Out of My Head

He smirked a little. “Not true. Thor has that stuff that can knock me on my ass.”

“Bet you’re a sloppy drunk,” you joked, knowing he’d still manage to look graceful if he fell on his face. “Or a tease.”

He put a hand on his chest. “I would never tease.”

You blinked twice. “Um, I’ve worked with you for three months, and you tease all the time,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “In fact, I cannot stand the way you tease.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his blue eyes sparkling. “Exactly how do I tease?”

You gaped at him. Bloody and beaten or well rested, it didn’t matter. He was a tease by existing. He woke up every day and chose violence on you and your pussy. 

“That right there! Your hair. Always tousling it like you’re about to pose for some slutty book cover.”

The corner of his lip tugged. “Slutty book cover?”

“And walking around in your smedium tops like Steve,” you said. You couldn’t blame it on the alcohol since you didn’t have that much to drink. “Showing off your muscles and tiddies.”

He snorted into his drink. “Smedium? Tiddies?”

“And your gorgeous bedroom eyes,” you continued, making the mistake of looking right into them. “And you’re so… wonderful.”

He looked surprised… and touched. 

“It kinda sounds like you like me,” he said, his voice soft. 

Your throat went dry. Of course, you liked him. But you didn’t want to confess like that.

Not tonight. 

You cleared your throat. “I think you should finish your drink.”

He did so with his eyes on you. “This conversation isn’t over.”

Why did you have to open your mouth?

Keep talking. He wants to hear it! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

He didn’t give your partner the same treatment, from what he told you. 

Put a bullet in his head. 

“You know, I remember every single thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You didn’t respond to that. What could you say? He was the head of the CIA, and you were a lowly agent. 

It didn’t make sense why he’d pay attention to or care about you. 

“Like when we met and you complimented me on my tie.” He smiled gently. “You said it matched my eyes.”

You bit your tongue. It was a small compliment. But it seemed to mean more to him. 

“And like when you said you felt so happy you could die when we were stuck in the elevator.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said softly. 

“I know,” he said, smirking when he brushed a thumb along your cheek. “Just making sure you’re paying attention to me.”

As if he’d let your attention drift elsewhere. 

“What did you say?” he asked.

You bit your tongue when his hand slid to your throat and rested there. 

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“I said ‘green’, Sir,” you whispered, breaking character because you had to. 

Green was your safeword. 

He smiled. “Happy anniversary.” 

Today was your six month anniversary. 

Six months of roleplaying and him fucking you like a man possessed. And taking care of you after like you were something for him to cherish. He always put you back together after he broke you. 

And he was going to do it again tonight. 

Nick can do whatever he wants. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

GENERAL EVENT DETAILS

When: August 15-18 *Writing challenge submissions will be accepted through the end of August (or later if needed).

How to Participate: 

🎁 Birthday Gifts aka the writing challenge 🎉 Party Favors aka Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order

🎁 BIRTHDAY GIFTS (AKA THE WRITING CHALLENGE) 🎁

Rules for Fic Entries:

500 word minimum, 5,000 word max. (Please put your story under a cut after 150 words.)

Original works only. If your story is part of a series, it must be able to be read as a standalone piece.

Please tag me @stargazingfangirl18 when posting your story.

Include the tag #happy birthday siri 2026 on the original post of your fic (not on reblogs or reblog replies, please.)

Any genre accepted! Can be fluff, angst, smut, comedy, AU, dark, soft!dark, whatever you want.

Please stick to the CE characters listed below, and no RPF.

Reader insert stories only. LGBTQ+, BIPOC, & interracial stories are welcome and encouraged!

No toilet stuff, no necrophilia, no snuff, or bestiality. Non-con and dub-con must fall within commonly posted dark fics. (FYI: I personally don’t read daddy kink, mommy kink, spit kink, lactation kink, harsh degradation, dumbification, or anything focusing on health/illnesses/medical details/scenarios.) 

Please include warnings as needed for explicit language, explicit sexual content, non-con, dub-con, dark fic, trigger warnings, 18+, etc.

