#“gotta put THAT on Din”

[omaano]

They went shopping for presents for all the foundlings and all of Luke's students. I'd bet Din would appreciate a bit of help...

My Secret Santa gift for @piinkmune through @starwarsfandomfests, Happy Holidays! I tried my best to squeeze them into all the holiday clothing in the world for you (and with a bit of Leyendecker inspiration for me) ^^

[beskarfrog]

Maybe dinluke-it The Kiss, 1859 by Francesco Hayez ?

big heart eyes for how your brain works @cutoutthepoetrywatson

[kilometeresmorales]

i need din and anakin to interact in a fic because it would be a mess.

there are so many ways for din to clash with anakin in ways he would never clash with luke. din is a bounty hunter: capture and kill is his work, but it isn’t who he is. he doesn’t tend to feel bad about those he kills because it’s a job and someone has to do it, and he does, technically, give his marks a choice: warm or cold. your choice. din is calm, collected, patient, community-oriented, and efficient. his love is quiet and unobtrusive, as steady as his dedication to the Way.

and then there is anakin.

who, whether you like him or not, takes to killing with ease. he also doesn’t feel bad about killing, but for an entirely different reason: the dead just don’t matter to him. he is emotional, often irrational, compassionate, yes, but deeply selfish and individualistic. who he is and what he wants always, always comes first. his love is possession and destruction. he is defined by want and desire, he resents absence and the sensation of lack, he wants the world even if that means breaking it to get it.

and because of who din is as a person, and his bounty hunter background, you can’t tell me who wouldn’t take one look at anakin — the sharp way anakin observes at the world, the ruthless that slips from his mouth so casually that people don’t notice — and know immediately that anakin is dangerous. he may not know why or how, but din knows a killer when sees one. obi-wan and the jedi are defenders, but anakin is another animal entirely.

so imagine we already have these two characters who are diametrically opposed in every way…. and then add grogu and obi-wan, the two beings both are incredibly possessive over in different ways, and it’s a kitchen fire. there is no way din is leaving grogu with this insane young man and his hot mentor, and with enough fix it fic finagling + din’s possession of info from the future, there are very good reasons for them to be forced to travel with din instead of him leaving grogu on coruscant.

i’m rambling now, but i just…. i need to see it.

[pin-k-ink]

cynosure // kageyama tobio

tw ⇢ needy!sub!kageyama, dom reader, begging, cunnilingus, squirting, praise kink (m! receiving), kageyama cums untouched, ruined orgasm, kinda body worship

wc ⇢ 2.3k

"I mean, what can I say?" Kageyama's deep baritone carried across the lively gathering with undisguised swagger. "It helps that my wife is so eager to please in the bedroom. She knows I'm in charge and that's just how it is."

You froze mid-conversation, drink halfway to your lips as his boastful declaration ricocheted through your consciousness like a thunderclap. Slowly, you turned to find your husband holding court among his former Karasuno teammates - chest puffed out and that signature smug grin plastered across his handsome features.

Despite the dull roar of the party surrounding him, Kageyama's navy gaze seemed to find yours through the crowd unerringly. Something deliciously wicked flashed behind those hooded depths as he appraised you from across the room with searing intensity.

As if sensing your rapidly mounting indignation, his smile turned molten - full lips curving into an artful sneer you knew so intimately. The one that said he was already formulating a full wind-up for the pitch guaranteed to send your temper blazing.

"Oi, oi Kageyama!" Tanaka's raucous laughter cut through the din next, jarring your focus. "You're full of it as always! There's no damn way [Y/N] just lets you call all the shots in the bedroom like that."

Nishinoya immediately chimed in with a loud cackle. "Sorry man, but I gotta agree with Ryuu on this one! Remember back in high school how [Y/N] used to keep your Kingly ass in line?"

You pursed your lips to suppress a smirk of your own as Kageyama visibly bristled at the friendly ribbing. Yamaguchi tried half-heartedly to defuse the mounting teasing, only to end up doubling over in wheezes as their loudmouth senpais kept the taunts rolling.

Throughout it all, Kageyama stared straight at you – a heated challenge simmering in that ravenous gaze you recognized all too intimately. You held his stare steadily, delicately grazing the rim of your glass with your tongue in a blatant show of defiance.

A visible shudder ripped through your husband at the deliberate taunt. You relished in the way his jaw clenched, throat bobbing convulsively even from this distance as you signalled your refusal to play along so docilely. Not in public, and certainly not back in the privacy of your own bedroom...where you both knew the delicious truth all too well.

So when the rager finally began winding down in the wee hours and pleasantries were exchanged, you made sure to slip out well ahead of Kageyama – already anticipating the blazing promise awaiting you both at home with heated inevitability.

Sure enough, you'd barely crossed the threshold before your husband's powerful bulk slammed the door shut behind you with a muted bang. Spinning on your heel, you took in the combustible sight of him looming there with those blown pupils smoldering with naked yearning.

"Feeling a little overconfident tonight, my King?" you murmured, keeping your tone light even as electricity fizzed down your spine.

Prowling forward with boneless grace, Kageyama crowded you back against the hallway wall without so much as a word. The rough plaster grated against your shoulders as he caged you in on both sides, but you refused to be cowed so easily.

"Don't..." he growled in that gravelly rasp you adored. "Unless you plan on actually putting me in my place, that is."

For a moment, he held you immobilized beneath the scorching weight of his ravenous study. You remained utterly defiant, licking your lips with delicate leisure just to watch his blown pupils dilate further in response. Then, unhurriedly, you skated your hands up the carved ridges of his abdomen until fingertips dug deliciously into chiseled pectorals.

"Well aren't you feeling rebellious tonight?" you husked out, sharp nails scraping over the stiff peaks of his nipples in wicked suggestion. "I'll admit, this new sense of misguided ego does suit you well, Tobio..."

Kageyama shuddered against you bodily, spine flexing as you angled your face closer until your lips brushed the strained tendon of his neck with every consonant.

"Though it will make taking you apart all the more...rewarding, I suspect," you finished, sealing your mouth over his thundering pulse in a slick glide.

A feral groan punched from your husband's chest as his arms sagged against the wall, fully surrendering himself over to your velvet possession already. You indulged in nipping and laving reverent patterns over every shuddering inch of silken flesh offered freely, relishing the crisp musk of Kageyama's arousal rapidly soaking the air between your twined forms.

Only once his lidded eyes finally fluttered shut in rapturous surrender did you pull back enough to rasp out the final blistering promise against his slack lips:

"Now...let's see how long that bravado holds up once I really put you through your paces, hm, my King?"

"Please...please [Y/N], I can't take it anymore..."

Kageyama's gravelly whine pitched higher as his big hands fisted in the bedding beside your thighs. You simply arched one sculpted brow, letting your gaze trail over his trembling form in a lazy sweep.

He knelt before you stripped bare, chest heaving with exertion and dark locks matted against his forehead from exquisite effort. A delicate sheen of sweat gleamed over the taut cords of his sculpted abdomen and those mouth-watering v-lines disappearing beneath...

You allowed yourself a slow, indulgent perusal of his thick cock straining against the scant fabric still clinging to his hips. No matter how many times you drank in the sight, it never failed to make your mouth water in fresh appreciation.

"Does my sweet little King need something?" you finally rumbled out, tone dripping with sugared condescension.

Kageyama whimpered again, those blown sapphire irises shining with desperate need as he searched your hooded expression pleadingly. In the dim bedroom light, you could make out the delicate glistening of tears streaking over his beautifully ruined features.

"Y-You..." he rasped out, lashes fluttering rapidly. "Please, I need you to touch me...kiss me...anything, [Y/N], I'm begging—"

His desperation broke off into a hitched cry as you simply tilted your head, keeping your folded arms and legs firmly crossed in a show of detached indifference. Despite the rapidly swelling ache pulsing between your own thighs, something primal and merciless reared within at holding this ultimate power over him.

"You're begging?" you echoed softly, letting the molten lull of your voice caress over each damning syllable. "The same King who was mouthing off so arrogantly about having control just hours ago?"

Kageyama's throat worked convulsively as you trailed one toe up the taut line of his inner thigh in a languorous glide. Despite his full-body shudder, you refused to halt the deliciously slow ministrations once you reached the apex of those rippling muscles bracketing his aching length.

"Perhaps this will remind my husband who truly holds the reins in our...intimate affairs, hm?" you crooned, skimming the very tip of your foot along the underside of his weeping cock in one branding caress.

Kageyama's ragged groan fractured into a high, needy whine as he dropped his head and rolled his hips into the honeyed torment helplessly. Wetness from the precum pearling at his flushed tip trailed down your arched instep in silken streaks, making you inhale sharply at the thrilling heat.

"Please..." he panted out in a wrecked rumble that seared straight through your already fraying restraint. "I'm yours, always yours...your good boy, I swear it..."

With maddening lethargy, you allowed your legs to finally unspool from their rigid posture and bracket his shuddering body with purposeful suggestion. Kageyama immediately angled forward to nuzzle his face into your pussy through your thin cotton panties, chasing the scent of your intoxicating musk with a starved whimper.

His beautiful mouth went slack against your damp heat as you threaded elegant fingers through his dark hair with deceptive gentleness – nails raking over his scalp hard enough to leave tingling crescents in their wake.

"That's right..." you whispered in a voice gone hoarse and brimming with possessive ardor. "My perfect, sweet boy knows his place now...at my feet with his King's mouth pressed to his Queen's altar."

Kageyama shattered with a broken wail against your slick folds, eager tongue lapping at your swollen clit, working in frantic reverence as his broad shoulders shook with the force of his rapturous worship. You rolled your hips forward with measured leisure, grinding against his sinfully plush lips in a languid glide, letting the wet rasp of fabric intensify the sensation.

Your husband groaned against your pussy with every breathless swipe of his tongue, lashes fluttering and cheeks glistening with a fresh wave of salty tears. His thick, aching cock bobbed between his thighs as he hastily tugs his boxers down - twitching in a steady beat with each stroke and suckle of his perfect lips.

You tightened your grip on his dark locks, tugging his head back until his throat flexed with a muted moan. He blinked up at you in a daze, those oceanic orbs nearly swallowed by the endless depths of his blackened pupils.

You looked down to see him staring up at you through thick, clumped lashes and the wet glimmer of tears staining his flushed cheeks. That sinful mouth - still gleaming with the slick remnants of your desire - hung open in a pant, revealing the crimson tip of his tongue resting there on offer.

Lower, you could see his cock weeping and twitching in earnest. The tip was dark, flushed, and throbbing - so painfully engorged that the veins crisscrossing the length stood out in stark relief. An obscene amount of precum glistened in a thin string, connecting the slit to a small puddle forming on the hardwood floor below.

"Oh my sweet King," you cooed, trailing the pad of your thumb over the swollen seam of his lower lip. "What a mess you're making already...you want me that badly?"

Kageyama's only response was another wrecked whimper as he surged forward, sucking the tip of your thumb into his mouth with a low, pleading whine. You allowed the intimate contact for several long moments, feeling his tongue swipe around the digit in a filthy pantomime of what you both so desperately craved.

Then, with aching deliberateness, you tugged the soft cotton fabric to the side and spread the puffy folds of your aching pussy. Your husband's eyes widened further, blown pupils zeroing in on your slick, exposed cunt as a low keen rumbled from deep within his chest.

