#of weight just living and having fun its insane

[monkaesque]

Becoming a stoner made me so mentally healthy im uninstalling genshin impact

[wonderlandwalker]

Two can play (but three's more fun) | Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson

stranger things masterlist / inbox

summary: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations.

word count: 5.2k

tags / content warnings: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits

a/n: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions

The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air. 

Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.

“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.”

His voice was a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tipped his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”

“Yeah, man. Like—”  Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.”

The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh. Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”

Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.

Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud — not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam — Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some other idiot once stared just a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin the bottle?” Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.

So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.

But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hadn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.

Steve just grins — slow, deliberate — his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.”

The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Was this a test? A trap?  Christ.  Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”

Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered— 

And then you open the door.

Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”

His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then — Jesus Christ.

The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated — it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.” 

Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head — meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well — Eddie does.

He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts— 

Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.

Steve notices —of course he does— and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer “I— Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”

Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”

It’s not a request.

Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.

“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe.  “Don’t just touch. Listen.”  His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”

Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.

“Good.”  Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”

Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”

“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”

Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?”  Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”

Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.

Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”

Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.

The sound you make — the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?”  His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”

Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.

“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.

You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”

Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—

“See that?”  Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”

Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.

“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.

Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Now get on your knees.”

Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”

“No—fuck, no.”  Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.

Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.

Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”

Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slow and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward — but Eddie holds you steady, determined. 

His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval — and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.

The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet — bet you taste even better.”  Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.

He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.

And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”

The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers — slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.

Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more — the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”

Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?”  Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”

But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.

But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”

Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit?  He’s ruined. Forever.

Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.

“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.

“Are you going to come just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.

“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”

Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide —putting you on display— before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you. 

Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision — deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.

“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses — before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.

“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.

“She’s close,” Steve taunts — he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches.  “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response. “Then watch closely.”

He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter — you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink — if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss — not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”

Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait?  But then— 

Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”

For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.

“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.

And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”

Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.

“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.

But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.

"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."

And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."

Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."

So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters — success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes — your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over.  It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.

Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?

Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.

Not at back at Steve.

At him.

Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.

“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much. 

Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”

And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.

And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.

As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”

Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."

“Fuck—!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.

“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips.  “Already shaking for you.  Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”

Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant— Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.

“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”

Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—���  Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”

Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”

Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.

“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—” 

“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to come for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.

 Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—

Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!”  Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.

“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”

[wholoveseggs]

Hey girl, I love you and your stories <3

Can I maybe request an enemies to lovers with a female reader and Elijah, which leads to a threesome between her Elijah and Klaus. Maybe with a little punishment and very kinky maybe with a little light bondage and just light beds in general, I'll leave the details up to you

thank you already <333

Captive

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader} You are being held captive by a group of nasty witches, being tortured, starved of blood and interrogated night and day... You've lost all hope, until two old enemies show up to save you, and you spend the evening reminiscing and making up for lost time.

♡♡ Thank you lovely anon! Its been so long since I did a ménage à trois with the boys & it's always so much fun to write! ♡♡

7.1k words {hehe} - Warnings: smut, lots of drinking, Klaus being a little shit, oral sex {m! and f! receiving}, a little bondage, praise kink, a little punishment, slight dom!Elijah and Klaus, blood sharing, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation && aftercare ...

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05

In the dark, dingy cell; there was no way to tell the passage of time. Not that you were in any condition to care about that.

It had been so long, you had forgotten the feeling of sunlight kissing you skin, the smell of flowers in the wind, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the taste of rich red wine, the laughter of friends. The last few days- weeks? months?- were spent in a haze. Time had become a distant concept.

All you knew now was cold, stale, dirty water, and the constant pain of hunger, and the agony of torture.

At first you blamed your captors, with their unrelenting desire to grab at power. Then you blamed your stupidity, your lack of caution. But most of all you blamed the Mikaelsons, for they were who the witches had targeted. They were the ones you were being tortured for.

If only you had not made such enemies, if only you hadn't gotten involved, you could have lived your immortal life without consequence, without guilt. You would have avoided all the pain, all the torture. Indulging in men of that caliber always came with a price, you just didn't expect it to happen to you.

In a way, it was a mercy that your body had long since given out. That you had become too weak, too hungry, to do much more than lay against the dirty floor, staring blankly ahead. Soon your limbs would stop working, only dust left in your veins. You would desiccate and die a slow, painful death, the only relief would be your own insanity.

It was there, in that dark place, where you accepted your fate. The witch's spells kept you trapped, you were too weak to even crawl out the door, and there was no one who knew where you were, no one who would come for you.

That is, until you felt the cold chill of the witch's magic suddenly disappear, like a weight lifted from your shoulders. Then the sound of fighting outside, the screams of the witches and their death rattles, and the door creaking open. And a cold laugh you never thought you would hear again.

"Isn't this a sight?" Klaus said, crouching down outside of the cell, leaning close to the ground to meet your eyes, "I never thought I'd see you in such a state, little fox."

His tone was light, almost mocking, and his grin was as cold as ever. You blinked a few times, hoping you were imagining things, that the delirium had finally set in. You had experienced plenty of hallucinations since the witch's had captured you.

But he didn't disappear. He stayed, watching you, like a snake waiting to strike.

"She looks awful," He mused, looking you over.

"And she smell even worse," another voice chimed in, his soft lilting accent completely unfamiliar, and yet somehow familiar at the same time.

"You've let yourself go, sweetheart," Klaus teased.

"Are you going to sit and gawk, or are you going to rescue the poor girl," The second man said, his voice growing closer as he joined Klaus.

It was Elijah, his way with words unmistakable, even in the attempt at an American accent he spoke with now.

"I was actually thinking about killing her, would it be easier?" Klaus replied, his grin widening, "What do you think brother, is she a lost cause?"

Elijah peered through the bars, his dark eyes taking you in. You wanted to hide, or scream, or cry. His face bringing back a thousand buried memories, all the reasons why you had tried so hard to forget him.

"I'd say she's quite beyond salvation," he said, "but you know I could never resist a damsel in distress, even one as ugly as this."

That hurt, even though you certainly deserved it. Many great fables are written about the tragic love affairs of humans, but nothing compared to the heartbreaks between vampires.

Klaus laughed at the pain in your eyes, the way they watered ever so slightly, despite how weak and dehydrated you were. But he reached out and grabbed the iron gate, tearing it off the hinges with a grunt.

"I think we're past pleasantries, don't you agree, love?" He asked, striding into the cell and lifting you up.

The moment his hands touched your skin, you knew it was real. That by some divine miracle you were rescued and it was by the worst possible people.

"You should really take a bath, it's unbecoming for a lady to smell like a sewer." Elijah commented, watching the way you were limp in Klaus' arms.

You choked out a half laugh, half sob, every small movement felt like sandpaper rubbing against your skin. You swallowed hard and it felt like a knife had been forced down your throat.

"Fuck you," you wheezed.

"There she is!" Klaus said, holding you bridal style, "We were wondering if you had actually died."

Elijah reached out and placed a hand on your head, smoothing out your hair and giving you a gentle smile. You leaned into the touch, the first kindness you had felt in so long.

Klaus carried you out of the cell, and into the room above. He sat down in an old wooden chair, the same one you had been tortured in countless times. Your breathing hitched and you tried to struggle, but he held you tight, pressing his face into your neck.

"Relax," he said, "I'm not going to kill you … yet."

The threat hung in the air, and Elijah rolled his eyes at his brothers' dramatics. You felt the tip of his tongue lick up your neck, and his fangs graze your skin, before pulling away.

"Any of them still kickin'?" He asked Elijah, who was peering around the room.

"One, she's alive. Barely," he replied, his gaze falling on a witch laying face down on the floor, her neck was at a weird angle, no doubt snapped by Elijah.

He dragged her to the middle of the room, her body limp, but you could hear the faint beating of her heart, her blood still pumping. She was still clinging to the last threads of existence. Her blood smelled divine, the sound of her heartbeat was music to your ears.

"Here's a deal," Klaus said, pulling your attention back to him, "I give you her blood, and you answer our questions. Sound fair?"

Your lips were chapped and your throat was dry, but you forced out an answer, "Yes, please."

You hadn't begged for anything the entire time the witches had imprisoned you. Not for freedom, not for mercy, not for blood, not even for your own life. But in that moment, all of your pride had been stripped away, and there was nothing left but desperation.

Elijah lifted the witch up, biting down on her wrist and offering it to you. The taste of fresh blood filled your mouth, and you moaned, gulping down as much as you could. But the relief didn't last long, as he pulled away.

"Enough," he said, his grip tight, "can't have you drinking too much."

You felt life returning to your limbs, your bones tingling as you were able to wiggle them, your skin turning from a gray pallor to its usual color. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to take the edge off.

"Now, let's start with the obvious," Elijah said, "Why are you here?"

"On vacation," you replied sarcastically, your voice hoarse, but not as quiet as before.

Elijah didn't say anything, instead he gave you a cold stare, daring you to make another joke. You shrunk away, but not much. It had been so long since you had been with them, but the way they made you feel, was ingrained into your bones.

"The witches, what do they want from you? I will not ask you again," He asked, the anger behind his words making you nervous.

"They wanted you two," you said, "they knew we had...history."

"History?" Klaus said, chuckling, "that's a very bland word for what we had."

You bit your tongue. He wasn't wrong, but you weren't willing to admit that to them.

"They thought I could get to you, so they tortured me," you explained.

"And could you? Get to us?" Elijah asked, his eyes narrowed.

You didn't respond, instead you looked down. The truth was, you had been avoiding them for centuries and to do that, you always kept tabs on them. So yes, if you wanted to, you could have gotten to them, but that would have meant reopening old wounds, and the last thing you wanted was to feel that pain all over again.

"We could always compel the answer out of you," Elijah mused.

You shook your head. It wasn't that they couldn't, but that they didn't need to. You were already at their mercy, and had no desire to fight them.

"I... I kept your secrets, no matter how much they tortured me," You said, "I never told them anything."

"How noble," Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, "your loyalty is truly inspiring, sweetheart."

His grip tightened on your body, his fingers digging into your skin. It was starting to make you angry. Yes, they had saved you, but the way they spoke to you, the way they were acting, it was too much.

"Fuck off," you snapped, "I could have given them anything, and yet, here I am, starving and tortured. So maybe a little respect would be nice, you prick."

Elijah let out a short, sharp laugh, while Klaus glared at you. But after a moment he grinned and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver up your spine.

"You were always so bold," Klaus said, "you never were afraid of me."

"She's a fool then," Elijah replied.

"Well, what is life without a few fools, brother?" Klaus asked.

"Boring," you replied, earning a smirk from both of them.

Elijah leaned down, grabbing the witch by the hair and placing her head on your lap. She was so close to dying, you could hear her heartbeat getting weaker and weaker. You looked down at her, the smell of her blood filling the air, and licked your lips.

"Drink up now, you've earned it," he said, stroking the back of her head.

You sank your teeth into her neck, the taste of her blood filling your mouth, as you greedily sucked up as much as you could. Nothing tasted better than draining the life out of a witch.

When you finished, you tossed the body aside, licking your lips and wiping your mouth. You were finally able to relax, your stomach full, your skin returning to a healthy color. You stood up, steady and sure on your feet for the first time in months.

"Where do you think you're going?" Klaus asked, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

"A hotel, I'm thinking luxury suite, room service, a month long spa treatment, the works," you replied, "thanks for the save, I'm off."

You tried to pull your arm away, but his grip tightened, yanking you towards him.

"Such hubris, little fox," he said, his voice cold and menacing, "you don't really think we're going to just let you go, do you?"

You struggled in his grasp, but it was no use. He was too strong, and you were still too weak. You looked to Elijah, a silent plea, but he just shrugged, an amused smile on his lips.

"What the hell do you mean?" You asked.

"Well, there is the fact that you owe us a favor, but also," he said, leaning forward, his mouth brushing your ear, "I still think your lying,"

And with that, he reached for your neck and with one swift move he snapped it. You didn't even have a chance to react, and as you fell to the ground, the world fading away.

When you woke up, you were somewhere else, on a large, incredibly comfortable sofa, the smell of leather and wood in the air. The light was dim, and it took you a moment to get your bearings. You heard a crackling fire, the sounds of music playing from somewhere, and the voices of the Mikaelson's arguing.

"I don't believe she was lying," Elijah said.

"Really, I'm surprised at you brother," Klaus replied, "considering how she ended things with you,"

Elijah sighed and didn't respond. You couldn't see him, but you imagined him adjusting his suit, and the way his jaw twitched when he was annoyed.

"I'm not inclined to trust her either," Elijah said, "But I think holding her captive is pointless,"

"She's a risk," Klaus argued, "and she's not leaving till I'm sure she's not lying."

You sat up and glanced around, trying to see where they were. It was a large living room, the furniture was ornate and expensive, with antique looking paintings on the wall, and bookshelves lining every surface. There was a coffee table next to the sofa you were on, and your eyes landed on a fresh horror that was laying there.

You let out a blood curdling scream, one that echoed in the space and made Klaus and Elijah appear almost instantly. You were still staring, frozen in place, unable to look away.

A human head was sitting on the table, his skin pale and his eyes wide and lifeless. It was one of the witches that had tortured you, and it was sitting there, staring at you.

"Jesus Christ, is that necessary?" You snapped, pointing at the head.

Klaus grinned, looking down at the head, and shrugging, "I thought you would appreciate the gesture,"

"I don't!" You exclaimed.

"Perhaps you could have done something a little less barbaric," Elijah suggested.

"Oh come now brother, where's the fun in that," Klaus replied, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

"It's a peace offering," Klaus replied, walking over and lifting the head up, tossing it from one hand to the other, "do you like it?"

"No!" You yelled, covering your eyes and trying not to gag, "I want it gone, get rid of it,"

"Oh, come on little fox, don't be so uptight," He replied, his voice low and dangerous, "I remember when you used to enjoy this sort of thing,"

An awkward tension filled the room. Elijah cleared his throat and Klaus laughed.

"Too far?" He asked.

"Just a bit," Elijah replied.

"Sorry, my bad," he said, turning his attention back to you, "now, let's discuss how you're going to repay us."

"What, not even a hello, or how are you?" You asked, standing up.

Elijah gently pushed you back down onto the sofa. He sat down next to you, giving you a small smile, and placing a hand on your knee. You felt your heart skip a beat, and you cursed yourself for the reaction. You had been the one to ruin things with him, and yet, being near him again, it made you wish you hadn't.

"This happy reunion calls for wine!" Klaus called, he chucked the head somewhere out of sight and strided over to a mini bar, pulling out a bottle and glasses, "unfortunately I don't have anything fancy at this particular bar, but this is a decent 1990s vintage, which I think is passable,"

"I don't drink anything after the 1900s," Elijah replied, leaning back against the sofa.

Klaus scoffed, but didn't reply, instead he poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp.

"Fine," he grumbled, "make me go to the cellar, like some sort of servant,"

"If the shoe fits," Elijah quipped.

You watched the exchange, trying to process everything that had happened. They were different now, their accents and mannerisms, not to mention their appearances. But the easy banter between them, and the way they were able to get under each other's skin, that hadn't changed one bit.

"Are you two ever not at each other's throats?" You asked, leaning back, "seriously, you are worse than an old married couple."

"Far worse," Klaus yelled, before disappearing down a hallway, off to retrieve the good wine.

"Don't mind him," Elijah said, turning to you, "he's never been very appreciative of fine cuisine."

"I know. He's a heathen," you replied, smiling.

Elijah didn't return the smile, his gaze fixed on you, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dark and intense, and the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable you felt.

"You've changed," he said.

"So have you," you replied, "it's been centuries and I wasn't exactly eager to run into either of you again."

He didn't respond. The silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. What had happened, was painful, and neither of you had really moved on.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip. A million lies flashed through your mind. The truth was cruel, and you didn't want to admit it, but it was the only option.

"Because I was bored," you admitted, "and I didn't know any other way to handle it, so I turned it all off,"

"And found a far more vigorous lover in the process," Klaus said, suddenly appearing with an older bottle of wine.

He handed it to Elijah, who looked over the label and nodded. Klaus gave you a wink and sat down on the chair across from the two of you.

Elijah didn't speak, and you couldn't read his expression. He looked hurt, and his gaze turned away from you. Guilt was a feeling you spent a lot a time accepting back into your life, but to witness the consequences, that was far worse.

"Whoops, still a sore subject I see," Klaus teased.

"Niklaus, shut up," Elijah snapped.

Klaus threw his hands up in mock surrender, and didn't say anything, a satisfied smile on his face. He was just as much to blame as you, but clearly he had no remorse and was loving the awkwardness of the moment.

Elijah uncorked the wine and poured a glass for all three of you. The tension in the room was still palpable, and as much as you wanted to apologize, you knew that nothing would fix what you had done.

"To reunions, and bloody witches," Klaus said, raising his glass, "to past lovers and new enemies, to the future, whatever that may bring,"

He chuckled and took a long drink. You and Elijah didn't move, still looking away from each other.

"Oh, come on, I'm not doing this whole thing alone," Klaus said, glaring at the two of you, "let's play a game,"

"You know, I'm not really in the mood for a game," you said, crossing your arms.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not asking," Klaus replied, his voice dripping with false kindness, "now, the rules are simple, tell the truth or take a drink,"

"We are not children," Elijah protested, "we don't need games to imbibe,"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Klaus said, "so, what shall we ask first? Hmmm... oh, how about, why were you in New Orleans?"

You stared at him, unsure if you should just answer, or try to get out of the game. He was looking at you, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. You could feel his anger, and the last thing you wanted was to piss him off.

"I needed an answer to a question," you replied, "it's… important to me,"

Klaus and Elijah exchanged a glance, both of them curious about what you meant.

"How intriguing," Klaus said, leaning back, "and what was this question?"

"Doesn't work that way," you replied, a smile creeping onto your face, "it's your turn,"

"Clever girl," Klaus replied, grinning.

"My turn," Elijah said, turning to Klaus, "where did you find this bottle,"

"Why does that matter?" Klaus replied, annoyed.

"I don't remember seeing that year in the cellar," Elijah replied, taking a sip.

"Perhaps it was from your secret stash…" Klaus asked, smirking, "the one I'm not supposed to know about?"

Elijah glared at him, and you stifled a laugh. Their arguments were always funny, and this was no exception.

"Well, I was feeling sentimental, so I grabbed one of the better years," Klaus explained, "what's the harm in a little nostalgia,"

Elijah didn't say anything, his gaze turning back to the glass, swirling the wine around.

"My turn," you said, "how did you find me?"

"Simple," Klaus said, "we have spies everywhere, and witches are the most gossiping creatures on the planet. When I heard they were torturing a lovely little vampire that matched your description, well… we just had to see for ourselves,"

You were shocked, that they had gone out of their way to find you. You hadn't expected them to care, or even remember you, and to know they had saved you just because they could, it was a strange feeling.

"But, why bother saving me?" You asked, genuinely curious, "you don't owe me anything, not after how I left things,”

They both fell silent, exchanging a glance that seemed to have an entire conversation within it. After a moment, Elijah spoke.

"It's always better to know where our enemies stand," he said, "you are a useful asset, and a potential enemy,"

"And," Klaus added, "we love killing witches who get too big for their boots,"

Elijah glared at him and then sighed, "That too,"

You didn't say anything, their reasoning making perfect sense. You had a history with the two of them, but that didn't mean you were friends.

Elijah's arm stretched behind you, casually resting on the back of the couch. His fingers brushed your shoulder and you felt your breath catch. His hand was warm and you could feel his thumb stroke your shoulder.

"What did the witches ask you?" he said, his voice soft and low. “Tell us the whole truth,”

His hand moved subtly to the back of your neck, a quiet threat, one that didn't require words. You understood the unspoken message and knew that if you didn't give him an answer he was happy with, then you would end up the same way as the head that was somewhere in the house.

"They asked about your weaknesses, how to kill you," you admitted, "I told them to go fuck themselves and in return they upped to torture severely,”

Klaus snorted, clearly impressed. He poured himself another glass, while Elijah gave you a satisfied nod.

