#a lot of the time i just need to write my thoughts down to get them out of my head

[vxlvted]

are they a sub, dom, or switch?

synopsis: basically just the title. are they more of a sub, dom, or a switch, and then what they’d be like.

tags: fem!reader, i actually don’t know what to tag here ..

a/n: ngl, some of this I would wake up, write, than fall asleep again with my phone in hand and repeat. I tried to go over and revise some stuff i wrote while half sleep last night, but I apologize if a bit of it is incoherent 😭

BANG CHAN - Switch (heavily leaning dom)

I know everyone loves to say Chan is this like hard daddy dom, but I don’t think he’d be that rough with you unless you asked for it. it probably took lots of convincing to get set him to agree to be a bit rough with you at times. He does naturally take on a more dominate role because of his personality though, he thrives on taking care of you and making you feel safe, so it’s second nature for him to instinctively take the lead during sex.

he’s observant and learns what you like so he knows how to make you fall apart. he’ll brush his lips across your skin, and his voice would drop. fingers trailing lightly down your spine as he whispers “You can take more, yeah?” while your legs tremble beneath you.

But I also don’t think he’s fully dom through and through. Chan wouldn’t like to be in control all of the time. As the leader, he carries a lot of stress and pressure so there are times when he’s just feeling drained. both mentally and physically.

And one of the ways he can just let those thoughts go and unwind is during sex, but sometimes he’s too tired or burnt out to take the lead and that’s when he’ll quietly slip into a more submissive role, he probably won’t say it at first, but you can definitely tell by the way he gets even more clingier than normal.

LEE KNOW - Dom (Hard to crack into his sub side)

I feel like this is kinda obvious, I definitely believe that Minho is naturally a dom. He teases you a lot, one thing he prides himself on is keeping eye contact. That gaze and his smirk? He loves just watching your reactions and smirking when you squirm.

I think he could lean into being a sub if he feels comfortable with you trusts you enough to give you control. but good luck getting him to that point.. you’ll have to practically pry the confession out of him yourself, he’ll never admit it otherwise.

he wouldn’t raise his voice or rush, everything he does seems like it’s deliberate and calculated. he’d drags things out until you’re practically crying from need and he would just coo and look at you with a look of mock pity. “you’re shaking already? we haven’t even started.” probably into subtle power play, having you kneel or call him ���sir”.

Lee know would only give up control if he really trusted you. so if you manage to get him to sub, it’s a big achievement. he’d be the quiet, breathless type. I don’t think he’d be that talkative, but he may be vocal, mainly low whimpers, shaky breathing and biting his lip to conceal the sounds he thinks are embarrassing.

he’d lowkey try and test your patience by squirming or spitting out things about how you’re “not as tough as he thought.” he’s a brat. he wants you to put him in his place, fuck him hard enough that he can’t utter anything other than broken moans (whether it’s your riding him or using a strap on). and he’s super reactive. if you run your hands down his back (or his thighs, he reacts strongly to you running you nails down his inner thighs) his entire body’ll shudder.

CHANGBIN - Dom

Changbin is assertive, he’s gives off that “i’ll take care of you” energy but there a rough edge to it. He definitely enjoy guiding you and taking control. he’s a firm but gentle dom, he’ll absolutely wreck you—but make sure you’re comfortable and give you never ending praises you while doing it.

he would not let you rush him, he’d make you wait for it, holding you right at the edge until your begging him to let you finish. he’d watch you with lidded eyes and that slight smirk as you squirm. he’ll only give you what you want when you ask him exactly how he wants.

he’s strong and he knows it, picking you up effortlessly, pinning your hands above your head. he probably likes manhandling you, I mean he doesn’t have those arms for no reason. grabbing your chin to make you look at him as he whispers to you. y’know that deep/raspy voice he does sometimes when he raps. that one.

he’s not possessive, but definitely has a thing for you saying his name. idk man, those clips of him and his smirk when people chant his name on stage do smth to me. “say it louder.” “who’s making you feel this good.”

HYUNJIN - Switch

Hyunjin is absolutely a switch, He can definitely take control when the mood is right, but he enjoys being taken care of as well. I know every says this but it’s true, hyunjin is a romantic guy. he definitely likes sex to more romantic and slow most of the time. he does like to tease you a bit though, but he gives in the minute you start to beg.

he’d definitely be a whiny sub when he’s overstimulated, breathless and clutching onto you. breathless gasps, soft moans, shaky sighs. his voice would crack when you push him too far. (when he still had his long hair) he’d love when you’d tug at his hair, or scratch your nails down his back. he’d bit his lip and throw his head back to keep from being too loud (and he fails miserably, you can only hope your alone in the house, wherever you are)

when he’s in dom mode, it’s all about eye contact he’d make you look pretty and ruin you slowly. “Why are you hiding your face? Let me see you,” he knows how much you love his hands and he loves using them. running them down your sides, pressing his thumb into your bottom lip, or rubbing his thumb on your clit while fingering you.

(I know this isn’t something everyone is totally into, and honestly i’m not that into it either but I can’t get the idea of hyunjin having a foot fetish out my head 😭 idk why but i feel like that’s so him..)

sex with him would be rooted in making you feel good. rooted in making you feel adored. running you, but worshipping you. he’d probably cry a bit if it feels too intense—but intense in the best way possible.

HAN - Sub (can dom when he’s feeling confident)

idk what it is but to me Han just screams like “tease me until I can’t breathe”. definitely into things like light biting and being restrained. he’s very squirmy and reactive, arching his back, clutching onto you, completely helpless.

Loves being both praised and degraded when you’re on top, absolutely melts. Very vocal in bed — whining, moaning, gasping, he does it all. no holding back with him.

He’s naturally needy and (as Seungmin said in that one interview) he craves attention, so subbing is his default. But he can switch things up and surprise you sometimes.

It’s hard to tell when he’s gonna switch things up on you. You’ll think you’re gonna be the one in control tonight but next thing you know he has you flipped on your back, hands pinned above your head. He’ll give you a cheeky grin and tease until you decide to take over again. ghosting his lips over yours, not giving you what you want.

He wouldn’t be rough, but he’s teasing would drive you insane. “Use your words, baby. You can’t expect me to guess.” But eye contact his is weakness, hold eye contact with him and he’ll crumble in less than 10 seconds.

FELIX - Switch (leaning sub)

Felix’s whole vibe is being soft so it’s makes sense that he’s a sub. However, we’ve seen countless times that he is also a little gremlin, he’s a flirt and a tease and he’s good at it, so if he decides he wants to take control, he can and he does. and it catches you completely off guard every single time.

he loves to be loved, to be taken care of. he’d melt into your touch and nuzzle into your neck, letting out soft whines. he’d hate to be in any position that wouldn’t allow him to hold you properly, he loves to wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against him. holding you tight as if he can’t breathe unless you’re skin on skin. he groans and moans a lot, his voice going from his regular deep to a surprisingly high pitched tone, voice cracking and trembling with each word.

when he does take control, it’d be a complete 180 from before. you’d know he means trouble the moment you catch that dark glint in his eyes. he’d be commanding but still gentle. his hands wouldn’t be too rough on you, but you’ll still feel like your completely at his mercy.

he’d take his time, drawing out your pleasure just to watch you tremble. also loves to make lots of eye contact (I mean we all saw that risabae video right?) and just smiles each time you try to squirm away from him.

SEUNGMIN - Dom

I know everyone believes Seungmin is like a hard, rough dom I don’t really think he’ll ever get like, completely aggressive. definitely very teasing and a strong dom but not so much aggressive. (or maybe it’s just me bcs i’m saying everyone is soft LMAO i’m sorry 😭) I think he’s very very calculated in the things he does, making you feel good while also making you loathe him for the endless teasing.

like I said, he wouldn’t raise his voice or get aggressive. his dominance would come through in how he stays calm and controlled while your absolutely losing it underneath him. he’s very handsy. he’ll say “Look at me.” and you’ll be so helpless to do anything but listen to him.

he’d love cupping your face, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. he’ll slowly break down your defenses. he knows exactly how to toy with your patience, keeping things slow and steady while hitting just the right spot just to slow down the second your about to cum. he’ll make sure your well taken care of in between teasing. A soft stroke of his hand down your cheek, “You’re so good for me,”

his type of dominance is often silent. his gaze alone can make you feel the weight of control before you have even made it to the bedroom and he loves watching you melt under his stare.

I.N. - Dom

Jeongin’s whole thing is quiet confidence. he acts innocent in public, but only you know the complete personality switch he has once you make it to the privacy of your bedroom.

he’ll probably start off teasingly but once you start begging he’d switch gears fast. he’s actually pretty intense, he loves seeing how far he can push you. he’ll hold down you hands and press his hands to your throat (lightly so he doesn’t hurt you) and grins when you gasp. he’ll hold you there and move slowly until you finally beg for him to do something, then he’d lean in and whisper “That’s what I wanted to hear.” he’d laugh softly when you whimper but his eyes would stay focused the entire time.

he’s focused. his quiet, deep voice commanding your attention. he can turn all his teasing into something more intense, gradually building it up until he has you exactly where he wants you.

once he knows that you are into it, he can’t help but watch in awe. he loves the feeling of knowing that he’s the one making you feel this good, that he’s the one making you lose your cool. “That’s it.. look at you.. so desperate for me.”

He’s good with his hands. I know everyone says it but he has to be. There’s no way he has hands like that, that he knows you love and doesn’t abuse his power with them. he’ll drag his hands up and down your thighs teasingly while pressing kissing to your pelvis, just an inch away from where you want him. he’s also insanely good with his tongue. I mean…. there’s no way he isn’t. you get the best of both words.

Taglist

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@yaorzu-blog | @pixie-felix | @compersian | @tshyn | @kittenchaos2024

dividers from @/saradika-graphics

[goron-king-darunia]

Story time! I thought writing and essays especially were stupid for most of grade school. Teachers would "correct" deliberate choices I made for creative writing and spelling was my absolute nemesis because we didn't exactly have dictionaries in class let alone the internet so I couldn't figure out how to spell words I'd heard and got marked down for using them.

When it came to essays on reading comprehension the questions seemed... How do I put this. I understood solving equations in math. They put a bunch of similar questions to make sure you could get consistent results so they knew you knew the process and not just that you memorized that 2+2 was 4 but weren't grasping somehow that 2 was a unit of two ones each so that 1+1+1+1 also equaled 4. But with reading questions they always seemed... like they weren't testing consistent things? Some questions would make sense like "Why do you think character did X? (Though my ass would get so mad if I got marked down on those because like "You're asking my opinion? You're asking me to interpret the text, the answer should vary?!" Even though I didn't have the language for that.) And then the other half of the questions were the questions I also hated on history tests where it was just memorizing pointless trivia that no human being would need to know like "what color were the curtains in the MC's bedroom?" which is the same shit as like "what happened on the 4th Thursday of May in 1411?" Like bitch, why would I know that? The date isn't as important to history as the actual events so ask me "what was X historical event about?" instead. I can tell you what the Boston Tea Party was about but why the fuck would I memorize the date? "What happened on page 12?" JUST ASK ME WHAT THE INCITING INCIDENT IS INSTEAD, I CAN GIVE YOU THAT ANSWER!

So I grew up putting minimal effort into English class for a while because a lot of the questions were some form of "what is the title of the book" levels of dumb, "give us your pre-approved opinion" frustration questions or the goddamn trap questions of "what was the MC's cousin's name that gets mentioned once in the entire book?" type questions. So I just phoned a lot of stuff in. Made my essays the bare minimum so I could move on to stuff I liked more.

Until about 7th grade when my English teacher made us do daily writing exercises. You had to write 5 paragraphs at least on any topic you wanted and it had to be 5 good paragraphs every day, around 5 sentences per paragraph. And I HATED it. "What do you MEAN I have to write an ESSAY every day?! This sucks!"

But the more I had to do it, the easier it was. Especially when the teacher realized that my handwriting was just not going to improve so I was allowed to write my entries during class but then type them at home and paste them into the book. So then I could actually look up words I wanted to use and learn to spell them correctly instead of having to guess or flip through a big ass book that at best the class had to share during school hours. (Electronic Pocket dictionaries of the 2000s my beloved. I carried mine everywhere when I finally got one.)

And for once I wasn't being graded on if my opinions on fucking Sonic the Hedgehog were valid or not. I wasn't being graded on whether Sonic being blue is actually deep symbolism or if blue is just a neat color. I was being graded on tangible qualitative skills like whether I could construct a good argument and whether my sentences were full sentences and whether all 5 paragraphs related to each other.

And suddenly writing was fun. And when we had free reading periods and could read for pleasure instead of "Okay, pick one of these pre-selected books so you can do a report on it later" I started to enjoy reading too. Enough that by the time I reached high school, I'd picked up Dante's Inferno at the nearby public library and read it on my own only to get excited when the next year it was required reading and I was ahead of the curve because I'd read it once before.

I get it. School is fucking terrible and the measures they use to test when you're "good" at something or not are fucked.

But if I decided to phone it in forever, I wouldn't be able to read through a full news article today or read through contracts and insurance benefits. I would have to trust strangers to tell me the truth on current events and business things. I could be fed easy-to-read lies and swallow them hook, line, and sinker because lies can be as short as you want but the truth is rarely brief.

If I kept phoning things in, I wouldn't have enjoyed half the stories and games that I do, met the friends that I've met, or made the art that I've made.

Having to write 5 paragraphs every day for a year taught me that... 5 paragraphs isn't much at all. Nowadays when I write a "short" story, it's 5,000 words or more. For fun.

I wouldn't know the things I know or how to find out the things I've learned if I just gave up and let the Liar Box with the Fake Answers write all my papers.

I get why it's tempting. School is awful if you're a normal kid, let alone a special needs kid like my ADHD ass. But not only will you not learn very useful and necessary skills by asking the liar box to write your papers, but you're setting yourself up to trust and rely on the liar box, and by direct extension, setting yourself up to forever rely on and trust strangers to give you "correct" information without having any of the skills to learn for yourself if their information is correct.

600 words is not that much. It's a chunk to be sure. But it's not that much.

This is already 1000 words. It doesn't take that long and I promise it's so worth it to be able to express your thoughts in your own words and learn things with your own power instead of having to trust a machine and the strangers that lie for fun to give you the stuff you want to know.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter ii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, first date, medium burn?, young girls rediscovering themselves and their desires, slight angst, mentions of faith.

notes: hi, my doves. let me know if you enjoyed this. sorry this is a little sad, but azzi is a product of childhood fame. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

II: SECOND SKIN.

“i’d like to work on something different. something that feels more like me.”

azzi watched as her manager’s brow rose, sensed her mother's gaze boring holes deep into her skin. she steadfastly ignored them, focusing instead on the condensation dripping down the plastic body of her iced blueberry matcha. 

the head of the label sat across from her. he was a stout man with a pinched face. it always looked as though he was struggling to breathe. he was kind though, had seen many a pop legend come and go, and seemed to have a soft spot for her ideas, usually called silly, when she presented them to katie on the car ride home.

“you don’t feel any connection to what you’re doing now?” he asked her, and azzi blinked back into the moment.  

“i think i did at some point but,” azzi pursed her lips, then let out a flow of air, “i’m not feeling myself in any of it. i look at the lyrics and open my mouth and nothing comes out. at least nothing i’m proud of.”

the man sat back, green eyes unnervingly bright. she focused on the liver spot that pulled across his neck, mind running as she tried to remember his name. it was something rather clandestine. micheal? murray? 

“what do you feel yourself in?”

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes, her cheeks haloed by her unbrushed curls. she was only in a midi black dress, the straps thick and the neckline square. along her collarbones lay a thin diamond chain with a silver, cursive ���a’ pendant that swung forward every time she readjusted herself. her feet were encased in faux-leather flats, the small, needlework rosary tattoo she’d gotten on a whim dark and visible.

“i’ve been listening to a lot of indie rock. red hot chili peppers, smashing pumpkins, the teenagers. i like the way i feel when i listen. there’s more room in the writing to sing about what i’m going through, big or small. i’m—” she hesitated. “i’m tired of being a sexy baby.”

“indie rock, huh?” the man said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “i didn’t think kids knew of red hot chili peppers these days.”

azzi smiled, her two front teeth shining white and new. her mother, who had been holding on for a rather impressive amount of time, finally gave her input.

“but she’s not a rockstar, max! she’s a pop star.”

oh, so his name was max. yes, very clandestine. max rolled his neck over to one side as he glanced irritably at katie, his jaw working before he responded. 

“i get that, katie, i really do.” azzi tried not to laugh and took a sip of her matcha. “but reinvention is how these girls stay alive in this world. azzi’s right. people are not looking for the sexy baby thing right now. i mean there’s always an audience, but azzi’s demographic has grown with her. and if she wants her growth to be noticeable, i think it's smart to play up a different image other than discovering that you have a body and desires for the first time.” 

huh, azzi thought. go, max.

he looked back at her, eyed her drink. “need another?’

“sure,” azzi said, her voice quiet but her resolve strong. 

they got up. they took a walk.

⟡

azzi pushed three thick sprays of salt water through the nozzle and into the back of her throat, her nose burning as california brine coated the muscles. then she texted paige. 

» hey, paige. just wanted to touch base about getting coffee this week.

her arms burned when she pressed the meat of them into the metal strings of her bass guitar. she shined it earlier and its teal corpse stared at her, reflecting a distorted image of her face as it begged her to touch it—to raise it from the dead. she felt the feeble spirit of her thirteen-year-old self in the marrow of the instrument, and she focused she could hear her too.  

she hated the message once she sent it. she sounded so out of touch with what it meant to be a young girl, a cool girl. while she waited for paige’s response, her eyes roved over the other girl’s instagram. she cataloged what she knew of her already: she was twenty-five, two years to azzi’s twenty-three, and a well-loved prodigy. she frequented texas, dallas to be specific, due to her current contract. she flew back and forth to new york, apparently helping to coach teenage athletes in her spare time. 

azzi liked that, that the goodness of her heart gave her a reason to plant her feet on new york’s rat-run ground. azzi sometimes worried that she wasn’t good, not even a little bit. 

she lingered on a candid of paige in the pews of a church, the light streaming in through the thin stained glass adorning her with mock sainthood. azzi wondered if it would matter to paige that god tended to put a frog in her throat, that she had removed his hands from around her neck and thighs and was trying to sit next to him without flinching on most days. maybe they would never get there. 

» hey, azzi. yeah, i’m still good for coffee. 

azzi smiled. i wonder if you know how good you make me feel, she thought and then was immediately embarrassed. 

» that’s really good to hear. 

she paused, then sent another message. 

» sorry about saying “touch base”. it was weird.

the response was swift.

» nah, it wasn’t. 

azzi wondered if she should leave it alone, but if she was going to coffee she may as well ensure it wasn’t too awkward. she raised her arms, ignoring the indentations in her skin, and snapped a picture of her guitar. the steel of its strings gleamed; the teal paint seemed to cry. you could see her shadow reach across it. her leg was bent, but visible—tender from her weight being shifted across it for several hours.

» trying to learn how to use her again » going a new direction with my music and i’m kind of really scared 

too honest, she berated herself. paige didn’t seem to think so.

(paige didn’t think so at all. her crystal blue eyes had fallen on the reddened skin of azzi’s knee, on the thin strip of darkness made by the bend of azzi’s leg and the crush of her thigh. her mouth watered, and she redid her ponytail to regain some self-control.)

» u have a voice like an angel, azzi. some things are just meant to be. 

» God knew what He was doing. 

she capitalized God, azzi noted. her mouth twitched into a smile. she liked that. it was a good detail.

» i’m not that religious, but since you are i guess you would know. » sorry that sounded mean, but i don’t mind it. your faith, i mean. please don’t feel bad.

a moment passed and then,

» i don’t know, i just trust. » and i didn’t feel bad. ur not a mean girl. 

azzi laughed out loud then. 

» it’s my desire to know vs my desire to trust, she said.  » see you tomorrow, paige

her phone buzzed one last time. 

» can’t wait. i’ll be looking for u. 

azzi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. she thought hard of california, saw her father in the waves with a hand around her arm—the bone thick with baby fat. she heard something, someone. 

she touched a string. it sang.

⟡

the morning light came in sharp, cutting the shop into bright angles and long shadows. the windows were too clean, the floor polished to a dull shine. it smelled like scorched milk and antiseptic, something artificial masking something else. the kind of place people pretended to not mind, with its ten-dollar oat lattes and plastic baristas. the kind of place azzi used to think she liked.

she had dressed without thinking—well, no. she had thought about it quite a bit, but it was a good fantasy.

a strapless smocked top, tight across her ribs, the fabric shifting when she moved. faded jeans, loose at the hip, cinched with an old leather belt. they slouched low, soft, and worn in the way vintage denim should be, brushing against the tops of her boots. she carried her jacket in one hand, twisted around her fingers like an afterthought. her hair, loose from whatever styling had held it the other morning, fell in soft, uneven spirals. she’d drawn up the top with brown butterfly clips to prevent it from getting into her eyes. 

she looked like someone caught between selves. not quite undone, but close.

her fingers traced the rim of her mug, nails chipped down to uneven edges. the heat of the ceramic barely registered. paige was watching her. not in the way people usually did—calculating, expectant—but with a slow heat closer to patience. like she was trying to understand something. azzi often felt like a ghost within her own body, but now, someone was gazing at her,  not through her.

paige sat with her legs apart, elbows resting on her thighs. it was the kind of posture that helped make her look present without seeming too comfortable. the light made a halo of her, just for a second.

she wore a white, slightly oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up just once—as she did it absentmindedly, not for style. the fabric looked soft; it seemed the kind that came off better the more it was worn. beneath that: dark wash straight-leg jeans, fitted enough to hint at her strength but relaxed to a degree that spoke to her disinterest in the semantics of fashion. they fell heavy at the hem, half-swallowing her vintage nike cortez sneakers. a simple chain encircled her neck, barely noticeable except when the light caught it. a cross, just simple metal.

the image instilled a sense of wonder in azzi. she wanted to ask about it, if it meant anything.

paige grimaced, picking up her vanilla latte with two shots of espresso. "twelve fucking dollars?" she muttered. "for this?"

azzi watched her, something soft developing in her chest. she slightly recognized this feeling. it was like rediscovering a language she'd forgotten she knew how to speak. it began to bleed through her, raw and unfiltered. she worried that it would stain her shirt.

"so," paige said, her voice slipping through the lo-fi hum of someone’s terrible 2010-esque playlist, "tell me something."

azzi blinked. the overhead lights buzzed, too bright, catching on the fine gold chain around her throat. her small scorpio pendant shifted when she swallowed. 

“um, let’s see. i'm twenty-three," azzi started, her words falling into a practiced rhythm. "born in virginia, but lived in california for a while. i miss it there. uh, oh. my favorite color is pink. i have a birthmark shaped like texas on my left hip.” 

paige took another swig of coffee and then looked her dead in the eye. she raised an eyebrow. "you giving me teen beat facts?"

azzi suppressed a smile. she shrugged.

paige leaned in, elbows on the table, hands loose but steady.

"something that doesn’t exist in a press release." a pause. "give me the real you, please."

the words settled between them. the moment stretched, thin and expectant. something about it made azzi want to look away.

she didn’t.

