#drabbled

[cod-dump]

Something Something Nik and Price both referring to Graves as their affair partner as a joke and he gets upset because "I am your respected PARTNER" and then he's angry at them for almost a straight month because there's no way a simple apology is getting him to get over it.

Thank you that's all

[npookie0]

Hi, hope your day is wonderful so far, I'm in a pretty bad flair up and was hoping if you can do fluff of Kc x reader with chronic plan 🙇🙏

Nursing Serials

A lover in pain and a killer who'll care for said lover.

Killer Chat! Love Interests x reader who's suffering from chronic pain.

Cws: I am not a person who's going through chronic pain myself so if it's not the best portrayal of chronic pain, blame it on google </3, spoilers for Killer Chat maybe idkk, these are drabbles :D

The Rat :

"Oh shit, baby what's up?" Ronin asked when he looked at you.

You were standing in the living room, leaning on the sofa your expression nothing short of pain while one of your hands was on your lower back.

Ronin stood at your side, his hand gently placed on your waist. "C'mon, lean on me darlin'." He said, the softness in his voice almost sweet.

He helped you sit down and you held onto him until you were in a somewhat comfortable position. Your back felt like it was on fire, like a dozen needles was being stuck through your skin and into your muscles. The pain made you speechless and unable to move, even the smallest change in your current position could make this pain so much worse.

Ronin was sitting next to you, his hand holding yours and squeezing it gently. He was looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. He knew about your chronic pains, sure, but he never saw you experiencing any pain like this, to him it was new.

"Ugh, Ro..." You mumbled, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

"What is it darlin', what d'ya need?" His free hand trailed up to your hair, twirling one of the strands around his finger.

You winced in pain, this position no longer that comfortable for you. "Can you get me some ice? Or just something cold, and my painkillers." You asked, though it sounded more like a weak plea.

"Of course, jus' give me a sec." He got up and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead before he left. It took a moment but he came back with a few cold gel compresses and the medicine you asked him for. He set the gels down on the table.

"Open wide darling." He said holding the painkillers to your mouth, you said as he did and soon you tasted the bitter pills on your tongue, water soon joining in so you could swallow them.

Later he lay down on the sofa and helped you to practically starfish on top of him, you hissed when he put the cold bags on your naked back, but you knew that at least that would help you a little.

"Thanks Nin." You murmured.

"Nah, don't thank me darlin', unless ya wanna be indebted to the devil." He said playfully and ruffled your hair.

"Oh shut up..." You gently slapped his shoulder and he only chuckled.

The Swan :

"Sorry Angel I need a second." You said, interrupting your girlfriend when she was explaining the new video she was working on. You were squeezing your temples with your fingers, practically digging into them. Your head felt like someone was hammering through it, hitting your skull and damaging your brain. The ache was sharp, pounding.

Angel was quick to realise what's going on, it wasn't the first time after all, it was unfortunately common for you to experience headaches, sometimes they were weeks long and even your doctors couldn't do much.

"You should lay down love, I'll bring you your pain killers." She said and helped you lay down on the bed. She walked up to the windows an closed the curtains, blocking the light from the outside from shining at you.

She returned to the room, slowly sat on the edge of the bed and patted your shoulder. "I'll give you your meds now honey." Her voice was soft and toned down, she was careful about keeping quiet. She helped you take your medicine and put the glass of water away. Angel brushed your hair away from your face and gently caressed your cheek with her thumb. "My poor lover, suffering like this. I wish I could so something..." She whispered.

Your eyes were closed, you tried to focus on Angel as much as possible, hoping that her soothing voice and gentle touch would stop the pain or at least distract you from it. You leaned into the feeling of her hand touching your face.

"You should try to sleep love, maybe it could help some way." She murmured, stealing a quick kiss from your lips.

"Mhm, yeah I could..." You replied. "Will you sleep with me?" You cupped the back of Angel's hand with your own hand and waited for her answer.

"Of course I will, you know that I'd never let a chance to cuddle with you slide." She giggled.

The Cat :

You wee standing in the kitchen, making a simple dinner for the two of you, then you suddenly stopped, the spoon you were holding fell from your hand onto te counter. Your whole body was in pain, your back hurt the most through. You felt like stones were thrown at you, hitting your spine and making it impossible to move even an inch.

Misaki rushed into the kitchen when they heard the sound of metal hitting the counter. They were quick to your side, holding you and helping you lean on them.

"Oh shit, it's the pain again?" They asked.

You were just past one wave of backpain that held on for two weeks and nothing helped, now it was back and luckily not stronger.

"Yeah, ugh, sorry I don't think I can make dinner." You groaned wen the pain in your back started to feel like a burning sensation.

"Hey, don't apologise, stupid! It's okay babe, you're in pain, I mean it's not okay that you're in pain, but it's fine that you can't cook because you're not feeling good now." Their words were chaotic, no surprises there, she was worried about you even if it wasn't the first time Misaki saw you in pain.

They helped you sit down. Misaki applied your gel to your back, it was supposed to soothe your pain and maybe it was doing its job, but you were more focused on being unable to cook.

"What is it?" Misaki asked, seeing your expression.

"Ugh, I just promised you that I'd make dinner and now we'll be without anything to eat." You sighed.

"Hey, I can cook!" Your partner exclaimed happily.

You raised an eyebrow. "Misaki."

"Yes?"

"..." You wanted to say something, but the excitement on their face stopped you. "Just don't set the kitchen on fire."

