#I'm probably dropping this and dipping for a bit

[clever-and-unique-name]

Oh. Something in me is snarling and snapping. Okay.

Sorry, most of you aren't going to have a lot of context for this because it would take far too long to explain and these feelings are melting my brain. The short story is I made a discord server 4 years ago for friends with OSDDID and just left it yesterday.

I still have a couple friends there still. So I've been kept abreast of the conversations that happened in the wake of me leaving. Because nothing can ever be discussed openly, to the face of who it's about, right? That's a big part of why I left in the first place.

So, some things, to recap, mostly for my sanity. Sorry, this is going to get extremely long, because I want to say all I need to say.

Initially, I made the server to foster a small, intimate community of people with OSDDID. One of those people is someone who groomed me as a teenager.

Over time, some of the people there helped me realize I was in a toxic relationship with that person. When things finally came to a head and that person left the server (2? years ago?), I was...very not okay. But I had people there supporting me through it, and we got closer through the fallout. I am genuinely thankful for their support through it. It would have been exponentially more rough without them.

Time passed. I went from being unemployed to working full time. I had less time to spend socializing online, partially due to the strict divide between our work-parts and home-parts. I began to neglect my friendships, and though we tried--god, we really did try--we just couldn't figure out how to talk more than maybe once a week, when the right alignment of parts were out to be Home and Social in the way we felt we needed to be. And it just dwindled from there.

At some point around there, I started talking to B. We bonded over our shared love of art and character creation. She was welcoming to all of my parts, insisted on talking to anyone who was present. A novelty for me, to be individually recognized and not have to hide anyone. She got me on my stressful days and rough nights--vulnerable times I didn't feel I could share with people previously. We have talked every day for two years.

Resentment began to grow from the people I'd previously been close to. Obviously...it hurts to be told that someone doesn't have space for you like they used to, while they're clearly engaging in a close and intimate friendship with another person. I tried to reassure that I still cared about people, and tried to reach out when I could, but it kept cropping up with different people in the server: you don't care about me anymore, we're clearly not friends anymore, well you can make room for her so why not me. It was almost like clockwork for a bit, once a month someone new would step forward and I would try to put out the fire again.

(The thing is, every single one of these people expressed that they completely understood and sympathized/empathized with my limited social ability. They insisted that our level of contact was fine, until it apparently wasn't and they confronted me about it. So as I was having a conversation with one person with them saying "No it's totally okay that we don't talk much, I still love and care about you sooo much!", I was fielding a convo from a different person who had said the same thing to me weeks/months ago, talking about how I had actually been horribly neglecting them and that we weren't friends anymore.)

Then around a year ago, that person I mentioned, the one I knew as a teenager, created a new account to bypass my blocks, and reached out to me again. Trying to "apologize" for something, the subject of which had me questioning if someone I knew was tipping them off to things I was processing semi-privately. Right at the crescendo of all the other social issues.

Lit match. Powder keg. Boom.

I withdrew hard. From absolutely everyone but B. I didn't know who to trust with their reassurances of "we're totally okay, love and care about you!" I didn't know who harbored resentments. I knew, from past experiences, that there were people in the server prone to gossiping with each other, and I had stepped on their toes by pulling away from them. I mean. That's how we had bonded in the first place--by us privately talking about the person I knew, among others. You know what they say about bad karma.

I all but disappeared from the server, owner in name only. I fought the urge to delete it, and instead promoted others to mods so I could further remove myself. Every time I attempted to talk there, I was overwhelmed with anxiety to the point of physical illness. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head, that I was just having attachment trauma, that I could sit with my discomfort and everything would be fine. More and more, it felt like the only person I could truly trust to be emotionally attached to was B. Out of 20-odd people, 6 had heel-turned and told me I hurt them with my distance. I was just waiting on the rest to do the same. And waiting. And waiting.

And suddenly, a couple days ago, another server "friend" (I hesitate to call anyone that because it was impressed upon me, multiple times, that I was not being a friend to people) blocked me. I found out when I went to send them a meme and discovered I couldn't. I thought I was used to it, I thought I couldn't be blindsided anymore. But it had been a while since it had happened; I thought everyone who had a limit with me had reached it.

I checked our convo history. Yet again: us talking about how much we understood each other, how we're both prone to isolation, how we still cared about each other.

Upset, I told B, who was also friends with them. Who immediately found out she was blocked too.

So we both decided to leave the server. We announced it yesterday afternoon, and hung around to talk a bit, wanting to leave as little confusion as possible without outright calling anyone out. We knew there were people there who didn't know about any of this going on (I'm so sorry for all the drama that's been dumped on your feet, guys.) We also knew there were people there who had been talking about all this behind our backs--we just didn't know how many. Again, the suspicion and speculation and "when will it happen again" was really what was eating us alive.

We left amicably. And then as soon as the doors were closed, of course people stepped forward to talk about how I had just stopped caring about them to focus on B instead. As if it was that simple. As if they had stopped at any point to talk to me about it (and the ones who did vehemently denied that it was an issue of comparing our friendship to mine with B.)

Caring was never the issue. I cared about people until they blocked me, or outright told me I wasn't a friend to them anymore. I kept caring about people, against my fears that it would end like that again, because it's just my nature to care. But caring in silence doesn't feel like much of anything, does it? I know that. I'm sorry for the way I've made people feel from that. But connection is a two-way street--where the hell were you? B has talked to me every day for two years. When someone talks, I respond. If you wanted me there, where the hell were you?

[writersdrug]

if you’re craving more bartender! ghost (like me), maybe reader meeting price for the first time? he’s got that rugged charm that actually makes her shy, and simon’s about to kick the owner out of his own bar?

or, regardless! how do you picture her meeting price?

Lmao I just saw this and I think I wrote a blippet of it in my Bartender!Simon headcannons but I'm in love with this particular idea:

You're in the kitchen, chatting it up with Soap as you prepare things like condiments, the dip heater, and slicing fruits. Soap drops a plate of pancakes under the warmer for everyone to share and you snag one off the top.

"Gonna go smoke a blem." Soap says, taking his apron off. "Simon's up at the bar if ye need 'im."

"Mphhm." You say, chewing on the pancake as you stir the nacho cheese with your other hand. Soap walks out the back, the door swinging shut with a clang behind him.

You vaguely hear Simon tinkering up front, taking the barstools off the countertop for the day. It's three pm, and the place officially opens at four. You're dissociating, staring at the congealed nacho cheese as it slowly warms up, stirring it while you snatch another pancake from underneath the warmer. You're thinking of asking Simon if you can paint your nails - dress code is one thing, health code is another. You could wear those plastic gloves if the nail polish is a problem - but, then again, you'd look ridiculous with those gloves. Is it alright to have clear polish on? Probably...

You hear the door creak open, assuming Soap already finished his cigarette. "That was fast-" You said, dropping the ladle into the cheese. "I'm gonna let Simon know about the pan-"

When you look up, you're not looking at Soap, as you had expected. You're staring at a different man, with a scruffy beard and a dark beanie, stepping in through the back door.

Simon nearly slices his finger open when he hears your blood-curdling scream. He curses, dropping the lemon and knife onto the counter behind the bar, sprinting off into the kitchen, soldier instincts kicking in. He bursts through the door to find Price, eyes wide and hands up in a peaceful gesture, shouting at you to calm down. You have an empty beer keg in your hands and are mid-swing, aiming for Price's head-

Ghost jumps into the scene - he grabs you around your waist and spins you away from Price, making the keg lose its acceleration. You shriek and kick your feet, dropping the keg on his toe. He curses as he slams into the wall behind him.

"The owner- he's the owner!!" He shouts over your struggling.

You freeze, staring at Price - who looks absolutely astounded with the situation that had just unfolded before him. "Oh- fuck, I'm- I'm so sorry!! Christ, I thought you were robbing the place!!"

Simon chucks you back onto your feet, wheezing out a breath in relief. Price sighs and relaxes his shoulders, rolling them out and standing straight.

"Fuckin' hell..." he says, reaching a hand out. "Price. You must be the new bird, yes?"

You nod and shake his hand. "Yea- seriously, I'm so sorry-"

"'S quite alright." He dismisses your apology with a wrinkle of his nose. "Didn't realize you hired a security guard, Simon." He looks to the bartender, still leaning against the wall.

You bit your lip. "You ok, Simon?"

"Y' broke my goddamn toe."

[fixated-cookies]

Hey! I absolutely love your work! I want to share this little scenario I keep thinking about, cause I'm dying to know what your thoughts on it are! (May I be 🖤 anon?)

I like to think Shadow Milk has a roleplay kink, and somehow he always manages to rope Pure Vanilla into it. I imagine one of his favorite scenes would be the classic damsel in distress.

Shadow Milk naturally plays the villain, tying you up all pretty and exposed, teasing and edging you relentlessly while waiting for Pure Vanilla to find you both.

When he eventually does, Shadow Milk challenges him to a "duel." The duel is different each time, but your body is always the battlefield. Sometimes it's to see who can fill you up the most, or make you cum the most, or who can hold off from cumming the longest. Whatever the case, Pure Vanilla simply can't refuse since that would mean leaving you all pent up.

thank goodness someone thinks the same as me, shadow milk would have a roleplay kink and I KNOW IT. this man loves to perform, to act, to flesh out scenes, ahh just imagining it!!

The ribbons shimmer faintly in the low light—silver and slippery where they coil around your wrists, binding them snug above your head. Your arms ache just a little from the stretch, but it’s nothing compared to the slow, aching need between your legs.

Your thighs are slick. Breath uneven. Your chest rises and falls in shallow pulls, nipples perked from the cool air and the humiliation of it all.

Shadow Milk Cookie crouches at the edge of the bed, elbow resting on the mattress like he’s settling in for a show. He’s not even touching you right now, which somehow makes it worse. His eyes drink in every inch of you—bare, squirming, wet—and he smiles.

"Such a delicate little hostage," he murmurs, dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh without ever touching where you need him most. "Gods, you're a vision. Tied up so sweetly, flushed pink…"

His voice drops lower, more amused. "And all this for our dear, righteous hero. He really does bring out the best in you." You turn your head, cheeks hot. “You’re—crazy—”

"Mmm. Not crazy. Committed.” His fingers circle your thigh again, never quite dipping into your slick, just skirting the edge. “And you love it, don't you?" You whimper. Not yes. Not no.

He chuckles.

“He’s probably already on his way, you know.” His eyes flick lazily to the door. “Sensed your little cries echoing through the ley lines. How romantic.” You shudder when he finally leans in, breath grazing your neck, his tongue flicking out just to taste the salt of your sweat.

“He’s going to barge in like the hero he is,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your skin. “And do you know what he’ll see?” His hand slides—finally—between your legs, stroking slowly through your folds, gathering your wetness on two fingers.

“He’ll see you dripping for me. The oh, so handsome, and frankly intelligent villain! ”

You moan, involuntarily, biting down on your lip as his fingers toy with your clit. He tuts. “You poor thing. This must be so confusing for your sweet little heart.”

You buck your hips, trying to get more friction, but he pulls his hand away just as quick—licking your arousal off his fingers with a delighted sigh.

“You’d better hold out a bit longer, flower,” he says, grinning. “We haven’t even gotten to the part where he challenges me for your honor.” He stands, fixing his coat, his cock already straining in his pants as he watches you pant and writhe.

“I do hope he gets here soon, though,” he adds, voice light. “Because you’re already halfway ruined.”

And from the doorframe, soft and dangerous—

“Step away from her, Shadow Milk.”

The voice is quiet. Dangerous.

You lift your head—barely. Your vision is still hazy with tears, slick, and embarrassment. But you see him.

Pure Vanilla stands in the doorway, staff gripped tight in his hand. His robes ripple faintly with the power radiating off him, his eyes locked on yours.

Shadow Milk doesn't flinch. He only turns his head slightly, that cruel, glittering smile already spreading. “There you are, my sweet little nilly,” he says, as if greeting an old friend. “She’s been calling for you, you know. Moaning your name so prettily.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, his gaze dropping to your tied wrists, your exposed, trembling body, your thighs still slick with Shadow Milk’s teasing. His jaw tenses.

“Let her go.”

Shadow Milk sighs dramatically. “You’re so dull, truly. Don’t you ever get tired of making threats without flair?”

Pure Vanilla raises his staff.

“Now now,” Shadow Milk says, wagging a finger, “no need for lightshows. I’m offering you a chance.”

Pure Vanilla stills.

“A duel,” Shadow Milk says smoothly, stepping aside to motion at you like you’re a prize on display. “The classic. Hero versus villain. You know how this works.”

“What are the terms?” Pure Vanilla asks coldly.

Shadow Milk’s grin sharpens.

“Her.”

Your breath catches.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes flick to you again. You’re panting softly, cheeks burning, arms trembling in their binds.

Shadow Milk continues, smug and slow, as he circles the bed. “Let’s say… we compete. Not with swords. Not with spells. But with this—” His hand slides over your slick, ruined cunt, and you sob as your body jumps. “Let’s see who can bring her more pleasure. Who she cries harder for. Who fills her better. Who she breaks for first.”

Silence.

Then, Pure Vanilla steps forward. His expression doesn’t change—but his fingers flex at his side.

“If I win,” he says calmly, “you will not touch her again.”

Shadow Milk laughs. “And if I win? You’ll watch.”

Another pause.

Pure Vanilla kneels beside you. His fingers touch your cheek, gentle. Reverent. He brushes a strand of hair from your forehead, and his voice—soft, steady—makes your heart break.

“I won’t lose.”

You whimper as your binds shimmer and release—not for your freedom, but so they can reposition you. Your legs are lifted and spread between the two of them, your body now the center of a quiet storm.

“Ready, princess?” Shadow Milk whispers, palming himself through his pants.

Pure Vanilla leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

And then the duel begins.

