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[sweetiiami-writes]

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[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You kiss them when they least expect it

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Reply to anon: As promised...your little Catholic boy. I spend my days writing to keep my mind off my surgery. I'm a really anxious person, so I have to fill my head with my pleasures (my fandoms). So the requests will come out quickly, I'm happy and you're happy... win win. Thank you for all your requests and support. LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH ♡

Peter Parker

- Peter Parker has been kissed before. He has known the warmth of affection, the giddy rush of young love, the slow ache of something deeper. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment your lips press against his, sudden and unannounced, shattering the rhythm of his thoughts like a lightning strike in the middle of a quiet night. His brain short-circuits instantly.

- His body reacts before his mind does, his breath catching, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to hold you or simply let himself drown in the moment. There is a fleeting second of hesitation, a half-formed thought that this must be some kind of dream, some cruel trick played by the universe. But your warmth is real, your presence undeniable. The city fades around him, the constant hum of responsibility momentarily silenced beneath the press of your lips.

- When you finally pull away, Peter blinks—once, twice—like he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, without warning, his face erupts into a deep crimson flush, spreading down to his neck like wildfire. “Oh,” he breathes out, voice slightly strangled. “Okay. Cool. That was… um. Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Was that, like, a scientific experiment? Because if so, I volunteer for more data collection.”

- Despite the awkward attempt at humor, his hands are still trembling, his pupils blown wide with something raw and unspoken. And then, after a moment of hesitation, his fingers curl around yours, his grip steady despite the lingering nerves. “But, uh… just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, voice softer now, more certain, “if you ever wanna do that again, you won’t have to catch me off guard next time.”

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark has spent a lifetime mastering control. He anticipates every possible scenario, every variable, every consequence. His mind is a constant whirlwind of calculations, solutions, contingencies. But when you kiss him—when you seize the moment and steal his breath away with no warning, no preamble—his mind goes completely, utterly blank. For the first time in years, there is no plan. No exit strategy. Just you.

- His body reacts on instinct, hands coming up to grasp your waist, a sharp inhale against your lips. But it’s not just the physical contact that undoes him—it’s the fact that you did it at all. That you, beautiful and untouchable in a way he never dared to hope for, have chosen him in this moment, with no ulterior motive, no expectation. It is not a conquest. It is not a game. It is real. And Tony Stark has never known how to handle real.

- When you finally break away, his lips are still parted, his usually sharp tongue momentarily silenced. Then, ever so slowly, a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, something dangerous and delighted and entirely Tony. “Well, well,” he muses, his voice a low hum. “That was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But, uh, you might wanna be careful, sweetheart. You kiss me like that, and I might just start thinking you like me.”

- And yet, beneath the bravado, there is something softer, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger against your skin, in the way his expression shifts—just for a fraction of a second—into something almost reverent. Because the truth is, he is already lost. And if you kissed him again, he wouldn’t just let you—he’d make damn sure you never stopped.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers is used to the world moving too fast around him. Time slips through his fingers like sand, people come and go like ghosts, and every moment is a reminder of just how much he has lost. But when you kiss him—when you break through the steady, predictable rhythm of his days with something as sudden and undeniable as your lips against his—it is the first time in a long, long while that he feels truly, absolutely present.

- He freezes at first, caught between instinct and shock, but it lasts only a second. Then, without thinking, his hands find your waist, steadying you both as though the moment itself is something fragile, something sacred. His heart is hammering against his ribs, a deep, resounding drumbeat that he swears you must be able to hear. And when he finally exhales, it is not out of hesitation—but out of something else. Something like surrender.

- When you pull back, his blue eyes are searching, tracing your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t joke or tease or stumble over his words. Instead, he simply watches you, memorizing every detail of the moment, committing it to memory as if he is afraid it will slip away. And then, at last, he lets out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. “You really do like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?”

- But there is warmth in his voice, something gentle and unshaken. And then, after a moment, he does something you don’t expect—he leans in again, slower this time, deliberate. His lips brush against yours, and this time, he is the one who takes control. And when he pulls away, his hand lingers at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Just so you know,” he murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips, “next time, I won’t let you take me by surprise.”

Thor

- Thor Odinson has been kissed before. He has known the passion of warriors, the devotion of gods, the fleeting tenderness of mortals who looked upon him with awe. And yet, when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without hesitation, without prelude—it is not reverence that he feels, nor expectation. It is something deeper, something that sinks into his very bones. It is you.

- There is a moment of stillness, as if the entire world holds its breath. Then, with a deep, rumbling exhale, he reacts—not with hesitation, not with shock, but with the full force of a man who has never done anything by halves. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm yet careful, as if you are something both fierce and fragile, something he is terrified of losing.

- When you pull back, he does not release you immediately. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, he simply exists in the aftermath of what you have done. Then, with a slow, wolfish grin, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with something unmistakably pleased. “Ah,” he rumbles, his voice thick with amusement, “so the battle has begun, then?”

- And before you can question him, before you can even think, he leans in once more—this time with purpose, with certainty. His lips claim yours in a way that is both a challenge and an offering, a promise and a declaration. And when he finally pulls away, his fingers trail down your spine, his grip unwavering. “A warning, my beloved,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “You have started something you may not wish to finish.” But the way he holds you—the way his touch lingers, possessive and warm—tells you that, in truth, he is hoping you never do.

Loki

- Loki is a creature of calculation, of control wrapped in silver-tongued deception. He reads people like poetry, anticipates betrayals before they are spoken, dissects affections before they can wound him. But when your lips find his—without warning, without preamble—it is the first time in centuries that someone has truly caught him off guard. His breath halts, body rigid, as if the universe itself has shifted beneath him.

- He does not pull away. He does not return it immediately, either. Instead, he remains perfectly still, sharp eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on dangerous. You can almost hear the gears turning in his mind, the war between disbelief and hunger, between skepticism and the undeniable thrill of being wanted without agenda. And then, ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth curls, something dark and pleased blooming in his expression. “Interesting,” he muses, voice velvet-smooth, though there is an unmistakable edge of breathlessness beneath it.

- When you move to step back, he does not allow it. A hand—cool, firm, deceptively gentle—curls around your wrist, anchoring you in place. “You think you can best me in my own game, little one?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every syllable. “That you can steal a kiss and escape unscathed?” His voice is teasing, but there is something else beneath it—something raw, something aching, something that trembles on the edge of longing.

- And then, with a slow, deliberate certainty, he leans in once more. This time, there is no hesitation, no caution. His lips claim yours in a way that is both challenge and surrender, fire and ice melting together in something neither of you can quite name. And when he finally pulls away, his thumb traces the edge of your jaw, his smirk lazy yet predatory. “You are playing a dangerous game, darling,” he whispers. “And I do hope you intend to see it through.”

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has been trained to anticipate the unexpected. He is a man who survives on instinct, who sees what others miss, who never lets his guard down—not truly. But when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his without warning, without prelude, it is the first time in years that someone has managed to slip past his defenses. And it floors him.

- His breath stutters, muscles tensing as if expecting some kind of punchline, some cruel joke at his expense. But then—then—your hands brush against his jaw, gentle, grounding, real. And suddenly, the world feels quieter. The weight of it all—the missions, the past, the scars that never quite fade—momentarily lifts, leaving nothing but the steady, warm press of your mouth against his. And for once, he lets himself sink into it.

- When you finally pull away, he blinks as if shaking off a haze, lips parted in something like disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face—lazy, crooked, entirely Clint. “Well, damn,” he breathes out, a chuckle escaping him. “Gonna be honest, didn’t see that one coming.” He tilts his head, eyes alight with mischief. “You always go around ambushing guys like this, or am I just special?”

- But there is something softer beneath the teasing, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger near yours, as if debating whether to pull you back in. And then, with a quiet exhale, he murmurs, “Not that I’m complaining, but—maybe next time, give a guy some warning?” He smirks. “Or don’t. I kinda like the element of surprise.”

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff is not a woman who is easily caught off guard. She is control, precision, danger wrapped in elegance. She anticipates every move before it happens, never allows herself to be vulnerable, never lets anyone too close. But when you kiss her—without warning, without calculation—it is the one scenario she never saw coming.

- Her body tenses immediately, years of instinct screaming at her to assess the threat, to react. But then—then—your lips linger, warm and unhurried, and something in her falters. There is no ulterior motive, no expectation, no game being played. Just you. And that, more than anything, leaves her shaken. She does not kiss you back, not at first. She is too busy deciphering why—why you would do this, why she doesn’t hate it, why the world suddenly feels too small with you this close.

- When you pull away, she does not speak. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you with an unreadable expression, emerald eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer you have not yet spoken. And then, at last, a small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Brave,” she murmurs, voice smooth, almost amused. “Reckless, but brave.” But there is something else in her gaze—something uncertain, something hesitant. As if she is not quite sure what to do with the warmth still lingering on her lips.

- Then, before you can respond, she steps closer, closing the space between you. There is no hesitation this time, no calculation—just the slow, deliberate press of her mouth against yours. And when she finally pulls away, her voice is softer, quieter. “Don’t do that unless you mean it,” she warns. But the way her fingers trail against your wrist, the way her breath lingers against your skin, tells you that she is hoping—just this once—that you do.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes is a man who flinches at softness. He does not know how to accept kindness without suspicion, does not know how to be wanted without expectation. He has spent years being used, being controlled, being nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. But when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without warning—it is the first time in a long, long while that he is simply Bucky.

- His entire body stiffens at first, muscles coiled as if expecting an attack, a trap, a trick. But then your hands brush against him—gentle, grounding, real—and something in him cracks. His breath shudders against your lips, something raw and unspoken trembling just beneath the surface. And for the first time in years, he allows himself to be held instead of holding himself together.

- When you pull away, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is unreadable, blue eyes stormy with something you can’t quite decipher. And then, ever so slowly, he exhales. “Why?” The word is quiet, hesitant, as if he doesn’t believe he deserves the answer. As if he is bracing himself for you to tell him it was a mistake. But you don’t. You just look at him, and that alone is enough to undo him.

- And then, after a long moment, his fingers brush against yours, tentative, uncertain. “Do it again,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. But when you do—when you kiss him once more, slow and patient and real—his hands finally come up to hold you, steady and warm and home. And this time, he doesn’t let you pull away.

Matthew Murdock

- Matthew Murdock is a man who lives in anticipation. Every breath, every footstep, every heartbeat in his vicinity is accounted for, cataloged, expected. He senses things before they happen, navigates the unseen with the certainty of someone who has never truly been blind. But he does not sense this. The moment your lips press against his, his world—usually so finely attuned—stutters. For the first time in a long time, Matt is truly caught off guard.

- His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, and for a brief moment, he is frozen in place. The taste of you lingers—warmth and surprise and something maddeningly sweet. His senses flood with you, and it is overwhelming in the best and worst way. His pulse is erratic, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. He has fought the devil inside himself for so long, denied himself softness, pushed away love because it only ever ends in ruin. And yet, here you are. Kissing him.

- When you pull back, he exhales shakily, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. Instead, his hand finds you—fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if to make certain you are real. His voice, when he finally manages to use it, is quiet, reverent. “You shouldn’t do things like that,” he murmurs, but there is no conviction in his words, no true protest. Only the lingering tremor of someone who wants—desperately, deeply—but does not know if he is allowed to have.

- And then, as if unable to resist the temptation you have placed before him, he leans in. His kiss is not hasty, not fevered, but something far more dangerous—slow, deliberate, inevitable. It is an unspoken confession, a quiet surrender, a promise that he may not be ready to put into words. But his hands find your waist, his lips press deeper into yours, and the way he sighs against your mouth tells you all you need to know.

Frank Castle

- Frank Castle has lost too much to believe in second chances. Love is a thing he buried alongside his family, a thing he does not touch, does not deserve. He is a man made of violence, of war and grief and cold, unrelenting vengeance. He does not get soft things. So when you kiss him—when you, in all your warmth, in all your reckless beauty, dare to press your lips to his—he does not know what to do with it.

- His entire body goes still, as if the world has caught fire and he is standing in the center of the blaze, unscathed but bewildered. He does not pull away. He does not push you back. He simply exists in the moment, feeling something that is not rage, not pain, not the gnawing emptiness that has been his only companion for years. The taste of you lingers—something achingly sweet against the bitterness of his own existence.

- When you finally step back, he exhales sharply, his breath uneven, his jaw clenched. His eyes—dark, stormy, battle-hardened—lock onto yours, searching, questioning. He wants to tell you this is a mistake. That people who get close to him only end up hurt, that his hands are meant for killing, not holding. But he doesn’t say it. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he does not want to push something away.

- Instead, his fingers curl at his sides, his voice low, rough. “You sure you wanna be doin’ that?” It’s not a warning—it’s an invitation. A chance to walk away before he inevitably ruins you the way he ruins everything else. But when you don’t—when you meet his gaze and kiss him again, slower this time, softer—his resolve cracks, and he kisses you back with something that is almost desperate, almost alive.

Bullseye (Lester)

- Bullseye is used to taking. He takes lives, takes power, takes anything he wants because no one can stop him. He is a monster, and he knows it—embraces it. There is nothing good in him. Nothing worth saving. And yet, you—beautiful, foolish, unafraid—have the audacity to kiss him as if he is anything but ruin incarnate.

- The moment your lips meet his, something snaps in him. His instincts scream at him to turn this into a game, to take control, to make you regret ever thinking you could surprise him. But for once, he does not move. He lets himself feel it. The warmth of you, the softness, the maddening contrast of something so pure against the corruption that coats his soul like tar. It is unexpected, undeserved, and utterly intoxicating.

- When you pull away, his smirk is slow, sharp-edged, dangerous. His eyes—dark and gleaming with something predatory—drag over your face like he’s memorizing every detail, committing your recklessness to memory. “Well, damn,” he drawls, voice slick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, sweetheart.” His fingers ghost over his lips as if testing whether the sensation was real or just some twisted hallucination.

- And then, with a sudden, startling speed, he moves. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other pressing against your waist, and before you can react, he’s kissing you back. But this—this is something else entirely. It is wild, chaotic, consuming. A warning, a promise, a claim. And when he finally pulls away, grinning like the devil himself, he murmurs, “Hope you know what you just started.”

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector is used to ghosts. His past, his mistakes, his fractured mind—he carries them all like shadows that never fade. He does not trust happiness, does not trust peace, because both have been ripped from him too many times to count. And love? Love is not something that belongs to men like him. But then there is you. And then there is this. Your lips against his, unannounced, unexpected, real.

- The first sensation is shock. Not fear, not rejection—just shock. His mind, always a battlefield of shifting identities and whispered voices, goes silent for one aching, beautiful moment. The warmth of your mouth, the way you lean into him with no hesitation, no fear—it is something foreign, something he does not know how to hold. And yet, he wants to. God help him, he wants to.

- When you pull back, his breath is unsteady, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if fighting the urge to pull you back in. His eyes—haunted, desperate, yearning—flicker between you and the ground, as if struggling to find something solid to anchor himself. “You shouldn’t…” His voice is raw, broken. “You shouldn’t do that.” But there is no weight behind the words, no real protest. Just the quiet, trembling confession of a man who does not believe he deserves to be touched with kindness.

- And then, with a slow exhale, he makes a choice. His hand—scarred, trembling—reaches for yours, fingers brushing tentatively before curling around them. He does not pull you close, does not claim you the way others might. Instead, he simply holds on. A silent plea, a fragile hope. And when he finally kisses you back, it is not with hunger, not with dominance—but with something far more dangerous. Need.

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- Taskmaster survives by reading people before they can act. He sees a shift in weight, a flicker of intent, the smallest twitch of a muscle, and he knows what comes next. It’s how he wins fights, how he predicts every move before it happens. But not this. Not you. He doesn’t see it coming when your lips press against his, a ghost of warmth against the cold edge of a man who has spent his life being untouchable.

- His entire body stiffens, instincts roaring at him to react, to counter, to do something—but he doesn’t. His mind, trained to memorize, analyze, replicate, suddenly falters. He can mimic a thousand fighting styles, anticipate attacks from the best in the world, but he has no defense for the softness of your mouth, the way you kiss him like he is something more than a weapon. And it unsettles him.

- When you pull back, his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing as if searching for the right response. His mask hides his face, but you can feel the way he’s staring at you, the sharp intensity of a man trying to process something he can’t categorize. “The hell was that for?” he finally mutters, his voice low, rough—gravel scraped over steel. But there is no anger, no mockery. Just a quiet, dangerous curiosity.

- And then, something shifts. A decision made. He moves faster than thought, a gloved hand catching your wrist, pulling you in before you can slip away. And when he kisses you back, it is not soft, not hesitant. It is sharp-edged and confident, like a man reclaiming control over the one thing that has ever caught him off guard. You wanted to surprise him? Fine. But now, he’s the one in charge.

Johnny Storm

- Johnny Storm burns hot—always has, always will. A fire that never quite settles, never dims. He is loud and reckless and bright, and he wears his confidence like a second skin. But beneath it all, there is something deeper, something hidden behind smirks and easy laughter. And it is that something that flickers the moment you kiss him.

- At first, he doesn’t process it. One second he’s talking, maybe making some cocky remark, and the next—your lips are on his. His brain short-circuits. Johnny Storm, king of comebacks, has absolutely nothing to say. There’s just heat, not from his flames but from the rush of you, the sudden realization that this thing he’s been pretending not to feel is very, very real.

- When you pull back, he blinks—once, twice—before a slow, almost disbelieving grin spreads across his face. “Damn,” he exhales, voice a little breathless, a little stunned. And then, because he is who he is, he recovers. “If you wanted a piece of me, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.” But his voice wavers slightly at the end, betraying the fact that he is not nearly as unaffected as he wants to seem.

- And then, before you can say anything, he moves. A hand curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he crashes his lips back to yours, kissing you with the full force of his fire—burning, consuming, alive. Because Johnny Storm never does anything halfway, and now that he knows what you taste like, he is never going to pretend he doesn’t want more.

Reed Richards

- Reed Richards lives in a world of equations. He understands the mechanics of the universe, the fabric of reality, the infinite complexities of time and space. But there are some things even he cannot predict. Some things he cannot quantify. You are one of those things. And when you kiss him, it is a complete and utter anomaly.

- His breath stills, his mind goes blank—something that has not happened in years. He can usually calculate the likelihood of an event before it occurs, but this? This wasn’t factored into his reality. His hands hover in the air, as if unsure of the proper response, as if the laws of physics themselves have momentarily escaped him.

- When you step back, he does not move immediately. He is frozen, recalibrating, processing. Then, slowly, his lips part, and a quiet, stunned “Oh” escapes him—soft, unguarded. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if needing a moment to refocus. “That was… unexpected.” His voice holds no rejection, only fascination, as if he has just witnessed a scientific miracle.

- And then, something shifts. His hand reaches for yours—not hasty, not desperate, but careful, deliberate. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, Reed Richards abandons calculations in favor of instinct. When he kisses you again, it is slow, exploratory, like a man learning a new language and savoring every syllable.

Ben Grimm

- Ben Grimm does not get soft things. He does not get stolen kisses or tender touches or the kind of love that isn’t weighed down by pity. He is The Thing. A man made of stone, of battle and loss, of aching loneliness that he never speaks of. And yet, here you are. Kissing him. As if he is not a monster. As if he is just a man.

- He stiffens, his whole body locking up. His heart—too big, too hopeful despite everything—stumbles in his chest. He has dreamed of things like this before, but dreams are cruel, and reality is harsher. He expects you to pull away, to realize what you’ve done, to see him and regret it. But you don’t. You don’t. And that, more than the kiss itself, threatens to undo him.

- When you finally step back, his throat works around words he can’t quite form, holding the weight of years spent convincing himself he doesn’t get to have this. His massive hands twitch at his sides, as if afraid to reach for something too fragile, too precious. “You… you sure about that?” There is doubt in his tone, not because he doesn’t want you, but because he doesn’t know how to believe you’d want him.

- But when you step closer again, pressing your hands against the solid breadth of his chest, when you tilt your head up and kiss him again, slow and sure and certain, something in him cracks. A deep, shuddering breath escapes him, and his massive arms finally—finally—come around you, pulling you close. And when he kisses you back, it is hesitant at first, reverent. But then it deepens, something raw and aching in the way he holds you, like a man who has been starved of love for far too long.

Susan Storm

- Susan Storm is a woman of grace, of careful composure, of quiet strength that bends but never breaks. She is a leader, a protector, a force of nature wrapped in silk. And yet, for all her brilliance, for all her ability to phase in and out of sight, she does not see you coming. Not when you step close. Not when your fingers graze her cheek. Not when your lips press against hers in a kiss that is as sudden as it is soft.

- Her breath stills, caught between the moment and the impossible realization of what it means. Her mind races—was she blind to this? Had she misread the signs, the weight of your glances, the unspoken words hovering between you for so long? But all thoughts unravel when she feels the warmth of your lips, the unguarded tenderness of it. She has spent her life holding herself steady, but now—now she is the one being unraveled.

- When you finally pull back, she blinks, slow and breathless, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh,” she murmurs, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips. A rare moment where she is not Susan Storm, the poised and polished heroine, but simply a woman standing before someone who has just shaken her world.