"Yes chef!" They saluted and turned towards the kitchen counter and looked at the food that you were cooking before.

You saw how lost Misaki was so you ended up giving her instructions, telling her what and how to do. They were a little clumsy, but still had a hang on cooking the dish you wanted to make before.

"Ta-da!" They said when they placed the plate in front of you.

"Woah, good job! Even the kitchen is unharmed." You said and stuck out your tongue at them.

"I know how to cook, thank you very much." They huffed and sat down on the chair opposing you. "I hope you enjoy..."

"I'm sure I will, don't worry." You smiled gently. "Thanks for finishing cooking for me."

"Nah, don't mention it!"

The Snake :

It was one of these days when your headache was unbearable, you couldn't even think without pain accompanying you in the palace of your mind. You were especially upset with it because you had to finish a report for the news site you work under and you were simply unable to.

"Ugh, so annoying." You mumbled while massaging your temples, trying to ease the pain and get back to work. If only it was that easy.

"It still hasn't stopped?" A deep voice came from behind you, soon a gentle hand was resting on your shoulder and you could feel the thin braids brush against your cheek when your boyfriend was looking at the small progress you've made so far.

V was holding a mug in his hand, a mug with your medicine mixed into herbal tea, it tasted a little better in a tea and worked just as the same. Which didn't mean that it worked amazingly.

"Yeah, I guess it's going to stick around for a few days." You sighed and accepted the drink from him. "I just want to finish this and sleep... or just do something other than look at screen."

"I understand, my love." V said, thinking about something and then he looked at the article draft again. "What if I wrote it for you? You can just tell me the general information that I should put in this."

At first you were reluctant, you didn't want your work to be done by someone else, but you were in pain and you would struggle to finish this task for a long time.

"Alright... Everything you have to add is in the email sent by the news site." You showed him the email and with V's help moved to the sofa.

You slowly drank the medicine and tea mixture while watching the vigilante who worked his way through a criminal article, he read you every sentence he wrote and asked about the ideas he had. It was sweet of him, to do this for you and put so much care and passion into that, but you couldn't except anything less from him. He always put the most of himself into every task he had to take care of.

Here are the short drabbles :D

I finally left my drafts and looked at my inbox and oh woah we have 117 asks :0

Thank you for every ask and I'm so sorry for the delay </3

I'm getting to the asks slowly :D

Love ya

Nate <3

[gayestcowboyintown]

Whitaker with DID ! What a wonderfully crunchy idea! Please elaborate!

Yeah! With added context to everyone who is probably giving me the side eye. I am someone who has been diagnosed with DID myself. This is mainly a self indulgent headcanon that ive had other people find interesting.

-

With context that we have gotten from the show we know that Whitaker grew up in and incredibly religious household along with being on a farm. Though I do not know much about either due to my own upbringing, I have visited family in Wisconsin and Indiana in small towns. (Only one stop light type of towns).

Dennis was isolated. His familys farm being within the name for at least a couple generations, the plot of land being separated between three crop fields and a grazing pasture for a few cows, goats and some chickens. Due to where he grew up, there was at least a 30-minute drive to town, and the nearest house was several miles away due to the sprawling farmland.

A lot of farms like these will do their own vet care for animals. Haphazard works until they could get the vet to come on site put the animal in a trailer to the clinic. It's the same thing with seeing the doctor for their actual kids. (To add to angst, Whitaker grew up in a family that believed in the quiverfull movement. If you don't know what that is I recommend searching it up, but at your own discretion.) You didn't go to a doctor unless you were on the verge of death, it was too expensive due to medical debt but also because of gas of getting there. All of the doctors appointments that the kids did go to is when they were in town for school already.

Dennis being one of the younger siblings, as well being not a physically fit or tall meant that some of the farm work he simply couldn't do. Yes you can get short and strong, but when you only weigh so much there's only certain things you can do. Dennis got placed on doing some of the worst things. Cleaning out the top of the barn for storage purposes. Being the only one light, thin and small enough to squeeze through the hoard. As well several times having to crawl into the chicken coop to help out a chicken that was egg bound.

Dennis saw too much. Too much gore. Too much harm. Both to animals and humans. He saw when his younger brother got his rib broken and leg snapped in half by a Stallion that his father had recklessly bought. He tried his best to help Leo. Going from begging his father to stop messing around with the Stallion and to drive his younger brother to town. Leo hadn't stopped crying, not that he wasn't making much sound anymore due to screaming so loudly until his vocal cords gave out. He eventually went to his mother, where she was in the kitchen staring out the window endlessly to the pasture. Leo never walked the same and always struggled with breathing. Never being able to do extremely strenuous work that got his heart racing and breaths deeper. Dennis spending most of his time watching over Leo, doing his absolute best to wash the boy, change his clothes, get him up and walking in the cast. Paying more attention to his sibling than both of his parents combined. Dennis couldn't remember a lot of his childhood. In school, they were doing a mandatory mental health and trauma module. Where each student in a small grouping would do a mental health questionnaire and then other students would look at it and do mock scenarios. Dennis didn't understand why his score was so high, and why his fellow students gave him worried pitying looks out of the corners of their eyes.

