#he keeps going and going and going without getting anywhere

[hoondrop]

Head Pusher! Enhypen

cw: mean enha, desperate jake, oral (m! receiving), rough themes.

Jungwon

You're bent backward over the bed, head hanging off the edge, throat stretched open as Jungwon slides his cock down slowly. His hand cradles the back of your head like he's being gentle—but it's a lie.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmurs. “So fucking good with your mouth full.”

You gag, moaning around him, but he only shoves deeper, breathing harder when he sees your throat bulge around him. His palm keeps your head still when you try to squirm back.

“Don't move,” he whispers, voice tightening. “Be good—let me fuck this pretty little throat.”

You claw weakly at his hips as he starts thrusting. Your spit slicks down your neck, tears streaking toward your ears. When you choke too hard, he just shudders.

“Oh god. Do that again.”

When he cums, he presses all the way in and holds you there, cock pulsing deep inside your throat.

“Swallow it. Every fucking drop. That's my baby.”

You’re still coughing when he kisses your forehead and whispers, “You took it like you were made for me.”

Heeseung

Heeseung grins as you wrap your lips around his cock—but he’s already got a hand in your hair, already setting the pace for you.

“You gonna suck me off like a good little slut today, or do I have to make you?”

Your mouth is full before you can answer. He slams your head down, choking you in one go, and lets out a filthy groan as your throat convulses around him.

“Shit. I forgot how tight your throat gets when you panic.”

You try to pull back for air, whimpering, but heeseung just laughs.

“Nuh-uh. You’re not going anywhere.”

His grip is unforgiving, thrusting up to meet your mouth until your face is wet and red, eyes rolling back.

“God, you’re fucking crying,” he pants, hips stuttering. “So pretty like this. Let me ruin your throat.”

He cums with a ragged breath, holding you down so his cum pours straight into your mouth. You gag—but swallow—shaking.

“That’s it,” he moans. “Keep drinking... my messy girl.”

Jay

Jay doesn’t play. The second you open your mouth, his hand grabs your jaw and forces you down until you're choking.

“Don’t tease me,” he growls. “You know what I fucking want.”

Your eyes water instantly, his cock shoved deep as his hand presses on your skull like he’s trying to break you. You cry out weakly, but it’s muffled by the stretch of him inside you.

He starts fucking your face, growling as you gag and sob around him, spit dripping all over your chest.

“You think you get to pull back?” he hisses when you try to push away. “No. You don’t stop until I say so.”

He holds your face in place, using your mouth until he’s shaking, panting, eyes wild.

When he cums, he buries himself deep and grinds his hips in small circles, growling, “That’s it. Take it. Choke on it. That’s all your mouth is good for, huh?”

Jake

Jake’s hand is already trembling on your head when you wrap your lips around him. He moans instantly, breath hitching, "Oh fuck, oh my god—please, don't stop."

He’s not even controlling the pace, he’s begging, thrusting into your mouth with such desperation that tears spill down your cheeks almost immediately.

You whimper, trying to back off to breathe, but he gasps, “No, no—please, stay. I need to finish in your throat. I need it.”

His hands push you down shakily, his cock twitching violently as your throat clenches. He’s mumbling under his breath, filthy, needy.

“Wanna see it leaking from your mouth. Wanna watch you swallow it all.”

When he cums, he practically cries. Hips stuttering, hands gripping your hair like he’ll fall apart without you.

“Oh fuck—I’m cumming—I’m cumming—I’m—!”

You swallow around him, and he moans helplessly, whispering, “So good to me. You’re fucking everything.”

Sunghoon

Sunghoon stares down at you with one hand tightening in your hair and the other gripping your chin.

“You want it?” he murmurs. “Then take it.”

He forces you down hard, and your body jolts as his cock slides into your throat like a punch. You gag violently but he doesn’t stop.

His palm rests flat on your head, keeping you in place as your throat convulses around him. He watches silently, lips parted, breathing calm even as you cry and shake.

You try to pull away and he snaps, slapping your cheek.

“You think you get to decide when I stop? This mouth is mine. Understand?”

He holds your head still and thrusts hard, your nose pressing to his pelvis over and over as he uses you like a toy.

“Choke on it. That’s what you’re for.”

When he cums, it’s violent—hips jerking, cum shooting down your throat, his hand forcing you down every time you try to breathe.

“Not done,” he growls. “Stay. Take all of it. Swallow. I want to feel your throat work for me."

Sunoo

Sunoo moans when your mouth touches him, already holding your hair in a tight grip.

“So good for me,” he coos. “Wanna feel that pretty throat stretch.”

He guides your head down slowly—then shoves deep once he’s halfway in, and your body convulses. You gag loudly, eyes rolling, and he *gasps*.

“Oh my god. You sound so fucking good when you struggle.”

You try to rise, coughing, but he hums sweetly, “Nuh-uh, baby. Not done. Be a doll and let me finish in that pretty mouth.”

He starts grinding slowly into your throat, murmuring filth between each breath.

“Messy girl. My little fuckdoll. Gag on it. Gag harder—yes—just like that.”

When he cums, it’s long, warm, and thick, dripping past your tongue. He watches you drool around it and whispers:

“Don’t spit it out. Swallow it. All of it. C’mon, be my good little slut.”

[wendichester]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ strand by strand,

summary. this hunt drained you. it was a miracle that you managed to shower but now you have to deal with the aftermath: brushing your messy hair.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluffy sickingly fluff

wordcount. 502

notes / warnings. post-hunt exhaustion, hair brushing as an act of care, gentle physical touch, sleepy reader, dean being stupidly soft

You’re barely keeping your eyes open when Dean knocks on the bathroom door with two knuckles and a soft, “You good in there, sweetheart?”

Your body aches in places you didn’t even know could ache. You smell like cheap motel soap and shampoo and pure exhaustion. Your towel’s slipping off one shoulder, your hair wet and tangled and clinging to your back like ivy. You had every intention of brushing it out before collapsing—but somewhere between toweling off and blinking too long in the mirror, your limbs gave up on you.

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “Just… tired.”

Dean steps inside without another word, careful like always. He clocks your half-hearted attempt to sit on the edge of the sink, the way your shoulders slump under the weight of soaked strands.

And then, gently: “Sit on the bed. I’ll get the brush.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Go,” he says, nudging you out of the bathroom like a sleepy, dripping zombie. “I’m not lettin’ you fall asleep with your hair like that. You’ll wake up lookin’ like a damn tumbleweed.”

You laugh, barely, and shuffle to the bed with the grace of a limp cat. The towel’s loose but still secure enough to keep Dean from getting a full show—not that he hasn’t seen everything before. Still, he’s careful not to look anywhere but your face.

You sit cross-legged, spine curving forward on instinct. And then you feel the bed dip behind you.

Dean’s thigh brushes yours. His hands are warm.

The brush slides through the first layer with slow, deliberate strokes. You let out a little sigh. It feels so good. Comforting. Familiar. Like the rest of the world doesn’t exist right now.

“Tell me if it pulls,” he says, voice soft, breath brushing your ear.

“Mhm.”

He works through the tangles without yanking, section by section. You feel his fingers separate the strands like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like he likes doing it.

And god help you, you think he does.

Your eyes fall shut. You feel your shoulders drop, your entire body starting to melt with each stroke. His hand comes to rest lightly at your waist, keeping you grounded.

“Long day,” he murmurs.

You hum. “Mm. Sucked.”

He chuckles. “You kicked ass, though.”

“So did you.”

Dean’s quiet for a second. Then his fingers graze your scalp, massaging gently.

“I like this,” he says.

Your lips tilt into the faintest smile. “Brushing my rat’s nest?”

“No. Taking care of you.”

You go quiet.

A moment later, his lips press against the back of your shoulder. Just one kiss. Barely there.

“You always take care of everyone else,” he adds. “Let me do this for you.”

You lean into him. Soft, boneless, safe.

The brush keeps moving, slow and even, like a lullaby in motion.

You don’t even notice when your eyes close again.

He does. And he just keeps brushing.

Like he’s got all the time in the world. Like you’re something worth untangling.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[cinder-stella]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐲𝐲𝐲 ૮₍•᷄ ࡇ •᷅₎ა

suggestive, domestic, slice of life

<18+ NSFW>toji, sukuna, nanami, gojo, geto<18+ NSFW>

There comes a time in every relationship where the man in your life gets a little...antsy, so to speak. Maybe a little too helpful. A little too, “you look so good when you're angry.”

You got it: he’s horny. And bless his heart, he’s trying to hint at it.

So I present to you *drumroll*:

“What JJK Men Do When They’re Horny and Trying to Hint at It”

(In other words: how to spot the world’s most transparent mating rituals.)

➽───────────────❥

TOJI

He’s laid-back—at least, on the surface. Reclined in a chair, hand behind his head just enough to expose the edge of that deep, carved hipbone that should be illegal. He talks like nothing’s going on. Like you’re just hanging out. But his eyes…Oh, his eyes give him away. They drag over you like a predator. Just unhurried, lazy and oh so possessive.

And then he shifts just a bit. His hand grazes your exposed thigh and his gaze tilts up at you like he’s already imagined how you’d look in his lap. He licks his bottom lip without thinking then huffs a low laugh like he knows he shouldn’t be staring.

But he doesn’t stop. “You look good in those shorts.” The words are casual and loose. But his voice drops a full octave when he says it . Slow and low, skimming right down your spine.

“You mean the one i wear all the time?” You raise an eyebrow and shift to hide to way your skin reacts to his touch.

“Hm, I don’t recall.” Then, he leans back again. Opens his legs. Spreads them wide like a silent dare and rests one arm along the back of the couch behind you. (holy frick)

Ok, now you’re hot. Too hot. You feel your face flushing. Why did he have to be so sexy????

You’re watching his throat now. The way it moves when he swallows. The flex of muscle under skin.“I know what you’re doing, Toji.” You huff finally.

He just smiles like he knows exactly what kind of thoughts you’re having. And he’s in no rush. He’s going to make you stew in them.

RYOMEN

He smells you before he even registers that you walked in. Warm skin, soap, and a hint of something floral. He grins like a cat who’s about to pounce.

There you are, towel wrapped just tight enough to make his eyes literally devour you and he’s already plotting how to ruin your day in the best way possible.

“Oh? Playing dress-up with the towel? Trying to get a rise out of me?” he says, voice dripping with wicked amusement.

You give him a “really?” look and keep walking. Big mistake. Because suddenly he’s behind you, his heat pressing against your back, and holy shit his pants are definitely doing the cha-cha. They are really, going at it. I mean you knew he was a grower but damn.

He leans in close, voice rough. “You have any idea what you do to me just by standing there?”

Your eyes dart down and yep. There it is. The shameless hard-on. In all its glory. In all it’s sexy…girthy…long…delicious glory. (i’m sorry he’s just really hot.)

You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but inside you’re thinking, “Okay, damn. I see you. And frankly? I’m impressed.”

KENTO

One thing about Kento, is that he stares.

Nanami’s just trying to mow the lawn like a responsible adult, minding his own business, when he catches you squatting down to pull weeds.

It’s innocent, right? Wrong.

Your shorts are cut so high that the curve of your ass is basically waving at him like a neon sign. And when you bend forward, your top shifts just enough to reveal the soft swell of your breasts almost right there in his line of sight.

He doesn’t mean to stare. Really. He’s just… caught off guard. He tries to look anywhere but there but the second his eyes catch that perfect view, everything goes south. Literally.

His jaw tightens, lawn mower suddenly sounds like way too loud to focus, and now…he’s definitely sporting an accidental hard-on. It’s almost as if he has to turn the lawn mower off completely to see properly.

Obviously you spot him, hands gripping the lawn mower a little too tightly, looking like he just swallowed a lemon. How could you not notice him. He’s just standing menacingly. And he looks really good doing it. Your eyes trail down his hot, muscular body. You stare at how sexy and golden the hairs on his arms look in the sunlight. Then you take a little peak at his package just cause. Oh, yeah. Smack. Right in your face. (i’m really trying to be civil here)

It takes a lot out of you not to bend over and present your whole being to him then and there so you settle for smirking and you call out, “If you’re gonna stare, at least help me pull weeds.”

He coughs, cheeks flaming behind those glasses. “I was, uh, inspecting the grass.”

You raise a brow. “Mhm. Suuuure.”

And the way his gaze flickers back down well, let’s just say you won’t be letting him off easy anytime soon.

GOJO

Gojo’s got a PhD in Testing Your Limits with a Minor in ‘Bothering You Until You Climb Him Like a Tree.’ He’s touchy at baseline but when he’s horny? Every single graze, every wink, every casually suggestive comment is an audition for what he really wants to do.

He’s behind you in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing to help with his arms wrapped around your waist as he sways you side to side like you’re slow dancing in the middle of making eggs. His hands shamelessly roamed your body but not in a sweet boyfriend way. This says “I’m imagining bending you over the counter.”

You elbow him lightly. “Can I help you?”

“Just admiring the view,” he hums, leaning in to kiss your neck. “And imagining what kind of sound you’d make if I bit right here.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah,” he says, spinning you around and cupping your face like he’s about to say something profound. “Inside you.”

You choke on your own breath. “Why are you feral.”

He pulls you in for a kiss but it’s soft and misleading. His hand trails down, over your back, until it settles on your ass. He gives it a firm squeeze then a playful smack. You flinch, laughing in surprise.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he whispers, voice low and hot against your ear. “You’re quite tempting you know.”