"Be a good boy and clean up your mess, Tobio..."

Without hesitation, Kageyama dove forward, pressing his mouth flush to your aching heat with a groan of relief. You shuddered as his sinful lips immediately sought out your clit, drawing the swollen nub between his teeth to graze with delicate pressure.

"Fuck..." you gasped out, head tipping back at the electric current ripping down your spine. Your hips stuttered forward, thighs flexing on either side of his head. His thick hands came up to grasp at the supple flesh there, fingers digging into the pliant give as he lapped and sucked and licked in a dazed frenzy.

Your husband's enthusiasm was no match for the molten desire burning through your own veins, and you soon found yourself tipping over the edge in a shuddering rush. Your orgasm crashed over you in a relentless wave, and you felt the hot, wet rush of slick gushing from your cunt as he drank it all down in fervent gulps.

He didn't stop his hungry assault until you shoved him back by his tangled hair, chest heaving and pussy trembling from overstimulation. A thick rivulet of cum and saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth, and you watched as Kageyama made no move to wipe it away – simply let it slide down the column of his throat in a filthy display.

"Please..." he slurred out, sounding drunk on pleasure and desperation. "Need you...please, I need you, I can't take it..."

He kept up the litany, a steady stream of half-coherent pleas and broken cries as he rocked his hips forward, searching for friction. His neglected cock bobbed and dripped between his thighs, still painfully swollen and aching for release.

"My poor boy," you crooned, reaching down to cup his jaw with aching tenderness. Kageyama's gaze remained glassy and unfocused, though he instinctively turned his cheek into the warm palm cradling his face. "Let's take care of this, hm?"

At once, your husband nodded eagerly – lips parted and eyes rolling back in bliss as you slid down to your knees to match him. With aching reverence, you cupped his face between both hands and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He groaned against your mouth, the heady scent and taste of your slick mixing between you both in a deliciously filthy exchange. His thick, calloused hands came up to frame your own jaw, holding you in place as he pressed forward – deepening the kiss with a ragged, animalistic growl.

You were so absorbed in your own spiraling ecstasy that you nearly missed the subtle cues at first. The way Kageyama's shoulders went rigid. How his desperate whimpers fractured into sharper, hitching gasps laced with fresh rapture blooming.

It wasn't until you felt the first spurt of his thick, wet seed splattering against your stomach and thigh did you pull back from the kiss, eyes widening in awe. You looked down to see his swollen cock pulsing, jerking and twitching as he shot rope after rope of cum across your naked flesh.

A punched-out groan tore from his chest as he succumbed, hips jerking in helpless rhythm as the last drops of his release trickled out in a weak stream. Then, as suddenly as the powerful rush had consumed him, Kageyama sagged – his muscular bulk slumping forward until his sweat-slicked forehead thudded against your shoulder.

A stunned laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you reached up to smooth one hand through his tangled locks with affection. He groaned into your collarbone, nuzzling deeper into your neck as his strong arms encircled your waist to hold you tight.

"M’ sorry. Wanted to hold out longer," he mumbled, the words vibrating against your heated skin. "Couldn't help it when you started kissing me, though."

[imababblekat]

Simon sees you sitting curled up in a chair, eyes peering lost at the sketchbook and computer before. He knows that look. It’s a look you often get when the team finally gets some time off, but you brain is stuck in this void of being unable to commit to any hobbies you once enjoyed. You told him about it once, it was offhandedly and you hadn’t delved much into it with due to still being fairly new and not wanting to bother the apparent cold stone lieutenant. Simon paid attention though, and this detail about yourself had been added to his mentail folder of his teammates.

A deep breath huffed out your nose, head drooping into your folded arms, when your ears picked up on the sound of light footsteps entering the kitchen area you resided.

“The usual?”, came Simons gruff voice, large hands reaching into the cabinet for your and his mugs.

“The usual.”, you mumbled in reply, staring at your phone and resisting the urge to start doom scrolling.

It was a battle you lost as you reached out to open an app and scroll mindlessly through its feed, the light clinking of Simon making you both tea behind you. You’re not sure how long he had taken, too lost in the endless information of peoples lives and other nonsensical things scrolling past your dulled eyes, not registering a thing you watched or read. At some point though, your phone had been snatched from your hands, replaced by a warm cup of your favorite tea, Simon pulling out the chair beside you to sit with his own.

You couldn’t even bother the smallest fuss at the large soldier for taking your phone, simpling taking a sip and then blindly staring into the liquid void.

“That bad today?”

You nod with a groan, putting your cup down to splay your hands out at the objects you once enjoyed before you.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought maybe I was bogged down by knowing I had chores to take care of, but even after finishing those I still can’t get myself to do any of my hobbies!”

Simon sipped his tea, dark eyes glancing up at your downtrodden expression. You thought nothing of his silence, having known him for a while now that his silence was him listening. If he truly wasn’t interested, he would have left, hell he wouldn’t have even bothered to make you a drink.

“I just. . .”, you hold your head in your hands, “I don’t feel myself. I finally get a break, and I can’t do anything I wanted to do. What’s the point of having hobbies if every time I try one of them, I immediately become disinterested?”

The Brit beside you stares down into his own mug now, thinking on your words, a silence filling in besides the muffled sound of Johnny bellowing songs in the shower upstairs. Before, he wouldn’t give two shits about something like this, leaving you to figure it out or not all on your own. Of course, being apart of the 141 it was only a matter of time before you became apart of this oddly dangerous family of sorts, and Simon found himself caring for you just as much as he did for the other three, even if he ever expressed it.

“Maybe doing nothin’, is what you’re suppos’d do.”

You quirked a brow at him.

“You? Telling me to do nothing?”

Simon rolled his eyes, sitting back against the creaking old dinning chair.

“Yeah, shocker I know, but trust me, after years of doing this shit, sometimes you jus’ gotta kick ya feet up and do fuck all.”

You look back to your tea before taking another sip, thinking on his words. He had a point though. As frustrating as it was, wanting to engage in activities that would normally bring you joy, it was only natural to not always be motivated to do them, especially with the grueling type of work you all did.

“Welp,” you shrug, closing your lap top shut and throwing your sketchbook atop it, “guess I’m doing fuck all today.”

A light, deep chuckle came from Simon, him always finding it kind of funny when outlandish vocabulary came from your lips. You never came off as the type to say such words, but then again you also didn’t exactly fit into the picture of the intimidating guys you were so close to.

“Good. Relax, ya earned it.”

You smile up at Simon, your eyes crinkling in the corners something that brought him some warmth.

“We earned it, Simon.”

[deadghosy]

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.”

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X GN! READER

FLUFF❤️/ SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE/ BAD GRAMMAR

YOU WOKE UP in bed with Lucifer as you found the king of hell holding you close to his body as soft breathing was heard of the sleeping king. You stretched a little not wake up Lucifer as he mumbles in his sleep, “stay…with me…I need you…” the mumbles were cute as you smile at him softly.

You turn into a black vapor over to the side of the bed to stretch your wings and body. You are still pretty much tired but you have to go meet Charlie since you told her you would be there quick. You walk to the bathroom to get out of this cute cunty vibe robe without knowing that Lucifer woke up not feeling your body.

Lucifer touched the spot you were only to have tears in his eyes.

Did he dream of you being by him?

if so what was the dream so long. He misses you already like an abandoned puppy. He didn’t know if it was real or not as he lays on his stomach facing nothing, only the headboard of this bed you slept on with him. He wipes his eyes as he looked at his hand, his eyes widen to have seen the duck ring.

So it was real…

He was stock to say that you actually did stay with him that day as he blushes kissing the ring. He’s hate to admit it, but this could be the wedding ring of both of you and him if he decides to have balls and ask you. His thoughts stop as he hears the bathroom door open to see you exiting wearing his color scheme on an outfit that was quite formal.

“Good morning Luci.” You said with a smile as your voice was like honey to him and he was the bear. He loved your voice even if you didn’t think your voice was special. He smiled at you as he walks over and hugs you, nuzzling his apple like scent all over you as you just smile patting his back.

“Good morning my angel!” He said as he lifts you up with ease as you grip his shoulders. You were shocked to say that Lucifer never did this to you before. But he must be in a good mood to have done this. You just smile at him as he Carries you to the kitchen with a soft hum. As he hums you smile just getting use to his presence as it been so long you two masked in each other. He sits you down on one of the dining chairs as he goes to make pancakes.

You remember how he use to make pancakes with Charlie and you. It was such a lovable memory in your head as you check your phone to see Angel dust worried about you with 16 messages and 20 missed calls. Charlie called you 1 time and left 27 messages. Alastor left you 1 message as vaggie has send you 12 messages. Man your friends had missed you.

Lucifer broke your train of thought with his famous pancakes as he smiles that toothy charming smile everyone knows and love. He kisses your forehead showing you this new affection that was brought upon the two of you last night.

You both ate in comfortable peace as you two share a piece of bacon and just chatter about today and what will tomorrow bring. You could’ve sworn he kept staring at your neck as you just glanced away from him awkwardly as you look at you watch.

“Ah man..I gotta do Lu.” You said as you got up. Lucifer also got up in a hurry thinking of how to keep you here longer. But he knew he couldn’t as his daughter depends on you too…so it sucks as he nods with a frown. He goes over to you and smiles, “okay. Just be safe on the way out.”

You chuckled at that as you just nod and hold his arm, he looks at his arm as he kisses your hand up and then he kisses you on your lips. Making you surprised, your eyes widened but soon fell into the kiss as he puts his hands on your waist and you put your arms around his neck with a flustered face. He lifted you as you wrap your legs around his waist as he leaves your mouth and go down to your neck, nibbling and biting as he licks your neck up and down.

He couldn’t help himself but feel to claim you somehow as he places you on the dinning table of the kitchen. He kept biting as you wince gripping his shoulder. He bit you so hard you bleed without noticing, but he notice. He licked your neck, cleaning of the blood as he slightly whimpers looking up at you with his demonic red eyes.

“Did a kiss really get him that excited?” You thought as you lift his chin only for him to purr and move closer to kiss you more to the point you both won’t take it.

But you still had to help Charlie, so you push Lucifer’s head away with a smile. “Ah ah, can’t do that sir. I have to do tend to your daughter now. I’ll be back soon Lu-Lu.” With a final kiss to his eye with he whimpered rubbing his face on your neck. You got off the table dusting yourself and wiping the left over saliva from Lucifer on your neck. “Love you.” You said as you left the palace.

Lucifer stands there alone with his demon tail wagging with a derpy smile as he just excitedly.

“YES! THEY SAY THEY LOVE ME!! THEY’RE FINALLY MINE! TAKE THAT DEPRESSION!”

—

TIME AS PASSED as you check your phone to see love messages with hearts on them from Lucifer. This man is certainly high off your kisses from earlier as he is literally kicking his feet on his bed thinking of you. But you wanted to say something about the kiss so you started to text him.

Lucifer saw your text bubble as he brought his phone close to his face with a wide smile to see your text. This boy is whipped badly as he smiles waiting.

“Why did you kiss me?” You had asked over text as Lucifer stops smiling thinking of the most realistic answer ever as he nods and texted you back with a smug face.