Your legs shake where they’re spread, one ankle hooked over each of their shoulders. Your body’s been pulled down the bed, hips propped up on a pillow, wrists free but too weak to move. You’re soaked—shaking—done, but the duel hasn’t ended.

Because you haven’t said who won.

“You’re moaning louder for me,” Shadow Milk purrs, licking a long stripe up your breast before closing his lips around your nipple and sucking. “I think that’s one for me, Vanilly.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t even look at him. His fingers pump into your cunt—two of them, deep and slow, curling just right to make your hips twitch and your thighs spasm.

“She came harder on my fingers,” he says softly, lips brushing your cheek as he kisses you between shudders. “She clenched so tight I could barely move.”

You can’t even speak—your voice is a breathy mess of broken sounds and swallowed cries. One of your hands claws uselessly at the sheets, the other tangled in Shadow Milk’s hair as his tongue swirls and teases your other nipple.

“Her chest is so sensitive now,” he hums. “Must be all that attention I’m giving her. Maybe she’s a titty girl, Vanilla.”

“Stop calling me that,” Pure Vanilla says calmly, but his voice trembles slightly.

“Vanilly,” Shadow Milk sings, grinning against your skin. “Come on~ admit defeat. My mouth and my hands were working overtime while you were still finding your rhythm.”

Pure Vanilla slides his fingers deeper, his palm grinding perfectly against your clit. Your head snaps back and you let out a sharp cry, hips jerking.

“Rhythm,” he repeats, curling his fingers again. “Which you’ve never had.”

Shadow Milk chuckles and latches back onto your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. You sob.

“Oh? Because she seems to be enjoying herself quite a bit with my mouth on her.”

You’re writhing between them now—cock-drunk and oversensitive, your cunt leaking down onto the sheets and your chest shiny with spit and attention.

Your body rocks between the two of them—Pure Vanilla’s fingers stroking deep inside your soaked cunt, curling up to press perfectly against that sweet, aching spot, while Shadow Milk’s tongue circles your nipple again and again, lips warm and wet, pulling whimpers out of you like he’s playing an instrument.

Your thighs twitch. Your spine arches. You feel it building, again, the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly, your toes curling from the sheer overwhelming heat of their hands and mouths and words.

“That’s it,” Pure Vanilla breathes, voice shaking just a little. “Come for us again, sweetheart. Just one more time.”

“Mmm, scream for us,” Shadow Milk purrs, teeth grazing your chest. “And tell him it’s me you break for.”

Their voices blur as your climax crashes over you—your vision whites out, your thighs clamp around Pure Vanilla’s hand, and a sob breaks from your throat. You come hard, juices dripping down onto the sheets, your chest heaving, limbs jerking like a puppet whose strings just snapped.

They slow.

They pause.

You’re gasping—sweating—your head lolling to the side.

Shadow Milk leans in first, grinning. “Well? Who did it better, flower?”

Pure Vanilla kisses your temple, still composed but hungry. “It’s alright. Take your time. We want your honest answer.”

You try to speak.

You do.

But your mouth opens… and nothing comes out but a breathy, wrecked whine.

Your eyes roll slightly as your hand grips the sheets again, trembling.

“Oh, for—” Shadow Milk groans, pulling back with a dramatic toss of his head. “I broke her before we even finished the game.”

“I broke her,” Pure Vanilla corrects, softly but firmly.

“You wish.”

“She came on my hand.”

“She came with my mouth on her tits.”

“She couldn’t even say your name—”

“She couldn’t say anything, Vanilly!”

They both turn to you again—slumped between them, eyes glassy, chest still rising and falling like you just ran a marathon.

You try again to say something—anything.

It comes out as a garbled, breathy, “…too much…”

They look at each other.

Silence.

Then Shadow Milk smirks.

“…Rematch?”

Pure Vanilla sighs. “We’ll go slower this time.”

Your legs are lifted again before you can even protest. Shadow Milk kisses your cheek while Pure Vanilla slides his hand back between your thighs—his voice low, careful, and so, so sweet.

“We’ll take our time, my love. Until your body can speak for you.”

---

I didnt mean to make it this long hahah

[no1blacksapphirefan]

In your self aware crk au, what if the player didn't log in for a week or two? Like, usually they're there every day for the log in bonuses and stuff but they're missing. Maybe their phone broke/ lost it or they were really sick or something. Would our beloved beasts and ancients (+ black sapphire if you want) freak out?

I like the way you think >:) Before I came back I did wonder, if the cookies were aware, I wonder how they feel about me constantly dipping back in and out of the game. (I'm here to stay this time!!...hopefully...if my phone storage lets me)

Pure Vanilla He's worried :(( He isn't sure what happened but not seeing your face for nearly 2 weeks now worries him a lot. Did you...loose interest? He understands and he can't be too mad if you didn't know that they're aware. He can't help but feel done as he patiently waits for your (hopefully) return.

And when you do? He nearly breaks character, running up to where your screen is pointed at and waving happily. Nearly telling you welcome back. He quickly switches to once of his automatic voicelines and prays you didn't notice the slip up. He's so happy to see you, if you were sick and that's why you weren't playing? He makes sure to (try) and send you good blessings through the screen, he may not be able to heal through he screen but he can try in another way.

Dark Cacao He won't admit it to anyone, but your disappearance makes him upset. He's gotten so used to you after all. He doesn't exactly like the thought of you going missing even if...sure technically you're probably not. His mind goes to the worst case scenario. Caramel Arrow Cookie has to try and calm him down until you return.

Upon seeing your face again, he instantly feels a wave of relief crash over him. What's that? You just broke your phone when you accidentally dropped it down the stairs?...Now he feels embarrassed on what he thought had happened, but hey!! He was just really worried about you okay...

HollyBerry She waits patiently, she knows you'll come back!!...Right? If you're go for more then say, 2 weeks then she'll get scared. You will come back right? She knows you technically didn't promise anything (Joke or not) and you aren't...obligated to come back but...she's starting to miss you!! She loved hearing you laugh.

When you finally come back she's so happy, quickly waving to you, when the screen goes to her. She'd knew you'd come back!! There's no way you'd get bored of them, she can sense how much you love them after all!

Golden Cheese She didn't notice it at first, well...she noticed the silence but she knew when you get upset, sometimes you'd be more quiet. Eventually she realises...it's a bit too quiet. And that's when sh realises you've been gone. Wait, don't leave her too!! Well, she knows you're not gone gone but. She can't help but pace back and forth, hoping to see your face again She silently begs you to come back.

When you do she lets out the biggest sigh of relief ever. She tries her hardest in Arena (And arcade arena if it's there + she's allowed to fight) for you. As a sort of, welcome back kind of thing. Oh she misses seeing that smile of yours.

White Lily Wait what? You're gone? Okay you're not gone gone but...what happened?...Did you...finally get annoyed by her? Has her actions eventually annoyed you enough to make you leave? She shakes her head, and tells herself that if you did leave, it wouldn't be because of her...surely...you've shown her how much you cared about her after all.

She nearly lets out a noise of pure delight as you come back, she's so happy and relieved to see you again after so long. Sure it wasn't years but it's still been a while!! Plus it felt like forever to her...she can't help but smile in her cookie menu and your kingdom for a few days.

Mystic Flour She's the Light of Apathy. You'd think she'd care? That's what she told herself and others anyways. That your sudden disappearance didn't mean anything to her. You could be gone for years and she wouldn't feel anything. That's what she said and that's what she believed...she did feel strange though, but that was probably nothing.

She was quickly proven wrong when she realised seeing you again after 2 weeks made her feel a sense of joy in her chest...what's this? She swears she didn't care you were gone...but seeing you again with your smile, hearing your laugh again...it proved her wrong...she really did care about you being gone...huh, you make her feel the strangest things you know.

Burning Spice He become a bit more...how do I put this, tense, angsty. Not even Nutmeg Tiger Cookie could calm her master down as he constantly hit his axe against the rock each day you've been gone. Where have you even gone?? Arg, he's gonna run out of rocks to destroy at this poin- wait you're back?

He's quick to throw his axe to the side and greet you happily, he couldn't care for playing along right now. Right now you have his attention and he hopes he has yours as well. Take him back to the Arena yeah? He's gonna take the rest of his rage out by destroying these cookies for you. Just for you!!

Shadow Milk He's been trying to cope by writing script after script after script. He has a feeling that you just can't play right now, or atleast he wants to believe that...he has yet to be proven right with your return...he's so worried, he hopes the reason you're not playing isn't because you got hurt...oh if it is, he hopes no one hurt you...he isn't scared to teach the other person a lesson if that's the case.

His worries washes away as he sees you return, happily taking advantage of the fact he "can break the 4th wall" without trouble. Giving you nearly a whole dramatic speech about oh how lonely you've made him feel, how much he missed you and how you shouldn't leave him alone like this again. He hides it all behind a giggle but...he does mean some of the words he's said in his speech.

Black Sapphire At first he brushes it off, even using you being gone as something to get more viewers to listen into his radio show...but after awhile, seeing that you're still gone. He gets more upset and worried, almost cancelling his usual radio shows until you came back. While he doesn't in the end up, it's not as well done as it was previously, listeners can tell your disappearance is upsetting him.

When you eventually do come back, his mood quickly shifts and he becomes happy again. His mic keeping an eye on you, seeing if it can spot the exact reason why you disappeared. He almost never leaves your screens field of view, waving at you any chance he gets, just to subtly tell himself it is you there. His radio shows go back to normal after that with the usual charm in his voice.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: The Proposal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader / Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested By: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary:When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care. This is Chapter 1 of my Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me Series!

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note:This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 

No man his age should look that good. 

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 

You were always distracted by him. 

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 

But you liked your job… sometimes. 

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

“What?” You ask him. 

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced. 

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously. 

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. 

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 

“Fine.” Ben states. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Keep it together… 

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know!

Taglist

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

@jollyhunter

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running To You

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You're rescued by a man who you don't even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve's beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he's not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stumble up over the curb as you check the list on your phone. Oops, you should really look where you're going. You steady yourself and giggle at your own clumsiness. For how precise your inventory is, the rest of you is a bit of a clutter.

You dodge through the onslaught of pedestrians and apologise a deep 'hey, lady' thunders through at you. You quickly dip into the store and shield yourself with the door. You gasp and catch your breath, smiling at the associate nearest to you. The organic shop probably isn't the most exciting place to shop but it has most of the ingredients you need. Raw honey, tallow wax, essential oils...

You greet them with a small wave and 'hi' and turn to look at the shelves along the wall. They don't acknowledge you. Most people don't, not that you mind. You keep to yourself.

The door jingles and another customer enters. They pause by the door and look around. They might be lost. It's not unusual for one more person to wander in but usually they don't stay long.

He clears his throat and you do your best to focus on your list. You're going to need a basket. As you go to grab one from the stack, the man faces you. You shy away and stop short of latch onto one of the mesh baskets.

"Excuse me, miss," he holds up a familiar item; a red wallet with white polkadots. It's yours! "I think you dropped this."

"Oh, my, I did," you give a sheepish smile to his chest. He's an awfully big man. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," he hands it over.

You accept it and hold it to your chest. You give a tiny shimmy, "thank you so so much!"

You dare to look up and meet his eyes. They're blue but reticent. He scratches his beard as he nods and backs up.

"I think I'm in your way," he grabs one of the baskets and offers it to you.

"Oh, no, but yes, thank you, I need one," you take it.

"Mm, yeah," he smooths out the tuft in his beard that he was pulling on. The hair is thick and coarse; the locks on his head are just as dense, pushed back away from the face, though his chin-length strands try to droop past his ears.

You put your head down and turn back to the shelves. He lingers, seemingly lost as he looks around. What's the odds that in a city like this someone would do something so nice? You look at the list again then peek over at him. He squints at a jar of sourdough starter.

"What do you use in your beard?" You ask then cover your mouth. "I'm sorry, that's not... polite, is it?"

He shrugs, "hm, I just use shampoo, I guess. Face wash?"

"Right. Well, it's pretty shiny." You scrunch up your face. "I'm sorry." You chew your lip in embarrassment. Your cheeks are ablaze. "I'm working on my beard oil. I make it. Um, sell it. But..."

"Beard oil," he repeats thoughtfully. "I don't... I guess maybe I should."

He touches his beard again, a crease between his brows.

"I don't meant to-- I... I'm not... it's cute. I mean. Suits you. I was just--" you show your teeth nervously. "I don't have a beard so..."

"Yeah," he agrees awkwardly and tucks his hair back behind his ears before it can fall forward.

"I ramble..." you drift off and face the shelves again. "I'll stop bothering you."

He inhales and backs up. He turns to the door then stops. You sense his gaze.

"It's a bit busy. Rush hour," he says. "You don't mind if I hide in here with you?"

You glance over. You shrug. "Um, yeah, sure. It's not my store. Not sure how interesting it is."

You fumble between the basket and your phone. You hum and scour the shelves with your eyes, scrunching your nose in concentration. He comes closer.

"What are you looking for?" He asks.

"Soybean oil."

"Soybean oil," he nods. "For..."

"Soap," you cheep.

"Ah. In my day, ma just used fat and lye."

You give his statement a thought. You've seen some recipes from way back. Like long ago. Almost a hundred years now. A lot of people prefer the gentler ingredients.

"Oh, that's cool that she made her own stuff," you muse as you take a canister and tap your spreadsheet to mark off that item.

"Yeah," you feel him trying to see the screen. "You're really organized."

"Can't forget anything," you say.

"Sure." He lurks and looks around before he focuses on you again. "I'm Steve, by the way."

You look at him. He's just as big as the last time you looked. His blue eyes seem uncertain. He can't be afraid of someone like you. You give your name.

"Nice to meet, you, Steve."

"You too," he agrees. "Can I help?"

"Oh, sure. What do you prefer? Rose or Gardenia?"

"Rose is nice," he says.

"I agree," you say and pluck up the small bottle.

"You said you sell stuff?"