And then his hand makes its way to your neck. He applies just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. His lips brush yours again and the kiss deepens like he’s daring you to lose your grip first. (i just knowww he knows every single thing that gets you going…my goodness…im sweating)

You pull back, flushed with your eyes wide. “Are you trying to seduce me or start something you can’t finish?”

He grins. “Baby, if I start something, I’m finishing. Twice.”

SUGURU

You wake up from a nap like the embodiment of coziness—hair messy, cheeks warm and blanket still half-draped over your thigh. You’re radiating that soft, sleepy heat. That sleepy, warm, clean scent is just taking over the atmosphere.

When Suguru walks into the bedroom he smells it before he even sees you.

He stops dead in his tracks like he’s been hit by a tranquilizer dart. His eyes go wide, pupils blown and his chest rises a little too fast.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath like he’s in pain.

You blink at him, all squinty and half-conscious, still stretching with a yawn. What the heck was he on about?

He’s on you in two steps, crouching beside the bed like you’re some kind of relic. His nose brushes your shoulder, inhaling deeply like you’re a bath&body works candle.

“That smell…fuck, you’re so warm,” he murmurs, eyes practically rolling back. “I swear, I could sink into you and die happy.”

You blink at him again, a slow, sleepy smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re being so dramatic.”

But he’s not listening. His hand slides along your thigh, fingertips ghosting over the edge of your shorts like he was about to call a locksmith for your panties.

“You don’t get it,” he says, jaw clenching. “You smell like sleep and heat and…fuck—do you even know what that does to me?”

You giggle, which only makes it worse. His eyes flutter shut like he’s overwhelmed.

And when you shift, just slightly, he groans quiet and deep, like he’s physically holding himself back from just. sinking. it. in. (hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah—)

➽───────────────❥

In conclusion:

Men are not subtle. Especially not JJK men.

And if one more of them gets hard just because you walked past them in a towel or smelled like a nap…honestly that’s just hot asf, I can’t lie.

Ryomen’s pitching a tent like it’s a camping trip.

Toji’s staring like your shorts* are gonna evaporate if he concentrates hard enough.

Kento’s trying to pretend he's just “admiring the landscaping.”

Geto’s just one whiff away from dining on the kat like it’s a Michelin-star buffet.

And Gojo…That man touches you like he’s trying to trigger a sprinkler in your pants.

Anyway, hydrate. Stretch. Lock your door if Gojo’s anywhere within a 10-mile radius and you’re in anything less than a track suit.

And remember, just because he grabbed your ass and whispered “just admiring the view” doesn’t mean you owe him anything.

But you can laugh. Loudly. Preferably right before you make him beg. Cause it’s always better when they beg ;).

♡´ˎ˗✎

* means edit was made. this ain’t proofread 0~o

[undyingdecay]

love love love ur writing Sooo much .. maybe this is mean but the idea of threatening to leave bob and seeing him get all desperate and clingy and begging u not to ever leave hom… maybe that is mean but ouu 😈😈

(cw: reader is manipulative, could be read as pre-thunderbolts)

bob’s the type you don’t even have to raiseyour voice for — not really. you could say it soft, casual, in the middle of folding laundry or lighting a cigarette, and it’d still land like a punch to the gut.

"maybe i should just go."

and it’s like watching something in him snap, just shatter behind his eyes. his whole face crumples. he tries to play it off for maybe half a second — a strained laugh, a sharp breath through his nose — but you see the panic set in. see his fingers twitch, his knee start bouncing, the wet shine already threatening in his eyes before you even finish the sentence.

"what—what the fuck are you talkin’ about?" his voice cracks at the end, high and raw, and you could swear he forgets how to breathe properly in those moments.

the thing about bob is that he’s always convinced you’re to good for him. always carrying that half-drunk paranoia in the back of his throat, waiting for you to wake up one day and realize he’s nothing worth sticking around for. so when you so much as suggest it, it ruins him. completely.

he’s on you in seconds, grabbing your wrist, gripping it too tight like you’ll slip right through his fingers.

"baby—baby, no. no, you can’t. you can’t fuckin’ do that to me, alright? i’ll be better. i’ll—fuck, i swear, whatever you want, i’ll fix it. please."

and he means it. his voice is wrecked, thick with tears, words spilling out in a messy tangle of promises he’ll never quite keep but desperately wants to. his face presses to your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it almost hurts. you can feel his shoulders shake.

"i can’t—I can’t fuckin’ do this without you, you hear me? you leave and i’m… fuck, i’m nothin’."

and the worst part is? you’ll forgive him. because you always do. because watching him fall apart like that turns something awful in your chest, something half-mean and half-merciful. and he clings to you like you’re the last cigarette in the pack, mouthing apologies against your skin, already promising things he’s too desperate to mean.

"won’t raise my voice again. won’t fuck up. please, don’t leave me, sweetheart, please—"

and maybe you’ll let him suffer for a second longer before pulling his face up, making him look at you, eyes red and wet and so stupidly pretty like this.

"i’m not goin’ anywhere, dumbass."

and the sound he makes after that’s almost worse than the crying.

(but this only leads to the next time that you guys are fucking hes baby trapping you)

[pagesfromthevoid]

How could I deserve someone like you? + Rhett!!

Rhett always gets into a mood after a bad ride or being reamed by Royal. It’s like he just can’t do shit right, and he gets into his head that maybe he’s not half as good at this as he thinks.

Tonight it’s both, though.

It’s a bad ride that barely lasts four seconds. It’s Royal trying to tell him how to improve in the most condescending way imaginable. Like Rhett hasn’t been doing this for years. As if Rhett isn’t replaying that last ride over and over in his head, picking apart what he did wrong.

You’re leaning against his truck when he finally gets away from the crowd. You’re always in the stands, rain or shine, but you don’t like to crowd him after his rides. You know it stresses him out, and you can only bite your tongue so much before you want to chew out Royal for his shitty parenting.

“Not tonight,” Rhett says, voice low.

You know that tone; have heard it enough times to know that he doesn’t actually mean it. He’ll say not tonight or to go home. And if you do go home, he’s at your door within the hour, apologizing. Sighing into your skin, holding you close. You’ve stopped listening to him when he says things in this tone.

“Am I gonna have to fight your dad?” You ask, and your voice is light compared to his. But there’s a hint of serious in there. Like you’ll actually pick a fight with a grown man for him.

“I’m serious,” he continues, pushing you gently away from the door so he can open it. “‘M sore and fuckin’ tired. Tomorrow, ‘kay?”

But you slide into the drivers seat before he can, and you give him a knowing look. Rhett runs a hand over his face, and you know he’s trying to keep it all together.

“Look at me,” you order gently, reaching up to touch his cheek. Rhett fights you for a second before caving —he never fights too much when it comes to you. “I’m cutting out the middle part, cowboy. Plus, I don’t gotta ride home.”

He takes a breath, and there’s a wince where he landed wrong his on his side. You know he probably has bruised ribs at the minimum.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” you promise and he’s taking his hat off and tossing it into the passenger seat.

Then his head drops to your shoulder and he’s clutching you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in this shitty little town. Maybe you are.

“How could I deserve someone like you?” He murmurs into your shoulder, and it’s muffled. But it’s so genuine. So broken.

“You exist,” you remind him softly. “And that’s all I need to love you.”

[st4rfckerz]

Telescope

ʚ word count: 1k

ʚ summary: you drive clark crazy without even realizing it

ʚ warnings: mdni, clark is lowkey a pervert, masturbation, voyeurism

The evening air settles gently over the fields, tinted with the soft gold of a fading sun. Inside the barn, it’s quiet, just the occasional shift of wood as the structure cools for the night.

Clark stands near the open barn doors, his telescope propped up on its usual spot in the middle of the floor. He adjusts the lens slowly, gaze steady as he peers through it, scanning the darkening sky.

It’s his everyday thing—this quiet watching, this still kind of waiting. The stars begin to appear one by one, and he tracks them like he always has.

Clark’s hand moves slowly over the telescope’s adjustment knob, guiding the lens across the horizon. He passes over the tree line, the dark outline of the Kent field, and begins to sweep across the neighboring yard—just out of habit.

He almost keeps going.

But something small tugs at his attention.

A soft glow, warm and steady, shines from a window across the way.

He shifts the telescope back, just slightly, retracing the angle until it lands there again. Your bedroom window.

The curtains are drawn open, your lamp casting a warm, golden glow across your room. You’re inside, walking around in an almost cropped t-shirt and tiny shorts, completely at ease in your space. The shirt rides up slightly every time you stretch or twist, and your shorts cling snug around your hips. You’re not doing anything meant to be seen—just folding a blanket, fluffing your pillow, pulling your hair out of a loose knot and letting it fall.

For a moment, Clark forgets the telescope is even in his hands. He doesn’t even move. He knows he should look away, but he doesn’t.

His throat bobs with a quiet gulp, the warmth rising under his skin spreading too fast, too thick. He shifts his stance but doesn’t move from the scope. His hand tightens just slightly on the side of it.

You glance toward the window once absentmindedly and he freezes. But you don’t see him. You just keep moving, and the curve of your smile, even at nothing in particular, makes something twist low in his stomach.

He swallows again, hard. Every part of him is tense, like he’s standing too close to a fire.

He shouldn’t be watching.

Out of instinct, he presses a firm hand down against the growing strain in his pants, trying to will it back—trying to get control.

But it only makes things worse.

The pressure sharpens, his body reacting faster than his thoughts can keep up.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

The guilt sinks in fast—sharp and immediate. He knows he should look away. Shut it down. Go back to the stars or literally anywhere else.

But he just can’t.

His eyes flutter shut, breath catching in his throat as the tension coils tighter. The image of you, soft light on your skin, the way your shirt clung, the curve of your body as you moved around so casually—plays behind his eyes like a loop he can’t break.

His hips buck up involuntarily as he squeezes himself harder, a low moan rumbling in his chest. The rough fabric rubs deliciously against his sensitive flesh, the friction sending jolts of electricity through his nerves.

With a shaky breath, he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans with trembling fingers. He hesitates for a moment, his hand hovering just above the waistband of his boxers, a final chance to back out and put an end to this inappropriate and self-indulgent act. But the throbbing ache in his groin was too intense to ignore any longer.

Holding his breath, Clark quickly unbuttons his jeans and shoves his hand into his boxers, his fingers brushing against the hot, hard flesh of his erection.

Clark gasped as he wrapped his fingers around his pulsing shaft. It was so hot and hard, the skin velvety soft and smooth as he began to stroke himself with long, slow motions. His thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of precum that had already formed at the tip.

He watches you bend down, reaching for something near the foot of your bed and it’s the last straw for him.

Your shorts ride up just slightly, the fabric pulling tight as you shift your weight. It’s not deliberate. Not posed. Just the natural way your body moves. But the soft curve of your ass shows through, framed by the stretch of those tiny shorts, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hand moves frantically over his aching cock, stroking and squeezing with desperate, urgent motions. The pleasure was overwhelming, the sensations more intense than anything he had ever experienced before. He could feel the pressure building rapidly, his balls tightening as his climax approached.

“Oh fuck,” Clark panted, his voice a low, guttural rasp as he chased the release he so desperately craved. His hips jerked and bucked erratically as he fucked into his own hand, the obscene sounds filling the quiet room.

When it’s over, it hits him all at once.

The heat, the tension, the ache that had been building—it’s over before he fully realizes it, and what’s left behind isn’t relief.

It’s guilt.

It settles heavy in his chest the moment it ends, raw and immediate. He exhales shakily, dragging a hand down his face as he sits back from the telescope like it might accuse him out loud. The barn feels too quiet now. Too still. The air around him thick with something he doesn’t want to name.

He sits there in the dim barn for a long while, the sounds of the night pressing in around him—crickets, the rustle of the breeze through the rafters, distant dogs barking.

But underneath the shame, beneath the heat still clinging to his skin, is something even harder to ignore: need.

It makes his stomach twist. Somehow the guilt doesn’t cancel the desire. It just complicates it.

He fixes his pants and stands, eventually, running a hand through his hair as he steps away from the window and the telescope and the silence he’s drenched in.

Clark closes the barn door behind him, the creak echoing too loud in the quiet.

He knows he’ll see you tomorrow.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S behind the cut; “Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one)”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Asshole,” Thirteen mutters, then–hesitates, and glances warily over towards Superman, half-settling back in his seat with an uncomfortable frown. “So like . . . then what were you thinking, man? Like . . . no labs, not the Fortress, and not, like–here, so what else even is there?” 

Superman looks pained. 

“Nothing involving assigning you anywhere, for one thing,” he says, which is a mystifying thing to lie about, and then even more mystifyingly additionally lies: “Or anything involving security, surveillance, or manual labor either. Just–is that actually what you think I meant? That’s really the first thing you think, that I’m talking about just getting you both a job? Not, I don’t know, high school?” 

“Uh–no?” Thirteen says, looking bewildered. “Fuck no, when I go to high school supervillains happen to it. Like a lot of supervillains happen to it. Like there’s a reason I did home school in Hawaii, on account of, again, all the supervillains and shit. And like, what the fuck do you think’d happen if Match went?” 