“um,” her voice was quieter now, “i’m terrified of spiders, but i don’t ever want to kill them. i’m allergic to fake gold, and my ears swelled when i got them pierced as a toddler. i can’t cook or bake, but i have a good eye for presentation. i haven’t really written or performed anything i’ve liked in over two years.”

the last bit took her by surprise, but paige’s eyes only softened. she leaned back and swallowed down the remnants of her drink. she put it down and tilted her head, her blonde hair shifting with the movement. her mouth seemed electric as she spoke. 

“i want to take you somewhere. come with me?”

they ended up at a small ethiopian restaurant.

it was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, where the scent of berbere and spiced butter pulled at the air before the door even opened. inside, the walls were warm-toned, lined with woven baskets and paintings, the floor covered in persian rugs softened and faded by years of footsteps. it hummed with low chatter, the clink of metal trays, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group in the corner.

azzi looked around, a little mesmerized. "this is beautiful."

paige watched her, further endeared. "yeah."

they sat on the floor, low cushions pressed against their backs, a tray of injera and slow-cooked stews set between them. the place was packed, families and couples and groups of friends leaning close, tearing pieces of bread with practiced ease. 

it was intimate in a way that surprised azzi—hands reaching, sharing, dipping.  food was so respected here; the art of the meal and family so centered. she followed paige’s lead, watching her scoop a piece and fold it with practiced ease.

azzi’s first bite made her eyes widen, then flutter closed. "oh my god."

"right?" paige grinned, watching as azzi eagerly took another bite. it was so good, flavored in a way that stuck to your ribs. this was the kind of food you could taste long after you’d left the table.

they stayed like that, across from one another but intersecting as their hands met in the warm rivers of heavily spiced sauce and pots of yellow rice.

at some point, azzi got a bit of sauce on her chin, then her cheek, and paige, without thinking, swiped her thumb over it only to smear it across the bridge of her nose. azzi let out a startled laugh, brown eyes crinkling, and paige smirked.

"you missed a spot."

paige watched as azzi lifted her phone, angling the camera to capture the streak of sauce on her cheek, then her nose. she stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes in one, then tilted her head slightly, lips parted to reveal her american girl teeth, a mess of curls cradling her face.

"these are so cute," she murmured, voice warm as she tapped through the shots. "i never get to have food on my face."

and it was clearly meant to be funny in an offhanded way, but then azzi’s face flickered—like she’d just realized something. a small thing, but a thing that felt bigger, heavier. her throat tightened, and she hurried to blame it on the spice, but she could tell that paige saw through it, saw the way her fingers flexed like she didn't know what to do with them.

under the table, paige found her hand. squeezed. then, casually, she tore another piece of injera, scooped up some stew, and lifted it to azzi’s full lips—the skin a deep pink and swollen by the flame of peppers.

"here, mama," she said, voice easy. "try this one."

azzi took the bite, chewed, and swallowed. she exhaled, slow. paige didn’t let go of her hand.

before they left, the owners took a polaroid for the wall of customers. azzi insisted they take two, so they could have their own. in the photo, azzi was mid-laugh, eyes bright, sauce still dotted on her nose. paige stood beside her, relaxed in a way she didn’t even realize, watching azzi like she had a secret within that she didn’t know yet.  like she always had.

they didn’t decide who would get to keep it officially, but it ended up in the back of azzi’s phone. a pale copy sat in paige’s gallery. azzi pocketed the second polaroid, running a thumb over the glossy surface. something shifted inside her, loose and warm. 

later, on the train home, she tucked her legs beneath her in the seat and hummed under her breath. a melody had given birth inside of her—new, half-formed, and fighting. words came to her unbidden, stale lyrics made better by the fact that she was trying again.

she murmured into her phone’s voice memo app. she held up the phone to paige’s mouth and asked her to speak. paige smiled, tender with joy, and protested that she didn’t know what to say.

“it’s not the real thing,” azzi assured her. “you can say anything.”

paige hummed and then,

“will you get another coffee with me?” 

azzi grinned, her body trembling. she lowered her feet to the floor and leaned over until her head fell onto paige’s shoulder. she picked up paige’s hand and turned it over so that the pale palm was open and exposed. she traced nine letters into the skin.

yes, please.

paige closed her hand and kept her there. 

azzi hummed from the station to her apartment. even the clink of her keys into their designated bowl seemed on-key. 

it was a song. her song. the first in a long time. she could’ve sobbed. 

thank god, she thought, that i remember how to sing.

⟡

voguescandinavia: azzi fudd has a new approach: “i want to keep going to places where i don’t know anyone or anything. i tend to find myself there.”

a black and white portrait accompanied the tweet. azzi's face was slightly turned, wind-blown wisps of her natural curls catching across her cheekbone. her expression was borderline intense, almost vulnerable—eyes looking slightly off-center, not quite meeting the camera.

she wore a simple white tank top, and her skin was slightly tanned, with shadows and bits of sand dusted along parts of her face. the background was indistinct, a blurred landscape suggesting openness, motion. her gaze penetrated.

it was silently understood that she wasn’t performing, but truly present.

the reception was overwhelmingly kind, warm. but only one mattered.

trending simple and proud:

pbueckersofficial: angel falls short but swear it’s her true form 🩶🎙️

on her private account, her heart to mouth filter had failed. the same picture, quote retweeted but with different wording: 

pbuckets5: i want to run away. make a world of just you and me. somewhere between the city lights and the way you breathe—i'm desperate to understand everything.

her teammates' immediately lit up her notifications.

karnold: girl what is happening  aubrey: wait what.   janaaa: oh. drewbuckets: paige poetry era??

azzi, almost half asleep, saw the public thread. smiled. then quote-tweeted:

azzi35: i'd like to stay on earth for another coffee with you 🕊️

the internet imploded. 

username: they actually hang out?!  username: paige bueckers and azzi fudd interacting again??? this is not a drill  uconnsports: we're witnessing history  ⤷ username: who is the intern running this page lmfao username: the way they're speaking about each other?? its giving legacy love story i fear karnold: y’all don’t you worry, we got somebody checking on paige cause she may actually be dead idk

and trending worldwide: #bueckersfudd2028.

⟡

azzi went to sleep. in her dreams there was a stage, but no microphone. azzi opened her mouth and extended a hand to the sole person in the audience. from her mouth burst three pink butterflies. 

teach me, they said with every pump of their wings. please, teach me.

the woman stood from her seat. her hair was so blonde it was almost white. she looked at azzi with her sharp blue gaze, touched her own throat, and then stepped forward to press into azzi’s skin. the heat from her fingertips spiraled up into azzi’s mouth until she felt so warm that she thought her bones might melt into ash and milk. 

the woman cupped her cheek. from her heart a beat; from her mouth a word. 

azzi, she said. her mouth was closed. God himself opened your mouth and placed music on your tongue.

azzi, she said. sing.

© hcneymooners.

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 2 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

help me be a good wife, cause I need him i know, i need him read part 1 nanami goes back to sorcery, and the color comes back to his face. but, all the color drains from yours a/n: I know it's a bit of a hot take writing a canon nanami fic in 2025, but I always wanted to have some version of him wrapped up in the angst of sorcery. his downward/uphill spiral was so beautiful and made him just so special. this is just my way of giving him a sweeter story. brb while I sob.

cw: 18+ somno, angst, explicit content

+:★:+*━━━━━ ♫ - good wife - kacey musgraves -♫ ━━━━━*+:★:+*

A year into marriage, Nanami begins losing his footing. 

You notice it immediately—he would sleep through work alarms, needing your presence to wake him. Even after ten hours asleep, he would rise with dark circles under his eyes and stare blearily at the wall as the sun began to rise. The way he showered and dressed held a different undertone, too, like he was in pain—constant pain. Even the way he said your name felt different. 

So, you scramble, spending extra time tending to each of his unsaid needs. Dinner every night as soon as he comes home? Check. Expensive, thoughtful lingerie for him to unravel? Check. Letting him drink, letting him be alone, but letting him talk if he needs to? Yes - you’re doing it all by the book. 

Which is why it’s debilitating when he pulls away even more. 

Or when he doesn’t come home at all, like tonight. It’s been hours of you hovering around your phone long after his workday concluded to an eerily silent line. 

There was no,

Be home soon, dear.

Or, more mildly. 

Pulling overtime.

There was just… radio silence. Tonight was the first night since he was your boyfriend that you felt a falter in his demeanor. This time, it’s eating you alive. 

You reach for the phone, nose deep in his contact as soon as the screen turns on. You call him twice, then again, and wait for the notifications to settle before trying once more. 

Then, you text. Just once, just to make sure he’s okay. 

To: Kento i'll miss you tonight

Ten minutes pass without an answer, then twenty more. 

It’s after an hour of nothing that you finally peel yourself off the couch and start cleaning up for bed. The beautiful dinner spread you prepared for him gets reduced to leftovers and confined in dishes in the refrigerator. You wash and clean everything just like you would if he were peeking over your shoulder, this time, swallowing down tears and angst with the constant unknowing where he was or what he was doing. 

When you’re about to crawl into bed and rid the fateful night over, you perk up to a ding on your side table. You give yourself whiplash sitting up and reaching for it. 

From: Kento Please sleep. Don’t wait up, I’m okay. See you in the morning, my love. 

It’s simple, and you want more, but you take it with a stupid little smile on your face. At least you know he’s okay, he sounds okay. It sounds like he still loves you and worries about your headspace. So, you don’t respond. Instead, you put your phone away and curl up in bed, wrapping your arms around your frame to imitate some of the warmth Ken would lend you in the night. 

As you fall asleep, there’s nothing you can think about that isn’t just… him. His eyes, his sweet smile, your name on his sex-stained lips, the way it feels when you’re tangling your fingers in his and his hair. It’s stupid to need someone so wholly, to rely on their mood to carry you through your day, but it's the only way you could keep him. 

All Kento wants in a wife is exactly what he laid out for you: 

Comfort, meals, someone to listen, to fuck, and someone who understands. 

What he’d give you in return: 

Money, lots of it, and whenever you need it. Stability, love, understanding, sex, his undivided attention, and whatever else you asked of him. 

Except, you never ask. You never demanded anything that wasn’t his love. If you had the nerve, you’d pick up the phone and demand he come home. He’d run, too, drunk and all, just to get lost in your arms for the night. But you couldn’t do that. You won’t crowd him. 

The night is spent alone after all, and it’s only at the drop of sunrise that you feel the bed shift with that familiar, heavy presence. It jolts you awake immediately, and his smell is wafting all throughout the room and over the bed. Smells like him, magnified by a thousand. Perhaps it’s the missing him, but you can tell it’s because he’d been confined in these clothes too long. Years together give you senses like this – the ability to smell every shift in his routine, the way he just flops down instead of sitting. It’s all very telltale; you pause when you pull open your eyes. 

When you open them, he’s fumbling at his shirt before giving up and falling back into his spot on his side of the bed. He’s pushing his face right next to you, humming low in his throat, and barely awake as you sit up and stare at him. That big breath he takes in through the nose is to absorb your smell - that comforting perfume he told you to always wear those years ago. Of course, he picks up on that. 

You drag a hand across his sleeping face, smiling gently as his skin twitches against you. You wish he would wake up and drunkenly dote on you a bit, but assuming he hasn’t slept all night, you let him have this moment. 

You’re not counting the minutes of constantly watching him sleep, but it had to have been close to an hour before he shifted, groaning somewhere deep in his throat. 

“So hungry… baby…” 

“Hm?” Perhaps he’s dreaming, you don’t jump into service immediately. Until, he repeats, this time with more pained conviction:

“Hungry…” 

Then, you’re turning out of bed, sliding on socks so you won’t be assaulted by cold wood in the early morning. Since it’s so early and the sun is soft, you only prepare what you made him last night, and accompany it with a cup of coffee. The caffeine wouldn’t do much on Ken’s system but sober him up, and that’s what he needed if he’d forego a hangover tomorrow. 

Of course, you’d know this,  you two used to be drinkers in your prime. 

So you tiptoe back into the bedroom with a plate and mug in your hands, rounding his side of the bed and taking a seat next to his large frame. Kento’s been at the gym a lot more lately, too, and he’s starting to fill out accordingly. You love how his large arms feel when you drag your fingers over them. It’s a new type of familiar. 

“Hungry?” You echo his earlier thoughts, speaking softly enough not to jostle him. He seems to be stirred by your presence, because he turns around and cracks open an eye. Golden hair all messy and falling over the pillow in a halo. He also cut it about three months ago, and you’re just now getting used to the shorter undercut. It’s like your Kento was changing in front of your eyes, and you’re just staying the same. 

He blinks at you, muttering into the pillow. “Oh, you’re an angel.”

“Brought you coffee.” You bring the steaming mug to your lips, blowing it gently before lowering it to him. 

“Oh.” He sits up, turning around with a hand pressed to his forehead like it was still swimming in drunkenness. “Truly a miracle worker… give me that first.” His words are scarily competent for him, only having slept an hour, but you’re not complaining. Ken takes the coffee from your hands and swallows about half of it in a single sitting. 

“Where were you all night?” You start, gently… just testing the waters to see if he was in a mood. After all, you had every right to know. 

“Had mountains of work and went into overtime.” He exhales, gaining his bearings after chugging scalding hot coffee. “Pissed and didn’t want to come home, so I went drinking instead.” 

“All night?” 

“Go on, scold me.” 

“I won’t scold you.” You decide, cleaning up some hair around his sleepy, paled face. Now, he’s looking at you with a strange sort of pleading look in his eyes. 

“I’ve been thinking about leaving my job.” 

It hits you like a ton of bricks and all at once. You knew he was struggling in his current position, but he’s never equated it to more than overtime stress. He’s been pulling so much more lately, and it’s getting to him. 

Though unsure, you start nodding immediately, holding his tired gaze. Right now, you want him to know you’re there and support him. It’s not your decision if he decides to keep his job or quit, but he trusts your input. He likes talking to you because you always have something good to say – something comforting. 

“I have a plan, I just need to explain it to you.” 

Two more sips and Ken’s at the bottom of his mug. He hands it off to you, and you hand him his lukewarm plate of food. Lackluster or not, he’s devouring his meal, leaving just over half of it when he wipes his lips and starts speaking. 

“Surely you are familiar with folklore? Curses, ghosts, devils, and demons? Even just apparitions and legends, ” He’s searching for any type of unease in your eyes as he speaks, but your loving, gentle gaze doesn’t even falter. “They’re all true and real.”

In your mind, you weren’t sure about anything like that, but Ken has never told a lie in his life. If he told you the sky was red, you wouldn’t even look up at the sky. You’d just assume it’s red. 

He continues, “If all those fated evils moved about society freely, surely there has to be some control.”  He’s going slow to shovel bites of food and let you process it all, but you wish he’d spit it out. “Some type of… law enforcement.” 

“I don’t…” You furrow your eyebrows, shifting over the bed so you’re more comfortable. This conversation would drag; you can tell because he’s cherry-picking his words, trying to come off as sane as possible. You don’t want him sane, you just want him to tell the truth. 

“They’re called Jujustu Sorcerers.” He yawns, then pushes his empty plate to the nightstand for you to pick up later. “Unfortunately, I came from a family of them. They are the government’s one-trick pony, set to die whenever they need them to. Only one catch, they pay you a salary that almost makes it worth it.” 

Half of that gets lost over your head, and he’d have to explain it when you’re awaker. You’re caught up on one thing, though, the one thing you always asked about. “You never talk about your family…” 

“Because they threw me to those shits when I was fourteen and without a dime in my name.” He lies back in bed, turning so his back is facing you. Missing his eyes already, you reach forward to touch him. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. It’s a troubling industry, and the last thing I want is for you to be caught in it.” 

You’re unsure what to say, but you know you trust him. All you can do is trust him; he’s never steered you wrong or put you in danger. There’s just one phrase that kept echoing through your mind. 

-Set to die whenever they need them to. 

It gave you chills. 

“I trust you, but what do you mean? Set to die when they need you to? That’s absurd.” 

Thank God you can’t see the look on his face, right now. One so overcome with shame and fear. It was only a matter of when, not if. 

You can tell he means to follow up and ease your nerves, but it’s the stark reality of the career. He’d have so much money, more fulfillment, but also run that 60% failure rate if he were to take on a Special Grade… he definitely wouldn’t tell you that. All he can do right now is nod against the pillow. 

“I know it sounds-

“-wait, why would you do that to yourself? I don’t understand.” 

The interruption makes him flex his jaw, but he understands your frustration. “I know it sounds rough, and it is, I’m just far more equipped for sorcery.” 

You shake your head, then nod. Then, you just decide it's better that you don’t understand and perhaps that you never will. Kento could go to work, make a lot more money than he does now, but could probably end up dead? What would you do if he died..? 

You don’t think you could handle it. 

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you.” Is what you settle on. He breathes out a laugh, then shrugs. 

A sickly sort of lie forms on his lips. It makes it easier to lie when he’s not looking at you. “Of course, you know dying isn’t likely. I am good at my job.” 

“So, don’t die. That’s the only stipulation. Work as much as you need to feel fulfilled, but don’t be stupid and don’t give your life to them. No job should require that.” 

Kento listens like he cares, nodding every few seconds. He knows you don’t truly understand, and he wants it that way. He wants to come home to you and always be able to forget about work. You truly are his sanctuary, but he doesn’t think he’ll tell you anytime soon. 

What he feels the need to tell you now is about his past. Everything about it. His parents - how they dumped him without a single word. Haibara, Suguru, Satoru – Ken’s sure he’ll be a new constant in your lives… If he’s still alive. Surely all of his classmates perished by now; they had to have. It’s why he didn’t continue in the industry after graduation. He could feel his death timer drawing closer and closer.

So, he ran from it and into your arms. 

A promise well-kept, Kento quits his salary position and starts back at Jujustu High a week later. 

Things have been different; his work schedule is changing and longer, leaving you mostly with time to yourself all day. You thought you’d love it and use it to find yourself again, but you loathe it whenever you feel him crawl out of bed in the morning. 

Kento would wake up at 8 and shower, oftentimes convincing you to join him. Just like this morning, he was stuck under the spray, letting the steaming water rush over his face with no need to breathe. You’re pressed into his back, standing bare with your arms wrapped around his torso. You listen to his breathing, feeling the patter of his heartbeat against your crossed hands. He’s so warm, so tall, and strong under your fingers. 

It’s in the shower where you tend to feel the closest to him. It’s not about sex here, not all the time, but the sheer closeness you two hold in this space is one too deep to comment on. You pray in this moment for him to come home safely, and he prays that he won’t leave you behind. He’s been purposefully picky with his missions lately, telling Satoru he just didn’t want to risk it today. Every Special Grade mission got pushed to the side, and unfortunately, it left him having to mop up century-old dormant Grade 3 Curses and accompany Satoru on bad days. 

You don’t mind listening to his hour-spanning stories about his rowdy colleagues, you love them. 

It feels as if you know this Satoru more than Kento does. Like an annoying brother, though you’ve never even seen his face. 

Kento is especially quiet this morning, like he knows something is hanging over his head once he leaves the safety of your arms. 

“I feel quite selfish asking this of you…” He starts, smooth voice drowned out by the water. “Tonight, if you could just… just have all the household chores done when I get home so your attention is on me all night? Please?” 

“Of course.” You reply, lips buried in his shoulder. It makes you wonder if you haven’t been doing a good enough job taking care of him lately, but he’s never said anything about feeling neglected. Perhaps he just needs more. 

“And don’t bother with the frilly stuff. Just be naked, waiting in bed for me, please.” There’s something behind his tone, making your heart swim in unknowing. He’s speaking against the water, blinking it from his eyes as he stares forward. 

“Yes, Kento.” 

“Make sure you have everything prepared. I will do everything I can to be home after six, just please be thorough and caring when I arrive.” 

“Yes, baby. Anything you need…” 

“Thank you.” He’s standing up straight, running his hands through his hair to wring the water out. He’s actually starting to shower now, so you hand him over his soap, making sure he’s contented before taking care of yourself. 

In your chest, you feel a hint of unease and excitement from what he’s asking of you. It’s not much different from most nights, but he’s making sure you know. He doesn’t want one of those one-off chances that you could be visiting a friend or out at the shops. He needs every difficult emotion he faced buried inside of you, strangling you from within until your beautiful demeanor and endless comfort exorcise it like a curse. 

Kento thinks you are immensely strong, stronger than Satoru himself in so many ways, but mostly for your selflessness. He’s never known a woman as strong, tender, loving, and thorough as you are. It’s why he married you, and it's why he calls you by his name every chance he gets. He wants you to know that you’re his, right into your very being, just like he’s yours. 

So, he lives his day with your promise, seeing you in every reflective surface and hearing you in every passing voice. Kento hasn’t told any of his colleagues about you, but he keeps a ring on his finger, not hiding you away when the dirty comes to be. 

That feeling he had when he woke up was real – he understands it when he comes face-to-face with a four-legged curse, and inevitably spends another hour on the job that evening. He gets off, texts you immediately, and thanks himself ten hours ago for giving you those instructions. 

He drives home with a quirk in his neck and angst in the front of his mind, he’s reeling – busting at the seams for you when he pushes into the bedroom. Seems you’ve fallen asleep during the wait, but Ken doesn’t mind the view of your front pressed to the mattress, eyes fluttering with REM. 

You’re completely naked, lying with your cheek shoved into the crook of your crossed arms. Hugging the pillow close, Ken wishes it were him, so he gets as close as possible. 

The trail of his lips against your cool back makes you twitch. Kento can feel it when he kisses your protruding shoulder blade. The lingering of a fresh shower stains his lips as he trails down your back, right hand working his tie loose. He wants you to wake up – needs some type of reaction, a moan, a whisper. He just wants you, right now. 

“Wake up, Nanami.” He begs, left hand sliding from your back and between the swells of your ass. He’s comfortable there, craning his fingers so they hit right over your clit. 

You don’t even stir, he lets out a breath. 

“This is not what I need from you right now,” he warns, getting close to your ear. He flexes his hand between your thighs, prodding his thumb against your slick entrance. “You had all day to sleep; now is not the time.” 

You’re blinking awake when his finger presses inside of you, leg pushing against the bed as you try to escape the pressure. It only clicks that it’s your husband when you fully wake up, heart sinking once you realize you dozed off. 

“Fuck,” you sit up, wiping a stray line of drool from the corner of your lips. Kento’s bright against the moonlight pouring in through the bedroom window, face pulled up in frustration. “Mm, why didn’t you call when I didn’t answer you?” 

“Because I was on my way home.” He starts quirking his finger, still buried inside of you, massaging lazily. It’s nothing much, just familiar closeness, but your breath picks up. He drinks up the soft moan you give him immediately. 

“Bad day?” You play that tone for him, the one so nurturing and comforting that he lets his eyes flip shut. 

“Terrible.” 

“Feels good.” You whisper against his lips as he leans down to kiss you. He’s treating your cunt how you should be treating him – massaging and doting at his most sensitive areas. “You’re so good to me, baby. Let me take care of you.” 

“Just want you to lie there and look pretty.” He starts undoing the rest of the buttons on his blue work shirt and crawls over you, knees resting on either side of your crossed legs. You’re nodding for him, anxious because you can’t see him – can’t predict his next movements. You can feel him fiddling away back there, likely pulling his belt free and pants down. 

What you don’t know is the fact that he has a flesh wound on his back, patched up by Ieiri, but still there nonetheless. He doesn’t want you to worry just yet, but knows it's only a matter of time before your fingers grace across the fresh scar. Kento’s not worried about the pain; he’s worried about your reaction, so he hides it long enough to slip out of his loose briefs. 

“Tell me you love me.” Kento’s hovering over your body, guiding his cock through your ass, chasing friction against your sweet skin. “Please, just say it all. Say my name.” 

