#I’m playin ofc

[maggotpee]

JAKE PARK IN NO HOME????? /j

[ohforficsake]

Down, Boy

A Margay Universe Drabble

series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie's birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie's not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard

Word Count: ~ 1.6K words

Rating: Explicit 18+ / dirty talk, momentary dry humping, jerking off in a dive bar bathroom, mention of oral sex (f receiving), bit of a come fetish (it's these two, they're just like this) / language / drunk!Frankie is the sweetest, filthiest menace with a massive competency kink / Minors DNI

A/N: A little drabble that came up a few months ago but didn't quite fit with the main Margay storyline. Just something fun to tie you over after putting you all through it with Chapter 9.

Divider by @cafekitsune!

Frankie is—

—a bit drunk tonight.

But it’s his birthday.

And he’s always been a happy drunk. 

There’s no falling on the floor. No getting up in other patrons’ faces. Just cheeks ruddy and round from freely-given mirth. 

He’s harmless as a puppy and just as excitable. 

Whooping with cheers whenever anyone sinks a pool ball into a pocket, whether they’re on his team or not.

_____

He had made the trip out to northern California for the occasion, wanting only to spend his day with his daughter.  

But the boys catch wind of his plan and throw in for an Airbnb on the coast for the occasion.

And in the process of planning, Santi and Benny cook up a four-beer deep idea over an empty pizza box to arrange an extra gift.

Aud, what are your thoughts on Fort Bragg? Santi fires off on a text thread between the three of them.

I’m glad that they’re changing that name, guy was a cunt.

Sorry no, California. Benny clarifies. But also, agreed.

Is that not named after the same guy?

Santi sends the house’s address at the same time Benny sends, it is yeah.

Catfish wants to spend his birthday out there with his kid and we couldn’t let him celebrate alone. Pope attempts to steer.

Wondering if you might want to tag along? Last week of June. 

Send me a venmo request for my part of the booking.

_____

Something warm blooms in Audrey’s chest at the sight of Frankie with his friends, quietly strategizing over forest green pool table felt.

He throws his arm around Benny’s neck and thumps Santiago on the back when they win this round, uncaring that he and Will have lost the last three.

“Can you please play this one, this score is embarrassing,” Will leans over on his bar stool with arms crossed against his chest, voice raised just enough so Audrey can hear him over Garth Brooks being played at a decibel below ungodly volume.

“Already told you, if I play, it’s over in one turn,” she takes a swig of beer, “that’s no fun for anyone.”

“Losing isn’t fun either though.”

She studies Will in the haze of neon-red tinged smoke. Audrey’s only known him for three hours, but she likes him already. Enough to grant him this favor.

“Fine.” 

She slips off her bar stool and shimmies her jeans higher up on her hips before shrugging the leather jacket off of her shoulders.

“You playin’, Moose?” Santiago calls with a grin.

“One round,” she holds up a finger, “save these boys some shame,” she finishes as Will hands her a cue. The minute she lifts it off the ground she murmurs “not that one,” and Will swaps her out. 

“There’s no way she’s that good,” Benny quips to Pope as he racks up the balls.

“I—do not have as much confidence as you on that,” Santiago carefully lifts the triangle and slots it back under the table. “You should probably know better, Benjamin.”

“You boys are fucked,” Frankie loops his arms around both of their shoulders as Audrey chalks her cue.

She places the cue ball towards one rail behind the second set of diamonds and glances behind her, gauging the space before leaning down to eye level, bouncing and spinning the cue in her hand to get a feel for its balance before she takes her first shot.

Audrey sinks two balls on the break. 

She quickly assesses the table when they come to a stop. “Stripes, do I need to call the pocket?”

“No need to be a show-off,” Pope quips. 

“Fair enough,” she slips around the far side of the table and sinks the 9-ball in a corner. It lines the cue ball up perfectly and she drops 14 in a center pocket. 

One lap around the table and a glance at the boys to be sure she has clearance before Audrey knocks the cue ball just off its center point, gliding it across felt where it transfers its spin to 15, sending it swirling down the rail into a corner pocket. She slips around to the opposite side of the table, banking the cue ball off the opposite rail and into 13, which slips neatly into the center pocket nearest her. 

“What went in on the break?” Benny calls.

“11 and 2,” Will answers where he’s calmly perched on a barstool against the wall.

She could miss now and he’d still be impressed.

She won’t.

The cue ball is dead center on the table and 10 is sitting a foot short of a corner. Audrey circles the table, chalking her cue as she analyzes angles. The best shot is from the end nearest the three boys but she’ll have to reach for it.

She stands in front of them and murmurs “sorry, boys,” before she hikes one knee up on the side rail and leans down, chest nearly grazing the table. 

Frankie covers Benny and Santi’s eyes from where his arms are still braced on their shoulders. 

His eyes, however, are locked on her ass.

They hear 10 drop in before brushing Frankie’s hands away.

Audrey bounces the cue ball off the edge of 12, popping it into the nearest pocket.

“Oh, that’s done, she’s got it,” Benny murmurs when the white ball comes to a stop directly in line with the corner pocket nearest Will, the 8 ball sitting perfectly in the middle of the shot.

Audrey sinks it and Frankie whoops, clapping both men on the back before rushing around the table to grab Audrey in a bear hug that lifts her up off her feet.

“FUCK yeah, baby!!!” He screams, taking her face in his hands and mashing his mouth against hers.

“Okay, down boy,” she quips with a smile.

“Well played, Moose,” Will holds out his hand for a shake.

“Alright, the rest is on y’all,” she hands the cue off to Will. “I gotta hit the restroom and then I’ll pick up another round.” She makes her way around the table, Benny and Santi congratulate her with claps on the back before she’s off down the hall.

“Hell of a woman you got there, Catfish,” Will chalks his cue.

Frankie answers with the quirk of a brow and a smirk that drips with filth.

One of the patrons recognizes Benny from fight night and it causes a stir. Turns out Will knows him from high school and everyone’s fascinated with what a small world it really is, attention distracted enough to allow Frankie to slip away.

_____

Audrey wrenches the door to the bathroom open and collides with Frankie’s chest.

“Jesus, Francisco.”

He backs her up with his body, kicking the bathroom door closed and latching it as his mouth crashes against hers, twisting his cap around backwards.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, baby.” He smashes her against the wall with his broad form, craning low to kiss at what skin he can get to under her turtleneck before giving up and sucking on her earlobe. 

“Yeah, well, I guess” she pants as Frankie drops to his knees and grabs at her hips, grinding the bulge in his jeans against her shin as he mouths at her stomach through the fabric of her shirt, “don’t play pool with a sniper.” 

Frankie is fully hard as he ruts against her, pulling clumsily at the button and zipper of her jeans. He inhales against her mound and moans before quickly getting to his feet. 

Harmless as a puppy and just as excitable.

He’ll sniff crotches and hump legs too, apparently.

Audrey grabs his face between her hands in an effort to center him, dipping her tongue into his mouth before Frankie pulls back.

“Fuuuck baby,” he reaches down to squeeze his cock through his jeans, “I’m not gonna make it, baby, I can’t–”

“Frankie–”

“Shhh, gatita, please,” he clamps a hand over her mouth as his forehead thumps hard against hers, “fuck,” he huffs, “I’m gonna. Pull those pretty panties down for me, beautiful. Just a little bit.”

Audrey is positively dying to see where this goes. 

She slips her jeans and thong down her thighs, eyes locked on Frankie’s locked on black lace.

“Right there. That’s my pretty girl. Yeahh,” he shifts around to free himself from his jeans and she moans into his palm where he slides the hot, hard length of him against her center.

Frankie indulges for a moment, slipping his cock against the smooth wet of her lips.

“Shit,” he hisses before gripping himself in his fist, brown eyes searching green for permission.

And having it, he starts to pump his cock.

It takes him less than a minute before thick ropes of semen spurt into the gusset of her panties as he groans against the back of his hand where it’s still clamped over her mouth.

“Gatita?” He lets go on a ragged gasp once his hips have stilled and he’s worked himself through.

She puffs an acknowledging breath against his palm. 

“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” he lets his hand drop but keeps his forehead pressed against hers. 

Frankie’s fingers move down to hook in the waistband of her lace thong before he slips it, warm and sticky and reeking of his spend back up into place.

“Keep that for me?” He slips his tongue in her mouth, fastening the button on her jeans and dragging the zipper closed. “I’m gonna come back for it.”

He presses a final, wet kiss to her lips, warm palm resting briefly on her cheek before he slips out of the door.

He leaves her frayed with want. Panting through burning lips as her head thumps back against the wall.

Sometimes she wonders if Frankie Morales is the filthiest motherfucker alive.

Two hours later when he cleans her cunt with his tongue—cap twisted round backwards on his head, wet panties stuffed into the pocket of his jeans—she realizes he probably is.

He probably is.

And he's hers.

Tagging a few lovely folks who are/might be interested: @tinytinymenace @theshensei @jeewrites @oliveksmoked @for-a-longlongtime

@toomanytookas @missladym1981 @harriedandharassed @76bookworm76 @spookyxsam

@soft-persephone @julesonrecord @legendary-pink-dot

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 6

Pairing:��Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Wyoming (Part Three)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie strikes a deal with the mechanic.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, slow burn, horny thoughts, food mention, eating, handcuffs, one bed, shower, dog grogu, guns

Notes: None really. Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

A bell chimes when Din pushes open the door to Giddyup Auto, and again when he lets it swing shut behind you. 

It’s just as cluttered inside the shop as it is outside. Pornographic magazines have been stacked alongside NAPA catalogs and tattered notepads on top of tool boxes. Promotional branding from popular auto parts manufacturers patch the steel walls, occasionally broken up by snarky signs that read things like KWITCHERBITCHIN AVE and I CAN FIX ANYTHING EXCEPT STUPID. 

Country music crackles from blown speakers at the back of the shop, echoing off the tall ceiling. The rough, strained sound blends horribly with a high-pitched whir coming from beneath a 1989 Dodge Ram 250. 

Din inhales the scent of motor oil and metal shavings. Adolescent nostalgia wells up in his chest like pride, some vague understanding of what it means to be a man. The responsibility of maintenance. Caretaking and custodianship. 

He catches a glimpse of his adoptive father wringing his hands with an oil-soaked rag while rattling off the basic components of an internal combustion engine. Then he blinks it away.

Out of the corner of his eye, you adjust your grip on the wriggling dog, slipping one hand beneath his bottom and the other across his chest. Grogu huffs at the intrusion, but once he’s steadied to a higher vantage point, he seems pleased. His ears stand at attention, jowls sealed shut, the tip of his snout twitching with curiosity. 

Both you and the dog look around the garage with the same kind of wide-eyed wonder. Two explorers ready to investigate this whole new world. Din leads the way deeper into the automotive bay, following the shrill grinding sound to the old rusted-out truck. 

When he comes to a halt, so does the noise, then Paul slides out from under the truck on a creeper. 

