Rach (she/her). 30s. Writer. Dreamer. 🥀 Mostly CEvans and SebStan. 🥀 NSFW. 18+ (if you’re under 18, Respect my Boundaries and Do Not Interact, please). 🥀 FanFic Recommendations 🥀 Check Out My AO3 or Masterlist
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Author’s Note: I aim to be inclusive in my writing, since reader characters are supposed to apply to everyone. However, not all of my older works are as inclusive as they could be and are influenced by my own experience. Please bear this in mind while exploring my masterlist. Thank you for reading!
He can't freak out here, he can't freak out here...
He's freaking out.
You're sitting on his lap, the back of the car to whatever hell work had planned as a bonding experience for your team had made you need to sit on his lap, and everyone is doubled up, apart from the front two seats, so you're sitting on his lap. He's looking down and seeing your thighs do that thing he only caught glimpses of from under your desk when he came past. You were so warm, so perfectly settled on his lap, it's torture trying not to grab at your legs and dig his fingers into the fat of your thighs like he so desperately wants to.
It's not some rocky stretch or even the other in the car, but a sharp set of bends that has one of his hands pressing down on your legs as the other grabs the handle by the window, holding the two of you steady as the car and all the other in with you jostled and swayed with the turn.
When you Lena back into his chest it takes everything in him to not press his face against your shoulder, to nuzzle and rub his tusks against you as you settle back onto him in a more comfortable way. He doesn't move his hand, the wide splay of his fingers and palm against your thigh either ignored or welcomed by you, he's not sure which is worse but the feeling of being able to.touch you even just like this makes him want to groan. Just barely holding back the noise, covering it up with a clearing of his throat, looking anywhere but at you as he can feel you adjusting your position again, each shift making him more and more aware of how warm, how soft, how perfect you would feel against him properly.
Fuck.
He really hopes this ride ends soon, his starting to sweat hard, and there's not much more he can focus on to keep his cock from making a very large announcement of presence against your ass if this goes any longer...
Not even deep breaths can help him now, not with every inhale carrying whatever scent or body wash you wear.
Warnings: Melancholy, vampires, depressive thoughts, hunger/feeding mention
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 9th - Somebody That I Used To Know – Gotye/ “You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.” (Set 1890’s)
Adam found you because of the poems.
Not the address. Not the letters you had stopped answering. The poems.
They had been appearing in little publication under names no one else would know were yours, each one thinner than the last. Hungrier. Beautiful enough to make something in him go still.
So he came.
The room you called home sat above a pawnshop, narrow and damp, its window blacked out. Paper covered every surface. Floorboards. Desk. Bed. Some pages had been written over until the ink bled into a mess of colour.
You sat in the middle of it, barefoot, hair undone, fingers stained dark to the knuckles.
“You need to go outside,” Adam encouraged.
You did not look up. “Need to finish.”
“You need to feed.”
Your quill paused.
A carriage rattled past below, wheels hissing through rain. Living hearts moved under umbrellas in the street, war, foolish and full. You could hear them. Of course you could.
“I don’t feel like eating.”
Adam stepped over pages, careful not to crush a single word. “Poet.” Warning clear.
You smiled faintly at the name, though it did not reach your eyes. “Don’t look so grave. It’s only ink.”
“It is not only ink.”
No. It wasn’t.
Sorrow did.
It was what filled your veins now. Not blood. Not hunger. The stuff pouring from a wound you could not close and had stopped trying to hide.
“You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness,” you started. “It feeds the muse better than blood ever could.”
Adam crouched before you, pale, still as a saint carved from marble. “And what does it leave behind?”
Your fingers tightened around the quill. “Something worth reading,” you whispered.
His gaze softened with terrible understanding.
“That is not the same as something worth preserving.”
If painting your nails gives you that extra feeling of happiness for the day, do it. If dressing up, doing your hair, doing your make-up makes you feel ready and confident? Do it. If you like singing in the shower? Just fucking do it. If you like working out, reading a book, playing a video game to relax. Just, do it. Just do the damn things you want, you are here to make your life better. Not worse
unfortunately there are like 23 billion other things to worry about right now but just for the record: straight people who are trying to "rebrand" pride month as "national nuclear family month" are so fucking evil. positioning gay pride as antithetical to the concept of a family is evil. doing so in a way that is explicitly white nationalism is evil. acting like queer pride is the thing that destroys families is evil.
we are not just backsliding, we are back at the milquetoast assertation "love is love." for the record: when people ask us why we need pride this is literally fucking why. when other queer people ask me if we really need all the rainbow shit, this is why. when we make a fuss about so many shows not having any positive queer rep: this is why.
it has only been 11 years since it was nationally legal for gay people to get married. homophobia is still very much alive and well - and it is often the thing that ruins a family.
