A/N: @nixzsxz requested me to write for Kane so here you go! So I based some events during 2001, but even though Kane could speak without assistance, we’re just gonna pretend he couldn’t. Anyways, Hope You Enjoy!
Kane stood in the parking lot sweating literal bullets as he tried to gently hold the bouquet of red roses and big poster board in his hands.
He didn’t want to crush them—they had to be perfect for what was happening. Well that’s if it happens. He’s planning on asking you to be his Valentine, but sudden nervousness has taken over him.
It might seem a little childish to some, but for him, it was everything. He still remembers the first time you met. It was also the time he fell in love with you.
He had just gotten back from a match with his brother against Rikishi and Haku when Jerry “The King” Lawyer came up to them for an interview.
Taker did all the talking, letting the fans know what to expect the next week when the two brothers fought the Samoan family.
That should’ve been all that was needed to be asked, but Jerry decided to get a little nosy.
“Well Kane, Taker’s bleeding right now. Would you like to show us if you are too?” He began laughing, finding a small joke in his question.
No one backstage has ever seen his face, so there’s no way in hell he’s taking that mask off.
“Oh wait, or are you too much of a freak to show us what you really look like!” Jerry’s laughter grew louder, almost breaking the microphone’s sound barrier.
Underneath the mask, Kane frowned. Was he really being made fun of to his face on national TV?
This wasn’t even part of the script!
Kane just stood there allowing Jerry to laugh, but the sound of heels clicking caught the two 7ft men's attention.
“Jerry, I don’t know why you’re doing all that laughing. You’ve been wearing that crown since you got it. Maybe you’re the one trying to hide that freak of a bald spot you got.”
Just as you finished your sentence, you stepped into frame making your presence known. You could hear slight cheers from fans, glad that you shut the 52 year old man up.
Jerry gulped, wanting to say something, but you caught his eyes staring at the low cut top you were wearing.
The sound of a cleared throat snapped him out of his “puppy trance” forcing him to look at the biker behind you. He quickly caught the memo and sped walked off to somewhere else, the cameramen doing the same.
You turned around and looked up at the two men, giving Undertaker a nod before looking at Kane with concern. “Are you okay? I know his words probably hurt you, but don’t listen to that old man.”
Taker chuckled at your words, but also noticed Kane’s wide eyes behind his mask. He was too stunned to speak.
Well, it’s not like he could, but he couldn’t believe someone like you would stand up for him. Pretty, popular, and proud. The three P’s. Probably out of pity, but he’s trying not to think like that.
“Well I gotta go help some girls get ready, I’ll see you around?” Kane slowly nodded his head, watching as you flashed a bright smile and walked away. His eyes didn’t leave your frame until you were out of sight completely.
That’s when he knew he liked you.
Kane was too busy reminiscing about your first meeting that he didn’t hear the sound of his older brother's bike pulling in or his boots against the concrete flooring as they moved beside him.
“You still got them flowers and the sign?”
Kane jumped, getting a steady hold on the things before nodding. “I thought you would’ve asked her by now.”
Kane avoided his eyes, deciding to look at the ground. That answered the question he didn’t ask. “You scared?” He nodded once more, making Taker scoff. “Man there’s no reason to be scared. Y/n likes you just as much as you like her. Trust me, I’ve seen it. Hell, everyone’s seen it. You’re like a mute puppy when she comes around.”
Kane ignored his teasing words. Did you really like him? Honestly thinking about it, he thinks you do, and even if you say no, he’ll just leave the company and never see you again :).
With a deep breath Kane began walking backstage to where he knew you would be. Near the beauty table helping the girls do their makeup or their hair.
Kane could feel his throat close up as he saw you doing both things mentioned earlier, fixing the curls in Torrie’s head while beating blush onto Jacqueline cheeks.
Although you didn’t notice him, Terri did, pulling the cigar out her mouth and smirking at the sight. “Y/n, your man’s here.”
You didn’t stop what you were doing, turning your head to see him. Your whole face lit up, a smile being brought to your lips, your eyes widening, just an overall glow to your face.
“Hey Kano!” You called out, Kane smiling under his mask.
He continued to stand there, patiently waiting on you to finish. That’s one thing you love about him — he’s so understanding. Your help was cut short when Stacy pushed you aside. “Stop helping and go see him!” She lightly scolded you, earning a chuckle.
You brushed your hands on your jeans as you walked up to him. “Sorry, I was trying to help the girls. Do you need something, or did you just wanna see me?”
Kane closed his eyes before slowly holding out the bouquet of roses. You gasped, snatching them quickly. “Oh my god, roses? They’re my favorite!” Kane grinned. That’s the main reason he chose them, but also because they were red.
You were too busy smelling the fresh flowers that you didn’t notice him pulling the white poster board from behind his back.
“These smell amazing! Thank you so mu-”
Words disappeared from your mouth and brain as you looked up and read the sign. “You’re the only one who can set my heart ablaze, so will you be my Valentine?” You quietly read with a gummy smile.
It was a stupid little pick-up line, but because it was from him, it made it so much cuter.
“Awe, yes I’ll be your Valentine!” You gently took the poster out his hand and pulled him in for a hug, forcing his arms to wrap around your waist and touch your butt.
The Machine blushed under the mask, but felt proud and happy. Proud that he didn’t give up and asked you, and happy that you agreed.
“Ha, it looks like the Big Red Machine is nothing, but a Big Love Machine.”
You heard someone that was probably either Tori or Debra say, but you didn’t care because you knew they were right.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Shimmer Kane with his breeding kink sends me absolutely feral. He gives me the vibe that he calls it ‘mating’ whenever you have sex
You have killed me, thank you.
I Like
Shimmer!Kane x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •
Summary: Kane's a little obsessed.
Warnings: Kissing, fingering, rutting, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.
Word Count: 700
“Need to mate with you.” Kane groans in your ear as he kisses your jaw. He’s on top of you already, pressing you back down onto the sofa, his warm hands firmly pulling your thighs apart so that he can settle between them.
“Kane, I-” You turn your head, trying to get his attention. But he growls softly, pressing his lips to yours and sinking his tongue into your mouth.
He swallows your whines desperately as he rocks his aching erection against your core.
He was naked already, having pulled off most of his clothing before he’d even walked into the room.
