#I have padded the armrest on my chair too

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

An update on the animal in my house: she does this thing. This infuriating thing. Where she sits on the dining room chair next to me and purrs and purrs and purrs and STARES at me. She will not come onto my lap if invited. She gets irritable if I pet her [biting] and irritable if I do not pet her [the most passive-aggressive purring you’ve ever heard]. She will not play. She does not want brushed.

What she wants is for me to hold out my loosely curled fist at arm’s length so she can smash her little face against my knuckles and smear cat spit on hand. Over and over again. For many minutes. Cold, sticky cat spit and her wet little nose.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You go through a whirlwind of emotions when drunk.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: drunk!reader, Reader annoying Sirius

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: James Potter x drunk!Reader

You were slumped between James and Sirius, giggling uncontrollably, your legs swinging off the armrest of the couch as you hiccuped. The room was warm, and everything felt so funny. Especially Sirius's hair.

"You know what, Pads?" you slurred, poking Sirius in the cheek. "You look like a... a giant poodle. But a mean one. Like, the poodles at the dog shows that bite people."

Sirius's jaw dropped. “A poodle? You—no, absolutely not. I am—what did you say I was, James?”

James was trying not to laugh. "Uh, majestic, I think."

"Majestic!" Sirius pointed at you dramatically, like that would prove his point.

You snorted so hard you almost fell off the couch, but James caught you, his arm wrapping around your waist and steadying you. "Sure, sure, 'Padfoot the Majestic Poodle.'"

"It's mostly because of your hair—" you giggled, reaching out to pat the top of his head, missing entirely and booping his nose instead. "It's so fluffy, like a big, angry puppy!"

Sirius frowned, swatting your hand away dramatically. "I am not a dog, and my hair is majestic, thank you very much."

"Fluffy," you repeated, poking him in the cheek now. "Sirius, fluffy like a… like a poodle!"

James tried to hold back a laugh as Sirius looked properly offended, folding his arms with a huff. "Are you serious?"

You snorted at his pun. "No, you’re Sirius!"

Remus groaned from beside Peter. "Oh no. Not this again."

Peter shook his head, barely holding back his own giggles. "Here we go…"

“Are you lot serious right now?” Sirius grumbled, crossing his arms. “A poodle. Really.”

“Sirius is serious,” you added, and then cracked up at your own joke. “Sirius is Sirius—wait, Remus, did you hear that? It’s his name.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, we got it.”

“But I’m not a poodle,” Sirius muttered, still offended, while you continued to giggle.

James still eyed the bottle of firewhiskey in your hand like he wanted to take it away. Not that you noticed. Nope. You were too busy trying to poke Sirius in the cheek.

“You’ve got—got something there,” you slurred, leaning in far too close to Sirius’s face.

“What? Where?” Sirius asked, looking genuinely concerned as he wiped at his cheek. “Did I get dirt on me?”

“Yeah, it’s called your face,” you giggled, falling back onto James and laughing like it was the funniest thing you’d ever said.

Sirius gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “How dare you! James, do you hear this? Your girlfriend is cruel.”

You waved him off, turning your attention back to James, who was trying not to smile. “He’s just mad ‘cause he’s not as pretty as you,” you said, squinting up at James like you were stating the most obvious fact in the world. You reached out and patted his face, a little too hard. “So. Pretty.”

James chuckled, grabbing your hand before you could slap him again. “Alright, love, I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

“Noooooo,” you whined, stretching out the word. “M’fine, Jamie. Look! I can sit up perfectly straight.” You immediately leaned to the side, almost toppling over onto Peter, who yelped and quickly scooted out of the way.

“Maybe… maybe a little too much,” Remus said from beside Peter, watching with raised eyebrows.

“Remus!” you called, throwing your arms out toward him. “You’re so boring, you know that?”

“Hey, I like boring,” Peter mumbled from his chair, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, Wormtail likes boring!” you repeated, pointing to Peter like he was your greatest proof.

You sat up suddenly, looking around the room, eyes wide and dramatic. “Wait. Wait. You guys can’t ever leave me, okay? Promise.”

The Marauders exchanged confused looks. “Uh—okay?” Peter said hesitantly.

“I’m serious—not like Sirius serious—" you hiccuped, "But you guys can’t leave. We have to stay friends forever or I’ll—I’ll hex all of you!” You threw your hands up, trying to look menacing, but it came off more like a flailing octopus.

James quickly wrapped his arms around you as you dramatically collapsed into his chest. “Love, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered, though he was still looking somewhat offended by your earlier insult. “I don’t think I can handle another ‘your face is the problem’ comment.”

But you weren’t having it. You pointed a shaky finger at them, wobbling slightly. “You better not, Sirius Black! Or I’ll—” You narrowed your eyes dramatically, trying to look intimidating. “I’ll hex you into next week! I know spells, you know!”

James bit his lip, trying not to laugh as Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What spells?”

“Spells!” you repeated, waving your hands in the air as if that was a valid explanation. “Dangerous ones!”

Peter snorted. “I’m terrified.”

Sirius held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Merlin, you’re scary when you’re drunk.”

“Good,” you said, immediately softening. “Because I love you guys, even though Sirius is a poodle, and Remus won’t laugh at my jokes, and Peter—well, Pete, you’re just so cute, aren’t you?”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you reached out, pulling all of them into a big, awkward group hug. “I just love you guys, okay? Don’t leave me… ever.”

James chuckled, his hand warm on your back. "Alright, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” you pouted, leaning into James like a rag doll. “I wanna stay here and annoy Sirius more.”

“I’m not listening to this nonsense,��� Sirius huffed, throwing his hands up.

“Oh, but Sirius—don’t you wanna cuddle like a big, fluffy dog?” you teased, blinking innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

James stood up, pulling you gently with him. “C’mon, love, you’re barely standing.”

“Wait, no, no, no—you're all amazing, even you, Remus, boring and all.” You paused, eyes widening as if you had just realized something horrible. “Wait—don’t ever leave me, guys.”

Your lower lip started to wobble.

“Don’t leave me! You can’t! What if you just disappeared? Poof! Gone! And I’m all alone. I’ll die. I’ll actually die.”

James squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “I think you’re driving everyone mad, love.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “But not you, right, Jamie?” you gushed, running your fingers through his messy hair, making it even worse. “You’re perfect, James Potter. Like… a Quidditch god! And your glasses are so… shiny.”

Sirius fake gagged. “Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shush, poodle!” you shot back at him, your words blending together into a cute mess of slurs. “You’re just jealous ‘cause James is my shiny glasses boy.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. Peter was full-on laughing now, while James was just gazing at you, completely smitten.

You huffed but allowed him to help you stand. “You’re the best, James,” you said, leaning heavily on him as he started to guide you toward the stairs.

“You’re pretty great yourself,” James chuckled, tightening his grip on your waist so you wouldn’t stumble.

Just before you reached the dormitory, you stopped, looking up at him with bleary eyes. “No, really, Jamie. You’re the best. Don’t ever change.”

James grinned down at you, his heart melting a little. “I won’t, love. Now let’s get you to bed before you start threatening to hex me too.”

You smiled sleepily, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “I’d never hex you. You’re too pretty.”

And with that, you were out, leaving James with a fond smile and the rest of the Marauders shaking their heads behind him.

Downstairs, Sirius was still sulking. “A poodle… unbelievable.”

i love drunk!reader so much!!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Green

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Jackson believes in a green future, which includes marijuana. You like to get high. Tonight, Joel joins you and you get to treat him like he treats you. Chapter Warnings: Smut, marijuana use, soft dom reader, sub Joel, m receiving oral, unprotected p in v, riding Joel's thick thigh, you bite Joel's stomach (because it has to be done), Joel watching himself masturbate in your mirror, Joel drinks water out of your hands. Words: 5,100 A/N: Happy 4/20! I wanted to give you another entry akin to Golden Walkway, a little peek into the future of my Elks babies. Please note, this can be absolutely read without knowing any of the story.

Playlist

Times never change instead of hiding your illicit use from your parents, now you hide it from a teenager. Joel and you always lock yourselves away in your home so you can get high... just in case Ellie needs something. Can’t be a bad influence.

You pull the box of papers and weed out of the drawer before sitting down on your couch.

“So you never really smoked much?” you ask, leaning over your coffee table preparing to build your joint.

“Mm, never really was my thing, too risky if I got caught growing up in Texas during the 'Just Say No' years. Had football eligibility to worry about ‘n then Sarah came, just never was the time for me.”

He leans back into your armchair, brown eyes intently watching your actions. You begin to crumble weed up and place it on your rolling paper. 

“Makes sense, it’s good for me when my nerves really get to me,” you begin to roll your joint, “helps kinda soften the harsh lines of reality a lot. Makes my body and my mind a little freer.”

You lick your cigarette closed and admire your handiwork, welcoming the anticipation of being with Joel while stoned. 

The match sizzles as you strike it against the box and spark your joint, rotating it in your mouth to light it up. Joel chuckles as you inhale the first hit. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask in a cloud of exhaled smoke.

“Nothin'. Maybe I should get high, s'making me hard just watching you do this.”

“Oh yeah?” you sit back against the soft couch cushions, joint dangling from your lips. 

“Yeah, maybe I should start, never was one for smoking though.”

“Mm, I can help, I can just blow the smoke into your mouth if you want to try it." Your heart begins racing at the prospect of Joel taking you up on the offer.

“Sounds good sweetheart." He pats his lap. “Now, come sit with me, have nowhere to be tomorrow.”

You stand and grab the ashtray, resting the joint between your lips. Your bare feet pad across the plush carpet of the area rug as you walk over to Joel. 

“Hi,” you smile out with a small puff of smoke. 

“You look so cute like this, little cigarette sticking out of your mouth, eyes all cloudy and happy. Love it when my girl is happy.”

You giggle at his compliment as you lift your leg up to rest on the chair, your foot tightly fitting within what little room is left on the seat between Joel’s thick thighs. His mouth rests slightly agape when he looks up at you, his usual furrowed brow a lot less creased, more relaxed.

“I am happy,” you answer as his hands begin to massage your calf. “You look a lot less grumpier than you normally look. That makes me happy.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yep,” you say before inhaling another hit. 

“Why don’t you make me happier and sit on my lap, that’d make me really happy darlin’.”

A plume of smoke blows out of your lungs as you place yourself on Joel’s lap, knees bent against his thighs and the armrests. The denim covered shape of his half hard cock rests against your cotton shorts. Your tits underneath your faded and holey t-shirt are right at Joel’s eye level. 

“S’nice,” he whispers staring forward at your chest. 

“My eyes are up here Joel,” you chuckle at your own joke, taking another hit.

“I’d tell you to knock it off, but your whole body’s shaking against me ’n your tits are bouncing in my face,” Joel grins leaning forward and kissing a breast through your shirt. 

Fuck, now that feels amazing. 

You reach the joint out to him. “Hold this.”

He takes it between his fingers, eyes concentrating on you taking your shirt off. So much for relaxed Joel. He holds up the joint, still in his hands, to your lips.

“Take a hit baby,” his voice gravels out, his cock hardening underneath, “‘n lemme have some.”

You inhale and move your mouth to his, forming a tight seal between the two of you. Joel welcomes the smoke and sucks in as you blow out. 

You grab the joint from him and take another pull as he exhales, a white cloud of smoke floating above the two of you. Your body feels so much lighter, your brain less complicated. 

“Can I have that back?” he asks. “Want to do the same you did for me.”

You hand him the joint, smiling a silent agreement.

He brings it up to his mouth, holding it between his thumb and pointer, the joint disappears between his large fingers save for the glowing orange embers that light as he takes a hit. He looks so fucking tempting, his cheeks slightly puffing out filling with smoke. Everything Joel Miller does is hot, but the way he drags on a joint, pillowy lips wrapping around the white paper, broad shoulders rising when he breathes in, this might just be the hottest you’ve ever seen him. When will you ever get tired of looking at this man?

You bring your lips to his and he exhales into your mouth. Oh, this is the best way to get high. You pull away, releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“‘Bout shot, don’t you think?” he raises the joint and looks at it.

“It’s shot."

He stubs the joint put in the ash tray. A luxurious comfortable groan leaves his lips when he looks at you, eyes heavier than usual, a little red and glazed. You’ve seen his eyes glazed over with lust numerous times, this glaze is a little lighter, a little happier. You scoot farther up his lap and move a finger up to pet the smoothness of the little heart patch in his beard. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask as Joel’s hands trace up and down your back. 

“Good, real good,” a deep exhale out of his lips answers. 

“Relaxed?” You ask, your finger moving to brush back and forth across his lips. 

“Mm.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this free before. A light smile underneath half shut eyes staring back at you, his whole face more relaxed. He looks good this way, you love when he’s happy and relaxed, you’ve never met anybody more deserving.

“Feels good,” Joel says as you rub your finger across his soft lower lip. A deep breath leaves his half parted lips, the air blowing against your finger. “Real good.”

“Good,” your hand moves to trace around his top lip, the hair of his mustache bristles against your finger. “I like making you feel good.” 

You feel the the lines around his lips rise when he smiles. “You’re so good at it baby.”

“Yeah? What do you like the most?”

“Mm, s'hard to pick. Love the way your eyes always blink as you cum for me, can always tells how good you’re feelin’ by how big your eyes get right before. Love the little gasp you always make when I start fuckin’ you. Love that you grab for my hands at any chance you get, like you need to touch me as much as you can. Love that you always need me.” The last sentence comes out the softest.

“I do need you,” you confess, “all the time.”

“I know baby,” he hugs you against his chest, “I need you too… so much.” 

“But, I do also need you for sex stuff, you know?"

Joel’s chuckle vibrates against you. “My girl’s funny, real funny.”  

“But really, what do you need tonight Joel?” You pull away from his chest and look him in the eyes. You love it when he compliments you, you love it when he calls you his girl. You love that he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“I need you to tell me what you want from me tonight.  Make me yours. Talk to me like I talk t’ya.” Joel’s eyes staring into yours as they widen with his admission. “I’m yours baby.”

A bit of trepidation lands in your brain. Joel’s always the one to depend on to chart the stars of your intimacy. He’s so good at predicting what you want, you let him navigate. The thoughts are silenced once you feel his hands move along your hips and thighs. You can tell he wants you to do this for him. You want Joel to experience what you feel after he’s done with you. You want him to believe in you like you believe in him. You sit up higher on him, feeling braver and bolder. Ready to bless him for his confession. 

“Okay. I’m going to get up, walk to the kitchen to get something to drink, and when I come back, I want you to stand in front of my mirrored wall over there. Keep your clothes on.”

You’re shocked by the confidence in your voice. Joel as well, his hands pause their movement as you speak. He stares at you, his mouth slightly open in surprise. 

You rise up off of Joel, folding your arms across your naked chest. “Understand?”

“Y-y-yes,” Joel stutters. 

“Good,” you wink and turn towards the kitchen, your confident steps leaving a bewildered Joel in your chair. You’ve never acted like this, your brain swirling with ideas of what you want to do, what you want to say, how you want to make him feel. 

You grab two glasses out of your cupboard and fill them with water. Your mouth is parched, you’re sure Joel’s is too. You walk back to your living room, your courage building with each step closer. You know you’re ready when you see Joel standing as instructed in front of your mirror. 

“Hi handsome,” you walk to stand behind him, still topless and only in your shorts, his eyes moving from looking at his own reflection to your chest. You wouldn’t expect less from him, you love how he looks at you.

“Hi,” Joel whispers. You think he’s a little nervous, a little excited, he probably feels exactly how you feel. 

“I’m going to watch you watch yourself get undressed. I want you to listen to me and follow my directions, okay?”

“Yes,” his simple answer resolutely spoken as you put the waters down and turn the lamp on besides you, the light bathing both of you in a smoldering golden hue. You want to fully be able to watch Joel do what you have planned for him.

“Good, I don’t want to hear much from you, okay? I’m the one talking.” 

You like this feeling, you especially like the serious nod Joel gives you through the mirror. 

“Take your shirt off.”

You watch Joel’s hands move to the hem of his t-shirt and lift it over his head. 

“Give it to me,” you step forward and extend a hand out. 

The soft gray fabric is still warm with Joel’s body heat as it hits your hand. You bring it to your nose and inhale his scent. “You smell so good all the time. I love the scent of you.” You take one last sniff before putting his shirt on, his smell now encompassing you.

“Wh—“ 

“Quiet,” you interrupt Joel’s protest, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you, I want to smell like you and wear your shirt while I make you feel good.” 