"Sure do," you chime. You tuck the bottle into the basket. "You know, you don't have to pretend to care."

"What? I... I'm curious."

You eye him, "well, Steve, I'll believe you, but there's not much to be curious about."

His brows furrow, not so much in agitation, but intrigue. "The beard oil. How much?"

"Oh, you know, I could get you a sample from my hoard. Since you got me my wallet back. You don't have to do all that."

"I want to. I think you right," he runs his hands over his beard. "Needs a bit of taming."

You laugh, "looks good to me. Oh, you can try coconut oil. It's real easy and you can use it in your hair too."

"Coconut oil," he says. "I'll add it to the list. What about yours?"

"Soy wax," you look at your list. "I can use that for lots of things."

He lifts his heads, shoulders wide and straight, looking around on a mission. He strides around the rack behind him and you watch him search a shelf. He picks up two jars. He comes back to you. "Which do you prefer?" He holds up to two different sellers. You take the one in his left hand.

"Thank you," you grin.

"Next," he looks down at your phone.

"Jeez, you sure are helpful," you check again.

"They sell wicks. I need the long ones. Like this." You hold the basket and phone at a length.

He nods again, "on it."

You point him to the corner where they keep the candlemaking stuff and you go back to your own search. He's too quick for you. He has a hole bunch in hand. You have him put half in your basket and he takes the rest back.

Huh, looks like you made a friend.

🎀

Steve holds the door for you. It's so nice you thank him for what must be the dozenth time since you met. Maybe only even an hour ago.

As you get outside, you turn back to him, certain to keep away from the pedestrians who pay no heed to obstacles. "I can take that bag too."

He looks down as the door shuts behind him. "Pretty heavy," he says.

"Oh, I always do that. I forgot my little rolly bag," you shrug. "I can handle it."

"Wouldn't feel right letting you carry it all. Mrs. Rogers didn't raise a punk."

"Is that your mom? I bet she's nice too," you say. "It's alright, Steve. You've done enough. I owe you. My wallet would've been gone with the wind and I never coulda bought all this."

He stares at you, then once more peeks down at the fabric bag. You always bring the reusable; they're much stronger than the paper ones supplied in-store. He chews his lower lip.

"If you owe me, well, you wanna have a coffee? Together?" He asks.

You blink. That's so nice of him too.

"Coffee?" You press your lips together. You feel bad saying no. Not that you want to. It wouldn't be so bad to have someone to sit with. For once. "I don't drink it."

He nods, "tea? Hot chocolate? Water?"

You laugh.

"I'll have a cookie," you offer. "Um," you look up and down the street. "Where..."

"I saw a place. Never been in. Wanna give it a try?"

"Oh, cool. Yeah. I love new places, even if they're scary," you say.

"Here," he takes the other bag from your hands before you can argue. "It's a block back."

"Wait, Steve! I can carry that."

"Not if I'm around," he insists, "come on."

He rolls his shoulder in a gesture for you to follow. You huff and hop into motion. You walk next to him, wary of the oncoming people along the sidewalk. A man nearly bowls you over and you knock into Steve's elbow.

"Oof, I'm sorry."

"Get on the inside of me, doll," he says. "Used to be that people took their hat off when they passed a lady. Now they don't care if... well... you move."

He stops and lets you step across his path. He keeps you between him and the storefronts as he strides on undaunted. You wish you were as brave as him.

"Ah, there it is." He tilts his chin up.

You look ahead. You see the sign sticking out in the shape of a coffee cup.

"Oh, I see it," you hurdle ahead. "My turn."

You pull open the door as he follows. He stops to let another customer out before he enters. You follow him.

"There's a table," he nods.

You follow his gaze to the wall. You lead the way and he trails you. He puts the bags in one of the chairs.

"How about you sit?" He suggests. "What kind of cookie do you want?"

"Oh, Steve, uh," you pull out your wallet, "if they have oatmeal--"

"My treat." He insists.

"You can't do that," you argue.

"You gonna stop me?" He challenges. You gulp and blink at him. You don't think you could stop him from anything. He's quite the figure.

"I guess not." You murmur.

His expression softens, "hey, I'm kidding. I didn't... scare you, did I?"

"N-no," you force a smile. "I appreciate that. Thank you. Oatmeal. That's all."

"Alright. I'll be back." He turns and you see his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath.

You sit and jiggle your leg as you look around. You avoid the coffee shops, even the bakeries. They're always so busy. You are methodical in your ventures but today's seems to have gone off the rails. Not in the worst way. One time, you tried to take the subway and ended up lost in the rain.

There's women who look like they could be on a TV show with their fabulous dresses and perfect waves; a man in a suit with his laptop and a single earbud in, and an older couple near the door. There are many others in the line to get a treat of their own.

You turn in the chair and press your palms to the table. You stare at the wood between your hands. You feel the heat speckling over your scalp, that sense of suffocation burrowing into your chest, the voices swirling around you like a raging wind.

"Here," Steve interrupts your internal panic. He places a large cookie before you and mug. "They had this strawberry cream thing. No coffee."

You look at the pink concoction with a dark red swirl in the middle. "Mmmm," you lean forward to admire it. "Wow. It looks good."

He puts his own coffee down and moves the bags under the table. He sits and unzips his jacket to let the tension out of the fabric. You smile and pick up the cookie. You hide behind it.

"I can't eat this alone. It's as big as my face." You giggle. 

You break it in two and offer him half. He eyes it for a moment then accepts it with a thanks. You take a bite then round your eyes at him. He's staring. Oh no. Is that rude? You chew and swallow quickly.

"What?" You hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Nothing. It's just..." he glances around the shop. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" You make googly eyes and cross them. "Is there something on my nose?"

He snorts. "No. There's not." He sighs. "Just haven't had a nice quiet coffee in a while. It's nice."

Your brows pop up and you smile big. "I'm sorry I'm not a big coffee person. I tried it once and it made my belly gurgle."

"It's fine. Bad habit," he taps the handle of his mug with his index finger. "Are you gonna try that cup of sugar?"

"Not much better, is it?" You pick up the mug and blow over it. You put your lips over the brim and taste it cautiously. You hum. "Mm," you pull it away. "Delicious! This is a tummy ache worth having."

His cheek dimples as he watches you. You fidget against his gaze. He's nice but you never had anyone stare at you so much.

[littlelovelunette]

hii! I love your writing, I'm using the translator, so sorry for anything! Could you write a smut with Sevika, where the reader is celebrating her birthday and her wish/desired gift is for Sevika to touch herself in front of her? 🩷

Birthday Gift

Contains smut, fingering, clit play, masterbating, whiny!Sevika, power bottom!r

Sevika was never big on celebrating birthdays but there was something about your puppy eyes that convinced her to try this year and celebrate your birthday.

"Happy birthday, babe," Sevika stood at the doorway while you remained seated in bed with your messes up bed hair and dried drool sticking to the corner of your mouth.

"Oh, it's my birthday." You grinned like a toddler before waddling off the bed and upto her, "Thank you, baby." You wrapped your arms around her, swaying a little from sleep.

"Careful, there." Sevika rubbed your back. "Do you want pancakes or waffles for breakfast?"

"Waffles!" You squeaked happily.

As you finished freshening up, you could already smell the delicious scent of your breakfast wafting through the small apartment's air.

The air which was usually stale with the smell of metal and tobacco. With a giggle, you made a beeline to the kitchen and wrapped your arms around your girlfriend's frame from behind.

"I love you." You giggled.

"I love you, too."

Sevika turned and placed a kiss on your head before turning back to the kitchen counter, busying herself.

"I should apologise to you in advance," Sevika put the perfect golden waffle on the plate, already making another, "I don't do birthday celebrations so... I might be a little raw at it."

"It's okay," you grinned and rubbed your face against her muscular back, "I'm just happy you're trying."

You remained like that for a bit before backing up and plopping down onto a chair across from her. "But you do know, you're supposed to give me a gift, right?" Now, you were just messing with her. Messing with her to get your way and get what you want like always.

Sevika looked around fixing you with a dumbfounded look. She looked back at the food, taking the cutlery out of the drawer. "A gift? What are you, five?"

You pouted and Sevika glanced seeing that. With a deep sigh, she added. "What do you want?"

"You to masterbate in front of me!" You squeaked happily.

Sevika sputtered, spoon dropping from her hand as she looked at you as if you'd gone mad. "No way."

"It's my birthday."

"You're having way too much fun with this birthday thing—"

You pouted again.

"—Fine."

Hours after breakfast, Sevika was sat on the bed across you, legs spread and pussy exposed. She huffed a sigh. "I shouldn't have agreed to this."

You giggled. "Too late to backup now."

Sevika grumbled but her fingers traced her labia slowly, rubbing the slit of her pussy. She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath before she slipped in her middle and index finger. "Fuck." She whispered.

"Yeah it feels good?" You asked with a gummy smile.

"Fuck you." Sevika cussed, her fingers slowly dipping inside knuckles deep.

Her head tilted back as her thumb worked on her clit, rubbing circles on her clit. It felt amazing, and the fact that you were watching her masterbating in front of you so intently only intensified the pleasure tenfold.

Sevika barely needed to touch herself since you'd always been around whenever she was needy. It had probably been years since she did this. It was a different kind of thrill.

"Oh shit, angel. Bet you're enjoying this." Sevika chuckled shakily before she gasped in a low voice. Her muscular thighs shook a little, threatening to close. You had to place a comforting hand on her knee.

"It's okay. Go ahead, finger yourself properly."

Sevika blushed but complied, starting to move her fingers in herself causing her to whine out, her voice was low but you heard it loud enough. You could feel your wetness drenching your panties as you watched Sevika's fingers dipping back inside her slit with the familiar wet lewd sound.

"Yeah, there. You're so pretty." You murmured, fingers tracing patterns on Sevika's warm skin.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me— ah..." Sevika moaned, head tilting to the side, tongue poked out slightly. "It feels so damn good."

"Come on, you can go a bit faster than that." You encouraged followed by a small playful giggle.

Sevika moaned loudly at that, fingers pacing up. Her fingers stuttered a little, a whine escaping her again. "Need to cum." She muttered to herself more than anything.

You could see the desperation practically radiating off of her and decided to be nice. "Go ahead, cum for me, baby." You placed a gentle hand on her throat, forcing her to face you properly. Her grey eyes were clouded with lust, no coherent thought forming in her brain as her fingers continued pumping in and out.

Sevika's moans were never soft and timid, they were loud and strong. And this time, they were no different. Sevika moaned loudly and orgasmed all over her fingers, causing you to giggle again.

"There, my good girl. You did so well, I'm so happy with my birthday gift."

Sevika didn't say anything, silently catching her breath before she finally spoke.

"Now, your turn."

[potatoplace]

Three's Company

Cassian x Reader x Azriel

kinktober day 3 | threesomes, spitroasting

kinktober '24 masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: You come home to your roommates after a terrible date, and they offer a sympathetic ear. And maybe some sympathetic touch, too.

Warnings: smut, uhhhh smut

Words: ~2.2k

Author's Note: here it is, day 3 of kinktober! I'm happy I got this out lol it was a bit of a struggle, work tired me out. But enjoy some nice smutty Az n Cass! I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍❤️🤍💙🤍

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed as you fell back onto the couch, right between your two roommates.

“What is it, Y/N?”

It was Cassian, sitting to your left who asked.

You sighed again. “You know that guy I was seeing?”

“George, or something, right?” Azriel asked from your right.

“Yeah… We went out again tonight, and things were going really well until we got back to his apartment.” You fell forward, pressing your chest to your knees and your head in your hands.

“Did he try something?” Azriel asked, his voice low, almost irritated, if you had to guess.

“I mean, technically yes, but I wanted him to. It’s more what he didn’t do that was the problem,” you said, still bent over yourself. “Like, I went down on him without him even needing to ask, but when I asked if he would eat me out…” You bolted upright, covering your face with your hands as your face turned crimson. “I’m sorry, that was probably way too much information.”

Two gentle, giant hands rubbed your back soothingly.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I’d like to know just how much I should glare at the man if I ever run into him,” Cassian said.

“Keep going, you had more to say, right?” Azriel asked, his hand on the back of your neck now, gently rubbing out the tension.

“Just… He refused to eat me out, said that it’s disgusting for me to even ask… And then I still…” You sighed once more. “We still had sex but he came after like, a minute. How fucking pathetic is that?”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian said softly, his arm wrapping tightly around you, bringing you into his side. “What an asshole. You deserve so much better than any of that.”

Azriel’s arm joined his, and then you were being squeezed between the two men, both of them placing a kiss on your head.

“I think I have an idea to make you feel better,” Azriel suggested.

You dropped your hands to your lap and turned your head to look at him, his blazing hazel eyes meeting yours. “And what would that be?” You asked quietly.

Azriel’s eyes left yours and looked over your head for a moment before locking eyes with you again.

And then two hands wrapped around each of your thighs, hauling each to rest between two thick, strong legs, spreading you wide open.

“I’ll offer you a deal, kitten,” Azriel started. “If we can make you cum harder and more times than any of those crappy guys you’ve a dating over the past six months, you date us.”

Your breath hitched in your throat- were they serious?

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Cassian asked lowly, his lips by your ear, and you shivered at the feeling.

“Mm…” You bit your lip, considering their offer as their fingers drummed on your inner thighs, small licks of heat accompanying their touch. “Yes,” you breathed, and that was all it took for their hands to start moving.

Cassian’s moved to take off your top, while Azriel’s slid beneath your skirt, brushing against your bare cunt- you had forgotten to grab your underwear before booking it out of George’s apartment.

“Naughty little kitten,” he whispered in your ear before dipping a finger inside of you, humming in satisfaction when he found you wet already.

Cassian pulled your top over your head and off of your arms, tossing it to the side. His arms wrapped around you, hands immediately moving to cover your breasts, squeezing them and testing their weight. His plush lips kissed along the expanse of your throat, drawing a quiet whine from your lips.