“I love you… Kento, my Nanami.” You whisper into the pillows, drawing your eyebrows together as you focus on staying still. He’s wound so tight, right now. Moving so robotically strained. “Love you so much, with all of my body and soul. Everything you do for me is so selfless and loving, you’re the perfect husband. I just love you so much.” 

“Love you…” He bites, swallowing a whine as he leans down and presses his head into your back. His forearms shake, trying to keep his weight steady, but he refuses to budge. He refuses to let the ache in his back nullify his need for you. “I love you so much, you don’t deserve this. You know you don’t. I know you don’t.” 

“Deserve what, baby? You? We deserve each other.” 

Kento stills for a minute, heavy breathing in your ear as he finally guides the blushing tip of his cock inside of you. It starts slow, so gentle and sweet as you feel yourself stretch and expand to fit him perfectly. 

Halfway to the hilt, you both breathe out a moan, your arms hug the pillow closer. 

“No. You deserve a husband with an easy go of things – someone not blinded by money and depression. I look at you every day and wonder why… how you chose me…” 

“I chose you because you’re perfect.” There are tears in your eyes already, not from overstimulation, but from him. From Kento’s sweet emotion and how he loves you so much, you can feel it pouring and flowing through your shared bodies. 

“You make me perfect.” 

Finally, his soft voice makes those tears overflow and stream into your ivory sheets. You’re dragging out soft moans, breathless and breaking under his touch every time he fucks into you so tenderly. The zipper on his pants scrapes your sensitive skin – his fingers are digging into your arms, teeth latched into your shoulder. It’s like his softness enters you from every sense, eating you alive and making you sob. 

“Don’t cry.” He whispers over you, blinking open his eyes and seeing the ebbs and flows of his Cursed Energy cascading over your body like a blanket. It makes him hold you tighter, grip bruising against your shaking arm. He’s been absent-mindedly coating you in the viscous blues, marking every sense you didn’t even know existed as his. 

“My Nanami… Nanami, baby…” Your surname rings so familiar against his lips, blooming in a blush around his grip. “My wife, my strength… my peace. In every universe, I will find you. Don’t ever worry about me leaving you. I never will.” 

“Mmf – fuck, K-ken,” You’re shaking your head, fisting the sheets in your free hand. He feels so good – so right buried inside of you and fucking you slow. You’re both so wet, it’s impossible to keep his tired thrusts steady. “I’m gonna… gonna-

“Whenever. Cum whenever.” He’s answering for you, craning his neck to kiss your tear-stained lips. It’s that sloppy mouth-kiss that finally opens those floodgates for your orgasm to come pushing through. 

Your warning dies in your throat, but he’s expecting it enough to keep fucking you through it. Perservering even when it feels like you’re gonna snap him in half. He’s hardly fucking you, but it’s his voice — his sickly sweet words rolling off his tongue that unravels you from the inside out. It’s with a tight, craning grip on his arm that you finally cum against him, crying his name and begging for more. 

This time, you want more. You need more. 

You don’t even have to tell him. In one fateful swoop, he’s turning you on your back, still seated halfway inside of you, when he starts a pace that’s exactly what you need. He’s pinning you down into the bed, lips pressed to yours as he fucks you so right. 

Skin is slapping over skin, moans getting lost between each other's lips. It’s so lewd, even Ken’s words get lost in the moment. With each thrust, it’s as if a weight lifts from his shoulders, concentrating into a single amalgamation before completely lifting away. 

He feels like a new person, throwing his sweaty head back in relief. 

He’s exactly where he wants to be right now, looking down and staring into your beautiful eyes. Buried inside of you, cumming to the sound of your elated cries. The orgasm is so mindblowing, so delicious and everything he needed after an especially shitty day. 

It’s only when you reach up, hands trailing over his back, that he catches himself. 

“Wh-what? Your… back…” You sit up with him, your arm falling limp onto the bed when he pushes it away. Your fingers just barely grazed over the gauze cover, but you’re not stupid. That look in his eyes isn’t too nonchalant for you to break through. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

As much as your heart physically hurts at the thought of your husband being injured, you shut your mouth. It’s not what Kento needs from you right now, and you understand that. 

After all, you are a good wife. 

Both of you fall asleep unshowered, covered in each other and spooning on top of the sheets. Only two hours of sleep pass, you’re dreaming of your long-past honeymoon, and Ken is stewing over work. The post-sex mindlessness has worn off, and now he’s knitting his eyebrows together in dreams. If you were awake, you’d kiss the lines away and reassure him that he can always leave his job if need be. He can always take a year off and let you be the provider — you wouldn’t know how you’d accomplish it, but anything is possible for your husband. 

So, the clock ticks on quickly, and at the mark of midnight, Kento’s phone begins to buzz on the side table. 

It only takes a few rounds before he’s sitting up, eyes closed as he brings the phone to his ear. 

“What.”

‘Nanamin, I know I told you I wouldn’t do this tonight…’ Satoru’s on the other line, an eerie calm edge to his smooth voice. Ken takes a breath. 

‘But, there’s a Special Grade swarming the city center. I’m at the scene, but there are Curse Users — six of them.’

“‘f you need my help, just say it.”

‘I need your help.’ 

So, he hangs up the phone and swings his legs out from under you, not too conscious about waking you because he knows his lack of presence would do it anyway. 

Just as he thought, you’re stirring as soon as his body heat moves. “Where… where are you goin’?” You whisper, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. He’s halfway to the closet, oblivious to your half-asleep mannerisms. “Kento?” You try again, pulling the soiled sheets over your naked frame, suddenly cold. 

“Go back to sleep.” He demands, walking out of the closet with a fresh blue button-up hanging from his shoulders. He starts at the base of the shirt, fiddling his fingers in the buttons as he gets ready… again. 

“What are you doing?” You try again, this time with more conviction behind your tone. 

“Called in.” He shrugs this off like it's normal, but he’s never been called in before. He’s never told you about the possibility of removing himself from you at night. “Make sure you stay home. Be safe and smart, just like I know you are.” 

“But, what do you mean you were called in?” You want him to answer – can tell he’s dodging it as he lifts his neck, shirt buttoned up at midnight. 

“Sorry. I won’t make you my liability.” That's all he says before turning his back to you, heading into the closet. 

“W-what does that mean?!” You’re flustered, now. Anxious and tired, needing him on your skin. It’s so cruel to imagine a night with him, only for it to get ripped out from under you. “You just worked ten hours today.” 

“And it will likely be ten more.” He’s speaking like it’s nothing, using that stupidly stoic tone of voice like he’s lecturing a student. “Thank you for being my constant. I’m much more at ease, now.” 

You can tell he wants you to bow right now, but your back wants to bend. 

“I don’t want you to go.” You sound so stupid and needy in this darkness, feeling his eyes staring holes into your shadow. He’s walking back into the room with his entire uniform on, tie tangled around his fist, and glasses in hand. It makes you sick. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leaves you with a look over the shoulder and a baseless goodbye, and you feel like a shell of yourself…

Watching him fade away through your door and into a world you couldn’t understand feels like a knife in the chest. 

To Kento, you’re safe and strong - unyielding and comforting whenever he needs it the most, but internally, you’re wailing. It’s like you hardly see him anymore, it’s like he only exists at night to touch and kiss you. Then, he’s an apparition again, only to drink from your fountain once night falls again. 

There has to be some cheat book, some file tucked away in plain sight that could give you answers. You needed a list sprawled out in serif, boldly plain and to the point. 

Most of all, you needed to know: 

How can you keep a man that can’t live without you?

[wordsofwhimsy]

Power Play ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Pairing: Omni-Mark x f!CEO!Reader

Warnings: None

Genres: Fem!Dom budding romantic adventure (what a description lmao)

Word Count: 1330

Synopsis: Omni-Mark thought he was the superior being in any room he entered, that is until he met you.

Inspiration: “I’m Sprung” – T-Pain

a/n: when i tell y’all i am strugglinggg with the next part for Shattered Affections i feel like my brain is going to melt out of my ears. so i had to take a break from it and write something quick & fun instead

Omni-Mark always prided himself on being the epitome of control. Super strength, near invulnerability, the kind of cool and collected confidence that made people look twice. Yet, despite all of that, there was one thing that had him completely off-balance: you.

He’d seen you before, of course. Your sleek, perfectly tailored suits, the way you commanded attention with nothing more than a look, a sharp word, or the sheer force of your presence. As CEO of the most powerful tech conglomerate in the world, you were a woman who didn’t need to ask for respect – it was given, the moment you entered a room.

But Omni-Mark wasn’t just mesmerized by the way you carried yourself. No. What had him sprung was how effortlessly you seemed to break through all the walls he'd so carefully built around himself. It wasn’t just your power or authority. It was the way you saw him – like he was more than just a suit of armor and raw power. You didn’t need saving, but you saw him, and that made him feel something he couldn’t even begin to describe.

He still remembered the first time you’d asked him to meet. The corporate event at the annual tech summit. He’d been there, of course, his presence always required when heroes and villains needed to play nice for the sake of business. But that night, when you’d extended your hand to him with a smile that was both knowing and curious, something inside him had snapped.

“Invincible, right?” Your voice had been smooth, rich with a slight but powerful edge. It made his name sound like a compliment, like you knew the weight of it.

"Yes," he’d said, his throat suddenly dry. "Nice to meet you, uh... Miss Y/L/N." He stumbled over the words, heart hammering in his chest.

But you hadn’t let that fluster you. Instead, you leaned in a little closer, as if you were truly interested, and he swore he could feel the heat of your gaze sink into him. “I like what I see,” you had said, barely above a whisper. “I think we could make a lot of things happen together.”

Make a lot of things happen. A simple phrase, but one that had played over and over in his mind ever since. He’d seen countless powerful people come and go, but none had ever made him feel like you did.

It was stupid, really. He was a viltrumite. Strong. Unstoppable. And yet, every time he saw you, he felt a little weaker in the knees, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers.

—

Tonight was no different. He’d just left a fight—one that had left his body aching, his mind scattered. But when you texted him to meet at your office for a "quick chat," it was as though all that mattered was getting to you. You had a way of making everything else irrelevant.

His flight through the sky was sharp, clean, his usual speed, but his mind raced at a different pace. What was he even doing? He was superhuman. Yet, all he could think of was the way you looked in that black pencil skirt earlier today. The way your heels clicked with authority as you walked through your skyscraper. And the way you spoke to him when no one else was around—soft, but no less commanding.

When he arrived, he touched down in front of the glass building. His stomach flipped at the sight of the towering structure, where everything seemed to be in its place, and yet somehow, the only thing that truly made him feel grounded was you.

The elevator ride up was quick, his mind swirling. He wasn’t sure what to expect from tonight. Maybe another conversation that would leave him tangled in his own thoughts, or maybe, just maybe, something more.

The doors slid open, and there you were, waiting for him in your office. The blinds were pulled back, and the night’s skyline sprawled out beneath you. You looked every bit the CEO—cool, collected, in control. But there was something in your eyes as they met his that made his breath catch.

“Mark,” you said, standing from your desk with a slow, deliberate movement. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

He couldn’t help but smirk, the tension between them thickening. “You call, I come. That’s the deal, remember?”

A small, amused smile danced across your lips, but it was the glint in your eyes that got him. You were testing him. Pushing his boundaries, like you always did. And for all his strength and invulnerability, he found himself falling deeper into the trap.

You stepped closer, a move so confident it left him breathless. “You’re always so serious, Mark. Don’t you ever just let go?”

Your words hung in the air, daring him to admit what he already knew: that the stoic mask he wore was slipping, and it was because of you. He was trying to keep his composure, but you were already too close, your perfume an intoxicating blend of power and elegance. It clouded his senses, and he swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

“I… I don’t know if I can let go,” he finally admitted, voice low, strained. “But you make it hard not to try.”

Your smile widened, satisfaction lighting your face. “That’s the idea, Mark.”

For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the air between you thick. Your gaze softened, and he found himself mesmerized by the way you looked at him, like you truly saw him—beyond the hero, beyond the mask. It made his heart beat a little faster.

He knew the risks. He knew how easily things could go wrong. But right now, with you standing in front of him, there was only one thing on his mind.

You stepped closer to him, eyeing him evenly for a moment before gesturing to the chair across from you.

“Sit,” you commanded, your voice cool and unwavering.

Mark’s eyes flickered to the chair, his stoic expression momentarily shifting as if weighing the command. But he didn’t resist. He simply lowered himself into the seat, every muscle in his body tense yet still, as if awaiting the next move.

You paced around him, slow and deliberate, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each step. The sound echoed around the room, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way he was already reacting to your presence. His gaze tracked you as you moved, his breathing shallow, betraying just how much control you had over him without even touching him.

You circled him a few times, each lap making him more and more aware of the power you wielded. The tension in his shoulders, the slight clenching of his jaw—it was all confirmation that you had him right where you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stopped in front of him. You stood there for a moment, your eyes locking with his. And without breaking your gaze, you lifted your foot and placed it in his lap, delicately at first to gauge his reaction before pressing harder into his crotch.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white, but there was no fight in him. No resistance. Only the mild hint of a groan being suppressed in his throat.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your lips curling into a satisfied smile. The words were simple, but they were enough to make his heart race. You could see it in his eyes now—the realization that he was completely under your control.

“You’re mine now,” you added softly, the power of those words settling between you both, unspoken yet undeniable. And with that, you knew for sure that Invincible, the powerful and stoic hero, had become your willing captive, and he wouldn’t fight it. Not now, not ever. And your fun with your new toy was only just getting started.

[treefish815]

I've talked about this a lot on other sites, but as a queer man and OG fan of Kingdom Come Deliverance, I really want to talk about the canonisation of Hansry in KCD2 and just how healing it was for me as someone who escaped through this game and the ship hard as a young teenager.

Look, I just need to put out into the world how much it meant/means to me, and I think of all places, Tumblr will probably appreciate it the most. I also just kinda want to write it for myself because I've never written ALL of this out and it's something I've been thinking about for nearly 2 months now, so it's a little long, which is why it's under the cut.

So, I've been playing KCD pretty much since it released, which was when I was about 12. Living in a conservative area as an effeminate, sensitive, very obviously and loudly queer little boy, at around the age of 11 or 12 I reached a point in growing up when I think the people around me realised it wasn't just a weird little kid phase, and that I really was a faggot, and, as I'm sure you could guess, I suffered a significant amount of bullying over the next 3 years.

But, as silly as I feel saying this, KCD was an escape from that for me. I was miserable in my own life, so, between the ages of 12-15, I threw hundreds of hours into KCD1 dedicating myself to Henry's life instead. And I think there 2 big reasons why I latched onto that game in particular over others- the world was so immersive and beautiful that it was easy to get lost in it, and Henry and Hans's relationship. (It's also just a great game- but there are dozens of great games that I played in that time that never quite captivated me in the same way).

Putting aside the fact I had a fat crush on Hans, his and Henry's relationship was something I always looked forward to watching the development of every playthrough, and I would often spend a good chunk of my playthrough not actually advancing the main quest to instead make up (usually very angsty) little scenarios where their relationship evolved into something more. I'd follow Hans around Rattay and pretend he and Henry were secretly in love but could never show it, lest they be beaten and ostracised, or have conversations to myself while sitting with Theresa where I would imply that Henry had to be with her for his own safety or to distract himself from Hans, that type of thing. Considering I never thought to write KCD fanfiction until this year, I would've had a LOT of material if I'd started then, but I digress.

My point is that Hansry was something that, in a way, I think I used to cope with the homophobia I was facing. They were characters who lived in a time where they could never openly love each other, Henry was a character who could stand up for a queer monk who was being ostracised in the monastery when no one else would, Hans was a character who put on an act of arrogance and "I don't give a fuck" that we can see in more serious end-game moments isn't 100% true to his personality much as I did at a younger age to pretend what was happening to me didn't bother me, and I just... connected so strongly with them.

I've been waiting for KCD2 for 7 years. In those 7 years, I always wistfully hoped for there to be a possible Hansry path to go down, but never in a million years did I think it would ever actually happen. I'd been to KCD Twitter. I'd been to KCD YouTube. I knew the anti-woke and by extension mildly homophobic section of the fandom was far larger than I'd have liked it to be, so as much as I yearned, I knew in the bottom of my heart that Hansry would forever just be a silly little daydream of mine.

But, that brings me to 2025. I'm nearly 19, I've been living in arguably the most progressive and queer-friendly city in my entire country for 3 years, I'm openly queer and haven't heard a negative thing about it since I left my hometown, I'm happier than I've ever been and have almost no anxiety in my day to day life, and I cried for a good few hours when I watched the Hansry romance scene for the first time.

I'd seen a spoiler that Hans was the main male love interest a few days earlier, and that had WORRIED me. I thought either 1. it would be a drunk fuck that was played entirely for laughs and that ultimately meant nothing or 2. it would be a tragic story that no matter what you did, could only end badly as an attempt to uphold historical accuracy (which... could be done well, but I thought it would probably be hard for me to play through and could spark its own form of homophobia in the fandom wherein people specifically had that outcome happen to stick it to the gays, or whatever. I'd seen someone on Steam complaining that Hans was the male LI because it meant he couldn't kill him and "protect Henry from the potential of sinning" and it really stuck with me.)

Holy hell was I wrong. Daniel Vavra, you may be kind of a cunt on Twitter, but I will sit back and let you cook from now on before I make a judgement.

I cannot tell you what an incredible feeling it was to see those two characters, who I escaped through and who I adored with my whole heart not only both canonically be bisexual, just like me, but also actually have a loving, and intimate romance scene (seeing the intimate naked making out when I'd been so afraid of a drunk, no strings attached fuck was such a strange feeling of relief) after 7 years of desperately wanting that even while knowing there was no way Warhorse would ever go through with it considering their target audience. That alone would have made my year, even if they did have an unavoidable tragic ending no matter how hard Henry tried to salvage it.

But there was another thing about their romance that really really stood out to me, and that was so unbelievably healing. Their romance is generally... quite happy. They never experience homophobia first hand. They never go through the whole "it's a sin... we should stop seeing each other..." rigmarole. They're never found out and outed to the wrong people who try to tear them apart.

Sure, Hans is engaged to a woman against his will, but as a noble, that was always a strong possibility regardless of whether the person who truly has his heart is a blacksmith's son or a butcher's daughter. And it's never even a suggestion that his marriage would end his and Henry's relationship- Hans's angsting over the marriage comes more from the fact it's out of his control and will give him less freedoms than he currently has. And yes, their story is filled to the brim with angsty moments, and so much death or near death, but that's completely separate to their love story- they suffer just as much if they're best friends as they do if they're lovers. The queerness is not the angst, the war they happen to be living through the beginnings of is the angst.

Henry and Hans are two men, in love in a time when they could never openly be together, in a time when most people around them would object to them being happy together and living true to themselves, and yet they have a happy love story anyway. And, as silly as it sounds, I don't care, I'm going to say it anyway- that positive portrayal of their love felt like telling my 12 year old self that everything would be okay, and he wasn't doomed to be miserable for the rest of his life. Because if those characters he identified so strongly with could be happy in their queerness when living in arguably worse circumstances to be queer, why couldn't he? As much as I processed the trauma of the bullying I was going through through angsty plotlines involving Henry and Hans, and as much as I'm an angst lover period, that... that healed me. It was like hugging my younger self.

As much as KCD is just a game and Hansry is just a gay ship, it's always been something that means so much to me, and this silly little video game romance made me realise just how far I've come and how different things are for me, while simultaneously comforting that past version of myself who still lives deep inside me somewhere. I feel him less now than I did in January 2025, and that's insane.

"No one asked for this!" the snowflake conservatives cried on the steam discussion boards in their 1 star reviews of a game they boycotted and never bought. The 12 year old boy who processed and coped with traumatic homophobic experiences through those characters did.

Representation does matter, and always will.

[zorosangell]

Hi!!! First off I wanna say how AMAZING ur writing is like truly WOW. I loveee how you write jealous Zoro, but I neeeedd some jealous, possessive reader. Reader don’t play about Zoro just as much as he don’t play about her. You can also totally add some spice if you want *wink wink*

⛥ﾟ・。 stall

synopsis: after you catch a girl trying to spike zoro's drink, all hell breaks loose... hell being you.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, a whole lot of profanity, reader's crashout is incredibly valid, reader is a BADDIE, nami is a down ass bitch, girl talk, zoro looooves his girl.

a/n: i'd be this crazy too if I had zoro as a bf

"Look at her! All giggly and shit... he's never said anything that funny his whole life," you huffed, brows furrowed and lip jutted in a pout as you watched from the window of the bathroom door.

"She is kinda hammin' it up," Nami agreed, peaking along with you. "But that doesn't explain why you dragged me out here."

"'Cause I needed someone to spy with. And I didn't wanna look crazy doing it at a table."

"Hon', you look crazy now!"

"Hey!"

With a harsh sigh, you came off your tippy-toes, your heels making a soft clack against the bathroom tile as you turned to your red-headed friend.

"I do not!"

"(y/n), you are in your best dressed while stalking your boyfriend from the grimy bathroom of a dive bar," she deadpanned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I love you... but this is insane."

Slowly, you deflated, shoulders slightly sinking at the facts presented for you.

It did look kind of crazy.

'A warranted kind of crazy...'

The girl out there with the annoyingly silky hair and infuriatingly beautiful dress had been practically throwing herself at Zoro since the moment she saw him.

And it had only been a week since you and the crew arrived at Asaashi.

The Sunny was in need of repairs, so the crew docked at a nearby port island in order to give Franky enough space and time to fix her up.

And guess who happened to be the harbormaster?

Every day, without fail, she had managed to tail your swordsman, following him and showering him with praise whenever she could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before she came barging in with some excuse like a pirate crew she needed help collecting from or boats she needed help destroying.

You knew Zoro had never—and would never—entertain her advances, but being his girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel some type of way.

"She knows exactly who I am, and she knows exactly what she's doing," you stated, firmly, pointing at the window. "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Nami."

"Well, hanging out in the bathroom surely isn't helping."

With a sigh, she stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"You've got more history with that idiot than that girl could ever know. And if you actually think she has a shot with him, then maybe you aren't as smart as I thought you were..."

"Hey!"

Amused, Nami let out a small snicker, before focusing on the task at hand.

"You're his girlfriend. And you've got every right to walk out there and plop yourself down on his lap. Kiss him! Shove your tongue down his throat! Lay your claim, girl! Men do it all the time."

Surprised, your nose scrunched.

"Really?"

"You think Zoro starts getting hot and heavy with you whenever Sanji's around just for fun?"

She paused a moment, thinking about her statement.

"Well... yes, for fun, but it's also a power-play."

Shaking her head, she returned to her point.

"So be bold! Take charge! Show that bitch who's boss!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

With new determination, you turned on your heel, throwing the bathroom door wide open and storming out.

Only to immediately rush back in.

"She's coming! Hide!"

"(y/n)!"

Quickly, you snatched up Nami's wrist, dragging her into a stall and shutting the door just in time for the woman and her friend to walk in.

"Oh, my god, Siva, the guy you're talking to is so hot," the friend commended, audibly plopping her bag down on one of the sinks. "Where did you find him?"

"At work," she smirked, going straight for the mirrors to check her makeup. "His crew's been docked here for about a week. We've been getting to know each other better."

"I'm surprised a man like him isn't snatched up already," the friend remarked, slowly gliding the bright red lipstick across her lips.