He looks a little annoyed, you like that. 

“Look at your chest. It’s perfect. I love how your shoulders are so wide and so strong. I love how your arms are muscular and yet they’re so soft when I rest my head against them. I love how soft your stomach has gotten meaning you’re well fed and healthy. You like the praise baby?”

Joel nods as his eyes darken hearing you call him one of the pet names he always calls you.

“Unbutton and unzip your pants, but don’t take them off.” Your pussy getting wetter at the thought of the sights that you’re about to see, all directed by you. All broadcast on your mirror. 

Joel nods, as he unbuttons his jeans, his fingers move to his zipper and pulls it down. You love that he never wears underwear when he comes over. You love how you can see the trail of hair from his belly button down to his bush. He’s the perfect amount of hairy. He’s the perfect amount of manly. He’s just fucking perfect.

“Good. You’re thirsty right?” He nods. You lean over to the table and pick up a glass of water. “Drink all of this. Want to watch your neck move as you swallow it down.” 

Joel takes the glass and brings it to his lips, his eye contact not breaking with yours through the reflection. He takes a large gulp brows wrinkling with seriousness for the task at hand, no matter how significant or insignificant it is. It’s so Joel.

“I love watching you drink. I love how small the mug looks in your hand when you drink your coffee in the morning. I love how you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand after downing a whole glass of water when you’re hot. I love how gently form your lips around a glass of whiskey.” You finish your praise as he empties the glass, taking it from him and placing it on the table. 

“Good. Feel better?” 

He nods.

“Take your pants off,” you think of what Joel would say in this moment. “Lemme see all of you.” 

He smirks as he starts to move his jeans down his hips, he knows you’re going to love this part. His cock springs out as it’s freed, fully erect and throbbing, you knew you’d get him good and hard with your attitude. He bends over to shuck his jeans fully off, kicking them to the side, and when he stands up, shoulders back, dick hard and ready to follow your instructions, you almost fall to your knees. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot, baby,” you breathe out. His smirk still remains, he knows what he does to you. 

Your eyes roam his body, he’s so large and so thick, his body screams protector. He’s your protector. He provides for you. You love that you get to love him and make him feel this way. 

“I’m thirsty, why don’t you hand me my glass?” You love how seriously he follows your commands, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. You love how powerful it makes you feel to see Joel readily do your every request. 

Joel turns towards the table and picks up the glass, handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” 

Another nod. 

You quickly drink the water down, save for the last quarter of it. “You’re still thirsty, aren’t you?”

This time it’s not just one slow nod from Joel, it’s three quick nods. He’s thirsty.

“Then come stand here in front of me.” 

You’ve enjoyed watching him from a couple of feet back, standing far enough to be able to see all of him in the mirror. Now that he’s right in front of you though, this is how you like him the most. Right beside you. 

You empty the rest of the water into your mouth, your cheeks swelling out with the amount you’re holding. You bring your palms up to your mouth and cup them together. Joel begins to breathe heavily as he watches you spit the water into your makeshift hand bowl.

“Now, drink it up,” you order.

He moves so fast, so eager to please. Joel’s head quickly craning down as his brown eyes look up at you. Your heart begins to race as his tongue comes out of his mouth and begins to lap up the water out of your hand. “I love how you’re looking up at me, you look at me the same way when you eat me out.” 

Joel grunts as he leans further forward and starts to suck the water up from your hand, never breaking eye contact. The groove of his dimple getting deeper as his cheeks hollow and he sucks up all of the water.

Now you wear Joel’s cocky smirk just like his shirt. You get to know him like he knows you, you get to play with his body like he plays with yours.

“Very good.” You move your hands to wrap around his erection, the slickness of the water allowing you to easily stroke him. A gruff breath leaves Joel’s mouth, the air landing against your face. You only leave your hands on him for a couple pumps, just enough until he begins to arch his back. His eyes widen as you remove your hands, a small “mmf” is let out of his pursed lips.

“I know, I know, I know you want more. You’ll get it soon. You’re being real well behaved for me, aren’t you?” 

Another nod. Joel still hasn’t spoken a word, you miss his voice but you also like to watch him challenge himself to stay quiet. 

“Face the mirror again Joel.”

He likes it when you say his name, he’s told you so many times how he likes to hear your voice say his name. 

“Touch yourself for me Joel.” 

His heavy eyes slowly shut as he bites his bottom lip with a moan, he liked that… a lot. He opens his eyes and with a look of determination, he spits in his hand before moving it down and gripping his shaft as he looks at you for his next command. 

“Stroke yourself for me.” 

He begins to slowly pump himself, savoring and watching himself in the reflection. His gaze anchoring in on pleasuring himself.

You wonder when the last time he did this was.

“When’s the last time you made yourself cum?” His movements falter as he looks up at you and takes in your question. “Go ahead, you can talk, tell me.” 

“That last night you were painting f’me,” a half smile shows up on his face as he begins to stroke again. 

Now you’re the one who only nods, your words lost at his confession. “Go on,” you muster up. You need to hear more. 

“Went to bed that night, ’n all I could see was your pretty eyes lookin’ up at me, how you looked in those overalls, I felt like I could still feel your lips on mine.” His strokes getting quicker, his hand pausing as he twists his hand around his tip. “Was so hard for you, had to take care of things before I could fall asleep.” 

Your whole body shivers, his words making your pussy begin to drip out onto your shorts. The look of his face as he recalls his memories. Those words added to all of his others that prove to you again that you have Joel’s heart, mind and body. He is yours. 

“God. Th—that’s good,” you breathe out, your eyes widening when you watch him bite his lip as he squeezes his cock. He has you flustered, and he knows, his mouth grinning into the signature cocky smirk he gets whenever you get like this. As if his sense of self blooms whenever he makes your heart race. 

You can’t allow him this pleasure over you, you’re the one in control tonight. You remind yourself that this is what Joel wants. You steel yourself and stand a little taller. 

“Stop,” you bark out. 

He obeys, mouth slacking open in shock at your raised voice. His hand unwrapping from around himself. 

“Good job, I think you were getting a little too comfortable, weren’t you?” 

Joel just stares at you, seems he forgot to nod. 

“I can’t let you have the power tonight, can I? Acknowledge me Joel.”

“N—no,” an actual stutter from Joel Miller’s mouth. Not a grunt, not a short one word answer, an actual nervous stutter. 

“That’s right. Now, I think you’ve had too much fun putting on a show for me. Go sit in the middle of the couch.” 

He nods, his broad frame passes by you, he doesn’t even take the time to look at you. 

You follow behind and wait until he takes a seat. You love seeing Joel on your couch, in your bed, using one of your bowls to eat oatmeal out of. You love seeing him in your space, all comfortable and domestic, but seeing him now naked on your couch, his hard cock sitting straight up, his large hands sitting atop his strong thighs, shoulders taking up most of the backrest of his seat, sitting ready to listen to your commands.  This is how you really like to see him. He’s fucking gorgeous. 

“So, you had your fun with your body, I want to have my fun with your body,” you stand over him. Now your body gets to loom over his. 

You bring the collar of Joel’s shirt up to your nose, inhale deeply and moan. “Have I told you before how much I love how your smell? Sometimes I’ll be wearing one of your shirts to bed I’ll smell your scent on it and it’ll make me wet while I’m trying to go to sleep.” The sound from Joel’s mouth makes you bolder. “One night, I might just knock on your door, in only your shirt and my jacket, make you help me take care of what smelling you does to me. Would you like that?” 

Joel shudders and furiously nods.

“Ohh, had a feeling you would,” you chuckle as you remove his shirt off of you. “I’m going to do something I've been wanting to do, okay?”

A nod, a groan, and a sigh now. The more reactions you get at once, the more you know how good you’re doing. 

You pull down your shorts, and kick them aside. His fingers grip into his thighs, his forearms straining at the sight of you. He’s going through it. 

“Can you see me glisten for you baby?” You ask as you lift your foot onto the couch cushion and snake your hand down in between your legs. “See how wet I got watching you touch yourself for me?” You take a finger and run it across your folds gathering your wetness. You hold it up for Joel, his eyes glued to your finger. “Open your mouth.” 

He listens. You slide your finger into his mouth, his lips forming around it, a low moan vibrating against it. 

“Put your hands on the couch, you can’t touch me, you can only watch. Okay?” 

Joel obeys. He still sucks your finger as you straddle his thigh. His skin radiates heat against you once you place your wet pussy on it. You’ve wanted to do this since you saw his bare legs for the first time, his thighs are so muscular and yet so supple, much like the rest of his features. Joel groans as you begin to ride his thigh, rubbing yourself back and forth against his skin. 

“You like how wet my pussy feels on your thigh?” You pull your finger out of his mouth. “Answer me Joel. Want to hear your voice.”

“Yes.”

“What do you like?” 

“Your wet pussy on my th— I like your wet pussy on my thigh,” his low cadence and the pressure against your aching cunt pushing you close to your orgasm.

“I’m going to make myself cum on your thigh, okay? I’m so close.” You begin to grind your hips down on his his thigh, putting the perfect amount of friction against your clit. 

Your hands splay against Joel’s chest, feeling his breaths and his moans rumble against your palms.

“I’m gonna cum on your thigh Joel.” You grab and pull on his chest hair as your climax reaches you, cresting over and spilling onto Joel’s thigh as you grind against it. Joel’s eyes boring into you looking forlorn and tortured that he can’t touch you as you cum on him. 

You rest your head against his shoulder as you catch your breath. You need to recover quickly, you’re ready to ride him. 

Joel grumbles as you stand back up. 

“Would you look at that? Look down baby, look how wet I got your thigh.” You place your hands on his thighs, a hand resting in the puddle of your slick left on his skin. You lean forward as he looks down and nibble the bare skin of his heart patch before licking your way down his neck and chest. “Should probably clean that up, huh?” You ask as your rest your lips against the plush of his belly before gently biting it. 

He groans as you move your mouth down, bypassing his hard cock to the side. You stick your tongue out and lick a long stripe up his thigh tasting yourself as you clean his skin. His breathing turns more labored as he watches you lick yourself up.

“Mm, wonder how I’d taste licking my cum off your cock?” You ask, nuzzling your head into his crotch, his hard cock throbbing against your cheek.

His hips jut as you turn your head and kiss the shaft of him. 

“You’re going to cum fast for me, aren’t you?” You leave a kiss on his shaft higher than your last one.

“I love how hard you always cum for me,” another kiss moving your way up his hardness. 

“I love the way you fuck my mouth while you cum down my throat,” another kiss.

“I love the way my name sounds as you chant it when I make your legs shake,” another kiss right under his tip.

“I love how your cum tastes as I lick it from my lips,” another kiss on his tip, tasting the precum collected on it. 

“Fuck,” he finally utters, not being able to hold back as you lick along the trail of where you just kissed him.

“Shhhh,” you silence against the soft skin of his firmness. “I think it’s about time for me to fuck you, before you get any more ideas about talking.”

Another deep exhale from him, his nose flaring in frustration. You fucking love this. 

“Put your hands on the top of your head, and don’t you dare lower them. Don’t touch me, okay?”

Joel nods raising his hands as you plant yourself back on the couch, straddling his legs. His eyes follow your body, his brows a bit more furrowed now. 

You hover your pussy over his cock, leaving enough space between the two of you that if he really wanted, he could raise his hips and stick his cock in, but he doesn’t. He wants to do good for you. 

“Open your mouth,” you angle your head forward, your lips right in front of his. Joel’s mouth opens, his heavy breathing hitting you in the face, as you lick into his mouth.

You swirl your hips over his cock slowly lowering yourself on him, you’re so soaked for him he easily slides into you. 

A long sigh escapes the back of his throat as you begin to ride him. You pull back from his mouth and rest your hands against his chest. His hands still sit on top of his head, you glance up and see how he’s grabbing at his hair in exasperation. 

He watches as you move your hands from his chest to yours, cupping your breasts and playing with your nipples. 

“Like watching me touch my tits like the way you do? Like how I pinch and pull my nipples like you?”

High pitched moans and groans of frustration leave his mouth. Joel Miller is whimpering. 

“Shhhh, shhh, I know baby. Now quiet. Want to hear my wet pussy ride you, stay quiet,” you say grabbing his jaw and pushing his mouth shut. 

You begin fucking him harder, the sound of your wet cunt bouncing on him and his whimpers the only sounds in the room. You lean forward and rest your head in the juncture between his head and shoulder. You slam yourself up and down on him, the rapidness of your movements matching the rapidness of your heart as you bring yourself close to your orgasm.

Your back straightens as you place your hands on his biceps, staring in his big brown eyes as your body snaps, your pussy clutching his cock as you cum around Joel. He bites his bottom lip fighting his orgasm for as long as he can. His biceps straining against your grasp as you feel his body begin to quake. 

“Clooooose,” he husks. You slip out of him, moving quickly on shaky legs through the aftershocks of your orgasm kneeling down in front of him. His hands are still in his hair as he looks down at you, watching you seal your mouth over him. You bob your head up and down on him as he cums down your throat. 

You swallow all of him down as he chants your name. His hands lower, resting against the hollows of your cheeks as you still keep his softening cock in your mouth.

You stare up at him, his hair left awry and twisted from his hands, eyes wide and still blown out as he blinks down at you, his chest rising and falling still catching his breath. He looks at you, like you’re the only thing in this world. You are the center of his universe. 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Is This A Thing?

Remus Lupin x fem!reader [1.5K] that inbetween stage of being friends and something more, soft, fluffy stuff that your friends start to notice.

“I’m starting to think you like her more than me, Moony.”

Remus snorted, an amused huff that stirred the baby hairs on your forehead. He ignored Sirius, leaning further into the squishy armchair, taking you with him. You squirmed, just a little, resettling into him, your legs curled up between the space he’d made for you between his knees, his chin resting on your head. 

You were both reading, or rather, you were trying to. Remus smelled too nice, clean and fresh like new linen, a touch of spearmint, lemongrass and sage. He had his own book propped against the armrest, held open with one hand whilst the other sat over your stomach. It was innocent enough, palms kept away from your bare skin by a Gryffindor sweater, a shirt underneath it. But you still felt the heavy weight of his touch and it was enough to make you read the same line about the side effects of gillyweed three times over. 

“You don’t let me sit with you like that,” Sirius continued, his tone sticky soft and teasing, lips pushed into a pout that made you laugh. “Is it ‘cause I beat you at chess the other day?”

It was true. As close as the boys were, Remus tended to linger on the outside of James and Sirius’ affectionate dog piles, pulling away first when they hugged, avoiding their childish play fights with rolling eyes and a fond grin. It was different with you though. Always had been. An ache to be close, to touch, to feel. Eventually it became inevitable and you didn’t question it anymore, not when Remus was so eager to pull you into his space and keep you there for as long as you were happy. 

James was shaking his head, cross legged on one of the many rugs that overlapped the common room with a smirk on his lips and several pages of crumpled parchment around him. “I don’t think that’s the reason, Pads.”

You were too warm all of a sudden, but doing nothing to stop their teasing as you pushed yourself closer to Remus, hoping you could hide your flushed face between your book and his chest.  

“M’not sure,” Sirius went on, drawling. He was hanging upside down off of the armchair closest to the fire, his head lolling back off the side, black hair dripping to the floor, the small hooped earring he’d pinched from your dress catching the firelight. “He’s an awfully sore loser, you know.”

Remus huffed but stayed silent, ignoring his friend to the best of his ability. His hand shifted, an attempt to keep you close, moving from your tummy to your side, fingers sneaking under the hem of your uniform to stroke a path of heat over bare skin. He bent his head closer to yours, as if your book was more interesting than his own. 

Sirius didn’t notice, suddenly too busy making eyes at a girl across the common room, a seventh year student that seemed just as interested in him. But James was letting his gaze linger on the touch, as innocent as it seemed, eyes flickering to his friend, wondering if Remus was brave enough to meet his stare, his raised brows, his knowing grin. 

He wasn’t. Remus slumped down into the chair further, avoiding any eye contact that would confirm what James was thinking. 

Is this new or have I just not noticed? Is this finally happening? Do we need to talk about this later?

“Anyway,” Sirius returned to the conversation, now upright and slipping a piece of parchment that he caught out of the air into his pocket, the ink still wet and holding the location of whatever meeting place the girl had sent him. “Like I was saying. Am I not your favourite, Remus?”

“You’ve never been my favourite,” Remus grumbled and you held back a grin, not wanting Sirius to start on you. 

“Rude.”

“You’re a pest.” Remus retorted lazily. 