Odds & Ends:

Each writer can submit a maximum of 3 stories.

Writers DO NOT need to claim prompts.

Smut writers and characters must be 18+.

Writers can also submit a Superior AI Custom Order but please keep it to one submission per person.

You do not need to write smut, I know it’s not everyone’s jam. 

I reserve the right to not read or reblog anything that makes me uncomfortable.

Writing Challenge Babes & Prompts

BABES

Andy Barber

Ari Levinson

Bryce Langley

Cole Turner

Curtis Everett

Frank Adler

Jake Jensen

Lloyd Hansen

Pete Brenner

Ransom Drysdale

Reverend Drew

Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy)

Steve Rogers

PROMPTS

Pick at least 1 prompt. You can pick more than 1, and you don’t need to claim prompts:

SCENARIOS:

Being a predatory babe’s prey (in a sexy way, not a hungry way lolll)

Sweet and/or Vulnerable!Reader x Scary!Hot!Babe

Being blackmailed by someone unlikely 

Scary babe is only soft with you

Commitment phobe!babe is high key obsessed with you

A titillating encounter with a monster!babe

You’re an actual human disaster, but soft!dark babe finds it charming

Emotional constipation

Making a deal with the devil

Meet!oops or fail

Sacrificing yourself to a dangerous babe to save someone else

Being betrayed by someone you trust

DIALOGUE:

“I was just going to punish you, but now? Now I’m going to annihilate you.”

“Oh my god, how can someone be so fucking oblivious?!”

“You have no idea what your scent does to me.”

“That’s it! I’m done! No more adulting, no more responsibilities, no more anything! We’re just going to lay here and cuddle and hide from the rest of the world.”

 “You picked the wrong man to steal from.”

“I have no idea what the future holds, but what I do know is that I want you by my side for every second of it.”

“I’ve never had someone so innocent, but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be as corrupted as me.”

“Did you just… propose to me?”

“You know I reward loyalty and good work, and I thought she would make such a sweet, pretty gift.”

“Please, just give me one more chance. I know I can be better, for you. I would do anything for you.”

“The only thing you have to offer that’s of any interest to me is that sweet, warm place between your legs. So strip and show me just how badly you need my help.”

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but we really need to talk.” 

KINKS:

Breeding kink (non-pregnancy version)

Size kink

Praise kink

Somnophilia

Prone bone

Squirting

Manhandling

Oral sex (f receiving)

Anal play/sex

Overstimulation 

Monster fucking 

Creampie

TROPES:

Omegaverse

Mob AU

Good girl x bad boy

Biker AU

Delulu babe or Reader

Mercenary AU

Human disaster!Reader or babe

Conqueror AU

Friends to lovers

Sugar daddy/baby AU

Guard dog!Babe

CEO AU

🎉 PARTY FAVORS (AKA SUBMIT YOUR SUPERIOR AI CUSTOM ORDER) 🎉

Rules for Submission:

Submissions will only be accepted during the event dates of August 15-18. Those sent before or after those dates will be discarded. 

You must submit your order by sending me an ask that answers the questions below.

There is a limit of 1 submission per person (please respect this limit, even if you request on anon; I don’t want to be overwhelmed or stressed).

Odds & Ends:

If you’re new to my Superior AI verse, you can check it out here.

Even if your babe of choice isn’t an AI in my verse, you can still request them for your custom order. Think of these resulting drabbles as AU :) 

I may not get to every submission within the event timeframe, but I’ll try my best to answer all of them eventually, so please be patient.

Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order Form

Send me an ask with the following info, and I will write a (likely AU) Superior AI verse drabble starring the CE!babe of your choice! I’ve written these questions in one paragraph to make it easier for you to copy/paste, but you can space them out when you send your ask. Thank you! 

Superior AI Custom Order Request: 1) Your CE!babe of choice (If you’d rather I pick the babe for you, let me know). 2) What are the top 3 reasons why you are ordering an AI? 3) Soft, soft!dark, or dark? 4) Smut or no smut?