"Oh, he is," Siva grinned, her lips curling in an almost witch-like expression. "But she's practically out the picture already."

At that, anger began to bubble in your stomach, your brows furrowing at the statement.

'Oh, she fuckin' didn't.'

Just as you were about to open the door, Nami looped her arms under your armpits, frantically holding you back.

"Clearly not enough. He hasn't touched you all night," the friend reminded, beginning to touch up her eye shadow.

"All week," Siva corrected, annoyed, as she grabbed something out her dress pocket. "But this little baby's gonna change all that."

You and the navigator paused your struggle for a moment, brows quirking as you both peeked in the crack of the stall to see what she was holding.

It was a small bottle.

"Few drops of this in his sake and he'll be up for anything."

"Few drops? He'll need ten bottles just to get a buzz," the friend scrunched her nose.

"Nuh-uh. Whole bottle's enough to kill a dragon."

You were clenching your fists so hard, your knuckles were turning white.

"What about the girlfriend?" the friend asked, amused.

"What about her? She'll be old like last week's shoe sale. Tossed out and left with the trash."

"Girl, you are bad..."

"It's good to be."

"Y'know what's gonna be really good?!"

Without hesitation, you kicked open the stall door, the resounding boom scaring the shit out of them

"When I kick your fucking ass!"

Seamlessly, you kicked off your heels before launching forward, grabbing Siva by her silky hair and letting off a rapid-fire round of punches, her poor balance easily taking you both to the ground.

"My extensions!" Siva shrieked as you tossed a clump of fake hair, attempting to lift her arms in order to shield her face.

"Siva!" the friend gasped, quickly moving to assist. "Don't worry! I'll get her!"

"Get who?" Nami scoffed, hopping on one foot as she attempted to take off her heels and take out her earrings. "You're not jumping my girl, bitch!"

Stalling for time, Nami stepped on the girl's toes with the point of her heel before finally managing to get it off, promptly snatching her up before she could grab you.

"Get the fuck off me, you fucking cunt!" Siva spat as you continued to throttle her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" you barked, tossing her into a tiled wall.

"Oh, that is fucking it!" she growled, brows furrowed and newly invigorated.

"C'mon, bitch! I'm right here!"

With a roar of anger, she charged you, slamming you both against another wall before you flipped her over and tackled her out the bathroom, taking the door completely off its hinges.

"Keep fuckin' trying me, hoe! I'm not scared of you!" you spat, the two of you right back where you started as you grabbed her hair once again, slamming her head against the hard wood of the door—Nami still being in a fist fight with the friend in the bathroom.

"Ohhhh, shit! Cat fight!" a random patron exclaimed, calling the attention of the entire bar.

Everyone cheered, letting out shouts of oohs and aahs as you whooped the woman's ass, the sight honestly a marvel as you did so effortlessly, without devil fruit powers nor freakish strength to back you up.

Just will and a whole lot of grit.

Though, it wasn't long before a certain pair of strong arms grabbed you, pulling you away from the woman as you frantically thrashed around like an angry cat.

None other than your boyfriend.

"No, Zoro! M'not done beatin' her ass!" you whined, attempting to wiggle out of his tight grip.

"Yes, you are," he shut down, instantly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving."

"Nami-swan, please! A goddess like yourself shouldn't dirty your hands with things like this!" Sanji pleaded, attempting to pry your red-headed friend off the other girl.

"Fuck that! This bitch tried to pull my hair out!"

"Yeah! Run away, bitch!" Siva taunted, sitting up from the ground with a painful wince.

"Run away?!" you scoffed, eyes wide. "Oh, hell nah! Zoro, let me go!"

"No," he denied, tossing you over his shoulder before starting toward the door. "Let's go, cook! Hurry the hell up!"

"Give me a damn second! She's got a death hold on her!" Sanji grunted, finally managing to loosen Nami's grip on the friend's neck before pulling her off.

"My fucking teeth!" Siva screeched, cupping at least five in her palm with horror.

"Thank my man, bitch! He's the only reason you're still breathing!" you barked, grabbing a nearby man's drink and tossing it at her. "Have fun suckin' sailor dick, toothless!"

"Fuck you!"

"Eat my ass!" you pulled down your eyelid, sticking out your tongue as you waved around a humongous chunk of hair. "Bald-headed bitch!"

The following shriek was high enough to shatter glass, but it sounded like music to your ears as you laughed, tossing her extensions on the ground as Zoro finally exited the bar.

With a sigh, he started in the direction of the Sunny—per Sanji's instructions—glancing back at you with a raised brow.

"You wanna tell me what all that was back there?" he asked.

Slowly coming down from your high, your shoulders slightly sank, arms crossing over your chest.

"She won't be coming around you anymore," you huffed, firm and final.

At that, Zoro finally realized what this was all about, forcing a small smirk to curl on his lips.

Letting out a chuckle, he pressed a soft kiss against your thigh, his large palm giving your ass a quick squeeze.

"Crazy woman..."

[lyn31]

Omg! I just read your Zayne fluffy oneshot "Lonely" AND IT'S SOOO GOOD!! Whoever request you is so genius! And your writing are good too!! I'm here to send a request... (Since I craving more of a pregnancy story with Zayne). Here's my idea : MC had a fake contraction when Zayne isn't around. She doesn't know it was a fake contraction, so she immediately called her husband in panic. After that he gave her a whole day lecture something like that. But then, MC protested that it was his fault for keep working late. The argument ended when Zayne got an emergency call so he had to leave immediately when MC was still pouting about it. Do you get it? I'm not good at words, hopefully you understand 😩😩

I'm hoping you also mean fluff because that's what I ended up with after all 😂 Well... I only write fluff, so I guess it was going to be fluff either way... 🫶🏻😩

And no worries, I gotchuuu! I'm also someone who has a difficult time with words. My writing is crisp because it went through A LOT of editing, research, and flipping through the dictionary 🥹🫶🏻 and I agree the first request is genius, hella cute and this add to it as well! (Also I'm sorry I change the after the call part but I thought this work well! Let me know what you think)

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Love

Summary

When an unexpected moment of unease catches you off guard, you do what you’ve been told to do—you call him. And even through the distance, his voice is steady, reassuring. But maybe… it’s not just comfort you’re searching for. Maybe what you really need is for him to come home.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Technically, this could be a separate universe, but it also fits right in the middle of the first story as well! Either way, Enjoy! 🥰

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You’re just about to sit down when you feel it—a sudden jolt of discomfort deep in your stomach. It’s not exactly pain, not sharp enough to make you gasp, but enough to make you pause. Your hand instinctively comes to rest over your bump, thumb rubbing slow circles over the stretched fabric of your shirt.

Cramps aren’t unusual at this stage. You’re in your second trimester, and little aches and twinges come with the territory. So you shake it off, exhaling softly as you settle onto the couch, phone in hand.

You flip open the novel you were planning to read, but your attention drifts almost immediately. You could read, sure, but now you’re thinking about holding a real book in your hands. The way the pages feel under your fingers, the crisp scent of new paper. Maybe you should convince Zayne to take you to the bookstore soon—if he’s not too busy. Or maybe that grill place you've been craving since yesterday is open today.

You huff, tapping idly at your screen. It’s not like you don’t understand his job. He’s a doctor, a fantastic one at that, and you’re immensely proud of him. But knowing doesn’t stop you from wanting. From missing him.

It’s probably just the hormones talking. You try to shake off the thought and refocus on your book.

But just after you finish one page, you feel the aches again. Your stomach tightens—uncomfortably so. Not sharp, but deep. A pressure that lingers, almost taunting.

Your breath catches. That’s—that’s different. It doesn’t fade right away, and a strange sort of urgency prickles at the back of your mind. Your palm presses against the firmness of your belly, fingers twitching slightly.

It doesn’t go away.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’ll pass in a minute. But… what if it doesn’t?

"Okay..." you murmur to yourself. "Maybe... I should just..."

Your thumb hovers over your screen, another hesitation, before you press the emergency call button, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.

The call barely finishes its second ring before a familiar voice answers.

"Yes?"

Just hearing Zayne’s voice eases some of your anxiety—but not all.

"Um..." You wince as the sensation moves lower, not increasing but persistent, refusing to be ignored.

"Darling?" His voice spikes slightly, alert. "Something wrong?"

"I—" You pause, trying to find the right words. "I don’t know. Something feels off."

There’s a brief silence. "Lower stomach? Upper? Or somewhere else?" Zayne asks, his voice steady.

You hesitate. "Lower stomach, I think? It’s not exactly pain—just an odd, lingering pressure." Taking another deep breath between your words.

"Sharp or dull?"

"...Dull."

"Alright. You’re already regulating your breath—that’s a good start." His voice is softer now, gentle but firm. A grounding force against the growing unease inside you. It's a good thing at this point, because you feel yourself panicking a little bit. The feeling still hasn’t faded. How long has it been? A minute? More?

You're still around six months at this point, and all you can think of is labor contractions. That is not a good outcome.

There’s a pause, then his tone softens slightly. "Try lying down—slowly. Tell me if it changes."

"Okay... Yeah..." You move to recline, but pause. "Wait—aren’t you supposed to walk around during contractions?"

"Don’t." His response is instant, clipped but controlled. You can almost hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re alone. I can’t, in good conscience, let you walk around while you’re in pain."

"Well, it’s not really pain—"

Your word gets cut off when you hear him saying your name. Not scolding, not impatient. Just firm. Steady.

Very him.

You shut your mouth, swallowing down the argument. It can wait.

Carefully, you ease yourself back against the couch cushions. You brace yourself on the backrest, moving in slow increments, exhaling with each adjustment.

The tightness begins to fade.

You hear a muffled voice in the background—someone asking Zayne a question. He must cover the receiver because you can’t make out the words, but when he returns, his voice is as steady as ever. "Darling? How is it?"

"Better," you admit, rubbing slow circles over your stomach.

"That’s good. When did the first one start?"

You hesitate.

"How do you know this wasn’t the first?"

There’s a pause. A knowing silence.

You huff. "Fair enough. I think about five minutes ago? Maybe longer. I wasn’t keeping track, I thought it was just cramps."

"Hmm. And now?"

You push yourself up slightly, careful not to move too fast. "It’s gone now."

You let out another slow breath, feeling a little ridiculous now. You just interrupted your husband at work for nothing. Maybe you should apologize—but then again, isn’t this what he always tells you to do? Call him if anything feels off?

There’s a slight exhale on the other end of the line—subtle relief. "That’s good. I think it’s safe to say it was false labor contractions."

Ah. Now you remember. Yes. You’d read about it before, but in the moment, all rational thinking had gone out the window.

"You don’t feel anything else?" Zayne asks.

"No," you murmur. Then, a little sheepishly, "Sorry. I completely forgot about false labor. What was it called again? We read about it, but I just... panicked."

"Braxton Hicks," he supplies easily. "And don’t apologize for being cautious. Precaution is never a bad thing."

There’s another muffled sound on his end, someone calling for him.

"Ah, right," you say, feeling a little guilty, but also a little bitter. But you shake the feeling away. "You should go, I’m fine now—"

"No," he cuts in, voice still soft. "I still have time."

You feel a warmth in your chest at that.

But then, his tone shifts, just a fraction firmer. "Now, did you overexert yourself? Or forget to drink water?"

"I drink my water!" you insist.

You don’t answer the other question.

Because, well... You may or may not have spent the morning rearranging the living room. Specifically the sofa.

The silence from the other end stretches for a beat too long. Then—

A sigh.

"If you need something, just tell me. I’ll do it for you."

The words are simple. No irritation, no exasperation. Just pure sincerity.

And somehow, that’s what makes the loneliness bubble up, unbidden.

You press your lips together, fingers tightening slightly around your phone. You’re fine. He’s busy. He’s saving lives, for God’s sake, and you’re sitting here whining about missing him?

The thought doesn’t help. The weight in your chest doesn’t go away.

You swallow hard, trying to push it down, barely more than a breath at first. "I was just—" You catch yourself too late, lips pressing together, but the words have already slipped out. "Lonely," you finish, softer this time, as if saying it quieter might make it less real.

And then, once it’s out, it won’t stop. “And then this happened, and you weren’t here, I mean you’re barely around and I just—I don’t know!”

The second the words leave your mouth, you slap a hand over it, eyes going wide.

Shit.

He doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a pause, just long enough that you wonder if the call dropped—then you hear his quiet inhale. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more careful. "I’m sorry."

Another pause. Then, just as gentle, "Today, I should be home on time."

You freeze, pulse jumping. That wasn’t supposed to come out. “I mean—” You force out a light laugh, waving a hand as if brushing it off. “Not like— I wasn’t upset or anything, just, you know… hormones?” You grasp at the excuse, but it’s a weak defense.

“Darling.”

His voice alone is enough to make your throat tighten. You shake your head quickly, as if he can see that too. “No, really, I mean yes, I miss you, of course. How could I not? But I don’t blame you, alright?”

A soft inhale on the other end of the line. “I miss you too. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you soon.”

His voice is steady, warm—so sincere it makes your chest ache.

"You don’t have to make up for anything," you murmur, though your throat feels tight.

"I do," he says simply. "I know I haven't been around as much as I'd want to. But that doesn't mean I don’t think about you all the time."

You sniffle. Oh, no. Here it comes. You are not about to cry over this.

Zayne hears it instantly. “Darling?”

“No, no, don’t—” You swipe a hand under your eyes. “You’re being too sweet, stop it.”

A quiet chuckle comes through the phone, warm and affectionate. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“Well, don’t.” You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

His voice drops into something even softer, something almost intimate. “You know I’d rather be home with you, right? I’d rather be next to you right now, holding you, rubbing your back, listening to you rant about whatever new thing annoyed you today.”

You sniffle again, unable to stop yourself.

He sighs, indulgent. “Wipe your tears for me,” he murmurs. “I can’t do it right now.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too much. You cover your face with both hands, your phone barely on your grip, voice muffled when you groan, “Zayne.”

“Yes?”

“That’s too cute. Stop that.”

He hums, amused, like he’s not single-handedly making your heart explode. “I meant what I said,” he continues, like he’s speaking just for you. “I know it’s hard. And I know you’ve been lonely. But you’re not alone, alright? You never will be.”

A shaky breath escapes you. You can’t even answer that because you might actually start full-on sobbing.

Before you can pull yourself together, a voice calls his name in the background, sharp with urgency.

There’s a brief pause before he exhales. “Sorry, I have to go. Emergency.”

You sit up a little straighter, still trying to blink the tears away. “Don’t say sorry for doing your job,” you say quickly, before he even gets the chance.

A beat of silence. Then, quietly, “I love you.”

Your chest tightens again, but this time in the best way possible. “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

And then the line clicks off, leaving you sitting there with a slightly damp face, fully in love, and no idea how you’re supposed to wait for him to come home after that.

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By the time Zayne gets home, the house is quiet, the lights are dim. His footsteps are careful as he steps inside, taking in the familiar scent of home.

But something is off.

His gaze flickers toward the living room, and his brows knit slightly. The sofa—it's not where it usually is. Only slightly shifted, but enough for him to notice.

A quiet sigh leaves him. So that’s why. No wonder.

And there you are—curled up on the living room sofa, blanket draped haphazardly over you, lips slightly parted as you breathe in steady, even rhythms.

Shaking his head, he moves closer, reaching down to carefully lift you, but the moment his hands brush against you, your lashes flutter. You stir, and then, before he can even say anything, you immediately reach for him, fingers gripping weakly at his sleeve as your sleepy voice murmurs, “Welcome home.”

His expression softens instantly. He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “I’m home.”

You hum, eyes barely open, still clinging to him. He pulls back slightly, studying your drowsy face, and his lips press into a thin line. “I told you not to sleep here anymore.”

You yawn, stretching lazily. “It just turned out that way.”

Zayne lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. His fingers brush lightly against the armrest, confirming his suspicion. “…And moving the sofa helped with that?”

Your expression flickers—too quickly. Suspiciously. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zayne exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but doesn’t push. Instead, he watches you, unimpressed but fond.

Then, before you can argue further, your gaze flickers past him—and you gasp.

“Grill meat!”

Zayne barely has a second to react before you’re fully awake, scrambling up as you spot the takeout containers on the coffee table. You turn back to him with wide, excited eyes. “You got it! It's open today?!”

His lips twitch. “You’ve been talking about it for two days. I wasn’t about to come home empty-handed.”

You beam. Absolutely beam. It’s almost too much for him. Almost.

Zayne steps forward, already reaching for the bag to open it for you, but you immediately scold him, smacking his arm lightly. “No—go change first! You just got back, you should wash up or—whatever you need to do! I can wait.”

Zayne exhales, the sound a soft mixture of amusement and surrender. “You’re so impatient, but now you’re suddenly willing to wait?”

You huff. “Well, yeah! I’m feeling generous, so go now.”

He snorts, watches you for a second longer, as if considering pushing back, but then shakes his head. “Alright,” he says simply. “I’ll be quick.”

When he returns—now dressed in sweats and a plain tee—you’re already sitting cross-legged on the couch, takeout bag in front of you like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Finally,” you say, eagerly patting the space beside you. “Come on, doc, you deserve a break.”

With a quiet breath, Zayne settles beside you, reaching to open the containers. Warm, savory steam fills the air, and you practically melt.

“Oh my God,” you whisper reverently. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Zayne watches as you take your first bite, the way your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss.

His lips press together like he’s holding something back.

But then, instead of teasing you immediately, his gaze softens just a fraction. “I really do love seeing you happy,” he murmurs, voice softer than before.

You pause mid-chew. The warmth in his tone catches you off guard, settling somewhere deeper than just the comfort of food or his presence. Your lips part slightly, something unspoken lingering on your tongue—

“Didn’t you say you could wait?”

You blink, barely processing the shift before narrowing your eyes. “...That was before I smelled it.”

“Hm.” He picks up his chopsticks, eyes flicking between you and the food. “And here I thought your love for me was unwavering.”

“It is,” you say immediately. Then, with a dramatic sigh, “But love won’t fill my stomach, Zayne.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

“You married this, by the way,” you remind him, grinning. “Willfully.”

Zayne barely fights off the curve on his lips, eyes glinting with amusement. “...Unfortunately.”

You gasp. “Take it back!”

“Hmm. No.”

“Zayne!” You reach out to smack his arm.

He only chuckles, catching your wrist easily before letting his fingers slip between yours. The motion is effortless, natural. You don’t even think about it—you just hold on.

His hand is cool against your skin, but his presence is warm, grounding. The laughter, the quiet intimacy of shared meals, the way his fingers stay laced with yours—it settles something in your chest.

For tonight, it’s enough.

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Notes

Ugh I love fluff 🫶🏻😩 Sue me 😂 This is ended up connected ahaha either way, if we're going for chronological order here it is: (this is part 1) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 smut one perhaps? ahahaha

[vodika-vibes]

Like Stars

Summary: You’ve never liked your appearance, specifically the hundreds of thousands of freckles that cover your entire body. You claim they’re ugly and that they make you look ugly, so you hide them under makeup. And you’ve done so since you were a teenager. But now you’re a Doctor attached to the 501st and you don’t always have the time for makeup.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1806

Warnings: Reader is described as having lots of noticeable freckles, Reader makes several comments about how they hate their appearance, Kix is a Guy about the reader and makes some suggestive comments

A/N: So I had an idea last night, and decided to write it. I hope you all like it.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

There’s something about hyperspace travel that leaves the Resolute cold. No matter how much you layer, or how high you turn the heat in your personal quarters, you can still feel a chill down to your bones.

You hate it.

But you wouldn’t change anything about your life.

The men of the 501st are genial men, and they treat you with the utmost respect. Not to mention, they can be funny and they don’t treat you like an outsider, something your coworker attached to the 104th has had to deal with since day one.

More importantly, you get to work with Kix. The Chief Medical Officer for the 501st, and someone you’d be more than happy to call a friend even outside of work.

Okay, full disclosure, you’ve been nursing a crush on him for the better part of six months, and it’s not getting better. You thought—hoped, really—that spending time with him would kill the crush, it’s happened before after all, but no. The more time you spend with Kix the larger your crush grows.

He complimented your hair the other day, and you, the suave, smooth person you are, blurted, “Thanks, I was born with it.”

Luckily, he thought it was funny rather than just you being an awkward mess of a person. But you can already foresee the future. Kix is going to keep saying nice things to you, and you’re going to keep saying weird awkward things because you’re apparently a failure of a person.

You can already feel your face burning with remembered embarrassment, and you groan as you roll over to bury your face in your pillow. Maybe if you smother yourself, the remembered embarrassment will fade and you’ll be able to do your damn job.

Then your alarm goes off, and you release an ugly oath in three different languages. You lift your head off your pillow and glare at the chrono built into the wall next to your bed.

You’re not ready for another day.

You need another hour, at least, to obsess over how embarrassing your crush on Kix is before you can guilt yourself out of bed and into the sonic.

The chrono doesn’t care, though. It just keeps blaring it’s alarm, until you groan and roll off your bed to smack the button to turn it off.

And, well, now that you’re awake and on your feet, it just makes the most sense to drag yourself to the fresher and start your day.

You hop in the sonic and power it on. Sure, the sonic might be more efficient than a water based shower, but you’d sell your brother’s soul for a proper water based shower. Not yours, obviously. You need yours.

As soon as the sonic times down, you step in front of the mirror and absently grab your headband and pull it on. This, particular, headband was designed to hold your hair out of your face while you wash your face and apply your makeup.

You yawn as you open a drawer and pull a face wipe out of it’s container, and then grab the bottle of foundation from where it’s laying next to it.

At this point in your life, you don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror when you wash and apply your face. You could probably do it with your eyes closed, at this point, but you always watch anyway.

You scrunch up your nose in distaste as you examine your makeup free face. How is it that you have more freckles now than you did a week ago? You prod at your cheek and scowl, maybe you should save up some money to have the freckles removed, like at a clinic or something.

Your comm chimes a warning, and you release another curse. You got distracted, you’re going to be late.

Blindly, you grab the bottle of foundation and flip open the lid so you can pour some of the liquid on a small foam sponge, only for nothing to come out. You stare, bewildered, for a moment. And then you finally register that the bottle it empty.

A quick glance inside the drawer tells you that the bottle was faulty, since makeup now covers the bottom of the drawer.

Tragically, this bottle was supposed to last you the entire deployment. You don’t have another one. Which means, for the first time since you were a teenager, you have to go without makeup.

Maybe, if you just don’t look at anyone, they won’t see the freckles.

A fool’s hope, you know. Your freckles are very noticeable even from across the room.

You rub your hands across your face, and then tug your work clothes on, and turn to head out of your quarters.

You really, and truly, never wanted Kix to see you without makeup.

Vanity? Maybe. But you’ve hated the freckles since you were a small kid, and age has only made you hate them more. Kids can be cruel, after all. And parents can be even more so.

The walk from your quarters to the medbay is quick, as your room is intentionally just down the hall, just in case. The medics, Kix and the others, have their bunk on the other side of the medbay.

It means it is nearly impossible for you to be later, since your work station is only a couple of feet from your room, but it also means that you’re never the first person in.

So as the door slides open, you see the back of Kix’s head as he does his morning inventory. You grab your datapad from next to the door, and power it on, pulling it up to your face so no one can see what you look like, and then you read what’s on the screen.

“Oh, motherfuck. Today’s the day for physicals?”

Kix laughs and glances at you, “Did you forget?”

“I think I blocked it out since the last one was so traumatic.” You grouse as you scroll down the list, “Wait, how come I have both Tano and Skywalker?”