Sirius gasped, all faux dramatic and scandalous, as if his friend had done the utmost to offend him. But it quietened him for a little bit, maybe a good three minutes or so, chewing on the end of his quill - no, your quill - before he spoke again. 

“Is this a thing now?” He gestured to the two of you, your thighs resting against Remus’ knees, his socked foot pushed to yours. The boy’s dark eyes glittered, interested, amused. “Should I look out my dress robes? Have the talk with you, Moony? I’m not ready to be an uncle, you know—”

“My god, Sirius, do you ever shut up?” Remus was scarlet cheeked and frowning, doing his best to hide the way he was flushed behind your head. He’d snatched his hand away from your side, like you’d burned him and the action was enough to leave you unsure. 

Is this a thing now? Is this a thing now? Is this a thing now? 

You swallowed hard, moving from the space between Remus’ legs and standing, doing your best to pretend to yawn and stretch, your foot kicking away James’ failed attempts at his potions essay. You didn’t see, but Remus was glaring at his friend. 

“Well. I’m off to bed,” you mumbled, book clasped tightly to your chest, page lost. It was barely past eight o’clock. “Night, boys.”

Sirius looked contrite as he watched you go, receiving a smack on the back of his head from James and his stack of papers, and as you made your way up the steps towards your dormitory, you heard the explosion of voices behind you. An argument ensued, Remus’ voice at the forefront despite how hushed it was, low and annoyed and aimed at Sirius. 

You wondered what he’d say, what explanation he’d give. Because you certainly weren’t anything, not that you’d spoken about, anyway. You were lingering in between friends and something more, sitting on the edge of a declaration, maybe not quite love, but definitely more than a crush. You’d spent too long looking at Remus Lupin differently from the other boys now, too many years hoping he’d sit closer, hug you longer. 

And he did. You noticed. You knew. You were sure he did too, ‘cause his gaze held something more now and as the months passed and you both got older - and more impatient - he got braver too. He pulled you over his lap, let his hands linger on bare skin in the warmer months, let you trace the scars he got each full moon and you were always an inch or two away from kissing them better. You wondered if he’d let you. You wondered if he’d be bold enough to ask for it first. 

Before you could close your door, your dorm room lit by candle light, a hand caught the wooden planks and you startled, opening it fully to find Remus standing there looking sheepish. His shirt was creased from where you’d been leaning on him, his cheeks still rosy from whatever sharp words he’d aimed at his friend downstairs. 

“Hi,” he breathed out, chest heaving a little like he’d run all the way up to catch you. 

He had. 

“Hi,” you whispered back, wondering where this was going, why he was here, too aware of your empty dorm and your empty bed behind you. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus began, gesturing vaguely behind him. “About him. Sirius. He’s a— well, he’s a prat.”

You snorted, an amused noise that was far from ladylike but it made the corners of Remus’ frown pick up and he was grinning, relieved that you didn’t seem to be too upset. “You say that as if I’m not already aware,” you replied. “I learned to ignore Sirius Black years ago, Remus. You don’t have to apologise for him.”

Remus shuffled awkwardly, one hand carding through his already messy hair as he worked up the courage to say what he wanted. You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and suddenly, it felt momentous, like there was a spell lingering in the air, like it was only you and Remus in the castle despite the way you could still hear James telling Sirius off in the common room below. 

“He was right though. Pads,” Remus clarified and he was frowning a little, stumbling over each sentence like it was too hard to speak. “For once. I do like you more than him.”

Another beat of silence, shy, soft. You could feel the air shift, your heart thunder. 

Remus leaned against the wall, the cool bricks doing nothing to settle the flush across his face and neck. But still, he spoke, quiet and measured, eyes pinned on you like he wanted you to know how brave he was being, how much he meant the words he said. You could still feel his touch from before, four fingertips trailing over your side, the bare skin over the dip in your waist, the way his thumb joined in and pressed nicely against your ribs. 

You felt dizzy. 

“I think— I think I like you most,” Remus nodded, failing to look serious as a smile broke over his face, full lips lifting into a nervous sort of smile. “More than anyone else, really.”

“Anyone?” You think you whispered it, but Remus heard, smile growing. 

“Everyone,” he agreed.  

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Family Planning

Life slows down once everyone is safely back on Pabu, and maybe now it’s time to start focusing on what you both want for the future.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: breeding kink, very very brief and vague medical procedure (birth control removal), established relationship, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, pre-established safe word (always play safe, folks), oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV, scent kink, light marking, bandana as bondage, light hair pulling, love and fluff, soft aftercare.

“I can put a replacement in immediately if you’d like?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair, ready to remove the expired birth control implant buried in your upper arm. 

“Urm…” You paused, not entirely sure what you wanted to do. Honestly, you’d forgotten about the small plastic rod under your skin until Hunter had offhandedly commented that you smelt a little sweeter this cycle.

He sat beside you now, warm brown eyes sliding in your direction as the doctor waited for your answer. With nothing to do this afternoon, he’d offered to come with you to the appointment you’d made at Pabu’s only clinic. After four years at his side, having been assigned as the squad’s civilian handler at the start of the war, nothing was sacred anymore. Even more so after you’d fallen into bed together two years ago. 

Two years of waking up next to each other, of stolen kisses and wandering hands, of knowing looks and being railed against the nearest surface. Two years of ‘I love you’ and ‘stay safe out there.’

During the war, the two of you had discussed a family late at night, tucked away in a bunk together, voices whisper soft and full of hope.

Now, life had slowed. After rescuing Crosshair, Omega, and Tech from Mount Tantiss, you’d slipped off the Empire’s radar and had settled down properly on the tropical island. You had a home and a routine, were on a first-name basis with the locals, and even snagged a teaching job at the school.

Eyes shifting to meet Hunter’s, you chew on the inside of your lip. Was now a good time? Would your baby be safe, or would the Empire come sniffing if they caught wind of a child of an enhanced clone?

“It’s your choice, cyar’ika.” He states, his mouth’s corners turning into a devastatingly handsome smile. “It’s your body.” He adds. You know his stance on having a family, Maker above you play into often when he’s buried deep inside you late at night, but this feels like a pivotal moment in your relationship.

Holding his gaze, you’re not quite sure what you’re searching for – but you can see so much in his eyes. All the trust and love he has for you, all the support. At first, it had been terrifying to have someone believe in you so much, but your self-worth and confidence flourished over the last four years.

He’d be an incredible father. You’d already seen it from his interactions with Omega, how the young girl pulled all those paternal traits out of him. He’d go to the ends of the galaxy to keep you and your baby safe, of that you were sure.

Contentment seeped through your body, a feeling of rightness settling in your gut. You wanted a family too, and you loved each other - had been to hell and back for each other. You shifted your attention to the waiting doctor. “Don’t bother replacing it.” You tell him, hearing Hunter inhale sharply, the armrest of his chair creaking as his grip tightened on it at your words.

The doctor gave you a knowing look as he swabbed a disinfectant pad over your upper arm. “Normally, I encourage my patients to use other contraception, but something tells me that advice would fall on deaf ears.”

You make a slight noise of agreement, glancing over at Hunter as the doctor quickly removes the small implant. Your eyes take in the way he’s watching the little piece of plastic being removed, his fingers flexing against the arms of the chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the implant is pulled free of your body. And then those dark eyes find yours and steal your breath.

It was the right decision.

He’s on you the moment you get home, not even giving you time to properly shut the front door. Rough hands grasp your body, lips finding yours for a passionate kiss – there’s no finesse to it; it’s needy and messy, noses bumping and tongues meeting.

Buttons are undone; his shirt hits the floor, and his shoes and pants follow. Strong hands cup your ass and lift you, lips still pressed desperately against yours as he carries you a few steps further into the house, laying you on the couch and following you down. Your kiss breaks long enough for him to pry your dress up and off, lips meeting again before the garment even has the chance to hit the floor. He’s back on you, using one hand to prop himself up above you.

“Fuck, cyar’ika.” Hunter’s voice is low and smoky as his mouth moves to your jawline, light kisses peppered across it before he works down your throat, nipping gently at your delicate skin. Your chest heaves with each breath, mind spinning as your hand’s card through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, eliciting a small hiss of pleasure and pain from him.

A needy whine breaks free, your hips lifting as you desperately seek some friction. Hunter matches your actions, grinding his hard-on against your thigh as he reaches the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. He bites down a little harder this time, your moan filling the air, pulling a growl from him as his tongue laves over the mark. The light sweetness to your scent is still there, but he knows it’ll only get stronger as the artificial hormones make their way out of your system. He can’t wait to bask in it.

Your bra is slung over the edge of the couch, hands cupping your breasts as Hunter’s mouth continues downwards, leaving a trail of kisses. Shivers skitter down your spine as he licks across the soft mounds, dragging the flat of his tongue across your rapidly hardening nipples. Drawing one into his mouth, he sucks, scraping his teeth gently across it. The pleasure makes you gasp, back arching as you chase the warmth of his mouth.

Forefinger and thumb tweak your other nipple, the double onslaught making you whimper. Hunter smiles against your breast, enjoying how easy it is to pull such delicious sounds from you. Downwards, he continues, scooting back a little on the couch to press more kisses across the softness of your stomach, yet he pauses for a second just below your belly button.

The actual reality of it slams into him. That damn implant is no longer in your arm, and while it might take a few cycles for your hormone levels to settle back into their natural state, his child could soon be growing here, nurtured by your beautiful body. He moans at the thought, hands moving to kneed gently at your belly.

Gazing down your body, you watch as the man you love laves attention to your stomach. You might’ve pulled away, self-consciousness flaring a little in the past, but you know why he’s doing it. You know the thoughts that are swirling through his mind. You reach down with one hand, fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his bandana off. You snag it with your free hand, sliding it down your wrist, knowing how much he loves seeing you wearing it.

It has the desired effect. Hunter catches the motion, groaning as the band of red fabric rests around your wrist, possessiveness flaring low in his gut and his hips flex, hard cock grinding against your leg again. Deft fingers pry your panties down, and he buries his face between your thighs moments later, turning his head to scatter kisses on your inner thighs. His stubble’s roughness contrasts with his tongue’s softness, and your hips buck in anticipation, desire building further inside you.

He presses forward, burying his face against your pussy as he inhales deeply, growling as your scent floods his nostrils. Tongue dragging through your soaked folds, his nose presses against your clit, and you grind against it, knowing how much he loves you riding his face. Fingers fan over your thighs to keep your legs open as he devours you, his tongue circling your entrance a few times before plunging in, pulling back a moment later to flick it over your clit, making you shudder. He repeats the action several times, driving you crazy with need.

Mouth finally staying on your clit, he presses two fingers into you, crooking them, rubbing your g-spot. The angle is perfect, and between his talented hands and hungry mouth, you’re done for. “Hunter!” You cry out his name, your release slamming into you. Your hips and thighs shake, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the pleasure sweeps you up, searing through your veins.

Smug satisfaction paints Hunter’s handsome face as he slows, lapping up your release before he takes his mouth off you, though he continues to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you, feeling the way you spasm around them as you come down from the high. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to cum inside you.” He rasps, the smokiness of his voice amplified.  

Catching your breath, you’re mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze. Biting down on your lower lip, a thrill runs through you. “I think you should show me.” You challenge.

His growl is feral, your pussy clenching at the sound. Fingers slide out of you as he reaches for your wrists, grasping them as he hauls your arms up, pinning them against the couch above your head. Quickly, he ties his bandana around them, a smirk tilting his lips.

Softness creeps across his features momentarily as he looks down at you beneath him, and you know what he’s asking. “Havoc.” You re-confirm your safe word. You were entirely comfortable with this and had been the hundreds of times you’d done it before, but he always double-checked.

Shifting back to sit on his knees between your thighs, Hunter’s hands smooth across your body. You hadn’t been made for war or the frontlines, even though you’d insisted all those years ago on being out there with him and his brothers. You were softer, unable to take as many hits, making him want to protect you all the more.

You relax against the couch, content to let him lead, trusting him implicitly. He catches you off guard as he dips his head down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue swirling around the pebbled bud. Back arching, you huff a breath, squirming as his hands grasp your hips. His lips trail upwards, across your neck, leaving a mark on the other side to the one he’d made earlier. The sweet moan you let out is music to his sensitive ears.

“The way you sound pinned under me…fuck. Your moans are so pretty, cyar’ika. Can hear your heart racing too.” Hunter’s eyes close momentarily, losing one sense, further heightening the rest of them. He breathes in your scent once more, using one hand to pry your thighs further apart, dragging the velvety head of his cock through your slick folds. “So needy for me. This what you want?” He can’t help but tease, enjoying your whimpers and eager nod.

He makes you wait for a second, that mischievous glint in his eyes part of why you fell in love with him in the first place, and then you feel him press against your entrance, inch by glorious inch pushing into you. Your moan catches in your throat, pussy stretching to accommodate him until his hips are flush against you, heavy balls resting against your ass.

Hunter grunts as he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut once again. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, giving you a second to adjust before he pulls back and slams back in, making you both cry out. His eyes snap open, locked on your beautiful face as he sets a punishing pace. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your arms trapped above your head, completely at his mercy.

Fingers grasp your thighs, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. The couch creaks beneath you, but you pay it no mind, too focused on the pleasure building inside of you once again.

“Gonna fuck you every damn day until it sticks. Gonna make you a mommy.” Hunter snarls, watching your lips part, your head tipping backwards as you moan unabashedly. You clench around him, and he knows his words excite you.

He won’t last much longer, having been worked up since you’d told the doctor to remove the implant. He’d never been more grateful for loose-fitting pants in his life – walking out of the clinic with a boner was not something he wanted the island residents gossiping about.

Pulling out of you, he chuckles as you whine. “Patience, mesh’la.” He chides gently, strong hands grasping your hips as he flips you onto your front. He unties the bandana, letting it fall to the floor, and you grab at the arm of the couch as he hauls your ass up, fingernails clawing uselessly at the fabric.

On his knees behind you, Hunter pushes back in, setting a quick pace again. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch, ass pressing against him. “Feel you so deep.” You gasp, hearing a deep rumble of pleasure from behind you moments before a hand grasps your hair, tugging your head backwards.

A sharp sound leaves you, eyes screwed shut at the combination of pleasure and pain that erupts in your body. The warmth in your body builds, the edge drawing oh so deliciously closer. Hunter keeps a hold of you as his thrusts pick up, eyes glancing down to watch his cock slide in and out of you a few times before his free hand snakes around you to rub your clit. “I can feel you squeezing me tight. You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” His pace is relentless, hand letting go of your hair a moment later as he eases you down, your cheek pressed against the couch, back arching beautifully. The change in angle is pure perfection.

“Hunter!” You cry out his name for the second time this afternoon as the pleasure crescendos, your body clenching around him, muscles spasming as you climax.  

With your body clamped around his cock, Hunter gives two final thrusts before he stills and presses himself against you, shoving in as deep as he can with a grunt as he cums. His thighs shake as the pleasure washes over him, cock twitching as he fills you.

The sound of both of your ragged breaths fills the room, and the pair of you spend a moment catching your breath. Gentle hands smooth across your back after a moment. “Keep that ass up, cyar’ika. Don’t waste any, even though there’s plenty more where that came from.” Hunter murmurs, folding himself over you as he drags his lips across your shoulder blade, tongue laving at your skin and the thin sheen of sweat on your body.

You let out a little noise of agreement, tilting your hips a fraction to ensure none of his release can escape. It draws a deep chuckle from him, and you bask in the sound.

“I love you.” He whispers, warm breath brushing against your ear as you feel him ease out of you, his softening cock resting against your ass.

“I love you too.” You reply quietly, head tilting to capture his lips in a sweet kiss as his hands slide around your body, resting against your stomach. 

As the kiss breaks, he presses his forehead to your back, warm hands rubbing gentle circles against your belly. “Stay like this a little longer, baby.” He insists, the quiet sounds of your synced-up breathing the only noise in the room.

You know it won’t take, but you stay still anyway, soaking in the moment and the feel of his body pressed against you, safe and happy in your little slice of paradise.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

ABSOLUTION — A DRABBLE

Also on AO3

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Summary: absolution usually follows a confession, doesn’t it? But repentance has to come first.

WC: 1.4k words

Warnings: SMUT!!! MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, dead dove (do not eat!), hierophilia, vampirism, consensual blood drinking, oral (m receiving), orgasm denial/edging, corruption, dom/sub dynamics kinda, umm blasphemy?, some religious imagery, oh he’s kinda mean in this one (and i love it), ummm i think thats it but lmk if anything else hehe

———

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…”

Your voice was soft and honey sweet, a mockery of piousness. Your hands clasped in front of you in supplication, but it was not for absolution. And no, he also did not buy the demureness of your lowered lashes, nor the downward tilt of your chin.

