on his lash line, and you’re fast to catch him.

“Sigma,” you call him back from inside his head. Dazai’s fingers have found his hip; they rest there tenderly. “Sigma. We can stop. It’s okay.”

“No,” Sigma all but cries. He aches to be touched the same way you and himself were both touching Dazai. “No, no, don’t stop, I just—I’m—”

A single tear splits down his pretty pale skin. He looks back and forth between you both.

“Sigma,” you say firmly. “Talk to us. It’s important.”

“I—” He gathers himself, voice cracking only once. “I want this. I want it so bad. I can’t believe I deserve it. You’re both… I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to... not be good.”

You look to Dazai, who looks uncharacteristically tired for a moment; it’s an understatement to say he understands exactly what Sigma is trying to articulate, but he’s not a man of sentiment, so you pick up the slack. Collaborative. You wind your fingers between Sigma’s and lead him to sit next to Dazai.

You stand, bare, in front of the two of them, also bare; they’re both so beautiful in their own ways. Dazai, with his dark features, cutting cheekbones, flexing jaw, bandages outlining the contours of all his lean muscle. Sigma, all heavenly light, awkward hands, unmarked skin, thin sheen of glistening sweat.

“You don't need to worry,” you reassure him. “We just want you. Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm,” Dazai hums again. Not a man of sentiment, but he presses a series of kisses to Sigma’s cheek before smiling devilishly. “We’ll take care of you. How about that? Teach you how to fuck.”

Sigma shudders at his words; his eyes still flit nervously, but fall at rest when you sit opposite Dazai and run your fingertips across his thigh.

“Yes,” he responds just above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dazai echoes.

“Okay.” And you. “Can we touch you? Or d’you wanna watch us?”

Sigma contemplates. His cock jumps at the mere mental image of watching Dazai fuck you; he could get off like that and be totally content, but his mind drifts back to your hands, Dazai’s hands, and how selfishly he was campaigning for you both to touch him just minutes ago. “Touch me, please.”

Now it’s you looking across Sigma’s side profile at Dazai. He mirrors the look in your eye, and you lean over to press a kiss to the brunette's lips before you traverse the plane of Sigma’s chest. Dazai reaches for his cock.

And just like that, Sigma is in heaven. His hands fall behind him on the bed to steady himself as Dazai goes through a motion Sigma’s performed so many times on himself, but it feels so much better now—he doesn’t know if it’s Dazai’s calloused fingertips or the curling heat you both create in his pelvis by just kissing him, talking to him, loving on him—and he’s throwing his head back, embarrassed to make noise but in such ecstasy that he can’t help it, won’t help it. You giggle lightheartedly against the shell of his ear when he does, and he loves it. Loves it. Wants it to last forever. Dazai sucks on his collarbone and you tweak his nipples and he’s twitching, twitching, building up so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be spent soon.

"'M gonna... oh—gonna cum if you don't s-stop—"

But it isn't a request to, so when you and Dazai's hands both leave him, he's sent reeling just like you were during the last game. Sigma's chin meets his chest as he recovers from what feels like Dazai's revenge for the bluff that worked on him earlier, and he looks at you both, glazed over with lust.

Your eyes are so warm when they slide from Dazai back to him.

“So handsome. You’re gorgeous, Sigma.” It hardly matters who says it—the other agrees.

“Tell us what you want.”

"Well, um," he asserts, pulling his shaky legs up into himself and leading you by the arms to pull you back to the headboard. "This part seems pretty self-explanatory. Dazai, I think you should show me how to..."

You perch at the head of the bed again as he trails off, and Dazai looks like he's ready to have fun with what's coming next.

"Show you how to...?" he prompts Sigma to finish his sentence, and Sigma's nudging his way between your legs; your lips turn upward at his burst of enthusiasm, and the words get stuck a bit as he settles on his stomach in front of you.

"Touch them. I've really never done this before." He blinks up at Dazai. Weaponized incompetence has never been so sensual.

And Dazai takes the bait and crawls next to him, gripping your thigh a little too hard as he presses his shoulder to Sigma's. "Certainly. Give it your best shot, I wanna see what I'm working with here." It's so natural for Dazai to take on the mentorship position, even in this situation. You can't help the way you giggle at them; their eyes linger on each other a second too long to imply nothing before Sigma turns his attention to you.

You think he'll start with fingering you, but he dips his head down and goes right for your cunt—you're unable to suppress the oh! that leaves you as he licks a sensual and slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Knowing Sigma, you understand that his mind is probably still swimming with self-doubt as he rolls his eyes up to yours, but you can't find any of it. It's all too hot. His pretty pink lips undulate as he tastes you, delicately, and Dazai lets out a surprised noise of his own.

"Seems like you’re alright." Dazai's grinning. "But I'll help you out. Stay there."

So Sigma latches onto your clit, drawing another series of gasps out of you, and Dazai plunges his middle finger into you. You’re so slick, so ready for them that there's no resistance; Sigma's experimenting with his tongue, then his lips, then alternating, and Dazai keeps digging his fingertips into your thigh, your hip, as he works you open on his hand.

"God, with how wet you are, I think we could get you to take both of us."

Your eyes—which you hadn't realized had fallen shut as you wound each of your hands in either of their heads of soft hair—fly open at that. Sigma pulls away too. Tortorous.

"At the same time?" You're unsure if it comes out of your mouth, too, but Sigma asks it—with a sense of wonder that, had you said it, would've been overshadowed with a little apprehension. Dazai looks up to you for approval.

And while it's daunting—neither of them are small, that's for sure—you can't help the way your hips roll at the thought of being stuffed with them both. At the same time. How intimate it would inevitably be, their cocks pressed together as they fuck you. So you nod, vigorously.

"Gotta get 'em ready, though," he lectures to Sigma, snapping back to his instructorly tone as his hand falls on top of yours in his two-toned hair, pushing his face back into your cunt. "Put that mouth to work. You got it, baby."

Sigma hums against you at the nickname and the vibration sends your head lolling back again; Dazai looks wicked as he straddles your leg, still reaching down to split you open, now on three fingers instead of one or two. He kisses you hard.

The attention from both of them is unbelievable—you see now what had them both falling apart so quickly. Something about two sets of hands wandering your body sets lights off behind your eyes. Sigma’s reaching up to paw at your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples the same way you had his; before you know it you’re panting like a dog into Dazai’s mouth and soaking the bed below you.

“Fuck—you two.” You’ve got one hand still twined in Sigma’s hair. You’re almost grinding onto his nose, and he’s lapping up everything you’re giving him like a good boy. Your other arm winds around Dazai’s neck as you pull him closer and bend your knee to nudge his balls. He humps against what you give him. Lewd, wet sounds fill your ears.

“That’s the plan,” Dazai singsongs, pretty teeth visible. Amidst your frantic hips, he shuffles behind you, never breaking the heated kiss you share more than he has to. Those teeth find your lips and you gasp, you moan, you’re so impressed at how quickly Sigma is picking up on this new art, and with so little instruction, really—he watches you and Dazai make out from his place between your thighs and thrusts his hips against the bed at the sight. You notice.

“Sigma, come up here.”

His lips leave your cunt hesitantly; truth be told, your taste is more inebriating than all the alcohol he’s had. He’s rock hard, and you split your attention between him and Dazai as you lift your hips up, arch, and angle Dazai’s cock against your pussy.

His lips catch Sigma’s as he sinks into you; a whine falls from you at the stretch, and you can feel Dazai shake as he waits to move. When he parts from the kiss, he wraps his hands beneath either of your thighs, spreading you open wide.

Sigma all but gawks at the way Dazai’s dick is buried in you from below. You reach behind you, give his brown hair a tug that has Dazai thrusting up roughly, and Sigma would let your moan shatter his eardrums, his entire being, if he could. He sees the whites of your eyes, the white of Dazai’s fingertips as he grips you hard, the white of Dazai’s precum and your slick dripping down onto the sheets, and his hips lunge forward at nothing. Your cunt looks delicious. Dazai looks delicious, all furrowed brows and bitten lips and groans that bubble up from his chest. He fucks you fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Osamu! Unh, uh-huh—”

Dazai echoes your own name back to you. “Yeah, fuck—you feel so good.”

All the combined sounds are like a symphony to Sigma. He palms his own cock; no way he can cum just watching now, he decides. He needs to be in you. He doesn’t want to be an observer. Sigma catches Dazai’s eyes as if to say can I? But Dazai’s already smirking and breathlessly slipping out of you, holding you up and open still as you reach for Sigma with one hand and will him into you. You suck him in, god—thank god you’re already so wet and fucked open, because he’s not an inch inside of you before he loses himself and thrusts forward wildly.

“There you go,” Dazai encourages, grinning as the pale-haired man’s composure crumbles. “Isn’t that pussy heaven? Just like that, Sigma. They’re fuckin’ creamin’ all over you, look.”

Look, as if his rosé eyes could possibly leave the place where you’re swallowing him in. Sigma’s grunting—he’s never known himself to be noisy during pleasure, but this is another level, your cunt so warm and milky and squeezing him like you’ll never let him go.

The curtain of Dazai’s bangs falls across your shoulder as he kisses you there, mutters filthy musings into your ear while he watches Sigma sink into you over, over, over.

“How’d’they feel?”

Sigma’s unprepared for the way his own voice sounds, wound tight and concentrated while he tries and fails miserably not to whine. All that voice turns into babbling. “So—so, so fucking good, I’m—ah, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

"Woah, woah, alright. Not yet. Give 'em a breather. They're gonna need it, after all." Dazai's still laughing as he puts the brakes on Sigma with his feet—that's especially funny to him, but the way Sigma almost chokes at the way Dazai stops him is even better. Sigma, all sweat and arousal, sinks back onto his knees. You, too, squirm at the loss of stimulation, pushing soft lavender and silver off his forehead where it sticks; when Sigma’s hips don’t quite quit, even with nothing around his cock, Dazai chuckles out a “Looks like you need it, too.”

You trace Sigma’s tangling fingers as you catch your breath, interlocking both your hands with his. Dazai lets up on your legs—your hips will thank him later—letting the flex back into a more comfortable position. Your back rests against his chest, and he plays with your clit lazily.

“This is gonna take some patience, okay?” Dazai is addressing Sigma more than you; you’re guiding Sigma’s hands down to your cunt where he and Dazai move in a figure eight that keeps you occupied.

They're gonna need it, after all is what's registering in your mind. "Osamu—" you start, but he's shushing you.

Once again, Sigma's watching Dazai ride you up by your thighs so he can buck up into you, much more tactfully than the pale-haired man was just seconds ago. Perhaps more neglected than either of you at this point, Dazai's voice is gruff as you squelch around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Hah." His teeth sink into your shoulder as you croon.

"Dazai—" Sigma starts this time, but the other man answers all his questions with a single look.

"You’re gonna go back to what you were doing,” Dazai breathes, his gaze trained on Sigma as you writhe.

“Please, both of you—”

“Be patient,” Dazai means to snap at you but it’s too melted, too lovey. Anyway, he’s egging you on with his next words. “C’mon, Sigma, you’re gonna give ‘em what they want, right?”

And Sigma nods like he’s in a trance—your cunt already looks full around Dazai, but he needs urgently to be in you next to him. He thinks he’ll explode in all the wrong ways if you don’t let him in. He needs it, so he lines himself up below your clit, above Dazai, looking for anywhere he can slip in; it takes some of Dazai’s fingers, some of yours, but soon enough he feels the veins of Dazai’s cock on his underside and your pulsing walls to the top of him. He’s in. He’s actually in, and his head falls onto your shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to let his full weight slump directly onto you and Dazai. You’re bleating, sobbing, laughing through the stretch, and when Sigma’s tip nestles next to Dazai’s deep inside you, you feel full. Whole.