“Hey there! Sorry, I didn’t hear y’all come in,” he gestures to the impact wrench in his hand as he sets it down. 

“Hi, Paul,” you greet him with a cheerful smile.

Rising to his feet, he beams, “Miss Charlie, how’re you today?” 

The twinkle in his bright eyes makes Din feel uneasy. Strands of gray streak his dark beard and pepper his slicked-back hair. Hard-earned wrinkles crease his face. He’s twice your age at least, and Din can’t quite determine whether his intentions are cordial or flirtatious. 

Either way, you hardly seem to mind. You perk up at the attention, taking a step towards him as you reply, “Can’t complain. Yourself?” 

“Oh, just fine. Annie get y’all set up at the motel?” 

“She sure did. It was nice to sleep in a bed for once, y’know, after being on the road for so long. Thank you for recommending it to us.” 

“‘Course. Yellow Seed’s been treatin’ you alright?” 

“Yeah! We got to poke around a little yesterday. Went and got supper at the Outlaw Saloon, which was good,” you glance at Din and chuckle a little, “The locals didn’t seem too keen on us. Got a few dirty looks, but that’s not surprising.” 

Paul laughs at this, crossing his arms as he leans back against the truck, “Well, you know, we small town folks don’t always like outsiders.” 

“I’m used to it,” you shrug dismissively, then your face lights up, “But, hey, I talked to the owner and they’re gonna let me play a couple sets tomorrow night if you wanna swing by.”

“No shit?” Paul grins and catches himself, “Pardon my language—”

“It’s fine,” you wave it off. 

“Playin’ a few sets at the Outlaw Saloon,” Paul repeats, shaking his head with amusement, “What kinda music you play?” 

“I know a little bit of everything. These kinds of gigs, I try to feel out the crowd. I catch a country music kinda vibe around here, so probably some Hank Williams Jr, Alan Jackson, Johnny Cash. Stuff like that,” you tilt your head at him, “Got any requests?”

“Know any Waylon Jennings?” 

“Sure, I have a few of his tunes up my sleeve. Any particular song?”

“Surprise me,” he winks. 

Din tries to retain his stoic demeanor despite the discomfort writhing beneath his skin. The dog must pick up on this, because he whines at his owner and starts to squirm in your grip. 

Struggling with Grogu’s protest, you ask Paul, “Is it ok if I set him down?”

“Go on ahead, darlin’,” Paul tells you, then turns to Din, “How about you? Settling in ok?” 

“How much will it cost to fix?” 

Paul raises his eyebrows and pushes off the truck, “Right down to brass tacks, huh?” 

“He’s not much of a talker,” you smirk as you set the dog on the cement floor and start roaming around the shop, leash in hand. 

“I can respect that.” His gaze lingers on your wandering form for a moment longer before he looks at Din and sighs, “Well, I had some luck calling around to a few junkyards lookin’ for salvaged or used parts. Found a good price for what I need. With that ‘n’ labor, it’ll run you twenty-five hundred, long as everything goes smoothly.” 

Din weighs the cost against his bank account, factoring in the motel room, gas to get to the next job, and food for a few days. It would run him dry. His stomach tightens and twists. Before he can formulate a response, you chime in. 

“Is there any way we can knock that price down?” 

Paul crosses his arms across his chest and gives you a sympathetic shrug, “Way it stands, ‘fraid I can’t.” 

You nod as you consider this, furrowing your brow at the floor, then look up at him, “What if we make a trade?” 

“A trade?” Paul frowns. 

“Yeah, or, you know. Some kind of a deal. We scratch your back, you scratch ours.” 

Paul’s blue eyes flick between you and Din, “Wha’d you have in mind, sweetheart?”

Din’s first instinct is to shut down the conversation. But when you glance at him as if searching for approval, he doesn’t protest. You turn back to Paul and nod over your shoulder, “I noticed your sign out front is pretty faded. I could paint it if you knock a couple hundred off?” 

Paul shifts his weight to one leg and wrinkles his nose. Not sold. You don’t let it deter you. 

“I’ve done murals before, so this would be a piece of cake. It looks pretty shabby now, but I can make it,” you smack your lips, “pop. Maybe it’d bring in some more business for you.” 

Shaking his head, he smirks at Din, “She’s persistent, ain’t she?”

“She is.” 

“I am,” you confirm with a wide, toothy grin, “Whaddaya say? I do the sign, take off $500?“

Paul works his jaw from side to side, then slackens and sticks out his hand, “Five hundred.” 

“Plus the cost of supplies,” you add. 

“Plus the—” he cuts himself off with an amused chuckle, “You’re somethin’ else. Fine. Five hundred plus costs.” 

When you shake his hand, a victorious, blinding smile spreads across your face. The corner of Din’s mouth turns up at the sight. He fails to correct his expression as you take a step back and glance at him. His heart skips in that brief moment where his eyes meet yours, before you drop your gaze to your feet and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Blush rises to your cheeks and neck, rosy splotches that bloom soft and full in his chest. 

“Whaddaya think, should $100 do it?” Paul asks. 

“I think we can make that work,” you nod, “Do you have paint brushes or rollers? Sandpaper?” 

“Reckon I do. Hang tight, I’ll get y’all some cash, ok?” 

Once he’s out of earshot, Din studies you, wondering out loud, “Why are you helping me?” 

“Rule number ten: Be a stand up tramp,” you shrug, crouching down to scratch Grogu between his ears, “Plus, I don’t know, it just seems like… the right thing to do.” 

Your answer perplexes him. He can’t come up with a response other than, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you grin up at him, then rise to your feet and change the subject, “I’m hungry. We should get lunch. And maybe get some groceries, too, so we—er, you don’t have to spend as much on eating out.” 

The authority with which you suggest this causes him to chafe. He wants to push back for no reason other than to reclaim the upper hand. Your reasoning is sound, though. It’s not a bad idea. 

“We can do that.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods. 

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, lips curving into a delicate smile. Something flutters in his stomach, frantic and timid, urging him to put up a wall between you. But he keeps his eyes anchored to yours despite his internal warning bells. 

The tight wire of tension slackens as Paul returns, counting a stack of wrinkled bills, “Here you go.” 

You step forward to accept the cash, “Perfect. Thank you, Paul.” 

“Are y’all gonna be able to carry everything back here, or do you wanna borrow my truck? Might be a little easier that way.” 

“Really?” you grin and knit your brows together into a gracious expression, “We were thinking of grabbing lunch and getting some groceries, too. Would that be ok?” 

“Fine by me, just bring it back in one piece,” Paul answers, fishing a set of keys from his jumpsuit pocket and handing them to you, “Ford F-150 out front.”

“Thank you, Paul. I—we really appreciate it,” you tell him, then look at Din and raise your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Din nods in agreement. 

“Don’t mention it,” Paul says, then ambles back to the old rusted-out Dodge, whistling along to some old country song. 

Keeping pace at his side as he starts towards the exit, you jangle the keys and ask, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Dream on, kid,” he scoffs, holding his hand out. 

“Worth a shot,” you grin and place them in his palm. 

“Would it be too predictable to put a horse on the sign?” you ask, frowning at your rough outline, “I feel like there are a lot of places out here that lean into the western motif, so it might be overdone. But the place is literally called Giddyup Auto, so…” 

When Din doesn’t respond, you glance up and can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or something in your general direction. 

Stupid goddamn aviators. 

“You know, it’s considered polite to take off your hat and sunglasses when you go indoors.” 

Again, nothing. 

‘Off in lala-land’ if you’ve ever seen it. 

You blink at him a few times to no reaction, then raise your voice, “Did you hear me?” 

This seems to do the trick. 

It’s difficult to explain how you know his eyes are on you when they are. Maybe the microscopic tilt of his head or the twitch of his eyebrows. Mostly though, you would say that his attention carries a force. One minute you’re sitting there wondering if he’s looking at you and then—bam! It hits you. Absolute certainty.  

Anyway, he looks at you and asks, “What?” 

“Why do you insist on wearing your Unabomber costume all the time?” 

He frowns and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. 

“You know, because—Oh for cripes’ sake, nevermind,” you scoff and sit up in your seat, turning your notebook to face him, “Here. Tell me what you think.” 

He looks down at your notebook and pulls it closer. As he quietly studies the sketches, discomfort twists your skin raw. Imagining all the criticisms lingering at the tip of his tongue, you can’t stop yourself from speaking preemptively. 

“The first one is pretty boring, but I think the font adds a little flair. I’d blend shades of orange for the background to make it stand out and white for the text.” You prop your chin up on the heel of your palm and lean forward, pointing to the second option, “I like the covered wagon as a concept, but it would take me a long time and I’m not sure if it fits the vibe since wagons are kinda slow. The horse is fast, obviously,” you tap the third sketch and shrug, “But, like I said when you so rudely ignored me, the western motif is sort of tired in this neck of the woods.” 

Nodding, he comments, “They look… nice.” 

Such a way with words. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for additional input to no avail. Raising your eyebrows, you release a big sigh and fold your legs up into the booth, “‘Nice.’ Ok, sure. Well, let me ask you this: Which one is your favorite?” 

After a few seconds of contemplation, he taps the bucking bronco silhouetted over a mountain range, then pushes the notebook back across the table. 

“Why that one?” 

He shrugs, “It’s called Giddyup Auto.” 

Instead of pointing out that you said the same thing earlier, you mutter, “Sure is, big guy,” and flip your notebook to a blank page, then start jotting down a shopping list, “We should get something for the pup while we’re out. I feel bad for leaving him behind.” 

You wrinkle your nose at his silence, looking up to confirm that once again, he has drifted away. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You follow his line of sight, craning your neck over your shoulder to see the waitress approaching with a serving tray. Din straightens when she sets a plate in front of him. 

“Ok, we have a breakfast platter number two,” she sets another plate in front of you, “And french toast with fruit.” Tucking the tray under her arm, she smiles between you and him, “Anything else I can get for you guys?” 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Din tells her, a small smile gracing his lips. 

She nods before turning to go, dragging his attention along with her. You watch him watch her, studying his wandering gaze. A grin spreads across your face. When he notices you staring, he immediately becomes defensive.

“What?” 

Dead giveaway. 

Suppressing a smile, you grab a butter knife and shake your head at your plate, “Nothing.” 

“What?” he asks again, this time more pointed.  

“I didn’t say anything!” 

He scoffs and hunches over the plate to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

After smearing whipped butter on your french toast, you pour syrup over your plate, glancing up at him when you ask, “Do you have a crush on the waitress?�� 

“No.” 

Denial sours the word in the most obvious way. 

Raising an eyebrow, you cut your food into bite-sized pieces as you tease, “I didn’t take you for a liar, Din. But I also didn’t take you for the kind of guy who has a soft spot for pretty service workers, so what do I know?” 

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. And of course, you decide to push the conversation further. 

“I just mean… If you do—you know, like her or whatever—you should ask her for her number. Take her on a date. See if you can’t live a little while you’re holed up in this town.” 