But he could not lie and say he did not enjoy the sight of you on your knees in front of him. He would take the time to kiss them — rubbed raw from the hardwood floor of his bedroom — later, after he’d heard your confession and cleansed you of all sin.

“It has been… a rather long time since my last confession.” A pink tongue moistening your lips. “Or at least it feels that way.”

He clicked his tongue, not hiding his disapproval. You merely glanced up from under your lashes, still the picture of humble obedience. He let out a sound that almost sounded like a scoff.

“Go on,” he said.

You shifted a little, feeling the familiar ache in your legs begin to form. His dark eyes trailed lower, to the golden cross that hung from your neck — the one he had given you.

“I have been impure in mind and body, tormented by unbecoming thoughts…”

“What sort of unbecoming thoughts?” He cut in. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare say them out loud, Father.”

Again, a derisive snort. “But you would act on them instead?”

“I have, yes.” You nodded. “And I fear I will again.”

“You fear, hmm?” He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against the chair’s armrest. “Go on, what else?”

You swallowed hard, exhaling a shuddery breath. “I have been lustful a-and gluttonous. I-I have corrupted myself and another…”

“Yes, you certainly have,” he said, leaning forward. “You’ve been quite the naughty girl.”

“But I am very, very sorry for these and all my sins,” you said, tilting your face up to look at him, pouting slightly to show remorse. 

But he could clearly see the truth in your eyes, which burned like the flames of eternal damnation. He couldn’t help a chuckle, smiling with teeth that were all too sharp. Teeth that you desperately wanted to sink into your soft, pliant flesh, so he may have his fill of you.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, grasping your chin and pushing down your bottom lip with his thumb. “Lying is a sin too, but you already knew that, didn’t you, little lamb?”

You nodded, opening your mouth for him. The pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue as he studied you, head tilting slightly to one side. 

“Lying tongues must be put to better use, I think,” he said, his eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight. “After all, actions speak louder than words. Maybe you can show me how sorry you truly are.”

At that, your lips wrapped around his thumb as you held his gaze. He could hear the loud thunder of your heartbeat, like a rabbit’s being chased through the underbrush. His hunger yawned open, lashing his insides.

You tilted your head back further, your bared throat a clear message for him. He would heed that call in time, but sometimes he allowed himself to play with his food a little first.

In response, he withdrew his hand, but not before smearing your saliva over your lips first with his thumb. He shifted his hips forward, your eyes flicking down to follow the movement.

He nodded for you to proceed and with shaking fingers, you did quick work of his belt, subsequently undoing the button and zipper of his pants. You felt him straining against the fabric, stirred at the prospect of your warm, wet mouth on it.

You bent down and softly kissed him through the thin fabric, feeling it respond to your touch. There was a sound in his throat — a warning, telling you that you knew better than to tease him.

He ran a hand through his raven locks, pushing back a strand that had fallen over his forehead. His handsome, regal features were shadowed in the low light, giving him a more severe look. 

He watched closely as you eased him out of his briefs, holding back a hiss at the first touch of your bare hand. A sweet smile that was solely reserved for him, and then your lips touched the flushed pink tip. 

“Like this, Father?” You asked, to which he nodded.

“Slowly, now,” he instructed, placing a hand atop your head. “You want to convince me, don’t you?”

You did as told, going slow and soft, tongue circling the tip. Tracing the thick vein running up the side, nearly making him shudder. He let out a harsh breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a mere moment as he lost himself in that heavenly feeling.

“That’s better,” he said, gathering up your hair in his hand. “Always good to be obedient.”

You let out a pleased hum at his praise. He slid over your tongue with ease as you took more of him in your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down still at a slow pace, prolonging every sensation. 

And the way your eyes so sweetly looked up at him, searching for his approval, filled him with a deep satisfaction. Your ears were finely tuned to the sounds he made, understanding what he liked best.

So diligent, so very eager to please. How could he not forgive you everything? 

Soon he found that hunger warred and even threatened to overcome his pleasure. You were so willing to give yourself to him already — he could smell your arousal gathering between your thighs, another siren call to his senses — and all he had to do was take. 

And so, when you came up for air, lips still glossy with the mess you were making, he could not hold himself back any longer. You let him wrangle you onto your back on the floor, his weight pinning you down. A thin trickle of saliva gathered at the corner of his lips as he parted your legs as far as they would go.

You whimpered under his gaze, feeling like you might go up in flames if he didn’t have you soon. He slid downwards, ravenous gaze fixed on his target. Then you felt his hot breath as he buried his head at the apex of your thighs, nose and mouth pressed against your cunt.

He moaned like a man in agony. The tip of his tongue teased your core over the soaked fabric. But, much to your chagrin, he made no attempts to take your underwear off. He was punishing you, after all.

But in instances like this one, you were allowed to use his name. 

“John,” you gasped, head tilted back as if your plea was for the heavens.

He let out a sound that was similar to a growl, one hand splaying over your lower abdomen to hold you in place. His mouth filled with saliva, readying for the bite, appetite clouding his senses.

And then, adjusting his face to one side, his teeth sank into the soft meat of your inner thigh. A cry escaped your lips before you covered your mouth with one hand. The initial agony was always like a lightning bolt, but then it melted away into a morphine-like languor. 

Your body slackened as he drank, fingers digging into his dark curls. He whimpered and groaned at the magnificent taste of your life’s essence, any sin of yours completely erased in his mind.

Then suddenly, he shuddered, his body tensing. You felt his mouth pull away only so he could seal the wound with his tongue. When he looked up, his eyes were glazed over, bright in that way they always were when he’d just finished feeding. 

You lifted your head to get a better look at him as he licked his lips, savoring you to the last drop. You felt a pulse deep in your core at the sight, but you knew that your penance would be to leave you unattended. 

Oh, how awfully torturous! You loved every moment of it. Deep down, he knew that, too, and he used it against you whenever he could.

He left a bloody kiss right on your panties, right over your clit, making your hips jerk. You frowned, half-heartedly glaring at him, and he smiled up at you with pink stained teeth. 

“Good girl, how selfless of you,” he said, practically purring. “You’re on the right path, but I’ll just have to make sure you don’t stray from it.”

------------

[rainyrambles-overcod]

(Also bringing this one over from the old blog)

A soft knock at the door is what brings the Captain out of the fog that surrounds his focus, wispy tendrils soaking into the printed pages before him. Having been looking between stacks of documents detailing the reports of their most recent op, for what he can only pray hasn’t been as long as his back insists it’s been, he was far too deep into the mucks to even register that triple tap the first time it sounded.

He lets out a stiff grunt in response before straightening up in his chair, hands gripping the padded armrests to try and arch his screaming spine. Eyes closed with a pained huff as the midnight figure slips inside, missing the polite nod of his head given upon entry. A look of calm sympathy on the intruder is replaced with a restrained worry, which pinches the sergeant’s brow as he clicks the office door shut behind him.

“Captain,” he says simply, taking slow steps to reach the other side of the desk. John only nods, twisting his shoulders to the opposite side in an attempt to pop his back.

A single crack of his spine at the base is his only relief—a protest no doubt spurred by hours of sitting over the desk without change.

“‘ow long have you been lookin’ over those, sir?”

John shakes his head, sitting back in his chair with arms folded to meet Kyle’s concerned gaze, which had fallen to the scatter of papers across the desk between them.

“Long enough,” he answers simply, head tilting to follow the younger man’s gaze. “You’re up late.”

Kyle’s gaze shifts to one of critical scrutiny, expression scrunched incredulously.

“You’re one to talk, sir.”

His words are followed by a slow circle of steps that takes him around the desk, to stand beside John as he’d done many times before. Slow, and methodical, with one hand raising to rest on the back of his captain’s chair. Fingers itching to find the warmth at the back of his neck, tickled by hair. John expects it at this point, the routine of Kyle’s concern and worry that he could never seem to shake. He supposed he should be grateful—thankful. Nobody could seem to put up with him in these long nights the way Kyle could. No one else had that way about them, he supposed.

“‘s that attitude I hear, sergeant?”

“I’ll repeat my previous statement.”

A chuckle escapes John’s lips despite himself, and he finally looks up to meet the other man’s gaze. Hands folded over his lower abdomen, fingers interlaced, allowing him to sink back into his chair. Kyle’s lips pull into a quirk at the corner, and his hand is soon felt sliding down to rest at the base of John’s neck.

“Real cheeky there, Garrick.”

[feralwaff1e]

It was now or never.

“I know you’re there. I know you’re fucking watching. You’re always watching. Guess what? I’m not here to work. That’s right. I’m here to be lazy.” To further illustrate this statement, he kicks his legs over his armrest, folding his arms behind his head, and smirking. “So lazy. Maybe I’ll take a nap. How do you feel about that?”

There’s a snarl above him, from the abyss that forms his ceiling. It sounds like metal being scraped against rocks. A creature scales down the wall like a spider. She drops the rest of the way, landing on her hands and feet in a crouched position. When she stands, she easily towers over Vox at almost twenty feet. She dresses in a circa 1980s ladies’ black pantsuit with shoulder pads so severe they look like pauldrons. Her shoes have knife blades in the place of the spike heels. Instead of a mouth, the creature has the funnel of a loudspeaker welded to the lower half of her face. Her eyes are bloodshot and manic. The eyes of too few nights of sleep and too many cups of coffee. Arms akimbo, hands tipped with perfectly manicured razor sharp nails on her hips in the ultimate power stance, she growls again. Her hair, burning as bright as white lightning, is pulled back in a bun so tight that the skin of her forehead and around her eyes are taut

“Vox,” she roars. “Why aren’t you working?”

‘Well, to be honest. I don’t feel like it.” Vox smiles ruefully when the entity emits an outraged howl. He looks at the creature. “I’m going on vacation,” he tells her. “I’m going on vacation, and I won’t be working.”

The creature howls with rage. “A vacation,” she hisses. “Laziness! You have too much work to do! You have no time for a vacation. Nose to the grindstone!” she drops to all fours and snarls. “You should be working!”

Vox sags against his chair. He’s been dealing with her for a while now. He hadn’t had an issue, but then he’d started spending time with Alastor, he started going to therapy, and that led to him wanting to spend less time here…

That’s when the issues started happening.

I absolutely love, Radio Saved The TV Star. It’s a great Fic and I recommend it! If I’m correct, @slash-is-my-weakness86 wrote it! I cannot wait for the new chapter!! The link is in the undercut!

[starrysamu]

✦ you and nanami have been working side by side for three years now. when nanami brings his son to work with him one day, it changes the entire trajectory of your relationship in only 24 hours.

✦ nanami kento x f!reader

✦ word count: 1.9k

✦ warnings: none.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

previously.

“he really likes exercise equipment, but he’s too small to use them, especially the elliptical that we have at home. i’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. instead, we go to the park when we can so he can play. he likes spending time with his friends there. he likes it when i cook dinners for him, which is most nights. he hates vegetables, and i’ve heard it’s common for kids his age but it’s been really tough to get them in him. sometimes - ”

he stops abruptly and blinks at you. you blink back. 

“sometimes?” you urge quietly. your hands are folded on your lap and your chest is pressed against the edge of the table. 

he clears his throat. “ah, i lost my train of thought.” 

you smile, knowing full well there’s no way a man like him just “lost his train of thought.” 

you’ll give it time, though, because this time it’s different. this time, you’re willing to wait.

chapter 4

“another friday, another yuto, hm?” 

“another?” yuto yells disbelievingly. “there’s another yuto?” 

nanami shushes him. truly, it was just another day of figuring out how to phrase things to a small child.

“no, no, that’s not what i meant - i’d like to call a lifeline to help explain to yuto that he’s the only yuto for me, and i simply meant that - ”

“another friday, another nanny not available,” nanami mumbles monotonously. his voice - low and deep and rich like velvet - incites a completely inappropriate response from you. 

you frown, masking the tugging in your stomach with unamusement. “you’re the worst lifeline.” 

nanami turns to look at you point-blank, hands folding over his abdomen. 

your frown deepens when he doesn’t say anything. 

“what?” 

he draws in a deep sigh before turning back to yuto. “you know the drill. i’ll get you that mango custard today.” 

nanami probably broke his back trying to find someone to look after yuto. the sharpness of his eyes have softened, already weathered down from the morning. 

“mango custard?” you wiggle your eyebrows, leaning back to get a good look at yuto. “the dessert game keeps getting upped.” 

“i lo-ove mango,” yuto declares with his entire chest. “but i think dad likes it more. we also like strawberry. we like cake. cake is so good, like especially the cake with the little strawberry pieces in the middle of the slice -” 

“yuto, i think she knows what cake is.” 

nanami grunts as he leans over to pull yuto’s jacket around him, zipping it up to the very top. you grin at the sight: a sky blue marshmallow. 

“very flattering,” you gush. you feel like one of those aunties that’ll come up to him in 10 years and ask, ‘do you remember me?’ when there’s no way in hell he would remember you from such a young age. 

“look at all that extra padding. i think you’re ready for your first sports game.” this time, you wiggle your brows at nanami. 

yuto is not paying attention to you. yuto is actually quite upset that he’s got this suffocating jacket on him. he hangs his head back exasperatedly, letting out a long groan. 

“don’t make that face,” nanami murmurs. “it’s cold in the office today.” 

yuto starts to flop his arms and legs around like a fish. the chair wobbles, swiveling to the side pitifully. nanami reaches for the armrest to stop it from spinning and you watch, partly in awe with how the office chair practically consumes yuto whole. once he’s sure yuto’s giving up the resistance, nanami turns back to his computer. 

you try not to stare at nanami. you’ve always been drawn to his sharp features, but you think something else tugs at you now - pity, maybe? just thinking it fills you with dread. you hope it airs along the lines of longing, sympathy, even. 

he’s working with pinched eyebrows and the softest, most exasperated sighs - a large contrast from stoicism and silence. your chest tightens. 

you cross one leg over the other and swallow. “is there anything i can help you with today?” 

you can’t recall the last time you asked him that. you remember asking religiously during the first two quarters of working at the company, back when you were fresh-faced and impossibly ambitious - and back when he was simply polite and efficient enough to always say ‘no thank you.’ 

out of the corner of your eye, you catch yuto slouching defeatedly in his chair. 

would you have acted differently had you known? should you have tried harder to extend yourself? 

does this … does yuto change things? 

it shouldn’t. you don’t think it does, at least. 

you frown to yourself. you’re still contemplating it when he murmurs, “i think we just need to finish making the presentation for tomorrow.” 

your lips almost part. almost. 

“i might need some help with yuto,” he admits, eyes trained on the file on his computer. “he was a little … apprehensive about coming with me today.” 

this might be the longest response you’ve ever gotten to that question, much less to any of your other questions. 

“yeah, sure, anything,” you nod quickly, smiling at yuto. “really? who would’ve guessed he hates coming here? i thought this was the funnest place on the planet.” 

yuto scrunches his nose. “dad said funnest isn’t a word.” 

“he’s right, kiddo.” 

“then why’d you say it?” 

“for fun.” 

you lean over and drag his chair to sit in the middle of you and nanami. 

nanami looks at you before looking at yuto. when he looks at you once again, you tilt your head to the side. what? 

he shakes his head and turns back to his computer. 

it’s almost embarrassing how your back pops when you reach your hands up to the ceiling and wiggle your fingers. you sigh out in relief and slump forward. 

it’s friday. it’s friday. it’s friday, it’s friday, it’s friday. 

“do you have the excel sheet from the sukuna account?” 

you’re sensing a foreign invader. your eyes narrow. you’re like a white blood cell, and gojo satoru is a pathogen - a threat to your peace and serenity in the workplace. 

“ah, hello, dear, sweet gojo. the bane of my existence.” 

“how charming.” gojo grins. “happy to be of service.” 

“shut up,” a new voice says. “stop bothering her. i need to bother her. and him. both of them.” 

you smile tersely. “ah, hello, dear, sweet utahime. currently the other bane of my existence.” 

“i’m happy to take over the role from gojo,” she says curtly, passing a file to you. “i need you to look through this before i submit it for approval.” 