Thank youuu. But also, happy birthday to me 🫠 lolll.

—

Tagging some fellow hoes who may be interested or want to signal boost the event, no pressure though! (Sorry if I forgot anyone, I’m awful at tagging lol.) ❤️

"You always flirt when you're nervous?"

The completely out of pocket breaking of silence between you and Curtis has you sputtering, and you’re unable to string any type of real response together. "That's not—you—I—never flirting," you manage, the sentence falling apart in your mouth. Your face goes hot with embarrassment.

Curtis smiles, soft and warm. "Relax. I know. I just wanted to break the nerves." He nudges your shoulder with his.

The two of you had been sitting in silence in the waiting room before his teasing. In maybe any other circumstance your mind might have been racing with what to say and whether or not flirt with your stoic, thoughtful neighbor—the man you’d slowly begun to call a friend, but who you were painfully aware could ruin your panties with one look. The man you’d been trying to keep things together around for the last year since moving in with your aunt down the hall from him.

You say, “I’m not nervous, just—" and then realize you’re not sure what else to be besides nervous. Afraid? Hopeful? Angry? All of the above? You settle for staring at the scuffed linoleum while Curtis watches you with a look that, if it were on anyone else, would probably be pity, but on Curtis registers closer to loyalty. “Tense. I know she’ll be fine, but I can’t help being tense.”

He leans in, elbows on his knees, and says, “Whatever comes next? I’ll be right here. Okay?”

You blink at him, surprised by the havoc this simple phrase generates in your chest. This is not the kind of comfort you’re used to. People have shown up in your life when they need to, but this isn’t necessarily one of those need to times. It’s just an outpatient surgery—knee replacement for your aunt.

You want to tell him it’s not a big deal, that you’ve done bigger surgeries and worse scares with family before, that stitches and staples and anesthesia are the stuffing of childhood summers and parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins getting older, but for some reason you don’t. Instead, you nod, and murmur a soft, “Thank you.” He leans back against the seat back of the chair next to you, close enough your jackets are flush together, and lets the silence hang again.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s a group text from the family, a cascade of prayer hands emojis and gifs of cats doing knee bends, as if the artificial cartilage will be charmed into behaving by the cuteness of calico kittens. You smile awkwardly into the glare of your screen and pocket the phone again.

Curtis watches your movements, then turns his gaze to the wall clock. He has this way of looking at things as if they’re always about five minutes away from letting him down, but he’s determined to be charitable until then. You wonder if he’s always been this patient, if there was ever a time where all the anger in him boiled over. You wonder if he feels anything on high intensity, if he ever loses control, because he never seems to crack or shout or stop being so frustratingly (and in this case blessedly) calm.

You’ve analyzed him too much lately, trying to get a bead on where you stand in the whorled grain of his attention, but he doesn’t give up much. He portrays himself as a lone wolf, and yet seems to know about and look after every tenant in your building. He doesn’t say, “You can lean on me,” but he sits here, all more than six feet of him, silent beacon of support.

After another moment, you ask, “Is this the most boring Wednesday you’ve ever had?”

He considers. “Not even the top five,” he says. “But the company helps.”

You snort. “Such a flatterer.”

He glances at you again, evidence of a suppressed smile in the twitch of his cheek. “You don’t have to be tough, you know.”

“But I am tough,” you say, and you mean it, but also the words feel like a dare, a plea, and an apology at the same time. He accepts all three without question or challenge or platitude, which might be the best thing. The only thing.

“Did you eat today?” he asks, which shouldn’t be as cute as it is but, God, he’s always sliding into caretaker mode when you least expect it. He’s nothing if not a fixer.

You want to lie, just to keep up. “Of course,” you say, but your stomach betrays you with a watery gurgle. You both pretend not to hear it.

“Coffee only doesn’t count. Conveniently, the cafeteria here is edible,” Curtis offers, rising in a controlled, economical motion that is all the more impressive for its unselfconsciousness. “I’ll be right back.”