“And what am I supposed to do with you in that scenario?” 

Twirling a chunk of french toast around on your fork, you shrug, “Maybe she wouldn’t mind your prisoner third wheeling. That’s probably not a red flag, right?” 

“Not at all.” 

You snort at him and he lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. It seems to soften the atmosphere, both of you relaxing back in your seats. While chipping away at your food, you ponder a little to yourself, then out loud. 

“Suppose your line of work, you don’t go on many dates, do you?” 

Frowning at the strip of bacon pinched between his fingers, he tells you, “Not in the traditional sense.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, he pops the bacon into his mouth. When he swallows and you’re still staring at him, he shakes his head, “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on, Din,” you meet his flattened expression with a grin, “You so know I won’t let this go. Might as well just spill the beans.” 

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at you like a challenge. You narrow your eyes at him, tilting your head with equal determination. 

“‘Not in the traditional sense.’ So you do have romantic or sexual experiences, but society wouldn’t typically deem those experiences ‘dates,’ right?” 

He says nothing. 

“Hmmm… interesting,” you lean your elbows on the table, studying him, “You seem reluctant to talk about it, which indicates… Maybe you’re ashamed of it? Although, you’re pretty reluctant to talk about everything, so I don’t know how much weight to place on that. But you’re a trucker. Transient. Don’t seem like much of a ‘family man’ to me. So, what… you’ve gotta be a hookup guy or a sex worker guy, right?” 

The way he squirms at the question makes your chest tingle. 

“It could be both, too. I feel like you would be more of an opportunist than a strategist when it comes to fucking. Am I right?” 

His jaw shifts from side-to-side. He glances around before leaning in, “And you’re much different?” 

“No, not really.”

Most people would ask follow-up questions or awkwardly segue into a different subject, but not Din. He seems as content with your answer as you are with his. But where he goes back to eating, you feel a loose end rattling at the tip of your tongue and speak it into existence. 

“I think… I think people like us don’t lay down roots for anything less than the spectacular,” you search his face, “Right?” 

With his fork lifted halfway to his mouth, he pauses to look at you and nod, “This is the way.”

Din brings the shopping cart to halt in the middle of the aisle when you stop to examine jars of preserved nut and fruit spreads lining the shelves. 

You pull a big plastic container of generic peanut butter from the lineup and toss it into the cart, “Four dollars, twenty-nine cents.”

He jots down the price in your notebook and adds it to the running total while you wrinkle your nose at the ingredient list of strawberry preserves, then set it next to the peanut butter, “Three sixty-nine. Gotta love that food desert markup. What’re we at?” 

“Twenty seven, give or take,” he answers, crossing two items off the list. 

“What else we got here?” Sidling up to him, you peek at the paper, “Snacks. Wow, ok past me, very specific.” 

When you start walking again, he does too, and he wonders how you can possibly smell so good without the aid of perfumes. While not a definitive scent, it inspires a sensation much like when he’s parched and sets his sights on a glass of ice water. It’s enticing, like your very foundation radiates temptation. 

He cannot have this. This thing in his chest, gnawing at his bones, trying to escape. It snaps at the walls when you’re nearby, which is always. 

Maybe if he could relieve some of the pressure buckling under his skin it would quiet. But he can’t, so it doesn’t. 

It begs and pleads and promises to absolve him of consequence as long as he promises to move a little bit closer, hold his hand to your back a little bit longer—just one more second and I’ll be content. Maybe another. What if you slid your hand around her waist and pulled her body to yours? How would she react? I bet she would like it. I bet if you kissed her she would finally be speechless. Just a taste, please? 

He comes to a stop beside you and follows your gaze to the wall of chips. Hundreds of bags in all different sizes and colors, all of them glossy in the fluorescent light. 

“Well, big guy. What’s your chip of choice?” you ask without looking at him. 

Grinding his teeth together, he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. Too many of the same goddamn choices,” you step forward to narrow your eyes at a price tag, “Am I crazy or does that say five dollars?” 

“It says five dollars.” 

“What the fuck, that is obscene. Do we really need chips?” 

“Does anyone?” 

“I guess not technically,” you sigh and start wandering further down the aisle, so he follows you. “But we don’t have to be so utilitarian about it. Junk food is for the soul, not sustenance. And sometimes the soul needs something salty and crunchy, you know?”

Nodding, he comes to a stop and points to the display of microwave popcorn, “We could get this instead.”

“Six bags for four dollars,” you raise your eyebrows, “Salty, crunchy, and cost efficient. Hell yeah, I’m sold.”

He grabs the box of generic popcorn in question and walks it back to the cart while you meander towards the sweets. When he meets you in front of the cookies, you glance at him, “Original or chewy?” 

“Original.” 

“Ten four, good buddy.” You grab the blue package of chocolate chip cookies and toss it in the basket, “Do you ever get to say that on your radio? Have a real trucker moment?” 

“Yes.”

“Adorable,” you chuckle, catching his gaze for a moment before you look down and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Are you gonna help me with the sign today, or do you have other plans?” 

“What do you need help with?” 

You exhale through slack lips, then shrug, “Well, today is just prep. I have to scrape off the old paint, sand it down, and prime. It has to dry overnight, but I think I’ll be able to finish the rest tomorrow or the next day if we get up early…” Pausing to chuckle, you shake your head, “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean is, you could help me with scraping and sanding. It’s a real bitch and would be easier with your muscle. If—well, you know, only if you want to. You don’t have to or anything…”

“I can do that.” 

Your eyebrows draw together as you search his face, “Yeah?” 

He nods, “It’s the least I can do.” 

As the two of you near the checkout line, a frail woman with closely-cropped white curls shuffles from a back office to the one and only cash register.

“How are we doing this? Splitting it?” you swing the backpack off your shoulder and start rummaging through it, “I should have some money in my wallet. It’s not much, but it should—”

He holds up a hand, “I’ve got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

That thing in his chest whimpers when you smile at him, big and bright and gap-toothed, sparing him a polite, “Thank you,” before you start unloading the groceries onto the conveyor belt. 

Balancing the tips of your toes on the highest ladder rung, you stretch your roller towards the unprimed stripe of sign, but can’t quite reach it. 

“Goddamnit,” you mutter, returning all fours to the ladder with a huff, then look back at Din, “Hey, can I borrow your tall?”

Your question bounces off him with no reaction. 

Between the visor of his cap and the tablet glued to his face, you can’t quite tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just plain old can’t hear you. All that’s visible is his furrowed brow. So you shimmy down the ladder and set the paint roller in the tray, brushing your hands on your jeans as you approach his lawn chair, waiting for him to notice you. 

When the brisk October air nips at your dirt-caked, sweat-soaked skin, you skip closer, tapping your foot against his calf, “Hey.” 

He jumps as if broken out of a trance, then raises his eyebrows at you, “What?” 

“Can you help me with something?”

His mouth flattens into a straight line. He looks down at the tablet, then turns off the screen and sets it aside to look up at you. 

“See the top of the sign, how it’s all shitty still?” you point at the evidence, “Can you get it for me? I can’t reach.” 

“Use the big ladder.” 

“I didn’t think to grab it before Paul locked up for the night.” 

He releases a big dramatic sigh, glancing down at the tablet before rising to his feet. As he passes you the handle of the dog leash, you grin and plop down in the warmed-up lawn chair, “My hero!” 

“Uh-huh,” he shakes his head and starts towards the drop cloth. 

Beneath the lawn chair, the dog wakes from his nap and tries to follow Din, huffing and puffing when the leash goes taut, then walks back to your feet and sits on your shoelaces. His big satellite ears stand at attention while his person shimmies up the ladder with a roller brush in hand. 

The two of you sit there and watch Din with the same level of ardent attention, both perched on the edge of your respective seats, unable to tear your eyes away for a second. 

At first you try to tell yourself that you’re not even looking at him, just mapping out the illustration you’ll start tomorrow. But the truth is, it’s hard not to be drawn in by the view. By his panoramic shoulders and muscle-bound arms stretching out the fabric of his flannel as he rolls the brush up and down, back and forth, spreading thick white primer across the freshly smoothed wood… 

Despite the waning sunlight and icy gusts spilling off the mountains, heat bubbles up to the surface of your skin. 

You know that once he’s finished, you’ll go back to the motel for the rest of the night. Given the thick layer of grime you each accumulated throughout the day, showers will likely be in order. Which, of course, means stripping down to nothing while he’s in the bathroom with you. And vice versa, probably. 

Your imagination wanders to his naked body and how it would feel against yours. What if you argued in favor of water conservation, asking him to join you in the shower? What if he agreed? How would he look at you without those sunglasses covering his eyes? How would he touch you if morals weren’t involved? 

Din climbs down off the ladder and walks over, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “Is that it for today?”

He replaces the hat and takes off his aviators, cleaning the lenses with his shirt as he meets your gaze. The full force of his big brown eyes turns your saliva tacky and makes your heart stutter. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. 

Fuck, did he ask you something? 

“Is that—? Oh, um,” you clear your throat, then nod, “Yep, that should do it. Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Flicking his eyes around your face, he nods, then turns back to the drop cloth, where he starts consolidating all the painting supplies. 

With his legs stretched out across the perimeter of the bathroom’s tile flooring, back resting against the tub, Din types ‘Tom Boucheron’ into the search bar of a Portland-based web forum. 

The search yields 83 matches. He starts sifting through the results, scrolling past subject lines that indicate general complaints about property management like rising rent and evictions and gentrification. Every once and a while he comes across subject lines that take on a more conspiratorial tone, though, mentioning the weight of his influence or his ties to police presence throughout the city. When he finds these posts, he clicks on the thread, copying and pasting the urls into a separate document. 

He can delve deeper into these later, once he’s able to better focus. But right now, with the roaring cascade of the shower behind him and your enthusiastic rendition of Tiny Dancer by Elton John, this mechanical sorting is the maximum concentration he can muster. 

Squinting at the screen, he wipes away the fog forming on his tablet. Moisture reclaims the area just as soon as it clears. He sighs and turns off the device when your vocals start ramping up to a volume he can’t ignore. 

“—But oh how it feels so real, lying here with no one near. Only you, and you can hear meeee, when I say softlyyyy, slooowly—”

“Are you almost done?” 

“You ruined the best part.” 

“We’re going to get a noise complaint.” 

You scoff, then he hears the thunk of you turning off the water. In his peripheries, your arm stretches out from behind the shower curtain to snatch the folded white towel off the toilet lid. 

A few seconds later, the curtain pulls back and you announce, “I’m decent.” 

He climbs to his feet while you step out of the tub, one hand securing the bath towel around your body, the other grabbing his arm for balance. Once sure-footed on the pink tiles, you let go and murmur, "Sorry,” before opening the door and padding off into the motel room. 

Grogu runs into the bathroom to investigate as Din slips out and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. He tries to anchor his vision to the floor, but finds his gaze drifting towards your movements out the corner of his eye. Humming to yourself, you comb your fingers through dripping wet hair and pull a few articles of clothing from your backpack. 

