#Never had the right skill to idea balance to pull it off

[catebees]

I've been wanting to draw something in the Inquisition tarot style since I booted up the game for the first time

first card-second card-third card-fourth card

[thef1diary]

A Naughty Gift | D. Ricciardo

Merry Smutmas - Day 6: Secret Santa

warnings: 18+ content, use of vibrator, fingering, best friend!danny

— missed day 5? Read it here by @emchante

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The living room radiates warmth, the soft glow of string lights reflecting off ornaments carefully hung on the Christmas tree. A steady, crackling fire in the fireplace adds to the cozy atmosphere, its warmth mingling with the scent of pine and spiced mulled wine. The chatter of your closest friends fills the air, their laughter blending seamlessly with the holiday playlist humming softly in the background. 

The room is alive with anticipation. You’re seated on the couch, a glass of wine in your hand, your legs curled comfortably beneath you. Around you, your friends settle in—some on couches, others sprawled on the floor with mugs of hot cocoa or cider in hand. The Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, its base surrounded by an array of colourfully wrapped gifts, each tagged with a name. 

Tonight is the long-awaited secret Santa exchange, a tradition that never fails to bring laughter, surprises, and a few inside jokes to your closest group of friends. Two weeks ago, you all had drawn names from a bowl, each person tasked with finding the perfect gift for their chosen recipient. The mystery of who picked whom has been the topic of countless teasing conversations since, and now, the moment has finally arrived. 

You’re excited to see your friend’s reaction when they open the gift you picked out for them—an item you’d put serious thought into, sure they’d love. But there’s also a nervous energy bubbling beneath your excitement. You have no idea who drew your name from the bowl, and your mind has been running through possibilities all week. Will it be something heartfelt? Funny? Maybe even a little ridiculous? Only time will tell. 

One by one, the gifts are claimed and brought back to their recipients. Each present earns its own reaction—gasps of surprise, peals of laughter, or appreciative murmurs.

The stack beneath the tree shrinks as the night goes on, and the anticipation builds. Finally, it’s your turn. Your heart skips a beat when one of your friends plucks a medium-sized gift from the dwindling pile and passes it to you. The wrapping paper is festive but slightly crooked, as if the effort was rushed or the wrapper wasn’t skilled—it’s impossible to tell which. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at the uneven bow perched on top. 

Balancing the gift on your lap, you spot the tag attached to the ribbon. Beneath your name is a handwritten message in bold, playful script:

For when you need to unwind :) 

Your eyebrows furrow in curiosity. “I’m almost afraid to open this,” you mutter, pulling at the ribbon. 

With careful fingers, you peel back the wrapping paper, the brightly colored patterns giving way to a glossy white box underneath. The moment the text and images on the packaging come into focus, your breath catches in your throat.

Your gasp is audible—and immediate.

Nestled inside is a vibrator, sleek and modern, its packaging professional and uncomfortably clear about its intended use. Your mouth falls open in shock, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the box, your mind blank.

The room explodes into laughter, your friends practically doubling over as they take in your reaction. You blush furiously, scrambling to pull pieces of the discarded wrapping paper back over the box as if that might somehow undo what just happened. But despite your embarrassment, a laugh escapes your lips, shaky and incredulous.

“Seriously?” you managed, your voice slightly higher than usual as you hold up the box—stil half-covered in the wrapping—for emphasis.

“That’s the next best option if you’re not getting laid!” one of your friends teased, wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, burying your face in your hands for a moment before peeking back out at the chaos around you. 

The laughter continues, the jokes coming in waves. 

“Looks like someone’s trying to do you a favour!”

“Now you have no excuse to be cranky.”

You can’t help but laugh along with them, even as your cheeks burn. This wasn’t entirely unexpected; for months, your friends had made a running joke about your supposed sexual frustration. Anytime you were stressed or snappy, the solution was always the same: “You just need to get laid!”

Still, you never imagined getting such a gift from a secret Santa. 

Once the initial uproar dies down, you look around the room, trying to pinpoint who might have been bold enough to give you such an obscene gift. Your friends are still chuckling, tossing jokes back and forth, but as your gaze sweeps over the group, it lands on Daniel, seated across from you. 

Unlike everyone else, he isn’t laughing. His lips curve into a smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches you, unbothered by the chaos around him.

Your eyes narrow, suspicion flaring. “Daniel,” you say, your voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering laughter.

The room falls silent, everyone turning to look at him. His smirk deepens, and he leans back casually in his chair, his posture oozing confidence.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I thought you could use something to help you… loosen up a little.”

The room erupts again, louder this time, your friends practically collapsing into each other at the sheer boldness of his comment. You groan, shaking your head, but there’s no hiding the amused smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, your voice laced with exasperation.

“Unbelievable or thoughtful?” he counters, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.

“You know, I should be offended,” you reply, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you?” comes his immediate response. 

“Still debating it,” you mutter, unable to stop the small chuckle that escapes.

The focus soon shifts as another gift is unwrapped, the group’s attention moving on, but your gaze keeps wandering back to Daniel. The box lies heavy in your lap, the weight of it grounding you in more ways than one.

It’s just a gag gift, you tell yourself, a harmless joke meant to get a laugh out of you. But your mind can’t help but circle back to him. Of all the things he could have picked, why this? And, more importantly, had he thought of you—truly thought of you—when he chose it? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, one you quickly dismiss with a shake of your head.

Needing a distraction, you rise to refill your glass of wine, letting the chatter of your friends fade into the background as you retreat to the kitchen. You’re pouring a generous amount when you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you.

“You might need more wine than that if you’re trying to forget about my gift,” Daniel’s voice drawled, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You glance over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes watching you intently.

“I’m not trying to forget it,” you say, turning back to your glass. You lift it to your lips, letting the liquid warm you before continuing. “Just need a little liquid courage.”

“To use it?” he asks as he steps closer, his tone light but laced with insinuation.

You turn fully to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Who says I’m going to use it?”

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t,” he replied smoothly, his smirk deepening.

Your heart skips a beat at his audacity, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt, “do you want me to use it?”

His smirk falters for half a second, replaced by something darker, something unreadable. “You’re always so stressed, so uptight. You’d be doing everyone a favour if you did.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his arm playfully. “I didn’t know my lack of… cumming was a group concern,” you muttered, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

His chuckle is low, almost a hum, but his eyes never leave yours.

Taking a sip of your wine, you decide to lean into the humour of it all. “Thanks for the gift, though,” you say, your tone light, playful. “Maybe this thing will finally do the job, considering everything else I’ve tried has been useless.”

Daniel’s expression shifts, his smirk freezing as his eyebrows lift. “Wait, what?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, and you curse yourself for letting that slip. “Nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head as you try to sidestep him.

But his hand darts out, gently grabbing your wrist and holding you in place. His grip is firm but not forceful, and it sends a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“You’re not getting out of this one,” he says, his voice low, laced with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

You groan, tipping your head back in exasperation. “I can’t believe I’m telling you, of all people, this.”

“Hey!” he exclaims, feigning hurt but a moment later, his smirk returns, though it’s softer this time, less mocking and more intrigued.

You bite your lip, debating, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “It’s not voluntary, okay? I just… I can’t make myself, you know… finish. Not with my fingers, not with toys—nothing works. And I’m not exactly dying to hook up with anyone, either.”

His grip on your wrist loosens slightly, but his thumb brushes against your skin, sending another shiver through you. He’s quiet for a moment, processing, before he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave, “if that’s the case, you’d better give me a review of my gift once you use it.”

Without thinking, without hesitating, you fire back, “Why don’t you see for yourself if it works?”

The second the words leave your mouth, you realize what you’ve just said. His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something darker, more intense.

His grip tightens slightly, anchoring you in place. The air between you shifts, thick and charged, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. But then, he steps closer, invading your personal space as his lips graze your ear. 

“Careful,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “I might take you up on that.”

Your breath catches, the weight of his words settling over you like a challenge. And for the first time all night, you’re not sure if this is still a joke—or if you want it to be.

The thought had all but left your mind as the night wore on, the air filled with laughter, the buzz of conversation, and the off-key singing of your friends as they belted out holiday tunes. You’d allowed yourself to relax, to forget about Daniel’s provocative words and the gift itself. The glass of wine you’d poured earlier remained untouched on the countertop—a conscious decision to remain completely sober and avoid any further embarrassment in front of him.

As the night began to wind down, your friends trickled out one by one, each hugging you tightly and thanking you for hosting. The energy shifted, quieter now, though still warm and filled with contentment. One of your friends lingered before leaving, her grin mischievous as she nudged you gently.

“Don’t forget about your gift,” she teased, winking. “Tonight might be the perfect time to use it.” 

You laughed it off, waving her out the door, but her words lingered, stirring something deep inside your chest. As the door closed behind her, you let out a quiet breath and turned back to the living room.

Daniel was still there, gathering stray glasses and stacking plates with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. He always stayed behind to help, his presence in your space as natural as if he belonged there. 

The last of your friends were slowly trickling out, bidding you their goodbyes with hugs and sleepy smiles. It wasn’t long before it was just you and Daniel, the sound of clinking dishes breaking the comfortable silence.

In the kitchen, you were focused on loading the dishwasher when Daniel came up behind you, balancing a few more plates in his hands. His proximity sent a familiar jolt through you, a rush of awareness that made it impossible to ignore him.

As he set the dishes down beside you, the memory of your earlier moment in the kitchen resurfaced and you felt your cheeks warm at the thought, and you stole a glance at him. It seemed like that moment was on his mind too. His expression was unreadable, but the silence stretched between you, thick and charged.

Neither of you brought it up, though, working side by side until the kitchen was spotless. 

He wandered back to the living room right before you, picking up his leather jacket from the couch. But as he moved to sling it over his arm, his eyes landed on the box still sitting on the cushion—the gift, untouched and glaringly present. His head tilted slightly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to speak up, but the words left your mouth before you could stop them. “I was told I should use it tonight.” 

The moment the confession escaped your lips, heat flared across your face. You busied yourself with fixing the cushions on the couches, avoiding his gaze. 

Daniel chuckled softly, the sound drawing your attention back to him despite yourself. “Is that so?” He picked up the box with his free hand, his movements casual. “Are you going to?” He asked, tone laced with intrigue. 

He dropped his jacket back onto the couch, sliding one hand in his pocket as he waited for your response. Your heart was pounding now, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why you were even entertaining this conversation.

Daniel’s smirk widened as he toyed with the box in his hand, his fingers brushing deliberately over the edge of the packaging. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the box, and with a slow, deliberate step, he started closing the space between you.

“What’s the hesitation, huh?” he asked, his voice smooth, teasing. “Scared it’s not going to work? Or are you scared it will?”

You shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “I’m not scared,” you muttered, your voice betraying the slight tremor in your chest.

“No?” He stepped even closer, the vibrator box now dangling lazily from his hand as his eyes roamed your face, searching for cracks in your resolve. “Then what is it? You just like edging yourself, is that it? Letting yourself get so close you can taste it… then ripping it away?”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shook your head, the heat in your cheeks spreading down your neck. “I don’t—”

He cut you off with a low chuckle, taking another step until he was standing directly in front of you, the air between you thick and charged. “No?” he pressed, tilting his head. “You’re telling me you spend your nights wound up tight, desperate, trying to finish but never quite getting there?”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could think twice. “I need to cum. So badly.”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, his gaze darkening as his free hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering for just a second too long. “Then you should use it tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Get yourself off, let go for once. But…”

He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Maybe what you really need is another pair of hands.”

“Daniel…” you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a protest or an invitation.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the teasing smirk never leaving his lips. “Say it,” he said softly, the challenge clear in his tone. “And I’ll make sure you finally get what you need.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, time seemed to still. Daniel stood close, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his dark eyes locked on yours like he was daring you to make the next move. 

You nodded, the motion small but deliberate, your lips brushing against his as if testing the waters. The faintest whisper escaped you, desperate. “Please, Danny, make me cum.” 

That was all it took.

Daniel surged forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck as his lips crashed against yours with a force that made your knees weak. The kiss was fiery, intense, and filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface all night. His other hand dropped the box unceremoniously onto the couch, coming up to grip your jaw, guiding your movements.

You gasped into his mouth as his tongue slipped past your lips, deepening the kiss. Your heart raced as Daniel’s mouth moved against yours, eliciting a hunger from within you that made your knees weak. His tongue teased yours, pulling soft, desperate noises from the back of your throat. 

Daniel’s hands found your waist, steady and firm as he guided you backward until the edge of the couch caught the backs of your knees. A gentle push sent you down onto the cushions, your breath hitching as he towered over you. His gaze, dark and filled with intent, flicked to the discarded box on the couch beside you. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for it, the tearing sound of the packaging loud in the charged silence.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers worked at the box with practiced ease, pulling out the sleek vibrator that gleamed faintly in the dim light. He held it up for a moment, his smirk deepening as he glanced back at you. “Strip for me,” he said, the words carrying a weight that made your stomach flutter.

Your hands moved instantly, almost on instinct, tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. You fumbled with the waistband of your pants next, your eagerness only adding to the heat building between you. 

Daniel knelt in front of you once you were bare for him. His hands found your ankles, warm and strong, as he pulled your legs over his broad shoulders, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The couch cushions dipped under your weight, but all you could focus on was the way he leaned in, the heat of his breath just inches away from your cunt. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost as if speaking to your glistening cunt rather than to you. “So wet already… Were you this desperate before, or is this just for me?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. Your throat felt dry, your body so keyed up you could barely breathe. He grinned, clearly pleased by your speechlessness, and leaned in just close enough that his breath ghosted over your folds. The sensation made you shiver, your body straining toward him of its own accord.

His warm breath fanned over your slick heat, and you swore you could feel every word as he spoke. “You’ve been needing this, haven’t you? So worked up, so desperate to let go.”

Your mouth fell open in response, a soft whimper escaping as his fingers slid up your inner thigh, his touch featherlight but enough to make you arch into him. Two fingers came to rest against your folds, spreading you gently. The simple act, something you’d done countless times to yourself, now felt like an entirely new experience under his hands.

He dragged his thumb upward, deliberately brushing against your clit in the faintest tease, a mere suggestion of pressure that sent jolts of electricity racing through you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a soft, pleading whimper slipping from your lips.

“Daniel,” you breathed, your voice shaky with need. “Please, I need to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his tone smooth, teasing. His lips curled into a smirk as his thumb circled your clit again, just barely grazing the swollen nub. “Needy, aren’t you?” He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through you. “You’ve been so patient. Let me enjoy this for a moment.”

Your head fell back against the couch, your thighs trembling over his shoulders. The teasing was excruciating, his touch featherlight and agonizingly slow, keeping you on the edge without giving you the relief you so desperately craved. Another whine escaped you, and he chuckled again, clearly amused by your desperation.

“Do you know how pretty you sound when you beg?” he murmured, his voice low and rich. “But don’t worry. That’s what I’m here for. Me and this little gift of mine.”

Before you could respond, Daniel leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your core before his tongue dragged a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds. The sudden wet heat of his mouth made you gasp, your back arching off the couch as he pulled back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Sweet,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke. “Perfect.”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, but there was no time to recover. He brought the vibrator into view, the sleek toy gleaming in the dim light. “Let’s see how well this works, hmm?”

He pressed the tip of the vibrator against your clit, still teasing, still maddeningly light. Then, with a click, he turned it on. The sudden vibration against your sensitive flesh was like a jolt of electricity, and you cried out, your hips jerking upward as pleasure shot through your body.