- And then, that moment of surprise shifts into something else—something warmer, something braver. Her fingers find your wrist, curling around it in a silent request. She meets your gaze, eyes shining with something unreadable, something soft. And when she kisses you again, it is no longer hesitation, no longer surprise—it is intention, steady and sure, as if she has made up her mind that this—you—is something she does not want to let go.

Felicia Hardy

- Felicia Hardy is a woman who dances on the edge of danger, who thrives in stolen moments and the rush of risk. She is a thief, a phantom in the night, a creature made of silver laughter and sharp edges. She knows the art of seduction, the game of push and pull, and yet—when you kiss her, it is not part of the game. It is not calculated, not played for leverage. And that is what stops her dead in her tracks.

- Her lips part against yours, a stunned exhale slipping free. For the first time in a long, long time, Felicia Hardy is caught off guard. She is used to controlling the moment, to being the one who sets the pace, who dictates the terms. But this—this—feels like something stolen from her. And she doesn’t know if she wants to steal it back, or if she wants to let herself fall.

- When you pull away, her signature smirk wavers, something uncertain flickering behind those sharp, clever eyes. “Well, well,” she purrs, but there’s a breathlessness to it, a vulnerability beneath the velvet tone. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” A tease, a cover. But her fingers twitch at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you back in, to demand more.

- And then, as if making a silent decision, she moves. She closes the space between you with a sharp, deliberate kind of grace, tilting her head with the confidence of a woman who has decided to play a game she was not expecting—but one she suddenly wants to win. When she kisses you again, it is slow, languid, laced with amusement and hunger, as if savoring the way you are the one who caught her off guard for once.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is a man of logic, of precision, of control honed by years of discipline. He bends reality to his will, commands forces beyond human comprehension, and yet—he is utterly unprepared for the moment your lips press against his.

- His body locks up, his breath caught between disbelief and something deeper, something dangerously close to longing. He does not move at first, too caught in the sheer absurdity of it. He has faced cosmic horrors, rewritten fate itself, but he cannot seem to process the feeling of your touch, the warmth of your mouth against his own.

- When you step back, he blinks, slow and calculating, as if searching for some rational explanation. “That was… unexpected,” he says at last, his voice measured but carrying the faintest waver. He looks at you as though you are a paradox he cannot solve, an anomaly in his carefully structured existence.

- And then, after a long pause, his lips curl in something resembling amusement, a rare, genuine softness breaking through the rigid control. “I suppose,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dropping to something almost dangerous, almost reverent, “it would only be fair if I returned the favor.” And when he kisses you again, it is with the deliberation of a man who refuses to leave anything to chance.

Namor

- Namor is not a man accustomed to surprise. He is a king, a warrior, a god walking among mortals. He has stood against empires, defied the heavens, and shaped history with his own hands. But when you kiss him—you, with your infuriating defiance and your breathtaking boldness—he is, for the first time in centuries, at a complete and utter loss.

- His entire body tenses, as if bracing for an attack rather than an act of tenderness. And yet, despite his initial shock, despite the sheer audacity of you, he does not pull away. He does not stop you. Instead, his sharp, piercing eyes darken, a slow and simmering heat curling beneath his ribs—dangerous, unrelenting.

- When you finally part, he does not speak immediately. He simply looks at you, gaze heavy with something unreadable. And then, after a moment, his lips curl—not in anger, but in something far more unsettling. Amusement. Interest. Challenge. “You are either very brave,” he murmurs, voice rich and edged with something unmistakably possessive, “or very foolish.”

- And then, before you can respond, before you can think to retreat, he moves. His hands—strong, unyielding—catch your wrist, his body closing the space between you with the effortless command of a king reclaiming what is his. And when he kisses you again, it is not a question. It is a declaration, a silent vow that whatever game you have started, he will be the one to finish.

Johnny Blaze

- Fire and damnation have clung to Johnny Blaze for as long as he can remember. He is a man marked by hellfire, by a fate he never asked for, by the weight of every soul he has ever sent screaming into the dark. He does not expect kindness, not really, not from anyone. And yet, when you kiss him—suddenly, without warning, like a spark catching dry earth—he is stunned into absolute stillness.

- The scent of smoke and leather clings to him, the remnants of something infernal lurking beneath his skin, but you do not hesitate. Your lips are warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold edges of his existence. He has faced demons, outrun the devil himself, but this? This simple, quiet moment? It terrifies him in a way nothing else ever has.

- He exhales sharply when you pull back, as if he’s just come up for air after drowning. His blue eyes burn like embers, searching your face as if trying to understand what the hell just happened. His throat works around words he doesn’t know how to say, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to. “You don’t wanna do that,” he finally mutters, voice rough with something dangerously close to longing.

- But when you tilt your head, when you don’t flinch, don’t pull away, don’t fear him—something in him cracks. His jaw clenches, his hands curl into fists, and then, finally, finally, he lets himself move. He grabs the back of your neck with a touch that is both possessive and reverent, and when he kisses you again, it is with the desperation of a man who has spent too many years in the dark, suddenly blinded by the light.

Eddie Brock / Venom

- Eddie Brock is a man who has lost too much, fought too hard, and learned to trust too little. He is rough around the edges, worn down by anger and regret, always bracing for the moment when the world inevitably turns against him. He is not used to gentleness—not from others, and certainly not for himself. And so, when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his like it is the most natural thing in the world, his brain short-circuits entirely.

- His first instinct is to pull back, to question, to doubt. But Venom—Venom is faster. The symbiote rumbles in amusement, in approval, wrapping around Eddie’s ribs like a second heartbeat. "We like this one," the alien purrs inside his mind, and Eddie swears under his breath because of course Venom would be delighted by this.

- “You’re—” Eddie starts, but stops himself, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically shove down the confusion. He shakes his head, glancing at you with something that is half bewilderment, half hunger. He wants to say something cocky, something to brush it off, but all that comes out is a breathless, “What the hell was that for?”

- And then Venom moves, slick tendrils curling around his shoulders, shifting his posture. "Kiss her back, Eddie," the symbiote urges, a wicked, knowing grin in his voice. And—God help him—Eddie does. He surges forward, his grip strong, his kiss a mixture of frustration and want, like he’s fighting against how much he needs this, how much he needs you. And when he finally breaks away, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. Shit.

T’Challa

- T’Challa is not a man who is easily surprised. He is a king, a warrior, a strategist who sees every angle before the game even begins. His mind is always ten steps ahead, his composure an unshakable force of nature. And yet—when you kiss him, when you step close without prelude or warning, tilting your chin up to press your lips to his—he is caught entirely off guard.

- His breath hitches, just slightly, so small a reaction that most would not catch it. But you are not most. You are you, and you notice the way his body stills, the way his fingers twitch at his sides as if warring with the impulse to pull you closer. His heartbeat is steady, measured, but beneath the surface—oh, beneath the surface, you have sent ripples through a man who does not bend easily.

- When you part from him, his dark eyes study your face with a sharpness that borders on unreadable. “You are bold,” he says, but there is no admonishment in his tone—only observation, only something deeply considering. His gaze is heavy, knowing, like he has already unraveled every reason why you did it. And yet, for all his brilliance, there is one question left unanswered.

- And so, after a pause, he tilts his head ever so slightly, a slow, deliberate movement. “Was that a challenge?” The words are a whisper, rich and silken, spoken against your lips as he closes the space between you once more. His kiss is not hurried, not desperate—it is a promise, a declaration, a reminder that T’Challa does nothing without intention. And you? You have just become something he intends to keep.

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra moves like a shadow, like a blade cutting through the dark, like something that cannot be held for long. She is sharp edges and silken danger, a whisper of death wrapped in a dancer’s grace. She does not trust easily. She does not love easily. And yet, when you kiss her—fast, sudden, without warning—she does not push you away. No. She freezes, her entire body tensed, not out of resistance, but because she did not see it coming.

- For a woman who has spent her life reading people like open books, you have just managed to turn a page she did not anticipate. Her lips part against yours, not in invitation but in sheer, startled stillness. The moment you step back, her gaze is already piercing into you, unreadable and electric, the air between you charged with something taut and dangerous.

- “That,” she breathes, eyes narrowing just slightly, “was foolish.” But the way she says it—it is not a warning, not truly. It is curiosity, the ghost of something far more wicked lurking beneath the surface. She watches you like a cat watching its prey, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if deciding whether to draw a weapon or pull you back in.

- And then, just as quickly, just as effortlessly, she moves. Her hand catches your wrist, yanking you forward with a force that is not violent but possessive. And when she kisses you this time, it is not hesitation—it is fire and fury, a battle won with the curl of her fingers at your nape, the press of her body against yours. If this is a game, you have just signed yourself into a war. And Elektra Natchios? She never loses.

Muse

- Muse does not feel things the way others do. Art consumes him, violence is his language, and the world is nothing but a blank canvas begging to be marred. He has wandered through blood-soaked streets and carved poetry into walls with trembling hands, but this—this sudden kiss, this moment where your lips press against his without prelude or warning—is something entirely new.

- He does not flinch. He does not gasp. He does not react in any way that might be considered human. Instead, he listens. To the way your breath hitches. To the way your heartbeat stumbles in your chest. To the way the world stills around him, just for a moment, like existence itself is waiting to see what he will do next. And oh, how he loves the weight of expectation.

- When you finally pull back, his blind eyes remain locked onto you, empty and unreadable, yet somehow knowing. His lips part—not in surprise, but in something closer to fascination. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word almost a sigh, almost a prayer. “Do it again.” It is not a request. It is not a plea. It is a command wrapped in velvet, spoken like a secret only you were meant to hear.

- And when you hesitate, when you wonder if it is wise, if it is safe, he simply tilts his head, his smile carving itself into his face like a brushstroke on an unfinished painting. His fingers ghost over your jaw, not quite touching, not yet. “I wonder,” he muses, voice lilting with something dangerous, something close to reverence, “how many shades of red I could pull from your lips alone.”

Victor von Doom

- Victor von Doom does not tolerate surprises. His mind is a kingdom unto itself, a fortress built upon knowledge and control. There is no action he takes that is not calculated, no movement that is not deliberate. And yet—when you kiss him, when you dare to step into his space and press your lips against his without permission, without warning—it is the one moment he does not anticipate.

- His body tenses, not in shock but in something colder, something unreadable. There is steel in his stance, in the way his fingers curl ever so slightly at his sides. For one impossibly long second, the world feels as if it has stopped, as if the very air around you is waiting for his verdict. And then, his hands rise—not to push you away, but to cup your face with the precision of a sculptor, as if he is considering whether to keep this moment or cast it aside.

- “Foolish,” he murmurs, though his grip does not loosen. His green eyes burn into yours, heavy with something unreadable, something vast. “You mistake me for a man who yields to impulse.” But you can feel it—the faint tremor beneath his touch, the war waging behind his gaze. You have shaken something in him. Something he does not have words for.

- And then, Doom decides. His grip tightens just slightly, his gaze darkens, and when he leans in, it is not hesitant. It is not uncertain. No, Victor von Doom does not do anything halfway. His lips capture yours with the finality of a ruler taking his throne, with the weight of a choice made, a fate sealed. And when he pulls away, he exhales sharply, as if he has allowed himself one moment of indulgence—and nothing more. “You are either very bold,” he muses, voice quiet, “or very foolish.” And then, after a pause, after a second’s hesitation— “Perhaps both.”

Peter Quill

- Peter Quill has been kissed before. By strangers in bars, by lovers who knew better, by the lingering ghosts of memories he refuses to let go of. But this—this kiss, your kiss—catches him completely off guard.

- He is mid-sentence, probably saying something ridiculous, something cocky, something meant to make you roll your eyes—and then, suddenly, your lips are on his, stealing the words right from his mouth. His brain short-circuits so violently that for a full second, he just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

- And then, like a delayed reaction, like an aftershock, he grins. A slow, lazy, completely obnoxious grin that spreads across his face like wildfire. “Well, damn,” he breathes, blinking at you like he’s just been hit by a starship. “If I knew that’s how you felt, I would’ve shut up ages ago.”

- But then—just when you think he’ll ruin it with another joke—he tugs you forward, his fingers curling around your waist with an easy kind of confidence. And when he kisses you this time, it is deeper, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he means it. And maybe, just maybe, Peter Quill has finally found something—someone—worth holding onto.

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard Rider has been through hell. He has seen galaxies burn, has carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders, has fought and bled and lost more than he can put into words. He is tired. He is so tired. And yet—when you kiss him, when you pull him down from the weight of the cosmos and remind him of something as simple, as human as this—he forgets, just for a moment, how heavy the universe feels.

- His breath stutters. His entire body tenses, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. He has been hurt before, has been broken in ways that no amount of power can fix, and yet—this is different. You are different.

- “I—” he starts, but the words get lost somewhere between his lips and yours. He laughs, but it’s not the cocky, confident sound most people expect from him. It’s breathless, unsure. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Didn’t see that coming.” But the way he looks at you—the way his blue eyes soften, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t know if he should—tells you that maybe, just maybe, he’s glad you caught him off guard.

- And then, slowly, hesitantly, he steps closer. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with a gentleness that feels at odds with the battles he’s fought, with the wars he’s survived. And when he kisses you again, it is not hurried, not rushed. It is quiet. It is careful. It is real. Because for the first time in a long, long time—Richard Rider is not fighting. He is simply here. With you.

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆˙⟡

a/n: we have a lot of new readers here after my last post! thank you so much for supporting my work — i'm grateful to have you here. ♡ and while I would much rather be writing my next fic than doing the administrative work of running a blog, it must be done! (ง'̀-'́)ง

so without further ado, here's a masterlist of all my current works!

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

in close quarters | miya atsumu

when college athlete and former frat boy miya atsumu moves into your apartment senior year, your only goal is to make him as comfortable as possible. what ensues is an unlikely friendship — and feelings neither of you expected.

what to expect: athlete x literature girly, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff, friends-to-lovers, roommates-to-lovers, slow burn, atsumu's healing arc, language, suggestive/mature themes

(you can read each installment as a one-shot, but there's an ongoing story that unfolds if you read it as a whole!)

1. first impressions

➢ all you wanted was a roommate who enjoyed watching the bachelor just as much as you did. so when a disgruntled frat boy becomes your subtenant for the year, you decide to work with what you've got.

2. writer's block

➢ your menstrual period just so happens to arrive the week of your first big writing deadline. meanwhile, atsumu discovers new sides to you.

3. you deserved better

➢ you always considered atsumu to be a fairly guarded person — that is, until you hear him crying in the bathroom after a particularly abysmal day.

4. limited edition

➢ when atsumu spills coffee all over your new book, he goes to the ends of the earth to make sure you never notice.

5. gnarly

➢ atsumu catches you dancing in your bedroom to a certain viral song.

6. first date

➢ you go on a date with a guy in your major. meanwhile, atsumu finds himself increasingly upset about it.

7. bar crawl

➢ atsumu misses the annual fraternity bar crawl, so you spontaneously decide to plan one for him.

8. she makes ya better

➢ atsumu apologizes to his brother for a years-old argument — only to get ambushed about his feelings for you.

9. give 'em hell

➢ you get to know osamu and suna more at atsumu's first game of the season. meanwhile, atsumu subjects you to a very public display of affection.

10. i missed you

➢ atsumu's out of town for an away game. you're stuck at home, finishing your degree. somewhere in the silence, your feelings for him finally rise to the surface.

11. heels showcase

➢ you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. atsumu, on the other hand? he just wants to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

12. night market

➢ atsumu takes you on a date to the university night market. everything is perfect — until you run into the last two people he ever wanted you to meet.

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

pregnancy test | akaashi keiji

➢ you and your boyfriend are no strangers to overthinking — so when your period doesn't arrive on time, you take turns calming each other down.

halloween party | kuroo tetsurō

➢ you never considered yourself a jealous person — that is, until you realize that your cute Bumble date is the life of the party.

blemished skin | yamaguchi tadashi

➢ when the lighting in your hotel bathroom leaves you defeated over your blemished skin, your long-term boyfriend is quick to hold you amidst your insecurities.

job interview | kozume kenma

➢ editing video tutorials for a urinalysis company wasn't exactly your dream job. luckily, your former coworker has a solution involving a certain youtube sensation.

grand opening | miya osamu

➢ long-time friend and soon-to-be restaurant owner miya osamu asks you to be the event planner for the single-most important evening of his career. no pressure.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

BUT, I LOVE IVY.

( 𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖨𝖫𝖤𝖱𝖲 ) !?

pairings ⸺Poison Ivy x Batsis! Fem! Reader

(Slight) Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader

This is a Headcanon!

sinopsis ⸺ When you left home, your whole life began to take on color. It wasn't an immediate change, more like those afternoons when the sun sets slowly, painting the walls with a golden light. You didn’t have a great job, you were barely getting by with what you earned, and the apartment you found had more cracks than solid walls. But somehow, none of that seemed to matter.

What filled you was freedom, that new feeling of not owing anyone an explanation. And then, there was her. Pamela, with her easy laughter and restless gaze that always seemed to be searching for something, found you. You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, she became the center of your small universe.

You didn’t need anything else. Her gestures filled the voids, her presence taught you to enjoy the silences. She wasn’t perfect, nor did she pretend to be. And maybe that’s what captivated you, that sincerity she had when she let her words fall, without disguising them. Life wasn’t easy, but with Pamela, the complications seemed less important, as if the chaos in which you lived became a soft melody, one you only understood when she was near.

After all, you were free, and you had her. And that, you thought, was enough.

warnings ⸺ Fluff, Girls Kissing, Dark Themes, Dead,Religion, murdering, Disturbing Content, Discrimination, Street Fights, Suicide, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, NSFW, Sexual Content, Smut, Addiction, Trauma, Phobias.

A/N ── Here’s a headcanon of Ivy x S/O because I saw that you liked it, and since things are going to take a darker turn in the next part of Silly Little Bat, there won’t be time for romance and all that, just pure angst. This is a little gift for all your support, and thank you for encouraging me. Marceline loves you ♡

Two hearts on the floor.

One Mine,

Both Yours ♡

When you and Pamela met, you had just left the nest and were trying to become independent with trembling hands but a heart full of enthusiasm. You had landed a job at a nightclub, Super Babes, where the owner, after examining you closely, insisted that you looked like Batgirl. Without asking many questions, you found yourself wrapped in a cape and tight mask. "It's the uniform," he told you with a smile that tried to be convincing. "You'll get used to it."

What you didn't get used to were the long nights, the incredibly uncomfortable heels, and the salary that barely covered rent. No matter how kind your coworkers were and how punctual the boss was with paychecks, the math didn’t lie: sooner or later, you were going to fall behind on rent. The landlord, a man with a furtive gaze and hands always too busy on his belt, only heightened the feeling of suffocation.

The solution came with the idea of finding a roommate. After a couple of failed encounters with people who smelled like trouble or, at best, minor inconveniences, Pamela appeared.

The door opened, and she stepped in with the same calm one has when entering a private garden. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty, although, according to her, "she had just recently been reborn." When she said that, you took it as a metaphor. Later, you would realize that with Pamela, it was almost never about metaphors.

"I like the place" she said, surveying the tiny living room with a smile that seemed charmingly sincere to you.

"It has a view of the... street" you replied, trying to compensate for the lack of natural light with your enthusiasm.

She laughed, and you noticed she had an easy laugh, the kind that makes you feel comfortable instantly. Pamela wasn’t the first to respond to the ad, but she was the first decent person. And also the first to make you feel those butterflies you thought were reserved for novels.

Days passed, and gradually, what began as a quiet coexistence transformed into something more. The work nights became less burdensome when you knew that returning home would mean finding Pamela there, with a cup of hot tea in hand and some ironic observation about life. Her voice, her gestures, began to blend into your routine, and the space between you filled with something neither dared to name.

You discovered several things about her, but never in the order you would have expected. It was like finding a novel written on scattered papers, without a clear beginning and too many endings. You learned about her deaths, yes, those that left her with invisible but deep scars, caused by the betrayal of those she once called companions and, more cruelly, by human hands, those fragile hands that paradoxically carried infinite violence. She confessed to you that this life, the one she shared with you, would be her last. There would be no more resurrections, no more spectacular rebirths under fiery skies or endless vines. This life, she said, she wanted simple, almost vulgar: to be an average citizen, nothing more, nothing less.

And then it was her turn. She also learned things about you. Not everything, of course, but enough to look beyond your sporadic smiles. She knew, for example, that you had been abandoned by your adoptive family, left adrift in a house too big for your small hands. She knew about your degrees, yes, those that hung on the walls like empty trophies. She knew about your skills, those that alternated between the delicate and the violent: the dexterity of your hands, the music that flowed from your fingers, and the echo of combat that marked your skin like a second score. She also knew about your unusual desire: you wanted a bat as a pet, something as solitary as you, something that didn’t need the sun to live. And above all, she knew you didn’t want children, never, because your childhood had been too long a scar, one you didn’t wish to replicate in another life.

You both shared secrets like one drops breadcrumbs in the forest, knowing that in the end, neither would seek the way back.