Azriel had moved his finger, coated in your slick, to rub small, slow paced circles on your clit, and you knew then that you would be dating them, one way or the other.

After all, how common could it be to find two incredibly attractive men who wanted to give you pleasure at the same time?

Cassian’s hands kneaded your tender flesh, thumbs rolling over you nipples in time with Azriel’s swirling finger on your clit, heat building quickly in your core from their touch.

“Feeling good so far, sweetheart?” Cassian asked in your ear.

You nodded in agreement with your eyes closed, moaning out a soft “Yes,” your breath hitching when Cassian squeezed your right nipple tightly.

Azriel stopped his movements, removing his hand from your center altogether, and you whined in protest, eyes still shut. He moved your leg that was over him setting it back down on the couch. There was a quiet squeaking noise, and your eyes flew open in the next second when something warm, wet, heavenly wrapped around your clit, eyes making contact with Azriel’s as he sucked on your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned out, one hand latching on to Cassian’s thigh, the other fisting in Az’s hair. He laughed lowly, sending pleasurable vibrations through your clit and you squirmed in their grasp.

“Hold still, princess, be good for Az, hmm?” Cassian ordered gently, his arms keeping you in place as Azriel moved from your clit to your soaked hole. “Can you do that for us?”

“Mm-” you groaned, nodding your head a moment later. “Mhm.”

“Good kitten,” Az said softly, his gaze meeting yours when he lifted off of your core for a moment before returning his attentions to your clit.

With just a few precise licks and two fingers inside you, you shattered in Cassian’s arms and under Azriel’s tongue, your back arching as Azriel’s thick fingers drew out your pleasure.

“Such a good girl for us, Y/N,” Cassian murmured in your ear as you came down, his thumbs rubbing a soothing pattern on the underside of your breasts. “Do you think you can stand, sweetheart?”

With the way your legs were still shaking, even with Azriel’s hands no longer touching you, you didn’t think you would be able to.

“No…” You admitted quietly, and Azriel’s lips split into a grin at your words- a true rarity for him, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Want me to carry you, princess?” Cass asked, not waiting for you answer as he slid your leg off of his and stood, an arm hooking under your knees and the other supporting your back as he lifted you into his arms.

Your arms flew around his shoulders, and you giggled when you saw Az with a slight pout. “Be faster next time and you can carry me, Az.”

“Is that a promise, kitten?”

You bit your lip as you looked at him, then nodded your head.

There was no way you could go back to being just friends with the two of them, even if you stopped what you were doing at this very moment.

“Good, now let’s get you into a bed, hmm?” Cassian said, already walking in the direction of your bedroom. Azriel opened the door, letting the two of you pass through first before he joined you.

Cassian gently set you down on the edge of your bed, then knelt at your feet and began taking off your shoes, which you had forgotten to do before sitting down between them earlier. Azriel was already stripping off his clothes, his shirt first, then his belt, and he had just unbuttoned his jeans when Cassian’s touch drew your attention again.

“Stand up, princess, unless you want to be fucked in your skirt.”

The offer was tempting, but you wanted to feel their skin against yours, anyplace that you could. So you stood on shaky legs and rested your hands against Cassian’s broad shoulders as he tugged the skirt down over your hips to pool at your feet, sitting back down when his hands pushed your hips lightly.

“Get on your knees for us, kitten,” Azriel ordered when he reached the edge of the bed, his hard cock bobbing in the air.

He was big.

You did as he asked, getting on your knees and facing the end of the bed. At least, you assumed that’s how they were wanting you.

“Look at that, Az, she takes orders from us so well already,” Cassian praised, and your cheeks flushed further, if it was possible. Both from his words, and the fact that he was naked now too, and his cock was even larger than Azriel’s.

“Thank you,” you said breathily, and they both smiled at you.

“So polite, too,” Azriel murmured, running one of his thumbs across your cheek. “Where do you want us, kitten?”

“Oh, uhm… I’m not sure.”

Cassian stepped closer, his own hand tangling in your hair. “Do you think you can swallow my cock? Or would you rather I fuck you with it right now?”

You licked your lips, sizing up the girth and length of him. “I… I’m not sure I could fit you in my mouth,” you said sheepishly.

Cassian smirked in response. “We can try some other time, princess. You heard her, Az.” He walked to your right and kneeled on the bed behind you, spreading your knees apart with his legs, and you fell forward onto your hands at the change in position.

Azriel moved to stand right in front of you, his cock close enough for you to lick now, if you chose to. You peered up at him through your lashes, and he let out a soft groan.

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed at you as he stuck a thumb in your mouth, smirking when you swirled your tongue around it and sucked. “Are you ready for us, kitten?”

You held his gaze as you nodded, frowning when his thumb left your mouth with a slight pop.

“Open up, kitten,” he said, fisting his cock in one hand as the other gripped your hair lightly. You could feel as Cassian lined the head of his cock up with your soaked entrance, waiting for Azriel’s signal.

A shiver ran up your spine, one of anticipation.

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around Azriel’s cock, letting him push in a couple of inches, and that’s when Cassian pushed into you, slowly, oh so slowly.

The stretch of him was overwhelming, the delicious feeling of pained pleasure overtaking you as Azriel commanded your mouth, setting a slow but steady pace for the moment.

“Fuck, princess, you’re so damn tight,” Cassian hissed as he pushed further in, nearly fully seated now. You moaned loudly around Azriel’s cock in your mouth, causing him to hiss in pleasure.

“You should feel her mouth, brother, it’s the best I’ve ever felt. And you’re taking me so well, little kitten,” Azriel praised as he ran a thumb over your cheek. “Do you think you can handle me picking up the pace?”

You nodded as best you could, what with him in your mouth and his hand in your hair. He smiled down at you and moved his hand to join the other in your hair, holding you in place.

He did as he said he would, moving faster in and out of your mouth, a pace that Cassian matched, each one of his strokes hitting you in the perfect spot- over, and over, and over, driving you closer and closer to the brink with each movement.

And there, in the moments that they filled you at the same time, you found utter bliss, lost to the freedom of giving yourself over to the two men, the way that they carved a space for themselves inside of you.

Cassian’s fingers slipped over your clit in fast, small circles, and you fell over the edge, your cries muffled by Azriel, still occupying your mouth, sending him over the brink as well, spilling his seed down your throat with a long, low moan that had you clenching around Cassian again.

Cassian was the last to fall, the grip of your cunt squeezing his climax from him, and he gave a few last, triumphant pumps before pulling out of you, watching with a satisfactory look in his eyes as a bit of his cum dribbled out of your hole onto your bedspread.

Azriel pulled out of your mouth and let go of your hair, only to rush forward as your arms and knees gave out and you collapsed into his arms in a giggling heap on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Azzie, I couldn’t hold myself up anymore” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your bare chests together.

“What the hell you guys, come back up here,” Cassian whined, scooting to the edge of the bed so he could look at the two of you. “I need some post-sex cuddles too, if you don’t mind.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “Come down here, then, you big baby.”

“Yeah, Cassie, c’mere,” you murmured, already snuggling into Az’s warm, warm body. “Bring a blankie too.”

Cassian sighed in feigned annoyance, but crawled down onto the ground anyways, pulling your comforter off the bed as he went. “Only for a little bit, and then we actually get in bed, okay?” He said as he spread the blanket over the three of you, his arm slinging over your waist and hand resting on Azriel’s.

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed as Azriel muttered, “You’ll be the one who won’t want to move in five minutes, Cass.”

“No I won’t,” Cassian said, but yawned a moment later. “… Fine, maybe I will.”

You giggled into Az’s chest. You might have just had amazing sex with the two of them, but they were still the same goofballs you knew and loved.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[yanadolls]

SENDING NUDES TO THEM DURING PRACTICE!

||| FEATURING: NAGI SEISHIRO, MIKAGE REO, ISAGI YOICHI, CHIGIRI HYOMA ; FEM READER

||| 18+, MDNI ── .✦ nudes, petnames, praising, mild degrading, suggestive content.

REO MIKAGE ୨ৎ

reo rushes off of the field to grab water after a long session of dribbling and shooting practices. he was a little bit annoyed, given how much his best friend nagi had been complaining about being tired, but by now it was the norm. although, all his mild frustration immediately disappeared once he saw a notification from his sweet girlfriend- you! what could you be texting for, he wondered? a small smile came to his lips as he thought about all the innocent possibilities of what you may have sent him, opening your messages as he drank from his bottle.

he nearly spat out the cold water once he saw what you had sent him.

it was a photo of you in a white lingerie, cute little ribbons on both straps and in the dip of the center. the way your back was arched so perfectly and the way your breasts looks so delicious and full in the sexy clothing nearly killed reo on the spot.

"missing you, baby >_<"

his heart sped up as his cheeks flushed, quickly shutting off his phone and looking around to see if anyone nearby saw what was on his phone. he was quite possessive of you after all, and would probably kill anyone if they saw this photo. quickly, he rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door shut, cursing at the boner that was already forming in his shorts. you looked so ethereal, it was simply unfair to do this to reo knowing he still had 30 more minutes of practice! he was now hot and bothered, but unable to leave early due to the fact he had a scheduled ride home at a specific time that couldn't be changed. he had no idea how he was supposed to walk out on that field again when all he could think about was fucking you into his mattress.

"you look so fucking gorgeous, angel. if i could, i would be running home to you this instant. stay in that cute little lingerie, sweet thing. i'm gonna worship you all night."

♡

NAGI SEISHIRO ୨ৎ

nagi entered the locker room only an hour and a half into practice, planning on skipping out for maybe 20 or so minutes. his coach had completely given up on trying to make him stop doing this, as the snowy haired man never listened. he lazily sprawled across one of the benches and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone with the intention of getting on his mobile shooting game, but a notification from you made him stop in mild curiosity. it wasn't often you texted him during his practices, so it easily diverted his attention from his original plans.

when he clicked on the notification, his droopy eyes slightly widened. out of all the things he was expecting, it definitely wasn't a photo of you sitting on his gaming chair at home, fondling one of your bare breasts. nagi felt his heart drop to his stomach at the very random nude picture. he had always loved your boobs for both innocent and dirty reasons- they were perfect for sleeping on, but also for groping and biting on during sex with you.

"play with me plz <3"

nagi's breathing become slightly heavier, and when he glanced down at his shorts and saw the outline of his cock- which was already throbbing uncomfortably- he sighed. well, couldn't go back to practice like this he determined. maybe this was a blessing in disguise. he sat up and opened his messages with you, saving the photo of your breasts to add to his secret album solely dedicated to you later. the sleepy striker then lazily pointed his camera down at the large tent in his pants, before hitting send.

"i'm so hard now cus of you, what a hassle :x calling an uber home rn, can't wait to fuck u."

♡

ISAGI YOICHI ୨ৎ

dedicated to the sport as always, isagi was practically forced on a break by his coach. he had been super pumped to play today so he wanted to put every minute of practice into kicking the ball, but alas, a short rest and water were necessary to keep going. he talk friendly with all his teammates per usual (unless god forbid they were playing against him for a practice match..), but stopped momentarily when he felt his phone buzz beside him. his eyes lit up once he saw your contact name come up, and without much thought, eagerly opened your notification.

an audible gasp fell from his mouth as his eyes widened, cheeks burning instantly once his eyes met what you had sent.

your plump thighs were the first thing that caught his attention, and that alone could've made him lose his breath. but your fingers rubbing your cute little panties as well were also in frame, and it had him spiraling into arousal. as one of his teammates asked what was wrong, isagi immediately stammered and stood up, rushing off exclaiming about how he had to go to the bathroom. he reopened your chats once he was sure he was alone, lips parting in awe as he took in the beautiful photo he had been graced with.

"ready for u when ur home!!"

isagi couldn't help but palm his growing erection, quietly groaning at the photo. his attitude took a complete 180 from how it had been only a minute ago as he got over his initial embarrassment, left only in pure horniess. he knew that you knew what you were doing, especially with how you had taken the time to decorate your thighs with pretty stockings. his hand gripped at his dick through his shorts, eyes glazing with passion.

"i don't think you're gonna be ready for what i'm gonna do to you in an hour, baby. what if one of my teammates had seen a picture of my impatient, needy girlfriend rubbing her pussy in my messages? kind of slut behavior if you ask me. don't touch yourself anymore, wait till i get back."

♡

CHIGIRI HYOMA ୨ৎ

chigiri let out a quick breath as he finished his last lap around the field, hand coming up to run through his long hair tiredly. some water would be nice, he thought. and so, the speedy striker strolled off to the benches without even asking for permission to do so, sitting down and picking up his bottle to squirt the cold drink into his mouth. he took a break for a couple minutes before deciding that he should had back to practice, if he must. before he could stand up, however, he heard a familiar ringtone go off in his bag on the ground. his girlfriend must have texted him- no harm in checking before getting back.

boy was he wrong.

his cheeks heated up a great amount as he silently stared at the photo you said sent, plus the oh so lovely message that came with it.

"come fuck me, pretty boy :p"

you laid back on his bed, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else while your legs were spread for the camera, showing your pretty pussy off and how you had two of your fingers knuckle deep into your hole. he felt his breathing quicken at the lewd sight, his eyebrows furrowing. just who did you think you were, sending that naughty photo knowing he would have to wait to fuck you? well, two could play at that game.

without a word, he headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind him before tugging his shorts down to his thighs to release his already hardening length. chigiri let out a quiet moan under his breath as he jerked himself off enough to get his cock at full show, before snapping a picture.

"so impatient, princess. you're lucky i'm not home right now, or you would be in big trouble. just wait a bit longer, kay? i'll fuck you so good once i'm back."

♡

AN: was super bored today so i thought i would post twice - my reqs are open <3

[boosandbirds]

One fic I’ve been wanting to see is a dead silent masquerade ball.