One of the worst ones, was talking about his memory. They all had gone to someone's apartment close enough to campus. Due to them not living in the dorms they had a decent stache of cheap booze. Three shots of tequila in and a beer, Dennis let slip that sometimes he just 'clicks in' and how days or weeks have passed. Emory, a queer student who was a psych major told him slowly through dissociative disorders. How the missing time, and boughs of amnesia were classic symptoms of dissociative identity disorder. Their worried looks as Dennis slowly revealed more and more made him feel both sick but weirdly seen.

[honeeysagee]

Supernova Chronicles #1: Star Girl

{dad's best friend!sam}

summary: Living under your ex-military father's strict rules has always been suffocating, but now that your parents are leaving for a three-month trip, you're finally getting a taste of freedom. However, just as you're ready to embrace it, your father adds a new layer of oversight by arranging for a friend to keep an eye on you. Despite the looming watchfulness, you're determined to prove your independence.

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As you lifted your eyes from the pages of your book, you were surprised to find the night had settled in faster than you anticipated. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving behind only a gentle, lingering glow that barely touched the corners of your room. Sleep eluded you, knowing that in a short while, you’d see your parents off on their trip, a farewell that weighed lighter with each passing minute.

Seconds ticked away as your thoughts drifted, pondering what freedom might feel like if not for the constant, looming presence of your ex-military father, whose shadow seemed to shape your every move. You knew he meant well, that his strict rules and watchful eyes came from a place of love, but it often felt suffocating.

He wasn’t just a father; he was a guardian, a sentinel who saw the world as a place filled with threats rather than opportunities. His experiences had made him cautious, and that caution had seeped into your life, shaping your choices, your actions, and even your thoughts. Yet, all of that would soon come to a pause when you wished them good luck on their three-month trip, a temporary release from the constant watchfulness that had defined your existence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the prospect of having the house to yourself stirred something unfamiliar—a mix of excitement and anxiety. The absence of your father’s ever-present gaze would grant you a freedom you hadn’t known in years. But with that freedom came uncertainty. Without his steady hand guiding every move, you would finally be able to explore life on your own terms.

There were so many possibilities, so many things you had pushed aside out of respect for his boundaries. You could stay out late without a curfew, invite friends over without worrying about his disapproving look, or even take a spontaneous trip without needing to provide a detailed itinerary. But along with the excitement was the nagging fear of stepping too far, of what might happen without his protection.

Your father’s voice boomed through the room, "Young lady," The weight of his tone instantly commanded your attention, as it always did. You turned to face him, bracing yourself for whatever lecture or piece of advice he was about to deliver. His expression was stern, his eyes searching yours as if he could read every thought and feeling you were trying to hide.

You went to nod before your mother stepped out from behind him, her expression softer and filled with understanding. "Give her a break, Maliki. She's 21," she said, her tone gentle yet firm.

Her words brought a momentary relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as the tension in the room eased slightly. Your father's eyes flicked to her, his brows furrowed in that familiar way he always did when he was caught between his protective instincts and the reality that you were no longer a child. "I know," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had seen too much in his life to ever take safety lightly. "But she's still our daughter, and it’s my job to make sure she’s safe, even when we’re not here." There was a pause, his gaze locking onto yours as if silently pleading for your understanding.

Your mother stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm, her touch doing what words couldn’t—calming the tension that had built in the room. "Maliki," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his worries. "She’s responsible. We’ve raised her well. Let her have some space to prove it."

He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a mixture of concern and resignation. The years of military service had made him see the world through a lens of potential threats, and letting go—even just a little—was no small task for him. He turned back to you, his expression softening as he looked into your eyes, the same eyes he had watched grow from a curious child to a determined young woman.

"Alright," he conceded, though his voice still carried that underlying edge of caution. "But you know the rules, and I expect you to follow them."

"I will," you promised, your voice steady as you tried to reassure him. The tension in your chest eased slightly, thanks to your mother’s gentle intervention. Your father turned to retrieve their bags, the sound of his footsteps momentarily filling the room with a sense of finality.

Your mother smiled warmly at you, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding of what this moment meant. It was a look that spoke volumes—a mix of pride in the person you had become, trust in your ability to handle things on your own, and an unspoken acknowledgment that this was your time to step into your independence. "Have a little fun while we’re gone, okay? But not too much," she added with a playful wink, her attempt to lighten the mood bringing a soft chuckle from you.

Her words were a gentle reminder that while your father’s rules still applied, there was room for you to breathe, explore, and to enjoy the space they were leaving behind.

"One more thing," your father announced, marching back into the room with his usual determined stride. You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a mix of exasperation and resignation. If it weren’t for your mother, this place would be run like a military camp, every minute accounted for, every action scrutinized.

He paused, clearly preparing to deliver another one of his directives. "I have a friend who's moving into town while we're gone. I asked him to keep an eye on you for me."

You felt your heart sink a little at the thought. Just when you had started to embrace the idea of freedom, another layer of oversight was being added. It was classic Dad—always thinking two steps ahead, always making sure you were protected, even if it meant infringing on your newfound independence.

Your mother, ever the mediator, shot him a look that spoke volumes, but he remained steadfast. His concern for your safety outweighed any notions of giving you space. As much as you appreciated his intentions, the idea of someone else watching over you in his absence felt like a tether, holding you back just when you were ready to spread your wings.

You and your mother exchanged glances, both of you struggling to hide your disbelief. You wanted to protest, to argue that you were capable of managing things on your own, but you knew better than to invite an hour-long lecture. So, instead, you took a deep breath and nodded.

"I am an adult, Dad," you said with as much sincerity as you could muster. "But thanks for looking out for me. I promise all the rules will be followed."