Warnings: Flirting, con artist charm, abandoned blind date, sensual tension
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 6th - “I don’t think I caught your name.”
The second time you checked your phone, the man at the end of the bar noticed.
The third time, he smiled into his drink like he already knew the ending.
By the fourth, you hated him a little.
Not because he was wrong. Because he was beautiful enough to make being right look effortless. Dark jacket. Open collar. One hand curled around a glass he barely drank from, watching the room like it owed him money.
Your blind date was thirty-seven minutes late.
Forty, when the man finally slid onto the stool beside you.
“Tell me he’s dead,” he said.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Only acceptable excuse. Dead, kidnapped, or trapped in an elevator with a priest and a medical emergency.”
Despite yourself, you laughed.
His smile sharpened. “That's the smile...”
“I don’t know you.”
“No,” he agreed, gaze dropping briefly to your untouched drink, then back to your face. “But I know a woman deciding whether to be embarrassed or furious, and I’d recommend furious. It suits the dress better.”
Heat touched your cheeks.
You should have dismissed him. You should have ignored the easy lean of his body toward yours, the warmth in his voice, the way his attention felt like a hand at the small of your back.
Instead, you said, “And what do you recommend after furious?”
“Leaving.”
“With you?”
“To somewhere with better lighting and worse decisions.”
Your pulse betrayed you.
He stood, offered his hand, then nodded toward your bag. “May I?”
You hesitated only long enough to make him grin.
Outside, the night air cooled your cheeks. He carried your bag like it belonged to him, walking beside you as if the evening had always been arranged this way.
Warnings: Workplace tension, argument, heated kissing, unresolved sexual tension..
Words: 304 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 6th - “Your world’s an ideal.”
The last office light hummed above you, too bright against the glare coming off Andy Barber’s desk.
Everyone else had gone home an hour ago.
No one stayed late to watch you and Andy circle the same argument for the third time that week, voices kept low out of habit even when there was no one left to hear.
“You cannot keep doing this,” he growled, jacket off, tie loosened, one hand braced on the wood. “You know that case is thin.”
“I know the victim deserves someone who’s willing to push.”
His jaw tightened. “That is not the same thing.”
“No, because in your world everything is clean, measured, perfectly argued.” You stepped closer, file clutched against your chest like a shield. “Your world’s an ideal, Andy. Mine has people who get hurt when men like you decide being careful matters more than being brave.”
His eyes flashed.
“Men like me?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard you being reckless.”
“You're hiding behind procedure.”
The silence after that felt louder than shouting.
Andy looked at you then, really looked, and something in his face changed. The controlled prosecutor slipped, just enough for you to see the man underneath: tired, furious, wanting.
“You think I don’t care?”
“I think you care more about winning then being on the right side.”
He came around the desk so fast you barely had time to breathe.
“Careful,” he said.
“Or what?”
His mouth crashed into yours.
Hot. Hard. Desperate enough that the file slipped from your hands, papers scattering across the floor as he backed you against the edge of the desk.
You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
Andy groaned against your mouth, one hand fisting at your waist, the other braced beside you like restraint still mattered.
🤗 i dont like this emoji. this is not a hug to me. this is someone doing condescending jazz hands in my general direction when i am in need of affection. not comforting.
🫂 i love this emoji. this is a hug. we are hugging and its nice. and as a special bonus they appear to be my old friends from the msn messenger logo? very comforting.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 3rd’s fic!
Nick Fowler + “Why don’t you try it and see what happens.”
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The tray balance on-top of two others leans dangerously. You angle with it to keep from disaster. You search for a place to put down the stack of coffee cups amid the agents sat around the tables and the devices and empty cups across the top.
No one notices you as they focus on the large screens and give directives. You go through the cups marked by balance of sugar and dairy. Jensen takes three sugar and three cream, Everett takes his black with a shot of espresso, and Barnes takes his with a single dash of milk. You cycle through the menial tasks of doling out caffeine. The last is Fowler. Plain black. Simple.
He focuses on the screen as the hazy noise of music rises from the speakers. There's a silence among the agents as they intently observe what's going. You don't dare look. Your credentials allow you to do the coffee runs and grunt work. You don't see any you aren't seen.
"We need to get in there..." Everett growls.
"No shit," Barnes retorts.
The two men scowl at each other. Jensen inhales nervously and Fowler sits back as he notices the freshly renewed cup. You clean up the empties as the agents fester in frustration.
"The woman." Fowler says and pauses to lick away a droplet of coffee from his lip. "That's the in."