“must i?” you ask, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and tilting back dramatically.  

while you’re busy brooding over extra work, gojo comes around to pick yuto up. 

yuto giggles when gojo holds him up like simba. he circles around in his spot, yuto still suspended in air. “everyone praise king yuto. king yuto, we thank you for gracing our presence today - ”

nanami doesn’t shift, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t budge a single muscle. he doesn’t watch gojo swing his child around, he doesn’t ask gojo to put him back down. 

full, unadulterated trust. 

doubt creeps in. you remind yourself you haven’t known him for that long, you suppose. what’s it going to take to get there, though?   

you watch quietly, gnawing on your lip. 

“stop bothering everyone,” utahime hisses, tugging on gojo’s collar. “hi, yuto,” she coos, taking him from gojo. “you’ve gotten so big. do you remember aunty utahime? i haven’t seen you in so long. how’s work going today?” 

yuto sighs dramatically. it’s obvious he doesn’t remember her, but he’s itching to complain. “work is so bo-oring. i think dad and i should go to the park every day instead.” 

gojo ruffles his hair. “sorry kid, this is what life’s all about. luckily, you got a rich dad and … ” he looks to you, “an entertaining friend over here, so you’re basically set for life.” 

“entertaining?” you parrot, scrunching your nose. it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“derogatory,” gojo clarifies. 

“how sweet.”

utahime sets yuto back down in his seat. “anyways, just look over that when you can,” she says to you and nanami. 

“yeah, and the sukuna account,” gojo tacks on. “you guys are the best. just awesome. amazing people. great coworkers. keep up the great work.” 

you press your palms to your eyes and lean back in your seat. “i think i’m gonna have to go into overtime,” you groan, once gojo and utahime are out of earshot. 

“we can finish,” nanami mutters under his breath. “it’s fine, we’ll finish in time.” 

you’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself. 

you’re fighting for your life. you’re fighting the urge to scream and rip your hair out and do literally anything and everything the main character in a romantic comedy would do when nothing is going their way. 

you glance out the window. the sun has been gone for several hours now. you’re left to fend for yourself in this dusty, dark office - which, you figure you might be able to see better if you just got up to turn the lights.

lights are for the weak. it’s time to rely on your hunter-gatherer instincts. 

(you doubt hunter-gatherers were as lazy as you are, but that’s another discussion). 

you sigh and lean back in your seat. 

“why’re you sitting in the dark?” 

the lights click on and you jump in your seat. 

your heart is racing a million miles when you rub your eyes to adjust. footsteps approach you. what do you do? what would the hunter-gatherers have done?

you open your eyes. nanami towers over you, yuto attached to his hip and a grocery bag in his free hand. 

“we thought you might still be here.” 

you don’t know if you should be nervous. did something happen? 

“what’re you guys doing here?” 

he looks at you a little sheepishly. “yuto’s idea.” 

oh dear. what’re you to do now? what’re you to do now that you've seen this side of him? what’re you - a woman of nature, one with the trees and the wilderness - to do with a man like this? 

he’s shot you straight in the heart with a bow and arrow. 

“we got you a mango custard,” yuto grins. “you have to try it. it’s so much better than the strawberry cake.” 

“also got you some noodles if you’re hungry.” 

as if on cue, your stomach growls. 

you are no longer one with the wilderness. if you really think about it, this is the  modern version of gathering. 

nanami sets the bag down on your desk with the slightest curve of his lips. he grunts as he sits in his seat, yuto clinging to his front like a koala. 

“eat,” he murmurs, reaching for your mouse. 

he leans forward and you feel the warmth in waves, rolling off of his stiff suit. you still in your spot when he casually hands yuto over to you. now you’ve got a whole child hanging off of your right arm and a bowl of noodles in your other hand, with nanami brushing over you everytime he moves to type something on your computer. 

your heart blooms, flowers uprooting from your arteries. you’ve been watered after a long, dry day.  

“eat the custard.” yuto is whispering in your ear, but every time he speaks, he gets louder. “eat the custard. eat the custard, eat the - ”

“yuto.” 

yuto brings his voice back to a whisper. “eat the custard.” 

you giggle, holding up the box. “i gotta have these noodles first, right?” 

“no you don’t,” yuto shrugs. it must be nice to be a three-year old, considering how easily he made that decision for you. he shifts so he’s sitting on your lap, digging through the grocery bag to find the custard. “i think you should have the custard first.” 

“let her eat.” 

you let your eyes rest on nanami for a moment. his brows are slightly furrowed, with the same pinch from this morning. it feels that just as much as he hates overtime for himself, he hates it for you too. 

it makes you feel warm. 

“thank you,” you whisper. 

if he hears you, he doesn’t say anything. he makes sure your computer is shut down by 8:00.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

[n-s4kayaky]

Satisfying journey Pt.4

Pt.1

Pt.2

Pt.3

(Notes: Hi! I'm new to writing stories on this app. While I am familiar with writing the occasional one-shot or comic strip, it's been a while. I'm writing this story for my own enjoyment and excitement. I just wanted to let you know that if there are any grammatical errors, I apologize. I'm also more than happy to hear your suggestions and feedback. For now, this is all I can share. I hope you enjoy this story)

Pairing: Buggy The Clown x F!Reader

Summary: From now on, this is your new life! Buggy will teach you your new occupation in his crew as his personal servant. You must be by his side whenever he asks, refill his cup whenever he orders, clean, wash, and help him with his spectacles, as well as maintain his appearance as striking as every day! It's that option or... Die!

Warnings: Depictions of Violence and Torture,mentions of blood, Buggy being a complete jerk and a perv, sexual tension and teasing, romance, humiliation.

Buggy pulled the chain firmly, forcing you to walk to the bow like a puppy and he was your owner, which at that moment was basically what you were to him and you would even confirm that for his entire crew of circus pirates. He led you almost by the dreadlocks to one of the large tents in the middle of the ship. Once you entered, you observed your surroundings. The tent seemed to be the common dining area, a large wooden table was in the middle of the area, with large benches as seats except for one in particular, which you clearly guessed who that great chair belonged to, if it could be called that. A great throne was in the central area of the table, it was made of a much nobler wood than the others, the seat was padded as well as the backrest, it looked comfortable, and it was covered in velvet fabric. Half of the crew was already seated on the long benches, many of them talking and laughing while others drank as if there was no tomorrow. The table was full of plates of food of all kinds, it was a buffet style where pirates took what they wanted and ate. You looked at the crew and then at Buggy with a mixed expression of confusion and curiosity while said clown sat on the throne, putting his legs on the armrests comfortably. His eyes landed on yours and he smiled again as he tilted his head, making a gesture towards the buffet while winking at you "Come on, darling, my food and drink won't serve itself, will it?"

You blinked several times, were you serious or was it one of your heavy jokes? Is this why you wanted me alive? A small laugh of incredulity and amusement escaped your lips, causing the blue-haired man to raise his eyebrow with curiosity and a hint of anger. "Did I say something funny to you?" He said with a certain tone of irritability in his voice. You looked at him and shook your head with a certain amusement still present. "Really? Do you need me to feed you like a little child, sir?" You said with a certain mocking and full of amusement tone. Buggy's brow furrowed and he rose from his throne while his eyes were fixed on you the whole time. His gloved hands quickly went to your cheeks, squeezing them tightly as he had done before on several occasions, his face approached yours a few centimeters away, his big red nose touching the tip of your nose. "Dear... You're starting to behave like a brat again... And I don't like that too much.." He said as you felt something cold and sharp brushing your chin, your pupils lowered to see what the object was and quickly your eyes widened, his hand was holding a dagger, which he grabbed between his thick fingers while pressing the cold steel against your chin, painfully lowering it down your neck until it reached the softest area of it. "It's a shame, and I thought you were a good girl already... I'm afraid I have no other choice but to punish you to remember how things go around here, doll.." A small sadistic smile was drawn on his face as the sharp dagger was pressed harder against your sensitive neck. You let out a groan, feeling how the tip of the weapon created a small wound in your throat, causing small drops of blood to fall down your cleavage.

Fuck, if it kept going like this, you'd be left without a neck. What was better, to die or to be the servant of the sadistic pirate clown? As tempted as you were, the second option was the best one you could take, no matter how humiliating your life would be from now on. 'W-wait! Wait! I'm sorry...' You croaked quickly, looking at the pirate, who smiled pleasantly and with amusement, gently removing the dagger from the freshly made wound. 'Continue, doll...' 'I-I'm sorry, Captain... I'll do as you order...' The dagger slowly separated from your neck and the clown placed his hand on your cheek, caressing it sweetly. 'Oh, my little doll... See? I knew deep down you were a good girl for me,' he said pleased with your sudden submission. He didn't move an inch from your body as his eyes rested on your face and went down sweetly to the wound on your neck and the drops of blood that ran down it towards the beautiful valley of your breasts. 'Now be my good girl and go get what I asked for... But first...' He lowered his face to your neck, more precisely to the freshly made wound, licked his lips hungrily, and brought his tongue to your wound, giving it a long lick as if the place emanated mead from the very gods themselves. A shiver ran through your body at the sudden sensation of his warm tongue licking the wound he had created himself. But that wasn't all, his tongue slowly went down, causing your skin to tingle. His wet muscle went from your neck to your collarbones and from your collarbones to the path of your cleavage, which was visible thanks to your shirt. He licked your blood hungrily, while you on the other hand clenched your lips tightly to avoid letting out a moan at the sensation. Buggy lifted his face, facing yours again, while a small smile of amusement mixed with a hint of lust drew on his face. 'So sweet...' he whispered in a surprisingly calm tone. 'Now you can go, I wouldn't want you to be seen as a mess on your first day, eh?' He smiled and grabbed the chain that adorned the collar around your neck, pulling you a few inches closer to him as his lips rested on your ear, whispering in it. 'Although as things progress, I would like my men to see you as a mess because of me...' he said with a small purr in his tone and a smile full of mischief.

Your face immediately heated up, causing your cheeks to turn the same shade of red as Buggy's round nose. He burst out laughing at your state and gave you a spank on your butt, making you gasp as you snapped out of your trance, looking at him with burning cheeks. 'Now go get my food, dollface.' You felt something pull the chain and take you away from Buggy. Quickly, you turned your attention to see what it was. One of Buggy's hands had disconnected from his body and was now pulling your chain, forcing you to walk towards the food area. With nothing to object, you walked behind it until it stopped pulling, simply staying by your side as a reminder that you couldn't escape or anything of the sort. You sighed and approached the buffet, taking a plate and looking at the options. There was all kinds of food on the big table, from meats, fish, and vegetables to fruits and other types of food. Your stomach growled, and you felt your mouth water. Hopefully, after giving Buggy his plate, he would give you the chance to eat something, right? You took some meat, along with a few portions of vegetables, hoping it would be good enough for Buggy. You didn't want him to throw the plate at you or something like that. You walked back to him, standing by his side as you left the plate in front of him. He looked at it for a few seconds and took the cutlery, starting to eat without objections. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing that there was no scolding from his part. But before you could relax, he raised the hand that was still attached to his body, making a sign to you. You swallowed and approached him a little more. 'Darling, be good and bring me the whiskey.' You simply nodded, but before you could move away, you felt someone pulling you so that you wouldn't move. 'I didn't hear you.' 'Yes, sir, right away,' you said hurriedly, making the man laugh and letting you go get the alcohol.

You walked towards a small area away from the table where the bottles were, with your captain's floating hand holding onto the chain by your side. Once in front of the wide variety of bottles, you looked at all of them, searching for the Whiskey among all the options. Once you found the bottle, you took it and walked towards Buggy, standing next to him with the bottle in hand. Without saying anything, he took a glass and raised it towards you, waiting for you to fill it. A baritone sigh escaped your lips as you opened the bottle and poured its contents into the glass that Buggy had raised towards you, filling it halfway.

A few minutes passed as you stood next to Buggy, waiting for him to finish eating while your stomach growled with hunger. It didn't take long until you saw Buggy take a final sip of his whiskey, finishing it with a small sigh of satisfaction and a slight burp. "That was delicious, good choice my dear. I liked what you picked," he said, turning his head to look at you and winking while smiling. You simply nodded your head as your stomach growled again. You cleared your throat timidly and looked at the pirate. "Um... Thank you, sir... Uh... I was wondering if I could eat now," you said, watching as Buggy looked you up and down before letting out a small laugh. "Of course, darling. Grab something and sit down," he replied. Your face lit up at his response, and you quickly went to get some food, taking a plate and grabbing some of what you could. Finally, you could eat something that wasn't cold or tasteless. As you took the food, you looked around for an empty seat, but before you could decide on one, Buggy's hand pulled you towards him, confusing you as you looked at him. He smiled while patting his thigh. "Go ahead, sit down and eat, darling," he said cheerfully, his eyes not leaving you. You looked at him, somewhat astonished, while hesitating to sit down or not. It wasn't until his flying hand gently pushed you, making you sit on his lap while his arm quickly wrapped around your waist. You swallowed nervously, feeling embarrassed to be sitting on his lap. Buggy raised an eyebrow at your hesitation to eat and snapped his fingers in front of you. "Come on, doll, didn't you want to eat? Or do you want me to feed you?" You quickly shook your head while taking the fork on the table, taking a piece of food and bringing it to your mouth.

A small sigh of satisfaction escaped your lips at the taste of the hot food, your taste buds dancing happily at being able to taste something decent after several days of eating cold and bland leftovers and fruits in the midst of decay. Buggy's hands gripped your waist, gently lowering them to your soft thighs, causing you to release a small nervous jump, swallowing saliva while noisily eating your food. Buggy let out a small laugh as the gloved tips of his fingers circled the soft flesh of your thighs, which were now slightly more visible thanks to your skirt being slightly raised. 'It's all delicious, right, darling?' 'Yes, sir,' you hurriedly croaked as you took a bite of the food on your plate, the lips of the blue-haired man curving into a smile as his hand moved up and down your thigh. 'Of course, everything is perfect in this crew, especially the captain,' he said with his big ego, you simply rolled your eyes and let out a small laugh at his comment. Buggy's eyebrow arched gently and he rested his chin on your shoulder, causing a slight shiver to run through your body at the sensation of his chin stubble brushing against your skin. 'What's so funny?' 'No, no, nothing, sir... You're just right,' you said calmly to avoid angering the man behind you, something you hadn't realized when you laughed was the soft and beautiful smile that drew on the Clown's face upon hearing your small laugh. 'Well, in any case, are you finished? We have things to do, doll.' 'Yes, sir,' you said as you got up from his lap, gently wiping the crumbs that had accumulated on your skirt with small pats. Buggy got up behind you, putting on his coat as he walked ahead, pulling the chain. You followed a few steps behind, walking behind him as he headed towards a door that was certainly eye-catching (as expected). It was a loud purple color, with gold screws that shone in the soft sunlight, above the door was a skull that also seemed to be made of gold, the skull had two crossed bones behind it, it had a big round nose as expected, on top of its head it wore the same pirate hat that Buggy used to wear and to be more exact with the aforementioned hat, two pigtails fell. You quickly knew what that door was for just by the loud decoration; Buggy's office.

The pirate took a large bunch of keys out of his pocket, some shinier than others. He quickly moved from one key to another until he found the right one. He inserted it into the lock and opened the door, making room for you to enter. You were the first to pass through, and your eyes quickly scanned the surroundings. The room was spacious, and a smell of whisky, natural musk, perfume, and a hint of saltwater hit your nose. In the middle of the room was a large desk made of what seemed to be fine wood. It was covered in papers, maps, pens in their respective inkwells, a few compasses, and several empty whisky glasses. Behind the desk was a large chair, similar to the one in the dining room. To one side of the large table was a smaller one, on top of which was a bottle of whisky and a small stack of four glasses. There was a large velvet carpet on the floor, colored maroon. One of the walls had his wanted poster, as that man was arrogant enough to keep his large wanted poster with his reward in plain sight. Something that made your skin crawl were the various daggers that were stuck in the wall, several of them stuck in a wanted poster of a young man with a straw hat. Finally, there was a small table on the other side of the room, where an open chest was filled with several berries, jewels, and gold. The door behind you closed loudly, interrupting your observation of the room. Buggy walked in front of you, heading straight for the desk while taking off his dirty coat, revealing his muscular biceps as he sat down in his chair. He let out a long sigh as he looked at you. "Welcome to my office, my dear. What do you think?" "Um... it's quite eye-catching, sir," you said bluntly as you approached the table. "That's right, I knew you'd appreciate it, darling. Now be useful and fill my whisky glass," he said as he picked up one of the maps on the table. You approached the table where the bottle was and opened it, pouring the alcohol into the glass. Without taking his eyes off the map, Buggy took the recently filled glass and took a sip. You looked at the man with a small grimace. Was he really going to keep you in that room just to keep refilling his glass every time he asked? "Um... sir, do you need anything else?" you asked somewhat confused as you watched him. His blue-green eyes left the map and focused on you. "Yes, be a good girl and stay quiet while I prepare for my next show. I know you can do it, doll," he said. And as you had guessed, that was what you were going to do for the time he took to look at his maps. You sighed dejectedly and had no other choice but to stay by Buggy's side in silence. Hopefully, he wouldn't keep you there for too long.