Your father's expression softened a bit at your words, though the concern in his eyes didn’t entirely fade. He gave a nod of approval, seemingly satisfied with your response. Your mother’s smile was both understanding and relieved, her eyes conveying a silent message of support.

With one last look around the room, your father finally turned to finish preparing for their departure. You felt a mix of frustration and acceptance, knowing that while you might have a bit more freedom, your father’s protective instincts would always be a part of your life.

With the little freedom you did have before the mystery friend showed up, you decided that spending the night at an old fling's house was smart. Except… as the night wore on, you realized that old sparks didn’t always reignite the way you expected. What once felt exciting now seemed dull, the connection that had once drawn you to them fading into something that felt almost forced.

The conversation lagged, the laughter felt hollow, and the thrill you’d anticipated was replaced with a creeping sense of discomfort. That led you to a bar within walking distance of the college you attended. It was a place where you had spent many nights before—familiar enough to feel comfortable but far enough from home to let you forget about the lingering weight of your father’s rules. As you pushed through the doors and into the dimly lit room, the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses provided the backdrop you needed to clear your head. Here, among strangers and old acquaintances, you could lose yourself in the anonymity of the crowd.

You settled by the bar, knowing the bartender, Danny. You called out to him, and as you did, you noticed his eyes already scanning you, a familiar gleam in them. "Is that my baby?" he teased, his voice warm and inviting, the grin on his face growing wider.

It was the kind of greeting that brought an instant smile to your face, easing the lingering discomfort from earlier in the night. You felt a sense of comfort in his playful tone, the familiarity of it all a welcome change from the awkwardness you had just left behind.

"Only if you’ve got something strong for me," you replied, your voice carrying the same playful edge.

He chuckled, already reaching for a glass. "For you? Always." With that, he poured you a shot, the amber liquid catching the low light as it filled the glass. He slid it across the bar towards you with a wink. "On me tonight," he added, his tone softening with a touch of familiarity.

Your eyes lingered on the drink for a moment, watching the way the light played off its surface, shifting colors as it danced through the glass, casting an orange glow. You wrapped your fingers around the cool glass, bringing it to your lips with a sense of anticipation.

As you downed the shot, the burn of the alcohol was immediate, but it quickly gave way to a spreading warmth that settled deep within you.

Danny smiled deeply at you before returning to some people who shouted orders at him. But even during the chaos, he didn’t forget about you. Without a second thought, Danny placed two glasses in front of you—a small routine he’d developed over the years. One glass held another mystery alcohol, something he knew would be strong but smooth, and the other was filled with water, a silent reminder to pace yourself.

You took both glasses in hand, the coolness of the water a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering from the first shot. With a nod of thanks, you left the bar and headed upstairs to your usual table on the second floor, a quiet spot tucked away from the busier parts of the bar.

Yet, as you approached your usual table, you found it already occupied. Sitting there was a man who seemed to draw every eye in the room.

He had a striking presence that commanded attention effortlessly. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a confidence that was both relaxed and commanding. His skin was a deep, warm brown that seemed to glow under the bar’s ambient lighting, and his well-defined features were framed by a neatly trimmed beard that added a touch of rugged charm.

His eyes were captivating—dark, expressive, and framed by thick lashes that only intensified their depth. They held a warmth and intensity that suggested both kindness and a hint of mischief. He wore a simple yet stylish outfit: a well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular frame, with sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, toned arms. His casual, yet impeccably put-together appearance spoke of someone who was effortlessly stylish, with an air of sophistication that suggested he knew exactly how to balance charm and grace.

As he leaned back in the chair, his posture was relaxed but confident, and every movement he made seemed deliberate, adding to his aura of effortless cool. It was the kind of presence that made heads turn and hearts flutter, the kind of charisma that made any woman, or anyone, for that matter, fall for him almost instantly. And despite not even hearing this man speak, you were falling.

"Excuse me, you're in my booth." The words came out with a boldness that surprised even you. Normally, if your spot was taken, you would have found somewhere else to enjoy your drink and listen to the live music. But tonight was different. Something in you stirred, pushing you to assert yourself in a way you usually wouldn’t.

The man looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He didn’t seem fazed by your direct approach—instead, a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, as if he found your boldness refreshing. He straightened in his chair, his posture now more attentive, and his eyes sparkled with interest.

"I’m sorry about that," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring, with just a touch of charm. "I didn’t realize we had assigned seating in the bar."

The playful glint in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the exchange. His smile remained, warm and inviting, as if he were genuinely intrigued by your assertiveness. You noticed the way his smile seemed to light up the space around him, making it hard to stay annoyed. Despite the initial irritation of having your usual spot taken, you found yourself drawn to his easy confidence and charm.

"No, but it’s my usual spot," You continued, trying to maintain a balance between firmness and the hint of humor in your voice. "I guess I just get a little territorial over it."

He chuckled softly, the sound smooth and easy on the ears. "I see. Well, if it’s that important to you, princess, I’m happy to move." Yet, he didn’t budge. Instead, he picked up his drink, taking a casual sip while holding your gaze.

You found yourself swimming in the depths of his eyes, losing track of everything else around you. There was a magnetic quality to his stare, a captivating intensity that made it hard to look away. The playful challenge in his expression seemed to dare you to continue, making the air between you feel charged with unspoken possibilities.