“I’m gonna stay still.” Dazai sounds just as affected as both of you, but he keeps his facade up a few seconds longer to guide you both to the beginning of the end. “Want you to fuck them, Sigma. Hard.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s difficult to pull back and push in at first—you’re so fucking tight and Dazai’s so fucking big, and even though you’re spread apart, Sigma feels like he can’t get close enough to you. Your cunt weeps around both of them, protesting the stretch that your brain adores, but you let up. And he fucks you, soft at first, and then hard.

All three of you are jumbled noise; skin on skin, teeth on lips, moans on shoulders, wet smacking and sliding and sobbing as you take both of them. Your gut heats up with each push, each pull, each frantic grasp, each broken sound the two men let out as they frot inside of you; Dazai’s biting your shoulder again, letting his sweet little protégé do the work. Sigma digs his nails into you wherever he can find purchase.

“Oh—fuckin’ harder, Sigma, baby, please—” you beg.

“Our pretty boy fuckin’ you good?” Dazai doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You gonna go stupid on his cock, huh?”

Sigma couldn’t answer the question even if it wasn’t rhetorical; all of his coherence is gone, and you took it. His thrusts grow erratic, remarkably unpracticed and blatantly virgin, but the repeated pounding of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix makes your eyes impossible to keep open, then impossible to keep closed, so you teeter between hyperalert and falling apart. Dazai rubs your clit as Sigma pushes your knees further back with sudden aggression, pins your thighs closer to your shoulders as he fucks you and creates an otherworldly friction against Dazai. He’s gone, he’s lost, and he looks so gorgeous whimpering and whining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screws his eyes shut and his mouth falls open over and over again. If anyone’s going stupid, it’s Sigma.

But the longer he fucks you, the more limp you fall; your head falls to rest on Dazai's shoulder as Sigma puts everything into you, and the brunette laughs like the asshole he is, even through this. He’s hardly doing better than either of you, though, and his words fly.

“My two beautiful little fuckin’ sluts, so—unh, so hot. So hot. Look at what I turned you into.”

Neither of you have any hope of answering. His voice just throttles you forward, and Sigma’s grunts ante up—he’s almost yelling, shouting as he exerts himself, as he does everything his body will let him to get himself there, and bring you with him, too.

“Ah! Angh—anh—ah, ah, ugh!”

And you reply with, “Ah! Unh—oh, oh, oh, please, please, please!”

And Dazai drinks it all up, finally letting his eyes roll back as he pulls Sigma down for one more messy kiss—one that sends Sigma headfirst into his orgasm, and he cums, rutting into you while your cunt spasms, squirts, begs for Dazai to follow. It’s like white heat rolling off of him in waves; Sigma’s brows lift as if finding a sort of clarity, and your eyes are wide as you clutch the two men, and Dazai follows shortly after—the mixture of their cum inside you sings the most disgusting and yet most satisfying sounds of the evening. Your legs snap shut around Sigma’s waist as he rides all three of you out, all sweat and tears and incredulous moans that die as he slows to a stop, still stuffed inside of you.

Three pairs of lips are dry, bitten raw—chapstick’s the first thing on Sigma’s mind as his head clears, but he feels himself and Dazai spill out of you, and you and he both reach for him, pulling him down into the pillows as whatever dream the three of you just exited settles around you like dust. He’s sticky, too, but he doesn’t hate it—how can he when you’re between them, throwing one leg over Sigma’s waist and tangling the other with Dazai’s behind you? You head falls into the crook of Sigma’s elbow, and his other arm drapes over Dazai’s, which holds you close by your waist as Dazai’s chin settles on top of your head—not unlike a three-piece puzzle, snapped together and in your right place.

“Oh, fuck.” You’re still leaking. “That was wonderful. Both of you.”

Dazai chuckles again. Unnervingly charming, even after cumming so damn hard. Sigma doesn’t want to know what he looks like himself.

“Who knew there was a whore in the casino man?”

You smack Dazai’s arm, but now you’re all laughing again, even Sigma. He feels… proud. You look so satisfied, so tired. The way your eyes slide shut after pressing such affection into his own prompts him to do the same.

Tired as he may be, though, he can’t lie and say that he’s not still incredibly turned on—you wiggle a little to get comfortable between them, and Sigma feels his cock spring back to life when you brush him, when your fingertips skate over the small of his back. He can’t reflect on what just happened—it’ll have him hard again in seconds.

“Excited again already, huh?” Dazai pokes. Sigma’s face burns.

“Ugh,” you groan out of sheer exhaustion, “if we go again, you’re both taking turns.”

Dazai looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps we could reprise rock, paper, scissors.”

And Sigma, having begun to nod, stops. “Absolutely not.”

[boonoonoonus]

A Glitch in Time (Pt 2)

THIS IS FOR 18+, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE

Warnings: Adult, Omegaverse, An@l sex. Knotting, explicit breeding kinks

Couples: Smoke X Annie; Smoke X Annie X Stack; Mary X Stack

Summary: Annie dies, but instead of reunifying with her baby, Isobel, Smoke, and her NanBes, she finds herself in a new world with familiar faces and a freedom unlike what she was used to in the past. Now, she navigates what it means to be an omega in a world where she can be anyone and anything, yet all the still infamous Moore twins want is for her to become theirs. It seemed no matter what life she lived, Annie was doomed to be at their sides.

Notes: This was inspired by this fic here, please feel free to check it out, but it is not in this fandom - https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570709

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There was a community within the women and the omega bathroom that Annie had never experienced before. The shared joy, freely given compliments and open exchange of lipstick and laughter meant that the space of toilets and sinks was a solace and a haven.

She hummed happily, sending the person at her side with long blue locs, a silver septum ring that complemented their warm brown skin tone and a gap in their front teeth. They gave Annie a smile and a giggle, fixing a loc in the front of her face before waving goodbye and flouncing away. Annie’s laughter tinkled in the air, and she shook her head slightly as she lined her lips once more and applied her rouge.

A deep purple blossomed across her lips, whitening her teeth and brightening her eyes. She adored the makeup and beautification rituals that she had access to at this time, the pretty frocks, different types of shoes of varying heights and just the true freedom of choice. She didn’t have to worry about Tignon law like her great granny did, or offending one of the White ladies for having a full chest rising on top of her stays and chatelaine. During this time, she was free and she had that shit on as Annie-Mae would say.

Annie was so engrossed in applying her makeup that she missed the woman at her side until a familiar voice asked, “Do you happen to have a Tampax?”

Annie looked to her side and despite Annie-Mae urging her to school, her expression, she couldn’t help the delight that swelled inside her as she looked into Mary’s face.

Mary was a sight for sore eyes. She had loose chestnut curls, warm brown eyes and a cheeky grin akin to that of a Cheshire cat. Annie couldn’t help her smile as she softly spoke, “Of course, give me a moment.” She reached into her satchel and quickly sourced the menstruation tube, double-checking the painkiller bulb was still properly attached and handed it over to Mary.

Immediately, the other woman gushed happily and squealed, clutching at Annie’s hand and demanding she “do not make a move, I’ll be right back” before heading into the sphere. As the glass around the capsule came down and glass frosted in obscurity, Annie saw her reflection and the tender smile on her lips.

Mary hadn’t changed a bit.

Annie-Mae sucked her teeth from in position in Annie’s head but she begrudgingly admitted that Mary looked fantastic in her outfit and the woman knew how to choose a shoe.

“Oh, you waited, wonderful!” Mary exclaimed as she exited and walked to the sink, outstretched hands waiting for the glob of soap that fell out of the dispenser and thoroughly washed her hands. “Oh, you’re simply just a bit of me,” Mary said with a shrug, shooting Annie a grin over her shoulder. “Thank you kindly for the Tampax, I always forget to carry one in my purse when I’m between pills.”

Annie had learned about the birth control pill from Annie-Mae. The ability to control her womb was nothing new to her, having used teas liberally as he grandmother had taught her, but the pills allowed for more flexibility and no aches and swelling. Annie-Mae hadn’t been on birth control since Beau-Dallas, and so Annie hadn’t started a course yet, but she knew that it was recommended that you cycled through a course, then took a break just to check in any side effects and go straight back on, and women were the same at any time. They spoke openly and honestly when in private, and nearly nothing was off the table; you just had to find the right woman to talk to, to get the information you needed.

“Now, come with me, lemme buy you a drink.” Mary didn’t bother to ask permission, simply grabbing Annie’s forearm and pulling her out of the restroom.

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“Annie, I’d like to introduce you to Stack,” Mary offered kindly to her as the man drew nearer. They were back in the main part of the club, but instead of the crowded part of the bar where she’d been standing with Chloe and Zinnia, Annie had been brought to another, more private area with far fewer people and another long bar.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Stack purred with a tilt of his head in Annie’s direction.

“Have you now?” Mary mused, looking at Stack up and down before turning back to Annie and shooting her a smile, “Well, Annie, Stack’s my packmate, unfortunately.” She shot him a look that pulled a grin onto his handsome face and highlighted his dimples on either side.

“Packmate?” Annie questioned, cocking her head to the side.

“Yeah,” Mary looked at Stack fondly, “he’s my family.”

“You’re the alpha?” Annie blurted out in question.

Stack barked a laugh and smirked. “I’m an alpha, potentially even your alpha, but I’m not thee alpha. That’s Smoke.”

Mary gestured to the shadows high in the bar where Annie couldn’t see too clearly, but she had no doubt Amoke was up there, hiding in the shadows as he had once done before. This club was far from Club Juke, though it was similarly named 'Club Gemini', and if she were to make an educated guess, it was a joint entrepreneurial endeavour between the twins. She stifled a laugh and smiled encouragingly.

“Afa Smoke is somewhere up there, keeping an eye on this one.”

“Aht aht,” Stack interjected with pursed lips, “you mean us. Keeping an eye on US.” He emphasised his last words, and Annie quickly gained the impression that this wasn’t the first time this Stack and Mary had had this particular conversation.

“Stack, you can’t be trusted to watch your own back; that’s why we have the buddy system.” Mary quipped, patting him on the shoulder and shooting Annie a grin before grasping her hand gently. “Anyways, enough of him, come tell me about yourself, Annie, he’ll get the drinks.”

She was brought to a seating area that offered a little privacy from prying eyes and encouraged to take a seat on the plush chairs.

Time passed fast.

The club was opulent, and Annie found she enjoyed herself once she messaged Chloe and Zinnia on her PerCom and put it aside.

In a world where Stack and Mary were not persecuted for their love, they had found a healthy balance to make their relationship work. It also helped that from here she could tell, Smoke being the Afa of their pack meant that Stack could be as head empty as he preferred, now there were many more people to support Smoke, not just himself, and it helped make him more responsible in a way. He didn't have to be the light to Smoke's darkness; both could encapsulate multitudes.

Mary here was a firecracker, too. She'd always been feisty, but now, she seemed electric. Annie got the feeling that this set of the Moore twins had never left her behind twiddling her thumbs; she had gone out into the world and grabbed it by the reins. She managed Club Gemini and spoke a multitude of languages, some from Earth, many not. She was confident, self-assured, and happy. Though a part of Annie wept to know that they all seemed to have carried on with life happily without her in this lifetime, that whilst she ached and mourned, they seemed okay.

Stack seemed content to simply listen to them talk. He disappeared every once in a while to handle business, a dentastick in the corner of his mouth, but Annie found she didn't quite mind.

On his last reappearance, though, he did not arrive alone.

As Stack waltzed up to their table, shadows seemed to bend at his back and out of the darkness came a figure breathing two prongs of heavy pastel purple smoke.

"Afa Smoke, here to make your acquaintance, fair Annie," Stack introduced, waving his hand over his brother as though Annie wouldn't recognise him in any space or time. Mary giggled, amused, and Annie couldn't help her own smile.

"Nice to meet you, Smoke," she offered kindly and she was met with a gruff, "likewise."

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Annie was just about the strangest omega Smoke had ever met on Earth and across the galaxies. But that suited Elijah Moore just fine, because as unorthodox as Annie was, she was perfect for them. Annie was special because he was the Smokestack’s Ohm, the omega meant for them, for their pack.