Summer arrived, bringing with it a warmth on Gotham’s nights that didn’t seem to belong. As if the city, always shrouded in shadows, allowed for a moment the air to be filled with laughter and light-hearted jokes. You went for walks in the park, trying to match your pace to hers while the world continued its course around you, oblivious to the little bubble that seemed to envelop you when you were with Pamela.

But the spell broke, as it often did, abruptly. Two boys crossing the opposite path looked at you with that disdain that can only be understood from ignorance. “Look, more generic lesbians” one said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Damn, the other one looks like her sugar baby." Your heart sank with a dull thud, an echo of old fears that you could never quite bury.

Pamela noticed instantly, her attention as subtle and sharp as leaves in the wind. Without saying anything, she took your hand with a firmness that held you, not just physically, but emotionally. Her smile appeared, scornful, a gesture stronger than any word. She knew, she had always known, that you weren’t quite used to dating girls, much less with boys looking on from their comfortable blindness. She understood that every stranger's glance was for you an ajar door to the past, to that corner where doubts flourished like weeds.

But for Pamela, weeds were just another form of life. And with a gentle flick of her fingers, vines surged from the ground like green serpents, wrapping around the boys' feet and dragging them away without fuss, as if the very earth were reclaiming them.

"Wow" she said with a barely perceptible smile as she guided you toward a nearby ice cream cart.

She bought you an ice cream, one of those ridiculously themed ones, a "bat-cream" that seemed a gentle mockery of the bat that hovered over your life. And as you licked it distractedly, you felt the pressure in your chest slowly fade, swept away by the sweet taste and the comforting sensation of her hand still intertwined with yours.

Christmas was a revelation. Not because it was a holiday in itself— you had always been indifferent to those blinking lights and persistent carols— but because it was the first time you truly felt that love was not merely a concept written in books or whispered in songs, but something you could touch, almost feel, in every little gesture of Pamela, or rather, Pam, or Ivy, as she insisted you call her. And you, with that mix of disbelief and happiness that overwhelmed you, discovered in her something you struggled to find anywhere else in the world: refuge.

That Christmas also came with a kind of unexpected family. Harleen, who had recently left behind the clown prince of crime, appeared one afternoon like a whirlwind of laughter and jokes, treating you like a little sister from the very first moment. "You know, I had a hyena, did I tell you? I named it Bruce. After the hot playboy in the magazines. Is he your dad? You have to introduce me!" she said amidst laughter, and the remark drew a chuckle from you. There was something ironic and sweet about the most chaotic woman in Gotham making those kinds of absurd connections.

Selina was different. Her arrival was stealthy, like the shadow cast by a feline before it strikes, but there was no attack. On the contrary, from the moment she crossed the threshold, she looked at you with an almost maternal softness. "I met your mother," she said at some point during the night while cradling a glass of wine, and you could barely process those words. You didn’t ask more; it wasn’t necessary. In that gaze, you knew everything. Selina adopted you without saying it, with that blend of authority and tenderness that only she could conjure.

And then there was Pamela. Your Pam. Your Ivy. She was the center around which everything revolved. In those cold, bright days, everything in her presence felt perfect, a secret choreography only you could understand. She would kiss you before you left for work, always soft but with the promise of something more, something waiting for your return. And when you came back, there she was, dinner ready, always with a sermon on the wonders of protein and how vicious herbivores were. "They're worse than carnivores" she insisted with a smirk. "Grass-eaters are no better than hunters. Just trust me."

She stayed with you through every emotional crisis without fuss, without grand dramatic gestures; she simply was, and her presence made the shadows dissipate, as if her mere existence in your life was enough to bring order to your internal chaos. And she, for her part, found you fascinating. She adored you, in a way that was almost reverential, as if you were that little Bat she never thought she would love. She called you that, "my Bat," with a mix of tenderness and mischief. She knew you were small, tiny, fragile in appearance, but beneath that shy surface, she found something that intrigued her, a strength that made you unique in her eyes.

"I love you" she told you one night as she watched you from across the room, a barely formed smile on her lips. "You're so shy... but there's something in you that could change the world if you set your mind to it." And it wasn’t an empty declaration. She, more than anyone, could see what others didn’t.

Pamela didn’t just adore your shyness. She adored you, in all your forms, in your doubts, in your small acts of bravery, in every instance you faced the world and returned to her, seeking refuge.

Despite the happiness, Gotham was not always a kind place. During an outing to a music festival, the two of you became the subject of uncomfortable stares and whispers behind your backs.

However, those moments of mockery were followed by nights of hugs and laughter on the sofa, where you both sat together watching movies while you tried to find comfort in the stories of heroines who saved the world.

Life went on, and although there were moments of joy, there was something in the air that was changing. When you turned 19, you began to feel restless. One night, you went out to work, as always, with your heart full of love for Pamela and the promise of a future together. But that night, everything changed. The city was dark, and the fog seemed to have a life of its own, wrapping around you in its icy embrace.

Days and weeks passed. Pamela tried to contact you, but there were no signs of you. Desperate, she began searching for you all over Gotham, consulting her friends, Harleen and Selina. However, each attempt to find you turned into frustration and anger.

When things grew darker, Pamela became hysterical. The idea of losing you consumed her mind. But her methods were aggressive, and every lead she followed turned into a dead end.

One night, in her frenzy, Pamela confronted Batgirl, better known to you as Cassandra Cain, trying to get answers. But her erratic behavior led Batgirl to take drastic measures, and without knowing that Pamela was only searching for her sister, she put her in Arkham. The doors closed behind her, and as she fought against anxiety, the question kept echoing in her mind: where were you?

Fate had played a cruel card. While Pamela faced her own prison, you remained lost somewhere in Gotham, the echo of her name resonating in your mind like a siren's song you could not answer.

On Monday night, there was something different, a pause in the routine that allowed you to breathe more slowly. You had finished early, which was almost a luxury in Gotham. Sitting on the couch, with a forgotten tea on the table and a movie that Harleen had recommended—a romantic comedy directed by Jamie Babbit—you let yourself get carried away by the light dialogue, although you remembered the name of the director more than the plot itself. The dark green nightgown you had found at the bottom of the drawer seemed like the perfect choice for that night of respite, an old lace that had survived the test of time, as if its wear carried with it a hint of nostalgia.

"You dressed to tease me" Pamela had once said, half-laughing and half-serious, when she saw you in that garment that, in her eyes, had a spell to it. The truth was that you hadn’t planned it; that night you just wanted to be comfortable, to sink into the softness of the couch and the lethargy of the movie, but Ivy's words always lingered in the air, as if she knew something that you barely sensed.

You were halfway through the movie when you heard the familiar sound of the door opening. Ivy walked in, and the weariness on her shoulders was visible from the threshold. She moved with that natural elegance she had, but there was something heavier in her stride. Then you saw it, the bruise that hinted at her cheek, diffuse, like a shadow that had misplaced itself. You knew what it meant: another day in Gotham, another confrontation, another battle against something or someone. And yet, she said nothing, as if the pain were part of the atmosphere, something mundane that didn’t deserve to be named.

"Tough day?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence she had brought with her. Pamela didn’t respond immediately. She let herself fall beside you on the couch, her warmth enveloping you instantly. Her eyes, always green and alive, roamed you from head to toe, a spark ignited at the corner of her lips.

"Not more than usual," she finally murmured, with that mixture of weariness and desire you recognized so well. "But you... you make everything feel better." Her fingers brushed the edge of your nightgown, just a gesture, but enough to change the tone of everything in the room.

The bruise on her cheek did not diminish her strength in the slightest. On the contrary, there was something in that small imperfection that made her seem even closer, more tangible, as if for a moment, the green goddess she was had allowed herself to be human too. Her fingers slid down your arm, soft, but with the firmness you always knew would come, like vines seeking to wrap around every corner. The air grew dense, and the movie became a distant murmur, lost among the shadows of the room.

"Do you know you drive me crazy with that nightgown?" she said, leaning toward you, her voice low and husky, as if dragging behind it the echo of a desire she had been holding back all day.

"Like this?" you replied, trying to sound innocent, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Her hands were already on your waist, drawing slow circles, and the skin under the lace seemed to awaken at the touch, as if that caress were an order your body could not refuse.

Pamela smiled at you, that smile she reserved only for moments like this, intimate, private, where the masks fell away and what remained was just the shared desire. She leaned you toward her, and her warm breath mingled with yours, a barely perceptible space between both bodies.

The bruise on her cheek, the battles of the day, all of that faded when her lips touched yours, soft but urgent, as if in that kiss she wanted to reclaim lost time, the hours when she hadn’t had you close. Her hands moved with an almost mathematical precision, knowing exactly where to touch, where to press, how to make every inch of your skin respond to her will.

"You don’t know how much I needed this" she whispered against your mouth, her voice laden with a vulnerability she didn’t often show. And you, tangled in her warmth, in the weight of her body against yours, knew there was no place in the world you would rather be.

The green nightgown had fallen into oblivion, like words fall away when what matters is the language of bodies, that secret language that is spoken without being said. The whole world reduced to the space you shared, to the softness of her fingers gliding with deliberate slowness, as if each touch were a note lingering in the air. The movie, the hours passed, the murmur of Gotham outside, all dissolved into the present, into the synchronized breathing you shared, into the soft moan escaping your lips when her hands found you.

Pamela knew how to move in your body like someone walking in a garden that belongs to her; every touch was a root seeking fertile ground, every kiss, the rain awakening the dormant within you. Her lips found yours at the same rhythm as her fingers, now beyond any fabric, exploring that intimate space only she knew, that only she was allowed to discover. There was no hurry in her movements, because time, in those moments, always played in favor. Each caress, each calculated pressure, was as if she were tracing an invisible map over your skin, and you, lost and found in her hands, could only respond with the silent surrender of one who neither knows nor wants to resist.

Your legs, slightly apart, invited her to continue, to mark her territory in every corner of your body. The soft brush of her fingers on your swollen lips felt like a promise, a promise you knew she would keep, and your hands, now on her neck, tangled in her red hair, were a call to the depths, to that place where words could not follow. And when her lips parted from yours, just for a second, to gaze at you with that mix of desire and devotion, you knew that in that look was everything you needed to understand.

"Doctor Isley..." you whispered, and in the echo of that name, in the way you pronounced it, there was a surrender she recognized immediately. The smile that appeared on her lips was almost feline, satisfied, as if with that title you gave her something more than your body; you gave her the power to be whoever she wanted to be for you.

"Oh~ I like that," she replied, her voice husky, laden with desire, as her fingers, skillful and sure, began to move with exquisite precision over your core. Each touch, a small fire, each pressure, a promise fulfilled.

The air around you grew denser, as if the heat between you could ignite the room. Your breaths, ragged, mingled with whispers you no longer recognized as yours. You were an extension of her, and she of you, two bodies that recognized each other, that knew exactly how to find each other, how to lose themselves in one another without fear.

Pamela, with her lips tracing your neck, with her warm breath sending shivers down your skin, disarmed you with the ease of someone who has learned to read your silences, to understand your needs before you even did. And you, in that surrender, in that slow but inevitable dance, felt safe.

Her lips, soft as the murmur of leaves in the wind, ventured across your skin, tracing a secret map where each kiss was a promise being fulfilled, slowly, without haste. Each caress, each brush, was a silent pact between two souls that had found each other amid the vast loneliness of Gotham. And you, surrendered, were no more than a whisper in her hands, a murmur that was born and died between her fingers, between her lips.

Pamela descended slowly, with a devotion that made you tremble, her lips drawing invisible paths, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation that coursed through you entirely. There was no urgency in her movements, only a deep love manifesting in every kiss, in every contact that seemed to say: here I am, and here I will stay. Her tongue, like an echo of her soul, found your core, that hidden place you barely knew yourself, and caressed it with the precision of one who knows every secret of your body.

The first touch was soft, almost reverent, like someone caressing a flower that has just opened to the sun. Your legs opened in an invitation that needed no words, and Pamela, with the tenderness she always had, let her mouth delve into you, exploring with infinite patience. Her tongue, which seemed to paint entire landscapes on your skin, touched you where you needed it most, with that mix of desire and tenderness only she could offer.

Every movement was a symphony, a perfect note resonating in every fiber of your being. Your body, still inexperienced in that type of pleasure, responded with little spasms, as if you were learning to feel for the first time. And amid that joy, amid the sighs and tremors, there was something deeper, something beyond desire: a fondness that enveloped everything, a certainty that in those moments you were hers, and she, without saying it, also belonged to you.

Pamela was not rushing; she knew true pleasure was not just about the body but the soul connecting in those moments of deep connection. Each time her tongue sank into you, each time her lips brushed your skin, you felt something beyond physical pleasure: you felt the love of a woman who knew you, who cared for you, and who, in that moment, loved you in a way you had never experienced before.

Your hands, trembling, clutched at her hair, as if seeking to anchor yourself to reality amid that sea of sensations. And as the rhythm of her caresses increased, as the pleasure grew within you, you knew that in that instant there was nothing else in the world. Just you, just her, and the love unfolding in whispers and soft moans.

It wasn’t just her tongue making you tremble; it wasn’t just the pleasure coursing through you in increasingly intense waves. It was the way she looked at you between each kiss, as if you were the only thing that truly mattered.

Your body shook, and the world faded away in a silent explosion, a cascade of sensations enveloping you completely. There were no words, just the echo of your ragged breathing and the warmth of her mouth still on you, claiming every part of that climax that overflowed you. Pamela, attentive, savored your ecstasy with the same devotion that had brought you there, collecting every little tremor, every sigh that escaped your lips.

Her eyes looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness, and you, with your heart still racing, knew that this was the closest thing to a confession of love you could have in that moment. Pamela loved you in that shared silence, in the brush of her skin against yours, in the way her tongue had traced a path to the deepest part of you.

But you couldn’t let the moment end just in your satisfaction. With a slow, almost feline movement, you slid between her arms and gently pushed her onto the couch, your hands already seeking the curve of her waist, the firmness of her hips. Pam looked at you with that gaze of hers, always so confident, but in her green eyes, there was a spark of expectation. She knew what was coming and accepted it with the same tranquility with which nature receives the rain.

Without saying a word, your lips found hers in a deep kiss, filled with that mix of gratitude and desire that now consumed you. Your hands roamed her body, learning her contours, every nook, every curve she allowed you to discover. You moved slowly, following the trail her lips had left on you before, but this time it was your turn to make her tremble, to return everything she had given you.

Your fingers glided over her soft skin, slowly stripping her of any barrier that remained between you. And when your lips reached her core, you paused for a moment, just to look at her, to see how her eyes closed with anticipation, how her lips parted in a sigh you already knew. Nothing more was needed than that gesture. You knew, in that instant, that she too surrendered to you, that she too was giving you something deeper than her body.

You began with a softness you knew she would appreciate. Your lips and your tongue traced slow paths, circles that became more and more precise, as you listened to her little moans, feeling how her body relaxed under your caresses. There was no hurry. The only thing that mattered was that moment, the space between you filled with whispers and shared breaths.

Pamela arched her back, her fingers tangled in your hair, and in that gesture, in the tension of her body, you knew you were bringing her closer to her own limit. And though there were no words, though the silence was only broken by her sighs, love was there, in every touch, in every slow movement of your tongue that made her tremble more and more.

"Y/n..." her voice was barely a whisper, as if saying your name were the only thing she could do at that moment. You needed nothing more. It was the signal you had been waiting for, the last vestige of control she was handing over to you, trusting, surrendering.

You continued, deeper, slower, taking her to that place where words no longer made sense, until finally, with a tremor that coursed through her entire body, Pamela let herself go. Her breathing became erratic, her back arched one last time, and then, amid that silent explosion they shared, you knew that she too had arrived.

When you finally pulled away, you slowly moved up, leaving kisses on her still warm skin, until you reached her face. She looked at you with that tenderness she always had, and without needing to say it, she made you understand that in that instant, in that space of love and pleasure, it was just you and her.

Just you and her in the world.

A/N ─── Bro, it’s super long, don’t mess with me 😭. It’s my first sapphic smut, have some patience! Honestly, I could have made it longer, but I was in panic mode like “Is this too much already?” and I freaked out, haha. This is my little gift for those who ship Poison Ivy x Reader (Silly Little Bat) because, spoiler alert, something not-so-nice is coming soon 👀💔. So enjoy while you can, because things are about to get intense... you better thank me! 😅

Don’t forget, if you want to request something, the shop is open!

Take a bath!

[cinnamoonblue]

Chapter II | The Dot

Summary: One reckless night leads to the biggest and most unexpected change in your life. How will this affect your current life and how you and the charming stranger you met only once will manage to handle the bringing of a new life to this world together is a challenge yet to be discovered. Will you be able to make the right choices while battling your own demons? Who knows, all you must be worried about now is that your period is late...

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader

Supporting characters: Marco, Thatch, Whitebeard, Luffy, Sabo, Nico Robin, Boa Hancock, Isuka

Description: Modern AU | Firefighter Baby Daddy!Ace

WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, NSFW, 18+ only, contains explicit sexual themes and content, use of alcohol, slow burn, conflicted feelings, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, jealousy, suggestive themes, previous toxic relationships, mention of depression, mention/description of pregnancy, strangers to co-parents to lovers, mentions of a lot of anxiety, mentions of cheating, mentions of mental trauma, social anxiety (+ more warnings will be added if needed to)

Additional tags: Reader is super awkward and has social anxiety and low-self esteem but this changes (I don't want to spoil), Ace is emotional invalid when it comes to love, but this also changes (no spoilers)

WORD COUNT: 8,3K

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NOTE: Thank you all for your patience. Thank you also for all the love you showed when I put out chapter one. I know that this chapter is short, but it’s mainly focused of Reader, but next one will be longer. Thank you for reading my stories and being patient with me, more yapping in the end note - enjoy ♡

It has been two days since you found out that you are pregnant and you haven’t told anybody yet. Not even your best friend Boa. You have tried everything in your power in the past two days to ignore everyone and everything in desperate attempts to collect and make up your mind.  

You know what the best solution for this “little” accident is, but you aren’t a hundred percent sure that you want to do this. At least not alone.  

Walking back and forth around your apartment you try to calm yourself down. In an hour you are going for a brunch with Boa and Marguerite, and you are planning to tell them about the little problem you have.  

On top of this mess, you are also in an internal battle with yourself. Should you find your baby daddy? If you are going to abort it, should you let him know? He has the right to know, but… what if he turns out to be pro-lifer? Not like he will stop you from aborting it if you decide to go with this option, but what happens if you find him, tell him and he wants you to keep it? Or worse – what if you decide to keep it and he doesn’t want it? Are you ready for the single mom life? Will you manage as a single mother? 

All these questions have been stuck to your mind on repeat in the past two days and if you don’t speak with someone soon you are going to lose it. That is why you need to share the “exciting” news with your friends and hear their opinion on the matter. They should think more clearly than you are therefore they might give you the answers you are looking for.  

And if they don’t, tomorrow you have your weekly session with your therapist Nico Robin, she must provide the best advice you will need. You hope.  

Dressed up in a pair of dark flare jeans with tight button up white shirt, you put on some jewelleries before taking one last look at yourself before heading to leave your place. Putting on a pair of red kitten high-heels and reaching out for the matching red handbag you lock your place and make your way to the brunch spot Boa has reserved.   

To ease up your very calm nerves, the universe, of course it is on your side, decides to stick you up in the traffic jam. Reaching for your phone you send a quick message to your group chat that you would be late a few minutes and that they should go in without you and you will meet them there.  

Thankfully the parking spots next to the restaurant are free and at least for this your nerves are speared.  

Taking a deep breath in, you stop the car and look yourself up in the rare mirror. “Why?” The question comes out with a sigh, and it is towards yourself and the universe. Why you ended up pregnant after the only night you let yourself be wild and spontaneous in years? This must be some very sick joke life is throwing at you.  

Grabbing your bag, you leave the car and lock it, making your way inside.  

You have been to this place before. It is a well know brunch spot for the upper-class people around the city. The type of place where you pay ridiculous price for an avocado toast and poached eggs, but neither you nor your friends complain about it. After all, you all work hard and make quite a lot of money to effort nice things in life.  

Walking in further into the restaurant where the indoor garden is, you see your friends sitting and chitchatting around one of the nicely put round tables. The place is very cozy and nice, with big windows walls surrounding it, the sun shining outside lighting up the place. This beautiful, picturesque place is surrounded by different types of flowers and marble statues in between the corners, giving it nicer touch.  

Your kitten heels clicking on the marble floor catches your friends' attention as you get close to them, and Marguerite squeaks with excitement once she sees you. She has been oversea for two months now and she has missed you and Boa a lot. Pushing her chair, she gets up on her feet and welcomes you in a strong hug. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice comes up muffled as she is rocking you from side to side in her strong grip.  

Marguerite is probably your second-best friend after Boa. She knows about you as much as Boa does, but still Boa has been the one who has been there for you since day one. Marguerite has come around your college years. Her bright uplifting personality has made you and Boa getting her into your inner circle and since then you three have become inseparable.  

Dressed in a leopard halterneck top and long white tailored pants with a black belt around her waist, Maggie, as you two call her for short, is a beautiful tall slender woman with a lighter skin, brown eyes and short cut on bob style blond hair. 