"Why the loyalty? We haven't spoken in centuries," Elijah asked, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck, "I seem to remember you hating us both,"

You picked up your glass and took a long drink, not saying anything.

"Not a fan of the question?" He asked.

"It's not loyalty, but self preservation," you said, shrugging, "the wrath of witches is one thing, but you two? That's a death wish,"

Klaus laughed and held up his glass, "well played, sweetheart,"

Elijah didn't remove his hand, his fingers lightly caressing the nape of your neck, his gaze never wavering from yours.

"My turn," you said, trying not to squirm under his touch, "why not kill me? You are clearly afraid I hold secrets you rather I didn't,"

"Call it … Nostalgia," Klaus said, a wicked grin on his face, "I do so love to reminisce, and if I am being honest, you are one of the more fun memories,"

"Ah yes, your one weakness, sentimental attachment to those you've slept with," you quipped, taking another drink, the alcohol warming your throat.

"I guess it's the one thread of our humanity we've never been able to shake," Klaus admitted.

You raised your glass and downed the rest of it, setting the glass down with a small clink. Elijah refilled it, his hand now resting on your lower back. You tried to ignore it, but every touch made you more aware of him, and less able to concentrate.

"Let's make a deal," Klaus said, his expression serious, "we will let you go, if you answer why you are in New Orleans,"

You bit your lip, wondering if they would even believe you.

"I'm here because..." you paused, looking down at the ground, "I heard a witch here can help with... Fertility,"

They both froze, a stunned look on their faces.

"A baby?" Elijah asked, his eyes wide.

"Is that what you've been chasing all these centuries?" Klaus asked, clearly surprised.

You looked up at both of them, two of the oldest beings to walk this earth. Them, of all people, you hoped would understand your reasons.

"I've experienced everything I've ever wanted too in my long life," you began, your hands twisting in your lap, "climbed the tallest mountains, swam in the deepest oceans, drank with Kings of long forgotten empires, fucked and fed from the greatest artists, poets, warriors and philosophers the world has ever known... but now I wish for only one thing,"

You stopped, swallowing a lump in your throat, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"To be a mother," you whispered, "to impart my wisdom on someone, and love them more than anything. To show them the beauty of the world and watch them grow up, have children of their own, and carry on a legacy. It's the one thing I haven't done, and the one thing I want most in the world,"

You thought that Klaus would laugh, perhaps even mock you, but he didn't, instead his expression was sympathetic, and Elijah's was one of understanding.

"You are not the wild, reckless creature that we used to know," Klaus said, "you have changed,"

"And so have you," you replied.

The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elijah asked, his arm now firmly around your waist.

"All I found was a chains and a cell," you replied, "I was a fool, blinded by hope. All that awaited me was pain,"

Klaus poured you another drink, they couldn't help you, but at least they could offer you a distraction.

The night quickly dissolved into a drunken revelry. The three of you laughing and drinking, the old days a source of amusement. Your belly was full of blood and wine, and the tension between the three of you had dissipated.

"Now that I have determined you aren't a threat, it's time to get down to the real questions," Klaus said, "who is the better lover? Me or my dear brother,"

"Seriously?" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

"What?" He replied, "I'm just curious, I promise I won't get jealous,"

"I'm not answering that," you said.

"Yes, well, I would rather not hear the answer," Elijah interjected.

"You are no fun," Klaus replied, and then leaned forward, his gaze intense, "I'm going to assume it's me,"

"Interesting assumption," you said, raising an eyebrow, "but if we're talking about skills, there is a clear winner,"

Elijah grinned, and Klaus shot you an offended look. You laughed and finished the rest of the wine, setting the glass on the table.

"And I've always preferred passion over... Enthusiasm," you said, a hint of teasing in your voice.

Elijah didn't look up from his drink, his face neutral, but you could tell he was smiling. Klaus huffed, and crossed his arms.

"I would be delighted to remind you," Klaus said, leaning forward and placing a hand on your thigh, "just say the word, and we can retire to a more comfortable location."

You grabbed his wrist and twisted, until you felt his bones shatter. He cried out in pain, then quickly recovered, the bones snapping back into place.

"That's not how this works," you replied, smiling sweetly.

He stared at you, his expression changing from shock to a pleased smile.

"Still the same fire, I see," he replied, "a good reminder of the past,"

"If I were to sleep with either of you again, it would be on my terms, certainly not when I'm held captive," you snapped.

"Who said anything about holding you captive," Klaus replied, "if we were, you would still be shackled to the wall,"

"Some might enjoy that sort of thing," Elijah remarked, his cheeks were a bit rosy from drink and you enjoyed how it made him seem less cold.

"Have you done that sort of thing Elijah?" You teased, "I never would have taken you for a deviant,"

He shrugged, a sly smile on his face, "I don't divulge such things,"

"Oh, please, you can tell us," Klaus said, "unless you haven't, and are simply trying to pretend like you have,"

"Or perhaps he has and is ashamed of the things he's done," you added, laughing.

Elijah glared at the two of you, the playful glint in his eyes giving him away. He simply stood up and held out his hand to you, the confidence in his stance and the way he looked at you sent a jolt of heat through your body.

"The only way to know for sure, is to experience it for yourself," he said, his tone seductive, "I'll leave the choice up to you,"

You stared at him, a sudden desire coursing through your veins. This was a terrible idea, but at the same time, a chance to have a night of freedom and pleasure after months of torture was an offer you couldn't resist.

"If I say no, am I free to go?" You challenged, meeting his gaze.

"You were never a prisoner," he replied, "the only person keeping you here is yourself,"

He was right. They hadn't chained you, or compelled you, and now that the threat of danger was gone, there was nothing stopping you from walking out the door. But that was not what you wanted, and the look in his eyes was too enticing.

"Alright, but I need a shower first, I still smell of dungeon and witch piss," you said, standing up and taking his hand, "and you better not disappoint,"

He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was intense, and you clung to his shoulders, melting into his embrace.

Klaus scoffed, he loathed being left out.

"Really?" he grumbled, pouring himself another glass. "Can you keep the noise to a minimum, I would prefer to have a little sleep tonight,"

You let out a soft giggle, "oh, don't pout, you can come too,"

Klaus raised an eyebrow, looking to his brother for an answer. Elijah nodded, a smirk on his face.

"If she insists," Elijah said, his voice smooth, "you know I've never been good at denying her,"

Klaus immediately got to his feet, throwing his glass of wine into the fireplace. The flames leapt up, the red embers glowing, illuminating the room in a fiery light. He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist, his lips brushing your ear, his hand cupping your ass.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've fantasized about having you in bed again?" He whispered, his breath hot against your neck.

You smiled and pushed him away, enjoying his expression of surprise.

"Well, then, why are we still standing here," you said, sauntering out of the room, "the night won't last forever,"

Elijah caught up with you in the hallway, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you up against the wall. He kissed you, his hands sliding down to your thighs and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and ran your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss.

He carried you all the way to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. The room was dark, and the bed was large and covered in dark silk sheets. He pointed to his bathroom, and you pulled your tattered clothes off, leaving them on the floor.

You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm. You felt his arms wrap around you and turned around, letting him press you up against the tile. He kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of bare skin, his touch igniting a fire within you.

Klaus quickly joined you, he had undressed in the other room, and stood naked in the doorway. You smiled at him, enjoying the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

Elijah pulled away from you to undress and you watched as his shirt was unbuttoned and fell to the ground. His pants followed, and your eyes roamed his body, admiring his muscular frame. The two of them were opposites in many ways, but they both had a beauty to them, and right now you could hardly choose which one you wanted more.

You took both their hands and pulled them under the steamy water, running your hands across their skin. Their bodies were warm and firm, their skin soft under your fingertips. You kissed Elijah, while Klaus kissed and licked your breasts, his hands wandering between your legs.

You could feel his fingers brush against your wet core, his thumb pressing against your clit. He slowly circled the sensitive nub, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your hands wandered down to Elijah's cock, gently stroking the hard length.

Elijah kissed you, his lips trailing down your neck, his hand gently caressing your breasts. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of their hands on your body.

Their touch was overwhelming, hands and mouths everywhere, and it was only when the water started to turn cold that you all stepped out, laughing and breathless.

Elijah pulled you on to his bed, and you fell on to his chest. His lips found yours and you lost yourself in his kiss. You felt the bed dip and Klaus pressed his lips against your shoulder, his hands running along your thighs. He kissed his way down your spine, his hands pushing your ass up in the air.

His lips trailed along the curve of your lower back, his fingers tracing the line of your hip. He placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh and you moaned, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

You felt his tongue flick across your pussy and you gasped, arching your back. He chuckled and began licking and sucking, his tongue expertly teasing your clit.

Elijah's hands cupped your face and you turned your attention back to him. His eyes were blown wide with lust, his gaze fixed on yours. You kissed him, the taste of the wine still lingering on his lips. His cock was hard against your stomach and you could feel his desire pulsing through his veins.

Your hand trailed down his chest, and you wrapped your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking the thick shaft. His eyebrows arched in pleasure, and you could feel his muscles tighten.

You kissed your way down his chest until you were level with his cock. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the sound of his low moans. A gentle hum left your throat and you felt him shudder.

You took him in your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair. His grip tightened and you increased your pace, taking his length deeper.

Klaus moved away for a moment, and you could see Elijah observing whatever he was doing, a dark smile spreading across his face. You felt the bed dip as Klaus returned, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back.

A moment later, the soft leather of a belt wrapped around them, and he secured the belt, tight enough that you couldn't move, but not too tight that it hurt.

Elijah's eyes met yours, and a wicked smile played across his lips. "Do you enjoy being tied up? Being helpless and at our mercy?" He asked, his voice a deep growl.

You nodded eagerly, taking him further into your mouth. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, his hips thrusting forward. You could feel him hit the back of your throat and gagged, your eyes watering.

Klaus kissed your lower back, then positioned himself at your entrance. You gasped as he slowly slid inside, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then slowly began to move.

You moaned, the sensation of being filled by both of them overwhelming. They began to move in a steady rhythm, Klaus thrusting into you while Elijah fucked your mouth. You were helpless, pinned between them, unable to do anything but submit.

The sound of their pleasure sent a shiver of delight through you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elijah's breathing became ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened. You knew he was close, so you focused on pleasuring him, moving all the way down and swallowing.

He let out a low groan and came, his hot release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, then pulled away, gasping for air. You smiled up at him, his expression one of bliss.

Klaus continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing. He leaned forward and bit into your shoulder, his fangs sinking deep. You cried out in pain and pleasure, your body shuddering. His bloodlust combined with his own pleasure, the feeling overwhelming, but just as you were about to cum, he stopped.

You let out a whine, and he chuckled, his hands squeezing your ass.

"I don't think I'm quite ready for this to end," he murmured, pulling out.

Elijah's hands moved down to your arms, pulling you forward and guiding you onto his lap. You straddled him, your hands still bound behind your back, and his cock brushed against your wet core.

"Do you remember how you used to love riding me?" He whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You nodded, eager for him to fill you. He grinned and lifted your hips, slowly lowering you onto his cock. He gripped your hips and began to move you up and down. You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder and grinding your hips.

Klaus positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand trail down your back. His fingers traced the line of your ass, and then he spread your cheeks, exposing your other hole.

"You are such a pretty little thing," he murmured, pressing a finger against your ass, "all tied up and at our mercy,"

He slid a finger inside, the tight ring of muscle giving way. You moaned, the feeling of being filled by both of them overwhelming.

Klaus coated his cock with a lubricant and pressed it against your ass. Elijah held you still, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss. You could feel the tip of Klaus' cock pushing into your ass and whimpered, the stretch bordering on painful.

Klaus slowly sank into you, letting out a low groan. He began to thrust, his movements slow and deep. The feeling of both of them inside you was almost too much, and you moaned, your body trembling.

"Are you enjoying this, love?" Klaus asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," you whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Elijah kissed along your jaw, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements, rocking you back and forth on their cocks.

You felt the heat of their bodies pressed against yours, and their hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, and teasing. The smell of their sweat and desire was intoxicating, and you were lost in the pleasure, your mind spinning.

Klaus pulled on your wrists, his mouth colliding with the side of your neck. You cried out as he bit into you, his fangs piercing your skin. Elijah kissed the other side, mirroring his brother's bite.

The combination of the pleasure and pain was too much, and you came, your orgasm crashing through your body. You writhed in their arms, your body trembling, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

They kept you pinned between them, bouncing you up and down, their movements rough and animalistic. The belt came loose, and your hands came free.

You wrapped your arms around Elijah's neck as another orgasm hit, this one even more intense than the last. He smiled at the look of pure bliss on your face and kissed you, his hands tangled in your hair.

Klaus groaned, pressing himself deep as he came, then he slowly pulled out, kissing the nape of your neck.

Elijah soon followed, his eyes meeting yours as he shuddered, spilling into you. You collapsed against him, exhausted and sated. He gently stroked your hair, his gaze soft and loving.

"I forgot how good you are at that," you mumbled, your eyes drifting closed.

He chuckled, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. You snuggled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

Klaus laid down next to the two of you, his eyes bright, and a smile on his face. "What about me? Any thoughts?" He asked, and you giggled, the alcohol still coursing through your system.

"You were pretty good, too," you replied, reaching out and patting his arm.

He grinned, his hand coming to rest on the top of your thigh. "I don't know why we didn't do this earlier, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble," he said.

Elijah nodded, a small smirk on his lips, "you may be right,"

"I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did," you said softly, running your hands through Elijah's hair, "and thank you for coming to save me,"

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, then helped you off his lap, and onto the bed, covering the three of you with a silk sheet.

"Do you mind if I stay here a while? It's been so long since I've had a good night's sleep," you mumbled, your fingers curling into Elijah's chest, holding him tight.

He didn't reply, just pulled you closer, his hand stroking your back, lulling you to sleep.

"We've got all the time in the world, love," Klaus said softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll make sure no more nasty witches get their hands on you,"

It had been so long since you had felt so content, you could feel the warmth of their skin, smell their cologne, hear the beat of their hearts. You could taste the blood and whiskey in the air, and it felt right, like you had come home.

[cherryobx]

Illicit affairs

a/n: last fic of my 2.4k picnic! thank u all for requesting and participating! i love yall! also, this song is so Rafe fr

pairing: Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader

summary: you're tired of keeping your relationship a secret

warnings: rafe is a simp but also so stupid, language, like one sexual innuendo i think, mentions of alcohol, drugs and doing them (idk if i missed anything but if i did pls let me know)

wc: 4.3k

Even though it wasn’t technically wrong in any way, it seemed that way. People in Kildare had been separated into two for so long that it made it almost sinful or illegal in a sense for a pogue and a kook to be together. But you loved him. You loved Rafe.

You met him at Midsummers. Sarah begged you to go with her because she didn’t want to go alone and converse with all the snotty kooks there, even though she herself was a part of that society unfortunately. She just needed someone there for her so she could make this evening a bit less insufferable.

“It doesn’t seem so bad, to be honest,” you said looking around yourself and the people there who were dressed in all kinds of fancy outfits. You yourself included.

Sarah offered to buy you a dress. You denied her offer at first but after rummaging through your own closet you finally said yes to her. You didn’t have anything to wear to an event like that. You also didn’t want people to make fun of you or notice immediately that you definitely didn’t belong there.

Sarah was happy to help you out and go shopping together. It took you a whole day to find something you not only liked but felt confident in. You also kept your eye on the price tags and made sure to not pick anything super expensive because you were planning on paying her back. Even though she insisted that it was a gift and she didn’t want your money.

“Trust me. It will get worse as people drink. They start getting chatty and ask too many questions that I don’t wanna answer.” She scoffed and took a sip of her champagne flute.

“Like what?” you asked curiously.

“Every year they’re like ‘are you seeing anyone’, ‘what college are you going to’, ‘planning on getting married’ or stuff like that. Like let me live. It’s none of their business. One time this older lady kept telling me I needed to lose weight. Like what? It’s insane.”

Your eyes are wide in slight shock. “Yeah, they never know when to shut up, do they?” 

“No, they do not.”

And then your eyes met his. He was standing across the room with a bunch of his friends. Rafe tilted his head as he looked at you curiously. You felt almost exposed under his gaze. There was a small smirk on his face as he raised his glass, saluting you, before downing its contents with one gulp. 

You were sure he knew you weren’t a kook. He saw right through you. But you didn’t find it in you to care. 

You mimicked his actions and the smirk on his face grew into a smile.

You kept stealing glances at each other throughout the night and once Sarah was pulled away by some of her acquaintances, Rafe made his move

He was standing at your side in a second. “You lost?”

“Why would I be lost?” you asked, turning your head so you could look up at him.

“Because you don’t belong here, sweetheart.” 

Your heart rate picked up at the pet name he used, making you nervous. He was so attractive, although you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. He looked really good in his suit. He wasn’t wearing a tie and the first couple buttons of his shirt were undone.

“That obvious?” You chuckled and took a sip of your champagne.

“Surprisingly not really. But I’ve seen you running around with your pogue friends so I know you’re not a kook.”

“That I am not. But I’m a friend of Sarah’s. She invited me here so please don’t rat me out,” you pleaded.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl. See you around.” He left as suddenly as he arrived, leaving you standing there with a dumbfounded look on your face and a stomach full of butterflies. 

Pretty girl.

Somehow, through many coincidences, you and Rafe kept seeing each other around more often. At Tannyhill when you were visiting Sarah, at your work, on the street. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him around before but it was weird how you seemed to run into him much more after the Midsummer incident.

Your relationship with Rafe took off after one night at Tannyhill when you couldn’t sleep so you wandered around the house and ran into Rafe in the kitchen who was getting a late night snack.

“Well look who it is?” He smirked. “Isn’t that my favorite pogue?”

“Am I not the only pogue you’re not absolutely disgusted by?” You asked and hopped onto the kitchen island, sitting there and dangling your legs.

Rafe took in your appearance. You were wearing shorts and a large hoodie. You looked really cozy. He almost wanted to tuck you to bed and give you a goodnight kiss, which he realized was an absolute crazy thought to have.

“Hence why you’re my favorite.” He stood next to you, booped your nose, and leaned against the counter, facing you. 

“Want one?” He held out a small bowl full of strawberries that he had previously washed and removed the tops from.

“Sure. Thanks.” You looked at him for a second before taking one from the bowl and popping it into your mouth. It seemed insane to be on speaking terms with the Rafe Cameron who was known for being an asshole to pogues.

Another thought you had, which you also thought was an insane one, was that he was beautiful. He had always been extremely handsome but in that moment, in the moonlight, he was breathtaking.

“You’re thinking really loud,” he commented after catching you staring at him with a disconnected look in your eyes.

You’re shaken from your trance and your eyes meet his. “What?”

“I said you’re thinking loud, kid.” 

Again with the nicknames. You were pretty certain he knew what he was doing.

“Oh umm…” you started but then he scooted closer to you and all thoughts vanished from your head.

And he noticed. Of course he noticed. Rafe was not stupid. He knew what kind of effect he had on girls. But he liked your reactions especially. He found himself liking you, actually. He never thought he’d like a pogue, that he’d not be repulsed by one. But with you it seemed to be the opposite. He was drawn to you.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asks. He pushed himself off the counter, putting down his bowl of strawberries, and forced himself between your legs. You instinctively made more room for him, accommodating his large frame in your space.

“Nothing much.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You were so deep in thought just a second ago.”

He places his hands on your bare thighs, feeling your warm skin under his palms. You looked down and saw how big his hands were and swallowed thickly.

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t be coy. Share with the class.”

You laughed. “What class, Rafe?” 

He smiled. “Come on, baby. Don’t be shy. I shared my strawberries with you.”

“A strawberry for my thoughts?”

His smile widened, revealing his perfect teeth. “Exactly.”

“What do you wanna know?” You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

He shrugs. “Just what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that the moonlight is very pretty.” It was not completely a lie but also not the full truth. And Rafe knew that.

He squeezed your thighs with his hands. “What else?”

“That you’re really close to me.” He leaned even closer at that. He was so close your noses were almost touching. His eyes darted to your lips for a second before he looked back up at your eyes.

“Are you bothered by that?”

“No.”