So it didn’t matter too much to him that she didn’t preen like other omegas did, or that she seemed so unaware of her scent and her allure, spreading it freely as though it was acceptable behaviour. She didn’t rely on her dynamic when she had a disagreement with men, quick to argue her point and stand up for herself.

Everything seemed forgivable, apart from her reluctance to engage with the pack properly. That, that made his teeth ache.

Now, she was polite, unfailingly so, but she was an omega who didn’t want to be an Ohm, didn’t want to belong to a pack and didn’t want an alpha. Instead, she wanted to traipse around the world and leave him without an Ohm, without a better half. Without his woman, and Smoke couldn’t have that.

Their current back and forth, the ease she had in his presence, the fact that she welcomed him when she met him in public, was better than the reality that would have arose if they’d ran with his initial suggestion when he’d first laid eyes on her from ontop the rafters in the Club. He’d been ready to steal her away, mate her and deal with the aftermath. It had taking Sammie singing sweetly and strumming on that guitar, and Stack pleading reason with him to change his mind. Eventually, he acquiesced to Stack’s plan - slow and steady, easing her into their lives. Smoke followed his direction because he, more so than anyone else, had wanted an Ohm for their pack, yearning for someone to fill that role. Till now, Smoke didn’t see the appeal too tough, he’d met many an omega, and most were underwhelming, pretty smelling, but that was it. Too vapid, too pampered, too wrong. That was until Annie. Annie, Annie was perfection, and now he wanted perfection.

Originally, they’d toyed with the idea of playing one man again, encouraging Annie to fall in love with Eli and breaking the news to her later after she’d stumbled into Stack’s arms. But, Mary had protested so much against that plan that Smoke shelved it before it even had a proper outline. The girl had too far a bleeding heart, but he found he couldn’t hold it against her when she’d siphoned so much information from her for them. Then, Smoke couldn’t think of being denied his fair share of her, not after she’d been tasted by his better half. He wanted his own relationship with Annie. He wanted them.

His pack also agreed. Bo and Therise were easy, and Cornbread, well, Cornbread liked everyone, a real jovial giant that made the home warm. Grace already really liked Annie, having met her at the green-grocers and when she brought little Lisa to her for supplements when she’d been going through some growing pains. Her treatment of the pack’s only babe at the moment (though Lisa resented the perception that she was the baby and prayed more than anyone else for Therise to deliver baby Breadcrumb safely and quickly in hopes of a sibling) had solidified her in the hearts of the Smokestack pack.

So, with the whole pack in agreement, Smoke couldn’t see a world without Annie at their sides, as their Ohm, and so he played the long game, patiently waiting and biding his time to eventually thread her into the pack. It went against all of his instincts, but soon they could begin their lives all together. It was just a matter of waiting out the impact her near-death experience had had on her.

That was also information that rose Smoke’s hackles, that mere months ago, before he had even met her, he almost lost her, and he couldn’t imagine a world without her now, refused to live in one.

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Annie was sure as shit that she would never return to her time, or the life after with Isobel and her grandmother. When she cast lots, her she could not divine much of her future besides the overwhelming understanding that she was meant to be exactly where she was. There was no longer any home for her to return to outside of the life she lived with Annie-Mae, and she was learning to be content with that. In this world, men travelled through space, lived on Mars, Black people were free-ish and yet one could not travel back in time, only to the future. Despite all this, she couldn’t find it within herself to mourn when life was to be lived.

It helped that life had become more interesting since she had bucked upon the Smoke-Stack twins again. Unlike in her life as Annie, Annie-Mae was much less forgiving off men, especially after Beau Dallas, and as such whenever Annie’s heart softened even a moment towards the twins, Annie-Mae forcefully reminded her exactly why men weren’t shit, that Smoke had left her for seven years to mourn their daughter alone, that Stack had changed her into some demon against her will, that time and time again Moore men had taken liberties with her heart.

On the other hand, Annie-Mae softened almost immediately to Mary because in every iteration, Mary’s heart was honest and earnest, and it was hard to maintain dislike.

The only issue with living within the world Annie found was living as an omega.

She also found her mind wandering over the heat process. Omegas experienced monthly fertile periods that culminated in quarterly heats that allowed for mating. From what Annie had researched, previously people had thought heats were the human versions of breeding seasons as other animals experienced, but Annie remembered a time when women could get pregnant near monthly and it seemed after exploring the hypothesis, medicine had come back around to the belief’s that heats were not for breeding but instead bonding.

Heats, ruts for alphas, allowed for bonds to be established and solidified and for new people to be added to the packs and initiated into the dynamics. Annie-Mae had managed to avoid her bonding season with previous partners, and Annie had no intention of sharing her eventual heat, especially after reviewing Annie-Mae’s memories. After the Beau-Dallas debacle, she found focusing on her work and family would be much more productive.

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She doubted anyone in old Clarksdale would have ever believed that the elusive and terrifying Smoke was the type of man to hover as she found this one to. It wasn’t too obtrusive, but he hovered enough for Annie to notice that he felt entitled to her personal space. Stack was easy enough to avoid, as he understood boundaries even if he didn’t obey them, and didn’t show up at her work or volunteer areas, but Smoke, on the other hand, she found Smoke to be a man unused to the word no. She couldn’t blame him too much, she knew she was once his peace and wondered if this iteration of him sensed that within her, the love and care she’d carried within her heart for that Moore man.

For her community, she offered energetic attunements, cleansings and spiritual work within her remit, and Stack had sourced her out for his brother’s benefit. Trauma affected people differently, and Annie was shocked, having had to conduct her work covertly in the past, just how open Black men were now to their trauma and addressing it. When they were littler, and Annie moved to Clarksdale from Louisiana, her grandmother had spoken often of the heartache she felt at the lives the Moore twins lived, that their daddy was a drunk and the mama hadn’t lived long enough to love on her sons, leaving them to draw themselves up. (Though Annie had always seen the tall, slim woman walking alongside her sons, stroking their hair, or laughing at their quips and spending time around them. No matter the loneliness in Smoke’s eyes or the wistfulness in Stack’s voice, she’d always been comforted knowing they weren’t truly alone.)

When Stack had first brought his brother for healing, it had been easy to sink into Smoke’s energy again, to wade through the thick grief and deep abiding love to gather the trauma in hand. This Smoke was alike hers in many ways. He too was a veteran, of intergalactic warfare and not the Great War this time around, his father hadn’t changed much and was still an abusive piece of shit, and he still had trouble sleeping. Yet, whereas her Smoke wore his mojobag with scepticism, not feeding it in the manner she’d hoped with his own belief and ancestral essence, this one relaxed in her presence and allowed her energy access to his mind, body, and spirit.

When she had him lying face down, her hands laden with anointing oil and Florida water, she worked the root of his trauma, massaging the muscles as she pulled at the remnants, the shards she found left behind. She worked it to the surface, bringing up grunts and hisses of pain from between Smoke’s lips, but she couldn’t still in her work. She sunk her fingers into one particular spot in his lower back near his kidneys, sensing something had penetrated straight through the skin but had left its mark. The skin was unmarked, but Annie dug her thumbs in and gasped when she felt the opening of the flood gates and the energy release out in waves. The release of the pressure was felt, and she knew that the energetic exchange did not just register for her because, seven days later, he appeared at her door.

“How you been?” His gruff voice asked as she opened the door. Annie couldn’t help her smile; she hummed, leaning against the doorway and crossing her arms in front of her body. He was smoking, puffing heavily, but there was less tension in his shoulders, and his signature blue corded necklace sat against his neck with a matching blue bracelet Annie had never seen before on his wrist. He looked better, and she could see in his essence that he felt better too, stronger, more resolute, confident, though Annie couldn’t imagine a time in which he wasn’t confident.

“No misery’s worth complaining about,” she quipped, glancing at the bag in his hands and raising her brow. “Whatchu have there, Smoke?”

Smoke didn’t take his eyes off her as he raised the bag high. “It’s a gift, something I thought you might like.”

Annie hummed and rose from her position and walked into her home. “You coming?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Smoke grunted, stepping into her home and taking his shoes off at the door.

“Jus’ wanted to give my thanks,” he explained somewhat shyly as Annie peeled back the paper wrapping. The snake beneath her hands was bleeding from the neck, but otherwise in perfectly good condition, the scales a beautiful gold yellow against the bright red of the blood.

“My thanks, it’s a beaut.”

She couldn’t help the soft smile that reached her eyes, the glee when his bashful side appeared, and he averted his gaze.

After that, it was as if the dam had broken.

Alphas were no different to the men of the past, and Annie quickly found that if you gave an alpha an inch, they took a mile and then some. Smoke felt no way to make himself comfortable at her apartment. She didn’t know how he gained access, but then again, he’s acted the same in their previous life, wherever she was, Smoke just felt entitled to be. Despite him filling up her space with his broad shoulders, long periods of silence and ever-present cigarette smoke, Annie found his company comforting. A product of the little good rearing he received, he always finished his plate and washed the dishes, helped carry the soil up the stairs, when she’d stumbled and ripped the shelf of the hinges he calmly caught her, placed her feet first on the ground and the next day Annie came home to a fixed wall and reinforcements on all her shelves. He was a man of few words, with a face made up of entirely too many scowls and narrowed eyes, but his warm hands, calloused fingers and steady assurance won over her heart slowly.

There were changes; he wasn’t identical to her Smoke, and it made her heart warm that bit further. She hadn’t seen the childhood awkwardness of this Smoke attempting to court her at sixteen, nor had she seen evidence of a yearning to prove himself in this Smoke. Without Jim Crow and the crackers on his back, this Smoke seemed less eager to prove himself and more assured in a way, Annie couldn’t put an exact finger on it, but it meant that Smoke felt somewhat different to her. It also helped that, as an alpha, Smoke smelled so good to her now, and looked good too.

With his longer hair, he kept it in its natural texture and mostly unbraided, unlike Stack, his skin was a warm sepia brown, and his styling seemed more intentional than before. Around his neck, he wore a single gold chain and his blue braided cord necklace, a twin to Stack’s red one. She knew he had other adornments, mirrored tattoos with Stack and in either ear two studs that she knew were worth the cost of an intergalactic funeral in the event he never made it back Earthside.

When Annie had rocked up on Mary and Stack that night, she had seen it as an opportunity for some revenge, to change the tide against her feelings for her once family and to claw back a small bit of revenge. She had never intended to allow Stack to bring Smoke back into her life and for him to nestle, burrowing her way back into her heart.

Still, though her mind knew to be cautious, her body eschewed such reasoning. Though her mind and Annie-Mae knew to keep a distance from Smoke, her body had been on something else the past couple of days.

Annie’s body had been uncharacteristically sensitive, more so than when she was on her monthlies. Her nose had burned something fierce, her nipples and back ached, the back of her neck kept tingling, and each touch against her too sensitive skin made her flush. She was needy, wanton in a manner that her grandmother would have once called loose, but instead laughed sweetly at when she brought it up to her during their weekly check-ins. Nana-Bet just reminded her to drink plenty of water and bring her ‘nice, new young alpha’ around the house when she was ready. Those words made Annie roll her eyes as she had no one who fit that bill in her life, but her Nana merely smirked.

However, despite Annie-Mae’s rather defiant attitude and iron resolution, even she had fallen victim to the desires of the flesh and allowed Smoke liberties when he appeared in their apartment that week. After eating some vegan lentil curry she’d made from shelf staples and the vegetables and herbs she grew on her balcony and in the community garden, Smoke had washed the dishes and cleaned up, she’d them both a spliff and instead of listening to the soft crooning of Leila Darke, she instead was pantiless, seated on his lap and grinding down on him.