“Are you gonna hop in too?” 

His eyes tick to yours as you turn around, clutching a pile of clothing to your chest. 

“Because, you know… if you need me to be in there with you or whatever, that’s fine,” you cast your gaze to the floor with a shrug.

He studies your bashful demeanor for a moment before responding, “I’ll have you sit in there with me once you get dressed.” 

Without looking up, you give him a nod and walk over to the bathroom. As you put on clothing, Din uses all his will power to stare at the ground. 

“What do you wanna do after that? We could watch a movie.” 

His eyes cheat to the mirror on the wall, where he watches your reflection wrestle with a t-shirt. He catches a glimpse of your bare back before returning to the floor and clearing his throat. 

“I thought you weren’t much of a movie person.” 

“Well,” your footsteps soften onto the carpet, then your voice is closer, “If you have a better idea of how to pass the time in a seedy roadside motel, I’m open to suggestions.” 

He meets your heated gaze long enough for something to spark deep within his belly. The air between your body and his thickens with a palpable magnetism. His lips part to respond, but only one suggestion plays over and over again in his head. The mad yapping of that thing in his chest. 

Before he can say or do something stupid, though, you look away and start fidgeting, “So, I’m dressed. Are you ready?” 

Swallowing his tight throat, he pushes himself to his feet and locks eyes with you, “Go sit where I just was and put your head between your knees.” 

“Wow, you’re taking this very seriously.”  

“Let’s just get it over with, ok?”

You roll your eyes a little, but acquiesce. 

Din trails behind you into the bathroom, shooing the dog from the room before closing the door. When he turns around, he finds you curled up on the floor, back pressed to the tub basin with your face buried in your knees. 

“Like this?” 

“Perfect. Stay like that, I won’t take long.” 

For some reason he expected you would stay quiet while he disrobed, but you just continue talking as if you were accompanying him on any other menial task. 

“I think it’s funny how you have me do this whole thing so I don’t see your dick, but when I need privacy, the most you give me is a turned back.” 

Din glances at the top of your head while unbuckling his utility belt, then turns to spread it out across the bathroom counter, “That’s not the only reason I’m having you do this.” 

“Then why?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of involuntary captivity?” 

While you scoff and most likely try to come up with a rebuttal, he shucks off his flannel overshirt, then unfastens his shoulder holster and lines it up on the counter below the outspread belt. His hands work without much thought as he systematically unloads all three of his pistols. Eject the magazine, count the rounds, check the chamber.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Ignoring the question, he moves the unloaded guns and utility belt to a high shelf over the toilet, then pulls off his undershirt. 

“Can you at least confirm you’re not gearing up to murder me right now?” 

If he wanted to tear your frayed edges, he could mention that you were begging him to do exactly that less than 48 hours ago. But since you’re somehow more irritating when in a foul mood, he doesn’t. 

“If I was going to kill you I would have already.” He turns on the shower and takes a step back to make sure you’re still covering your eyes, then takes off his pants. 

“Would you do it if you had to?” 

The question gives him pause as he pulls back the shower curtain. 

“Why would I have to?” 

“I don’t know, because they asked you to do it.” 

He frowns, “I wouldn’t do it just because someone asked me to.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

The hopeful air in your voice eats at his stomach lining. Instead of answering or clarifying what he meant, he steps into the shower. 

“Ok, but let’s say they gave you a good reason, and you were going to do it… kill me, I mean. How would you do it?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that.” 

“Why not?” 

He shakes his head and grabs a bar of soap off the shower ledge and starts to lather it against his skin. 

“Are you ignoring me or thinking?” 

“Ignoring you.” 

“You know, I appreciate the honesty.“ Then, after a few seconds: “I promise not to leak your trade secrets, big guy. Come on, how would you do it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

With this, you go quiet. 

Silence fills the bathroom for the remainder of his time in the shower, but Din’s thoughts are as loud and intrusive as your questions. 

His mind becomes populated with scenarios in which you would end up in the sights of his pistol. Under what circumstances would he pull the trigger? 

He imagines you stealing from him. He imagines trying to escape. He imagines it coming down to you or the money. He even goes so far as to imagine it coming down to you or him. 

But each time the imaginary him goes to take aim, he falters. 

While Din tosses a bag of popcorn in the microwave, you survey the Room 10’s VHS collection. 

“Ok let’s see,” you tilt your head sideways and read the titles, “Aladdin, Batman Returns, Twister—”

“You choose.” 

Beeps sound from the microwave, then it hums to life. 

You pull Aladdin from the shelf and admire the familiar cover art. Little flakes of deteriorated plastic break off the exterior and stick to your fingertips when you trace the title. You wince and mumble an apology to the inanimate object before prying it open to pull out the tape. 

After feeding it to the VCR, you press rewind and hold up the cover to Din, “Ever seen this?”

When he takes a step closer to examine it, you note the details you’re not normally privy to. His damp curls and the heat of his pulse. Mostly, though, you become fixated on his eyes. Those devastatingly dark and warm eyes. His heavy brow and hooded lids, all the lines of age creeping out from the corners. 

He meets your gaze and you swear you hear the snap of his full attention locking onto you when he frowns, “Can’t say I have.” 

Somewhere far away, the popcorn starts popping. You feel yourself succumbing to his gravitational pull, subconsciously drifting towards him, and can’t really remember if you had a point in mind when you asked. 

“It’s-it’s good,” you nod, letting your eyes drift to his mouth for a moment before you shrug, “I mean, from what I remember at least. I was obsessed with it when I was a kid. It drove my grandma crazy cuz I’d make her watch it on repeat…” 

It doesn’t really register how much information you’re disclosing until his eyes get all wide and doughy, at which point you take a step away from him and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry, um, anyway. I liked it.” 

He chuckles, causing you to grin, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

His face tells you it’s definitely not nothing. It’s something if you’ve ever seen it. Something so gooey and hot it makes you ache. Dangerous, that’s what it is. 

The VCR clicks and shifts gears, then the TV lights up with disclaimers. Taking it as a sign from above, you start back towards the bed and tease, “I totally get why you wear the sunglasses, by the way. Your eyes give everything away.” 

Rather than admit you’re right, Din raises an eyebrow at you, then turns around to pull the microwave open before the timer reaches zero. While you slide under the covers and prop the flimsy pillows up behind your back, he pries open the steaming hot bag of popcorn and brings it to you. 

“Thanks.”

He grunts in response and disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with the shiny metal handcuffs, “Lights on or off?”

“Off.”

When the lights go out, the dog jumps onto the bed, spinning around a few times before curling up into an adorable white ball. Din tosses the cuffs to your side as he crawls into bed beside you. Once you think he’s settled in, you offer him some popcorn, which he accepts. 

“Do I have to put them on right now?” you ask, in reference to the cuffs. 

He frowns and shakes his head, “I can wait until you’re ready.” 

Nodding, you study his profile in the dim illumination from the TV. You don’t even realize you’re staring at him like a full-on creep until he says, “Stop giving me goo-goo eyes and watch the movie.” 

Embarrassment flares up your neck and cheeks. You scoff, “I am not giving you goo-goo eyes,” and wriggle deeper under the covers, diverting your gaze to the TV. 

I will not look at him for the rest of the night, you vow. Even if he asks me to, or talks to me, I won’t look at his stupid face until the sun comes up tomorrow. 

You almost fulfill the vow, too. 

Well… almost might be an exaggeration, but you make it to the end credits and that’s further than you really believed you could make it. 

With the motel room all dark save for the faintest glow from the credits rolling onscreen, he asks, “Are you awake?”

You remind yourself of your promise and try to ignore him. If you say something, you’ll look at him. And if you look at him, you lose. 

“Charlie?” he nudges you. 

Fuck. 

“Yeah,” you glance over, and of course you catch his eyes, “Is it handcuff time now?” 

He nods, almost apologetically. 

“Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Go ahead.” 

When you exit the bathroom and turn off the light, you find the room cloaked in darkness. The only reference point you have is the red glow of 9:12 on the alarm clock. You stretch your arms in front of you and start taking cautious steps towards it.  

“Oh my god, I can’t see shit.” 

“Want me to turn the lamp on?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” 

Your fingertips brush up against the bedspread, then you follow the alarm clock beacon to the side table. 

“Here.” 

His hand finds yours in the darkness. You grab ahold of it, trying your very hardest not to dwell on the warmth of his palm against yours as he gently guides you. When you finally settle between the sheets, he releases your hand. You almost wish he didn’t. 

“Ready?” 

“Sure.” 

He closes the cold heavy steel around your wrist, then his. For a while, neither of you move. Anxious energy buzzes beneath your skin. You close your eyes in an attempt to trick yourself into being tired, but it only makes you notice how fucking quiet it is. 

Resigning from your motionless state, you start wriggling around in an attempt to get comfortable. Din is accommodating while you do this, letting his wrist ragdoll wherever you drag it. You lie facing the wall for a while, fondling the knife you have tucked under the pillow. It doesn’t feel right. You flip onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Same problem. 

Then, when you can’t stand it anymore—the dark, the quiet, the nerves—you roll on your side facing him. 

“Din.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t fall asleep.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Din.” 

“What?”

“I said I can’t fall asleep.” 

“I heard you the first time. What do you expect me to do about it?” 

You open your mouth to ask him to fuck you, but nerves rob your tongue. 

“Just talk to me for a while.” 

“About what?”

“I dunno, whatever you want.” You tuck your cuffed hand beneath your cheek and scoot a little closer.

His silence holds the weight of contemplation, so you prompt him, “What would your genie wishes be?” 

“Hang on, let me think.” 

A few quiet seconds go by before he clears his throat and rolls on his side to face you. The back of his cuffed hand rests against yours, which brings you a shred of comfort. 

“Financial security. Property rights to some land and a house, something out in the country.” 

“Like a farm?” 

“Something like that. Self-sustainable and off the grid. Maybe get a few animals and so I could live off the land.” 

“That’s the dream, right? Fuck off to the middle of nowhere and not have to rely on anyone?” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream.” 

You hum, then ask, “What’s wish number three?” 

“I… I’d rather not say.” 

Your gut instinct is to push back, but you resist the urge and instead tell him, “That’s fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s enough sincerity in his voice that a tinge of guilt twists in your belly, and you feel obligated to bring up an earlier conversation. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. For pushing you to answer me when you were in the shower. Sometimes I don’t know when it’s time to shut the fuck up and let it be.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” 

“Ok,” you wiggle around a bit and manage to find the perfect position, then close your eyes and release a content sigh. 

“What are yours?” he asks. 

“Mmmm… you know, I’ve thought a lot about this question—” A yawn swells in your chest, cutting you off. When it passes, your limbs feel heavy and warm. You continue, “I’d wish for the genie to be free.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, “And what else, world peace? An end to climate change?” 

“I hear your snark, sir, and I don’t appreciate it. No, I wouldn’t wish for world peace or the end of climate change. I wouldn’t wish for anything. Tricky bastard can keep his wishes, I make my own luck.” 