“Commander Tano didn’t feel comfortable receiving a physical from me,” Kix says easily, “And I gave you Skywalker since I’m unfamiliar with Jedi physiology.”

“You fucker.” You say, though there’s no heat in your voice, “Are we doing natborns and clones today?”

“Most of the natborns had their physicals already, it’s just Tano and Skywalker on that side. I am giving you the Shinies though.” Kix replies as he lifts his own datapad to glance at it.

“Just say you hate me, Kix. There’s no need to be passive aggressive.”

“They’re afraid of me, and I need them to come to the physicals, so you’re just going to have to suck it up, buttercup.”

“Yeah, well. If you were nicer—” You trail off as you scroll down the list, “I’m doing you? Uh...I mean,” You feel your face burn, “I’m giving you your physical today?”

You can feel him grinning at you at your slip of the tongue, “Yup. And I’m doing yours.” He replies, sounding delighted.

You finally drop your datapad away from your face, “I don’t need a physical? I already had mine.”

“Well, it wasn’t put in your file, so you’re getting another one.” Kix scans your face, and then he takes a step towards you, “Do you have freckles?”

“Shut up, don’t look at me.” You lift your datapad again, only Kix is faster as he yanks it out of your hand and lightly grips your chin. “Kix?!”

“You do! How have I never seen them?”

He’s standing really close to you. Too close for your sanity.

“I hide them with makeup,” You manage to get out, your voice slightly strangled

His thumb trails against your jaw, “Why would you do that?” There’s something awed in your voice and you start slightly when his other hand comes up to press against your cheek.

“I—well...they’re ugly,” You stammer, his hands are warm against your skin, slightly calloused from years of weapon handling, and dry from overusing hand sanitizer, but you can’t help but think that his hands feel nice against your skin.

“Says who?”

“Uh, lots of people, actually.” You shift, slightly uncomfortable, “And since they’re ugly it means I’m ugly, but I ran out of makeup. So…”

“You’re not ugly, and neither are the freckles.” Kix counters sternly, his fingers still lightly trailing from one freckle to the next, “It’s like—” He trails off, something soft in his gaze.

“Kix?”

“Someone painted the stars on your face,” He murmurs, “How can anyone think you’re ugly when you have entire galaxies written on your body.”

Something about his words, and the way he’s saying them, makes your entire body burn with flustered embarrassment, “Please stop.”

“Why?”

“You’re embarrassing me.” You whine.

He releases a low chuckle, “I know. You’re so cute when you’re flustered and tripping over yourself.”

“You’re doing it on purpose?!”

“Yeah. I like seeing how flustered I make you. Especially since you don’t get flustered near any of my brothers.” Kix grins and shifts a little closer, so you’re able to feel his armor pressed against you, “You have a crush on me.”

You glare at him, or you try to. You’re pretty sure it comes across as a pout based on how he’s grinning.

“That’s alright. I have a crush on you too.”

“...you can’t say that!” You lightly pound your fist against his chest plate.

“Why not?” His grin has grown.

“Because I have to give you a physical later and now that’s all I’ll be thinking about!”

And then Kix leans in so his lips are hovering just over yours, “Good.” He purrs out, and then his lips are against yours in a surprisingly heated kiss.

He’s gone before you can properly respond, and before you can even ask why and how and what, the door opens and Ahsoka pokes her head into the room, “Um...am I early?” She asks, her eyes darting from you to Kix and then back again.

“I...uh...no. No, you’re right on time.” You struggle to shift your brain back into doctor mode, and judging by the grin on his face he can tell, “We’re going behind the blue curtain, alright Ahsoka? I just need a moment to find your file.”

She nods nervously, “Alright. I’ll just so sit…”

The teenager wanders off and you scowl at Kix as soon as she’s behind the curtain, “You’re trouble.”

“I can’t wait to show you just how much.” He counters with a wink. And then you both have to go to work as Rex steps into the room for his physical as well.

But, for the first time in your life, you think that maybe, just maybe, your freckles aren’t something that needs to be hidden away.

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

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@sweater-sloot

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@six-1mpossiblethings

@clonetrooperjournals

[playstation-dreamcast]

Hi there! Love your writing A LOT, the way you write Wesker feels so natural that I can't get enough of him! Could I request a little smut? Maybe the first time he and his fem or gn s/o were together? Thanks a lot!

Awe, Thank you so much!! You can always request smut- I will never not be down tragically bad for this man lmao

Now Loading...

Character Selection: S.T.A.R.S Wesker X Reader

Synopsis: It started with you neglecting to check the weather, and ended in his bed. A butterfly flapping it's wings and causing a tsunami and all of that. (In other words, I'm really trying hard to make this title work cause I can't think of a better one lmao)

Content Warning: This story contains- shocker- explicit smut. Viewer discretion is advised.

You had Wesker completely wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it yet. To be fair, he didn’t have any idea yet either. He was still under the impression that he had any control in this song and dance the two of you crafted together. The one where you pretended you genuinely forgot your cigarettes- this definitely wasn’t just an excuse to share one with him, and where he pretended not to be absolutely obsessed with you. 

Tonight was Friday, which meant two things. Firstly, it was technically the start of the weekend. He had to say technically because while the S.T.A.R.S team had the weekends off on paper they were also on call 24/7, seven days a week. Which, he supposed was fair enough, 

considering what the team pretended to be. Secondly, it meant Wesker was closing the office tonight, but moreover it meant he was closing the office tonight with you. Something that was becoming a guilty pleasure of his, much to his dismay. He actually looked forward to seeing you- his favorite little medic- and that was going to cause complications later. 

That was a future problem though. For now, he was waiting on the front steps of the RPD for you, leaning against one of the pillars. He took a drag off of his cigarette and watched the smoke dance against the light of the full moon and tangle with the veil of clouds in the sky. He tried to remember if there was supposed to be a storm tonight, but drew a blank. Maybe something about a flash freeze?

“Hey Captain!” You said, finally coming out of the RPD and dragging him out of his thoughts before he could think about it too much, “Sorry for the hold up, I couldn’t find my keys for the life of me,” You admitted sheepishly.

He merely shrugged, taking another hit off of his smoke. “It’s no bother,” He muttered, going into his back pocket to pull out his pack of Marlboros, “I assume you’re about to ask for one?” He said, gesturing to the coffin nail dangling from his lip. 

You stopped him though, grinning ear to ear. “Actually, I brought my own this time!” You said, triumphantly showing off your new pack, “I remembered I was out for once!” 

Wesker's eyebrows went up, and you could tell he was almost impressed. “Remembered to buy your own cigarettes and found your keys on your own? You’re on a roll today.” He said flatly, hiding his little smirk when you pushed him. You took the dart from its pack, placing it in your lips while you patted yourself down for a lighter.

You were not pleased by what you were finding, or rather, what you weren’t finding. “Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me-” You grumbled to yourself.

Wesker’s eyebrow went up, “Looking for something?”

“No.” You said way too fast, only to immediately change your mind, “Yes. Can I bum a light off you?” You sighed, finally admitting your defeat. Wesker chuckled softly before handing you his Zippo, scratched, scruffed, and definitely showing its age. You opened the lighter and hit the wheel. Nothing. You tried again, and this time got sparks! But, not much else. 

After your third failed attempt you had Wesker's attention. “Need some help?”

“No, I know how to light a Zippo,” You huffed, ego feeling a little raw at this point. You tried striking it again. Zero, zilch, zippo. “Your lighter’s broken.”

Wesker scoffed at that. “It lit just fine for me,” he said, holding his hand out. You pouted as you placed the lighter in his palm. He went to light it for you. And got nothing but sparks himself. Odd. He tried flicking it again. Still nothing. He tried striking it against his cargos and still, produced absolutely nothing.

“Ha!” You laughed a little too triumphantly, “I told you it wasn’t user error!”

“I suppose you’re right,” He sighed, remembering how low the flame was when he lit his own smoke. He must have used the last of the fuel. He put the lighter back in his pocket before turning to you, “Alright, come here.”

He probably enjoyed the flustered look on your face a little too much as he leaned closer, pressing the cherry of his cig to yours, using his free hand to block it from the wind. You took in a sharp breath, successfully lighting the smoke, and looking a little too disappointed when he finally pulled away.

You let the smoke out of your lungs, lifting the cigarette up with an almost embarrassed smile. “Thanks Cap, couldn’t have done it without you.”

He chuckled softly and leaned back against his pillar. “It was a team effort, truly.” He said dismissively. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the other's presence. And then it started to snow. 

Wesker saw you stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. “What?” he asked.

You looked at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” He said, flicking his dead cigarette into the abyss, “I can tell somethings wrong.”

You almost got offended. “No way I’m that easy to read.”

Oh, Wesker loved a challenge. “Whenever you notice something but don’t want to “make a big deal out of it,” your poster improves and you size up. Then, you normally bite your lip- yeah like that,” You immediately stopped biting your lip once he pointed it out, “And you tend to get fidgety while you think of what to do.”

You scoffed at him, taking a long drag off your smoke, “Geeze, this isn’t a library, no need to read me like that.” You mumbled.

“You asked,” He shrugged, even if you technically didn’t, “So what’s wrong?”

You sighed and looked up at the sky. The flurry was getting heavy quick. “It’s snowing. I didn’t realize how cold it was outside, I’m…I’m not positive my car’s gonna start.”

You had Wesker's full attention now. “What?”

You looked down, embarrassment burning in your chest, “Yeah, my car is like, kind of falling apart. It doesn't like to start when it’s cold out for whatever reason.” You shrugged.

Wesker thought for a second, trying to think of explanations. “Have you checked th-”

“Yes, I’ve checked the battery. I got a new one and everything.”

His eyes narrowed, and your annoyed look was quickly replaced with an apologetic one. He licked his teeth before continuing. “I was going to say alternator, actually.”

Your embarrassment grew. “Um..what’s that do again?”

“It charges your battery.”

“Oh…No, I haven't checked that.”

Wesker almost laughed. It was cute, you were somehow both one of the smartest people he had ever met in his life- and the most flighty. It was part of what fascinated him about you. You were by no means incompetent, had he had seen you perform near miracles with some gauze and distilled water, not to mention how often the two of you got lost talking about whatever the hell came up. But the moment it wasn’t something traditionally academic or creative, you were out of your depth.

Some sick part of him really liked this side of you, because it convinced him you needed him, for moments exactly like this one. You depended on him. I’d tell you he’d go on to unpack all of this in therapy one day - but we both know that would be a lie.

“Come on,” He finally said, “Lets go look at your car.” You nodded, quickly finishing your cigarette before leading him to the old lemon that had gotten you around for the better part of a decade now. Wesker wasn’t shocked it was giving you problems- in reality, seeing this car run at all was the closest Wesker had ever gotten to believing in a God. Because only an act of divine intervention could get that rust bucket moving. 

He watched you get in the car and try to start it. And to the tin cans credit- it really did give it it’s all to try and start. But, the dim lights told Wesker everything he needed to know. He didn’t even have to pop the hood. 

He came over to your open driver's side door. “Pretty sure it’s the alternator. You’re going to need a jump.”

You looked up at him exhausted. “You got jumper cables?”

He probably did in his trunk. “Can’t say I do.” 

You groaned, dropping your head against the steering wheel. “Fuck, how am I supposed to get home?!” You lamented, hitting your head against the wheel again.

Wesker gently pulled you up and away from the wheel to sit properly in the seat, “I could always give you a ride home. We can come back with cables in the morning.”

You shook your head at that. “No way, I like like- an hour and a half from work.”

Wesker grimaced at that. The thought of making that drive there and back was a less that favorable one. But he’d do it for you. “I don’t mind taking you home if it means you’re safe.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m not going to make you do that.

“Okay, then why not stay with me tonight? I have a guest room you can use.”

He tried to make the question sound more spontaneous than it was. It was no secret that you and Wesker were closer than a typical boss and his employee ever should be- but a sleepover was crossing an unspoken but very well defined boundary. He couldn’t let you suspect the very true fact that he planned to offer his guest room to you from the moment you said your car probably wouldn’t start.

Your relationship up until this point had existed inside of plausible deniability. Yeah, you might have brought him lunch most days- but it was because he never took one otherwise and you were just worried about him. You’d do it for any S.T.A.R.S member. He didn’t actually give you special treatment, you just managed to piss him off the least out of all of them and if anyone said otherwise they could take it up with him. Yeah, the two of you lingered around the R.P.D well after closing on Friday nights, but it wasn’t to spend time with each other! No, it was for the smoke break, honest.

Yeah he might have stood a little closer to you than he needed when looking at something on your desk. Yeah, you might have lingered in his office longer than you should have after dropping off a report. Sure, he started buying extra cigarettes for you, and sure you had his coffee order memorized, and yeah maybe you both lived for the moments when your fingers brushed while exchanging papers. That might have all been true, but you would both deny it if ever asked about it. 

You couldn’t deny spending the night with him though. There was a certain level of intimacy needed to invite someone in your living space for the night, and there definitely wasn’t anything professional about it. No plausible deniability there.

You drummed your fingers against the wheel. “Yeah, okay.” You nodded, finally taking your keys out of the ignition, “Beats sleeping in my car.” 

🪫🪫🪫

You were almost ashamed to admit that you hadn’t expected the Captains house to be as inviting as it was. His home was lit in the warm light of tableside and floor lamps, and his walls had pretty art hanging in frames. “Wow, your house is really really nice.” You said, letting him take your jacket off of you.

He chuckled softly as he placed it on the coat rack, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately went into ‘try to explain things, but make them worse instead” mode. “No no, I didn’t mean like- well what I meant was- You’re just not the kind of guy I expected to have like, a nice place. Not that you wouldn’t have a nice place! It’s just, your office is so sterile, and like, kinda hostile to be honest. And I just didn’t think you’d care to decorate your house, not in like a bad way, but in an I figured you’d find it kind of frivolous kinda way.”

He let you word vomit, leaning against the wall while you rambled. When you finally paused to catch your breath, he interjected. “I grew up in a…what was the word you used, “sterile?” I grew up in a sterile environment. I didn’t want to live like that once I had the choice not to.” He explained calmly. 

You got quiet. That was the most you’d ever heard about his childhood. A part of you wanted to pry, another much stronger part of you wanted him to continue to trust you enough to talk about it. “Sooo then what about your office?”

He shrugged. “I want my office to feel hostile. The less the team wants to be in there, the less I have to deal with you all.” He joked, but also kinda meant it. 

You nodded in understanding as he led you further into the home. “I get that, I think.” It made sense. The less you wanted to be in his office, they harder you’d try not to fuck up.

“I thought you might,” He muttered. He showed you around the house, the kitchen; bathroom; livingroom; and finally your room for the night. It was just as welcoming as the rest of the house, the plush bed and warm looking quilt inviting you to finally pass out for the night. And you would have, if not for the fact you were still in your uniform.

You turned to Wesker. “Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in?” You asked bluntly. You’d already crossed the line into sleeping in the same house, might as well see how blurry the line could get. 

He looked surprised for all of a split second, before realising that not wanting to sleep in your work clothes was- in fact- not the most unreasonable request you could have made. He nodded, rubbing his own tired eyes from under his sunglasses. “One moment.” 

As Wesker went to fetch you something to sleep in, you took a moment to look around the room a little more. It was lit with the same low lights as the rest of the house, with thick blue curtains to cover the windows and a digital alarm clock on the bedside table. You took a second to peek out of the window to see the snow was really coming down now. Racoon City looked almost tranquil, covered in a sparkling white blanket. 

“Here you go,” Wesker said, startling you out of your thoughts as he re-entered the room, “These should fit well enough.”

You smiled as you took the folded clothes from him, “Thanks Captain.”

“Just, Wesker’s fine outside of work.” He said. The last thing he wanted was to think about the S.T.A.R.S team while he was at home. 

You nodded as you examined what he’d brought you. An old cotton band shirt, worn thin and soft with age, and a pair of basketball shorts you genuinely could not envision him in no matter how hard you tried. “I didn’t know you were a Rush fan,” You said with a playful grin.

He gave a soft smile in return, “Eh, it was the eighties. Who wasn’t a Rush fan?” 

You shrugged, “I just always took you as more of a Bowie guy.” 

“And why can’t I be both?”

“Fair enough,” you said as you sat the clothes down on the bed. “Thank you for this, I really do appreciate it.” 

He waved your gratitude off dismissively. “It’s no trouble. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “As my Captain, right?”

He played it cool despite the fact you’d caught him in that slip. “Obviously.” He said with just enough condescension to make you feel like the stupid one here. “I’ll see you in the morning, Doctor.” He said before finally leaving you to change.

You quickly put on the sleep clothes. You tried to imagine Wesker ever wearing any of this in his day to day life. The Rush shirt wasn’t too hard, you could easily see him on his day off wearing it. If you really put your mind to it, you could almost imagine a younger Wesker at the Hold Your Fire tour, a wallflower at the back of the venue, listening to the music but resisting the allure of the crowd at every possible opportunity. It almost made you laugh.

The basketball shorts though you had no idea. It wasn’t that Wesker was an unathletic guy, quite the contrary actually. It was more that for as long as you had known him the most skin he had ever shown was his forearms and fingertips, not even his palms. You were at least 36% sure that if his knees ever saw the light of day he would actually explode. 

That being said, they fit you well enough, so you couldn’t really complain. And if someone saw you maybe press your nose into the shirt, taking a deep breath of his scent lingering on the fabric, you would simply gaslight them into thinking they were losing it as punishment for not minding their own business. 

You yawned as you crawled into the bed, the warm covers enveloping you. Wrapped in your little cocoon of safety, you were out within minutes. 

🪫🪫🪫

You were decently sure it was the wind pounding against the window that woke you up. Or maybe it was the nightmares again. Either way, the snow from earlier had picked up into a full on blizzard, and you were now, regrettably, awake. Looking over at the digital clock, you weren’t surprised it was 2:30 in the morning, but you weren’t happy about it either. It took you a second to remember where you were, and by the time you did you were already out of bed and on your way to the kitchen for water. Might as well commit now. 

You were half asleep as you padded down the hallway to the kitchen, when you noticed the sound of a tv. Now, if this was your own house this would mean literally nothing- it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time you had gone to bed without shutting it off. But, this wasn’t your house, it was Weskers. And he was the last guy that you ever expected to leave his tv on. So, naturally, you had to investigate. 

Luckily, you had to pass through the living room to get to the kitchen anyways. On the way you tried to seem as casual as possible, taking a quick glance over at the sofa and stopping dead in your tracks. Wesker sat on the couch, staring blankly at the tv while old reruns played. On paper there was nothing abnormal about the scene. Just a man in a tank top and grey sweatpants watching late night television to try and put himself back to sleep. Something you were willing to bet a hundred other people in the city were doing right now.

But those people weren’t Wesker. They weren’t your Captain. Something about seeing him like this- in such a domestic way- felt…Wrong. Voyeuristic. You imagined this was how the first person who held the Necronomicon felt; the adrenaline rush that comes with seeing something humans were never meant to see- along with the unease that came with seeing something humans were never meant to see.

You blinked to yourself. That all felt incredibly dramatic. You felt silly for thinking that far into it. At least, you did. That was until he looked at you, and you realized this was the first time you had ever seen him without his sunglasses. Suddenly, it didn’t feel dramatic enough. For some reason, you never imagined his eyes would be that blue.

“Oh, my apologies,” He muttered, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m pretty sure it was the storm that did it. I’m assuming that's what woke you up too?”

“You’re free to assume what you like.” He said as he turned back to the tv. That wasn’t really an answer, but you knew him well enough to know that meant he wasn’t going to give you an answer. 

“Mind if I join you?” You asked, the mission for water long abandoned in favor of getting closer to your Captain. There was a joke to be made about trading out one type of thirst for another, but that was low hanging fruit and you were better than that. Even if you were thinking it. 

He shook his head, gesturing to the free half of the sofa, “Not at all.” You smiled softly, moving to sit next to him and sitting probably a little closer than you really needed to. Not that he minded. You still tried to maintain a respectful distance though. The last thing you needed to do was embarrass yourself by throwing your body at the Captain like a pushy salesperson at a perfume kiosk.

The thing is, you didn’t try very hard to keep your distance. You were drawn to him like a neodymium magnet to iron. Your body naturally wanted to curl up against his warmth and fall asleep listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat. You focused on the tv, yet still failed to actually pay attention to any of it. You were just trying to distract yourself from the need to curl up in Wesker's lap like a needy cat. 

You realized how hopelessly you had failed when his arm draped around you, trapping you securely in the crook of his arm, pressed into his side. Wesker said nothing as he did it, as if it was just totally normal and cool for him to cuddle with a subordinate. The thought of questioning him briefly popped into your mind before you quickly smothered it to death. If you started asking questions, he would move- and you really didn’t want that. You nestled into him instead. 

You looked back at him, still taken aback by the look of him without his sunglasses. His sharp features were illuminated by the blue glow of the TV, accentuating his high cheekbones and the slope of his nose. His hair was messy- far from the immaculate slicked back style you were used to seeing it in- and yet it still managed to look perfect. As if even his bed head was intentional. You wouldn't be surprised. Everything about him was intentional.

You still couldn't get over his eyes. You had always assumed they were some shade of blue, but his sunglasses hid just how cerulean they really were. And just as sharp as every other part of him was, fully capable of cutting a king in half with one disapproving squint. Cold, but almost unbearably human, and looking straight at yo-

Oh God he was looking at you. When did he start looking at you?! That wasn’t allowed! You looked away, hoping that he’d let it go. 

You snapped your eyes away so fast you missed the smirk that danced over his lips. “Oh, are you playing shy now?” He asked.

You maintained near unblinking eye contact with the screen. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled softly, low and deep in his chest. “So you’re playing stupid now too. Interesting strategy.” You felt the knuckle of his forefinger hook under your chin, pulling your face to look at him, and you felt your entire body catch fire. “Mmm. Not a good look on you though. You’re far too smart to ever do it convincingly.” 

“I beg to differ.” You muttered. You wondered if you had ever actually woke up, or if this was another one of your dreams. 

He smirked. “I’d love to hear that.”

You were definitely asleep. That was the only explanation. Every other part of yours and Weskers’ relationship developed over months, and in one night it felt like it was going from like, 55 to 100. His thumb traced your bottom lip, eyes staring at your mouth while he contemplated his next move. 

Finally, his eyes met yours again. “I find you captivating, Doctor,” He finally said, “I don’t think anyone has managed to capture my attention in quite the way that you have.”

You felt your chest swell with pride. Weskers’ praise had always been like a drug to you, and it was only amplified by the intimacy the two of you were creating. “Thank you Captain,” You muttered back, “I feel similarly about you.”

His head tilted to the side. “Do you?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation, and his smirk grew. “Good.” in the span of a breath his lips were on yours, catching you fully by surprise. You tensed, only to slowly melt against him. His mouth was surprisingly soft, and moved against yours with an expertise that made you jealous. You wanted to curse everyone he had ever kissed before you, and never wanted to think about him kissing anyone after you. 

Wesker pulled you closer, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and using your small gasp to deepen the kiss. It was like he knew you were spiraling into jealousy, and knew exactly how to drag you back out of it. Finally, you remembered you had hands, reaching up and tangling your fingers in his soft, short hair. You gave an experimental tug, earning you a soft moan from him. Noted.

He fully pulled you into his lap, sweatpants doing absolutely nothing to hide how you affected him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning in and letting yourself fall into rhythm with him. You felt one of his hands slide under your shirt to rest against the small of your back, and you were pleasantly surprised by how warm it was. He nipped at you again before moving, kissing your jaw and down to your neck.

