#really enjoying this one... she's chilling!!!!

[sluttywonu]

orbit ✮

pairing: idol!minghao x f!reader

part of my nana tour series

theme: smut [MDNI]

synopsis: feeling a tad envious of seeing his members leaving one by one to meet with girls they met, dino decided to help minghao out by being the best wingman he can.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: below the cut

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warning: pwp, unprotected sex (don’t do :/), fingering, heavy mention of minghao’s hands (i won’t apologize), finger sucking, reader on top, multiple positions. lmk if i missed anything!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

minghao is a very mature guy, you could say.

sure, on camera with his members he has his silly moments, funny quips but overall, he’s very chill and goes with the flow.

it’s why everyone loves minghao!

on day two of this trip, just like everybody else, he went to the wine festival. he enjoyed a few glasses, made a few camera appearances and was ready to call it a night.

when all the members made it back to the airbnb, woozi was just making it back himself.

“where’d you go?” minghao questioned. woozi smirked, “just walked this girl back to her place.”

minghao raised an eyebrow. “girl? damn.”

“mhm.. hoping to see her again before we leave.”

woozi was smitten for sure. minghao just kind of nodded and went to get ready for bed, looking to relax a bit and maybe finally read the book he brought.

after shooting the next day, minghao was pretty spent. he needed to relax.

resting against the headboard of his bed, minghao pulled his book back out and began to read when dino came in.

dino started rummaging through his suitcase, holding up a few shirts then putting them back, concentrating hard on this decision.

“what are you doing?”

still focusing on what he’s doing, dino replied “i’m about to meet up with this girl i met yesterday.”

minghao rolled his eyes, “does everybody have a fucking girl while we’re here?”

dino laughed, finally looking up.

“what? jealous?” he teased.

“not jealous, no. but—“

“sounds like you’re jealous.” dino smirked, just trying to push minghao a bit more.

minghao closed his book and sat upright in the bed. “don’t be a dick.”

“i’m not! look, this girl i’m seeing has a friend with her.”

that peeked minghao’s interest.

“i can see if any of her friends are interested.”

minghao thought about it a moment, trying to gauge if dino was really serious or not but when dino smiled, minghao agreed.

dino left and minghao waited anxiously for him to return or even a text and when he does come back with a wide grin on his face, minghao raises an eyebrow.

“so?”

“she was great. unbelievable really. i’m gonna try to see her one more time before we leave.”

“nice.” short and simple, hao. he’s just trying to play it cool, not wanting to look like this is all he’s been thinking about the last few hours.

“mhm. we exchanged numbers. i can ask her, if you’re still down.”

minghao nodded, maybe too quickly.

dino chuckled and pulled his phone out to text her.

“i’ll find you if she answers.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

you were in your hotel room, waiting for your friend to finish getting ready so the two of you can go get dinner. come out of the bathroom with her hair still wrapped in a towel, she was smirking at her phone.

“texting that guy you met?”

she nodded, “yeah, and he actually asked if you’d be interested in meeting his friend.”

“are you crazy?” you asked with a slight disdain in your voice.

“what? i really like chan and the two friends i already met. i’m sure this new guy is cool! his names minghao.”

you blinked a few times towards her, really not sure.

she sucked her teeth, “come on. we’re on vacation, let lose. i’m seeing dino again so why not have his friend come along and see if you like him.”

what’s the worse that could happen… when in rome, i guess.

“fine. but if i don’t like him, we’re leaving.”

she rolled her eyes and softly laughed, “i don’t think you’ll hate him. chan is great, joshua and seungcheol were so sweet. i have a good feeling!!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

after dinner, you two went into the heart of the city to get some dessert. she invited dino and his friend to meet up with you guys. you felt a bit nervous to meet minghao but if they’re as nice as she claims, it could be nice to sit and talk with him or something.

you four met at a gelato shop and right away you’re taken back by minghao’s look.

he was beautiful. tall, longer hair, painted nails, the works.

he introduced himself to you, then the infamous dino you’ve heard so much about before he honed in on your friend.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

you can’t believe you almost passed up this offer from your friend, minghao is wonderful.

he’s kind, funny and so fucking cute. you keep catching yourself eyeing up all his features, specifically his nice lips. and his pretty, long fingers.

not only was he nice and easy to talk to, he was hot.

minghao was certainly feeling you, too. he’s going to thank dino immensely later after this.

after the gelato was finished, your friend and dino decided they were going to head off for some alone time, leaving you and minghao to yourselves.

“wanna keep hanging out?” you asked, hopeful he’d say yes.

he agreed with a smile, putting his hands into his pockets. “what should we do?” you then asked. “i’m pretty tired of walking around today, want to just hangout at your hotel?” you checked with your friend to see what her and dino were doing and the hotel is surprisingly clear so you agreed and you walked towards your hotel together.

inside the room, he shrugged his jacket off and sat on the small couch. you took off your crewneck and sat beside him, making yourself comfortable. his eyes looked down to your chest for a moment, hoping you wouldn’t notice. you did. but you didn’t mind.

“i’m having a really good time, y/n.” he smiled. you matched his expression, “yeah. you’ve been really cool to get to know.” “do you think i’d be able to see you again? before we both go?” he asked.

“depends.”

he looked confused for a moment. “on what?”

“are you going to kiss me?”

your forwardness made him chuckle a bit.

he leaned towards you and pressed your lips together, a small smirk tugging on his lips against yours.

he started to pull away but you held his jaw and pulled him back in for one, two, three more, the kisses growing sloppier the more you two shared.

your slid your hand from his jaw to his shoulder to try and ground yourself for a moment. he bit his bottom lip while pressing his forehead into yours,

“i was trying to be a gentleman.”

“i don’t want you to be, hao.”

he suppressed the groan that was about to leave his throat as he looked into your innocent eyes.

he kissed you again, this time his hands finding your waist. his fingertips held you tight, trying to keep you as close as possible before he guided you onto his lap.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you played with his pretty blonde hair that laid over the back of his neck, making him let out small little groans against your lips.

minghao kissed down your jaw to your neck. you let out a tiny moan, tugging his hair a bit in your fingers. “you sound so pretty~” he softly mused into your skin. “i want more, hao..” you moaned out blissfully as your head fell back. he kept kissing your neck while his hands moved down to your ass, grabbing tight on the flesh. “what do you want?” he teased, already knowing the answer.

“touch me.. please!”

he moved you so you were laying on top of the couch and quickly removed your pants. you opened your legs for him, watching as he licked his lips to the sight of you below him. he pressed his thumb into the wet patch left on your panties and smirked watching you squirm a bit.

he pulled the fabric aside and marveled at your wet folds, “everything about you is so fucking pretty.” blush crept up your neck. his words and actions were fully making your head spin.

minghao slid two fingers through your slit, admiring your slick then moved them up to your mouth, stuffing them in. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you lapped your tongue against his long slender digits. he licked his lips as he watched you, his cock aching behind his jeans.

when he pulled them out, he went back to your hole and slowly pushed the two fingers into you. your back arched off the couch as a loud gasp escaped you. slowly, he pumped his fingers in and out of you, going crazy over all your little squeaks and moans.

as his fingers quickened, he leaned down to kiss you again, free hand grabbing your breast through your shirt. you got the hint and sat up slightly to take it off. he leaned back down to kiss down your neck to your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts and collarbones, bringing you closer to your release. your hands thread through his hair again, tugging slightly.

“hao.. close..”

he smirked against your skin, “cum for me, baby..” his tone raspy now.

you came against his fingers. he slowed them down to let you ride them out, kissing you through your high. he sat back down against the couch and pulled his pants down, taking his cock in his hands and stroking it slowly. your eyes watched his fingers as he wrapped around the base. his length was pretty but you didn’t expect anything less.

“ride me?”

you bit your lip and moved to straddle his thighs while he ridded himself of his shirt. slowly, you sank down onto him, digging your nails into his shoulder with a moan. his hands were on your hips, helping you sink down to fully take his length.

once you felt comfortable, you started moving your hips. his moans sounded so angelic while he watched where you two were connected, his hands helping you ride him the perfect speed.

he looked up at you and kissed you once more, drunk on the way you taste. in one swift motion with hands still on your hips, he flipped you two over so you were on your back. you let out a small yelp and held onto him tight as he started pistoning his hips into you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“fuck, hao! don’t stop!”

he felt close but wanted to make sure you came with him so he reached a hand between you two and pressed his thumb into your clit, making you clench around him tight. he hissed and leaned down to kiss your neck again.

“c-close!!”

“cum with me, baby.”

you nodded frantically and came against him, triggering his orgasm. you held him close as you two rode them out, running your fingers through his hair.

after he cleaned you up, you two moved to your bed to cuddle before he has to head back to his airbnb. a smirk on his face, he texted dino.

minghao: i fucking owe you. she’s amazing

[withwritersblock]

Oh! Darling pt. 8

~ Oh! Darling by The Beatles~

Author's Note: teasing the proposal a little longer Summary: honestly no idea Warnings: none Word Count: 2,935

June

Ellie was starting to get accustomed to the sleep schedule of vacation. She was sleeping past seven, which is much better than her usual five in the morning early riser that she was back at home. 

While Ellie was enjoying her sleep, Quinn and Y/N refuse to sleep later than six in the morning. This morning was nothing different. Y/N woke up a few minutes past five and Quinn was only a few minutes after her. She must admit, the morning alone with Quinn has been wonderful. 

She missed having one on one moments with him. Her head rested on his chest as she was drawing different shapes with her finger along his chest. Quinn’s arm was looped around her lower back. Purposely lifting her shirt up as he rested his hand against her bare skin. Their legs were entangled as for the last ten minutes they were simply enjoying the silence.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of her head, she hummed as a response as she lifted her head up to look down towards him. She reached over and rested her hand onto his jawline, she dragged her thumb across the beard that seemingly keeps a permanent spot on his face. 

At first she hated it. She hated kissing him with it, she hated the feeling of stubble beneath her fingertips. But he liked it so she grew to love it. She grew to miss it when it was gone and when it was too long. Although, when it was too long it meant that they were making a deep run into the playoffs. So she kept her complaints to herself.

Her eyes squinted slightly as she continued to glide her thumb across his jawline. She took a deep breath while scanning his features.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked while raising his other hand up and brushing her hair away from her face. She shook her head while pursing her lips forward. He squinted slightly as his other hand glided up her back, sending chills across her frame. “I know when you’re thinking hard, what’s on your mind?” he said with a soft chuckle falling from his lips.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I am not thinking hard,” she whispered as she ran her hand from his jaw down his neck and found its place back onto his chest. He hummed as his hand on her back glided down once more, her body continued to erupt in chills.

“You are, you do this with your eyes when you’re thinking really hard,” he mimics squinting his eyes harshly to tease her. She rolled her eyes dramatically while pulling away from him. She rolled away from him, her body no longer rested on his frame. “It’s adorable,” he whispered as he tracked her movements.

Instantly, he looped his arms around her stomach pulling her against him. He brushed her hair away from her neck. Quinn pressed his lips against her skin for a few seconds. “What’s on your mind?” he whispered in her ear as he dipped his hand beneath her shirt, running his hand along the skin of her stomach. 

“I started my Master’s program to make my own path. I didn’t realize that I would be a mom before that finished and now I’m afraid I won’t have time to use my degree,” she explained quietly, almost as if she was embarrassed to admit it. 

“We’ll get help with Ellie, you’ll get to use your degree. We’ll make it work,” he whispered reassuringly. 

“Is it worse that something in me doesn’t even want to use it? I mean I love the career path. I love the goals I could have with it but…” she trailed off as her breath caught in her throat. She rolled over, needing to meet Quinn’s gaze. Her hands landed on his chest. 

“Would it be horrible of me to want to stay home with Ellie? I mean I spent all of this money to get my degrees, held off on us getting engaged so I could have my maiden name on them. Would it be horrible if it all came to nothing?” she questioned. 

“It wouldn’t come to nothing, beautiful. You worked hard for them. It shows our daughter that she could do whatever she puts her mind to. If our Elliana wants to become a professional athlete, she can. If she wants to become a scholar someday she can. She has two parents who worked hard to get what they wanted. Just because you want to stay home and be an incredible mother to our beautiful girl doesn’t mean your hard work goes to waste. And if you change your mind in three years and you want to start working again then you will be an incredible working mom. I can promise you that,” he expressed as he stroked a few pieces of hair away from her face.

She smiled softly as she blinked away the sudden tears that filled her eyes. She leaned towards him, pressing her lips so delicately against his in the process. “You always have the right thing to say to make me feel better,” she mumbled against his lips before pecking them once more.

“I’ve had over ten years of practice, pretty girl,” he whispered. She smiled softly as she looked deeply into his eyes. Their noses bumped into one another as he took a hold of her neck, “I’ll support any plan you want for the future. But if you want another baby, at least let me propose first,” he said jokingly. 

She giggled as she rolled onto her back as Quinn slowly climbed on top of her. Her legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he rested both of his arms on either side of her head. Her hands rested on the base of his neck as her thumbs glided along the sides of his neck.

“When’s that happening by the way?” she asked teasingly.

“Oh, I’ve got that all planned out,” he said while nodding slowly. Her eyes widened as she fought off a grin.

“Oh really?” she asked while gliding her hand down his chest. He smirked as he nodded again. “Is it happening here or in Vancouver?” she asked while raising her eyebrows. Leaning down, Quinn kissed her urgently.

“Do you really think I’ll tell you that? After almost eleven years? Really?” he asked teasingly as he began to pepper wet kisses down her jawline. She tilted her head back, allowing him to trail kisses down the center of her neck.

“At least tell me how soon,” she mumbled as he continued to climb down her frame. He shoved her shirt off of her stomach as he pressed wet kisses against her hip bone. 

“Nope, you’ve waited a long time. You can wait some more,” he teased as he dipped his finger beneath her silk pajama shorts and began to tug them down her frame.

 A breathy laugh left her lips as she gripped the bed sheet allowing him to pull her shorts off of her. He tossed them to the floor as he glanced behind them, double checking that the door was actually locked. It was as he pressed his lips to her thigh before he slowly parted her legs by gliding his hand down her inner thigh. He smirked towards her as he watched her squirm under her touch. 

“You are such an asshole,” she mumbled as she tilted her head back while shutting her eyes. 

He smirked as he pressed his lips to her inner thigh, “Oh, so you want me to stop?” he asked teasingly.

“God no, please don’t,” she mumbled. He chuckled as he looped his arms around her thighs, stablizing her in place.

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbled against her leg.

~four days later~

He was a liar. He was a big fat liar because the only thing he had planned out was the ring. The ring that he knew was perfect but that was it. That’s all he has got to show for that he had the proposal planned. Well, the other thing he had planned was that he wanted their daughter to be there. But that was it. That’s all he’s got. 

There was no plan. Not even a hint of a plan. He wanted to get it done while they were in Michigan. They were leaving a few days after the 4th of July so he needed to plan accordingly. Everything felt too basic and that he wasn’t sure if anything was going to be right.

Ellie was in Quinn’s arms as he was pacing in her nursery. He walked towards the door of the nursery and locked the door. He let out a long drawn out breath while he pulled the ring box out of his pocket. He clicked it open and showed it to his little girl. She instantly reached towards it. 

“Careful, my sweet girl. You see this is very special so you have to be careful,” he explained. Ellie let out a quiet okay while she pulled her hands away and back towards her little chest. “This is for Momma,” he let out quietly.

“Momma?” Ellie let out widening her eyes as she met Quinn’s gaze. Quinn nodded dramatically. 

“Super special gift for Momma that I need your help with,” he let out quietly as he continued to bounce Ellie slowly in his arms while showing her the shiny ring. He could see that Ellie was restraining from touching it. She was a great listener for such a little girl. “Should Dada ask Momma on the boat or at home?” he questioned. 

“Boat!” she let out loudly.

“Alrighty then, my darling! We shall give Momma the beautiful ring on the boat. You need to keep it a secret though, can you do that?” he questioned. He was putting a lot of trust in a sixteen month old but something in him deep down told him that Elliana would definitely keep it secret.