“I’ve missed you, too Maggie.” You tell her pulling away. Before taking your seat around the table, you hug Boa for hello. “I’m sorry, girls. The traffic was awful.” Finally sitting down, you grab the menu in front of you and scanned it with your eyes. Even though you are familiar with it, nothing seems appealing to your stomach.  

The morning sickness has kicked in a week ago, which has been the wakeup call of you finally noticing that you have been late and you have missed your period. The past month you have been so busy with work that when you finally noticed that you are late, you blamed it on stress, and oh boy… how wrong have you been.  

“Don’t worry we waited for you, but we ordered drinks, so you better don’t mind enjoying some nice and cold margaritas.” Maggie shakes her body in a little dance move as a big smile spreads across her face.  

You wish you could enjoy one, but you can’t. Not while being pregnant, but your friends don’t know this… yet. “Oh, I would love to girls, but I’m driving so I won’t be able to.” Technically you are not lying, you are in fact driving after the brunch is done.  

“What? You’re with your car? I thought you took an uber?” Boa raises one of her eyebrows at you. “Why did you come with the car?”  

You need to think fast, because you can’t tell them the real reason of why you have taken your car instead of an uber. It isn’t because you are a fan of driving in your big city and traffic jams, but because after the brunch you have made an appointment with an obstetrician to check on the fetus and exactly how far along are you. But you can’t tell them that, yet.  

Thankfully the waiter comes to serves your drinks, which saves you a bit more time to think of an excuse of why you are with your own car. “Have you ladies decided what would you like to eat?” The waiter politely smiles at you.  

Both Boa and Marguerite tells him their orders and hand back the menus and now it is only you left to order. Scanning the menu one more time you choose the thing that seems the least likely to cause any nauseous or at least if it does you hope it will be just the feeling of it, and you wouldn’t need to run to the toilet to puke.  

“Also, could you please take this away?” You hand him one of the glasses filled up with the alcohol cocktail. “My friends didn’t know that I’m driving, so I must give it back to you. I’ll take water instead.” He just nods with a polite smile and walks away.  

“So… where are you going afterwards?” Boa doesn’t waste any second to shoot her question at you. 

Shrugging with one shoulder, trying to hide your internal panic you clear your voice before answering her. “I have a doctor appointment.”  

“What? Are you okay?” Placing her hand gently on top of yours, Marguerite’s big brown eyes shoot you a worried look.  

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Placing your other hand on top of hers, you give her a gentle squeeze. “It’s just a regular check-up.”  

Again, you are not lying. You are just saving some details, is what you are saying to yourself, easing your guilt a bit. You don’t like lying to your friends and you hope they won’t ask any more questions related to this.  

“Oh, okay. Regular check-ups are important. I just got scared that it’s something serious.” Taking her hand away she puts it on her chest where her heart is and relax, hearing that you are fine and nothing is wrong with you.  

The conversation starts to flow naturally again, with mostly Boa and Marguerite talking about their recent trips and gossips in your life. Your food has come as well, but you barely touch it. Too nervous of what it is coming next, your stomach is on a tight knot.  

How do you tell your friends that you are knocked up? ‘Hey, girls. Sorry for interrupting. By the way, I’m pregnant and also, I have no idea where or how to find the guy who knocked me up, but hey Boa please tell me again about the mind-blowing sex you had with this rich old money boy you met in Paris?’ Yes, this is definitely not how you bring this up.  

This doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends at all. Yes, in the past few years you have gotten quieter than what you used to be, but today something is really bothering you. You barely indulge in the conversations; your food is untouched and all you do is drinking water and looking like you are about to throw up any second now.  

“Okay, missy.” Boa has had enough. Clicking with her fingers in front of your face to get your attention you turn to her. “Speak up.”  

“What?” You look at her with a bit of fear and surprise. “What’s wrong?”  

“Something with you obviously.” Boa chuckles, crossing her arms across her chest, leaning on the back of the chair, her eyes pierced on you.  

Seeing how stiff you get, Marguerite steps in. “Boa.” She shushes her with a deadly glance. “She is obviously not feeling good today.” Looking now at you she gives you a sympathetic smile. “What’s wrong (Y/N)?”  

Your eyes are shifting from side to side between your friends. How do you tell them?  

Taking a deep shaky breath in, you bite the insides of your cheeks before slowly gaining the courage to speak up. “Um… you remember the guy I told you I slept with like a month ago?”  

“The firefighter with the magic dick?” Boa chuckles mocking, referring to the time when you described him and his dick as the most magical thing that has happened to you in years.  

Marguerite hushes Boa one more time, as your best friend has no shame about what comes from her mouth nor where she is when it comes.  

“Yes, that one.” You close your eyes and your whole face squeezes from embarrassment when the memories of what you have done starts playing in the back of your mind. 

“What about him? Did he find you? Oh my, are you two seeing each other?” Maggie excitedly throws questions at you as her whole face lights up.  

“No, nothing like this.” You shake your head, looking down at the plate in front of you to avoid your friends' curious gazes, but the sight of the food is making you nauseous.  

“If she was seeing him, she would have been excited, don’t you think Maggie?” Rolling her eyes at the blonde, Boa then looks back at you. “What about him?”  

The cold harsh tone in her voice is not helping, but you need to get this out of your chest and with your friend’s patience being far away from a big one, you need to do it now. “Well… you girls remember how I told you that recently I’m not feeling good right? It has something to do with that night I spent with him…”  

A loud gasp comes from Marguerite as she covers her mouth with her hands. “No way! Did he give you some disease? Chlamydia? Or worse HIV? Are you going to be okay?” Her eyes are full of terror.  

“I’m honestly not surprised. I’ve told you that he didn’t give me the look of a decent man.” Boa comments with a knowing and a bit judging click of her tongue.  

“You never said that.” Turning your head at her, you give your friend an angry look, the tone of your voice sharp and harsh, matching hers. “And he was very decent, Boa. Even for only a one-night stand, he has treated me way better than most of the men in my life ever did.” This is enough of a painful realisation for you and last thing you need is your best friend judging you.  

Silence takes over your table. None of you saying anything before you finally spilled it out. “I’m pregnant.” The words come out so quietly that none of your friends manage to hear it nor processed it.  

“Say that again?” Boa leans closer and so does Maggie.  

“I said that I’m pregnant…” You say once again with trembling voice.  

Both of your friends are in shock and frozen on their seats. This is the last things they have been expecting to hear from you. You don’t dare to look at any of them. You are fully aware of the judgment they might have written all over their face or worse – they are pitying you, and you want none of it.  

Marguerite is the first one to break the silence this time. “Do you plan to keep it?” Her voice is gentle, zero judgment can be heard in it, but there is quite lot of empathy in it.  

Before you can even take a breath to answer, Boa jumps in quickly. “Of course, not. She must be mad crazy if she decides to keep the little parasite.”  

Boa has never been a fan of children. She has made the choice that she wants to be child free from a very young age and made sure this would never happen to her. Your friend view kids as nothing more but little demons who are running and destroying the peace of the adults around. You will never catch her in a place where children are allowed. This is how much she cannot stand them.  

“Boa, I didn’t ask you and don’t call it a parasite, because it’s not.” Marguerite scolds her across the table. She has always been a gentle soul and a big empath, and having her here right now is one of the biggest blessings in life you can get.  

Reaching out with her arm, she places it on your shoulder, which gives you a bit of a strength to speak up. “I’m… I’m not entirely sure.”  

“The fuck you mean you’re not entirely sure?” Boa raises her sharp dark brows up as she places her hands loudly enough on the table, causing the people sitting at the tables close to you throwing some glances at your direction. “What you want to keep some random man sperm and grow it? You want to be a single mother? Is this what you’re not entirely sure about?”  

“Boa, watch your tone and language.” Maggie hisses at her with anger.  

“I’m not watching shit.” Boa spats back. “If she is actually crazy enough and not go for an abortion, I’ll not stand by and watch her waste her life and potential away.” She says, finger pointing at you.  

“How is being a mother a waste of life, when in fact they are the ones bringing one?” The blonde sitting opposite of her argues. “And for God’s sake, let her speak.” Maggie then turns her attention to you. “Don’t listen to her. Tell us what you plan to do and we-” She gives Boa one more deadly look. “We will listen and be there for you, no matter what your decision is.”  

A makeshift of a laughter comes from Boa, but she decides to not say anything as she needs to calm down and hear you first. Maybe you may come back to your senses.  

“Thank you, Maggie.” You nod and give her a small tight-lipped smile. “I’m not sure if I want to keep it or not, but I know that the most logical thing to do in this situation is to abort it, so I’m planning to go with it.” Glancing at Boa, you can still feel the judgement written on her face. “That is why I have an appointment with an obstetrician today. She will run some test, see how far along I am, and if my calculations are correct, I must be around five weeks pregnant. From there I must decide what to do next, which I think I’ve already had my mind set on.”  

“Look whatever you’ll decide, we got your back.” Maggie takes your hand in hers and gives it a squeeze.  

Glancing at Boa once again, all she does is a slight nod. Hearing that you plan to get rid of it, gives her some hope that you are not crazy enough to actually keep it.  

A small smile appears on your face. “Thank you.” You quietly tell them.  

Taking her hand away from yours, Marguerite uncomfortably shifts her body on the chair, not knowing what the best way is to word her next question, but she must ask. Saying your name softly to get your attention she sighs. “What about the guy?”  

You know what Maggie means by that. You have been asking yourself the same question.  

“What about him? He doesn’t need to know shit nor if he does, he has any saying in what she will do. Her body her choice.” Boa jumps in again.  

“Of course, Boa. I agree with you that it’s her body and her choice, but he has the right to know.” Maggie tries to explain, aware that Boa will not agree with her.  

“Well, none of this would have happened if he knew how to pull out in the first place.” Boa chuckles with a roll of her eyes.  

As much as Marguerite doesn’t like how Boa words her comment, she does say something that catches her attention. “Ignoring how bitchy Boa is today-” This remark makes Boa gasps, but your friend ignores her. “Didn’t you say, you two used a condom? I know that they are not a hundred percent safe, but still. Do you think he has also realised that it broke mid act or…?”  

Shaking your head, you shrug. “I’m not sure nor will I know.”  

“I understand.” Marguerite gives you a small understanding smile. “But still, do you plan to find and tell him?”  

“I thought about it, and I know I should, but I’m also afraid.” Reaching with your hand you grab the glass of water in front of you and take a sip of it. “I’m also not sure how to find him. I have a vague memory his name, but if I do see him, I will immediately recognise him, but that is all.”  

“Boa, do you know by any chance in which fire station these guys worked at?” Marguerite doubts that Boa will remember but it is worth the shot.  

Shaking her head, Boa sighs. “I didn’t even bother to ask because I would have never guessed that we would need it.”  

“What if you go around and ask for him? He will be working in one of them.” Maggie awkwardly shrugs.  

“Even if I do this, they will not give me a personal information like this one so easily if the reason is not good enough.” Leaning on the back of the chair you lift your hands in the air as frustration towards yourself and the guy starts to build. “On top of it, do you know that there are a hundred and six fire stations in the city? Hundred and six! When I looked it up, I thought to myself – ‘Well, they shouldn’t be more than what thirty?’. But no, of course not, there must be hundred and six.”  

None of your friends say anything as they can see how stressful this whole situation is for you.  

“Maggie, do you have any friends that work as firefighters or know some who does?” Boa, for a first time since she has heard the news, asks calmly.  

“No, I don’t think so.” The blonde woman responds. “I’m trying to think of someone, but no one comes up in my mind.”  

With a nod, Boa turns to you and takes your hand in hers. “Hey.” She says more encouraging. “We’ll find him, even if we must go to all hundred and six fire stations, he won’t be impossible to find.” 

Looking at her, a smile is placed across her beautiful face. A smile that says – ‘Don’t worry we got your back.’, which makes you relax, because despite what the mess is you are into, your friends always got your back.  

Keeping your head low as you walk in into the clinic makes you even more nauseous, but thankfully you still haven’t had the need to throw up. Making your way to the information desk, you wait on the queue as there are two people in front of you.  

You have turned down Boa and Maggie’s suggestion to come with you. This is something you want to do by yourself. Something about this first visit feels extremely personal for you, and you want to keep it that way – you, the doctor and … your baby.  

Your baby – it sounds so strange. Since you have found out about its existence, you even avoid thinking of it as a baby let alone call it one. You are not one of those who believes that this is a human yet, but now standing here in front of the clinic reception the reality of it is slowly settling in you.  

Something has started to grow in you. Something you have always wanted, but not under these circumstances. Despite how wild you used to be, how career oriented you are, you have always wanted to have your own family, but you wanted to do it the right way; you meet the love of your life, you then become a couple for a few years, get engaged, get married, have your honeymoon and then you make the baby. Not make the baby and then the other things to follow, or worse - they never following.  

Lost in your thoughts you haven’t released that you are standing in the middle of the information desk with eyes fixed on the floor and head hanged low, until the woman behind the desk calls for your attention. “Miss, is everything okay?”  

Snapping out of your thoughts, you shake your head to come to your senses and take a step closer to the desk. “Yes, I’m sorry.” You murmured, your voice trembling from all the stress. “Hello, I have an appointment with Doctor Belladonna.”  

With a short nod of her head, the woman at the desk asks for your name and personal number and you quickly pull out your id card, not wanting to speak up as you can’t find your voice. She takes the id card from you and types in all the information she needs. Giving it back to you she tells you where to go and wait for the nurse there to call you.  

Walking to the elevator you press the button to the third floor. The doors close and after just a few seconds open again. Stepping out of the elevator you take a left turn and start walking down the hallway. The walls are painted in a light green colour; chairs are placed next to each door of every doctor's room and there are a few people sitting around and waiting for their appointments.  

You find where Doctor Belladonna room is, and you take a seat in one of the empty chairs. There is one woman before you with a small but prominent pregnancy belly showing and a little boy, who seems no older than four years old, who she tries to make stay still, so it must be her son. The little boy obviously doesn’t want to sit around and wait for his mother, but he has no choice.  

Your leg is bouncing on the ground as your stress level is starting to grow with every passing seconds. Maybe you should have let Boa and Maggie come with you.  

A little pocking on your hand makes you look to the side, and you see the little boy looking at you with curiosity. “Why is your leg shaking so much?” Kids. They have no sense of privacy therefore being honest and straightforward is one of their many charms.  

His mother gasps and apologise to you as she scolds the boy, but he protests. “But mommy, her leg is super shaky. Maybe she is cold.” This melts your heart. Kids are so pure, they have no idea what stress or worry are, so of course this boy pure little heart thinks that you are just cold.  

The mother looks at you with apologetic look. “I’m so sorry.” She tells you, but you give her a small smile and wave with your hand.  

“It’s fine. He doesn’t bother me at all.” Looking at the boy you smile at him.  

“Are you cold?” He asks once again.  

Shaking your head you give him a bigger smile. “No, I’m not. But thank you for checking on me.”  

“Then why is your leg shaking?” His voice full of curiosity as he points with his little finger at your bouncy leg.  

“I’m just nervous.” You tell him.  

“Why?” You can’t help but giggle at his adorable face. Kids are always full of questions.  

“Because I’ve never been to such doctor before and I’m a little afraid, that’s why my leg is bouncing so much.” You explain to him, and his face immediately lights up.  

“Oh, I understand now.” He claps with his hands. “It’s like when I go to the bad doctor, the one with the big needles and every time before mommy and daddy drive me there my tummy hurts, and I want to poop.” Seeing him and the way he shakes his little head and grabbing his stomach from the memory of the ‘bad’ doctor a soft light laughter escapes your lips. “Are you also having a baby in your tummy like my mommy?” His big Bambi-like eyes fill with excitement as he gently places his hand on your stomach, making your heart skips a beat.  

Seeing what her child has done and where his little hand is placed, his mother pulls him away. “Michael, what have I told you about touching people without permission?”  

“That it’s bad and I should always ask.” The little boy voice fills with guilt. “I’m sorry for touching your belly without permission.” He tells you; a sad pout placed on his adorable little face.  

“It’s alright, Michael. That is your name, right?” The small boy nods eagerly. Giving him your hand for a shake, he takes it, and you tell him yours.  

He repeats your name and shoots another question. “Do you have more babies?”  

You shake your head. “No, just this one.” With a smile you run your hand gently over the bottom of your stomach but freezes the moment you realise what you are doing. Since you have found out that you are pregnant you never smile at the thought of it, nor run your hands over your stomach so lovingly.  

“I was my mommy’s first baby, and now we are going to have a second baby. I hope he is a boy because I want a brother. What is your baby?” The little boy next to you eagerly asks, his face blooming with excitement.  

Still shocked by what you have done, you swallow hard before answering the little kid next to you. “I don’t know.” You really don’t know. Does it even matter? Boy or a girl, you will probably never know. This pregnancy won’t be it anyway. As your best friend has said – you must be mad crazy if you decide to keep it.  

The door of Doctor Belladonna’s room opens and a young short woman step from it, dressed in a light blue nurse uniform. She tells the woman sitting next to you that she will be let in in about two minutes and then she turns to you. “(Y/N), right?” You just nod to her question. “Perfect. I need you to come with me to run some blood test that should be done by the time you meet with Doctor Belladonna, so please may you follow me so we can get them done.”  

Getting up from the chair you follow behind her, but not before telling the little boy and his mother goodbye, as you are not sure if they will be here once you come back.  

The nurse is very gentle with you. You don’t feel any pain or discomfort as she runs the test. She also takes your measurements and weight as she needs to fill quite lot of information about you and your medical record to make Doctor Belladonna works faster and easier.  

“Okay, we are done here. You can go back and when your time comes, I’ll call for you.” She smiles at you and then disappears, leaving you alone. 

Making your way back you bump into someone you wish you would have. Kalifa. An old classmate of you and Boa, which you two could not stand. She has always been a mean girl, especially towards you. Why of all places you happen to meet her here?  

“Wow, (Y/N). What a strange coincidence. What are you doing here?” She runs her eyes up and down your body, scanning it for any flaws.  

“Kalifa.” You fake a smile. “Yes, what a coincidence. What are yo-” Finally looking her up and down, your eyes land on the ultrasound pics she is holding in her hands. Well, guess you aren’t the only one knocked up. By the looks of it she is still quite early, as the belly is not visible at all and her body is still toned up and nice. “Congratulations.” You nod at her, now more politely.  

“Thank you.” She says with a cocky smile as she tosses her long blond hair to the side. “It’s so hard being in the fifth month you know.”  

Your eyes widen and you blink in disbelief. Fifth month? And she is as skinny and toned as she has always been? God does have favourite after all.  

“What about you?” She raises one of her thin eyebrows up. Next thing she does is mentioning your ex’s name and your blood runs cold. “Didn’t know you two are still together, I swear I heard you two broke up. Guess, babies do fix some relationships.”  

“We’re not together.” You harshly reply. “Nor am I pregnant. I’m here with a friend of mine. She should be out soon.” Kalifa is one if the last people you will let making fun of you, especially after all the things you have been through.  

“Whatever. My husband is waiting for me.” Raising her hand up, she shows you a big diamond rock placed on her index finger with a beautiful weeding band under it. “What can I say, some of us are lucky, aren’t we?” She gives you one last mocking smile, and walks pass you, her high heels clicking on the floor.  

Frozen in the middle of the hallway the doctor’s door open and the nurse from earlier calls out your name. “You can come in.” She says and gets back inside.  

Swallowing hard you just nod. Seeing Kalifa might be for good. A reminder that you don’t want this. A reminder that things should be happening a certain way. In a way that you have always wanted it.  

Stepping into the doctor’s room, she meets you with a warm smile. Doctor Belladonna is said to be one of the best obstetricians in the city, known for taken an exceptional care of her patients and aways deliver healthy babies. You won’t be needing her for that long, but you still want to be taken care of in the best way possible.  

She stands up to meet and greet you, as she stretches her hand for you in a handshake. She is a bit taller than you, dark haired and with quite sharp and prominent cheekbones. Big round and pink glasses are placed on top of her head.  

“Please take a seat.” She says and gestures with her hand towards the bed attached to ultrasound machine. You nod and take a seat at the edge of it.  

Looking around the room while she looks at your test results, your anxiety is starting to peek up. There are many posters of pregnant women or mothers with big smiles holding their babies, which only makes the situation for you worse.  

Your leg starts once again to bounce, and you grab a strand of your hair in attempt to distract yourself.  

Taking a seat on the small chair with wheels attached on the bottom of it, Doctor Belladonna moves closer to you as she crosses one leg over the other and looks at you with a smile still placed on her face. Her eyes shift between you and then the papers with the results in her hands she finally speaks up.  

“Well, (Y/N), one thing I can confirm is that you are pregnant.”  

This much you know. After all, three pregnancy tests with two lines could mean nothing else but a baby, right? A small part of you wished it wasn’t the case, that they were all wrong, but they weren’t. Everything is correct. You are pregnant.  

“By the looks of the blood test, you are healthy, but we still going to check you up with the ultrasound to see if everything with the little one is as well.” She gets up from the chair and turns around to prepare whatever she needs from the machine. “If you may unbutton your pants and lay down.”  