It was such a switch up to the resistance she’d maintained with Smoke before that she could sense the alpha’s smugness at her back. Smoke, ever a man of very few words, didn’t say anything, but his satisfaction radiated; Annie could smell it and his desire for her surrounding them. But, neither Annie nor Annie-Mae had a thing to say in return, not when she was being soothed by the slow rocking against Smoke’s cock and her attention was consumed by his everything, even as he pushed gently past the boundaries she’d erected around her body and heart. The entirety of her attention was focused on the cock rocking between her thighs and the broad mass at her back.

Moore men had always possessed long dicks, Annie had heard about it when she first arrived in Clarksdale. Just like their daddy Solomon, his brother Pastor Jed, and all the men in their family she couldn’t remember any longer, the twin’s had come into possession of big dicks and whilst not the size of Cornbread’s monster (she’d heard enough that from Therise), they weren’t too far off and it was why their posse, alongside Cornbread and Bo Chow, was called the twelve legs. When Annie had first attempted to make love with Smoke, her virgin puss had not reacted well and it took many more sessions to get Smoke to fill her properly without pain, and even then, her boyfriend turned husband had enjoyed pushing her beyond her limits and bruising her cervix every chance he got. This current Smoke was no exception. He possessed a long thick dick, made worse with those alpha testes and the looser skin at the base she now knew were to allow him to balloon a knot. Smoke had always had a pretty cock but it was made even more sensual by the thick gold ring through the tip of his cock, ‘Prince Albert’ Annie-Mae supplied her mind in awe, her mouth dribbling and salivating at the sight of Smoke’s cock between her thighs. It reached between her thighs and up to her naval, his tip leaking steadily and bobbing against her skin and leaving behind sticky seed that connected her body to his tip. At her back, Smoke smoked leisurely, blowing rings into the air as he ground himself against her in a slow, sensual manner.

As they were identical twins, she knew Stack’s was the same and not for the first time wondered, just exactly how Mary could fit all that dick in her small puss, but each time she’d asked the other woman, she’d always just laughed and gave Annie another tip or trick she’d used against Stack in their intimate moments.

Not for the first time, Annie thought it was too big, and Annie-Mae supplied her an image of Beau-Dallas that only made it more apparent the discrepancies between typical penises and that of the ones belonging to these thoroughbred, corn-fed alpha Moore men. It was long and thick, too wide for Annie to wrap one hand around it fully and long enough to prod into her navel and once again bruise her cervix into oblivion if she allowed him.

Annie-Mae also knew her way around bodies better than Annie. Where Smoke had staked a claim against her body and forced her body to keep his mark in the form of her name, remember him in all moments, even in the seven years of solitude, each time she had entertained the idea of finding a partner for a moment to share in life with, he visited her in her dreams and fucked her like a dog in front of those men. He ruined her for anyone else and shaped her body and soul into his receptacle, but this Smoke had not the privilege of doing so. Annie-Mae hadn’t experienced Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore in her tender years, hadn’t fallen for his charm and taken his last name and his seed within her to carry. Instead, Annie-Mae was raised as a cherished and treasured omega and was unused to not getting her way with men, especially alphas.

The memory of her giving her body to Smoke, the pain, the pleasure, the blood streaked sheets, the ache in her hips and the bite marks on her nipples, juxtaposed with Annie-Mae’s memories of riding Beau-Dallas, hand around his neck, the way in which he tenderly and lovingly ate her puss and the two fingers he always pressed into her ass when he was hitting it from the back. Both sets of memories collided and the desires of the past merged with the present and had slick rushing from her core and flowing onto the pulsating length that parted her second lips, and as she ground herself against it, she felt the sharp, blissful pain of a slap against the meat of the ass and thigh. She groaned, a single tear rolling from the corner of her eye, as Smoke ground himself against her leaking puss, using his free hand to grab hold of her hip dip and pull him against her tight as he blew smoke against her ear, before placing the spliff to the side and licking up her neck.

With his now free hand, he reached around and pinched at throbbing clit, pulling a yell from Annie’s throat as he kept his nose in her neck. Smoke tightened his grip on the fold of her hip, fingers digging into the flesh, and Annie matched his fierceness, pulling roughly on the tip of the nipple, moaning in pleasure.

Annie let herself be used, in the same manner she had allowed Smoke to do so in the time before, in a way Annie-Mae was incredulous about. When Smoke muttered in a rough voice, “Tight’n yourself up,” into her ear, and she didn’t hesitate to obey. She reached down, emboldened by Annie-Mae and tilted the tip of the alpha’s cock towards herself, fingers brushing the gold ring, and curling onto her body somewhat to catch the pearly white cum in her mouth. She clenched painfully on nothing, and as she rested back against Smoke, she despaired at the half knot that rubbed against her clitoris and throbbed against her spread mons.

Their sweat mingled as Annie rested against Smoke, and the alpha continued to rub at her thigh as he lit a cigarette from the half-opened packet that Annie kept in the house against her better judgement.

Wasn’t that a funny thought, against her better judgement.

Well, that’s exactly what Smoke was, against her better judgement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though Annie would allow Smoke liberties, access to her body that she had denied him before, she felt in her heart that she couldn’t allow him to seed her properly. That it would open a door, a portal she couldn’t allow. ‘Not now at least’ was whispered in the back of her mind by Annie-Mae, and she ignored it.

So when Smoke slid his thick cock between her folds, she pulled from his grip and angled her pussy away from his touch. “N-not there Smoke,” she reached down between her legs to grasp at the base of Smoke’s dick and moved it towards her pucker, and she leaned her body down to rest her shoulders on the mattress and push back onto his dick.

“Woman?!” Smoke asked incredulously, in his rough sex laden voice, “whatchu doin’?” He paused in his movements, though Annie could still tell there was desire in the air, and he made no move to shift away in disgust. Annie knew some men didn’t like it that way, but she knew sometimes that people spoke shit they didn’t mean behind close doors.

“You don’t want this hole, Smoke? Too hot fer yuh?”

“I ain’t neva asked for no ass off nobody.”

“I know, you not that typa man,”

His dick flexed happily inside of Annie as she slid down further, but his words were sincere.

“Not anymore, nah, I bee’n changed.”

Annie had always been a thorough person, so she cleaned her back passage in the wash and made sure all was good, and even in her intimate times, fingered it to keep it flexible in the ways Annie-Mae liked for sexy times. Yet, the feeling of Smoke’s dick spreading her hole, pressing the crown further than she had ever anticipated for sensual time. The cold gold of his piercing a contrast to the heat of his dick in her ass and she shuddered against the sheets as it rearranged her innards. It felt bigger than before, and she was overwhelmed by the sensation. Her ring felt raw as Smoke pushed further, and she met his pelvis, their bodies flush against one another.

He moved his hands over her ass reverently, as though she was a goddess in flesh and Annie could only moan, as his stroking turned to kneading the flesh of her ass and opening his legs somewhat to give him the angle to lower his hips and slowly thrust into her.

A yelp escaped Annie’s lips when a large hand struck her ass to hard it jiggled and wobbled.

"Ride me, baby. Fuck. You put my cock in your ass Annie, so ride it."

His voice was deep, husky in a way Annie had never heard before. It was deeply authoritative, and combined with the look within his eyes, she knew there was no room to broker or negotiate. Smoke meant business.

Shivering slightly, Annie acquiesced. It was a distinct change from their previous sexual encounters, which were driven purely by lust and her memories of Smoke. She was meeting Elijah again, the side of him that frightened and disconcerted others. The side that had once put a ring on her finger and bound her spirit and body to him in all realms throughout all time. In the back of her mind, she felt Annie-Mae fall back, as though she was apprehensive of what was occurring, the feelings stirring within her spirit.

Obeying his command, that of her once husband's, her Smoke, her Elijah, she sat up and rolled her hips against him with purpose. She arched her back like that of a cat and rocked against him with purpose, the burn in her booty echoing through her lower back.

The sweet friction of his length inside her ass and the stretch of her ring, had Annie dripping steadily from her cooze, her juices running down her legs and onto the sheets below. It was painful, but a pain that brought pleasure to Smoke, and she fed on his enjoyment of her body.

Moaning at Smoke’s fucking, the feel of his burgeoning knot forcing her ring wider and catching against the tight, formerly unused, muscles, Annie moved a hand behind her head to grip behind Smoke’s neck and drag him down for a kiss. Contorting around one another, it was messy, sloppy, uncomfortable thing, made worse by Smoke’s consistent fucking into her sore body. Their teeth repeatedly knocked against each other, spit leaked from the corner of their mouths, their lips tugged, bit and pulled back and forth. Annie almost bit off his tongue at a particularly harsh thrust, but it was simply the best kiss they had ever shared. Even Annie-Mae was quiet in the back of Annie’s head, enjoying the pleasure and unable to bring forth any thoughts against Smoke.

“You so perfect Annie,” Smoke praised, pistoning his hips deeper into her warmth. He relished in the feel of her plump cheeks slamming against his lap, the sound of their sweat slicked skin slapping together, the squelch of her hole milking his dick, the noises he forced out of her pussy each time he thrusted deeper.

“Everything I’ve ever wanted, ever’thing I needed.

“The best fuck.

“The best love.

“The best ass I’ve ever had.

“I bet that puss gon’ be the best too.”

Smoke’s stilted praises put her over the edge and Annie gushed as she came. Her pussy flexed around empty air, gushing slick onto Smoke’s lap, and queefing loudly in a manner that would have had her mortified in another time, but now just became a background sound to her pleasure. Her wet leaked to her hole and aided the hard length fucking into her body ruthlessly. Her stuffed hole seized around Smoke’s cock, holding him tightly, even as the alpha’s movements became more vicious and his grip tightened on her further. Annie, feeling light-headed and boneless, leaned her entire weight backwards against Smoke, breathless and drunk on her orgasm.

Smoke’s enjoyment was clear, with a cigarette in his mouth and his hands gripping her hips tightly, he eased himself back in, growling around his cigarette, keeping it afloat in the air with his teeth. After only the nib remained, he slapped Annie’s quivering ass cheek with an open palm and placed the nib in the ashtray to his left.

“Squeeze your ass. Fuck down on this dick baby. All the way. Hit that knot,” he uttered short, precise orders, matching her rhythm and slapping her ass in tandem. “Sit back on this dick. Bounce that shit baby,” he growled pulling Annie further onto his cock and grinding his burgeoning knot into her tight ring.

“Tight’n that shit up.

“Ride me.

“Come on, baby, faster.

“Ride that shit like you mean it woman.

“Faster.

“You sat on this dick so show me what you want to do with it.”

Despite the euphoria of her orgasm waning, Smoke kept feeding his cock into that once tight hole, the friction pulling an orgasm from his body, his leg jigging in pleasure. And Annie felt his knot pressing against her hole until it sank fully into her body with a pop.

As his knot fully inflated, he fucked up with more force, pushing his knot all the way inside her snug channel and shooting his cum deep into her gut like she was some whore, he didn’t even ask permission. Instead, painting her inner walls white with his hot seed and wrapping her body in his scent.

Smoke grunted as his warmth filled her stomach and though Annie’s body was exhausted, worn form exertion and pain, she still clenched down her ass, milking more seed from Smoke’s spurting dick. His thick knot, pressed just inside her sore rim, kept her plugged firmly with the thick cum that sloshed in her gut.

She moaned loudly, echoed by Smoke who groaned at the feel of her tightening around him but he didn’t make a move to fuck into her again. Instead, he stilled his perspiring body and panted for breath as he rubbed Annie’s spread thighs, thumbing the stretch marks that ran up to her back. They sat like that for a moment, just soaking in the bliss of being together, the intimacy, the warmth. Annie raised herself onto her haunches and mewled, nuzzling the fine skin under Smoke’s chin, enjoying the scratching of his moustache and beard against her skin.

His eyes closed in a peace Annie had never seen before, even in her previous life Smoke, Elijah, had never presented such a peace in his face and body, even when she pressed Isobel into his hands after her first breathe, there had been war in his furrowed brow and overwhelming love in his eyes.