“Yes!” she called out while clapping her hands together. Quinn let out a laugh as he clasped the little ring box and shoved it back into his pocket.

“That’s amazing Ellie baby but you know what time it is,” he sing songed while guiding her towards the crib in the center of the room beneath the window. She tossed her little head back as a huff left her little lips. She was a mini Y/N that’s for sure. “Darling, you are so sleepy, you know that,” he offered as he decided to walk towards the rocking chair beside the crib.

He slowly sat down cradling Ellie in his arms. She reached her tiny arm and took a hold of Quinn’s shirt as her eyes started fluttering closed instantly. He smiled as he began to rock in the chair slowly. He smiled down as he watched her eyes remain closed. He stayed rocking her in the chair for a few more minutes making sure she was fully asleep in his arms before he carried her towards the crib and delicately placed her down.

He leaned back watching Ellie stirr slightly before she rolled onto her stomach. He smiled to himself as he sauntered out of the nursery and carefully shut the door behind him. He spun on his heel and jumped at the sight of Y/N. “Jesus, baby, scared the hell out of me,” he mumbled. His body completely straightened, fully aware of the square box in his pocket. 

“She’s asleep?” Y/N asked quietly. Quinn nodded and a mischievous grin formed on her lips. “Your parents are out to drink with some friends and Jacky and Luke are out at some bar for the night.” she explained as she tugged him towards her by his shirt. He chuckled as he glanced behind him towards the nursery door. 

“What’s got you all…” he trailed off as she spun on her heel as started walking away from him. His gaze lowered and admired the way her body swayed back and forth. He could never get tired the way her body looked or moved. “Baby,” he called out as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He wrapped his hand tightly around the tiny box. 

He thought about dropping down to one knee and asking right there but after so many years he couldn’t. It would be very anticlimatic. He cleared his throat, “I’ll meet you in our room, I just–give me five minutes,” he expressed through laughter. She spun on her heel as she met Quinn’s gaze. She winked towards him teasingly as she started walking further down the hallway.

He let out a sigh of relief as he rounded the corner towards Jack’s room; where he’s been keeping the ring stashed. He dropped it in the same drawer, burying it beneath a few of Jack’s shirts. He shoved the drawer closed before he darted out of the room again. He took an urgent breath as he continued down the hallway towards their bedroom. He shoved the door open and shut it behind him. He pressed his back against the door as he saw Y/N sitting at the edge of the bed with a grin on her lips.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked while twisting the lock. He kept his back pressed against the door. She shook her head innocently as she leaned back onto her hands. Quinn pursed his lips forward as he fought off a smirk as he walked towards her. He stood in front of her scanning her frame. 

His eyes widened as he leaned towards her, stopping short of kissing her. Slowly, she raised her hands up and rested her hands on the base of his neck. She glided her thumbs along the sides of his neck. He leaned towards her, kissing her softly. “Baby?” he mumbled against her lips. 

She hummed as she slowly slid away from him, she laid on her back as Quinn took that as an opportunity to climb on top of her. A soft giggle left her lips as her hands found the base of his neck again. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. 

“If I were to propose, would you want it to be a huge production or super casual,” he asked while peppering kisses along her jawline, mainly because he didn’t want to meet her gaze.

“I thought you already had this planned out,” she teased as she glided her hand along his neck before running her fingers through his hair.

“I’ve got a few plans, trying to figure out what would be perfect for you,” he whispered into her ear before he began to press wet kisses along her neck. She hummed while pressing her lips together. Tilting her head back, Quinn began to kiss down the center of her neck. 

“Super casual, we don’t need a production, we’ve been together forever, Q-Quinn that’s what the wedding is for,” she explained as Quinn pulled away from her skin as he hovered over her, scanning her features.

“Oh so we’re going to have a production of a wedding?” he asked, a smirk toying his lips. 

“Oh definitely. We’ve got a lot of celebrating to do,” she mumbled teasingly. He grinned as he leaned back, tugging at this shirt and tossing it to the floor. He fell onto his back and without hesitation she straddled his lap. 

Slowly, she ran her hands down his chest. He grinned as he dragged his hands along her thighs. She leaned down and connected their lips instantly. He hummed against her lips as he tightened his grip along the back of her thighs. She took a hold of his cheeks while she slowly grinded against his lap. 

“Baby,” he let out against her lips. She hummed as she pressed her lips against his jawline. His stubble prickled against her lips but she loved the sensation. “What’s going through your mind?” he asked while his hands were teasingly gliding along her frame. 

She pouted as she leaned back, looking into his eyes. “I don’t want to go back to real life, that’s all.” she whispered as she ran her hand down his neck while her gaze was actively admiring his lips. “I love our little life bubble we’re in. I am not ready for you to start traveling for games again,” she mumbled.

He clenched his jaw as he squeezed her skin for a second. “Why are you thinking about that now? My love, we have two months,” he whispered. She pressed her lips against his in a chaste kiss. 

“I know, I’m just–I don’t know,” she muttered while she shook her head slightly. 

“Come ‘ere,” he reached towards her and pulled her towards him by the base of her neck. He kissed her softly as her hands planted onto his cheeks. “It won’t be like last season, I promise you that,” he mumbled against her lips. 

Her eyes fluttered open as she looked down towards him. Their eyes connected and she nodded. “Yeah,” was all she was able to let out.

“Plus you’re done with school, which means no added stress, right?” He explained as his hand glided up and down her back. She nodded as she leaned towards him, kissing him once more as the heat between them accelerated. 

After a few seconds she leaned back, Quinn’s hands rested on her thighs. Meeting his gaze, she took a hold of her shirt and pulled it away from her frame. Quinn’s cheeks instantly flushed red as he eyed her body.

[theethighpriestess]

Chapter 2 - Sweet Aftertaste

A/N: Annnnnd we're back! Thank all of you for reading and enjoying these two the same way I do writing them. Y'all's reviews have been EVERYTHING and really helped in motivating me to write more. I hope y'all enjoy!

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Eden Taylor (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, Adult language, Blood & vampirism, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Kink, Explicit Sex

Summary: Eden’s broke. Her rent’s late, her car sounds like it’s choking, and her dreams of making it as a singer in New Orleans are getting harder to hold onto. So when she sees a sketchy little ad offering big cash to be a “discreet donor,” she answers it. She tells herself it’s just money. Just blood. Just once. But the contract’s signed, the room is breathing, and Eden? She might’ve just stepped into something deeper than debt.

Word Count: 5.7K

Eden woke up with glitter on her collarbone and an ache in her throat that wasn’t from singing.

The apartment was quiet except for the whir of the box fan in the window, pushing humid air around like it owed her something. Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand. A text from the DJ at Q93. He said he might spin her song again this weekend “if the vibes are right.” Eden didn’t bother replying. The first time was a favor. The second would cost her, and she didn’t have anything left to barter but herself. She was desperate, but not that desperate. 

At least not for him.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, fingers brushing her neck out of habit. No bite marks. Not anymore. Just skin and memory. But she swore she could still feel the echo of it, warm and deep, like the ghost of a kiss pressed just below her jaw.

It had been a month since that night in the velvet hallway. Since Stack. Since the contract.

In that time, she’d won two open mic nights and damn near shut down the room last Friday with a cover of Aretha Franklin’s I Never Loved a Man that left one of the judges wiping his eyes. She could still see the way the spotlight kissed her cheekbones and danced off her new gold hoops, gleaming like they belonged on someone destined to be seen. There was something different in her voice now. Like smoke curling through velvet, deeper, richer. Folks kept asking what changed. What she was doing differently.

She told them honey and lemon. But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was her reflection didn’t look the same anymore. Her skin had taken on this soft, sun-kissed glow that didn’t wash away, even when she hadn’t seen daylight in two days. Her curls held more definition, as if they remembered something her fingers didn’t. And her eyes—her eyes had gone a shade darker at the edges. Like she’d been let in on something sinful and couldn’t quite shake the knowledge of it.

She’d started leaning into the change, too. Wore deeper lipstick now. Plums and wines. Smoked out her liner like a girl who dreamed in noir. Last night, she’d hit the stage in high-waisted black pants and a vintage bustier that shimmered under the lights like oil on water. The crowd had eaten it up.

And when they cheered, when they clapped, when they lined up afterwards to tell her she had "it", all she could think about was the taste of iron and incense on her tongue. The heat that spread through her limbs when Stack fed. The way her body had gone quiet and alive at the same time, like every wire had finally connected.

She closed her eyes again. Let herself feel it. Just for a second.

Then she reached for her phone and scrolled through her messages until she landed on the one labeled simply:

STACK

She'd saved it once he confirmed that it was indeed his direct number and not some dial-up vampire hotline. 

Her fingers hovered.

Then typed.

u free tonight?

She hit send.

The message delivered. No reply. Just stillness.

Eden tossed the phone onto her nightstand and sat up, rubbing her arms as a chill crept across her skin. It was too early in the morning to be this on edge. Too early to be this distracted over a job. This was supposed to be simple. A transaction. Something she could compartmentalize.

She swung her legs over the bed and grabbed her notebook from the milk crate beside her mattress. It was soft with wear, pages curling at the edges and speckled with glitter and pen smudges. She flipped to a clean page, clicked her pen, and wrote the date in the corner like she always did. Then she sat there for a moment, the air thick around her.

“Write something,” she told herself. Anything.

Her pen moved before she could think. Like it had been possessed by the spirit of a lust-filled siren. 

"You pull the heat from my veins like summer I breathe slow, don’t even stutter Touch me like you own the thunder—"

She blinked. Paused. Stared at the words like they didn’t belong to her.

She turned the page and tried again.

"Bitten, but not broken Sipped slow, like devotion I come undone in motion—"

She let out a frustrated breath and dropped the notebook into her lap.

Everything she wrote lately came out sounding... intimate. Like a confession. The kind of lyrics you whisper against someone’s throat in a too-warm room. They didn’t sound like radio hits. They sounded like diary entries soaked in red wine and candle wax.

She’d never written like this before. Not until that night. Not until Stack.

She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her skin, even now. The slow, deliberate pressure of his hand guiding her wrist to sign. The way the room changed when he fed. How it breathed with her, or maybe through her.

She was supposed to feel used. Hollow. Ashamed.

Instead, she felt tuned.

Like he’d struck some chord in her, and it hadn’t stopped humming since.

Her phone buzzed again.

She grabbed it quick, heart jerking in her chest.

But it wasn’t him.

Just a missed call from a number she didn’t know, probably the collection agency again. They always called around this time, as if they knew she was weakest in the morning.

She slumped back against the pillows, notebook still open on her thighs. Her pen hung loose in her hand, ink staining the crease of her thumb.

This wasn’t normal.

None of this was normal.

But she didn’t want normal anymore.

She wanted more.

She shut the notebook and slid it under her bed like it was something dirty. Her fingers brushed against an old sock and a flyer from her first open mic night. She pulled the flyer out and stared at it. The ink was faded, but her name still glowed under the crinkled lamination. “Live Soul Sessions,” it read, with a blurry photo of her holding the mic too close to her face. Back then, she’d been nervous and hungry and certain she’d die if nobody clapped.

She still felt hungry. Just not in the same way.

Eden pushed herself off the bed and moved into the kitchenette, letting the cracked tile floor cool her feet. She grabbed a mug, rinsed it quick, and poured the last of her coffee. It was lukewarm and bitter, but it gave her something to do with her hands. Something human.

The dishes from last night sat in the sink, crusted over with the memory of boxed mac and cheese and too much hot sauce. She turned on the faucet, ran water over them, and scrubbed like the plates had done something to her. Her hands moved fast, furious almost, like if she cleaned hard enough, she could scrape off whatever had attached itself to her since that night.

But even in the silence, she felt it. That shimmer of heat behind her ears. The hum in her chest. Like something inside her had been rewired and she was too stubborn to admit it.

She checked her phone again.

Still nothing.

So she put on a record instead. One of her mom’s old Anita Baker joints, crackling under the needle just the way she liked it. The apartment filled with that low, honeyed voice, and for a moment, Eden let herself melt into the comfort of it. She swayed a little in front of the sink, mug in one hand, dish towel in the other. It was soft, like remembering something without having to name it.

But her reflection in the microwave door caught her off guard.

The girl looking back wasn’t the same one from that open mic flyer.

Her features had sharpened somehow. Or maybe deepened. Like someone had turned the contrast up on her soul. Her lips looked darker. Her collarbone more pronounced. Her eyes carried that slow, dangerous glint she used to envy in older women who wore perfume names like Poison and Opium.

She blinked and looked away.

The coffee had gone cold in her hand.

She dumped it and grabbed her keys.

Outside, the heat hit her like a quilt straight from the dryer. Thick, slow, and familiar. New Orleans in July never did anything quietly. Even the air had a personality.

She climbed into her Honda, cursed at the seatbelt, and turned the key. The car gave her a little fight, but it started. Barely. She turned the radio up and told herself she’d go to the store. Buy something cheap but filling. She’d light a candle. She’d clean the bathroom. She’d write something upbeat. She’d call her cousin back. She’d remember who she was before all this.

She made it all the way to the corner store before turning the car around.

The sun was dropping low by then, fat and gold against the skyline. The kind of light that made everything look too beautiful to last. Her hands trembled a little on the wheel as she passed the same intersections, the same cracked sidewalks, the same bus stop where someone was always asleep.

She didn’t know why she turned around. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the ache behind her ribs that hadn’t left since that night. Or maybe it was just the silence.

Stack never texted back.

Not that night. Not the next day. Not even the day after that.

A week passed. Seven long days where the air clung to her like regret. She washed her sheets, saged her room, even deleted the text thread so she wouldn’t keep checking. But her body remembered him in ways she couldn’t erase.

The dreams came first.

She would wake up tangled in her covers, mouth dry, thighs damp, breath sharp and shallow. In one dream, she sat across from him in that velvet room, and he fed from her wrist while jazz poured from an invisible speaker. In another, she walked barefoot through a hallway made entirely of blood, the floor warm and alive beneath her. Sometimes, she didn’t dream at all. Just jolted awake with the taste of copper on her tongue and the echo of his voice in her ear.

“Sweet girl.”

She hated how her stomach fluttered when she remembered that.

She tried to write through it. Picked up her notebook and her pink gel pen and forced out a few verses. Nothing worked. The lyrics came out wrong. Wet. Sticky. More moan than melody. She scribbled them out and started over. And again. And again.

By Thursday, she had a pile of ripped pages and still no rent money.

That morning, she stood in the kitchen staring down a box of pasta and half a jar of marinara. She boiled the noodles, burnt the garlic, and sat cross-legged on the couch eating out of the pot. Halfway through, her phone lit up with a call from her landlord.

She didn’t answer. He left a voicemail.

Her rent was three weeks past due. He was giving her until the fifteenth. After that, she was out.

She played the message three times, then deleted it.

That night, she curled up under the box fan and turned the radio to Q93. The DJ she met at her last open mic promised he’d spin her single again. He’d said it with a grin and two fingers on his heart, like he meant it.

She waited through five commercials and three back-to-back tracks.

Then he played someone else in the artist showcase.

Some local rapper with a cousin in Baton Rouge who handled promotion. Eden just sat there, frozen in the glow of the dial, hands limp in her lap, voice trapped behind her teeth.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She got up, brushed her teeth, and poured the rest of her wine down the sink. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror looked paler than usual. Not sick, just dimmed. Like someone had pulled a layer of color out of her.

Back in bed, she stared at the ceiling for a long time.

Then reached for her phone.

Her fingers hovered over Stack’s name, still saved in her contacts even after she deleted the thread. She told herself she was being stupid. That she didn’t need him or his money. That she could figure this out on her own.

But she didn’t believe it.

Not really.

She opened a new message.

At first, she wrote nothing. Just stared at the blinking cursor like it might write itself.

Then, slowly, she typed:

Still hungry?

She hit send before she could change her mind.

The message marked “Delivered.”

She turned off the screen.

This time, she didn’t wait.

She got up and cleaned the apartment. Not because she expected company, but because the movement helped. She washed dishes, changed her sheets, swept the floor, and lit one of her emergency candles.

It smelled like fake vanilla and ambition.

The radio stayed off.

At 10:00, her phone buzzed.