Living or dead, she's the most beautiful girl Danny has ever seen.

Hair framing her face, dark eyes behind a black and gold mask, ankle-length dress glittering like just starlight, and trust him, he would know. He's flown out far enough from earth to get a pretty good look at them, without even a drop of light pollution, and-

Focus, Danny, he tells himself. Fancy Gala hosted by the Wayne family, masquerade ball, full of people he doesn't know, possible vigilantes and rogues a foot.

Cassandra Cain, the most beautiful girl Danny’s ever laid his eyes on.

And suddenly, he wishes he had paid more attention to Sam’s lectures. Sure, she's still here somewhere -- broken up or not, Danny doesn't mind pretending to be her plus one -- but he can't just ask her for a repeat. It’s one thing to listen to a detailed presentation on the Waynes before going to one of their famous galas, and something else entirely to ask about them in their own gala.

And really, Danny has never claimed to have any sense of self-preservation.

Really! Just look at his extracurricular, and the two girlfriends he's had. Sam Manson, who terrifies him to this day, and Valerie Gray, who kicked his ass more than once. And if it doesn't go well, then he's got a mask covering half of his face, and no one will ever have to know!

So Danny keeps his chin up, and when it looks like her current dance partner is tiring, he swoops right in.

"Can I have this dance, Miss Starlight?"

Her mask, and the attached drapery, hides most of her face, but there's no hiding the way she tilts her head. "Starlight?" She says, and her voice is soft. "My name is Cass."

Despite the correction, Cassandra- Cass takes his hand, and slips into the dance effortlessly. The song is a fast one, and she seems to know it well. Danny may have been the one asking her to dance, but he has no doubt that Cass is the one leading them. Her hand has crept down to the small of his back, firm, despite her gentle appearance.

Appearances can be deceiving, though. Danny knows that more than anyone.

"Hi, Cass!" He says, smiling behind his mask. "I'm Danny. Did you know your dress looks like starlight? Like, it seriously looks like starlight."

He gets the impression that she's smiling. "Mhm. It was not intentional." Cass takes the opportunity to dip him, supporting his body as though he weighs nothing at all. "Starlight suits you more than me."

Her dress is sparkled with bits of silver. Danny's got earrings shaped like stars and silver cufflinks and the mask Sam had bought him has a moon painted carefully below the eye.

The name could work for either of them, and well-

"If that's what Miss Cass thinks, I won't disagree," Danny says, grinning. He counts it as a victory when she laughs. "Now, this is making a lot of assumptions, and I know you probably have more socializing to do and more important people to talk to than a plus one from Illinois-"

"Starlight," Cass interrupts, "keep dancing with me?"

"I'll dance with you as long as you want me to," he says. "Just don't get mad at me when I end up stepping on your feet."

Her responding laugh is the most beautiful thing Danny's ever heard.

[saltwaterburns]

Hi, hi can you please do SFW and NSFW ALPHABET for Wolverine/Logan???💕💕💕👹

NSFW alphabet for LOGAN HOWLETT/WOLVERINE

This contains 18+ content, read at your own risk

SFW alphabet (coming soon)

a/n: My take on what kind of a freak logan is, winkwink

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

He comes inside you with a deep groan (could absolutely be mistaken for a growl) and I feel like what happens next depends on his mood. Sex with him is never just sweet and sensual, most of the time it's a primal fuck, so if it was angry/posessive or anything like that, he'd stay inside you until he's soft like butter again (I don't think he ever actually gets soft, though... this man has stamina), plugging you full of his cum so you won't waste a drop. He'll wrap his hands around you, pull you to his bare and so, so warm chest and hold you until you fall asleep. If it was a bit sweeter then he'd pull out, give you a forehead kiss and get a nice fluffy towel from the bathroom, wiping your trembling thighs clean. If he remembers he'll clean himself off too but i feel like he'll sometimes forget

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He likes your hands. They're cute, they fit into his, they pull at his hair as he goes down on you, they play with his cock, they play with your clit, they claw at the sheets, they cover your mouth so you won't wake the whole building with your sounds, you get the gist. He really does like them for other stuff too - he likes how gentle they are with him.

As for himself, I'm having a bit of trouble. Maybe his arms? Dick? Jesus, this is a hard one. His arms cause they carry you and all the little things you buy but they can also protect you. (He has a love hate relationship with his claws, i shall dive into that someday but not now). His dick because he absolutely loves making you cock and pleasure drunk. What do you think?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves cumming on your tits and then seeing you scoop it up and feed it to yourself, cheeks hollowed like they were around his cock 10 minutes ago. Sometimes after a particularly intense session he just stares at your glistening heat and the way you're clenching and unclenching, his seed dripping out and he feels himself getting hard, again

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don't think this man has dirty secrets, per se. His sex life to me at least is an open book. Because he's been around for a long time, he's probably experienced and experimented a lot. Maybe that he's into anal play? Because he so is.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

I think he might be one of the most experienced men in the world. He has fucked his fair share of women over the years so he absolutely knows what he's doing and how to do it, he's an expert in pleasuring a woman. If you've been together for a while he will memorise your body like the palm of his hand

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy 100%. He's so gripping your hips to the point that his handprints are almost permanently bruised onto your skin. He also loves spreading your ass cheeks and dipping his thumb into your other hole just to tease and watch you squirm (both from embarrassment and pleasure)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's a grumpy, troubled old man, so sex will be intense. He'll only chuckle/grin/laugh just to mock you, and when you've done a particularly good job then he'll offer you a rare smile

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is so hairy but in a sexy way. Definitely not clean shaven down there, but trimmed. Very prominent happy trail, hairy pecs, hairy arms

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He isn't a person who connects well with his own feelings so there won't be any of that mumbo jumbo as he's balls deep inside you, but he will press occasional kisses onto your skin before, during and after

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As long as he's got you I don't think he really masturbates. The most I can see him doing is jacking off while you're on your knees so he can cum on your tits

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

From the top of my head - daddy kink, size kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, breath play, brat taming, (spit play), spanking !!!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not necessarily at home, but on a bed/sofa/etc. (so you're comfy as he destroys your insides). In private because you're his and his only, no one needs to see you in compromising positions

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, honestly. You being a brat, you begging, you looking nice, you being domestic, you being kind, just you

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He doesn't really have turn offs, but an immediate no is hurting you with his claws. As much as you might beg him to indulge in knife (claw) play, the most he'll do is rip your clothes off with them. He is so, so scared of hurting you and seeing genuine fear in your eyes because you're too kind, too sweet for him anyway

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes both. He loves eating pussy, he's a pussy eating champ, he'll pull you to sit on his face, burning your inner thighs with his scratchy beard but he'll also never say no to you gagging and slobbering all over his massive cock (mr. wolverine, the size kink is calling)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast. And. Rough. Primal. Carnal. Animalistic. Growling, biting, scratching.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. Logan wants to take his time with you, really fuck you and claim you, bruise and mark you. It's either all out or nothing with him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As I mentioned before, he's experimented a lot during his lifetime, but if you want to try something new he'll most likely say yes (as long as it doesn't involve you hurting)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He might be old and salt & peppery and grumpy but oh my god can he fuck. 5 rounds straight at least, then maybe a cigar and then another 3. He usually comes right after you because the way your pussy clenches around his dick during your orgasm is enough to send any man jizzing their pants

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This doesn't really go under toys but he might indulge in letting you tie his hands up to the bed frame with a silk tie but you know as well as i do that when things get serious, he won't even have to move a muscle to "break" free. As for toys like vibrators, wands and etc. he doesn't really know about them or care for them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very. Teasing and edging you is his favourite hobby. Riling you up, teasing your cute little clit with his thick fingers or his mouth just to pull away right as you're about to reach the peak gives him serotonin

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Fuck meeeeeee mister Wolverine. He's not that loud but definitely will give you a few sounds, he loves to dirty talk (read as: growl) but mostly he's just grunting and chuckling at you

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I thought long and hard about this, so, here you go! He's lowkey into Wade, so he isn't particularly against having a threesome. If he's single, then he wouldn't exactly mind having a threesome with Wade and Wades girl, showing Wade how to properly pleasure a woman. If he finds himself achingly hard as you're jacking Wafe off, it's totally not because he's imagining himself doing that, absolutely not you freak !!!!

If Wade is the single one then he'd be slightly more reluctant but you will find yourself between the two men with Wades cock ramming into your pussy and Logans cock stretching your ass

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

He's fucking packing. Long && thick. I don't really know penis sizes i'm so sorry so imagine like a borderline massive dick. Rock hard abs, of course. Deliciously hairy pecs, wide shoulders, big. Goddamn. Arms. Biteable thighs

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sex to him is an outlet, a massive one at that, so i'd say his sex drive is quite high. It isn't the answer to everything, though. He has good days and bad days, bad days mostly meaning that he's in a vicious mood and wants to punch rather than fuck

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If we're being a bit humorous then he'll fuck you long and hard, clean you up, give you a kiss, smoke a ciggy and start snoring. But he's not sleeping!!!! He's resting his eyes, dummy. If we're being serious then because he's a mutant of immense power and regenerative abilities then realistically he wouldn't be tired out. If you can stay up for that long then he'll get you some water and just hold you, enjoying the moment of peace

- Thank you so much for reading! As always, this is just how I imagine him. I've been influenced by countless of works here on Tumblr and countless of super steamy tiktok edits, so you're absolutely entitled to your own ideas ❤️

[graves4girls]

+18 y.o.t.s // erik campbell

wc // 1.4k warnings // 18+, oral (m receiving), minor body mod desc. (split tongue) a/n : this feels a little short urgh (っ◞‸◟ c) i haven't finished a story in such a long time i think i've kinda forgotten how to write BUT i'm thinking of maybe doing a prequel of this on how the two of you first meet sooooo we'll see if that ever comes to fruition also if you saw this already this is a repost because my previous post flopped so bad ( let's hope this one does better )

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about every scenario possible that involved that forked tongue of yours since the day he met you.

And it seemed his luck came upon him tonight.

He reclines back on one arm of the sofa, fingers skillfully clicking away at the controller in his hands. You lay atop him, cheek pressed to his chest as you scroll through your timeline–growing increasingly bored. 

“Holy fuck! How the fuck am I supposed to get passed this bullshit level?!” He jolts a bit as he hisses expletives at the screen, rocking you.

“Erik, please,” you huff, annoyance lacing your words as you scold him, “you're gonna wake up the whole house.”

A hand caresses the side of your head, petting your hair down–as if to soothe your frustration. “Sorry,” he mutters half-heartedly, quickly retracting his hand to hold the controller properly again. “This fuckface is getting on my nerves. He won't fucking die.”

You only hum, sighing as you drop your phone onto the edge of the cushion, propping yourself up to look at him.

“It's getting late. You should probably reel it in.” 

You thrum your fingers against his chest as you watch him–his focused eyes snapping back and forth across the screen to follow his character as he nibbles at his bottom lip in concentration.

“After this match.” He can feel the way your eyes narrow in on him, and his gaze momentarily flicks down to meet yours. “Promise,” he adds.

You roll your eyes. You're starting to get antsy now.

Scooting forward, you duck your head to press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw–letting your hand slowly crawl up his abdomen to flatten over his chest, feeling the faint rise and fall with every breath as you stick another kiss to his throat.

“And what the hell do you think you're doing, hmm?” 

“Nothing.”

“Is that right? Cause it sure seems like something.”

You trail your lips up to the underside of his jaw, dropping a hand to find the hem of his t-shirt–slipping beneath the fabric to brush your fingers across his bare stomach. “Yup.”

A soft sigh escapes him when you kiss his adam's apple. “You're gonna fuck me up, y’know that?”

You move to sit up–purposely blocking his view of the television–and straddle his lap as you hike his shirt up to expose his insanely large skull tattoo, fingers skimming along his inked skin. “What? Losing focus?”

He tries to peek around you to see the screen, but you push him back to keep him in place. “Babe, are you serious? I'm about to win–”

“Oh my God, shut up. I'm trying to give you a blowjob, and you're more concerned about a stupid video game.”

With that, your hands come up to cup either side of his face–kissing him a bit more aggressively than you were planning, but it seems he doesn't really mind–the plastic controller hitting the carpeted floor as his hands eagerly find your waist.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you manage to pry your lips from his to gaze down at him for a moment–pupils blown and eyes half-lidded, lips parted just a bit, a pretty flush of light red staining his pale cheeks–before his eyebrows suddenly pinch together, his expression hardening.

“Wait–you're not fucking with me, right? Cause you have no idea how fucking long I've been waiting for this.”

You grin down at him in amusement, dropping one hand to toy with the buckle of his studded belt. “Dead serious.”

Dipping down to kiss him again, the bisected tips of your tongue press against the seam of his lips–pulling a low groan from his throat when you pinch his bottom lip between your teeth. 

Bringing a hand up, he cradles the back of your head–the other snaking up your thigh to grab at the fat of your hip–as your tongue envelopes his own. Your fingers–finally managing to unbuckle his belt–pop the button of his jeans, slowly tugging down the zipper and slipping your hand between the denim and cotton fabric of his briefs.

He grunts out a choked moan when you paw at his hardening cock–one much too loud for your current location.

“Keep it down. I do not want your family walking in on us with your dick in my mouth.”

There's a glint in his eyes as he stares up at you, a lazy smirk working its way onto his face. “You're asking too much of me, babe.”

You plant a line of kisses across his flushed skin–starting at the corner of his mouth and trailing down his neck until you reach the neckline of his shirt, rucking up the article to continue dragging your lips across his flesh as you inch yourself down his body. His quiet sighs and huffs fill your ears as your hands flatten over his lap, lips teasingly kissing down the line of hair that disappears below the waistband of his boxers before your eyes snap back up to his face, biting your bottom lip as you meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

“Fuck, you look so good down there.” He hums, reaching a hand down to tuck some hair away from your face and caressing your cheek–biting back a noise when you turn to press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Your fingers hook over the hem of his boxers, gently tugging down the elastic and watching the way he shudders as his cock bobs up from its restraints–admiring the gleam of the curved barbell for a moment. 