You pull lightly at his hair on the back of his head, just enough to get a fraction of space between you both. He moans and shivers, enjoying the action far more than you thought he would.
“What’s got into you?” You breathe. You’d become used to him over the last few months, familiar with his habits and patterns.
His hands snake up higher on your bare thighs, underneath the skirt of your dress, to hook at the waistband of your underwear.
“I want to get into you.” He breathes, his voice even, even though you know he is trying to make a joke.
You grin. “I mean, what’s got you so worked up?”
“I saw a video.” He says simply, as if he wasn’t rubbing himself deliciously against your core, just catching the edge of your clit.
“What video?”
Ever since Kane came back changed, you had set him up with a tablet for him to use when he had questions about everyday items. It wasn’t that you didn’t like explaining things to him, it was more that the questions he had were often so completely outside of your field of expertise or everyday common knowledge, that you usually ended up looking them up online anyway.
“I was looking at yoga.” Something you had suggested to him to help him relax. He bunches your skirt up higher. “Different positions.”
“And how…?”
“Lotus position, I click on some videos. They showed other things.” His breathing hitches ever so slightly, the smallest hint that his rapid rutting is affecting him. “Made me hard. Wanted you.”
“Kane,” you squirm a little, your body reacting to him so quickly. You press your chest closer. “You know you don’t always need me when you get horny, you can take care of your needs-”
“I don’t like that.” He kisses your jaw, sucking at your skin and you have to pull him back by his hair so that you can continue the conversation.
“What do you mean you don’t like that?”
He gives you a small frown, as if you are being purposefully difficult. “I don’t like fucking my hand. I like being with you.” He kisses your neck again, pushing you back so you're fully laying down.
He manages to pull himself away from you for just long enough to yank your panties down and off one leg.
“I like when I come in you and you squeeze me.” He groans in your ear, going back to dragging his burning hot cock through your folds and gasping at the wetness that greets him.
You shiver, pleasure twisting in your stomach as you scrap your fingers along his scalp.
“I like when you make noises and how warm you are.” He pushes two fingers inside you and moans loudly as you whimper.
He rubs his thumb against your clit, while he ruts his cock along your inner thigh, smearing precum along your skin. He strokes you eagerly, the spot and pace to make you scream memorised perfectly.
You moan his name, wrapping one arm around his shoulders so you can hold him tight.
He growls again, louder this time and watching your face as you pant and writhe under him.
“I like that you love me.” He practically purrs, “That you let me. That you want me.”
“Kane,” You swallow, pleasure burning and threatening to pull you down at any moment.
“I like that you’re going to come for me and then let me make you come again.” He watches you with large, dark eyes, enraptured by your every moment. “I love you.”
<500 words, a scene of Kane taking advantage of you (requested by anon)
Kane doesn’t understand sleep.
He doesn’t need it since he came out of the shimmer. You do, though. Every night. He watches you yawn, go through a long ritual that ends with you tucked in bed, and go unconscious. Sometimes your sleep is fitful. Sometimes it’s deep.
Kane lies in bed next to you the whole time. At first, he just watched you. Studied the pattern of your rest. Everything in nature has a pattern if you know how to look.
Then, he started touching you.
Your sleep is beautiful, and beautiful things must be studied from the inside out.
So, he does.
He’s the reason you stay asleep, though he’s not doing it on purpose. Or, maybe he is. He isn’t sure.
Your limbs are heavy as he parts your legs and settles between them.
It doesn’t concern him if you’re truly asleep or not. Or that you’d be angry or hurt or happy or eager. He does this for himself. It’s biological. He has to.
Your cunt responds to him in a different way when you’re asleep. You’re slower to get wet. It takes him longer to get you to squeeze around him. You make small sounds instead of the moans you usually do.
Your skin is pliable. He sinks all the way inside of you. The way you stretch around him, so softly, makes him ache.
Kane explores your body thoroughly, your eyes closed and your breathing even. He tries out your holes with his cock and tongue and fingers. Your body is fascinating. The most human response he has is how hard he gets, treating you almost like an inanimate object to use.
In the daylight, Kane enjoys when you wrap your arms and legs around him, your hips urging him to go faster. Your enthusiasm shows your love.
Like this is nice too, though. You lie there and let him do anything.
Fandom: ENA Dream BBQ; Kane and above image belongs to JoelG
10 Headcanons on Kane X Reader
Inspired by @pukefactory and their amazing work in the fandom.
‧˚₊•┈୨୧┈•‧˚₊
First things first, it's important to remember that Kane is a party animal first and foremost. As a result, he ends up pulling you along to whatever celebrations are going on. Quality time is definitely his love language, and partying hard is what he spends the most time doing. What could be better than mixing the two things he loves most? Dancing while drunk, getting lost in the moment and in each other... This is what the relationship is all about to him: passion and good times.
He really perks up when you tag along with him to whatever (potentially illegal) event he's had his eyes on. "Just let them know that you're with me! They know me. AAAH, this is going to be amazing! Are you ready to party hearty?!" When you arrive at the event he not-so-subtly shows you off to everyone you two meet like you're an attraction. "Look closely! Observe the sparkling eyes and beautiful hair of a rare creature from faraway lands! And they're all mine! HA! Suckers!"
If you're an introvert, he'll be the kind of person who works at coaxing you out of your shell. He won't say it to you this way, but he'll feel responsible, oddly enough, for you living an exhilarating life, and he firmly believes that's worth any amount of trouble you two end up getting into. "The book will still be sleeping like a sluggard when you get back. But a party runs when you approach. Let's go! Let's chase that wild animal!" He'll take your hand and pull you through whatever portal leads to something exciting. If you're feeling like staying in, he's gonna literally carry you there. Kane can be kind of insensitive towards your desires to recharge your social batteries, but at the end of the day he just wants to save you from becoming a wallflower. And not the ones that grow in holy gardens and talk to you about sharing a spot of tea with them.