“Tricky bastard, huh?” 

Another yawn takes over. Lethargy seeps through your body, making your worlds come out slow and murmured. 

“Yeah, y’know… all the, umm… the fine print. Too many strings attached, I don’t trust ‘em.” 

“You sound tired.” 

You hum, snuggling deeper into your pillow, “You sound tired.” 

“Get some sleep, kid. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“Mmmkay,” you mumble, “Sweet dreams, Din.” 

[wineauntharry]

I’m in need of anything that contains jealous, protective and possessive Joe!!! If you’re able to write something like this 💛

Ofc stink! I like this alot and I hope its what you were asking for let me know if you want something else! love ya bunches! (sorry its short)

Tw: possessive and jealous joe/ insinuation of smut??? Nothing to cray cray

send requests here :)

-kitt

—

Mine J.B.

“ I just wanna make sure I’m the only guy you’re taking home tonight.”

Joe whispered, slurring and wreaking of tequila. But who could blame him? He had just won the AFC North Championship, and who would I be to not let him celebrate.

“Joe don’t start.”

We had only been at this club for an hour and he was plastered. I was sitting on his lap playing with the rips in his jeans when he started to do the drunk rambling moment he would have anytime he thought I looked a little too good.

“Can’t help it baby. You just look so good. Still can’t believe you chose me.”

“All of these hoes and I still chose you huh Joe.”

He let out a soft giggle followed by a stop-fucking-playin-with-me smirk and I knew I had started to press his buttons. There’s no way Joe didn’t notice every guy's neck turn when we walked in. They weren’t looking at the tall football player, they were looking at the girl on his arm, and he knew that.

After sitting in our section and sipping on our drinks, we made our way out onto the dance floor. Joe and I did our usual dance where he stood behind me and I grinded on him to the beat of whatever was playing. Nothing too crazy. I could feel Joe start to grow behind me and as he went to whisper something to me we were interrupted.

“This your man? Or is he your bitch because I’m trynna talk to you for real. You too fine to be with a white boy like that.”

Before I could even respond to the random drunk guy leaning a little too close and talking a little too loud, Joe already had a response.

“Bro you don’t see her with me right now? This my girl, stop playing. We locked in, she not going anywhere.”

The guy just walked away, not even trying to argue anymore, but Joe wasn’t finished, I could feel him tense up as he stopped dancing. It was like he somehow sobered up and wasn’t about to just let that guy's advance slide.

Joe began to walk in the direction of the guy, taking big strides, determined. Not gonna lie, Joe was always so hot when he was angry, But somebody had to keep him out of trouble, so I followed and reached for his arm.

“Joe stop!” I tried to yell but Joe had blinders on and nothing was gonna come between him and sticking up for what’s his.

Joe got the guy's attention and started to raise his voice, catching the attention of other people in the club.

“Don’t ever try some shit like that again. Swear to God, I don’t play about what’s  mine. I promise you don’t want a problem bro. Be careful. I don’t wanna come outta character.” Joe spit out.

 “You got it big bro, chill out.” The guy replied.

I guess at this point Joe remembered where we were and could feel me tugging at his arm. He turned around and we made our way back to our section, but I couldn’t just let that go.

“Joe what the fuck was that? I know you’re fucked up right now but be serious.” I said.

“You just do something to me Y/N. Can’t help it.” He replied with a smirk.

“I know but-” I was interrupted with Joe smashing his lips on mine. He was so intoxicating. I swear I turn into putty anytime he kisses me like this. It wasn’t a regular kiss. But almost a you’re mine and I don’t care who sees kiss.

Once we separate I continue my thought “Joe you gotta keep it together, that’s what happens when you go out with someone this fine, not my fault.” I said with a little giggle following it.

Joe smiled and said “I can’t help but be possessive over you. You belong to me and nothing will ever change that, I don’t care what I have to do. I’d kill for you Y/N.”

Joe has always been the jealous type, but I am too so it balances us out, just makes us that much closer.

“I’m yours Joe. In this world, it's just us.” I reassured him and squeezed his hand to let him know I was serious.

“Let’s get out of here baby, I wanna show you how much to me.” He said.

I knew what that meant. He only said that when he really meant it, it was special to him.

I was enjoying my time out of the house but I knew I would enjoy whatever he was going to do to me at home more. I just smiled and nodded my head to let him know to lead the way. 

I love this boy so much and I know he loves me just the same. Its only a plus that Joe fucks best when he’s jealous or in love, and tonight, he was both.

—-

I hope yall like this omg I like it!!! Jealous joe makes me think some thots imma keep it real i need him so bad lorddddd. 

ALSO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE ON MY HARRY ONE SHOT!! (did yall peep the harry reference hehe)

Also there may or may not be a second part to this that’s just smut ;) let me know if yall want it because i def will not write it if there’s something else you want!

all the love- kitt

[baddest-batchers]

TBB SEASON 3 EP 9 THOUGHTS & FEELINGS!!!!! | spoilers below ✨

• UHM OKAY CAN WE JUST GET A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ALL OF US THAT KNEW FENNEC WAS TALKING TO VENTRESS LAST EPISODE 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

• Okay, hear me out: It’s totally possible Omega has a high M-count and could be Force-sensitive. But also, could it be possible that she may not have a high enough M-count to be trained yet her M-count doesn’t degrade since she isn’t aging at an accelerated pace? It could be that for whatever reason the clones’ M-counts degrade over time because their ages are accelerated, genetic degradation due to when they were conceived, what batch number they were, Jango Fett’s DNA degradation, etc? This also begs the question that normal Force-sensitive beings’ M-counts might possibly degrade as they age but not enough to alter their connections/abilities to tap into the Force, especially if they’ve been trained. Idk, it’s definitely possible for Omega to be Force-sensitive but we will just have to see.

•Asajj Ventress, you dropped this 👑

• Her fight sequence with Crosshair had me wishing I was her so bad.

• Crosshair being so brotherly and protective is still 100000/10. “You did.” Implying he was heavily against not intervening in Omega’s tests w/ Ventress but he let her go do it anyway because he loves and trusts his sister.

• TECH MENTIONED AGAIN I—PLEASE BRING HIM BACK I SWEAR FILONI I AIN’T PLAYIN AROUND.

• Wrecker this episode was so 🥹🥹. Him trying to cheer up Omega by telling her they should go eat was so cute.

• I adore Omega’s ability to see the best in people. She doesn’t immediately cast people off because of their pasts and that’s a quality I think many people lack today. We saw Crosshair tell her she’s being naive in an effort to protect her but I don’t think she is being naive. I think she genuinely sees the better part of people and will always be willing to give someone a chance.

• I am once again asking, WHERE TF IS ECHO. Ik he’s with Rex but PLEASE bring our boy back. I’m so tired of the family not being all together.

• DID ANYONE ELSE NOTICE THAT WE DID NOT SEE CROSSHAIR’S HAND TREMBLE AT ALL THIS EPISODE??? Like not once did we see him shake out his hand or scowl at it. He was steady as hell when he was shooting at Ventress!! His meditation sessions with Omega must be helping 💜💜💜💜

• Crosshair skipping down the Marauder’s steps to help Omega into the ship, adorable. AND THEN EXTENDING HIS HAND TO VENTRESS AFTER NOT WANTING TO TRUST HER. This is such wonderful character development. I think Omega has definitely rubbed off on Crosshair a bit. He’s trying to give people a chance, just like Omega did with him. 🥹🥹🥹

• I really do love that the Batch doesn’t want to let Omega go, esp Hunter and Crosshair. Hunter went months without knowing if she was okay, let alone even alive when she was on Tantiss. Obviously she and Crosshair have such an unbreakable bond at this point that ofc he doesn’t want to let her go either.

• It would be so cool if she is, in fact, Force-sensitive and that she goes off to be trained by Ventress or someone else in order to protect her brothers. But tbh it’s not the best ending the show could have imo. It would be so bittersweet but I also think fall kind of flat for Omega’s character if that were the ending of the entire show. A huge part of me just wants them to all stay together and live happily ever after. Ik it’s Star Wars and we probably won’t get that but still, it’s nice to dream that it could happen.

• And lastly

I will be thinking about this for the rest of the week.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

WIP Wednesday...

...12 Days late and on a Monday (oops)

I was tagged by the lovely @sixhours - thank you so much! - to share a snippet from a wip, but here's the thing: I'm just working my way back into regular writing after unintentionally taking like two months off and after finishing up the latest Aphelion chapter with @something-tofightfor, I'm not even sure which wip to pick back up. So here are a few snippets from the things in my twisted wip heap, I would love if you all could weigh in on what I should focus on next!

*snippets and poll under the cut*

from Part One of The Grove, an Ezra x F!Reader series:

Shit, shit, shit. 

You crashed through the brush, desperately seeking the same path you took into the heart of the forest so that you could find your way back out. But even though it had been less than an hour since you’d trekked through those very same trees, you couldn’t find so much as one of your own footprints or a bent twig to point you in the right direction. Heart pounding, you spun in a slow circle, scanning the dense greenery around you. 

No, no, no. There’s gotta be… something. I’ve gotta be missing something. 

You squinted, straining your eyes against the dwindling light that made it down through the canopy. Trees and vines and short, leafy bushes were all that you could see, like the forest had grown around your footsteps to swallow up any trace of you.

from Part Four of Recall, a Jack Daniels x F!Reader series:

“Please, listen to me.” You have to listen to me, Jack. You took a shaky breath, trying not to move as you let it back out. “She wasn’t-” 

“Real? Yeah, you keep sayin’ that.” He gave the lasso a tug to tighten the noose around your arms and torso. You felt the synthetic threads of the rope biting into your biceps. “You say it one more time, darlin’ -” His top lip curled as he coated his words in venom. “And I’ll show you what else this thing can do.” Giving the grip another sharp yank, he pulled you a few steps closer. 

from Part Three of Unfinished, a Marcus Pike x F!Reader series:

You turned into the hallway just in time to see Marcus open the door to the guest room. As he froze in place, head cocked to the side in confusion, you realized you’d forgotten to address the one logistical hang up of his visit. He spoke your name, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Am I missing something?” 

“Shit.” You winced, fingertips coming up to rub at your closed eyelid before dragging your palm down over your face. I completely forgot about - you groaned. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I forgot to tell you. Bill took the guest bed when he moved out.” You gave a pathetic little shrug. “It was technically his, so…” 

Trailing off, your eyes widened as another realization hit you. Oh, fuck. Because of how the night had gone, the sheets for the pullout couch that you’d thrown in the wash that afternoon had never made it into the dryer. “Shit!” You half sighed, half hissed through another wince. “I fucked up, Marcus. I left the sheets for the pullout mattress in the wash and now-“ You clicked your tongue and threw up your hands. 