You tilted your head to the side to give him room to work, moaning softly as he found that sweet spot that always electrified you. Teeth got involved after that, scraping against your skin as he kissed his mark, his claim, onto you. Your head was spinning. Of course you’d thought about Wesker like this before, but you never thought it would actually happen. You assumed your relationship was relegated to awkward office tension that would never be acted upon for fear of HR. It didn’t feel real, having Wesker pull you closer to him while he dug his teeth into your neck. You’d never been more thankful for snow in your life.

He pulled away, looking over his work. A sick grin found its way onto his face as he admired the way his bite mark looked against your otherwise untouched skin. He decided then and there it looked far too pretty on you for him to ever let it fade. He decided then and there that you were his. 

He pulled your attention back to him with a short, yet demanding kiss. “I just realized I never finished showing you the house.” He said in a voice that was far too composed for your liking.

“Wh…what?” You asked, a little breathless and a lot worked up, “So?”

“I never showed you my room.”

OHHHHHH okay, that made more sense. You nodded eagerly enough that it would have been embarrassing had you known shame. “You should do that actually. You should do that right now.” Wekser smiled at you adoringly. So cute, so eager, and so so unaware. He found it almost comical that the bunny was begging the wolf to see its den. He wondered if you’d be so willing if you knew that he was just another Judas in disguise. 

Probably not. He stood up, easily lifting you as he did. Instinctively your arms and legs wrapped around him, clinging onto him for fear of falling. Not that you had anything to fear. He picked you up as if you were nothing, his arms were steady and safe and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you swoon a little. He easily carried you to the room at the end of the hallway, and you felt yourself stir with the realization of how close his room was to the one he’d given you for the night.

Before you knew it you were on your back, being pressed into his silk sheets as he kissed your neck. You rolled your hips into his, only for him to grab you, dragging you flush against him so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him. He kissed down your body, setting every place his lips touched you on fire, even though the thin fabric of the old shirt you had on. Of his old shirt you had on.

He pulled the basketball shorts you were wearing off, wanting absolutely zero barrier between him and your perfect thighs. You squirmed as he kissed the inside of your legs, leaving clear evidence of him on every inch of skin he could. He wanted you covered by the end of the night. Finally, he made his way to where you wanted him the most. 

You felt his breath over the thin fabric of your panties, licking the already incredibly noticeable wet spot there. Your body tensed with anticipation, with want. He nuzzled into you, licking up your clothed slit again, and you waited for him to finally take your underwear off. You waited.

And waited. “Wesker please-” You begged softly.

He seemed to like that, looking up at you with wicked eyes from between your legs. “Please what, Dear?” He asked, the pet name sending a whole nother wave of arousal through you.

“Wesker, come on, just- please-” You were frustrated. He wasn’t really going to make you say it, was he? That was kind of embarrassing.

“Please what Dear?” He asked again, a little more forcefully this time, “What do you want?”

Bastard. “I want you.” You whimpered.

“I’m right here.” Bastard.

“I- I want your mouth, “ You finally said despite the embarrassment burning your chest, “Fuck, I want your mouth so bad.”

He seemed pleased, a self satisfied smirk on his face while he finally finally pulled your panties down. He licked along your soaking folds, pulling a near pornagraphic moan from you. He wasted little time, finding your clit and wrapping his warm, welcoming mouth around it. He licked his name into the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure through you with every expert stroke of his tongue. 

Your hands found his hair, tangling into the short strands and pulling him closer to you, bucking your hips into him to ride his face. At least, you tried to. He placed his forearm over your hips, locking you into place and leaving you to moan helplessly while you took exactly what he gave you, no more, no less. You felt dizzy, lightheaded and spinning as you got lost in the bliss, your legs started to tremble in preparation for the oncoming orgasm.

You gasped as you felt one of his long fingers easily enter you, quickly followed by a second. He used his middle and ring finger, curling them up and directly into your g-spot, coaxing your climax out of you with every expert stroke. The added stimulation sent you reeling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he brought you to the peak. 

Every movement set you on fire, every lick reeling, every stroke screaming. You could feel a coil tightening in your stomach, ready to snap. You could see the peak, and one final sharp suck against your clit pushed you over. You saw stars explode in front of your eyes and the knot in your stomach snapped, drowning you in dopamine and euphoria. You felt like you were in free fall, your entire body alive with sparks as he worked you through it all. 

Finally, as you started to come down he pulled back. You were still recovering when you felt him touch you again, this time pulling you up and tugging your shirt off. You weren’t sure when he took off his own clothes, and honestly you weren’t that worried about it. You were just happy to finally get a peek at what he was working with. 

Just five seconds ago you would have never described a cock as “pretty.” But, you couldn’t think of a better way to describe Weskers. Long and thick, with a pretty pink tip leaking with need. The thought occurred to you that in a different life, he would have made a killing as a porn star. You weren’t sure why you were like this. 

You didn’t have time to think about it either, Wesker gave you one rough, quick kiss before pushing you back down onto the bed. He pulled you closer to him, taking your ankles and holding them in a wide V. He kneeled in front of you, taking in every detail of your body and committing it to memory. He didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say you were one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen; especially laid out like this.

Exposed, vulnerable, and aching for him. “You’re beautiful you know,” He mused, “breathtakingly so. And you’re all fucking mine.” He punctuated his point by thrusting into you, all at once and leaving you with no room to adjust. You screamed, clenching around the sudden intrusion and pulling a beautiful moan out of Wesker. You could see his shoulders relax for a second, your warm welcoming cunt pulling the tension right out of him.

He was never going to give you up. You were perfect. “Like you were made for me.” He groaned, setting a pace that left you light headed. The natural curve of his cock was perfect for him to bully your g-spot, and the current position you were in gave him the leverage to fuck places you didn’t even know existed inside of you. You quickly felt another coil start to form in your stomach, already sensitive from before.

It didn’t take long for you to realize you weren’t going to last long, your limbs already tingling with anticipation. “Fuck, Al, you feel so good.”

He felt the air rush from his lungs when you said that. Did you even realize you used his first name? He could hardly remember the last time anyone called him Albert, let alone Al- considering the loving familiarity that often came with a nickname. Furthermore, he couldn’t remember the last time someone said his name and he liked it. 

Something inside him snapped, and before he knew it he was folding you in half, throwing your ankles over his shoulders and pressing his body weight into yours to try and get closer to you. “Say it again,” he said, hand coming to rest on your neck, “Say my name.” He was desperate to hear it from you again. It sounded so pretty coming from your lips.

You took in a sharp breath, this new angle giving him a more direct path to your sweet spot. “Al!” You groaned, head filling with stars as you lost yourself in him, “Albert, Al, fuck-” You’d say whatever he wanted you to if it met he wouldn’t stop. 

He felt drunk, his entire body alight with need. His hand on your throat tightened, and he pressed a demanding kiss into your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth in an attempt to claim every single atom that made you up. He bit your lip so hard you thought you might have tasted blood before he pulled up. “You’re mine,” he growled, “Do you understand that? Mine.” 

“Yours,” you confirmed, “Only yours.” You were so sweet, so compliant. If you kept this up, he wasn’t ever going to let you go home.

What was he even saying?

You were home.

You felt yourself snap, flying off the ledge at 100 miles an hour as your second climax of the night hit you like a truck. Your entire body trembled as you were hit with wave after wave of ecstasy, mind going blank as entire galaxies exploded before your eyes. It brought Albert to his own peak, the feeling of you fluttering around him and the sound of you screaming his name pulling him over the ledge. He pressed his hips fully flushed against yours, cumming as deep inside you as he could get- consequences be damned.

He fucked you through both of your highs, only stopping when his body physically forced him to. He just barely avoided collapsing on you, falling to your side instead. He held you close while the two of you caught your breath, and you cringed a little when he finally pulled out. He pulled you to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. It was quiet for a second while the two of you basked in your afterglow.

It was you who broke the silence. “Soooo…” You asked.

“So?” He asked back, debating a smoke. 

It was like you read his mind. “Does this mean I don’t have to worry about buying my own cigarettes anymore?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, because only you would ask ‘what are we’ like that. “Well talk in the morning,” he said, “For now, you should probably try and sleep.” You nodded in agreement, curling into his side. And in mere minutes, you had drifted into the most restful sleep you had gotten in ages.

[daisyvisions]

Not Like the Rest - (j.cm)

➺ Pairing - fuckboy!Changmin x fem!reader

➺ Summary - For you, friends with benefits should never drag out this long. Use each other til one of you wants to call it quits. So why was Changmin still hanging around?

➺ Word Count - 1.2K

➺ Warnings - Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends with benefits, mixed feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation (?), aftercare, riding, slight angst (ish? idk), fluff, mentions of bad past relationships, hookups, etc., pet name (babe), let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Author’s note - yippie another one (even if I wanted this to be longer huhu 🥲) but it's been in the drafts long enough, finally letting this one out in the wild. this is my very late bday gift for Changmin's bday, story was originally an ask I had for a different fandom but decided why not write it myself? Proofread once, enjoy!

➺ Taglist: @deoboyznet @winterchimez @snowflakewhispers

Thinking about fuckboy!Changmin, who you’ve been hooking up with for the past couple of months.

To be honest, this was probably one of the longest and most steady friends with benefits agreement you’ve ever had in your life. Usually the others would drop you after the first month or so and ghost you. But not Changmin.

At first you thought he would be like the rest. Just a one time fuck or whatever the hell these guys go for, especially given his track record and all (or so you've heard through the grapevine). You’re used to it by know you think and maybe you should stop this vicious cycle.

But old habits die hard, especially when you’ve had a string of bad relationships that it made you too afraid of commitment. Too afraid of getting your heart broken time and time again.

That’s why you resorted into flings. At least if ever it ends, you’re not so attached right? Well that’s what you try to tell yourself so it hurts a little less.

But that’s why with Changmin, for some reason being with him leaves you with all these mixed feelings. Oh god especially when he does things that make your heart beat fast and the butterflies raging in your stomach?

Or how he makes that rope within your abdomen tighten each time? Like how he is right now as he grips your hips, helping you bounce on his length as you try to reach your high.

It almost seemed too good to be true, that’s why by the third month that past of whatever you wanna call this continued, you did your best to please him almost all the time both in and outside of the bedroom. You wanted to hold onto this one as long as you can, even if there have been moments where it made you tired, especially physically as you continue to bounce on him.

Riding wasn’t really your forte when it comes to sex positions. Though you enjoyed it a lot, it’s just that your knees and leg muscles would eventually give in. But of course you wouldn’t tell Changmin even if it made you drained out. You were worried you might turn him off because in past relationships you would get criticized for it (because they expected you to do all the work).

So as you try your best to ignore the growing ache in your knees and the burn in your thighs, Changmin could tell something was off. It wasn’t your movements slowing down or when you would try to pause in between but with the way you knitted your eyebrows together (and not the kind that’s done because of pleasure).

“Babe, you okay?” He huffs out as his hands continue to guide your hips up and down his throbbing member.

“I-it’s nothing.” You breathe out, trying not to feel the pain in your muscles. You suddenly yelp both out of surprise and pleasure as Changmin suddenly pushes your hips down and halts your movements, his entire cock sheathed inside you as the tip kisses that sweet spot deep within.

“Why’d you stop me?” You whine.

“We need to talk about something-” Changmin says with a serious tone. Was he finally going to break things off with you?

“About what?” You try to keep your composure, not letting your emotions get the best of you.

“You have this face every time you’re on top.” Changmin gets straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”

Oh… so your discomfort does show.

Out of embarrassment, you lean forward and quickly hide your face at the crook of his neck.

“Hey- you can tell me it’s alright.” The warmth of his hand caresses the back of your head.

“Please don’t make fun-” Your voice starts to quiver ever so slightly. “It’s not that I don’t like being on on top it’s more of…” You life your head to face him, you cheeks growing warm from feeling flustered.

“I get very tired from it easily. My legs are- they’re kind of weak. I’m- I’m sorry…”

At first, there’s an awkward silence that fills the room. Changmin’s eyes trying to search something within yours before his chuckle breaks the tension.

God, is he seriously laughing? He’s the first guy to ever laugh at you for this. You should've just kept your mouth shut. Now he thinks you’re a-

“Well why didn’t you say so babe? Hold on.”

“Huh? Oh!” You squeal as his arms wrap around your waist, plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts himself into you like a jack rabbit. As the sounds of skin slapping against one another progresses, you can’t help but let out a string of erotic moans as you bury your face into his neck once more (God how he wishes he could play your sounds on loop forever).

The pleasure was starting to overwhelm you that your vision starts to blur from the tears forming in your eyes. You’ve never been fucked like this before. You practically feel him everywhere. You don’t even realize you’ve already reached your high and now you’re squirting all over him, your cunt gripping his length like there’s no tomorrow.

You reach your second wave of high much faster than you anticipated, igniting something very primal within Changmin to just keep on thrusting up into you. His arms tighten around you suddenly as his release suddenly bursts within your walls, coating them in his hot load.

You suddenly have no energy to move after all that, so Changmin helps you lift your hips, releasing a pool of your mixed essences as lay on his chest for a moment.

For some reason after being honest with Changmin about how you were feeling, it was like you were seeing a totally new side of him. He was usually the type to give aftercare but something seemed different tonight, you just couldn't place your finger on it.

He made sure to prepare a warm bath, help you lather your hair, and made sure you were settled in before holding you in his arms, leaving you a warm goodnight kiss before he went to sleep.

You stayed up for a moment, replaying everything that has happened between you and Changmin from the moment you met. This was very different from your usual hookups, and it made you feel a lot of mixed emotions.

While he made you feel all these exciting things, you couldn’t help but feel scared about how this will turn out in the end. Maybe these are the early signs of him ending things? Will this be one of the final moments you'll ever have with him before you become strangers again?

You mentally shook the thoughts out of your head and decided to focus on what was right here in this moment, snuggling closer into his chest as you slowly drift into sleep.

But little did you know that Changmin’s feelings for you were already reciprocated, ever since you two met. It was only a matter of time til he took you out on a proper date and finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

[green-butterfly-writes]

Yandere Batfam concept: neglected trans reader

Warnings for: child neglect, unintentional transphobia as a result of child neglect, (non bigoted) religious imagery, blasphemous imagery, idolizing Bruce Wayne

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so mistakes are likely to happen.

Standard neglected reader, they are Bruce’s bio kid, don’t get involved in Batman stuff, and end up getting punished to the side.

They realize they are trans while still living with the Waynes, and aren’t sure if they should come out or not. Not that they think the batclan would hurt them, but given the total lack of support or attention they were raised with, they were worried.

After a year or two of suffering through dysphoria and anxiety, they decide to come out to Bruce.

Except Bruce is very difficult to get a hold of. Especially for them. So when they do finally tell him, he’s distracted and not paying attention. The conversation goes roughly like this:

You finally managed to find time he wasn’t Batmaning, spending time with your siblings, or in the office, and even though you’d prefer he look at you and not the paper work he was doing, you’ll take what you can get.

You were in his darkly furnished home office, in a deep blue plush chair sitting at an angle from Bruce, who was behind the large dark wood desk in the center of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves taller than mount Olympus, each and every one of them filled with neatly organized text books, encyclopedias, and dictionaries.

Bruce sat in front of the only window in the room. It was tall, and a made of neatly organized, fractured glass. It lit Bruce from behind, like one of the stained glass murals from your grandmother‘s church, and made him look like an angel. A heavenly messenger you prayed to every night for protection, and every day for love. But the world is cruel, and so is its creator, so your prayers continued to go unanswered.

“Dad,” you started hesitantly, “I have something I wanted to talk to you about. I thought it best to tell you in person.” Typically, if you had something you wanted to share with Bruce, you would write it in a letter, leave it on his bedside table, and he’d get back to you in a week or two. But you wanted to tell him yourself. You need to see his face when he found out.

Bruce only hummed in response.

“I’m trans. I’m not going by (dead name) any more, I’m going by (chosen name) now. And I’ve changed my pronouns too. It would mean a lot to me if you used them.” You stared down at your lap, fidgeting with your intertwining fingers, waiting for a response.

Silence suffocated you as Bruce continued his even scribbling across his note pad, turning to the next page in the grant proposal he was reading.

“That’s nice (dead name). Why don’t you go see if Alfred needs help in the garden, I’m sure he’d love to hear your stories.”

You felt as if your very soul had shattered into a million pieces. Your heart burred in your chest, and your mouth went dry. It felt like someone had dunked your head a pile of fresh snow and held you there. You couldn’t feel your body, or hear your mind, and at the same time you felt it all too much, and heard it far to loud.

You had prayed to your heavenly messenger, your savior, your prophet. He who had granted you life and meaning. Who had saved you from deaths door, and carried you into his home. And you were just turned away at the altar.

That was the last time you called him dad.

You considered coming out to Alfred, the only member of the family that remembers your existence without you needing to remind him, but he’s old and you wouldn’t be able to stomach another rejection.

The next few years were hell.

Every event felt like a nightmare, trapped in a cage of fabric, every time you put on your school uniform you wanted to scream

Everyone called you the name you were desperate to forget, used the pronouns that made you skin sit wrong on your bones

You stopped looking in mirrors, hating what you saw.

Once you turned eighteen you practically ran out of the house.

You got excepted to a school in another state and took it, never looking back.

You wrote Alfred monthly letters about how you were doing for the first two years, then every other month, then every four. Slowly weening him off of updates about your life. You still send him a card during the holidays and one for his birthday so he knows you’re alive, but the address is for a P.O. box, so he doesn’t know where you live.

It’s now ten years after you left and you’re doing amazing. You’re flourishing in your career, have an amazing group of friends, and maybe most importantly, changed your first and last name. You got the surgeries you wanted, went on hormones, and can look yourself in the mirror now. You love your life

Sometimes when you’re watching tv or walking through the streets, you’ll see advertisements, magazines, or talk shows with imagery of your now forgotten false idol. Sometimes you wonder how he’s doing, how his kids have grown. You wonder if he misses you. Your therapist told you that’s normal for victims of child abuse. You pay the thoughts no mind.

You don’t watch the every move of your golden bat anymore, in fact you don’t watch any. And you don’t realize that he’s watching you, praying for forgiveness, not only for what he has done, but for what he’s about to do.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

♫ when you call, i’ll forgive & not fight

w; *i haven’t finished OBX — on season two*, slight ooc!jj for that reason!, mentions of arguing, r feels like jj is stringing them along, lower case intended, i also try not to use any pronouns but sometimes i do accidentally slip — be cautious! an; i want to start spreading more out for writing obx characters, so ill start with jj — slightly nervous but ill try my best 💔 also supercut reminds me of him and i don’t know why.

seeing kiara slightly angers you when she steps into the bathroom, eyes cutting over towards her before looking away quickly.

she says your name, desperate, pleading, and a small part of you is waiting to talk to her, listen to what she has to say.

but instead of doing that, you shake your head and walk past her and towards the doors that lead outside.

people are finally clearing the schools parking lot, a small breath releasing from your lips, thankful for just that. you knew you couldn’t wait another minute in the bathroom with the girl who you thought was your best friend and understood your feelings.

it’s strange how wrong you could be about someone.

the walk home isn’t to far from the school, luckily. though walking in the sweltering heat, it feels as if it was a longer walk than usual.

your sweating by the time you enter the trailer, quickly locking the door back and shutting the door behind yourself, pushing your hair back.

it’s quiet, void of any life at the moment. your mom taking extra shifts at the diner during the afternoon and then an job at the gas station during night just to make ends meet.

the lights are off, except for the ac that blasts cool air that has goosebumps pricking your skin slightly. making your way down the hallway, you’re quick to find some bikini bottoms and a top to match.

slipping on some shorts, you grab a bag from your closet and make your way into the bathroom to grab some sunscreen and a towel before making your way into the kitchen to grab anything else you may need.

laying out in the sun might help, then a long, long shower. your head peeks around the freezer when you hear the landline phone ringing. pursing your lips, you drop your bag onto the counter making your way towards the phone.

it might’ve been your mom anyway.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

wrong. jj.

“yeah, well, take the hint, maybank.” he’s saying something you don’t even hear, hanging up before anything else is said.

screw him for stringing you along.

screw kiara for allowing it to happen.

they’re only upset because they got caught. grabbing the bag from the counter, you make your way towards the front door, slipping on the flip-flops that rest near the door.

the phone ringing again makes you pause at the door, eyes drifting back to where the phone sits. shaking your head, you step outside and slam the door behind yourself.

you don’t have to listen to him or his excuses.

laying out, your eyes close as the sun bares down on your face. hopefully this will help.

—

your teeth clench together as soon as the cold water hits your burnt skin. safe to say — it did not help.

your absolutely done for, tears forming in your eyes from just the slightest bit of touch. you didn’t even mean to fall asleep while outside, you’d just been so tired.

slipping on an oversized shirt was no fun either. sucking in a breath, you finish putting on some shorts before making your way towards the kitchen again, opening the freezer and pulling out the aloe, hoping it’ll soothe it more.

there’s a knocking at your door that has you frowning, eyes drifting back and forth between your — hopeful — soothing aloe and the door.

letting out a small huff, you make your way over and open the door. you frown when you see the last person you really didn’t want to see at the moment.

“go away, jj.” before you could shut the door all the way, he’s sticking his boot into the entry way, frowning at the redness with a small quirk at the corner of his lips.

“what, did you fall asleep out here?” you stay silent and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. he pushes the door open and slips inside.

“jj, i don’t want—”

“i just want to help you put some of this on,” he grabs the cold aloe, shaking it a bit as he leans against the counter. “then i’ll get out of your hair.”

it would be hard reaching your back. “just that then you leave,” he nods and switches his hat around, the bill of the cap behind his head now. you shut the door and make your way over. “and no talking. i don’t feel like talking right now — especially to you.”

“no talking.” he repeats with a small nod.

once you stand in front of him, he opens the cap, glancing back up as your eyes close slowly. he smiles a bit, squeezing some out before smoothing it over your blistered cheeks.

you wince, almost pulling your head back, but he’s quick to hold the back of your head with his free hand. “sorry.” he mutters.

jj maybank could not not talk to save himself.

you remain still as his fingers continue to glide over your nose, counting the freckles that had darkened under the sun.

“i need to get your back.”

opening your eyes, you stare at him quietly before sighing as you nod. making you way over towards the worn couch, you sit cross-legged while jj plops down behind you.

with the pinky that hadn’t been drenched in the cold gel, he hooks it under the hem of the oversized shirt and pulls it up, careful and avoiding any burnt skin.

your hand grips the hem, holding it. a glop of aloe drops into his hand and, very gently, gets smeared over your back.

“it’s not what you thought, you know,” ten minutes, a record for jj maybank. “kiara and i.”

you want to stay silent, and you do, but only for a moment before finally speaking. “i don’t care anymore.”

his hands drag over your shoulders and your back straightens. “but you do care. or you wouldn’t be ignoring us.”

“well, maybe i’m ignoring you both because i wanted you to figure it out yourselves,” you shrug. “you can’t just tell someone you feel the same and then make them think something is going to happen between them,”

you stand, deciding the feel of jj’s hands was too much for you. dropping the shirt, the back immediately sticking to your skin, you grab the bottle that he’d placed on the floor.

“i think you should just go.”

“you can’t keep shutting me out and expecting everything to go the way you want it too,” he stands from the couch, following behind you. your jaw clenches. “or expect me to just go along with it so you can get your way.”