Letting go of your hair, with shaking hands you unbutton the top of your pants and slightly roll them down.  

With her peripheral vision, doctor Belladonna notices your nervousness. She turns around and comes closer to you as she holds a bottle in her hand. “Are you comfortable?” All you do is nod. “Okay. Now relax. Ultrasound is harmless, neither you nor the embryo will fill anything.” She explains as she puts on some gloves and takes the bottle she has been holding and opening it. Squeezing it gently a transparent liquid comes from it. “You might feel a little bit of a chill from the gel, but it will pass in a few seconds.”  

She applies the gel on the bottom of your belly and gently spread it around before turning on the ultrasound and runs it where the gel is. As much as you want to avoid looking at it, you can’t help it, and your eyes are glued to the screen.  

A contented hum comes from the doctor, and she points with her finger at the screen. “You see, there is the embryo.” She looks back at you and smile.  

It is barely visible. It is just a tiny little dot on the dark screen, barely the size of a lentil, but you spot it.  

Doctor Belladonna is talking to you, but you are not really listening. You are lost in your thoughts and not present at all in the room.  

This whole thing terrifies you. The more the doctor next to you talks the more the reality of it all hits you. Your heart is beating fast, and your mouth runs dry. A bit of cold sweat runs down your forehead.  

Eyes still fixed on the screen in front of your face; you can’t move your eyes from the screen and the little dot on it.  

“I can hear a bit of a cardiac pulse.” Doctor Belladonna announces. “Do you hear it as well?”  

Slowly moving your eyes from the screen, you look at the doctor for just a second and then back. Swallowing hard you ask her. “Wait, it has a heart already?”  

A light laughter comes from the woman next to you. “No, it’s a bit too early for the embryo to have a heart, but it’s developing. If you focus and listen you will hear a slight cardiac pulse, which means you’re already six weeks pregnant.” She calmly explains. “Now listen.” 

It is a strange feeling to explain what you felt the moment you hear the sound of the pulse coming from the little dot on the screen. Part of you can listen to it for hours, another part screams at you to come to your senses. This isn’t right. You are not supposed to love or fall for this.  

Pulling the ultrasound away, Doctor Belladonna gives you a few napkins to wipe out the gel from your belly. Once you get all of it away, you button up your jeans and sit up on the bed.  

“There you go.” Doctor Belladonna says as he hands you a picture of the ultrasound. With trembling fingers, you take it and look at it.  

The little dot is there. Barely visible, but the doctor has marked it so you can spot it easier. In the corner of the ultrasound picture is written the date of today, how big the dot is and which week it is.  

Doctor Belladonna can’t ignore your shaken presence anymore and she calls out your name until she gets your attention. “I can’t pretend that I don’t see how shaken and stressed you are.” Her dark brown eyes are full of sympathy. “As a doctor and part of your first exam, I must ask you if you are with an abusive partner or one who might cause you trouble during the pregnancy?”  

Shaking your head you inhale deeply. “No, nothing like this.” It is worse than this, but how you tell someone you just have met that you got knocked up by a stranger whom you have no idea if you will be able to find. “I’m just not sure if I want to keep it. That’s all.”  

Doctor Belladonna nods understandingly. “It’s entirely your choice. If we proceed with abortion, I just advise you to do it as soon as possible due the fact that you’re six weeks pregnant, for your safety I recommend you doing it by latest week nine.”  

Looking at her, you bite the insides of your cheeks. “Do you perform the procedure yourself?”  

“Yes, I do.” She softly smiles. 

Hearing that you are considering ending your pregnancy, Doctor Belladonna explains to you how the procedure goes and why she has advised you to do it by week nine so it can be medically done and not by a surgery. She informs you about the aftermath of the procedure and how long it will take for you to recover.  

Despite all this she proscribes you some pills and vitamins you should take until you make up your mind, in case you want to keep it. You two also agree to speak a week, when you will have a clear answer about what decision you have taken.   

By the time your appointment with her is done, you feel a bit calmer. It is nice to know that it is all up to you whenever or not you will keep the Dot or not. You have made your mind that for now on you will be calling it – the Dot. Calling it a baby feels too scary and calling it an embryo just doesn’t sits right with you. Giving it its small size Dot feels like the perfect name to refer to it.  

Your therapist is quite surprised by the news she hears. Of all the things she has expected to hear today from you, given your tired face, eyes filled with worry and body language screaming anxiety, the last thing she has thought of is the news that you are pregnant.  

“When did you find out?” Nico Robin asks.  

“Three or four days ago. Something like this.” You shrug, wrapping your arms around you, trying to protect yourself from the world around you.  

“Have you checked with a doctor?”  

You nod. “I’m six weeks pregnant.”  

“I assume it’s from the guy you slept with not long ago?” You nod again to her question. “Do you plan to keep it?”  

That is when you cannot hold it anymore and the tears you have been holding for so long starts pouring down your face like a waterfall. “I don’t know.” You say in between sobs. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should get rid of it, because-” Chocking on a sob you press the palms of your hands to your forehead, the tips of your fingers pulling the roots of your hair. “I-I know t-that this is the r-right choice and thing to do-” Another sob tears apart from your chest. “B-but… I-I’m not sure I-I want this.”  

Seeing your current state, Nico Robin puts aside her diary and gets up from her comfortable chair. She sits down next to you on the sofa and wraps her arms around your figure. “It’s fine to feel this way.” She softly says, running her hands up and down your back, trying to calm you dawn a bit. “I can’t imagine how scared you are right now, but I can promise you that your fears and reaction are valid and normal, and I’m proud of you, and how you have managed to handle all of it until now.” She pulls away from you and takes your hands in hers. “Please, focus on me right now and take deep breaths.”  

Robin starts to count from one to ten and lets you know when to inhale and exhale. You are not sure how long you have been doing it, but soon your heartbeat returns to normal, and your tears start to dry.  

“When you feel ready to speak, I’m here and I’m listening.” She gives you some space as she sits back on her chair and patiently waits for you.  

“I don’t know how to find him.” Is all you say.  

“Don’t you remember where he lives?” Robin knows all about your night spent with the nice and charming firefighter you met. She knows how you ran away in the morning and never bothered to get any of his contacts.  

“I don’t.” Looking down at your hands, you grab a strand of your hair and start twisting your fingers around the edge of it. “I ran away and stopped running after four or more streets. I don’t even remember from which street I took the taxi home.”  

The more you remember from that morning the more ashamed and embarrassed you feel. How could you be so stupid that you didn’t even bother to look around where you were? Given the fact how bit the city is, you will probably spend at least two weeks passing by every street for a chance to meet him.  

“I was considering going to every fire station, but they are hundred and six!” You throw your hands in the air in disbelief. “Hundred and six fire stations? Can you believe it? I mean, are there that many fire accidents that happen in this city to need hundred and six fire stations?”  

Running your hand through your hair, you shake your head and sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know if I should tell him.” Looking down, you place your hand on your stomach. “Especially if I decide to end the pregnancy.”  

You can’t help but think of the sound of the pulse of your little Dot. Its little heart is not even developed yet but knowing that soon it will be not just a pulse, but a real heart, makes you want to cry.  

“If you were me…” Your voice is a bit raw and quiet. “Would you have found and tell him?” Glancing with teary eyes at your therapist, you hope she will have the answers you are looking for.  

A deep sigh escapes her chest. She doesn’t know what to tell you, because at the end you are the one who should make the choice. Morally speaking – the right thing to do is to find the guy and let him know that he might be a father, whenever you decide to keep the baby or not. If you have been a hundred percent sure that you will get rid of it, she does not see it as a very bad thing if you never find and tell him, but that is where one of the biggest problem lays in this situation - that you don’t know what you want.  

“Please, Robin.” You and she have been on a first name basis for a long time now. “I beg you, answer me as yourself, not as my therapist.”  

It is easier said than done what you are asking of her. Nodding, Nico Robin takes a deep breath. “I would find and tell him, if I want to keep it and if I am doubting it. I would only not tell him if I was a hundred percent sure that I don’t want the baby.”  

You listen to her and think for a bit. She has a point. But telling him might be risky. “What if I tell him and he doesn’t want me to abort it? Or worse I decide to keep it, and he doesn’t want to even acknowledge it? What if I fail at being a single mother?”  

All the questions and fears you have are valid. Crossing one leg over the other, Robin adjusts the frames of her tin glasses before answering some of your worries. “First of all, no one can say anything regardless your choices especially when it comes to your body and mental health.” The tone of her voice is serious, making sure you understand that no one can make you do something you don’t want to do. “Regarding your worries if he doesn’t want to acknowledge the child and leave you as a single mother, I’m confident enough to say that I think you will be an amazing mother with or without a man next to you. There are many mothers out there that have raised their children alone and they have done it perfectly, so there is no doubt that you can do it, too.”  

You cannot believe that someone like your therapist, Nico Robin, see so much potential in someone like you. “You really think that if I have to raise a child of my own, I will manage it?”  

A gentle smile spread across her beautiful face. “I’m positive that you will.” 

Nodding slowly, you swallow hard. “I know this might sound strange, but do you have any friend working in a fire station department to help me find him?”  

Taking her glasses off, Robin slightly tilts her head up a bit, thinking if she might have any friends or acquaintances working in the fire department of the city. Humming she slowly nods her head. “I think I might have a friend who might help. His name is Franky, he owns a mechanic shop, and if I remember correctly, he made some deal with some of the fire stations in the city to do monthly check-ups on their trucks.” Looking at you, she sees a bit of hope sparkling in your eyes. “Do you remember his name at least?”  

Pressing the pads of your finger on your temple, you try your best to remember his name. It is short and it is not very common, but you have heard it before on other guys as well. “It was something with A…” Getting some of the memories from the night you met the charming man, you try your best to remember. Your eyes shoot open when the memory of you two playing poker pops out. “Ace. His name is Ace.”  

“Are you a hundred percent sure that this is his name?” Robin raises one of her eyebrows at you.  

Nodding eagerly, a big smile grows on your face. “Yes, I’m sure. Because we played poker together and every time, I had an Ace of Space I would make fun of him.”  

“Okay. That is nice that at least we have his name. If you could also remember what he looks like I can tell Franky, and he can ask around for him.”  

You describe the guy and Robin writes it down. She makes the phone call while you are still there and lucky you, she has remembered correctly that her friend has been involved with some of the fire stations in town. Robin is professional enough to not say why she is asking for such a favour of her friend, but he promises her that he will ask around and let her now.  

Now all you must do is wait and see if you will be lucky enough to find your baby daddy this easily.   

END NOTE: I hope you liked this chapter and plan to stick for more. I have so much fun writing this story and I can’t wait to put out more of it for you to read ♡ I know that this was only Reader focused, but in the next chapter you are getting quite lot of Ace so be patient ♡ Also I want to say - I’m all about women making their own choices with their bodies!!! I am a big women rights supporter and having the choice to keep the baby or not for me is entirely up to the woman carrying the baby!!! All feedback is welcomed by me ♡ I appreciate every like, comment, reblog and message from you ♡ Thank you ♡

Taglist - OPEN: @orange-milky @igoontoonepiece @m1kkso @boomboom-tanjiro2019 @aceismyloveforever @firelilyofthevalley @ye-old-hermit-woman @fulltravelerdreamland @ffinosie @sungiebby @mrstraffy @ren-ni @acidblack @certain-tragedies @pmgranate @praline357 @stuckinthewrongworld @hlkenoace @kattywhomper @gojossixtheyes @starsandshht @cruziival72 @choso-ver @lilink @acesluvrxx @no-regrets-just-confusion @purplefluffycows @magicalmatcha

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writing, format, header & dividers © cinnamoonblue fanart by @usa_rinko_ on Twitter/X ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting, oral + face fucking (m receiving), tail play, degradation, crawling, spanking, swallowing, toys, manhandling, pnv

WC: 5.2k

A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol

himbocoups's masterlist

It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion. 

Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face. 

“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”

He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his. 

“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”

As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip. 

“How much do you want me?” 

“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.

He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with. 

So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better. 

You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed. 

“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag. 

He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits. 

Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.  

“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards. 

Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees. 

When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions. 

Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.

He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger. 

“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”

You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.

“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”

You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to. 

Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad. 

He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view. 

“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”

You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press. 

You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth. 

He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.

He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart. 

“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.” 

Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come.”

You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.” 

You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.

When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.

You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it. 

He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on. 

He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.

“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”

“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.” 

Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane. 

“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[lovelyspring7]

Could we pls have a small teaser of the Jin fic?🥺

Cede To Madness | Jin x Reader (Teaser)

Preview: You were never supposed to fall apart. The perfect grades. The perfect future. The perfect, empty life. But perfection has a cost. The pills helped, until they didn’t. Your parents had a solution. Dr. Kim. A composed, disciplined psychiatrist. A man who demands obedience. Because in his world, the only choices that matter are his.

Word count: 25k

Genre: Yandere, Psychological Thriller.

Pairing: Psychiatrist Jin x Bratty University Student (F!Reader), Boyfriend Enhypen Sunghoon (Minor Involvement)

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Yandere, smut (forced orgasm, fingering, edging, spanking, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, praise kink), stalking, obsessive behavior, manipulation, coercion, controlling & emotionally abusive behavior, drugging, substance abuse, forced caretaking, forced dependency, brat-taming, medical control, gaslighting, psychological abuse, unaliveing, blood, panic attacks, 10+ year age gap.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: This is just a small tease for an upcoming fic I’ll be publishing this weekend! If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know! I’m beyond excited for this fic to finally be released, can’t wait to share it with you all!💜✨

Banner Credit: By the amazing, talented, and incredible! @eerieedits

Taglist♡: @jjinnies @princessdamara13 @goldenmidnight @kimlineownsme @noelletruth @minshookie29 @silversparkles11 @diaryofangie19 @loveitc @potaetopic @taehvluv @samanda-18 @kimyoona03 @staycgia @ggggi133 @imarider @jeonsjiddies @carrotandgarlic @btsmysoulmates @kkjagi @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot @sweeth3art999 @babyitscoldoutside @taintaed @lachimolalajeon @eyesforjungkook @kamyyyy @captainengineer-trixie @taekritimin123 @iveivory @llallaaa @mageprincess7 @aphrodijin @youthjeongguk @yluv-damara-13 @koosweats

[pyeongstarr]

⋆°｡⋆♡ Wading In Wait — 최산

♡ˎˊ˗ pairing/s: non-idol!san x yandere!reader

♡ˎˊ˗ in which: you met san on a dating app, and he wasted no time in showing interest. but poor guy didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

♡ˎˊ˗ genre/s: thriller

♡ˎˊ˗ warnings: themes of mental health (munchausen by proxy). captive!san. kidnapping, san gets drugged.

♡ˎˊ˗ word count: 1.5k

♡ˎˊ˗ author's note: this is like a prologue ??? to an idea i've been sitting on for a while idk. enjoy. xoxo.

Bodies moved in and out of the coffee shop, bell ringing, and voices chatting away. All of which were muffled when the cacophony would land on her ears. Nerves restive and the hair on her arms standing at attention. As excited as she was, she could not help the impending sense of doom that stirred about in her belly. Growling, even, just not in hunger. She stood a couple of feet away, staring down at her phone then comparing the face she saw to the ones in the café. Her eyes wandered all around, looking for the man she had met on a dating app, and had promptly asked her out on a breakfast date. At last, in a cozy yet dark corner, far from prying eyes, she found him. He twiddled his thumbs, incessantly tapping his foot, awaiting her arrival.

In what felt like a flurry of movements, she found herself standing right before him, clutching onto the straps of her handbag that hung languidly over her shoulder. When he looked up to meet her eyes, the first thing to greet her were the dimples in his cheeks. The warm smile he offered upon locking eyes. A very light, childlike innocence encapsulated his being. He stood up from the booth, looming several inches above her lilliputian figure.

“You must be y/n, right?” She simply nodded in response. “I’m San, it’s great to finally meet you. I already ordered you a drink, if that’s okay?”

“Thank you,” Her voice was soft as it drowned in the ambience. “I’m sorry, I’m not much of a talker.”

“No problem, I can carry a conversation for the both of us. Please, sit.”

And carry he did. For the following 2 hours, he’d spoken about himself in great detail. Just as she hoped he would. To learn that he had a thriving career in finance and had been brought up in a loving environment with parents who’d do anything for him. She shared the same sentiments. She’d do anything for him. As forward as it may have seemed, she was certain that he was the love of her life. Handpicked by the universe itself and delivered digitally. It was fate, and you could not tell her otherwise, no. He was so open and welcoming. A lovelorn and hopeless romantic, just as she. To her, a hand and glove pairing is what they truly were.

“I’ll be quick. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” San announced as he hurried off to the bathroom.

Her eyes wandered all over the café, agitated and doubting herself with each passing moment. The longer she waited, the smaller the window of opportunity became. With one last look around the establishment, she snuck her hand into her handbag and brought out a small vial containing a translucent liquid. She unscrewed the bottle cap with quivering hands and a wavering confidence, dumping the entire solution into San’s half-empty glass of orange juice. She stirred the mixture with a straw and swiftly retracted her hands back to her side of the table.

After a few minutes, he returned with the same jovial cognisance he’d stepped away with. As the time passed them by, his head grew cloudy but he put on a brave face. He knew something was off. There was no way to pinpoint what the problem was because he himself was at a loss. With every sentence he spoke, each word was more slurred than the last. An impending sense of doom hollowed out the joy in his heart, nothing but fear got a hold of him.

“San, you don’t look too hot. Are you feeling okay?” She asked concisely but the words were warped upon landing on his ears.

“Y-yeah… It’s, uh, I think that breakfast burrito might have been undercooked,” He shook his head, taking deep, heavy breaths as he tried to relax his jittery nerves.

“I think we should get you home, yeah?”

“Yup, please.”

As they stood up from their places, he staggered but she was quick to reach his side. She threw his arm over her shoulder, and held him steady by the waist. He weighed quite the number but she had sheer willpower of a wildflower. Even if she had to carry him out herself, she would. But fortunately for her, not so much for San, he could still carry his own. Careful to not raise any suspicion, they walked out of the building without a single eye batting their way. Just a few feet away, she had her car parked in a nearby alley. Murky and mildewy, with the company a black stray cat that sat above a wall as it watched. He was too out of it to even question her choice of parking. Instead, he leaned against the back door.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” He apologised sincerely.

“That’s okay, stuff happens. You’ll call me when you get home safely, right?”

“It’ll be the first thing I do,” He gave her a dopey smile as he leaned in for a hug.

He drifted off to a state of unconsciousness as soon as her arms snaked over his shoulders. Whatever she poured into his drink kicked in at just the right time. His body slumped over hers, weighing even more than when he was semi-conscious. She unlocked the doors and carefully laid his body into the backseat of her hatchback. She looked around for any prying eyes, but found the glaring greens of the cat on the wall. She settled herself into the driver’s seat as the engine came to life.

[ . . . ]

When San came to as he laid on an air mattress, he found himself in a dimly lit room with only a single light bulb that hung from the very centre. The scent of orchids and frangipanis remained thick in the air. There was a wooden staircase on the very far end. The room was decently decorated. But it was the site of a bucket and rolls of toilet paper that made his stomach churn. A sudden sense of urgency took over when he realised what the problem was. Bound at the wrists and ankles with shackles, welded to heavy-duty chains. What was once curiosity turned into ripened fear as he mulishly pulled on the chains. Try as hard as he may, they were bolted onto the walls and cement floor. Not even his years of weight lifting and strength training could get him out of the fate that awaited him. A mixture of frustration and trepidation, the tears that ran down his face could not be stopped.

“Help! Somebody!”

But nobody answered. Just the eerie sound of his voice as it sunk into the four walls that were his new home.

“Is anybody there? I’ll give you anything you want! Please!”

The desperation in his voice was potent, very telling of his emotional state. He was growing increasingly stressed. As he continued to yell and pull on the chains, holding on to some semblance of hope that maybe, just maybe, with a stroke of divine intervention, he’d break free and run away, the door at the very top of the staircase opened. A faint glow shone down into the quasi-oubliette. The cold, light tapping of heels walking down the steps oddly spiked his credence in possible escape.

But nothing in the world could have prepared him for what was to come.

As the figure inched closer, his eyes meeting hers brought him some comfort. A familiar face to help him understand what was happening.

“y/n, how’d you find me?” He asked.

“San, you’re sick,” She answered with sure conviction in her words.

“What?”

“I have to take care of you.”

“What- what are you talking about? Why am I chained? Where am I?”

“Don’t worry. From here, I can take care of you and–”

He lunged forward, scaring her as she stumbled back and nearly tripped on her own feet. Her eyes held much fear, watching as he fought captivity. Why couldn’t he just understand where she was coming from? Instead of expressing gratitude for her selflessness and willingness to assume responsibility over his physical wellbeing, all he had to show for it were violent displays of defiance.

“y/n, get me out of here.”

“I can’t. If I let you go, then who’s going to take care of you?”

As she begun to walk away, leaving him to stew in his thoughts, he said, “I started feeling funny after I drank that juice. What did you put in my drink, y/n?”

“In due time, you’ll understand that this is for your own good. You’ll see.”