One new message.

Always. Midnight. Same place. Wear red. I like you in red.

Her knees almost gave out.

She stared at the message so long the screen dimmed.

When she finally looked up, she didn’t feel like herself. Or maybe she felt like too much of herself. Like the version of Eden that had been buried beneath good manners and unpaid bills had finally clawed her way up.

She moved through the room with purpose now.

No hesitation.

She peeled off her tank top and stepped into the red slip dress she’d been saving for a different kind of night. The fabric was cool against her skin, soft as breath. She added a pair of gold hoops, pressed highlighter along her cheekbones, and smudged a little kohl under her eyes. Just enough to keep the softness from feeling sweet.

No perfume.

Just rose water and heat.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Not pretty. Not delicate.

Powerful.

Or maybe dangerous.

She didn’t smile.

She grabbed her keys and left.

Outside, the heat was thicker than it had been all day. The streets shimmered with steam, and the air smelled like wet stone and magnolia. Her car started on the first try, a small miracle.

She didn’t play music.

Didn’t think about the past week or the rent or the DJ or the way her body still ached in places she hadn’t touched.

All she thought about was the building. The velvet room. The sound of Stack’s voice and the weight of his hands.

And how this time, she would be ready.

Eden’s knuckles stayed white on the wheel for most of the drive. The sky had already gone dark, that inky New Orleans kind of dark where the clouds hung low and the streetlights flickered like they weren’t sure if they should stay on. The hum of the city softened into something less human the deeper she got into the Warehouse District. No jazz. No bounce music. Just the distant rattle of a passing streetcar and the heavy hush of a place that remembered too much.

She rolled the windows down halfway. The air smelled like hot pavement and something metallic. Her curls danced in the breeze, sticking to the sweat on her temple. Her signature hoops caught the light from a passing gas station and sent it scattering across her rearview.

She didn’t rush.

She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or knowing he would already be there, waiting, like before. Either way, she let the drive stretch. Let it press against her ribs until her chest felt tight enough to crack. She passed two closed daiquiri shops and a guy pushing a shopping cart full of clothes hangers. The familiar mess of the city she called home comforted her in a strange way. The way the broken things still moved.

She parked two streets down again. Her usual spot. The building didn’t look any different. Still tall, still quiet, still pretending to be nothing but old brick and dust. No red light above the door this time. No strange hum in the air. But the feeling was the same. Like walking into a secret you weren’t supposed to say out loud.

Eden stepped out of the car and let her heels click against the concrete like punctuation marks. Her dress clung to her in the breeze. It was sleeveless and just short enough to make her feel like she had something to barter with. Her skin looked richer in the moonlight, bronzed and kissed with shimmer. Her eyes, lined dark, held a weight she hadn’t had before.

This wasn’t the girl from a month ago.

This was someone who knew what it meant to let herself be touched by something unholy and come out aching for more.

The front door creaked open before she could knock. Of course it did.

She stepped inside, letting the velvet hush of the hallway wrap around her. The amber lights pulsed low along the floorboards, and her breath slowed to match their rhythm. This place didn’t just trap sound. It swallowed it. The click of her heels dulled as she moved, her hand brushing against the walls like muscle memory.

No maître d’.

No instructions.

Only the door at the end, carved and waiting.

She reached it and paused for the briefest moment, hand on the handle.

Then she opened it.

Stack was seated where he always seemed to be, lounging in that deep leather chair like it had grown from the floor just for him. Tonight, he wore slate, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to reveal the gleam of a gold watch. The chain at his throat caught the lamplight, and the glow in his eyes burned low and violet.

He looked like desire bottled. Not wild, not soft, but controlled. Dangerous in the way that silk can be dangerous when it tightens.

“You came,” he said.

She stepped into the room fully and let the door shut behind her. “You responded this time.”

His eyes lingered on her, then dropped to her hands. She wasn’t holding anything, but somehow he still looked like he expected more. Or maybe less.

“You reached out before,” he said slowly. “I didn’t answer.”

“I noticed,” she said, voice cooler than she expected it to be.

A pause settled between them, long enough to mean something.

“Why?” she asked.

He stood then, not abruptly, just with the sort of grace that made every movement look deliberate. His shoes didn’t make a sound against the polished wood.

“I didn’t answer,” he said, “because you weren’t asking the right thing.”

“I was hungry,” she said.

“But not for me,” he replied.

That hit somewhere in her chest. She swallowed hard. “How would you know?”

Stack moved closer. His presence filled the room like incense. Not smoke. Something heavier. The scent of dark spices, old wood, and something that reminded her of fresh-turned earth after rain.

“I know the taste of someone who doesn’t know what they want yet,” he said softly.

“I wanted to feel good again,” she said. “That night… I felt more alive than I ever have.”

Stack studied her. “Alive is easy to fake. What about after? When the music ends. When the lights come back on.”

She didn’t answer. She looked away, suddenly ashamed of how much she had wanted this. Not just the feeding, but the attention. The hush of the room. The way her name sounded in his mouth.

He moved closer still. Now just a foot away. “What brought you back tonight?”

Eden didn’t speak for a long time. Then finally, she said, “My song didn’t play.”

Stack raised an eyebrow. “What song?”

“The one the DJ promised to spin. I stayed up and waited. Got dressed like a fool. Told my friends to tune in.” Her voice cracked, but she steadied it. “He played someone else.”

Stack nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

“And my landlord’s threatening to evict me,” she added. “So yeah, maybe I’m not here for the right reasons.”

“You’re here,” he said. “That’s enough.”

She felt something stir in her again. Not fear. Not hope.

Need.

“Will it feel the same?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’ll feel worse.”

Eden looked up at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

His smile was slow and private. “No. It’s supposed to prepare you.”

He stepped aside and gestured toward the chaise near the back of the room, where the velvet shadows seemed to lean in closer.

“Come,” he said.

Eden didn’t move right away.

Then she stepped forward, the weight in her chest matching the weight in her hips, her breath, her thoughts. Each step felt heavier, not in dread, but in knowing. This time, she wasn’t walking into the unknown.

She was choosing it.

And for the first time in weeks, the static in her chest began to clear.

The chaise waited in the corner of the room like a dare. All wine-colored velvet and low gold trim, as if it had been plucked from the parlor of some ghost-haunted mansion and set here just for her. The light above it was dim and warm, like it had been filtered through honey. Eden stepped closer, but didn’t sit.

Stack stayed beside her, close enough that she could feel the pull of him without touching. Like gravity had chosen a new center.

“I remember how you tasted,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Bright with fear at first. Then smooth. Lingering. Like blood-orange soaked in red wine, left to bloom.”

Eden blinked once, then turned her face toward him. “That sounds… expensive.”

“It was,” he said. “But fear only feeds once.”

He walked slowly in front of her, not circling exactly, just shifting her axis. Watching. Waiting.

“I’m not scared tonight,” she said.

Stack nodded. “Then tell me where you want it.”

It wasn’t crude, the way he asked. Wasn’t even suggestive. But her breath still hitched at the question.

She looked down at her hands, then at her bare thighs, brown and smooth beneath the edge of her dress. She had rubbed coconut oil into them before leaving, like instinct. Not to be touched, but to be seen.

“I need more than last time,” she said. “Money-wise.”

His gaze didn’t change, but she could feel it wrap around her. Not greedy. Not impatient. Just... focused.

“So I want both thighs,” she said, lifting her chin.

Stack’s eyes narrowed, not in disapproval but in curiosity. “Ambitious.”

“Desperate,” she corrected.

A silence settled again, and Eden hated the part of her that liked it. The part that wanted to stretch this moment just to see how long she could stand inside it.

His voice softened. “You know it won’t be like the neck.”

“I know.”

“The thigh is slower. Deeper.”

“I can take it.”

Stack’s smile was faint and mildly seductive. “I don’t doubt that.”

He stepped back slightly and reached for a thin gold tray on the table. It was old, maybe antique, with a mirrored bottom and ornate handles. On it rested the same ink-dark parchment from last time, but with new lines.

New terms.

She scanned the top of the page. It read: Donor Consent — Dual Feeding Site.

The payout sat at the bottom, circled in crimson ink.

Eleven hundred dollars.

Eden’s throat tightened. That would cover rent. Groceries. Maybe even leave enough for a few hours of studio time or that silk dress she kept eyeing in the window of that little boutique on Magazine Street. Something that felt like a win.

She took the pen without hesitation and signed.

The ink bled smooth across the paper. As soon as she finished the last loop in her name, the lights shifted again. Not brighter. Just sharper, as if the room had taken a breath and was now holding it.

Stack stepped closer. “Do you want help undressing?”

The question wasn’t vulgar. It didn’t feel like a come-on. If anything, it felt... reverent. Like asking permission to enter a chapel.

“No,” Eden said, voice quieter now. “I got it.”

She slipped her fingers under the hem of her dress and pulled it up, bunching it at her hips as she lowered herself onto the velvet chaise. The fabric kissed her thighs with warmth. She adjusted until her knees parted slightly, one leg draped over the edge. She didn’t bother tugging the dress down. There wasn’t much point.

Her skin was already buzzing.

Stack knelt beside the chaise. He didn’t touch her yet. Just looked.

Eden’s breath caught in her throat.

The anticipation licked up her spine, hot and sweet.

Then her mind began to wander.

She saw his mouth on her thigh. Imagined the weight of his hand bracing her hip. The press of his breath before his fangs sank in. Her eyes fluttered closed, and suddenly she wasn’t in the room anymore.

She was somewhere darker.

Somewhere slower.

Stack was on his knees in the red-lit hallway of her dream, one hand sliding up the inside of her thigh while her blood painted his lips. She felt her back arch. Felt the way her pulse throbbed against his mouth. She wanted to call his name, but her tongue felt too thick. Her hands found the sharp lines of his taper, fingers brushing the neat part on the left side of his head, and she—

“Eden.”

Her eyes flew open.

Stack was watching her.

She blinked quickly, mouth parted, chest heaving slightly.

“Where were you just now?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know,” she said, voice shaky.

“Yes, you do,” he sneered.

Eden licked her lips. “I was daydreaming. Or maybe imagining.”

Stack leaned in, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushed her knee.

“Try not to drift this time,” he said. “Stay here with me.”

She nodded, heart pounding.

He brought his face close to her right thigh and pressed a single, deliberate kiss just above the curve of her knee. His lips were cool, not cold. Silken. The kind of kiss that made her toes curl against the velvet.

“I will warn you only once,” he murmured.

Eden tilted her head, watching him. “About what?”

His purple eyes lifted to meet hers.

“This is going to change you.”

Stack didn’t ask her if she was ready. He didn’t have to.

Eden laid back against the curve of the velvet chaise, the soft fabric pressing into her spine while the heavy air settled over her like a second skin. The room had grown impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to pulse at the edges. She could hear the sound of her own breath, shallow and slow, feel the rush of blood as it moved beneath her skin.

Stack remained grounded at her center, calm and unshaken. His expression stayed unreadable, though his eyes seemed to catch more light now, the violet gleam deepening like dusk settling over water. There was no greed in his gaze, no flicker of desire or pity—only focus. A quiet, almost ritual stillness that made the space around them feel heavier, as if something holy or forbidden was about to unfold.

He reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a small knife. It was a gold WWI trench blade, worn but well-kept, with a handle shaped like brass knuckles, dulled from years of use. Along the spine, the name “Moore” was etched in delicate script, nearly swallowed by the patina. It wasn’t flashy, but it carried weight. The kind of heirloom that didn’t need to explain itself to be respected.

Eden’s breath caught.

He saw it.

“I don’t always bite,” he said quietly, as if he were offering a lesson. “Some sites bleed better when they’re opened slowly.”

Eden didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat had gone dry, but not from fear. From something closer to want. Not just the physical kind. This was deeper. Thicker. The same sensation she felt when her favorite melody hit just right, when a note trembled in her throat like it belonged there.

Stack set the blade aside and looked up at her. “May I?”

She nodded.

He began with her left thigh.

His hands slipped beneath her thigh, lifting it with quiet care. His touch was cool, steady, exacting. Not possessive or hesitant, just deliberate. He studied her skin like it was something rare, the kind of surface you didn’t just look at, but read. Every inch seemed to speak, and he listened.

Then he leaned in.

His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, feather-light. Her breath hitched again, but she stayed silent. His mouth found the spot where the vein pulsed strongest, and he pressed a kiss there, soft and steady. Then another, just above it.

Eden’s hands gripped the edge of the chaise.

She wasn’t expecting the gentleness. Or how it made her ache.

Stack’s tongue slid across her skin, cool and slow. He opened his mouth, and she felt the faint graze of a fang. Not a cut, not yet. Just the threat of it. Then came the sting.

The blade.

A thin line of fire, quick and sharp, bloomed across her thigh. She gasped through her teeth, not from pain, but from the sudden, vivid heat of it. Her blood responded immediately, rushing to meet the edge of the wound.

Stack’s mouth closed over it.

He drank.

It was nothing like last time.

This wasn’t a sip at the neck, casual and restrained. This was deeper. More intimate. His tongue moved with slow care, collecting every drop. The suction was soft but insistent, pulling her open from the inside out. Her breath grew ragged. Her thighs trembled slightly beneath his hands.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t look up.

He just drank, and the sound of it: soft, wet, rhythmic, sank into her bones.

Eden’s eyes fluttered shut.

In her mind, the room blurred. She felt heat bloom behind her eyelids. Her skin prickled. Her fingers dug into the velvet. Her hips shifted just slightly, chasing the pulse of his mouth without meaning to.

Then, just as her head began to tilt back, he stopped.

He moved to the other side.

The air between her thighs felt cool now, slick and exposed. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. Stack caught her gaze just as he leaned toward her right leg.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

He knew.

He kissed the skin first, then licked, then bit.

This time, there was no blade.

His fangs pierced her slowly, deliberately. She moaned, louder than she meant to, and he steadied her with one hand at her hip. His grip wasn’t tight, just grounding.

The pull of his mouth returned, firmer now.

Eden tried to stay still, but her whole body had started to hum. A low vibration that pulsed in her belly and crawled up her throat. She bit the inside of her lip to stay quiet. Her vision swam with color. Not just red, but rose and plum and gold. Heat licked at the backs of her knees and wrapped itself around her spine.

Her head lolled to the side.

She felt weightless.

There was no room, no chair, no velvet.

Just his mouth, her skin, the sharp ache of being taken, and the strange bloom of pleasure it left behind.

Then it ended.

He pulled back slowly, lips wet, eyes half-lidded.

He wiped the corners of his mouth with the linen cloth, folding it once and tucking it away. His hands lingered at her thighs, gentle, grounding.

“You’re still with me?” he asked.

Eden nodded, barely. Her voice wouldn’t work.

Stack pressed both hands to her thighs, firm but tender, sealing the wounds with the pressure of his palms. The burn softened into something warm. Something molten. Her skin pulsed beneath his touch.

He didn’t say anything else.

Neither did she.

Not yet.

The only sound was her breath, and the way it didn’t quite belong to her anymore.

Her legs still tingled by the time she slipped the dress back down. The velvet chaise creaked softly beneath her as she rose, unsteady at first, then steadier with each breath. She felt loose. Warm in all the wrong places. Like her nerves had been unraveled and carefully strung back together in a different order.

Stack didn’t follow her to the door this time. He stood near the table, arms folded, watching her with that same quiet intensity. His mouth was clean, no trace of blood. Before she turned to leave, he nodded toward the envelope resting neatly on the corner of the table. Thick with cash. No words. No gesture. Just a silent exchange that said everything. The air between them felt heavier now. 

Eden didn’t trust herself to speak.

She gave him a nod, the kind that felt too small for everything that had just passed between them. He nodded back.

The hallway out felt longer. Or maybe her body just moved slower now, unsure of itself. Every step echoed down the velvet-lined walls, each one tethered to the phantom heat of his mouth.

When the cool night air hit her skin, it brought a shiver that didn’t belong to the temperature. The city still moved around her; drunk laughter on the sidewalk, the distant thump of bass from a passing car. But everything felt far away. Like she was still halfway in the room.