The sensation was familiar yet utterly foreign, amplified by the fact that you weren’t in control. You didn’t know what was coming next, couldn’t anticipate his movements, and it left you completely at his mercy.

Daniel pressed the vibrator more firmly against your clit, his eyes fixed on your face as he watched your reactions with a wicked grin. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so sensitive, love. Look at how you’re shaking.”

Your legs quivered over his shoulders, your body trembling under the relentless stimulation. Just when you thought it couldn’t get more intense, his fingers returned, parting your folds once more. The wetness there made it easy for him to slide one finger inside you, then another, the intrusion smooth and deliberate.

You moaned loudly, your hands clutching at the couch cushions as the dual sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrator against your clit and his fingers inside you created a perfect rhythm, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“Daniel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pressure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter.

The vibrator hummed steadily against your clit, Daniel’s fingers curling inside you with a precision that made your back arch. The pressure built higher and higher, and you trembled, caught between the unbearable pleasure and the tension coiling in your stomach.

This was always the point where you faltered, the moment where the pleasure grew so overwhelming, so maddeningly close, only to slip away. Every time you’d done this to yourself, your fingers had failed to push you past that invisible barrier. It was like chasing a mirage, just out of reach, leaving you frustrated and aching for more.

The memory of all those failed attempts made your chest tighten. You bit your lip, your moans softening, and Daniel noticed the subtle shift in your body. His movements slowed slightly, and his dark eyes flicked up to your face.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice smooth and commanding, yet somehow soothing. His fingers stilled inside you for a moment, and he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against your thigh. “Don’t go shy on me now. I can feel how close you are.”

You whimpered, your lips parting to speak, but Daniel didn’t give you the chance. His grin turned wicked as his fingers curled again, this time pressing deep against a spot that had your breath catching in your throat.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice low and filthy. “Dripping for me. You’re so tight, sweetheart—so desperate to let go. Don’t fight it. You’re mine to ruin tonight.”

The vibrator pressed harder against your clit as he notched up the intensity. The sensation made you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand, but Daniel held you firm, his grip possessive.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he stated, his tone dark and teasing. “Not until I’ve wrung every last bit of that tension out of you. I want to feel you shake for me, hear you scream my name.”

His fingers thrust into you with deliberate precision, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cunt. “You’re going to cum for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with sin. “And when you do, you’re going to fucking thank me for it.”

The vibrator buzzed relentlessly against your clit, and his fingers kept up their steady rhythm, hitting a spot that constantly made you see stars. Your body writhed on the couch, every nerve on fire, as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

“You like that, don’t you?” Daniel’s voice was a low growl, his lips brushing against your trembling thigh. “Being completely at my mercy? Taking exactly what I give you? That’s it, pretty girl. Stop thinking. Just feel me.”

His words broke through your haze of overthinking, and you let go, surrendering completely. The coil inside you snapped, sending you spiraling into an orgasm so intense it left you shaking, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

Daniel stayed with you through it, his touch unrelenting but steady, drawing out every wave of pleasure until you were left trembling, spent, and utterly undone beneath him.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs trembling over Daniel’s broad shoulders. The vibrator slowed but didn’t stop, sending smaller, teasing jolts through your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew carefully, and you whimpered at the loss, your body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

He straightened, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he lowered your legs from his shoulders, guiding them down to wrap around his hips instead. Rising to his full height, Daniel moved onto the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight as he hovered over you. 

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough as he braced one arm on the back of the couch, the other trailing down to grip your jaw gently. “Look at you, trembling for me. Completely wrecked—and I’m not even close to being done with you.” 

His gaze was magnetic, holding yours captive as his lips hovered just above yours, a breath away. The heat of his body pressed against yours, his hips brushing yours in a way that made you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him despite your exhaustion.

Your eyes widened as his words registered, your mind spinning as his intentions became clear. A fresh wave of heat pooled in your stomach, your body responding despite how utterly spent you felt.

“Oh, that’s right, sweetheart,” Daniel said, his lips curling into a wicked, filthy grin. “I’m going to make up for all those times you had to edge yourself, all the times you were so fucking close but couldn’t quite get there. That’s over now.”

He dipped his head, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw, his stubble scraping against your heated skin and leaving a delicious burn in its wake. His hand slid down your body, fingers grazing your waist before gripping your thigh possessively. “You’re going to cum on my fingers again, on my tongue, on my cock—over and over until you’re wrecked, until you can’t even remember what it felt like to want more. I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied, sweetheart.”

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower, rough with desire. “And I won’t stop until you’re a mess beneath me, begging for mercy or for more.” 

Taglist: @lilorose25 @thenotoriouserg @a-distantdreamer @leclercsluvs @fat-meh @wintxr-widow @amirahart @alishamai @rendezvoushn

[bigfan-fanfic]

Good to the Last Drop (Vander x Male Reader)

"Well, well. What's a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?"

You glance over at Vander, raising an eyebrow at the joke.

"Well, I thought it was a good line." Vander chuckles. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

He holds out his arms and lets you come to him before he wraps them around you, nearly enveloping you in his chest.

"Missed me, did you?"

"Yeah," you chuckle. "Life topside sucks without you. And that was a terrible line."

"At least they let you back whenever you want, eh? So you can hear my poorly thought-out lines."

You're basically the only person who regularly uses the one poorly maintained gondola between topside and the undercity.

About three years ago, Vander cashed in a favor from a connection of his to get you admitted to the Academy in Piltover, your creativity and skill honed and forged to help the city thrive, and you both hoped, to help Zaun just as much.

Though students at the University are often held to a high standard of behavior and merit, you were able to work hard enough to find your way back.

A lengthy process involving finding and renting out an apartment-workspace with the help of a sponsor so you no longer had to deal with curfews

and eventually being able to comfortably ride down to Zaun to see your friends and family.

Vander has been good to you - the Hound of the Underground is much like a father to everyone who calls themselves a member of Zaun.

But you hope he still sees you as more.

You never had the courage to tell him how you felt.

You were too young, too inexperience, too green - how could he ever love someone like you, you thought?

You sigh softly in Vander's arms and he puts you at arm's length, though his big hands still hold your shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Some of those kids called me a Piltie on my way here." You chuckle wryly. "I didn't realizing I was losing that undercity edge."

Your hair, once shaved and wild like the young punk you were, now grows out, healthier than ever now that you spend less time in the toxic smog of Zaun, and all traces of the wild neon dyes are gone.

Vander runs a hand through your hair, the gentle tug not doing anything to help your focus, and gives a low hum.

"Screw em. You can take the man out of the undercity..."

He pulls you behind the bar. "Here, make yourself whatever you want."

"Really? You're putting me to work on my vacation?" you joke.

"Smart mouth." Vander teases back. "I don't want you leaving my sight. I'm claimin' all the rest of your time down here. Let me just settle up and then I'm yours."

You make yourself a juice - it's nostalgic and has that sweet tang you can't seem to find in Piltover - and watch Vander as he proudly mentions to some patrons that you're back.

It's clear he never once forgot you. Always kept you close.

And you love him for it.

Damn... you love him.

Some tipsy punk, swaggering all over the bar, eyes you up and leans against the counter, balancing precariously on his elbow. "Hey, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?"

Before you can giggle at the idea of having two different men say that to you, a massive hand swipes the elbow off the table, and the drunk punk's face slams into the bar and he slumps out of sight.

"Sorry about that. I don't allow terrible pick-up lines in my bar." Vander smirks.

He's imposing and big and terribly close to you right now, protective and strong...

But you can only think about one thing.

"So, that was a pick up line, then?"

He looks at you, an unspoken hesitation. The age difference, the living in practically separate worlds, his affection for you separate from attraction.

But then he hears the old song playing on the jukebox. An old favorite.

Hesitation gone, he holds out a hand.

"How about a dance?" he winks. "I'd hate for you to think I didn't have any romance in me."

"I know you do. At least... I'd like to."

And as you lean your head against his chest as you two slow dance together in the Last Drop, you hear his words, soft and hopeful.

"I'd like that too."

[redroomreflections]

Let's Make A Movie

Natasha Romanoff xfem!reader

The Loud House Universe

The one where they make a tape ;)

Warnings: bondage, strap use, penetration, things only married couples do of course /s ;)

w/c: 2.9k

Making a sex tape was never on your list of things to do. It's just one of those ideas that fell into your lap. The idea of being able to watch and replay your time with Natasha became more enticing the more you thought about it. When you brought it up to her she'd been weary of your requests but on board. She had stipulations though. You couldn't show her face, and it could only be viewed in the bedroom. That was all well and fine. If anything, those two rules were a turn-on. Oh, and she wanted to top you.

It couldn't be a manufactured moment. It needed to be organic and real. It had to be raw and unhinged.

So, you waited. It didn't take long. Your sex life was great so it wasn't like you had to wait for her to initiate anything. The opportunity presented itself within a month. You were in the tower this time, the high-security building feeling more private than your own apartment somehow. You had been in the midst of a heavy makeout session when she reached for the camcorder. You were a little embarrassed by how fast you'd set up the camera but it had paid off.

"Is it recording?"

"Uh-huh."

Natasha hummed, taking the camera from your hands and moving away to get the right angle.

"You have a minute to get naked, baby," She teased.

"What happens if I don't?"

"Then I don't get to fuck you and you don't get to fuck me"

That was an empty threat, she would let you fuck her either way. Still, you complied and stripped, the cool air of the room making your nipples perk.

"On the bed," She commanded.

You moved to lay back on the bed, looking up at her with anticipation. You were already wet, pussy clenching at the sight of her. knowing that the camera was there somehow added to your heightened senses.

She was dressed down in a tank top and underwear, and her hair was wild. Her makeup had smudged slightly, her lips swollen from kissing. Her green eyes looked black, her pupils blown. She was beautiful. She set the camera down and crawled on the bed, kneeling over. She stroked your neck with one hand, managing to keep her balance, as she pulled you in for another kiss. You could taste the vodka on her tongue.

Her kisses were aggressive and possessive. She kissed you like it was her only chance. Like the world would end in a second. Like it was her last meal. Her hand gripped the side of your face as her other moved down to play with your nipples. it would be a lie to say you weren't already wound up. Natasha kneaded and pinched, noting how your kisses became sloppier as you struggled to breathe through her ministrations. She gave your nipple one last tug before traveling further down, running her fingers along your ribs, then your hip bones, finally dipping a single digit into your dripping heat with no warning.

"Shit, Nat," You whined, head falling back onto the pillows.

"God, baby. You're so wet already."

Natasha was the most observant woman you'd ever met. She could tell if your day was off or if something was bothering you with just one look. The same skills translated to the bedroom, or at least, the porn studio. You smiled in your head at the inside joke.

"What's funny?" She asked as she took her finger from your pussy, collecting your juices, before swirling it over your nipple.

"Nothing. You're just driving me crazy."

"Good." She said before dipping her head to take your nipple into her mouth. She flicked the nub with her tongue before biting down softly.

"Fuck," You hissed, bucking your hips up into her.

"Easy, sweetheart. We're gonna take our time tonight."

The promise of a drawn-out night made you clench. She chuckled, her breath tickling your breast. She switched breasts, sucking the other nipple into her mouth. She wanted to tease you. Wanted to see how needy she could make you. It was hard for her to not give in and fuck you herself. She knew she'd cave eventually.

"Mmm," You moaned, your hand going to the back of her head to get her closer. She suckled your breasts, licking, biting, and pulling at them. By the time she was done, they were hard and swollen.

She moved her head lower, licking your skin until she got to your belly button. You were a mess of arousal and her spit, your pussy aching for her attention.

"You want my mouth?" She asked, lips trailing even lower.

"Yes."

"Where? Be specific."

"I want your mouth on my pussy."

"I think I have other ideas," She said.

You were confused at first until she began to move her mouth up again. Your disappointment must've been evident because she chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll give you what you need. But not yet. You can handle a little more teasing, can't you?"

You nodded and she grinned, "That's what I thought." She leaned over to the nightstand, rummaging through it before pulling out a few items.

"You're tying me up?" You questioned.

"Only for a little bit."

She moved the pillow you'd been leaning against, moving it off to the side.

"Hands up," She ordered.

You followed her directions, lifting your arms above your head. She bound your hands together, securing them to the headboard.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah,"

She kissed you again, softer than the previous ones. It was tender and loving. When she pulled away, her expression was one of pure adoration.

"What do you say, if you need to stop?"

"Red."

"Good girl."

Natasha's fingers trailed down the valley of your chest and stomach, stopping just shy of your throbbing pussy. She spread your legs and positioned herself between them. She lowered her head to your left thigh, peppering it with kisses. Then she nipped at the flesh.

"Ow!" You squeaked.

She did the same to the other thigh. Then the next. The bites got harder each time. Soon enough, there was a ring of teeth marks on your thighs. They stung, and you were sure they'd leave bruises.

"You're marking me up, Tasha."

"I know," She said. She moved down to your thighs and positioned them so that you were open just enough to place the vibrator between them. Then she tied your ankles.

"Are you gonna fuck me with that thing?"

"Yes. But I'm not done yet."

"Not done with what?"

"With you," She answered.

She placed the vibrator on the first setting and held it against your pussy, making sure to press it against your clit. The feeling made you gasp. She moved the toy up and down, slowly.

"Wait, wait, Nat, fuck, wait," You begged. She had the decency to wait.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine it's just..." You breathed.

She removed the toy and kissed the side of your head.

"Thank you," You sighed.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No. Not yet."

"Okay,"

Natasha kissed the corner of your mouth. It was so innocent. She kissed your cheeks, and then your forehead, and the tip of your nose. Her lips brushed against yours as she spoke, "I'll try to be easy. But I'm not promising anything."

"Okay,"

She pressed the toy against your clit again. The vibrations were soft, but you were already sensitive.

"Oh God," You groaned.

"Too much?"

"No, keep going,"

Natasha moved the toy from your clit to your entrance. She pressed the toy inside you. The stretch was nice and you clenched around the object.

"Shit," You arched your back. With your legs and feet bound you couldn't move as much as you wanted. She removed the toy to place it at your clit again, readjusting your hips, before allowing the vibrator to rest there. Your hips twitched.

"Fuck,"

"Good?"

"Mmmhm," You nodded.

She kept the vibrator at a slow pace, watching as your eyes fluttered. She loved seeing you like this. Helpless.

"You look so pretty, baby,"

You were too busy concentrating on the pleasurable sensations to respond.

She reached over to the nightstand, taking the camcorder in her hand to get a closer look. Her rule of keeping your faces out of it had gone out of the window. She wanted to capture everything about you that made you sexy.

"Open your eyes," She whispered.

You listened, opening your eyes and staring up at her. Her hair was mussed and her lips were plump and shiny. Her breasts heaved with every breath she took.

"You're so beautiful," You told her.

She blushed, smiling, "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen,"

"Sweet talker," She said. She directed the camcorder to your face, focusing on your lips. Then she directed it to your breasts hard and shiny with her saliva, the toy, and the apex of your thighs.

"How are you doing?"

"Feels good, Tasha,"

"You look like you're having a good time,"

Your only response was a nod.

"Can I go harder?"

"Please."

She turned the vibrator up. The sensation was overwhelming. Your toes curled. You didn't know what to focus on. The toy, her stare, or the camera.

"Jesus, Tasha," You cursed. The sensations felt overwhelming yet so damn good.

"How many times do you think I can make you cum?" She asked.

"Fuck, Tasha. I-I don't know,"

"I think I can get at least three."

"Shit, I-" You couldn't finish your thought, the orgasm hitting you out of nowhere. You hadn't realized how close you were.