You met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure despite the flutter of excitement in your chest. The question hung in the air, a playful invitation wrapped in charm.

“Well, considering you seem to be quite comfortable,” you replied, a touch of amusement in your voice, “I guess I’ll have to find another spot.” You started to turn, but his voice stopped you.

“Why don’t you join me?” he offered, his tone a bit darker despite the earlier banter.

The subtle shift in his voice didn't scare you away. Instead, it drew you closer, adding an intriguing layer to the conversation. The seriousness of his offer contrasted with the playful edge, making the invitation feel more intimate. You settle into the booth - just across from him.

"How long have you been in college?"

The question took you by surprise. It was an unexpected shift from the lighthearted banter you’d been engaged in. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, trying to gauge the intent behind the seemingly simple question.

You quickly recovered, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. “A couple of years,” you replied, your tone casual but with a trace of curiosity. “How did you know I was in college?”

His gaze remained steady, as if he were genuinely interested in your answer, adding a new layer to the encounter. "You have a full glass of alcohol in your hand. The college is quite literally walking distance from the bar. Plus, you just have that look." You were used to being read. Your father did it effortlessly, and you often found it intrusive and irritating. But when this man did it, you found it surprisingly attractive. Something was compelling about the way he observed you, his insight was delivered with a mix of curiosity and charm that felt both flattering and intriguing.

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in slightly, your interest piqued. “And what kind of look is that?” you asked, your voice laced with playful challenge. The attraction you felt was undeniable, and you found yourself wanting to dive deeper into this unexpected connection.

"What are you studying in college?" He ignored you, but the way he spoke, with that mix of confidence and insight, made the atmosphere between you both feel electric. His words, though perceptive, were wrapped in a charm. You took a sip from your glass, savoring the warmth of the alcohol as you considered his observation. “Psychology. Minor in astrology,” You admitted your voice soft. His eyes never left yours, and there was something in his gaze that made you feel seen in a way you rarely experienced.

"Oh, a stargirl. What, you're going to read my palm? Tell me that my sun's in retrograde, and I'm going to experience something devasting next week?" He was playing with you. That teasing grin plastered on his face told you everything. You played along,

"You wish," you replied with a smirk, leaning in slightly. "But no, I’m more interested in the why behind it all. Like why you think your not-so-subtle charm works, Mr…" His teasing grin faltered for a moment, caught off guard by your directness. You could see him recalculating, trying to figure out whether you were playing the same game or a different one entirely.

"Call me Sam."

"Sam." You repeated. "Nice to meet you." You let his name linger on your lips, testing the waters. The way he watched you, eyes narrowing slightly, told you he was still trying to get a read on you. "Well, now that we’re on a first-name basis, care to enlighten me on why you think my charm isn’t working?" he asked, leaning in closer, his tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment before responding. "It's not that it isn’t working. It’s just that it’s a little too practiced. Like you’ve used it one too many times and are still waiting for someone to catch on."

His smile grew, but there was something different behind it now—an acknowledgment that you weren’t just another easy mark. "Maybe you’re right," he conceded, his voice dropping lower. "But maybe I’m not the only one with a practiced game."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at your lips as Sam slipped closer to you in the booth. The sudden closeness sent a jolt of awareness through you, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of his presence. His arm brushed against yours, a deliberate move, but his gaze remained steady on yours, searching, perhaps, for a reaction.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting, “it’s not often I meet someone who can see through the act.”

You felt the pull of his words, the way he was trying to draw you in, but you weren’t about to let him take control so easily. “Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it all before,” you replied, your tone casual, though your heart was pounding. “Or maybe it’s just that I’m not as easily swayed as you think.”

The band downstairs began to play a tamer version of "Lost in The Fire" by The Weeknd, the sensual beats weaving through the air, amplifying the tension between you and Sam. He leaned in even closer, his voice barely cutting through the music. “Seems like the universe is giving us a moment,” he teased, his lips dangerously close to your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath, the intimacy of the moment making your pulse quicken.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, which had grown darker, more intense under the dim lights. “Is that what you think this is?” you asked, your tone playful but edged with challenge.

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Or maybe it’s just a lucky coincidence. Either way, I’m not going to waste it.”

The brief touch of his lips sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could fully process the moment, he closed the distance completely, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was both soft and deliberate. The world around you seemed to blur, the music, the crowd, everything fading into the background as the warmth of his kiss anchored you to the moment. For a second, you hesitated, feeling the intensity of the connection, the electricity between you both undeniable. But then you found yourself responding, your hand instinctively reaching up to touch his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath your fingertips.

The kiss was his, yours—a perfect blend of give and take, like a dance where neither led nor followed, but both moved in sync. It wasn’t just about the physical connection; there was something deeper, an unspoken understanding that neither of you had expected but couldn’t ignore. You weren’t new to this. Kissing strangers in a bar whenever the mood struck was something you could handle—a momentary escape, a way to feel something real in the midst of a night out. But this time, it felt different. There was something in the way Sam kissed you, something more than just a fleeting connection. It lingered, like a spark that refused to die out.

The desire for more surged through you, overpowering the usual restraint you held onto in these moments. You bit his lip, a teasing nip that conveyed your need without words. It was a bold move, one that signaled you were no longer just playing along—you were in control, too.

His response was immediate. A low groan escaped him, and you felt the shift in his demeanor as his hand slipped up your leg, fingers tracing a path that left a trail of heat in its wake. The closeness between you intensified, the air around you thick with tension as the line between want and need blurred.