Now it was two in the morning and far too late to rewash and then dry a load of laundry.

from Kiss Me & Smile For Me, a Joel Miller x OFC series:

“I mean,” Emma went on, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “It’s pretty much my fault that she’s so into this band anyway.” She laughed through her nose. “I was always playin’ their songs for warm ups, and then-” 

“You’d do that?” He breathed out the question, cutting her off. “You’d…” Swallowing, he hooked his thumbs into her belt loops, head shaking from side to side to send his hair askew. “You’d go with her? You sure?”

Emma’s answer came without hesitation, her fingers coming up to rake the rogue strands of his hair back into place. “Of course, Joel.” She smiled, cheeks rounding out and eyes shining up at him. “I know how much it means to you to be able to do this for her. And I want her birthday to be special, too.” She nodded. We’ll make sure she knows the tickets are from you, and that I’m just going with her. Besides, I already got her a gift, so- ” 

Joel didn’t let her finish her explanation though, suddenly overcome with the need to kiss her. Bringing his hands up, he cradled her face between them and swallowed the small surprised sound she made. It only lasted a few seconds, neither of them deepening it but both of them letting it linger so that when it ended and Joel spoke, his lips moved against hers. “I love you, Em.” 

[bibiwrld]

So, I had this idea where hobbie is besties with fem character and she gets bit, he shows her the ropes, and when it come to making her suit, she makes it a surprise for him, when surprised let's just say he went of the rails cause he thought it looked so good on her he couldn't contain his crush on her anymore.

Hope you like the idea and can do something of it!<33

Omg ofc❤️🎀

I hope this is to your liking, I really tried.

Best friend🔐❤️|Hobie Brown

🕷️

Hobie couldn’t contain his laughter, literally almost crying on the couch at the scene before him.

“You seriously afraid of that likkle ting, Leo?!” He fell back into couch, dying of laughter.

“Hobie! Stop playin’ and get the bloody thing!” Leomie cried with a broom in her hands. “You’re not gonna help a damsel in distress? Isn’t that like your whole thing?”

“I’m not Spider-Punk right now, I’m Hobie Brown.” He kicked up his feet on the arm rest of the couch.

Leomie glanced back at him and back to the danger to her existence on the wall. “Take your boots off in my couch, you know this is new.” Leomi groaned at Hobie.

“You mean our couch, I live here too y’know, sweetheart.” He obeyed, taking off his boots and putting his feet back on the arm rest.

She doesn’t know how she tolerated 10 years of friendship with this absolute annoyance of a man. They’ve been best friends ever since they were 11, and through those 10 years, they’ve went through so many experiences together.

From Hobie getting bit, to Leomie being dumped by her first ever boyfriend. They went through everything together— they were each other’s support system. Leomie was the first person Hobie came to when he started experiencing his newfound powers after getting bit. She even coined him the name “Spider-Punk.” Even though he hated it, he eventually warmed up to it.

How could he hate anything she thought of or did?

She stuck by his side no matter what. Honestly, she doesn’t know what she’d do without Hobie. She always thought the worse when he’d be gone for days, but he’d always come back bruised and tattered, saying “It’s nothin’”. Leomie was always there to patch him up, where would he be without her?

When he brought the news about being recruited to a society of different spider people, she was nothing but happy for him. He told stories about his missions, his new friends—even letting one of them crash in their shared apartment after dealing with parental issues, his asshole boss, and the time when a new spider person was the talk of HQ after being identified as an anomaly.

What more could Hobie ask for in a person?

There are times he’d look at her as more than just his best friend— he’d really look at her, how could he not? She was heavenly, from her brown skin, to her long coily hair that cascaded down her back.

He was in love with her. Not even the great Hobie Brown could deny that. His crush lasted 10 long years, watching other guys break her heart every single time, and knowing to himself that he could treat her so much better than them. But he just couldn’t, he’d hurt her way worse than them— this life he lived wasn’t something she should be so involved in, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to leave her.

“Please, Hobie, just kill it.” Leomie whined, glancing between the vicious spider on the wall and Hobie relaxing on the couch.

Hobie rose to his feet, pacing towards Leomie, his stature towering over her shorter body. “Kill it?” He took the broom from her hands. “That’s kinda disrespectful, y’know? I’m sort of a spider myself and you wanna kill this likkle defenseless spider, Leo?”

She looked at him straight faced. “Yes.”

“That could be my cousin.” He joked, pointing at the spider.

“I don’t care, Hobes.” She frowned. “Kill it, I don’t want it layin’ eggs if it’s a female.” Leomie squeezed his arm in fright.

“Spiders don’t do anything’ to you if you don’t do anythin’ to them.” He stated slowly going up to the spider with Leomie behind him in fear. “I won’t kill it, I’ll just take it outside, okay?”

“As long as it’s not in here.” Her eyes filled with fear.

Hobie raised his hands to cup the spider and one of it’s legs moved, making Leomie scream.

“Leo, quiet down.” Hobie looked back at a frightened Leomie. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll get rid of it, promise.”

“How are you gonna get rid of it and it’s not there anymore?” Her voice trembled while she stared at the wall the spider was once on.

Hobie whipped his head back to the wall and there was no spider there. “Bloody hell.” He knew this was going to be a long night. “Where the fuck did it go?”

Leomie clung to Hobie’s side, eyes darting everywhere in search of the spider. “It could be anywhere, that devil.”

Hobie looked around, then at Leomie, his eyes slowly growing wide. “Leomie.”

“Huh?” She flinched, looking up to Hobie. “Why are you looking at me like th—”

“Don’t move.” He warned her. “Stay still, Leo.”

She started freaking out, slowly backing away from Hobie. “Is it on me?! Get it off me!” Tears began forming in her eyes.

“It’s on your neck, stay calm while I try to grab it, love” He took slow steps towards her.

“MY NECK?!” She screamed, but the spider didn’t move from her.

Hobie looked her in her eyes. “You’re going to be okay, Leo. Just look at me, breathe.” He assured her and tried calming her down.

She slowly nodded while crying. “O-oka—AHHH!” She slapped her neck, making the spider fall and crawl off somewhere. “It bit me! The bastard bit me!” She held her neck and screamed.

“Oh fuck, shit.” He went to her side, examining her neck. A faint red bruise was left. “Let’s go to the hospital, in case it was venomous. I’ll grab your jumper.”

Leomie nodded and scratched her neck.

With the visit to the hospital, the doctor claimed that there seemed be nothing wrong with Leomie, even though they didn’t run any tests. A cream was recommended to apply to the bump on Leomie’s neck and they were told to come back if it gets worse.

Of course Hobie stole the cream and applied it to Leomie’s neck on their way home.

After arriving home, Leomie felt a bit exhausted and decided to go to bed and Hobie agreed, retreating to his room.

🕷️

“Leo, can you turn that damn alarm off?” Hobie asked with a groggy voice while making his way to Leomie’s room in nothing but basketball shorts. “I’m comin’ in.”

Behind the door revealed a mess of webs all over the room. Hobie instantly got over his tiredness and was now alert, scanning the room for an intruder.

“Leo!”

“Help me! I’m stuck!”

Hobie’s attention was brought to the high ceiling, to see Leomie wrapped up in webs like a fly.

Hobie shot a web to the ceiling and pulled himself to her. “What the fuck happened?” He stuck to the ceiling, removing the webs from her. “Did you see who did this?”

“It was me.” Leomie answered with an embarrassed look on her face.

Hobie was scrunched up his face at her reply. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I did this, Hobes! I have spider powers.” She was now in Hobie’s arms.

He released his sticky hold on the wall and safely landed on the floor with Leomie in his arms.

Hobie scratched his head, not comprehending anything Leomie said. “Spider powers?”

Leomie nodded and turned her phone alarm off. “Yes, that spider from last night must’ve been radioactive. Then I woke up and the sheets were stuck to my hands and I started freaking out, and webs shot from my wrists, I didn’t mean to.”

Hobie blinked slowly, taking everything in. “Holy shit.” He grabbed her hand, examining it. “Webs? From your wrists? Lucky.”

“Does this mean I’m Spider-Woman?” She stared up at him with hopeful eyes.

He released her hand. “Only if you want to, I’d never force you to.”

“I want to.” She answered quickly. “I want to join the spider society like you, and have a super cool name.” She listed gleefully. “And an awesome costume.”

Hobie laughed. “You’re so cute.”

Leomie smiled to herself at his comment. “Whatever Hobie, put a shirt on, perv.” She playfully pushed him.

He laughed again. “Well this perv is going to be your teacher, you can’t be apart of the Spider Society with no type of skills or training, you’ll embarrass yourself.”

“You’re going to train me?!” Her eyes lit up and hugged his slim torso.

Hobie smiled down at her and wrapped his arms around. “Of course. There will be 4 trainin’ lessons, wall climbin’, web shootin’, hand to hand to combat and web slingin’.”

She pulled away from the hug with the brightest smile on her face. “When are we going’ to start trainin’?”

Hobie smirked. “Today actually, go get ready.”

“YES!” She ran out of her room in excitement.

🕷️

“God, you’re terrible at this.” Hobie stood on the ledge of a building and watched her attempt at scaling the wall.

It was day 5 of training, and they were still on lesson 1: climbing buildings and sticking to things.

“No I’m not!” Leomie shouted from the bottom of the building, while staring up at Hobie who wore his costume.

Hobie laughed loudly. “I’m lit’rally watchin’ you struggle to climb this buildin.”

“This is too hard, I quit.” She threw the cheap Spider-Man mask on the ground and put her hands into her jacket pockets.

Hobie jumped off the building and landed in front of her. “This is your third time quitin’. It was hard for me to navigate this whole Spider-Man thing too.” He spoke softly.

She looked at him with a pout.

“You can do this, I know you can.”

🕷️

“That’s it!” Hobie cheered proudly, while swinging through the city.

Leomie giggled at the rush of swinging through the air. “Try to keep up!”

Hobie smirked and accepted her challenge.

After 3 weeks of non-stop training, Leomie was practically Spider-Woman, or as she’d like to be called, Dark Web.

It took a lot of work, to get to where she is now.

Like when they were on lesson 2: Web shooting

“Aim at the bottle, not me!” Hobie dodged Leomie’s web.

She awkwardly grinned at her mistake. “Sorry!”

Hobie waved it off and went behind of her, her body tingling up at the feeling of him being so close to her.

He grabbed her hand, pointing and positioning it towards the bottles that were on the ledge. He then whispered into her ear. “It may be a likkle hard to teach you this since your webs are natural and mine aren’t, but I don’t think they’re that different.”

She silently gulped at his deep voice speaking so gently into her ear.

“Put your hand into the web shooting position.” He put both hands on her shoulders.

She obeyed, putting her middle and ring finger into her palm.

“Now breathe and concentrate on releasing your webs, let it flow.” He instructed. “It all has to do with concentration. Think of how you want the web to come out, do you want to hit the bottle over, or grab it?”

“Grab it.” She answered, inhaling deeply.

“Then grab it.”

On cue, a long web string flowed from Leomie’s wrist, wrapping around one of the bottles like a tiny hand.