The gap between them continued to grow as she walked away, leaving him with more questions than he had before. Despite the apparent struggling and calling of her name, she didn’t look back. Only marched forward to make preparations for their new life together. One carved out by nothing but the voices in her head, consoling her, telling her that she would eventually be rewarded for her good deeds. That the past would not repeat itself.

“Get back here, y/n!” He called out one last time before she shut the door to the basement, and to the life he once knew.

.

.

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taglist babies:

@suluhwa

[babyleostuff]

I've got to feed my delusional ass, so as someone who is a huge nerd i was wondering if you do seventeen hcs to their Friend / S/O / Crush being an actor and playing a phenomenal iconic TV pop culture character? . i have always been dying to get Idol! Seventeen X Actress reader

seventeen x actress!reader | ot13

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL 

𓆩♡𓆪 he would be a loud and proud supporter - even if the topic of conversation wasn't in any way related to you or even cinema, Cheol would find a way to mention your latest role (he would also probably pull out his phone, and show a bunch of “behind the scenes” photos)

𓆩♡𓆪 he would be the type to fly out to whatever location you were currently shooting at, and surprise you with a bunch of flowers and his Choi Seungcheol™ dimple smile

𓆩♡𓆪 i don’t want to be that person, but i think he would get a bit jealous, and he wouldn’t like watching the kissing scenes - not because he is possessive or anything, he is so happy you get to do what you love, but sometimes he could get slightly insecure of the bond you have with your male co-stars, especially because you spend so much time with them 

𓆩♡𓆪 so he will close his eyes during a kissing scene, but the best solution to cheer him up again is just to give him a couple of (or more) kisses, and he’ll be all smiley and happy again

YOON JEONGHAN 

𓆩♡𓆪 the silent supporter - he wouldn’t start talking about you out of the blue like Cheol, but whenever a trailer of your newest movie would be shown at  the movies, he’d sit there all proud thinking “that’s right, that’s my incredible girlfriend”

𓆩♡𓆪 and he would always bring you to your favourite restaurant when you’d finish shooting, one - to catch up on the time you missed out on, second - to remind you how proud he is of you 

𓆩♡𓆪 Hannie would love to listen to all of the stories you’d share from the set, as well as the photos and videos, and he’d sit through the whole night listening to you, because he knew how happy it made you to talk about your work 

𓆩♡𓆪 he would also keep every ticket from all of your movies when he went to the cinema to see them, probably keeping them in a little box somewhere where you wouldn’t find it 

HONG JOSHUA 

𓆩♡𓆪 i feel like Joshua would be very similar to Jeonghan - the most important thing for him would be for you to know how proud he was of you, he wouldn’t have the need to express it to the whole universe, because people already knew how great of an actress you were 

𓆩♡𓆪 he’d be quite quiet while watching your movies, but you knew it was because he didn’t want to miss even a second of it, especially if it was your scene 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he’d gladly listen to all of your small comments throughout the movie - how you shot that specific scene, or how much you messed up your lines in that specific moment 

𓆩♡𓆪 Joshua would look at you with this smitten gaze, unable to resist the warm feeling when he looked at you all excited and happy 

𓆩♡𓆪 by the end of the movie he’d have a whole paragraph of compliments ready, and he’d make it corny on purpose - to make you both a bit shy, but also to make you laugh  

WEN JUNHUI 

𓆩♡𓆪 as a fellow actor, he’d help you figure out your lines and scenes, he’d practise with you - even if it took the whole night 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he’d be the first person in the line at the movies, with a set of popcorn and drinks, because Jun would be that excited to see your movie 

𓆩♡𓆪 after, he’d send you tons of messages saying how good the movie was, and how good of a job you did, and after writing a whole paragraph of how proud he was of you, he’d call you right away, basically saying all of the things he already wrote 

𓆩♡𓆪 also, the moment it’d come out on streaming platforms he’d watch it with you, gushing the whole time how you crushed that role and how good you looked 

KWON SOONYOUNG 

𓆩♡𓆪 he would be so excited over you being an actress, like - you get to shoot at all of these cool locations, in front of a green screen, and they can make you into a superhero? he’d beg you to tell how all of the movie magic happens, and sometimes you’d find him going through your camera roll to look at the photos from set 

𓆩♡𓆪 you can be sure he’d watch your movies multiple times, he’d buy the DVDs and bring them with him on tour (even though most of them could be found online, he’d still buy them)

𓆩♡𓆪 one time, he even proposed that there should be photocards in the DVDs so he could collect yours 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he’d make the boys watch them with him, even if he’d have to drag Mingyu to the couch, he would fight him just so he would watch the damn movie 

LEE JIHOON 

𓆩♡𓆪 same as Jeonghan and Joshua - he’d be tremendously proud and supportive of you, but in a silent way 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he’d keep the DVDs and Blu-rays in his studio, neatly keeping them on a shelf, with your framed photo as well 

𓆩♡𓆪 if he ever had a bad day, couldn’t figure out a beat, or finish writing lyrics, Jihoon would pick out his favourite movie of yours and play it, so he could take his mind off of the work 

𓆩♡𓆪 i believe he said he isn’t a big movie watcher, as he doesn’t really have time for that, but  he’d always make time for watching your movies, every single one of them (even if you’d tell him that it was alright if he didn’t want to or was too tired, he’d take you the movies himself)

JEON WONWOO

𓆩♡𓆪 artsy boy ⅓ - he would love to talk about the technicalities of the movie, like the camerawork, the cinematography, or the CGI - you could literally spend hours after the movie talking about it 

 𓆩♡𓆪 he would ask you a lot of questions about different shorts, and how they were filmed

𓆩♡𓆪 i feel like he would be too shy to verbally compliment you, because there are no words in the dictionary that could express how proud he was of you, and how great of a job you were doing 

𓆩♡𓆪 but you’d know how supportive he was of you - if he wasn’t, would he be the one insisting on seeing every single one of your movies the moment they premiered? 

𓆩♡𓆪 and on the way home, Wonwoo would have your hand in his, and not let go of it even for a second, looking at you with so much love and adoration, that you’d practically melt under his gaze

LEE SEOKMIN 

𓆩♡𓆪 you’d have a movie marathon once a month where Seokmin would choose a couple of your movies to watch (even if you wouldn’t want to, he’d give you his puppy eyes and you wouldn’t have any other choice)

𓆩♡𓆪 and he would make you say your lines out loud - for some reason it always made him so happy, and you’d always do that because it made him so excited 

𓆩♡𓆪 if he was busy because of work, and didn’t get to watch your movie right away, he’d send you tons of messages apologising that he wouldn’t be able to watch it (and you’d always reassure him that it was fine, of course)

𓆩♡𓆪 but the moment he’d get some time off, he’d make a whole date out of it - first bringing you to your favourite restaurant, then going to the movies, and finishing the day with watching the sunset 

𓆩♡𓆪 it would be his way of apologising, and making up for the time you had to spend apart, and to be honest, you preferred it that way, because it always ended being one of your favourite dates 

KIM MINGYU 

𓆩♡𓆪 artsy boy ⅔ - this man would have like those countdown widgets on his phone, to keep track for when your next movie would come out, and he would drag you to the cinema himself to watch it with you 

𓆩♡𓆪 same as Wonwoo, would talk about the cinematography, and gush about the amazing shots and scenery, to the point where you’d have to remind him that “hey, i was in that movie as well!” 

𓆩♡𓆪 but he’d do that just to tease you - you always  got so pouty and cute when he “forgot” to praise you too, and he would make that up by clinging to you when you got home, and list all of the things he loved about you in that movie 

𓆩♡𓆪 another one that might get a bit jealous when it comes to kissing, and all of that intimate stuff, so it’d be his turn to be pouty and whiny 

𓆩♡𓆪 but he’d quickly realise how stupid that was - you’re literally using him as a human blanket, cuddled in his bed, if anything they should be jealous of Mingyu for having you all to himself 

XU MINGHAO 

𓆩♡𓆪 artsy boy  ³ ⁄ ³ - again, same as Wonwoo, and Mingyu - he’d love to talk about all of the technicalities, camerawork, and would love to see all of the photos from the set and your shooting locations

𓆩♡𓆪 he’d also be the type to surprise you on set, totally out of nowhere (he’d probably write you how busy he was, and that he wouldn’t be able to come and see you, and the pop out out of nowhere)

𓆩♡𓆪 and if you’d be watching it together at the cinema, he’d hold your hand through the whole movie, and squeeze it from time to time

𓆩♡𓆪 if it was more of a, how to say it, psychological? movie - Hao would love to talk about it, i mean you’d probably sit through the whole night cuddled under the duvets in your bed, trying to understand the ending, or pondering on all of the small confusing parts of the movie 

𓆩♡𓆪 and there would be no jealousy there, Mingaho is a very secure and confident person, especially when it comes to your relationship 

BOO SEUNGKWAN

𓆩♡𓆪 Boo would love to go over the scrip with you, helping you with the lines, and acting out different scenes with you, i can imagine how much fun that would be 

𓆩♡𓆪 and if he’d got the chance to visit you on set, he’d look at you with wide heart eyes, adoring everything you’d do, even if you’d be doing a simple dialogue scene, he’d be all smiley 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he would be so happy seeing you happy, doing what you love, and having fun on set - no matter how many kissing scene you’d have to shoot, he’d still be 100% supportive

𓆩♡𓆪 and everyone on set would love him too, i mean, how can you not love this man? 

𓆩♡𓆪 Seungkwan would keep all of the tickets, posters, and flyers from your movies, he’d frame some of them, or hang them on the wall in his room 

CHWE VERNON

𓆩♡𓆪 oh my god, my favourite movie bro - Vernon would eat every single one of your movies up! Like, he loves watching movies, and if you’re in one too??? Automatically 10/10 

𓆩♡𓆪 he’d love to hear all of the stories from set, and he’d be the one nagging you to send more pictures from the location you were currently shooting at 

𓆩♡𓆪 and because you knew you big of a fan and a movie geek he was, you’d always make sure to get him an invitation to your every movie premiere 

𓆩♡𓆪 this man would fanboy so much when he’d meet your co-stars, or the directors, like that would be a dream come true for him 

𓆩♡𓆪 so to say that he would be 100% supportive of you and your job would be an understanding - he wouldn’t get jealous or sulky over the intimate scenes, Vernon knows very well that that’s just a part of your work, and it’s a natural part of it 

𓆩♡𓆪 and being able to say that this superstar is his significant other??? Chef’s kiss 

LEE CHAN 

𓆩♡𓆪 heart eyes 24/7, like he’d be so so proud of  you, and sometimes he wouldn’t believe you’re his girlfriend, because you’re like this huge actress, and he gets to call you his

𓆩♡𓆪 i cannot stress this enough, but he would be the most supportive and proud boyfriend ever - you know those soccer mums and dads that have banners and scream anytime their child touch the ball? that would be Chan

𓆩♡𓆪 he would re-watch your movies whenever you’d be away, or when he went overseas for schedules, he’d definitely have a list of comfort movies, and watch those every night 

𓆩♡𓆪 Chan would have a collection of all of the DVD and Blu-rays with your movies, and keep them neatly on the shelf in his room  

𓆩♡𓆪 also, you’d probably have to comfort him a little after a kissing scene, or a more intimate one, because he’d get a bit upset (but nothing to serious, it’d for just a moment)

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.11

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: We got some action, some canon typical violence, and a little angst. Shits about to get wild from here on out hold onto your pants. Hunter's growing breeding kink and Crosshair's riffle.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"We’re literally never going to get shore leave," Wrecker groaned, picking up Gonky and putting the battery droid into the Marauder. It seemed like the repairmen were able to get all new parts installed overnight, leaving the Marauder in pristine condition.

"They didn’t tell you why we needed to go to Kamino?" Crosshair asked, busy reloading the armory with a new crate of weapons.

"No," Echo shook his head.

"Why do I need to come to Kamino?" You chirped, sipping on your to-go cup of caff and breakfast.

"Your presence was requested," Echo shrugged.

"I didn’t even think your creators knew about me," you pondered.

"It is strange," Tech responded from the cockpit. "They don’t usually like civilians in Tipoca City."

"Do you think it’s something bad?" You took a bite of your egg sandwich.

"There is no indication of such things, but who is to know really," Tech mused, adjusting the settings on the console to his liking.

"Let’s get a move on," Hunter ordered. "The faster we get there, the faster we can get back."

"Sounds good to me!" You slid off the crate and grabbed your brand new medic pack, double-checking all your requested supplies were in there, along with the backup supply in the ship’s storage.

You felt Tech start up the engines and ran to the front to strap in.

It wasn’t long before the Marauder was up in the air and zooming through hyperspace. It would be a few hours before you entered Kamino airspace, so you decided to busy yourself and study the way Crosshair cleaned Firepuncher.

Crosshair seemed to be enjoying your attention, making sure to show you all the nooks and crannies that are usually missed. He even let you take the little brush with the cleaning solution and do a few pieces yourself.

"Atta girl," he praised as you followed his instructions to a T.

You smiled, handing him back the tools. He reassembled the weapon, giving it one last pass with the cleansing cloth before oiling the moving mechanisms. He pulled out a hand wipe, cleaning the oil and blaster residue off his own fingers, before taking your hands and cleaning yours. He tossed away the dirtied wipe before taking your chin in his hands, plucking his toothpick from his lip, and tilting your face up to meet his. He bent down to press a loving kiss to your lips, making your cheeks heat.

He popped the pick back between his teeth and took Firepuncher with him to the cockpit. You shamelessly watched the lithe sniper saunter out of the room.

"He’s only like that with you," Hunter smirked at you.

"I doubt that," you sighed, cleaning up the dining table with a damp towel.

"I’m serious," he crossed his arms. "You’re good for him."

You rolled your eyes. "Hardly."

"He let you clean Firepuncher," Hunter smiled. "Safe to say you’re the only one he’s ever let do that."

"I’ll keep that in mind," you said, putting the rag into the dirty hamper.

"He’s never let anyone get close to him. I mean, none of us have really. We didn’t exactly have an easy upbringing," Hunter shared, trying to open up a bit more, but it was obvious it had hurt him too. "Crosshair is the youngest. He struggled the most with all the ostracization. I think it’s what made him so cold and severe, but he seems to have taken a liking to you. I noticed the way he changed slightly when you joined. Like how he started bringing you things when we were out."

"So he was the one leaving them on my cot?" You smiled, thinking back to all of the little trinkets, stones, or sweets.

"You’re getting through to him," Hunter said, standing up and walking over to you. "It’s more than we ever could have."

"He’s your brother," you sighed, looking down at Hunter’s lips.

“Exactly.” He whispered pressing forwards until your lips met. You purred into Hunter’s mouth feeling him bring one hand up to support your cheek as he kissed you passionately. He then deepened the kiss urging you to open your mouth slightly for his tongue to explore. You too explored, you wanted to memorize everything Hunter liked, well really what each alpha liked, but you decided you’d start with Hunter. You already knew Tech and Crosshair liked when you’d brat a little and that would end up in your submission to them. Hunter however, seemed a lot more like Wrecker in that he was mainly interested in your pleasure… but you were determined. 

You ran your hands to the nape of his neck and massaged there feeling him moan into your mouth. Okay, nape, check. You smiled tugging him further down do you were laid out on the table with your legs wrapped around his waist while he bent over pinning you to the surface. 

He surged forwards pushing his cod piece into your clothed core. You whined and squirmed against him feeling yourself get turned on by the weight at your apex. 

You moved your hand from his name to around the front of his neck giving it an experimental squeeze. He gave you a soft warning growl which made you immediately continue your journey south. Okay no choking for him. 

You hand your hands over his chest plate wishing you could feel the hard planes of his chest. 

Hunter pulled back looking down at you with a suspicious smirk, “What are you going little one?”

You tried catching your breath and smiled back, “Nothing.”

“Hmm.” He eyed you before diving back in to capture your lips. When you leaned up to reciprocate, he snatched up your neck and slammed you back down to the table making your eyes widen in surprise. He squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt you but just enough that it made your stomach flip and your heart race… maybe he was more dominant than you gave the Sargent credit for.

“Are you… studying me?” He gave you a wolfish grin. 

You swallowed looking up into his amber eyes, “Maybe…” 

He grinned keeping you pinned to the table. 

“Mesh’la…” He leaned down to lick at your gland under his thumb. You whined grinding down on his codpiece. He stood back up rubbing small circles into the gland making you writhe on the table, “You’re adorable little ‘mega.” 

You felt yourself getting wetter by the second, absolutely destroying your panties. Maker you wanted him so badly. 

“J-just want to know how to make you feel good.” You whimpered trying to get some kind of release for the tension thrumming through your entire system. 

He sighed a laugh leaning over you again giving you some mercy by grinding into you. You moaned. Between the rubbing between your thighs and the stimulation to your mating gland, you were on the edge of cumming. 

“Such a perfect little omega aren’t you?” He hummed watching you start to sweat. He could smell your slick and hear the way your heart hammered in your chest and he knew you were being edged, “Always so concerned with your alphas.” 

You cried out grabbing at the wrist around your neck and using the heel of your boots to force him even closer to you. He chuckled at your attempts to buck harder into him. 

“Do you want to cum pip?” He drawled. 

“Yes sir.” You whimpered desperate for this torture to end. 

“Well because you’ve been such a good girl,” He used his free hand to unbutton your pants and slide them inside towards your pulsing core. You nearly screamed when he finally started to rub tantalizing little circles into your aching clit. 

“Cum omega.” He commanded. 

You gasped feeling the sudden rush of your orgasm take over you. You arched up off the table pressing into him further. He only stopped stimulating your gland when you had finally worked through your orgasm. 

He smiled down as he released your neck and buttoned up your pants. 

“You feeling good, makes me feel good ‘mega.” He pushed his forehead into yours, “But if you want me to be more dominant like my brothers then we can do that too.” 

You hummed, “I only want what you want Hunter, whatever feels right.” 

He flashed his teeth at you again, growling, “What feels right… what feels right is me sinking my teeth right here little one.” He thumbed your glad again making you shudder, “as much as I want to totally loose myself, I know I can’t… You make me feel feral Ad’ika. You scent, it drives me wild.” 

You starred up at him through your heavy eyes feeling your heart start to beat quickly again. 

“You want to mate me Hunter?” You whispered seductively tilting your neck back so he could grip you again. 

You watched his eyes dilate at your words, “fuck mesh’la.” He sighed and shook his head trying to snap himself out of it, “I want to pup you.” He admitted and pressed his other hand to your abdomen, “Fucking Layla got me thinking about it.” He massaged your belly imagining what you’d look like swollen with his pups. 

You studied him… he seems to have quite the breeding kink, a mischievous smile crept up onto your lip, “boy or girl Hunter?” 

“Hmm?” He looked up from your belly into your heady eyes. 

“Boy or girl?” You repeated. 

“Girl… definitely a girl.” He kissed you pressing you back down to the table. 

“Is that why your hindbrain cut out my implant?” You giggled and squirmed under him, “You want to knock me up?”

“M’guess so.” He mumbled nuzzling your gland. 

You just sighed in contentment enjoying the way he mouthed at your shoulder keeping a firm grip on your side. 

“Better keep those fangs to yourself Hunter.” Tech groused passing by data pad in hand. 

Serge sighed sitting up finally snapping out of the trance you had put him in. 

“Sharing is caring.” Crosshair stepped into the hallway to tease his older brother. 

“You’re gonna make him territorial.” You lulled your head to the side to look at the sniper. 

Crosshair chuckled, “He’s always been territorial.” 

“As are you.” Tech stepped into the doorway. 

“Byproduct of being an alpha.” Crosshair flashed a fangy smile at you. You giggled sitting up making Hunter stand. 

“I’m not territorial.” Tech looked up from his search. 

You scoffed, “Oh yes you are.” 

“What?” He was confused, “When have I displayed territorial tendencies.” 

“When I first saw the 501st after joining you.” You pushed Hunter back so you could saunter over to Tech, “In 79’s, I saw that look in your eye when I danced with regs, and then when I almost drowned, you got your punches in. Don’t think I didn’t see that.” You smirked poking him in the chest plate. 

“Is that considered territorial?” He looked up at his brothers. 

“Sounds about right.” Hunter nodded. Crosshair agreed. 

You smirked and crossed your arms, “Then you and Cross marked me up on Mimban. Had those women thinking I was in trouble.” 

He widened his eyes realizing you were right. 

“It would seem I do display territorial behavior.” He nodded, “I must look into this.” He walked off typing furiously into his data pad. 

You just shook your head laughing and walked back to lean on the table. 

“How much longer to Kamino?” Hunter asked Crosshair. 

“Half an hour.” 