She climbed into the Honda and sank into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Her hands hovered on the wheel for a moment, fingers flexing. The engine coughed to life. She didn’t bother with the radio this time. Silence felt more honest.

The drive home was a blur of traffic lights and hazy streetlamps. Her thighs still pulsed faintly beneath her dress, not with pain, but with memory. Her whole body felt like a secret. Like she’d been cracked open and tasted, and now something inside her was lit.

She parked outside her building and sat for a while, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. She touched her lips without realizing it, then dragged her hand down to rest at the top of her thigh.

It wasn’t love, but something heavier. Slower. It curled low in her belly and didn’t care if it made sense.

She thought about how still he had been. How he moved with purpose, but never rushed. How he looked at her. Not like prey, not like a plaything, but like someone who already knew her limits better than she did.

Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat.

She jumped, heart lurching. For a moment, she didn’t want to look.

Then she did.

STACK:

“You taste different when you’re turned on.”

Eden stared at the screen.

Her breath caught.

No symbols. No small talk. Just the truth, tucked between two lines like a hand brushing the nape of her neck.

Her whole body warmed again, slow and thick. She didn’t respond right away. She just let it sit there, heavy in her palm, like proof.

He knew.

He felt it too.

And now, the game had changed.

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[caterpillarskimono]

Netflix & Chill

summary: set at the start of season two of Animal Kingdom; you moved to Oceanside, California six months ago, renting an apartment above an old bar that you were also hired to tend to full-time. in that time, you met Andrew Cody, and whatever this is between the two of you is finally reaching the point of no return.

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MDNI, fem! reader, slight age gap (reader is 29, Andrew is mid to late 30s), suggestive themes, NSFW (just barely), kissing, Andrew Cody pleading with you, sexual tension, intense eye contact

author’s note: this is JUST a snippet of a series I’m working on. this is also the FIRST reader fic I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with me ❤️ I truly hope you enjoy this. you may have questions, but all will be answered once I start posting the different chapters in order. just kinda testing the waters with this one.

Your stomach tightens, an unfamiliar warmth stirring in your abdomen.

Well. Not entirely unfamiliar, you suppose. It’s become routine since you met Andrew. But it’s different this time. This time it pulses, it pounds. It slithers further down, resting heavy between your legs. You can practically feel the blood pumping there, and you press your thighs together as tightly as you can to stave off the growing ache between them.

If Andrew notices, he says nothing. Briefly, you look his way, at the intensity of his focus on what’s happening on the television in front of you both. A shiver races down your spine and back up again as you recall the many times you’ve felt the intensity of that stare on you. It’s a curious thing, the way you can feel his green eyes on you before you even notice he’s in the room. The way the air between you two always feels so charged when you meet his gaze. Countless moments passed between you fill your mind’s eye, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep the moan that threatens to leave you at bay.

Suddenly, he’s looking at you, and his eyes are dark with… concern? You’re not sure. All you know is that his pupils are blown so wide all you can see is black. And there’s something behind them you’ve only seen glimpses of before now. Something primal. Hungry?

“Are you ok?” he says, and your face is suddenly very hot and you know your eyes are wide as saucers because holy fuck, did you just moan out loud?

You clear your throat and turn your gaze back to the television. “I’m fine, just something caught in my throat, it’s fine.”

“Fine…” Andrew repeats, as if he’s testing the word, repeating it back not so much as a question, but more like he’s trying to really dig into the meaning behind it.

“Yup,” you say, your lips making a popping sound for emphasis. You lean forward for your glass of red wine. You chug it in one go, slamming it back down on the coffee table unceremoniously. “Totally fine.”

A moment passes, long and heated and heavy because you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s staring. Studying you. Like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, but is trying desperately to make sense of.

Finally, he looks away. You watch the scene unfolding in the Netflix Original you selected (and what the actual fuck is 365 Days about anyway) and you try your absolute damndest not to look at the handsome man to your left again.

The female lead is… definitely enjoying herself, her lover’s head barely visible between her legs. She reaches down to grip his dark hair, gripping hard by the looks of it, yanking and pushing his mouth deeper against her. She throws her head back and begins to cry his name over and over, in tandem with the way she’s bucking up into his mouth. He groans loudly, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

That’s enough for Andrew to turn his attention back on you, and instantly, your cheeks redden with embarrassment. You try not to look into his eyes, those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes that you’ve dreamt about every single night since he first walked into your bar six months ago.

But you fail in your efforts, just like every single time before when you’ve tried to hide from the weight of his stare. One look into those eyes, and you almost gasp.

You were right earlier. He does look hungry. And he looks as if he wants to devour you.

And you want him to. God, you want him to ruin you.

“Are you okay?” And his voice comes out so soft that it almost sounds like there’s a nervous tremor behind the words.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to stammer out. You suddenly want to hide, to take cover and not face him. Because you know what you’re about to confess, and try as you might, you can’t stop the words spilling awkwardly from your lips.

“That’s just… I’ve never… not that, anyway.”

A beat. And then Andrew crooks up an eyebrow. “You’ve never?…. What, exactly?”

“I mean,” and an exasperated huff passes from your lips. You throw your head back against the couch, squeezing your eyes shut. “That… All of that. What he’s doing, how he’s making her feel, I’ve never felt… that.”

He frowns. Quickly snatches the remote from the coffee table, pausing the film. The sudden silence is like a record scratch, and you lift your head up and stare ahead.

A shot of the female lead is frozen onscreen, her body arched like a cat stretching in satisfaction. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes slammed shut. You can’t stop looking and memorizing this shot of pure ecstasy. Wondering what it’s like to feel that. Wondering what it would be like to feel it with the handsome - albeit dangerous - man beside you.

“You’ve… never had an orgasm?”

You force yourself to look at him then, and you fight to maintain a poker face. You shake your head in response to his question. Your hands, the tips of your fingers begin to twitch, your veins seemingly trembling beneath the surface of your skin. You’re nervous, why the fuck are you nervous? What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Andrew no longer looks as if he wants to devour you. No, there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. But you feel your heart begin to race, you feel the ache between your legs grow so heavy, pulsing in tandem with the quickening of your breathing, and you become aware of one thing and one thing only.

He… he wants you. You think he wants you just as badly as you want him. Maybe even more.

And, God, you just wish he’d take you already. Make you his. You’ve never wanted to belong to someone else before. It’s strange and all-consuming in the way it weighs on you, rattling your bones

Your eyes fall to his mouth, and you bite your bottom lip again out of nervous habit. Every mouth that’s ever been on yours has been uninvited. But this man? You’ve already invited him in without even realizing it. You want this man to press his lips to your flesh and make you his home.

Maybe a second goes by, but it’s a second too long where neither of you says anything, and you just know you’ve misread his expression entirely. You tear your eyes from his, sitting up slightly, shaking your head. You don’t know where to put your hands, so you clasp them together and tuck them tight between your now bouncing knees.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I think it’s the wine and I’m just - I’m really tired, today was long, and just please forget -“

“Hey.” His voice interrupts you softly. Gently. It’s the same soothing tone you’ve heard used on frightened animals, and it cools the flames of your skin, calms the almost painful beating in your chest. You go quiet, but you don’t dare look at him. You don’t need - can’t handle - the confirmation that you’ve read him, read whatever this is between you two, completely and utterly wrong.

You hear the shift of his body as he sits up, too, mirroring the way you’re sitting. Then silence. One beat, two beats, three.

And then his hand is on your knee, squeezing it. Your body stills, and you gasp as he begins to smooth his hand up higher, fingers digging so slightly into your inner thigh, grip tightening the higher his touch travels. Instinctively, you part your legs, just enough for him to slide his fingers further between. He pauses his touch at the middle of your thigh, above your knee, but too far from where you’re dying for his touch. A whimper almost passes between your lips, but you bite your inner cheek just in time to keep it at bay until you can swallow it down.

It doesn’t register that he’s moved as close as he can to you, hard chest pressed at your side, mouth at your cheek. He gives you the gentlest kiss, the second kiss he’s ever given you and much more chaste than the first. His mouth slowly travels to just beneath your earlobe, and your body almost melts against him.

“Do you want to?” he whispers. “Feel that, I mean?”

Finally, your eyes meet his. His mouth hovers at yours, grazing your lips with the promise of a kiss. You want to say yes, you want to say it so fucking badly that the words sting at the tip of your tongue. But Andrew reaches up, thumb at your bottom lip, and all you can manage is a nod of your head.

Suddenly he exhales, the sound heavy. As if he’s been holding his breath so long that it’s a relief to breathe out. He presses his forehead to yours and gives you the ghost of a kiss. Light, quick, so quick you don’t even have time to kiss him back. His hand starts moving again, higher and higher up your thigh until he’s right there.

And then he stills. He doesn’t move. Just keeps his very large, hand, his calloused fingers pressed firmly at the heat between your legs. “Andrew…” you moan out, squirming into his touch, trying anything to get him to keep touching you.

“I need to hear you say it. Use those pretty lips and tell me what you want. Can you do that for me? Say the word, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so hard on my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Fuck, I just wanna taste you, please just say it, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

He takes your breath away with his words, with the way he goes back to kissing your cheek, nipping your earlobe between his teeth, all the while begging you. “Please, please, baby…” Over and over again like a song, like a prayer. Like he’s found salvation, and salvation is you.

“Yes,” you moan out. “Please just make me feel good. That’s all I want. Please, Andrew.”

Anyway, that’s that for now! Please let me know what you think in comments and reblogs; they motivate me and help me so much. Thx for reading! 🫶🏼❤️

[unabashegirl]

Crave — part II

Y/N x Professor Harry Styles share a secret passion that could destroy them both. Crossing the line means risking everything.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you are doing well! Here is the next part of the crave. let me know if you want to get tagged and what you think!

📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

📌 Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms

 The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange as the first rays of the sun began to creep over the horizon. Y/N staggered out of the party, her heels clacking unevenly on the pavement as she crossed the still campus. The world felt hazy, a mix of lingering alcohol and the early morning chill waking her up as she made her way toward her dorm.

Reaching her building, Y/N fumbled with her keys, her fingers struggling to find the right one. After several failed attempts to open the door, her patience ran out. “Why won’t this stupid thing just—” she muttered under her breath, tugging at the handle as if sheer willpower would magically unlock it. Nothing.

With a frustrated groan, she gave up, sinking down to the floor in defeat, her back pressed against the door. She let her head fall back against the wood, staring up at the pale sky, wondering why the universe had chosen this moment to mess with her.

“Need some help?”

The deep voice startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up, and there he was—Harry, standing a few feet away, wearing only a faded hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. No gym bag, no fresh-from-a-workout look—just casual, as if he had gone for an early breakfast. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his face, framed by the soft morning light, carried an amused expression.

Y/N groaned, inwardly cursing her luck. Of all the people to witness her in this state, it had to be him.

“Not really,” she muttered, though it was clear from her position on the ground that she wasn’t exactly in control of the situation.

Harry took a few steps closer, his lips curving into a small smirk. “Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble.”

“I’m fine,” she replied defensively, but the alcohol made it difficult to sound convincing. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smudged, and her outfit—though daring for the party—suddenly felt too revealing under his gaze.

“Right,” he drawled, clearly unconvinced but not pushing it. “Door giving you a hard time?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the key still in her hand. “It’s broken or something.”

Harry crouched down beside her, his face now level with hers, that smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. “Or maybe you’re just not using the right key,” he suggested.

“I know how to open my own door,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation, though it didn’t seem to affect him. His amusement only deepened, which, of course, annoyed her even more.

“Let me try.” Without waiting for her response, he gently took the key from her hand and rose to his feet. With one smooth motion, he slid it into the lock and turned. The door clicked open easily, as if mocking her.

Y/N stared at the now open door, feeling both embarrassed and a little betrayed by the lock. “Of course it works for you,” she muttered under her breath, pushing herself up from the floor.

Harry stood back, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly enjoying her frustration. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice teasing.

She shot him a glare, though it lacked any real bite. “I loosened it for you.”

“Sure you did.” He didn’t even try to hide the amusement in his voice now.

Y/N turned toward the door, eager to escape inside and leave this embarrassing moment behind. “Well, thanks for the help… professor,” she said, the last word coming out almost sarcastically as she stepped into the doorway.

Harry lingered in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame as he studied her. His eyes flickered over her disheveled appearance, his expression softening just slightly, though his amusement never left. “You should get some rest,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You’ve had a long night.”

Y/N paused, her heart skipping a beat at the sudden shift in his demeanor. His voice was still casual, but there was something in his gaze that made her stomach flip—something knowing, like he could see right through the bravado she was putting up. It made her feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her revealing outfit.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, nodding. “Good idea.”

For a moment, they stood there, the quiet of the morning wrapping around them, the only sound the faint chirping of birds heralding the new day. Y/N felt her pulse quicken, unsure of what to say or do, feeling entirely too aware of his presence.

Finally, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her, but not before casting one last glance at Harry. He remained where he stood, watching her with that same unreadable expression, his eyes lingering on the door long after it had shut.

Leaning against the inside of her door, Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, her mind replaying the way Harry had looked at her, the way his voice had softened just before she left. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to shake the effect he had on her.

And now, more than ever, she knew she was in deep.

The following Monday, Y/N found herself seated in Harry’s lecture hall, her notebook open but her mind far from the lesson. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that early morning encounter by her dorm, the memory of Harry’s smirk lingering in her mind. It was as if something had shifted between them that night—something subtle but undeniable.

As Harry spoke, his voice had a magnetic quality that seemed to wrap around her, pulling her in despite her best efforts to focus on the content. He exuded a quiet confidence, the kind that commanded attention without demanding it. His words rolled off his tongue smoothly, effortlessly, and Y/N found herself watching the way his lips moved as he spoke, the rise and fall of his tone.

She hadn’t meant to stare. But when she glanced up, she caught his eyes on her, just for a second. Her heart skipped a beat. His gaze was dark, intense, and there was a flicker of something beneath the surface, something knowing.

Y/N quickly looked down at her notebook, her pulse racing. Had he noticed? The heat crept up her neck, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to focus on the lecture, but it was impossible to shake the awareness that settled between them.

Over the next few days, it only got worse. She would catch him glancing in her direction, and each time, it was like a silent acknowledgment of the growing tension. Neither of them said anything, but it hung in the air, a charged current that neither could ignore.

Then came the invitation.

Y/N was gathering her things after class when Harry approached her, his usual composed demeanor firmly in place. “Y/N,” he said, his voice casual but with an edge that made her pulse quicken. “Can you stop by my office later? There’s something I’d like to discuss regarding your last assignment.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His tone was professional, but something about the way he looked at her—dark eyes lingering just a second too long—made her stomach flip. She nodded, trying to appear composed. “Of course.”

Later that afternoon, Y/N found herself standing outside his office door. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Her heart was pounding, but she tried to push the nervous energy aside. It’s just an assignment, she reminded herself. Nothing more.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly before entering.

Harry was seated behind his desk, reading over a stack of papers. He glanced up when she entered, his expression unreadable, though there was a slight curl to his lips as he motioned for her to sit. “Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

She sat down, her nerves on edge as she watched him shuffle through some notes. The air between them felt thick, and even though his tone remained professional, there was something unspoken simmering just below the surface.

“I wanted to talk to you about your essay,” Harry began, leaning back in his chair as he held up a sheet of paper. “There are some areas I think you could improve on.”

Y/N nodded, her throat dry. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but her mind kept wandering. The way he was sitting, so casual and yet so in control, the way his eyes never left hers for too long before flicking back to his notes. Every small gesture, every word, felt laced with a deeper meaning.

At one point, Harry stood and walked over to the shelf behind him, selecting a book. “I think this might help clarify some of the concepts you struggled with,” he said, handing it to her.

Y/N reached out to take it, but as their hands brushed, she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. His hand lingered on hers for just a moment too long, his fingers warm against her skin. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat, and saw the way his eyes darkened, his gaze locked on hers.

The moment stretched, filled with unspoken tension.

“Thank you,” she managed to murmur, her voice barely above a whisper as she pulled the book toward her, trying to ignore the rapid thudding of her heart.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Let me know if you need any further clarification,” he said, his voice lower, almost suggestive.