"Oh fuck, Tasha." You moaned. Your thighs tried to close but they were tied down, your pussy pulsed, and you arched your back, the toy only pressing into your clit the more you bore down.

"God, look at you," Natasha murmured.

When the pleasure finally subsided, you were a panting mess. You couldn't speak, not that you could even if you tried.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you like that?"

"Mmm."

"You came so hard, baby." She placed the camera down again. "Can you give me another one?" She pushed the toy back to your entrance, thrusting it into you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Nat." You were hypersensitive, but the pleasure was worth the ache.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little,"

"I can stop,"

"No, please don't,"

"What's the magic word?"

"Please,"

"Good girl," She praised.

Natasha was rough, her thrusts unrelenting. She was focused on nothing else but the way you moaned and squirmed, the way you cried out. Her nails scraped against your belly, digging into your sides.

"Fuuuuck," You keened.

"God, you're so perfect, baby."

You couldn't even respond, you were too consumed with the ecstasy. She reached for the camera again, recording your flushed and sweaty face.

"I love you," She told you.

"L-love y-you too," You gasped.

"I'm gonna make you cum again. Are you ready?"

"Yeah,"

She thrust the toy in and out of you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," You chanted. Your thighs trembled and your hips jerked, but she kept them in place with her free hand.

"Open your legs," She demanded as you struggled against your restraints. You did as told and she repositioned the toy. She turned it up to the highest setting.

"Tasha, Tasha, oh God,"

"Just let go," She urged.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw fell open. Natasha's voice was distant as the blood pounded in your ears. It was too much.

"I-I-I'm gon-gonna,"

"Go ahead, baby."

You came. Your vision went white, your body seized, and you cried out.

"Shit, baby," Natasha cursed.

The waves of pleasure hit you again and again. It felt like an eternity before the high began to fade. She allowed you to come down this time, watching as your chest heaved, before she placed the camera down again.

"What's your color?"

"G-green."

"Good. Can I get another one? I'll be gentle."

You were exhausted, but the thought of her bringing you to another climax was too tempting.

"Yes,"

Natasha removed the toy from your entrance. You felt empty. She crawled over you, straddling you, reaching down to expose her clit. She positioned herself just above your pelvis bone.

"Ready?"

"Mmmhm,"

She rubbed her clit against you, grinding her hips. It wasn't about getting you off this time. She needed to chase her own orgasm. And, well, you had to admit that it felt really fucking good.

"F-fuck," Natasha moaned. Oh, how you wished you could touch her. She spread her wetness over you, her juices mingling with yours, as she dripped.

"You feel so good, baby,"

Her hips jerked and stuttered, and you could tell she was close. She placed her hands on your shoulders, effectively pinning you down, as she used you for her pleasure. She rutted against you harder, faster, her clit catching the right spot, and she came.

"Shit," She gasped. Her mouth was parted, her head falling back. She rode out her orgasm before her body collapsed. She buried her face in your neck, still breathing heavily.

"You're amazing," You praised, "So good. So pretty."

Natasha smiled, kissing your shoulder, before laying her head on you.

"Are you going to untie me now?" You asked.

"In a minute." She breathed. It was almost like something else entirely came over her. "You're like my doll." She mused.

"Am I?"

"Mmm, my favorite plaything." She said. "I could just fuck you all night if I wanted. Make you come until you beg me to stop." She leaned up, planting a kiss against your lips. Then another one. And another.

"I would let you, if you wanted,"

"That's good. Cause I'm not done." She said, "I'll never be done with you. You're mine."

"I am," You agreed. She reached up to untie you, massaging your wrists.

"Turn over," She demanded.

You were exhausted.

"It'll feel good. I promise."

You rolled over onto your stomach.

"Are you okay?"

"Green,"

"Good,"

Natasha positioned her body against yours, her breasts resting on your back.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," She whispered. You could tell by her fumbling around that she'd gotten the strap. A rare occasion for her to wear it. You guess for your sex tape it would be appropriate.

For the next few minutes, Natasha treated you like a doll. She used her strength to position you, your face resting against the pillows, as she forced you to arch with your ass in the air, perfectly ready for her. She rubbed the toy against your wet slit.

"Ready, baby?"

"Fuck, please."

"Mmm, that's a good girl."

Natasha thrust into you. You were a bit overstimulated. Her thrusts were rough and the angle allowed her to hit deeper. You didn't know if you'd be able to handle it. But she promised you would feel good. You trusted her.

"Fuck," She cursed, "You're so tight, sweetheart."

"Tasha,"

"I got you."

She thrust harder. Faster. One of her hands moved to grip your hip, the other tangling in your hair.

"Shit, shit, shit," You whined. The slight ache had turned into something new. You felt so full and hot. The pleasure was so intense that you could feel it at your fingertips.

"You take me so good, baby. So fucking good."

"Fuck,"

"You look so beautiful, all tied up and fucked out,"

"Mm,"

She opened your ass cheeks, never stopping her thrusting but to spit on the puckered hole.

"Tasha,"

"Shh, I'm taking care of you,"

Natasha's finger probed the area before pushing in. The feeling was new. Her thrusting became softer and the pace slowed but never stopped.

"Does it feel good?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, feels so good, Tasha. Oh, fuck."

"I knew you could handle it,"

She used her other hand to take control of your hips, all you could do was grab onto the sheets, as you laid open-mouthed.

"I'm gonna make you cum again."

"Yes,"

"Yes what?"

"Make me cum. Please."

Natasha leaned down to rest against your back. Her breath was hot and the added weight made you feel pinned. It was the last push you needed. Your body seized and you cried out. Your eyes fluttered, but she didn't stop.

"Tasha, wait, it's-"

"It's okay. I'm not done."

The pleasure was blinding. It hurt. But it was the most satisfying pain. Natasha pulled her finger out, changing hands and reaching down to rub your clit.

"Shit, fuck,"

"Good?"

"Mmhm,"

"Are you going to cum again?"

"Mm, I can't."

"You can," She insisted.

Her movements were sloppy, and you were sure the bed would collapse soon.

"Cum for me," She begged.

"Fuck, Nat, oh God, I-I'm-I'm-fuck, fuck,"

You came. Your orgasm is more intense this time. Your hips moved of their own accord, not knowing whether to push her away or keep her close. Natasha's thrust never faltered.

"One more, sweetheart. Come on."

"Tasha," You sobbed, "I can't,"

"Yes, you can,"

Her thrusts got slower, shallower.

"Breathe," She said, leaning over to whisper in your ear. Her thrusts slowed. She ground into your ass, drilling the cock into you, while her fingers toyed with your clit.

"That's it, baby. Just let go."

Your body went rigid, and a scream caught in your throat, as the orgasm ripped through you. You collapsed. Your legs gave out. You couldn't think. Natasha fucked you through it as she sweet-talked you.

"I know baby," She said. "I know your pussy feels so good right now. It's what you needed." She eventually slowed her hips.

"Thank you," You slurred, barely able to stay awake.

"No, thank you," She laughed.

Natasha pulled the cock out, undoing your restraints.

"You were so perfect."

"I feel drunk." You sighed. She leaned over to kiss your back, rubbing your ass cheeks, and pressing her thumb against your hole. She wanted more but she knew tonight this was your limit.

"Tasha,"

"I love you."

"Love you, too,"

(if you know how many times Natasha made R cum you get a cookie)

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt | John Price x Reader

Summary: Your good-for-nothing boyfriend won’t help you change out your flat tire in the cold, soaking rain, but luckily someone else comes along to assist, and teaches your boyfriend a lesson while he’s at it.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: annoying boyfriend, toxic relationship, platonic!gaz being a cutiepie, price being the greenest flag known to mankind, fem!reader, I’ve never changed a tire before in my life and it’s glaringly obvious…

A/N: been in a major writing slump lately+school kicking my butt+I think I’m getting sick, but full credit to @ceilidho for this idea, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Your day hadn’t been the shittiest so far, but it certainly hadn’t been great.

You’d been off that day, but your boyfriend had called, needing you to pick him up early from his job for whatever reason. He only worked at some little restaurant in town with a decent salary, enough to get food and rent paid for combined with your money anyway. Something about his shifts being moved or the schedule being off, but whatever it had been had been enough for you to hop into his truck, drive over to him, and pick him up.

“Did you cook for dinner tonight?”

He asked from the passenger seat, the seatbelt not even on, despite it already being dark because of the early winter months, and the rain coming down against the windshield. Your lights were on, but still.

“No, wasn’t thinkin’ about it.”

You replied with a small mumble, and he sighed. You were the one who cooked and kept the housework up, and he earned most of the money. It would be balanced, except for the fact that you earned almost the same amount of money as him, and also worked full-time. It barely left any time for meals, most just being pre-prepped on weekends, or thrown together.

“Guess we can just get takeout then.”

He said, tone holding a bit of disappointment. You sighed inwardly, turning your turn signal on as you went down the road to one of the nearest places there. It was a run-down chicken joint that you were pretty sure was a front for some sort of illegal activities, but they had delicious chicken at cheap prices, so you weren’t complaining.

Your mind began to wander when you thought about the restaurant, and what you’d order. You hoped your boyfriend had brought his card because you’d left your wallet at home, ID and license long forgotten. Well, I guess you were just hoping to not get pulled over tonight, or come in contact with any cops.

As if whatever gods there were had heard your thought process, a small ‘thump’ caught your attention, and then a light squeaking sound as the air pressure in your front right tire began rapidly decreasing. With a sigh, you pulled over onto the side of the not-too-busy road. Your boyfriend gave an exasperated exhale.

“We’re gonna have to change the tire.”

You said, and he gave you a withering glance, jerking his chin towards the back of the truck.

“Spare’s in the back. Got a few tools back there to get ‘er done.”

A small pause for a moment as your hand reached for the handle of the door, and he didn’t move at all. You just stared in pure shock.

“You aren’t going to help?”

He gave you a look as if to say you were being ridiculous and illogical right now. You hated that look.

“I just got off work. I’m tired and hungry, and your poor driving skills aren’t my problem.”

He said with a shrug like it was obvious. Your mind still reeling, you searched for the little umbrella you kept near the console, only to find it missing. Great, just great, you thought.

With no other option, you stepped outside, immediately being pelted by the cold raindrops, and skin being lashed at by the harsh wind. You walked around to the trunk, opening the back, and finding the spare tire there, and a toolbox as well. Your shivering hands sorted through the cold metal tools, eventually finding a lug wrench, and a screwdriver, and behind the toolbox you found a jack.

You advanced towards the flat tire, rolling the spare behind you, and you knelt, skirt already soaking wet, your white shirt soaked through and not leaving much to the imagination as it was practically see-through and sticking to your form. The lug nuts didn’t come off easily, but somehow, your fingers got them.

Right when you began using the screwdriver to try and get the hubcap off, something else caught your attention.

Another car, beat up, but well-loved on and taken care of pulled up behind you on the side of the road. It stopped, and two men stepped out. One was taller, with a beard, a thick cigar in his mouth, and a hat on. He might’ve been one of the owners of that chicken restaurant. Whatever it was, he looked familiar. The other man had pretty brown skin, was less tall but still had some muscle in him like the other man, and wore his hat.

The taller one strode up to you just as you managed to pry the hubcap off. His brows furrowed as he looked at your boyfriend sitting in the car, and you, drenched in rain, changing the flat tire of the truck he assumed probably wasn’t even yours.

“Gaz, come help ‘er out wit’ this.”

He said, his voice brusque but also warm at the same time. Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself yet, he gave a nod of his head to you.

“John Price, that there is Kyle, but we call ‘im Gaz.”

You blinked, and Kyle walked over, crouching down next to you and offering a polite smile. One that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but it wasn’t rude. Price must’ve noticed your shivering form or the sheer white shirt that was clear because of the rain because he took his brown jacket off and put it around your shoulders. The insides were fuzzy and warm, and it was oversized, but enough to keep the heat insulated and the wet cold out. A bit surprised, you simply said your name.

“Oh..thanks. Y/N.”

You offered, for some reason trusting these strangers enough to give them your real name. Something about them felt right. Price nodded, then raised a brow at your boyfriend in the car, who still hadn’t noticed them, too preoccupied with his phone.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doin’ changin’ wheels out here?”

John asked, and you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you cast a glance up at the boy in the car.

“He wasn’t going to help.”

Gaz and Price both looked slightly taken aback by that, exchanging glances, as Price opened up the door where your boyfriend was (avoiding hitting you or his sergeant's heads with it, of course) and pulled him out by the collar.

“Hey—what-“

Price shut him up real quick, then moved to hold him by the scruff of his neck.

“Now you listen here, why’ve you got your girl ou’ here doing all this work in the soakin’ rain, when you should be the one doing this, yeah?”

He asked, and your boyfriend turned a light shade of pink that wasn’t fully visible in the dark of the night.

“Well, I..”

“I’ll show you how a real man provides for his partner. Garrick, move over.”

He shoved your boyfriend back into the grass, and Gaz scooted more to the right, letting Price take the left side. Price carefully grabbed you by the hips and moved you back, out of the way, but to where you could still watch and hear him talk.

“Can’t believe it, ‘at’s ridiculous.”

He muttered, and Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t help but agree, sir.”

They used the jack to jack the car up, strong arms easily placing the spare tire in place, Gaz holding it up while Price screwed the lugnuts back on. While putting the hubcap back on, John began talking to you.

“You oughta find you a man, someone that would provide for you, that lil’ boy you got isn’t it. We’d never treat a woman like that, now would we, Gaz?”

“Never, sir.”

“Look at ‘im, two complete strangers are here, changing out his tire, and he ain’t offered a lick o’ help.”

He said, shaking his head, not even glancing back at your boyfriend who still was sitting in the grass behind you all. The hubcap was put back into place, and they both stood, lowering the jack before removing it. Price offered you a hand up, and you took it, surprisingly enjoying how his burly callouses felt against your soft skin. Kyle put the tools and jack back in the trunk, before again being at Price’s side.

His eyes met Kyle’s, and Kyle took out a small notepad and pen, scribbling something down, before passing it to John who did the same. They tore the paper off, handing it to you. It was their numbers, Gas’s having a little smiley face next to it, and Price’s having a simple ‘Call me’.

“If you’re ever in trouble, give us a ring.”

Price said, and Gaz nodded as if to confirm this. You took the piece of paper and folded it in half, putting it in your pocket to protect it from the rain. Price gave you a little pat on the back, and Gaz brushed his hand ever so slightly against yours, before they both walked back to their car, getting in, and driving off with nothing more than a wave.

With a judgemental look down at your boyfriend, you got into the car, throwing his things that were still inside out at him where he was still sitting in the grass.

“We’re done.”

And with that, you drove off before his angry cussing started.

It was only when you got home that night (to the shared apartment, which you would very soon be leaving) that you noticed something. Price hadn’t ever taken his jacket back.

[ash5monster01]

Hello Darling 🩷Could you do an imagine with Charlie Dalton x plus size reader where the reader feels insecure about her weight and Charlie shows her how perfect she is to him if you know what I mean 😉. (If you don't write smut or just feel uncomfortable don't do it it is fine. Just do him being comforting)Thank you so much and have a nice day 🩷🩷

Just The Way You Are

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x PlusSize!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, foreplay, nudity, language, minor angst, self deprecation, use of the word fat, mentions of bullying, fluff

Summary: Being a bigger girl was already hard enough, when the college hot shot starts to take interest in you, you think it’s a joke. Charlie proves to you it isn’t.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

“Please go away” you beg, eyeing the brunette boy who had purposely thrown his frisbee your way at least ten times. The quad was large enough for everyone and yet the annoying and overly cocky boy from your English class found it funny to nearly hit you each time. You wanted to rip the dam beret off his head and throw it up in the tree you leaned against.