If you don't wanna go with him and you really dig your heels in, he really will just go without you. But he'll hesitate with his coin-hand on the door handle. "Last chance! Last last chance! I'm really gonna be going now. Fun is calling. I'm really gonna be going." He'll get to the event that he wanted to go to so bad but he won't be having as much fun as he thought he would without you. He'll be dancing with moth breakdancers and challenging an origami jester to a party popper eating contest and he'll win, coin-arms held triumphantly in the air and dancing, but his mouth will be a straight line the whole time. He’ll get home to find you asleep already and he’ll woozily sit next to the bed without saying anything, feeling like there's something he should be learning from this, but struggling to grasp it due to his being slightly… “sedated”.
From then on, he tries to make you feel more included in the activities you two do together. If you want to stay home, he's learned to adjust to that now. But you have to remember that he's an energetic guy and you’ll have to meet him there or he will go crazy. He'll be busting out playing cards, dice or some sort of polyhedron with glowing dots on it and meet you halfway. If you have work to do then he will always be fiddling with something, throwing a ball at the wall over and over or eating something illegal.
If you’re an extrovert, you and Kane feed off each other’s energy. When the sky is dark, you two will run around and take turns trying to be louder than each other. Kane will try to make you laugh as he approaches strangers and confuses them with parlor tricks. Once in a while, he’ll pull a nasty trick and con someone out of some money or a magical sandwich, or something. You know that it’s serious once he does it, but it’s hard to be strait-laced about it; Kane makes some seriously ridiculous faces when he’s nervous. When things get dangerous, Kane takes you by the hand and runs. You two bolt through secret passageways and climb through windows, laughing like maniacs all the way home while the entity who was about to turn you two into corpses has no choice but to take their licks and move on.
Kane doesn’t outright say it, but he loves teaching you things. Something about the way your face lights up in surprise when he shows you a secret shortcut to an illegal casino or tricks you with a four-sided playing card tickles him like that bowl of dragon punch he drank at the Rain Gathering, but deeper, like something about this is good for him. Making him strong, and healthy, and rich in ways he never could’ve gambled for. If you’re not familiar, expect to learn many games of chance. This also means that he always brings extra “goods” back from his “affable conspirators” so that you can try some. One time he returned with a black, ribboned lollipop with a tiny version of your face in the middle. “Don’t take too many licks like a simpleton. Next thing you know you’ll wake up as a fairy. Trust me, you wouldn’t do well as one. Take your time.” You still had wings for a few days after that regardless. “Alright, I guess the dosage was a lot stronger than I was told. Live and learn!” Kane turned his head and sneezed some pixie dust. “W-wait, mine too?!”
Kane claims to have "the blessing of the DOORS!" when you play against him in poker, but you usually beat him because his eyes not-so-subtly shift to the side when he bluffs. Is he really that bad at poker? Is he letting you win? You’ll never know, and that’s the real trick. Once in a while he'll fold back into his piggy-bank form and challenge you to hit as many coin tosses into him as you can, which is admittedly difficult since his coins are huge. Normally he doesn’t let anybody touch him or pick him up in his piggy-bank form, but if it’s his beloved then he’s fine with you carrying him around. Just don’t drop him. If you have a habit of being a klutz, don’t feel too offended by his apprehension. “You know that you’re my good luck charm, right? It’s just… picking up my effigy and stuff… It’s a bit too much of a gamble even for me, eheheh!”
Kane has three days: OK days, where he does what he wants to do but you can’t hang out; great days, where he gets to spend a lot of time with you; and meteor days. Some days the meteors are really gunning for him. It’s like a sickness that flares up, a fever that leaves asymptomatic and returns with a vengeance. He claims to be made of tough stuff and he prides himself on his lawless luck, but there are times where he gets hit and taken out before coming to a few hours later. One of your worst experiences with him was when you two first started dating and one of the flaming chunks of space-rock hit him and took him out. You were shocked beyond words. Not knowing what to do, you called one of his contacts named, simply, “Doctor”. The shady character arrived, clearly unhinged, and insisted that you had very little time to “harvest his coins”. Thankfully, Kane pulled himself together and zipped away with you in tow. You spent over an hour thinking he was dead, and he was mortified that he had forgotten to mention the “being blown to space-dust” part.
If one of his meteors is ever hurtling your way, you can guarantee that despite Kane’s ditzy, slightly selfish personality, he will always push you out of the way and make sure you’re safe. If he can sense that he’s going to be having a flare-up day, he stays away and hides in his piggy-bank form. He can’t bear to see you hurt. Unfortunately, if you want to speak to him, you’ll have to go on a scavenger hunt for him. He can be pretty creative with places to nestle into when in his smaller form. If you find him, tell him you love him and that you’re not gonna leave him alone to deal with whatever this meteor curse thing is. He needs to hear what you're going to say. And bring a reinforced metal umbrella. If you do these things, he’ll be stunned with gratitude, but above all else, he’ll be reassured that being yours was never a gamble at all; you’ll know that you’re truly his lifetime good luck charm, and he's yours.
Warnings: weird!sex, inexperienced to experienced, unprotected, vaginal, some angst, allusions to inhumanness but nothing too freaky, is it underage if he’s only a few months old but has memories from an adult and is an altered human alien maybe clone initiating sex while still not even certain he possesses sexuality? eh there’s clear consent this is smut philosophy is down the hall
Words: 2.5k
Rating: E
Summary: Kane knows you want sex with him. He wants to have it with you. If he could just remember what that is and how to do it.
Guys don’t show your shimmer creature (disambiguation) softcore or he’ll raw you into the mattress. On second thought—
AO3 Link
You ordered takeout.
Kane stuffed two gyoza in his mouth, a muffled moan sounding as the sweet vinegary sauce, tender gooey wrapper and piping hot filling melted their seasoned flavors against his tongue.
You halfheartedly scrolled through the TV menu, not really looking at the options, but watching Kane’s expression for his reaction, knowing you couldn’t get him to verbally commit to anything or other.
You eventually picked some long running crime drama his head picked up at the closeup embracing couple on the cover of. You aren’t sure if it’s really the best for him, but it’s hard to argue with or risk dampening those wide content brown eyes.
You settled not uncomfortably on opposite sides of the couch, but when his feet stretched and bumped into yours, you pulled your knees up. Kane didn’t take notice, transfixed to the screen with his hands folded over his lap.
You only barely followed along, having jumped in on the latest episode several seasons in, mostly staring into space, but you wished you hadn’t even been paying that much attention, though it would have been hard to ignore possibly the most drawn out fan service sex scene imaginable between the two leads. You wanted desperately to have picked anything else.