"And what do you propose? This isn't your Tinder profile--" Barnes chides.
Fowler scoffs. "Jealous?" He sets his cup down and taps the side. "That's not what I mean but you know it's probably the easiest way in..."
Everett rolls his eyes and the other men groan. Fowler arches a brow and looks around as you drop the empty cups into the bin. The hollow clatter draws his attention. His cheek dimples.
"Mace is too old. Walker likes them young, doesn't he? All the other agents look like moms or worse, widows."
"Charming," Jensen comments.
"More than you, pal. Tell us again how Willa shot you down." Fowler rebuffs. Jensen sinks down.
You head for the door and something taps the table.
Your name stops you short. You nearly let out a squeak. You didn't think any of them knew it. You typically respond to the call of "intern" or snapping fingers.
You turn slowly. "Sir, is it the coffee?"
"Come here." He ignores your offer for a second run.
You glance around, wilting beneath the gazes of seniority. You cross the room, playing mindlessly with the security badge clipped to your belt, and approach Fowler. He spins his finger as you near.
“Spin.” He stands.
You take a step back but obey. You face the other agents and squirm. Fowler grabs your blouse at the sides and pulls it taut around your middle. You look down as your eyes round.
“Huh?” You utter.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” He asks.
You blink and shrug. You’re so confused and embarrassed you can barely think of the number. “Twenty-three, sir.”
“Bout the same age as Walker’s plaything.”
“Fowler, what are you on about?” Barnes crosses his arms and leans back, leg swaying.
“I know I’m the only one who can pull it off,” Fowler steps up beside you and slings his arm around your waist. You chafe and clasp your wrist to keep from collapsing. His other hand comes up to slide off your glasses. “Pop in some contacts, get some gloss on those lips,” he pokes your mouth with the end of the your glasses’ arm, “short dress…”
“She’s a goddamn intern,” Everett argues.
“Which means she’ll be believable as the mindless bimbo on my arm.” Fowler chuckles.
“Um, sir…” you protest weakly.
“Relax, honey. It comes with a pay raise.” He squeezes your side. “Besides, you’re young. Live a little.”
“The director’s never going to bite,” Everett snorts.
“Really? Maybe if you ask but she likes me.” Fowler folds up your glasses and hooks them over his jacket pocket. His arm slowly drags from around you. “We need to get in and we’re not gonna waltz in smelling of fuzz. So… she’s our way. Get in with the girlfriend or whatever.”
You sniff and frown.
“She’s gonna blow it. Look at her.” Barnes shakes his head.
“I got time to train her up right,” Fowler grins as he grips his hips. “Boys, how many times have I got shit done? Whole lot more than any of you.”
“If you exclude Barcelona,” Everett sneers.
“And Capetown.” Barnes adds.
You look around. “Um…”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Leave it to me.” Fowler turns and taps the tip of your nose. “I’ll get your clearance… and a stylist.” He saunters back and sits down. He lifts his coffee and you wring your hands.
“Uh, sir, my glasses…” You eke out.
He smirks. “Get rid of them.” He slides them off his pocket and holds them out. You take them and nod. “Good girl.”
👄
As much as your reticence keeps you in the background, it can just as easily get you into trouble. Your passiveness is hardly a defense to someone like Fowler. When he says something, he has no question that it will be heard. When he makes a decision, there’s not a single doubt that it’s what will happen.
It all goes by in a terrible whirlwind that leaves you breathless. You’re disoriented as you find yourself in a hotel room staring at a dress with too many straps. You cross your arms tightly as you chew your lip.
A soft noise brings your eyes up to the mirror to your right. Past the reflection of your new haircut and perfectly glowy face, you watch Fowler strap on his shoulder holster. Your nerves roil in your chest and you fidget. You look back to the dress and touch the glimmery fabric.
“Just follow my lead,” he says, for what would be the dozenth time. “We’ve gone over this.”
“Yes, sir.” You bring your thumb up to bite.
“No. No, sirs. I’m Tate and you’re Arielle. Remember the briefing.” He commands.
You flinch and look at him. “Sorry, I’m… I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. I got you.” He assures as he slides his gun into his holster.
You look down again. You pick up the dress and hide in the bathroom. You change into the tight fit and face your reflection. You look ridiculous. All you can see is cleavage and thigh.
“Arielle, honey,” Fowler calls to you as the low hum of music comes from the suite. “Can’t hide all night.”
You sigh and close your eyes. You gather what courage you have and go back out. Fowler has his jacket on as he skips the track on his phone. A slow R&B groove plays as you sit and pull on the too high shoes.