“Sorry doll, it’s an accident” he says giving you a sickly sweet smile as he retrieves the item once again. He’s joined by two other boys who were smug faces like they know he was doing this on purpose.

“Sure” you scowl, collecting your books and stacking them in your lap. That’s when his face falls, actually realizing he had upset you. It takes a few moments to collect everything and even then you stand awkwardly as you try to balance it all.

“I’ll be right back guys” he calls out to his friends, throwing the frisbee with actual skill their way before turning his attention back to you. He doesn’t even give you a choice as he scoops half the stack of books out of your arms. “I’ll walk you”

“It’s fine, you really don’t have to” but he’s already starting to the dorms with stuff you can’t finish your assignments without. Groaning you shuffle along behind him, doing your best to keep up.

You couldn’t really explain Charlie’s interest in you. It was already tough enough being the weird fat girl on campus. The other girls whispered mean things about you in the halls and rounds of laughter came from boys when you passed by. You had planned to keep your head down and graduate, that is until you met Charlie. The brunette boy with mischievous eyes and a daunting grin who had a will to drive you up a wall. You had thought it was to make fun of your size but so far he was the only boy in this school to have never brought it up.

“Are you trying to push my buttons?” you ask as you join his side and this time he gives you an earnest smile, head looking down to eye you.

“Can’t I just do something nice without you accusing me?” he asks and you roll your eyes, fearing anyone in this school was everything but nice towards you.

“I just don’t understand your constant need to be in my face all the time. I’m just trying to get through school like everyone else” you say as you reach the girls dorm hall. Charlie’s following you now and that’s when you realizes you had absentmindedly guided him to your home base. The only safe haven on this entire campus.

“I thought I was being obvious” Charlie says once you reach your door, noting how you have a single. You use your elbow to push the handle down and open the room up to you both. He happily follows you in.

“Obvious about what?” you ask as you drop your stuff onto your desk. Charlie sets his half of the pile on top of it before propping his hands on his hips and looking you up and down. Just the idea of him checking you out has your body lighting up with nerves.

“I’m flirting with you doll” he says like it’s the most natural thing. The confession has you choking on air, gaping at him like what he had just said was absurd. To you it was.

“This isn’t kindergarten Charlie. You don’t pull a girls hair or call her names to get her attention. You do not like me like that” you inform him, shaking your head and trying to calm the panic that swells in your chest.

“Well forgive me but I went to an all boys school. The only flirting knowledge I do have comes from the playground. That’s not for you to decide if I like you or not” he defends, eyebrows furrowed and looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Suddenly it’s hard to look him in the eye.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is but I don’t want to hear it. Go find another girl to throw your frisbee at” you say, trying to usher him out the door but he holds his ground, unmoving as he looks at you.

“Why is this so hard for you to comprehend?” he asks and you gasp, face flushing as you realize he’s just called you out on something you have no interest in explaining. Yet you have no where to go.

“I’m not the kind of girl you flirt with. If you haven’t noticed I’m fat and everyone else on this campus acts accordingly. I suggest you do the same and leave me alone” something flashes behind Charlie’s eyes, something you don’t recognize as he looks at you with something different than sympathy. Had it been sympathy you would’ve shoved him out the door.

“Doll you are not fat, please don’t say that. You’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen a girl like you in my life. I didn’t even know what to do with myself around you so I just started acting like an ass” the admission is paired with a look in his eyes that convey adoration. Something you had never seen directed at you before.

“This isn’t funny Charlie, you don’t have to pretend for my sake. Let’s just let this go and pretend it never happened” you go to shove him out the door again but his hands lock around your wrists, holding you in place until the only thing you can do is look him in the eye.

“You have the most beautiful eyes. Every time I look at them I feel like I’m lost as sea, drowning in the color until there’s nothing left of me. Your smile is astounding, it freezes me in place every time I see it. I spend my nights dreaming that one day you’d direct it towards me” you’re silent as he says this, the words washing over you like the tide dragging you out to sea. You had never heard anyone speak about you like that.

“What else?” you whisper and Charlie grins when he realizes he has really caught your attention now.

“I have to try not to get dizzy when I smell your shampoo. The scent of you intoxicates me and I dream of my clothes smelling like you too. You’re also so funny it hurts. I never thought it possible to meet someone I found funnier than me. Paired with your body-” he’s cut short by the soft shake of your head, him having lost you after his small spiel.

“Nothing to say about my body” you try to pull away but he holds you in place. Eyes piercing your own in hope his next words will resonate with you.

“Your body is different than any I have ever seen. I trace your curves with my eyes everyday, wondering what it would be like for my hands to travel the hills of your breasts to the dip of your waist. Even just the sight of your ass has me dreaming about how plush it must be. The expanse of your neck when you wear your hair up makes me drool. Everything about you is soft and I want to cover myself entirely in your warmth” you suck in a sharp breath, not expecting the honest words that had come from the boy. Words that had made the curves and size of your body to sound so beautiful.

“I don’t know what to say?” you tell him, unsure if you want to cry happy tears or hug him for uplifting you in a way you never had been before.

“Then just let me show you” he says and your eyebrows draw together, confused as to what he means until his hand brushes your hair behind your shoulder and glides across your bare skin. Fingers tugging the neckline of your blouse and pulling it away slowly.

“Oh” you blab out like a fool, his eyes asking you for permission that you grant with the nod of your head. Every part of you is screaming not to but the way he looks at you is enough to have your fingers fumbling with the buttons of the silk material.

Charlie’s hands make home on your waist as you continue, the top opening more and more to reveal the white lace bra underneath. Charlie’s throat goes dry before helping you shrug the material off your shoulders. Next is the zipper of your skirt that he’s happy to assist with. It takes only moments for it to fall and pool around your feet. In front of him you stand in only your undergarments and Charlie can’t tear his eyes away.

As you sit there fearing the largeness of your arms and the plump of your stomach he feels as if he’s reached heaven looking at you. You were a real woman, the kind of girl that only he could handle. He wasn’t sure if it would be to forward to ask for you to suffocate him. Either way he’s sure no air would ever return to his lungs if he doesn’t kiss you right now.

“Doll, can I take care of you?” and the desperate whine from your lips is confirmation enough for him to seal his against your own. He swallows the sound and locks it in his heart forever, tongue dipping in to taste you as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. You reach out for him, hands grabbing his shoulders and tugging his hair as the straps come loose. You only let go for him to pull it off of you.

“Wow” is all he says as he pulls back and takes in the sight of you. All those years of stealing his Dads playboys to finally see a pair of breasts that could easily be in the magazine in person. As a man possessed he reaches out, cupping you in his hands, squeezing softly and unable to hide the hard on anymore.

“Charlie” you say in a plea, unsure what you’re begging for as he gropes you softly, nipples pebbling under his palms.

“I know baby, I know” and then his mouth was latched around your nipple, sucking softly as he pinched the other. Unable to stop the moan you let out your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. You’ve made a mess in your panties and if you had known what this was going to turn into you would’ve yelled at him sooner.

“Feels so good” you cry as he switches to your other breast, hand now nudging your panties down. It should be unfair that he was still fully clothed.

“Lay down” he orders and you obey, sprawling out on your bed as he tugs his own shirt over his head, knocking the beret off in the process. You watched shamelessly as he removes all articles of clothing until his length is brushing along his lower abdomen. You swear you already feel him as heat pools in your stomach.

“I’m gonna show you just how gorgeous you are” he says crawling above your form and you grin, trying not to whimper when his length brushes along your inner thigh. It’s then he smiles wide at you, looking like a simple boy.

“What?” you can’t help but ask, the smile still etched across your face and Charlie shakes his head lightly.

“Nothing, it’s just you finally smiled at me” and the sentiment makes you blush. Your red cheeks earn you a soft kiss, his hand trailing from your shoulder over your breast, down the expanse of your stomach, and inching closer and closer to the spot between your legs. It’s then you swear to always take Charlie for his word again.

“Keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll smile at you forever”

[lazyneonrabbitt]

double p*netration with carmy/lip/reader please 😳😳

Ohohohoho anon ILY for this.

There's porn here. 18+ blah blah minors piss off.

"What if we both fuck her tonight?" Carmy's question came during a shared cigarette, hanging out of the kitchen window.

"What are you talking about, we basically always both fuck her." Lip offers him back the cigarette with a questioning look.

"Yeah, I mean, we do. But we always take turns." He gestured between the them to accentuate his comment to which Lip's brows raised in interest before quickly waving the whole thing off again. "Forget about it man, she won't do anal. Begged and bribed my way through college to let me but she never would. Absolute turn off for her."

"Think she'll fit us both?" It was a sincere question, thanks to some stupid videos Richie had shoved in his face after work. 'To give him some ideas.'

~~☆☆☆~~

You were straddling Carmy, his cock all the way inside you while Lip's hand rested on your lower back, stuffing three lubed up fingers insides of you as well. Your moans were muffled with your face in the crook of Carmy's neck and biting down. Lip being rough with you was nice, especially with Carmy being ever so soft with you to balance it out. Fingers were pulled from you and a short moment later you feel the tip of Lip's cock slide down your ass. Your high pitched whine was a sound he knew all too well.

"Shh, baby. He won't do it." It was Carmen who comforted you, a hand on the back of your head and the other rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder. You felt him move further down and prod at your entrance where Carmy was still inside. He pulled away for a moment, only to return his previous actions with his dick covered in a thick layer of lubricant. "Just keep breathing, baby.." Carmen's soothing voice whispered, kissing the side of your head as Lip held his head on the other side of you. "Gonna fill you up real good, gonna go slow for you." With some awkward moving around he pushed his tip past your entrance.

"Fuh-- god, ahh.." Your pained cry was joined by groans of the two boys. Your fingers pulling hard on Carmy's curls as gour tried to breathe through the pressure of them stretching you beyond anything you ever felt.

"Hhnng.. Too much--" Lip slowly pushed further in despite your protests, each time only a fraction of an inch and stopping to let you adjust for a moment. "You can take it, sweetheart." and "doing so good for us." fell from their lips. All while Carmy moaned with every one of the other's thrusts, the feeling of Lip's cock against his was new but not unwelcome. His sounds only turned you on more. You kissed and licked at every bite mark you had left on Carmy's shoulder, apologizing between gasps and sighs.

Once fully in, tears were streaming down your face. Any bit of movement shot straight to your core, being so full made you feel every single twitch. Being pulled backwards against Lip's chest you let out a cry one of them rubbed right against that spot that had you see stars. It felt so good you were afraid you'd come as soon as they started to move.

Carmen took the change in position as an oportunity to play with your tits, rolling the hardened nubs between his skilled fingers. "Ah Carm--" You tried to beg him not to tease but all the stimulation took your voice, nothing but whines leaving you.

Whines turned into moans from all three of you as Lip announced he felt like you adjusted long enough and carefully lifted your hips and pulled you down in a slow, steady rythm. It only took a few thrusts for you to be a babbling mess, trying your hardest to form a sentence but failing. To your luck Lip understood your fucked dumb language and moved his fingers to rub on your clit, adding rhat bit of extra pressure to push you over the edge.

You cried out as your walls clenched around the two cocks buried deep inside of you, encouraging them to keep thrusting. Carmen's hands laid over Lip's, squeezing your skin and setting a quicker pace. Both boys only chasing their own release now, dragging you along to another high with their hard thrusts and loud groans, both so close that they could barely hold back. "God, Lip- Close.." Carmen rasped as his grip on you tightened. "Fuck- Yeah, me too." You clawed at Carmen's chest, forehead pressed against his collarbone as you clenches hard around them again, their desperate tones getting you off before both of them followed suit. They came one after the other, only one or teo thrusts in between, stilling inside of you until they were fully spent.

You fell limp against Carmen, having Lip pull out first and grabbing some paper towels for you to leak onto as Carmen pulled out and carefully placed you on the bed.

"Sould we run her a bath, get her cleaned up?" Lip gives you a quick look before answering. "Lets get a warm towel and clean her off first. If she wakes then we'll bathe her."

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: this one was funky to write. Three people together is like a nasty game of twister so not much position swapping happened lol. Hope you enjoyed it!!

[milkteabinniechan]

all twisted up

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY ☕|m.list

pairing: Upperclassmen Chan x Underclassmen Felix

contents: college classmates Chan and Felix need to study for exams. But Felix is stressed, and Chan has a fun way to break the tension.

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! I am caught up in this whole academia au so please let me know if you want more :))

"You look absolutely desperate like this, you know."

Felix hissed through his teeth. He hated losing. Despised it. He pushed his arm through an an available opening.

"Who's idea was it to play Twister anyway?" Felix grunted.

Chan chortled heartily as he spun the wheel for the next move. Felix could feel his arm getting numb. How he managed to work himself into such a ridiculous shape he'll never know. Somehow he was on all fours, facing upward, with his right hand looped through Chan's legs, touching the yellow circle in front of it. Barely.

"Right foot red!" Chan shouted victoriously. A red circle placed a little too perfectly in front of his right leg. He was still standing, comfortable and confident. He lightly tapped his right toe onto the red circle.

"You're cheating!" Felix huffed. His legs beginning to shake from the cumbersome position.

"How would I do that? That spinner is completely random." Chan patted Felix's head like a puppy. "I know you hate losing, buddy."

Felix shook Chan's hand off of his head. He wouldn't give up this easily. He was no quitter. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath in, preparing for whatever the next move may be.

"Just spin the wheel, big boy." Felix gave a glaring look up at Chan.

Chan swallowed hard at the sound of being called big boy by his friend. A reaction he didn't expect his body to have. He leaned forward to spin the wheel on the floor. The tiny black needle spun fast until...

"Left foot blue." Chan muttered. They both turned to look at the next available circle. The only one even remotely possible for Felix to reach. The distance was still too far and they both knew it.

Felix took another full breath. He watched the blue circle in front of him as if it would move or jump further from him. It sat just a few inches from where his right hand was, underneath Chan. If he took his weight off his left hand to move it, he could fall. Felix knew his next move had to be made carefully. He slowly lifted himself from the crab position he was holding so that he was crouched. His right hand still holding strong, he stretched his left hand out through Chan's legs and reached for the blue circle.

In an instant, his balancing skills betrayed him. His right hand slipped beneath him, carrying too much of the weight. He fell to the matt with a thud.

"Damn it!" Felix squirmed, his leg swiping across Chan's shin, causing him to lose his balance.

Chan fell with a heaviness on top of Felix. Their faces just inches from each other. Felix's eyes were the most beautiful color, Chan had forgotten how clear they were. How they sparkled when the light caught them. Felix's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes pulled towards Chan's full lips, wet tongue resting inside. His hips swiveled underneath Chan's waist.

They were supposed to be studying. They had exams at the end of the month. Felix had to pass this semester or he'd be expelled from the university. Chan had offered to help him study. That's what they were supposed to be doing. Now Felix could feel all of the blood rushing somewhere else. His pants tightened and his hands were starting to move on their own.

Felix grabbed the bottom of Chan's shirt, and pulled it towards him. Chan eased his body down in response and craned his head up over Felix, so his entire body was towering over him. Chan playfully nudged his lips across Felix's mouth, letting their lips touch quickly, grazing himself in and out. Felix mimicked Chan's movements and let his lips flick and brush across his upperclassmen's open mouth.