Kane looked intrigued but otherwise unaffected. He didn’t even look when you excused yourself to the bathroom.
Not a minute later two knocks sounded and you groaned, getting up and just opening the bathroom door enough to meet Kane’s eyes.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”
“It was the show. That’s why you left.”
You nodded.
Kane shifted on his feet.
“I couldn’t see what they were doing. Just that it made you feel weird.”
“They were having sex, Kane.”
“That’s sex?”
“Yeah.”
He thought for a moment. “We used to do that.” He said.
You rubbed your collarbone, reminded too deeply of the countless marks your husband had sucked into it. “Yeah, we did.”
He nodded, turned to head back into the living room, and you gently shut the door, sighing. You fixed your clothes and headed back out.
A bit later the episode ended and you helped Kane tidy up, reminded him how to brush his teeth and headed to bed.
And then you were woken up from not really sleep by quick footsteps in the hall, followed by silence, more footsteps, then a thump.
“Kane?” You called, and when you got no response, sighed. He hadn’t been doing the best in the guest room. Pulling your covers back, you got up and headed out into the hall.
Kane half sat, half laid there with the biggest moth you had ever seen perched on his fingers.
You just watched him for a moment, shrouded in the dark, only lit from the light from your room, his features shifting, shadows making every crevice strange.
You took a deep breath and walked past him, tugged open the window at the end of the hall and beckoned him over. He slowly got to his feet and ambled up beside you, eyes fixed to the insect the whole while.
“She’s lost. She wasn’t sure what she was doing here.” He said softly as he let it flutter up and out, following the moon across the sky outside.
“Really,” you murmured, sighing.
“I don’t know why she was out in the dark. She should have just waited till it was morning.”
“Moths are nocturnal, Kane. They’re only out at night.”
“Nocturnal.” He repeated quietly. “That’s right.”
He turned his hand over. Moth dust covered his fingers.
You shivered at the breeze that brushed through the gap in the window and you reached up and shut it, nudging Kane to stop staring at his hand. He stood up straight and wiped his hand on his pajama pants.
You went back to your bedroom and sat on your bed, pulling a crick in your neck.
A moment later Kane pushed open your door, stepping inside and closing it behind him.
He stared at the foot of your bed for several moments, his back up to the door, replaying those scenes from the show in his head, how it had happened just like this. He followed her into the room, then he sat with her. Then they talked. Then they had sex.
Kane, or who you had accepted was the closest to Kane anything was anymore, sat on your bed, his arm supporting him, leaning a little to match your slightly hunched position.
“Are we going to have sex?” He asked.
You let your eyes fall shut and sighed, then opened them again, and said, “Do you want to?”
“Yes.” He replied, nodding. “I can smell you. It smells like you want me. Want me to put myself inside of you.”
You looked at him. His features were free from all and any insincerity. It was weird, hearing such odd and just the wrong side of canny things out of his mouth, like he really didn’t know. Everything he said, he said with complete seriousness.
You hated that he was right.
“Is it that bad?” You asked with a non-humorous chuckle, shifting your pelvis.
“No,” Kane shook his head, sitting up and putting his hand on your thigh, tracing down to your knee, with his lips in the barest smile, his eyelids heavy. “It’s lovely.”
You had to stop your breath from catching.
You stopped his hand with yours. “I don’t really know if we should.” You said.
You had known it would be impossible to avoid forever. But you didn’t want to say no. You didn’t want to lie to him.
“I know.” He said.
He slid his hand back up and his fingers dipped inwards over your thigh, brushing the seam between your leg and hip, just far enough from your labia and mound to make you fidget, to tease. Or maybe he wasn’t teasing. There wasn’t intent in it. He was just exploring, feeling. He just wanted to be close to you and make that aching want for sex go away.
He could feel it. Like this warmth enwrapping you all over, trapping you. He wanted to share it, lessen it. He knew it would get harder before he could make you feel better, but he wanted to.
“You want me to kiss you.” He said, plain, because it was obvious to anyone. You let go of his wrist and he pulled his hand out from between your legs.
“Yeah,” you confirmed in an almost choked breath.
So he did.
His lips met yours, hands smoothing behind your ears, moaning softly into your mouth when he twisted, deepened it.
You didn’t understand where all of this was coming from. He kissed you like your husband, but more shy, reminiscent of the first months you’d been dating than the years you’d been married.
For weeks he had been strange to hug or be near, he seemed hesitant to even touch you, much less do something like run his hands over your shoulders and down your sides, tugging your shirt first down to gather the fabric between his fingers, and then up over your head.
He broke the kiss to get it off and looked at you, but not at your body. Into your eyes.
He traced the valleys of your ear with his thumb, fingers brushing your cheekbone.
“You’re still in pain.” He said. “About what happened. It still hurts.”
You didn't know what to say to that.
He stood, pulled off his own shirt, one of yours, something that made him feel off because Kane always used to sleep shirtless, and undid his pants, dropping those to the floor as well.
Naked, he took you in his arms and gently laid you back.
He stroked his palm up your side, to the side of your neck where his thumb brushed your throat then all the way down to your thigh where his fingerprints made love to your stretch marks.
He kissed you again, shorter, lighter, then once down on your neck.
“I can make it better.” He said softly against you. “Let me make it better. Please?”
You nodded, unable to find words with how conflicted and aroused he was making you.
He lifted your hips and dragged your pants and underwear off your legs, pushing your thigh till it fell open. He positioned himself on top of you, nudging his hips till they fit to yours.
You huffed, his hardness pressed so desperately close to where you needed it.
“Fuck, Kane…”
He rutted his hips and shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. This is all that I—”
Before he could finish his sentence you reached between you, angled and pressed his cock inside, shifting your hips to take him completely.
He whined and his eyelids fluttered, his gaze finally falling to your bodies, to his length sinking into you and the plush swells of your body.
It was foreign and familiar and God it was everything you had been thinking about for not just hours but weeks, months even. It felt dirty for a moment, like you were using him, or his expression made it look like he didn’t recognize the sensation, but after a moment that was gone and he was leveraging his knee to press deeper inside of you.