“Anything else on your mind?” You couldn’t help but look down at his lips too. It was just a second but Rafe caught that. Of course he did.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you confirmed, obviously not being honest. There were about a million scenarios in your head at that moment and all of them included Rafe’s lips on yours and his tongue in your mouth.

“Fucking liar.”

“I’m not lying,” you tried to deny it but he saw right through you.

“You’re not lying?”

You shook your head.

“Is that so?” 

You nodded. Rafe smiled and leaned in. Your lips were just about to touch.”Why are you lying to me?”

You open your mouth to once again deny his claims but he interrupted you even before you could begin. “Be honest, baby.”

Baby.

“I’m thinking about your lips.” You were almost shocked at your own words, they just slipped out. 

“My lips? What about them?” He knew exactly what you meant but found joy in teasing the living hell out of you.

“They look so kissable.” You were wondering if you were drunk because you’d never say stuff like that to him of all people in the daylight.

“Then you should probably find out if they are as kissable as they look.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you acting like this?”

He looked confused as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“You’re flirting with me. And touching me.”

“So? Can’t I? Say the word and I’ll back off.”

“No, it’s just that I’m a pogue. Don’t you like want to light me on fire and stuff?”

His forehead fell to your shoulder as he chuckled. “Light you on fire? You’re funny, kid.”

Kid.

“Don’t you?”

He raised his head and looked you in the eyes again. “I would like to do many things to you but lighting you on fire is not one of them.”

“Then why are you flirting with me?”

“Is it that crazy that I actually like you? That I’m attracted to you?”

“Kind of,” you admit. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re a kook? Because you’re insanely hot and I can’t imagine you wanting anything to do with me?”

“You think I’m hot?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head. Your ego is big enough as it is.”

“You know what else is big?” He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked knowingly.

You gave him a gentle shove but laughed nonetheless. “Shut up.”

He laughed alongside you and it felt good. It was fun. He was fun. You never thought you could use that word to describe Rafe but that’s how it felt.

When your laughter died down he got this look in his eyes that could only be described as ‘hungry’. He wanted something, craved something.

Automatically you angled your body towards his. It was like something was pulling you. A magnet of sorts, perhaps.

Once again you found yourself close. You were too close for a pogue and a kook anyway but too close for two random people as well.

His eyes met yours in a plea. And you took the leap, leaning in and connecting your lips. He didn’t waste a second to kiss you back. It was slow and almost sweet at first, experimental. But then it got heated. Hands everywhere.

You didn’t find it in yourself to care about the consequences or future in that moment. You didn’t care that it was socially not acceptable for you to be making out with a kook. You just didn’t care. You just wanted to kiss him.

After that night, these meetings started happening intentionally. Sometimes Rafe sneaked into your house, other times you snuck into his. You found each other at every party, every event. It became serious. But both of you knew that this was meant to be a secret. This relationship was only for you two, no one else.

“Make sure no one sees you, okay?” You stood on your front porch, Rafe in front of you who was about to leave. He had spent the night but had to leave before your parents woke up. They’d kill you if they knew you were dating a kook, Rafe Cameron at that. The sun was starting to rise and the birds were chirping. It was a beautiful morning.

You grabbed the hood of his hoodie and pulled it up to cover him up as much as possible. You didn’t want to risk anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll take the other route, no one really uses it.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye.” You waved him off and watched him drive away.

Soon, your friends started suspecting that something was going on. They saw how happy and glowing you looked, tremendously more than you usually were, but couldn’t figure out for the life of them what or who exactly it was.

“What’s got you in such a good mood lately?” Kie asked one day when all of you were sitting in John B’s backyard, you, Kie, and Sarah in the hammock and the guys in lawn chairs.

You shrugged “It’s summer.”

“Bullshit,” JJ scoffed.

“Bullshit?” Did they really see right through you?

“Yeah. I’ve never seen you like this,” he commented, narrowing his eyes at you like he was trying to see into your brain and what was going on in there.

“Like what?”

They all looked at each other, speaking only with their eyes. That meant that they had discussed this topic previously and were hesitant to bring up their suspicions.

“You seem…in love,” Sarah said. It was actually kind of ironic how she was the one who spoke up. If she only knew it was her own brother who you were seeing.

“In love? What?” You tried to play it off by acting confused. “I'm as single as ever.”

Pope rolled his eyes at you. “Yeah right. You know you’re a horrible liar right?”

“Shut up.”

“We’re going to find out eventually who this mystery lover is. It’s either you tell us or we’ll do some investigating.”

You suddenly became nervous. “Just drop it guys. Okay?”

They raised their hands in surrender but exchanged quick looks with each other which told you that the topic wasn’t as much as dropped as it was postponed.

Later that night you snuck off to see Rafe. You excused yourself and lied that you were tired and your head was hurting. They didn’t seem convinced but didn’t start prying either. You made sure you weren’t followed when you biked to Tannyhill. 

Sneaking into his house wasn’t very hard. The place is huge, so many doors to enter through without being seen.

He met you at the staircase and dragged you to his room.

“They suspect that I’m seeing someone.” You were laying between Rafe’s big arms in his bed under the covers, all cozy and warm. Your back was against his chest, his body curled around yours. It made you feel very safe,

“Who?”

“My friends, your sister.”

“Wheezie?”

“No, Sarah, you idiot.” He laughed and then placed a kiss on your shoulder, the action making you feel all giddy inside.

“They won’t find out. They’re stupid.”

“Hey!” You furrowed your brows. “Don’t call them that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a part of that group. By calling them stupid, you’re calling me stupid.”

“Who said you aren’t stupid?” You just knew he was smirking.

“Asshole.”

“You love me.”

“Are you sure about that?” You turned around in his arms and looked at him, a smirk on your face.

“Yes.” He said confidently, placing a soft kiss on your nose before pressing one to your lips. You closed your eyes in bliss, relishing in the feeling.

Weeks turned into months and so far into your relationship you had managed to hide it and be with him undetected. Your friends tried to do some detective work but unsuccessfully so.

“Aren’t you tired?” Sarah asked one night when you were sitting in John B’s backyard once again, just chilling and spending time with each other.

“Of what?”

“Of hiding your relationship.”

There was a beat of silence. You thought about what she said. And she was right. You were kind of tired, obviously not of Rafe but all the sneaking around and almost never seeing each other in the daylight. You love being with him and love spending time with him but sometimes you actually wanted to be out in public with him. To go on dates or the beach together or whatever normal couples did.

And you wanted to be with him without hiding it. Without either of you caring about what others might think. Without there being judgment from people closest to you.

“I have to go.” You stood up.

“What? Why? I’m sorry if what I said upset you.” Sarah jumped up too, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“No, it’s not that. I just have to go.”

You texted Rafe to meet you at a random parking lot where he sometimes picked you up. You arrived before him and paced around nervously, biting the skin on the inside of your lips.

He pulled up about 10 minutes later, parked the car and then got out, hurrying to you. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He placed his hands on your arms and looked you in the eyes with a worried expression, searching for the answer in your eyes.

“I’m fine, Rafe. I just needed to talk to you.”

He furrowed his brows and stood up taller. “Okay. What is it?”

“Sarah said something tonight and it made me think.”

Rafe rolled his eyes at that. “Sarah?”

You nodded. “She asked me if I was tired of hiding us, our relationship.”

“And?”

“I am. I’m so tired, Rafe. Aren’t you?” You asked, looking him in the eyes.

He contemplated for a second. “I am. But there isn’t really anything we could do about it, right?”

“We could just say fuck it and go public?” you asked, voice filled with hope.

“Go public? No, that’s not a good idea.” He shook his head, shooting down your idea immediately.

You were taken aback by that. “You said you were tired too?”

“Yes but this,” he pointed a finger back and forth between you two, “going public will ruin both of us.”

“Will it? We don’t know that, Rafe. We can’t possibly know that.”

“It most definitely will,” he argued.

“How can you be so sure?”

“We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“So? I love you, Rafe. I don’t care anymore. I wanna be your girlfriend everywhere, not just your bedroom or this random-ass parking lot. I want to be your girlfriend during the day too, not just night. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do but it’s not that simple. You’re asking for a lot.”

You took a step back, away from him. “I’m asking for a lot? I want us to be normal!”

“Baby.” He tried to get closer again but you just backed up again.

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me right now! Do you even love me?” You were beginning to feel frustrated and that brought tears to your eyes.

“Of course I love you! You knew that this is what it was going to be like when we started dating. You knew!” He was clearly angry and frustrated too.

You took in a shaky breath. Rafe’s constantly angry but it’s never been directed towards you before.

“Then I can’t do this anymore.”

“Kid-” he said, voice now quieter, almost pleading.

“No, I can’t do this to myself.” You turned around and hurried towards your bike which was lying next to the curb. 

“Let’s just talk about this!” he called after you.

“Clearly there’s nothing to talk about anymore.” You looked back at him.

“I love you.”

“Do you?” you asked, eyes filled with tears.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you want to be with me?”

“I do want to be with you but what we have is complicated.”

“It’s really not, Rafe.” You got on your bike and pedaled away as quickly as possible. You didn’t greet your parents as you got home and stormed past them to your room where you finally broke down.

You loved him. Of course you loved him. But you were tired and he wasn’t willing to compromise. 

Days passed and you barely left your room. All you did was wallow in sadness and cry yourself to sleep every night. And even then you didn’t get any peace because he even filled your dreams. You couldn’t get a break.

Rafe was absolutely miserable too, lashing out at everyone, breaking furniture and punching walls. He couldn’t sleep so he sat on the balcony the whole night, occasionally doing a line or smoking something to make him feel better but it never worked, he couldn’t get the heartbreaking look of you in that parking lot out of his head. 

It was a warm summer night a couple of days after your breakup. Rafe was smoking a joint on the balcony at Tannyhill when Sarah approached him, keeping her distance just in case. She stood by the door and leaned against the frame.

“You should go after her.”

Rafe turned around and stared at his sister. “What?”

Sarah said your name and Rafe swore his heart skipped a beat, or stopped working completely. 

“Why the hell should I talk to her. She’s your friend,” he scoffed and took another hit, looking at the treeline.

“You love her.” 

His head snapped towards Sarah.

“I know, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you know but you don’t. So get lost.”

“It wasn’t really hard to figure out,” she continued. “I’ve never seen you actually happy before, you know?”

“Go annoy someone else.” He looks away before taking a big breath to calm his racing heart.

“It’s not the end of the world to love a pogue, Rafe. It’s literally not that big of a deal. You’re so stupid.”

He sighed before he spoke. He couldn’t believe he was about to actually talk to Sarah of all people about this. “It’s not just that.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue and explain what he meant by that.

Another sigh. “She’s the first girl I’ve ever loved and I pussied out when she told me she wanted to stop hiding.”

“Go talk to her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is.”

“She loves you, Rafe, for whatever reason. I hate seeing her suffer. I don’t care that much about you but your actions are what caused this. So fix it so I can have my friend back.”

“You’re so annoying, y’know that?” His blunt had run out and he put the butt into the ashtray, then pushing past Sarah into the house

“Where are you going?” She whipped around and followed Rafe down the stairs.

“Where do you think I’m going, dumbass?” 

“Say hi for me.” 

“I won’t.” He slammed the door and got in his car, making the drive across town to your house. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. That he’s sorry? That’s pathetic.

He stopped the car on the side of the road and walked up to your house, picking up pebbles as he went.

He threw one against your bedroom window. The sound was loud in the quiet of the night but you didn’t open the window on the first try like he had hoped.

He threw one more. And then one after that. He kept trying until you pulled open the window, staring down at him. “What the hell do you want?” you hissed.

“I love you. I was an idiot. I was a pussy and I made a big deal about something that isn’t even that important. I love you and I don’t care who knows. I want you to be mine 24/7. I knew I was going to love you from the moment I saw you at Midsummers. I’m a fucking fool and I’ve never deserved you in the first place. I’ve never deserved your love but I need it. I can’t live without your love. You’re like a drug and I cannot live without you. I can’t get you out of my damn head. I’m half the man that I could be when I’m without you. You’re the first girl I’ve ever loved and I promise I will try to be worthy of you and your love for as long as you’ll have me. I want you to be my girlfriend officially. I want to show you off and take you on dates. I want to introduce you to my dad. I just want you. I will love you in private and in public, when we’re alone and when with friends. I promise. Please, just give me another chance. I’m sorry.”

Rafe watched you disappear from the window and his heart sunk. He tried. He turned to leave but then heard the front door open and saw you sprinting towards him in your cute pajamas and messy hair.

He caught you in his arms, holding you close to his chest so tight you thought you were going to suffocate.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mumble against his t-shirt.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You will have to do a lot of groveling.”

“I will, I promise.”

You raised your head from his chest, looking up at him. “Did you really mean all that?”

“I did and I do. I love you and it shouldn’t matter if we’re from the opposite sides of an island. It’s not important in the slightest because I love you and that’s all that matters.”

“Do you wanna come inside?” you asked.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you to his side as you made your way back towards the house. He pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, keeping his lips there.

“I love you, kid.”

“I love you too, baby.”

[lolokouhm]

| Suguru doesn't eat, but tonight he's hungry | smutty smutty smut | tattooed Geto | depressed Geto | kinda poetic | Geto is young and beautiful and not crazy |

„You haven’t eaten, have you?”

No, Suguru hasn’t eaten.

It’s not like you’re surprised. He’s lost weight - nah, he’s been losing weight steadily for the past few weeks. People say that it’s hard to notice when you see someone regularly, but it’s not hard at all - especially in his case. You’re not sure what’s changed exactly. Suguru still looks relatively healthy, not underweight, but the dark circles under his eyes speak volumes.

You sigh and walk into his apartment. It’s surprisingly neat, to the point it’s a bit scary - so clean it gives an impression as if no living person could function there. And maybe that’s exactly how it is. Maybe that tall, handsome guy in black sweats that greets you is not a person anymore, but a ghost. It’s a question you constantly ask yourself in your head, but never dare to answer. Your heart would break. 

„I wasn’t hungry.” A smile appears on his pale face and you sigh again. 

You’ve been friends with Suguru since high school, but after your last year you went your separate ways, just to meet again years later - just a few months ago. He didn’t change much, at least not visually - except for his arms. He might have gone a little bit crazy on ink there, and that’s exactly what got the two of you talking again. Tattoos. You’ve never expected Suguru Geto, that sophisticated, awfully smart Geto would cover both of his arms in the most insane pieces of art you’ve ever seen. You’ve had your own share of ink under your skin, but your collection was quite messy and not that cohesive. You liked trying new styles, creating your own map of memories from different places and different artists, while his tattoos were definitely an artwork made by one man. You had a million questions, he was happy to answer - that’s how you ended up in his apartment for the first time. Soon you realised you had a million subjects to go through - politics, art, even God. It was easy, talking with him. It was fun.

And then it began - the movie nights, when the two of you were going through different eras of cinema alphabetically, also bringing snacks that would start on the same letter as the movie you were watching. A stupid idea that you shamelessly stole from „The Barbie Diaries” - the first movie you’ve watched together and the first one that left Suguru completely traumatised. 

„Luckily for you, today we’re watching The Notebook, so we’ll be having noodles. What kind of noodles do you want, sir?”, you ask, handing him an invisible microphone.

Suguru chuckles. 

„Spicy.” 

A few clicks later the food is already on its way and the two of you get comfortable on his huge couch. The projector starts warming up and you look around - it’s completely dark inside and if it weren’t for the fact you know Suguru well, you’d think he made the apartament that way so the two of you could watch the movie comfortably. Your gaze goes back to him - his body hunching over the laptop, fighting with Netflix again. 

The projector turns on and the movie starts, as the two of you hide yourselves under the blankets. Unfortunately, you can’t focus. You’re worried.

You’ve had some conversations about his depressive episodes before, so technically you know what he’s going trough, but honestly - you don’t. He doesn’t really talk about it, but if you could get into his head you’d understand how much he values your bare presence next to him. If you could get into his head, you’d know way more, but luckily for Suguru, you can’t. He wouldn’t like that. 

In normal circumstances, at least. Because tonight, he is hungry, he is frustrated, and he needs warmth. 

And you are anything but cold. 

So when he catches your eyes on him, he bets. If you turn away, he’ll let you go. If you give in, he’ll make you stay. 

Three seconds. That’s how much time it takes for Suguru to get closer to you and kiss you. 

It’s short, soft and sensual, but it makes his head go fuzzy, and when he pulls back he just hopes you won’t run away. Don’t run away. Don’t. 

You’re not running.

You’re sitting, legs crossed, just as you were seconds before. Your face is completely red now as Suguru’s eyes scan you carefully, desperate to see the future. Will you go? Will you slap him? 

„Why did you do that?” Your own voice doesn’t even sound like your voice. „The Notebook” in the background is now completely forgotten, the flickering lights on the screen keep on changing and throwing different shades on Suguru’s pale face. You didn’t expect that. Not that you didn’t want to or think about it, it’s just…

„I’m hungry” he whispers, and the way his voice sounds gets shivers sprinting down your spine. „And the food’s not here yet.” 

„Yeah. It’s not.” He still keeps his hands on your cheeks, right thumb gently brushing your skin, touch light as a feather. 

„What are we going to do about it?”, he murmurs, words are barely audible. He’s waiting. There’s another unspoken question hanging between the two of you, and you’re the one who needs to answer.

And that’s exactly what you do. 

Both of your hands are suddenly gripping onto his hoodie as you lean into him, lips crashing yet again, just with much bigger force this time. Suguru’s breath shakes as he finally comprehends that he won the bet and a smile crawls onto his face. You’re kissing him. His ray of sunshine. Well, maybe not his yet, but when he’s done with you, that’s exactly how you will be.

And that’s exactly what he does. 

His lips travel down your jaw, stop for a second under your ear and then go straight to your neck as your hands let go of his hoodie and find their way to his hair, gripping desperately on the black strands loosely caught in a bun. He groans at the feeling as he bites the skin of your exposed collarbone, his fingers playing with the hem of your blouse, eager to feel more and more of you. Suguru looks up and tries his best not to moan at the sight of your face, your lipstick completely devoured. 

„Can I?”, a hoarse whisper leaves his throat, but it’s not even a question. He’s begging you. 

And you let him. 

He takes his own hoodie of as you take off yours - and you can see them again. The artwork on his arms. You lean your body against the pillows on the right side of the couch and Suguru gulps. He’s been imagining that for a while now, but the reality, for the first time in fucking forever, was so, so much better. His lips go back to sucking and licking your skin and by the moment he reaches your breasts you whine. His hot tongue plays with your nipples, making you impossibly wet, and the bare sight of him shirtless in those awfully beautiful sweats is not helping at all. A part of you is relieved - his muscles are still there, tensing a bit with every movement. And when he pulls away for a moment, you notice it.

„You’ve got a new one.” A koi fish, on his ribs, drawn as usual in a traditional style, this time with a bit of colour. Red. Your favourite. Your hand is shaking, but you can’t help yourself. You trace the shape of the tattoo, his hot skin under your fingertips feeling like fire. You are in awe - even more when you look at him again, breathing heavily. A god. He looks like a god. 

And then he proceeds to make you feel like you’re nowhere but in heaven.

He’s not hungry anymore - by the time you’re completely naked he’s starving. His name escapes your lips when his grip on your thighs gets tighter, and then it hits you - his tongue finally making contact with the place you needed him in so desperately. Your hands find his hair again, pulling it relentlessly when he inserts two slender fingers inside of you, at the same time licking your clit. Suguru’s ravenous. You could be his breakfast, his lunch, his dinner, his dessert - everything. He could eat you out all the time, no breaks, no thoughts, no objections. He tries to control his own hips that have been grinding into the couch for a while now, but the feeling of you on his tongue isn’t making it any easier. 

„Suguru…” your voice comes back to you, a familiar feeling slowly building up inside of your stomach. „I’m so close.” 

You really are, and your clouded mind is making the sensation almost unbearable. Suguru groans yet again, happier then ever, and then you hear it.

„Come for me, baby.”

So soft. So simple. Not a demand, by no means. An invitation - to fall apart on his tongue. 

You take it.