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.” He texted back with a flushed expression.

After that, you two started to text everyday. Sending love messages and everything to check up one and another.

Lucifer was finally happy.

[pedge-page]

Safe

Sub/Himbo!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Notes: .... I have no notes. This is. Yeah.

Warnings: himbo !Joel, sub!Joel, mommy kink on steroids, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of breastfeeding, nipple sucking, missionary, slight undertones of coercion or manipulation from reader

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel's breathless grunts make you clench around him even tighter. He's hunched over you, with your legs spread lazily as he thrusts frantically inside your squelching cunt, face pressed against your neck with his eyes squeezed shut. You sooth over his back with a calming hand. He's sweating, pent up and desperate, but you can feel the pathetic ruts of his hips and the desperate whines escaping his lips telling you he's close.

"How's your bare cock feel inside? Feel good baby? Yeah I bet it does. Bet you were dying to put your naked cock in my cunt," you coo.

"I love—I love mommy's pussy," he rasps. "Love fucking you raw."

"Mommy loves it too." You hum, rubbing your fingers through his sweaty hair. He needed this so badly tonight. A tough day being such a strong, capable, even intimidating man. Cold protector. But you knew all Joel needs sometimes is to let go of that demeanor and be taken care of.

"Now all you have to do is cum. Put you sticky seed inside my warm wet pussy."

He lets out a high pitched whimper from his throat, his cock throbbing and pushing even faster into you.

"Isn't it so nice?" You ask. Your legs slowly wrap around his waist, leg locking him while he gets lost in your heat.

"Mhm-nmmm. I'm...I'm gonna cum. Gnna cum inside Mommy's warm pussy." His pace lacked rhythm to begin with, but now he's jackhammering like a horny bunny with no regard.

"That's it baby, just breed me like a good boy. I'll make you a daddy, you just gotta breed me. Put you warm baby batter in me."

"Oh fuck yeah, I'm cumming! Im cumming in Mommys pussy raw, fuck—fuckyeahsowarmoh fuck! we're breeding!"

His entire body stiffens as he erupts, holding you as close as possible with painful breaths. You feel his cock twitch with each ribbon of his spent filling you up until its dribbling out.

"Goodboy, you did so good! Can feel you filling me up. Oooo baby, that feels amazing. You had so much didn't you?"

He pants hot air against your soft skin, body collapsing on top of you as he catches his breath. "So much. Fuck —it feels good cumming inside raw. Thank you mommy. It felt really good."

He smiles and kisses your cheek. Then down your neck with little sighs, the scruff of his peppered beard scraping lightly along your skin until he gets to your tits.

He starts sucking your nipples out of comfort, slow and sensual as if lulling to sleep.

"If you keep putting your cum in me, soon these will start giving you milk."

He perks up. "Wait, really. Can we...?"

"Yes baby, but only if you give mommy your cum. All of it every time. Buried in my pussy."

His face goes red. "I liked cumming inside Mommy's pussy. I want to keep doing it."

"Good.  It's okay, Mommy's gonna keep it all safe. Ang time you need to cum, you come straight to Mommy okay? You always put your cum inside me and I'll keep it warm and safe for you."

He babbles against your breast, his mouth enclosing around your nipple for comform with little rocks of his hips still pushing his seed into your sloppy slit. "Mommy's...safe"

"That's right. Mommy is safe."

- - - -

More: Closer

Notes: I *may* have a PK variation of this...

Permanent Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None, just angst

A/N: Don’t ask me why I put characters I love so much through so much heartache. There might be something wrong with me

“You dated him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” You pretended not to be paying attention, wiping down the bar. No matter how many times you cleaned it, it stayed perpetually grimy to the touch. You doing the rag over your shoulder. “Who?”

“Weird guy. Lives in the woods.”

“Pines,” the other guy at the bar supplied. The foam of the cheap beer left a rim around his mouth. The former nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” you said casually, though it was anything but. Dated as in committed every dip and plane of his body to memory, told him about your childhood, envisioned a life unfolding before you with this man you considered your best friend. Until his lies ripped it away.

The two men continued their conversation then as if they only needed you to confirm something they already knew.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t partially want the job at Skull Fracture because you knew it was a notorious house of gossip and rumors, a way to check on Stan without actually having to speak to him. You picked up bits and pieces of what he was up to, how he was, all without actually inserting yourself.

In a small town like Gravity Falls there wasn’t much to talk about, and Stan posed a compelling story every time. You supposed it was a good thing that they never tired of him, speculating about his life and his job and everything else. You were of minor interest, too, since everyone knew you had lived and worked with him. But you never revealed much. It disgusted you, this unwavering loyalty to Stan. What did you owe him?

It became well known, anyway, that you refused to offer much in terms of fodder for gossip. You were intriguing in a vague, less interesting sense, a lens through which they hoped to grasp a better understanding of Stan.

The roar of the bar usually muted those thoughts of him. Music blared at all times of the day, men smoked and fought and cursed, greasy-smelling food wafted from the kitchen, and you facilitated all of it with a plastered smile. You needed money after leaving Stan. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities, and unless you wanted to be stuck in the lumber business you had no other option than barkeep.

Your name floated over the din of drunk bikers, your manager appearing out of the back. “There’s a call. For you.”

You wiped your hands on your thighs and followed him to the phone. “Hello?”

“Doll, you gotta help me out.”

Stan’s voice, deep and rasping, struck you like a slap. Your stomach dropped. It took you a few moments to eke out a response. “Stan?”

“They, uh, got me down at the station. Some bogus arrest.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Stan, you got arrested?”

“Just say you’ll come down, eh?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

A pause on his end, the sound of a door being slammed shut. “I ain’t got no one else.”

You inhaled sharply and exhaled out your mouth, fingers digging into the phone. You could examine your decision making abilities later. “Fine. Fine, Stan. How much is bail?”

“S’not much.”

It s’was much, you came to find out, nearly all of your savings. But for some godawful reason, you still loved Stan, and you knew since his voice rang out on the line that you would do anything he asked. You loathed yourself for this, loathed him for putting you in this position.

Stan was grinning sheepishly and rubbing his wrists as he walked out of the station. Everything you had to say, all of the reprimands and lectures, vanished upon seeing him.

“You cut your hair,” you blurted stupidly.

Gone was the mullet, the unruly curls. You quickly admired the shape of his jaw leading into his neck, his slightly too big ears that endeared you to him even more. He looked younger this way.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah. If bad haircuts were a crime, I would’ve been arrested a lot sooner.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had loved his mullet, but promptly closed it again. It hurt to look at him, properly, since that night in the basement; the ache you carried in your heart increased tenfold now, throbbing so painfully that you thought you might now understand how people could die from broken hearts. You tore your gaze from him. Suddenly the bushes outside the station held your rapt attention.

“Listen, uh, thanks. For bailing me out. How much do I owe ya?”

“Stan, you’ve forgotten I’ve balanced your books. You couldn’t pay me back even if you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” Stan protested, “the Shack’s been breakin’ even most days. She’s doin’ alright. Not the same without you, though.”

He rushed this last part, an afterthought that he wanted to retract but had already brought to life.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you said. Perhaps if you pretended you didn’t hear him entirely, it wouldn’t take roost in your mind.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya —”

“I have to get back to work, Stan,” you said, sharper than you meant to. You couldn’t think with the amount of hurt being in his company afforded you. “Do you need a ride?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The drive back transpired in silence. Your headlights sliced through the darkened woods like two sabers, finally falling onto the Mystery Shack as you pulled into the gravel lot. You still considered it more home than your place now, a room you rented from one of the locals. You didn’t realize just how much you missed it.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Have a good night, Stan.”

“You should come in. Please. I won’t keep ya long.”

Your resolve, well, dissolved. Not that it was heavily fortified to begin with. You found yourself crossing the lot to the porch and in through the front door, the process a lot like slipping into a familiar piece of clothing. It smelled distinctly Stan-ish, you noticed, though not unkindly. He had kept the place neat since you left. The reminder of that afternoon, dragging your meager belongings out, glared in your memory. Stan watching out the window as you drove away.

“Jus’ one cup. I swear.” He placed a mug of coffee in front of you. Your mug. The one you forgot.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You were grateful for the excuse to do something with your hands, even though the coffee tasted like mornings with your feet in his lap and his lips on your shoulder.

“I hear yer workin’ at the bar now.”

You smiled grimly. “Regrettably.”

“Ya know you always have a job here,” Stan said.

“What’re you doing?” You set down the mug on the table. The anger boiled in you, words escaping like trapped steam with no where else to go. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. Like this is normal.”

“I jus’ wanted to talk,” Stan told you. His throat bobbed uncertainly. “To apologize.”

You stayed quiet.

When he realized you wouldn’t be responding, he forged ahead. “I should’ve been honest with you. From the beginning. But ya don’t understand where I was when I met you — I finally reconnected with my brother after ten years and then I lost him. Again. Because I fucked up.”

His hands formed into fists. Stan took a breath, seemingly to steady himself. “I was lost. I was angry. It was easier to lie. And what was I s’ppose to do? Spill the whole truth? When I first met you, you were a stranger. I had no idea that you would stick around w’me as long as you did.”

“That’s…fair.” Stan looked relieved at this, though it wasn’t long lasting. “But why not tell me the truth when I asked?”

“I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, I…I couldn’t. Would you have had a different reaction, though? I knew you would leave.”

“At least I would’ve heard it from you straight, Stan. I had to find out while you were asleep that you were keeping these huge secrets from me.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end the way they did.”

You bit down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Neither did I.”

“We could try it again, ya know.”

The way he looked at you was so earnest, so genuine, that you had to close your eyes to ward off the image of him as a skinned-knee child, the one who solved problems with his fists and resided just below the surface of this man now.

“Stan —”

“Please?”

You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“The truth is out now. You know everything.”

“But I will never be able to ignore the feeling that you’re hiding something from me,” you said. “So much is still unclear to me.”

“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell ya.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said, “Stop building the portal or whatever you’re doing. Focus on the people — here — in your life.”

Focus on me, you inwardly pleaded.

Stan’s jaw feathered. “I can’t stop working to get him back.”

The swift finality of his words washed over you, a decisive blow to the traitorous hope you still clung to. Coffee not even halfway drank, you stood and rounded the table. Stan’s cheeks were wet with tears as you put your hands to them, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The bar shined. It was never dirty for long, you ensured that when you bought it, ensured that you wiped away every mess. You could even see the door opening in the reflection of the bar, two small bodies stepping through. You looked up.

It wasn’t rare for new faces to visit. It was summer, the height of tourism season, and your bar was preferable to Skull Fracture. Gentle music drifted from the speakers. Bar wasn’t even the right word — you served small meals and drinks of all kinds, not just alcohol. You smiled at the two children as they approached. “Thirsty?”

“Yes!” The girl, buried in a sweater despite the heat, smiled brightly at you. Her braces winked in the low lighting.

“And,” the boy said, her brother, glancing at her purposefully, “we need to ask some questions.”

You nodded. “Ask away. Lemonade okay?”

The juxtaposition of the two, the girl, looking around eagerly, and the boy, doing his best to present himself as mature and composed, brought a smile to your face. He laid a notebook on the bar counter, brows furrowed.

“Where were you the night of June twenty-first?”