When Smoke parted his lashes, Annie saw dark brown eyes staring tenderly at her for a long moment before looking into the mirror she had placed adjacent to her bed. With a smooth motion, Smoke grabbed under Annie’s thighs and hefted her into the air, and pulled her back against him so that he weight rested against his body and her hips spread wide as though she was preparing to bear a child. The action shifted Annie deeper against his cock and helped open her like a flower, displaying both of her holes in the mirror. Annie gave a startled cry at the unexpected movement. Annie hesitated, Annie-Mae raging despite being satiated as a result of her orgasm, but Annie ignored her inner voice. Instead, she read the order in Smoke’s eyes as he caught his eyes in the mirror.

Annie quickly raised a trembling hand and traced a gentle finger around her swollen vulva. She shuddered at the prickling sensation running up her spine, meeting the ache radiating deep in her back, even with the gentle touch. She hesitated for a moment, before pushing her finger deep into her sopping wet pussy, meeting Smoke’s thrust. She stared at her ruin in the mirror, her hand in front of her spread lips, the drool that trickled out of her, the bright pink flushed with blood against her sable skin, and her single finger disappearing between her pink folds, rooting around her sacred. It was such a filthy sight that her puss couldn’t help but tighten at it.

When she raised her head again, she caught Smoke’s eyes in the mirror. They were narrowed dangerously, his pupils were blown wide, and his canines were pronounced in his mouth as he rocked into her. The sight sent a shiver up her spine, and she averted her gaze, unable to meet the animalistic desire clear in Smoke’s face. She returned her attention to her actions between her thighs and tried not to match Smoke’s heavy breathing. His fingers dug deeper, harder into the tender flesh of her thighs, blunt nails close to cutting into her skin and drawing blood.

Annie-Mae swore that she felt that thick, long dick get bigger, push harder, press deeper against her sore inner walls, the cold of the gold helping her track it within her. She curled her finger within herself slightly, moaning as she thrust in and out of her wet puss and searched for her spot. She pulled pleasure from her pain, and it seemed the lewd display caught and kept Smoke’s attention as he growled lowly in her ear and commanded her to “put another finger in that puss.”

Annie had always been weak to Smoke’s demands, even if she protested, so she acquiesced. She slowly inched another finger to her vulva, slipping another finger within her pussy and stretching herself wider and helping her cunt gush around the digits.

“Open that puss for papa.”

Annie scissored her fingers into her depth and fucked herself at Smoke’s brutal pace, every so often she pulled at her labia, letting Smoke see her intimate places, spreading herself wide before letting it close again.

Smoke couldn’t take his eyes off her. She could feel his gaze tracing her skin even when she tried her best not to meet his gaze. It seemed she couldn’t stay away from him, that each time she chanced a glance, his eyes met hers, drawn to one another. She disliked how she looked, the few moments she caught her reflection in the mirror, it was painfully open, the constant flux of pleasure and pain showing in her dazed eyes and struck expression, the few jolts of pain creased her brow and bit into her lip when the thrusts got too deep, too full. Her eyes were almost always half closed, her body flushed and hot to the touch, her teeth clenching as her body milked Smoke’s knot and her pussy leaked around her fingers which weren’t enough. Still, no matter her feelings, she knew Smoke loved the sight, revelled in the picture of her rocking on the brink.

Smoke delighted in the warmth of Annie’s back pressed to his front, the trust of her leaning her entire weight against him. The trust Smoke would hold her up, that he was strong enough to hold her up and keep her afloat. He pressed a kiss against the sweaty crown of her head and rested his chin against her, looking down on her with pure emotion in his eyes as she paused in her self-pleasure.

Annie’s calm, measured moments of pleasure tipped her into another ear-splitting orgasm, that ran down her spine and tingled in her feet. Smoke watched as her fingers, pushed past her knuckles stretched her pussy wide and was framed by her plump labia and curly hair. She’d cummed around her fingers, white and frothy, dribbling onto the sheets below her body.

With small breaths, Annie kept her fingers stuffed deep inside her pussy and closed her eyes.

“You gon’ make me cum,” Smoke growled before stilling. “Fuck, Imma seed your ass baby."

It took almost no time for Smoke to unload his seed inside of Annie, lodged deep in her ass, his ring rubbing against her channel, and even less time for her to orgasm, growling in pleasure as her pussy pushed air, queefing with every flex of Smoke’s thigh and push of his hips. Though neither said a word, the feeling, the sentiment was shared, and from the way they moaned and shuddered against one another, there was no doubt, no question, that they were thoroughly satisfied beyond measure.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Later that night, under the cloak of darkness and a thin stream of moonlight beaming through Annie’s open curtains. Annie was awoken by a weight at her back, and her leg was held in a tight grip at her side so that her mons was spread open. At her back, Smoke speared her booty hole with his cock, and she doubted her had used anything but his spit as lubrication. Spooning her, he moved purposefully, placing his knees on either side of her body and with determination, sheathing himself within her back passage.

Annie’s booty was still raw from the night prior, and the lack of adequate preparation combined with the near-malicious actions of Smoke made the pain that much worse, but at the same time, it seemed somewhat freeing. She whimpered, but didn’t tell him to stop or pause, happy for him to take his pleasure.

He was unconcerned with her discomfort, taking his sweet time in sliding his length through her body in steady strokes. He moved his hand underneath Annie’s neck so that she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck and moved his hand from gripping her hip and reached over to toy with her throbbing clit. Calloused fingers pulled and tugged at it, grabbing up her folds in his hands and holding it tight so that it wept between his fingers and smacking it, the wet sound echoing in the night. It was primal, and she was brought back to her first life, and the way in which they made love in her shop that first time in seven years. That instinctual, ancestral plane of physicality, where they met soul to soul, where they had met time and time in many different ways and different lands, but this time, Smoke did not appear as a result of her ancestral power, but his own.

Rolling them both, so that Annie was on her stomach, he drove his length deep into her body aided by his body-weight, before pulling her onto all fours and fucking her like a dog. Purely animalistic, driven by instinct, by possession.

There was no question that this fuck was for him, the seeking of release at its most visceral and most passionate. He rough, and distantly, Annie was noting his somewhat lack of care, that he took none of the actions that she was accustomed to him doing for her pleasure, despite her never having vaginal sex in this body. Even Annie-Mae was stunned by the rough treatment; no one would typically treat an omega in such a manner, so rough and callous.

Like a man possessed, he grunted as he nibbled and gnawed on the back of her neck, his fingers pulled and tugged at her labia and at one moment he shoved his fingers, two, deep inside of her, pressing against her sore walls to feel his cock in her back passage. The embrace of her puss on his body seemed to put a bullet in his back as fucked her deeper and harder before stilling and Annie felt the wet within her.

He took a deep breath and a moment, before he peeled himself of her back, pulling out of her body, his penis ring catching on her rim as he removed himself and all the while she panted and tried to get her breath. Then she heard the bathroom door open, the stream of urine hitting the basin of the toilet and water running as she tried to gain back her bearings.

In their past life, Smoke had never conducted himself in such a manner. He’d never used her like that, some would have called it degrading, but she did not dislike it; it was freeing, liberating in a way that she could satisfy Smoke and his demons, exorcising him with her body.

When he appeared in the doorway, the screen shutting behind him, she looked up to meet his gaze, brown eyes staring into one another. There was no remorse in his body and he walked to her with measured, purposeful steps. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, as he breathed deeply before turning to look at her.

It was a darkness that Smoke had never allowed her to see before, had hidden from her even in their intimate moments. She’d loved this man in many different iterations and across many timelines, and as he leaned over and gave her a passionate, possessive kiss, melding his lips over her own and massaging his tongue against hers.

"I lov’ yuh, so fucking much, Annie." His voice was soft, but there was a dark edge in his tone that matched the lingering hard look on his face. "I know I should feel bad about fucking you like that, but truthfully I don't. Not one fucking bit. I worship you, protect you, respect you as the mother of my, our, chil’ren— and treat you like the goddess you are ninety-nine percent of the time. But,” he paused, heaving as though it was labourious to say such things to her. “If you offering ass, I’mma take it. I’mma fuck it. I’mma own it and use it when~ever the fuck I please. I may call you bitch, or slut, be disrespectful, but that’s because good girls don't do ass fuck. They don’t sell their ass. Good Black girls, the well-raised ones, the ones who grow up good, go to church and school and mind their manners. They don’t do them things there, that's why I never asked. But, now I see that you’se not a good girl.”

“A good girl doesn’t tease with her pussy and offer her ass instead, she don’t walk through the world trying to avoid being an Ohm.”

“You’se a woman. You my woman. My omega. My wife, and you deserve for me to be honest about the Afa that I am. I ain't gon’ hide who I am from you.” He turned to look deep into her eyes, “Now, I ain’t gon’ start spreadin’ my seed about town, or looking another omega and breakin’ your heart or our pack. That’s not me, baby.”

“I'm your alpha, your man, always and forever. But sometimes I just want to fuck. I want it nasty, downright dirty. I wanna spit in your mouth, eat your puss when your bleedin’, fuck you in your ass. I don't care if you buss a nut or not. If you're giving me your ass, I'm going to shove my dick in it and seed it. Fuck it whenev'er and however I want. That's what I do with asses. Your pussy is yours and you control that and while I may hav’ to beg for it occasionally, I ain’t hav’ no right to it. But you give your ass to me, I own that shit forever and I’mma take what’s mine."

His words were dark, but Annie couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but let her heart sing. Though he wasn’t the Delta-raised bootlegger who ran from the plantations to Chicago, who’d served in the Great War and stole lives with the same fervour he stole her heart, he was still Smoke, still Elijah Moore. Still her Elijah.

"That’s all right with me, Elijah."

“I love you, woman. Stars know, I love you, Annie”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lies had never tasted sweeter.

When Annie woke up again, Smoke was gone, a note resting in her PerCom about his whereabouts and a short apology, and she was grateful.

She felt off-kilter, and Annie-Mae was no better. Her second soul was near catatonic, unable to move past the pleasure of the previous night, but also the overwhelming feelings that Smoke had brought forth in her. It was one thing to have seen Annie’s memories and another to experience them, and it failed so much in comparison to Beau-Dallas that she couldn’t wrap her head around it. Couldn't imagine how it was. It was so heavy and uncomfortable, and she didn’t know how to cope.

Sitting up in her bed, her body sore, her heart racing and her mind in pieces, Annie had only one option, one that Annie-Mae could help her make.

She ran.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Intern”~ pt. 1 Max Verstappen x reader

Disclaimer: Reader doesn’t have to be blonde! The images is just to show she’s working for the team!

Warnings: degrading? Mean max.

Summary: The series follows Y/N, a fresh and slightly timid media intern for the Red Bull Racing team, who is thrown into the chaotic, high-stakes world of Formula 1. Her job quickly becomes challenging not only because of the high-pressure environment but because of Max Verstappen, the star driver with a talent for making her feel small and flustered. Max’s arrogance and relentless teasing leave her feeling out of her depth, yet strangely captivated. Despite his condescending demeanor, there’s an undeniable pull between them, a tension that seems to simmer just beneath the surface.

I sit quietly in the corner of the motorhome, tapping nervously on my phone as I check my messages. The whole atmosphere here is intimidating, even more so when Max Verstappen and Checo stroll in, laughing at some private joke. Their easy confidence is almost tangible, filling the room with a sense of belonging I can only hope to someday feel.

Max’s eyes land on me for a split second, and I quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in a message from my boss, Adam. I can feel my cheeks heat up just from that brief eye contact. It’s silly, but he’s… well, he’s Max Verstappen. There’s something intimidating in the way he looks at people, like he’s sizing them up and finding them lacking. And, of course, I’m not immune to his scrutiny.

The only time he’s spoken to me before, he’d made a throwaway comment that left me red-faced. He wasn’t even trying to be mean—it just slipped out, something about me “looking lost.” The memory of my blush and his faint smirk is still fresh, and I can’t seem to shake it.