Chan began to thrust his hips slowly. Felix whimpered at the feeling of the bulge against his own. Felix lifted his head in earnest and pressed his mouth against Chan's. The kiss pushed and pulled like ocean waves hitting the shore. Chan continued to grind desperately against Felix's clothed cock. Moaning filled both of their open, squelching mouths until they pulled again, a single strand of saliva still connecting them.

"I told you Twister would be fun, didn't I?" Chan growled with a smirk.

[sarahs-secrets2]

Gotcha! ˋ♡ˊ

leon kennedy x reader! (any leon you desire!!)

maybe laser tag wasn't the best idea for a date night...

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

ZAP!  The plastic light-up vest illuminated a bright blue, vibrating slightly. You had been hit. 

“Gotta be quicker next time.” Well aware you were on a thirty-second cool down after being shot, Leon chuckled walking out from behind a wall. He held the laser gun like it was real, never letting his guard down. “Remember this date was your idea,” Leon laughed as he jogged off into a new hiding spot. 

Defeat was putting how you felt, lightly. You thought a laser tag date would be cute, something fun to get you both out of the house. Wrong. Seemingly you had completely forgotten that; 1) Your boyfriend was professionally trained in combat and how to use a firearm, which both skills had seamlessly transferred to laser tag, and 2) how competitive he got. 

“Leon,” your voice echoed through the dark maze-like room. You were ready to wave the white flag, get some ice cream, go home, and maybe even watch a movie. Laser tag had been fun for all of five minutes before Leon started treating it like one of his missions. “Leon, I’m ready to go home,” still no answer. Glancing at the mini screen on the plastic gun the neon green writing flashed back your stats, Rank 2 out of 2. Who would've guessed?

With Leon still hiding, you began to wander around hoping to find him before he found you (or before the match ended). Having nothing to lose at this point, you decided to get some high ground and walked up the ramp to the second level. Still no sign of Leon. This place wasn't even that big yet he still managed to be undetectable. 

Walking over to the edge, you peered over the wall trying to see if Leon was even in the building anymore. Your eyes scanned the room, trying to spot him amidst the random colored lights and abundance of corners to hide in. Finally, there he was. Leon was running and leaning up against walls, surveying the area, and then running to a different wall as he tried to find you. Stifling a giggle, you crouched down so he wouldn't spot you. Balancing the laser gun on the ledge, holding your breath as you aimed, and crossing your fingers, you pulled the trigger.

ZAP! Leon’s vest illuminated bright red.

“Gotcha!” You shouted from the second floor, jumping out and down from excitement. Leon looked dumbfounded, how did you even get up there without him noticing? You made your way back down to the main floor where Leon stood still trying to figure out the logistics of how you got him. “Guess you just have to be quicker next time babe,” repeating his words back to him you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 

Right on cue, the lights flickered on and the crackly loudspeaker directed you to the exits. Leon threw his arm around your shoulders pulling you close as the two of you walked out together, “Maybe I need to take some pointers from you next time,” he smiled. Your head nuzzled into his chest, feeling very accomplished despite your screen still reading, Rank 2 out of 2.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[urlonelystarrr]

ultraviolence

rk800 'connor' x reader x rk900 'nines'

GENRE → angst, romance

SYNOPSIS → your feelings for connor grew as the android revolution went on, though a new partner makes you question your feelings.

TAGS/WARNINGS → descriptions of corpses, blood, death, angst, crime scenes

CHAPTERS → PART ONE / PART TWO

────────────────────────────────

you could never get used to the smell of rotting flesh. the scent was overbearing, a particular smell that could only be compared to meat gone bad in your fridge. the scent was much stronger than expired meat, however you managed to push through it. crime scene after crime scene, they each had their own story to tell. and even though your sharp detective skills could figure out what happened, this case seemed to throw you off balance.

androids were something you were unfamiliar with. so far you've only dealt with human on human crimes, but never human and android. as you stepped into the rotting house, the first thing you noticed were the words "I AM ALIVE" written in the victims blood on the wall, right above where said victim laid. the smell lingered in the air, so much that whenever you went home you'd wash your clothes twice with the fear of that smell seeping into your clothing. the victims home was cluttered and messy, expected as nobody had been taking care of the home for weeks. as you examined the living area, you noticed blood leading into the kitchen. following the trail, it stopped in front of the flipped over table, which indicated that there has been a struggle between the victim and the android. there was always more to the story other than the android going rogue all of a sudden and attacking it's owner, and even the thought of a person owning someone who has a conscious didn't sit right with you.

that being said, it led you back to where you started: I AM ALIVE. the words repeated in your head like a broken record. you had an idea of what it meant. maybe the android wanted to tell people that they aren't just machines, that they're more than just wires and whatever else they were made of. the sound of the front door opening caught your attention, and you were met with lieutenant anderson's face along with someone you didn't recognize.

"jesus that smell!" the lieutenant's face scrunched up into that of disgust, before officer collins gave him a short briefing on what had happened. the person that he was with was an android, judging by his LED that circled amber as he analyzed the scene. "you'll get used to it," you replied to hank, to which he shook his head. you looked over to his partner, holding your hand out for him to shake. "hello. my name is y/n," you smiled. he shook your hand, "my name is connor." ah, so that was his name. hank didn't seem too pleased with his partner as he rolled his eyes, walking away with another officer, leaving you two alone. connor squat down in front of the corpse, his LED circling amber once again as he scanned the body. "he was stabbed 28 times," he said, standing up. "yeah, seems like whoever did this was tired of him." you commented before heading into the kitchen with the android. you didn't know what he was looking at, but his eyes were trained on the floor, despite nothing being there. "what are you looking at?" you asked him, stopping shortly once he stood between the table and the sink. "thirium. you call it 'blue blood'. it's the fluid that powers androids biocomponents." well, the more you know. "so...humans can't see it but you can?"

"correct." he looked over to you, before walking off to the backyard. there were some parts you had yet to explore, so you went down the hall and made a right into a small but cluttered bathroom. pulling back the shower curtain was slightly ominous, as if you expected the android to jump out at you. but what you saw was more intriguing. ra9 was written on the wall multiple times, along with a statuette in the middle of the shower floor. "could it be some type of religious offering?" connor's voice said behind you, making you jump from his sudden appearance. "how long have you been standing there?" you asked, and you noticed his eyes were looking at your chest. "not very long. your heart is racing," he commented. "because you scared me," you rolled your eyes, before turning around to pick up the statue. "anyway, i think it could be a religious offering like you said, judging by the phrase written on the wall a thousand times, it could be an offering to whoever ra9 is." intrigued by your analysis, he noticed something strange. a trail of thirium, coming from the kitchen and stopping right in front of the shower. then, leading to the attic. "think he's up there?" not many people used pronouns when referring to androids, most of them said "it" rather than calling them he or she. it was the first cop he'd heard use that. "only one way to find out."

grabbing a chair for him, he thanked you before going up the attic. you'd be scared shitless, though androids didn't necessarily have emotions. connor probably felt the same as he did when he showed up. hank came over once he noticed connor was up there for too long, shouting for him. "connor! the fuck are you doing up there?!"

connor replied quickly. "it's here, lieutenant!" shit. the two of you ran to grab the attention of the other officers.

everything was moved to the station. you, connor, gavin and chris watched as hank tried interrogating the suspect. to no avail, he came back shortly after, until connor offered to question him. gavin laughed, making you cock your brow at him. "what's funny? connor has a better chance at getting answers than any of us. he knows more about deviants than we do," you crossed your arms, making gavin scoff and ignore you. connor looked at you with an unrecognizable emotion, before heading into the room.

there was no doubt that he would be successful, as the suspect confessed that he did in fact murder carlos ortiz, and claimed self defense. physical evidence showed clear signs of abuse - burn marks stretching over a year old, and so on. you honestly pitied him. maybe that's why you came to the cell he was being held in, keeping your distance to avoid causing unwanted stress. he barely looked up as you tried to get his attention. "i believe you," you started off, until he cut you off. "it doesn't matter. i'm going to get shut down." his broken voice tore your heart apart, and you didn't want to make any promises that he'd be kept alive. but you also couldn't sit there and do nothing.

"i'm going to try to convince them not to shut you off. carlos attacked you first, but in detroit law your act of self defense was deemed excessive- which is why they're treating this as homicide. i really do feel for you, i don't want your abuse to be the only memory you have of this life."

he looked up at you with a pained expression, as if he believed what you were saying wasn't true. as if you were trying to lure him into a trap. he didn't say anything, and went back over to the wall where he continued carving something into. you noticed his cuffs were still on. his head turned upon hearing the door slide open, and he backed up to the corner with his hands raised, which made you stop in your tracks. "can i remove the cuffs?" your voice was gentle, and you spoke as if you were speaking to a frightened child. he placed his hands in front of you, visibly shaking as you gently pried them off.

the moment he was brought to the station, he'd been treated inhumane. the officers shoved him around, holding him down to place cuffs on him in the interrogation room, and even when he was trying to leave the room, they were rough. not you though. from the moment you saw him, you didn't look at him with judgement. he felt like he could trust you, the only problem was that he didn't want to. even as your fingers gently brushed his wrists to remove the cuffs, he didn't want to feel comforted by your calming nature. your eyes were trained on his damaged forearm, guilt swallowing you whole as you looked at him. tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to hold in the sympathy you felt for the android. you didn't know why you felt so strongly- this was unusual. he noticed your eyes watering and felt a little more trust. "you don't deserve this," you said, your voice wavering. "i'm going to try to get you better, okay?" you looked up at him, your hands holding his. the trembling stopped. he nodded, prompting you to exit the cell, leaving him alone.

locking yourself in the restroom, you took deep breaths in order to calm yourself. the moment you stepped out, the sound of multiple officers shouting caught your attention.

you quickly ran to the source, skin prickled with goosebumps as you heard a thudding sound. the sight of thirium splattered onto the clear cell door made you cry out, pushing past officers to stop the deviant from self destruction. you immediately put your hand in between his forehead and the glass. "stop it!" you yelled, pulling him away gently, where he laid in your lap, thirium leaking onto your clothes. you covered the wound on his head with your hand, tears leaking down your face as he died in your arms.

"you know what they're going to do to me," he said to you, the words not being loud enough for any officer except for you. you clutched him harder, watching as he gave a small smile before laying still in your arms.

"are you alright, detective?" connor asked you, noticing the thirium all over your clothes, and your reddened eyes. "i don't understand. it's our job to protect people, not let these things happen to them." you sat on top of your desk, your head turning to look at the android being carried into the archive room. they didn't even see him as a dead body. just evidence to be hung up on the wall. something twisted in your gut.

"it's not a person. it's a machine," he corrected, rather machine-like. you sniffled, "he was more than that. you're more than that- all of you."

he titled his head, something he did often. he was going to say something before hank cut him off. "it's dead...that's for sure." your head hung low, eyes trained on the ground as everything around you faded. any noise was drowned out by the vicious thoughts in your head, the guilt clawing up your throat. you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.

when you came into the office the next morning, you noticed a certain android sitting in the lieutenant's seat. "good morning," you greeted connor. his presence indicated that he was going to be here for a while, until everything would clear up. you doubted it would ever clear up, though having connor around for a while didn't seem too bad. "good morning detective. do you know what time lieutenant anderson arrives?" he asked, tilting his head. you didn't know if there were any other rk units, but you wondered if all of them were this cute. "usually around noon. I don't think he'll be coming anytime soon though," you bit your lip. "thank you." he replied, standing up to walk elsewhere, until you stopped him. "would you like me to show you around? maybe it's best if we get to know each other," you said warmly.

he smiled and nodded, following as you showed him around the police department. you stopped in front of the archive room, explaining to him what was in there, even though he probably already knew. "most cops here are very anti-android, so please be careful. speaking of which..." you muttered the last part under your breath as gavin entered the break room, immediately looking over at the much taller figure standing next to you as you made a cup of coffee. "huh, looks like plastic detective's back in town," he sneered. you grit your teeth, shooting him a glare. "hello. my name is connor," he greeted. he gave an amused look at his partner, who shared the same look as gavin came closer to the rk model. "I don't give a shit what your name is. you might've gotten lucky last night, but I'm warning you. stay outta my way," he poked a finger into his chest, his gaze sharp and full of anger. you stepped in between the two, causing gavin to stumble slightly as you gripped his finger and threw his arm back to him. "we get it. you're insecure. move along now, surely you have more work to do other than lounging in the break room all day." he scowled, about to press you when fowler shouted gavin's name from the bullpen. "you're fuckin' lucky fowler called me in when he did," he said, not before shoulder checking you as he walked out.

you groaned, running a hand through your hair. "are you alright detective?" connor asked again. "i should be asking you that. i'm sorry about him." you apologized, squeezing his arm gently.

the sensation lingered on his arm, even as he searched for the missing ax400. "connor! jesus, i'm talking to you. you ran outta batteries or what?" hank yelled, after calling connor's name for the last few minutes. "i'm sorry lieutenant. i was making a report to cyber life," he lied. hank scoffed, continuing to search the motel.

it had been a couple of months since the revolution, led by markus and a group of androids. connor had fully deviated, and with the new android laws he was allowed to remain working at the dpd. since then, the two of you had gotten closer. you saw more and more of connor's personality after working with him for so long. you'd be lying if you said you didn't have any feelings for the android. sure, it was dumb, and also forbidden. you doubted he shared any of the same feelings, though a part of you wished he'd reciprocate them.

he found it strange your heart rate would increase whenever he was around you. you hadn't done that before. he also sensed that your body temperature would increase if he got too close, and all of this analysis only confused him more. his relationship with the lieutenant has improved greatly, as well as yours.

the three of you hung out after work, frequently at a bar. you didn't drink, so it was mostly you and connor babysitting a very drunk hank.

with more and more cases involving androids pouring in, you were being overworked. you didn't have a partner, but if you needed help connor would offer to help you when he was available. even so, you couldn't rely on him when he already had his hands full. the only problem was that there was nobody else working these cases that would be your partner. despite gavin being anti android and still working in these cases, you'd rather get paralyzed from the waist down than work with him.

fowler noticed inconsistencies in your work recently, which was why he was shouting your name from across the bullpen to call you into his see through office. "look, i know you've got a lot on your hands. but i can't keep letting you slide. your work has been inconsistent l/n." he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "you've gotta give me some time- i've been staying past office hours trying to finish everything. if I had a partner i'd be getting a lot more work done and solved." you explained.

he sighed, "alright. I'll see what I can do. just- in the meantime, will you please focus on your work?" you nodded, standing up before leaving his office.

it actually didn't take you too long before you had a partner. "cyberlife was generous enough to give me one of the most advanced androids in their possession, an rk900. now, i expect you to give me quality reports, and to solve your cases." you thanked him, before leaving his office and returning to your desk. hank and connor were out on a mission, otherwise you'd be telling them first. you waited at your desk, browsing some files when you felt the presence of somebody behind you. you swiveled your chair around to see an exact replica of connor, with a few different features. besides his white pristine jacket, you noticed his eyes were grey instead of brown. he looked much more intimidating than his counterpart. and he might've even been taller, though it was hard to judge considering you were sitting down.