His name leaves your lips as your orgasm blinds you, back arching as you pull his hair so hard he groans. Suguru doesn’t stop right away - he makes you ride it out, drinking you like holy water. You shake and quiver and he thinks that maybe that’s exactly what it is. Holy water on his tongue. 

And so you lay, completely fucked out under his perfect body, and when he goes up to look at you he’s almost sure he’s going to come right there, in his pants. You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect.

„Fuck.” It falls from his lips as he’s taking these damn pants off and you gasp. „I just… Fuck.” He runs his hands down his face, your arousal glistening all over him. It’s like he shines. You might be going insane. Fucking Geto Suguru, hovering over you, his cock impossibly hard, looking for words. „Can I…”

Before he finishes, you lean into him and bring him down, pulling his neck closer to you and diving into the kiss. He pants and you get scared - it’s not reality. It can’t be. Suguru leaning into your touch, Suguru groaning into your ear, Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. His name carved all over your body, all over your mind. 

He goes in slowly, trying his best not to come right away, but he’s more than determined to make you cum again, this time on his cock. He starts thrusting, diving as deep as possible and then reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. It feels so good. Too good to be true. He doesn’t fuck you - it’s way more than that. His lips move up and down your neck, leaving desperate kisses between pants and grunts. Suguru is in pain and you’re the cure. Suguru is the moon and you’re the sun. Suguru is the believer.

And you’re the god.

You asked him about it one night. 

„Do you believe in God, Suguru?”

He said he didn’t, but he changed his mind. He does.

His god is right there, under his fingers.

You come again, moaning right into his lips when you kiss, and the way you clench around him sends him to the edge. He hides his head into the crook of your neck and twitches inside of you, warm cum covering your insides as he pants, hips desperately bucking into you. You’re barely conscious, but you wrap your arms around him and hold him as he’s trying to catch his breath. His heartbeat runs through you and it kinda feels like you’re one person. Maybe that’s exactly what you have become. 

One. 

„Are you still hungry?” 

You can feel him laughing into your skin. Suguru moves his head up and readjusts it, so he can see the bite marks on your neck a little better. Like a tattoo. Another one to your collection.

„Starving.”

masterlist ❤️

[currentfandomkick]

Re-Making Ghost King function

Ghost King is a lot of OP!Danny and skipping other avenues to explore how that could work, so i have IdeasTM to add weight to the role and make it Worse For Ghost King or add costs to acting outside of the role.

Adding possible story ideas to each example i give, and up for grabs just tag me if you do anything :D

Ghost king is a curse and death sentence.

It drains your core and keeps you from your obsession. It is the realm’s denizens deciding ‘fuck this guy in particular’. The draining of the king’s core causes them to go insane (known problem) and the energy goes to sustaining a number of youngers and newly forming ghosts in the Ghost Nurseries.

Yes, Danny’s main area of the Ghost Zone is included in Nursery where ghosts of similar species and backgrounds intermingle with parents of neverborns, form firghts and later move deeper into realms, unless their obsession includes the living. Then they tend to gravitate to portal rich areas, and areas that spawn in their preferred time and regions of living world.

This means Danny? Is possibly going to deal with going insane if he’s crowned, especially as Pariah is around still. Realms are convening on if Danny’s a bigger threat than Pariah after defeating him. Go nuts on court and legal arguments between various ghosts. JLD may be called in by [character] to find a way to save Danny from this BS, while Danny is staging another prison break and probably forming another army on his side that he does not lead and like him enough to keep around but do not agree with him in terms of leadership. So his new friends are kidnapping him for his own good, while a trial is held over if a halfa can be given the cursed role of ghost king, and if Danny should be cursed to future madness

Go nuts on political drama, jail break fun and Danny debating if this makes him a McGuffin, and why his life is Like This

Team ups everywhere

Ghost king is the loosely diplomat between the Infinite Realms. And other realms sometimes.

Pariah decided war was the best way to get everyone to shut up and unite and maybe not make all their issues his problem for five minutes.

Danny is now expected to handle this as physically beating opponents to establish credentials is vital

Danny is shit at remembering his powers. Or how to switch between them outside his main ones…

Cue danny finding mentors to help and runs into hero of your choice for help (yes this means Batman isn’t the best to handle this, if he’s around have him shuffle Danny to another team or frequent meetings with a lot of heroes)

Feel free to unleash him onto Hero Team of Choice and make him their problem as ‘oh its me or the guy who’s main response is world domination! My mirror likes traveling and a few of my friends are activists. I dont want Conqueror McGee in charge of this stuff. I’m just here as the muscle/backup, and engineer. And space stuff. I am not the negotiator, i am the negotiator’s bodyguard.’

Danny is here to play Guard the Diplomat and act like he is not, in fact, the diplomat Legally.

Heroes? Doing their best to train danny up, likely bonding with him and his crew (tagalongs of your choice. But please let Val be there too, and calling Danny out on ‘crap tactics’ in a teasing manner.)

Ghost King is Extremely Limited in living world regardless of previous powers

Ghost Kings only have their full powers in the realms of the dead, and said powers vary by monarch and region they are present in

Yes this helps explain Danny’s weekly new powers if we include Clocky as a previous king who saw Dan become king and thought early intervention on powers might prevent Dan. Did not work as intended.

In the living realm danny acts more as a medium and can answer questions about the dead, but cannot use his powers anywhere but Amity as Amity is a Veil City (city that exists in both the IR and Living Realm) but is anchored more on living side… outside of the city wandering about as it pleases

Danny is mostly human in human word besides having an encyclopedic knowledge about the dead, burial sites, which death realm one resides in or returned from, ect.,

In the infinite Realms he is eldritch though. As a treat.

Danny is not able to be summoned unless he’s in the infinite realms. Pariah is the backup summon though. And he’s bitchy about it.

High crack, comedy and angst potential

Summons can be anyone, and danny is Done with Cultists and makes a point to tell them to fuck off with the power crap. He will take questions about the dead, and only if he gets a burger shake.

As King Phantom he’s basically a Glorified Realms Secretary in his opinion. He makes Pariah the King when he wants to be bitchy to people, and vice versa.

No rule against Pariah and Danny in a weird joint custody of the title as ‘i beat you, i won’ vs ‘you only meet the credentials half the time. We work in shifts’

Ghost King with Serious Limitations the way most monarchs have.

King Phantom cannot help you with… finding your missing friend. Danny Fenton can.

Fenton gets no access to his powers when going against what Phantom is allowed to do. Including his healing factor!

Much whump and angst potential

So many scenarios to put this in, especially if you have another person pissed at danny for not doing more with his own powers and get reality checked with danny seriously injured for Not Following the Ghost King Restrictions

Fenton making tech to help where he cant is highly applicable

I say engineer Danny working with Hero Of Choice as Gadget Guy and finding out powers afterwards and former hero status could be fun too!

And there’s all i got ATM, if anyone has other ideas to make Ghost King less OP or have other angles, let me know so we can circulate other ways this can work.

Tag whoever may be interested or have other ideas to rework the ghost king concept

[boiled-ginger-ale]

HIII sorrryyy i know youve got a lot of asks, so take as long as you want to get to this one- i just had to get this idea down before i forgot

There was an ask you answered a little bit ago about pred!skizz and it got me thinking about the spanners. I thought up a little short story thing i thought would be fun :>

Mumbos tired after a long day, and gets the idea to go to grian and ask him if he would mind eating him for the night, just so he can rest better. Grian, however, is also very tired after a long day, and he honestly doesnt want that responsibility right now. So the two of them, now wondering what to do and who to go to, slowly go to ask skizz if he would mind taking them. Safe to say, hes stoked. Im imagining grian and mumbo, eyebags and scruffed hair, stumbling down the stairs with a yawn, reluctantly asking skizz to do the honors, only to be met with the most energetic "YES" ever. Like hes all over the place "oh gosh! I cant believe i get to have two friends over for the night! This is awsome!- oh where did i put that (insert whatever is used to shrink people) again?? HOLD ON GRIAN- MUMBO- ILL BE RIGHT BACK-" as he dissapears into another room to collect whatever he needs. Its just funny thinking about him trying to go ahead and take care of the two while being so insanely energetic compared to grian and mumbo- who are probably just standing there half asleep waiting patiently to get some rest.

AGAIN- youve lots of asks. Take your time, dont burn yourself out :] just sliding this little post it note idea under your door to consider for whenever you have the time. Have a good day/night!

- the-sussy-imposter2

//absolutely love this, u get a story cuz im a sucker for skizzly and fluff, although its now like 12am and im eepy//

Skizz had been deeply concerned when his base mates approached him looking closer to zombies than living players. Mumbo, who—to be fair— usually looked sickly and tired, was flaunting dark circles beneath each eye and his tie was undone and hanging loosely around his neck. Grian looked little better, his usual red jumper wrinkled and his eyes seemed unfocused as his gaze wandered across Skizz’s form. 

But then they had muttered out that they wanted him to eat them and suddenly nothing meant more to him than the two figures standing there with him on their bridge. They wanted Skizz to eat them. He nearly knocked the two over as he grasped their hands with an emphatic “YES!” before bounding off shouting nonsense to no one in particular and rummaging through chests and barrels for a shrinking potion. He quickly tossed it into the brewing stand with a handful of gunpowder and stood bouncing on his heels as he watched bits of blaze float up and evaporate. 

Skizz watched from his peripheral as Grian and Mumbo meander into the base from outside, choosing to pause near the doorframe and simply observe the angel hype himself into a frenzy. It was genuinely endearing how excited he was just to hold them for the night. The brewing stand finished with a gentle bubbling, and Skizz barely waited for the sound to finish as he snatched the splash potion off of the table and guided the other Spanners over to their bed setup. 

Mumbo and Grian sat down next to each other on one of the beds, patiently gazing up at Skizz with tired eyes as he fidgeted with the potion in his hands. 

“You guys, like, really want me to do this, right? You don’t think-”

“Skizz. It’s fine. We trust you man. Now hurry up already, I’m absolutely spent.” Grian’s voice dripped with exasperation as he shifted his weight slightly, trying to keep himself upright as he felt himself melting into the mattress. 

“Right, right, sorry G, I’m goin’,” Skizz grinned and tossed the potion against the wall slightly above the two, letting the potion splash down over them both as the bottle disintegrated. By the time either of them had finished blinking the bubbles out of their eyes, Skizz had already strode over and scooped them each up in one hand, carrying them over to his own bed and situating himself down on it. 

“Ok,” Skizz beamed, “Who’s first?” Grian shrugged halfheartedly while Mumbo gestured in the avian’s direction with about as much energy as a slug. Skizz watched the redstoner yawn again, eyes drifting shut, and made a mental note to quell his enthusiasm for his sake- gently nodding an affirmation and lifting Grian carefully to his mouth.

“Great– good, alright– try to hold still, yeah? I don’t wanna accidentally nick ya’ or somethin’, ya’know?” He felt Grian give a sleepy nod and placed the avian inside, letting him rest softly on his tongue as he made sure the little form avoided his teeth. Skizz let his jaw click shut, pushing his friend towards the back of his throat and swallowing thickly. Grian went down surprisingly easy, and the angel couldn’t help but trace the weight down past his collarbone before remembering he still had Mumbo in his other hand, waiting patiently for his turn. 

Skizz was much faster to situate the other in his maw, slightly more determined to get the swallowing over with so the poor mustached man could actually rest. Mumbo was slightly larger than Grian and it took one extra swallow before he was fully in his throat, Skizz now being able to focus on the smaller of the two settling deep in his core as the other passed his heart. He giggled to himself as he felt Grian shift deeper into what he assumed was one of the folds of his stomach, resting a hand comfortably over his abdomen as he stood up to blow out the torches around the room.

By the time Skizz had shimmied himself under the covers of his bed, he could feel both of his teammates nestled softly near his heart, curled close to eachother and breathing slowly. He tried to slow his own breathing to match them, but every movement they made set his heart aflutter with warmth. They both trusted him so much! They- they were truly, deeply confident that Skizz would be the best, most comfortable place to rest. 

Skizz’s ‘protective-angely-instinct-whatevers’, as he had so dubbed them, were at an absolute high. He couldn’t keep his hands away from his stomach, even after he felt Mumbo push one of them away with a sleepy groan. It was like firecrackers under his skin every time he thought about them, tucked away, safe from everything there could possibly ever be to hurt them. Call him sappy or dramatic, but he loved these guys OK? He shifted onto his side, causing Grian and Mumbo to slide slightly, but they readjusted with little more than a yawn and Skizz took the opportunity to curl as much of himself as he could manage around his middle. He softly let out his own sleepy yawn before muttering a quiet “goodnight”.

“I love ya guys…” Skizz felt a slight movement, then a gentle pat against his stomach walls.“Love yah too, buddy.” “Yeah, g’night Skizz..” He smiled to himself, melting a bit more into the mattress. He was going to be teased relentlessly for this when the rest of ZiTS found out, but right now, full of two of his favorite people, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

[thatsdemko]

to live, to learn, and to love - d.ricciardo

masterlist

pairings: Daniel ricciardo x athlete!reader

warnings: time jump + talks of Covid + some depression talks + some inaccuracies of Daniels career

a/n: hope this cheers everyone up xx

2018 - to live

“so what do you guys have planned this summer?” you ask. the tiny microphone clipped to your shirt is finally off for good. for the first time in a year, cameras would no longer follow your ever move, microphones would no longer hover of your head, you could go back to a normal life of training and relaxing. freedom at last.

“we are actually filming a new docuseries, ever heard of formula one?”

you shake your head, puzzle look on your face creates a little laughter from everyone’s lips as they agreed to never hearing about it until Daniel. whoever Daniel was, he seemed to be quite popular to the crew.

“I guess I haven’t, but hey I’m all about growing sports.”

“well you wouldn’t believe where we get to go next weekend— you should come! it’ll be so much fun.”

the film crew talks of Monaco and the infamous track that they’ve learned can be brutal but kind. their invitation lingers around the room for a couple more minutes as crew begins to clean up the scene.

“so? you coming or what?”

“when’s the plane leave?”

—

Monaco roars with noise you’ve never heard. so much so, the noise canceling headphones can’t even drown out the cheers for the drivers. you spend all mid-afternoon shaking hands and learning names of the drivers you’re sure you’ll forget by the night. but Daniel sticks out.

you knew right away who he was. by the laughter and his smile, he had a way with the crew that nobody on your team had. the smile on all the crew members for not only Netflix, but his own team were contagious. he had you smiling within minutes.

“congratulations on your season and Netflix series! I’ve got it downloaded for the plane ride.” he engulfs you into a tight hug for a brief second before showing you his car. the mighty Red Bull car, sleek in its red and blue stripes under the Monaco sun, his pride is contagious, you can’t help but grow confidence in his racing skills.

“how’s Monaco treating you?” you look up at him, his tan skin kissed by the sun and genetics, his beautiful brown curls make your fingers itch to run through them. it’s not only his smile that makes your stomach twirl, it’s all of him.

“just about alright, I’ve got a good spot on the grid and I’m ready to kick ass.” he claps his hands mischievously making a laugh escape your body.

“you’ll do great! I believe in you!”

you like to think your words of encouragement solidified his win in Monaco, but that would be a selfish reason. you’d like to hate Monaco for all the reasons why you left completely enamored by Daniel ricciardo.

2020 - to learn

boredom struck. your legs, mind, and rest of your body itch to train while you’re copped up in your parents house; a tragedy as nobody else lives here. you sit alone in the basement that once had become your personal gym, but now only has a treadmill that you’ve become bored of.

you huff out a sigh, looking around the room there’s not one object heavy enough for you to lift. you curse your parents for taking all the things you needed to their stupid summer home, and you curse them for not wanting to spend time with you.

loneliness was at an all time high. you’d become so exhausted of it, that talking to yourself became the only answer. it was the only thing you had left.

you moved from the big city where all your teammates stayed put. you didn’t bother to look back once restrictions were set in place, you needed to be somewhere sane, but rather that was the opposite. you were going insane.

an alert on your phone pulls you away from the five pound weights in your hand. you look down on the floor to see an Instagram notification which was awfully unusual.

danielricciardo: if I show up on a horse in Austin, would that get me laid?

yourusername: depends. who are you trying to get with?

you can’t help but laugh. you hadn’t heard from him in four years. you’d occasional check his instagram, see what he was doing, and even become friends on LinkedIn, but the boredom must’ve been at an all time high for him to message you.

danielricciardo: you.

—

“I’d kiss the chef.” he says almost immediately once your face comes up on the screen. the apron you’re wearing was to prevent spilling or messes to your clothes, it was definitely not an attractive sight. but to Daniel it was.

“you can kiss me right here.” you point to your ass, hearing his laugh erupt on the other side of the screen. it was morning time in Perth, and by morning, you meant way to fucking early in the morning for anyone but him to be awake.

“what are you making?”

“none of your business.”

“well it’s my business when you call me.” he says watching you prop up the cook book that lay beside your phone. you point to the page that had flour, sugar, and all other ingredients across the page.

“ah a birthday cake, and who’s this for?”

“my neighbor. he turns ninety tomorrow so it’s a big deal! it has to be good!”

“and you need my help why?” he reminds you of why you called. you stick out your tongue and your middle finger earning a laugh. you want more of that laughter, you’d do anything to hear it in person again.

“because what do men like? I need to get him a gift.”

“y/n, I’m thirty. I’m not even close to ninety are you insinuating I’m old?”

a blush creeps into your cheeks that’s noticeable on the screen, “I’m kidding! I get why you called, you don’t have to close off.”

in the minimal amount of time knowing Daniel, he calls you out on all of your shit. like how he knows you missed garbage day based off the way your bathroom looks, or how he judges you for not taking the chance to run faster. he’s far worse than personal trainer, but you’d keep him around for his honesty and his kindness.

“I have to go to the store early tomorrow, so what do you think he’d like?”

“you didn’t buy toilet paper again?”

“people don’t listen to the two per person rule! I swear!”

he tsks you so much you can’t even put in a single word. your nervous laughter fills his ears and warms his chest. why did you have to live thousands of miles away? he’s praying they find a cure for Covid fast, he doesn’t think he can live another second without you.

2021 - to learn

a new year, a new set of restrictions, oh and you.

you, in the silly 2021 plastic glasses, sit on the couch in the mixed of his friends and family in his Monaco home. he couldn’t believe the sight, it was a winter miracle you’d made it out alive of the winter storm to his side.

after months of talking, you’d considered yourselves dating. it was different—with not being physically intimate or even having real dates—but the attraction and energy that flowed through you two was undeniable. you couldn’t stay friends, not after every phone call, text message, and filthy instagram dm, Daniel ricciardo wove his way right into your heart.

“what’s your wish for new years?”

“wish? isn’t it a resolution?” you give him a pointed look watching his hands fly up in defense, “we do things differently here. we don’t set goals, we set wishes. so what do you wish for?”

you think long and hard for a moment staring at the man in front of you. his brown eyes full of life and beauty stare into yours. his family and friends wait patiently as you think to yourself.

“I wish for love.”

he scoffs in response almost instantly. he couldn’t help it, to wish for love felt stupid, but Daniels hand clasping against yours makes your heart flutter and skin warm to his touch, “well your wish came true, because I’m here to show you just how much I love you.”

2022 - to love

pregnant.

it’s no wonder doing mundane activities were killing you, and getting up any time before 6am was a threat to your immune system. little did you know it didn’t matter when you woke up, you’d still be pregnant and with a heavy case of morning sickness.

and while 2022 is looking awful to different from the past two years of your relationship, Daniel was changing. you’d noticed how physically unfit he was for training, and it wasn’t because he lost his touch, he looked more sick than you did.

the smile that once reached his eyes and infected a dozen or more individuals, was fading. the light in his eyes barely shined anymore, and while he should be happy his girlfriend is pregnant, the glow on his face doesn’t reflect his words.

you’d talked with zak, asked him how Daniel had been doing and to monitor his health, but little did you know the same man you trusted was the reason for his depression.