[siriusblack-the-third]

Mouth Full Of White Lies

From this prompt by @impishtubist . It's un beta'd, so don't be too critical. ao3

.

Remus cannot do this.

He doesn't have the strength— the courage.

Sirius sits in the armchair front of him, slender fingers wrapped around a mug full of Irish coffee and pitch black hair pulled back into a messy bun, looking as comfortable and relaxed as if he was sitting on a cushioned throne. He stares out of the window, wearing a snug cream coloured jumper and one foot pulled up to the seat. Something twists in Remus' chest, but he cannot pull his eyes away from Sirius' face. He takes in the sharp angles and the arched eyebrows, the grey eyes and the relaxed line of his lips, the few flicks of his hair that fall over his forehead as he looks down into his mug when he takes a sip. Sirius looks anywhere but at Remus.

Remus doesn't know how to do this.

Without Harry around to act as a buffer, Remus feels the tension crawling up his spine slowly but surely, and it's worsened by the fact that he cannot tell if Sirius is feeling the same or not.

It has been eight days since Remus arrived at Grimmauld Place with Harry in tow, and in all that time, he has taken great care not to be caught alone in a room with Sirius.

Clearly, he went wrong somewhere, because here they were— alone together in the second floor parlour.

Remus swallows. Digs his fingers into the armrest of his chair.

"Padfoot—"

"Don't."

Sirius did not raise his voice. He did not say it in a hostile manner. He did not even look at Remus. That hurts more than Remus thinks it should.

"Sirius, I—"

"Don't, Lupin."

Remus flinches, feeling the words dig into his heart like he's been slapped. Sirius has not called him by his last name since the November of their first year at Hogwarts. After that, it was always Remus, Remi, Moony, Moons, Froot Lupes, any other nickname he could come up with. Not Lupin. Never Lupin.

"Padfoot, I'm sorry—"

"Lupin." Sirius finally looks at him. Remus flinches again, curling his shoulders into himself at the expression in his eyes. Or rather, the lack of expression. Sirius' face is blank, and his eyes are colder than a blizzard. He looks down his nose at Remus through lowered eyelids, the set of his eyebrows making it seem like he is utterly, completely indifferent to this conversation, like he does not give a single shit about what Remus has to say.

"I don't want to hear anything from you. If we must spend time together, we spend it in silence. Understood?"

Remus gives him a beseeching look, but Sirius doesn't waver in his decision, and Remus casts his gaze into his lap.

They sit in silence. Remus does not look back at Sirius, and Sirius relaxes into the soft padding of his armchair.

"I really am sorry, Sirius," Remus says quietly after a few seconds, fidgeting with his own fingers in his lap.

"I really don't care, Lupin."

Remus huffs and lifts his chin to stare at Sirius' impassive face. "It was wrong of me to leave you in Azkaban and I know it—"

"This," Sirius interrupts in a deceptively soft voice, "is not about my imprisonment."

Remus feels a chill travel down his spine. Still, he swallows down his urge to cut the discussion short. For once, he is not going to run away. For once, he will stay, and he will see this talk through.

"Then what is it about?"

Sirius looks at him like Remus hasn't an ounce of sense in his brain— the kind of disdainful and judgemental look he used to reserve for the students of Hogwarts who were not as smart as him or James. Remus feels the point of a dagger dig into his heart.

"Harry, Lupin," he says, and the icy frost that covers his tone makes the dagger pierce even deeper. "This is about my godson."

Remus grits his teeth, a sudden wave of annoyance rising up his throat. "I told you, Sirius, a werewolf is not capable of taking care of a child—"

"You could have visited him," Sirius cuts him off, and Remus hates how calm he looks, hates the way Sirius looks at him like he isn't worth his time. He hates the way his mind whispers in his ear about the school days when Sirius became eerily calm and composed, when he got that thunderstorm glint in his grey eyes that meant he was out for someone's cold blooded annihilation. "You could have checked up on him. You could have wrangled a deal out of the Hell-flower that made it impossible for her to harm my godson the way she did—"

"I HAD NO CHOICE!"

Remus is on his feet now, glaring at Sirius, who simply reclines back in his seat and still manages to look down his nose at Remus. The expression is so similar to the times in school when Sirius eviscerated someone with nothing but his whip-quick tongue that it makes Remus' blood boil. He hates the way Sirius is so.. so calm and collected. He wants Sirius to scream at him, yell at him, throw shit around and rage at him.

"Everyone always has a choice," Sirius answers coldly. "You had the time to make one— you had twelve years to make a choice. You didn't."

Remus breathes in, then breathes out, and the air that leaves him feels hot with anger. He glares at Sirius, clenching his fingers into fists and locking them down to his sides.

"You don't understand—" he grits out, but Sirius cuts him off again, the expression on his face growing colder with every word he utters. "Oh no, of course I don't. I have no idea what it's like to be a werewolf. That doesn't change the fact that you left Harry there. You left him there. James' child. The child we swore to protect—"

"I did no such thing."

The moment the words leave his lips, Remus knows he has fucked up.

Sirius shuts his mouth with a decisive click of his teeth, face going blank and unreadable. He stares at Remus, nothing showing through the mask he has snapped into place. Remus feels the dread trickle down his throat like freezing cold water, and he scrambles for words the longer the silence goes on, trying to find ways to fix this, to make it better, to get Sirius to understand.

"Sirius, I—"

"I suggest you stop speaking before I rip out your tongue and strangle you with it."

Remus snaps his jaw shut with an audible clack of his teeth at the flat tone of voice. Sirius is very much capable of carrying out that threat and both of them know it.

"Get out of my sight, Lupin."

Remus swallows down the seven replies his mind comes up with and twists on his heel, stiffly walking towards the door. When he is about to shut the door behind him, Sirius speaks again.

"You're not Moony to me. I am not Padfoot to you. You will refer to me as Black, I won't answer to any other name. And stay away from my godson."

Remus let's out a shaky breath. Nods. And steps out, pulling the door shut behind him.

[a-and-b-snz]

sci-fi snz: an alien donation

An alien, humanoid and graceful, is sitting in a waiting room with its hands balled anxiously in its lap. Its head jerks up when it hears its name being called.

"Yes?" It twists in its seat.

"We're ready for you. Would you like to follow me?"

A nurse with warm eyes and a kindly smile leads the alien into their office. The room is small and brightly lit. In the center is a blue padded chair, not unlike one that might be found at a dentist's, with the exception of the metal handcuffs on each armrest.

The nurse closes the door behind them, and then begins clicking through notes on their computer. The alien hovers awkwardly.

"Um," it mumbles, "should I sit?"

"Please," the nurse says. They look up from their screen as the alien glides across the room and settles on the chair. "I see this is your first time making a donation."

"Yes," the alien says. It has a low, soft voice, almost like a melodical whisper. "Are all my documents in order? There were an awful lot of things I needed to sign, I hope I didn't miss anything."

"You've done more than enough," the nurse reassures it. They observe how it's wringing its hands, its long, slender fingers laced together. "It's completely normal to feel nervous, the first time around," the nurse says gently. "There really isn't anything to worry about."

"Oh." It forces a smile. "No, I'm- I'm alright."

The nurse nods, and begins gathering their tools. "Would you like me to explain the procedure before we begin?"

"Yes please." It exhales in relief at the offer. "I've read some articles, but I'm still not really sure I get it? It all seems very technical."

"Oh, the journals like to complicate it with all sorts of jargon," the nurse rolls their eyes. "The reality is quite straightforward. The crux of it is, your species produces a special kind of liquid from its nose. Whilst it may appear similar to human mucus, it has incredible healing properties. When applied to human skin, it's able to close wounds near instantly, and reduces any risk of infection to near zero."

"Oh!" The alien's eyebrows shoot up. "Why's that?"

"We're still not quite sure," the nurse admits. "It's a very experimental field of medicine, at the moment. Which is why donations by people such as yourself are all the more appreciated!" They beam, and the alien feels warmth begin to heat up their cheeks.

"So, my donation could potentially save someone's life?" it asks.

"Possibly!" The nurse says. "Or at the very least, it will contribute to research which will lead to many lives being saved."

"Gosh," it says. "Well, I'm glad I signed up."

"I am too," the nurse laughs. The alien giggles with them nervously. Are all nurses this attractive, or did it just get lucky?

"Now, the producedure itself is quite straight-forward," the nurse says. "I'm going to take this--" they hold up a long, thin instrument, which is covered in fine white hairs "--and insert it into one of your nostrils. It'll trigger a few expellations, and I'll collect the liquid in this." They hold up a small cup. "Then, I'll do the same on the other side, and you'll be all finished! We try to keep it short, for fist time donors."

"Sorry, um- Expellation?"

"Ah." The nurse's eyes glimmer. "Have you ever sneezed before?"

"No," the alien says slowly. It's an extremely rare occurance in their species - most go their whole lives without a single sneeze. Eager to please their nurse, however, they add, "But, I've witnessed it in my human friends before."

"So you're familiar with the concept," the nurse says. "That's good."

The alien feels a little flicker of warmth in their stomach at the praise.

"Now, this may be a rather foreign feeling at first," they warn as they advance.

It stiffens. "Will it hurt?"

"Not at all," the nurse says. "It'll just tickle, that's all. And if at any point it gets too much, you can ask to take a break, or stop completely."

"I'll be fine," the alien says, with more confidence than they actually feel.

"I'm sure you will," they say, placing a reassuring hand on its arm. "You may still have a gut instinct to resist the need to sneeze. My best advice is, let it happen. It won't hurt you. In fact, some donors have even reported the sensation of release to be quite pleasurable!"

"Okay," the alien says warily, settling back and letting out a long, slow breath.

"I'm just going to lock your arms into place here," the nurse says, carefully taking one of its hands. "You'll likely experience a reflextive urge to touch or rub your nose, but if you do so, that could inhibit my ability to collect the liquid." They snap a metal band over the alien's right wrist. "In case of emergancy, you can free yourself quite easily, by pressing this button right here." They guide the alien's slender index finger to a button embedded on the side of the arm wrest. "Is that alright?" It nods, and so the nurse locks its left writs into place as well. "Okay, lets begin."

The alien goes cross-eyed as it watches the nurse bring the instrument up to its nose. It gasps softly as it enters its right nostril.

"How's that?" the nurse asks.

"F-fine," the alien stutters. "Just feels odd."

"I'm sure it does," the nurse croons sympathetically. "Just a little farther, and then I'll switch it on."

The alien blinks rapidly as it feels the fine hairs brush against the back of their nasal passage. "What do you mean, turn it-"

Click! ...Bzzzzz

The alien draws in a sharp breath as the instrument begins to vibrate inside of them. All those little hairs, which up until this point had been little more than a strange sensation, are mercilessly teasing this alien's poor, poor nose. Its arms jerk, and slam against the restrains. "Ah, s-sorry," it pants, forcing its hands to relax again.

"Don't worry about it. That's what the cuffs a for!" The nurse begins working the instrument ever so slightly forwards and backwards. The alien lets out a low whine. "Feeling okay?"

"Tickly," they moan. "It really tih- ih! Oh!" They whimper in surprise as their voice snags. "What's hah... What's happenihh- happening?"

"You're just starting to hitch," the nurse says calmly. "That's a good sign."

"It ih'hihh... it- it is?"

"It means your body's getting ready to sneeze."

It's such a strange feeling, panting wildly like this. The alien is used to being in total control of their breath, and wasn't expecting to lose that control so quickly. It's a shock, each and every time their lungs snatch for more air without permission. It tries to explain to the nurse how unusual it feels, but it finds it can no longer form a single word, let alone a coherent sentence. "Ah... ah... hah... aheh! Heh! Hehhh..."

"That's it," the nurse soothes. "You're doing so well."

The alien's eyelids pinch shut, another alarming action beyond their control. "Hah! Ah! HAHH!"

"Nearly there." The nurse must feel it's frantic trembling beneath their touch, because they begin to raise their cup. "Let it all out."

"Heh..." It's head tips back. "Ha... heh! Hih! Heh'HEH- HAH'TISHYIEWW!" It's head snaps forward as the nurse slides their instrument out just in time. It teeters on the edge, hitching wildly as it feels the rim of the cup rest against the underside of it's nose. "Ah-hah-HAHH! Ah'TECHOO! Eh- Eh'TESHyoo! Ah... heh... unghhh..." It slumps back into its seat, panting hard.

"Well done!" the nurse says enthusastically.

The alien grins at them weakly, their eyelids cracking half-open.

The nurse presses their thumb and forefinger on either side of it's nose. "Blow for me."

It obeys, and feels liquid dripping out of it's nose as the nurse pinches and releases multiple times.

"Wow," they say, "that's quite the production!"

The alien can't help but feel proud, in a strange sort of way. "Are you going to do the other side now?" it asks.

"Are you ready for it?"

It nods. The nurse switches out their instrument for a fresh one, and though it knows what to expect, it's no less strange of a feeling. "Ohhh," it moans as the device starts to vibrate. Its nose must still be running, as the cup is brought back to their upper lip once more. "Ah- ahh... oh, it's c-coming," it stutters.

"You're a natural at this," the nurse says. "You know, with some patients, it'll take them ten minutes before they even start to hitch! But you gave me a lightning-fast little fit like it was no big deal, and now you're already gearing up for more." They put their hand on its arm affectionately. "My star student."

It flushs with pride, eyes beginning to water. "I cah- can feel it bihh... building!" they huff out eagerly.

"Good job," the nurse croons. "Is it gonna be big?"

"Mm-hm!" The alien tries to nod, but in doing so, it winds up taking the instrument the tiniest bit further inside. The result is instantaneous: a half-formed, itchy "Itsh!"

Somehow, the sweet little sneeze only makes its nose itch worse, and it quickly begin gasping into the next one. "Itch! -Tch! -Tish! Tichu! It'shuh! Ah... hah... hih!"

It draws one giant breath as the instrument slides out. "IHH! IH'CHOO! IP'TISHIIEH! IHT'ESHU! Ohhh.... gosh." It moans at the final release. Wow, that did feel kind of good, actually.

"Blow," the nurse instructs, as they pinch its nose once again. The liquid shoots out of them like a rocket.

It coughs once the nurse lets go, and accepts the tissue it's handed, cautiously dabbing at their buzzing nose.

"All done!" the nurse declairs, holding up the cup. "Thank you so much for your donation. You're free to go."

Still panting, the alien gets shakily to its feet. It hesitates by the door, then turns to face the nurse. "Uh... when can I book another appointment?"

The nurse beams at it. "When are you next free?"

[faggotisaacfloofs]

feel free to skip any of these if they're too intrusive or need too much of an answer or for any other reason

2. do you use any type of disability aid other than mobility aids? (service animals, splints, glasses, inhaler, hearing aids, nebulizer, glucose monitors, hearing aids etc.) if yes, show us!!

3. if you have chronic pain, what’s your “normal” on the scale and what do you consider a good day on the scale?

4. if you have chronic fatigue, what’s your “normal” on the scale and what do you consider a good day on the scale?

14. what good has happened recently related to your physical disability?

2. do you use any type of disability aid other than mobility aids? (service animals, splints, glasses, inhaler, hearing aids, nebulizer, glucose monitors, hearing aids etc.) if yes, show us!!

Indeed! Too exhausted to post pictures and IDs of stuff so here is just a list. Feel free to inquire about one or two specific things and I can do pictures of those!

AAC - speech device, other communication aids such as cards, letterboard, light tech printouts

Laser for pointing at communication boards on the wall

Captioning app for conversations to help me understand what other people are saying

visual schedules (shows things i have to do in order with pictures)

Glasses & sunglasses

Ear plugs & ear defenders

Helmet for seizures/self-injury

Reacher-grabber thing

Adaptive mouse (thumb rollerball)

Meds

Heating pads & heated blanket

Fidgets, weighted items

Stylus

Compression sleeves

Those adhesive stripes you put on to open your nose and let you breathe while you sleep

Probably way more but it's honestly hard to remember

3. if you have chronic pain, what’s your “normal” on the scale and what do you consider a good day on the scale?