Y/N quickly gathered her things, feeling like the air in the room had grown too thick to breathe. “I will,” she said, her voice tight, before standing and leaving the office as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door shut behind her, she leaned against the wall, her heart racing in her chest. What had just happened in there? The interaction had been professional on the surface, but beneath it, something much darker and more intense had stirred. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, still hear the subtle innuendos hidden in his words.

Her thoughts were consumed with Harry now, making it impossible to focus on anything else. She saw him everywhere—in class, in the library, in the quiet corners of the campus. Each time their eyes met, the tension only grew, building toward something dangerous, something they both knew they should resist.

But resisting was becoming harder by the day.

Late one evening, Y/N found herself in the library, the quiet space nearly deserted. She was trying to study, trying to keep her thoughts on anything but him, but it was useless. His presence seemed to linger in every shadow, every flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.

And then, she saw him.

Harry, standing at the far end of the aisle, his tall figure barely visible between the rows of books. He wasn’t looking at her, but somehow, she knew he had noticed her. The air around them seemed to crackle with unspoken tension, the dark attraction that had been simmering for weeks coming to a boil.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the distance between them feeling smaller than it actually was. Y/N’s pulse quickened, her body responding instinctively to the danger of the situation. She should leave. She should walk away before anything happened. But her feet remained planted to the ground, her body drawn toward him like a magnet.

Harry’s gaze finally met hers, and in that moment, everything else fell away.

Y/N’s breath hitched as their eyes met across the quiet library. For a second, she felt frozen, her mind racing with thoughts she didn’t want to acknowledge. But Harry didn’t look away. Instead, he slowly made his way toward her, his movements unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

As he got closer, Y/N’s heart pounded louder in her chest, but she kept her gaze steady, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting her. He finally stopped in front of her, the air between them humming with tension.

“Late night studying?” he asked, his voice low, but laced with amusement.

Y/N gave a small shrug, trying to appear unfazed by his presence. “Something like that,” she replied, her tone light, though her pulse was racing. “What about you? Can’t sleep?”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smirk. “You could say that.” His gaze flicked down briefly, taking in her body as she leaned against the bookshelf, before returning to her eyes. “Though, I think it’s more about the company than the hour.”

Her stomach fluttered at the insinuation, but she raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her composure. “Is that so? Funny, I didn’t realize the library was such a social spot.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “It’s not. But I’m not exactly here for the books.” His words were smooth, effortless, and filled with a dangerous kind of charm that made her feel both excited and on edge.

Y/N’s lips twitched, a teasing smile forming as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Then what are you here for, Professor?” She put an extra emphasis on the last word, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Harry’s eyes darkened slightly, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense, but the smirk never left his face. “That depends.”

The way he said it, so casually, so confident, sent a shiver down her spine. It felt like they were dancing around something unspoken, something neither of them would admit out loud, but it was right there, hanging between them.

Y/N’s heart raced, but she tilted her head, meeting his challenge head-on. "Perhaps you're seeking someone who can truly challenge you," she suggested, her voice a mix of softness and daring. she said, her voice soft but daring. “After all, it must get boring being the smartest person in the room all the time.”

Harry’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I do enjoy a challenge,” he admitted, his voice lowering just a fraction. “But I think you already knew that.”

There was a beat of silence, the air between them crackling with tension. Y/N could feel her pulse thudding in her throat, her body responding to his words in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. She could walk away right now, put an end to this before it went any further—but the pull between them was too strong, too intoxicating.

She gave him a sly smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you, now would I?”

Harry’s gaze never wavered from hers, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile that made her stomach flip. “You’ve never been the easy type, have you?”

Her breath caught at the double meaning in his words, the subtle challenge in his tone. She swallowed, her heart racing. “I guess you’ll just have to keep up, then.”

He let out a low, almost approving hum. “Oh, I intend to.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with the promise of something dangerous, something that neither of them could deny. Y/N felt her body heat up, her skin tingling under his gaze. She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip, a move that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry. His eyes darkened further, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

He took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now, though it sent a jolt of electricity down her spine. “You’re playing with fire, Y/N.”

Her breath hitched at the way he said her name, the sound of it on his lips sending a thrill through her. But she refused to back down. "Perhaps I find the heat... intriguing," she replied, her voice low and tinged with daring.

A low chuckle escaped him, his eyes gleaming with something darker, more primal. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, laced with warning and promise.

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest as she held his gaze. There was something magnetic about him, something dangerous that drew her in despite every warning bell going off in her head. She should walk away, leave before this went too far—but standing here, inches away from him, she found it nearly impossible to move.

Finally, she tore her eyes away, breaking the moment just long enough to catch her breath. “I should get back to my… studying,” she said, though her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears.

Harry didn’t move, but the smirk remained on his lips, his gaze never leaving her. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

But there was no mistaking the challenge in his tone, the silent dare that hung between them.

With one last glance, Y/N turned and walked away, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her as she made her way down the aisle. She could still feel his eyes on her, burning into her back as she disappeared into the rows of books. And even as she left the library, her mind was spinning, her body still tingling from the charged interaction.

This was getting dangerous.

----

let me know if you would like to be tagged!

[cosmowgyral]

With You through every Season ~

(5th Anniversary Story Event - Me and You, Always)

▪︎ Gilbert von Obsidian

this is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. creative liberties have been taken. all content belongs to cybird. reblogs are appreciated but do not repost. hope you enjoy!

the story is from gilbert's pov

~chapter 1

Emma: Come to think of it… it’s hard to feel the seasons here in Obsidian.

One day, while helping with some work, Emma quietly muttered those words as she looked up at the clear summer sky.

It was summertime—yet she was still wearing a long-sleeved blouse.

Gilbert: Unlike Rhodolite, we don’t really have much of a seasonal shift here.

Gilbert: Do you miss home?

Emma: It’s not quite that I miss it, but…

Emma: I just think… I’d like to do things that you can only do in summer, and things you can only do in autumn, you know?

(Ah… she’s the kind of girl who treasures the seasons.)

It brought back memories of the people in the town back when she once stayed in Rhodolite—how they held festivals with each passing season.

For someone like Emma, who was once part of that, the seasonless air of Obsidian might feel a little lacking.

(Especially since this country tends to reflect the royal family’s preferences.)

(And since I never paid much attention to the changing seasons, we don’t hold festivals outside of the ones rooted in tradition.)

(…Honestly, I’ve always hated the very concept of seasons.)

(Every time one passed, it was just another reminder—my time limit creeping closer, tick by tick.)

--flashback--

Albert: Hey, Gil. Summer’s here! What should we do this year?

--flashback ends--

Emma: Oh, yeah!

That cheerful voice shattered the ruins of the past.

Emma: Gil, why don’t we do something summery together?

Gilbert: …Like what?

Emma: Let’s see—

A few days later, the brilliant sun gleamed down, reflecting off the small pool set up in the research lab.

Emma: Alright, here I go.

She slipped off her shoes, gathered up her long skirt, and dipped her feet into the water.

(To think she actually went and built a pool herself...)

It was a simple, shallow pool—just a wooden frame lined with waterproof sheets.

But remembering how Emma had worked on it so earnestly, day after day, giving it her all…

It felt more precious than any facility in the entire district.

Emma: It feels so nice… Gil, won’t you try it too?

Gilbert: I’m fine just watching.

Emma: But it’s fun, you know?

Gilber: …You want me to join?

Emma: I made it, after all—so I’d love for you to.

Gilbert: Guess I don’t have much of a choice then.

(Let’s just hope I don’t catch a cold.)

I took off my shoes and, letting myself be led by her invitation, dipped my feet into the water.

(Huh...)

Gilbert: It’s warm.

Emma: I thought cold water might be bad for the body in Obsidian’s climate, so I made it warm.

(She really thought it through for my sake. Emma doesn’t miss a thing, does she...)

Gilbert: This feels more like a foot bath than a pool, doesn’t it?

Emma: As long as you like it, that’s all that matters.

Gilbert: Heehee… You haven’t changed at all, Emma. Still as sweet and devoted as ever.

Gilbert: So… we’ve soaked our feet—what now?

Emma: ....

Gilbert: You didn’t think that far, did you.

Emma: …A scary story...

Emma: That’s it! Summer means ghost stories!

Gilbert: You sure about that? My scary stories are really scary.

Emma: ...Let’s not, after all.

Gilbert: Let’s see… I’ve got a whole collection of spine-chilling tales. The real question is—which one should I share with my little rabbit first...?

Emma: Nope! Absolutely not!

She quickly swatted away the hand reaching toward her just in time. So close.

The splash of water echoed with a refreshing sound—it felt undeniably like summer.

Gilbert: Alright then, let me hear your scary story, little rabbit.

Emma: Hmm, let me think…

Emma: Well… I do know a lot of ghost stories, but…

Emma: None of them compare to the fears I’ve actually experienced myself.

Gilbert: Scarier than ghost stories? Who in the world could’ve put you through something so awful?

She gave me a long, pointed stare—so heavy with unspoken words that I couldn’t help but laugh.

(Though… it’s probably no laughing matter to her.)

Even Emma, who’d been forcing an exaggerated scowl, couldn’t hold it in anymore—and finally broke into a smile.

Emma: It’s strange, isn’t it? Back then, I was so scared it made my blood run cold…

Emma: I never imagined I’d end up falling for you like this.

When she suddenly threw herself into my arms, I caught her without thinking. Around us, jewel-like droplets of water scattered through the air.

Gilbert: Ahaha… in a way, that might be the scariest story of all.

Emma: If I told it to anyone other than you, I bet it’d be pretty effective.

Gilbert: Other than me, huh?

Emma: ...I just felt a chill run down my spine.

Gilbert: Now that’s what a proper summer ghost story should do.

(She gets angry, laughs, panics… she’s always so busy reacting—and so cute.)

As she lifted her face, Emma gently placed her hand on my cheek.

Emma: If I’m going to make your heart skip a beat anyway—

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]

[emeritusemeritus]

ok ok hear me OUT! imagine george secretly dating a slytherin reader and in his dorm she asks him for his “G” sweater (you know the ones they get for Christmas) and he’s like yea ok, he literally doesn’t think about it at all, like he’s thinking she wants to wear it to bed in her dorm BUT THEN the next morning when she comes down to the great hall for breakfast SHE’S WEARING THE SWEATER AND HIS LITTLE HEART GETS SO EXCITED!!! 🥺🥺🥺

ps i love you and your writing so much ❤️

Hi love!! Thank you for your lovely words, I’m so sorry this has taken so long! I hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: none really? Mainly pure fluff. One minor sexual innuendo. Slytherin!Reader. Fred being surprisingly sweet. Background Fred x Angelina implied.

Word count: 1.1k

A Ruby amongst Emeralds.

It's freezing in the dorms this time of year, the warmth radiating from the fireplace never quite heating up the large rooms in the ancient building. It's January, Mid-winter and undoubtedly below freezing, the cold air nipping at every inch of exposed skin even inside the castle.

You'd caught a chill on the way up to the Gryffindor common room, nevermore thankful to be away from the draughty Slytherin dorms, notorious for their cold and frosty atmosphere- and that was just the people.

You'd slipped past the portrait of the fat lady, blending in with a group of Gryffindors with perfect precision, as practiced many times before, slipped along the corridor and into the end dorm where your boyfriend waited for you. It wasn't easy to keep a relationship hidden at Hogwarts, especially when it was two people of opposing houses. But you'd managed it for over a year without a single suspicion from anyone, excluding Fred of course who apparently didn't count.

"Georgie, can I borrow this? I'm freezing," you ask with chattering teeth, reaching for the discarded jumper on his dresser. Handmade and looking somewhat new, you realised it was the jumper that he'd gotten for Christmas two weeks ago from his parents.

"Of course," he says gently, without ever really looking up. You supposed it was a natural consequence of growing up with so many siblings, or more specifically growing up with a twin that shared everything but George was always extremely generous with his things. He'd give you anything you needed without question, knowing that you'd take care of whatever it was.

You double checked that it was definitely George's jumper, confirming there was a large 'G' on the front and not an 'F', Godric forbid.

You smiled as you pulled the jumper into your arms, bringing it up to your nose to give it a good smell. It smelled of him and his home, a scent that radiated warmth and safety. It was almost addictive.

When you were leaving his dorms, the curfew just minutes away, you hesitated taking the jumper off. You were finally warm and so cozy that the very thought of taking off the jumper made you want to cry.

"Keep it," George says, pulling you in for a kiss by the hips, his large hands covering your sides.

"Really?" You ask hopefully. He nods and kisses you again, his nose bumping clumsily into your cheek, your warm hands clinging to him in anyway you can.

"Imagine it's me in bed with you tonight," he says with a smirk, knowing that you wouldn't part with the jumper anytime soon.

"I always do," you reply in a sultry fashion, mentally planning your new route back to the dungeons, knowing full well that you'll have to sneak back after curfew.

"Alright break it up lovebirds, ahh my eyes, my eyes!" Fred bursts into the room in the most dramatic way possible, falling to his knees and rolling onto the floor.

"Idiot."

"Git," George mumbles under his breath at the same time whilst he pulls away from you, his hands leaving your body and landing at his sides.

"See you at breakfast."

You kiss George one last time as you leave still bundled up in your new favourite item of clothing. You give Fred a playful shove on the way out as he puckers up for a kiss too and laugh whilst closing the door, no longer dreading the walk back to the Slytherin common room.

"I just think it would be easier now," George whispers to Fred over breakfast as he scoffs down his fifth slice of toast. "Don't get me wrong I know why we had to keep it quiet but I just wish we could be open about it."

"I know mate," Fred says in an uncharacteristically empathetic tone, knowing how much the topic bothered George, even if he was secretly fed up of having the same conversation again.

Truthfully, George really had been fine with keeping their relationship secret for the first half of the year but as their relationship grew and got stronger, he no longer knew why they were bothering. He loved her, she loved him, and what did it matter what anyone else thought? Perhaps now it had been over a year together he could broach the subject with her again, see if she'd be open to it.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Fred suggests, catching a single glance of his twin and knowing exactly where his mind was at. George sits and ponders on the thought for a moment whilst Fred looks around the room, no doubt looking for Angelina.

"Do you think she would, be open to telling everyone I mean?" George asks, reaching for another slice of toast but suddenly thinking better of it. He senses Fred is distracted, inevitably trying to get Angelina's attention but George still waits for Fred's reply, even if it does take a few seconds.

He hears Fred snort and feels a sinking feeling in his gut, knowing that it was probably a stupid idea all along, his gaze never leaving his crumb covered plate.

"Never mind," George mumbles, reaching for the toast once again with a sigh.

"Look up you idiot."'

George lifts his head up without question and looks towards his brother, following fred's line of vision to see what he was missing.

When his eyes land on what Fred is looking at he freezes, brain temporarily short circuiting. He blinks twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things, his heart seeming to flutter at the sight before him.

It's his girl. She looks beautiful, just as she always does but this morning she’s glowing. He watches as she takes a seat at the Slytherin table across the room, smiling widely at her friends as she climbs onto the bench, proudly wearing his jumper.

It’s burgundy with a giant ‘G’ stitched in gold thread, the biggest contrast there could be amongst the other Slytherins, a ruby in the middle of emeralds.

They make eye contact across the Great Hall and it’s electric, each of them feeling the sparks and butterflies anew. He’s never been more certain than in that exact moment that he loves her, that he would spend the rest of his life chasing the high he felt right now. He’d remember the way his little Slytherin proudly wore his jumper in front of the whole school, the way she would cheer the loudest at Quidditch games whilst wearing the same jumper, and the way that he would never get the chance to wear it even once in his life because it officially belonged to his girl.

[elliesfreckle]

over & out | radio au |

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0

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📟 : record two 𖣠 white noise and wrong stars

⏯ synopsis : you’re a voice on the other side of the radio. she’s your wrong frequency — a mistake. a fortune, maybe, at the edge of a devastated world. you never told her your name. she never asked what you looked like. but when the nights get colder, in a world full of silence, you keep talking.