“Danny,” you whisper slightly hoping to god he doesn’t answer, but he hardly sleeps anymore.

your touch sinks his body further into the mattress. you mold your body and growing belly against him, fingers drawing all sorts of relaxing shapes, “I love you,” you whisper trying to your best to hold in the sob desperately trying to escape, “but I hate how sad you are. I miss you, I miss us.”

your sudden words ache his heart. he hears your pain, it makes him lift his hand and clasp his hand on top of yours allowing your silent sob to increase in volume, “what’s happening to you, it’s not right.“

“I know,” he whispers back. his words hang in the room for a little longer before he turns to face you, his fingers quickly wipe your tears, “I’m going to get better. for you, for us, and for her. okay?”

“okay.”

—

“can you keep a secret?”

“depends,” lando responds turning on his heel, his adorable smile turning his lips upward, “what’s my reward?”

“a kiss on the cheek?”

he nods in approval, “kiss first, secret later.” he taps his cheek, watching you roll your eyes before you quickly press your lips to his skin and pull away.

“I’m pregnant.”

“old news, what else?” he shrugs it off.

“Daniels leaving.”

“what?” you watch lando’s shoulders fall as he collapses into the chair below him, “please tell me it’s because of the baby and not anything else?”

your hesitation earns a permanent frown on his lips, “I thought I could save him.” he lets out a deep sigh allowing you wrap him into your arms, “I think it’s what’s best.”

“I agree, but you’ll still have cool uncle rights.”

“yes! oh, that’s the best news ever! I have to tell max!”

Daniels foot steps echo throughout the hallway of the private room you were in with lando. not another soul is in the McLaren hospitality, as everyone had seemed to vanish once practice rounds were over, but you’d stayed waiting despite longing for a warm shower and Daniels hands against your belly. god, how much more love sick could you be? it was evident Daniel didn’t feel much of the same right now, and you tried your best to put on a big smile and positive attitude.

“there he is.” you move over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him downward so you can press a kiss to his lips.

“I have to stay a little later.” he mumbles before pressing another kiss to your lips, “why don’t you head back with lando?”

“but I want to stay.” you frown pulling away from his body. it gives you a chance to look him in the eyes, the dark circles are much more evident, the glimmer of hope and love have seemed to vanish his eyes replaced with sadness. why did this have to happen to him? it’s just not right, you think to yourself.

“will you at least eat dinner with me?”

he shakes his head, “I really have to get back to the car.” he pushes a strand of your hair behind your shoulder, “why don’t you order room service? it’s on me, get whatever you’re craving.”

“I’m craving you, but you’re making yourself unavailable—again, might I add.”

his eyes close for a brief moment. his fingers play with the hem of his bright orange shirt, you can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. it terrifies you what’s next. “y/n, they are terminating my contract. can you just go home with lando?”

the grit of his words are like nails on a chalkboard. you swear you could feel yourself becoming lightheaded you don’t even realize lando was the one to catch you from falling backward. terminate? they were done with him? you feel a sob take over your body, it takes ten minutes for lando to calm you down, as Daniel was nowhere to be seen.

the car ride to the hotel was silent. with lando taping away on his phone, and you staring out the window in a daze there was nothing that could pull you away. well, maybe there was.

danielricciardo: if I do ridiculous side burns would you still sleep with me?

a snort escapes your lips. he knows how to turn a bad day into a good one.

yourusername: depends. how ridiculous are they?

danielricciardo: so ridiculous you might wish I didn’t get you pregnant.

yourusername: now I would never wish on that. we love you Danny.

love. it’s a strange feeling that’s settling into his chest right now as he stares at zak brown, the man he’d been warned about years ago, but he never listened. now hearing it from you, he knew love conquered all of his fears and anxiety about leaving. because in the end, your love made him feel whole again.

to live, to learn, and to love.

[BONUS SCENE]

2023 - living, learning, and loving

“oh my, you’re so big now! what are they feeding you?” lando’s gasp earns a ripple of head turns. he’s rushing his way over to you and your new born daughter, mila.

“whatever it is, it’s clearly working on you too. what’s this you’ve got going on? is it a beard?” you carefully run your fingers over the hair on his chin making him pull away, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, “fine I’ll shave it.”

“take it from me, the minute I got home from Austin I wasn’t allowed in the bed until I shaved it all off.” Daniel rubs his fingers over the stubby hairs against his cheeks, “some women don’t like that down there—“

“Daniel!” you hiss, hands placed against his chest you give him a hard shove.

the roar of his laughter echoes throughout the paddock. it brings a flock of his friends and former colleagues together surrounding you both and your daughter, mila.

she was a happy blessing out of a horrible year. her arrival was earlier than expected, but seeing Daniels smile finally reach his eyes, it was like she knew he needed that.

“I can’t decide what’s cuter, her curls or her rolls. how do you sleep at night with such a difficult question?” Charles looks between you two and watches the devilish smirk lift upon Daniels lips, “actually don’t answer that, I see where your mind is taking you.”

“it’s good to have you back.” the Ferrari driver smiles. before he walks away he says one more thing to brighten your days, “and I mean that. it’s good to have the you we all love back.”

you lived, you learned, and you’re still loving.

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13

[lsunstreakerl]

For the kink prompt,

Not the most 'out there', but, a classic, cockwarming! (i just think it fits max and charles very well - "I love you and i want to get you out of your head so you can have some peace and quiet". But, i also think it fits max and danny very well too - "you are freaking the entire garage out with your bullshit so you are going to be quiet for the x amount of time until you become normal again")

but, if you did want to get freaky with it; tentacles, pet play (i'm taking kitten max to its logical conclusion), somnophilia, omorashi, knife play, to name just a few

So, I've written most everything on that list, somewhat including cockwarming- and I decided to go for knifeplay!

friendly reminder this is clearly a kink prompt fill so it's going to be explicit. in the case of this one it's also violent. 1k words, Max POV

pairings: max verstappen/martijn garrix

relevant heads up: uh, yeah. violence, post apocalyptic universe, gunplay, knifeplay, bloodplay.

"You're being a cunt, by the way."

Max snorts, tossing the dirty rag into the sink.

"Right, because being neat is undesirable now."

Martijn shrugs, shoving his dirty knife back into the sheath on his hip.

"You don't like to leave a mess, mate. It's cute, sure, but like– live a little, yes? Have some fun with it."

Max wrinkles his nose, sticking his head in the pantry to check for snacks.

"The rest of the world is still normal, Martijn. Maybe I would like to be well-adjusted when we get out of here."

Martijn laughs, loud and abrupt as he grabs a bottle of gin from a cabinet.

"We're not fucking getting out, babe. And you rigged up the most insane death trap I've ever seen outside the house, so I wouldn't call you 'well adjusted' either."

Max rolls his eyes, spotting a container of stroopwafels in the back– those are definitely coming back with them.

"Well, until I eventually snap and go as insane as the rest of you have, let me keep pretending."

Martijn leans over, plants a disgustingly wet kiss on the side of Max's face, even as he attempts to shove him away.

"Awww, of course."

------

It's been two and half years since their borders got locked down overnight, and Max has lost count of how many people he's ended up killing. Somewhere after 30 it got blurry– and it doesn't matter much anyways.

He's stretched out on the couch, watching Martijn methodically disassemble their guns to clean them. His fingers are smooth and confident, dancing over the rifle barrels like he used to on the turntables.

Max is bored. And also horny.

He sighs, watching Martijn's eyes flick up to his, eyebrow raised.

"I'm bored."

Martijn starts reassembling the rifle, soft snaps and clicks from where he's sitting on the floor.

"Where is that my problem?"

Max drops his head back with a groan.

"Remember when I was rich and famous and got whatever I wanted?"

Martijn hums softly, and the sound of the metal against the floor has stopped.

"Yes, you were very spoiled."

"I wonder who the champions have been, without me."

There's a rustle of fabric, and then Martijn is in his field of view, looking down at Max judgmentally.

"No one that could've won against you if you were still there, that's for sure."

Max grins, eyes scrunching.

"You say the sweetest things. I do miss the adrenaline though, mate, it is hard to replicate that."

Martijn scoffs, and then there's a heavy weight on Max's hips, arms pinned to his side by strong knees.

Max jolts, but–

There's cold gunmetal in his mouth, a slight sting at his throat.

Martijn leans down by his face, and Max feels the knife's edge against his throat push in– there's a warm trickle of blood beading down his neck.

"Really? Nothing gets your blood pumping anymore? Not when you're fighting for your life, or sneaking into someone else's base, or antagonizing me?"

Max swallows– the unforgiving ridge of the barrel presses hard into the roof of his mouth.

He's hard.

Martijn coos at him, rolling his hips down.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Martijn doesn't move the gun, but Max feels the point of the knife trace down his neck, drag lightly across his collarbones before digging in near his shoulder.

"You enjoy feeling like you're about to die."

Max tries to swallow again, drool pooling in the bottom of his mouth. He makes a pained noise as the knife sinks deeper into his shoulder.

Martijn grins down at him, but his eyes are fixed where the knife is in him, and Max feels him brush his thumb through the wetness that's starting to drip down his arm and chest.

Martijn brings his hand back up, tongue flicking at to lick at the red smearing on him. Max's hips jerk, and Martijn's still fucking smirking.

He slides down so his thigh is wedged between Max's legs, and then he's pulling the barrel of the gun out of Max's mouth, tossing it onto the floor nearby.

He yanks the knife back out of Max's shoulder as he cries out, holding it against his throat again.

"You want to get off, yes? Bored little cunt, so needy here all the fucking time."

Max tries to buck up, but the sweet slide of friction is accompanied by the sting of metal digging into his throat–

If he wants to get off against Martijn's leg, the knife is going to cut him.

He moans, trying anyway.

"Please, want to get off, please Martijn, leave a mark–"

Martijn laughs, sliding the knife down to cut across Max's collarbone. The sharp sting, the hot well of blood Max can feel dripping down him–

"Yeah yeah, go ahead. Maybe I'll put my name on you, a little return to sender."

Max drags his hips against Martijn's thigh. He's close, head fuzzy with the gun and the knife and the blood, Martijn's words ringing in his head.

"Please, please please–"

The knife digs deeper as Martijn shoves his thigh higher, and then Max is coming, making a mess, head dropping back.

There's the sound of a zipper, and Martijn is dragging his fingers across the blood from Max's neck and shoulders– followed by the slick sound of him jerking off, right before Max feels splashes of cum on his chest.

"Fuck, you're pretty like that."

Martijn's fingers come back down, smearing blood and cum together as Max shivers in the aftershocks.

"I mean, really, what would you even do if things went back to normal? You'd be so pathetic– nothing gets you hotter than this."

Martijn's fingers slip into his mouth, and Max laps at them, tastes the bitterness and the metallic tang all at once.

Martijn coos.

"It took you a little longer, but you're just as crazy as everyone else, aren't you?"

Max blinks up at him, tongue licking the last of the mess off Martijn's fingers.

He's right.

[erosauriarts]

Atsushi has never seen a true Christmas, nor has he seen the lights or Santa. He didn't make cookies or wake up in the morning with gifts. He never did any of it. He'd read about it though and of course they'd contain pictures but it isn't the same.

Even with access to the internet, it has yet to happen.

Atsushi sees the ad for it on his page. Just on time, Chuuya jumps into bed over him. An endearing grind as the redhead finds his comfort on top. Arms intrapt around his neck as he looks over to read.

“Christmas?” Chuuya seemed confused. Though with a laugh, he gave a squeeze, “I didn't know you celebrated that.”

“I uh…” Atsushi shifts so he could glance back, “I grew up in an orphanage run by a church. Christmas was a big deal to them.”

“Not to you?” Chuuya chuckled.

Atsushi turned around to stare up at a stretching Chuuya. Firm hands to a thin waist as he sat in silence.

“Is this a bad topic?” Chuuya lowered his tone as he bent over.

“No, no it's okay. I just — you already get upset with my past, I don't wanna stress you out.”

“Susu-chan.” Chuuya ran his fingers through his hair, “I still want you to tell me things. I'll keep my murderous rage at bay.”

Atsushi looked at him with deductive eyes and concluded he believed him. He pet Chuuya’s hair till he could muster the courage.

“I wasn't allowed to join because… Well I just realized, I was pretty sure they didn't want the tiger acting up. I don't think they quite understood.”

Chuuya shifted so he sank between legs as a firm touch directed Atsushi's jaw up.

“I really hate everyone in that damn place.”

“Yeah…” Atsushi was quiet till he started to laugh, “But it's ok.”

In some way, it's insane how fast Chuuya reads Atsushi — Not that he's a difficult person to understand. Oh no, it's since he's just that smart. He just lives and it's naturally that nurturing.

“What if we did Christmas?” Chuuya had this grin that gives Atsushi goosebumps each time.

“What?” Atsushi mumbled.

“I don't celebrate it but shits pretty to look at. The lights, boothes, sometimes snow — You have to see it.”

“Chuuya…” Atsushi sighs with such a soft tone it almost hurts, “I… I don't think I can get you a present.”

“Then don't. Your gift to me is being my date to the light show.” Chuuya then pushed up to get prepared for bed.

Atsushi followed, turning to his side. “Work?”

“Holidays are off.” Chuuya kicked his pants aside with such vengeance, “Plus, Elise likes the opening stuff part.”

“... Does… Mori gave her those?”

“Best to not think about it.” Chuuya huffed as he fought the shirt he put on. A fast waddle during the tasks he crawled back into the bed. “Come on. It's literally a perfect date.”

“No gift?”

“I don't even celebrate Christmas, I don't need a present.” Chuuya gave him a kiss. “That or your ass in a pretty crimson bow.”

“Perve.” Atsushi nudged playfully but the weight let his arms give out so Chuuya laid on top. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like fun.”

And it was. The night they planned was two days after the initial conversation. Atsushi dressed nice and warm, Chuuya quietly regretting only wearing a dress coat with a sweater. However, he got to stick his gloved hands into the folded warmth of Atsushi’s body.

They visited boothes, listened to carols, or watched the lights dance with the music. There were a lot of laughs, plenty of chocolate covered kisses.

Then the event, the main tree. Feet high, the attraction housed lights and glass. It was gorgeous to see such details as well as getting to see how the electrical string of blue, green, and red took its path to the pin pointed star above.

Breathtaking, to put it into shorter words.

“You're so pretty.” Chuuya then caught his attention with this loving and smitten tone.

Atsushi turned back in time to see how fast Chuuya was coming undone.

“Sorry uh…” Chuuya shifted his hat till Atsushi brought him in, “Do you never feel second hand embarrassment?”

“I have plenty of “exposure therapy” so no need to worry. Plus it's cute you get all mushy about me.” Atsushi teased me.

“Yeah.” Chuuya sank into his touch. “Bet I can make you flustered.”

“Hm?” Atsushi tilted his head.

Chuuya pulled back to reach into his coat. In blue wrapping and a silver bow, the boy is given a cube about the size of a soda bottle.

“I thought— Chuuya- I—” Atsushi was already choking up. Deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I said to myself. I already know what I want and it's right here.”

Chuuya handed it to him. Trembling fingers couldn't hide how quick Atsushi shortened out. The detective brought it to his chest, mouth hung loose as if in disrepair.

“That's… I'm not a gift.” Atsushi managed to say that his body still couldn't understand.

Chuuya playfully rolled his eyes as he hugged around him to run his hands into his back pockets. Atsushi sinks into the embrace, Chuuya kissing his neck then to his jaw.

“You're the best thing to happen to me. You could hand me a rock and it'd still mean the world to me. This isn't about me right now and this is for you. Please, open it.”

Atsushi can't control the guilt, he can't control the self hatred… Though he also can't control his excitement and happiness.

Someone got him a gift.

A Christmas gift.

His boyfriend got him a Christmas gift.

Atsushi pulled away enough to open it. He was careful with the paper and peeled it off so gently the box under it just slid out.

“Meant to destroy it but ok.” Chuuya teased.

Atsushi smiled. He opened the box to show a necklace with a diamond in the center and an emerald on top. It wasn't delicate ‐ In fact it had some weight to it. It was about 2 inches thick and had a heavy duty chain.

“This…” Atsushi looked like he was at gunpoint, “So expensive.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” Chuuya took it as he withdrew it from its container, “It's a special type of metal that is supposed to not be affected by abilities. I was gonna get you a bracelet or a ring but you'd break it when you had to fight… so.”

“It's pretty but…”

“No buts.” Chuuya unlatched it and reached up to put it on.

Atsushi looked at him, eyes welding with tears, heart so violent with each pump, as well his mind screaming at him.

A curse he's forced to bare

Guilt. To him, he doesn't deserve this.

Though the blessing he was recently given?

Security. Chuuya is the thing above it all.

Chuuya finished putting it on as he turned the gem upright. His smile grew as hands lowered to pull out a similar one but the gems reversed. His hand squeezed it and on queue, a soft tingle of a vibration came from the jewelry.

“So, when you miss me, you can tell me anywhere in the world.” Chuuya squeezed again.

It tingled.

Goddammit, Atsushi is so in love. He grabbed Chuuya and kissed him passionately. Hands held his jaw as the two separated.

“Merry Christmas, Atsushi.” Chuuya smiles.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Chuuya.” Atsushi laughed, so full and alive it was contagious.

[alienoresimagines]

Ali's Mota Bingo

Hooray to myself for managing to complete this just in the nick of time, and a huuuuuuuuge thank you to the entire team over at @mota-collab for organising this event, it was so much fun to do 🥰❤️ Sadly, uni and life got in the way so I think I'm still a good 30 pages behind on the Clegan Tag, which is why there aren't much 'recent' recs but it was very important to me to participate, and I'm planning on catching up and reccing fics as I go <3 Also a special thanks to @onyxsboxes for delivering and customizing this bingo for me, and to @amiserableseriesofevents for helping me find a fic again ❤️ And finally, an enormous thank you to all creators in the mota fandom, whether you still create for mota or not, I can't appreciate all of you enough, you really are something special <3

Posted January 2024 -> The Long(er) Story by stillheremydear (I don't know if they have a tumblr, if they do please let me know so I can tag them!)

