softwetmoss
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"Just let me lay my eggs in you," she said. "It'll be hot," she said. "Don't worry, obviously they're not fertilised," she said.
Spoiler alert: they were.
And now Jan is up the duff from a drunken hookup and the eggs growing inside him aren't even his - they belong to his one-night-stand and some random dude who fertilised her.
One-Night-Stand is a lying piece of shit. But Some Random Dude actually turns out to be a decent guy. And perfect baby-daddy material. Or, you know... abortion buddy material.
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Shikamaru is having a bad time.
The Land of Wind is too hot, there's sand everywhere, this Kazekage guy is creepy as hell, and he's stuck here for an entire week of political discussions as advisor to Lord Kakashi.
At least evening entertainment is provided in the form of booze, gambling, and women. What could possibly go wrong?
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The Fake Boyfriend Project by dreams_that_escape_me
Fandoms: どうぶつの森 | Animal Crossing Series
12 Dec 2025
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C.J. is working in the social media department for Nook Inc. when he's offered a big promotion doing fishing events and outreach for the company instead. But his boss is somehow under the impression that he has a same-sex partner and C.J. feels compelled to maintain that illusion at least until he's settled into his new job, so he recruits his friend and neighbor Flick to pose as his boyfriend. But the situation gets out of hand, and after a while the fake dating set up starts to feel less and less fake.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 38,612
- Chapters:
- 8/8
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 112
- Kudos:
- 59
- Bookmarks:
- 11
- Hits:
- 916
Bookmarked by softwetmoss
17 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
8/8
That actually is a nice picture. Could I, um...” He laughed shyly. “C-could I use that as my Grindr profile pic?”
C.J.'s excitement deflated a little, but he kept his face neutral as he sent the photo to Flick. He teased, “A little rude that we're on a date and you're updating your Grindr, but okay.”
“It's a fake date,” Flick said. “And the night is still young.”
C.J. was uncomfortable with how much he disliked this turn of the conversation—it was a fake date, so why should he even care? -
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Cameron Cope works as a stripper and escort, owned by King, the man who once saved his life. The club is both his cage and sanctuary. When special agent Liam Sullivan begins investigating King's empire of drugs and human trafficking, Cameron's world starts to crack.
Loyalty, survival, and desire collide in a story about what freedom costs when someone else owns your name.Bookmarked by softwetmoss
26 Oct 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
7/?
I make it look effortless. Smile. Tilt my head. Run my hand slow down my chest, like I’m savoring the touch. I’ve practiced that gesture so many times it’s muscle memory now, the illusion of want.
They think I love this.
And maybe a part of me does. The rush. The heat. The control that comes from knowing the room moves to your rhythm. But the truth? It’s not love. It’s survival.
Because I owe everything I am to King, the man upstairs with the ice in his eyes and the smile that could break glass. The one who owns the club, the rooms, the boys. The one who says he saved us.
And maybe he did.
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“Good,” Sullivan’s grip relaxes slightly. Cam feels like he can finally breathe; he tries not to feel any type of way at the praise. Fails spectacularly. “Now. Do you like men, recruit?”
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yet another dumpster scene ficBookmarked by softwetmoss
04 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
1/1
“I said,” Sullivan raises his voice. Grinds a little harder, stroking his own cock in his hand. “Whose dick is this?"
Cam grinds harder, too, fully humping his boot now. Loudly, he repeats: “Yours, sir!”
Sullivan slows his foot, then, and his hand. Both creeping to a snail’s pace as his eyes bore into Cam’s. He leans a little closer, voice quieting. “Whose dick is this?”
Cam just barely rolls his hips, meeting the moment. He speaks with the same hushed reverence when he replies: “Yours, sir.”
Sullivan’s eyes flash. Without warning, he digs in the heel of his boot. “Prove it.”
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He says, because it’s K he can’t resist the urge to be an ass. “Thought you’d be chained to Dick’s bed by this point.”
“Christ, K, you’re obsessed with that dog shit.”
He shrugs it off. “It’s fitting. He’s got you on a leash.”
“Is that what you want?” Ronan demands, now he’s playing with fire. On an ordinary day he could brush it off as an accidental innuendo. “To put me on a leash? Keep me at your feet.”
K swallows. “Yeah.” He breathes. “At least I’d let you out to have fun.”
“Who says Gansey doesn’t?” It’s a wicked thing to invoke.
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Ronan doesn't know who he is but he knows who he's not and he finds the answer in K.
Bookmarked by softwetmoss
17 Oct 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
1/1
He takes a drag and then another. “Pass it over man. Don’t be a bitch.” K says.
He’s taking Parrish to DC, Noah’s voice says. Why is Ronan so easy to always fucking abandon?
He takes another drag, deep filling his lungs, and holds it in his mouth. He dares K to come get it.
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Bojan looked back at Jan. “You want to pay me,” he said slowly, “to flirt with your friend.”
“Like a part-time job. Call it freelance emotional support.”
Bojan exhaled. “You’re unhinged.”
“And you’re underpaid.”
A long pause.
Bojan shook his head. “This is a terrible idea.”
𝘰𝘳
The one where Kris, heartbroken, is drifting away from his friend group, and Jan decides someone should flirt with him for a while to lift his spirits. Maybe the cute guy from the music store, whom Kris has never been a fan of.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 65,507
- Chapters:
- 25/25
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 147
- Kudos:
- 116
- Bookmarks:
- 8
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- 3,474
Bookmarked by softwetmoss
30 Jul 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
13/25
Kompas Music stood between a barbershop and a flower shop. Minimalist, wood-panel front, glass windows displaying sleek guitars, crisp black amps, and little handwritten signs. It was too new to be dusty, but the kind of new that hadn’t found its rhythm yet. Kris could see it in the handwritten sale tags, the careful curation that screamed please notice us.
Kris reached for the handle.
The bell over the door jingled as he stepped in.
Warm light. Clean shelves. Vinyls in a narrow crate by the register. The place smelled like pine wood and black coffee. If it wasn’t for the low sound of indie rock from the speakers, it would’ve felt... peaceful.
Kris made it three steps in before he froze.
Behind the counter, slouched on a stool, Bojan looked up from a receipt.
Their eyes locked.