“Come on,” He beckons to you.
“What?” You stare at him. “I can’t dance.”
““Why don’t you try it and see what happens. Gotta make it believable.”
“Er… I don’t know.” You struggle to stand but gain your balance. Despite practicing in heels for weeks, you’re still unsteady.
“Don’t know how to dance? Jeez, honey, you’re too damn young not to do anything.” He nears and grabs your hand. He pulls you against him. “Just feel the music.
“Sir– Tate.” You babble.
“Like this.” He grips your hip and presses your pelvis into him, guiding your arm over his other shoulder. “Close, sway with me.”
You could melt as his warmth clouds around you and the scent of his cologne fills your nose. You mimic him as best you can, falling into the rhythm. He squeezes your hip, fingers stretching onto the cushion of your rear. He growls and inhales along your hair. His nose traces your forehead.
“Like that, good girl.” He coaxes as he moves you with him. “Pull your hand down, touch my chest.” He directs. You obey and feel his muscle through the layers. His collar is undone and shows off the top of his muscled chest. “Is that so hard?” He asks.
“Um… no, it’s… it’s okay,” you say.
“Well…” He moves his hand across the back of your skirt. “I know I am.”
He chuckles and kisses your forehead. You wince and push on his chest. Does he mean what you think? He snickers and squeezes your ass before he lets go.
“Gotta get used to it, honey,” he rubs his fingertips with his thumb. “Gonna have to play this out. Make it believable.”
“I know, I’m trying…”
“You can do it, sweetheart, I know you can.” He tugs on the top of his belt and turns, shifting as if to adjust his pants. “You know, it doesn’t all have to be work.” He grabs his phone and stops the music. “A little play never hurt anyone.”
I've had this thought................. Of a shadow creature that watches you................ And pleasures you in your sleep...................... When you've used your toys to come and then fall asleep, it uses your still wet hole.................. You've been getting these really intense orgasms in your sleep, waking up even wetter than when you fell asleep.................... With a sticky substance on your inner thighs 😳
Nonnie, you deserve a cookie for how long this took me to get to. I am so sorry, but I do hope you enjoy what this sparked in me. 🫣
Pairing: Shadow Monster x Female Reader
Word Count: 700
Summary: You’re oblivious, asleep, and taken.
Warnings: Dark/Soft Dark, Somnophilia, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Non Con/Rape, Delusions, Masturbation, Barely Edited. Minors do not interact (18+).
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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
You stumbled across him on a hike. Not that you knew that. He just saw you, glowing in the golden sun. Bright smile, a crinkle by your eyes. A goddess hiking amongst the trees.
It was easy enough to hitch a ride on your shadow. Slink into the dark recesses of your car to follow you home. He barely had to think about it.
Because he knew. With one look. You’re his.
He keeps to his corner, the perfect vantage point. Moonlight shining through your window. Catching on the beads of sweat dotting your skin. You’re ethereal. Hand working furiously between your thighs. Sobs hitching in your throat. Hoping to reach that peak as your legs tense and shake.
And nothing.
You groan in frustration and smack at your blankets. A grumble rolls in your throat as you leave the room. Coming back a moment later, flopping onto your bed and rolling to your stomach with a huff.
He understands. Watching as you drift off to sleep. It must be so frustrating to be unable to sate that needy hunger in yourself. To crave that release and be so close—only for it to flit away from you each time.
He likes to think he has something to do with it. A flick of his fingers closes your drape, bathing your room in the darkness he needs. To move from his corner, to stand at his full height and let his form brush the ceiling. To loom and curl over your slumbering figure.
In the darkness, he can do as he pleases. Smooth his fingers over your sides and grasp at your hips. You squirm beneath him—oblivious to what he intends, but sure to enjoy it. You have, after all, for so many nights.
He bends, plies your body to his desires. Your thighs fall open for him. The cut of you glistening before his eyes. You’re so ready for him. Begging for him.
His head dips, tongue dancing between the petals of you for that decadent, addicting taste. You consume his senses. Your taste, your smell, the touch of you beneath his hand, the sound of your soft breathy whimpers in your sleep, and the sight of you bowing toward him. Like he’s sunlight. And you a delicate flower.
He drowns you with his attention, his love. Your breath hitching as he wrings an orgasm from you. And then another.
The edges of him constrict, his form solidifying more and more, knowing now is the moment and he must fill you. He slides his aching cock into you, and knows he’s home.
The sheath of you. If he could crawl inside and never return. Live in the warmth cradling his cock. He would. And he would be so good to you. Just as he is now.
He stills as you moan in your sleep. Eyelids fluttering, your wakening a threat. He coos soft syllables, a purr, lulling you back into the depths of your dreams.