Gingerly, you wrap a couple fingers around the base–but before you can direct your attention to the leaking head, you decide to test his patience, just a bit.

You lean down to litter kisses across his lower abdomen, nipping at the faint line of muscle over his hip as your fingers sluggishly stroke up the length of his cock–pulling another strangled groan from his lips as you deliberately avoid the sensitive tip.

“C'mon, I think I've–fuck–waited long enough.” He nearly whines, his hand nudging your head lower.

“Don't get smart with me, Campbell,” you warn, but your words ultimately hold no heat when your hand increases its speed, pumping him for a couple moments as you peer up at him through your lashes.

He feels as if he's ascended when your pursed lips place a feather-light kiss to the flushed head, another to the underside, where the silver jewelry sinks in and out of the flesh–and fuck if the way you stared up at him with those big, sparkling eyes didn't make him want to bust right then and there.

With a few more wet kisses along the length of his shaft, you take pity on his desperate state–his eyes dark and lidded, lips parted as he sucks in heavy breath after heavy breath, chest heaving with each inhale as his hands attempt to find any grounding–settling on one arm tucked beneath his head, the other tangled in your hair.

His eyes fall shut and his neck cranes back to rest his head against the arm of the sofa when you drag the flat of your tongue up the underside of his cock, the forked tip curling around the head and catching on his piercing–kitten-licking at the slit as your delicate fingers work around the base. 

“Look–mmph–at me.” He wrenches his eyes open to peer down at you, his hand cupping the side of your face as you tilt your head up–batting your lashes as your lips wrap around him, flicking your tongue over the steel barbell. “Yeah, just like that.”

The muscles in his abdomen flex when you sink down on him, releasing your grip on him to instead lightly palm against his balls, fingers languidly massaging them as your tongue glides up along the length of him–the cleaved muscle stroking either side as you slowly pull off him, tonguing at the slit.

Slick with saliva, his cock pulses as you mouth at the tip–jumping when you squeeze his balls–and you curl a hand around him once more to work him, sucking around the head of his cock.

“Shit, wait–I'm gonna-” 

He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as he comes, spurts of warm cum crudely painting your face and his stomach, spilling down the side of your hand as you sigh dramatically.

“You could've warned me a little sooner, asshole.” 

He's too busy trying to catch his breath to formulate a retort as you swipe a couple fingers across your cheek, licking them clean before you carefully crawl up his body.

“Worth the wait?” You tease with a cheeky smile, planting a soft kiss to his lips.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I can't believe you were keeping insane head game like that from me for three months!” 

[writerbugg]

Good Luck

Chapter # 6 Foggy Fears

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (You are here)

I realized at that moment that there are some whose dread of human beings is so morbid they yearn to see monsters of ever more horrible shapes.

- Junji Ito

(Once again, this chapter was changed quite a bit.)

!!TW!! Death, Blood, Car accident, Sudden switch from first person to second person.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

'Dinner was too quiet.' Louis thought as she picked up the plates from the table, slowly bringing them to the sink.

'How could I have missed it?' She thought as she began to scrub the plate in her hand. 'She's my daughter. How could I have not seen it?'

Her grip tightened on the plate, her acrylic nails painfully dug into the plate. 'Am I such a horrible mother that I couldn't even notice my daughter ███ █████ ██?'

Snap

Louis looks down at her broken nail, a stinging pain accompanying the sudden loss of her red nail.

"Mom?"

Louis jumps, quickly turning her head and letting out a sigh of relief when she sees Jon. Placing a hand on her chest, she gives Jon a shaky smile, "Oh, Jon, be careful you almost gave your mother a heart attack."

Jon simply nods, as if not hearing his mother, "Um, Conner is... here." He muttered.

Louis's smile drops briefly before returning with a strained one, "Oh? Really? Well invite him in, it's been forever since he's come to visit."

Giving his mother a concerned look, Jon makes his way back out of the kitchen.

Louis sighs as soon as Jon leaves, running a hand through her hair.

"It's all my fault," She whispered, "It's all my fault..."

──●◎●──

The movie had ended, though Y/n barely noticed. All she could think about was how... ѳЧҭ ѳf ҁћӓГӓҁҭЭГ Clark had acted during the car ride. This wasn't the calm, happy-go-lucky superhero Y/n grew up with in the comics, he seemed so different. More stressed and less stable the Clark Kent from the comics. It all led to one thought;

If he's like this, how would he react if he found out about her reincarnation?

'I just want to go home.' Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts made her feel guilty, was she being ungrateful? Was Y/n even really Y/n? What if she just took over this Y/n's body? Was it her fault Clark's 'daughter' was gone?

What if he found out-

"Y/n? Are you ok? The credits ended a while ago." Clark's hand on Y/n's shoulder felt like fire. "Let's get going, okay?" Clark said softly, dipping his head down to look into  Y/n's eyes. "I'm sure Bruce (the prick) is anxious to have you back at the manor."

With a hesitant nod, Y/n stands up slowly. "Yeah... You're right, we should go." Clark smiles warmly, complete 180 from earlier. "Before that, I was hoping we could stop by the store on our way back." Clark rubs the back of his neck bashfully, "I might have promised your mother to get groceries while I was out, and the market is on the way to Bruces Mansion." His eyes seem to light up, "Oh! They might even have that snack you like so much! We can pick it up as well."

Y/n nods, "Yeah, I don't mind,"

Clark's smile widens, "Great! Let's get going then!"

Sighing, Y/n follows Clark to his car, 

'DC has Walmarts?' Y/n thought as she followed Clark into the supermarket.

The Walmart looked normal for the most part, there didn't seem to be too many people (probably because it was relatively late and this was still Gotham). Clark grabs a cart before heading into the supermarket, Y/n following closely behind, immediately he heads over to the dairy section browsing the milk and cream aisle.

"What's your favorite creamer?"

Looking over to Clark, Y/n raises a bow "Hmm?" she hums confused. Clark smiles, "I figured I could get some while we're here for when you go back to Bruce." 

An 'ooh' escapes Y/n's mouth before turning to get a better look at the creamers. In Y/n old life, she honestly preferred sweet things and would often put way too much creamer in her coffee, but as of late she's been enjoying less sweet things. 

"Mmm, I think I'm good for now,"  Y/n responded, not missing the way Clark frowned.

"Oh."

Clark grabs a few things before leaving, and you awkwardly follow behind him.

The rest of the shopping trip continues like this, Y/n felt like tearing her hair out, it was just so awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually, the pair ended up in the electronic section of the store.

"- game you really like!" Clark's voice bleeds into existence, breaking Y/n's train of thought. Glancing over, Y/n sees Clark holding a bootleg version of Minecraft. "Y/n? Did you hear me?" Clark frowns a bit, his eye's losing that spark again. "Y/n. I know you have a lot on your mind, but you-"

"AAHHHHHHH!!!"

You and Clark jump at the sudden scream, Clark's eyes quickly scan the store for the source of the screaming.

"OH GOD-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"THEY'RE IN MY HEAD, MAKE THEM STOP!"

More and more screams start popping up, Clark quickly pulls you close to him and you can feel your heart pounding. What was going on??

"MY SKIN IS BURNING, I'M BURNING ALIVE!"

"I'M FALLING, I CAN'T STOP FALLING!"

"SPIDERS!"

A mist seems to slowly cover the ground, screams of desperation continue to fill the air, only growing more and more unsettling.

"Shit," Clark mutters, he grips your shoulders and swiftly turns you around to face him. 

"Y/n. You need you listen to me." His voice was serious, "No matter what you see, it's not real. Do you understand? It's. Not. Real." 

Y/n's eyes widen, Fear Gas, the mist was fear gas! This was bad! Very very bad! Unlike Clark, Y/n wasn't immune which meant Y/n was about to experience the full effect of the gas.

"Y/n! Y/n just remember! It's not real- it- ot- rea-"

The world seems to blur as a burning sensation enters Y/n's lungs.

__

You sigh tiredly as you walk along the worn-down sidewalk, comic book in hand. It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was go home and rest. Stopping at the crosswalk, you take a few glances from side to side, you never know when a truck could just barrel through you because you didn't look. 

You step onto the asphalt road.

Your heart was pounding for some strange reason, it suddenly became really hard to breathe. A loud honk rings in the air. Looking to your left, you see a dark blue truck heading towards you, its headlights illuminating a path where you were dead center.

The vehicle's driving was so erratic, you didn't know which way to run. Ultimately, whichever direction you chose didn't matter. The result would undoubtedly have been the same.

The impact was fast, you didn't feel anything at first.

It didn't last very long, though.

You lay on the asphalt road, gasping for air, trying to gain back all the air knocked out of you. That didn't do so well for your broken ribs, of course. The taste of blood indicates that some of your teeth might be missing, based on your guess.

You can't see much of your surroundings either. Aside from that dark blue truck's headlights blinding you, your vision was growing dark.

For a brief moment, you could see the man step out of his truck and go over to you. Then, everything in the world went dark.

__

"-waking up! She's waking up!" a boyish voice rings in Y/n's ear. A pounding headache seems to accompany her as she slowly sits up in her bed.

A few seconds after Clark enters her room. He looked around until he spotted the suitcase next to her closet, he went over and started to put her belongings in it.

"We are leaving." Clark states firmly, "And tomorrow you and I will be having a talk about what you saw." He seemed upset, extremely upset.

Clark... where are we going?" Y/n asked, though she already knew his answer.

"It's dad, not Clark, Y/n." That was all Clark said as he dragged you downstairs towards the manor's doors. 

Bruce was standing by the door with a perplexed look on his face. He seemed stressed and a bit frustrated. Looking over, Bruce glared at Clark, quickly walking in front of him as if to intercept him, but Clark just pushed him aside.

"Clark put her down, we need to talk about this! Her condition could get worse!" Clark ignored him and walked out the door to his car, Bruce hot on his tail.

"I don't need a man who puts his children through hell and back to lecture me or tell me how to parent my kid Bruce." Clark and put you in the car with the suitcase. Then he got in himself and started the car.

"How about you start focusing on how not to kill your own kids before you start worrying about mine"

──●◎●──

Jon gasps. This... this couldn't be right. It was... no it was impossible! But... it was, it was here and it was possible. This changes everything...

──●◎●──

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌. 𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!!!

█████ 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

TagList - @blublock404 @no-sleep-for-insomniacs @rosecentury

[lyn31]

Making another ask to make a request hehe i hope it's okay with you 🥰 can you pretty please write about mc's early pregnancy stage? (If you're not planing to write it already) Like how would they feel with mc's job as a hunter? I feel like during this time they might have a little argument since zayne probably would want her to take a break from her job the moment they found out y'know since her job is very pyhsical and the risks of harming the baby but mc might be a little bit stubborn about it? imagine her fainting during her mission because of fatigue and how would zayne's reaction to it be? (maybeee just a little tiny bit of angst? but definitely with a happy ending cause i can't handle sad ending, you can add a bit of smut too if you want hohoho) I'm sorry if this is too hard for you to write 😭 anyway thank you for all the amazing stories, i'm looking forward to read more of your writings! 🥰

It ended up being a hurt/comfort 🫶🏻🥹 I never thought I'd write one of these, but then again, that’s what I said the first time I wrote smut 😂

Speaking of smut—I didn’t end up fitting any in. I was thinking maybe it could happen when they get back home. Obviously no sex smut since MC’s still in early pregnancy, but some comfort smut would be nice.

BUT I thought this ending already tied things up with such a great little bow :D

Hopefully you like it! Let me know what you think (good or bad—lay it on me) 💕

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

Stubborn

Summary

In the aftermath of a close call, you navigate the haze of recovery surrounded by unwavering love—from your partner’s steady care to your sister’s fierce loyalty—until the weight of fear gives way to healing, one quiet moment at a time.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Hurt/comfort, family feels, early pregnancy.

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

Zayne closes his tablet with a soft click, his gaze already on you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

You shut the door a little harder than necessary when you step back into Zayne’s office, the familiar scent of disinfectant and tea grounding you just enough not to explode. He’s still seated at his desk, calm as ever, reading one of his medical cases.

You just finished a call with the HQ.

“They’re not letting me work in the field anymore,” you huff, dropping into the seat across from him. “But if I really want to work, I can be support from base. You know—report duty, logistics, the fun stuff.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies mildly, folding his hands like he’s a neutral party in a murder trial. “But if I had, I might’ve said this was predictable.”

“I know it’s not possible,” you groan, tipping your head back. “And I don’t want to be in the field anyway. I’m not trying to hurt our baby.”

He reaches for your hand, which you take immediately.

“But they didn’t have to say it like that,” you go on, toying with his fingers. “Like I’m fragile. Like I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap and locked in a temperature-controlled room.”

“They didn’t say that,” Zayne points out, far too calmly.

“That’s what they meant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did they also say it in a tone you invented for them?”

You shoot him a look. “You’re very smug for someone who’s supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he says smoothly, standing up and walking over to you. “Which is why I’m supporting your decision to, what was it? Rot behind a desk with a highlighter and a clipboard?”

You groan again, burying your face in his stomach. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles, then leans down slightly, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “They’re not saying you’re useless. You’re not.”

Your hands wrap around him. “I’m not.”

He tilts his head. “Then stop talking like you are.”

You purse your lips, stubborn, but you can’t hold the tension when he leans down, voice dipping just enough to soften the blow:

“You’re still you. Even if you’re not kicking down doors right now.”

That gets a small breath of laughter out of you, even as you lean your head back against the chair again.

“...I’m still going to complain,” you mutter.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zayne murmurs, brushing a kiss to your temple. “But next time you get assigned report duty, I’ll make tea.”

You glance at him. “...With the good honey?”