Such a sweet little fic about John's POV of giving Gale his name 🥹 It's still so insane to me that Bucky saw Gale and went 'Mine' so hard, he had to give him his name so the whole Air Force would know, giving the lousy excuse of a 'Buck from Manitowoc'. John being so damn smitten from the start is so precious to me, and I feel like this fic really delves beautifully into his thought process before Gale his name. Also this "Knowing that if the handsome blond were a girl, Bucky would fight every man in the whole damn Air Force if he needed to, to get to give him his name. " Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

Massages -> Sous Le Ciel de Paris by @rambleonwaywardson

The Olympics AU!!! So sweet, soft, and such a delight to read!! Reading John and Gale falling in love will never be something I tire of, and I love how all the characters pull their weight in the story. Gale and John's relationship has its highs and lows (including lovely massages because the characters' backstories!!! everything is well thought-out and developed, it really feels like reading a novel), but the writing is such *chef's kiss* that even when you're crying and considering throwing your phone at the wall screaming "Why, John!!!!", all you really want is to keep on reading <3 It had me giggling and crying and jumping up and down, especially because, on a personal note, the Olympics was a really good time for me, I live in France and there really was a vibe in the air that I could feel in this fic 🥰 (Special mention to Chick being a sort of father figure to Gale too!!! and I loooooove that in OP's multi-chaptered fics (see the Astronauts AU), even if the story itself is Clegan focused, the other characters don't fall in the background. They're Gale and/or John's friends, and they pull their weight as such, and they all have individual personalities and stories, so once again, chef's kiss writing and storyline all around <3)

Holidays -> May Your Days Be Merry and Bright by @happy-days19

Such a sweet story of John and Gale celebrating Christmas 'properly' for the first time, post war 🥹 You can stil sense the war is in the air, it'll never really leave them, but they're so in love, and they're slowly but surely healing, it makes for a really soft fic of them enjoying each other and savoring the fact that this little corner of happiness they've built is theirs, and it's forever 🥹 Just them learning to heal together, to see the good and to enjoy the little moments, loving each other is so special to me <3

Posted April 2024 -> AMV by @magneticghouls

All of their amv are just soooooooooooo good, I could've recced so many of them but I had to choose one posted in April 2024 so this one it is 💕 Apart from a wonderful song choice, the way the lyrics fit the clips, the seamless transition.. I could go on and on about how much I love this but really, I'm in love with all of the op's amv so there goes my bias 😂❤️ Also I won't lie but like these are 1000% what got me into Clegan because I only watched the show in June so, never underestimate the power of super, incredibly well done amv

Made me smile -> Happiness, you're a cat by @avonne-writes

This fic is 100% one of my comfort reads, so soft and sweet. Two times Gale fell asleep on John in Avonne's High School AU, which I find so sweet, it makes me feel so many feelings at once. Gale hasn't had the easiest upbringing, so for him to feel safe enough to fall asleep on John? My heart <3 Such a sweet, funny read for a rainy day when you just want to be under a warm blanket with a hot cocoa and need some joy and warmth <3

Missing Scene -> Falling apart by @moghraidhs

I'm so weak for hurt/comfort and this DELIVERS!!!!! Post-Regensburg mission are so special to me, we deserved to see Gale breaking down, he was already tearing at the seams when he landed but this fic 🥹 Reality crashing down on him even though he doesn't realizes what's happening, John reassuring him!!!! Calling Gale 'darling'!!!!!! telling him he did good!!! I'm so weak and soft for them, John doing his best to take care of Gale ❤️ This fic really hits the spot for me, I remember watching the episode and running to AO3 to see if there were any fic dealing with the immediate aftermath of the Regensburg mission, the crashing down post the euphoria of being still alive, and this fic is definitely one of my favorite takes on this <3

This has altered my brain chemistry -> Just for you, I'd let it happen by @whirlpool-blogs

Notwithstanding that this fic launched me on Gale/Brady (which, thank u OP, even if that wasn't your intention, I see the vision) the originality!!!!!!!! It takes a lot of bravery to give up on a reality where you could potentially been happy - or have been happy in - because you feel like something's wrong, or not right (like if this John isn't your John), but Gale, my beloved darling boy still takes his chances and never stops to ask "send me back" until he finds his John and his reality. I loved how all the different relationships are explored, why they work and why they don't work, how they develop. Just prime writing and originality that I can't get enough of, I think about this universe. Often. Probably more than is healthy. Definitely more than a sane person should but. 10000000000/10 read

Joy -> Pretty much all of @carnevol 's edits fill me with joy, we're so lucky to such a talented gif maker to make us notice all the little details that we wouldn't have noticed if they didn't put so much efforts in the flow, and the coloring, and lighting. Everyone, please, a round of applause for your local gif makers because they are the backbone of fandoms!! So I'd encourage to watch all of Carnevol's edits but I linked here a few of my favorites - edits with lil annotations that never fail to make me laugh but I could have put their entire blog on there and it would still have been some of my favorites <3

Bucky and his bikes

Did you just flirt with me?

The entire John "Mouthy" Egan series

Dirty Talk -> Damn You by @oopsiedaisiesbaby

I won't lie, this fill was a bit hard to complete because I don't tend to read one-shots centered around smut so I didn't much to go with but then I remembered this piece I read and I couldn't not rec it! Curt interrupting John and Gale in the middle of their 'morning activities' and mocking John for his dirty talk will never not be funny to me, I remember cackling when reading this passage because, honestly John, is that the best you can do? Though Gale seemed turned on, so perhaps it works 😂 Also Curt's friendship with the Buckies is very precious to me so little moments like these <33 (even if they scar Curt (and Gale) for life)

New Kinks (Thanks OP) -> fever pitch. by @anachilles

I'm usually not one for A/B/O fics, unless they focus on hurt/comfort but this fic!!!!!!! pure smut but maaaaaaaaan, I'm in love!! And the breeding kink too? I'm deceased, I've died twice and came back to life just as many times because this fic is just too good, it was a tough choice not to put it in 'altered my brain chemistry' because it did. Irreparably so, I'm afraid 😍🥹

Found Family -> And with your hands your hearts by @amiserableseriesofevents

The sweetest, tooth-rooting fluffy fic ever. Gale's journey to proposing to John in the Such Stuff verse is sooo special to me, the way it brings together so many people and really shows how far Gale has come. He's grown into his own person, but also he doesn't just have Benny and Marge (and Meatball). He's got so many friends who are there for him and willing to help him to prepare to propose to John, John's little sisters have chosen him as their brother, and just 🥹🥹 Everyone's come so far 🥹 Gale asking for Brady's 'blessing' to ask John to marry him, Brady asking Gale's blessing to marry Benny, the way the words are never spoken but it is understood that yeah, they're as close to a family as can be, and it's something that neither Brady nor Gale thought they'd ever have or deserve 🥹 I'm so soft for all the Such Stuff verse boys, even when they're being idiots with feelings too big for their brain but never small enough for their heart, they're all so special to me, and Ginia's writing is so soft and sweet, you really get into Gale's head as he first thinks about marriage, then realizes, that yeah, he wants to marry John, to working up the nerve to prepare, then to propose, and John being so John (in all senses of the term lmao) and they're both so soft and in love 🥹❤️ Comfort read this one <3

Parents -> Dad Harding and his Two Sons by @onyxsboxes

THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS. AU of all time to me, it is so special to me, you have no idea. I have such a soft spot for Chick, and to read him having a father-sons relationship with Gale and John? I feel like I've won the lottery. So soft, sweet and funny, the little tidbits of post-war stories of John and Gale living with Chick, his wife and their daughter (the Buckie's adopted baby sister 🥹) I adore their little family so much, and Chick ruffling his boys' hair!!!! Just. I don't know maybe it's the daddy issues coming in but. Dad!Chick with his boys Gale and John are so very special to me 🥹❤️ (thank you, Ame, for indulging me with them 🥰❤️)

Guilt -> What else should I be? (all apologies) by @heretoobsessstuff

Gale having nightmares over leaving John behind during the march!!! John comforting him!!! PET NAMES!!! Gale needing John's forgiveness even though John doesn't blame him at all!!! This fic has it all, it does such a wonderful job at showing how that event affected Gale, going into his head, and how John always prioritizes Gale, but isn't afraid to admit afterwards that Gale's nightmare scared him. I'm just feeling so many things at once with this fic, there's never enough stories dealing with Gale's guilt in my opinion but this one definitely scratches the itch <3

Please let me talk to you about it -> Let me long for you so deep, I drown in it by Anonymous

The 'everyone is a bit in love with Gale Cleven' fic, aka a fic that I can't not adore, this is everything I've ever wanted, whoever wrote it, please know that u have my undying loyalty. I always regret that we don't see Gale interacting much with the rest of the 100th in the show, despite him being one of their 'uncontested leaders' (still don't understand why Crosby introduced himself to Gale in Greenland lol) but this fic doesn't break this mystical aura around Gale, in fact I feel like it only reinforces it because he is that unshakable force for the 100th, and ALL of the boys love him so much, and Gale loves them so much too. This fic makes me emotional in a lots of way, OP please come back I need more (jk ofc, but like. I owe you my life)

D-Day -> Heal my wound without a trace by wyomingstategov

One of the first fics I read for Mota and one I came back to so often! It takes place on D-Day but mostly deals with the aftermath of Gale and John's fight in the Stalag, how the Stalag affects both of them, and most of all, John realizing how hard it's been on Gale. Gale allowing himself to be vulnerable, to convince John to stay with him, and to fight just a little longer is something so precious to me and this fic delivers oh so well. Also I love their take on John and Gale's relationship, but also their personal take on John and Gale, it all fits together so well 🥹❤️Also this moment <33 In a rush, hoarse like it was forced from his lungs, Gale whispers, “don't leave me here. You can't go.” “Buck,” John says again, swiping his thumbs over the scars, meeting his eyes. “I'm not going anywhere.” “I'm not going to any ball games with you,” Gale manages, steadier, “and we're not getting shot during an escape.” He holds onto John's wrists, bony fingers hot like coal. “We're getting out of here, even if it's gonna be a while.”

Jealousy -> One of Your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn

Admittedly a tough contender for 'altered my brain chemistry' because I remember reading this fic and going "wowowowowowow", the writing is incredible, the story a masterpiece, the way it gets into Gale's head and his refusal to admit that yeah, he wants to be John's, one of John's girls, the yearning on both their ends, Gale acting standoffish with Lil, he's so jezngnzegn... It's so much fun being in Gale's head, Dawn's writing makes me want to pick at his brain and poke because it's so complex and so Gale, I want to study him under a microscope. Dawn always does justice to how complex their characters are, and it's always a joy to read their take on John or Gale, how they think, how they see the other, what they admit to themselves, what they do not, what they see that they do not understand is bias... It's really just always a delight to read their writing so, please, do yourself a favor and run to their AO3 <3

There we go for my Bingo!! There are so many more recs I could have done, some fills I took ages to figure out which one to put, and I am decidedly bummed that I didn't caught up to the tag because I'm sure I've missed gems but that will be a mission for the coming months <3 Thank you for scrolling this far, I hope you've discovered/re-discovered some fics that scratch an itch for you, and I hope to be back soon with more recs as I catch up with the tag ❤️

(I hope all links and tags work, please tell me if not and if you know the tumblr of some of the authors whose AO3 is the only thing I found!)

[writing-until-i-drop]

The Devil Doc & The Flyboy | Sneak Peek

Hangman x Marine Corpsman-Devil Doc!OC

Every time Fiona "Kitten" Reid is deployed, something bad happens. Win-a-medal type bad. And when Warlock is looking for a survivalist instructor for the Daggers during the uranium mission, he's shocked that the top recommendation from his colleagues is a young medical corpsman the Marines she served with dubbed "Kitten." After making a grand entrance at the expense of Jake's older brother and Bob's sanity, Fiona finds herself squarely in Hangman's sights. But he better pay attention in class because her lessons come from more than a textbook...

“Corpsman Reid, at ease.” The Rear Admiral better known as Warlock motioned for her to take a seat. It was the first time that morning she was happy to be in uniform, she would have felt naked in scrubs. 

“Sir,” She dug her short nails into her palm under the table, keeping her composure even as her pulse skyrocketed. You’re a marine, she chided herself, get a damn grip. She felt like the kid she had been before her first deployment with a marine detachment. A timid, little midwestern girl who didn’t drink or curse. The rough necks had had a fun time breaking her in. 

They jokingly called her Kitten. As in a scared little kitten afraid of her own shadow. Then the worst had happened and they’d discovered that the kitten had claws. That’s when she became one of them, a marine. She felt the ghostly weight of two hands on her shoulders and sat a little straighter, meeting the Vice Admiral’s gaze head-on.

“I read your file, corpsman but your ribbon rack tells one hell of a story on its own.”

“Oorah, sir.”

“Two Purple Hearts, three bronze stars with combat valor, if you weren’t a corpsman you’d be well on your way to admiralty and a senate seat.” She must not have done a good job at disguising her disgust at being part of the brass, Warlock’s laughter filling the room.

“I asked for a shortlist of men for a special assignment and imagine my surprise when the first recommendation from a general was someone named Kitten.” Aw fuck. 

Fiona’s smile couldn’t be helped. General Matteo Alverez. He had visited her detachment in Iraq for a dog and pony show and when things went south, as they always seemed to do when she was involved, he’d seen Fiona in action, running towards danger with a stethoscope around her neck.

“Am I going brown side out again, sir?” She could already feel the sand in her boots from another desert deployment. “Give the word.” She wanted him to give it to her straight. As much as she wanted to stay, she would always go if the Navy asked her to.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the scuttlebutt about a classified flight mission,” Warlock raised a white brow, knowing nothing classified stayed fully secret in a town like North Island. She nodded. “Enemy territory is a rough place to be,” Rough was putting it lightly in her experience and opinion. “I want you to prepare them, teach them how to survive. No manual, no guidelines, your experience will be their gospel.”��� That was…insane. She wasn’t an instructor. She would run towards live fire, snap a man’s neck, and put her phone on the bar when Penny wasn’t looking. She was used to doing dangerous and ill-advised things. But teach?

“Sir, I-”

“Before you respond, the General said to remind you that a true marine never runs from a fight.” Fiona sighed,

“Aye aye, sir. Just don’t give me a big chicken dinner when I kill your flyboys’ egos.” Warlock laughed, spilling coffee on his pristine uniform.

“If you can do that, I’ll give you another damn medal for doing the impossible.” 

Big chicken dinner = Bad conduct discharge

Scuttlebutt = gossip

Can't wait for more? Let me know, I'll add you to the taglist.

Fiona and Jake's story is going to have mentions of combat, war, torture (nothing too graphic), too many Navy/Marine inaccuracies to count (I'm doing a lot of research though), plenty of good times at the Hard Deck, Warlock being an enabler, and Jake being the next in a long line of Top Gun students to be hot for teacher.

[ydsurluvhsm]

satoru gojo is actually so fucking insane. like no, you don’t get it. yeah yeah, he’s the strongest, whatever. but do you actually understand what that means? do you get how unfair he is? how beyond human comprehension his abilities are? bro is not just strong. he rewrites the entire playing field the moment he steps into a fight. and the worst part?? he isn’t just some guy with an overpowered ability—he is skilled as hell too. like if he didn’t have infinity, if he didn’t have six eyes, if he had literally the most mid cursed technique in existence, he would STILL be a monster. because he’s just built different.

like. do you know how scary it is that gojo doesn’t get hit. ever. his whole thing is that he is untouchable. people don’t try to beat gojo, they just pray they can survive long enough to run away. and he’s not just outlasting them, he’s toying with them. you can’t touch him. you can’t hit him. you can’t even REACH him. and while you’re struggling to even graze him, he’s already planning five moves ahead, analyzing your technique, deciding which level of strength he needs to use so he doesn’t kill you too fast.

and then there’s hollow purple. bro. HOLLOW PURPLE. what do you even DO when that comes at you?? he doesn’t just punch people really hard. he doesn’t just blast them with energy. he ERASES them. he deletes anything in its path. imagine seeing a massive, glowing ball of death coming toward you and knowing that if it even grazes you, you’ll literally just cease to exist. like what the fuck.

and then on top of all that, he’s out here acting like the most unserious person alive. because he CAN. imagine being so untouchable that you can fight the most dangerous people in the world while cracking jokes and giggling. imagine being so powerful that you have to blindfold yourself just to function properly. imagine walking around knowing there is literally no one above you. no one who can challenge you. no one who can keep up with you.

but that’s the thing. he’s alone. because no one can match him, no one can carry the weight of what he carries, no one can truly understand what it means to be him. because he’s not just the strongest for fun. he’s the strongest because if he’s not, everything falls apart. if gojo loses, it’s over. if gojo isn’t gojo, the world collapses. like how the fuck do you live like that.

and now he’s gone. and everything is falling apart. and i hate it here.

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #11)

FEB11: First "I Love You"

You and John fell into a sort of routine. You slept at yours, or sometimes his. You shared his bathroom, and cooked in his kitchen. It was like your two apartments had become one home, and you were juggling the space, trying to figure out how to make it work. 

You were just finishing up with dinner, cleaning your plates and putting them away, and he was helping you dry. He nodded to the den,

“You wanna watch your show? That one with Attenborough that you like to fall asleep to?”

He was talking about your recent obsession with the Planet Earth docu-series. It was so relaxing, listening to David Attenborough talking about birds and bats and God-knows-what. You had been on a bit of a tear with it lately, keeping it on in the background while you worked. 

“Yeah,” you smiled, “Sorry I’ve been so obsessed.”

“I just like it when you doze off on me, love. Makes me feel…” he shrugged, looking for the words and coming up short, “I dunno. Makes me feel good to take care of you.”

You knew what he meant. Falling asleep in John’s arms on his big, warm sofa was strangely hypnotic. It made you feel relaxed and safe and… more than a little horny. It had led to a bit of fooling around once or twice. Moving from bedroom to bedroom had been fun, but there was something liminal about the couch. No man’s land. 

After all the dishes were squared away, you grabbed the blanket and curled up with him, nesting into your favorite spot. The television was set to a low volume, and as you watched, you felt John’s hands begin to wander. He was rubbing your bare thigh. You were barely dressed, having spent all day doing chores, wearing his big tee shirt like a gown, letting the soft fabric hide your curves, but it was doing little covering now that you were seated. It had hitched up to your hips, pulled tight around your thick ass cheeks, showing off almost all of your leg to him. 

You could see his hand moving under the blanket, tracing little circles up your thigh until he got closer and closer to your warm center. The documentary was playing softly in the background, but you couldn’t concentrate on anything except his deft fingers. His hand ventured higher and higher, traveling as slowly and gently as it could, until it reached its destination. 

It was as if his goal was just to pleasure you, but he wasn’t looking to make you come from his ministrations, necessarily. He touched you almost languidly, driving you to the point of near insanity, writhing against him and mewling like a wounded animal. 

“Bloody hell, love. Those sounds you make…” he purred under his breath, trying not to talk over the television, “Drives me mad.”

“Please, John…” All you had to do was ask, and he was your devoted servant, refocusing his attentions to draw you up over your peak. 

You clutched at his chest, holding onto him for dear life as he made you fall apart. He put his forehead on yours, keeping his eyes closed, whispering to you with a deep hunger in his voice,

“Tha’s it, pretty girl. Just relax. God, I love…”

He stopped himself, but you both heard his confession. You could see him trying to backtrack, his eyes still closed but squeezed tight now, trying his best to cover up his sudden admission. 

“John,” you said, and he looked straight at you, obviously still worried. But, you assuaged his fears, “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” he looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and he kissed you deeply, pulling you in to his body, making you feel as if you were one living, breathing being; like you’d never be apart.  

You didn’t make it to the bed, but the couch suited you both just fine.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[reverseexorcist]

Hi! How are you? Can you write some enemies to lovers with Lute if you feel comfortable with that? Like reader is a overlord who likes to fight every extermination day just for fun and Lute sees a worthy rival until they fall in love?

❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 ❥

Oh wow I love her such a normal amount like seriously you could ask me anything about her and I would be the most normal person ever about her. But something about enemies to lover Lute with a sinner reader just hits different-

Someone here was having way more fun with the enemies to lovers aspect of this (and it's not Lute.)

(I am sorry I took so long with this request, but it was just so long and I'm juggling multiple blogs, interests and school-work rn so I'm just happy to get this one out. Thank you for being so patient <3)

➲ Lute + !F!Overlord!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 4,532 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Descriptions of gore, descriptions of body shifting/horror, tsundere Lute, lots of fighting between two idiots who are actually trying to murder each other

Three hours before extermination day. Three hours before the exorcists would descend from Heaven like a plaguing swarm to rid Hell of as many demons as they possibly could. Three hours before you could go dance with death like you usually did and scare the living shit out of winners and sinners alike with your almost insane mannerisms.

Because that's what you did for fun, apparently.

However, unlike the countless times before you'd done this, you were feeling just a little tired. Staying up late to binge the new episode of 'MAMMON'S MAGNIFICENT MUSICAL MID-SEASON SPECIAL' mightn've been the best idea you'd ever had, but it was one hundred percent worth it even as you stood proudly, staring up at the pearly gates of Heaven. From where you stood, they still looked rather bare, and so you didn't think a quick nap beforehand would be all that bad, right?

At least, that was the plan. Just a quick nap before the extermination to get your head in the game - Except you'd forgotten to put a damn alarm on and slept right through the beginning ceremony. As the holy trumpets and guitar riffs echoed throughout the scorching pit of eternal suffering, you were snoozing away peacefully in your Evil Overlord Tower™.

Or, at least, you were.

Something didn't feel right, which was odd, because you had one of the most comfortable beds in all of Hell courtesy of the instinctual fear you spread throughout the ring of pride. And when something wasn't right, you sought to make it right because you didn't deal with shit that annoyed you (such, through the power you held).

A light weight rested across you, evenly spread expertly as if whoever was standing above you was trying not to rouse you from your slumber. For a moment, you thought you'd imagined it. There was no movement from above you, and there was a split second where you considered just letting your mind relax and fall asleep again, but such thoughts didn't get you into your current status. Being an overlord meant destruction and paranoia, the two things you strove to embody.