You lean into his touch. He smiles, his heart fluttering. He knows, he knows. You don’t have to say it—you love him just as much as he loves you.
He rocks against you. Plucks at your pleasure and carries you toward that peak. The one you will only crash over with him.
Your walls flutter, sucking him deeper inside. He pants a pleased and incredulous laugh. Always fascinated by how well you take him, how much you need him.
And only he can see you like this. In the dark. Your juices coating his cock. The swell of your breasts. The tremble of your breath.
He leans down, pulling on your chin. Parting your lips enough to swipe his tongue into your waiting mouth. To taste the sounds you make and savor them.
A cry hitches in your throat and you squeeze him. Cumming in your sleep. Because of him. His smile widens, sharp teeth and glee.
He pumps himself further into you. Knocking against every nerve ending before spilling his seed. So deep you will feel him until tomorrow night.
When you will try once again to cure the scorching, lusty heat between your legs. And need him to help you.
Me reading this and gasping then murmuring, “As tall as the ceiling?!”
Sweeeet lorrrrrd. The way I need this so bad right now. Who wouldn’t want a doting shadow monster who’s so good at giving you orgasms?! Hoe my godddd 🤤
He is very large 😌 especially when it’s dark and he can manipulate the shadows and expand. And I need him too. Though, I do need him to show himself when everyone’s awake. Cause I gotta get all up on that and thank him for every single one.
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now (if you feel inspired) you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + mesmerized by your scent (maybe with some primal chase kink thrown in 👀)
Oh my lord, Siri! I know I talked to you about this in DMs, but then I decided to be really indulgent. Cause who wants to decide?
Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader, side of Ari Levinson x Reader and Curtis Everett x Reader
Word Count: 460
Summary: He catches a scent in the air.
Warnings: Barely Edited, Stalking/Hunting, Soft Dark/Dark Vibes, Omegaverse, Scents, Dubious Consent. Minors do not interact (18+).
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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
It hit him as he was walking through the Hallmark store, buying a stupid birthday present for some random person in the office. He was grumbling to himself, and then you were there. Not in person, no. But your scent. Drifting through the air conditioned breeze and stealing all sense from his system. A switch flicked.
His alpha demanded, and he was happy to comply.
Even with the bustling mall, crowds of people darting and perusing, he doesn’t lose your scent. Following past storefronts—even those that waft obnoxious colognes out their doors—and the food court—with the smell of food flooding the air. Your trail leads him to you.
He wonders if you know. If you sense him. The predator on your tail. Stalking after you on the hunt.
He pauses in front of the sporting goods store. Ari and Curtis exiting as he approaches. A wild, feral look in each of his packmate’s eyes. But they find him in the crowd. Without a word, joining him on his search to find you.
Three pairs of eyes scan their surroundings. Their combined instincts goading them on.
They find you in the parking garage. The breeze changing. Your scent still lingering. But they see you. The tension in your shoulders. The shiver of your figure. Your quick steps and swinging gaze. Looking for them as much as they’re looking for you. Distress sours your scent. Your feet scurry. Pace rapid as you try to get to the safety of your car. You know. You can feel them, smell them.
He and his packmates continue their pursuit.
A nod to the side separates them. Their formation fanning out. Corralling you wherever you’re going.
You shove your key into the door of your car, hands shaking, nearly fumbling them. Scratches form on the handle with your missed attempts. But then it notches in the lock and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.
He’s at your back before you can. You whip around, pathetic growl rolling in your throat. His lips tilt in a smirk.
“No need for that, omega,” he says, holding up a hand to dismiss the sound. Ari and Curtis come into his periphery. Ari’s eyes softening at the growl in your throat, Curtis’ eyes hungry.
You’re too focused on him to notice. And he steps forward, crowding you into the cool metal of your car.
“Easy now,” he coos in a whisper just for you. One hand raises to cup your cheek, your eyes widening at the touch. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your scent fills his nose—even tainted as it is by your fear. “That’s Ari and Curtis,” he introduces with a nod to each at his side, “and I’m Andy. We’re your new alphas.”
"We talk of wild animals, but the wildest animal is man." - Gilbert K. Chesterton
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent (Touching, Voyeurism), Slow Burn, Misplaced Anger/Aggression. Minors do not interact (18+).
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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53492Willow5
Sedative in male subject metabolized. Waking imminent. Observation to begin with minimal keeper interference. Female subject shows no signs of territorial tendencies. Indicators of curiosity observed toward male subject. Compatibility to be assessed.
“Fuck!”