“The Agenda would immediately send a retrieval team to any school I might potentially be identified as–attending,” Match informs Superman, his lip curling slightly as he barely manages to keep his full level of disgust at that idea out of his voice. “That would actually be an ideal extraction situation for them to recover me from your possession, given it would involve a target-rich environment occupied by hundreds of noncombatant minors that you would feel the need to prioritize over maintaining possession of me. An execution squad would also be a possibility, if the DNA was determined to no longer be worth the investment.” 

“. . . ‘execution squad’,” Jonathan repeats slowly as he and Martha share another one of those strange expressions between them. Match has no idea if he should consider those expressions relevant or not–or concerning or not. 

“If the DNA is no longer worth reproducing, there wouldn’t be a point in recovering the target alive or bothering with the effort of body recovery,” he clarifies on the assumption that the obvious logic behind deployment of one is less obvious to civilians, and also presuming that Superman would expect him to provide requested information to his–parents. Being difficult with or keeping things from Thirteen is one thing, but–not Superman’s parents, presumably. It’s necessary information, anyway. Superman won’t be pleased with him if he has to deal with an Agenda kill squad without forewarning, especially if noncombatant civilians are injured or killed in the process. “In that event personnel would only need to be sent to reassert ownership of the asset and confirm to other assets under the Agenda’s custody that they should resist being stolen to the fullest extent of their capabilities to avoid the necessity of a similar assertion.” 

“. . . you didn’t ‘resist’ being stolen,” Superman says after a long moment. Match stares blankly at him. He doesn’t know why Superman said it that way. 

He also doesn’t know why Superman is so stupid.

“I attempted to resubmit myself to the Agenda’s authority and informed you of the inconvenience that acquiring sole proprietorship of me would cause to you when you prevented me from doing so,” he says. 

“No, I mean–you didn’t try to run off or . . . fight me,” Superman says slowly, his tone turning a little more careful. Match keeps his eyes on the man’s face and his stare exactly as blank. 

Superman is so stupid. 

“Physical resistance would have devalued the product,” he says, because maybe Superman just thinks he’s stupid. Stupid enough not to know his “fullest capabilities” as far as actually physically fighting Superman of all people, or just stupid enough to damage the product, when Superman had clearly wanted the product for–whatever reason, and would obviously not have been pleased to receive it damaged. “Superboy wasn’t compromised enough to require immediate medical attention, so there wasn’t a suitable situation in place to delay or distract you.” 

And the Agenda was already going to dispose of him for refusing orders, so it hadn’t actually mattered what he did anyway. 

It’s never actually mattered what he does, just . . . 

It hadn’t actually mattered. 

“I think I wanna disassemble this fuckin’ tectonic plate,” Thirteen mutters under his breath, his teeth gritted. Match ignores him. Thirteen’s opinion doesn’t matter either. 

The only actual opinion that’s currently a concern is Superman’s inscrutable and clearly unstable one. 

So that’s–information that Match is currently in possession of. 

“I don’t see why this is relevant,” he says. “You’ve asserted primary ownership over me. I’ll perform to expectation.” 

“. . . what do you think that means, Match?” Superman asks, looking very briefly tired, and Match only doesn’t stiffen because he was already prepared for Superman to ask him something stupid, but–

But questions like that are just–traps. That’s all. 

“It means I’ll obey your orders and the orders of any provided authorized handlers as given and will not attempt to either subvert or engage in malicious compliance of those orders,” he replies, matter-of-fact and neutral-toned and without adjusting his facial expression in the slightest; not including any opinion or analysis or unnecessary filler statements. “I’ll complete assignments as directed to offset any fiscal or legal inconveniences that my presence causes and will not perform in a way that would necessitate decommissioning.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Superboy mutters, putting his elbows on the table on either side of his plate and dropping his face into his hands. “Well, I did always wanna know what having an actual conversation with you would be like, guess I did wanna know that. Cool. Cool cool cool.” 

This isn’t a conversation. Even if Match had any interest whatsoever in talking to Thirteen, he isn’t stupid enough to have an actual conversation in front of Superman. 

“It’s unnecessary to decommission a resource that retains the potential to be lucrative, so I’ll perform as a justifiable investment at your discretion,” he says to Superman, and then realizes he’s talking too much again and feels like an idiot for it. Just–apparently the stupidity is catching, is all. He’s talking too much; over-explaining obvious things; things that don’t even need explained. Running his mouth. 

Just–Match knows when to shut up, unlike Superboy. 

So Match shuts up. 

And Superman stares intently at him, the microscopic pinprick-centers of his irises burningly, blazingly crimson. Match stares back blankly. 

He thinks he should’ve shut up sooner.

[bewitched-hours]

zo I have an idea..

I'm off my bleeding cycle zo i CRAVE angzt

Anyhow

What about [READER] being Mafiozo'z child>:3?

They look almozt look exactly like him, expect for the clothez, and wanting everyone who waz in debt dead.

Y'know, they have black bunny ears, a cute lil bun bun tail, long yellow hair in a low ponytail? (Kinda like their skin color.. just look up nay fanart with Elliot with hair, you'll zee the picture-), stomps foot when mad (like a lil bun bun), wearz a kinda fluffy zcarf (can be picked up by the zcarf, like a zcruff lmao), and if courze, we can never forget the paw beans/paw padz. Iz a ztunner either with a zword or bunny kickz, or even headbuttz

Bazically, [READER] is.. WAS hiz kid. What I mean by that, iz that he zee'z them az zomeone with debt, and doez not really zee them az hiz child.

Which makez them feel terrible every time they zee him az a killer. Itz even worze when they zee hiz goonz like that too. It makez their earz go down :(

Like the firzt time they arrive in thiz hell, they bazically freak the fuck out zince their father never really let them go anywhere without him (bc he waz zcared someone might hurt them bc he'z a mafia thingy :[ ), before zomeone eventually calmz them down (after a few panic attackz)

(I'm totally not zaying thing az my own experience, nooo...)

But when they actually zee him in a round, and zee him kill people for their 'debtz', they feel abzolutely heart broken, and they feel even worze when they ztun him. They juzt wizh he could just let them lay on his lay while he patz their head az he tellz them some ztoryz (don't come at me for this, my dad wazn't like this💔). And they're just bazically crying for a while, even in the roundz. Even hiz goonz don't recognize them:(! But they do feel like they need to comfort [READER]... They have no idea why.

They all zee [READER] kinda ugly crying every time they ztun Mafiozo (like one of those ugly crying meme thingz)

Even zometimez they hug him before they ztun him, which makez Mafiozo confuzed

(guyz i promize I'm fine)

-zanon

Zanon you know how to cook the most delicious reqs- Also yeah, I think we both have daddy issues tbh- (I swear I'm in therapy)

Reader gets She/Her~

You thought you had a pretty good life.

Sure, your innocence was practically never there but you managed to keep a cheerful attitude since your dad and his goons were your family. You lived a life between being protected by your dad and playing with either bunnies or the goons... Or both-

You looked like a practical clone of your dad with a few adjustments... And bunny ears and tail...

So it was only logical for him to be so protective over you. He even taught you how to shoot a gun!

You were never alone in life, so you were obviously startled to awake in a cabin randomly one morning.

You were surrounded by strangers and cried almost immediately for your dad, your ears twitching and falling to the sides of your head as you attempted to run outside before being picked up by Chance.

You actually somewhat trusted him, given that he reminded you of the goons. So, he was appointed as your babysitter for the time being because you showed quickly that only he would be able to calm you down.

He wasn't thrilled about it but you did show interest in his gun and gambling so it cancelled out and quickly made you his favourite.

You knew how to play it safe which disappointed him a little but he couldn't fault you since you were obviously the kid of the debt-collecting killer. It was obvious someone with his blood wouldn't be someone he'd want under his wing permanently.

Just thinking about what Mafioso might do if he finds out about you sent shivers down his spine...

He made sure to teach you the ropes of this game of life and death and helped you understand the puzzles but of course the Spectre felt evil today.

Mafioso was the killer for your first round ever. Turns out you were a sentinel with a sword which caught Shedletsky's attention so for the round, Shed and Chance took turns to show you the works and explore your abilities.

"I don't wanna hurt papa..." You'd cry a little, only stopping because you remembered you were meant to help the other survivors... Survive. Shocker.

But as if on cue, one of his goons came around and spotted you. You reacted with a small smile and a hand wave but when it became clear he didn't seem to remember you, Shedletsky quickly picked you up by your scarf and ran off while you quietly teared up.

007n7 had already warned you that your dad and his goons might not know because of the Spectre and you resented it for that.

How dare it take away your only family?

You could only stomp your foot and cry, eventually ending up balled up like a hedgehog and sniffling weakly because you wanted your life back. You wanted back the love that you were given.

At least there was Chance who could play with you and spark that little bit of joy in you again... Though for hugs you definitely went to the bird-man.

And what would you know! Next round had Mafioso as the killer again and you as a survivor...

But this time neither Shedletsky nor Chance were brought in with you. Taph tried to keep an eye on you but was more focused on setting traps and Two Time creeped you out...

Dusekkar was confusing, Builderman boring... So you just went off on your own for once.

Which- ultimately- had you chased down by your own father while you pleaded for him to remember... But he didn't.

The frustration made your head spin... Or maybe it was the fact you were breathing too fast...

Either way, you had little time to react and ultimately pulled out your sword to stun him when he got too close before hugging him with tears running down your cheeks.

"I want him back..." You choked out through quiet sobs, hesitating to let him go before running off again. Something in your little mind had hope that you could help him fight against the Spectre. That you could return to when you could lay on his lap and just have him pat you while you napped to his stories of the people he had to deal with, when you were held by his goons whenever you got worried over him being late and they'd tell you about stories they thought up of bunnies that looked like you to cheer you up, when you could hug him without that confused look on his face...

At least with the goons you could see they had a mix of confusion and concern, maybe showing that you could help them fight against the puppet show. But after that round you were inconsolable.

Full-on ugly crying and screaming that you hated this place and that you hated the Spectre and that you hated fighting against your dad and...

You h a t e d knowing the sword that stunned him is always held by your paws...

It made you feel helpless and dirty... Perfect for the Spectre but only further fuelling your frustration and determination to get your family back...

Now, this could get a part two if anyone wants this to have the same or similar twist to the "reader & bluudud" story~

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[dog-bimbo]

explicit content, unprotected sex, power imbalance, casinos, gambling, transactional sex, drunk sex. eighteen and above only. minors do not interact. part one two

you didn’t think shiu was serious.

“are you free at 7?"

that was all the text said.

he usually tells you about the client, what he likes on a woman. sometimes, he sends over the clothes he wants you to wear.

as you were thinking, he sends a follow up.

"just us. is that okay?"

your heart skips a beat.

you cannot believe it. you send a quick "yes" and rush to get ready like it's prom.

you pick the dress he likes. not too flashy. it's a silky baby pink slip, the one that clings around your body, it also catches light when you walk.

you slip on your white pumps—elegant, narrow, something to make your legs look longer when you cross them.

tiny gold earrings, dainty necklace and bracelets. nothing clunky. you wear your hair down because he hates it tied. “ponytails are for little girls," he told you once, laughing at his own joke as you let it loose with a pout.

you’re still not sure you can call it a date or not. if it was a "motel" thing, he might as well carry you naked there.

his shirt is rolled at the sleeves, the green tie is loose around his collar and his brown suit jacket is discarded in the back seat. he doesn’t say much when you slide into the passenger seat, just glances once at your legs and smirks, “cute.”

you’re not going to a dinner meeting and that's confirmed.

you end up at a casino tucked downtown, not the flashy tourist kind. this one’s sleek and quiet. he flashes a member card at the door and they let you both in without a word.

your heels click against the floor as you follow him around the building. there were flashy neon games, men in suits huddling at poker tables, women draping themselves in designer dresses, smoking something rich.

you’re nervous.

you don’t belong here.

you don't belong anywhere he takes you.

he finds a quieter spot—the blackjack table.

he pulls a seat out for you and taps the one beside it. “watch first,” he mutters, loosening his cuffs. “then i’ll let you play.” you nod, legs crossed, trying not to fidget. the cards flick across the table fast, the dealer sharp-eyed and silent. he plays smooth. never overbets, never looks too eager. “count everything,” he says under his breath. “not just yours, know the table before you even touch it.”

after a few rounds, he hands you a chip. slides it over. “go on. show me what you got.” you smile bashfully, you're excited.

your gestures are clumsy. you hit when you shouldn’t have. he snorts when you lose. “you're lucky you're a pretty girl." you pout, but it only makes him grin.

next round, he joins in. leans close to whisper what you should do. you win, he doesn't. he doesn't mind it though. you play a few more rounds—he keeps the stakes low.

he doesn’t care about the money tonight. he just watches you light up when you get it right, watches you fumble and pout and fake confidence.

he watches your hands, your laugh, your lips. at one point, he plays against you.

he makes a big deal of it too—leans back and cracks his neck like it’s serious. you giggle and call him dramatic.

“don’t mock me,” he murmurs, tossing in a chip. “your rent depends on me.” but he's light-hearted with it. "can't win shit when i'm distracted. y'know?" his eyes trail down your body, landing on your tits. it makes you blush.

later, he gets a private booth. he orders a bourbon and you get something sweeter.