You were teetering on the edge, knowing that you were pushing boundaries, both yours and his. The thrill of it all, the way he responded to your every move, made you crave more. It wasn’t just about the kiss anymore; it was about the power, the connection, the undeniable chemistry that was sparking between you two.

He pulled away just enough to shift your position, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap. The movement was fluid, controlled, and he held you there with a firm grip, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. For a brief second, he paused, giving you the space to decide, to back out if you wanted to. But who were you to do so? The thrill of the moment, the intensity of the connection—it was all too intoxicating to resist. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm as you steadied yourself on his chest, your legs now straddling his.

His hands settled on your hips, holding you close, but still allowing you the freedom to move, to take control if you wanted. The music, the dim lights, the distant hum of the crowd—all of it faded into the background as the space between you vanished once again.

His hand traveled farther up your thigh, reaching the edge of your lacey underwear. The touch was tentative at first, his fingers brushing lightly against the delicate fabric. You could feel the heat of his touch through the lace, a mix of anticipation and excitement building between you both.

His eyes remained locked on yours, seeking any hint of reluctance, but all he saw was the undeniable intensity between you. Your question, murmured against his lips, was met with a dark, hungry look.

“Nervous? I can stop if you don’t think you can handle it?” you asked, your voice teasing and breathless.

He responded by pulling you down harder onto him, the pressure of his hard on unmistakable against you. You could feel the heat and firmness through the fabric of his jeans, his desire pressing firmly into you. The action was assertive, a clear statement of just how much he wanted you.

His grip on your hips tightened, his gaze intense as he sought your reaction. “Handle it?” he growled softly, his voice a mix of raw desire and playful challenge. “I’m just getting started."

Finally, his pulls your underwear to the side, and ran his thick, long fingers against your pussy. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers did wanders. He bit at your neck as you moaned. His thumb stroked your clit gently, and he smirked when he heard you suck in a sharp intake of breath, the sensation making you arch against his hand. "Tell me how much you want it, my stargirl?" He purred, his voice rough. He pressed his hand forward, rubbing against your center, slowly increasing the pace and pressure, his other hand moving higher, stroking over your breasts while his mouth trailed kisses along your neck and down your jawline to your shoulder.

A deep groan tore from your throat as you bucked against his hand, the sensations overwhelming you. The pleasure was intense, a wave of heat and desire crashing over you, making it hard to focus on anything else. You could only hope that the music blaring around you would drown out the sounds of your moans, as you lost yourself in the moment.

His hand pressed against you with increasing firmness, each touch igniting a new wave of pleasure that had you gasping for breath. The crowd and the music faded into a distant background as you focused solely on the connection between you, your body responding instinctively to every movement he made.

The intensity of the moment was undeniable, the pleasure building with every second, leaving you both caught in a heady mix of desire and anticipation. Sam knew exactly how to touch you, his touches always light, almost hesitant.

His hand now underneath your shirt and letting his rough fingers pull and rub on your nipple. As soon as the sensation became too much, you arched your back towards him, desperate for release, wanting his touch to be the only thing keeping you grounded as you struggled to hold on. He continued to tease you. His words floated through your head, charged with a mix of command and promise. “Don’t you come, or I’ll bend you over the table and let the world see how beautiful you look when you moan.”

The intensity of his voice, combined with the forbidden edge of his words, only heightened the pleasure you were already experiencing. The image he painted was both thrilling and provocative, pushing you to the brink of control. Your body trembled in the need to comply with this stranger's demand. You could feel him, feel yourself pulsating beneath his hand as his finger played around the tip of your swollen clit. The sensations were indescribable, sending your mind flying as you tried desperately to stay afloat on the waves of sensation crashing around you. His fingers worked quickly, his motions slow and calculated.

“Sam,” you whined, your voice a mixture of desperation and desire. The sound was almost a plea, a soft, urgent call. He responded with a low, approving growl, his hand continuing its relentless exploration. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, Stargirl."

You whimpered, the sound vibrating in your throat as his lips pressed harshly against the spot below your ear, his teeth grazing ever so slightly across the sensitive flesh. The combination of his touch and his rough, seductive whisper made your breath hitch.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding, “Come on, Baby Girl. Tell me what you want.” The raw intensity of his voice was a seduction all on its own, fueling the fire within you. Your pleas came out in a breathless rush. “I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

You were pleading with the devil himself, caught in the overwhelming blend of desire and desperation, the need for his touch and his dominance consuming you completely. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the touch burning through the thin fabric of his shirt, making him shudder slightly as you gripped him. He could feel your nails digging into his scalp, scratching at the strands of his hair before dragging them down his neck. He shuddered again as his fingers moved faster, circling your clit in small circles. Each one drove you closer to the edge, until there was no turning back. No running from this. There was no going back after this, only forward.

As the orgasm took over, your cries echoed throughout the room, punctuated by gasps and moans that grew louder with every passing second. The intensity of the moment left you breathless, your body struggling to contain the overwhelming surge of pleasure building inside you. Each muscle felt strained, pushed beyond its limits, as every thrust drove you closer to the edge.

The sounds you made, the way he looked at you, and the intensity of his touch all combined to fuel the fire between you. The passion and energy surged, driving both of you to the brink, as you fought to get even closer, to experience the connection at its fullest.