“Alright, let’s get ready to doc.” Hunter ushered the two of you out and into the cockpit. 

~~~

"Where are you taking me?" you asked the Kaminoan.

"We need your assistance in the medical wing. You're the only one with experience regarding the spice chemical compounds," she replied.

You glanced at Hunter, who gave you an approving nod. Swallowing nervously, you agreed to follow the female alien, feeling a little uneasy about leaving your pack with this unfamiliar woman. Looking back, you noticed they were still watching you as you disappeared down the hallway.

"What is your name?" the Kaminoan asked.

"Y/N Y/L/N," you responded, clutching the straps of your med pack, feeling a little like you were back in school.

All around you, shinies and cadets marched in perfect lines. Every few clones would break their focus to peer at you. You ignored them, following behind the Kaminoan called Nala Se.

As you neared the medical wing, you noticed a group of pacing soldiers in blue.

"Fives?" you called out to him. He looked at you, confused at first, before walking over to you.

"CT-5555," Nala Se nodded.

He nodded back before embracing you. You hugged him back, stepping up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Layla got your memo. Echo and I read it."

"Did Layla send you?" he whispered back before standing upright, "It’s been so long, kid. How are you doing?"

You scrunched your brow in confusion for a second before realizing he was prompting you to play along. "I’m doing fine. How’s Rex?"

"Eh, you know... as good as he was after Umbara," Fives said, sounding too cheerful for referring to THE Umbara siege. You nodded, understanding that Rex and the boys weren’t doing well and that there was some sort of conspiracy at play.

You double-tapped your arm, signaling a "no" in reference to his first question. "Oh, that’s great. I’ll have to spend some time with him when we’re back on rotation."

He flashed you a sign he and the boys used to let you know to stay quiet in tough situations. "I know he’ll love that. You were always his favorite civ."

"Hah," you smiled, giving another signal that you understood the mission. "Well, let the others know I’m sending my love."

"Of course, Tiny," he embraced you again and whispered, "Don’t trust the Kaminoans," before pulling back with a charming smile.

You smiled too, giving his arm a squeeze.

Nala Se continued on, and you followed after her, giving Fives one more glance before turning left and disappearing into the medical facility.

"Did you serve under CT-7567?" Nala Se asked while approaching her desk.

"Yes. I was a medic for the 501st before the 99’s," you replied, using your military-trained voice.

"They seem to like you," she remarked.

You didn’t know if she was trying to pry information out of you. The way she spoke seemed to indicate so. "I’m the only one not giving them orders and fixing their injuries. The position tends to make friends."

"Friends," she repeated, picking up her data pad. "After the incident on Crait, we’ve been trying to ascertain a sample of the same compound used. I was wondering if you could give me a recount of the events. Most of our clones have been altered to withstand almost all stressors, diseases, and injury. As I’m sure you’re well aware, they’re stronger than most natural-born humans. This is their design. It is a concern of ours to have this weakness in them. We wish to alter our work for future cloning and perhaps even develop a cure for the battlefield."

You sighed before crossing your arms and bringing back the information to the forefront of your mind. "Well, I didn’t know what happened until it was too late. Hu-uhh-CT-9901 later recounted the events that led to the dosing. There was already a Republic team researching the findings based on suspicious reconnaissance information. They went missing, and my unit went to retrieve them and their findings. I rarely leave the ship, so one second everything is fine, then the next…” You swallowed, trying to find the words to appropriately explain what occurred. “CT-9901 had incapacitated CT-1409 while trying to get to me. The drug affected his alpha instincts and rendered him feral. I had the implant, but due to his enhanced scent, he could still pick up on my pheromones, and then it was a struggle until I shot him. It was the only thing that was going to stop him. The others kept him tied up in the brig until it was all out of his system. It took almost a day."

"In the report, it said he had cut out your implant," Nala Se read through it.

"That is correct."

"Then you were able to get medical assistance aboard General Skywalker’s vessel."

"That is correct."

"Did CT-9901 have any lingering effects?" she asked.

"Not that I’m aware of," you shook your head.

"It’s not often we have a human female omega in this facility. Is it alright if I take some blood samples for testing purposes?"

You nodded, "Sure."

She sat you down on a chair before grabbing the injector site. She cleaned your arm before pressing the machine to your skin.

She took the samples and placed them in the care of a medic droid.

"Is there anything else I can assist with?" you asked, standing up and pressing a bandage to the small wound.

"Yes, actually. We had a clone recently turn on a Jedi and unfortunately kill her. We’re suspecting it was caused by this bioweapon altering his behavior."

You steeled the expression that was begging to come out on your face. You kept a neutral expression, but deep down, you knew it was deeper than this. The drug may make alphas become feral, but to kill a Jedi, that wasn’t adding up.

"He killed a Jedi?" you clarified.

"Yes," Nala Se wasn’t giving any more information.

Was that why she was asking about Hunter cutting you? You knew you were going to have to really guard your words from here on out.

She walked you over to the other side of her office before opening a door out onto a viewing platform. Below, seemed to be the training facilities that the clones had told you about from their teen years.

Down below, there was a single clone standing there and a medical droid. You watched the droid inject a crimson substance into the clone. He started to growl as the spice entered his system. You watched in abject horror as they experimented cruelly on this poor man. You bit your tongue, however. If Fives was right, you were being watched too, and you had to be so careful.

The man writhed and howled as he slipped into the hindbrain. His face contorted into something aggressive and frightening. Then the same droid that took your blood sample hovered down toward one of the barricades out of view of the clone, it dripped your blood onto the sterile surface, and suddenly the man whipped his head up like Hunter had. He made a direct beeline for your scent.

He was making soft cooing noises trying to lure out the omega he thought was there. When he turned the corner and found nothing but blood, he roared, touching the drop and bringing it to his nose. Then, like out of one of Kix’s favorite horror movies, the affected clone zeroed in on you and Nala Se on the viewing platform like Hunter when he’s tracking. He snarled and started running toward you, determined to climb up there.

Nala Se gave the order to have him sedated, and you watched the fighting clone collapse into stillness. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and looked to the Kaminoan.

"Was the Jedi an omega?" you deadpanned, still a little shocked from the demonstration.

Nala Se hesitated, “No.”

You nodded.

"We have requested you and your unit to assist us in finding more information about the origins of this research," she walked you out of the lab and back into the hallway where Fives had been, "Your group leader has already been briefed, but we wish to have you involved as you were there from the genesis of this issue."

"I will do my best," you swallowed nervously. You were hoping none of you would have to go near this ever again, but it seems it’s becoming the main focus of the GAR whether you like it or not.

~~~

When you entered the 99’s barracks, you were first hit with the smell. Ugh… unkempt alpha… you scrunched your nose and stepped inside.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asked, walking up to you, seeing the bandage.

"Yeah, they just wanted my blood," you brushed him off.

"What for?" Echo asked.

You shuffled nervously, "T-they’re running tests… on regs. It was horrible." You bit back tears, "They dosed a shiny and lured him around with my blood to see how feral he’d become. Right before he decided to come after me, they sedated him and took him away."

"They used you as bait?" Crosshair growled, plucking the pick from his mouth.

"No… I mean not really. Just my blood sample," you tried to console him.

"Why are they doing that?" Hunter asked.

"Nala Se said they’re trying to develop a cure for the drug. They wanted my blood since there's no omegas around here."

"That’s what they wanted you for?" Wrecker wondered.

"She wanted me to go over Crait again. I don’t know why. She wanted to know the specifics of Hunter cutting out my implant. She seemed interested."

"Interested?" Tech pondered, and you nodded, "Did she say anything else?"

"Just that we’re supposed to be going on another mission? She said you already were briefed," you looked to Hunter.

He reached a hand out to cup your cheek when the door whooshed open, and Fives came running inside. Hunter immediately retreated his hand to glare at the reg.

"Fives?" you quirked your head, "What are you doing here?"

"I tried finding you after I saw you, but Nala Se was alone. I knew you’d be here," he caught his breath.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, stepping toward him, intending a hand on his shoulder. You heard Crosshair make a warning growl, but you just threw him a look.

"I needed to talk to you without them watching."

"Okay," you nodded, pulling out a stool for him to sit on.

"Is this about Tup?" Echo asked, coming closer to sit.

"Yeah," Fives nodded, "Something is going on around here."

"Nala Se said he was drugged with the spice," you sat on the table, pushing Tech’s old scribbles to the side.

Fives shook his head, "No, he wasn’t drugged."

You cringed, "Wait so he killed the Jedi on his own?"

"Who killed a Jedi?" Hunter squawked.

"Tup," Echo shook his head.

"Why could a clone kill a Jedi? It’s literally impossible for us to even fathom that," Tech was confused. It goes against all of their programming.

"Were you there?" you asked.

Fives nodded, "We all were. I insisted I come back with him, he’s my brother ya know? Rex is distraught and Anakin doesn’t understand what the hell is going on. But I knew something was off when the Kaminoans started insisting it was the spice. Kix literally tested him for any substances and he cleared the test. Plus, if that was the case we’d all be rutting like crazy right now." He shook his head, "I don’t trust the Kaminoans, they’re hiding something."

"So what are you saying you think it is?" Tech asked.

"Kix thinks it’s stress-related," Fives shrugged.

"That’s not possible, that part of our brain was altered to not experience stress," Tech shook his head.

You scoffed, what a dream.

“That’s what Rex said,” Fives replied.

“Well, where is Tup now?” you asked.

“Sedated in one of the medical wards.”

“Sedated?”

"Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about following orders or something like that," Fives shrugged. "Shaak Ti thinks he’s been brainwashed by seppies."

“Is that a possibility?” Hunter asked. "No one’s ever heard of that before."

“No, he was with us the entire time. He just snapped all of a sudden,” Fives sounded worried.

You put your hand on his, trying to comfort him. He just smiled sadly and sighed, “Kix says hi, by the way.”

“Is he here?” You asked, perking up.

“Yeah, but they have him working. A batch of shinies got pretty banged up on their first dispatch.”

“Typical,” you laughed, thinking about the nearly thousand times you’ve had to patch up the 501st boys, especially in the early days.

“I heard some pretty crazy stuff about you all,” he looked around. “Did you guys really crash land on Mimban?”

“Now, how did you hear about that?” You laughed.

“I have my sources,” he jested.

“Any chance your source is 5’3 and wears mini skirts?” You smirked.

“Now, how could you have possibly guessed that?” He mimicked you.

“Layla!” Tech said, like it was trivia.

“You know Layla?” Fives scrunched his nose.

“We were all on Ani’s Venator for a week, Fives!” You shook your head.

“Oh yeah!” Fives laughed. “When Sarge here put you into heat!”

You deflated. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem,” he smiled.

“Layla baked us cookies!” Wrecker added.

“No! Tech and I made the cookies!” You pouted.

“Okay, fine, you made the cookies, but Layla was there,” Wrecker rolled his eyes.

“Ya’ll are hanging out without me, darlin’?” He playfully shoved you.

“Yup,” you smiled standing up, “And I found out Layla has a thing for ARC troopers.”

Fives scrunched his nose before turning to Echo, who looked smug.

“Like the good old days!” Five punched his batch mate Echo; just shoved him back playfully. “Cool place, by the way,” Fives waved around at the super messy barracks.

“Thanks,” the 99’s answered in unison.

Crosshair played with his toothpick. “Aren’t we supposed to be leaving?” Crosshair drawled, clearly bored with the reg.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter nodded, standing up again, “We’re leaving for Kaller.”

“Kaller?” Fives stood up, grabbing his helmet. “Kriff is on Kaller?”

“Apparently, the origin point of the spice compound,” Tech informed.

“Am I coming?” You asked Hunter.

“Yeah, we’re definitely not leaving you here,” Hunter replied.

Fives gave you a little suggestive look, which you just rolled your eyes at.

“Let’s go before Nala Se wants all my blood,” you grabbed your med pack, slinging the straps over your shoulders.

“She took what?” Fives grabbed you by the shoulders.

“She took my blood,” you looked over to Echo, then back to Fives.

“What for?” He squeezed you a bit.

“She was running tests on shinies and the spice. She wanted my blood to test the efficacy of their symptoms.”

“They used her as bait,” Crosshair corrected.

“How much did she take?” Fives asked.

You shrugged. “Two vials.”

“She asked for you specifically?” Fives was starting to sound nervous.

“Fives, you’re scaring me,” you whined.

Hunter stepped in, separating the two of you, keeping you tucked into his side. “What are you saying?”

“Have any of you noticed how different she smells?” He gestured to you.

You narrowed your eyes, looking around at the others.

“She doesn’t smell like any omega I’ve ever been around,” Fives crossed his arms.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked quietly.

“No,” everyone said in unison.

“Why would the Kaminoans want Pip’s blood?” Tech asked.

“I don’t know,” Fives shrugged. “But Kaminoans don’t do anything without a purpose. She’s unique. For what reason, I don’t know. But I’m guessing it has something to do with this spice stuff.”

“All the more reason to get her far away from here,” Hunter said.

“I’m fine with that,” you were thrilled to get off this waterlogged planet. You looked to Fives. “Are you staying here?”

“I can’t let the others handle this on their own, Rex’s orders,” he shrugged. “As much as Kaller sounds like so much fun,” he was being sarcastic.

“We’ll catch up later, brother,” Echo clapped Fives on the shoulder before opening the door to the hallway.

“When you’re back on rotation, you owe me a night at 79’s!” Fives fitted his helmet back on and started off in the direction of the medical wing.

“Sounds like a plan!” Echo yelled after him.

“So, Kaller?” You asked, feeling a little trepidation.

“Shaak Ti informed us that the council needs us to infiltrate a secret base on Kaller to retrieve the research on this mystery drug. I know you’re probably worried about getting involved in this again, but I don’t know what else we can do,” Hunter sighed, knowing this topic was still sore for the both of you.

“It’s fine, Hunter,” you nodded, “My anxiety about this drug is nothing compared to the damage it does, which is far more important to stop.”

You got flashes back to that poor clone under its insidious influence. This had to be stopped.

“Pip obviously is going nowhere near that drug and risk getting exposed,” Tech asserted. The others agreed.

“But what about you guys?” You worried as you all made it to the docking bay. “What do we do if you get exposed?”

“We lock ourselves up in the brig,” Crosshair pointed out, “Just like we did with Hunter, until it wears out. The side effects are much worse for an omega than an alpha.”

You shivered, remembering the sharp pain of Hunter’s blade in your shoulder.

“Okay,” you acquiesced. It’s not like you could go against orders anyway. No matter how scared you might be.