Her eyes lit up, so did Hobie’s.

“Now tug on the web and grab the bottle with your hand.” Hobie said eagerly.

Leomie held the web that was attached to her wrist, then pulled on it with her super strength. The bottle came flying towards her with speed. She put her hand out, catching the bottle with minimal effort.

She surprised herself by actually catching it, looking at the bottle in her hands in awe, then to Hobie who looked at her with pride.

“See? I told ya, I know you can do it.” He gently took the cheap Spider-Man mask off of her, then ruffled her head.

“Ugh, Hobie!” She swatted his hands away.

He only laughed.

🕷️

“I beat your arse this time.” Leomie laughed, climbing through her bedroom.

“I actually made you win.” Hobie followed behind, landing in her bedroom.

She scoffed and took the cheap mask off, throwing it on her bed.

“When’re you goin’ to get the real thing?” He gestured to the mask on her bed.

“I’ve actually finished makin’ it.” She smirked. “I started on it after our second combat trainin’.” She made her way to the closet and began searching.

“I’m prepared to be wowed.” Hobie kicked off his boots and sprawled out on her bed like a cat.

“Turn around, you can’t see what I have in my hands, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

Hobie shook his head and smiled to himself while turning to face the wall.

Leomie hustled out of the room with different pieces of clothing in her hands. “Give me a minute.”

After what felt like forever, Hobie heard heavy footsteps.

“I’m comin’ in!” Leomie said from outside of her room.

Hobie turned back to see Leomie strutting towards him in a costume— a very sexy costume. He suddenly sat up straight up at the edge of her bed.

She wore a black, skin tight spandex leotard that went up to her neck, that had a white spider in the middle of her chest with a white webbing design all over. Her matching black gloves with white fingers stopped at her elbows. She had black, leather, platform knee highs. To bring the costume altogether, she wore a black mask that only covered her eyes and forehead, leaving her nose, mouth and long coily hair exposed.

Hobie lost control over all his motor skills. He didn’t hide the way he looked at her.

“Do you like it?” She asked, looking down at herself. “I feel like I look weird.”

Hobie’s breathing became shallow. He eyed her all over again.

“Hobie?”

He blinked, regaining control over his body again. “Huh?”

“Were you seriously not payin’ attention?” She put both hands on her hips.

“I was.”

“Then why didn’t you say anythin’? I really need your opinion.”

“Because if I said what I was thinkin’, you wouldn’t see me as your friend anymore.” He gaze lowered to her wide hips.

A chill went down her spine and his deep voice. “Wh-what do you mean?”

He was now on his feet, taking slow steps towards her. “Leomie.”

She was being backed into a corner of her room, Hobie’s tall stature intimidating her. “Hobie.”

“In my mind right now, I’m peelin’ this suit off of your soft likkle body–” He leaned down to her face. “And I’m eating you.” He grit his teeth.

Leomie inhaled sharply.

“Not very best friend of me, is it?” He put both hands on the walls and stared down at her with lustful eyes.

“N-no.”

He breathed off, putting his hands down and slowly backing away. “ ‘m probably scarin’ you, I’m sorry.”

Her hand reached out to grab his shirt, tugging him back towards her.

“You’re not scarin’ me.” She batted her lashes. “I sometimes think of you in a not best friend way too.” She admitted.

“You don’t know what you just got yourself into.” He put a hand on the back of her neck, then brought their lips together.

Between kisses he spoke. “I’ve loved you..for so long, sweetheart.”

Her hands cupped his face. “Me too.”

He broke their sloppy kiss and licked his pearly whites with his pierced tongue. “Now how about locatin’ the zipper on that thing and takin’ it off for me?”

🕷️

[wrongcaitlyn]

need more apollo and darren lore to see if i can relate them to back to december

you can ONE HUNDRED PERCENT relate them to back to december if you just ignore the tiny detail of them not breaking up in december (but like, who cares because it’s the VIBE that matters and in this case the vibe is definitely accurate)

i will definitely be adding more apollo and darren lore…let’s just say… archery world championships happening soon…. olympics in one year…. kayla’s an icon mastermind…..

but! some little notes in specific relation to back to december

i know you may think this is apollos pov, but after looking over the lyrics again to refresh my memory… it’s from darren’s perspective. 100%

I'm so glad you made time to see me / How's life? Tell me, how's your family? / I haven't seen them in a while

apollos family!! not referring to his dad. duh. but darren’s prob just talking abt like the 1-2 times he met will and austin as babies, he hasn’t seen them since so “a while”…. sure darren, that might be a bit of an understatement

You've been good, busier than ever / We small talk, work and the weather / Your guard is up and I know why

small talk is SO real with them. they’re so awkward esp rn. they don’t know how to talk to each other. apollo says “nice weather we’re having” completely unironically and darren responds “oh yeah it’s nice”

cue silence for like 2 minutes until apollo asks how his coaching is going and more and more stilted conversation

AND!!! they’re both busier than ever!! apollo returning to being employed (kinda? i mean, he has a job so) and darren with olympics being next year

Because the last time you saw me / Is still burned in the back of your mind / You gave me roses and I left them there to die

i don’t wanna spoil exactly how they broke up… bc me and wronghuntress had like an hour long convo abt pollen lore a few weeks back and. guys. when i tell you i am SO fucking excited to write it‼️‼️

HOWEVER. this line. is very. very. very. fitting. from darren’s pov that’s all i’m saying hereeee

bc ik in one of the other chapters i said that apollos like “i ruined his life” and he DID but also like. it’s messy. it’s so very messy.

So this is me swallowin' my pride / Standin' in front of you sayin' I'm sorry for that night / And I go back to December all the time

not technically in front of him but!! the phone call!! abt kayla!! him swallowing up his pride, and there wasn’t necessarily an apology for the… things that happened, but it’s a step forward

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you / Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine / I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright / I go back to December all the time

change it to march and make darren a singer instead of an archer and this would be one of his songs😭😭

These days, I haven't been sleepin' / Stayin' up playin' back myself leavin' / When your birthday passed and I didn't call / Then I think about summer, all the beautiful times / I watched you laughin' from the passenger's side / And realized I loved you in the fall

god… this timeline is actually SO real. if anyone’s making a pollen playlist out there (i should probably do that when i have timeHDKDJD) THIS SONG‼️‼️‼️

anyway ofc apollo is associated with summer in darren’s brain… and also apollo def thinks of summer too when thinking of darren :)

and oh yeah, ofc apollo’s in the passenger seat. bro probably grew up with drivers and doesn’t have his license.. rip sun chariot!!! (he gets his license eventually, ofc, but only bc it’s to drive will to school)

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile / So good to me, so right

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right

i mean, do these even need to be explained? well darren, i can assure you that you WILL love again. it’s what we all need

okay so. i can’t really. explain the rest of this stuff. but here are the lyrics that stand out to me SOOO much because of how they broke up. that is all i can say for now!!

And then the cold came, the dark days / When fear crept into my mind / You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye

And how you held me in your arms that September night / The first time you ever saw me cry

thank you so much for the ask!! it’s been a while since some pollen content but i swear it’s coming soon :))

[officialtayley]

ofc I can’t be certain but I’m fairly sure h is playin t’s guitar in that my limb video — I know that epiphone anywhere 🥲

hehehehehee

[gameyface46]

♪ I wanted to be your whole world, I wanted it all… I wanted it all… ♪

AHHHHHH ASPEN AND AQUA!!! ¡¡¡¡¡THE COUPLE!!!!!!

WAAHHHHHH THEY’RE SO CUTEEEEEEEE! I should have posted this on Pride Month… but… I didn’t come up with this until yesterday… but ASPEN AND AQUA SHIP ART… here you go! My July project! And it only took…

… two days?!?!?!

Good art DOESN’T have to take a month to produce? Wow. Though… this is pretty simple. I didn’t do shading because I actually kinda like the no shade look here.

These two are made for each other… land and sea are good together, you know? Well, more plants and water.

Though… my only criticism is that it’s a bit stiff. You know, it just feels like there’s not enough motion…

Inspo and life updates below!

This is blatantly inspired by Lake Street Dive’s album Bad Self Portraits, more specifically Rental Love. I like BSP, good album. I think it’s Aspen-core because it reminds me of the 20s and 30s for some reason, which is what inspired Aspen’s dress style, both male and female. I like drawing Aspen in his dress… god I love my little guys…

Anyway, the song that actually prompted me to draw this was What About Me, because that song specifically made me think Aspen. I am obsessed with Lake Street Dive rn… if I knew anatomy I would draw so much fanart…

So, in general? Life is okay. Finally exited artist block after I got some advice from a fellow tumblr (thank you nyanbinary-87) and it kinda motivated me to do art again. Still can’t study tho. It’s a whole thing. *sigh*

Also… follow me on twitch please! If you want, ofc. I try to stream once a week, but my schedule is… difficult. Right now, I’m playin’ OneShot! Such a good game… but I will die of a heart attack on stream. Also I will NEVER play that game at night. I’m a coward.

Good night y’all.

Oh, and PLEASE GOD LET PHILIPPINES WIN ANOTHER GOLD MEDAL AT THE OLYMPICS PLEASSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

[firsttarotreader]

he fucked the sheriff’s wife and probably has some type of rivalry with the sheriff// this motherfucker (or should I say wifefucker) is about to die again 🤦‍♀️ at this point I think his contracts require the character’s death or he goes “nuh uh, I ain’t playin that!” 🤣

*and ofc I’m joking about the contract. I feel lately like we gotta mention or you’ll get some weird anons 😅

😂😂😂 Oh, yeah, I think he’s gonna die too, or have some other type of fucked up ending.

And we always need to be specific with the disclaimer because I have come to realize a lot of people can’t read and lack comprehension skills. 😅

[yuukimiyas]

hi chloe! my new friend!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾 do you accept selfship questions? if so, will you tell me about a time you and reo were really proud of each other?

hello amira!! (੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡ its a pleasure to meet you!! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧ ooo omg yes yes!!! i absolutely adore selfship q’s!! & this one is so super sweet omg ໒꒰ྀིஇ﹏இ`꒱ྀི১ hmmm well im proud of him everyday for sure!! he’s overcome a lot w his selfish parents & also worked on a lot of self reflection <33 but a specific time would have to be the first time i saw him play in person after signing to a major club ૮꒰ྀི ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ꒱ྀིა just seein him prove himself to the world in such a huge setting like a stadium just brought tears to my eyes & even watchin him on tv playin away games warms my heart bc he’s out there chasing his dream!! & im the luckiest girl in the whole world to be able to be by his side on his journey to the world cup ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა bc nothin makes me happier than seein him happy <33 reo is def proud of me a lot too!! but a specific time i think of is the v first time i got some writing published (∩ˊᵕˋ∩)･* the first time i held the physical copy of my poems & prose i sobbed ofc & he bought me the prettiest flowers & gave me a HUGE hug, kissing the crown of my head & whispering an, “i’m so proud of you, bunny.” into my hair ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა sigh he is so so sweet i SWEAR!!! i ADORE HIM ENDLESSLY!!!!! but theres tons of other times too but these were the first ones that came to my mind hehee!! :3 tysm for stoppin by w this super sweet q!!! & i can’t wait to see you & mr hawks out & about in the city!! ໒꒰ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩꒱ྀི১ MWAH!!!