⏯ pairing : ellie williams & fem!reader

⏯ content warning : swearing; canon tlou after outbreak world; idk and prob edit it later

⏯ word count : 4.7k

⏯ a/n : HELLO we did it! today is the day! i have passed (away) the exam (two more left)! wont say much 'cause i died while proofreading, editing and uploading this shi on tumblr. and im REALLY sorry if there are so many stupid mistakes that you'll ban me forever. trust me i hate being perfectly literate in my native language while writing english like a 9 year old boy. but! i have to thank you all for how gently you embraced this idea and for your support. special shoutout to @losing-it-lately youre SO SWEET, and i loved that crazy night talk.

promise ill learn how to make posts prettier, maybe even create a masterlist and a playlist. flirty reminder that your reblogs and comments feed my soul

also if you wanna be tagged in the next chapter, let me know. for now, enjoy ♡

The one constant thing about the broadcast room in the Great Falls quarantine zone is that it’s freezing cold no matter what. This chill has been dwelling deep inside your bones for years. Not the kind that bites, but the kind that settles over your skin like a breath held too long.

And yet, sometimes you keep forgetting to bring a threadbare sweater on your night shifts. Like tonight. But there are nights in which you don’t need any of it, because the world you’re forced to live in doesn’t let you feel comfort too often. It wants you to keep in mind that given life is fragile, and might be taken back whenever the world pleases. Your blood runs cold every time the sent patrols go silent.

Like tonight, again.

Outside the narrow window, evening fades away and coming night stretches wide and endless, clinging to window frame like wet lining. The air has that strange, waiting stillness—too quiet, too heavy—that lingers in your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Crickets hum faintly in the grass (you can hear them even from your radio cell on the highest floor), but even they sound unsure, like something’s pressing down on them from above. Birds are hovering in the low sky, almost bruising tree crowns with their angled wings. Their calls warn you. A bug cracks with all its tiny power into the glass of the windowpane, attracted by the lamp’s light. You flinch.

The pine trees don’t move. Not yet.

They stand stiff and dark against the horizon, their needles limp in the air, knowing what’s coming.

You can feel it too—not in sound, but in pressure, like something biding just beyond the edge of hearing. For days, the weather’s been thick with it—heat that doesn’t lift even after sunset, that makes the floors sweat and tempers run short. Checking the weather is one of your responsibilities too—radio signals are capricious with changes in the air, and with years it became a sense, not a science. You’ve learned that from the specific shapes of clouds—or their absence, the shade that sun has at the dawn; you’ve been watching birds and stray cats, as they are the first early harbingers of storms. You like to think they share sacred knowledge with you. Leaving your post on grey mornings, you can tell if it’s going to rain just by looking at the dew. And that definitely won’t be modest to claim that you have some skills in handling forecasting tools. Smartass, they call you.

So now you keep thinking the sky will crack open and bleed it all out.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

The radio crackles softly beside you, calming like an old friend, warming like embers popping in a dying fire. Yes, in four walls of the radio station there is still cold.

And still no sign of the patrol.

You lean forward, elbow on the desk, the familiar ache of exhaustion in your shoulders. Something’s telling you it’s going to be a long shift. The transmission button is worn smooth, paint rubbed away years ago by hands just like yours, probably older. The headset squeezes your head—a relic that somehow survived the outbreak. You forgive it the discomfort. Most nights. You adjust it out of habit—the ear padding still crooked from the last shift.

You press the button down.

“This is Homebase calling AA40B. Do you copy?” A heartbeat-long pause. “AA40B, check-in, you’re two hours overdue. Report your position.”

You count to five. Then ten. Dead air. This is the first radio term you ever learned—not from a book, not from a manual, but in the heavy silence beside someone older, more practiced. You must’ve been sixteen. Maybe younger. Watching, listening and realizing that sometimes, absence speaks louder than any broadcast.

Dead air means something has gone wrong. Someone important, who never spoke through the white noise again.

It stays with you—static coiling around your ribs, slow and taut like wire. You’ve never forgotten the weight of it, because now it’s here again.

Flipping to a fresh page in the logbook, you scribble the call sign again, even though the page already looks like a graveyard of unanswered calls:

18:04 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Received scheduled check-in from AA40B. Background static, but no incidents reported.

18:15 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Attempted contact with AA40B. Negative. Assumed out of range unit. Logged for follow-up.

18:24 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Logged inactivity. Next scheduled check-in ???

20:02 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — No response.

Silence. It is always about silence at the end. You’ve faced the same ends of different stories too many times. However, you’re just a radio operator, aren’t you? A messenger. The one whose face people barely remember. They know you for your voice. They hate you for it; they hate to hear it in moments of another acknowledgement of things going wrong. But this is not your fault, right? You receive news—then you report. Bad news—report. No news? Report. So you file the report like always. No sirens. No raised voices. Just protocol, neat and quiet. Loss isn’t rare enough to stop the day. Or night. Collateral damage, they call it. Lives.

The last entry in the logbook is smudged—ink dragged by the heel of your palm in a moment of distraction. You underline the status. Twice. You want to breathe, really breathe. Tear off the headset, heavy and too tight; let your pulse settle in open air, feel your shoulders drop for once. Shake off the weight of duty.

But protocol says stay.

So you do.

Anchored in your chair (as old as the headset), waiting for something. Or nothing.

The clock on the wall is old, its plastic yellowed with age, but it still ticks with rude efficiency. Every second lands like a drop of water in an empty basin.

You count minutes by it — minutes left until the next scheduled check-in. The last one for the night. The one you’re not expecting to go any differently.

A small glass jar sits near the base of the radio, filled with dried wildflowers you picked earlier that summer. Yarrow, tansy, bluebells gone brittle in the heat. It doesn’t belong here—not among the grey buttons, frayed wires, and institutional gloom—but you brought it anyway. Something to look at while the hours crawl.

You clear your throat. You don’t bother sounding official anymore.

“This is Homebase. Again. Check-in.” You swirl a faded yellow petal in your fingers. Squeeze it until your fingertips are covered with its sticky powder. “I repeat—AA40B, answer my call. Report the situation. Have you got any troubles? This is channel ninety-four point seven, if you’re suddenly unaware. Be advised, Lisa, if you don’t respond your mother will fucking murder me. Slowly.”

You let the words trail off, resting your fingers lightly on the worn edge of the desk.

The kind of joke born from routine.

Lisa and you had planned to grab dinner after her shift next week—you weren’t close; maybe you would’ve been. It was supposed to be the first. A small thing. And now just…undone. Silence folds back over the room like a heavy blanket. Your peripheral vision catches something alike with a flick of lightning far away. Just a second that might be a play of your overwhelmed mind. Just a second. Then—

Click.

Soft; barely there. But unmistakable—not static. Not interference.

Someone pressed something.

Your body reacts before your mind does—a tightening in the chest, a shift in the gut. The way this familiar frequency is talking to you now: you can recognize its hiss among the thousands of others. And this one is totally different. Something unusual is happening.

This isn’t protocol, isn’t your patrol.

And there’s no call sign.

Just a breath, maybe. A small, ambient shuffle of noise—a movement. Someone is there. And then, at last—a voice cuts through. You will think about it many times later; you’ll try to replay this moment like an old tape, always returning to the second she spoke to you. You will lie for that voice. And you will—

“Who the hell is Lisa? And…who the hell are you?”

A beat. Long pause. The silence stretches, tense, uncertain. She’s close to the mic. No headset, no filter. Unmistakably not Lisa. But someone who’s used to surviving, not asking questions.

The voice doesn’t match anything you were expecting—sharp and low, with a slow drawl that sounds like it's been roughened by time and too many cold mornings. She doesn't sound scared, but she sure as hell sounds like someone who’s ready to pull a knife if you so much as breathe wrong. And as for your breathe…it’s more than wrong. Something about her makes you sit up straighter. You glance down at the console, thumb hovering over the mic: 94.7.

That should be right. That’s the patrol’s frequency; it has been for months. You double-check the band anyway, twisting the dial just enough to hear the edge of the next channel before snapping it back.

How the hell—?

Maybe the storm’s fucking up with the signals. That happens sometimes. Reflections bouncing off mountains. Electromagnetic interference. Whatever excuse science likes to throw at you when something strange happens in the middle of the goddamn night.

Your understanding of fate is called science.

“Are you ghosting me now?” Your stomach dips with another question from her. You forgot to reply. Do you really have to do it? Probably not. But damn—curiosity and boredom are louder than reason. And you want it. Badly.

You clear your throat, shift your weight in the creaky chair, and press the button.

“Uhm…Hello.” Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You—the person who spent years talking to strangers over the radio—and now you’re mute. “I’m here. But you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

A soft scrape of fabric brushes the mic—like something is shifting on the other edge. Another pause. You can hear the smile in her voice before she even speaks.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Her voice sounds younger now, almost smug. The way she says it—calm, sure, like she has a knife in one hand and her finger on the trigger with the other, makes your pulse skip. Calm. Dry. Like she’s holding back either a laugh or a warning. On the edge of your mind you wonder how old she is. Could you be peers? Some people define age by looking at someone’s palms. Your trained hearing doesn’t require watching to see things.

You pull a thin blanket tighter around your shoulders; you keep it here special for night shifts and instead of forgotten jackets. Moths ate through its fabric; holes stare at you like frightened eyes or twisted mouths.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the low hum of the equipment, the way twilight sky is fading navy, and your lamp is the only source of light. There’s no one else in the room: just you, just her. And the strange, thin thread of static connecting your two points of the map.

She doesn’t break the silence again, allowing you to take your time and think. Lead the dialogue or end it. She gives you choice.

You don’t even know her name.

But somehow, in this moment, that feels like the least important part.

“So…first of all, I must ask: do you need any urgent help?”

The question comes out too formal, like you’re reading off protocol.

“Do I sound like I need help?” The mic chuckles faintly with the sound of her voice. You knew the answer, but you had to ask. Just in case.

“Right now I’m not sure if I should answer at all,” you say. Does she hear the smile curving in the corners of your lips? “You’re not in danger, looking for signal to save you?”

“Save me? No way.” Her tone dips low, husky at the edges. A pause. There’s a smirk—quick and barbed—but it doesn’t soften fully. You figure out that she speaks like someone who’s used to being heard but never really listened to; that happens to people who don’t speak much.

Each of her words clipped just enough to sound in control, laced with amusement sharp around it. There’s warmth in it, sure, but distant warmth, like fire through glass. You catch the tail end of a sigh. “I’m fine. No danger. And even if I were, what’d you do? Send a helicopter?”

This. Even in her irony, something stays braced, like she’s talking with her back still against the wall.

You huff a soft laugh. Involuntary. You better think on what the hell you are even doing. You better think twice before the answer. But you choose to play her game.

“Just a helicopter? I have a whole rescue team for losers like you.” probably you don’t think even once, replying.

“Enjoy saving losers?” She baits.

“I’m here daily for it.” You bite.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“What ‘bout nights?”

You lean back slightly, flexing your aching fingers. The headset hums with a tiny echo of her voice and some static. There’s a rhythm forming here—and it isn’t protocol. You’re treading on thin ice. Almost dancing.

You glance at the faint, flickering bulb above you—the only company in this concrete box you’ve half-started calling home. The air smells like warm dust and coil-burned wire. Silence is hovering, like she’s waiting for you to laugh or shoot back some banter, because she has no idea how long it’s been since anyone spoke to you like that.

Your finger lingers over the transmit button. You press it, slower this time.

“Nights are for ghosts and dead batteries,” you realize how desperate that must’ve sounded, and add, “You fit right in.”

The girl scoffs. You’re not sure if she’s smiling or offended. Or just listening. A low crackle fills the space between you. If you close your eyes, will she remain on the border of your signal? Or will she vanish into the white noise?

You don’t want to know, so your eyes are open. Surreal night.

The connection falls quiet again. That particular silence that means someone is thinking. You interrupt it with another question:

“How did you catch this frequency?”

The response comes, broken and crackling:

“By random? I was—”

The rest is swallowed by static. Not loud, but needling. Noise spilling through the line like wind through the flung open window.

You wait, leaning toward the console, squinting as if that might help decipher the pattern in the interference. You try again, more precisely this time.

“Take on the headset. Your sound is shit.”

A pause. Some fumbling on her end. You hear what might be a soft grunt, the clang of something metal.

“Didn’t think it’d make any difference,” she mutters, half-off mic. “Hold on… I don’t see any— Oh. Here it is. Looks terrible.”

Only God knows what’s going on over there. Something to do with wires and dust, maybe. There is a clumsy thud, then a hiss, then the faintest muttered curse. Whatever it is—they’re putting up one hell of a fight. You smirk silently.

Finally, a low rustle, then—click.

“Well. Fine. Do you hear me now?”

And just like that, you do. You almost regret the suggestion.

Her voice lands crisp, close—like it’s suddenly right behind your ear, not scattered across states. The line is clear enough to catch the curve of her vowels, the scrape of dry amusement under the words.

Oh, you do.

It’s the kind of voice that makes you forget the question. The kind that holds back more than it gives—something low, a little rough, but sharpened and steady, like she’s watching you through the wire and dares you to blink first.

So you blink. Swallow.

“Yes.”

No more, no less. You decide to keep your freaky thoughts to yourself.

She hums, then moves: now you can hear it perfectly well, trying to imagine this natural movement. You fail.

A shift in your seat, the chair creaks. The room suddenly feels smaller. Warmer?

She’s the first to speak.

“What’s with your, how did you call it, AA40C?”

You correct her out of habit—and to buy time.

“Forty-B.”

A beat. Your ink-stained finger hovers the transmit button a moment too long. The clock mocks you—shame prickles beneath your collar. You’d completely lost track of time. And of the patrol.

“I can’t share this information with someone from beyond.”

You hesitate to call her a stranger. You must be losing your fucking mind. You add a half-smile into the mic, though she can’t see it. The words aren’t harsh, but there is a line in them—clear, official, practiced. One you’ve been taught to hold. You almost feel like apologizing—which is absurd. Unfamiliar. Not like you.

Her reply is quick, clipped.

“Fair enough.”

But something in her tone curls at the edge. Like she’s testing you, just to see how far the signal stretches. It’s not like she’s interested in all your military secrets, but like she has some interest in you. Or you’re just fantasizing things.

Her voice lingers in the headset—that grainy warmth, half static, half smirk. She doesn’t let it drop.

“Where are you talking from then?”

You freeze for a breath. The words are simple, innocent-sounding, but they land sharp. You’re not supposed to—

“I can’t—“

“Jesus. C'mon.” A scoff, close to the mic. Her voice crackles at the edges. “Such coincidences happen once in a lifetime. Ain’t you curious?”

You are, and this is the problem.

You hesitate, eyes fixed on the dull glow of the frequency dial. You’ve followed protocol a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel like protocol—not anymore. You tell yourself it’s fine. Montana’s a big place. Nobody would guess.

“Ugh… Montana.”

There’s a bit of silence on the other end, then a click of her tongue.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“Girl, you're so fucking paranoid.”

You huff through your nose—not quite a laugh. She’s not wrong. You hadn’t realized how tight you were holding the line—like names could unravel something if spoken too clearly.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you answer, steadier than you feel. “It’s safer. For both of us.”

“Let it be.”

There’s a shift in her tone that might come with leaning back, chin tilted, daring you.

“Then you can call me…” A beat. A mock-dramatic sigh. “Damn Jackson.”

You blink at the console, then laugh before you can stop it. It catches in your throat. The name drops like a pebble in a well. Small, almost casual. Echoing. You know the name. Most do. A settlement too far south. Rumored to be peaceful. Overgrown with good soil and better people. Rumored, at least.

You let yourself savor the answer. Like you need to place her somewhere on a map just to stay grounded. Small details start to shape her features in your mind.

“Jackson’s not even a state, dumbass.”

“Wyoming doesn’t sound cool at all.”

Her voice flattens with false seriousness. You imagine a shrug. A smirk, maybe. Something self-aware but distant—like she’s drawing lines in the sand just to rub them out a moment later.

The words slip out without thinking.

“It kinda does.”

Are you still talking about names?

You slightly frown, eyes scanning your table, though there’s nothing to see. You raise an eyebrow.

“And why would you tell me your place?”

“It’s not really mine, is it?” A pause. “Just a name.”