“Hm. At home, I suppose.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You peered at him. Amusement ignited inside you, a flicker of affection. You loved kids, always have. “I live alone, so, no.”

“Did you see anything…peculiar that night?”

“Not that I can recall.” You set down two glasses of lemonade in front of them. “Why?”

“There was a reported sighting of an unidentifiable object in the sky,” the boy said. “We were just gathering information about it.”

The girl wiggled her fingers, whispering conspiratorially, “Aaaaaliens.”

“We don’t know that,” the boy countered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Strange things always happen in this town,” you said.

“You see them too?”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “I do.”

“I’m Dipper. This is my sister, Mabel,” the boy introduced, jerking a thumb at her. “Would you mind telling me stories about what you’ve seen?”

You entertained their questions, recalling the unexplainable things you’d seen over the last thirty years. You refilled their drinks twice. They listened intently to your stories, interrupting only to clarify something specific.

There was something familiar in their shape of their mouths, the keen way that they interacted with their world. Had they been in town before? You knew some families returned to Gravity Falls every summer to enjoy the wilderness and disconnect.

“What did it look like?” Dipper asked, leaning forward in interest.

You had been telling them about the time you swear you saw glowing lights in the trees, floating blue spheres leading you away from the path. “Well, they —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dipper said. “I should be putting this in the journal.”

“Dipper,” Mabel warned him.

Dipper ignored her. “Would you mind following us home? I’d love to write everything down and-and draw a picture, if you don’t mind.”

His cheeks flushed at this.

You gazed around the empty bar, then shrugged. What point was there to owning your own business if you couldn’t close down when you wanted?

“Sure, give me one moment.”

The twins appealed to you. And you were curious to find out more about them. Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone wanted to talk to you. Really talk. You weren’t lonely, per se, but you sometimes missed the comfort of another person. As you closed the cash register and locked up, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you had wanted kids, long ago, but the years slipped away and now the dream was gone.

You liked these kids. Even though you’d only known them for an afternoon, you’d taken a shine to them — smart and witty, perceptive, the right amount of childish enthusiasm. You told them to put their bikes in the trunk of your car and followed their direction back home.

“You live…here?” Your stomach dropped as the Mystery Shack emerged from the dense forest, the S lying precariously on the roof.

“Kinda,” Mabel said, “we’re staying with our Grunkle Stan for the summer.”

Dipper, insisting that he got the front seat, turned to you. “Do you know him?”

“Kinda,” you muttered. “If it’s all the same to you, I might just stay in the car.”

The twins exchanged a look. A pointed, knowing look, like they suspected their uncle had done something to lose your favor. They weren’t wrong, exactly. Dipper and Mabel ran inside with the promise to return shortly. All you could do was stare at the Shack numbly, imagine the man within and the memories you held with him. You should’ve known that he would make an appearance, stomp out onto the porch after his niece and nephew to investigate.

Stan’s expression crumbled.

You couldn’t hear, but he uttered something to them. They gesticulated frantically back. Your heart had leapt into your throat by the time the three of them walked back to the car, Stan lingering a few steps behind.

“Grunkle Stan says we shouldn’t bother you,” Mabel said, pouting.

You finally forced your gaze to him. Stan had aged well, you reluctantly noticed, still unbearably handsome. The same broad shoulders. The features that you knew so well, lined with the years you spent apart.

“They aren’t bothering me,” you choked out.

“You shouldn’t fill their heads w’stories,” Stan replied, refusing to meet your eyes.

“They aren’t stories,” you and Dipper both protested at the same time. You shared a secretive smile with him.

“Jus’ tell the nice person sorry and let them get on with her day.”

Mabel tugged on his suit jacket. “They told us that you knew each other.”

“We-We did,” Stan said.

You supplied, “A long time ago.”

“Then come inside and catch up!” Mabel beamed at the idea. “You gave us lemonade so it’s only fair. I can make you Mabel-cakes!”

“If it’s fine with your uncle.”

Stan studied you closely. You could only imagine what he saw, your greying hair and swollen knuckles. “Uh, yeah…’course.”

You were both pleased and devastated to see how the inside of the Shack had changed. Judging by the “exhibits” and amount of items in the gift shop, business was prosperous. A redheaded girl at the register waved at you as you passed. Dipper disappeared upstairs to fetch his journal, and Mabel busied herself preparing the pancake mix, leaving you alone with Stan.

“It’s, uh, been awhile,” Stan said, effectively breaking the silence.

You feigned an interest in the water stains on the ceilings. “It has.”

The last time you were together had been almost— what, two years ago? You had knocked. Stan had answered. He touched you with expert precision, years of exploring one another resulting in experiences both familiar and new, somehow each brief encounter over the years never dulling your attraction. You weren’t proud, necessarily, of your weakness in the form of Stan Pines. You had almost overcome it until today; you should’ve known that the twins were Pines.

“How’s the bar?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry if they were botherin’ ya. Kids.”

“They weren’t,” you said, and you meant it. “They seem really great. They’re your niece and nephew?”

“Great niece and nephew. My brother’s grandkids.” When you arched a brow in confusion, Stan grimaced. “Other brother.”

“Oh.” You hugged your arms around yourself. Should you ask him how his search was? You wanted to care, but found it hard when it only brought back painful memories. Clearly it hadn’t been well, not if his brother was still absent.

You bit your lip. “Do they know?”

“No, they don’t.�� Stan’s face shuttered closed.

Indignation swelled inside you, pressed against your rib cage. “You haven’t told them?”

“Everyone thinks that —” he lowered his voice, “—that Stanley Pines is dead. Including their parents and my brother.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“What I do with my life isn’t your problem,” Stan snapped. “You made that clear.”

“They’re good kids, Stan.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Don’t push them away, too,” you told him softly. “I-I need to go. Can you tell them I’m sorry? Say that I had to go back to work or something.”

Stan’s words chased you out the door: “Whose the liar now?”

Tags:

@gimmemorecherries @tellybearryyyy

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2.5

summary: you bump into Miles at the bodega. whoops.

wc: 900+

warnings: implied food insecurity, wasted sandwich </3

prev next

…Or so you thought.

Standing right in front of you in the crowded bodega ordering a beef patty was none other than Mr. Morales himself, drowning in a huge black puffer jacket. As soon as he finished, he stood off to the side, eyes glued to the floor and shifting from one foot to the other.

“What you want, miss?” The man at the counter broke you out of your reverie, looking impatient.

“Sorry, just a BLT, please,” you called out over the din of music and loud conversation. The man nodded, yelling out your order to two other men standing over a hot stove beside him. 

You moved to the side, near the snack aisle where Miles was standing. His eyes seemed to remain on the ground, so you sneak glances at the side of his face, starting from his ears. They were pierced, but currently barren. You move up to his cheek, where a stray lash has fallen. The boy's lashes were just long enough to brush it. They fluttered as his pupil darted to the side, and you realized that you were making eye contact.

"Whoah, can I get my face back?"

Miles had caught you just before your eyes could flicker away. He had that same ‘the sky is blue’ look that he gave you on the first day you were seated together. You quickly turned away without a word, opting to examine the snacks lining the rack behind you.

“No ‘hello’?”

You spun around, bag of Takis in-hand.

“What?”

“You just gon’ stare into my skull and not even say ‘hello’?”

You scoffed at the boy’s sudden interest in etiquette.

“Fine, hi.”

One of the cooks called out both of your orders, sliding them across the counter wrapped in aluminum foil as the two of you went up to the front.

“Bye.”

Miles grabbed his food first before weaving through the crowd towards the exit.

That is, until you try to squeeze out of the door before him. Your face plants into the plush material of his jacket before you stumble onto the cracked sidewalk outside, your poor sandwich open on the ground before you could even take a bite.

Groaning, you hear a few ‘Ohhh’s behind you as you squat to pick the two halves up to throw them out. This was supposed to be your dinner.

Miles watches you toss them into a nearby trash can, and makes a decision.

“Yo,” he waved you over. His face looked like it was holding onto a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now is really not the time, Morales.”

“So I guess you not tryna eat, then?”

You paused, and looked at the boy skeptically. He didn’t seem like the type to be above making you eat things off the floor. As if you had communicated with him telepathically, Miles shrugs his shoulders and nods.

“That’s fair,” he says to himself. 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise when he makes long strides over to you instead. He carefully opens up the aluminum to reveal the golden pastry inside, and you watch him carefully split it in half with his fingers before offering the piece. You look up at Miles, then the patty, then back up at Miles. His expression softened into a knowing look.

“I’m not gonna ask for no money back, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

Finally, you take it. It was either this, or Takis and sleep for dinner.

 “Thanks.”

The sky had taken on a deep blue shade, and worry crept onto your features as the street lights began to flicker on.

“I gotta walk home,” you said flatly. “See you tomorrow–”

“By yourself?”

Even as it got dark, you could make out the deep frown on Miles’ face.

“It’s not that far, relax.”

“How far?”

Your tongue pushed against the inside of your cheek before you muttered, “Three blocks…”

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets. “Look, ion like yo’ ass, but I can’t have you walking around here by yourself in the dark. Lemme walk you two blocks,” he put two fingers for emphasis, “at least.”

You tilted your head at him, but agreed. 

“Slow down,” you complained as you struggled to keep up with the long-legged boy. The both of you had been walking for barely twenty minutes, but your feet were already starting to hurt from having to jog up to him.

“Walk faster,” Miles laughed. 

Silence settled in between you as the streets got quieter, save for the bustling of traffic in the distance.

“Is it true what people say about you?” you ask, suddenly breaking it.

“Be more specific.”

“Like, are you in a gang? You don’t gotta tell me which. And how the hell you flunk outta school on purpose? Do you really do graffiti-”

“First of all, I’m not in no fuckin’ gang,” Miles had stopped walking abruptly. “You see any tats on me?”

“You’re wearing a coat.”

You hear Miles suck his teeth, and snicker.

“Well, I don’t have one. My momma would put me in the dirt if I did,”

He resumed his speed-walking, and you break into another light jog to stay next to him. “The other two are true, though.”

“Why?” you ask, a little out of breath.

“Do you know how to use complete sentences?”

“Why’d you flunk on purpose? Graffiti, I can understand. That, I can't.”

Miles was silent for a few moments, and you considered retracting the question before he finally replied.

“Visions…wasn’t really for me.”

You want to press further, piece together how a kid with a strict mother and a knack for advanced calculus could just…decide that school ‘wasn’t for him’. But the way he mumbled his answer told you he wouldn’t divulge any more, and your house was just up ahead. You’d walked all three blocks.

“This is me,” you say as you slow your pace. “Thanks again.”

“Yup, g’night,” Miles calls behind him, already strolling in the opposite direction.

-

Whew, okay! I hope y’all enjoy this one even though it’s technically not a full chapter. Now I’ll ACTUALLY give myself a week to work on the next one lmao. As always, feel free to leave any reactions, questions, or comments in replies/tags/my asks! thx for reading <3

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Ayo fellow Spider-Smutties

Comere lemme speak to you for a second-

I will never understand how there's so much Hobie x Spider!reader smut but there's none where they be straight up breaking the bed.

Miguel too. Cause they'll have him aggressive but like in the normal human dom way. Y'all do realize he don't even need to do all that, right?