[insane-mane]

Whenever you take a break from doing Hero Time, I’d love to see your takes on DC or Marvel characters (along with newer versions of the Tombstones characters ofc)

I’d like to do more! I have vague concepts here and there. Last time I was playin DnD with friends (new to the game, so I have no idea what I’m doin lol) I was just doodling Batman stuff, never actually drew him ‘til now!

[brackishkittie]

ex-factor, abby anderson

— toxic!abby anderson x black!reader

synopsis: toxic abby headcanons because I’m having a really bad abby brainrot rn. 😵‍💫😵‍💫 ( I’ll probably make a full fic abt this later. )

c/n: very very nasty hate(?) sex, choking, slapping, strap riding, degradation, overstimulation, mirror sex, abby cussin you out, hair pulling, clit slapping. ( it’s alot I know..) she’s horrible tbh.

a/n: THIS SHIT TOOK SO FUCKING LONGGGG. I’ve been working on this shit for like maybe 6 months because I’ve been putting it off for so long but it was worth it…😞🙏🏾 (edit:) this was supposed to come out in 2023. ( INCONSISTENT ASS !!! )

daily click | ways to help palestine | important tlou post

idea inspo: @beetlejuice-e ofc I gotta give my creds n inspo!! pls check out niyah’s works especially her toxic abby series!!

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who will surely text yo ass off a burner account on insta and if you don’t answer that? girl no caller id will definitely be callin you and cussin you out.

“who the fuck do you think you’re blocking?” her voice rings out on the other side of the screen. “abigail don’t play on my phone please..” you sigh loudly due to how sick of her bullshit you were. “oh I’m playin on it. unblock me.” she replies swiftly. “girl you not about to irritate me on MY phone. bye.” and you hang up. abby won’t back down though. she’ll be RELENTLESSSSS over that unblock. she’ll even post ts on her story talkin bout “unblock me.” ( obviously you’ll unblock her..but she annoyin asl!! )

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who’ll be mad at you for posting you and your friend together. even if she has met said friend or knows them in general. she don’t gaf. she’ll slide up on the story with a “who’s that?” and you be like “that’s so and so” and then here go abby ass.. “why she so fucking close?? tell her move a bit.”

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who comes to your house mad as hell because you didn’t pickup the phone after you two got into an argument. she’ll bang on your door and she won’t go away until you let her in. when you do let her in though, she’s cussing you out and you two get back to arguing. she’s all in your face and yelling at you for not answering and acting “bitchy”. you manage to push her away from you and walk into your room, but all she does is follow you into your room while still angrily screaming at you. “where the fuck are you going?” abby is absolutely livid and staring you down. “I’m trying to get away from you, abigail.” you respond with an obvious hint of annoyance. abby who doesn’t say a word and pushes you onto the wall, leaving barely any space between you two. “who the fuck are you talking to, y/n?.”

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who loves it everytime you get surprised when she takes the initiative of grabbing you by your face and pushing her tongue deep into your mouth. her hands groping and smacking your ass. abby throws you onto the bed, already taking off her black t-shirt and signaling for you to take off your clothes. you knew the drill. it was a never ending cycle and you fell for it everytime. abby lifts your legs onto her shoulders and smiles as soon as her eyes fell onto your pretty pussy. “fucking slut. I barely did anything yet.” she said as you felt her fingers brush your clit. “I want you to keep your eyes on me. if you look away, you won’t be able to cum.” you nod and watch her slip two fingers into your wet cunt, watching her tongue putting in work. she sloppily eats you out like she’s been dreaming of it.

you shut your eyes and abby almost instantly slapped your clit, making your eyes fly open. “I said to keep your fucking eyes on me..” her nails dug deeper into your soft skin, she’s eating you out with such aggression and knowing that turned you on even more. you gripped her hair and bucked your hips. you felt yourself reaching your high and your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open. “holy shittttt!— abby please..” you continued watching her tongue work in and out of you, her thumb rubbing at your sensitive clit, and her eyes shooting up at you making sure you were watching her like she told you to. you thought maybe she was just gonna go easy on you tonight because it was a small fight, right? “face down. ass up.” she said as she glared at you.

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who loves seeing you take her strap, her eyes almost glued to the mirror as your ass bounced off her. abby fucking the anger out of you so well that you nearly forgot why you were so mad at her. abby taps your face lightly when she sees you basically go blank for a second. “don’t pass out on me now baby. you had all that fuckin mouth for me earlier.” she stuffs two fingers into your mouth and you finally find the energy to let out some form of words. “too fucking muchhh! fuck..!” your mouth agape when you feel abby fucking into you deeper. “so fuckin nasty..” she grins and reaches for your hair, pulling and tugging at it while picking up her pace as she drilled the strap into you. you were too fucked out to even speak at this point. your head was spinning, your thoughts were scrambled, and your heart was racing. abby pulled her fingers out of your mouth and looked at you in the mirror, “look at me in the mirror, pretty. are you ready to apologize?” abby tilted her head. she knew everything was her fault but for her to apologize for it? hell no. “fuck you abigail.” you responded quickly as she miserably pounded into you. her grin was completely wiped off her face in an instant once you said that.

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby who found amusement in you riding her strap. your body clearly tired and about to give out but all she does is plant kisses on your tits and grope them, sucking and licking your tender nipples. “abby please..I’m sorry! no more! I can’t- take it.” you’re losing it at this point. you’ve reached a new point of ‘fucked out’ and abby was gonna use that shit to her advantage. “say it again.” abby stared at you intently — she knew exactly how to make you forget about everything and that was through the movement of her hips. “I love you a lot baby, you gotta stop making me mad..” she purred at you with a subtle smirk on her face. “oh my god.” you pant out, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling yourself closer to her. you place your chin onto her shoulder and continue to roll your hips, bouncing on her strap needily. you can sense yourself reaching your high once again as you dug your nails into her skin. she snakes her hand around your waist and whispers to you softly, “deep breaths baby, let it out. cmon.” abby coos as she talks you through your orgasm, rubbing your back ever so gently.

✮ ˚ — toxic!abby whose way of aftercare was to clean you two up, cuddle you, and maybe..subtly gaslight you into believing that you’re the reason she acts the way that she does. she’s treating you as if you were delicate almost like a small bubble. abby knew that you being devoid of energy, her being so gentle with you, and talking to you with the most smoothest and kindest voice she could put on, you would fall for it. you had your head on her chest, basking in her scent and letting her delude your thoughts like it was nothing. abby knew it was wrong. did she feel bad? in another universe maybe. she just wanted you to herself. “you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right? I love you so much baby.” she said to you sweetly. all you could to is hum in response while you smiled at the affection that she was showing you. to you and abby, this was just another friday..but to your friends…that’s its own story for another day.

tags: none cs I’m js clearing drafts out. 🧘🏾 🎀

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Last Line Tag Game

RULES: blah blah blah blah I don’t follow the rules. (But for those of you who do, you’re supposed to post the last line of your wip and tag the same number of people as there are words.) 

THANK YOU to @oonajaeadira & @keldabe-kriff for the tags!! I’m sorry it took me so long to do this. Please accept this extended peek in lieu of timeliness! 

This comes from a Joel Miller x OFC story I’ve been slowly picking away at called Kiss Me & Smile For Me, featuring my OC Emma Torres: 

“Normally I’d ask Tommy to help me out with somethin’ like this.” Joel sighed, leaning his hips against the counter. He pressed the meat of his palms into his eyes before letting his hands slide up and back over his hair, shaking his head. “But he’n Izzy are goin’ away for the weekend, so -” So I’m screwed. He groaned. She’s been lookin’ forward to this for months.

He hadn’t promised Sarah he’d get concert tickets for her birthday, so Joel knew she wasn’t expecting them. She’d be just as happy with pizza and a movie and a birthday cake from the supermarket, and he knew that, too. But ever since Halican Drops announced their summer tour dates, she’d been dropping hints, saying what a coincidence it was that the dates for their city were so close to her birthday. And he had played along, acting like it was a long shot even though he’d already bought two tickets the day they went on sale. 

But now I’m not even gonna be able to give ‘em to her. 

“Well… ” Emma gave a small shrug as she crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him, her hands landing on his shoulders before the left one climbed up to curve around the side of his neck. Dropping his hands from his head, Joel reached for her waist to pull her even closer as her thumb swept up into his hair. “I could take her.” 

What? Joel blinked, fingers flexing to bunch the fabric of her shirt beneath them. His mouth fell open slightly as he stared at her, a crease forming between his eyebrows. I didn’t even think to ask you, but… 

“I mean,” Emma went on, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “It’s pretty much my fault that she’s so into this band anyway.” She laughed through her nose. “I was always playin’ their songs for warm ups, and then-” 

“You’d do that?” He breathed out the question, cutting her off. “You’d…” Swallowing, he hooked his thumbs into her belt loops, head shaking from side to side to send his hair askew. “You’d go with her? You sure?”

Emma’s answer came without hesitation, her fingers coming up to rake the rogue strands of his hair back into place. “Of course, Joel.” She smiled, cheeks rounding out and eyes shining up at him. “I know how much it means to you to be able to do this for her. And I want her birthday to be special, too.” She nodded. We’ll make sure she knows the tickets are from you, and that I’m just going with her. Besides, I already got her a gift, so- ” 

Joel didn’t let her finish her explanation though, suddenly overcome with the need to kiss her. Bringing his hands up, he cradled her face between them and swallowed the small surprised sound she made. It only lasted a few seconds, neither of them deepening it but both of them letting it linger so that when it ended and Joel spoke, his lips moved against hers. “I love you, Em.”  

“I know you do.” Her voice was quiet but warm, the tip of her nose bumping his. “I love you, too.” She pulled back to look at him more fully. “Same goes for Sarah.” 

He knew that Emma cared for his daughter, could see it clearly in the way that they interacted. But hearing her say it along with the offer to help him make the girl’s birthday wish come true solidified it for him. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky but I’m not gonna question it. “You’re gonna be her favorite person after this, you know that?” 

Emma laughed, shaking her head and settling against his chest. Her arms wound around his middle as she sighed. “I’m sure she would rather go with her dad.” 

He chuckled, tired eyes lightening with his smile. “Oh I don’t know about that, Em. That girl’a mine thinks you hung the moon.” And so do I. He kissed the crown of her head, pulling her closer. “She’s gonna be thrilled.”

tagging a few who might want to share: @something-tofightfor @haylzcyon @jessahmewren @tessa-quayle @insomniamamma and anyone else who wants to play along! 

[meatbag-status]

If you want to lose all your money and your mind, download “romance club” from the App Store. Help me, guys.