“Kaller here we come!” Wrecker laughed.

~~~

“This planet is soooo… cold,” you sighed, shivering as the hatch opened. Tech had found a cave in the side of an icy mountain where he landed the Marauder, keeping it out of sight and out of the elements.

You ran back inside to grab the GAR-issued snow coat lined with nexu fur. You pulled it on and zipped it all the way up to your chin.

“How are you not cold?” You jumped up and down, trying to warm up.

“Genetics,” Tech leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Behave, alright?”

You chewed your lip. “If I feel like it.”

“Omega,” he warned, turning you around and pushing you into Crosshair. “Behave.”

You huffed before snuggling into the sniper. “You heard Tech. Be a good girl until we get back.”

“Okay,” you leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss him. He smiled, melding his lips with yours.

“Bye Pip!” Wrecker came over, shoving Crosshair away from you before picking you up and hugging you. “We’ll be back!”

“I know, big guy!” You smiled. “Please, be careful.” You were obviously worried.

“We’ll be okay,” Hunter collected you from his little brother. “Radio in every thirty minutes, even if we don’t respond.”

“I know! I know!” You rubbed your scent on his chest plate. “Just like always.”

“Bye, Tiny!” Echo yelled as he descended the steps.

“Bye!” You yelped.

You watched the boys leave and the hatch close, leaving you in stark silence. You locked the access door. It’s been so long since you had been totally alone without one of them staying back with you. You almost didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Checking your datapad time, you knew they had two hours to complete this mission before you were allowed to start worrying for real.

You wandered around the ship a bit, looking for something to clean or organize. Deciding you’d take a crack at the surplus supplies, you waltzed into the back of the ship where the brig was down below. You slid down the ladder, landing with a thud in the dark underbelly of the Marauder. This is where you kicked on the lights and decided to get to work sorting and organizing everything.

To make the time go by faster, you stole Crosshair’s datapad from his bunk drawer to play some of his rock music.

You’d checked in three times already, knowing you’d only have one more to go before they’d start making their way back. You had sorted through all of the surplus food, making sure to group the meals Layala had brought you guys by preference. You made sure to include everyone’s favorites along with little snack packs and dehydrated blue milk.

You were just about to start on the ammunition supply when you got beeped on your com.

“Havoc 6, come in,” Hunter’s voice startled you. You scrambled to turn down Crosshair’s music before radioing back.

“This is Havoc 6, Havoc 1, are you alright?” You asked, feeling your heart start to race and the hair stand up on your neck… something was wrong. You just knew it.

“We’re okay, but we found… a kid?” Hunter replied, “We got the research, we’re making our way back, there’s a change of plans.”

“A kid? What? Change of plans?” You stuttered into the com channel, “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see when we get there, get the ship warmed up,” Hunter cut the line, and you scrambled out of the brig and up into the main cabin before jogging into the cockpit. You entered Tech’s special code before being able to begin the ignition process.

Just as you got the engines primed, you heard them approach and opened the hatch door.

They came jogging inside, helmets still on. You were looking at them a bit perplexed when a smaller figure followed them inside behind Crosshair.

“A pup?” You rushed forward, unable to stop yourself, before taking the little kid into your hands, sniffing and checking him for injuries. “W-where did you find him?”

“Hey, lady!” He swatted at you, making you back up. He scowled, smoothing down his robes. That’s when you realized he was a Padawan… You suddenly stood up and looked at the boys, putting your hands on your hips.

“Sorry, kid,” Hunter chuckled, “She’s a fussy little omega.”

“You’re an omega?” He asked, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Where is his master!?” You instantly jumped on your unit, “Did you steal a Padawan?”

“As funny as that would be, no… we didn’t steal him,” Echo shook his head, taking off his helmet, “He found us.”

You turned to look at the kid, “Are you lost?”

He scoffed, “No, I’m not lost. I was sent to find reinforcements.”

“How old are you?” You were shocked this child was being battle-tested already.

“14,” he replied.

Your eyes softened, “He’s just a baby!” You growled, looking to your unit.

They just shrugged, “Hey, it’s not our fault what the Jedi do with their littles,” Wrecker defended.

“I’m not little!” He squawked, “And we really need help, so are you going to help us or what?”

“What’s your name, kid?” Echo asked.

“Caleb. Caleb Dume.”

“Where’s your master?” Hunter asked, and the pup handed him the coordinates.

“Alright, let’s go,” Hunter decided, and you just stood there flabbergasted.

“Relax, ‘Mega,” Crosshair tried to help you come to terms with this, “He’s a Jedi, probably could kick all of our asses if he wanted to.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you sighed.

“He’s not your pup,” Crosshair reminded you, “It’s not your problem.”

You growled. Crosshair just smirked. You were fiercely protective, that was for certain.

You peeked your head around the sniper to look at Caleb, “Have you eaten anything, hun?”

“Stop mothering him!” Echo yelled from his seat.

“I can’t help it!” You shook your head before heading for your jump seat. Hunter eyed you.

“I’m alright, miss,” Caleb grabbed onto the side of the ship as Tech brought the Marauder up into the air.

You were not liking this situation. First the spice, and now the kid. Why can’t missions just go how they’re supposed to?

Tech expertly flew the ship not too far from where you were hidden in the mountains. He found a clearing just before all of the blaster fire in the distance.

As the ship touched down, you stood up to follow them, but they all turned around, pointing fingers at you, “Pip, stay on the ship.”

“Ugh! Fine!” You groused, going over to Tech’s seat, ignoring the itch to take care of the kid.

“Are all omegas like that?” Caleb asked, picking up his lightsaber from his belt.

“Pip’s extra mothering when it comes to pups,” Tech replied, adjusting his holovisor.

“Should have seen her on Ryloth…” Echo started telling Caleb the story when the hatch door closed, leaving you once again alone in the ship.

You let out a loud groan, spinning the pilot’s seat around. The primal need to make sure the kid was okay was eating you from the inside out. He was literally walking into a war zone. That goes against everything your instincts wanted.

“Don’t do it, Y/N,” you shook your head, spinning the chair again.

But when you slowed down the spin, you noticed Caleb had left behind his robe and something in you snapped.

The pup was going to be cold…

"Fuck this." You got up, snatching the robe and smashed the hatch opening. You knew your alphas were going to kill you, but you didn’t care. You could care after you knew the pup was okay. At least you grabbed the thigh holster and a spare pistol, strapping it to yourself before stomping down the steps and out into the snow-covered forest. As you neared the battlefield, you heard bullets flying and explosions in the distance. You went running, suddenly overwhelmed with instincts… you didn’t know why this was happening. This hadn’t ever happened to you before, not even with the little girl on Ryloth. Something was very, very wrong.

Your jog turned into a sprint as you dodged trees and jumped over fallen trunks.

Letting your omega instinct guide you, you appeared in the clearing, seeing the last of the droids being destroyed by the cunning skills of your unit.

"We got a problem," Crosshair’s voice rang out through their comms, "Pip left the ship."

"What?" Hunter whipped around, finding you wandering through the smoke, clearly looking for something in the literal middle of the battlefield.

"Kark," Echo cursed, "She’s looking for the kid."

"Omega…" Hunter growled into the com channel. You ignored him.

They started walking back over to you, looking angry as a pissed-off rancor as the smoke started to clear. Crosshair came sliding down the side of the icy hill, joining their little clique when you spun around, finding Caleb walking over towards you.

"Hey, Miss?" He gave you a kind smile.

"Hi," you said, looking around a bit dazed.

"Are you okay, miss?" He asked, walking up to you.

"Y-yeah, I just had to make sure you were okay," you shook your head, starting to come back to your senses.

"I’m okay," he nodded, "Thanks to your friends."

"You left this behind," you handed him the brown robe, which he happily took and put on, shaking off the chill in the air.

"Y/N!" Hunter’s roar cut through the war zone.

"Kark," you sighed, closing your eyes.

Caleb giggled, pulling up his hood.

"I gave you direct orders to stay on the ship!" Hunter was so mad, "Then you run out into a literal battlefield. You could have been killed!"

"I-I’m…" you struggled to get the words out as the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

Turning around, you saw the master Jedi step up out of her trench, only to ignite her saber as her captain turned on her.

"Master!" Caleb screeched, igniting his saber and running towards his master. You couldn’t help but run after the pup despite your alpha’s roars of disapproval. Caleb suddenly stopped, realizing that his master was outnumbered.

"Run, Caleb!" She screamed, taking the brunt of the fire.

You flung yourself over the pup just in time to dodge a plasma bullet. Caleb was reacting much faster than you. When he looked up to see the 99’s jogging towards you two guns in hand, he quickly grabbed onto your wrist and started dragging you into the woods with him, running for your lives.

"Caleb!" You yelped, running with him.

"They’ve turned!" He said, jumping over branches. He was much faster than you, but you tried your best to keep up, "The clones can’t be trusted."

"What?" You were gasping for air, starting to feel the fatigue.

"I can feel it," he said, weaving left, trying to throw anyone off your trail.

A plasma bullet went whizzing by your head before exploding into a nearby tree. You both were forced to halt your sprint in the crunchy snow.

"Maker Crosshair, you could have hit her!" Echo growled, knocking the sniper’s gun out of his hand.

"Stop running, kid!" Hunter called out to the two of you.

Caleb just stepped in front of you, igniting his saber, "Stay back!"

They stopped their approach. You were beyond confused.

Crosshair kept his weapon trained on the kid while the others tried their hardest not to come off as intimidating.

"It’s okay, Caleb," Hunter said, putting his gun away and keeping his hands up in the air, "We just want to help you."

Crosshair decided then he would take the shot. You watched in horror as the blue plasma blast soared through the air, and Caleb skillfully deflected it, sending it back into the trees. You screamed and grabbed the kid, curling your body around him on instinct. You knelt in the snow, shielding Caleb from your alphas.

You heard shouting, then you heard firepuncher go off again, but this time the blast missed wildly. You flinched at the sound of it exploding into nearby rocks. You cradled Caleb's head like a mother would, keeping him pressed to you safely.

When you dared to look behind you, you saw Hunter and Crosshair wrestling in the snow while Tech held firepuncher, keeping it away from his little brother.

"Good soldiers follow orders," Crosshair repeated over and over again as Hunter demanded to know why the hell he would shoot at their omega and the kid.

Wrecker tried to approach you, but you let out the nastiest snarl you could muster, flashing your fangs at him.

He just put his hands up, staying at a comfortable distance.

"They’re coming," Caleb said, holding onto your shirt.

"Who?" You asked.

"The other clones," he said, "We have to go, now!"

"I can’t," you felt tears start to shed as your instincts were ripping you in half. You wanted to protect the pup, but the other part of you needed to be with your alphas.

"They’re not who you think they are… not anymore," he warned.

"I can’t leave them," you bent down, picking up his lightsaber and handing it to him. You smoothed down his hair and looked the child in the eyes, "You need to run. You need to stay alive."

"What about you?" He asked, looking at your fighting unit.

"They won’t hurt me," you nodded.

He just stood up, looking skeptical before looking into the tree line where approaching noises were coming from.

You gave the child a nod before he turned and sprinted off into the woods, disappearing into the snowy wilderness. You heaved in the snow, feeling like you failed somehow.

"Omega?" Tech asked, slowly approaching you, hoping you wouldn’t snap.

You refused to face them, feeling your tears slide down your hot cheeks, "What the fuck just happened?"

Ruh Roh... it's imperial Crosshair time...

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

[corebunbun]

★ ⋮ OKEGOM FANFIC! ⸝⸝ 【 ANNOUNCEMENT” in case you are interested 】

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

Are you in the Okegom fandom? Do you like reading Okegom fanfics? Were you like me, growing up reading "Various! Characters x Reader" style fanfics? ME TOO. Have you read tons of one-shots? Are you searching for a full fanfic that isn't just one-shots? Well, this idiot (me) has the solution!

That first paragraph was very much in the style of an ad, but that’s the point. I'm not sure how many people will read this, though fortunately, some people are still in the Okegom fandom (I love you all). As for me, I returned to the fandom about two and a half months ago, and honestly, I didn’t even know the term "Okegom" back then. I only knew the games and didn’t know about other characters like Satanik, Fumus, Envi, and many others. I went from that to now having an entire notebook filled with categorized and summarized information about the worlds, species, and characters translated into my native language, Spanish.

Since I was much younger, I’ve always enjoyed reading fanfics when I’m part of a fandom. When I searched for X Reader fanfics, I realized that there were only one-shots or whole books of these one-shots. Honestly, I was surprised not to find a generalized one, or maybe it’s just me since I grew up reading and writing AU Sans x Reader fanfics that weren’t one-shots, so it seems strange to me. That’s why, if you’re super bored, I’m writing a full-length fanfic in the style of Various Characters x Reader. This will bring me nostalgia from when I used to write AU Sans fanfics and had to rack my brain to find a way for the protagonist to travel between worlds.

Plus, it will include my own artwork! For example, here’s the cover (Drawn by me!).

So, in some chapters, at the very end, there will be some art related to the fanfic. Now then, here’s a small part of the prologue!

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　..　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,　　　*　　⠀.　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　

In the vast abyss of darkness, amidst the distant whisper of the stars, it was where I emerged. I did not exist in a specific place, yet I was everywhere at once, as if my essence floated freely through the confines of everything. Before I even opened my eyes, I had a fleeting glimpse of the infinite universes unfolding in space, but it was like looking through a dense veil: I saw, but I did not understand, as if the immensity was hidden behind a curtain of mystery.

When my eyes finally perceived clearly, I found myself suspended in the very heart of the galaxy, surrounded by the constant cycle of birth and death of the stars. They shone, exploding in bursts of color and energy, and for a while, I confused myself with them. I naively believed that perhaps I, too, was a star, one of those enormous spheres of light destined to burn and extinguish. But soon I understood that I wasn’t. My existence was different, freer, and less predictable. I could move without ties, float from one corner of the cosmos to another, leap into the middle of nothingness, and scream into the soundless void of space.

Despite this immense and sometimes terrifying freedom, I never felt alone. Though there were no other beings like me, the celestial bodies surrounded me, shining with their silent company. And solitude, the kind that might torment others, never troubled me.

I don’t know how much time passed as I floated in the middle of the galaxy, wrapped in the serenity and silence of the cosmos, but there came a moment when something inside me began to awaken. It wasn’t curiosity about who I was or what my purpose was in this vast reality, nor did I even wonder if someone had created me for some specific reason. My nature did not seek existential answers, for I had always felt part of the whole. What truly began to stir within me was a deeper, more subtle curiosity that extended beyond myself: what lay beyond the stars, beyond the stellar bodies that died and were reborn in an endless cycle? What was in those distant corners of the universe I had yet to explore?

You can read the complete prologue and warnings at:

AO3

or QUOTEV

The anxiety I felt before hitting the publish button was intense, but if you're interested, it would make me really happy!

[penvisions]

dev's 20 questions for writers

loved these questions! interesting to take a look into, thank you so much to those that have tagged me even if they've been lost in the shuffle of things ♡♡

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

19 in total!

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

oof, it's a whopping 606,304 (most of which were this year and last as i've only recently gotten back into writing)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

at the beginning it was one piece / naruto and then hannibal and supernatural, but now it's strictly PPCU (pedro pascal cinematic universe)

4. top five fics by kudos?

accents can be tricky || it's only certain words || return the favor || of beskar and kyber || by the grit of sandpaper

5. do you respond to comments?

i try to!! i get easily overwhelmed on the tumblr side of things but i do try by best to at least do a few hearts or an overall thank you for the response and interaction on something c:

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

as of right now, it's a wip that is pre-outbreak! tommy miller x reader

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

all of them! i try to do happy endings bc i need that in my life and feel like the characters deserve it beyond words

8. do you get hate on fics?

unfortunately, yes. i received a lot on the first couple chapters for {of beskar and kyber} and {garnish} and a looooot on {by the grit of sandpaper} it is what it is, i try not to let it get to me, but sometimes it does. but at the end of the day, i write for me and share it with y'all bc i want to, it's a simple solution to just stop sharing if it grows or gets out of hand (even if i'd rather not do that)

9. do you write smut?

i do indeed, some of it is really tame while some of it is truly unhinged lol

10. craziest crossover?

i'm in the process of trying to do a cross over with din djarin into the world of the southern reach trilogy but i dunno if it will ever see the light of an internet page

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

again, yes unfortunately. both {garnish} and {gone to the dogs} has been copy and pasted

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't think so beyond translating things i've written myself from spanish to english

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i haven't! but super interested in doing so

14. all time favorite ship?

joel miller x reader!! but honestly, if characters make each other happy or feel loved, then i want that for them. jess and nick in new girl, katniss and peeta in the hunger games to name the top two

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

again, probably my pre-outbreak! tommy miller and maybe {buckles and barley} i have a lot of ideas for both and they seem daunting atm

16. what are your writing strengths?

details!! c:

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue and pacing of story lines

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

amazing, love it, top tier

19. first fandom you wrote in?

one piece!

20. favorite fic you've written?

{by the grit of sandpaper} and {of beskar and kyber}

np taglist: @joelsgreys @frenchiereading and anyone else who wants to play along!

[luvvyouforever]

♡ -> fluff, comfort, sfw fics

˙◠˙ -> angst

☆ -> smut, nsfw fics

୨୧ -> headcanons

stardew valley

♡ ୨୧ harvey - sfw alphabet

☆ ୨୧ harvey - nsfw alphabet

☆ harvey - exclusively yours

˙◠˙ harvey - never

♡ harvey - my girlfriend (wife) is a witch

♡ ☆ harvey - mrs. becker

♡ ☆ ୨୧ sam - bf headcanons

˙◠˙ ୨୧ haley - unrequited love headcanons

♡ ☆ ୨୧ haley - fem4fem headcanons

marvel universe

♡ gambit/remy lebeau - secret language

☆ ୨୧ cyclops/scott summers - nsfw headcanons

☆ ୨୧ wolverine/logan howlett - logan is a masochist

☆ ♡ wolverine/logan howlett - show me what you got

♡ ☆ ୨୧ daredevil/matt murdock - mutant/superpowered!reader headcanons

♡ bob reynolds/sentry/void - training day

♡ john walker/us agent - not like this!

a court of thorns and roses

♡ azriel shadowsinger - starcrossed

♡ azriel shadowsinger - matchmaker, matchmaker

♡ rhysand - comfort on the bridge

♡ rhysand - rhys and john keats

♡ ୨୧ marriage and domesticity with acotar characters

♡ ୨୧ acotar boys x reader w/ illyrian wings

♡ tamlin - nobody else

♡ ୨୧ tamlin - sfw alphabet

☆ ୨୧ tamlin - nsfw alphabet

harry potter universe

♡ ୨୧ evil mc x sebastian sallow headcanons

♡ dark!sebastian sallow - go ahead and cry

♡ ୨୧ sebastian sallow x reader x ominis gaunt - headcanons

♡ ୨୧ harry potter boys x keeper!reader

♡ neville longbottom - suddenly, neville

♡ george weasley - the healing process

♡ nymphadora tonks - pillows, sleep, and sirius black yelling

criminal minds

♡ aaron hotchner - undercover

♡ aaron hotchner - drivin' on 9

☆ ୨୧ emily prentiss - strap headcanons

☆ the solution - emily prentiss x pregnant!reader

♡ ☆ ୨୧ vampire!emily prentiss

rivals

☆ ୨୧ declan o'hara - nsfw alphabet

♡ ☆ ୨୧ declan o'hara - i am my father's daughter

☆ ୨୧ rupert campbell black - nsfw alphabet

☆ rupert campbell-black x reader x declan o'hara - challengers

the last of us

♡ werewolf!abby anderson - headcanons + vampire!reader

♡ ୨୧ abby anderson - med student!abby x liberal arts student!reader

♡ joel miller - snowed in

♡ joel miller - sweet girl

♡ ୨୧ joel miller - domestic headcanons

☆ tommy miller - sweet fruit

gilmore girls

♡ ☆ ୨୧ luke danes - boyfriend headcanons

twisters

♡ ☆ scott miller - to be known

stranger things (no longer writing for)

♡ ☆ robin buckley - don't want you like a best friend

☆ robin buckley - look at you

☆ ♡ robin buckley - deeply in love

[mrsshabana]

𓆩♡𓆪 𝑮𝒚𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂 ✧˖°.

Key: (🖤) Fan favorite - (🔞) Smut - (🕳️) Dark content

✦ ─── 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ⸝⸝

╭ Against All Odds (🖤)(🔞)

Kimetsu University had a reputation for successfully integrating humans and demons. That’s the main reason you chose this school, it promoted ideals that you were a strong advocate for. As a human you shouldn't be so excited to be surrounded by demons, and the last thing you expected was to form a crush on one of the most dangerous demons on campus.

╭ Your Biggest Fan (🔞)

You've dreamt of meeting your idol, the drummer of a popular band, for so long. And when you finally get the opportunity, he's more perfect than you ever could have imagined. What are the odds that you get the chance to become more than just a fangirl?

╭ Dearly Discarded (🔞)(🕳️)

Taking over your uncle's farm is proving to be more work than expected. Adopting a demon seemed like an easy solution. That is, until your heart broke when you found the most neglected and abused demon you've ever seen. Gyutaro has never been shown an ounce of affection, but as his new owner, you are willing to do what it takes to give him the life he deserves. Pet au. You adopt Gyutaro and attempt to heal his physical and mental wounds.

╭ Manic (🔞)(🕳️)

Gyutaro is a patient in the Rashomon Riverbank Asylum and you are his new nurse.

╭ His Prey

You're sent on your first assignment as an entomologist, but things quickly go awry on your first night and you meet a creature that should just be an urban legend - a strange human mantis hybrid.

╭ Pact with a Vampire

Working in a morgue, you're used to being surrounded by death. But one night you come face to face with an undead that isn't the norm for your line of work. Gyutaro is a newly turned Vampire, but luckily for him you're gullible enough to make a pact with him.

╭ Never Too Late (🖤)(🔞)

Gyutaro is 35 years old and has given up on love and his dream of having a family. But things change when you come into the picture and show genuine interest in him. But there's only one problem, you're 14 years younger than him.

✦ ─── 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 ⸝⸝

╭ Courtesan!Gyutaro x Reader (🖤)(🔞)

╭ Gyusimp Collab

╭ Incubus!Gyutaro x Reader (🔞)

╭ Blood Play Gyutaro x Reader (🔞)

╭ Toxic Gyutaro x Reader (🖤)(🔞)

╭ Always the Groomsmen, never the Groom (🔞)

╭ Gyutaro x Succubus!Reader (🔞)

╭ Gyutaro with a reader that did self harm (🖤)(🔞)

╭ Canon!Gyutaro x Modern!Reader

╭ Ume sets you up with Gyutaro (Pt.1) (Pt.2)

╭ Always the groomsman, never the groom (🔞)

╭ Car sex with Gyutaro (🔞)

╭ Meeting Gyutaro at the Gym (🔞)

╭ Dragon!Gyutaro x Reader

╭ Meeting Gyutaro at a glory hole (🔞)

╭ Birthday surprise from Gyutaro (🔞)

╭ Valentine's Day (🖤)

╭ Gyutaro x Eldritch!Horror!reader

╭ Detention (🖤)

✦ ─── 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⸝⸝

╭ Gyutaro x Beautiful!Reader (500 follower special) (🖤)(🔞)

╭ Toxic Gyutaro au (🔞)

╭ Gyutaro x Plus size!reader

╭ Gyutaro & Denji

╭ Tumblr Gyutaro (🔞)

╭ Gyutaro x Camgirl!reader (🔞)

╭ Ballerino Gyutaro

✦ ─── 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ⸝⸝

╭ SoftDom!Reader ╭ Mirror sex with Gyutaro ╭ Riding Gyutaro's hip bones ╭ Reaction to edging ╭ Reaction when you don't bathe ╭ Passionate sex ╭ Gyutaro's first time having sex ╭ Roleplay & Breeding kink ╭ Would Gyutaro be ticklish? ╭ Bathing Gyutaro ╭ Reaction to someone he loves coming out ╭ Reaction to your jealous pet ╭ Reaction to your insecurities ╭ Giving and receiving body worship ╭ Asexual reader ╭ Transmasc!Reader ╭ Reaction to your tattoo of him ╭ Seeeing your tattoo of him ╭ Gyutaro turns you into a demon against your will ╭ How horny are all the au Gyutaro's? ╭ Aging reader ╭ Languages Gyutaro knows in all au's ╭ Would Gyutaro praise or degrade? ╭ Opinion of the swamp demon & snake demon ╭ Reaction to being flirted with ╭ Gyutaro with glasses ╭ Comforting you when you have family issues ╭ Gyutaro reacts when Ume is mean to you ╭ Reader with vitiligo or birthmarks ╭ Semi-verbal reader ╭ You die for Gyutaro ╭ Fighting with Gyutaro (s/o) ╭ When you don't celebrate your birthday ╭ Every au Gyutaro in one room ╭ Insecure!female!reader ╭ All Gyu's reacting to self-harm scars ╭ Reacting to your cats ╭ Voyeurism (part 2) ╭ Gyutaro with hearing aids

✦ ─── 𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐏𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 ⸝⸝

╭ Siren Gyutaro ╭ Mafia Gyutaro

𝐀𝐔 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 & 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 ✧˖°.

✦ ─── 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ⸝⸝

╭ Kinktober 2023 (🖤)(🔞)

Pinned Post ✧˖° Masterlist ✧˖° Art

[mattsunyums]

Late Night Walk

Ran Haitani ( 灰谷 蘭 ) x GN!reader ✧

Overthinking, Mutual feelings (?), Ran loves reader and is obvious about it, mostly reader who overthinks,

proofread: @spoiled-beans707

You knew he wanted you as much you wanted him. The kisses that left your skin marked with shades of purple linger on your skin, gifts and flowers delivered infront of your door to make up for small misunderstandings

These events happen in most friendships yet why is Ran's actions seemed to be laced with something

His texts about his day's shedule, texts asking to hang out, and sudden 'I love you' texts in the middle of night.

You don't know if he really meant those 'I love you's' or if it's just to rile you up and see how you would react.

You are not even sure if you should be with Ran considering the things he has done, being affiliated with gangs the whole part of his life, the tittle he holds that he wears mighty and high not feeling an ouch of shame when explaining on how him and his brother got it

Calloused hands that's always tainted with Crimson blood that didn't belong to him,

holds your hand gently that it almost made you believe he didn't have the strength to break every bone in your body

It was a night in the month of December, walking in an empty park since he suggested the both of you should stroll around town for a while before going to each others respective homes.

Leafless tree's decorated with LED lights with snow decorating the ground surrounded the two of you as the both of your continued to walk

"Come and be apart of my life forever" Ran stops walking still holding your hand causing you to stop in your tracks

He gently squeezes your hand as he looked at you as if you were the most perfect being in every universe that exist.

you give him a look as if he said the most stupid thing in the word

"You wouldn't want that" letting go of his hand, looking away from him starting to walk away

"Yes i do" He replies "Wouldn't you know why I said that?" he questions you following your pace and walking beside you but keeping space between the two of you

"Honestly, I don't want to know" you pause to swallow the lump forming in your throat "everything your sprouting out of your mouth is just a sudden thought you created and you want to solve by doing dumb solutions"

You stop walking and look back to him, he stopped as well just giving you his casual smile that didn't falter at your reply to his question

"How would you know?" He askes you once again raising a brow and putting his hands on his coats pockets. He moves closer to you and adjusts himself til he's infront of you

Giving you a small smile to reassure you he means what he said, and a small kiss to your cheek to back up that reassuring smile

( a/n: I finally found out jow to do that gradient on the text, my friend proofread half of it not the whole thing since I wanted to post again HEHE )

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated ♡ !

m.list @seiquack

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL (PREVIEW) ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

PREVIEW TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism mention, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting mention

PREVIEW WC: 2.1k

FIC WC: estimated 5-7k

MESSAGE FROM NU: hello! long time no see. i've been building this one for a while, so i'm so excited to share this preview with you all. this can be read as a standalone fic or a sequel to red horn. info regarding taglist and posting date at the end of the fic. take care and see you soon - nu ♡

FINAL FIC HERE

himbocoups's masterlist

It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube prepares the toy for insertion. Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches. 

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and his window propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

END OF PREVIEW // FIC OUT DECEMBER 2ND // TAGLIST OPEN

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