He could have normal sex and he'd still crack your little Ikea bed in half like a popsicle stick the man is 6'9

Like these mfers are super human. You ever seen Twilight: Breaking Dawn?

The headboard should be splintering. The sheets should literally be torn to shreds. TOW UP.

The comforter should be destroyed and the nightstand too prolly

Your nightstand got nail marks on it now. Looking like a saber tooth tiger got in. I hope you not renting cause y'all should be putting holes in the walls. Breaking your dinning room table

Have the neighbors downstairs like

Where is the webbing? Them walls should be covered in webs more ways than one. Where is the web bondage? Where is it

They should be on the walls or something. Like.. they can just walk up there. 69 upsidedown is still 69 🤨

I mean if we smutting it up have at it but y'all we gotta be a little bit creative 😩

tuh At this point if ain't leaving him like this I don't want it

[thedevilrisen]

"Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe!" with Jack please !!

Can do, angel! I have had two requests for this so I'm going to just mesh them into one!

You had just finished decorating for Christmas with your boyfriend Jack, you had put up the tree, hung the Christmas lights off the balcony and put little Christmas themed nick nacks you had found at target earlier.

While all the decorations were done, you felt like something was missing, more like smelt like something was missing. That's why you had told Jack you were heading out, jumped in the car and drove down to the grocery shop to purchase the ingredients to make gingerbread cookies!

What you hadn't anticipated was your boyfriend's evil streak to shine through while you were gone.

"Jack, I'm home!" you called out, kicking off your shoes in the entryway, and manovering around the dinning room table to get to the kitchen so you could place your bags down onto the bench.

"Hello, baby!" he smiled as he traipsed into the kitchen. You should of suspected something when he moved you to certain spot in the kitchen. "You've gotta kiss me."

"What?"

"Look up, baby." he spoke lowly.

Looking up you saw the clusters of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling fan.

"Jacky!" you laughed, faces moving in sync to get close enough so you could share a sweet kiss.

"I've go the stuff for cookies, want to help me bake them?"

"Yeah, I'll help!"

"Ok, I'll unpack the stuff and you go put on some Christmas music." you instructed, already starting to pull ingredients from the bag."

"Alright, but wait."

"What?" you asked as he pulled you back under the ceiling fan. Half laughing, half sighing you leant up and kissed him again. He pulled away with an excited grin and rushed off to presumably, retrieve his phone.

-

Once he was back, the Christmas songs blasting, and the bench covered in flour, Jack had made it a game to see how many times he could pull you under that piece of fake mistletoe plant.

Twice when you went to pre-heat the oven, once on your way there and once on your way back. Once when you moved to the sink to wash some of the sticky dough of your hand. Thrice as you put all the trays of gingerbread cookies into the oven. Twice while you were waiting for them to cook, and finally when you was trying to pull the burning hot trays of biscuits out of the oven.

"Jack!" you shouted "Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe!"

"Wh-"

"I'm holding a burning tray of biscuits and could hurt someone with it." you reasoned "let me get them out, and while they're cooling, we can move the mistletoe to just above the couch."

"Now that's a compromise I'll take!" he said, reaching for the fake plant on the fan, grabbing it and running of to the living room with it.

-:-

Thank you requesting, hope you enjoy!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: I really gotta finish my paper (don't worry I'm like 3/4 done).

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The light is there again. Bright, green, searing into your vision as it shines against the wall, weaving in perfectly between the curtains. Every night. Taunting you. And in the morning, gone. 

Can you call it a pattern after only three days?  

You don’t know what to call it. You don’t know what he wants from you. If he wanted to hurt you, he would by now, wouldn’t he? Or is this a sick game he’s playing? Whatever it is, it’s madness.  

You sit up and grab your pillow. You cross the room to the door and close it behind you. You put the pillow on the couch and pull down the folded throw across the back. You don’t expect to sleep out here either but you won’t have to stare at the insufferable dot. 

You lay down on your back and sigh at the ceiling. You stare up at the plaster until your eyes close on their own. Your shoulders are tense, your back too, every muscle in you has been knotted for days. You tried a hot shower, even a bath, but both just made you feel vulnerable. You’ve never been overly comfortable being naked but now you feel as if he can see your every movement. 

You tried some exercises in an effort to loosen up too. Those only made you dizzy due to your lack of sleep and rationing. Those should be a sign for you to rethink your strategy but your only other option is to face the danger. You know better than that. 

You huff as the last gray days pile on you. You open your eyes and bring your hand up to your forehead, trying to rub away the stress. You pause as a gleam flashes over your flesh. You drop your arm back down and raise yourself on your elbows. 

Jeez. 

Right there in the middle of your chest is the dot, rather a sliver of it. You look up as it glints in between the verticle blinds. You drop back down. Fine, whatever, if he’s going to shoot, he should just get it over with. You hate this limbo. It’s easy when you know what you’re waiting for. This is just torture. 

A sudden jarring jingle cuts through the din. You sit up, heart beating. It isn’t the deafening gunshot you expected. The green laser ripples through the darkness as you stagger up to your feet and cover your ears. You follow the blaring noise into the bedroom. 

Your phone lights up on your nightstand, flashing as you cross the space. You grab it and quickly silence it, staring at the screen in confusion. You keep your phone on silent, always. You never really use it for more than your banking and emails. On the screen, you see a map of your neighbourhood and a speck pulsing at the centre; your apartment. Huh. 

You remember dismissing that feature before. Several times when you got the phone it kept offering to set up the ‘find your phone’ app but you figured you wouldn’t need it. Yet, here it is, chiming and chirping at you. It isn’t a coincidence. It’s him. 

You peer over at the window and the green glare pours through. You look down again and find the dot right there. You shake your head and back away, hugging yourself as you flee back into the living room. It’s all so messed up and confusing. You don’t get how this can be happening. 

You go into the kitchen. No windows to haunt you there. You put your phone down and lean on the counter as you hold your head. You blow out a breath and you close your eyes. 

You try not to let yourself ask the questions but you’re so tired, you can’t keep fighting this hard. Who is he? How did he find you? Was that day at the cafe the first? Were you so obtuse that you never noticed him before? Does any of it matter? 

The silence shatters again as your phone erupts in a cacophony once more. You back away and cup your ears. You’ve never done well with noise, especially loud noise, or too much at once. It’s a sort of dissonance that makes your head spin. 

You scramble to grasp the phone, eardrums pulsing, and you hit the button again to hush it. You close out of the app and a notification pops up at the top of the screen. For a moment, you’re confused. The only messages you get are obvious scammers or stupid adverts you need to unsubscribe from. 

‘Get some beauty sleep.’ 

You scowl as you stare at the text. What does that even mean? Even if the number is private, you don’t need to guess. You know it’s him. He’s messing with you. You won’t respond, not even in writing. You delete the conversation entirely and shut the phone off. 

You leave it on the counter and go back to the couch. The laser awaits you. You lay down under it and resign yourself to your fate. The only comfort is he’s still out there and you’re in here. A ripple of fear courses through you as you wonder how long that can last. 

👄

Your mail doesn’t come to your door. It’s left in one of the dozens of metal boxes near the front door. Typically you go down to grab it twice a week. You haven’t gone once in the last six days. You don’t plan on it either. You get digital statements for everything anyhow. 

Yet, that doesn’t stop the special delivery from sliding underneath the door. You’re in your kitchen when you hear the soft whoosh. You go to the doorway and stare at the envelope on your floor as you lazily stir your instant coffee. You’re too tired to react with more than a yawn. 

You think it could be a notice from the building. They usually leave one when they have to do an inspection. Yet, there’s not sign of the rental companies logo and the envelope is black. You doubt they’ve rebranded. 

You sip from your coffee and sit at your desk. You login to the portal and open up a task. You don’t need to worry about all that. You muster all you have left for your daily toil. It’s the one thing you can’t forego; the one thing you share in common with other people, you need money to survive. 

You empty the coffee with careless gulps as you key through several tasks. The hours drag by, the clock ticking in the corner of the screen, second by second, minute by grueling minute. The days don’t matter, they all blend together in this hazy purgatory. 

You’re drawn from your mindless typing by the agonising growl of your stomach. You’re starving. Those times when you do let yourself eat, it isn’t much. Finally, your humanly needs have overcome your lack of appetite. You can’t deny it any longer. 

You return to the kitchen with your empty mug. You go to rinse it and water spurts forth, for just a second, then the pipes grind and run dry. You put the cup in the sink and cross your arm. You march out to the bathroom and try the sink in there with the same result. The faucet in the tub runs a little longer but peters out to a single drip. 

Hm, maybe that’s what the letter’s about. 

You sweep back out and scoop up the envelope. Just bending down makes you see stars. You put it on the counter and go to the cupboard to take out the salted crackers. You unfurl the top of the sleeve and wiggle one out. You munch on the stale square and slip your thumb under the flap of the envelop and tear. 

You put down the crackers and rip open one end of the envelope. You shake out the contents. It isn’t a letter. Just a folded pamphlet with something smaller inside. You unfold the spa booklet to uncover the all-inclusive pass within. You drop both and grip your head. 

Is this some sort of bribe? Bait? He’s trying to draw you out and with what? The worst experience you could think of? The smells, the touching, the people... 

You put it all back in the envelope. You don’t want it. You don’t even want it in your apartment. Your safe space. He’s invading it little by little. He can’t have it.  

You go to the door and shove it back under the bottom. You push it as far as you can and fall back, catching yourself on the wall. Your head hurts, you’re tired, you’re stressed, you’re afraid. You just want everything to go back the way it was. You want to be alone. That’s all you ever wanted. 

👄

You use your phone to authorise the two-factor sign-in to your bank account. You set it aside after confirming and wait for the screen to load. Your heart nearly stops as you see the balance. A few times you came too close to the red but this is not what you’re expecting. There’s about fifty thousand dollars extra. It has to be an error. 

You click on your chequing and bring up the next screen. There is is ‘50,000’ in bold green letters but it doesn’t say where it’s come from, just ‘authorised payment’ next to it. What the heck does that mean?  

Right below it you see your work deposit. That appears as usual. Company name, amount, account number. So what happened? 

You click the chat icon at the bottom of the page and wait for an agent to connect. You go through the typical automated questions; what is your issue? Account number? All of that. When you finally have a representative and explain the extra zeros in your account, the response is only three dots. 

You shake your head. You don’t need this. You have enough going on. Your water’s still out, you’re almost out of coffee, and you haven’t even started work. Halfway through and it feels like you’ve only just started a new week. You frame your face as you await the response. 

‘Hello, miss. Thank you for your patience. We have found no error in this transfer.’ 

You lean back and whine. That doesn’t make sense.  

‘Can I know where the money came from?’ You type. 

‘The payee is listed as London Fog LLC. It appears to be a business payment.’ 

You close your eyes. What? That makes no sense. It... can’t be. 

‘Can you reverse the payment, please?’ You input. 

‘We can attempt to reverse this. This might take a few days to process. We will keep the ticket open until this is done.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

You close out the chat. That’s as best as you can do. It’s all so weird and you can’t deny the nagging truth. It’s not an error or a coincidence. It’s that stranger. He is playing a very confusing game. 