My phone buzzes with a message from Adam: Can you come to Meeting Room 3 ASAP?

With a deep breath, I make my way to the meeting room, hoping Adam’s request isn’t something beyond my skill level. When I arrive, he looks a bit frazzled, glancing up from his stack of papers with an apologetic smile.

“Y/N, I know you’re still new, and I haven’t had the chance to train you properly…” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re short-staffed this weekend, so I need you to help the media team cover for the missing people. Think you’re up for it?”

I swallow hard, my nerves tightening at the idea of being around Max and the rest of the drivers more than I already have been. But I don’t want to let Adam down; he’s been nothing but encouraging since I started, always pushing me to do better, to learn more. It’s why I like him so much as a boss.

“Of course, Adam,” I reply, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “What do you need me to do?”

He hands me a tablet and goes over the details. My main job will be to record the drivers’ answers during interviews, ensuring we have accurate records. I’ll also assist Andrew with media release forms. It’s straightforward, but the thought of messing up in front of Max makes my stomach churn.

Later in the day, Adam decides it’s time for a proper introduction. He drags me into the garage, where Max is leaning against one of the cars, arms folded as he talks with a mechanic. When he sees us approaching, he raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he already knows I’m way out of my league.

“Max, this is Y/N,” Adam says cheerfully. “She’s helping us out with the media coverage this weekend. We’re a bit understaffed, so she’ll be shadowing you a lot.”

Max looks me up and down, his gaze almost clinical, as if he’s evaluating whether I’ll be a help or a hindrance. He smiles, but it’s the polite kind—the one people give when they’re forced to interact with someone they don’t particularly care about.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, offering a brief nod. “So, they haven’t trained you yet, huh?”

My cheeks flush, and I look away, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. There’s something so arrogant about him, the way he stands there, completely sure of himself. Why does he have to be like this? He’s just a driver, after all. A very talented one, sure, but still just a person. But his energy—the way he carries himself—makes it clear he’s used to people fawning over him.

“Not yet,” I reply, managing to keep my voice steady.

He just chuckles, clearly amused. “Well, I’ll break you in.” He says quietly enough for me to hear.

What? What did he just- I blink and smile at him.

A few hours later, we’re on our way to the media pen after qualifying. I’m clutching the tablet tightly, going over my mental checklist to make sure I have everything. Just as we reach the interview area, I realize with a sickening jolt that I’ve left the team phone back in the motorhome.

I take a deep breath, feeling the embarrassment already creeping up my cheeks. “Um… Max?” I ask hesitantly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you mind waiting a minute?”

He looks at me, eyebrow raised, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You forgot the phone, didn’t you?” he says, not even bothering to hide his smirk. “Let me guess—you didn’t think you’d need it?”

I nod, my cheeks heating up further, and I try to apologize. “I’m sorry, it won’t take long—”

“Oh, don’t worry, intern,” he says, emphasizing the title like it’s an insult. “I know you’re new, but I figured you’d be a bit smarter than that. Or is this your way of making sure I remember your name?”

His tone is light, but the words sting. I try to laugh it off, but it comes out more like a nervous squeak. “It’s just… I thought I had everything.”

He leans closer, making me meet his gaze, his expression full of condescension. “Don’t look so nervous. I’m asking you a question,” he says slowly, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable I am.

“I… I know. I just—”

“Didn’t think?” he cuts me off, chuckling to himself. “It’s fine. Go on, intern. Fetch the phone. I’ll wait here, seeing as you’re so eager to do a good job.”

I nod and practically sprint back to the motorhome, my mind racing. By the time I return with the phone, my cheeks are still burning, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s pleased with himself.

During the interviews, I focus on recording Max’s answers, refusing to make eye contact. I can feel him glancing at me every few moments, as if he’s waiting for me to make another mistake, something else he can latch onto. But I keep my head down, determined to finish this task without another hitch.

Later that day, Adam calls me aside, a slight frown on his face as he glances at a form in his hands. “Y/N, I need Max’s signature on this media release form. Looks like you forgot to get it earlier.”

I feel my heart sink. Another mistake. Another opportunity for Max to remind me just how out of place I am here. Swallowing my pride, I head to his driver’s room, my hands shaking slightly as I knock on the door.

“Come in,” he calls, sounding a bit exasperated.

I step inside, holding the form and pen. He’s lounging on a chair, scrolling through his phone, barely sparing me a glance. “Um, Max… I just need you to sign this release form.”

He finally looks up, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. “Intern, I thought we went over this,” he says, leaning back with a mock sigh. “Didn’t I tell you earlier to get it all done at once?”

“I… I’m sorry. I just—”

“Forgot. Again,” he interrupts, looking like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. “Is this going to be a habit with you? Or should I expect you to keep knocking on my door every five minutes?”

I can feel the embarrassment flooding my cheeks, but I hold out the paper and pen, refusing to let him see how much his words sting. “It won’t happen again,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

He takes the form from me, signing it with a flourish, but not before giving me one last smirk. “Let’s hope not. I don’t have time to babysit, intern.” he says, clearly enjoying himself.

He doesn’t hand the form back to me. Instead, he holds onto it, his fingers curling around the edges, teasing me as I reach out, waiting for him to relinquish it. But he makes no move to do so. His smirk only widens, and I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.

“Maybe,” he begins, his tone dripping with mock thoughtfulness, “maybe I shouldn’t give it back to you. Maybe you should learn from your mistakes.” He pauses, watching as I grow visibly more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. And then, with a single, swift movement, he crumples the paper in his fist.

My mouth falls open in shock, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself.

“Do you need a babysitter, Y/N?” he taunts, his voice soft but laced with condescension. “Is that what you’re asking for? Because that’s what it looks like to me. Someone to hold your hand, make sure you don’t make any more silly mistakes.”

His words sting, each one hitting me like a small slap to my pride. I can feel frustration bubbling up inside me, the urge to snap back at him nearly overwhelming. But I bite my tongue, swallowing the retort building in my throat. I can’t risk my job, no matter how badly I want to put him in his place.

Instead, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “No… I’m sorry,” I mumble, trying to keep any hint of annoyance out of my voice. It takes everything I have not to glare at him, but I keep my expression as neutral as possible.

Max’s smirk only grows at my response. He seems to revel in my discomfort, enjoying every second of this little power play. He lets the crumpled paper fall from his hand, watching it drift to the floor near his feet. “If you’re so sorry,” he says, gesturing to the paper on the ground, “then pick it up and make it work. I’m sure a little crease won’t stop an intern like you, right?”

I hesitate for a moment, the indignation flaring up again, but I bite it back. He’s baiting me, waiting for me to snap so he has another reason to belittle me. So, without another word, I crouch down, reaching for the paper that lies just near his feet. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, that smug satisfaction radiating off him as I pick up the wrinkled form and straighten back up, clutching it tightly.

I want to say something, to tell him off, to make him realize how unbearable he’s being. But all I do is nod, the words caught in my throat as I straighten the paper as best I can. Max watches me, one eyebrow raised in clear amusement, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Say thank you,” he commands, his tone soft but dripping with authority.

I clench my jaw, every fiber of my being resisting the urge to roll my eyes. But I know better. I swallow my pride, forcing myself to look up at him, though the words feel heavy on my tongue. “Thank you,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

He tilts his head, that smirk growing, clearly pleased by my forced gratitude. “See you tomorrow, intern,” he says, his tone dismissive, as if I’m nothing more than a minor inconvenience in his day.

Without another word, I turn and leave, clutching the wrinkled paper in my hand, his mocking gaze burning into my back as I step out of the room.

——————————————-

Thank you for reading! 😇

Remember, liking and following let’s me know you want more writings! 💜

[azzifudd10]

Somewhere To Land

Chapter 23: Things We Carry

Azzi’s Apartment – Monday Morning

The sunrise was soft, painting the windows a peachy gold. Eli had woken up early, fussy and clingy from the weekend travel, and Azzi had rocked him in her arms for over half an hour. Now he was finally calm, cheeks still flushed with sleep, head tucked into her chest.

Azzi sat on the couch in her robe, gently rubbing circles on his back.

“Okay, baby bear,” she whispered. “So, I know you can’t talk back yet, but I feel like you’re a really good listener. And I need that today.”

Eli squirmed a little, then relaxed again.

Azzi smiled down at him. “I think Mommy’s a little tired. Not just from the trip — from everything. I try to stay calm, y’know? For you. But sometimes I just want someone to say ‘Hey, you’re doing great,’ even if I don’t know if I am.”

She took a breath. “Paige had a hard time while we were gone. And I didn’t know. I thought giving her space was being kind, but maybe I should’ve checked in more. I’m learning too, Eli. Every day. About you, about her, about me.”

Her voice dropped into something even softer. “I just want you to grow up in a house where people talk about things. Where love means listening. Where no one ever feels alone.”

Eli cooed gently, lifting his sleepy head.

Azzi smiled. “Exactly. You're wise beyond your months, little man.”

Later That Morning – Paige’s Apartment

Paige hadn’t moved from the kitchen stool since Azzi came over. Her cereal was soggy, untouched, and her eyes were fixated on the countertop.

Azzi, dressed in leggings and a hoodie, sat across from her, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

“Can we talk about what happened?” she asked gently.

Paige gave a small nod. “I… I didn’t even realize I was spiraling. Until it was too late.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You shut me out, babe. I’m not mad. But I need to know what happened in your head.”

Paige swallowed hard. “I think… when you left, it reminded me of before. When I’d be hurt, or off-season, and people would keep going without me. I’d be stuck, feeling useless. And it scared me that you — you and Eli — could move on too.”

Azzi’s chest ached. “Paige…”

“I know it’s stupid,” she rushed. “You’re not going anywhere. But it brought something up. Old stuff I didn’t know was still in me.”

Azzi reached across the table and took her hand. “That’s not stupid. That’s real. And I’m glad you told me.”

Paige looked up. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” Azzi said, voice low and sure. “But I do need you to promise me that next time — if there is a next time — you don’t go silent. Even if you don’t have the words, just let me in.”

Paige nodded. “I promise.”

They leaned across the table, foreheads touching, and for a long moment, just breathed.

Later That Night – Azzi’s Apartment

Eli was freshly bathed and cozy in his sleep sack, nestled against Azzi’s chest. She swayed back and forth gently in the nursery, moonlight spilling through the slats of the blinds.

“I had a good day,” she whispered into the top of his curls. “We talked about some hard things, but they were good. Important. Mommy and paigey are learning how to love each other the right way.”

She pressed a kiss to his soft forehead.

“Also,” she added, “I made a mean grilled cheese today. You’re gonna love grilled cheese one day.”

Eli sighed sleepily.

“And I might’ve cried a little while watching a commercial,” she said with a soft laugh. 

She paused, holding him closer.

“I hope when you’re older, you feel safe telling us how you feel. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.”

He didn’t respond, of course, but she knew he heard her. In his own little way.

Tuesday – Late Afternoon

Azzi opened the mailbox before heading upstairs with Eli on her hip, distractedly flipping through the stack of letters — bills, junk, a flyer for a new daycare they’d already passed on.

And then she stopped.

A legal-sized envelope. No return address. Just her name in bold type.

Her chest tightened.

She carried Eli inside, set him gently in the playpen, and sat at the kitchen table. Hands trembling, she opened the envelope and began reading.

Her heart dropped.

To: Azzi FuddRe: Legal Notification of Custody InterestFrom: The Law Offices of Kline & Barker, representing the paternal grandparents of Elijah Thomas Wright.

The words blurred for a second as panic surged.

“Paternal grandparents?” she whispered.

No.

No no no.

Tasha’s parents.

They had barely shown up after the funeral. Didn’t attend the hearing when Azzi was awarded custody. Hadn’t sent a birthday card or asked how Eli was doing.

And now… this?

Her stomach twisted.

A knock sounded at the door, sharp and sudden.

She jumped, breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she stood and opened it.