Even having fingered yourself earlier, it was almost too much, too filling, pressed into every bit of your core, straining with just the effort to remain still while your breath settled.
He pulled off of you and took your hand, leaning back while still inside you.
His other hand found your hip as he gently moved back and forth, not finding rhythm, but opening up to it, like the ebb of your bodies together was a constant.
He nearly pulled out completely, catching his breath, pushing back inside, and you shuddered hard, not knowing how he now knew exactly what to do, where and how to move.
He was still stretching you, that slight pain making your head fuzzy, but it was getting easier, he was getting smoother and more precise.
He put his hand on your breast like he saw that man in the show do, squeezed first gently, then harder, feeling out the shape of your milk ducts in your flesh before pulling and rubbing your nipple between his fingers.
He ran his hand down, over your ribs, your stomach, to your groin where he could feel himself pressing into you again and again. The actions felt disconnected. Part of him was inside of you, taking you, the other was watching him do it. He didn’t know how to make them one. He didn’t want to be watching it happen. He wanted to be the one doing it.
He pulled you to sit up on his lap with little effort, kissing you briefly before wrapping his arm around your waist. You both moved together, panting brokenly, the sound filling your ears like a deep echo.
His eyes shone and glistened with a shimmer of something as he stuttered, gasped your name, and came, pulsing inside of you, arms locked under yours around your back, body fluttering with sensation. Feelings he wasn't sure were new or not.
He let his head hang, spinning, as you rocked against him one last time with your fingers above where he was and shuddered, letting go, cursing and repeating the name he went by.
When you were done he closed his eyes and laid forward, on top of you. Heavy, warm. Like he was trying to let his body fall into you, into yours.
As if being inside of you wasn’t enough. He needed to become you.
It was only a moment, making you feel like you couldn’t tell what thoughts were his or yours, if your skin was touching or melting together, and then he lifted his head, pulled himself out and off and onto his side.
And as he leaned beside you, reached up and stroked your jaw, pressing a kiss to your cheek so exactly like Kane had always done, your body locked up and your breath stopped, your stomach tightened.
Because he smiled at you, and it wasn’t like he was copying you, he was copying someone else, and if you didn’t know better, mocking. Mocking Kane.
But he wasn’t, you reminded yourself. He was just confused and trying his best. And you were too, sleeping with this person you weren’t even sure was human just because he looked and acted like your husband.
That wasn’t wrong, was it? Kane was dead. He left you. Whoever this was, he cared for you, he came back. He stared at you with all the warmth absent from Kane’s eyes when he told you goodbye, and this Kane returned your loving kiss with one just as passionate, not a chaste peck after years of marriage you didn’t know was coming to an end.
He’d known, hadn’t he? He’d known the whole time. It didn’t matter anymore. You could think all day on all the ways you ruined a good thing and how Kane had self destructed instead of confronting you or trying to fix things. How you had let him. How you had felt just as devastated as glad. You couldn’t go back now.
But this Kane was a second chance.
You tightened your arm around his waist and he without an ounce of hesitation splayed his fingers across your upper breast, burying his brow against your throat with parted lips, humming blissfully from his chest.
“Thank you.” He murmured into your skin, rubbing his nose up into your jaw. “Love you.”
Without thinking you found that spot to the side of his head he used to keen to have touched and returned the shivers he gave you.
“Did I do this right?” He asked.
“Yeah.” You sighed, stroking his smooth, slightly glassy curls. “Yes, Kane. You did.”
This was your second chance.
“I… love you too.” You said, and you felt him smile against your skin, his heart rate just raising, pulsing close to yours.
You weren’t going to fuck that up.
He said your name, pulling up to make eye contact.
“Yes?” You answered cautiously.
“I think I’m nocturnal.” He said, and you stifled a laugh, relieved.
“Why would you think that?” You asked.
“I want to be up at night. I just can’t stay awake.” He smiled, but a little nervously. “I want to stay up some times, not other times.”
So not like a moth. Your eyes drifted to the lived in, faded ink of his tattoo in his skin. Like a bear.
“I’ll tell you what,“ you said. ”Tomorrow night, we can go out, we’ll hang out on the porch with the moths and count stars till you fall asleep. We’ll just camp outdoors. Who cares. That sound good?”
He nodded, eyes pinched from his huge grin.
“Yeah.” He laid his head back down, digging the side of his face into the pillows, holding you close. “That sounds really good.”
You closed your eyes and breathed deep, rubbing his back as you both fell asleep, bewildered with the reality of each other, but satisfied.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I just love him being clueless and being educated and then doing it wrong. I love unsocialized Kane, he is dear to me.
V - Vase (What flowers he gets you)
The assembly of flowers carefully assembled in the glass on your table matches no known species in The Botanical Encyclopedia, nor Wikipedia, or any of the five plant identification apps you ended up downloading after your first Valentine's with Kane.
He eventually tells you he grew them himself, but where, when and how, he won't elaborate.
It's a moot point regardless, any earthly flower would pale in comparison to the splay of bright pinks, pale blues and glowing yellows of the flowers that sway in a non-existent breeze.
They smell like the first day you met him.
A - Affectionate (How openly affectionate is he?)
Somewhat, as much as he knows how to be. There was a brief period when you showed him a few romantic films in an attempt to "culture" him a tad that ended in him trying to stoically eat your face or slamming his hand into the wall next to you just to say hello.
Over time, he's picked up on your cues, what actions make your heart race, which make your brow furrow, which make your eyes crinkle at the sides. He tends to go for the lighter touches, his hand brushing against your own, forehead kisses, chin resting on the head.
L - Love Language
Acts of Service.
Kane likes to do things, keep his hands busy if he can. He also likes to anticipate your needs and solve them before you have them. A hot cup of tea on the kitchen counter as soon as you walk in, your blanket finishing a spin in the drier when you're cold.
The only time his love language is any different is on Valentine's Day. You had to teach Kane what it was, framing it as a day celebrating love and romantic relations. The word love stuck, and it's one of the few times he verbalizes it.
Each Valentine's morning, he wakes up, opens his eyes to you, takes a few moments to gaze at every feature and says 'I love you.'
E - Eat (Where and how does he dine you?)
Going outside into society is a bit of a finicky business for Kane, partially because he's considered a military asset and partially because he has no idea how society works. That comes with the upside of him becoming amazingly refined in the art of home dining.