With every movement and every word spoken in your favor, the climax approached with a force that left you completely vulnerable, the moment consuming you entirely as you both reached for that ultimate release. As the climax surged through you, it felt like an explosion of sensation, every fiber of your being caught in the throes of ecstasy. Your cries grew more frantic, each sound a testament to the intensity of the moment. The room seemed to spin around you, the music and the crowd becoming distant echoes as you were consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

His movements were relentless, perfectly in tune with your responses, pushing you to the absolute edge. Every thrust, every touch was precise, maximizing the pleasure that you were both experiencing. His eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce, possessive intensity that only heightened the sensation.

The energy between you was electric, a tangible force that seemed to build with each passing second. You could feel the sweat on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, and the rhythm of your combined breaths creating a symphony of desire.

As the final wave of orgasm washed over you, it was as if time stood still. Your body tensed and shuddered uncontrollably, every muscle locked in a state of heightened pleasure. You were utterly lost in the moment, every sensation amplified, every sound magnified.

Finally, as the climax began to ebb, you both slowly came back to yourselves, the immediate rush of pleasure giving way to a lingering sense of satisfaction. The intensity of the connection between you remained, a testament to the shared experience and the power of the moment. He gently eased his hold on you, his touch becoming tender and reassuring as he helped you settle.

"Your charm is working wonders." You whispered to him

His eyes sparkled with a mix of satisfaction and amusement as he looked at you. You could see the effect your words had on him, the way his smile widened at your playful gratitude. He brushed his thumb over your lip before leaning in close to your face, pressing his mouth to yours in a passionate kiss. "It really does."

౨ৎ.....................................................౨ৎ...................................................౨ৎ

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, you lay in bed, reflecting on the night you had just shared. The warmth of Sam’s touch and the intensity of your connection replayed in your mind, vivid and electrifying. You could still feel the lingering traces of pleasure, a reminder of the unforgettable experience that had left an indelible mark on you.

But as you thought back on the night, a pang of regret tugged at your heart. The abruptness of your departure weighed heavily on your mind, leaving you unsettled. You had wanted to leave with him, to linger in the warmth of the connection you had forged. But as he turned to pay the tab, a sudden wave of uncertainty had washed over you.

In that fleeting moment, doubt had crept in. The intensity of what you had shared felt almost too real, too overwhelming, and the vulnerability that came with it scared you. So, instead of waiting for him, instead of letting yourself be drawn back into his orbit, you slipped quietly through the bar door, leaving before he had a chance to turn around. Not to mention, your father's call.

Now, in the light of morning, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had made a mistake. You had let the moment slip away, leaving behind something that had felt meaningful, something that had the potential to be more than just a fleeting encounter.

You wondered what Sam had thought when he turned around and found you gone, and whether he had felt the same connection you did. The regret gnawed at you, but so did the uncertainty of what might have happened if you had stayed.

As you lay there, the room quiet and still, you couldn’t help but replay the scene in your head. You remembered the way Sam had looked at you, the way he had responded to your every touch and whisper. The memory was tinged with a bittersweet edge now, the sudden end to such a profound connection leaving you with mixed emotions.

The departure had been sudden and unceremonious, and you found yourself wishing you had been able to give the night—and Sam—the closure they deserved. You thought about how you might reach out to him, how you might explain the abrupt end and express your gratitude for the night you had shared. Yet, your little Cinderella act left with you nothing.

You decided, then, that you couldn't waste your three months of freedom of fantasizing over what ifs with a guy the same age as your father. It would never happen, and besides, you knew nothing about him. He was just some guy in the bar with really nice hands.

The doorbell rang, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you sat up in bed, wondering who could be at the door so early. The bell kept ringing, persistent and insistent, refusing to be ignored. After another few moments, you gave in, sighing as you pushed off the covers and swung your legs over the side of the mattress.

As you made your way downstairs, you passed through the kitchen, absently pushing some dishes into the sink, just in case your father had returned. The house was quiet, the early morning light casting soft shadows across the floor. You couldn’t shake the strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that had settled in your chest, a nagging feeling that something unexpected was about to happen.

Reaching the door, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening it. The thought of who might be on the other side lingered in your mind, a blend of curiosity and trepidation swirling together.

With a quick twist of the knob, you pulled the door open, and the breath caught in your throat. There he was. Sam.

He stood on the doorstep, phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes were fixed on you, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension from the night before lingering in the air between you. The surprise of seeing him here, of all places, left you momentarily speechless.

His gaze didn’t waver, and though he was speaking softly into the phone, his attention was entirely on you. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even a hint of something deeper, something unresolved from the night before.

He said something quickly into the phone, his voice low and calm, "Yeah, she came to the door."

You cocked your head to the side slightly, confusion and curiosity mixing in your expression. The way he spoke, so assured and composed, contrasted with the flurry of emotions you were feeling. His words hung in the air, leaving you to wonder who he had been talking to and why he was here.

"Sure thing, Maliki," he said, putting extra emphasis on your father's name. The realization hit you like a jolt—this wasn’t just a chance encounter. This was the man your father had sent to watch over you.

Your eyes widened slightly as the pieces fell into place. The sudden phone call last night, the urgency in your father’s voice, and now Sam standing here on your doorstep, all made sense. The night you had shared, the connection that felt so real, now had an entirely different context. He wasn’t just some guy you met at the bar—he was here because your father had sent him.

"Don't worry," Sam stated, his tone darker and more intense than anything you had heard from him the night before. The shift in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart fluttered with a mix of fear and curiosity, wondering what he truly meant.