Normal is 7/10, all day, every day. It's 7 in my back and usually 6-7 in my hips/knees. My pain doesn't change much day to day and is never less than 6/10.

4. if you have chronic fatigue, what’s your “normal” on the scale and what do you consider a good day on the scale?

My fatigue is 6-8/10. I can't be out of the house much at all. 8 is "can't really move unless extremely urgent". 6 is "i can barely do something for a couple minutes and then take a break".

14. what good has happened recently related to your physical disability?

I got my new wheelchair! I still don't have armrests for it and my wheelchair tech is my enemy (impossible to get a hold of and dismissive but really probably just way overworked) and it still hurts really bad to be in it more than 30 min but hopefully I'll keep building core muscle and it will get easier.

As it is, it means I can often control my own movements out of the house instead of needing someone to push me everywhere I go, and I'm really enjoying that even though I'm noticing that it takes tons more energy. It's nice to have some independence of movement even if i still cannot go anywhere alone. Controlling my chair myself feels nice!

[queen-scribbles]

Girls Night Out

Post-Gauntlet Keme & Elara friendship fic bc I caught a plot gizka off the most recent time through. ft Jaxo's Checking In mission and Elara giving relationship advice :3 [~3500 words]

---

The medcenter hallway was 763 tiles long.

Keme knew this because she'd counted them while pacing. Thrice.

The lovely thing about being Havoc's CO was that it allowed her to know the "status of her team" but didn't necessarily let her do what she wanted with that information. Which was why she was here, in the kriffing hallway, instead of in there. When the medcenter said no visitors they meant it. No exceptions for commanding officers.

She'd memorized the list of Jorgan's injuries, too.

Which was why she was here. Pacing the hallway. Instead of out enjoying the brief--rare--shore leave, or restocking, or any of the half dozen other things she could think to do.

It was hard to read the words "punctured lung" and not worry.

Keme finally halted and slouched in one of the barely-padded chairs, fingers nervously tapping the armrest as she stared at the wall. Please be okay.

[Punctured lung. Multiple contusions and blaster burns from sustained heavy fire. Significant plasma burns to left leg, extensive bone and nerve damage; below knee amputation recommended. Potential retinal--]

Footsteps echoed down the austere hall and Keme snapped to her feet. Her shoulders dropped fractionally seeing it was Dorne.

"Not to be insubordinate, Major-" the other woman began, settling into parade rest posture when she reached Keme.

Keme waved off the concern. "We're on leave, Elara. And regardless, if you're about to dispense medical advice, it's hardly insubordinate for you to do your job." She shifted her weight, fighting the urge to pace again.

"Very well. You should go do something, Keme. This" --she gestured to the hallway-- "is not healthy for you, and it isn't helping anyone."

Keme snorted and rubbed at gritty eyes with the heel of one hand. "Like what, Elara? I don't have anyone to visit, I'm not much for shopping, and I'll bet my next three paychecks I couldn't focus on a book or vid to save my--"

Her comm beeped with a message notification. Keme frowned. Garza or the medtechs would've commed, no reason for her parents to be contacting her right now... She spotted a terminal and headed for it, Elara on her heels.

"Something the matter, sir?" Elara asked.

"Don't know yet." Keme signed in and pulled up her messages. There were two--one text, one audio. The text file proved to be the official notice of their promotions; major for her, captain for Jorgan, lieutenant for Dorne, and the medals and commendations earned on the Gauntlet mission.

"Would've made captain soon if Command hadn't hung me out to dry." She chucked internally at the memory. Hope this wasn't too much of a delay for you.

The audio message was from Jaxo. "Hey, hotshot, heard you're back on Coruscant, with leave no less. Some friends and I were equally lucky, and we're gonna do something fun with it. Swing by if you wanna join us."

"That sounds like someone you could visit," Elara commented. "As a distraction."

Keme rolled her eyes as she closed down the terminal. "C'mon, how much fun d'you think I'll be tonight?"

"You never know," Elara said with a shrug. "Maybe once you start relaxing, it'll help more than you expect."

Keme chewed the inside of her cheek. Under other circumstances, it would be fun. Maybe she should give it a shot. "I'll go if you come with me."

Elara arched a brow. "I wasn't invited."

"So I'm inviting you," Keme said. "I'll tell Jaxo since we both have leave we're a package deal."

"Oh, alright. If it'll get you out of here."

Keme gave a wry smile. "Guess this means we need to go find other outfits, that fit the tone of having fun better."

"I suppose we should," Elara said with a faux-sigh, and they started down the hall.

Keme couldn't help a last look back over her shoulder, as if that would make a doctor materialize with an update and justify her staying.

It didn't.

---

This cantina was too loud. The first couple hadn't been bad, which almost made the pounding music and din of customer chatter worse. Keme took the drink--gizer ale--Jorda clumsily shoved in her hands and surveyed the crowd. Dancing, drinking...

The song changed and Keme wrinkled her nose. It was too loud to think in here, let alone really talk. She took a sip of her drink as that clicked. The other places they'd hit so far; five of the eight Jaxo had tallied at the start, were busy, noisy, but not so much to prevent conversation. She could listen to Jorda or Keran's war stories, Jaxo regaling them with one of her declassified exploits, and it was at least somewhat the distraction she needed.

With this place too loud to think, her thoughts were slipping back to the default track, even as she sought some level of refuge at the high tables away from the dance floor.

Punctured lung. Multiple contusions and blaster burns from sustained heavy fire. Significant--

"Hey." Jaxo hoisted herself up on one of the other tall chairs. "This seems a dang'rous combo with drunk people," she muttered, briefly distracted, before looking back at Keme. "Why don't you look like you're havin' fun? The whole point of this is t' have fun!"

"It's too loud in here." Wasn't technically a lie; she was all but hollering just to talk. "Can hardly hear myself think."

Jaxo snorted. "Y' aren't s'pposed to think, you're s'pposed to dance, have fun, drink people under the table." She studied Keme for a moment, expression sobering at the half-shrug she got in response. "You've been quiet all night, come to think. Dorne looks like she's havin' more fun than you." She lightly kicked the side of Keme's boot. "Didn't you just save the Republic an' get a big promotion?"

"Yeah," Keme acknowledged, distracted by a specific flicker of movement as Elara worked her way through the crowd.

"Well, I've about had my fill of this sort of fun," she commented, setting her half-drunk Johrian whiskey on the table and claiming the remaining chair.

Jaxo rolled her eyes. "Think you've rubbed off on your CO, Dorne; she'd rather sit an' mope into her drink than celebrate."

Elara let the jibe roll off without acknowledgement, giving her attention to the latter part. "The promotion may be cause for celebration, but since the squad XO was seriously injured in the course of that mission, I think her reticence is understandable, don't you?"

Jaxo had the grace to wince at the explanation. "Didn't know that part, sorry, major." She nudged Keme's shoulder. "Still, you being all sullen an' worrying isn't gonna help him get better any faster, right?" Isn't it better to be in a good frame of mind for dealing with whatever Command throws your way?" She glanced around the room, did a double take and grinned when it passed over the others from their group. "Looks like Keran found us some new friends." She slid off the seat, tottered a little finding her balance, and flashed Keme a genuine smile. "Hope you'll feel up to joining us, hotshot."

Keme appreciated Elara's silence as they watched her leave, headed for the gaggle of clean-cut 'friends' who had joined Keran and Jorda.

"How d'you think she'd feel, knowing she agreed with you?" Keme sighed, folding her hands over her cup and resting her chin atop them.

"About what?" Elara took another sip of her whiskey.

"Relaxing's the point of shore leave. Unwinding so you're ready for your next assignment." She tried not to dwell on the likelihood Havoc would be running a member short for whatever theirs was.

The song changed, something slightly quieter, and she sighed in relief at the reprieve.

A small smile tugged Elara's lips and she swirled the remaining whiskey in her glass. "True as that is, and as good as it would be for your mental state regardless, I think you were 'wound' a bit further than the rest of us, so it follows it'll take you longer to unwind."

"But you two also have a point there," Keme said, idly watching the animated body language of Jaxo and Keran's "friends". A challenge had clearly been issued; Jorda plunked a tray of shots down on the table. "What good does worrying do? Not gonna speed up the healing process, not even gonna magically create an exception to the 'no visitors' policy." She straightened with a huff. "But it's like I can't help myself."

"Well, I'd say concern for your people when they get injured in the line of duty makes you a good CO." Elara raised her glass and slanted a mischievous look at Keme over the rim. "Though I'm under no illusions it would be quite so much a... distraction, in my case."

Keme made a strangled noise of indignation. "I- You're my friend, of course I'd worry-!"

"I know, and I'd appreciate it," Elara said with a smile. A loud whoop dragged their attention to where Jaxo was clearly winning whatever game was going on. "I also know this is different."

"No point playing dumb, huh?" Keme groaned and rubbed her temples. "It is and I don't know why."

Elara scoffed, barely audible under the music. "No? Need I remind you the ship's medbay is right next to the armory?" She arched a brow. "Or that I have functional ears and it isn't as if you two whisper?"

She should probably be a little embarrassed by the implication, but she wasn't. Keme slugged down half her drink in a go, cleared her throat at the burn. "Then you know it's just been talking." So far, she added mentally. "Maybe a little flirting, but nothing serious, nothing to justify wringing my hands over him getting hurt. 'Specially in this line of work."

Elara studied her. "Keme." She set her now-empty glass on the table. "Jorgan didn't just 'get hurt', he was seriously injured, almost died--"

"Thanks for preventing that, by the way," Keme muttered into her drink, suppressing a flinch at hearing it so bluntly.

"You're welcome. My point is, just because you two have been outwardly taking your time, exhibiting caution due to your positions, doesn't mean your heart was on the same timetable." She leaned back in her chair. "You've not done anything by half-measure since I met you, it would hardly be a surprise for this to follow the pattern. And... close calls like this can easily serve as catalyst for realizing the true depth of feelings."

"Very astute." Keme finished the last swallow of her drink and slid off the seat to stretch. "Both the advice and the noticing."

"As I said, it's not hard to pick up." Elara smiled and likewise slid out of her chair. The song changed back to something that pounded, prompting the two of them to head for the relative quiet of the street.

"Well, in that case, thanks for not reporting me for fraternization or something," Keme said dryly, taking a deep breath of comparatively cooler air.

"I don't see a need," Elara said, shrugging. "It's clearly mutual, and hasn't kept either of you from doing your jobs, quite well. So long as it doesn't interfere with operational effectiveness, I don't see it as my place to report anything you or Captain Jorgan haven't, sir."

Keme slanted a glance her way, smirked at the mischief glinting in her friend's eyes. "You playing matchmaker now, LT?"

(A small but undeniable pulse of glee burrowed through her gnawing worry at 'clearly mutual'.)

Elara tilted her head, brows arching in faux-innocence. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, major. Should I stop??"

"Depends, do you think I need the help?"

"I have every confidence in your ability to pursue a man who's interested in you," Elara deadpanned. "If that's what you're asking."

Keme snorted. "Thanks. Then I guess it's just a matter of if you wanna be complicit should we get written up for fraternization down the line."

Elara perked up. "Oh, there's a form authorizing romantic relationships."

Of course there is. And of course you knew about it off the top of your head. "Great, more paperwork. Jorgan'll be thrilled."

"I think he'd do it for you."

"I think we should wait until it's actually a relationship before we worry about that, rather'n just flirting, huh?"

"If you insist," Elara said with a shrug.

Keme wondered what the odds were that form would be downloaded and waiting to be called for, when she was ready. Probably pretty high. She looked up, watching the racing lights of traffic flight paths for a minute. "Thanks, Elara. 'M sorry Jaxo's not exactly warm and welcoming, but I'm glad you came along."

"I was an unexpected addition," Elara said mildly. "And I'm far from ignorant of my reputation among Republic personnel. Their opinion of me is their business. Staying true to myself is mine."

Keme nodded. Good outlook. "How much d'you think it would shock them if we rejoin and I said you're the one who talked me out of moping and into havin' fun?"

Elara snickered. "Oh, that might almost be worth stretching the truth."

It wasn't that much of a stretch; talking about her muddled feelings had helped her feel better. More like celebrating. But they didn't get a chance to run their experiment. Even as they turned to head back inside, Jaxo and the others emerged from the cantina.

"Another one down," Jaxo crowed, hooking an arm around Keran's neck. "An' our tab's covered 'cause I drank her Navy buddies under the table!"

Ah. So that's who they were. "Quite the achievement," Keme drawled. "Where to next?"

"Done moping, major?" Jaxo teased.

Keme shrugged. "You and Elara made some good points. Tonight should be for fun."

Jaxo was too tipsy to hide her surprise. "Yeah? Glad we, uh, got through to you. We still have two stops left, hotshot. I expect you to pull your weight for them."

"Aye, aye," Keme said with a mock salute that Jorda found hilarious from her loud bout of laughter.

"Right then." Jaxo steered the group toward a taxi stand. "On to the Sloppy Tauntaun!"

Keme gave a startled bark of laughter. "That is not its name!"

"Oh, you're in for a treat," Jaxo sniggered as they piled into a cab. "Hole in the wall cantinas are the best."

---

Keme wasn't completely sure she'd agree with Jaxo's assessment once they're had their fun at the ironically well-kept Sloppy Tauntaun--she preferred cantinas with a bit of polish--but the drinks were good and they did have fun.

Last stop was the Silent Sun because it was closest to Jaxo's place. Smart move on her part; Jorda couldn't make it more than a few steps without giggling, Keran and Elara were weaving a little, and even with her slow start, Keme was feeling the buzz of not-quite-drunk(but more-than-tipsy). Still. She could walk a straight line, so not too bad. And she knew now Elara could match Jaxo shot for shot, which was fun information and had definitely increased Jaxo's opinion of the Havoc medic.

They'd turned down the hallway to Jaxo's place, Jorda now leaning on Elara while Jaxo punched in her access code--it took two tries, Maybe she was more plastered than she showed--when Keme's datapad beeped. She glanced at it out of habit.

Medcenter alert.

The pleasant alcohol buzz was gone.

She didn't open the message but its mere arrival was a reminder of reality.

Later. I'll deal with it after we leave. It still felt like her datapad was burning a hole in her pocket. She shook it off and followed the others into Jaxo's place. There was still the harsh reality of she couldn't do anything(except pace a groove in the hall), anyway.

"Hey. "Jorda's hand settled heavy on her shoulder. "You're amazing, y'know?" She blinked like a newly-sighted loth-kitten. "J'st amazing. Savin' our butts on Quesh? The Gauntlet? Amazing," she proclaimed with all the gravitas of an emphatic drunk.

"Thank you, Jorda," Keme said with a chuckle.

Elara materialized, gently tugging on Jorda's arm. "I think it would be best for you to lie down a bit, Corporal. Jaxo said you can use her bed, come on."

"Well, this was fun," Keran drawled as Keme joined her and Jaxo. "'Specially now that you've guaranteed I'll get heckled for the next month."

"Hey," Jaxo said with a grin and shrug. "If your Navy buddies can't drink a sweet little thing like me under the table, that's their problem, not yours. You heckle them right back."

Keran laughed. "Good plan. On that note, I better get going. We ship out late tomorrow, so I should work on sleeping off the incoming hangover. See ya 'round, Jaxo, Major."

"Later, Keran," Jaxo said, turning to Keme as Keran headed out. "Glad you made it. Even if it took a while for you to get in the spirit."

"I did need the distraction," Keme allowed, trying not to dwell on the medcenter alert. "Sorry I was a bit of a drag."

"Hey." Jaxo shrugged. "While I'm of a mind we should enjoy the good times when she get 'em, you had a pretty decent reason for that being tricky." She hesitated a moment, smile tugging her lips, then, "I gotta ask, this XO of yours... wouldn't happen to be the grumpus watchin' your six when we worked together, would it?"

Keme huffed a laugh. "Yeah. He's good at it."

"'Course he is." Jaxo snickered and sobered. "Well, I wish him a speedy recovery. And maybe Havoc can wrap this war up quick for us, huh?"

"You lookin' to swap for a desk job, Sergeant?" Keme teased.

Jaxo barked a laugh. "Please. I'd go insane inside a month." Her gaze flicked to the side as Elara rejoined them. "Am I gonna need to clean any of my stuff?"

Elara shook her head. "Not so far. But I would advise making sure she stays hydrated."

Jaxo gave a mock salute. "Aye, aye." She flopped back on the couch. "I'll let you two go. Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, sure," Keme said with a wave as she and Elara made for the door. "Thanks for the invite."