“you know, this one time…” it’s his third story tonight. you didn’t peg him for the chatty type—not unless there’s cash on the table. but here he is, sipping his drink and being loose lipped. “i used to go out with this girl. i was in my twenties—” “what about her?” you cut in, side-eyeing him with a knowing little smile. he pauses, smirks. “she was in her twenties too, doll. i wasn’t always this creepy.” he scoffed. "i was stupid about her,” he says, swirling his glass. “i used to do some real romantic shit. carrying photos, matching clothes, all that.” you blink, a little stunned. “what happened then?” he grins into his drink. “i got smarter.”

you don't think you've ever heard him laugh this loud. maybe it's because he doesn't have a client breathing down his throat. he even holds you closer as more and more alcohol enters his system.

"fuck, i think i'm gonna have to get us a driver. speaking of which, i gotta teach you how to drive a car, doll. remind me." you're actually head over heels for this man.

“didn’t think you'd actually take me out..." you say, your voice meek. "i'm a bit under the weather. couldn't drink alone tonight." he confessed. "then i remembered, i have a sugar baby." he snorts. you like him like this, tipsy and practically all over you—like an actual sugar daddy should be.

he's still got it going though. he lets you sit on his lap at the slot machine. he lets your hand guide his when he pulls the lever. he reeks of alcohol more than cigarettes. he doesn’t let you pay for a thing, of course.

“your job is to look good and bring me luck,” he says with a wink, handing you a stack of chips. “you’re doing both.”

you rest your back against his chest while the lights flash. the guy who doesn't even kiss you during sex presses his lips against your temple.

and then, he murmurs something in your ear with that low, deep, raspy voice of his, "there's a hotel upstairs... you wanna crash?"

and this makes you short-circuit. the second he closes the door behind him, he's got your back pressed against his chest.

he's never too personal with how he fucks, just mean. he doesn't even kiss you all too much. but tonight, it's different, it's more intimate—it's warm.

his warm hands are running up and down your body, cupping your tits, rolling your nipples with his knuckles, it's not too harsh. you could feel his warm breath fanning your face, his warm lips brushing against yours, warm tongue swirling inside your mouth... you're going crazy.

you don't believe what you're seeing right in front of you. his face is flushed red—partly because of the alcohol but you know he's not the shiu you know. "wanna be a good little baby and get on your hands and knees for me?" he smiles at you, it's not even a smirk. doesn't really carry that edge.

"y-yes sir..." he chuckles again "god, i love it when you call me that." you sink into the mattress foam—your face pushed softly against the pillows, your back arched.

he leans down against your back, his chin rested on your shoulder and his mouth against your ear. “i had been thinking about bending you over that slot machine...”

you're practically pressed down by his body weight, it's surprisingly not as uncomfortable, just hot.

he grabs your little dress by the hem and helps you out of it along with your panties. you expected the sound of his belt unbuckling and the unzipping of his pants. but then, you hear some extra rustling, is he taking everything off???

he's never gotten fully naked while fucking, neither have you on most days. now, you feel his skin against yours, chest hair and that happy trail brushing against your bare ass...

you wanna turn around but—you feel it. his cock pressing at your entrance, "alrighty then..." he drawls.

he doesn’t ram into you like he usually does, doesn't make you do the work either. not tonight. he pushes in gradually, inch by inch, one hand holding your hip steady, the other fisting your hair. you let out a ragged moan as he fills you full. he groans, he's done controlling himself. you press your face into the pillow, overwhelmed—by the heat, by the way he’s treating you like you’re something precious.

tears roll down your eyes, you've never felt this full. he slides in again and doesn't pull back until his tip kisses your cervix. the pace is just right... it's like your pussy was made for him. you feel his hand trail back up to your hip, fingers running along your side in this soothing motion. “want me to go faster? or slower maybe?” he murmurs.

you moan, your words slurring as you're nearing your orgasm. “'s jus' right... mmph..." he pulls your head back by your hair and kisses you desperate and messy. "'m close daddy, so fuckin' close..." you moan into his mouth. "do it, soak my cock baby..." and it hits.

it's slow, it doesn't flash away. it's something you feel deep in you. you violently clench around his cock before you fall face first into the pillows again. you've gone fully numb now, but he's still thrusting till he reaches his own orgasm. and when he does, you can feel his hot, sticky load filling up your sweet cunt. he doesn’t say anything after.

he just lies there, chest against your back, breathing hard, sweat mingling between your bodies. after a while, he pulls out slowly and collapses beside you. you roll over, half dazed, and he pulls you against him. he lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag as you both recover from that high while laying down next to each other.

is this what "making love" is? just pure skin-to-skin action?

you wanna say so many things but your eyelids get heavier and you ultimately end up sleeping.

you're woken up by the sunlight seeping through the windows and hitting your face just a bit.

you feel empty now.

he's not next to you.

as expected.

you unlock your phone and find out that he has left you messages.

get breakfast and sleep in.

you looked tired.

driver's on the way at noon.

also, this is just a one time thing.

and just under that, a bank alert flashes across your screen. an obscene deposit. the kind of amount that makes your stomach turn—not because it’s too little. because it’s too much, just as much as your tuitions.

you dial for room service and fall back on the bed again, thinking about what a fun night you had.

[paperstorm]

thanks for the tags @henrygrass @pimento-playing-hopscotch and @annoyingcloudearthquake!

“Baby, what are you doing?” TK’s voice asks, soft and concerned.

Carlos shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but he’s also not sure he can get up from the floor. He tries, but the signals from his brain misfire and his limbs stay motionless and heavy. Without looking up, he asks, “Just give me a minute, okay?”

He prays TK will listen. Ideally, TK would just nod and agree and walk away, go have a quick shower or unpack his work bag or something and leave Carlos to wallow in misery unwitnessed for a few minutes so that by the time he comes back Carlos will have managed to pack all this back up and they can just pretend it never happened.

It’s a silly thing to hope for, Carlos knows that. If there’s one thing he knows – and ultimately, loves – about TK Strand, it’s that he rarely does what people want him to do.

“Carlos,” he says again, voice a little closer. “Why are you …”

He trails off, and even though Carlos is neither touching him or looking at him, he can feel the moment when TK gets it.

“Oh,” he whispers, and Carlos clenches his jaw and wants to cry.

“Just give me a minute,” he says again, this time through gritted teeth. Maybe TK will listen if he understands how much Carlos needs it.

Slowly, TK steps toward him. Out of the corner of his eye Carlos can see TK’s jeans moving as his legs bend and he lowers himself down, crossing his legs once he’s on the floor and leaning back against the kitchen cabinets with Carlos.

“I’ll give you as long as you need,” TK murmurs, reaching out to take Carlos’s hand and thread their fingers together. “But not alone. You’re not alone.”

Carlos shudders through an exhale. As always, it’s sympathy that threatens to break him more than anything else. Suddenly it’s as if that music is playing here in their home, a lively beat and jazzy trumpets blaring. The sweet smell of cookies is in his nose, his head throbs as if the wound is still fresh and oozing. It’s only for a moment and then it’s gone, but it’s enough to make Carlos want to curl in on himself and sob until his throat is raw.

“I’m having …” he begins, but the words get caught in his throat.

TK waits, patient and sweet beside him, stroking his forearm. He’s so steady, so kind and understanding and wonderful, and it puts a pit in Carlos’s stomach. He doesn’t want to need so much understanding.

He swallows, trying again despite everything inside him screaming at him to shove it all down and lock it all away and never admit it even to himself.

In a miserably shaky voice, Carlos closes his eyes and whispers, “I’m having trouble not seeing the inside of that kitchen. When I close my eyes.”

“Baby,” TK whispers back, fingers curling into Carlos’s long-sleeved shirt.

“I thought …” Carlos sniffs and chokes again, for a moment, on words he wishes he never has to say, “I thought maybe if I just sat here for a bit, against the cupboards like where she had me tied up, it might force me to face it, and then it might go away.”

TK exhales slowly. “And?”

Carlos shakes his head, screwing his eyes up and fighting back tears. “I can still smell her perfume.”

TK shuffles in closer, gripping Carlos’s hand tight enough to bruise and resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“It’ll stop, I know it will,” Carlos says, assuring himself as much as TK. “I just need to keep trying.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Except let me sit here with you.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I told you. We’re getting married. That means you never have to be alone.”

Carlos sniffs and lets his head lilt to the side, temple resting against TK’s soft hair.

“You haven’t been cooking,” TK says softly.

Gritting his teeth, Carlos feels his whole body tense. He hates that it’s true. He hates that TK noticed. “I thought maybe I was playing it off.”

“You love cooking for me. Of course I picked up on it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to – ”

“Baby,” TK interrupts gently. “I’m not asking you to start. Not if it’s bringing back bad memories. I just don’t want you to hide from me.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @hereghostslive @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @whatsintheboxmh

@afiendishthingynisba @chicgeekgirl89 @carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday

@rangersoup @ambernotember

@certifiedflower

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[dustmusings]

Hell of a Dream / Cassian Andor x Fem!Reader

summary: after an unsuccessful mission, you and Cassian hope to land somewhere comfortable for the night, but you get a bit more than you bargained for

tags/warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY !!! only one bed trope (gasp), coworkers/friends to lovers, slight angst at the beginning, smut, pinv sex, kinda miscommunication not really, reader is just a bit of a worrier

a/n: call this an au I guess cause it doesn't really line up with anything in the series, still nailing down my characterisation as well so go easy <3

word count: 5.3k

The mission had been a complete nightmare.

Everything that could have gone wrong seemed to go off without a hitch, like the cruel joke of a cackling deity watching from the heavens. It’s really anyone’s guess as to how either of you escaped with your lives at all, but safe to say that now you need somewhere to lay low, not to mention that you’ve been to hell and back in a day, and you’re exhausted. That’s why you’re here, on some backwater planet you know not the name of, and you’re climbing the stairs of a motel with heavy footsteps.

Cassian has been in a foul mood since your near-miss of a getaway — not that you’ve been particularly perky — and the last thing you need is for one more thing to go wrong today. You can’t blame him, he had drawn up the plan for the mission himself, and it would’ve been a perfect one had the intel not have been wrong. You’ve been working alongside him long enough that you know not to say anything, to let him stew in his own self-loathing for a little while before you try to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. His dedication to the rebellion is rivalled by almost none, and oftentimes it appears as if he carries all of its burdens with him, weighing down upon him as if they sit upon his very shoulders.

He can be intense, in that way, but you know him better than most. You know his commitment stems from how deeply he cares for the people around him, for how he wishes for a better galaxy where the need for such rebellion is undone. He feels more deeply than he lets on, always surrounded by a shell of indifference to keep others at arms length. He wears it like a mask, but you see it as it is; it’s a preventative measure.

You try to bring what levity you can in the quiet moments between missions, sharing a joke and smile when appropriate, and have succeeded in getting him to loosen up every once in a while, but have found that it’s too much for just one person to shake the foundations of someone’s beliefs. Though, if he didn’t feel so deeply then he would be a different man, and you wouldn’t trade that for anything. Even when he watches you in briefings, or in the field, like he’s waiting for you to mess up, you know his intentions are strictly honourable. You know it’s not because he wants you to fail, it’s so he’ll be prepared to swoop in if you do.

Even still, he can be frustrating in his persistence to shut you out. You’ve been working closely with him for years, and sometimes it feels as if you don’t even know him at all. You’ve grown to learn his patterns, searching for clues in the way he holds himself and what each facial expression truly means to say, and you know he’s done the same for you. Most wretchedly, you know it wouldn’t be anywhere near as frustrating if you didn’t find yourself entirely infatuated by him.

For all his supposed indifference, it would be hard to look past his valour as anything less than admirable. The way he bares it leaves much to be desired, but he has let you see through the facade enough times to the point where you can’t help but let your admiration grow into something else, something more complicated. It’s tough to navigate, being attracted to someone you work with so often, but you can be objective for the most part. You know it’s not practical in any sense, so you bury it deep, reserve the feeling for fleeting moments where you can look at him and ponder how, in a different life, it may have worked out.

That is why, when you open the door to find just one bed inside the only room that was available at the motel, your heart sinks. You hope desperately that it won’t be an extra point of contention, opting just to place your pack down on a side table and see how Cassian reacts to the unfortunate circumstances. He enters the room after you, raising his gaze from his boots only when the door zips shut behind him. A heavy sigh passes his lips, and at first he doesn’t say anything, just staring at the offending piece of furniture.

“I’ll take the floor” he murmurs, dropping his own pack from his shoulder. If you weren’t so tired you feel you could laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous” you chide and he turns to you, waiting for you to come up with a better solution, “it’s just one night. The bed is big enough for two”

His gaze remains unconvinced, eyelids heavy with weariness, and you roll your eyes to hide the slight pang of hurt in your chest.

“I’ll put a pillow between us if you’re that worried”

“I’m not worried” he says under his breath, his tone dismissive.

You don’t pay attention to it, knowing he’s still not of the mind to be entirely reasonable, and instead dig around in your pack to find the sleep clothes you had packed. You stride past him and into the refresher without another word, locking the door behind you and turning on the shower.

The steam that fills the small room seeps into your pores as you undress, and begins to unwind some of the tension that lingers in your muscles. When you step beneath the water, your body finally relaxes. The hardships of the day are washed away with every drop, anything that troubles you slips away, and your mind goes still for the first time in days.

You don’t indulge in the feeling for too long. You’re sure that there’s not much hot water to go round in this place, and if you don’t want Cassian to be in an even worse mood then it’s better to get out sooner and not push your luck. Just as quickly as you had undressed, you’re into your sleep clothes and stepping back into the room.