“it’s the right thing—”

“i love you!” you pause and gulp slightly. “and if you think i’m going to just give in and listen to you when you tell me to leave you alone, you’re wrong,”

slowly, hesitant, you turn and glance at him. he's staring at you with soft eyes and small frown with furrowed brows. you remember the first time seeing him make that face — first grade.

“i know they say if you love someone, to…to let them go or whatever they mean,” he waves his hand dismissively in the air. “or maybe it’s…” he stops and shakes his head.

“whatever,” he mutters to himself, stepping closer. “i can’t do that. i can’t let you go. if i don’t try to let you know how much i love you, it’ll eat at me until im dead,”

“what you saw, the other night, was nothing. i was telling kiara about you and what i wanted to say and you walked in right when i said—"

“…that you…” would never let anything happen. that what he felt was probably something he’d never feel again with someone. cheeks flushing, you shake your head and let out a scoff as you drop your head bashful. “oh my god. oh my— j, i’m so sorry. i didn’t…”

letting out a huff, your eyes cut up to him to see a small smile playing at his lips. “i’m sorry. i just always thought that, maybe, there was something between…” you trail off, pursing your lips.

“between kie and me?” he tilts his head. you nod. he steps a bit closer. “you thought wrong. i love kie,” he nods.

you glance up when you notice how much closer he is. his fingers brush yours that rest on the counter. “but not in the way that i love you,” he shakes his head. “plus, she has pope chasing after her.” he smirks.

you let out a small laugh, nodding. “i’m sorry.”

“you said that already,” his hand lifts and tucks some hair behind your ear that sticks to your skin. “there’s one thing you haven’t said though that i’ve said…about five times? maybe ten. who’s counting.”

“i counted,” you smile up at him. “it was three. you like to over exaggerate. but,” his thumb brushes along your heated skin.

“i love you.”

he smiles, catching your lips with his as gently as he could. his hands cradle your face, mindful of your burn. your hands move to cradle the back of his head, threading your fingers through his dusty blonde strands.

pulling away an inch, your eyes open for a moment to look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“i love you.” you whisper against his lips.

“i love you. and your stubbornness.” before you could say anything, he’s surging forward again, connecting your lips once more.

mind melting, any comeback slips from your mind.

[strangecreaturewrites]

mickey barnes x f/gn!reader ⊹ after your life is upended, you move to a new city to start over. you take a job at the first place that will hire you, which just so happens to be a dubious little bakery owned by two men named timo and mickey. pre-canon au. (18+) nothing crazy here, but it will be nsfw if i write more in the future. ( this fic was built off of some ideas i wrote down in my notes app over the past couple weeks, and i wasn’t sure if i wanted to develop it into something more. i could totally spin this out into something so much larger, i have several ideas for it, but i already have too many wips at the moment >.< ----- divider by saradika-graphics )

You knew the business was going to fail as soon as you set foot in the building. The place used to be a bakery, so it looked the part of a macaron shop, with its faded sea-foam green wallpaper and white counters and tables. But it lacked one crucial element: demand. No one even glanced at the storefront as they walked past, a detail you immediately picked up on during your interview.

But you needed the work, so you took the black T-shirt that would be part of your uniform and shook hands with your new employer, a man around your age named Timo. His business partner wasn’t around on your first day, but it wasn’t too long before you met him, too.

Mickey Barnes. You were obsessed from the moment you saw him, but not in the usual way. He was an awkward man, clumsy and self-conscious, but he was kind to you and easy to talk to. He had a pretty face, an unflattering haircut, and an earnest sort of demeanor you hadn’t seen in a long time, especially since you moved to the city. He was sweet, much sweeter than a lot of guys you’ve known. This sweetness pulled you in, made your heart flutter, made you curious — it even made it easier to show up for work most days, knowing you'd get to see him.

Personality-wise, your two bosses were like night and day. Timo was charismatic, witty, a people-person. A bit of a liar, a bit selfish. You didn’t trusted him too much, and working for him was… well, let’s just say, you had to deal with some dumb shit. He paid you in cash, and usually only after you hounded him for it.

While Timo stayed in the manager’s office all day doing who knows what, Mickey would stand behind the counter with you and talk. When a rare customer came in to buy something, he would box up their macarons while you rang them up.

You only worked there for a month, but in that short time, you got to know him well. You learned his favorite movies, the music he liked to listen to, the jokes that made him laugh. You knew he had no family, no relationships, no plans for more than what he already had in this phase of his life. You became familiar with the deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes when you told him he looked good, and you knew his ears would turn red if you pointed out when a customer was checking him out.

It was no time before you found yourself thinking about him in your bed at night, spinning fantasy after fantasy. Eventually, nearly every hour of the day was consumed by thoughts of him. He was just too cute. You imagined pushing your flirtations farther, wondering what he would do or say if you pressed his buttons enough. He didn't seem shy — just awkward.

Was he a virgin? No, no, you didn't think so. You wanted to ask him...

On the flip side, you were shocked by yourself! It never used to be this hard, keeping things professional, especially with your former bosses. (Then again, you've never been this attracted to someone you've worked for before.) You tried not to cross too many boundaries, but it was just too fun to tease him. Even when he seemed embarrassed, he laughed right along with you, so why stop? It made you feel good to have his attention, and he seemed flattered by the attention you gave him.

There were some times when you thought he was a little too easygoing, though. You quickly picked up on the odd dynamic between Timo and Mickey; they were friends, roommates, and the co-owners of this failing bakery, and it was clear to see who called the shots and who fell in line regardless of whether or not those decisions made sense. You often defended Mickey from his friend’s snide comments, but half the time he didn’t seem to care that he was being insulted. He would tell you not to worry about it, smiling his good-natured smile and waving his hand dismissively.

You wondered if Mickey was really unbothered, or if there was something he wasn’t letting you see.

The day you decided to quit, you told Mickey first. It was the end of your shift, the pink-purple sunset reflecting off the shop windows across the street. You just finished cleaning out the display case and boxing up the cookies that couldn’t be saved for the next day. Timo was in his office, and Mickey had just finished sweeping the pristine floors.

You thought he might panic and beg you to stay — you even hoped he might tell you he’d miss you too much for you to leave, or ask if there was a way he could see you outside of this place — but he just nodded, scrunching up his nose in a wince.

“Okay. That makes sense,” he said, almost as if he was apologizing to you. “I wouldn’t wanna stay either if I were you.”

You gave him a confused look. “You own the place, you could close shop and leave anytime you wanted.”

“Ah, well…” A blush crept across his face as he stumbled over his words. “It’s a little more complicated than that, with money, and- and we don’t exactly, uh- ‘own it,’” he stammered out, bringing his hands up to air-quote the last couple of words. You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to explain further, until he waved his hand, as if batting the prickly topic away. “Doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is, you have so many more opportunities. I don’t know why you applied here in the first place.”

“I needed a job,” you replied curtly, looking away from him. Why you moved away from your small town to the city, why you had to find work so quickly — it was a sensitive subject for you.

Thankfully, Mickey seemed to pick up on your discomfort.

After a tense pause, he cleared his throat, then asked, “What’ll you do next?”

You laughed humorlessly, pulling yourself up to sit on the counter by the register. He took a few steps closer, resting his hand on the edge of the counter near your knee.

So close… It’s been too long since you’ve felt anyone’s skin against yours, and he has been on your mind so much lately. You imagined sliding your hand over his as you answered him.

“Applications are supposed to be opening up soon for that expedition Kenneth Marshall is attempting." You sneered a bit as you said the politician's name, causing Mickey to laugh. “I’m gonna live on what’s left of my savings ’til then, and I’ll see if I can hitch a ride on that.”

“Doing what?”

“I was a paramedic before I started working here. I was a pharm tech before that.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a sly smile curling at the corners of your lips. “You think they’ll need medics in space?”

“Definitely,” he replied, sounding a little awed, smiling that adorable smile of his. “They’ll be lucky to have you.”

You hummed, warmth blooming in your chest. Sometimes, his sincerity made you ache. You decided to make your move and put your hand on his, squeezing it gently. You told yourself it was just a way of saying thank you, even as your thumb slowly brushed his wrist, back and forth, over and over. The tips of his ears started turning pink, his wide eyes locked on your hands, and it made you felt powerful.

“Can I be honest with you? Because you’re a good guy and I worry about you.” When he nodded, you continued, “This place isn’t gonna last, Mickey. You need to get out of here, do something else.”

He rolled his eyes, grinning a little. “Like what?”

“Literally anything else. You could… I don’t know…”

He nudged your leg with his knee, his grin growing wider. “See? That’s the problem, I don't know either.” For a moment, he looked off toward the window, lost in thought. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I’m gonna stick this out with Timo. He’s my good buddy, I trust him.”

You scoffed. “Whatever you say.”

“He’s good to me,” he replied defensively, his brows furrowing. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips, set in a little, almost pouty frown. You thought about bringing your hands to his face, pulling him closer, when the electronic doorbell chimed.

Quickly, you leapt off the counter and whipped around to see two women lingering in the doorway. By their looks, they were in their early twenties, wearing short club dresses and heavy make-up. They were bright-eyed and beautiful, giggling between each other and looking around the mostly empty room. They seemed hesitant to come inside, making eye contact with you as if they were waiting on some instructions.

“Oh, hey, sorry, we’re closing in-” Mickey looked down at his watch.

In a jarring bit of motion-and-sound, Timo breezed through the swinging kitchen doors, past the counter, toward the women. “Don’t worry, Mick, they’re here for me.” 

“Oh, okay,” Mickey said faintly, startled.

You both watched Timo nestle between the women, his arms around their shoulders. Then, as if on cue, he winced dramatically and said, “Damn, I forgot to tell you, man. I need the apartment for the night. You know, company and all. You understand.”

Mickey blinked, giving a little shake of his head, then corrected himself. “Right. Yeah. That’s fine, I’ll figure somethin’-”

The trio were already turning to leave as Mickey spoke, Timo yelling over his shoulder, his voice overlapping Mickey’s, “Hell yeah, man, you’re the best. See ya tomorrow, Mick! And uh, you too…”

Even after a month, he still didn’t remember your name. Why are you not surprised?

“Asshole,” you snarled, watching the trio strut past the window. You turned to Mickey, who still looked a little baffled. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

He shrugged. “Nah, but it’s not a big deal. Usually I just walk around for a few hours, then I sneak in at around two or three. Hell, I can sleep here if I gotta.”

You stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to say he was joking. When he only stared back, his blue eyes so full of that earnestness you’d grown to associate with only him, you grabbed the boxes of extra macarons and told him, “You’re coming home with me.”

“Oh! Uh-”

“Hush. Come. Now.”

He scrambled to keep up with you, barely remembering to lock up in his haste. You smirked, feeling that private sense of power once again. But there was also excitement — finally, you would get to have him all to yourself.

( i planned a sex scene for this, but i tragically lost focus and i don't even know if this would be interesting to anyone, so if you want to see more, please tell me! i want to write so much more for this, but i am not a self-sustaining machine, lmaoooo )

[luminouslywriting]

i wanted to know how BoB men would feel about dating a short girl? your writing is very good! ❤️

A/N: As a certified 5'2 girlie, this one hits home for me haha! Anywho, gif belongs to dvnedain! Enjoy and remember that my requests are open and I don't mind spam!

Light spice included under the cut :)

Dick Winters:

-Doesn't really care about the height difference all that much? Like yeah, he's tall, but it's not a huge factor in the relationship

-He's very aware of your height—as in, this man is thoughtful and tries to place things that you use regularly where you can reach them, is the first to volunteer to grab something that's out of reach, and is generally aware of your height.

-Aware of it within a crowd and so he usually has his hand in yours or his hand on your back as you walk through a crowd so he doesn't lose sight of you

-Likes to pick you up and hold you in the shower....it definitely has its advantages then

Lewis Nixon:

-A shit-talking jerk (affectionately) about the entire thing. While he's not the tallest, he's definitely one who uses nicknames to get under your skin and to bring attention to the fact that you're short. It's all affectionate though.

-Is aware of some of the logistical problems....and thus he places things on high shelves to purposely annoy you

-Loves cuddle time though and especially loves spooning with you, it brings him a lot of comfort

-Absolutely leans on you way toooo much

Ronald Speirs:

-Doesn't care????? Like your height is just your height and it is what it is.

-But you know what he does care about? Meeting your needs—whether it be holding you up against a wall or making it so you're at eye level while in the throes of passion, this man is out here trying to ensure that you're having a great time

-Never loses sight of you in a crowd

-Personally prefers being on his knees for you actually, so the height difference isn't that big of a deal lol

Buck Compton:

-Affectionately teases you about it in a lighthearted way. But the second someone else makes fun of your height, it's a glare for sure.

-Likes the sorts of hugs where he can pick you up because it's so easy to do so

-Presses kisses to the top of your head

-Prefers to be on top so that the size difference isn't as noticeable tbh

Carwood Lipton:

-Also a man who does not care very much about your height. So long as he gets to hug you every morning, he's pleased.

-He does think it's adorable when your little legs CANNOT keep up with his and he might make a remark or two, but nothing crazy

-Will perch you on some stairs if it's convenient to kiss you

-Otherwise is very happy to lean down to kiss you and much prefers being able to sit with you so you're on the same level

Joseph Liebgott:

-Also a shit-talker about your height (Affectionately). Totally has nicknames that are both affectionate and meant to rile you up. Has 100% called you a munchkin and gotten punched before.

-Ruffles your hair ALLLLL the time because he's taller and can get away with it

-Tbh, this man prefers you on top anyway, so the height thing is a turn-on for him

-Will, in fact, get horny anywhere and everywhere he can pick you up and put you on top of (including the kitchen counter, the hood of the car, and the washing machine)

Donald Malrkey:

-A sweetheart about your height who just likes to have your arm around him and loves to press kisses to your head.

-Always picks you up when he hugs you and spins you around

-Tries to be conscious of your height in accordance to the home and probably gets you a stepstool so you can feel some independence

-Loves dancing around with you because it's just a cute thing you two do, regardless of height

Eugene Roe:

-An angel about your height tbh; while he's not the tallest, he is still taller than you and he likes to rest his chin on your head

-Never makes a single remark about your height, he thinks that you're perfect

-Likes to cup your face when he leans down to kiss you

-Probably likes to twirl you around and does it with ease

Bill Guarnere:

-Absolutely into picking you up over his shoulder and carrying you into the bedroom at his convenience

-Babe, this man has a size kink and he WILL be using it to his advantage

-Absolutely the type to just pick you up and give you a piggyback when you're falling behind or getting tired

-Has affectionate nicknames for you with some needling

Joe Toye:

-SCARY DOG PRIVILIGE

-But actually, this man is so sweet about it....most of the time. Sometimes he'll hold something over your head and demand that you pay the price (it's just a kiss haha)

-Likes to gently rub your back after a long day and traces your spine

-Probably adores your short thighs tbh

George Luz:

-He's gonna offend you accidentally at some point with some sort of short joke buttttt he's real sweet about it most of the time

-Compliments your height but alsoo... "how's the weather down there, honey?"

-Please just get on your knees a few times and use that height to your advantage, I promise you'll get whatever you want from this man

-Actually adores your height and leans on you alllll the time

[silvershadow1711]

Apotelesma

Fandom: Binary Star Hero

Word count: 7k

Pairing: Ray/Maddie (OC)

Summary: Stars have always been said to have influence over the course of a person's life. Can a moment of weakness really be considered a mistake if it was fated to happen?

Warnings: Male masturbation, mentions of female masturbation, mentions/descriptions of violence/gore, a mention of sexual assault (nothing happens, he just thinks about it), bodily fluids, lots of angst in general. Like… this was supposed to just be a PWP, but it ended up being kind of really depressing…

A/N: This is something that’s been on my mind for a long time but that I never had any intention of putting on paper. And then I took a little poll on tumblr that essentially asked if I could write a fic (not chapter- fic) that was 7k words. I’ve only done something that short once in the last decade or so of fic writing, so I decided to take the bait and challenge myself. This is written as a bit of an AU of my other BSH fic, "Syzygy", but it's not required to have read that to understand this.

It was always a treat, getting to accompany her on these heists. Well, “accompany” might have been stretching the definition a bit. He was definitely present at the same time as her, even if they weren’t… technically… there together.

Even if he was hovering around fifteen feet above her (usually he preferred to stay between twenty and thirty, just to make sure he was harder to spot if she happened to look up, but he was a bit too… preoccupied at present to focus on his field).

Even if she didn’t know he was there.

But it still counted in his mind, and thank goodness for that because otherwise, she would have been completely alone. The man in the black mask (matching hers, he tried not to think about how his gut twisted if he thought about that too much) had left, taking the handful of lower ranked members that had (actually) accompanied them with him, piling them into a nondescript sedan along with their stolen goods and driving off. Ray had- purposefully- dropped his altitude during the altercation that preceded the split, listening intently as Maddie and her… coworker? Associate? He was loathe to call the petulant man her “partner”, even if it was just a partner in crime (and there was a growing pile of evidence that indicated it wasn’t…).

Well, whatever he was was, there had been a slight concern that their little spat might escalate, potentially becoming physical. The last thing he needed was to spook her by swooping down in full costume and folding this so-called “Double Vision” asshole like an origami swan. Even if he claimed (truthfully in this case) that he was simply doing his duty in protecting a civilian from what he could only assume was a violent altercation, the terror of being approached by a hero mere minutes after committing several felonies would forever poison the well and ensure that she never saw him as anything but a threat. Thankfully, their tiff had remained just that, and even when Ray opened the channels of his mind and let their thoughts flow into his head, all he got was an overwhelming sense of annoyance from both parties. This battle was an old one, practically generational.

But even if his darling little glimmer of starlight was unharmed and unworried about making her way back home alone in the dead of night, that didn’t mean he was. Letting a woman weave through dark alleys all by her lonesome was downright unheroic. He was keeping her safe, truly. Watching the way those tight athletic pants clung to her ass, the inner seam pressing into her pussy enough for him to practically make out the swell of her lips as she crawled through a hole in one of the chain-link fences… that was just a happy coincidence. After all, she mostly wore baggy clothes in the daylight hours- not that he couldn’t still appreciate the swell of her breasts accentuated by the logo of whatever black tee-shirt she was wearing that day.

But her villain get-up, as casual as it was, marked such a departure from her usual aesthetic that even the most mundane things seemed eroticised to the point of lewdity. Seriously; just catching a glimpse of her ankle, the way the skin shifted as the joint rotated, had his dick hard and leaking. What the hell was wrong with him, getting all hot and bothered over an ankle like some deeply repressed Victorian lord? Why didn’t he get hard this easily when he was having sex? Maybe it was a fetish? A villain fetish? But if that were the case, why was it just manifesting now? Why with this… what, G-lister? As Maddie climbed back to her feet, she unzipped her cropped jacket, allowing him an unobstructed view of her throat all the way down to the dip of her clavicle as she rolled her neck in a stretch. His hips jerked of their own accord and he bit his lip until he could taste the faintest trace of copper to stifle the moan desperately climbing up his throat.

At any other time, he might have cut his losses and flown home to jerk off in peace, but… this really was a bad part of town and he really did worry that leaving her on her own might be dangerous. And honestly, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to notice him; just the subject of his strange fascination, and in the five months he’d been tailing her, she hadn’t looked up once. No one in their little gang had. Had they forgotten that justice roamed the skies and no darkness could withstand his light, or were they simply so arrogant as to think they were untouchable? Frankly, Ray didn’t care. Be it arrogance, naivety, or plain old stupidity- whatever the reason, it worked in his favor.

The seam allowances on his suit were annoyingly small, which meant zippers were even smaller. Normally, he used his telekinesis to undo them, but while just about any natural-born telekinetic could split their field at least two ways, as long as he wanted to stay airborne, he was stuck using his hands. And between the tiny zipper and the thickness of his gloves, it was frustrating enough that, if the ache between his legs was coming from his bladder, he would have just pissed in the suit rather than continue fighting it. Alas, arousal was a more powerful motivator than he ever would have imagined- for the first time in his life, he understood why men would seemingly move heaven and earth just to get laid.

Finally wresting open his fly, the cool night air on his overheated skin sent a shiver through him that ended up feeding back into his arousal. Wrapping a hand around his shaft, he began stroking himself hard and fast, copious amounts of pre-cum easing what otherwise would have been unbearable friction from textured gloves. Even in the privacy of his bedroom with all the time he could reasonably expect, Ray never felt the need to build up to an orgasm. If he was at the point of jerking off, he was horny enough and, more often than not, it was simply another bodily function that just needed to be taken care of. Lately, it had become more enjoyable, simply by want of actually experiencing sexual desire when he was doing it, but he still didn’t feel the need to draw it out unnecessarily. For as good as it felt, there was no urge to prolong it, so when Maddie’s voice reached him, and he felt his balls start to draw up, he quickened the pace of his strokes.

Her voice was unintelligible and just audible enough for him to make out that she was singing something under her breath. It wasn’t surprising; she sang all the time, even while breaking into cars or homes (one would guess that was the reason behind her villainous nom de guerre). He assumed it was a way of self soothing, calming what had to be harried thoughts, but at the moment, all he could think was what that range of dulcet tones would sound like moaning his name.

‘Ah, fuck, keep making those pretty sounds for me… I’d have you singing my name all night, Star; I’d conduct a fucking symphony on that sweet pussy of yours…’

He was so caught up in the visions playing out in his mind that he barely noticed that Maddie- and by extension, he himself- had stopped moving. Maybe because there was still motion below him, his star swaying a bit as she tapped out something on the tablet she’d pulled from some interior pocket of her jacket.

“Heh, you keep doin’ that, you’re gonna go blind, sugar pie…” Huh? Slowly, almost too slowly to feel natural, like he was watching something in a dream, the woman below him turned around and tilted her head back, back, craning her neck all the way until she was looking at him. At least, he assumed she was; the eyes of the demonic half-mask she wore were gilded the same as the horns, obscuring her own eyes. The massive fangs that protruded from the carved smile of Double Vision’s mask were the same gold and hid his mouth. Maddie’s mouth was exposed, the massive grin she was sporting putting all her teeth, white and small and just a little crooked in places, on full display.

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” She… she wasn’t talking to him. “Man, you are just going to town on that thing!” She couldn’t be. “I gotta say, Binary Star being a full-on exhibitionist was not on my bingo card.” No, this… this wasn’t happening. This… was just a nightmare, h-he was going to wake up at any moment-- “Aww, what’re you doing? Don’t stop on my account. Keep going. Wait!” She backed up, not running, not in any kind of hurry, just about two steps back, raising her hand and pulling it back as well. That was a… strange motion, but one that ultimately made perfect sense as a thin black rectangle floated from its previous position at his side to the front of him. A phone, whatever make and model he wouldn’t have been able to tell even in full daylight (all smartphones produced after 2006 looked interchangeable to him), tilted in such a way that, while he was certain his whole body was in frame, it was obvious the focus of the shot was on his dick, which he was still holding, even if his hand had stilled.

“Okay,” Maddie practically chirped. “Now keep going.” She was talking to him. His bright little star, a singular light amidst the haze of pollution, was saying words directly to him, looking directly at him… There was no fear; she spoke as if they were old friends… She had realized he was following her… she was watching him masturbate, filming it- for who knew how long?