Kane has a habit of taking things at face value until context is provided, so his inspiration of a romantic dinner stems from the first few google image results, leading to an elaborate experience with every effort put in.
A crisp ivory table cloth is laid over the dining table, a sparkling copper candelabra and a handful of tealight candles providing a warm ambience over the glasses of wine. The three-course meal is made up of your favourites, from his point of view the entire evening is about impressing his love onto you and thus everything will be catered to your tastes.
N - Nicknames (What nicknames do you share?)
Kane doesn't use pet names, but makes up for it with the special, soft reverence he speaks your name with.
T - Tacky (How cliche is he?)
Half-and-half. His general notion of Valentines is based on romcom tropes and Pinterest boards, so it's all inherently quite on the nose. What balances it out from being too cheesy is the way he does things, like knowing petals littering the bed can be romantic, so he fills the entire room with rose petals until you can't see the floor.
I - Innovate (How did he fix a Valentines gone wrong?)
The first Valentines with him is a bit of a disaster. There's far too many chocolates, bouquets of flowers he'd pick from outside that housed some bugs and filled the house with the smell of pollen and dog piss, as well as him putting porn on the TV because it was the most intimate movie he could think of.
If there's one thing Kane does well, it's adapt. He very quickly read from your face that he'd gone about this wrong, and ushered you into a relaxing bath while he tidied his mess.
You don't get to leave the bath on your own, he lifts you out bridal style and towels you dry like you're a precious doll, moisturizing you with slow tender touches. Again he picks you up, carrying you to a candle lit living room, blankets laid out on the couch and soft jazz on the TV. Chocolate and wooing could be done later, he knew you loved quiet, intimate moments with him, and he knows, sometimes, the basic approach is the best when he curls you up on his lap and massages you.
N - Naughty
Kane doesn't view sex as an integral part of Valentines, it's more about romantic feelings and reinforcing them. You'll be the one that will need to initiate with him, unless you tell him beforehand you want to get physical.
That said, if you surprise Kane with new lingerie you can kiss any other activities goodbye, he'll keep you in that bedroom the entire day, and maybe a bit of the next.
E - Ending (How does he wrap up Valentines day?)
Lounging on the porch at night, a single candle flickering in the wind, glasses of your favourite beverage curled in hand with your head on his shoulder as some soft guitar melody sifts through the window screens. He'll tell you the name of every star and explain why they pale in comparison to you.
S - Song
He doesn't know where he heard this song first, or even if it was him that did, but you found him, eyes closed, standing in the kitchen listening. His face settled into something of understanding when he turned to see you.
If you like what you see, leave a like or reblog and follow me ♥
Written for A Sip of Coffee SFW Fanzine - check it out there's so many juicy fics! Next fanzine you'll see me in is folklore and fairytales.
Tags: Strangers to something more / gender-neutral reader / touches on psychological, cosmic, and body horror
The air itself shimmered like a mirage, twisting in and out of colours that shouldn’t have belonged to any known spectrum. At times, it burned a molten orange, pulsing with a heat he didn’t feel, then fractured into streaks of blue and violet, pooling like oil slicks in the hollows between trees. At the right angle, it seared a luminous red, a colour so impossibly rich it felt alive—watching. A slow, iridescent slither of light wound through the fractured canopy above, less a beam of sunlight and more a living thing threading its way between the leaves.
Kane had no way of knowing how long he’d been here. The rations suggested a few days had passed, but his body disagreed. There was no hunger, no thirst, only the mechanical memory of eating. Had he eaten? He must have. Yet when he tried to summon the taste of food, nothing came. The absence of time pressed against his skull like a persistent ache, like a memory he couldn’t quite reach.
Each time he stepped outside the tent, the world was different. The trees leaned at unfamiliar angles, their bark slick and too smooth, as though they had been molded rather than grown. The moss on the ground pulsed in patches, an almost imperceptible rhythm, like the slow rise and fall of breath. The only constant was change. That, and his morning coffee.
He sat with the tin cup cradled in his hands, listening to the songbirds mimic a new sound they had learned overnight. Sometimes, it was the usual chirps. Other times, it was warbles that carried an uncanny human lilt, as if an echo of a voice had been stretched and repurposed into their calls. Once, he had heard the scratch of a cricket’s legs—but it had come from high up in the trees, from something far too large to be a cricket. There had been whispers too, barely there, like words dissipating just before he could grasp their meaning. The forest was listening. Worse, it was remembering.
When the decision had been made to split up, it had come down to a vote. Two medics on the team—one would stay, one would go. The others had chosen the Tower, that nameless structure that had no right to exist on any map. His group had remained at base camp, performing the work that was expected of them. But Kane knew his true function. He wasn’t here to keep them together. He was here to keep them alive.
And yet, the question remained, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts like an animal worrying at bone.
What happened to the ones who came before?
Expedition Eleven. Ten had come before, and none had returned. Not a single one. Their presence still lingered—traces in the disturbed earth, in the equipment left behind, in the notes that trailed off mid-thought. But the people? Gone. Absorbed, perhaps.
He had tended to the Linguist’s wounds that morning, wrapping gauze over something that refused to heal, something that seemed to shift beneath her skin. When he had finished, he had found himself untethered. Free to roam, to wander, to slip further into the spaces between certainty and something else. The others made no effort to keep him close. He had long since lost the need to belong. There were no rules anymore, not ones that mattered.
“How long do you think the other group’s going to be gone for?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of camp. He was packing the last few items into his rucksack, shoving emergency supplies into the worn fabric. Preparing, though for what, he wasn’t sure.
You barely glanced up from your microscope. “I don’t question the Psychologist’s decisions,” you said. A measured response. “Just like I’m not questioning yours.”
A strange turn of phrase. Almost an accusation.
He let out a small breath, a ghost of a laugh. “I’m going to scout the immediate area. See if there’s anything we missed. Don’t miss me too much.” The words were meant to be light, to defuse whatever unspoken weight hung between you. He had expected pushback. A reason to stay.
“I won’t,” you said instead, detached, eyes still trained on your work. “Don’t go too far.”
Then, after a pause, “You got your shooter?”
Shooter.
That wasn’t a word you had ever used before.