The shout jolts you from your sleep. Your heartbeat spikes. You shoot up to sit. The hammock rocks beneath you. You shriek and cling to the sides hoping to still it before you capsize and plummet to your death.
“Who’s there?!” The voice, rough and gristly, barks from below. The man in the box awake and alert.
Carefully, you peek over the side of the hammock, hung higher in the air than you’re willing to acknowledge. From above, you can’t get a clear view into the cage, but you can see a vague figure pacing behind the frosted cover. If you squint.
You shimmy over the side of the fabric and turn your attention to climbing rung by rung down the rope ladder. Your hands ache from your tight grip. But you wanted to be closer, just in case.
Once your feet finally plant themselves on solid ground again, you turn toward the box. The pane clears at your proximity. And the man inside pauses.
With a slow look up and down your body, he assesses you.
Your hand raises. “Hi.”
His brow furrows, a deep crease carved between them. His lips bend in an unfriendly frown.
You start to introduce yourself, ignoring his surly countenance. Only to be interrupted.
“Where the fuck am I?”
You flinch at his tone, stepping to the side and turning your shoulder toward him. “They take care of us here,” you explain with a nod and a small smile. Your arms wrap behind your back. Fingers pick at your skin. “I’ve never seen outside. But,” you pause, letting your own brow pinch, “I think being here is better than the alternative.” You gesture toward the right side of the window. Past which you can only speculate that humans are bred and bought as…pets? Gods, you hope that’s all.
The man lets a long, slow breath push past his lips. His shoulders roll and you let yourself look as his gaze casts to the side.
He’s taller than you, his shoulders broad. His whole body muscled in that soft, unflexed way. His strength just beneath the surface of flesh decorated with ink. His hair is shaved close to his skull on one side, prickly like a cactus. The rest of his hair is longer, brushing his shoulder in a muddy brown wave. His beard is the same color, but wilder, not as well-kept. He rubs an agitated hand over the shaved side of his head, the scratch filling your ears as he huffs. Fierce grey eyes flash to you, piercing.
“Why am I in a cage?” he asks, low tone gritting in his throat. He charges closer toward the wall of his box.
“I—” You lick your lips, head shaking, “I don’t know.”
He huffs another breath through his nose. His irritation lines his face, fierce like a snarling wolf.
His fist raises before you can say more, slamming into the transparent pane between you. You jump, a hop away from the box, and it frosts over again.
The clunky arrival of breakfast reaches your ear. Your stone table laden with a plate. You approach. Black noodles, purple fluffy stuff and—is that popcorn?
You swallow and breathe and glance at the box before slowly lowering yourself to the seat. The pane clears again. His hands raised and pressing on his wall, eyes narrowed in concentration. Until he notices you. He pauses.
His own plate sits in the corner and you gesture to it.
“The noodles are not noodles,” you warn, taking the utensil provided and scooping a bite of the ‘popcorn’. Your teeth crunch through it—not quite, but almost close, if popcorn tasted of something like avocado.
The man’s gaze falls to the plate. He folds his legs and sits across from you, shoveling food into his mouth. He pauses as he tastes the noodles. A minute tick of disgust before he continues.
You pick at your food. Distracted by the ravenous way he devours every speck on his plate. Utensil scrapes against it and you twitch from the jarring sound.
“Not hungry?” he asks, wiping a hand over his mouth and beard. He barely looks at you, intent on the plate settled in his lap.
“What’s your name?” you ask, twirling your utensil in your food. Your elbow rests on the stone beside your plate, head on your hand.
“Kurt.”
“Nice to meet you,” you say, giving your name in return.
He nods in acknowledgment but says nothing more. The silence stretches between you. You shift in discomfort. Surely there must be something to talk about.
“Did you wake up here first or did they take you somewhere else?” He could pull back the curtain a little. Give you a peek behind—into your keeper’s world.
“What do you think?” He drops his clean plate to the side and stands. His feet take him back and forth.
You can’t help but picture the tigers at the zoo who used to do that. Pacing against the glass, looking ready to take the first opportunity, planning something as they stare past their enclosure.
“You can’t escape,” you pipe up.
He pauses and glares.
A prod at your mind steals your attention. You still, waiting for Virion’s voice. When they don’t speak, your head cocks to the side, straining to listen for their voice.
It’s empty. The nothingness in your mind gaping like an open wound. You turn toward the door, waiting for the hiss of its opening. The camouflage of the rock wall remains solid. They’re not coming for you. Even as you reach out, your thoughts full of them. Lips parted and ready to call out.
“What are you doing?”
You snap back to your body. Kurt stares. His perpetual frown chisels his features like stone. For a moment you wonder what he’d look like if he smiled.