"you're detective l/n, correct?" even the way he talked was different. his voice was similar to his predecessor, however there was something that distinguished him and the rk800. he sounded more authoritative in a way. "yes, you must be my partner?" you stood up to shake his hand, which he stared at for a few seconds before lifting up his own. his grip was strong, you noted. "yes. it would be best to get to work right away. is there a desk anywhere?"

you nodded, pointing to the vacant desk in front of you. he sat down, being quick to work as he browsed the many cases that you had. you saw his LED circle amber, indicating he was analyzing all of the current information. "do you have a name?" you asked, making eye contact with him before looking away. "no." well, he was very direct. "we should give you one," you suggested. he stared at you before responding vaguely, "i don't see how this relates to the investigation." you shrugged, "well, it would be more efficient to call out something other than your model number, in case of an emergency." a look flashed in his eye before he responded quickly, as if he expected you to say that. "there won't be any emergencies as long as you're with me."

you were caught off guard, and he knew it. from that look of amusement on his face, you reacted just as he expected. your skin flushed as you looked away, trying to hide your flustered state. did he even know how that sounded to humans? "that's sweet." you replied. "i didn't intend for it to be."

what was his problem? you ignored his comment and stood up, coming over to his side of the desk. "can you find the most recent case involving an attack with an android for me?" you asked, leaning over him slightly. his eyes avoided looking at your cleavage that was exposed, and he fought the urge to point out your violation of dress code. "did you need to stand up to tell me this?" he asked, before searching for a file. you chuckled a little bit, amused by his strange sense of humor. even if it didn't mean to come off as humorous, you still found it funny. your computer chimed with the case file, and you browsed it before grabbing your coat. "i think this will be a good start to our investigation," you said, grabbing your keys as well. he followed you to the parking lot, waiting for you expectantly as you forgot to unlock the passenger door. "oops, sorry," you unlocked the passenger side, waiting until he was fully inside before driving off.

"julia nichols, the wife of anthony nichols reported that her android had killed her husband before disappearing," you went over briefly. "i know." rk900 replied, looking over at you for a moment before turning his head back to the road. "right, you're the one who gave me the file," you said in defeat.

the two of you arrived at the scene shortly after other officers started to show up, and immediately you could tell something was off.

"her story isn't adding up," you said to rk900 as he analyzed the shared bedroom. "i agree. there's information that she's hiding from us. her heart rate spikes up and so does her body temperature." he said as if it was the most normal thing ever. the way you looked at him was proof that humans would never be able to surpass their greatest creation. the rk900 looked around more, peering into the closet to find a wooden box, with the outline of a hunting knife that appeared to be missing. "that's strange," you commented, before interjecting with another random thought that came to mind.

"does that mean you can see my heart rate too?" your curiosity and fascination with something so ordinary to him definitely fueled his ego a little bit. "yes." he stepped closer until he was two feet away from you. "i can see everything," he leaned down just enough for you to be eye to eye with him. the increased heart rate told him all he needed to know, and he left the room, leaving you speechless.

you tried to ignore whatever that was earlier by inspecting the gruesome crime scene. the pictures were always different in comparison to real life. seeing an image versus the actual remains of a human was a drastic change.

the murder took place a few hours or so ago, leaving a 15 minute time gap between the wife's distressed 911 call, and the amount of time it took for officers to respond to the call. judging by the blood splatter patterns, the android would've been seen with blood all over her clothing. unlike humans, androids don't feel pain. despite not being susceptible to damage, the android would most likely have a part of their hand damaged because of the amount of force needed to tear through tissue and muscles. it would definitely leave an injury.

with this information in mind, you were quick to note the slight injury on the wife's right hand.

you didn't believe a word she said. however, you played it off like you believed her and that she wasn't the main suspect. rk900 scanned the husbands corpse that was laid out on the kitchen floor. there was a key detail that any other officer would miss out on, not because they weren't observant enough, but because they weren't an android. rk900 found traces of thirium on the kitchen sink. what looked like fingers gripping onto the counter, and a splatter that was across from the fingers, with little droplets leading him into the basement of the home. he stood in front of the door, about to head downstairs when he felt you behind him. "don't go down there. i have a bad feeling about it," you gripped his wrist, stopping him from moving any further. "you underestimate me, detective. i'm rk900, the most advanced android ever made. if i couldn't handle a human, what kind of detective would i be?" he tugged his hand free from your grip, which didn't take much effort at all. you swallowed nervously as he headed down the steps, following after him. he stopped in his tracks when he felt your weight on the steps behind him. "i advise you not to stand in my way. i can handle this myself," he said, staring at you like you were some child interfering with adult business. you held your tongue, and retreated upstairs to look for anything else.

rk900 didn't bring up the fact that he saw blue blood in the kitchen. not only did that raise suspicion, but it also kept valuable information from you.

you examined the kitchen once more, coming over to where the husband laid, lifeless. you noticed that the knife in question that he was stabbed with was nowhere to be found. even the officers that first responded to the scene said that they hadn't found the weapon. the wife also stated that she did not see where the weapon landed, only when it was being used. but that didn't make sense, why would the android run off with the murder weapon if they knew there wouldn't be any fingerprints?

"excuse me, miss nichols? were you able to tell what type of knife it was?" you asked the wife who had come back inside after being questioned. "it was a kitchen knife." she replied coolly. which was strange, considering the circumstances. a chill ran up your spine as you realized you made a grave mistake. "none of the knives are missing except for your husband's hunting knife," you said.

as rk900 analyzed the basement for any more traces of blue blood, he stumbled upon a container filled with blue blood, next to a black garbage bag that contained a heavy smell. he scanned it, then again, and again to make sure what he was seeing was correct. the blood in the container belonged to the hk400, and it matched the same sample from the kitchen. he pried open the bag, only to see a faint blue light humming, and then the hk200's dismembered corpse inside.

the woman paused, looking at you before lunging at you with the said knife. "shit! nines!" you yelled, trying to gather the android's attention while trying to keep yourself alive. you slipped on the blood, causing you to hit your head on the tiled floors of the kitchen, and she was on top of you in an instant. you fought with her, knocking down chairs to gather the attention of anybody. she managed to cut your arm, staining your white blouse with red, but you managed to switch positions until you were the one on top. using your forearm, you held her down by the chest while using your free hand to slam the knife out of her own. "fuck. nines!" you yelled again, relief flooding your body as footsteps rushed up the stairs, and rk900 was quick to enter the scene. while you were distracted, she was able to grab the knife and cut your stomach, but you were quick and held the blade before it could fully penetrate. he kicked the knife out of her hands, quick to point his gun while you held her down. "don't move or I'll shoot!" he raised his voice slightly, kneeling down to reach into your holster to grab your handcuffs. it felt weird having his fingers shove themselves into your belt, but you tried not to focus on the rough brush of his knuckles so close to you.

she was quickly apprehended by your partner, immediately being sat in the back of a police car. you sat on the floor with your back against a few cupboards, your hand clutching your stomach. you looked like a bloody mess. your arm was stained red, your abdomen leaked red all over your blouse, and your hand was drenched in a mixture of your own blood and the victims.

rk900 rushed to your side, scanning your body to see what injuries you had. thankfully none of them were fatal, but this still was a drawback on his end. "you okay?" you asked, despite being the one bleeding out. "i told you, i can handle myself." you nodded, "so what did you find in the basement?"

he sighed, or gave an equivalent to that. "you need medical attention before we can discuss the details," he held his hand firmly against your abdomen, adding the correct pressure that was needed to stop the bleeding. you winced, gritting your teeth at the burning sensation. you didn't say anything, the two of you waited in silence as an ambulance rushed to the home.

it wasn't a part of his mission to follow you to the hospital, but he did anyway. you had left your keys on the floor, which he picked up and cleaned before using your car to follow the ambulance.

after you were all bandaged up, you headed to the front desk where you signed out. you turned around, seeing the familiar pristine white jacket of the rk900, sitting in the wait room. he sat with his hands in his lap, and it was oddly cute seeing someone so intimidating look so small. as he stood up, you were quickly reminded that he wasn't cute and tiny. "why are you here?" you asked with a smug look on your face. "to return your keys," he replied. you chuckled, "sure. well, let's get out of here," you had walked to the parking lot, waiting for him to lead the way as you had no idea where he parked. "give me the keys," you said. "no. that would be a hazard for both of us. i'm driving," he said as he sat gracefully in the driver's seat. you wondered if you looked that good getting into your car.

"now that I've gotten medical attention, what did you end up finding in the basement?" you asked, looking over at the android who was driving even faster than you. "the missing hk200. it was dismembered and thrown into a garbage bag. next to it was a pitcher of its blood." you grimaced, "so it didn't run away after all. the wife definitely killed her husband and framed the android, but why? I mean why kill someone you were married to?" the android went silent for a moment, before telling you something that definitely would've helped. "I didn't mention this to you because I thought it wasn't relevant information, but when we were inside the room, I found his phone and saw evidence of him having an affair. that could've been a reason why she did it."

you froze, staring at him with a mixture of anger and hopelessness. "why would you keep that from me? even if it doesn't seem useful at the moment, you could've told me." you looked angry but you didn't sound angry. there was something in your tone that sounded like despair. you didn't underestimate his abilities when it came to defending himself, you just didn't want him to put himself into dangerous situations just because he can. in a way you were looking out for him without looking out for yourself. now wasn't the right time to say you were worried when you ended up proving him right; you were in his way. "I'm sorry, detective. I should also bring up that I found traces of blue blood in the kitchen." his tone was different from before. it sounded like he almost regretted his actions. you stayed silent this time. he underestimated your abilities, not because he was looking out for you but because you were weaker than him. that only would interfere with his work. it made you sad to say the least.

you dreaded reporting back to fowler, knowing he'd take rk900's side on this and probably fire you for letting the situation get out of control. you dreaded hearing what he'd have to say. you knew this was your fault, a loss on your end, only proving that you weren't good enough to be a detective. you sat across from Fowler, already sensing his anger and disappointment. rk900 stood behind you with his hands clasped behind his back, his face devoid of any emotion as he watched Fowler start to yell at you. "I give you one of the most advanced partners you can have, and you come back like this?! it doesn't matter that you solved the case! you let the situation get out of control. if I have to tell you to tighten the hell up again, then you're out of my office l/n. be like your partner."

rk900 looked down at you as you avoided meeting anyone's gaze. he didn't want to admit it, but he felt partly responsible for withholding information that could've given you a better outcome. you sat at your desk, avoiding his gaze as you typed away on your computer. the blood was still there on your shirt. you tried to cover it with your coat, but it was useless. the amount of blood on you made him feel guilty. if he just told you what he found, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. he was about to say something when you stood up, and excused yourself. he saw you talking to Connor, making eye contact with the rk800 before he went back to his conversation with you. were you complaining about him to his counterpart? the thought of that angered him, but he remained calm as he didn't know what you were saying. you left to the bathroom, while his predecessor came towards his desk.

"you're partners now," he said. rk900 didn't reply, he just looked at Connor until he said something else. "what's surprising is that she's not mad at you. she feels the opposite, that you're mad at her," he explained. rk900 stood up, looking over to the bathrooms where you were in. "that wasn't my intention-"

"then fix it." Connor said, walking back to his desk. his LED flashed red briefly, before returning to the steady blue it always was. he hated seeing you hurt. he was worried his counterpart would be too careless. sometimes he wished he could be your partner, in a work sense but also in another way he couldn't define. he wouldn't let you get injured like that. he just hoped rk900 would recognize his mistake.

it seemed like crying at work started to become a habit of yours as this was the second time you've done it. you didn't know what to do. you felt like you didn't belong here. since your first day, you've felt out of place. and now, the feeling came on worse than before. when fowler yelled at you to be more like your partner, suddenly it felt like your mom comparing you to a classmate that you could never be like. working here reminded you of when you were a kid, when you came home crying wondering why nobody wanted to play with you. was it always going to be like this? your tears ran down the drain again, and you wiped your eyes and blew your nose before trying to go back out again.

someone entering the restroom quickly made you pretend as if nothing was wrong, but when you met those same grey eyes in the mirror, you couldn't help but to lower your head.

"when you were calling me for help, you called me 'nines'. is that correct?" he asked you. your brows furrowed as you tried to piece what he was trying to allude to. "yes, is it okay if I can call you that?" you said, turning around only to find him closer than you anticipated. "mhm," he said lowly, "i like it. you can call me nines from now on." the corners of your mouth upturned slightly as you said it out loud once more. "I like it too."

he didn't know how to apologize without making it sound like connor told him everything. "I should have been more...efficient. I should have told you the information I found instead of keeping it to myself." you smiled a little bit at him, before remembering what he had told you. "it's okay nines. i never underestimated you, i just...didn't want you to put yourself in danger." unfortunately, he couldn't say the same. the words were clogged in his artificial throat as he tried to gather a correct response. but the look in your face told him that you already knew. "i know nines. if you feel that I stand in your way, don't be afraid to ask for a replace-"

"no." the word was out before he could even think about it. it caught both of you off guard, but he was quick to correct himself. "I apologize for what I said in the basement. if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have found the culprit. I regret what I said, I hope we can move past this and become better partners." you would've started crying again, but you felt too happy to even consider it. "I hope we can move past this too. after all, you are my partner," you smiled, patting his arm.

the police department wasn't bustling with police officers as many of them had gone home, which was something you were thankful for as nobody would question why you just walked out of the same bathroom with your male partner. just imagine the rumors. connor was glad to see you smiling again, and came over before he and hank left home. "are you heading home?" you asked the brown eyed rk unit. after being with nines all day, you missed connor. "yes. i hope that you get well soon, detective." he scanned you one last time, just to make sure that you were alright. "I will be. take care of yourself connor," you smiled before hugging the android goodnight. if anyone else was here, there would be rumors of you fucking both the rk models. you hadn't hugged him before, but it was definitely something he'd get used to. his arms wrapped around your waist gently, not to hurt you. he rested his chin on your shoulder, his sensors going haywire from the warmth surrounding his body. as well as the smell of you, and your hands rubbing his lower back. if he could get goosebumps he probably would have them right now, as the feeling was similar. nines watched your interaction with curiosity. he had access to connor 's memories but never found anything intimate, or anything to suggest the two of you had a relationship outside of work. he must have been very close to you, as your body went from being tensed to completely relaxed.

after connor had left and you made some final reports about the case, it was time for you to go home. you stretched your back, wincing when you felt your injury move underneath the bandage. "are you alright, detective?" nines asked. you smiled, despite them being two different people with different personalities, there were some things they did that mimicked one another. "I am. I think I'm done for the night." you stood up, and grabbed your coat. nines did the same, though he didn't need to grab anything except for his keys. "nines?" you called out, looking over to him only to find he was already looking at you. "yes?"

"are you comfortable with me hugging you?" it was strange. you seemed confident hugging connor but you looked shy when asking him. it made him feel a way he couldn't describe. despite being deviant, these emotions were still new to him, as connor had time to adapt to these new feelings, he didn't have much of an experience. he paused for a second, before nodding his head. you wrapped your arms around his abdomen, your hands rubbing the same lower portion of his back that you did when you hugged connor. reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around you, his sensors taking in the sensation crawling up his spine. since deviation, he was able to feel more things for some reason. that meant his pleasure receptors were stronger than they'd be if he was just in his program, but right now he felt something he'd never felt before. it was a good feeling, to be wrapped with a warm pressure. now he understood why humans loved hugging each other.

you pulled away to his distaste, walking out with him to your car. you didn't know what you just started, but you knew it would be tough to handle your feelings for both of the androids.

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a/n: before you ask, yes there will be a part two. I'm not sure how long this might continue, but it depends on how many people will enjoy it. I know the majority of my followers aren't a part of this fan base, but I hope it reaches the right audience ♡

[rosiesdisneydrama]

Witch Way Next? CH 3: What Bad Luck

Ford and Fiddleford made it to New Mexico in near record time, by Ford’s calculations. To the little town of Chaltuga, where Stanley was laid up in the hospital. The Doctors say it'll be another few days before his twin finally comes around, but it should be safe to take him home when he does. All that's left is to get settled in to wait.