"I'll make sure she never leaves the house," he continued, his words lingering in the air, heavy with implications.

Your pulse quickened, a knot of anxiety forming in your chest as you tried to decipher his intent. The man who had been charming and playful just hours ago now seemed to harbor a side you hadn’t anticipated—a side that was far more serious, possibly even dangerous.

[westanthewaterman]

Could I please get a drabble of a masc captain who feels awful that he wasn’t able to help Mark when he was dying over and over rebuilding the warp core?

Mark blinks his eyes open slowly, vision adjusting to the darkness in the room. It's quiet, save for the sound of soft, muffled sobs.

The engineer sits up, turning his head to the side. The Captain is sitting on the other side of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest and face hidden by his hands.

"Captain?" Mark says softly.

The Captain freezes, wiping his eyes quickly before turning to look at him. "M-Mark, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No, no. What's wrong? You're crying."

"It's nothing, really, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

Mark frowns, shifting to press himself into the Captain's side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You know you can tell me anything. What's going on?"

"I just...keep having these awful dreams."

"What about?"

"You. I'm back in the loop and I keep finding you at the end of it all, lost and alone, building that stupid warp core. And no matter how hard I try, you never hear me. It's like I'm just there to watch you suffer."

Tears sting at Mark's eyes as he remembers everything that had happened. Time had started to dull the memories, but he could never forget how it felt to be trapped alone for god only knows how long.

He swallows the lump in his throat and pulls the Captain into his arms. "It's over now."

"I should've been there. I should've figured it out, I should've protected you."

"Stop that, you can't put that kind of blame on yourself."

The Captain rests his head in his hands. "You know...I did find you, once, I don't know if it was you you, but it was you. You were so...lost, so scared, so angry. I wanted to help but a wormhole pulled me away and-"

A quiet sob cuts off the Captain's words and he curls in on himself.

"You should hate me."

Mark blinks in surprise at the words. "What...Why would I hate you?"

"I-I should've been there, I should've saved you."

Mark cradles the Captain's face in his hands and smiles softly. "But, Cap, you did. You found me. You held on. You saved me. If it hadn't been for you, we would've likely been stuck in that hell for the rest of eternity. I would've been alone...but I'm not. You're not."

The Captain sighs, shoulder slumping, and pulls Mark back under the covers with him. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do know that. And I love you too."

"To the warp core and back?"

"To the warp core and back."

[fickle-tiction]

“That was quite a reaction.” with timid lee!Bruce and amused, playful ler!Clark

I forgot for a minute that I reblogged sentence starters and thought you came up with this one your own. I was like damn she's good.

anyway.

"That was...quite a reaction." Clark's hands were still hovering midair in the space Bruce's body had been occupying seconds before.

Over the last week Clark had been trying to sneak up on Bruce, to varying degrees of success. The rare times Clark managed it Bruce gave the smallest of starts, something that a regular human would not have been able to pick up on, and then would roll his eyes and go back to whatever task Clark had distracted him from.

Today, Clark waited until Bruce was elbow deep in the engine of the Batmobile while simultaneously video chatting with Dick. He slowly floated behind him, careful not to move too fast and disturb the air. From the corner of his eye he could see the side-eye Dick was giving him, but the former Robin kept up the flow of the conversation so Bruce wouldn't suspect a thing. He was expecting that exasperated huff, maybe a small flinch, when he gently squeezed Bruce's sides from behind. Instead, Bruce sucked in a quick breath, whirling around and putting about a foot of space between them, hands outstretched.

Bruce went from wide-eyed to glaring in a fraction of a second. "I'm not used to people sneaking up on me." Usually, no one could.

"Yeah," Dick chimed in. "And he's crazy ticklish, if you catch him in the right mood."

"Oh really?" Clark asked, advancing on an alarmed-looking Bruce.

"Dick, you're grounded." Bruce hissed, back pressed against the batmobile as his hands hovered protectively over his torso.

"I'm 23!" Dick protested. He pulled a face as Clark leaned in close to his dad. "Gross. You could at least hang up first!"

[forthereaderinserts]

Soft Muzan

You weren’t exactly sure how this started, or how you remembered to make them, but you found yourself in a meadow one evening weaving together a crown made of flowers. It was late at night, almost dawn actually, so you weren’t really expecting to called so suddenly by Muzan. But here you were, still seated from where you were sitting in the meadow, flower crown still in hand.

You sighed and looked up to see him standing there. Muzan always has a terrifying presence but you could respect his power, you weren’t one of the 12 moons, you were more of a support team. You looked mostly human, save for your eyes, and can quickly cover up anything left behind by the 12 moons.

“Y/n, before I call the others...what is that?” He pointed at the flowers in your hand.

“Ah...it’s a flower crown. You haven’t sent me anywhere so I had time to do what I wanted.” You replied, you weren’t scared to talk to him so casually because although you’re just a support, you were always respectful and knew your boundaries.

He nodded slowly, before kneeling in front of you and taking it from your hands.

“And...you made this? By yourself?”

You nodded again, feeling a little flustered that he, Muzan of all people, took interest in the crown you made. You were even more shocked when Muzan, flipped it over and rested it onto his head. That wasn’t something you would have expected from him. At all.

“I’ve always liked flowers.”

At the next upper moon meeting, their terrifying leader was wearing a very nice, red, blue and purple flower crown.