Cassian sat on the bed facing the refresher door, his elbows rested on his knees, one of them bouncing incessantly as he wrings his hands. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you step out, and your tendency to worry nags at you the longer you stand there. You call his name softly, making his head snap up. He takes in your appearance with a quick glance, unstately as it is being a large t-shirt and shorts.

“The ‘fresher is free” you mention and nod back to the open door.

“Right, yeah” he utters as he stands and grabs a bundle of cloth from his side, brushing past you to enter.

You sigh out of instinct as you switch off the light and slip under the duvet, cozying up against the wall and hoping to drift off to sleep before Cassian makes it out of the refresher. You hear the rhythmic sound of the water falling, and it’s a moment before you can tell he has stepped under the flow. The noise is somewhat hypnotic as it continues, enough to almost lull you to sleep, but soon enough the tap squeaks, and the water shuts off. You huff to yourself, hoping that falling asleep wont prove any more difficult than usual.

The door opens shortly after, flooding the room with light for a moment before it’s shut off. You’re faced away from him, but you hear his light footfalls as he pads over, and then the dip of the bed as he sits at its edge. He calls your name in a whisper and your chest tightens slightly, but you don’t reply, instead measuring your breathing so he might think that you have already fallen asleep. A sigh escapes him, and he gently lifts the covers to slip beneath. A few minutes pass, but he’s still doubtful.

“I know you’re awake”

You’re not in the mood to chat, not when your nerves are already so alert from how close his voice seems to you, how close he must be.

“Just go to sleep” you mutter as non-committally as you can.

“Fine” he mumbles, and seems to shift, “but I don’t bite”

You puzzle over the claim in your head, but quickly realise just how tightly you’re hugging the wall. You chuckle as you recognise the behaviour and relax, shuffling back the tiniest bit.

“You promise?” you jest, and he just chuckles lightly in response, a reaction that makes your heart flutter more than it should.

After a few moments, you can feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

There is only a small sliver of cold light through the curtain-less window when you wake. The planet’s moon, no doubt. Apart from that, it’s dark, and cold. You’re very cold.

It hadn’t been so as you fell asleep, but you assume the temperature had dropped since then, and perhaps it was your shower’s lingering warmth that kept you from noticing at the time. It doesn’t matter, because now it’s unbearable.

You shift your position, pulling your knees to your chest in an attempt to conserve what warmth you do have, and turn to face the other way. You’re not surprised to find that Cassian is there, but it’s a little disconcerting even still, not to mention that he’s not wearing a shirt.

You watch him for a moment to distract yourself. His chest rises and falls steadily, and his face is relaxed, that focused crease in his brow gone. He looks at ease — perhaps younger too. You go to reach out and brush a strand of hair from his face, but pull yourself back before you can make that mistake, scolding yourself. What you realise then is that he is warm. Heat seems to surround him, and you inch a little closer, feeling some of it radiating from him. You wonder briefly how that can be when his skin is exposed to the cold air, but you realise it is of little consequence.

As you try to relax, you quickly find that it’s not much better than before. You are still kept awake by the night’s preferred temperature. It would be difficult to get to your clothes without waking the man who lay next to you. Cassian was in a foul enough mood before, and you can’t imagine it would be much improved by waking him in the middle of the night. You decide that you’ll have to suffer in silence, and you hope that you can nap tomorrow on the ship.

You sigh, louder than you intended, though a true reflection of your frustration, and Cassian stirs. His eyelashes flutter, and you screw your eyes shut so he won’t catch the way you were staring at him. He shifts, then goes still, though it is rigid, not as if he has relaxed back into the mattress.

“You’re shivering” he says sleepily, his voice deeper and more rough than usual.

The tone sends a blush creeping up your neck and heating your cheeks, and you’re thankful that it’s dark enough that he won’t see. You crack one eye open to see him staring down at you with his usual frown.

“I’m fine”

He sighs aggressively, used to your stubborn ways.

“Just— come here” he says, and opens the covers slightly to invite you closer.

You feel your heart skip a beat, “I wouldn’t want to m—”

“Oh for kriff sake” he rolls his eyes and reaches for your waist, drawing you towards him, “it’s not a big deal”

A sigh escapes you as you try to accept the statement. It isn’t a big deal, not to him, and that’s what you have to remember. It doesn’t matter how your heart starts racing at his proximity, nor how you can feel goosebumps raise where his hand brushes your arm, because it doesn’t even affect him one bit. It’s just a friend helping a friend, and you know him better than to deny this help now.

Cassian keeps his arm across your waist as he settles into the mattress once more, and you’re sure he can practically hear how your heart beats faster every second. More rationally, he is close enough now that he may be able to feel it. As you shift, your foot accidentally nudges his, and his grip on you tightens marginally.

“You’re freezing” he mentions, and runs his palm up and down your back as if to warm you, “why didn’t you say?”

You remind yourself of his previous words. It’s not a big deal. You try to put to the back of your mind how gentle his touch is, how unlike him it feels despite being exactly what you expect. It is not a big deal.

“Didn’t see any point in waking you” you utter.

He hums, but it hold every bit of dissatisfaction as if you had said something completely offensive. Dropping your head forward in an attempt to hide, your forehead grazes his chest. Though you revel in the heat it brings, if even only through the violent blush that scorches your cheeks, you realise that you can feel his heartbeat too — and it seems to match yours.

It’s not a big deal, you remind yourself.

His hand runs up and down you back again, this time slower, and it takes everything within you not to give in to the shiver that threatens your spine.

“You could have woken me”

You don’t say anything, too afraid to say the wrong thing and expose something you wished you hadn’t. In a way, it feels wrong to let him offer this kindness. You’re sure that if he knew how you really saw him, he would not be doing this.

It’s not a big deal.

You manage to relax a little, and the more you relax, the more you can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. Cassian continues to rub your back, gently enough that it doesn’t disturb your fall into sleep, but firm enough that it’s more a comforting presence than anything. Before long, his touch is lighter, as if he thinks he’s keeping you awake. His fingers lightly trace along the curve of your spine and when your top catches and rides up, his warm skin comes into contact with yours. This time, you can’t suppress the shiver. It’s only light, but you know he notices.

His movements pause, then continue the moment after, but this time his fingers navigate the dip of your spine unfettered by clothing. He skims over the clasp of your bra before taking the path back down and it easily sets a heat burning low in your stomach, something pulling taught in anticipation. You would try to block it out and sleep, but as he continues, you can’t help but feel conflicted.

Is he toying with you? It doesn’t seem like something he’d do, but can this really mean nothing? Perhaps not to him, but he must know how his touch is affecting you, right?

You breathe out heavily as he dares to let his fingertips linger between your shoulder blades, sounding far more delighted than you expected, and Cassian freezes.

Without a beat your mind goes into overdrive, worry after worry piling up. You’ve made it weird, he knows you like him and he’ll push you away, he’ll never talk to you again. It’s a mess of insecurities that feel too juvenile to be given space, but you allow them to fester nevertheless.

Instead of heeding anything going on in your brain, Cassian relaxes his palm against your back, flexing it like he can’t decide what to do fast enough. A moment later, he slips his fingers around your forearm and directs you to hold him in a similar way. He’s tentative, uncertain, testing the waters. You’ve never known him to shy from anything, and his wavering only serves to make your nerves worsen. You’re unsure what he means to do, but when you feel his skin, soft beneath your fingers, all pretence of ignorance drops. You lightly swipe your palm across his back, settling at his waist, and feel his breath stutter.

You lift your head to look at him at last, and find that he’s watching you as he often does, but his frown is gone. His eyes are softer, less examining, and even in the dark you can see a tenderness in them. You say his name and it sounds like a question, because it’s almost as if you can’t believe it’s really him. You’re searching his eyes, looking for an answer to what’s happening.

He doesn’t answer, but lifts his hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek, settling his palm on your jaw. You can’t help but lean into it a little, trying to ground yourself. He traces his thumb over your cheekbone and just stares at you, his eyes scouring your face. You can’t understand what’s happening, but you’re happy to let it unfold. You can feel his breath over your lips, shallow and unsteady, and it dawns on you that he is actually somewhat nervous. Shifting your hand from his waist to his chest, you are rewarded with his lips finally meeting yours.

He’s slow, at first. His lips slide against yours with agonising featheriness. It feels as if he’s just out of reach, like he’s holding back, and the way his breath comes out in strained puffs confirms it.

You can’t say that you’ve never imagined what it might be like to kiss Cassian, nor anything beyond that, and it’s the reason you feel so surprised. He’s not so outwardly confident as some of the other pilots, but there’s an unacknowledged certainty of self that he exudes all the same, and an absolute familiarity within your partnership that usually means he can speak his mind, or has the freedom to be himself.

The restriction that he’s exhibiting feels unlike him. You give him more, a reminder of that kinship between you as you push forward for more pressure, and the kiss grows more heated quickly. Cassian meets your eagerness in kind, capturing your bottom lip between his as he pushes you to your back, hovering over you. His mouth is hot and heavy on yours now, and every second that passes makes your heartbeat quicken.

You respond to his newfound fervour with your own, your hand weaving through his hair as he continues to deepen the kiss. Still, his actions seem too controlled, each movement too precise. He’s still holding back, and you’re not entirely sure why.

The next moment, he’s pulling away from you, and you feel your heart sink at the sudden loss. His breath is heavy, trying to catch up with him, and your chest heaves as you stare up at him above you. There’s a flame in his eyes that’s begging to be given oxygen, and you begin to question what lit it to begin with. Neither of you says anything, but a silent communication passes between you, an understanding of what you both want in that moment, and his restraint seems to snap. You detach yourself from the more rational part of your brain that’s telling you what a foolish idea this is, and you surrender to him completely.

He brings his lips back to yours without another word, and the moments that follow are a blur. His knee is hooked under yours to position himself between your legs, his hands run over your body in featherlight touches, you back arches when he runs his thumb over the thin fabric that covers your hardened nipple. His kisses grow more insistent, more heady, and you’re happy to drown in this feeling. You hook your legs around his waist as the need within grows, and he growls into your neck, kissing slowly along your throat.

“You really want this?” he asks in low rumble against your skin.

“Yes” you breathe out shakily, “please”

You don’t know exactly what it is that you’re begging for, but Cassian seems to understand. He strips you of your shirt and bra in a few swift movements, proceeding to lavish your skin with attention as the garments falls away. Your head drops back against the pillow as you lose yourself in his touch, but you’re growing more desperate by the second. Your hands find purchase on his back, his heated skin beneath your palms. They must still be as cold as they feel to you, because he seems to flinch away. An apology is on the tip of your tongue as you retreat, but Cassian silences you with a deep kiss, shaking his head as he guides you back to touching him.

Soon enough your hands wind their way down to his waist, you tug at the waistband of his sleep trousers and he draws back momentarily to heed your voiceless wish. You slip out of your remaining clothes in the same breath, and the sensation of skin on skin as he returns is exhilirating. It’s all groping hands and unbounded desire, nothing but a ceaseless passion that drives you both, and your voice is silent to what is happening. It feels too good to be true. When he passes your entrance, sinking fully inside of you in one slow thrust, you can’t help but release a moan. Cassian swears under his breath, remaining fully seated in you before gradually pulling out.

There’s no rhythm between you. You’re both eager, and sloppy, but it doesn’t detract from the euphoria you feel. He goes slow, deep, his ministrations all-consuming in a way you’ve never experienced. Your mind almost can’t comprehend it. Any intimate encounters you’ve had previously were perfectly adequate, though had all been rushed, or rough. This is different. This feels like it’s more than that, imbued with passion. This feels like it means something.

Cassian takes your hands and threads his fingers through yours, pushing them into the mattress either side of your head. His forehead presses into yours, forcing you to look into his eyes. Heavied by lust or exertion, his eyes are half lidded as they pierce yours.

You feel so deeply connected to him. He’s gentle, but his actions are firm, certain. It’s a way of going on that makes you feel completely safe and taken care of, and it occurs to you that you have always felt that way in his presence. He’s hitting places that make you see stars with every languid stroke, and you’re sure no one has ever made you feel so incredible in your life. Still, you can’t seem to speak. You can’t tell him how much you love it, how good he’s making you feel. Even now, with him deep inside of you and staring into your eyes as if he can see your very soul behind them, that feels like a step too far. All that will pass your lips are pleasured sighs, choked breaths and moans into his mouth that he swallows with his kisses amidst quiet groans.

His pace picks up a little but it’s no less intense, and his fingers tighten in yours. Then he slows again, like his mind is catching up with his body. His mouth leaves yours but he doesn’t go far. You feel his lips press against your forehead, and it’s so gentle and tender you can’t help but melt. Against your better nature, you feel loved. In that moment, you know you’ll give him anything he wants, just to continue tangling yourself in this net of safety.

Cassian slips out of you to the tune of your whimper, the next moment flipping you smoothly to fall onto your knees. He pulls your hips back towards him and eases back in. The intensity of him, of the new angle, makes your head spin. He holds you close, one hand splayed on your stomach and the other holding the base of your neck. He kisses the back of your neck, your jaw, your temple, but you can hardly concentrate on any one sensation as you feel yourself coming undone.

You realise that you need to find your voice in this moment, but thankfully Cassian finds his for you.