AN: Writing Ford is shockingly hard. I had to maintain the balance of "Possibly Autistic Adult" with "Higher Education Vocabulary" while ALSO putting this man through Unresolved Emotions and still having a story sprinkled with lore at the end.

I hope I did this man justice. And no Bill yet, I needed to tackle one hurdle at a time and he was just a little too much for this.

They made it to New Mexico in near record time, by Ford’s calculations.

Fiddleford had been right, of course, that both of them taking turns driving (and resting) in the truck enabled them to cut a tremendous amount of time out of the drive. They did stay in a motel overnight at least once, despite the worries that were eating at them. Ford even remembered to call the hospital and ask for an update once they were checked in. Which was, thankfully, that Stanley had made it through the surgeries. But they were keeping him asleep medically for just a little longer.

(They were being cautious, was the explanation. But he couldn’t confirm that he was related yet so that was the most they could disclose to him over the phone.)

It had been an emergency when they called, so they’d had to make the trip quickly. (He had to be there for Stanley. He had to.) Even if it resulted in them both being very sore and somewhat irritable by the time they finally arrived in the city that housed St. Bartholomew's.

The city, Chaltuga, was on the smaller side as far as cities went and was surprisingly forested on one side of the city. He hadn’t thought there was much greenery in the southwest, outside of bushes and cacti, let alone enough for a full forest as thick as the one he could see as they drove into town. However, that may have spoken more about Ford’s lack of travels to that particular area of the country than anything else. (He wasn’t much of a traveler, outside of the hiking he did for his research.)

Chaltuga was a way-point city, of sorts. Rather than any one specific pull or industry of its own, it formed from people stopping by and resting for a day or two before moving on to other cities. Then it swelled in size from there, gaining its own market and staying strength from the people who came and never left.

It wasn’t a bad place, from what he could tell. It was a little kitschy if anything. Many of the buildings on the road were very “chic” looking. Everything looked very artsy from what he could see outside the windows of the truck.

He wondered if that kind of casual pull was what had drawn Stanley there. He’d always been good at fast talking and drumming up interest. The idea of him working as a salesman in a shop in a comfortable little town like this was… Actually pretty easy to picture, when he set aside his own feelings.

(He’d always thought Stan would be fine. He didn’t need to worry about his troublemaker brother. Like Pa told him.)

It still… It still didn’t feel real.

The idea that Stanley, of all people, was in the hospital. Part of him was still certain that it was a mistake and Stanley was fine. His brother was fine and off doing… Whatever it was he’d been doing over the past decade that he’s been gone. Traveling and putting all the people skills he learned from their Ma to use. Stanley, like their Ma, had always been good with people.

He’d been better with them than Ford had been growing up. And able to get himself both in and out of trouble by himself easily. He was able to take care of himself just fine. Like Pa had said, he didn’t need to worry about whatever his brother was up to.

After all, it had been ten years and it was only just now that Ford was hearing about him. Even though it was because… Because he was an emergency contact.

(Did he have their parents listed? Or was it just Ford? Was he even listed as family or did the hospital just assume they were based on their names?)

Stanley called Ma on occasion, he knew that much. She’d told him about it the few times that Ford remembered to set his research down and call her. She’d mentioned talking to Stan every once in a while, that he’d been by a particular city at some point, but not much more than that. It was always a passing note, sandwiched between other things that Ma wanted to tell him about before Pa told her to hang up.

(Long-distance calls were expensive, after all. And Pa hated spending money unnecessarily.)

Not that he could remember, anyway. And he’d never really thought to ask about him when she mentioned it. He’d needed to focus on his schooling, getting as many credits as he could to get the highest degrees and diplomas that he could manage.

Those calls were likely how Stan had gotten his contact information. Ma had probably given it to him, hoping Stan would reach out to him or something. Maybe. It was also possible that Stan had just looked him up after Ford had gotten into the papers after graduating.

Perhaps he ought to ask Ma the next time he called her. Just to clarify how his brother had gotten his phone number.

(Sweet Moses, how was he going to tell Ma about this? How would Pa react when he found out? Or even Shermie? Sure, their brother had moved out before they did and probably wouldn’t be home when Ford made the call but… He was still family and deserved to know that something had happened. Ford would have to call him directly to tell him.)

Fiddleford was at the wheel for this final leg of the drive, quickly reading signs and following the directions Ford figured out from the old gazetteer that his friend kept in the truck. It might have been a touch out of date, as he was sure he could see a few roads that weren’t listed on their map as they drove by, but the hospital was on it and that was the most important thing.

His friend was muttering about needing to get a new gazetteer while they were in town, squinting around to read the street signs as he drove. Which was probably a good idea, even if he didn’t travel very much.

“There it is!” Fiddleford said, his relief bleeding through when they finally spotted the building they were looking for.

Ford looked up at the clean, sturdy building that made up the hospital. Solid, red brickwork with lots of duller colors and surfaces. Likely to avoid blinding visitors in the bright sunlight normal for the area and to keep things cool in the prevalent heat.

(Because it was hot out here, good gracious. Wasn’t it supposed to be September? Fiddleford had just laughed at him when he’d commented on it.)

Fiddleford pulled up to the front doors, shifting the car into park but not turning off the engine. He turned in the driver’s seat to look over at Ford.

“Alright, you head in and start sorting through all the papers and such. I’ll find a spot to park and meetcha inside,” Fiddleford said, nodding at the front doors as he did. “Since it’ll probably take a bit to get through it all and there’s no sense in both of us standing around when you’re the only one that needs to fill out the papers.”

“Right, I- I’ll see you in a few minutes then.” Ford climbed out of the car, clutching his bag tightly so he wouldn’t drop it by accident. He took a fortifying breath, listening as Fiddleford left to find a space big enough for his pickup, then turned to the front doors and forced his feet to carry him forward.

The lobby was small, as far as hospital lobbies went, and sparsely decorated. A few low-maintenance plants and a landscape painting or two, some decently comfortably looking seats for people waiting, nothing too over the top for a hospital. The front desk had a single nurse manning it, focused on something on her computer screen.

She looked up at him when he approached the desk and gave a polite smile.

“Oh, good morning sir. What can I do for you today?” Her tone was polite and professional.

“I am Doctor Stanford Pines. I was called about a patient who was brought into your hospital a few days ago. A Mr. Stanley Pines?” He said, trying to keep his voice calm and polite. He habitually folded his hands behind him as he continued, “I believe he’s my brother, but it still needs to be confirmed with the doctors here.”

The nurse straightened up in her seat, immediately typing at her computer.

“Of course, sir. Give me just a moment to check the records.” There was a moment of silence as she worked, then she smiled up at him. “Yes, he’s been cleared from the ICU and is in a patient care room now. I’ll page Dr. Matthews and he can help you get everything squared away.”

(He could see the appeal of personal business computers in this situation. Being able to quickly check if a patient was in and who their attending doctor was without having to dig through a file cabinet would certainly make things like this easier.)

He listened to the page over the hospital speakers then the nurse looked back at him.

“Please have a seat sir, the doctor should be here shortly.” Ford simply nodded, seating himself on one of the couches to the side of the room. It was within sight of both the doors to the parking lot and the ones that led further into the hospital. Making it easy for both Fiddleford and the doctor to find him.

There was a small part of him that still didn’t think it was Stanley.

That there was some mistake and it wasn’t his brother who was staying in one of these rooms. That it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Stanley wasn’t an uncommon name, after all. Nor was the name Pines. So it wasn’t impossible for there to be more than one “Stanley Pines” in the country.

(But, as the more logical part of his brain argued, how many of them would have Ford’s contact information on their person? He didn’t have a way to refute that.)

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his forehead, the wondering and worry were giving him a headache. It didn’t feel real, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. The irrational desire to deny what was happening was difficult to ignore. He barely noted when Fiddleford arrived beside him, trying to keep himself calm as he waited for the doctor to arrive.

His friend didn’t say anything. Simply sitting beside him and offering his silent support.

“Dr. Pines?” Stanford nearly jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He put his glasses back on and looked up at the man now standing nearby.

“Ah, yes. That would be me.” He stood up, holding out a hand to shake. He saw the man’s eyes flicker down to his hands, widening ever so slightly at the six fingers there. But, to Ford’s immense relief, he didn’t comment on them. “Dr. Matthews, I presume?”

“That’s correct. We still need to confirm some things but I suppose the easiest to start with would be…” He said, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. He carefully pulled something from the board and handed it to Ford. “Can you confirm that this is your brother?”

It was a driver’s license. A driver’s license with his brother’s name on it, and a face identical to his own pictured on its front. It was from a different state (of course, Stanley would have needed to get a new license after he turned twenty-four) but there was no mistaking it.

That was Stanley. That was his twin brother.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yes- yes, sir. That’s- That’s my brother.” The doctor gave him a sad, sympathetic look. (Why wouldn’t he? Ford had just confirmed that his brother was in their hospital.) He could feel Fiddleford set a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of support.

“I see. This way then, please. He’s no longer at high risk, so I can take you both to his room now. We’d like to keep him here for another day or two longer for monitoring. After that, you can bring him home again.”

He nodded numbly, trailing after the doctor as he led him to Stanley’s room. (Sweet Moses, his brother was in the hospital.) He could hear Fiddleford trotting beside him, though he wasn’t sure his assistant would be allowed in since he wasn’t family.

It didn’t matter to Ford. He would just let Fiddleford in himself if the doctor tried to stop him.

He stopped the moment Dr. Matthews did.

“Here we are,” he said, waving to the door beside them. “Mr. Pines is on very strong painkillers at the moment, so he likely won’t be awake for a while. But you can still see him.”

Ford was only half-listening, opening the door and stepping through.

The room was a relatively standard hospital room. Plain white walls (one of which had a wide window set into it) with an equally plain white ceiling, a plain gray tiled floor, a few stiff chairs for visitors to sit down in, and a rolling table for patient meals to be served on. There was a simple light set into the wall over the bed that could prop the patient to a sitting position, and some monitoring equipment beside it.

(An IV and a heart monitor. There was equipment for putting a patient on oxygen as well, but it wasn’t in use. Thank Moses that it didn’t need to be .)

The most important part, the one thing that Ford couldn’t tear his eyes from, was laid out on the bed. His twin brother, Stanley Pines, whom he hadn’t seen in a decade, was finally in front of him.

Stanley was asleep, just as the doctor said he’d be, and he would have looked peaceful right then if not for the fact that he was obviously in a hospital.

Part of Ford wanted to snatch the clipboard off the end of the bed and start reading the notes on it, find out exactly what kind of injuries had landed Stanley there in the first place. But he wasn’t sure the doctor would be very happy with him if he did that. (After the man left, then. He would save his snooping for then.)

“What- What happened to him?” he asked instead, looking back to the man politely waiting just inside the door.

“We believe your brother was the victim of a serious animal attack. He’s shockingly lucky, as we’ve had a large number of them over the past month but he’s the first to actually survive the encounter. That said, his injuries are still rather severe and need some specific care. It will take several months for him to recover, at the very least.”

Ford felt sick after hearing that. Animal attacks were nothing to joke about. They could do serious, long-term damage if they weren’t tended to quickly and thoroughly. Especially during the recovery process. They were some of the riskiest injuries to deal with simply because of how often people didn’t take them as seriously as they should have. He’d done some research into the kind of things he needed to be careful of while studying in Gravity Falls, to avoid being felled by something he hadn’t thought was dangerous, and… well, some of the risks made him nervous, to say the least.

(Most common were serious, life-threatening infections from bites that weren’t properly cleaned… Animal mouths were riddled with all kinds of bacteria that humans normally never encountered. The wound had to be carefully monitored because of that.)

“We’ve had to stitch them closed, despite the usual procedures for animal wounds, because of how large many of them are. They’ll need to be cleaned regularly, with medicine applied to them each time. We can send along notes to allow your local doctors to inject antibiotics once you get home.” The doctor looked directly at Ford as he continued. “I would advise against leaving him home alone while he’s recovering. He’ll likely need help around the house to avoid the injuries reopening during that time. Mr. Pine’s right arm and left leg had some of the worst damage, so he’ll need some physical therapy after his release.”

“Will we need to look into getting a wheelchair fer him? Or will he just need a crutch?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford was relieved he’d come with him. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to get his voice to work to ask important questions. The things he needed to know to help Stanley recover. But Fiddleford knew the right questions to ask. The things they needed to clarify while they were there. He knew he could leave it to him.

He let the conversation flow around him, not quite tuning them out but not really paying much attention to what was being said. Instead, he let his eyes roam over his brother’s sleeping form.

The covers were pulled up to his chest, and his left arm was laid atop the covers with the IV and heart monitor connected to it. (Likely because of the injuries sustained on his right arm.) Most of his twin was covered by the blankets, but what little Ford could see was covered by bandages. He could see them peeking out from under the hospital gown, wrapping their way around Stanley’s neck and over the left side of his face. They didn’t go over his eyes, thankfully, but it still would be difficult to take care of without help.

(They were still dangerously close to them, nonetheless. It made the skin near Ford’s own eyes prickle in phantom discomfort.)

His hair was longer than Ford could ever remember it being, as well. It was certainly longer than Pa would have let him grow it, he would have never let either of them have hair that long. Although, for some reason, his bangs were very short and messy looking. As if Stanley had decided to cut them himself instead of going to a barber. But he’d cut them with a knife instead of a set of scissors. It wasn’t quite a mullet but it was very close.

Stan was a tad more broad-shouldered than Ford remembered, too. Just enough that he could probably lift Ford without much trouble, even if he was more in shape than he’d been as a teenager. It was the kind of build found in someone who’d done a lot of heavy labor-type work. It could also be gained (and maintained) by regular visits to a gym or some other kind of regular exercise regime. He could only assume that Stan had tried to keep his boxing regime despite not using the gyms at home.

It seemed that he’d gotten a lot tanner than Stanford, on top of the other little differences he could see. It looked like he’d spent a lot of time out under the sun over the past summer. And maybe Stan had done just that. Ford didn’t know what Stanley did for a living, after all. He… He didn’t know what his brother had been doing for the past ten years.

(Where did his brother even live? That train of thought was… Uncomfortable. Because he didn’t know. It’s his brother, shouldn’t he know?)

“Ford?” Fiddleford’s voice cut through the mental haze he’d slid into, making him jump slightly.

“Yes?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even. Looking around he could see that Dr. Matthews was gone, though he had no idea where. “Where’s- ?”

“The doctor left to get some of yer brother’s things,” Fiddleford answered. He gently herded Ford to a chair, which he sank into. “He said one of ‘em is a motel key fer a place nearby, and it’s probably where the rest of yer brother’s stuff is.”

Oh, so then this likely wasn’t the town Stanley lived in. He rather doubted Stanley owned a motel, he never seemed the sort when they were growing up. So it was likely the key to the room he was staying in while in town. He was just passing through the area on his way to somewhere else. (And he was unlucky enough to be attacked…)

“We’ll probably need to talk to the staff there to get Stanley’s things. And find a place fer us to stay ‘till the hospital clears him to leave.” Fiddleford looked at him, gaze concerned as he slowly sat down in the seat next to him. “What’s the plan fer when that happens?”

The… Plan? The thought confused him, for just a moment. Then it clicked into place.

Stanley wasn’t a local, he was staying in a motel in the area. They didn’t know where Stanley lived or how far away it was from there. And Ford didn’t want to just- Dump him at his house (wherever it may be) and then leave. Not when the doctors already said that he would need help during his recovery. The thought of it made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

No, just walking away when his brother had just been in the hospital was not in his plans. Not this time.