He smiles faintly. “Only if you stop acting like being careful is a personal insult.”

You snort.

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

The hum of the squad’s base is a quiet background drone—keyboards tapping, screens flickering, comms static fading in and out. You’re perched at the long center table, elbow-deep in reports you’d rather not be writing, a stylus clutched in your aching fingers.

Tara walks by with a cup of something steaming and suspiciously sweet-smelling. She pauses when she sees you still working.

“You’re aware no one’s asking you to finish all those today, right?” she says, eyeing your growing stack. “Unless you’re aiming for a stress-induced birth.”

“I’m behind,” you mutter, not looking up. “Someone’s gotta get them done.”

“You mean besides the two rookies we literally hired for this?”

“They’re slow.”

“They’re new.”

“They’re too new.”

Tara sips her drink and squints. “You know this is your villain origin story, right? ‘Hunter turns paperwork tyrant after desk job.’”

You give her a withering look. She grins and walks away.

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

Later, Lara leans in behind you without a sound, placing a small snack packet next to your elbow.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“Protein and fiber,” she says with that calm smile of hers. “You skipped lunch just because your husband isn’t here to give it to you.”

“I did not—”

“You took two bites of toast and drank a coffee.”

You frown down at the packet. “I’m not hungry.”

Lara just squeezes your shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.”

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

The next day, you’re rearranging case logs and editing mission summaries—because, of course, no one else formats headers right—and your back is killing you. You stand to stretch when Rose walks in and catches you mid-pose, one hand bracing the small of your spine.

She crosses her arms, already judging you.

“You realize you’re not obligated to be the Association’s unpaid intern, right?”

“I’m just keeping busy.”

“You’re nesting in spreadsheets.”

You glare. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m continuing.”

She tosses a folder onto the desk, tone sharpening just enough to dig in.

“You don’t like this work. You’re not even supposed to be doing it. But you’re acting like if you stop for five minutes, the world’s gonna forget you exist.”

“I’m not—!”

“You are,” she cuts in. “And the worst part is, if I were doing this? You’d be the first to tell me to sit my ass down and breathe.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is silence—and a wave of heat rising in your cheeks.

She sighs, more gently now.

“You’re not going to disappear just because you’re slowing down. You’re pregnant, not invisible.”

You drop back into your chair, tense and unwilling to admit she’s right.

Rose lingers a second longer. “You wanna prove something? Prove you can listen for once.”

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

You're curled on the couch in the corner of Zayne’s office, tablet propped on your thighs, stylus dancing across the screen as you breeze through another stack of reports.

He’s been pretending to review scans, but he’s mostly been watching you.

“How many reports is that today?” he asks finally, eyes not leaving his tablet.

You don’t look up. “Just a couple.”

“That’s your third ‘couple’ since this morning.”

You sigh, the stylus slowing. “They pile up when no one does them.”

“There are other that can help you as well.”

“They’re busier than me.”

He hums, noncommittal. You recognize that sound—it means he’s noting everything and choosing silence for now.

He stands after a moment, crossing the room without a sound. You expect him to hover, maybe offer tea again. Instead, he crouches in front of you, cool hands gently taking your ankle before you can object.

“Zayne—”

“You’ve been sitting too long,” he says simply, thumb pressing into the soft, swollen flesh near your arch.

You let out a sharp breath—not from pain, but the sudden relief that spreads like warmth through your foot. It’s startling, how much it hurts and soothes at the same time. Like peeling off a pressure bandage you didn’t realize you were wearing.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. He keeps working, fingers precise, careful. “Do you want me to stop?”

The ache in your calves pulses in response—a dull throb reminding you of every hour spent hunched over case files and mission logs. You hadn’t meant to ignore your body. You just... forgot.

He moves to your other foot, and when he finds the sore spot along your heel, you twitch slightly.

The moment his fingers start to knead with practiced care, your shoulders sag. The tension there slips loose without permission—like your body had been waiting for someone else to give it the okay to stop.

“You didn’t even stretch today, did you?” he asks.

“I meant to.”

He glances up, expression unreadable—but the way he shifts, drawing your legs into his lap so he can rub deeper along your calf, says everything. You don't protest. You just let your head fall back against the couch cushion, exhaustion seeping out of you in slow waves.

“You’re not helping your case by spoiling me like this,” you murmur, eyes closed.

“You’re not helping mine by pretending you don’t need it.”

He doesn’t say slow down. Doesn’t tell you you’re overdoing it—you’ve heard that enough from everyone else. Instead, he presses his thumb gently behind your knee, finding the tight muscle you didn’t realize was sore, and stays silent.

It makes you feel safe enough to rest your hand on your stomach.

He notices that too.

After a while, he murmurs, “You’re not a machine.” His voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. “Even machines get maintained.”

You sigh. “Don’t start lecturing. I already got one from Rose.”

“I’m not lecturing,” he replies, moving his hands to your leg. “I’m observing.”

You scoff. “That’s worse.”

He keeps his massage pace steady. “Your body’s telling you to rest. You’re just not listening.”

“Because if I stop, I’ll—” You cut yourself off.

Zayne’s hands still for a second, before he continues again. But he still waits. Doesn’t press.

“I just... don’t want to feel useless.”

“You’re not,” he says simply. “You’re growing a whole human. You’re working harder than all of us.”

You drop your gaze. Your hand drifts to your stomach, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt settles in your chest—before you brush it off.

He touches your knee gently. “And before you say that doesn’t count—it does.”

You exhale, stubborn to the bitter end. “I just want to do my part.”

“You are,” he murmurs. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re quiet. You’re allowed to take care of yourself and still be part of everything.”

He stands, smooth and graceful as ever, and disappears into the office kitchenette. A moment later, he returns with a steaming mug and a little packet of dried fruit Lara had slipped you days ago.

You blink. “You kept that?”

He shrugs. “I’m observant, remember?”

He hands you the tea, careful not to say more.

But when you settle against the back of the couch again, sipping quietly, his fingers brush yours—just long enough to remind you he’s still there. Still watching. Still ready to catch you if—or when—you finally fall.

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

The mission had gone smoothly—standard sweep, zero surprises. And just when everyone was ready to head back and clock out, the patrol assignment came in.

You straighten without a second thought. “I’ll come.”

Tara, still adjusting her gloves, pauses. “Come where?”

“On patrol.”

A beat of silence.

Rose levels you with a look. “No.”

You raise a brow. “It’s just a regular route. You said yourself it’s the quietest zone.”

“That’s not the point—”

“I’ve been sitting for days, my legs are cramping, and if I stare at another report I’m going to set fire to the desk.”

Tara mutters, “That’s valid.”

Lara looks at the sky. “Please don’t actually set fire to the desk.”

“I’ll stay in the middle,” you add, like it sweetens the deal. “I’m a support unit. Ranged. I’m not going to be diving into anything.”

Rose folds her arms. “You’re still—”

“Pregnant, yes, I know,” you cut in, already tugging on your jacket. “Not made of glass. I’m not even showing yet. And HQ already approved base-side support, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t mean outside the base,” Rose mutters.

“They didn’t not mean it.”

Everyone looks at you.

You lift your chin, undeterred.

Lara speaks next, dry as ever. “Fine. But you’re in the middle.”

“I was planning to—”

Rose cuts in sharply, “You’re. Staying. In. The. Middle.”

You squint at her. “You’re not the squad leader.”

Lara, hand on her forehead. “You’re staying in the middle.”

You roll your eyes. “Noted.”

Tara snorts, clearly enjoying herself. “I’ll take rear side. Can’t have mom-to-be dodging wanderer guts and ruining her pretty boots.”

“I hate those boots,” you mumble.

“Exactly. That’s how we know you’re tired.”

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

You fall into formation—Rose at the front, Tara flanking rear-left, Lara bringing up the back, and you moving steady in the middle. It’s familiar. Easy. Your steps sync with theirs, your gun balanced at your side, Evol humming at your fingertips.

No one says it out loud, but they’re all subtly adjusting around you. Slower pace. Widened spacing. You catch it—but you let it go.

Because for the first time in weeks, your legs don’t ache from stillness. The air smells like rain instead of hospital antiseptic or your base’s office.

The zone is clean—stray wanderers here and there, nothing your squad can’t handle in their sleep.

You’re tired, sure—but this, you can handle it.

Until the air tears.

It doesn’t start as sound—it’s pressure. Your lungs forget how to breathe a moment before the world bends and tears open.

A Deepspace tunnel splits open in the middle of the street.

“Contact—two o’clock!” Rose snaps, a violet slash coming from her hands already singing through the first thing that crawls out.

You shift, instinct kicking in. Your Evol flashes, syncing instantly to Rose’s—sharpening her edges, accelerating her strikes.

Tara surges forward, intercepting another, and you link to her next, boosting her reflexes mid-movement. Lara flanks right behind with a glowing barrier.

It’s a tight formation. Efficient. You keep your distance, keep your focus. Your hands tremble a little, but you bite it back. One more boost—one more sync—

It starts getting hard to see clearly.

Your head pounds. Your knees buckle, unsteady.

You shift focus again, try to keep up with the flow, but your Evol stutters with jagged pulses, like it’s struggling to hold a signal. The edges of your vision blur.

Something disconnects. You think you hear someone yell your name—

And then nothing.

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

It’s the faint beep of a monitor you hear first. A soft rhythm, too steady to be anything from the field.

Then fingers. Wrapped around your hand, cool yet steady. Anchoring you.

Your eyes flutter open.

White ceiling. Hospital lights. The faint scent of antiseptic.

And Zayne.

His face is the first thing you see—tired, eyes ringed with shadow, but locked on you with absolute focus the moment you stir.

“You’re awake,” he says—relief and fear tangled in his voice.

His voice has that low, careful tone he uses with patients—except it’s thinner now. Strained around the edges.

Before you can say anything, he’s checking you, doctor-mode overriding everything. Fingers at your pulse, brushing against your wrist. A touch to your forehead. Gentle pressure along your wrist.

“No fever,” he murmurs to himself. “Vitals are stable... you fainted from exhaustion.”

You try to speak, but he’s already leaning in, brushing your hair from your face like he needs to see you fully to believe it.

Then, his hand lifts yours, holding it close. His lips press to your knuckles. Then your temple. Then your cheek.

No anger. No lecture. Just that quiet sorrow in his eyes.

“I was scared,” he admits, barely a whisper. “You weren’t waking up.”

Your chest tightens. You try to blink it away, but his hand squeezes yours, grounding you again.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“I should be angry,” he says finally, voice low. “But I’m mostly just... terrified.”

You blink at him, throat tight.

“You could’ve gotten hurt. Worse. You and the baby.”

His eyes stay locked on yours, steady now—but not cold. Just bare.

“I know you want to help. I know sitting still drives you mad. But pushing yourself until you pass out—how is that helping anyone?”

Your lips part, but he shakes his head gently, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it because I love you.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw. “I didn’t think it would get that bad,” you murmur, voice barely there. “I just… I thought I could still be useful.”

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his thumb stills against your skin. “You are. You always are. But not like this.”

He lowers your joined hands onto the blanket, his other hand trailing along your arm like he’s reminding himself you’re still here. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me.”

You look away, eyes burning. “It didn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His touch is cool, his presence a balm—but beneath it, you feel the way he trembles. Just faintly.

“I need you to take care of yourself,” he whispers. “Not just for the baby. For me, too.”

You nod—slow and aching, the fight bleeding out like water through a cracked glass.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says, and his voice shakes just enough to break your heart. He lifts your hand again, presses it to his cheek like he needs the anchor just as much.

“I know you were trying your best. But I need you to stop carrying all of it like it’s only yours to hold.”

His eyes meet yours—clear, but so raw. “You’re not alone in this. You never were. So please… stop acting like you have to be.”

You swallow hard. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tight, like the words cut deeper than you meant them to.

“You’re not,” he says. No hesitation. “You never have been. Not now. Not before.”

Your throat stings. “Then why does it feel like I am? Like if I stop, if I let go even a little, I’ll just fade into the background while everyone else moves on without me?”

Zayne shifts, leans forward, and rests his forehead against your temple.

“Because you're so used to holding everything up, you don’t know how to not fight for space. Even when no one’s trying to take it from you.”

You breathe in slowly. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his presence—everything about him quiets the noise in your head just a little.

“I thought I was helping,” you whisper. “I wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says again. “But pushing yourself until you collapse doesn’t help anyone—not me, not the baby, not your squad. And especially not you.”

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye where a tear slips free.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says gently. “I need you to be here.”

Something in you breaks—not with violence, but with mercy. Like something brittle giving way to light.

You nod, a little shaky. “I still want to do better.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your temple. “Then rest. Let yourself breathe. That’s where it starts.”

And this time, when your eyes close again, it’s not from exhaustion—but relief.

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

You wake again to the sound of a quiet page turning.

Zayne sits beside you, long legs folded, a medical file in one hand—yours, probably—but his attention snaps to you the second your breathing shifts.

He sets it down. “You’re awake.”

His voice is softer this time. Less strained. The lines around his eyes are still there, but something in them eases.

You blink at him. “You’re still here?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave.” He brushes his fingers over your wrist, like he’s making sure your pulse is still real beneath his touch. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Your voice comes out dry and rough.

He nods once. “That’s good.” Then he picks up the glass of water from the side table and offers it to you. His fingers graze yours as you take it—but he don’t pull away immediately.

You pause, then shift your other hand to gently hold his, anchoring it there. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, light but deliberate. He squeezes your hand in return.

“It means you’re listening to your body, not fighting it.” His lips twitch, just a little.

You exhale before taking a slow sip of the water, letting the coolness ease the rasp in your throat. His hand stays in yours.

When you lower the glass, you don’t let go.

And for the first time in hours, you feel more at ease.

Zayne’s thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles—once, twice. Then, gently, he says, “Rose and Caleb are here. With the twins. They’ve been waiting outside—Rose didn’t want to crowd you unless you were ready.”