“I've got you” he murmurs into your ear, voice like silk as his fingers travel down to trace you clit in tight circles. You whimper again, this time in earnest, and everything within you pulls taught. “That's it” he coos slowly, and his voice seems to echo in your head as his pace picks up with each thrust, “let go, baby”

It's his voice, his breath and lips against your ear that sends you over the edge. He guides you through it, riding out your pleasure and when you're spent, he pulls out and paints your back with his seed.

You're both breathing heavily, and you can feel each of his pants on your back as his forehead rests on your shoulder. He's still holding you close, and you're suddenly far more aware of how his skin feels on yours. You still can't find your voice, and the room seems too quiet, your breathing too loud, and you're not quite sure what's just happened. What will happen, going forward.

You feel nervous, but you take a chance and slide a hand to meet his, the one still holding you in place at your collarbones. He seems to think you're asking him to remove it, and he begins to do so, but you quickly weave your fingers between his to still the motion. His breath escapes him quickly in what feels like a sigh, of relief perhaps, and he lifts his head to press a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Let's get you cleaned up”

Cassian carefully removes you from his grasp so you won't run the risk of falling, and you settle back to sit on your feet as he makes his way to the refresher. You watch on as he grabs a clean towel from the rail beside the sink, and turns on the hot tap to run it under the warm water. His eyes trail your way, finding you still kneeling on the bed. His gaze scans your body, raking down your naked form, and suddenly you feel self conscious.

It's a ridiculous thought really, when he'd just had you pressed against him, a shuddering mess, and especially when he holds no judgement in his gaze. It does feel different now, though.

He returns to your side before your thoughts can spiral further, and drags the warm cloth across the planes of your bare back, cleaning up the mess he left behind. He’s gentle, but firm, and you know now that it’s just his way of being. His forehead drops to your back as he finishes, throwing away the towel. You feel his eyelashes flutter shut against your skin, and he exhales through his nose slowly, as if letting the weight of what has happened settle over him.

Cassian is pragmatic, you know this. You know he acts in the interest of what’s right, but also what is sensible. It’s the reason you’re scared to turn and face him now.

His hands take hold of your hips, brushing over your skin gently. Your body responds for you, curling your spine into him, and he wraps his arms around your waist and draws you between his legs, resting back on the bed’s headboard. He buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, but then it seems to catch up with him that you’re not speaking, that you’re slightly rigid in his arms.

Pulling back only an inch, he moves one hand from your stomach to take your chin and force you to look at him. You don’t know how to set your face, what you’re supposed to be feeling, so you don’t. For once you don’t try to mask your true emotions, and Cassian’s usual frown is beginning to crease his brow. He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, like he doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. His lips press together and he swallows, his eyes scanning your face before he meets your gaze with an unfamiliar lick of timidity.

“Was that… okay?”

You can’t help but laugh. Cassian relaxes a little, his expression softening.

“Okay might be a bit of an understatement” you mutter quietly, loud enough that only someone in his proximity could catch it.

Cassian laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, his eyes crinkling fondly, and you feel your heart leap at the sight. His arm tightens around you, but then his gaze grows serious again.

“What’s wrong?”

You smile lazily and shake your head, looking away, “nothing”

“Hey” he captures your chin more firmly and makes you look back into his eyes. You can feel that your smile is cracking around the edges, but he persists, “tell me”

You sigh and feel your cheeks growing hot, knowing that you’ve got to unearth some things that you wished would stay buried.

“I guess I’m wondering what comes next”

He nods once slowly, glancing away, openly pondering the statement. He’s taking it seriously, taking you seriously, but it’s clear that he doesn’t have an answer.

“I’m not sure” his eyes meet yours again, and you feel your heart begin to sink.

“Okay” you reply flatly, looking away.

You allow yourself the hurt that floods your system. You can at least give yourself the grace of selfishly indulging in his embrace for this moment, perhaps for this night, but then you know you’ll have to move on. Before that feeling of closure begins to fully grasp you, Cassian sighs and speaks your name.

“Look at me” he murmurs, “please”

You hesitate, but ultimately give in and turn to him. He runs his nose along yours as he captures your gaze in his dark eyes, widened by what feels like a longing, or a muted desperation.

“I only mean that it won’t be easy” he explains and threads his fingers though yours, “but I want this, whatever it is. If you’ll have me”

The sincerity in his voice is hard to miss, and the way he’s staring past your irises and into the cavity of your soul is enough to convince you of the conviction behind his words. Your body melds to his as your heart melts, and you press your lips to his in a lingering kiss.

“Of course”

Cassian’s eyes remain closed as he rests his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath and drawing you even closer with an arm across your waist.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he rumbles, disbelief framing his words.

“Since when?” you challenge, and his lips lift somewhere between a smile and a smirk before his eyes meet yours.

“The mission on Klatooine” he tells you, “I’d only known you for a couple weeks, and you pushed me and called me an arrogant bastard”

You chuckle dryly at the memory. You remember the look in his eyes when you’d done that. At the time you had chalked it up to shock, but now the scene plays differently in your mind. Somewhere in the back of your head, you’re floored that he’d felt this way for so long, but you can’t concentrate on it right now.

“Was I wrong?”

“Perhaps not” Cassian raises a brow, his head cocking at what he takes as a challenge, and you feel his grip loosen. His hand then trails down your stomach and dips between your thighs, lazily draws his fingers around your entrance, “shall we find out?”

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder and your eyes slip closed as he brushes over your clit. Cassian takes advantage of your position and maps a path of kisses down your neck, teeth grazing over your collarbone and drawing a heavy breath from your lips.

“I feel like I’m dreaming” you speak candidly.

Cassian chuckles, a pleasing buzz against your skin, “let’s hope we don’t wake up, then”

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[fanged-fatale]

“Red Rover”

{Paul x Female Reader}

{Warnings: Stalking, intruder/hostage situation(kind of?), manipulation, etc.}

{Word Count: 990}

{Synopsis: When you refuse to let him in, Paul determines to draw you out. One way or another.}

A threatening growl beside you interrupts your peaceful slumber. Eyes shut in exhaustion, you only nudge your beloved dog, Rover, attempting to calm him down. Raised hackles along his back barely relax as your hand runs through his stiff fur. The little red dachshund tends to overreact to the little things; a critter strolling by the open curtains of your window is no danger.

When you feel his paws pad softly against the blue comforter of your bed and growls turn to aggravating barks, you prepare to scold the dog for the disruption. “Rover! Hey! Hush. Go to sleep. It’s probably just a-“

Knocking. Just a few feet away, in the direction of Rover’s barks. It didn’t sound like an animal, far too…humane. You shoot up, eyes wide and frantic, turning your neck towards the sound. The sight frightens you, screeching as the apparent “critter” stares at you, smirking while he taps the window. It was that creep again, Paul. The one your cousins and their friends warned you about in their stories about creatures, vampires that stalk the night.

You’d done everything to keep your interactions with Paul few and far between, but he always seemed to find you. Tracking you down at the boardwalk, following you on the beach. If you were somewhere out at night, you’d see him. It hadn’t crossed your mind he’d appear at your house. You knew he couldn’t get in without an invitation, and you weren’t set on giving him one.

Shaking you instinctively pull the covers above your head. A shield against him, something to keep him from watching you. A fear response. “Let me in! Please, can I please come in,” his muffled voice filters through, hands still hitting against your window. Like hell, he can. Between sweet talk and begging, he’s repeating your name. It’s like a child vying for the attention of a busy parent.

It’s becoming overstimulating, Rovers barks, and Paul’s chatter. Your own emotions and fears are running rampant, leaving you breathing heavily, curled up in a ball with your eyes squeezed shut. You can’t bear to look at the monster outside. Please, can’t he go far away and leave you alone? 

“Blanket’s not doing a damn thing, babe. If you’re looking for a way to stay warm, I can help you. Just gotta let me in,” his voice is smooth, flirtatious. It’s lost on you.

Deep down you know he’s right. The blankets not doing a damn thing. Paul’s not going anywhere, and as long as he’s around and you’ve got a dog to look after, neither are you. But some pals of yours might be willing to make a quick trip to your home; if you can only get to your phone. 

“Don’t wanna let me in? Fine, I’ll drag you out if I have to.”

His comments are becoming more threatening, his tone losing its usual charm. Silently preparing and pushing fear aside, you drop the blankets. Jumping up, you snatch Rover from the bed’s edge, leaping out the door of your room without ever looking at Paul. Gripping your precious pooch tight, you take brisk steps to pass the rooms along your hallway until your living room is within reach. 

The environment here is calmer. Closed curtains around the area cover Paul from your view. Even Rover seems at ease, barking now put to a halt. Sitting abruptly in your recliner, you free your hands from holding Rover to hastily dial the number connecting your line to the Frog Brothers. It’s just as your finger hovers over the call button that you pause.

Rover’s growling again, like earlier, just before he began barking erratically. Your line of sight mimics his as just outside your back door, something stirs. As always, the door remains locked and bolted. Although the pet door on the bottom usually stays locked from the inside at night, you failed to follow routine when Rover refused to go outside earlier. You didn’t want him to have any accidents. It wasn’t big enough for a man to crawl through, so you kept it unlocked for just one night. 

Ever so slowly, a scraping resounds right against the small door. Almost hesitantly, it lifts as a tree branch pokes through from outside. The opening reveals Paul’s face, his teeth on full display as he smiles uncannily at you. It’s menacing, lacking the friendliness he’d carried before. Then his face shifts, lips rearranging until a high-pitched whistle pierces your ears.

Before you can react, Rover bolts across the room. Passing the threshold of the small door, he disappears as it slams shut behind him. Alarmed barks halt immediately as you try to follow after him. Flying towards the door, you unlatch its lock, twisting the knob to step out into the night without a rational thought. The cool air’s breeze and the night’s dark emptiness greet you, running yards away from the safety of your house. Calling Rover’s name you pause, listening, waiting for any sign. 

“I knew I could get you to come out,”

Paul’s voice is calm, haunting. Turning to see, he’s placed himself at a perfect distance between you and your open back door. There’s no getting past him. At the moment, however, Rover’s still at the forefront of your mind. Fear and relief collide strangely for you as he struggles in Paul’s grip. He’s not hurt, no, just scared.  

For a moment, Paul stares. Carefully, he bends, setting Rover on the ground. He watches as the dog approaches you. He’s waiting, preparing for you to make a move. Knowing now your dog is safe, and that he’s not Paul’s target anyway, you turn. Facing the woods, momentum can barely catch before strong arms surround your waist. They trap you in, Paul holding you; picking you up and swinging you in his arms. Rover’s alarmed barks remain unacknowledged. You’re only aware of Paul’s face hovering over yours, snickering.    

“Gotcha girl.”

End.

[mothfanatic]

[He laughs and shakes his head] I was only kidding! We wouldn't stand a chance even if we tried! Stanley has a keen nose he would have bolted back into this room before we got anywhere close. It would be funny to see his reaction

That's... that's easy for you to say! I feel terrible... maybe that's why he keeps leaving for extended periods of time! the ONE time he opens up to me, and I blow it! I basically threatened to kill him. [Ford chews on his nail. He paces back and forth] I should apologize. I didn't mean any harm by what I said but... he's my friend, and I still feel awful for hurting his feelings

[he looks at Trickster] I'm sorry if your Ford ever said anything like that to you as well. I'm sure he felt just as bad I do or would if he didn't know.

You spoke like a pirate once?? [He grins] Could I hope for a demonstration!! Being a pirate sounds freeing. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone or pillage. But! Being free from the burdens society places on us sounds like paradise, especially if it means I'll get to be out on the seas!!

[Ford looks at Trickster with whimsy. But mostly excitement] I would appreciate that very much!! You are far too kind to me! I wish I had something to give you in turn [he chuckles] You already know everything there is about my culture. I don't think anything I say will be useful to you but! If you ever need anything! Don't be scared to ask ill do whatever you need without question

[Ford coughs. He refuses to look at Trickster. Shame and embarrassment grace his features]

Hm? My Muse? Yes, he's always listening and watching! Isn't it wonderful? I made sure to have his image incorporated into bits of my house!!

You are far more forgiving than I am [he sighs] but then again maybe I need to learn to let go of grudges.

Do you think him and I would become fast friends?? Is he anything like My Muse?

stanford and stanley pines,

i understand stanley has been staying in the house for a while! how has that been going? i hope well, i'd hate to have worsened things somehow.

ah, and stanford, i have contacted some friends recently, which has been nice! thank you for the advice. it feels... better. by a bit.

-tt

You haven't worsened anything!! It's ah, well.. truthfully, it's been rather nice.. [There's a laugh] he's still as irritating as ever but I... I missed him. I just hope things stay this way. I'm still mad but being alone again is a thought that keeps me up at night.

You have? Thank you for listening to me!! I'm so happy it helped you out even if just by a little. How have things been recently?

[jadegrey711]

Call me

(Bucky x Fem!phone sex operator)

A/N: This gif really got me thinking about how much fun a Fem!phone sex operator x Bucky oneshot would be. So here's my take, Bucky is like more still (winter solider) but like hitman for hire who doesn't work for any side. The end is a little dark but nothing too much. I don't think I'll be making a part two of this though so you'll have to let your imagination win with what happens after this. And as always;

Not my Gif *

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

You were surprised as you heard your phone ring with the familar ring tone of your favorite client, and eagerly grabbed the phone and went into your bedroom. Flopping onto bed and trying to calm your racing heart as you put on the familar persona of your phone sex operator voice and accepted the call.