Your phone lights up and your eyes flit down. You lean in to glimpse the notification before it minimises. ‘Happy hump day <3’. You quickly black out the screen and flip it over. Leave me alone! 

👄

You almost expect the knock on your door. Deep down, you knew it was coming. Noon, on the dot. It’s Wednesday. 

“London Fog express!” He calls through. “Ew, this one’s gone a bit bad.” 

You hear him shifting around before the handle turns without give. He wiggles it and sighs. He huffs and you can tell by his shadow he’s leaning on the door. 

“Look, jellybean, I came all the way here, even burnt myself on this thing,” he says through the door, “you know, I’ve had some late nights...” he pauses as you sit silent, unmoving at your desk. “You don’t have to do more than open the door and take the cup. Promise, I won’t try nothing. I mean, I’ve been pretty patient, haven’t I?” 

You press your fingers to the edge of your desk to keep from shaking. 

“Right, I guess... I haven’t even introduced myself. How forgetful. Name’s Lloyd, but you could call me like L or love bear or... snookums. Something sweet like that.” 

You can’t. You’re going to pass out from absurdity. This man is psychotic. 

“You know, I’m a pretty handsy—handy guy. I could fix that water issue you got going on--” 

Holy cow. How does he know—how could he? He wouldn’t be able to just shut off your water. Right? 

“See, I get you, baby face, you’re the quiet type. You like to keep to yourself. That’s fair but everyone needs someone. I see that now,” he rambles through the door as it groans against his lean, “I didn’t before. Then I saw you and everything changed. It’s me and you, cupcake.” 

You stand and shudder, walking stiffly around the corner and towards the door. You step up and try to see through the peep hole. It’s still black. You exhale and sniff. 

“What do you want?” You croak. 

Silence. The door shifts as he takes his weight off of it. He soles scuff on the other side. 

“Hi,” his voice softens, “how are you, jellybean?” 

You close your eyes. You just want an answer. You cross your arms and rocks, a soothing gesture as your nerves bubble up. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, I know you’re not much of a talker. We balance each other out like that. I’m doing okay, you know? Cafe was a bit crowded but I got your latte. Foam shouldn’t have fallen yet so if you just want to open--” 

“What do you want?” You step closer to the door and raise your voice. 

He scoffs into a hum, “isn’t it obvious, babes?” 

You open your eyes and bit your upper lip. 

“You, baby cakes. Simple as that,” he drawls, “so why don’t you grab your tea and we can have a little sit down.” 

“Go away.” 

He huffs and clicks his tongue, “don’t be like that, sweetie.” 

“I don’t know you--” 

“I’m Lloyd, your love bear--” 

“Stop. I want you to leave me alone.” 

Another sharp exhale from the other side. A lull that prickles across your skin. 

“I can’t do that.” 

You wince, “please...” 

“All you have to do is open the door, jellybean. You know I’m a good guy. I’ve been looking out for you. Every night,” something drags down the door. “You can’t lock yourself away forever.” 

You step back and lean on the wall weakly. He’s delusional and you’re so tired. You’re almost tempted to open the door just to get it over with. You sink down onto your butt and hug your knees. 

“No.” 

That’s all you say. It’s all you can eke out.  

He taps on the door lightly and sucks his teeth. “Well, guess I gotta amp up my game.” 

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Blaster - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Twenty-Three of Pedrotober: Din Djarin Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Rating: The fluffiest fluff that ever did fluff.

Word Count: 1261

a/n: I actually really want a Loth-cat now, despite the fact that I already have three very real cats. I need more, obviously. Also writing this was wild for me because I got my start in writing by writing Star Wars fanfic, and...have since forgotten all proper terminology. Oh well. Also breaking some mando rules here but we don't care because we just want to see our man's face!

You heard it before you saw it, lurking somewhere in the house and waking you from slumber with the loud clang of something crashing in the kitchen. Din was out of bed in an instant, blaster already in hand as he rushed from your bed in the direction of the noise. Your first instinct is to check on Grogu, but you breathe a sigh of relief when you find him still peacefully sleeping in his hammock.

Another crash echoes down the hall, causing you to wince, but Grogu thankfully doesn't stir. When you make your way to the kitchen, you find your partner standing in the middle of the room, a grumpy expression written all over his face. There's a spattering of pans littering the floor around him, the obvious cause of the noise.

"I think it's a Loth-cat," Din explains, eyes still darting around the room trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. "Pretty sure it went behind the table."

You move toward the table in question, crouching down to look beneath the surface, to find what can only be described as the planet's most adorable Loth-cat. "Found it," you inform him with a hushed tone, trying your best not to scare the creature further. Bright beady eyes stare at you fearfully, but you coo at it, reaching out a cautious hand for it to sniff.

At first, the cat begins to inch toward you, but the second Din stops at your side, it backs closer to the wall. "It's gotta go," he reminds you, already aware of the thought lingering in the back of your mind. "It cannot stay here."

"Din," you look at him with indignation. "She's so cute though."

"I don't care if she's cute," he insists, already heading toward the storage room around the corner. You know he's gone to grab one of the many traps he has stored there, remnants of a life he no longer lives. "It's got to go."

You sigh, turning back to the cowering creature. She slowly works her way toward you again, less hesitant now that Din has left the room, sniffing at your outstretched hand. There's a flinch that runs through her body when you reach further to scratch along her massive ears, but then she relaxes at your careful touch.

When Din reappears with a cage in hand, you've already got the Loth-cat in your arms, more than content to accept the cuddles you willingly provide. "See, she's nice," you assert, a pleading tone to your voice that instantly makes him frown.

"We are not keeping the Loth-cat," he repeats, setting the cage on the table and opening the top. "Put her in."

Your eyes narrow, "and where do you think you're going to take her?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Away. Just far enough that she won't come back." You refuse to move for a moment, waiting for him to agree to the remainder of your silent request. He sighs, "and I'll make sure it's a nice area where she'll have plenty of food and water."

"And shelter," you add.

"And shelter."

"Dank farrik," Din mutters are you make your way around the side of the house. His voice is muffled by his helmet, worn whenever he's outside in an abundance of caution, even if he's already broken the creed for you, but it only takes a second for you to determine the cause of his frustration.

The Loth-cat is back.

While you and your partner worked on the exterior of your small home, Grogu had taken to playing in the yard, doing his best to stack rocks into towers using the force, which he'd then promptly knock over before beginning again. Now, however, he was strictly focused on moving the small rocks around while the familiar creature chased them across the dirt.

"She's back!" you exclaim, setting down the equipment box you'd been carrying. "How far did you take her last night?"

"Not far enough, obviously," Din mutters, heading toward the speeder where the crate still sits. You move closer to Grogu, quickly scooping up the cat in your arms. She wrestles with you until she realizes who has captured her, promptly settling into your embrace with a soft purring noise.

Grogu watches with curiosity, reaching one of his tiny hands out toward her. You drop to the ground next to him, crossing your legs underneath you as you teach him how to gently pet her fluffy, spotted ears the way you've already determined she loves. "Careful, Grogu. We want to be gentle."

He shies back when the Loth-cat makes a grumbling noise, directed not at Grogu, but at Din, who has reappeared with the cage in hand. "Come on, put her back in."

"Din, she obviously found her way back to us for a reason," you point out, determination beginning to set into your shoulders. "Plus, I think it would be good for Grogu."

You can't see his expression, hidden by his helmet, but you know his eyes are rolling. "In the crate, now," he instructs again.

"You're really going to make me put her in there?"

His nod is almost imperceptible, but another moment of silent understanding passes between you, and you let Grogu pet the cat once more before carefully placing her behind the wire of the cage. "Food and water," you insist once more, closing the gate as you stare at the man you love.

"And shelter," he repeats back, loading the cat into the speeder as you hoist Grogu into your arms, the two of you waving goodbye until the dust settles around you.

"No."

"Oh come on. This is the third time she's shown up here, Din. And just look at them." You point at the way Grogu is curled up with the Loth-cat in his hammock. How they both managed to fit in there, you're unsure, but stranger things have certainly happened in your lives. "I think she's meant to be here, with us."

Your partner retreats from Grogu's room and moves to sit on the edge of your bed. "That or she just wants our food."

You tilt your head in agreement as you sway closer to him, standing between his spread legs to rest your arms across his shoulders. "Perhaps. But she obviously makes Grogu happy. And she makes me happy, and I think she'd make you happy too if you just let her."

"It's a Loth-cat." He's unimpressed by your reasoning. "One that clearly doesn't know how to stay away."

"Can you blame her? I couldn't stay away either," you point out, cupping his face in your hands to ensure he's listening.

Din shakes his head. "That's different. You're not a cat."

"I think I can be a lot more cat-like than you think," you challenge before climbing onto his lap, curling around him, and kneading your fingers into his back. He's laughing before you know it, and as he falls back against the bed, taking you with him, it's already obvious that you've won the argument.

"I'm not going to be the one feeding her or brushing her or cleaning up her fur, got it?"

You nod, kissing him on the cheek as he rolls you onto your back. "Got it. Only ask you to feed her and brush her and clean up her fur."

He rolls his eyes for you to see this time, but kisses you anyway, and if you happen to find little Blaster curled up in his lap more often than not, you don't say anything about it.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Smash or Pass: Part 2/4 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: It's the last stop before the Grand Line and you slink away for a quiet evening. The universe, however, decides to clown on you. Sequel to Kiss, Marry, Kill. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Warnings: Violence, description of injuries. Word Count: ~3.7k.

A/N: Someday I'll figure out the best way to make a tag list on here (if anyone has any experience with that hmu). Hope you enjoy this one~

---

PART 2: In which you lend a helping hand, provide clown care, and tell a joke.

Swords clash. Punches fly. Bodies go flying. The band launches into a rousing up number. You admire their dedication until a chair flies past your head. You should get out of here.

You get to the door, but you stop. Where’s Buggy? He was just right there, but there is now occupied by a man with a big hat and a bear club.

More importantly, why do you care? Well, you know why you care. You just went over this. It’s because you’ve got a stupid little crush. You shouldn’t care but you’re so liquored up that you do. This was probably his plan all along—

A guy comes at you with a sword. You duck beneath him, punch him in the dick, and throw him out the door and into the street. No cheap shots in a bar fight. 

And then you see it: a candy cane-striped patch deep in the throng. You skirt the edge of the brawl to get closer to it.

For a drunk guy with no hands, Buggy’s doing pretty well. Kicking, headbutting, body part separating. Cheap shots galore. You suppose it helps that he’s not fighting to win, but to get the hell out of here.

He’s almost at the edge when a mountain of a man hooks him around the neck with a wire of some kind. You expect him to separate his head, but his eyes go wide and he thrashes to no success, scrabbling at the wire.

Oh, that’s bad. Real bad. What do you do? C’mon, girl, think! There’s gotta be a way for you to lend a helping—

Hands! There they are! Smacking into everyone and everything as he tries to recall them. You grab one and then the other. You look around to return them but now there’s a whole scuffle between you and him. Three very large men all whaling on each other. There’s no way you’re getting through that.

“Hey!” you shout. He can’t hear you over the din. “Buggy!”

Still nothing. The pirate pulls tighter. He gasps and struggles.

Somewhere in your brain, you know this is the perfect moment to make a break for it. He’s occupied, won’t see you leave, and can’t follow you back to the ship.