He really has that kind of gaze that just takes you apart. It’s a very intense experience. And he is so surly and grumpy and freaked out. He’s definitely gonna settle and calm down—and that’s when the fun really starts. Especially once they all come together and interact.
“It is the lives we encounter that make life worth living.” - Guy de Maupassant
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent (Touching, Voyeurism), Slow Burn. Minors do not interact (18+).
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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53491Willow5
Intact male candidate selected for addition to human habitat. Quarantine measures ready until subjects acclimate toward one another. Keeper approval for introduction acquired. Signed proposal on file.
The lights rise in that soft way that helps you awaken slowly. A faux dawn breaking through the artificial treetops and speckling shadows across the floor.
You rise from your mossy bedding and brush sleep from your eyes. A few steps through some thicker shrubbery brings you directly to the waterfall. Water splashes over your face in a cupped handful. You sigh and rub at your cheeks.
Breakfast will surely be awaiting you on your regular rock. And your stomach rumbles for it. You scratch as best as you can between your shoulder blades while you walk. A slow trudge to your place before the window.
And come up short. Breaking through the trees, you freeze and stare.
A rather gigantic box—massive, really—sits in the middle of your open space. Frosted panes obscuring any view inside.
Were you supposed to go in there? Your eyes flick around it to the window. Did someone buy you?
Your plate of food sits on your rock right beside it. Your eyes dart between the two. A lure? A trap? No one said you had to eat in the same spot every day. If you were quick, you might be able to snatch the plate, or at least something to nibble on.
Another curious glance to the curtain covered window and you start your cautious approach. One step at a time. The familiar cushion of ground beneath your feet keeps you steady. The box looms, intimidating and gargantuan. Enough for three people, four. You’d fit inside nicely, wouldn’t you? Humanely for transport.
Once or twice, your gaze shifts from your objective to the wall from which Virion enters. It remains unchanged.
Hand outstretched, you get to the plate and lift it by the rim. The box flashes, the pane closest to you turning transparent. You jump and your fingers slip.
Backing up quickly, the pane frosts over once again. Your heart rattles in your chest. Pounds through you, a stampede trampling on thought. It paralyzes you in place. You wait for far too long, convinced Virion or another will come and stuff you into the confines of the box. But nothing happens.
There was something, though. It itches in your mind, a recognition that you can’t pinpoint. It rankles and pokes at the insufferably inquisitive bone in your body.
One inch, then another and another before you stand beside the plate. Hands rigid at your sides, but trembling. The pane clears once again.
There, in the corner—a figure. You blink. The fabric of their suit clings to muscles. The length of them suggests a tall height to accompany their bulky frame. But they curl in on themselves, turned away from you. Any further examination obstructed.
“Hello?” you call, leaning on your toes a millimeter closer. Your voice rasps in your throat despite your effort to catch their attention.
They make no reply. No move. No twitch.
You step closer.
“Are you alright?”
Nothing.
You look around. Worry creeps up your throat, sour. Are they dead? What are they doing here? Again, your eyes find the stone facade where Virion enters your habitat. They must know what’s happening—why this box is here with someone inside.
Your feet carry you over to the doorway—or at least where you remember it being—before you can think. Hand raising, you knock softly. Fingers twist together as you let your gaze cast back toward the box. You shift and knock again, more insistent.
It remains closed. But a gentle prod nudges your mind. Your shoulders relax at the intrusion, arms falling to your sides.
He’s sedated. Not dead.
You flinch. Unused to Virion’s voice in your mind without their physical presence to trick you into thinking the communication normal. Your brow pinches, wondering why they’re not entering your enclosure. Their cooing clicks and soothing touch would calm you down in seconds.
Deep breath. You’re safe.
Your lungs fill, following the command. It blows out between your pursed lips. Your hand raises, touching the stone covering the door. Calm washes over you—but it settles unsteady in your chest.
Eyes searching, you stand a moment longer. Waiting—hoping, though you refuse to acknowledge it—that your keeper will appear and bundle you in their arms.
But they don’t.
The weight of disappointment hangs heavy. You do your best to ignore the sharp pang.
Instead, you return to the box. The side flashes transparent. The person—man, Virion said—hasn’t moved an inch. He remains in the corner, and you can just make out the rise and fall of his breath. In and out. A calm cadence.
You set yourself on your usual rock where you eat your meals and bundle your legs in front of you.
For the remainder of the day, you remain on that perch, watching the new human in your habitat. Waiting for them to stir. Waiting to introduce yourself. Waiting, maybe, for connection.