"Hi darling." He greeted you in that familar, dark, rich voice.

"Hiya honey. I wasn't expecting your call tonight." you said honestly. You truly weren't expecting to hear from your favorite client tonight. His phone session usually held a standing reservation with you on Saturday night, usually around 10pm.

"I know darling, but work has been shit and I needed to hear from my sweet bunny."

"Oh yeah? You wanna tell me about it." You asked, as you made yourself more comfortable on the bed.

Bucky let out a let out a sigh. "Just politics darling. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about."

"Hey! I'm not just a pretty voice." You giggled. "I've got a pretty big brain behind this sultry voice, too."

"Oh. I know that bunny. That's why you're the only one I talk too."

"Well then tell me what's got you all worked up honey? That's usually my job." You chuckled and in return heard a deep chuckle on the other end of the line.

"I certainly enjoy getting worked up more from you than from anyone else."

"Well I'm glad to hear it. Means I'm providing an excellent service. Be sure to give me high stars at our end of call survey." You said cheekily, earning another deep chuckle from the other end of the line, before he let out a long deep sigh.

"I wasn't kidding when I said it was politics." He chuckled, when he heard a small gasp coming from you.

"Oh my! I've bagged myself a senator!" You said, fanning yourself even though he couldn't see you. "But, I've seen most of the senators on TV and none of them sound as hot as you honeypie."

"I never said I was a senator, Bunny."

"So, just randomly in politics?" You let out another little gasp. "Are you the man behind the curtain? The puppeter? The pied piper that leads all the rats?" You giggled, earning another laugh from him.

"No. Not in politics at all. More politics adjacent. I keep the wheels moving you could say."

You cocked your eyebrow at that, when a thought came into your mind. "Are you a hitman, Honey?"

The other end of the line was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"What if I was Bunny?"

You covered your side of the reciever and let out a scoff in disbelief, then chuckled. So, tonight is going to be role play? That's a first for your Honey.

"Well first I'd ask if you help the good guys or the bad guys?" You teased.

He took a moment to ponder this before he spoke. "Both. I'm what you would call a neutral party."

"Ah... so you vote Green party!"

You heard a louder laugh came from the line and smiled. It was rare to get your Honey to laugh that hard and when he did it was like music to your ears.

"No, Bunny."

"Are you dangerous?" You asked, your voice going low.

He stayed silent for a moment again, before answering with another question. "Would that scare you if I was?"

"I mean as long as you aren't planning on taking a hit out on me. Then I wouldn't mind. Hypothetically speaking, if you really are a hitman for hire."

"Never, Bunny." He said in a serious tone. "I might be dangerous to others, but not to you; never." He said matterof fact.

"So..." You drawed out. "What's got you all riled up from this job I'm assuming that you're on?"

He let out a sigh. "Just didn't go as I planned. Client is upset, but I couldn't give a fuck."

"Should I ask?"

"I wouldn't Bunny. These things don't need to reach your pretty ears. The only thing that needs to reach your pretty ears, is my voice telling you how much I want to bury myself in that pretty little pussy of yours."

You bit your bottom lip. There's my Honey, as agressive and verbal as ever.

"Would that make your day better? Burying that thick, hard cock in this sweet little pussy?"

He let out a low groan, and you knew he was touching himself. You never did this with other clients, but you found yourself reaching into your little pajama shorts in kind. Your Honey the only one who could pull this out of you; who could make you this wet, this fast.

"That would definitely brighten up my day Bunny."

"Hmm." You let out a low hum as you played with your clit. "I'd be more than happy to help you out with that. Working as hard as you do. The least I could do is greet you when you come home from a long day with my legs spread open for you. My pussy eager and waiting for that fat cock."

"I'd need your mouth first Bunny. It was an especially hard day."

"Of course Honeybunches. I'd love to be on my knees for you, my mouth wet and warm as it takes your big cock. Giving you a proper welcome home from a job."

You could hear him breathing harder on the other end of the line.

"You'd put your hands in my hair and fuck my mouth so good, wouldn't you honey?"

"Yeah baby." He panted.

"My pussy would get all wet just from me sucking your cock off. Just the thought of it right now has got me all sticky honeybunches. Would you let me play with myself as I sucked you off? Or would you be selfish?"

"Depends on if you've been a good girl for me Bunny."

You let out a mock gasp. "I'm always a good girl! You know that honey." you teased.

He let out a chuckle. "Yes you are Bunny. But you're a tease too."

"You love it when I tease you. I'd tease you even with your cock down my throat. I'd run my tongue up and down your fat cock, making sure to circle the top of your pretty cock with my tongue before sucking you back down. All the while, my fingers are buried deep in my pussy, wishing you were there too. I want to be filled completely by my Honey." You moaned out, your fingers finding that spot inside that just made your back arch.

"Fuck Bunny." He said and you knew he was close. "I'd fuck you good and hard, just like you need it."

"Yeah?" You moaned out and the you found he was flipping the script on you.

"Yeah Bunny. I grab that gorgeous hair of yours and wrap it around my fist, pulling you close to me as I pounded into you. Having you on your hands and knees, keeping you so close to me, there wouldn't be an inch of you that wasn't touched by me. And while I pounded into that perfect pussy of yours, my fingers would be busy playing with that clit, knowing that I couldn't and wouldn't cum until you came under me atleast three times."

"Three times?" You teased.

"That's just the appetizer." He whispered and you could practically feel the smirk that you knew was plastered on his face. "If I got my hands on you bunny. I'd ruin you with my cock. There would be no one else, that pussy would be molded and shaped by me; for me."

"Oh fuck." You moaned out dropping your persona for just a moment.

"You like that Bunny?"

"Yeah." You agreed your voice husky.

"My Bunny is just as possessive as I am."

"Oh Honey, yes." You moaned out.

"Is my Bunny touching herself?"

"Yeah Honey."

"That's my good girl. Does that pussy crave my cock as much as I do you?"

"Yes. I'm so empty without you buried deep inside, my honey."

The other side of the line stayed silent for a moment, just the sounds of his filthy moans were heard as you continued pumping your fingers in and out of you, truly wishing it was him inside you.

"Do you hear how wet my pussy is for you Honey? As I fuck my pussy with my fingers wishing it was you filling me up?"

You'd never met or even see your Honey, but you knew he was gorgeous and would be an absolute beast in bed; just by the sound of his voice. You knew he spoke true, he would ruin you just to put you back together and do all over again.

"Fuck Bunny. I'm going to take you away from everything and it's just going to be me and you."

This was different for your Honey, but you were too wrapped up in trying to reach your orgasm to care; so you played along like you usually do with your clients.

"You're going to take me away from my life honey? Treat me like the princess I am."

"Yes Bunny."

"Mmm." You hummed over the line at the thought of finally meeting your honey, the mysterious and so called hitman taking you away from your dreary life working three jobs; to a secluded island where he fucks you silly. "I think I like that idea, honey."

"Good. Now cum for me Bunny. I want to hear those moans and I want you to think of me pounding my cock into that soft and willing pussy."

"Oh fuck!" You moaned out as you felt yourself climax around your fingers, biting down on your lip as your orgasm crashed over you. All the while you heard the soft tell-tell groan of your honey, cumming with you.

You let out a small chuckle as you pulled your hands from your pj bottoms and felt your body calm, in its post-orgasm bliss. "Well you know your special honey 'cuz I don't cum for any of my other clients."

"Just me." He confirmed.

"Just you, honey."

He let out a low hum on the other end of the line. "I'm glad. I don't think I could handle you fingering that sweet pussy for any man but me."

You chuckled. "Oh no honey. It's all for you. But I'm sorry honey, our hour is up and I have to get some shut eye. Which will be much easier now that you've helped me get off. It's very appreciated."

"Anytime bunny. Good night."

"Good night honey." You said before ending the call and smiling to yourself as you plugged your phone in the charger and shut off the light.

As you drifted to sleep you imagined what your honey would look like, and you let your mind wonder to the idea of him whisking you away to some remote place, just the two of you.

And as you drifted, Bucky stood outside your apartment complex, staring up at your bedroom window and gathering the nerve to do just that.

[ayunas-tuna]

two for the show ━━ 3.1k ˚ series chp2

part of 𝒪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝓣𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

summary - after a kiss on your cheek in the middle of campus, things start to shift between you and jungkook. what was supposed to be a fake relationship feels a little too real, and neither of you knows how to handle it. you both avoid the tough conversations, trying to keep the act going, but the silence only grows heavier. finally, when you walk him home, the walls break down. this is way more than pretending now.

　　 　˳ 　 　౨౿　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

you knew it was getting out of hand the second he kissed your cheek in the middle of the quad.

not like, a stage kiss. not like, “we’re definitely pretending and this is for the audience” kind of kiss. just casual. instinctive. like he forgot the whole thing was fake.

you were halfway through a sentence about your lit assignment. you’d just made some stupid joke about your professor being allergic to joy, and he laughed, real and full, and then just leaned in and kissed your cheek without thinking. warm, quick, soft. then went back to sipping his iced americano like it meant nothing.

and maybe it didn’t mean anything.

maybe you were the only one whose stomach flipped. maybe he didn’t notice the way your voice caught after or how you had to blink a couple times before you remembered how to talk.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. not without making it weird.

so you just pulled your sleeves down over your hands, cleared your throat, and tried to pretend like your face wasn’t on fire.

he didn’t look at you again after that. not really. not until you were walking back to class and he brushed his pinky against yours.

and didn’t pull away.

“you’ve been quiet,” jungkook said later, nudging your knee under the table.

you were both sitting on the grass behind the library, half-eaten sandwiches in your laps and two empty juice boxes between you. the sky was that soft kind of blue that only shows up when you’re supposed to be doing something else.

you blinked at him. “i’m always quiet.”

he gave you that look. the one he only used when he wasn’t buying your bullshit. “not with me.”

you shrugged and took another bite of your sandwich, chewing slowly just to avoid talking.

he waited. didn’t push. just sat there, knee against yours, looking at the clouds like they were more interesting than the fact that you were very obviously spiraling.

after a minute, you sighed and muttered, “you kissed me.”

“...yeah?”

“like. for real.”

he glanced over. “i didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“that’s the problem,” you said, a little sharper than you meant to. “you never think it’s a big deal.”

he sat up straighter. “okay. what’s going on?”

you shook your head. looked anywhere but him. “i don’t know. i think i’m just… confused.”

he was quiet. so quiet. and you hated it. hated that he was letting you talk but not giving you anything back. hated that you were the one catching feelings for something that was literally your idea. this was your fault. you were the one who said no feelings. no real kisses. no anything.

and then he went and kissed your cheek like it meant something. like you meant something.

it wasn’t fair.

“we’re faking it,” you said, trying to sound level. “and it’s starting to feel real. and i don’t know what to do with that.”

“do you want to stop?”

you hated how fast your stomach dropped at that. “...no.”

he nodded slowly. looked down at his hands.

“me neither.”

and maybe that should’ve been comforting. but it wasn’t.

because neither of you said what you wanted instead.

he doesn’t look at you after that.

not in a dramatic way, just… quieter. less direct. like if he looks too long, he might say something he shouldn’t. like you both might.

you sit in silence for a bit. the grass itches behind your knees, your throat feels dry, and the sandwich in your lap is somehow still untouched. you keep glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, waiting for him to crack a joke or change the subject or even just do something stupid to break the weirdness hanging in the air.

he doesn’t.

instead, he leans back onto his elbows, gaze fixed on some point in the distance. you wonder what he’s thinking. if he’s regretting it. if he’s already planning how to pull away without making you feel bad.

your chest tightens.

“i don’t want to ruin this,” you say, quieter now.

he blinks. glances over. “what?”

you stare down at your hands. “whatever this is. i don’t wanna make it weird.”

“you didn’t.”

you look at him. “jungkook-”

“you didn’t,” he repeats, voice more certain this time. “it’s not weird. i just… i don’t know how to do this either.”

you nod slowly. you believe him. that’s the worst part.

he’s not faking it as well as he thinks he is.

his foot nudges yours gently. “we’re still good, right?”

you hesitate. then nod.

“yeah. we’re good.”

you don’t feel good. you feel like your heart’s on a timer.

you don’t talk much the rest of the afternoon.

he walks you to your next class like usual. keeps close to your side, says hi to someone you don’t recognize, holds the door open for you and mumbles something about meeting up later for that “photo op” thing he mentioned earlier in the week. something casual. something for the feed. “soft couple vibes.”

you just nod and say sure.

he doesn’t try to hold your hand this time.

you don’t know why it’s that moment. the quiet click of the lecture hall door behind you, the way the air changes when he’s not next to you, but your eyes burn and you sit down two rows from the back and suddenly want to cry.

you don’t. obviously. you just sit there and stare at your blank notes and pretend like the ache in your chest is just from lack of sleep. pretend like you’re not thinking about the kiss that wasn’t even a kiss and how it still meant too much.

you’re the one who made the rules.

you’re the one who said no feelings.

you’re the one breaking them.

two hours later, he’s waiting outside the building, leaning against the wall with his hoodie pulled over his head and headphones hanging around his neck. he doesn’t say anything when you walk up, just pushes off the wall and starts walking beside you.

you don’t know if he’s mad or just trying to give you space.

either way, it sucks.