Paige stood on the other side, casual in joggers and a hoodie, holding takeout and smiling.

“Hey,” she said. “I brought your favorite—”

Azzi didn’t speak. Just handed her the letter with a shaking hand.

Paige’s smile faded as she took it, scanning quickly. Her face darkened.

“They’re trying to get custody?” she said, voice low.

Azzi nodded, lips pressed together to keep from crying.

Paige dropped the takeout on the counter and pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

“They are not taking him,” she whispered fiercely. “I swear to God, Azzi. We are not going to let them.”

Azzi broke then — silent tears soaking into Paige’s shoulder as Eli babbled softly in the background, completely unaware that his whole world had just been thrown into question.

the unopened voicemail on Azzi’s phone. From a number she doesn’t recognize. Timestamped from three hours ago.

"Hello, this is Sharon Wright — Elijah’s grandmother. I’d really like to speak to you before things get more complicated…"

[steddielations]

Dom Steve Fic Recs

Strange as Angels (soft dom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie hasn't been able to get himself off in months, and now he's high, sweaty, and horny, thinking about the very man sitting in his room in nothing but a wife beater and a pair of tiny athletic shorts, and he thinks he might die. Steve notices. Of course, Steve fucking notices, what, with all the squirming Eddie's doing. Steve offers to help get Eddie off. As friends do. (As long as those friends are completely in love with each other.)

Like The Hero Who Never Ran (dom awakening series) by callmejude

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Genius Loci (dom bottom, magic steve) by @sayesayes

It’s 1986, and Steve falls in love with a boy who is leaving. It’s 1990, and Eddie comes back home. The fic where Steve is a selectively mute, homesteading, truck-driving witch with head injuries and also somehow it's canonverse.

(Don't) cream your pants (soft dom steve awakening series) by @corrodedbisexual

“Don’t know how to cream your pants, huh?” Steve asks, unable to conceal a smirk. He hears a quiet whine as Eddie seems to try and make himself disappear inside the couch. “Want me to show you how?”

Gilded (dom steve, blindfolds, ice play) by @cheshiredogao3

Steve and Eddie are looking forward to a weekend all to themselves, but it doesn’t go as planned.

Trouble Looks Good On You (wip, spanking, kink discovery) by me indelicate

It happens like a fever dream. The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that. But then, it happens again. Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.

You Make Me Feel Like I Am Whole Again (wip, dom top and dom bottom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie has never felt like his body belongs to him. It gets worse after he's nearly mauled to death, left with scars and healing wounds, a lopsided chest, and more trauma stacked on top of everything already wrong with him. Steve Harrington finds out Eddie's trans by accident after the bats, and Eddie finds out Steve's surprisingly okay with it. More than okay with it.

Bite Through These Wires (soft dom steve's strap game series 🤭) by @steves-strapcollection

“Wouldn’t you be Ken, though?” Steve had hoped Eddie would ask a question like that and he had to refrain from punching the air and ruining his punchline. “I come with all the coolest accessories, so clearly I’m still Barbie,” Steve retorted, his voice going just a bit deeper as he leaned closer to Eddie.

Relax (Lay it Back) (soft dom yoga instructor steve) by @wynnyfryd

Five times yoga instructor Steve teaches Eddie how to chill the fuck out, and the one time he learns his lesson.

Melt Me On Your Tongue (soft dom, bathing) by me indelicate

“This okay?” “Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.” “… you’re crying, Eds.” Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob. “No one’s ever done this to me before.” He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really. Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Kiss Me (Beneath the Milky Twilight) (pleasure dom steve, virgin eddie) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Eddie has never been kissed. Steve apparently would very much like to volunteer to fix this.

Getting Lost in the Dark is My Favorite Part (wip, masochist virgin eddie, kink discovery) by queerontilmorning

After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.

You're a Sweet Shot of Kerosene (When I Threw it Back, it Poisoned Me) (wip, mob boss steve) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Whatever fucked up shit Eddie’s father had inadvertently roped him into simply by being what he was — a shit-stain excuse for a sperm donor who preferred sticking a needle in his arm to taking care of his family — well, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about to be him that pays that price. And maybe Eddie’s delirious, because by the time it’s apparently his turn and they’re dragging him down some hallway (and yeah, it’s not like Eddie’s not trying to put up a fight, but it feels almost performative at this point considering he’s pretty much hogtied here), the only real thought he has when they deposit him on yet another cold, wet tile floor is this: Uncle Wayne is gonna be so pissed at me if I get shot in the head tonight.

closer to you (soft dom steve) by @natesfwl

“C’mon baby, where's my little rockstar?” Steve spanks him, groans when he feels Eddie tense up around him from the impact, “Perform for me.” “You let me penetrate you” Eddie stutters out the line as he lifts himself up with his knees. “There you go,” Steve whispers, watching as Eddie fights to keep his eyes locked onto Steve’s when he sinks back down. or the really self-indulgent fic of steddie fucking to the song closer by NIN.

Destroy The Silence (drummer steve) by @artaxlivs

Steve becomes the drummer for Corroded Coffin and Eddie can't handle his thirst

Trouble and Temptation (series wip, businessman dilf steve) by @heartharps

“Come on, Harrington. I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly.” When Steve looked up, he was glaring, as stern and serious as ever. “Eddie, let me remind you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has ever happened between us other than of a professional nature.”

Sting, and Other Brainworms (series with switching) by @riality-check

“Do you need to go down, baby?” Eddie gets like this, sometimes. Stuck between overwhelmed and incredibly bored. Steve watches until he remembers that they have a way to fix this. Eddie calls it a hard reset. Steve calls it fucking him until he can’t see straight.

Edification (sadist steve) by aristal

“Alright Munson.” She bares her teeth and grins like a wolf. “Tell the class: what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?” A slow smile creeps into his features, and his dark eyes flash. “Oh, you’re asking the good questions, Wheeler.” He takes another long pull of his joint, dragging the moment out for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t care. He wants to know the answer. He needs to know. Eventually, Eddie blows out the smoke, eyes a little hazy as he grins at the ceiling. “I’ve always liked the idea of being slapped around and choked in someone’s car.”

In My Boxers, Half Stoned (dom bottom Steve) by eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Insatiable (public, skirts, cages) by @cheshiredogao3

When their club ritual is rudely interrupted, Steve and Eddie make a point of proving their bond—rather publicly.

Done Deal (series with switching) by @morningberriesao3

Steve Harrington doesn't have any money with him, so he offers to pay Eddie Munson some other way.

Lovebite (sub vampire eddie) by hellcore

It shouldn’t feel so good, being tasted.

* The next few don't have the tag but in my opinion they have dom Steve vibes and I want to include them here (:

Cyclical (wip, time loop fic, rimming, switching, lots of smut with plot) by @cuips-not-cute

steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. he's desperate to rewrite the timeline, trying everything he can think of to fix it. including falling in love.

Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3

Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Memorize My Number, That's Why I Got A Phone (phone sex) by queerontilmorning

while on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie makes an important phone call to Steve.

My Right Hand Man (spanking, kink discovery) by @entanglednow

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

Shot Right Through (pierced eddie) by @entanglednow

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

Pleased To Meet You (demon steve) by midnightdrive

Eddie accidentally summons a demon who is bound to fulfill his every wish. He, somehow, gets more than he had bargained for.

[the-fiction-witch]

Perhaps

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (elven lady) Rating - 15 + kissing/ Word Count - 2425

Elrond sat inside his dimly lit chamber, surrounded by stacks of parchment and scrolls. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, as he diligently worked through the extensive paperwork that the high king Gil-galad had demanded he review before dawn. His mind often drifted from the task at hand, lured away by the crackling flames of the fire. Suddenly, a tender knock on the door broke the silence, causing Elrond to look up from the parchment with a hint of annoyance flashing across his features before he quickly composed himself. "Enter," he said, his voice calm yet authoritative.

The door creaked open, and Lady Y/n glided into the room, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor. With a graceful motion, she closed the heavy door behind her. As she moved further into the dimly lit chamber, her presence exuded an air of elegance and quiet strength. Y/n, the daughter of a late elven lord, had always been a familiar figure in Mithlond, known for her compassionate nature and her genuine kindness towards Elrond, despite the disdainful looks of other high lords and ladies who regarded him with condescension due to his mixed heritage.

Her lustrous, curls cascaded down her back, intricately woven into a long, five-strand braid that accentuated the delicate features of her elven heritage. In the flickering candlelight, her skin seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance, adding to her otherworldly allure. Adorned in a floor-length gown of sage green, the fabric hugged her slender figure in all the right places, while corset-style lacing down the front accentuated her graceful silhouette. With every step she took, the soft rustle of the fabric filled the room, adding to the mesmerizing aura that surrounded her.

"I pray I am not disturbing you, Herald Elrond." She softly bowed,

Elrond's expression softened as he took in Lady Y/n's appearance, his gaze lingering on the delicate features of her face before returning to hers. “Not at all, my lady,” he replied, rising from his chair to greet her. “Please, come in. It's...a pleasure to see you.” He walked towards her, his movements fluid and unhurried, and offered her a gentle smile, “I've been meaning to speak with you about your father's passing. I'm so sorry for what happened.” As he spoke, he led her further into the room. The flames danced and crackled, casting a warm glow over the space.

"thank you, your words are a sweet comfort. I grieve for him of course and all he shall not witness but I know he would not wish me to linger in such sadness," she explained, "are you well herald Elrond? I know the high lords and ladies can at times be ... Cold. And I have not seen you at council of late?"

Elrond's eyes clouded slightly at her words, but he nodded understandingly, his expression thoughtful. “I am well enough, my lady,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured. “The weight of their disapproval is nothing new to me. But I have learned to live with it.” He walked over to a nearby table, where a small decanter of wine and two glasses sat waiting. “May I offer you a cup of wine?” As he poured the liquid into the glasses, the scent of fine vintages filled the air, mingling with the smoke from the candles.

"Thank you, you always have the best wines." she smiled stepping closer,

Elrond's eyes met hers, a spark of warmth igniting in their depths as he handed her a glass. “I'm glad someone else appreciates them,” he said, his voice tinged with a subtle intimacy.

As they stood there, the soft clinking of the glasses against each other seemed to fill the silence between them, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the fire.

Without thinking, Elrond reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind Y/n's ear, his fingers grazing her skin in a fleeting caress. Their gazes locked, the air thickening with unspoken tension.

She smiled and gently slipped her wine slowly and silently pacing the table "if I may ... Be somewhat personal?"

Elrond's eyes never left hers, his expression a mask of calm interest, but a hint of curiosity dancing in their depths. “Of course, my lady,” he said, his voice low and inviting, The candlelight cast flickering shadows across his face, His gaze held hers, a sense of expectation building between them, as if he knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"As I'm sure you are well versed... Elves have a habit of being... Slow to action on some matters. Twenty years can seem but a blink of an eye and decisions no matter how small though over with great time and course."

A wry smile played on Elrond's lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded in understanding. “Yes, we elves tend to see beyond the immediate moment,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation. “We often consider the ripples that spread far and wide, like stones cast upon still water.” His gaze drifted away, lost in thought for a moment, before returning to hers, his expression turning introspective.

she nodded in agreement "so true... And larger matters even more so. I have watched so much in my life and I'm sure I have barely scratched the surface of all I am to see." She explained taking a moment to have another sip "So, when I ask this do not think I ask it without the prior thoughts. That I ask in impatience. I ask this having long thought it over"

Elrond's eyes locked onto hers, a deep understanding etched on his face as he listened intently to her words. “I see,” he said, his voice low and measured, as if weighing every syllable. His gaze never wavered, drinking in the sincerity that radiated from her very being. “In that case, I will answer you truthfully,” he said, his voice taking on a serious tone, as if the weight of her question had settled squarely upon his shoulders.

"has ... Your immortal life, yet been graced by a companion?" She asked being very proper and refined about the wording she chose as we common for high ladies and lords. She already knew the answer was no, but she still had to ask him.