You open your mouth to protest, to insist you’re fine or offer to go yourself, but he’s already two steps away, and you’re left to watch his big, hulking frame disappear around the corner, and you can’t help the small sigh watching him go.

You’re alone in the waiting room again, and the absence of Curtis, which you keep telling yourself should feel like a relief—because then you don’t have to perform, or talk, or keep yourself from staring at his hands—has the opposite effect. You miss the quiet, stabilizing force of him beside you. You count the number of times your phone buzzes. You scroll through the same three news articles, not retaining a single word, and then stare at the hospital’s “Our Mission” poster with a resolve that feels like penance.

This is inconvenient. You’re not supposed to get attached. He’s your neighbor and friend, someone who has been so good to everyone, had practically adopted your aunt as his own.

You’ve survived this long by keeping ties loose and laces untied, but Curtis has a way of making himself necessary without being intrusive, leaving an impression just by existing nearby. The way he leans into you—not quite touching, but always within reach. The way he remembers your Thursday sandwich order, the way he brings up stories from three months ago like they just happened. The way he says your name when it matters. Small things, but dammit, they add up.

Even now, he’s probably making a spreadsheet of hospital food options in his head, for your benefit, and this makes you want to laugh and throw up at the same time because you are not supposed to fall for someone who makes it so easy. You’re not supposed to fall at all, because you are the one who knows how to manage risk, how to keep your heart sheathed in bubble wrap and sarcasm and the practiced art of staying unbothered. You are not supposed to crave the constancy of a man like Curtis, and yet here you are, sitting in this goddamn hospital, waiting for him to get back from the cafeteria like a dog at the front door.

Mostly you’re not supposed to fall because this is just him being nice, the same way he helps Mrs. Noyes from 4B with her recycling and walks the blind dog for the guy on 3 when he works a night shift.

You’re still chewing on this, gnawing at that impossible mental cuticle, when Curtis returns with a paper cup and a small brown bag. He offers them to you like a treaty, or maybe a dare. “They were out of blueberry,” he says, “so you’re getting banana. You’ll live.”

Your hand comes up for the bag, and the tips of his fingers graze yours, almost theatrically gentle, as if he’s afraid you might startle and bolt. You do not, but you do clock the hitch in your own pulse, the way your body catalogues the warmth and weight of his touch in the useless hope of replaying it later.

He sits down next to you again, his knee bumping yours and staying there. It’s such a nothing, such a casual point of contact, but you feel it in your teeth. He’s just big and tall and his legs have to fall where they may. And if you don’t move your leg away, that’s no one’s business whatsoever.

And if this is a prequel to the prologue for the Curtis we met in His Law would any one have any objections? (This then would have happened BEFORE the events that lead to the post-apocalyptic landscape of that entire AU.)

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

"If I win this bet, you owe me a date."

“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes. If Lloyd Hansen has made an agreement with you once, he’s made it a thousand times: bets, predictions, whether or not he makes a specific mark, terms for anything from a coffee order to the next Nobel Prize winner. And yet, for all Lloyd’s talk, he’s never once tried to collect. Not that you have much to fear—he’s the type who’d rather make you squirm in anticipation. You know he likes the idea of a date more than the date itself.

Scratch that, you know Lloyd is not the dating type. Hates and ridicules the colleagues who do go on dates.

He flashes a smile that should be illegal outside of toothpaste commercials. "I’m serious this time. Put it on the record."

You don’t even look up from your laptop. "You owe me more dates than you can count.”

“Ninety-nine.”

You jerk your head up to look at him. “What?”

“You heard me: ninety-nine dates.”

You open your mouth only to close it again.

“Ninety-nine,” he repeats, smug as ever. “If I win today, that’s one hundred.” He laces his fingers behind his head, elbows angled with showoff laziness, leaning back in his seat on the chartered plane. “At that point, I’m cashing in. No more IOUs. You, me, three uninterrupted days. I take you to my place in the Bahamas, and we see how many times we can fuck before your brain completely short-circuits.”

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

"Are you always this charming?"