"Anytime, Major," Jaxo called after them just before the door closed.

They had to keep an eye for gangsters and so didn't have time for conversation until they were in the speeder back to the Senate district.

"Glad you went?" Elara asked lightly.

"Yeah. Needed the distraction," Keme said even as she dug out her datapad and pulled up the unread message. "Unfortunately, reality is persistent and has really bad timing..." She only skimmed the first couple sentences before handing the datapad to Elara. "Medcenter alert. You're better with parsing the jargon than I am."

One corner of Elara's mouth twitched and she took the datapad, lips moving silently as she read. "It's a treatment update... they were able to repair the retinal damage with no scarring..."

Good the squad sniper's vision isn't compromised, Keme thought sardonically, something tight easing in her chest.

"...they did have to amputate, the requisition for a cybernetic leg is attached. Being in SpecForce, particularly Havoc, that should be filled by end of day tomorrow; Command will want their top unit at full strength ASAP..." she read further. "...overall prognosis is good; full recovery and return to duty within two standard weeks."

"That fast?!" Keme blurted. She wanted Jorgan back, no question, but not because the medcenter rushed him out the door.

"The miracle of kolto," Elara said, shutting down the datapad and handing it back.

"And skilled medical personnel, and you," Keme added, tucking the datapad away. The tightness in her chest and gut eased further.

Elara arched a brow. "Wouldn't I fall under 'skilled medical personnel'?"

"No, 'cause you saved his damn life in the field, without access to all the fancy equipment here, that puts you in a category all your own, Dorne," Keme retorted.

"Don't forget Forex while you're doling out praises," Elara said, glancing at the buildings whizzing by.

"Oh, never. I've already bugged Garza twice about giving him whatever's the best commendation we can wrangle for a droid." Keme smirked a little, toying with the clasps of her jacket. "Squad loyalty and cohesion are grand."

"Your leadership's helped us get there," Elara said. "You're a fine commanding officer, and if I may say so, an even better friend."

"You may, and thank you." Keme shifted in her seat as the speeder pad came into view. "You're a good friend, too, Elara. Right down to talkin' me into girls' night out when I wasn't sure about it."

"That's what friends are for, sir," Elara said as the speeder settled on the pad and they climbed out. "As well as supporting you in rough times," she added when Keme's gaze went toward the medcenter. "Heading back?"

"Just to check in. Then--unless by some miracle the 'no visitors' policy has vanished--it's back to the Starbreaker for some rest."

"Sounds like a plan."

Keme nodded absently. Her bunk on the ship would be more comfortable than a medcenter chair, at least.

And she could always resume counting hallway tiles in the morning.

[fourseasonsfigs]

The Wizard of Oz - Deluxe Version

I already posted about LV Wizard of Oz Jun, wearing this LV Virgil Abloh suit...from the same fig maker, even! This seated fig was her special version, released on a limited quantity drop of 400, with a 7 minute timer countdown.

Purchasers had to answer a question (his birthday) which was quite literally the easiest thing in the world, but I lost precious seconds using my translate app, and it sold out. Thankfully, I was able to pick this up when the fig maker dropped a few remainders. Those sold out right away too, but there was no question this time, so I was able to speedily click right through.

This inflatable red chair used for Gong Jun's Vogue World shoot last October is the inspiration:

Here's also a behind the scenes version of the shoot for your viewing pleasure, showing him in the chair:

I grabbed a quick screenshot of him in the chair so you could see it for fig comparison purposes!

I love the casual pose - the bare feet, his leg tucked up under him. It contrasts wonderfully with the full glam of the outfit and jewelry.

Did my heart sink a little when I opened this up and saw the phone like this? Yes it did! It looked weird in the box. Also, I had so much trouble with Gong Jun's other phone on his CT Pink Jun, that I perhaps was not mentally prepared for another one.

Luckily it unfolded just fine. It's a really well done little phone, with some nice detail on the headset speaker and also on the key pad.

The chair looks great. There's a little tiny hole on one side of the phone (and only one side), where the end of the cord fits into.

He kept slipping right out of the chair, so I stuck him into it with one larger fig sticker. Easy enough. But then, it was phone wrangling time. The phone handset only goes in one angle and one way. There ends up being plenty of room in his grip once you get the phone in it, but only in the midsection of the phone.

OK, great, right? Actually, terrible. If you zoom in a little, you can see a notch on his finger where the phone cord is supposed to wrap around, just like in that screen grab I, uh, grabbed. However, his knee is in the way of the cord. I tried very gently bending the cord to try to get it to connect to his finger, and no way. I tried bending it a little harder, but it's fairly rigid, and I was worried I would snap it in two.

Unfortunately, because of the sharp angle of the cord, when I attach the phone into the hole on the side, you end up with this weird kind of half-standing phone. And, it covers up his foot, which kind of ruins the whole casual vibe of the look.

The funny thing is, I had actually seen photos of this fig on xhs (a Chinese equivalent of Instagram) looking exactly like this. I remember thinking, my goodness, why do they have the phone looking so weird? WELL NOW I KNOW.

You and me, Zhehan. And Hanbao!

Here's another try, where I focused on getting the cord as close enough to his finger as possible. You can see how the handset is almost coming out of his hand, and how the cord is in no way reaching his index finger.

Here's an even worse configuration! I'm not easily discouraged, but let me tell you, I started muttering some choice words after a while. I fiddled with this so much it really is remarkable I didn't end up snapping the cord or wiggling the other end of it loose.

Did I ever get it to work? No. I finally just stuck the phone on his lap in aggravation and started to fire off some pics.

The patchy area on his eyebrow is not a flaw, it's simply a ray of sunlight gently touching his face.

You will note here though that he's not centered on the chair - there's a lot of distance between his curled-up leg and the armrest. That's not a trick of the camera angle, that's actually how it is. When he's centered in the chair, his hand fits perfectly over the armrest, which further negates any possibility of the phone cord wrapping around his finger, so I tried to scooch him over a bit to see if that would be the solution. Nope! It sure wasn't. I haven't moved him back over yet though, but I'm going to.

You can see here how his hand doesn't fit on the armrest of the chair, but it normally would.

I really do like the chair. It's smoothly molded with no real flaws or inclusions in the acrylic. What you see as weird bumps and ridges is actually just the summer sunlight pouring in through my window and reflecting off Junjun's colorful suit.

Case in point! You can really see the outline of the fig through the chair here.

As you might imagine, this fig is pretty heavy. That head is pretty huge, and the chair is fairly light, so that contributed to him slipping out of it so easily. The fig sticker has been working very well to keep him sitting firmly in the chair though.

The only problem with the fig sticker, of course, is that his foot doesn't touch the ground, since the sticker is fairly thick. I really ought to just glue him to the chair, but I dislike doing anything permanent to the figs unless I absolutely have to. I don't mind his feet not touching the ground!

I really dislike the phone in his lap, but we're just not going to mention it. Instead we're just going to admire the leaves in his absolutely enormous eyes and his gold Tiffany ring.

Here's a slightly more angled-down shot so you can see how close the cord manages to get to his hand on the chair (although of course it makes the handset almost come out of his other hand). Keep in mind at this point the other end is not actually attached to the phone, it's just hiding underneath the base there. If had actually tried to attach the phone to the base, it would be standing up strangely on one corner on the ground or something.

Please note the beauty mark on his chest! That's a nice touch.

I'm not sure why his curled up foot (and his chest, for that matter) is skewing so white colored here. It looks like he has a sock on! That foot is indeed a bit lighter than the foot resting on the floor, but not that much.

You can see how his hand is molded to fit around the armrest of the chair, and the detail on his toes.

The box card art and box are similar to the other fig, but prominently feature the red inflatable chair. Which makes sense, this is the "deluxe" part of this deluxe version!

Material: Resin (figure) and acrylic (chair)

Fig Count: 424

Scene Count: 29

Rating: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[find-the-devil]

II. I Tend a Garden

Ennis drew open the blinds. By now the sun had risen and warmed the earth. Swirls of heat rose from the dirt and distorted the air in the most minute, nearly imperceptible ways, like dragging a wet paintbrush through a small spot of watercolor paint, pulling the delicate pigment across the paper. Insects clung to the cool windows and mice cowered for shade amongst the garden plants, gorging themselves on watery vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes and the like. This was the patch of farm he left for the wilderness, that he tended to for the animals that belonged to nature. His own food was grown on the other side, facing the cornfield. Blackberry bushes grew on their own by the low shoulder that divided his territory from that of the thousands of green stalks. 

Ennis cracked open a window, letting the chilled air that had clung to his walls join the heat outside. The breeze breathed balmy wind into the room which tousled the curtains. It brought in the scent of wheat and earth and smoke from a fire that had not ravaged but simply burned, impotent upon a stick and unable to claim the field. 

He turned from the window, moving across cherrywood floors with bare feet that padded quietly to the poplar chair, smooth, ivory, like bone in the light, and contrasted against the red wood on which it rested. Robin lied opposite from him, laying with legs propped up by the armrest of the couch, covered by a thin, dusty orange throw, his short grey hair peeking out from underneath, shoes ruined and a pebblish-colored coat that clung to his skin from sweat. The fabric was thin and reached just past his mid-thighs. 

Ennis took the mask set out on the table at his side, next to an untouched glass of water and affixed it to his face as the man began to stir, disturbed by the change in brightness and now vividly aware of the pain in his older joints. He hissed loudly, bending over and clutching his knees, righting himself properly before the man who sat still and observed him, leaning in, hunched and curious and silent. 

“So this is all your shit, then.” Robin spoke loudly, in a mix of disbelief and inconvenience, eyes squinted slightly and brow furrowed in confusion. He gestured vaguely to unfamiliar surroundings, his body regretting the motion instantaneously. The man in front of him gave him one nod, slow and earnest, shifting slightly where he sat, clasping his hands in front of his knees. “You know, people think you’re a ghoul, something occult and eerie. Spiritual types think you’re the Devil.” Robin added. 

“People think I’m you.” the man countered, a simple statement, tilting his head to the side as if prompting something out of the man in front of him. 

“Well, they do now.” Robin sighed, wincing slightly as he leaned back into the soft couch cushions. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one gets that I was by the last body 'cause I was investigating it, as the town’s only detective?” he shook his head in a kind of mirthless disbelief as he stared out of the window above the kitchen sink. 

“You retired. I get the town paper, you know.” Ennis corrected, leaning over to pick up the old newspaper under a discarded cup of coffee. Robin fell silent. He felt unsettled not by the stranger himself, but by his own lack of discomfort. The man was perfectly neighborly, he wore a white mask, affixed to his head with thick black straps, blood still stained the bottoms of his nails and eyes observing him without wasted movement, and considerate having given him not only a place to sleep but a glass of water and a blanket. 

“Yeah, I got real tired of everyone in town having my home number and calling it liberally.” Robin replied, mostly muttering, absently checking the phone in his pocket for missed calls and messages. “Dead.” he said, with a quick gesture to the black screen, mostly for himself.  Fatigue had racked his brain too voraciously for him to consider the implications. 

“You quit just after the first body.” 

“I’d’ve had to bring you in myself, I didn’t know what was doing… that but I had a feeling it was a good deal stronger than me. I was right.” he shrugged, giving a small nod to the man’s defined shoulders and thick arms before turning his attention to the window. “You can find a ‘who’ with one body, but you can only get a ‘why’ from more.”

“Well, then, good thing you found me how you did.” with an untold story of 'different circumstances' behind his words. Ennis stood up, and the red floorboards creaked. He stretched his back and shoulders like a brawler gearing up for a fight, yet instead of a fist Robin was offered an outstretched hand. “I’ll show you the garden. The grass will be light on your feet.”

The back porch looked over the cornfield, it swayed en masse with a breeze he couldn’t feel, moving to an earth rhythm humans weren’t privy to. The coniferous trees that bordered the field held themselves with a stillness unbecoming of the motion below. The stalks were bright green under the afternoon sun that beamed, hot on the soil, and cast the back of Ennis’ house into cooler shade from atop its high perch above. Robin’s senses were struck by a contradictory smell. Wildflowers, many, of different species and colors and aromas growing together from a brownish mass that lay stiff in the dirt, still clad in mucked up overalls. 

“After a while, the earth uses it entirely, all that’s left are the clothes. I wash them, repurpose them…” Ennis offered, leaning down to lift a strap of the body’s clothes with his index, insects crawling onto his arms as he did so. He brushed them off as if without having noticed their presence in the first place. The acrid smell that had intertwined itself with lavender and sweet alyssums emitted from the gaping, fleshy, rotting orifice they’d rooted themselves inside. “The soil handles the blood first, rich in nutrients, hydrating too.” the man continued explaining, patting the dirt close to the body. 

“You’d think you're selling fertilizer.” Rob interjected. 

“That’s what it is. Nature is an autocannibal, detective, she creates life to feed off of it. She’s self-sufficient. I like that.”

“Then what's with the new catch, this one looks…” he trailed off, unsure what qualifier to use. 

“His family told me he’s got a blood condition when I saw them in town. Everyone was having a wake, ‘taken too young’. He lived longer than anyone would’ve thought.”

“Is mother nature a picky eater?” Rob asked, jesting lightly as he adjusted to the scent and leaned in by Ennis to look at the life growing and thriving from the open wound. 

“No, but I am. The thought of eating sickle cell bugged me, can’t explain it.” he returned as he rose to his feet with a grunt and looked over the sunny patch of grass with eyes squinting into slits as the sun shifted in the sky and the shadows stretched in kind. 

“D’you cook the game you catch?” Robin enquired as he suddenly began to sober up to his situation. He checked his phone again. Dead. 

“Not the people. I’m no cannibal, detective. I tend a garden. I eat what comes from it. The meat I hunt is that of fox and deer.” he replied, replacing an errant support next to one of his plants. 

“Would I make a decent planter?” Robin asked, leaning on the side of the house for support as his shin bones shot waves of pain. His expression turned gravely cool, almost taunting with his calm “You know I’m no good for running.” his voice rang deep in his sternum bone.  

“I couldn’t say.” Ennis replied, with a slight grunt as he stood, facing him now with arms crossed in front of his chest. “You’re wiry, fit enough for a guy your age.” 

“I’m going to be your replacement for the new one,” he gestured with uncertainty for where the body would be kept “Wherever he is, once he’s just a pile of flannel?” he inquired again, no fear in his voice, but casual, as if asking for the time. The man in front of him tilted his head to the side, back an inch, sizing him up with his inscrutable eyes, squinting from the light and confusion, shifting the arms folded at his chest. 

“No, detective. You’re free to stay a while, if you’d like. They won’t find you here. They haven’t found me.”  Ennis’ voice turned grim, almost cooling the air, soundless. A swallow flew from tree to tree, the leaves twisting and toiling affixed to their branches, shimmering with an unknown breeze. Birds twittered and spoke to one another, and pollen floated lazily past the garden on a warm current. Clouds drifted like tanker ships far away, from their spacious blue sea in the sky. The sun hung over the house, and light crept closer to the back porch, illuminating blades of grass, turning them a lively green. Stalks some yards away swayed and twitched as a fox unseen ran through them, chasing a hare unknown. 

“When you’re all healed up, come hunting.” Ennis offered, testing the limits of the man’s collected view of a life he knew others saw as vile and evil.  

“I don’t think that’s my kind of passtime, and I’m no good with a rifle.” Rob admitted, sternness to his voice. 

“Our only lawman can’t handle a gun?” The other said, disbelief almost cutting through his cold tone. He shifted his on his feet.  

“The townsfolk who took me in accepted my technical smarts as a forgivable substitute for sharp shooting.” he winced slightly on ‘forgivable’ and paused “Circumstances being that there were no other offers and most people still wanted a detective. Not that they take any of my work to heart, they just chalk it up to the supernatural and tell me it’s out of my hands.” he finished. 

“I don’t kill with a bullet, either, not as… direct.” Ennis spoke factually. Robin sat in the grass, some feet away from the cluster of gardens, four or five of the bodies lined some distance away from the house itself. 

“Why not animals? One deer, or a lot of foxes, are bigger, more room for plant growth and less work." Rob asked. It all seemed like a wasteful system. The man’s ecological motives were not his sole reasons for his methods; madness lay in the works as well, it churned the gears of his reasoning, but his firm, rugged demeanor and stern, confident appearance and a bizarre personability lent a rational sense to his words.  

“I’ll take you on The Hunt. It’s some time away. You’ve gotten blood on your hands, but never like this.”