But you can’t leave a man to die just to save your own skin. Especially when the brawl started because he was trying to defend you. C’mon, think of something!

…Oh. Duh.

You take a deep breath. You hold his hands over your head. "Hey, big nose!"

Buggy's head whips towards you as his eyes fly open, burning with white hot rage. It vanishes as he sees your trophies, replaced with awe.

It's a nice look on him.

One hand zips out of your grasp to jab his assailant in the eyes. The other grabs you by the collar.

You shriek as your feet leave the ground, lifting you up and over several dozen brawling sailors. It sets you down gently behind the bar, safe from the throng.

You’ve never flown before. You’re not a fan. But you are grateful, even if he did put you down so far from the exit. “Thanks,” you croak.

The hand shoots you a finger gun. You can practically hear the click of his tongue as the thumb flexes. How’d he hear you over the chaos?

Right next to your ear, a low voice says, “Don’t mention it.”

You scream and throw your elbow back, colliding with something hard. The low voice grunts as you jump away, and you turn to see Buggy clutching his nose.

You grimace. You know how pointy your elbows are. “That’s your own fault, sneaking up on a girl in the middle of a fight.”

He gives you an incredulous glare. “That’s not your line. You’re supposed to say…” He assumes a high-pitched voice. “‘Oh, thanks for the help, Captain Buggy! My hero!’”

You really hope you don’t sound like that. “Go soak your head. I saved you!”

He sneers at you, but he strokes his throat. An ugly ring of bruises will certainly be there later. “I had it under control.” 

“Bullshit!”

“I’m sorry, did you want to be dragged into an alley and used like a two-bit whore—“

A loud crack cuts him off. He blinks, looking more shocked than anything. His eyes roll back, his shoulders slump, and his head lolls forward. The rest of him follows and Captain Buggy, your hero, goes down like a sack of potatoes.

He hits the floor in a big puddle of assorted spirits, making a slap that you can only compare to when a pancake hits the ceiling. It would be funny if...

...actually, it's pretty funny as-is. You wish you were sober enough to commit the sound to memory.

Anyways, a chair in a bar fight really ought to be cheating. Then again, this is a pirate bar. The patrons are pirates. You are pirates. Everyone is pirates. It's pirates all the way down in here.

You catch the chair as it swings at you, and you see your assailant is, in fact, not a pirate. It’s the bar matron, scowling.

“You,” she grumbles. “This is your fault, you know that?”

“I didn’t ask him to help.” You yank the chair from her hands and toss it away. “And I didn’t ask to get felt up.”

Her eyes widen. “Is that what…?” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Guess I can’t be too surprised about that. The boys have been spoiling to fight all night.” She looks down at Buggy. “Sorry ‘bout your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. You really hate that you don’t hate the sound of that. But that would eventually make you Mrs the Clown and that you cannot abide by.

You wrinkle your nose. “Not my boyfriend.”

She scoffs. “Man started a brawl for you. It’s only a matter of time.” She kneels down and hooks her arms under his shoulders. “There’s a room upstairs we can stash him in. Grab his legs.”

You do so. On three, you both heave up… and he separates in the middle. The bar matron gasps in horror.

In his maybe-concussed definitely-drunk stupor, Buggy giggles. It’s kind of cute. Not at all menacing the way it’s been before. High-pitched. A bit like a weathervane squeaking in the breeze.

“Pull yourself together, dickhead,” you say. When he doesn’t, you roll your eyes. “Devil Fruit,” you say to the matron. “I’ll be right behind.”

Carrying a pair of legs is far more difficult than you expected. You can’t pick them up bridal style. Dragging them by the ankles is no good, either. You resort to throwing them over your shoulders, one leg on either side of your neck with your hands on his shins. An inelegant solution, but the only one you’ve got.

You’re halfway up the stairs when you feel something twitch against your head. Something hard. Something stiff. Something that seems like it’s pretty thick, based on the weight against your ear.

Your cheeks burst into flames. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Buggy’s cock. Don’t think about how you were wrong about Buggy having a small cock.

The matron leads you to a small room right under the roof. A bed, a trunk, and a dry sink with a wash basin are the only furniture, but a marvelous view of the harbor from the window makes up for it. If it wasn’t dark, you could probably see the Merry from here.

She tosses her half of Buggy onto the bed. You follow suit. The mattress squeaks as they bounce and, with a pop, the twain meet and he’s a whole man again.

“Devil Fruits,” the matron mutters, shaking her head. She turns to you. “You can stay here ‘til he’s well enough to walk, but I want you gone by morning. Got it?”

You nod, only to grimace. “I, uh, don’t have much money. I don’t think he does, either.”

She waves her hand as she exits. “Just don’t come back and I won’t collect.”

You realize a problem. “Th-There’s only one bed.”

“One of you can sleep on the floor.”

The door closes. You are left alone with the muffled sounds of a brawl, the rhythmic breathing of a mostly unconscious clown, and your own turbulent thoughts.

Again, you are presented with an opportunity to leave. Can’t follow you if he’s out cold. Save your friends. Save your ship. Save yourself.

And again, you hesitate. He drank a lot with you. And you did laugh quite a bit. And dancing with him was like floating — the good kind, not the kind with disembodied hands. And he whacked some guys about to manhandle you. And then he pulled you out of the fight.

How was it he had described you? Back on the Merry, when he read you like a picture book? ‘Once bitten, twice shy, but when he comes around a third time, you just can’t help yourself.’

Boy howdy, do you hate how accurate that is.

Speaking of which, he hasn’t moved since he hit the bed. You pat his cheek. “You alright?”

He stirs slightly. “Mfmn.”

That’s not good. With a sigh, you put on your triage hat. Seeing as how he got bashed on the noggin, might as well start there. "Sit up.”

He mutters something incomprehensible, but doesn't fight you as you guide him into a sitting position against the headboard. It takes a moment to untie his bandanna.

You're expecting sensibly short hair. Or perhaps missed-a-few-trims-touching-his-earlobes medium-ish hair. Maybe even brushing his shoulders in what guys consider long.

But no. What you get is honest-to-god long hair, textured by salt water and adorned with little plaits, flowing out of the bandana and waterfalling down his back. In need of a good brushing, perhaps, but otherwise healthy.

You want to run your nails through it. Twirl a few strands around your finger. Pull a comb through it. Cut a lock to braid into a rope bracelet, the kind sailors give to their sweethearts to remember them by—

You give your head a good shake. Where did that come from? That’s weird. Don’t do that.

Gently, you part his hair to inspect the scalp. A few small cuts, but nothing worth wasting gauze on. A nasty lump, though. That'll for sure hurt in the morning.

Satisfied, you let his hair fall. His face is next, but this literal clown makeup makes it hard to tell what's blood and what's not. Rummaging around in your satchel, you pull out your rubbing alcohol and a gauze pad and dab away.

It doesn’t come off easy — this is definitely the good shit — but you get enough off. Barefaced Buggy isn’t much different than the regular one, just less obfuscated by whacky colors. High cheekbones. Strong, stubbly jaw. Cleft chin. He'd be handsome if it weren't for the nose… or maybe he is anyways? Some cultures like big noses. And you know what they say about guys with big noses—

Nope. No. Knock it off. Gonna behave yourself? Good. Back to work. Where were you again?

Nose. Right. Speaking of which, you're still not convinced it's not real. The intrusive thoughts win this time and you give it a pinch and a pull.

It's real. He gasps and snatches you by the wrist as his eyes pop open, wide and darting around. They’re the color of a calm river on a cloudy day, though the river is rough at the moment. Why does such a repulsive man have such pretty eyes? 

"Easy, easy," you say. "I'm just checking you out— up."

If he heard the slip, he ignores it. After a moment, he drops your hand and lays back with a sigh. "W'happen?"

A few spots of blood stick to your fingers, coming from a small cut down the middle of his nose. You couldn't tell on account of the... well, everything about it. "Someone got you from behind with a chair." You go to dab at the cut. "Knocked you out cold. Smashed your face on the floor and gave you a bloody nose."

The rage returns. He snatches your wrist again. "What about my nose?" he growls, voice raw.

On one hand, you like that husky tone. On the other, this rubbing alcohol is stinging your fingers and you're not going to entertain his insecurities. "You landed right on it. A schnoz that big and it didn't do a damn thing to break your fall."

He does not like that. He squeezes tight enough to hurt and pulls you in closer. The river in his eyes whirls and churns. "You're talking a lot of shit for someone all alone in a room with Buggy the Clown."

Not a single word of excrement has left your mouth. "And you're talking too much shit for someone with a busted nose," you spit. "You want it to get infected? Scar up? It'll look even worse."

It's blunt, but you're right. And you know he knows you're right. He's a fool, but he's not foolish enough to not listen to a professional.

What you don't expect is the way his face drops for a moment. All of the anger, all of the bluster, all of it gone. All that remains is a boy with shocked eyes. Hurt eyes. Vulnerable eyes.

But only for a moment. The walls go back up and the angry man returns, albeit at a simmer and not a boil. He drops your wrist and scowls, avoiding your gaze.

Your stomach sinks. Being snippy is one thing, but you don't like being mean by accident. Even to a jerkoff like him.

With a gentle touch, you take his jaw. "This'll sting," you say as you press the pad to his nose.

He hisses, but doesn't pull away. "How bad is it?"

Now that the blood's gone, not bad at all. "Just a scratch. Won't even need a bandage."

He fixes his gaze somewhere past you. “Shame.”

And you continue to feel bad. It doesn’t look that bad on him. You were right earlier. It does suit him. You discard the pad. “Sorry ‘bout what I said,” you say. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

Buggy he continues to look past you. He waves his hand, only to flinch. He tries to hide it with a scoff.

Your soft eyes don’t miss. “Give it here.”

He huffs and grabs the injured hand with the other, yanking it off at the wrist. He plops it in your own hand and crosses his arms.

You almost laugh. But you hold it back.

You pull his glove off, revealing calloused fingers and shredded nails. When the seas get rough, he works the ropes with everyone else. And he's been at it awhile. 

"You're a career sailor," you say. You're not sure why you're surprised.

“Only trade I know,” he says.

Fingerbones intact, if not a little bruised at the knuckles. "Piracy pay that well?”

He gives a bitter smile. “You’d be surprised what you make in tips.”

Maybe you’re just drunk or maybe that was actually kinda funny. Regardless, a laugh almost manages to escape this time. Almost. You catch it in time for it to turn into a weird snorting sound.

The bitterness evaporates like mist in the morning sun as he finally turns his gaze on you. His smile brightens his whole face, scrunching the rivers of his eyes into little oxbow lakes.

Yep. He’s handsome. That little crush burns in your chest.

You swallow some infatuation-flavored bile. "Take your shirt off," you say. "Wanna— Wanna check your ribs."

He regards you for a moment. Wordlessly, he pulls his scarf from his neck and tosses it to the floor. Next goes the sash-belt thing. Finally, he shrugs out of the vest.

You're not sure what you're expecting. A sea of scars, perhaps? The mottled, diseased skin of a syphilitic sailor? A gaping void where his heart ought to be?