You bite your lip. She’s still playing. Still keeping her real cards hidden, just like you. But the word Jackson settles into your memory heavy. Like it matters.

Like you’ll be writing it down later, in a space not meant for records.

There’s a lull again. Not awkward—just stretched thin. Like neither of you wants to admit the conversation has no more ground to stand on.

You glance at the clock. It’s later than you’d thought. Your logbook lies open beside you, the last line still unfinished.

“You should go,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

You don’t add what you’ve begun to notice—how her breathing has slowed between sentences, how the edges of her voice soften, just slightly, like the weight of the night is finally catching up to her.

She’s clearly not home.

Not even on watch. Just… out there.

Wherever she is, it’s not where she’s supposed to be. You hear it in the way she pauses more often now; in how the static doesn’t quite hide her quiet exhale. The kind people let out only when they’ve been running too long.

She’s lost. For now.

And somehow, you don’t want to keep her any longer. Not out of duty—but because something in you wants her to rest. Just a few hours. Just until dawn.

Even if you’ll never know where she lays her head.

Even if she never calls again.

“You gonna report me?”

It’s half a joke. Maybe.

You answer before thinking.

“Not if you promise not to show up again.”

Do you want her to show up again? That’s another question. The one you’re not going to think on.

“Harsh.” You hear her shift—maybe the creak of a table beneath her elbow. “Guess I’ll just get lost then.”

Her tone is light, but something flickers underneath.

You hesitate, then add—

“Batteries don’t last forever anyway.”

That earns you a breath of static shaped like a laugh.

“Neither do ghosts.”

The silence that follows is different. Not quite goodbye. Just long enough to say something without needing words. The button waits beneath your touch, untouched. You sigh.

“Well, Jackson. Over and out?”

You try to make it sound casual, like it doesn’t matter if she answers.

But she snorts — soft, amused.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhmm… it’s like ‘bye’ in radio slang. Some kind of etiquette.”

Another pause. This one warmer.

“Then over and out, Montana.”

You smile—not that she can see it. But feel, maybe.

Your hand slips from the button. You expect silence. Expect her to vanish into space, like she was never there.

But then, you remember something:

“Oh. Wait.”

There’s a second you think she’s gone. You hold your breath, unintentionally. Your knuckles brush the edge of the transmitter, hesitating. Her voice comes through quiet, no louder than an exhale.

“Yeah?”

“Storm’s coming. Stay safe.”

You wait—half-expecting her to follow it with a joke, or some snide comment about the clear skies.

But she doesn’t. You wonder if she hears it too—that strange pressure in the air. That breathless weight.

Her answer is simple.

“I will.”

And somehow… that’s enough.

The line goes quiet. Not with a pop or sudden crackle—just…softer. As if her breath was still caught in the waves of signals, and then even that lets go. An act of disappearing without curtain call.

You don’t realize how much noise she’d brought with her until it’s gone.

Now there’s only the faint hum of the equipment; the low buzz in your skull, and underneath it—a hush that finally feels real. It presses against your ribs. Wraps around the base of your neck. Heavy, still. Known.

You lean back slowly, letting the weight of it all settle in. Shoulders drop, the holey blanket slips onto the floor—loud in the absence of her voice. Your body reminds you that it’s late. That your eyes sting. You haven’t moved for too long. And you sit there, still, another minute, or maybe more. You don’t know why.

You haven’t touched the dial since she stopped talking. Since that sharp and guarded voice cut through the wrong frequency and landed in your hands like something not meant to be held.

You should log it.

You should log everything.

You reach for the journal and stare at it for a long time. The pen dangles on a piece of string, tied to the corner of the desk. You’ve lost too many not to do it this way. It hovers in your hand. No idea what to write. A few entries above, your own writing stares back at you—neat, all-caps block letters. You draw a line underneath it, slow, deliberate. Then glance back at the console, the frequency is still open. But she’s gone. You press the pen to the paper.

20:27 — Unknown signal —

You pause, biting your lip. Hell. No words come. You don’t write what she said. Or what you said back. Instead, you cross this line out and turn to the next page. A blank one, cleaner. Further from truth.

20:28 — atmospheric interference — ghost frequency spill. No contact established.

You underline it once; like that will make it true. Then you flip the page, just in case someone else reads it in the morning.

You know it’s not procedure. But you also know how it works: unofficial frequencies are monitored sometimes. If the others find out you spoke to someone from another city—someone who shouldn’t have been there—they’ll shut it down. Change the band. Pull your shift. Maybe worse.

You close the book and push it at the edge of the desk. Your fingers tingle, thumb is awkwardly ink-stained as before. You don’t bother to wipe it. Just tilt your head back and close your eyes.

The silence hums, her voice lingering in your mind—

and it’s yours to keep.

Ellie doesn’t remember the walk back.

Morning mist obscures the sound of her steps, hides her uneven silhouette. She’s smoke, a breath of wind in the ferns. She’s at the edge of there and nowhere.

By the time she’s near the gates behind the west trail, the trees whisper above, restless with the wind that hadn’t been there an hour ago. She swears it wasn't. Light spills over the treeline—pale and uncertain, like it’s not sure it should be here yet.

Jackson's lights bloom like low, tired fireflies. The gates creak open just past dawn. Someone nods to Ellie from the watchtower. She lifts a hand, doesn’t stop walking.

As she reaches home, the door groans as she pushes it open. Inside, the air is still—cooler than outside. Ellie doesn’t bother turning on the light. Her shoes leave dark shapes on the floor, soles soaked from dirt. She shrugs off the backpack, peels off the outer jacket, and kicks at her converse until one tumbles sideways and stays that way. No sign of Joel. She doesn’t check. The weight of everything settles in the quiet. The shirt—one of her favorites—clings to her back, damp with sweat and dust. She scratches at her wrist, smearing a thin line of dried mud. She’ll shower later. Maybe. Exhaustion pulls her to the ground.

She has a couple of hours before they will need her.

Ellie sinks onto the couch like the bones have gone out of her. Face-down, arm tucked under her head, too tired to change. Her knuckles sting a little—a scraped corner from earlier—but it barely registers. Her brain floats somewhere shallow. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Just drifting.

She blinks once. Twice. Between those blinks, a voice brushes the edge of her thoughts, like a skipped page in a journal. It’s not clear at first—just a wordless shape, like a whisper behind closed doors. But then it forms: “you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

Ellie doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t not smile either.

She hears it before she sees it—the soft tap-tap-tap on the glass. That type of rain that starts tentative, as if asking permission. She turns her head, watches the droplets race each other down the pane.

Ellie exhales, low and long, and lets her eyes close.

The storm came after all.

[kaechu1]

Ahem ahem ahem. HERA WITH A FEM! S/O WHO HATES ZEUS WITH A BURNING PASSION (and also might have been one of his victims oops—)

hera with a wife who hate zeus!

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ note: i love hera so much she needs more love, and yes two hera fic whatcha gonna do about it buddy?

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ warning: sa

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ content: fluff, marriage, kissing, cuddling, hurt/comfort, hera kids absolutely adore you, everyone on olympus support y'all, abandon/jealousy issues, paranoid hera, zeus being zeus.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 everyone on olympus was shocked to receive the new about hera and zeus the queen and king of the gods has gotten a divorce. at first no one believes it thinking zeus would never let hera go but everyone was stunned when they found the truth.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 no one knows what really happened, or they do but they don't know what happened THIS time. did zeus cheat again? but if that is the case why she's leaving just now? and how did he agree to this? overall, no one else was in the room where it happened (get this reference please)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 what shocked them more than hera actually remarry again after a while from this whole mess and this time she marry a small goddess who was living on olympus, you!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 they all accept zeus to absolutely crash out, but he didn't.. which is weird..

ᯓᡣ𐭩 after marrying hera the goddess of marriage and family all of Olympus notice your hate and rage toward zeus. everyone assume it's just because he's hera ex husband or because he treated hera wrong, but ohh they were so wrong about it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you see, you were small goddess living on olympus who had the misfortune on getting the unnecessary attention from the king of the gods. he try approaching you, but you held high respect of hera and couldn't do this to her, so you refuse thinking maybe that'll stop him. but ohh you were so wrong.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 everyone recognize you after that. you were one of zeus many victims who he force himself on them. typical of zeus, so no one really blamed you for hating him, not even his own children stand with his actions.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 away from hating zeus everyone also recognize you from your love to your wife hera, unlike most gods here you were actually so loyal to her and even went as far as punishing anyone who dare to flirt or even approach you in romantic way, after all your heart belongs to hera and hera alone.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 and hera was the happiest she ever was in her immortal life, even sometimes you need to sit down and assure her you only ever loved her and that what it will be like for eternity. i mean let's give hera a break, she was never treated life ever since she got with zeus.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 even if hera wasn't the queen of the gods anymore everyone respect her as she is, even if she's not wife of zeus thay doesn't mean she'll lose her place or respect between the other gods. she's a goddess in her own well.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 all hera kids loves you and i mean LOVES you, ares, hebe, Eileithyia and even Hephaestus. even if you're not their biological mother they all held high respect for you for loving their mom and giving her what she deserves.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ares would be awkward at first but he'll be more than happy to see his mom happy even if it's not with his father. hebe and Eileithyia would go as far as calling you mom and you absolutely cry when they first call you their other mother, Hephaestus isn't even zeus child so he'll like you for being chill.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 of course certain someone didn't like that his children calling his ex's new wife mother but what will he do about it? he has way more children to worry about.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 non to say hera's peacocks absolutely adore you just as much as she did, always having one in your lap as you enjoy nice tea with your amazing beautiful wife.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the other gods start liking you more, aside from the hate you show to zeus and the passion you show to your wife, you were still kind, respectful goddess which they all appreciate, for some reason some of them think you'll hate them just like hera for being zeus fertility children, but you couldn't care about anything to do with zeus.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 now back to hera, no need to say she was the BEST wife on olympus, i mean she was loyal to zeus even after everything he put her through so give her credit for that. she's loyal, loving and caring. she'd never treat you wrong in anyway, maybe she'll be a little paranoid at the first of your relationship but you don't blame her for that, don't you dare.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 kisses and cuddles are usual in your relationship, she has duties to do? don't forget to kiss her cheek before going! oh you need to do something real quick? it's fine a kiss on a head won't hurt. you're going to sleep? come on a little kiss there and there won't do nothing!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 she loves kissing your head, whenever you need to leave or doing something she place kiss on your head and tell you how much she's lucky to have you. you on the other side love kissing her hand, treating her the queen she is. whenever you're leaving or having a tea with her you hold her hand close to your lips kissing her knuckles softly then kissing her ring finger.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you're the happiest and the healthiest couple on olympus and no one can disagree with that, even Aphrodite is your biggest supporter, love her some wuh luh wuh. will maybe expect zeus but no one gives a fuck about him right ladies?

[legitimatesatanspawn]

So I had a weird dream a few nights ago where I was a random person who never read PIDW who transmigrated into the work along with Airplane but before Cucumber.

Because of meta reasons, NotReader had no System because Airplane and Cucumber both would've expected one and NotReader is more familiar with isekai works like Red River and uh... Digimon. So there was no visible System. For her it was a background process like a TTRPG or CRPG from the player character's PoV, and she thought she woke up somewhere in Nocturne Rebirth or Jade Empire (and is in for a hell of a shock with all the pornbait flora/fauna/monsters).

One thing led to another and she was taken into An Ding Peak. Using old skills learned in highschool and college to grind essays and paperwork. She regretted it a little but even this is better than letting her family sell her off for way-too-early marriage.

But here's why I'm bringing this up: Airplane in the dream had developed a habit of sending students who grew too suspicious of him off to die (the ones who couldn't be gaslit into thinking they were mistaken, and the ones who could be bribed would either want more later or blab anyway). After all these are all fictional characters so while they are a bit more "real" than he expected there still was a measure of seeing them as not people Especially since he was under constant stress and threat of Double Death by the System so hey what's a few deaths of nameless NPCs if it means their author isn't killed off by Siri's evil blue cousin?

So when NonReader realized that Teacher Qinghua is acting a little too squirrely? She's next on the chopping block! Shame since the kid was really good with balancing budgets but that just means he can shuffle blame off on her for a few things that disappeared to help Mobei-jun! Sorry for the inconvenience my fellow Peak Lords, I shouldn't had trusted her but she seemed so good if shy, she totally "ran away" with the money.

The two Transmigrators have no idea the other is originally from Earth. It really doesn't help that since NonReader was from Not-In-China-Like-Airplane-And-Cucumber and in spite of being an internet dweller never even heard of Proud Immortal Demon Way... there's even zero recognition when he even drops a hint of Airplane because "Fēi jī" (飞机) could literally come off as incomprehensible words to her (and yes this is a pun 费解).

Right up until she started cursing him out. In English. Granted that part happened in the dream when he was literally throwing her under an ice demon-shaped bus before he frantically started talking him down actually killing her because SHIT SHIT SHIT that's a Real Person! Killing off random NPCs is one thing but a REAL PERSON? Airplane likes to think he wouldn't allow that to happen to a real person (even though he let "unimportant characters" die right before his eyes many times before).

... yeah she didn't trust him after. Understood a little, but REALLY doesn't trust him. Shang had to resort to blackmail to keep her from blabbing and there is an element of Mutually Assured Destruction but he's more established as reliable (if a rat) and she's a Dumb New Student who he's already laid the preparatory groundwork on framing so she's already on thin ice with everyone else.

Neither of them were happy afterwards but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I woke up before I could see the fallout but as this is BEFORE Shen Yuan, Shang was definitely latching onto a Fellow Person Who Remembers the Good Times of Before SexAndMurderWorld. And as one who he was ready to Get Killed and had to blackmail, there's probably an element of "be chill and enjoy our talks OR ELSE :) ".

(For the record if this becomes an actual story, the NotReader would not become part of Shang's OR Shen's relationship. NotReader would want to FLEE THE AREA the second Airplane lets up on the blackmail. Get as FAR away from the guy who almost killed her off as possible.)

[cosmic-nia]

so. thoughts on tadc 5?

Nia’s thoughts on episode 5:

(yeah this is gonna be a long one)

AGGHHH I LOVED IT!!! I LOVED IT SO MUCH!! watching everyone speedrun through the adventures was pretty fun and hilarious. Especially the low stakes parts where everyone just. Relaxs and chills.

poachers paradise was pretty funny, i like that jax got a gun in this one :)) I LOVED SEEING POMNI AS PRESIDENT, AND KINGER PULLING HER UNDER THE TABLE BC HE FOCUSES BETTER IN THE DARK OMG THATS SUCH A CUTE CALLBACK. I ESPECIALLY LOVED THE ANIME SCENE, GOD EVERYONE DRAWN IN 2D IS SO GREAT AGHHHHH

loved learning more abt everyone’s lives during the bar scene. How we got to learn a but more abt pomni, zooble, gangle and ragatha,,, OH MAN ESPECIALLY RAGATHA. girlie pls don’t trauma dump at the table /lh /j

i mean i expected pomni to be an accountant but not a youtuber- also WEALTHY FARM GIRL + ABUSIVE MOM RAGATHA CONFIRMED OMG

ofc i LOVED the baseball scene. Especially w all the evil versions of the characters, hehe. jax and ragatha arguing is literally the equivalent of an old married couple arguing god theyre not beating the allegations.

jax and pomni’s bonding moments were really nice to see!! but its also intriguing to see ragatha reacting to pomni and jax bonding. idk she seemed pretty jealous and uneasy when jax n pomni started bonding more and hanging out together. im interested to see how they go w this since next episode is also gonna be jax n ragatha centered iirc.

caine is also definitely gonna have his crashout episode. him keeping an eye on everyone during the adventures and feeling,,, insecure?? i think?? when they prefer their own adventures rather than his own. im scared for his eventual crashout

dr football,,, what are you up to,,,

so basically, I ENJOYED THE HECK OUTTA THIS EPISODE!!! DEFINITELY MY FAVOURITE SO FAR AND I CANT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN

[mingismuncher]

~ || Dancin' for diamonds 💕💋 2 || ~ S.M.G

Dom!Mingi, stripper!femreader

Content warning 🚫: Prostitution, unprotected s3x (don't be dumb.), cream pie, multiple rounds, oral/blowjob m!receiving, cuffing, pet names for m and f (baby, daddy, good girl) heavy swearing. I guess

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

English is my first language, I'm just dumb so pls ignore misspelled words 💘💐

I kinda suck at writing actual sex scenes so there is a LINK +18 BEWARE

First and Second person POV 🌺

Nothing else! Enjoy!! 💋

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

PREVIOUSLY:

"The...the blowjob was only $50" Y/n says confused

"I know, I want something else from you, I wanna fuck." Mingi says with a slight smirk, looking up at her, his legs still spread and pants still off.