Over the last two or so decades, a shift had begun taking place inside of him, so subtle and gradual that he didn’t really even notice it until a few years ago. A dimming of sorts had happened. Colors were muted, sounds muffled; the entire world seemed to have washed out, leaving everything a bit faded… and that included Ray himself. He had never really been happy- there wasn’t much in his life to be happy about, honestly- but these days, he didn’t feel… anything anymore. Not really. The anger that used to sweep over him had dulled to a perpetual annoyance, disgust morphed into a faint irritation, fear… honestly, he probably hadn’t been afraid since the day he left Steel’s house fifteen years ago. After all, what was there for Binary Star to be afraid of?

The answer was about fifteen feet below him, still swaying a bit, holding a tablet and beaming at him with a shit-eating grin. Arousal curdled into horror that churned in his stomach and drenched the inside of his suit with a cold sweat. The phone was out of reach (especially when it was on the side of the arm that was still holding his dick), and his field dexterity was below that of all but the youngest, most inept children. The pressure built behind his eyes, the peripherals of his vision turning red--

“Ah ah ah! That’s a mistake!” He blinked, and the heat dissipated. “I’m not exactly live-streaming, but I am streaming this to a private server. A server I keep… contingency plans on. And if, for any reason, I don’t log into that server for more than 18 hours, all those ‘contingency plans’ do get live-streamed. Not just on multiple accounts on every social media platform, but other places. Archives. The dark web. This’ll go up right next to that video of you turning that Los Perreros mule into a meat pinata.” What was she talking about- how the fuck did she know about that? NAHA said they scrubbed every copy of that video off the internet. If it were anybody- literally anybody else- saying those words to him, Ray would have taken his chances and removed their head from their body by now. But… if he hadn’t been able to kill Maddie that first night, there was no chance of it now. To hurt her, to even think of extinguishing the sole source of light in his dim, miserable world… that was a type of sickness he hadn’t felt since that day. He swallowed, but his mouth still felt wretchedly dry.

“What do you want?”

“Well, right now, I want you to finish jerking off.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” There was no humor in her tone this time. “You’re still at about half mast- honestly; respect- so… cum and then we’ll talk.” …it had to be a fetish. Because that was the only logical explanation as to why, even in the horrific scenario he’d found himself in, his dick still jerked and began hardening once more just at the sound of his star telling (ordering) him to cum.

With a shaky inhale, he began stroking again. It was impossible to find a comfortable rhythm; he didn’t want to drag this out by going too slow, but the thought of going too fast and seeming too eager made him want to crawl under a rock and die. He didn’t know where to look, he was suddenly far too aware of every part of his body; honestly, the last time he’d felt this uncomfortable masturbating had been back in the NAHA facility when he was eleven. But that awkward discomfort hadn’t stopped him then, and it wasn’t going to stop him now.

Risking a glance downwards, he noticed that Maddie hadn’t shifted even slightly. She had to be looking at him. Was she… enjoying this? It would be easy to tell- he could pull back that mental curtain, peer into her thoughts… but what if she wasn’t? What if she was disgusted by him, despised him? He mentally shook his head to clear away those horrible thoughts. It was Schrödinger’s judgment, and for the sake of his own sanity, he was going to choose to believe that she was watching because she got something positive out of it. With that in mind, he allowed his gaze to grow bolder, roving down her body to land once more on wide hips and thick thighs and the junction between them, groaning slightly as he let his imagination run free, envisioning how he could tear that thin lycra like tissue paper to reveal the treasure beneath. His mouth, his hands, his dick- hell, even his field; he wanted to experience what it felt like to have as much of himself inside her as possible.

His hips bucked into his fist as he felt his orgasm begin to crest, and for one horrible moment, he wondered what it would be like to simply land and play out his fantasies in real life. To tear her silly costume (if it could even be called that) off and push her up against the filthy brick wall and finish those final pumps it would take to push him over the edge inside that sweet pussy he had been dreaming of. She probably wouldn’t take too kindly to that, would probably scream and try to fight him off, but… it’s not like that could actually stop him. Women fighting back hadn’t stopped Steel, after all. And that was what snapped him out of it, that thought; ‘Are you Steel Sheriff…?’ No, but for a moment that lasted only a heart’s beat and an eternity all at once, he’d thought like him. And the thought itself was what pushed him over the edge.

A few more pumps, flicking his wrist and focusing on the head, and he came with a choked moan and a staccato jerking of the hips. The afterglow never lasted very long, the regeneration that kept his body regulated cycling through any burst of hormones rather quickly, even the pleasant ones. A few deep breaths later, and he was once again returned to unpleasant reality at hand. There was no dignified way to tuck his now flaccid dick back into his suit; why the fuck hadn’t NAHA taught him how to not look like an idiot in an embarrassing sexual situation instead of wasting time with media training? At the very least Maddie wasn’t pointing and (openly) laughing at him, waiting until he was zipped up to gesture for him to come closer with a nonchalant yet oddly elegant curl of her fingers.

(How would those fingers feel on his skin?)

(He wanted to put them in his mouth)

(…the hell? Where had that thought come from?)

(Goddammit, he just came- how was he getting hard again!?)

Thoroughly annoyed with both his body and mind, Ray alighted back on terra firma, leaving a good three feet between himself and his strange fixation (an arbitrary distance that was in no part enforced by his attempt to not step in any of the conspicuously milky puddles on the asphalt, no sir). At some point, Maddie’s phone had returned to her hand and she had been typing something on the cracked screen before putting it in sleep mode and returning both it and the tablet to their respective hidden pockets. With her full attention on him, she was no longer leering with that wicked smile. She looked, to be sure- intensely and upon every square inch of him if the motions of her head were anything to go by, but her full lips remained a neutral line. Finally she stilled, her attention turned (presumably) to his face.

“You’re a lot taller in person than you look on TV.”

“I get that a lot,” he muttered. Ray didn’t know how he felt about this whole situation. On the one hand, he was elated that his little star hadn’t taken off running the moment he’d been spotted, that his mind hadn’t been inundated with a flood of terrified, disgusted thoughts reviling him for being a disgusting pervert… but on the other hand, of all the ways he would have wanted to finally make contact with this newfound obsession, being sexually blackmailed into it was definitely near the bottom of his list. With a deep breath and sigh that didn’t sound nearly as shaky as it felt, he ripped the bandage off. “What do you want? Money? Information? ‘Clout’?” He hated the way that word felt on his tongue, and judging by the way Maddie physically recoiled, she hated the way it felt in her ears.

“Ugh, it sounds so hateful when you say it. Like a slur. But to answer your question, no, no, and definitely not.”

“Then what do you want?” She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, and he was once again reminded of that cat she’d stumbled across, the way it had looked at her as she squealed and cooed at it in the most insufferable baby talk he’d ever heard. Did looking at something at a 15 degree angle help you understand it better?

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you kill me as soon as you realized I was filming you?” The better question was, why hadn’t he killed her five months ago?

“I-I’m a hero; heroes don’t--”

“Don’t piss in my mouth and tell me it’s La Croix.” For the first time since he’d noticed her noticing him, she sounded irritated. “I’ve seen you vivisect a man. So why haven’t you split me down the middle?” She made a slicing motion from the top of her head down to her chest to illustrate her point, and Ray’s traitorous mind quickly filled in the gaps, painting a vivid picture of organs spilling out as the two halves of her fell open like a macabre flower, pooling blood overtaking the meager splattering of his arousal. It was only weeks of practice in Pará that had him preemptively slam his lips shut against the mouthful of vomit he threatened to spit up. Swallowing the bile, he kept his eyes fixed on an empty bottle behind her shoe, not trusting himself to look directly at her just yet.

“…because I don’t want to.” He expected her to scoff, to laugh in his face, to call him out on his bullshit. It was the honest-to-god truth, but even to his ears it sounded like a lie. But if he’d ever been able to predict this woman before him, he wouldn’t have been so fascinated by her, now would he?

“…that’s as good a reason as any, I guess.” He blinked, taken aback.

“You believe me?”

“Should I not? Are you lying?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So. That being the case, what I want from you is twofold. One!” She held a finger up in front of his face. “I don’t know why you’re following me and I don’t particularly want to know. But I don’t want heroes” she actually made air quotes as she sneered, “and law enforcement to know my comings and goings, so from now, if you ever see me again, no the fuck you don’t. Keep my actions and whereabouts out of NAHA’s databases.” A guarantee that he wasn’t going to cart her off to prison- Ray should have seen that coming. Given that he’d been following her for weeks and witnessed her commit multiple felonies in that time, it was safe to say he’d never had any intention of turning her in, but he still made a show of acting beleaguered, sighing heavily, shoulders slumping, the whole shebang.

“I suppose I have no choice. And your second demand?” Her smile came back. Not a full smile, just a little quirk of the corner of her mouth that made his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“Your phone number.” That he wouldn’t have seen coming under any circumstance.

“My… huh?”

“Number. You have a phone, yes? Some way of communicating over telecom lines? So, can I have it? Can I have your number? Can I get the ten digits that comprise your number~?”

“Why?”

“So I can call you. Obviously.” Instantly his mind began racing, trying to figure out what nefarious reasons she could have for wanting to call him. A set up, some misguided attempt to take out Binary Star? Surely she couldn’t be that stupid. For the first time since her argument with Double Vision, Ray opened the channel of his telepathy, allowing her thoughts to pour into his head.

/--‘your number, your number; can I have your number? Your phone number and area code?’ God, I am never gonna forget that until I die…/

Well, that was less than helpful. Maybe this was a joke- maybe she intended to post his number online so annoying fans could harass him? It would hardly be the first time he’d changed numbers.

“I suppose that’s… acceptable.” It took a moment to remember the current string of ten digits he was using; it wasn’t as though he had cause to remember his own number. The only people who called him were those affiliated with NAHA, and they always knew how to reach him. Any “dates” were set up by handlers, including exchanges of contact information, and honestly, Ray saw those glorified publicity stunts as yet another aspect of his job. It wasn’t as though he had friends, family… there was no one outside of work for him to talk to… Once she finished entering the number into her contacts, Maddie once more fixed him with a tight-lipped smile that looked especially wicked when paired with those gleaming horns.

“I don’t make calls often, but I will text. And I expect you to respond.” Another strange flip-flop in his gut, brought on less by her words and more so her tone. It didn’t feel great, but he didn’t dislike it either. Maybe that was what spurred him to push back, just a little.

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, releasing a sex tape worked for the Kardashians- I guess it can work out for you, too. All those sex shops that make unlicensed Binary Star dildos can at least have a decent reference to work off. Oh! Before I forget, you might wanna get that mole on your dick checked out.” The chill slipped down his spine, into his stomach, and all he could do was stand there, gaping like an idiot, as she gave him a bitchy little wave and traipsed off.

Ray avoided social media- he hadn’t really used the internet until he was eighteen, and by that time, it had advanced to the point where it just confused and frustrated him. Besides, he had handlers and PR people to deal with that, to run the accounts on Twitter and Instagram under his name. If there had been any kind of credible threat to his wholesome image (no- fanart and lookalikes doing parody porn didn’t count, much to the chagrin of the NAHA’s marketing department), he would’ve known almost immediately. It seemed that Maddie had kept up her end of their bargain, but even so, he refrained from trailing her for a while. He wasn’t worried about some stupid scandal; he was worried about what she thought of him. Was she afraid he’d go back on his word and send a SWAT team after her? Had she taken to wearing hoods and carrying an umbrella for fear of getting caught in a localized downpour of something that wasn’t quite water? …had she immediately told that Double Vision asshole what happened and now they were both laughing at him…?

Ugh, just thinking about that made his gut churn. He hadn’t felt this bad in decades, his healing factor usually keeping his body too stable for anything but a general sense of malaise. That was probably why he didn’t register his phone ringing until the vibration ran up his thigh. Fishing the brick from his pocket, Ray frowned and squinted, as though that would change what was written on the screen. “Private Number”. It took a few long seconds for his brain to catch up with his eyes. A private, unknown number? How could someone even reach-- the realization struck him and he fumbled to swipe right before the ringing stopped.

“Four rings.” A disappointed clucking from the other end. “We gotta work on your reaction time.” Maddie. He was about to refer to her by name, before he remembered that as far as she knew, he didn’t actually know her name.

“Who is this?” If the hero thing hadn’t gone through, he still would’ve had a promising chance as a child star. He couldn’t sing, but he could sure as hell act.

“Oh, I guess you don’t know me. Hmm. How’s about you call me ‘Bard’? I’m the poor, delicate maiden you busted a nut to the other night.” Ray choked back a scoff. Delicate? He’d seen pit bulls more delicate than her (not that that was a bad thing- the fact that someone who seemed so hard-bitten and borderline aggressive could at the same time be so gentle charmed him to no end).

“I’ll keep that in mind. Did you need something?”

“Nah, mostly just checking to make sure you haven’t forgotten our arrangement. You’re not hispanic, are you?” That threw him for a loop.

“No, why- do I look hispanic?”

“You could be very diluted. But no, I ask because the number you gave me is registered to one ‘Miguel Sanchez’ and… that didn’t sound right. You don’t look like a ‘Miguel’- you look like a ‘Trevor’.” …somehow, that was more insulting than if she’d just called him a cracker.

“I’m not going to have a phone registered in my name, especially with a number that could so easily fall into villainous hands.” He wondered if she would take offense at his little dig. If she did, it didn’t register in her voice.

“So your name’s not Miguel or Trevor?”

“…no.”

“Well, that’s two down. So, what’s up, Lefty?” He frowned slightly.

“Why are you calling me ‘Lefty’?”

“Because your dick curves to the left.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“It does.” Good fucking lord, how intently had she been looking at it!? Was she just studying that video frame by frame!?

“I don’t care; don’t call me that!”

“Sure thing, mole dick!” The sheer delight in her voice made his heart flutter, and coupled with the nerve-wracking embarrassment he was feeling, Ray had to duck his head between his knees until the urge to vomit fully passed.

“…‘Lefty’ is fine.”

“Thought so. Quick question- where are you going to be patrolling tonight?”

“Huh? What makes you think--”

“Don’t play cute with me.” Once again, that short, sharp tone returned. “I know you spend all day doing ‘respectable’ hero work for photo ops and kill gang members under the cover of darkness. You probably have a list of targets to hit, so where are you going to be tonight?” …most people didn’t think of heroes doing dirty work. That was the purview of squads in bulletproof vests carrying assault rifles, not caped crusaders in spandex (read: ballistic nylon). He was supposed to be a symbol of hope, a shining light in the eyes of people, not some shady assassin… Maddie must’ve taken his silence as defiance, and her next words were completely devoid of any levity. “If I die, I will ruin your life from beyond the grave. You know jerking off is the least horrifying thing you’ve been caught on tape doing, right? The shit you’ve done to people makes cartel killings look tame. And most people don’t know about it because it’s on the dark web and they have no idea what that is, but if I get caught up in one of your raids, every goddamn ten year old on Tik Tok is going to see you melting a man’s face off.” Sighing deeply, Ray pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“…there’s a warehouse on East 8th street that apparently has an industrial meth lab. Is that one of your endeavors?” He already knew it wasn’t, already knew she mostly dealt in theft and selling pills, already knew about the pawnshop and autobody shop that acted as her little gang’s money laundering fronts… but she didn’t know he knew, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Hell no- that shit’s poison. Good to know, good to know. Well, that’s all I wanted from you. I’ll text you later~” She hung up before he could even begin to think of a response, and once the line clicked off, he was left staring at his reflection against the dull gray screen. If anyone else had seen him, they would be ashamed at what he had been reduced to, cowering from and taking orders from some two-bit criminal, but Ray himself knew he hadn’t been reduced to anything. There was nothing to be reduced down.

Leaning back against the cushions of his sofa, he huffed in amusement. Lefty. Being teased and getting embarrassing nicknames was a part of growing up, wasn’t it? In the facility, they mostly called him by his designation… “Ray” was technically a nickname, but how many people actually knew the name on his birth certificate was “Raymond”? Maybe if he had actually been treated like a normal boy even once in his life, he wouldn’t have practically had an allergic reaction to it just now. His phone buzzed and he groaned, wondering what Herschel wanted to bitch at him about now. There was no name attached to the alert, once again “Private Number”. Opening the message, that terrifying flutter in his chest came back as his body seemed to fluctuate from hot to cold and back again in seconds.

Here ya go. You look like the kind of freak who’s into feet. See, I can be nice~

He tapped on the attached image before he even realized his thumb had moved, filling his screen. Ray had never, in his life, been “into” feet. Or breasts, or pecs, or asses or anything. Whenever interviewers asked what he looked for in a partner, he always gave a non-answer like “a nice smile” or “their personality” as if the NAHA cared about anything like that. He wasn’t “into” feet, he reminded himself as his gaze roved over the expanse of smooth brown skin and faintest hint of blue beneath the surface, the curves of the arch and ankle… her nails were painted a bright, cherry red.

Once he had finished fisting his dick and cleaning up the resulting mess, Ray quickly pulled up several different porn sites, harriedly looking up several combinations of keywords for some very scientifically unsound research. Five minutes and eight open tabs later, he breathed a sigh of relief as he mentally reasoned that it wasn’t a fetish if it only turned him on when it was one specific person. That made him feel a little better.

It took another week before Ray’s nerves had settled enough for him to feel it was safe to return to his old (or rather, new) hobby, though he never dropped below twenty feet again. True to his word, any time there was a break in or a suspicious instance of several gang members turning up dead with no visible injuries in an area where NAHA’s GPS pinged him, he unfortunately always seemed to be busy dealing with something else. Funny how that happened.

And true to her word, Maddie (or “Bard”, as she informed him) did not call again, but her text messages were somewhat regular. At least once a week, she would demand to know if and where he would be assisting in raids, and occasionally reward him with another picture (it honestly seemed like she was mostly just showing off her collection of nail polish) but every so often, she would send something he couldn’t really make heads or tails of.

Pictures, usually screenshots of cartoons, with captions he was pretty sure weren’t taken from the shows themselves. Pictures of different animals, usually cats (sometimes even her own), videos of short comedy sketches… It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t seem to expect reciprocation, so he had no idea what any of it meant. Loathe as he was to make a fool of himself, he sent a response one day asking exactly why she was sending him all that nonsense.

Oh, is this your work phone? Are you not allowed to look at memes on the clock? Should’ve said that before I sent all those feet pics…

This is my personal phone. Why are you sending me these things?

…bruh, I send everyone shit like this. What, do your friends not link you things they think are interesting?

Ray hadn’t even noticed the phone slipping from his fingers, his entire body feeling numb as the blood rushing through his ears grew louder. Friends… friends? Binary Star didn’t have friends; he had sidekicks he barely tolerated and arranged dates he despised and work associates whose deaths he prayed for. And Ray… Ray didn’t have anyone, not since--

(don’t think about it)

Ray just existed as some pale, soft, disgusting thing that emerged from Binary Star’s exoskeleton at the end of the day, hiding away until his red white and blue shell hardened and that picture-perfect smile was locked in place. Even if he’d been hiding on a certain someone’s balcony more than his far-too-large penthouse these days, the fact remained that no one wanted anything to do with him outside of the role he played.

Except for one person, it seemed. Maybe she was just trying to butter him up, make him lower his guard, keep herself in his good graces- it didn’t matter. No one else had ever so much as made the effort. Maybe deep down, a part of her viewed him as another cat on the street, something to be cooed over for a while. Maybe if she saw him on her balcony, peering into her apartment through the gap in her curtains, she would invite him in and let him have a place amongst the other strays rubbing against her ankles. That was too ridiculous a dream, and yet it was such a pleasant fantasy that he barely noticed the buzzing against his thigh. Tilting his head away from the now-warmed glass, Ray opened his messages, not even bothering to try and suppress the smile tugging at his lips as he saw it was from his star. What silly “meme” had she sent him this time?

Send me a video of you jerking off.

…that wasn’t a meme. He stared at the screen, willing the words to translate into a language he could understand because this wasn’t it. What… on earth could she…?

Why?

So I can send it TMZ /s

So I can watch it. Obviously.

Maybe she thought that made sense, but no- it really didn’t.

Why would you want to watch something like that?

Thank god for texting, because he would not have been able to keep his voice from breaking if he’d spoken.

I’ve watched the video I took too many times. It’s getting stale. I need something new.

Too many times… so she had been watching it. And now she “needed something new”? Was she…? Ray all but threw himself away from the balcony door out of sheer instinct, fearfully staring at the backs of his shaking hands, examining every pore for the tell-tale sign of that horrible glow… Usually, the only thing that resulted in a surge of heat that strong was his birth ability triggering, but… no… His skin remained as dull as ever, and lifting his hands to his eyes, he didn’t see any light reflected back. So his racing heart and quickened breaths and the stiffness rising between his legs were all natural, then.

‘God, you are going to be the death of me, Star…’

It was dangerous, downright stupid, to send a known villain yet more incriminating evidence, but the thought of her watching him as she fingered herself, using him to get off, was too intoxicating to think straight. Settling himself back in front of the curtain gap, he pulled the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free his quickly hardening dick. The videos he took on his phone (evidence of completed missions) always had massive file sizes, so he would just film the climax. As he peeked into the apartment, he could see the back of her head over the back of the sofa, the TV's glare shining through the ends of her curls like a halo.

Given what he knew from months of observation, she probably wasn’t even looking at it, staring at her phone instead. Maybe… watching that video again, fingers working over her clit but unable to reach her peak because she’d built up a tolerance watching the same motions, hearing the same heavy breaths and groans… Did she replay certain parts? Were there close-up shots? Ray brought the neck of his sweater between his teeth to muffle his panting, but it did nothing for the lewd squelching as pre-cum dribbled between his fingers and dripped onto the poured cement between his thighs. For a moment, he imagined what it'd feel like to have Maddie’s hands working his shaft, her hands so much smaller than his, and probably softer too, but just as quickly, his mind axed that notion.

Binary Star’d had no shortage of eager fans of all genders and persuasions offering to pleasure him in whatever way he saw fit, but when given more exclusive access to the number one hero than anyone else in the world, his star had simply demanded he touch himself. For her pleasure. A far more vivid fantasy was conjured, of those curtains pulling back and Maddie standing just on the other side of the glass, looking down at him, not in shock or disgust but… reserved expectation. Head tilted curiously to the side, waiting to see if he would impress her with his pitiful display of devotion.

He was grateful he could hear the TV from out here, because if it had been any quieter, she surely would’ve heard his choked moan in there. Tightening his grip, his tempo swung from languid strokes up and down the length of his shaft, to short, rapid jerking focused on his glans, the only variance coming when his hips bucked of their own accord, throwing off his rhythm. He could already feel his balls drawing up, and as he pressed his thumb against his leaking slit, his clean hand fumbled for his phone, haphazardly pulling up the camera. The orange haze of light pollution provided just enough light for his pallid skin to show up against the dark- a small miracle because the light from the flash would have definitely been noticed.

Making sure his dick was in focus, he tapped ‘record’, moaning and panting just a little more freely as he squeezed his deeply flushed tip. As the pleasure crescendoed, his head fell back and he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning a name that he still wasn’t supposed to know. The wet splattering of his cum hitting the glass with force sent another jolt of arousal up his dick and throughout his nervous system and he continued stroking until the over-stimulation began to lean towards painful. Breathing hard, he looked down at the mess he had made, angling the camera up slightly to better capture the milky streaks running down the glass.

“Hope this ends up being as good for you as it was for me,” he muttered, his words a rumble deep in his chest. He couldn’t stop the smile curling his lips as he wiped the cum on his hand off on the glass. “Enjoy, Bard~”

(Dividers by @anitalenia )