You go still. “The twins?”

“They were very insistent about seeing their favorite aunt.”

You arch a brow. That’s your line—he usually waits for you to say it, then replies with, “their only aunt.”

But this time, he says it for you.

And something about that—gentle, unexpected—makes a strange, delicate flutter rises in your chest.

Tender. Fragile. But steady.

Hormones, yup, that’s why.

“Can I see them?”

Zayne leans in, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back with careful fingers. Then he steps into the hallway. A few quiet murmurs follow. The door opens.

Rose is the first to step in.

She looks... fine. Hair tied up, usual jacket slung over her arm, lips pressed into a flat line. But her eyes linger too long on the monitor beside you. Her fingers twitch at her side like she wants to check the IV, double-check your vitals—anything to do something. Instead, she stops at the foot of your bed.

“You look like shit,” she says, dry as ever.

“Thanks,” you rasp, voice hoarse.

Rose exhales. Shoulders sink. “I mean. You scared the hell out of us.”

You open your mouth, but she holds up a hand. “Let me get through this without crying yet.”

Caleb enters with the twins—both wide-eyed and quiet for once, clinging to his hands. They’re three now, just tall enough to peek over the bed railing. Caleb gives you a small smile, nods once—like we’ll talk later—and steps aside.

“I shouldn’t have let you come on patrol,” Rose says, voice quieter now. “Even if it was routine. Even if nothing was supposed to happen. You’re my twin. My squadmate. I knew you weren’t at full strength. I just...” Her breath stutters. “I just thought if I said no, you’d push harder. And I didn’t want to be the bad guy.”

You swallow. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know.” She folds her arms, eyes wet. “But I should’ve been the one to stop you anyway.”

“You tried,” you say. “You did more than anyone. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

Rose’s expression finally breaks. She moves toward you, voice shaking. “You’re not behind. You’re with us. And you always will be. Just—don’t do that again, okay? Don’t scare me like that.”

You reach for her at the same time she leans in. Arms wrap around each other tight—shaky, unsteady, clinging like you're both trying to fix something that cracked open between you. Her forehead presses to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

“Me too.”

That’s when the twins—silent up to this point—decide they’ve had enough of being observers.

They scramble up the bed, climbing over your legs like determined little puppies, wedging themselves between you and Rose, their small arms trying to hug both of you at once.

And then they’re crying. Loud and messy and confused.

“Mommy’s crying,” your niece says, and your nephew wails, “Why is Auntie sick—stop being sick!”

Rose laughs through a sob, pulling them in tighter. “She’s okay, baby. She’s okay now.”

It’s a mess of limbs and tears and sniffles on the bed, and for a moment, the whole room is soft with the sound of people trying to breathe again.

At the side of the room, Zayne stands with Caleb, arms loosely crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“Should we hug it out too?” Caleb murmurs, glancing sideways.

Zayne gives him a bland look. “No.”

Caleb grins and then sighs, dramatic. “I thought we had something, Zayne. Where’s my love?”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. “Buried somewhere beneath your need for theatrics.”

“Ouch,” Caleb mutters, clutching his chest like he’s been personally wounded. “Ruthless. No wonder your patients love you—you leave just enough emotional damage for a lasting impression.”

Zayne exhales through his nose, gaze drifting back to the bed where the tangle of you, Rose, and the twins is still unfolding—small hands clinging, Rose’s face pressed against your shoulder, the kids hiccuping their tears into your sides. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely, almost a smile.

Caleb watches him for a moment longer, then, softer. “...Glad she’s okay.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods once.

And that’s when Caleb pulls out his phone. He doesn’t even hide it.

“I’m taking a picture.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop him.

“For the photo wall,” Caleb says, angling it just right. “Or the ‘look at your chaotic emotional legacy’ folder for when they’re teenagers. Whichever comes first.”

He takes the picture with the absolute stealth of a dad used to capturing chaotic moments.

Zayne watches, quiet. But this time, when the screen captures your face mid-laugh, he doesn’t look away.

Your hand in Rose’s hair. Little fingers tangled in yours. Tears drying slow on your cheeks. A smile caught between sobs, still glimmering. The moment is already saved.

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

Notes

This week is just serious week I guess... Are we all just in our period? Is that why? Cuz I am.... 🫠😂 Joking aside, hope y'all enjoy it! 🫶🏻🥹

[sunsburns]

[nsfw 17+]

thinking about eating out hazel for the first time and how she would probably be super loud, scrunching up her nose while gripping onto your hair like her life depends on it.

it would start with a heated make out, messy, clumsy where her teeth crash against your own because she just wants to be closer if that was even possible. when half your clothes had been thrown somewhere in the room, you'd notice her hips grinding against your thigh, and it goes from there.

she'd hold her breath, her eyes following you as you make your way down her body, lips pressing soft kisses against her clothes, her skin. her hands grip the counter as she tenses once you get to her underwear. nothing special, a pair of boxers, but it still makes you groan in want.

"you're so hot," you tell her, slowly dragging down the underwear.

hazel lets out a breathless laugh at your words, staring down at you before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation. she's still a little embarrassed about how you got on your knees so willingly. she didn't even have to ask you to eat her out.

the way you stare back at her nearly makes her moan, "i wish you could see yourself right now."

you feel yourself smiling, humming while running your hands up her thighs and waist as hazel kicks off her boxers. you bring your hands to the inner sides of her thighs, fingers slipping between her lips.

hazel sucks in a sharp breath as you poke two fingers by her entrance before bringing them to her clit, drawing gentle circles on her clit as you lean closer. your warm breath against her skin makes her let go of the counter with one hand and dig it into your hair. hazel drags you closer, her hips bucking to try and keep up with your moving hand.

"fuuuucckk," hazel tilts her head back once you finally bring your mouth to her.

your tongue laps around with slow, long, languid strokes. you go from the bottom of her folds to the hood of her clit, hooking it up a bit. the corners of your mouth curl into a grin when she pulls your hair harder, gasping before letting out a broken moan.

to test the waters, you suck on her clit, your eyes staring right at her bright blue ones. her eyes half open, making an effort to look at you before she caves in and squeezes them shut.

she's biting her lip again, trying to hold anything back before giving up and calling out your name. it's like a prayer in her mouth, and she says it four times before cutting herself off and groaning loudly, cursing. "shit, shit. keep doing that. please, don't stop."

you listen, of course. how could you not?

when hazel starts to squirm, her grip on your hair loosening, you make your way lower, dipping the tip of your tongue to her entrance. you can't help but moan at the taste of her, feeling it run down your chin.

hazel starts to moan louder when your nose consistently brushes against her clit while your tongue continues to make its way deeper and deeper inside of her. "fuck- i'm gonna- shit." her voice has dropped to a rasp, pulling you so close you can barely breathe between her thighs.

"c'mon, haze," you mutter against her skin, "cum for me."

and you keep on going, like shit you could probably eat her out of days if she'd let you. and when hazel cums, you make sure to get all of it, drowning in the sounds of her moans and her cursing and mumbling your name in incoherent whispers. she makes you feel so fucking good all the time, so it's only fair if you return the favour.

[fettuccin-e]

A Little Show

Kinktober Day 10: Stripping

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader, afab!fem!reader, lap dance, grinding, unprotected piv (don't be silly, wrap your willy), reader is a former stripper, a little bit of possessiveness from Steven, precious husband Steven is so lovely (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So I know I'm late with this day, but it took me like forever to come up with something, and then I remembered our collective husband Steven Grant. I adore writing him so much so I had such a grand ol' time writing this. (I am using these prompts for Kinktober from flightlessangelwings!)

When Steven found out about what you used to do for a living, you’d braced for the worst.

Marc already knew, because of course he did. He probably conducted a full background check on you the moment Steven got the idea of asking you on a date. There was no hiding your old life from him, including being a stripper, just as he wasn’t able to hide from you, including Steven and Jake.

You’d known that Steven wouldn’t react badly. You knew he’d never yell at you, call you horrible names, kick you out of the flat. But it didn’t stop the paralyzing fear from kicking in. Of him letting you down easy, telling you that the two of you were just too different, that your morals just aren’t the same. So when you’d told him, you’d braced yourself for the first relationship you’d ever truly loved to go up in flames.

But fuck, you couldn’t have predicted this. For Steven’s eyes to darken as you describe what you used to do for an audience, his gaze dragging down your body in a way that has heat flooding down to your core. He’s silent for a few moments, and it makes you squirm in your seat. He mumbles something under his breath, definitely to himself, but you need to hear it.

“What, Steven?” you ask, steeling yourself against his inevitable rejection.

“Will you show me?” he chokes out, his cheeks flaming red, before he thinks better of himself, his eyes going wide. “Wait, shit, sorry love, no. God, it’s fine, of course it’s fine. I love you, yeah? Nothin’s going to change that anytime soon, I’ll tell you. ‘M just a bit jealous, y’know, in spite of myself, but fuck, shouldn’t have asked that. Just ignore that, yeah? I-”

“Steven,” you cut off his nervous rambling. “You want me to show you?” You can’t help how your voice dips a little deeper, a little raspier, in a way that you know gets Steven all hot and bothered.

“Um,” Steven clears his throat, fiddling with his hands. He won’t meet your eyes. “I mean, who wouldn’t, yeah? Got the most beautiful girl in the entire world, and-”

“You want me to strip for you?” you whisper, nudging his chin up with your hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and you watch the motion of his tongue as it just barely wets his lips.

“Please, love,” he rasps, and God, when he begs for you like that, who are you to refuse him?

You rise above him, and his eyes follow you, unable to tear away for a moment. As you stand, you take a long look at him, at the way his cock bulges in his slacks, the way his hands flex helplessly at his sides. Steven doesn’t have the control that Marc or Jake have, he’s fucking desperate for it. 

There’s no music, no pumping bass of the club you used to work at, but God, you find that you don’t need it. The heat of Steven’s gaze is more than enough, watching you with bated breath as you undo the buttons of your shirt, one, by one, by one. You let it carelessly drop to the floor behind you, leaving you in just your bra. You don’t own the same frilly bras you used to, from your old life, but Steven looks at you like you’re wearing the sexiest lingerie he’s ever seen.

You toe off your shoes, grateful for the fact that you just wore flats today, and slowly unzip your jeans. There are so many ways that this is so different from how it used to be. You never started your dances in jeans, never danced without music and dark lighting, without the stench of sex and sweat hanging in the air.

You’ve never danced and needed the man in front of you, loved the man in front of you.

The feeling is heady, lust swimming through your veins and pooling in your cunt. You peel your jeans off slowly, letting them pool around your ankles, stepping towards Steven. Steven, whose mouth gapes open just slightly, watching you like he’s starving for it.

You straddle him on the couch, moving your hips over his crotch in a slow grind that has you both gasping. Grinning at the way he watches your body move like water over him, you reach behind you and deftly unclip your bra in a practiced move. You slide it down your arms, throwing it somewhere behind the couch. You grip onto Steven’s shoulders to hump into him harder, and Steven’s hands flex at his sides as if he’s unsure what to do with them.

“You know what’s different about this than what I used to do?” you murmur, your lips nearly brushing his.

“Hm?” Steven hums absently, watching your body undulate above him.

You smile down at him. “You actually get to touch.”

Pulling his hands into yours, you mold his hands to your skin, nearly shivering at the feel of them. It’s like Steven snaps out of a trace, groaning softly under his breath as he greedily runs his hands over your naked skin, cupping your breasts and thumbing at your nipples in a way that makes your head spin. 

“So- so fucking gorgeous for me, love,” he murmurs, tilting his head up for a kiss. You meet him without hesitation, slipping your tongue into his mouth and drinking him in. You hump into him harder, shamelessly grinding your clit into the obvious bulge tenting the front of his pants. "Can I fuck you?” he gasps into your mouth, “Please tell me I can fuck you, darling.”

You’re nodding before your brain can even think of a proper response, and Steven takes his hands off your body to fumble at the zipper of his slacks, tugging himself out without any kind of finesse. It feels like you’re both teenagers, desperately clawing at each other, trying to get closer, as close as you can possibly get.

You haphazardly tug your panties to the side, letting yourself sink down on his cock, slow enough to let you feel the stretch as he breaks you apart. The moans you both let out as you sink to the hilt are borderline animalistic. The both of you are strung too tight, too needy to take this slow.

“God, you’re so-” Stephen punches his hips up into you, making you claw at his shoulders, “so tight for me, my love.” You can only press your forehead to his, meeting his lips in a sticky kiss as you bounce desperately on his cock. He stretches you so perfectly like this, reaching deep inside and the tip of his cock pressing into your g-spot with every thrust. The moans you’re letting out are downright embarrassing, but God, you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

“How many of them wanted you like this?” Steven grunts against your mouth, meeting you thrust for thrust. “How many of those men you danced for wanted you just like this, bouncing on their cocks like the needy girl you are?”

“Steven, oh my God,” you whimper, letting him guide you as he fucks up into you, his thick hands braced on your hips, holding you tight enough that your skin pales beneath his fingertips.

“You’re mine, darling, no one else gets to have you,” he snarls, in the way he gets when he’s with you, when he’s lost in the feel of you. “This little cunt is mine, yeah? My perfect girl, can’t believe we found you.”

He thrusts into you once, twice, and you’re curling into him, barely able to hold yourself up, as you gush down his cock. You sob his name as he leans forward to press hot kisses down your neck, and you curl your fingers into his hair as you shake through your orgasm. 

Steven isn’t far behind, plunging deep into your pussy as it contracts around him, filling you up, claiming you in the most primal way he can.

He holds you on his lap as you both try to come down, keeping you afloat. You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips as you finally feel your mind come back to you.

“Have you ever actually been to a strip club, Steven?” you ask, smiling.

“Don’t need to,” he sighs. “Don’t want to.”

You hum. “You might change your mind once you see what I can do on a pole.”