No. What you get is an expanse of smooth skin, dipping and rising with mountains and valleys of lean muscles. Hair covers his pectorals, thickest on his sternum. A soft belly pushes against his waistband as he breathes — not a gut by any means, but a logical consequence of indulging one's every desire. A thin trail of fuzz leads down below his trousers, growing thicker as it dips below. The carpet matches the drapes, apparently...

Your cheeks heat up. Don't even think about it, girl. Just check him out and be on your way— up. Check him up.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" you ask. You trail your fingers down his ribs, gently poking and prodding.

"Not particularly." Pressing the side of his pec makes him hiss. “Alright, maybe there.”

You lift his arm — his hard, wiry arm — and lean in close. A bit of a bruise is blooming, but it doesn’t look too serious. What is serious is how distracting the smell of fresh sweat is.

His sweat. On his skin. Glistening. Like dew. Musky. Tangy. Tasty.

He says something and it doesn’t even register. The thoughts drown him out. Do it, they say. Stick your face in there.

A light poke to your cheek yanks you out of your… whatever the hell that was. You turn to see his hand hovering. Its fingers wiggle in a wave. “Hello? Anyone aboard?”

You shake your head hard enough that you can feel your brain bouncing around. “Sorry. Thinking about contusions.”

“Should I be worried or not?”

You press your thumb into the bruise. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

He squeaks like a mouse. “When you’re doing that, yeah!”

The sound of pain is a big turn-off for you, which is exactly what you need right now. You jam your finger against the bruise one more time just to hear him yelp. “You’re fine.”

You drop his arm. You try to move away as quickly as possible while still looking casual and not tripping over yourself. You fail and land on your ass. Not hard enough to hurt, but an uff escapes you all the same.

Buggy giggles, peering down at you. “I love a good pratfall.”

He looks good from this angle. Above you. That worries you. “You’re completely fine. Worst thing you’ll have in the morning is a lump and a hangover.”

His brow wrinkles. “Not gonna check out my legs?”

Oh, you’ve already spent plenty of time checking out his legs. Nice boots. Muscular thighs. Trying to figure out if the bulge in the crotch was fabric or something else.

You grab the edge of the bed and haul yourself up onto it. “Do they hurt?”

“Sister, all of me hurts.”

You sigh. “Bring your knees to your chest. First one, then the other.”

His left knee joint pops out from its rightful spot on his leg. He presses it to his chest, then repeats the action with the other. He looks at you expectantly. “Now what?”

A banged-up half-naked clown, sitting on a bed, holding his knees in his hands. The situation is amusing enough, but something in his expression, the tone of his voice… it breaks you.

You slide from the bed back onto the floor as loud, cackling peals burst forth like floodwaters through a dam.

It feels good to laugh so hard. It hurts your ribs, your stomach, and your cheeks, but it's a good hurt.

The fit subsides, leaving you flopped on your back, arm slung over your eyes, trying to catch your breath. A few giggles bubble forth, and you do your best to swallow them.

You fling your arm from your eyes to see Buggy gazing down at you, resting his head on his arm, eyes scrunched up. “Didn’t think that one would get you."

“Shut up.” You climb up to your knees. “And stop making me laugh.”

“But you’re so cute when you laugh.”

You snort. “You tried that one earlier.”

Buggy frowns. Deeply. He moves his head to his fist, leaving his gaze level with your own. “But I meant it.”

“You’re full of bird shit.”

You try to move away, but he grabs your arm and guides you back down. He stares right into your eyes, straight into your soul. “I meant it,” he says firmly.

For a moment, you believe him. Your voice of self-doubt is silenced. The voice of what an unladylike laugh. No man could ever find that attractive. How do you expect to get a husband sounding like that?

His voice disturbs your ruminating. "Y’know, if you join my crew," he says, "you can laugh like that all you want. As loud as you want. Whenever you want."

It's probably the alcohol. It's probably because he's half naked. It's probably because you're a weak woman. Whatever the reason may be, to your horror, you do consider it.

It could be a good time. You enjoy his company. You enjoy laughing. You enjoy adventures and making mischief and romance. Both the kind with the wind in your sails and the kind with a man in your arms.

Perhaps even this man.

But you can't. You know you can't. He’s cruel. He’s crazy. You couldn't live with yourself if you betrayed your friends. Not to mention that there'd be no escape if it all went wrong.

In your moment of weakness, he slips a finger under your chin. Millimeter by millimeter, he guides you closer. His eyes drift shut as his nose bumps yours.

Don’t do this, your good sense screams. You’re drunk. He’s drunk. Stop thinking with your snatch. Don’t—

The slightest bit of nerves quiver in his voice. “Something wrong…?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

You push forward and finally, finally, your lips meet his.

It’s nothing like your previous kisses, sudden and sloppy. This one is slow. Measured. Gently crackling like the soft flame of a low fire, radiating warmth.

A featherlight moan escapes him as you pull away. His eyes search your face, bracing himself, waiting for something, hoping in vain that he won't find it.

You lay a hand on his jaw, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. “What is it?”

His gaze drifts to the side as he inhales sharply. “Waiting for the punchline.” He swallows. “No way something this good could happen to me.”

This poor, pathetic man after your own heart. “I got a punchline for you. What did the sawbones say to the clown?”

Shining eyes peer at you. “I dunno. What did the sawbones say to the clown?”

“She said...” You lean in close. “‘Kiss me again.’”

Those eyes go wide.

---

Part the 3rd goes up Thursday!

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[magpiepills]

Heyyyyy.

Does anyone remember that fic where reader gets dicked down by Din, but at the end you find out it’s Frankie in a costume? I read it ages ago and now I want to read it again cause the 501st legion is going to be doing a local thing and I bet they have a Mando and I just..uhhh…I gotta let off some steam, ya know?

If you know which fic I’m talking about, please tag me in a comment and/or reblog on it or put it in a comment here or something.

Much obliged,

Bat

[nachosncheezies]

The Bet

Yoooo, so I said I was taking a break, but, the words! I saw the prompt fly across my dash earlier and I am not the one who received it and I do not know who sent it but this is the kind of thing that happens when I attempt menial labor! So, with apologies for stealing and without any proofreading, here's a little M+S "pilot wedding" ficlet.

~~~~~

They were going to pay a visit to Billy Miles. They were drenched, completely soaked through from the cold cemetery rain. Scully sat shivering audibly in the passenger seat. 

Mulder pulled off at the diner. “Our rooms and our clothes are gone. At least it’ll be warm,” he said.

The graveyard-shift waitress took one look at them and took pity. “You look like a coupla drowned rats,” she remarked. “Think we got some towels around here somewhere.” 

Soon they sat across from each other in a booth, stripped down to their trousers and tees, two cups of coffee steaming on the table between them. The waitress had scrounged up a pair of blankets from somewhere too, and they each wore one around their shoulders. Scully’s hair still clung heavily to her ears and down her neck in damp clumps. For all that, she was smiling.

“I gotta say, Scully, I’ve had a couple different partners over the years, but you’re not like anyone the Bureau has tried to send me." 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "How’s that?”

He glanced both ways and then leaned forward across the table, beckoning her closer. She leaned forward too, putting her face close to his. He glanced around conspiratorially one more time.

“You’re fun,” he whispered. She straightened and blinked at him several times, unspeaking. He wondered if he’d been a little too inappropriate, until she once again burst out in the goofiest cackle he’d ever heard. It was even better without the background din of the pouring rain. 

Pleased, he relaxed back against the bench. “You’re a hell of a lot smarter, too,” he complimented.

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m here, because I don’t think Chief Blevins is going to accept ‘alien mind-control implants’ as an explanation for those murders or the graverobbing,” she teased.

“Well they’ve sent you for a reason. If anyone can find some other rational explanation, Scully, I’m sure it’ll be you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, playing with a spoon in her coffee.

“…Bet ya won’t, though.”

She pursed her lips. “What’s the wager?”

He had been teasing, rhetorically, but decided to see where it might go. “Loser buys lunch when we get back to DC?”

She sized him up over the rim of her cup as she took a long and thoughtful sip, then smirked as she put it down. “Deal,” she said.

Hours later, dry and fed, he made to lead her from the diner. “Mulder?” she called from just behind him. He stopped with the door halfway open and looked down at her. “You’re fun, too.” He caught the briefest glimpse of her cheeky grin as she brushed past him, ducking under his arm, and led him out into the humid morning.

~~~~~

Another lunchtime in the diner, and she was blushing furiously.

“I had no idea crackpots were your type,” he breathed with over-exaggerated delight. 

She rolled her eyes at him. “I only meant that… if I were to settle down some day, I’d want him to be fun, and- and engaging to talk to. It’s hardly on my radar now. I’m just getting started with my career, I haven’t taken much time for that sort of thing.”

Mulder shrugged, leaned back and slung his elbows over the back of the bench on either side of himself. “Whaddya say we raise the stakes?" 

"Huh?”

“On our bet.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Marry me.”

She dropped her chin and her brows flew up and together in the most incredulous expression he’d ever seen. It was almost worth the risk just to see that face. “Uhhh huh,” she said, drawing out the first syllable.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a 'guy like me’ then.” He threw up air quotes.

“And what do I get if I win?" 

"Bragging rights?” She arched one brow at him again. “I’ll tell everyone that you run the department….” She pinned him with a look that suggested he must be joking. “…And you can have whatever you want. And I mean anything. Blank check. If it’s mine, it could be yours. You don’t even have to decide today. Non-transferrable, no expiry. Just let me know when you figure it out.”

She was delirious with exhaustion. No, that wasn’t enough. There was definitely something in the water in this town. She was compromised. That was the only explanation for why her mouth started moving before her brain in that moment. “I won’t do it in a church,” she said.

He blinked at her, a little stunned that she was testing his bluff. “I’m an atheist,” he hedged.

“I’m Catholic,” she answered.

“Right, so behind God’s back, then.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and his heart hammered in his chest as he realized that she might actually, really be considering calling him on it. As he realized that he might actually, really want her to. “Annulment will remain on the table at all times,” he offered, just to see what she would do.

She straightened, turned her torso a little bit sideways, as if having her shoulder angled partway between them might allow her a better perspective on his character and sanity. She continued to squint at him.

“You’re on,” she finally said, and he wasn’t sure whether the ground fell out from beneath him, or whether it had launched him into space.

~~~~~

She probably could have found a more comprehensive explanation for it all, but the truth was, she didn’t try that hard. Definitely something in the water.

They went to the magistrate on their last afternoon in Oregon. She looked at him and wondered who the hell carried their birth certificate around with them on a case, before reminding herself that she did, too. He looked at her and wondered who this gutsy little firecracker was, if she might actually be as crazy as he was. Each looked at the other and wondered if one of them would blink.

Neither did.

They both left town hall with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a deep, newfound respect for the nerves of absolute steel on the person beside them.

In DC, he accompanied her to HR and then to the Bureau’s legal advisory department so she could make the customary arrangements recommended for all new field agents. Neither made mention of their new marital status. His name was added beside her mother’s as an emergency contact, her name was added beside his father’s. He witnessed her living and final wills, the latter leaving whatever she had at the time of her passing to her parents, with one other line reading “For Fox W. Mulder, Moby Dick.” He didn’t ask.

He went to his own lawyer the following week, and updated his will to bequeath her an amount that could not be called paltry, but which he deemed not to be overly extravagant either, and a sealed note that just said, “Don’t lose that laugh.”