Steve laughs—a short, flustered thing that moves through the air between you and is snatched away by the wind. In the orange lamplight, he scratches the back of his neck, a gesture so boyish you’re charmed twice over. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I mean, I’m not really a—”

He shrugs, letting the rest hang there. Whatever he thinks he isn’t, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how close you’re standing, and how his eyes keep flicking to your mouth and then away, as if he’s daring himself to cross the invisible line.

You tilt your chin up for him.

And that does it. He closes the space, a shy warmth in the way he grips your forearms, as if grounding himself in the sheer fact of your existence.

When he kisses you, it’s hesitant but hungry, the kind of awkward that’s so real it surprises you into smiling mid-way through. He pulls back, a little stunned, and you watch, hardly believing that this man who is Captain freaking America to the world has any doubt about his standing with you, when all you want from him is the man behind the shield. Steven Grant Rogers and his good heart and his nervous hands, and his unguarded laugh.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“This is delicious,” he praised, taking another bite. “You outdo yourself every time.”

Your smile was careful. Practiced. “Thank you, Cole.”

Why do people hurt us so?

Only those in love could know.

He chuckled, the sound a bit bitter as he pushed his food around. “Interesting song,” he muttered. 

You had almost forgotten there was music playing. 

He thought it was romantic to have music on while you ate dinner. Not too loud, of course. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you if there was additional sound drowning him out. 

“You know, all these romance books and Hallmark movies have these farm boys getting the girl and I thought for the longest time that would never be me,” he said, reaching over to take your hand. “But then I met you.”

You didn’t say anything.

“And I finally got the girl.”

You were careful not to flinch when he squeezed your hand. “You sure did.”

One date. 

You went on one date with Cole. 

The two of you got along. He was good looking and the conversation came surprisingly easy, but he was also quick to glare at any guy who looked your way and make comments under his breath. That set off inner warning bells.

You should’ve leaned into that instinct when he insisted on walking you to your door, but you didn’t expect him to force his way inside 

And you really didn’t expect him to bring you to his home and demand that you marry him. 

So much for dating a “nice guy”, huh?

First time writing for him, and of course I made him a creep. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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.”

I think it would be a little different than what you’re expecting. We’ve yet to see it in the story, but the atmosphere of the planet is a bit different than Earth’s. With the sky looking the way it does on the planet, fireworks might not be as spectacular as they would be here, if they were shot into the sky.

But you know what they do have on Virion’s planet? Virtual reality and hologram technologies. And I think Virion would be able to set something truly mind blowing up.

They see you’re homesick, they want to make you happy. They prod at what’s got you so upset. They figure it out, easy. After all, their main job is researching humans. You know what they do? They make a special show.

A tablet in their hands, they press on the screen. The lights dim. Color explodes around you. Sparkling and sizzling in the air. You’re in the middle of bright bursting fireworks. Their light painting across your skin. The boom thumping in your chest—not too loud or too overwhelming. The warmth a whisper against your skin. But you’re completely safe. They’re not actually real.

It’s you and Virion. Something personal, thoughtful. Your own fireworks spectacular enrobing you in its light.

I think it would be a little different than what you’re expecting. We’ve yet to see it in the story, but the atmosphere of the planet is a bit different than Earth’s. With the sky looking the way it does on the planet, fireworks might not be as spectacular as they would be here, if they were shot into the sky.

But you know what they do have on Virion’s planet? Virtual reality and hologram technologies. And I think Virion would be able to set something truly mind blowing up.

They see you’re homesick, they want to make you happy. They prod at what’s got you so upset. They figure it out, easy. After all, their main job is researching humans. You know what they do? They make a special show.

A tablet in their hands, they press on the screen. The lights dim. Color explodes around you. Sparkling and sizzling in the air. You’re in the middle of bright bursting fireworks. Their light painting across your skin. The boom thumping in your chest—not too loud or too overwhelming. The warmth a whisper against your skin. But you’re completely safe. They’re not actually real.

It’s you and Virion. Something personal, thoughtful. Your own fireworks spectacular enrobing you in its light.