Omg I missed this post 😡 I swear to god, I am not seeing so many posts from my beloved mutuals unless others reblog. It’s so annoying 😭
Intact male candidate selected for addition to human habitat. Quarantine measures ready until subjects acclimate toward one another.
Oh boy. Here we go
Wanting Virion’s comfort 😭 I wonder how Virion felt about that 👀
For the remainder of the day, you remain on that perch, watching the new human in your habitat. Waiting for them to stir. Waiting to introduce yourself. Waiting, maybe, for connection.
Ohhh my heart. I’m so excited to see what happens when he wakes up!!! I hope he’s not unkind to her 🥺
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now (if you feel inspired) you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + bickering over the best freeze pop flavor
Freeze Pops
"I gotta admit, I was half expecting a catfish scenario with that profile picture of yours," you confess.
"You know, I get that pretty often. Maybe I should stop using shirtless photos," Colin laughs.
"Seriously, though, what's a guy like you doing on a dating site?"
Colin shrugs, smile never dropping, "I'm good with one-night-stands, not relationships. I'm actually looking for something serious but all I know how to do is take girls home for a night."
"So if this date goes well, I can expect some very skilled lovemaking, huh? You sure you're not a conman?" you giggle.
"Pretty sure. Especially with all the seemingly random questions you asked before agreeing to meet."
Your cheeks heat up a little. "Girl's gotta be careful."
"Fair, absolutely fair," he concedes. "But can I ask which ones I 'got right' so to speak?"
"Well you definitely answered the food related ones correctly."
He laughs at that. "Yeah, that tracks. So I'm guessing you also think blue raspberry is the best flavor of freeze pop."
"Oh not at all," you shake your head. "My favorite is always the orange freeze pops. But, with your favorite being blue raspberry, it means I won't have to share my orange pops!"
Colin's face goes serious as gently takes your hand and starts singing "So This is Love" from Cinderella.
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now (if you feel inspired) you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + mesmerized by your scent (maybe with some primal chase kink thrown in 👀)
Oh my lord, Siri! I know I talked to you about this in DMs, but then I decided to be really indulgent. Cause who wants to decide?
Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader, side of Ari Levinson x Reader and Curtis Everett x Reader
Word Count: 460
Summary: He catches a scent in the air.
Warnings: Barely Edited, Stalking/Hunting, Soft Dark/Dark Vibes, Omegaverse, Scents, Dubious Consent. Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
It hit him as he was walking through the Hallmark store, buying a stupid birthday present for some random person in the office. He was grumbling to himself, and then you were there. Not in person, no. But your scent. Drifting through the air conditioned breeze and stealing all sense from his system. A switch flicked.
His alpha demanded, and he was happy to comply.
Even with the bustling mall, crowds of people darting and perusing, he doesn’t lose your scent. Following past storefronts—even those that waft obnoxious colognes out their doors—and the food court—with the smell of food flooding the air. Your trail leads him to you.
He wonders if you know. If you sense him. The predator on your tail. Stalking after you on the hunt.
He pauses in front of the sporting goods store. Ari and Curtis exiting as he approaches. A wild, feral look in each of his packmate’s eyes. But they find him in the crowd. Without a word, joining him on his search to find you.
Three pairs of eyes scan their surroundings. Their combined instincts goading them on.
They find you in the parking garage. The breeze changing. Your scent still lingering. But they see you. The tension in your shoulders. The shiver of your figure. Your quick steps and swinging gaze. Looking for them as much as they’re looking for you. Distress sours your scent. Your feet scurry. Pace rapid as you try to get to the safety of your car. You know. You can feel them, smell them.
He and his packmates continue their pursuit.
A nod to the side separates them. Their formation fanning out. Corralling you wherever you’re going.
You shove your key into the door of your car, hands shaking, nearly fumbling them. Scratches form on the handle with your missed attempts. But then it notches in the lock and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.
He’s at your back before you can. You whip around, pathetic growl rolling in your throat. His lips tilt in a smirk.
“No need for that, omega,” he says, holding up a hand to dismiss the sound. Ari and Curtis come into his periphery. Ari’s eyes softening at the growl in your throat, Curtis’ eyes hungry.
You’re too focused on him to notice. And he steps forward, crowding you into the cool metal of your car.
“Easy now,” he coos in a whisper just for you. One hand raises to cup your cheek, your eyes widening at the touch. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your scent fills his nose—even tainted as it is by your fear. “That’s Ari and Curtis,” he introduces with a nod to each at his side, “and I’m Andy. We’re your new alphas.”
It would be utterly terrifying. But also, I’m at the yes please too 🤭 I was really happy with that last line. Really sets the tone for what’s about to happen.