Kane glanced at you, but you didn’t meet his gaze. He could hear the Geologist’s accent buried in your voice, the same tone, the same inflection. The Geologist, who had asked to be left beneath the tree weeks ago. “Leave me to decompose,” they had murmured, curling into the roots, their breath already slowing, eyes glassy with something more than death.
No one had gone back to check.
“Rifle’s right here,” Kane said, his voice overly cheerful, too loud in the stagnant air. He patted the strap, making sure you heard.
Then he left. He always had to be the first to leave.
The forest swallowed him whole.
With no real direction, he wandered. The deeper he went, the more the world unravelled. He had no name for half the things growing here. Vines hung in thick, twisting curtains, flowering in unnatural patterns, their petals curling inward like clutching fingers.
He found an old road, forgotten, reclaimed. The trees had leaned in, pressing their roots through the cracks, warping the pavement into something organic. It looked almost ceremonial, a wedding procession of ivy and creeping moss, arches forming over the path as if nature itself had arranged it for something unseen.
His wife would have known the proper names. The Latin, the origins. He had never cared for any of that. To him, they were just flowers on the same vine.
Then he heard it.
His name.
It echoed from the trees, disembodied, panic threaded through each syllable.
Your voice.
Kane’s pulse spiked as he turned, eyes scanning the undergrowth. He called back, voice tight with urgency, but the echoes folded in on themselves, dispersing into the layered hum of the forest. He moved faster, breath sharp, feet crushing the damp earth beneath him. The direction felt wrong, but he followed it anyway.
The lake appeared suddenly, framed by the remains of a boat cabin. The sight of it made his stomach twist. He knew this place. It wasn’t possible, but he knew it. A memory clawed its way to the surface—fishing trips, his father, the scent of open water. He had thought this was where his love of the lake had begun. But something in him rebelled against the thought.
Had he always loved the water?
Or had something been waiting for him in it?
The air hummed. The birds had gone silent.
He called your name again.
Nothing.
The absence unsettled him more than the voice had.
That night, he had written about it in his journal, flipping back through previous entries only to find his own handwriting slipping away from him. Sentences collapsed inward, layer upon layer, like something had rewritten them over and over again until they were unreadable.
Where lies the strangling fruit that came from the hand of the sinner I shall bring forth the seeds of the dead-
He knew it was wrong, but he kept going back to that cabin.
Like the Linguist, who had torn at her own skin, convinced something writhed beneath it.
Like the Geologist, who had whispered leave me to decompose and done just that.
“They’re not coming back,” Kane announced one morning.
You finally looked up. “What makes you think that?”
He gestured around them, frustrated. “Look around. It’s just you and me. We lost all the others.”
“They aren’t lost,” you murmured. Then shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Maybe we’re the ones who are.”
Kane stilled. His throat tightened.
“How? We’re at base camp,” he pressed, “they should’ve been back by now.”
“It’s been less than a day.”
The words slid through him like cold metal. “No,” he whispered. “We’ve been here for days. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve gone with them.”
You reached for his shoulder, steadying him. “Take a deep breath. You want to go? Fine. But give me two minutes. You’re not going out there alone again. You’ve not been the same since you’ve been back.”
Kane hesitated. His hand brushed against yours as though to say thanks, but you pulled away first.
It didn’t take you much time to pack your bag. You tried to keep it light, who knows what you were walking into. Rations, emergency equipment, and a field kit to take samples while on the go.
As you walked over to where he’d waited for you, you glanced at the camp one last time. Certain you would never see it again.
The ground beneath your boots felt unstable, as though something just beneath the surface was shifting in response to your presence. Moss underneath offering a spring in each step. The forest exhaled around you, the hush between sounds stretching longer than it should. Even the insects, which had once filled every quiet space, seemed to be waiting.
Kane stood rigid, his posture coiled, his gaze locked onto the cabin as if looking at it too long might pull him inside. His breath came in uneven bursts, his fingers twitching slightly where they hovered near his rifle strap. You reached for his hand, grounding him, but he didn’t react. Or maybe he couldn’t.
“This isn’t the tower,” you murmured quietly.
No response. If he had heard you at all, he gave no indication.
Your attention shifted. The derelict boat overturned near the water, barely visible beneath its cocoon of vines, caught your eye. Its hull had been split by roots thick as a man’s arm, curling into the wood like grasping hands. But it wasn’t just overgrowth—this was something else entirely. The plants had fused, their species indistinguishable from one another, blending into an unrecognizable tangle of colour and texture. Leaves that should not have existed in the same climate pressed against each other, petals rippling in colours you had no name for. The vines pulsed faintly, as though drawing breath.
Your curiosity pulled you forward. Kane remained still, locked in his personal war with the past, leaving you to slip ahead. Your pack slid from your shoulder, landing softly on the damp earth as you crouched near the boat. The scent of wet wood and something faintly metallic filled your lungs.
Carefully, you reached into your field kit, retrieving a scalpel. The blade caught the strange ambient light filtering through the canopy, flashing red, then blue. You steadied yourself, choosing a section of vine where two distinctly different plants had merged, their cellular structure braided impossibly together. A light incision. Just enough to—
The moment the scalpel’s edge touched the vine, something shifted.
Not just the plant. The entire forest.
The background hum, the constant thrumming of unseen life, stuttered. The trees did not sway, but the light around them flickered, as if a veil had momentarily lifted and revealed something beneath. The air thickened, pressing against your skin. The ground beneath you felt—wrong. For a fleeting second, your senses betrayed you, your body insisting you were tilting sideways despite crouching perfectly still.
Then, the vine moved.
Not a natural movement, not the slow, creeping growth of a plant. It coiled toward your hand, deliberate, reactive, the wound you had made closing over itself like flesh knitting back together. A faint wet sound. Something between the slow tear of muscle and the slip of damp leaves unfurling.
A pulse of heat shot up your arm before you could recoil. The cut you had made sealed itself in an instant. The plant had accepted the wound—and returned it.
A sharp sting bloomed just below your wrist. You looked down.
A thin red line, identical to the one you had made on the vine, now marred your skin. Blood dripped down towards your hand.
“Kane—” you called for him.