Elrond's expression turned melancholic, a hint of sadness creeping into his eyes as he gazed into the distance, lost in thought. “No,” he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the mere mention of such a thing was almost too painful to bear to think of all those who’s companionship he had lost. His father, his mother, his brother and so many he once called friends, and so many more who he was set to loose in decades to come. For a moment, he remained silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the distant hooting of an owl outside. Then, with a subtle sigh, he refocused on her, his eyes locking onto hers once more, filled with a deep longing that seemed to echo through the ages. “It has not,” he repeated, his voice firm now, but tinged with a hint of regret.

She softly nodded trying to hide her smile "... The spring." She said suddenly Changing the subject, "is often a time known for a fresh look apon the world, something new, a time to begin again or start a new." She suggested "many say... Morning then just flowers bloom in spring?" She encouraged

Elrond's eyes sparkled with amusement, a warm smile spreading across his face as he chuckled at her attempt to steer the conversation towards more pleasant topics. “Ah, yes,” he said, his voice filled with delight, “the spring is indeed a time of renewal, when the world awakens from its winter slumber and all around us comes alive.” he agreed, “but it is also a time for new beginnings, for shedding old skin and embracing the possibilities that lie ahead.” His eyes returned to hers,

she nodded in agreement "Many... Born in my year... Speak of the blessings of spring time. Many of them in Lindon and beyond are coming now to the ending of their own… Courtships." She smiled "I feel somewhat left out of it all." She chuckled "I'm sure you feel the same"

Elrond's expression softened, a sympathetic smile spreading across his face as he listened to her words. “Indeed,” he said, his voice filled with understanding, “many of our kind do find themselves drawn into the whirlwind of courtship and romance during this time of year.” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he spoke. “As for feeling left out,” he said gently, “I must confess that I have grown accustomed to a certain... solitude over the centuries.” His gaze drifted away, lost in thought for a moment, before returning to hers. “But I sense that there is more to your words than mere sentiment?”

"Perhaps." She chuckled "... Forgive my... Long winded prologue to my true question"

Elrond's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his expression encouraging her to continue. “Please, do not apologize,” he said, his voice gentle and soothing. “There is no need for brevity when the heart speaks from a place of honesty.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped together in front of him, inviting her to proceed. “So, tell me,” he said, his eyes locked onto hers, “what is it that you truly wish to ask?”

"... I wish to ask." She choked back her own words sitting her glass on the table and moving closer resting her hand softly atop his own, "if perhaps this spring, you and I may?" She blushed suggestively

Elrond's eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating as he felt the soft touch of her hand on top of his. For a moment, he seemed frozen in surprise, but then a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached up to gently brush his hand against her cheek, “Perhaps,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, “this spring may bring more than just renewal and growth.” His eyes locked onto hers, burning with intensity as he spoke. He leaned in closer, his lips inches from hers, as he breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume.

she nodded her eyes wide with excitement,

Elrond's eyes flashed with desire as he gazed at her, his lips still inches from hers. Without another word, he leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against hers in a soft, gentle kiss. As they kissed, the air around them seemed to vibrate with tension, the only sound the quiet hum of the candles and the soft rustle of their clothing. Elrond's hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers in a sensual dance.

Their bodies pressed together, sending shivers down their spines as they savored the taste of each other.

It had been centuries since Elrond had felt this way about anyone, and yet, with her, it was like no time had passed at all. As they broke apart for air, Elrond's eyes locked onto hers, burning with passion and desire.

she bit her lip but shook her head, "Forgive me but... I will not.”

“Whyever not?”

“Until I know you what Intentions you lead me there with Herald Elrond." She whispered, "A lady of the court must... Remain ever vigilant. So tell me? Your Intentions. As I'm sure I need not tell you that if courtship are not to be given I shall have to decline such …actions," she cooed purposely toying with him a little,

Elrond's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths as he regarded her. He knew that she was playing a delicate game, testing his intentions and weighing her options carefully. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence hang between them like a challenge. Then, with a subtle smile, “My dear lady,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “I assure you, my intentions are pure... and entirely honorable.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing as he continued, “No games, no politics, no hidden agendas, only the simple joy of each other's company... and whatever else may come of it.” With a sly smile, he added, “I promise you... the most unforgettable night of your life.”

"I do not want one night Elrond." She said "for one night alone would be a curse, a forever memory I will never be able to feel satisfied without" she said "I ask for every night. Or not at all." She whispered kissing his hand in hers holding it to her chest so he could feel how her heart was racing

Elrond looked at her, his gaze searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but instead, he saw only conviction and desire. For a moment, he said nothing, his mind reeling with the implications of her words. No one had ever asked him for such a thing before... no one had ever dared to dream of having him all to themselves. And yet, something about her request resonated deep within him. Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice, or the way she held his hand to her chest, feeling his pulse beat alongside hers... Whatever the reason, Elrond found himself nodding slowly, a small smile spreading across his face. “Every night,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

"truely? This is what you want?" She whispered terrified he would reject her

Elrond's smile grew wider, his eyes sparkling with a fierce inner light as he nodded again, his grip on her hand tightening. “Truly,” he repeated, his voice firm and resolute. “I want everything you can give me,” he whispered, his breath caressing her skin as he leaned in closer. “I want to wake up beside you every morning, to feel your touch and taste your lips.” His eyes burned with intensity as he spoke, his words pouring out like a river of fire. “I want to explore every inch of your body, to learn every curve and contour, every secret and every pleasure.” he cooed, “Say the words, and I will make you my wife by the dawn.”

“Yes.” She gasped,

As he gazed into her eyes, a warm smile spread across his face. Their lips met once more, this time with a spark not just of passion, but of deep, enduring love and unwavering trust. A sense of excitement pulsed through them both as they contemplated the immortal life they were about to embark on together, filled with endless possibilities and shared moments that would last for eternity.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hello mira! I’m here to see what gold you can spin from this request: aventurine playing against a card sharp reader

hi cheshire!! i apologize in advance this is probably not what you were hoping would come out of it SKLDJHF i am afraid i did not do him or the reader justice but an attempt was made!! hehe 😜

wc: 1.2k (somehow)

“I’ve heard you never turn down a game.” The man speaks with a firm, charming assurance; he’s not asking you if this is the truth, or at least he doesn’t seem to think he needs to. You hum, tapping your stack of chips, picking up one and rubbing your index finger along the ridged edges.

“I suppose I haven’t yet,” you say, and then you smile at him. “But there’s a first time for everything. Are you interested in the prospect of being that first?”

“I’ll admit it sounds thrilling, but as intriguing as it may be, I’m far more interested in actually playing with you, ma’am,” he says, sitting across from you and steepling his gloved fingers, tilting his chin at you invitingly.

He’s beautiful, his face pointed in the delicate way of a heart, his clothes perfectly fitted to his slender, willowy body, his hair as gold as the watch upon his left wrist. A pair of violet-tinted lenses slides down the bridge of his upturned nose, and a hat is pulled low over his pale brow; it’s a laughable attempt at inconspicuousness, given how gaudy his mere presence is, and he must know this, because he gives you a roguish grin when he notices your careful inspection of him.

“Well, if that’s what you want,” you say. “Do you have any preference for what we play?”

“Rumor has it that it’s impossible to beat you at cards,” he says.

“I wonder where you get your intelligence from,” you say noncommittally; he responds with a shrug, just as noncommittal. “Shall we play baccarat, then?”

“Baccarat,” he repeats. “Why not?”

“So agreeable,” you say, motioning for the dealer to give you each two cards from the wooden shoe in his hands. “Who are you betting on?”

You expect him to say the banker — almost everyone does, after all. It’s the safe option, with an ever-so-slightly higher chance of success, though of course there are never any guarantees in such a noble profession as gambling. Still, it takes you by surprise when he motions towards his own hand.

“I’ll bet on the player,” he says.

“A unique strategy,” you say, because based on the way he wove through the crowd to get to your table, he is no stranger to this atmosphere, which means that this is a conscious choice he’s making.

“Betting on myself hasn’t led me astray yet,” he says. You purse your lips.

“What did you say your name was?” you say.

“I didn’t,” he says. He’s mild, pleasant, even — but behind his glasses, his eyes sparkle with something mischievous, like he’s daring you to ask him what it is, like he knows what you’ll say if you learn it. When you don’t speak, he chuckles. “Ah, what should we wager? I’ll give half my chips, if you’ll do the same.”

“Very well,” you say, obliging him and sliding your chips into the center alongside his.

“You have such lovely cards,” he says. “Where are they from?”

“A gift,” you say. “From a Knight of Beauty. I lent him some money many years ago, and this was his thanks.”

“Did he ever pay you back?” he says.

“Of course he did,” you say. “A mere deck of cards is not enough to reimburse me for what I gave him. This was merely extra. An expression of his gratitude, as the case may be.”

“What a generous man.”

“They tend to be. Do you want to play again?”

He’s won this round, and when he pretends to consider your offer, you can tell he’s not surprised by the outcome. You don’t like it, the way his eyes dart around the dim establishment, the way his fingers dance along the table, the way he hasn’t taken off his glasses or his smile since he sat across from you.

The dealer picks out new cards from the shoe, and you think that the man will consider his choice carefully, but he doesn’t hesitate, glancing at the hands for a mere instant before pointing at you.

“I’ll go for the banker this time, ma’am,” he says.

Baccarat is meant to be a game of luck, and you think that the man before you must consider himself very lucky for his successive wins. You pretend that you have been baited, frowning slightly, and so the two of you continue, raising the stakes with every successive round.

“You are quite skilled in this game,” you say after his fourth victory. He’s won enough times in a row that it is an anomaly, albeit not an impossibility, and although you are suspicious of him, you have no grounds of which to accuse him on. 

“It’s merely luck,” he says. “An old friend of mine.”

“Then you won’t mind going for one more?” you say. 

“If you insist,” he says. You’re just about to say that you don’t insist, really, but then you stop, because it’ll almost certainly be lost on him. He raises his eyebrows, and for a moment you wonder if he knows what you’ve just thought, but then you dismiss the notion in turn. Your face is as impassive as his, and if any expression does dare cross it, it is only that which you have chosen yourself.

“Who will you bet on this time?” you say when your hands are laid out. He makes a show of it, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the table, and then he adjusts his glasses. For a brief instant, you are given an unfettered look at his brilliant irises, a pair of unpolished gemstones that nevertheless twinkle in the flickering overhead light, and then he sighs.

“How about a tie? I’ll go all in on that. Maybe even...seven and seven?” he says. Before you can stop yourself, you’re scowling.

“Who are you?” you say. He flips over your cards before you have the chance to do it yourself, and when both hands sum up to seven, that smile of his curls into something feline and knowing.

“Would you look at that,” he says. “I think that’s quite enough for today, don’t you? Ma’am.”

He puts a particular and barbed emphasis on the last word, and then he’s sweeping all of the chips into a velvet pouch, standing up while brushing invisible dust off of his lapels. 

“You can take your winnings to the front and exchange them for credits,” you say finally, tightly, through gritted teeth and a tense jaw.

“I’ll be sure to,” he says, pushing in his chair. “Say, that Knight of Beauty of yours must not have been very honorable, hm? It’s uncharacteristic, but stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say. He only waves at you, all but mockingly, really.

“The IPC is always watching,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m willing to let the situation slide this time, since you almost fooled even me…but don’t push it. Not all of my coworkers are as generous as I, and while we may not pay attention when you cheat desperate men out of meager winnings, it’s an entirely separate issue when you’re cheating us out of our own tax dollars. You understand, right?”

“Like I said, I don’t know what you mean,” you say.

“No worries,” he says, holding up his purse, which is as dark as wine and twice as addicting. “You don’t have to. I’ll take this and consider the matter settled for the moment. I think that’s only fair, right?”

He’s gone before you have the chance to respond.