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

CHAPTER 2: Best I've ever had

"Uhm...well-...you kinda have to make a reservation for additional time and service unless I'm available." She says calmly, her tone mono but with a hint of interest

I wish I was, but bitch I'm usually busy as hell...she thinks to herself

"C'mon...30 minutes, MAX, you don't have a 30 minute window?" Mingi asks with a playful expression, looking into her eyes

"I-...well...I can check if i...do...one sec" I say as I dart my thirsty ass out of the private room, wobbling in my heels making my way to the front desk

"LAURA AM I AVAILABLE FOR AT LEAST 30 MINUTES?!" I ask one of my work friends/receptionist in a hurry

"uhmm let me check" she says, clicking random buttons on the computer "actually some dude, well, Y'know, Brandon, the one with the wife? Yeah he cancelled last minute, he told me to tell you that its him and his wife's anniversary tonight" she says with a small smirk on her face

"Thank goodness for that cheating asshole because the FINEST man I have EVER seen wants to fuck me...I'm at a lost for words like I'm honestly a little nervous to go back in there because... His eyes...they're intimidating but attractive and his lips are a pretty pink and-"

She cut her off

"Girl I LOVE that for you, but I really don't have time to hear you describe your dream fuck..." Laura says, eating a chip

"Please choke on a chip." You say playfully

"Beats choking on a dick!" She jokes back

"Whatever" you say as you walk back to the room, trying to gain that chill, laid back attitude once more

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

You make it into the room, closing the door behind you

"So uh...where do we start?" She asks a little nervously

He looks around the room, looking at the bed and floor, along with the couch he's sitting on

"Let's see how long I can lift you up" he says teasingly, standing up, his pants still down, as he makes his way to her, picking her up easily and pushing her against the wall

You hit the wall with a small gasp as you feel the coldness touch your back. He breathes on your neck as he makes his way to your ear and whispers "Relax..." Before licking your ear and making his way down to your collar bones.

He made love to my neck and breast for what felt like hours

Holy fuckin shit. I usually and rightfully so HATE being licked by strangers but goodness it felt amazing coming from him. It was like his tongue was made out of a soft fabric the way it caressed my neck and collar bones so gently and the way he-

"Y/n??" He calls out

"huh?!" I say confused as he stops kissing and licking my body

"Get on the bed..."

I IMMEDIATELY walk my thirsty ass to the bed, ready and waiting. He makes his way over, crawling onto me and looking at me as if I'm some meat skewer, like wtf, but its so hot honestly. I snake my hands and arms to his back and wrapped my legs around his waist while he grinds on me slowly and starts kissing and licking me again...

It felt...good...A little too good.

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

I'm usually a quiet person with strangers but this was different, it was impossible not to make some type of sound, my arousal was just too strong.

He pulls my leg higher as he grinds a little more, making sure I feel his boner and it's working, I move my body with his, matching his rhythm and pace and I take his tongue with mine.

He breaks the kiss, fully removing his pants and pulling off my expensive ass lingerie that I waited weeks for to come in the mail but its FINE, not really but, I'm sure this fuck will make it all worth it.

After what feels like an eternity of teasing he finally puts it in and oh my goodness, I don't know if its because I haven't been fucked in what felt like forever or if it was because his dick is ACTUALLY huge...

"...slowly..." I pant out as he starts thrusting in and out

"Are you a virgin? You're hella tight" he says looking down

"Uh no I just... Its been a while" I say awkwardly

Number one rule in this business is to NEVER gas up the men, their ego is not worth your pride or time, I promise you, no mans dick is ever as big as his ego.

He just chuckles and nods. After a few moments of slow thrusting he starts moving faster, hiking my leg up onto his broad shoulder and gripping my waist. I've never felt this good before...I know (WE'RE) delusional but this was the vest fuck I've had ever.

He continues thrusting at a tolerable pace, going from gripping my waist and gripping my throat.

"Turn over on all fours..." He pants out, waiting for me to turn on all fours. I turn on all fours, waiting for him to make his way into my entrance but he takes his time to put a pillow on my stomach for support, what a gentleman, anyways, he enters me slowly, thrusting like he has all damn day, gripping my hip with one hand and spanking me with the other

"Faster..." I moan out softly

Oh fuckin snap, did I just ASK for something?! I'm seriously losing the plot...

"Faster?" He asks for clarity and I nod. Why was that so fucking hot though?!?

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😉:

Mingi pushes her head down into a pillow as he starts fucking her from behind, his tall, muscular body pounding into hers like he had something prove.

I was levitating... It was like I was being rewarded for doing absolutely nothing. And for the first time EVER, I had an orgasm by a dude I'm doing a service for.

He pulls out immediately as I cum, cumming on my back and ass cheek with a grunt and lays down next to me

For what felt like hours we laid in silence, catching our breaths and calming down the adrenaline we both felt from that intense session.

He stands up, putting his boxers back on, and pulling his pants up

"Uh, thank you for the service, keep it up." He says whilst putting on his shirt.

"Um yeah...mhm..." I say quietly, still in bed, my body covered by the blanket, eyeing him as he walks out of the room.

Shit...that was something... A little too much for me honestly but I liked it, alot.

I quickly get dressed and head out of the private room, shutting off the lights and closing the door, walking back to my locker, collecting my money back and keys before heading home.

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

I make it to my apartment and immediately take a shower, washing all of the lust and cum off my body as I start to think about what happened about 30 minutes ago.

Once I'm done drying off I slip into some panties and an oversized t-shirt before hopping into bed and getting on my phone... It's 10:37 PM.

I get back up and make myself something quick to eat, also bringing a bag a chips with me because this bitch likes to eat, tf...and I get back in my comfy bed and start watching my favorite show (your choice). About 10 minutes into the show, my phone goes off, its a text from my friend Gia.

"Y/n, I'm going on this double date with this guy and his friend but the problem is...I need a double. You down?"

Now why the fuck would she ask ME of all people

"Well when is it? I work tomorrow until 8."

"It's at 10:30" she replies back

I fucking bet it is , I think to myself

"I mean...I guess??"

"Good! Ty!! I'll text you details tomorrow evening"

"K" I respond, shutting off my phone and finishing my food before putting my chips away and placing my dish in the sink.

I tried to finish my show but honestly I'm way too fucked out...so I turn off my lamp and try to sleep.

I think to myself as I fall asleep.

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

That is the end of a VERY long chapter 2!!

Sorry I missed so much for so long, ngl I forgot I had Tumblr 😂, let alone that I even posted anything. If you made it all the way through, tysm! And ily bitch 💘. I'll try my hardest to get better at WRITING actually smut if you want but if you like me adding videos ill gladly do so 💋 as before, lmk if you want a Chapter 3 and if I should change anything!!

xo, mingismuncher 👅❤

[chrattvibe]

៹midnight texts. dealer!chris.

In my opinion, there's no comfier spot than this couch.

Not the one at my friends' place, not in those ridiculously fancy houses I sometimes end up in.

This one. Ours.

The one that always has that busted star-shaped plush Matt refuses to throw out, and that faint smell of burnt popcorn that's totally soaked into the cushions by now.

Nick's on the other side of the couch, laying down, on his phone, in his own world. We don't say much—just a few shared comments or laughs. We're watching some movie we've already seen like a hundred times, but we always pick it again when nothing else really grabs us.

Matt's in his room. Said something about an exam next week and decided to skip movie night. Sometimes I lowkey envy how dedicated he is to the stuff he likes.

TV's on low, background noise. It's hot, but I'm still wearing my grey hoodie. That one that just fits right. Faded from too many washes, but that's part of the charm—if you ask me.

My phone's on the coffee table, screen down. Haven't touched it since I sat. Didn't really feel like texting back today. Still kinda early for that.

Friday night— I know how it goes. One, two, three texts. People looking for the usual.

I let 'em sit for now. Midnight can handle that.

I yawn. Stretch out a bit. Close my eyes for a second with the movie playing softly in the background and that weirdly calm feeling in my chest—the kind that only shows up when you're really chill.

I let myself enjoy it.

I know it won't last long.

Phone buzzes again. Fourth time. Still not midnight, but whatever. Movie's almost over anyway.

I flip it over.

Her name. With the little sunflower emoji she used to save her contact.

My eyebrow raises, and so does the corner of my mouth.

Didn't see that coming.

The girl from that party a couple weekends ago. The one who followed me into the kitchen with that almost-empty drink and that look like she still wasn't sure if she wanted to stay or leave.

We'd messaged here and there. Story replies, a couple of voice notes sometimes—hers more than mine— But texting this late? That was new.

She usually texts me around, like, 4PM. Telling me about her day, asking about mine, or saying some random shit like I remind her of a character from a show I've never even seen.

She's left me kinda speechless more than once, but with a smile on my face. That's why I kept replying.

I'm used to a different kind of text.

Plenty of girls text me more than I want and I just go “kinda busy rn, i'll text ya later”

But with her, it was different. Not annoying. It is fun, even.

Still, I didn't expect this one:

Hii sorry for texting so late, are you busy rn?

I think about not answering right away. Not because I don't want to—just debating if I should look too available.

But I ignore that and start typing:

Heyy, not really atm. Whats up?

She replies in under a minute. Drops a location and texts:

Can you swing by here for a sec? I promise I won’t keep you too long.

I frown a little. Weird, but sure, why not?

I glance at Nick, still glued to his phone doing who-knows-what.

“Gonna head out for a bit,” I say out loud, not really sure if he hears me. “Be back in a couple hours.”

I head to my room, a little more hyped than I'd like to admit.

Change into a better fit, spray some cologne. Keys, wallet, cap on and my fanny pack—muscle memory at this point.. I'm out.

In the car, I play a couple tracks—Dom Corleo, mostly.

I hum along, wondering what kind of night this is turning into.

Check myself in the mirror at a couple stoplights. Adjust my hair under the cap. Glove box— condoms, a joint for myself, lighter.

All set, I guess. Not even sure what I'm hoping for.

I pull up to the spot she sent. Didn't even get the chance to text “I'm here.”

She was already coming out of the house—half-jogging to the car, leather jacket, hair down, smile kind of wrecks me for a second.

Not that I show it.

“Hey! Sorry for making you come out,” she says in that soft, kinda shy voice as she hops in.

I nod, trying to play it cool. “All good, everything okay?”

She skips the small talk. “Um, yeah. You got any weed?” pause. “Or something like it?”

And then it clicks.

Oh. That's what this was. Just that.

“Something like it?” I laugh—dry, maybe a little too dry. “Didn't know you wanted to buy something. Could've brought more.”

I turn to grab the bag I'd tossed in the backseat earlier.

“Kinda last minute,” she shrugs. “Didn't know if I had to give you a heads-up or how this works.”

“You're good,” I say while digging through my stuff.

“Lucky for you, I've got something…”

As I search, I sneak glances at her.

Not sure why I feel weird about this. I shouldn't care. I don't care.

It's not the first time someone's hit me up like this. But with her, I figured it'd be different.

Not mad. Just… thrown off. Ego took a hit. Guess I misread the whole thing. Lowkey embarrassing.

“One pre-roll okay?”

“Gimme two, just in case.”

I frown a bit but add another and hand her the little bag. She shoves it into her jacket pocket.

“You sure tho'? feels like a lot,” I say, leaning back into my seat. “I remember you saying you didn’t even smoke. You know what you're doin'? I could walk you in if you want and... y'know, help you out.”

Dude, seriously? That desperate?

“It's not for me, actually.” she says with a tiny laugh.

I blink.

“It's not?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I bought it. But it's for the people inside. My friend's house. They were gonna get more later at this party, but… I don’t know. I felt like asking you instead. Guess I wanted to see you.”

And that's it.

Just drops it like that.

I nod slowly, not saying anything right away.

And even though this night didn't go how I thought it would, she thought of me. That's something, right? Doesn't have to mean anything. But it's something.

And for some reason, that's enough to calm me down a bit.

“You don't need to buy anything just to see me, you know that?”

“Really?” she asks, like it actually surprised her.

“Lemme know when you're free. We'll do something,” I say with a casual shrug, like it's no big deal.

It kinda is, at least for me.

She smiles. Real one. Small. But it is there.

“How much?”

I look at her. Thought about letting it slide. Would've, if it was for her. But it's not.

She paid full price. (Okay—almost full. Gave her a little off. Whatever.) Then hopped out.

I waited 'till she made it back inside before starting the car.

We waved at each other before we were out of sight.

The night didn't go how I expected— but at least now I know her texts aren't just friendly. I think...

Anyway, the night's still young. I've got places to be—and there’s always someone new to get my mind off things.

—chrattvibe.

Notes: damn bros a player, hope y’all liked it💌 this is def a slow build btw so bear with him, he’s figuring it out.

masterlist.

taglist.

[theladyheroine]

Things I’d Like To See in NSR2 ❤️‍🔥🎸🥁

❥ Hi you guys! 👋🏽 I know it’s been awhile since I did a major written post and I do apologize for that! 🙏 I’ve been looking for a new job recently so I’ve put social media on the back burner for a little bit, but I do have a couple things in the works! For now, this is just a small post about one of my favorite new games & it’s upcoming sequel! Thank you all so much for supporting me, hope you enjoy! 💝

More Genres! 🎤

Afrobeats 🎧

Dance Pop ✨

Disco 🪩

Electro Swing 🎺

Flamenco 💃

French Pop 💟

Hip Hop 📻

Jazz/R&B 🎷

K•Pop 💜

Reggaeton 🪇

Rockabilly 🎸

Personal Notes 📝

Okay this is just some personal fangirling about the game because O M G this game was so mind blowing! And so much fun to watch I loved it so much! Not only did it have such a stylish atmosphere, but the casting and music picked out for each character was so unique!

The developers clearly took their time with this to make something awesome! 🤩 Mayday & Zuke are my favorites because their chemistry is so well done! Not only that, but the rest of the characters didn’t feel like any specific archetype. While they each represented their own genre of music respectfully, their designs & personal stories didn’t feel like anything familiar at all!

I never would’ve guessed I’d be fighting against a robotic boy band or a sculptor with psychic powers? 😅 This game is always keeping you on your toes and it does that so well! The same can be said about the protagonists when it comes to surprises.

During the ending, I wasn’t expecting Mayday to nearly give up on her dream of being a famous artist. It made me so sad!! 😭 But I’m at least glad she gave everything some thought before leaving with Zuke, it shows she’s more than just a wild child woman with a rebellious attitude. I also loved how kind hearted Zuke was, even with Eve, someone he didn’t have a good relationship with. He demonstrated a lot of maturity during the storyline & honestly surprised me when he wasn’t in “chill guy��� mode. Y’know?

Now moving onto the sequel!! I really hope they go all out with the fight sequences in this game again. The animation & quirky visuals were all so amazing! I’d love to see what they do for all those new bosses!

I also hope we get a new cast of characters! I’m not sure what the overall plot would be in this game since the duo is traveling quite a bit. So maybe they’re trying to spread their fame on their own? But I’m not sure who the villain would be.

Also! I’m a big Mayday x Zuke shipper! I really love all the little nods to that concept in the first game! And I’ve seen the picture!!

You can’t tell me they’re not interested in one another OMGEEEEE!! 🤩🤩⬆️

Anywho, these are just my personal thoughts but I cannot wait for the sequel! I wanna play it so bad! Also if anyone doesn’t mind, is there a discord or a community for this series? I’d love to chat with others who enjoyed the game! Thank you & good night! 🌙

[beeguillotine]

It's a Miriam Monday!!!!

[moeblob]