Before you could finish, he was there, yanking you back, his fingers tight around your arm as he dragged you several steps away. His breathing was shallow, his pupils blown wide, darting from your face to the plant and back again.
“What the hell was that?” you stumbled.
He shook his head. “We need to go.”
You hesitated, glancing back at the sample you had failed to collect. But the plant had already begun to change again. The colours shifted subtly, and where you had touched it, the surface darkened, as if absorbing the memory of you. The moment you had shared with it.
Kane didn’t wait for you to make up your mind. His grip on your wrist tightened, his pulse thrumming against your skin, his urgency contagious.
He pulled you away from the boat. Away from the cabin.
Away from whatever had just recognized you.
You were sitting staring into the makeshift bonfire while Kane cleaned your arm and bandaged your stitched wound. He’d used some of the heated water to make you both coffee but you weren’t drinking yours. After he was done, he’d tossed the old bandages into the water and sat back down beside you on the log.
“I don’t think we’re going to find them.” You say quietly.
“What makes you say that?” Kane asked, reaching to put an arm around you.
“I dunno, a feeling.”
“Well what’s the plan now? Do we go back? Keep going forward?”
You hesitate to respond. “I want to stay here. With you.”
“You’ll be with me whichever direction we go.” He grinned.
That wasn’t what you meant and you shook your head. “I don’t want to go back. I feel like I’ve already lost you if I keep going.”
“You haven’t though. I’m right here. I didn’t marry you to give up on you.”
“What?” You say confused. You try to remember when you married him and it was there. The flowers, the perfect day. The memory was far enough away to feel like it wasn’t yours.
The fire crackled between you, casting warped shadows against the canvas of your tent. The flames flickered too quickly, too erratically, as though something unseen was breathing over them. Kane sat close, his body warm beside yours, his arm draped around you with a weight that should have been comforting. But something was wrong.
You stared down at the bandage wrapped around your arm, the clean white cloth already beginning to darken at the edges. The sting beneath it felt deeper than a simple wound, something curling under your skin, remembering the touch of the thing you had disturbed.
His voice reached you again, softer this time. “You haven’t lost me.”
But he was lying.
Or worse, he believed what he was saying.
The memory sat in your mind like a misplaced object. Your wedding. A day that should have been carved into you, vibrant, tangible. You could see the flowers—petals in soft, muted colours, a breeze stirring through them. You could hear the distant murmur of guests. Could feel the weight of the ring on your finger.
But when had it happened?
Where had it happened?
The edges of the thought were blurred, soft, like a painting left too long in the rain. The details felt secondhand, like something recited from a dream you had overheard rather than lived.
Your breath hitched as you turned to look at Kane. “Say that again.”
His brow furrowed. “You haven’t lost me.”
“No, the thing before.”
“I didn’t marry you to give up on you?”
There it was again. That certainty. Like he knew it to be true.
Like he had always known.
But the longer you stared at him, the more you questioned if you had always known him.
A sharp pressure bloomed at your temples. The fire crackled louder, though neither of you had moved.
“Where did we get married?” you asked.
Kane blinked. “What?”
“Where?” you repeated, each word weighted.
His mouth opened, but no sound came. He frowned, gaze flickering away, toward the trees, toward the nothingness that surrounded you both. You could see him grasping for it, for a detail, for a single thread to hold onto.
The wedding was real. Wasn’t it?
The firelight made his face unfamiliar for the first time. Shadows caught in the hollows of his cheeks, casting angles that hadn’t been there before. The longer you looked, the more those details refused to sit right.
“Kane,” you whispered, not sure anymore if you were calling his name or testing it.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. A short, humourless laugh left him, but it was frayed at the edges.
“I don’t—I don’t know.” His fingers flexed on his knee. “It’s like it’s right there, but—” He exhaled sharply. “Shit.”
The fire let out a loud pop, sending a spark spiralling up into the dark. Neither of you moved.
The silence stretched.
Then, finally, he met your gaze.
“Do you remember?” he asked.
The question sent something cold curling down your spine.
Because he wasn’t asking where.
He was asking if.
And for the first time, you weren’t sure of the answer. You shake your head.
The fire sputtered, low embers pulsing with uneven light, as though struggling against some unseen force pressing down on it. Somewhere in the darkness, beyond the perimeter of the fire’s glow, something moved—not a rustle, not the natural disturbance of undergrowth, but a slow, deliberate shift. The forest itself was listening.
Kane’s shoulders sagged, his fingers tracing absent patterns into the dirt beside him with his free arm. His breath came shallow, a quiet tremor beneath each exhale. “I think I know where the others have gone,” he murmured, the words barely making it past his lips. Then softer, almost reverent—“It’ll be me soon.”
A pulse of unease rippled through you, settling deep in your gut. The words weren’t spoken in fear. They weren’t a warning. They were a certainty.
“Don’t talk like that.” You reached for his arm, half-expecting the heat of his skin, the familiar solidness of him—but he flinched. Not from the touch itself, but from what it meant.
“I’m not going to let that happen to you.” You reassert.
His head turned slightly, just enough for the firelight to catch his profile, the shifting glow casting moving shadows across his face. He looked like himself, but at the same time, he didn’t. The bones of him were the same, the slope of his jaw, the curve of his nose. But something beneath it—some small, imperceptible wrongness—made him feel like a memory poorly recalled.
He exhaled, his shoulders shaking with something between laughter and grief. “If you stay, you won’t ever be able to get back out. You’ll be stuck here with me.”
The words settled over you like a damp cloth. Heavy. Stifling.
There was no argument in his tone. Just another truth.
“And I can’t make you stay.” He finally murmured as though it pained him to say.
You swallowed, your throat dry, though you hadn’t noticed the thirst until now. Had you drunk anything today? The coffee still sat beside you, untouched, the surface unbroken. It looked wrong, as if it had been sitting there for longer than you had been at this fire.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your pants.
You should have wanted to leave. You should have recoiled at the thought of being trapped, of being swallowed by this place like all the others. But when you searched for that instinct—the one that should have screamed at you to run—you found only stillness. A quiet, creeping sense of inevitability.
Maybe this had always been where you were supposed to be.
“Maybe I don’t want to go.”
I had a lot of fun writing this one. If you enjoyed too please consider following, reblogging, or commenting and letting me know! ily have a good day