You barely gave whoever was on top of you time to react, moving swiftly enough that for a split second, your entire body shimmered and turned invisible as you slammed your would-be attacker into the floor.

Your hands fumbled, grappling with a sleek, steel pole that you promptly threw outwards, topping the attacker in front of you over. The room around you shook violently, the lights flickering as your brain caught up with your body, trying its hardest to shake the dregs of unconsciousness from your mind.

Bold stripes stared back at you, a sleek mask emblazoned with threads of angelic steel. The sight jogged your still sleep-hazy brain.

'Oh yeah, extermination day' and you gleefully took a swipe at the exterminator in front of you. You'd just fix the damages later.

But she was fast, swift on her wings and on her feet as she ducked and rolled out of the way. You could see she was stumbling, still recovering from the shock of being thrown halfway across the room. But you could still clearly see that she wielded her weapon with pure fury and raw talent, which was certainly something you weren't used to. Other exorcists relied on the fact that normal demons couldn't hurt them, their fighting sloppy and trivial because of it. The one in front of you actually knew what she was doing.

"You're kinda rude, y'know," Rolling your shoulders, a part of you was miffed for being woken up so rudely. Another part of you was grateful for the wake-up call.

She laughed, deep and sharp. The sound made your heart flutter.

"Demon scum like you don't deserve niceties," Her grin grew, sharp edges stretching upwards. You hummed thoughtfully and shrugged your shoulders.

The exorcist charged forward, striking forward with precision startlingly quickly. But you were quicker - Ducking under the point of her spear and tackling her, grappling with her wings as the two of you rolled across the floor in a writhing mass of fury. Holy steel clashing against the might of an overlord. Deep grooves were carved in your floor, yet, as the exorcist managed to tuck her head and roll with the momentum till she was on her feet in one elegant swoop, you couldn't find yourself caring. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you almost laughed as she stabbed at you with her spear once more. You parried it almost expertly, cackling before you managed to grab the pole between your palms.

It almost seemed evenly matched between the two of you, an unstoppable force fighting against an immovable object. The poor spear quivered, bending as you both quarrelled over it like young children until it splintered roughly between your palms, crushed beneath the sheer force you exerted. That seemed to get the exorcist's attention.

She stumbled backwards, no doubt thoroughly pissed off at her now shortened weapon - But even that didn't deter the bloodlust in her step. Half of it was thrown away, the broken half that held no pointed end, and chucked it at your face. It missed, and instead, it rattled ominously somewhere behind you in time with the flickering lights, but with your attention split for just a breath, the exorcist lunged forward and scraped a shallow wound in your forearm. It stung, numbly, and the wisk of air as she jumped warned you belatedly. Crimson trickled tantalisingly down your arm as the air between you sizzled, thick and heavy with some undeterminate feeling that made your blood thrum with electricity.

You cackled, grin growing to match the angel's, jaw splitting further than it probably should've as your bones cracked seamlessly, form growing larger as you felt the power of endless stolen souls burning your flesh. Your head brushed against the ceiling, bending to fit in the limited space - You could only relish in the confusion and fear that rolled over the exorcist's face, quickly masked with the solemn, set expression of a battle-seasoned soldier.

However stoic she seemed, you saw your opening and rocketed forward with speed that seemed unsightly for how big you were, pulling yourself against the floor like the demon you were. With the force of a semi-truck, you slammed the exorcist into the wall, fracturing the framework and no doubt rattling her entire being to her very core. You could feel the point of her spear pressed faintly against your chest, a gentle reminder that you quickly snagged and tossed the item far across the room. 

Face to face, almost nose to nose. A twisted scarl danced across her face, pearly white fangs stained with spatters of golden blood. It was almost beautiful with how it shimmered in the darkness, like liquid stardust.

"You better fucking kill me, hell-spawn," She spat in your face, fingernails carving angry crescents in your skin.

You laughed, because her words were rather cliche, after all.

"Y'know," You mused, "maybe knowing I'm down here will make you try harder next time."

That did not ease her scowl, but that didn't really bother you, because you had other places to be right now - You weren't going to waste your entire extermination day on one singular angel after all.

You threw her out of the nearest window.

She would be fine, with her wings and all, but it was still funny watching the momentary panic spread across her face before she realised the same thing you did.

Furiously, she flared out her banded wings, scattering loose a flurry of black and white feathers, specks of gold blood arcing in the crimson sky around her. Dazed as she was, her fierce eyes flickered and spun before honing in on her mobile target, namely, you. A titan of the underworld, an overlord in hell - An ear-piercing, spine-chilling cackle echoing around the eastern side of the Pentagram as you pulled yourself from your tower, monstrous figure all too elegant for how big you were, hauntingly so.

And that just made her blood boil, to see a sinner escape her clutches and laugh like nothing was wrong - Or worse, to laugh and knock down her subordinates straight from the sky like they were nothing more than bugs. As little as she cared about the fledglings on their first escapades, that was her hard work going to waste because the littles had no idea how to use their wings. 

And that just pissed her off all that much more.

The little exorcist you'd hucked from the top floor window was the furthest from your mind as your galavant around hell started again. She was a little spitfire, but nothing you hadn't ground into the dirt before and gotten away with. Even the array of cuts and slashes littering your body, courtesy of her spear, didn't mean anything beyond a harsh sting that would be gone within the next month. Yet nothing she did was permanent, which is why you didn't exactly pay attention to the screeching war cry of rage followed by a sharp twinge between your shoulder blades.

Which irked you, but not that much. You twisted your neck in an unnatural manner, bones creaking as your form bent in on itself, teeth fastening around the stab-happy angel's wing before wrenching her away from you. The machete she'd snagged from elsewhere remained buried just beneath your shoulder, you absentmindedly reminded yourself to remember it after this whole ordeal was over. Angelic steel was no good when left to fester in an open wound.

It could've been the same angel, probably was for all you knew. All their stripes looked the same, and plenty had horns curved back like hers (you had a collection of similar exorcist helmets lining your basement, and you still struggled to tell them apart when not labelled.)

But it was those eyes - They were different, or her mask was at least. You'd never seen obsidian glass carved with an 'x' like that marked over an eye, but there was something about it that was so alluring. It was shiny, unique, and belonged to an especially bloodthirsty angel, and you had what was probably the perfect spot to display it back in your den.

Greed made you strike out, grabbing at her helmet and tussling with the exorcist as the two of you fell to the ground. You may have had the size advantage, much, much larger than the lean figure writhing beneath you, but she was still incredibly strong. Her wings were annoying too, beating and kicking up dust that made your eyes water and ache, battering against your face and drawing a headache up, thrumming against the back of your skull. But you wanted that helmet more than anything, and she seemed extremely determined to keep it on.

The force of it all sent a splintering crack through the surface, shining a brilliant bright white like the threads of angelic steel melted and spilled like blood as one horn snapped clean off beneath your palm.

Those eyes.

They almost made you falter, as gold as angel blood. They were beautiful.

The exorcist, however, was not as thrilled.

She snarled, whipped her head around and sunk her teeth into whatever of your flesh she could reach.

It was more like a hell-kitten nipping at your skin, but you still flinched and let her go, watching as she slumped, cradling a crooked wing. A swelling of a certain emotion welled in your gut, something that made you feel small and achy and you absolutely hated it, but you couldn't do anything. Or, more aptly, you didn't want to do anything as you merely watched the exorcist flare her wings out, still beating strongly despite the fact one of them surely was broken.

The trumpets sounded. She made a rude gesture (many rude gestures, actually) before she grabbed the discarded weapon and the broken curve of her horn before disappearing back into the flock.

It was almost creepy, with the way your eyes watched her without blinking.

"You-"

"You!"

It was that time of year already.

The puffed-up exorcist looked angry, but no more than the last few times you'd seen her. You'd come to associate her venomous scowl, sharp wings and pointed spear as a sort've unique welcome between the two of you, in the same manner that your oversized overlord form bent out of proportion was a gratuity you reserved for your exorcist and your exorcist alone.

Because it was fun, and something you two did together.

"I want to try something," You mused out loud. The angel in front of you didn't respond to your remark, circling you like a severely ticked-off lion. You didn't expect her to, intently watching her as your neck kept twisting and twisting, bending like an owl.

Even with every muscle in her body tensed, she still wasn't prepared for how fast your strikes were. One and two, sharp against her chest as your hulking silhouette snapped and quashed itself into a far more humanoid one, the exorcist's favourite blade now held loosely between your hands. As if it would make her feel better, you kicked a machete, similar to the one she used in your first fight, toward her. Coated in crimson blood of sinners, yet still undoubtedly sharp.

"Here, now it's more of an even fight," You shrugged your shoulders, stancing up.

She scoffed.

"Is that really the best you can do?" She sneered, tapping her foot and folding her wings back high and proud. You quirked your eyebrow.

"Huh?" Your head tilted just a bit too far to be considered 'cute' or 'puppyish'. The exorcist grumbled.

"Your form. It's shit," She motioned with the tip of her blade. "Tuck your arms in, for fucks sake. No wonder your swings are so sloppy."

For once, you seem flustered and tried your hardest to follow her instructions. Heat swelled in her chest, almost like pride. But she would never be proud of someone like you.

"And speaking of, adjust your grip. Move your dominant hand up and your non-dominant hand down - For the love of anything holy, how can you be so shit with the bare basics!"

"Okay! Sorry!" You shifted your weight and tried to do as she told, almost forgetting where exactly you were. The exorcist only felt her grin grow more sadistic, watching how small you suddenly seemed in front of her, and how pathetic you were at actually using a weapon like a somewhat normal person.

It was sad.

(It reminded her of her bright-eyed, curious fledgling classes. All of them eager to learn about how to serve the lord above.)

"Like this?" You question, insane eyes almost reflecting the same eagerness of her students.

It was all wrong, but that was what she wanted.

"Ha. No."

This time she was the one covering the distance between you two with frightening speed, flinging herself forward with the momentum from her wings. The noise you made plucked at her heart, that startled screech clashing with the harsh sound of metal as you brought her own weapon up against her.

It was a brief moment of weakness, one quickly lost as you found your footing and started swinging. For how amateur your swings were, they were more than halfway decent compared to the littles fighting closer to the portal into Heaven. She could work with this, make it feel like you were actually a challenge instead of just another run-of-the-mill sinner.

She could see the way your eyes were glowing, looking all too content with yourself as you somehow matched her footwork and swordsmanship. You were a bit all over the place, but you were also incredibly smart - Picking up on her unique fighting style that not one other exorcist had, and you were doing it fast. Puffing up, almost preening.

"Aha! Now for some witty back-and-forth banter!" You declared out of nowhere, swings much more confident. She narrowed her eyes, infuriated. Just when she thought you were starting to take this whole thing seriously.

The exorcist remained eerily silent, not even puffs of exhausted breath or grunts with each collision of the blades.

"Huh, yeah, not really sure where to go with that?" You shrugged with the brief lull in fighting, darting backwards and sheathing your weapon with just a tad too much confidence for her taste.

Which, every part of this felt like a trap, but she trusted her own skills enough to not fall prey to the like of a sinner. Expertly, more than expertly, she matched those steps as you fell back, advancing, wings arced out as eyes aglow with holy fire.

Only for you to, once again, take her off-guard with your usual tactic. Darting forward, ducking under her blade and kicking her feet out from underneath her. She didn't make a sound but refused to go down with a fight and grabbed at the back of your outfit.

Her vision briefly went dark, the impact of something heavy crashing against her torso and knocking the wind right out of her. Her helmet cracked again, which was par for the course ever since she started brawling with you every extermination.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Through the new crack in her helmet, she could almost perfectly make out your face. A bit too perfect, and way too close. Close enough to see her pale reflection in the dark of your eyes.

Your, admittedly, pretty eyes.

She felt like carving her own heart out rather than admitting she'd ever thought that in the first place.

"Get. Off. Me." She snarled. Meanwhile, stars practically glowed in your eyes.

"Oh wow! Dropping the 'Hellspawn' and 'Demon-scum'? Could this be love?" You were clearly joking, but her own heart decided to betray her thoughts, flipping in graceful arcs that she'd seen you perform one too many times.

She bit you again.

Five hours.

It had been five hours into the extermination.

With a ranking tally of two hundred and fifty or so demons, the exorcist figured she was fine to have a quick look around.

Because, through all this time, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of you. She didn't want to admit that she'd been loitering around your tower, knowing your tendency to throw yourself into the fray, dancing like you were tempting a lightning storm. She didn't want to admit that she'd been expecting to see your annoying face peering out at her from a nearby rooftop or to descend upon her like a leaping cat, or even to stroll up and start talking to her like the two of you were old friends. None of that happened.

The streets were rather empty, if you didn't take into account the blazing wrecks of cars, broken corpses and puddles of crimson blood puddling around the divets in sulphur roads. There were no moving, 'living' souls scurrying around, and that was what worried her.

Or, no. Not worried. She wasn't at all worried at the thought of you gutted somewhere, dying in a pool of your own blood, banished to the forever void that came after a second death. No, she was pissed at the thought that someone else had managed to kill you after all those years of the same cat-and-mouse dance. Or, more aptly, cat and fox dance. That honour was rightly hers, and she'd smite down any other exorcist that dared to stand in her way.

 In her way of killing you. Yes.

The exorcist pinned back her wings, sheathing her weapon and scuffing her boot against brimstone in annoyance. This was bullshit.

There was no fun in the exterminations without your jeering taunts, or odd remarks, your instance of fighting absolutely everyone you saw. Along with the annoyance of you ditching her mid-battle to rip feathers from one of her cohorts, along with a certain warmth she felt when you came bounding back towards her, bloodlust in your eyes and that same weapon you'd stolen from her all those years back pointed directly at her.

The angel only stopped once her boot stepped in liquid gold. It rippled, her thoughtful reflection mirrored and shimmering on its surface. Amber ichor, melding into the red from a nearby puddle, the mingling of sinner and winner blood alike.

What was the chance? She reasoned. But only one demon so far had managed to draw blood from an exorcist.

With a set snarl, she followed the trail. Her bootsteps were the only sound ricocheting around the dinky alley she found herself tracing.

"Oh, it's you..." She almost jumped out of her boots at the sound of your voice. Although, it didn't sound like you, per se. It was croaky and weak, dull and mild-mannered to put it lightly.

You were resting against a brick wall, clutching your front, eyes dimmed in the bright light. Squinting, as if a headache was plaguing your every thought.

Beside you, one of her cohorts rested too. Not dead, but her mask was all but shattered, one of her wings horribly ripped. She wasn't sure if she'd ever fly properly again.

But, you were not dead! Which was good news, because it meant she would be the one to finally slit your throat and watch the light drain from your eyes. And you knew it too, with the way your head kept tilted in her direction, a thoughtful twinkle in your eye.

"So, how's your day been?" Still playful, still joking. It was definitely you.

She scoffed.

"How's the blood loss?" She quipped back, the first she'd ever done so. Properly, at least. You laughed wetly, gagging on your own blood. Even she couldn't help but chuckle, dragging the tip of her weapon up until it rested gently over your heart.

Your laughter died down. Her hand was shaking.

Everything around you was quiet, like the two of you were submerged in a solid bubble of silence. Your ragged breathing was the only sound above a whisper, wet and ragged.

"Can I see your face?" Your voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. Genuine.

She hummed, quirking a single brow. Not that you could see, because of her helm.

"Why would I do that?" She'd meant for it to sound more venomous. It didn't. You tried your hardest to shrug your shoulders, wincing in pain.

"Well," You sucked in a pained breath, "if I have to die here, the last thing I'd like to see is your face." Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, smudging the whorls of gold and red blood alike as they dribbled down your cheeks.

Something within her snapped. Dead. Death. A future forever without you. If she'd thought today's extermination had been boring without you, she couldn't even imagine any more.

That's what she told herself, anyway. A future without you was not one she wanted to live, for any reason.

The clank of angelic steel broke the atmosphere, harsh against the bloody floor. Fingers fuzzy and numbed, clasping as the latches that kept her exorcist helmet together. One flick, then another, a sharp snap. Dark obsidian peeled away, horns lifted till a silver-sharp face so out of place in the depths of hell appeared.

"I was right," You croaked. "You are... Pretty woman."

You devolved into another flurry of hacking coughs. The angel felt her feathers flare up, alarmed.

"Yeah, yeah," You waved her off, "don't show weakness or whatever, thanks lieutenant." Your chest crackled painfully as you just regained some unneeded breaths. The angel in front of you stumbled, anxiously padding forward as her boots clacked against the ground.

"Look, I can die happy now. Was fun fighting against you - Really fun, actually. And look! You finally came out on top this time, eh?" You tried to wink, you really did. It just didn't have the same effect when you were bleeding out in front of her. Which made her stomach drop and her adrenaline spike.

'This goes against everything I've ever done' She squinted, furrowing her brow. Gold eyes almost glowed like hot iron, fingers clasped firmly against the hem of her outfit. 'But, y'know, I could always say I was just trying to save my flockmate.'

And she tugged.

Her shirt ripped, the sound harsh against your ears, but it left her with a hefty chunk of fabric that slid against her chainmail gloves. The Lord would smite her down if he ever found out about this, but chances are, in the belly of hell, it would be a secret between only the two of you.

Hours ticked onwards, slipping through her fingers far too quickly. She was just lucky you were as strong as you were, holding on to your consciousness with all your might as she worked her magic. Stuff the wound, stop the bleeding, heal and hope to everything that was holy that angelic magic didn't sear your flesh the same way their steel did.

Of course, you being you, airy quips were thrown around, keeping the air light as your wound slowly healed. It was nasty, there was no doubt about that, your first permanent scar. But at least this way, you'd make it out with your life.

"How did you even let her catch you off guard?" She questioned you after hours of silence.

"I'll be honest, I thought she was you based on her footsteps," You sighed, exhaling softly as she tugged at your makeshift bandages. You got no proper response outside of her light scoff. Somehow, that still made you burn hot with shame.

In perfect unison, the two of you looked out to the horizon. Golden light spilled down from heaven, the portal slowly growing more and more, ripping open a way back to their holy home. Six minutes till the trumpets would sound, if you had to guess. The angel tutted, disapproving of the way time worked. The thought was enough to make you crack a smile.

"I have to go," She seemed hesitant.

"I'll be fine," Even if hoisting yourself to your feet almost made you black out, lugging yourself back to your tower shouldn't have been a big problem when you could literally see one of the back entrances.

That didn't ease her thoughts. She was thinking, mind ticking away as she thought and thought and thought. She kept thinking, until she slowly reached up and snagged a rounded, down-fluff feather from her puffed-up shoulder. Pristine and warm to the touch, it washed away the blood as she carefully placed it into your shaking palm.

No words were shared between you as she rested you against the wall, letting you steady yourself and she hoisted her fellow exorcist onto her shoulders. After helping her shimmy back into her iconic helmet, she glanced backwards at you before stepping toward the light.

"You better not die before I can kill you." Her words were soft, unlike her sharp exterior. You could only match the assumed small, hidden smile. With a hum, you felt only a single name come to mind.

"Yeah, course I won't Lute."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

tag you're it

bucky barnes x fem! reader

a/n: this took me 5 days to write and GOD it was hard. the ideas were running around my mind like crazy tho. but I had fun writing this. i cant wait for the rest tho. enjoy your reading and do your thing girl. HAVE FUN YALL! 🙏 (HES SO PRETTY IN THAT GIF OH MY GOD AAAAAHHHH 😻😻😻)

word count: around 4k?

warrnings: blood, guns, sad max, shadow (shes a warning okay?), trauma from the past and yeah.

prologue part i

Max’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, his mind spiraling. 'five years. five damn years, and this guy figures it out in a week? how the hell does he do it? while I’ve been chasing dead ends, he’s been living his life like it’s nothing. maybe I just suck at this. maybe I should’ve done more. maybe I could’ve stopped them. maybe... maybe I could’ve saved her.'

he slammed his fist against the wheel, the pain sharp but grounding. "this is my fault. It always has been," he muttered.

his thoughts were like wildfire, scorching everything in their path. the guilt. the rage. the self-loathing. but the one thing that always stuck with him was the pain of not being able to protect her—of failing his older sister.

pulling into the parking lot, Max forced himself to take a deep breath. the weight on his chest didn’t lighten, but he fought it down. he grabbed the croissant and locked the car, hoping the small gesture would at least make the meeting feel somewhat normal, plus hungry sam isn't on his list. he doesn't like that sam. so maybe if he could get through this conversation with Sam, he could push forward.