“are we still doing the photo thing?” you ask, voice too casual.

he glances over. “do you want to?”

you shrug. “doesn’t matter.”

he stops walking.

you stop too, confused. “what?”

he just looks at you.

not annoyed. not even frustrated. just… like he’s trying to read you. like he’s trying to figure out if you’re about to break this whole thing wide open.

“it does matter,” he says.

you don’t answer.

he waits another beat, then runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“i’ll text you later,” he says, not unkindly.

you nod.

he walks the other way.

you hate how cold your hand feels once he’s gone.

when you check your phone later that night, there’s a picture.

a blurry one. the one he took last week, under that tree near the arts building. your face is half-lit, your hand holding the smoothie cup, a little smile tugging at your lips as you look down.

you don’t even remember smiling that day.

under the photo, he’s typed:

i was gonna post this tonight. but only if you’re cool with it. lmk.

your chest does that thing again. the thing that feels like guilt and softness all tangled into one.

you type out a response and delete it.

then type another.

you end up just sending:

it’s cute. post it.

three minutes later, it’s up.

captioned: my favorite person.

the comments blow up instantly.

you turn off your phone.

you don’t sleep for a long time.

you wake up feeling worse than when you fell asleep. your mouth is dry, your eyes puffy, and your phone buzzes softly somewhere under your pillow like it knows you don’t want to look. but you check it anyway. the post is still up. jungkook’s account. that blurry photo from the coffee shop, the one where you’re smiling at something off-camera with his jacket draped over your chair. captioned, still, my favorite person. almost five hundred likes, three dozen comments. 

omg stop.

is this real?? 

cutest couple on campus hello??? 

i knew it. 

you don’t reply to any of them. you don’t even like the post. and for some reason, that makes your stomach twist worse.

you lie in bed a while longer, then sit up and drink water, trying to ignore the heavy silence in your room. around noon, he texts.

hey wanna meet before class?

you stare at it. you want to say no. you want to say yes. you want to say what did that post mean? or why are you making this feel so real? or maybe just please don’t make me fall for you if you’re not going to catch me.

but you don’t say any of that. you just reply: sure.

he meets you outside like always, standing under that tree that’s barely started turning yellow, kicking at a leaf like it wronged him personally. when he sees you, his face softens.

“hey.” you nod. 

“hey.” he holds out a drink without asking. it’s your usual. you take it and sip. it’s perfect.

the silence stretches, but not in a terrible way. more like both of you are thinking too much to speak.

“so,” he says after a while, “did you hate the post?”

you shake your head. “no. it was fine.” he looks at you. you don’t meet his eyes.

“you didn’t like it.”

“i saw it.”

“not what i said.”

you press your lips together. you want to explain. you want to say i didn’t like it because i didn’t know what it meant. or i was scared that if i liked it, it’d make it real. or i wanted to, but then i thought about your ex seeing it and maybe it wasn’t about me at all. but you just shrug. “i was tired.”

he doesn’t push. he never does. and that’s part of the problem.

you walk to class together again. his hand swings a little too close to yours the whole time, but he doesn’t reach for it. you kind of wish he would. you kind of wish he wouldn’t.

the tension is different now. heavier. quieter. not playful like before.

and all through class, you keep waiting for him to say something else. to make a joke. to nudge your arm. to just look at you like he used to. but he doesn’t. you both just sit there, pretending everything’s fine. pretending it didn’t mean anything. pretending you’re not unraveling a little more every time he breathes.

when class ends, you gather your stuff too fast and almost spill your pen case. he catches it, hands it to you without a word. your fingers brush. you flinch. not because you didn’t want it, but because you wanted it too much. you mumble a thank you. he nods.

“you okay?” he asks.

you look at him. really look. he’s not doing the smile thing anymore. the one where he pretends not to notice how close you’re sitting. the one where he flirts just enough to keep you guessing. he just looks tired. like maybe he didn’t sleep either. like maybe he’s trying not to ask the same questions you are.

and maybe you should answer him. maybe you should say no. maybe you should say i’m not okay, and i haven’t been since you started making this feel real. but instead, you say, “yeah. just tired.”

and he says, “me too.” then you both walk out of the building side by side, not touching.

you step outside and the cool air hits your skin like a sudden jolt. the sky is heavy with gray clouds that promise rain, and it feels like everything around you is rushing forward while you’re frozen in place. jungkook walks beside you, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his pace slow and steady. the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. it’s filled with the weight of everything you both want to say but don’t know how to start.

you glance at him sideways, stomach twisting, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead, like looking at you might make this all too real. you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things, how pretending to be okay is becoming impossible, how the line between what’s fake and what’s real is blurring. you want to reach out, to close the space growing between you, but your hands feel heavy and unsure.

finally, your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “do you think this is gonna get easier?”

he breathes out slowly, like he’s been holding it in for far too long. “honestly, no.”

you almost laugh, because you know exactly what he means. this whole fake relationship thing was supposed to be simple, even fun. but it’s not. it’s complicated and messy and it hurts more than you thought it would.

“then why do you keep doing it?” you stop and turn to face him. “if it’s this hard, why not just walk away?”

he looks at you, really looks, and there’s something raw in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. “because even if it’s hard, it’s better than being alone.”

you swallow hard. part of you wants to argue that being alone isn’t so bad. but deep down you know he’s right. the quiet moments when he’s next to you, even wrapped in silence and hesitation are better than the emptiness that used to swallow you whole.

you take a small step closer, heart pounding. “i’m scared,” you admit, voice trembling. “scared that this fake thing is gonna turn real and i won’t know what to do.”

his fingers brush against yours gently, like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly. “then we figure it out together.”

you don’t say anything, just let his words settle over you. even though the future feels scary and uncertain, you realize you don’t want to face it without him.

then the rain starts, soft and steady, and you both laugh like it’s your little secret. you don’t pull away when he slides his hand fully into yours. it’s warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so far apart.

you walk side by side down the quiet street, the city lights flickering above you and casting long shadows on the pavement. the night air is cool and crisp, and the occasional distant hum of cars blends with the soft sound of your footsteps. jungkook’s hand brushes against yours, and without thinking, you reach out and lace your fingers through his.

he glances over with that small, easy smile that’s been growing on you more than you want to admit. “so, this is happening,” he says quietly, like testing the waters.

you shrug, a little breathless. “guess it is.”

you don’t say much after that, letting the silence settle comfortably between you. walking with him feels less like pretending and more like something real, something you both haven’t dared to admit yet. your heart pounds, a little faster with every step.

when you get to your building, you fumble with your keys for a moment before the door swings open. jungkook steps inside behind you, the smell of rain mixing with the faint scent of your apartment. you kick off your shoes and lean against the door, your fingers still tangled with his.

he pulls off his hoodie and drops it on the back of a chair, the damp fabric soft in the dim light. the space suddenly feels smaller, warmer. your breath catches when he steps closer, eyes locked on yours, like he’s waiting for something.

“want some coffee?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expected.

he nods, following you to the kitchen. you start the kettle, the sound of water filling the silence. when you pour the coffee, your hands brush, and that spark you’ve been ignoring flares up again.

you bring the mugs to the small table and sit close enough that your knees touch. jungkook’s fingers find yours, squeezing gently. the warmth from him seeps into your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“this feels different,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“yeah,” he agrees, voice low and steady. “it does.”

you look up, catching the way his eyes soften when they meet yours. without thinking, you lean in, closing the small gap between you. his lips are warm and tentative at first, brushing against yours like a question. then the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like he’s telling you everything without saying a word.

your hands move up to cup his face, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. your chest tightens, and the world outside fades away until there’s only him and you, tangled together in the quiet glow of your apartment.

when you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the small space between you. a smile tugs at your lips, and you feel something fragile and beautiful shift between you.

he whispers, “i’m glad i came here tonight.”

you squeeze his hand, heart pounding. “me too.”

you sit there for a moment longer, just breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips. the world outside your window keeps moving, distant sirens, the occasional car passing by. but here, it’s still. suspended. safe.

he shifts closer, like there’s a gravity between you pulling him in, and you don’t resist. his hands settle on your waist, steady and sure, anchoring you. you can feel the warmth radiating from him, seeping into the space between your bodies.

“i don’t want this to be just fake anymore,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like he’s afraid of breaking the fragile quiet.

you look up, eyes searching his, and for once, you don’t have an answer. all the pretending, all the rules you made to keep your heart safe, they don’t matter now. none of it feels real except this moment, this closeness, and the way your chest feels like it might burst.

without thinking, your lips find his again, softer this time, slower. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer about games or plans or revenge. it’s about two people who somehow found something worth holding onto in the mess.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “stay,” he says simply.

you don’t need to say anything. you already know you won’t be letting go

ribbon banner creds - @cursed-carmine

[shiftingdiaries]

Shifting storytime

Normal world turns into apocalypse…

Trigger warning for the following topics:

D#ath, Expl#sions, Inf#ctions, Car cr#sh, Su#cidal thoughts.

Before I get into the actual shift, I will answer how I knew I shifted and how it happened.

🧊 How did I shift?

This was not an intentional shift, before sleep I had done my shifting meditation and affirmed shifting is easy and effortless and fell asleep in the middle of it. Then I shifted during the night it seems.

🧊 How can I be sure I shifted?

I thought it was a dream first when I got back actually, but here is why I believe it was a shift.

1. The timeline in that reality and its events were linear, they progressed linearly and according to a consistent plot line.

2. I became semi aware at some stage that I did not belong to that reality, but since I was not assuming I can shift at that stage, I stayed stuck trying to get out of there.

3. Everyone had the same anatomy as here, clocks and time existed and it was also consistently linear with a linear progression.

4. I woke up with all memories, linear and in order, the same way I remember my own past here. I do not have this with dreams.

5. The way I shifted back to this reality also makes me think it was a shift, not dream. You can see it at the end of my shifting story.

6. I could read, signs and car registration numbers were constant, words didn’t change or get wonky suddenly, I remember things I have read there and I have images in my head of it. This doesn’t happen in dreams.

🧊 What happened when I shifted?

At first, it was a normal reality. Me and my friend lived in the same area, it was this city and it was just daily life. I spent several weeks there, just being a normal person. For example, every day after we got home from college we would drive in my car and go to this corner shop that sold snacks and other items. It was close to the college by foot, but closer with car. Whenever we went there, this father and his younger daughter were there too. We found out he’s the father of someone from our college in that reality, and he would buy something for his daughter there sometimes before they went and picked that person up to go home. I actually bought her ice cream once when we were there, so every time she saw us again at the store after school she would run to me knowing I would buy something for her.

But then came the tragedy…this is where my previous trigger warnings apply.

So one day, after school we went to the same shop me and my friend and got snacks. We were laughing on the way to my car, for a split second I look back at some people we walked by and that’s when I see some explosion in the distance. Some building blew up, we run to the car because my only thoughts now are to save her and myself. To get out of here and be safe. It is horrible because the fire gets so many people, I see it and my whole body is screaming “get you and her to safety now!!”. I still remember my feeling of panic as we get in, I start the car but the fire had spread so fast I couldn’t drive anywhere. Some roads were too small/not meant for cars etc.

There is absolute chaos outside, people dying etc. I try to make a run for it and drive through the fire, I guess I crashed the car and pass out because by the time I wake up my friend is gone and I am in a mental haze. I don’t know where she left, if someone dragged her out of the car or anything because my car doesn’t work anymore and I can’t find my phone to check the time.

At that point, I feel like shit. I still feel like crying when I remember this, I remember my pain in that moment because this friend of mine means the absolute world to me. I actually lost her in that reality, I am just glad I am back here where I have her in my life.

I keep looking, I can’t find her anywhere. I am so motivated on finding her, she is my absolute best friend and I felt I couldn’t leave this city without her. When I woke up from that car crash, the fire was less intense but things were still burning. The city was destroyed, the sun was scorching hot and people weren’t outside. Everything was destroyed. I was so freaking scared, I still feel scared when I think back. I felt so powerless.

I keep walking, for a few days or what seems like it, and I find this huge building which was probably a hotel of some kind or multi purpose building. It had all these different areas, freezer room, hotel or restaurant kitchen, boiler rooms, lots of stairs etc. I actually end up stuck there. For a very long time, I try to get out since the door I came through locked itself, I can’t even find a window and the rooms I find are filled with zombies or humans in a zombie state. The slightest movement set them off. This was so terrifying to me, I was scared and suicidal at this point.

I kept walking around, looking for my friend and a way out of that building. The structure of the building was the same, the rooms were the same which is also why I don’t believe this was a dream. I was just not full on aware at that point.

When I became too suicidal, I started looking for something to end it with. I needed to get away, that world had no hope. But in that moment, suddenly I become aware and waves of this reality wash over me. I was in the stairs, I remember this moment SOOO intensely and that’s when I suddenly go “wait a minute, I am CR name, I am a reality shifter and I shift instantly. This isn’t my chosen CR, I have shifted here. I want to go back this instant” and I instantly open my eyes here.

This happened a few days ago, I have been devastated ever since if I am being honest. The weight of that world, how real everything was and how intensely I felt everything. I skipped out on the many details in this post, it would be too long…this has made me realise how real shifting is. I might make a more positive follow up post, but as of now I am still processing everything. It was a real world, I was suicidal there for a while trying to get out and I just feel that sadness looming.

Welp, shifting is real and there are infinite realities. I just happened to go to a sad one, but there are equally happy ones.