Max walked into the café and immediately spotted Sam, who was sipping his coffee and already looking as annoyed as ever. Max barely had time to open his mouth before Sam threw a sarcastic jab his way.

“every damn time. I show up on time, wait half an hour like an idiot, and then you show up like a lost puppy after an hour and a half. why, Max? What’s the deal? am I just supposed to be the fool in this partnership?” sam teased max.

Max, still a bit tight from his thoughts, handed Sam the paper bag with the croissant. Sam’s sarcastic tone didn’t faze him at all.

smirking to himself he knew that sam hated when he was late. “yeah, yeah. you’re lucky I remembered. figured you might need something to stop complaining.”

when he sat down, Sam eyed him, raising an eyebrow as he took the croissant and unwrapped it. “shit. you actually remembered something. pistachio, huh? guess you’re not as useless as you look.”

frowning, but clearly amused, max replied “it’s pistachio, dipshit. i’m not gonna bring you chocolate. you’ve got a weird obsession with that stuff.” and when he says weird he means it. seriously that guys obssession with pistachios is insane.

once when they were watching a movie, sam took a whole ass bag of pistachio's just to munch on them while watching the movie. till this day he has a serious trauma from it.

taking a bite, looking up at Max with a mischievous grin, sam said “you’re right, pistachio’s better. you actually do have taste. i'll admit that much.”

"yeah no shit. seriously when is that obsession going to stop, man? its concerning for both your health and mine." max shook his head trying to shake off the flashbacks he had.

sam eyed max offendedly and shook his head in disbelief. "you're one to talk kid. look your obsession with those drawn girls? now thats concerning. actually now that we are talking about it, why dont you have a girlfriend to bring you back to the place you're supposed to be, huh?"

feeling his cheeks getting hot, max tried to change the subject of the conversation and get to the real point. "that doesn't makes and sense right now. we are not here to talk about that, but something else."

sam chuckled because he knew he hit a weak spot and to be honest? he did not care. hes older than him for gods sake. 'kids these days man. always in the trouble.' he thought to himself.

as they sat down, Sam tossed a thick file of papers on the table. max’s frustration was starting to bubble over again, especially at the sheer amount of paperwork.

annoyed and tired from all the teasing, but with a clear sarcasam in his voice he asked “why the hell do you still do this, Sam? why not bring a tablet or something? you could make this whole thing easier. we’re not in the 90s, man. this isn’t your high school history project.”

smirking while munching on the croissant, sam teased “i like the paper, alright? old school. you should try it sometime.”

Max couldn’t help but roll his eyes. there was always some excuse for everything with Sam.

“whatever. but you still haven’t told me anything useful. we have a lead on her or what?” max asked in curiosity.

Sam leaned back, wiping his mouth, and pushed the folder closer to Max.

more seriously now sam said “you’re right. I’m not here to screw around. I found something that might actually help. hydra’s been holding someone, and it lines up with everything we’ve been looking for. could be her.”

Max paused, staring at the papers for a long moment. It was hard to believe after all this time. Was this real?

gritting his teeth, a little frustrated “you know how many times I’ve heard maybe it’s her, Sam? we need something concrete.”

leaning forward, tone more intense “I know. but this is more than just a maybe. they’ve been shifting people around, and this one’s high priority. we get in, we get the intel. then we plan how to get her out. we’ve got one shot at this.”

Max’s face hardens with determination as he flips through the papers, his pulse picking up at the thought of her possibly being so close. but his mind is also spinning—this time could be different, but there’s a lot on the line.

Max sighed, rubbing his temples, feeling the pressure building. He glanced at Sam, who was already pulling out his phone to make calls.

“alright, what’s the plan? how do i get in? how do i find her?”

grinning a little, still working the phone sam said “you do the running around, make sure Hydra’s too busy with you to notice me hacking into their systems. i’ll handle the details. you get the glory.”

nodding with a smirk, max replied “you know, I love it when you act all calm and smart. it makes me look even cooler when I’m the one doing the real work.”

without missing a beat, not looking up from the phone “yeah, sure, Max. you’re definitely the one doing the work. just don’t blow everything up before I finish the plan.”

grinning as he stands up, max teased “don’t worry, I’ve got this. you just focus on not getting us caught.”

Max turned to walk away, but Sam’s voice called after him.

almost mockingly sam teased back “don’t get yourself arrested, alright? I’m not bailing you out again.”

grinning as he leaves, like a mantra, max says “you say that like it’s not part of the plan.”

chuckling to himself, Sam walked away and drove off, leaving Max alone with his thoughts.

'am I really going to do this? am I really going to find her?'

the doubt gnawed at him, but deep down, he already knew the answer. "God, I hope so. I really do."

fifteen years apart, and still, his sister was the most important person in his life. he had looked up to her when they were kids. he still did—even after she was taken away.

Max sighed and got into his car, starting the engine as he pulled onto the road.

traffic was heavier than usual—clogged, but not fully stopped. he weaved forward slowly, his fingers tapping impatiently against the wheel.

then, he noticed them.

two men in police uniforms were moving between cars, asking questions and checking IDs. it looked routine enough, but something about the way they carried themselves put Max on edge.

his turn came faster than expected. one of the officers approached, leaning down slightly.

"ID, sir."

Max handed it over without a word, his muscles tensing the moment the officer’s eyes locked onto his. there was something in his gaze—something too sharp, too focused.

the man barely glanced at the ID before reaching for his walkie-talkie.

he turned slightly, murmuring something too quiet for Max to hear.

Max’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. What the hell is happening?

the officer’s body language changed—his movements slow, deliberate, as if he were both careful and calculating. his fingers curled tightly around the walkie-talkie, knuckles slightly white.

Max furrowed his brows. He had seen men act like that before. not cops. Soldiers. operatives trained to stay alert at all times.

his instincts screamed at him.

something isn’t right.

should he ask what was going on? play it cool? worst-case scenario—run.

subtly, he adjusted his posture, keeping his breathing steady. his gun was still tucked safely under his seat. If things went south, at least he wasn’t unarmed.

after a few seconds that stretched too long, the man turned back to him, nodding stiffly.

"thank you for your service, sir. you can go."

the words sounded polite, but there was a sneer beneath them. like the man knew something Max didn’t.

Max didn’t hesitate. he nodded, muttered a quick "yeah, sure," and pressed on the gas. but as he pulled away, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

the officer was still watching him.

and then, he spoke into the walkie-talkie again.

while driving, max looked at his rearview mirror and checked if the police man was still looking at him and every time he turned around he did.

stopping on a red light he reached for his phone to call sam and after fourth ring he answered.

"what do you need right now huh? that talk wasnt enough good for you? or you just need an advice how to bag a real girl instead of looking at those drawn girls youre drooling?" sam teased hoping it would cheer him up a little bit, but max wasnt in the mood. after that stunt hes more on the edge than he ever has been.

"Sam, something's happening. Something bad, man. And it’s not good."

Gripping the wheel to the point his knuckles were white, Max kept glancing at his rearview mirror. The so-called cop was still there, still watching, still talking into that damn walkie-talkie.

"I don’t know what it is yet, but I can feel it. They’re onto me."

His pulse was hammering in his ears as he pressed down on the gas, trying to put some distance between him and whatever the hell was about to go down.

"I think it’s Hydra."

Static crackled over the line before Sam’s voice finally came through, sharp and laced with concern.

"Where are you, Max?"

"Still stuck in traffic, but I’m moving. Listen, if I don’t call back in five minutes—"

A sudden screech of tires behind him made Max whip his head around. A black SUV had just pulled out of a side street, merging into traffic fast. Too fast to be normal.

"Shit," Max muttered under his breath.

His grip tightened even more.

"Sam, I think I’ve got company."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "You sure?"

"Not yet." He took another turn. The SUV followed. Shit. "But I will be soon."

Max’s mind raced. If this was Hydra, then this wasn’t just some random tail. They were waiting for something—for the right moment to make a move.

"Alright," Sam’s voice was calmer now, more focused. "Listen to me. Don’t freak out. Don’t run. Not yet."

Max gritted his teeth. "Wasn’t planning on it."

"Good. If they’re following you, they’re waiting for confirmation. They don’t know if you’re actually you yet. Don’t give them a reason to be sure."

Max’s grip loosened just a little. Sam was right. If they knew, they would’ve already acted. Right now, they were just watching.

Waiting.

"Okay," Max muttered, switching lanes casually. The SUV mirrored him a second later.

Yeah. He was definitely being followed.

"Sam," he said, voice lower now, "I really, really don’t like being watched."

"Yeah, well, try not to look so damn suspicious, genius."

Max huffed, rolling his shoulders. "Any advice, smartass?"

"Yeah. Keep driving. Act normal. And get somewhere public before they decide to make a move."

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Public, huh?"

His eyes flicked to an upcoming intersection. A plan was already forming.

"I know just the place."

"wait what do you mean? youre taking your other buddies to the secret places too? damn man thats cold. and here I thought i was your best friend. thats cold man." sam said offendedly.

Max rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Yeah, yeah, now shut up—I’m trying to concentrate."

"Fine, but just so you know, my feelings are deeply wounded."

Max ignored him, making a sharp turn onto a side street, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. The black SUV was still there.

Still following.

The tension in his gut coiled tighter. They weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Still got that feeling something bad’s about to happen?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Max’s knuckles were white against the wheel, his heart hammering as the so-called police car sped up behind him.

the sirens weren’t blaring.

that’s how he knew something was seriously wrong.

before he could react, the car slammed into him from the side.

“shit—!” the impact sent his car spinning, tires screeching against the asphalt. he yanked the wheel, trying to gain control, but the car was skidding—swerving—going straight for a row of parked cars.

and then— gunfire.

bullets ripped through his windshield.

“FUCK—” Max ducked, hands still gripping the wheel as glass shattered around him.

his earpiece crackled to life."MAX? MAX, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

"OH, I DON’T KNOW, SAM, MAYBE THE FACT THAT I’M BEING HUNTED LIKE A GODDAMN ANIMAL?!"

more bullets. more fucking bullets.

Max reached under his seat, grabbing his gun while still trying not to die.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? GET OUTTA THERE, MAN!" sam was stressed and sam is never stressing like this.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I’VE BEEN TRYING TO DO, DIPSHIT? YOU’RE NO HELP AT ALL!"

Max yanked the wheel hard right, his car screeching around a corner. he wasn’t outrunning these guys—he needed to lose them.

he swerved into a crowded market street, narrowly avoiding a fruit stand. people screamed, diving out of the way. the Hydra agents weren’t slowing down.

and then he saw it— someone standing in the middle of the street.

dark tactical suit. black mask. rifle raised.

aiming right at him.

Max’s stomach dropped.

"Son of a—" BOOM. a bomb rolled under his car. a fucking bomb. Max didn’t think—he acted.

he threw himself out of the car.

the explosion sent him flying, heat licking at his back as his car flipped—twice—

before crashing onto its roof.

everything spun. pain shot through his ribs. his ears were ringing.

and when he looked up— the masked figure was standing over him. gun aimed right at his head.

fuck.

he reached for his gun— but the figure kicked it away.

the person,  now standing right in frint of him, spoke in a slow voice "не такой быстрый солдат."

Max swallowed thickly, mind racing.

he was unarmed. he was injured.

and this person— whoever the hell they were— was about to put a bullet in his head, but when they took a step closer-Max was already moving.

he lunged—grabbing a jagged piece of metal from the wreckage—and threw it.

It wasn’t a perfect shot. but it was enough.

the masked figure dodged—just barely—giving Max the one second he needed.

he ran.

ducking into the crowd, he kept his head low, weaving between people. He could still hear Hydra agents behind him, still felt the masked figure’s gaze burning into his back.

his earpiece crackled. "MAX?! WHAT HAPPENED?"

"change of plans buddy, im bringing the hell to you" max whispered

"FUCKING—WHY?!"

Max grinned despite the blood in his mouth. "because I think I just pissed off Hydra’s best assassin."

and she really, really wants me dead.

ONE HOUR LATER

By the time Max made it to Sam’s place, he was barely standing. His legs felt like cement. His ribs? Probably cracked. His head? Pounding.And the worst part? He had to walk the whole damn way here. An hour. On foot. Bleeding.

He slammed his fist against the doorbell and leaned against the doorway, gasping for air. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but his injuries? Way worse. His ribs throbbed under his torn hoodie, an ugly purple bruise spreading across his side.

His entire body screamed for rest, but his mind was still stuck in that moment.

The masked assassin. The bomb. The gun pointed at his head.

He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away.

The door swung open, and there was Sam—arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Jesus, Max.” Sam looked him up and down, unimpressed. “You’re always getting yourself into some dumbass situation.”

Max groaned, shuffling past him and immediately collapsing onto the couch.

Sam watched, unimpressed. “How are you still alive?”

Max waved a weak hand in the air. “I’m built different.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he walked toward the bathroom. “I swear, man. You’re like a goddamn cockroach.”

“Yeah, well, this cockroach just died and you weren’t there to help me. That’s low, Sam. Real low.”

Sam’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe because I was screaming at you to get the hell out and you weren’t listening?!”

Max exhaled a tired laugh, running a shaky hand over his face. His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt.

A minute later, Sam returned, first aid kit in hand. He plopped down beside Max, flipping it open. “Need help?”

Max took one look at him and scoffed. “What, you wanna kiss it better?”

Sam shoved the gauze at his chest. “Fix your damn face, dumbass.”

Max chuckled weakly, winking as he grabbed the gauze and started patching up his busted eyebrow.

But then—Sam’s expression changed.

Something more serious.

He watched Max carefully. Too carefully.

“How’d they find you?” His voice was low, tense. “You’re careful. You don’t slip up. You don’t leave tracks. Did you—?”

Max immediately shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, Sam.”

Silence.

Sam didn’t look convinced.

Max swallowed, his hands suddenly trembling.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next.

“…Sam.”

Something about the way he said it— soft, uncertain, almost afraid— made Sam’s posture stiffen.

Max exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched.

“I think I found her.”

The words hit the room like a bomb.

Sam’s breath caught. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Max turned to him, and for the first time in a long time—his eyes were glassy.

Raw. Torn between hope and devastation.

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it.

“…Max.”

Max looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if it was really her, but—” His voice cracked. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his blood-matted hair.

“I think—I think she tried to kill me.”

And just like that—the world stopped.

The silence between them was heavy.

Max felt it—the way Sam shifted uncomfortably. The tension in his shoulders. The way he didn’t know what to say.

Max exhaled, forcing a chuckle as he adjusted his position, setting the first aid kit aside. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Sorry, man,” he muttered, pushing himself off the couch. “Didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Sam immediately shook his head. “No, Max, it’s alright.”

But Max was already walking away. His throat felt dry, tight. He needed something, anything to pull his thoughts away from this.

He poured himself a glass of water, gripping the cup a little too tightly.

Sam hesitated, then exhaled. “Sorry that happened, man.” A small pause. Soft. Honest. “Wish I was there to save your ass.”

Max let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, huh.” He took a slow sip of water, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “And listen to this—I’m not even sure if that was her.”

His voice wavered.

Sam froze.

Max scoffed bitterly, rubbing at his face. “I don’t even know if that person was my sister. Or—or if that person was even a woman.”

He felt it before he realized it.

Tears. Hot, angry, silent. Grief clawed at his chest, raw and relentless. It wasn’t fair.

He had spent years—years—searching for her.

And now?

Now she was nothing but a shadow with a gun to his head.

He let out a hollow laugh, voice breaking.

“Sam… I—” His breath hitched. His hands clenched at the counter. “I don’t even know my sister.”

And that? That hurt worse than any bullet.

Sam didn’t hesitate this time.

He got up, crossed the room, and pulled Max into a hug.

Max stiffened, but only for a second.

Because, god—he needed this.

He let himself sink into it, gripping the back of Sam’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

Sam didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tell him it’d be okay. Didn’t promise him things he couldn’t guarantee.

He just held him.

Because what else could he do?

Max’s hands clenched in Sam’s shirt, his voice a low, shaking whisper.

"I’m going to kill them all. Every last one of them. One by one."

Sam stiffened. He’d heard that tone before.

A promise. A death sentence.

Sam tightened his grip around Max and pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"And I’m here to help you, buddy. Alright?" His hands gripped Max’s shoulders, grounding him. Holding him up. "Whatever you need—I’m here."

Max stared at him for a moment, really looked at him. And he realized—this man had been by his side through all of it.

The good, the bad. The moments where Max could barely hold himself together.

Sam had been there. Always.

A choked chuckle broke through Max’s lips. He wiped at his face, forcing the tears away. Enough of that.

"Yeah, well… we better get on with it soon," he muttered, straightening up. "Because I swear to god, Sam, I wanna feel their faces on my knuckles, y’know? Like Captain America. But the bad guy version."

Sam snorted, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, dipshit. We’ll get to that." His voice softened. "But first? Clean yourself up. Get some rest."

Max frowned. "I’m fi—"

Sam pointed. "You walked in here with your head gushing blood. Go. Now."

Max huffed but didn’t argue. He muttered something about "bossy assholes" under his breath as he grabbed the first aid kit and disappeared down the hall.

Sam let out a breath, running a hand down his face. Jesus.

Max collapsed into bed, staring up at the ceiling, his whole body aching. His mind racing.

He had found her.

And he had lost her all over again.

His fingers curled into the sheets, his breath unsteady.

'I promise you—I’m going to save you. No one is going to stop me. Just wait for me. Please.'

His eyelids grew heavy.

Darkness pulled him under.

MEANWHILE

3 HOURS EARLIER

She stood still. Back straight, shoulders squared, breath even.

The suit was tight. Heavy. But it felt like nothing.

Because she felt nothing.

She had been given her equipment—knives, firearms, explosives—all perfectly placed, strapped to her like an extension of her own body. Like she had been born to carry them.

She hadn’t been born for this.

But she had been made for it.

And now, she stood in front of Vasily, waiting. For the command. For the only thing that mattered.

The girl she was before? She didn’t exist anymore.

The only thing left was this.

Cold. Ruthless. Empty. A weapon with one purpose.

To eliminate Max Harrison. Her brother. But she didn’t know that. She wasn’t allowed to know that.

Vasily took a step forward, studying her with sharp, hungry eyes. His voice was smooth, calculated. Testing her. Waiting for weakness.

“Тень?” Shadow?

Her response was instant. Programmed.

“Готов подчиняться.” Ready to comply.

Not a flicker of hesitation. No fear. No anger. No doubt.

She was perfect.

Vasily’s lips curled into something almost amused.

"Устранить цель. Медленно и устойчиво." Eliminate the target. Slow and steady.

He was watching her. Waiting for a crack in the armor. For a flicker of resistance.

Because he wanted her to break.

If she broke, he could put her back together again.

If she cracked, he could rip her apart and rebuild her.

Just like before.

But there was nothing.

No hesitation. No flicker of recognition.

Only the mission.

Only the orders.

“Да, сэр.” yes sir

And then she was gone.

To do the “right” thing.

She wasn’t alone. He was there, too. The infamous Winter Soldier. Silent. Unmoving. A shadow carved into flesh and metal.

Different mission. Same purpose.

Cold. Distant. Focused.

There was nothing behind his eyes. Nothing but the mission.

Just like her.

She turned her head slightly, her voice steady. Unshaken.

"Солдат." Soldier.

His response came instantly, without thought.

"Тень." Shadow.

No warmth. No familiarity. Just recognition. Just an echo of something long gone.

Because once, before all this, people had looked at them and said they were meant to be.

Perfect for each other.

But the universe had other plans.

It had torn them apart, piece by piece. Rebuilt them into ghosts. Into weapons sharpened to the breaking point.

And now?

They were together again—but not as people..As something else entirely.

Because it wasn’t like they had a choice.

And soon, the world would feel the weight of what they had become.