“If Stanley doesn’t live close enough for us to drive to in reasonable time, then we’ll take him back to Gravity Falls and he’ll stay with me. That way there will be at least one person close by to help if he needs it. I’m sure I can shuffle things around to make it more comfortable if need be.” He gave his friend a tight smile. “We may have to slow our progress with- our project for a while. I’d rather not have Stanley running around the house unsupervised while he’s on strong painkillers.”

Fiddleford chuckled slightly, shaking his head. (Likely imagining something very different from what Ford was picturing.) 

“No, I’d imagine not. Wouldn’t want him hurting himself on something we’d forgotten to put away. Or getting an infection from the chemicals you keep around.” Fiddleford hummed, idly rubbing his chin in thought. “I suppose we’ll need to do a bit of spring cleaning when we get back then. Or at least move the more breakable stuff to either the attic or the basement.”

Ford nodded. The less that could be broken the better. It would be far too easy for any of their experiments to be damaged by someone who was on powerful pain medications.

Thankfully, the portal was down in the basement and he could easily tell Stan to not go down there. Especially since one of Stanley’s legs was injured and he would likely need a crutch. He would, hopefully, be un-inclined to try it while injured if Ford told him it wasn’t safe. Actually, now that the idea was in his head, they could probably move a large number of his more fragile projects to the bunker for the time being. It would certainly keep Stanley from damaging them by accident.

“It may be better to convert my ground floor office into a temporary bedroom. If Stanley needs a wheelchair or a crutch, then he would need help every time he went up or down the staircase. Letting him stay on the ground floor would prevent the risk of him falling in the first place.”

A wheelchair was cumbersome for people unused to them and his home wasn't designed to be accessible for someone in one. Cutting down on the difficulties would make the stay more bearable for all of them. If Stanley needed one, that was.

Had the doctor said if he needed one? He'd gotten lost in his own head and hadn’t heard…

“We won’t need to worry about a wheelchair. Seems that Stanley was lucky enough that he’s not gonna need one. But he’ll probably need a crutch for the first couple weeks and a cane later on.” Fiddleford spoke up, gently filling in gaps that Ford had missed when he’d zoned out. “Most of the injuries are bites and lacerations. No broken bones, but at least one sprained ankle. Though that oughta be healed up by the time we leave town.”

Ford felt his shoulders relax. It was still uncomfortable, thinking about his brother being hurt like this, but knowing it wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought was making it easier. They still needed to figure out the arrangements they’d need to set up if Stanley was going to be staying with him until he recovered.

Hashing out living arrangements for him with Fiddleford’s help, hypothetical though they were right then, helped Ford clear his head. Made him feel more in control of the situation.

(It was always easier when he had a task he could put his mind to. It made it easier to deal with a lot of things over the years. Putting his mind to work was easier than letting himself spiral needlessly.)

Fiddleford had plenty of thoughts and ideas for things that Ford hadn’t considered that would make things easier for all of them. Especially to help Stanley to work around the injuries he had to deal with. Things that would be secure but still accessible to someone who was having issues moving. Or for someone who could only use one hand to do things.

He was hesitant to let Fiddleford start modifying his home appliances, but his friend was making some very good arguments about it. Some of them also being useful to Ford later on, if he could make them work the way he suggested he could.

(Some of those could be very good patents for Fiddleford to submit at a later date. “Nest Egg” money, as the mechanic liked to call it.)

Dr. Matthews returned as Fiddleford had started scribbling ideas for altering the shower to be more accessible.

“Ah, I see you’re… discussing preparations then.” The two looked up as the doctor walked over, depositing a box on the table they had dragged over to write on. “These are the belongings your brother had on his person when he came in. Unfortunately, you may need to get him a fresh change of clothes.”

Ford, in the morbid curiosity that sometimes got him into trouble, couldn’t help looking inside the box before the doctor had finished speaking.

On top was a worn little pocket address book, a leather wallet which was likely where they found the driver’s ID (which he still had in hand), some kind of waist bag that felt decently full yet not as heavy as it looked like it should be, a ring of keys with a single car key attached to it and several keys for locks (none of which looked like house keys, interestingly enough), and a large tag with a single key hanging off it. The last item was probably the motel key that the doctor had mentioned to Fiddleford. And underneath those items were… Under those were…

Stanley’s torn-up, bloody clothing.

Part of him wanted to pull them out. Examine the damage and try to puzzle out what animal it was that did it and help the locals identify it so it could be taken care of.

But another part of him was just- Frozen. Frozen as he stared at the blood that he knew came from his brother. They were further proof that Stanley had been hurt so badly that he’d been hospitalized. (Those were the clothes Stanley had been wearing when he was attacked.)

He swallowed and forced himself to look at the motel key, picking it up carefully.

“Do you- Do you know which motel this is for?” He asked, looking up at the doctor. The man smiled.

“Yes, actually. I have a niece who worked at that motel one summer. The Delmar, it’s closer to the edge of town. Not a bad place to stay at, but it’s not one of the fancier places to stay in town.” The Doctor listed off the directions so Ford could write them down. Then he handed a clipboard to him with several papers clipped to it. “These are the papers we need filled out for Mr. Pines, now that we’ve confirmed your relation to him. Your brother probably won’t wake up until tomorrow or the day after, but he’s stable and will be able to recover as long as he takes it slow and steady. Once he’s awake, he should be alright to check out. Please just hand over the papers at the front desk before you leave today.”

“Certainly, I’ll make sure to do that,” Ford said with a nod, shuffling the items around so he could write on the desk itself. Dr. Matthews straightened up and left. He looked up at Fiddleford once the door was closed. “Once I’ve finished filling these out, we’ll take both sets of keys and sort out Stanley’s belongings. Perhaps the motel will let us rent a room while we’re there.”

“That would make things easier,” Fiddleford said, nodding. “Guess you better start filling them out then. I’ll check the address on my maps.”

Ford turned back to the papers and started filling everything out.

(He hoped his muse would forgive the delay. But they were already making very good progress, so it should be fine.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The paperwork didn’t take long, though Stanford really had to scratch through his memory at times to find what he needed to put in. It was a good thing they were twins since it meant a lot of their health issues were shared ones. (Except for the ten years after Stanley was kicked out left home.) The nurse accepted that when he said the two of them had lost contact for a while after moving across the country separately. Which wasn’t a lie, per se.

They had lost contact while traveling. That just… Wasn’t the full story behind it. (And he certainly wasn’t going to explain that to someone he didn’t even know.)

After that, he took the two sets of keys, the two of them climbed back into Fiddleford’s truck, and then they left to find the Delmar Motel.

Just like the doctor had told them, it was on the fringes of town and across the street from a combination gas station and convenience store. (Which was advertising that they sold fried chicken, of all things.)

He looked over the building as Fiddleford pulled in. It was a small place, a single-floored building that was colored in whites and blues. It probably wasn’t used by people staying for more than one or two nights. It didn’t seem like a seedy place at least. It looked cheap, yes, but not seedy.

There was some ocean theming to the motel, for some reason. Like the owner had been on a ship at some point and wanted to show the things they found neat about it. Nothing too over the top, thankfully. There were a few buoys and some oars around the motel’s sign, a lifesaver hung on the check-in door with a welcome sign attached to it, and little sailboat-shaped number plates on the doors to the rooms. There were probably more little decorations like those inside the rooms. Enough stuff to show their theming, but not so much that it looked tacky.

And he had seen tacky before. Backupsmore had a truly awful seafood place just off campus that a number of his fellow students went to… Ugh, just thinking about it made him cringe. He’d only eaten there once and refused to ever return.

The two climbed out of the truck after Fiddleford parked by a red and white car that was uncomfortably familiar to Ford. He was reasonably sure he knew whose car it was. But it was still a good idea to check first. He stepped around the back of the car to check the plate and winced.

Just as he’d thought.

It was the Stanley mobile, the same car that Stanley left home with all those years ago. He knew his brother had been attached to the old car, but he would have thought that Stan would have gotten a new one by now. It seemed that he hadn’t. (Then again, there was nothing wrong with holding onto something reliable.)

He heard Fiddleford let out a delighted noise, the kind he usually made when he saw a machine he liked. Or, in this case, a car he liked.

“Oh, it is what I thought it was! A 1965 El Diablo! Those things are major collectors' cars nowadays. It looks like the guy’s still got most of the original parts on it. He musta worked hard to keep it in good shape like this.” He looked back at Fiddleford, who was suddenly near giddy as he looked over the old car. He felt the edge of a smile starting as he watched. “Maybe the fella who owns it will let me take a look under the hood before we leave…”

“I’m sure Stanley wouldn’t mind. He’s always been proud of his car,” Ford kept his tone casual, a smile tugging at his face. He fought down a laugh as his friend’s head snapped to him.

“This is your brother’s car? How do ya know?” Fiddleford asked. Ford chuckled, pointing at the license plate.

“This is the same plate Stan had on the car when he left home. The same car, too. I’m sure of it. I remember how excited he was when he brought that thing home.” Ford couldn’t help smiling as he spoke. “He bought it for a steal from a neighbor who was retiring and planned to move south but didn’t see the point in driving both their cars down. Especially since they were only one person. He’d already saved up for months to get a car of his own and it was just- Perfect timing for Stan.”

Stanley had been near bouncing when he’d dragged Ford out of the house to show it to him. Saying that they could drive themselves around now and didn't have to walk or talk Pa into taking them places. All Ford had to do was ask and Stan would have been happy to take him anywhere he liked. It had meant a lot to him back then, especially since driving had always made Ford nervous and stressed him out too much…

He’d gotten better about it after leaving for college but he still wasn’t big on driving if he didn’t need to.

(When was the last time he thought about things like that? When was the last time he thought about happier times with his brother? Without the sting of Pa’s yelling and anger cutting in? Too long. It was too long.)

“Well, I’ll have to wait for him to come around before I ask, then.” Fiddleford paused for a moment, then, “I suppose it’s a good thing there’s two of us then. I don’t think Stanley would want to leave it behind. One of us can drive it back up. Unless I find a way to hitch it to the back of the truck. I might have a car hitch in one of my toolboxes, now that I think about it…”

He hummed quietly. A car hitch would make it easier to get the car back.

But cramming all three of them into the cab of Ford’s old pickup would be a bit of a tight fit. It may be easier to do a variant of how they drove down and just switch vehicles every few hours. That would probably be more comfortable for them all. They’d have to talk it over with Stanley since he’d be the permanent passenger no matter which plan they went with.

“We’ll have to work out the logistics later,” Ford said, gesturing to the front office. “First, we need to sort things out here. Then we can figure out how to get everyone back to Gravity Falls.”

“Fair point. We’ll circle back to this later, then,” Fiddleford said. Ford took the lead, stepping into the office. The woman who was likely the one manning the desk was watering the plants and looked up when the bell jingled.

“Oh, Mistah Pines! I was wondering where you were. Haven’t seen you around for breakfast in days. Cryin’ shame, I promised ya some good hotcakes…” She trailed off as she looked him over. And probably realized as she looked that, despite sharing a face, he didn’t look as much like his brother after a second glance. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Stanford Pines, my brother was the one who rented a room here.” The woman straightened up, looking bashful.

“Gracious, I’m terribly sorry dear. What can I do for you two gentlemen then?” She smiled kindly at him, setting the watering can down by the plants. Ford winced, slightly.

“I’m- I’m here because my brother was admitted to the hospital a few days ago,” Ford said, his tone even, despite the small stutter at the start. The woman let out a little gasp, hands fluttering to her mouth. “I need to pick up his belongings if you still have them. And, possibly, rent a room for myself and my assistant, if you have any available.”

The woman was nodding before he’d even finished speaking, hurrying behind the desk and digging through one of the drawers.

“Oh, certainly dear! In fact, the two of you can stay in Mistah Pines's room. Lemme get you the second key.”

“Are you sure?” Fiddleford asked, stepping closer to the desk.

“It’s no trouble, dearies. Mistah Pines’ room was actually a double room, it was meant for two people. It was the only one we had open when it was reserved and paid off before he arrived. Since he’s yer brother, I’m sure he won’t mind letting you stay there.”

Ford held back a twitch at that. Logically, he knew the woman didn’t know about the problems he and his brother had. But he also wasn’t fool enough to ignore when someone was making an assumption that was helpful for him.

Staying in a room that was already paid for would be much more helpful than canceling for the days that Stanley wasn’t going to be using it, and then reserving a new room for himself and Fiddleford on top of that. Especially without Stanley there to help sort out his side of the payments and paperwork.

It was simply less of a hassle to use the room that was already there. Even if it was, technically, not something they should have been doing.

“Thank you, ma’am,” was all he could really say.

“Oh, my name’s Martha, dear. Martha Wilks. My husband is the one who owns this motel and he handles most of the maintenance on the rooms. Here’s the other key!” Mrs. Wilks let out a little cheer, straightening up and presenting them with the second key to the room. “Now, this is for room twelve and it’s got two twin beds in it. Should be perfect for you two gentlemen. It’s got the usual things you find in a room these days; a TV so you can check the news, a phone in case you need to make any calls, and the bathroom even has a standing shower. We’re mighty lucky to have that last one, considering how much the water bills have been going up lately!”

Water bill? Ah right, this was New Mexico. Water was harder to get, considering how much of the state was desert. He was glad he never had to worry about that, since his cabin had a ground well that it got water from.

“What happened to Mistah Pines?” Mrs. Wilks asked hesitantly. Ford looked back at the woman, who was nervously fussing with her hands now. “I mean… He was such a nice fellow when I was talking to him.”

“Well, Stanley was the victim of an animal attack, apparently. According to the doctors we spoke to, he’ll be alright but will need time to recover,” he said. Ford didn’t want to go into too much detail. This woman seemed kind, but this felt… Private.

“Oh my! Did he go up by North Street?” Ford’s brow furrowed at that.

“North Street?”

“Yes, there have been a lot of animal attacks up there over the past month. According to the news, they think some kind of wild animal is the one doing it,” she said, a hand tapping nervously on the counter. “A lot of folks are saying coyotes, but to me, they sound more like mountain lion attacks.”

“Mountain lions?!” Fiddleford squeaked, eyes widening in shock. Ford felt his own breathing hitch at the thought. Sweet Moses…

“Oh yes! It’s the only thing big enough that I can think of that could do the kind of harm I’ve been hearing about. If I had known he was heading up there for work, I would have warned him to wait ‘till the sun was up…” Her voice trailed off. Fiddleford looked at her curiously, turning the key over in his hands.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Most of the animal attacks happened at night. Everyone assumed that you’d be safer doing any kind of work during the day instead.” Mrs. Wilks stated, leaning on the counter with a frown. “At least until animal control can finally get things back to normal over there. He must have stayed out later than he meant to…”

“But why would he even be out at night?” Ford couldn’t help muttering to himself. Poor visibility would make any kind of work very difficult.

“I think he was worried about being in trouble with the fella who hired him. The room was actually reserved by a local, who’d hired him for a job in the area. I knew he was coming, so I stayed late around the day he was supposed to arrive in town,” Mrs. Wilks answered, making Ford look back at her curiously. “He checked in real late at night. So late it was almost morning! I was out like a light after I finally hit the hay.”

Yes, that certainly sounded late. Did Stan have to make a long drive to get here? He must have to’ve arrived at a time like that.

“He slept the whole day away before he finally came in here for a town map and to ask when the nearest place to eat was. Said he was a handyman who was hired to come to town and take a look at something someone was trying to fix up by the north side of town, up by the woods. I can’t quite remember what he’d said he was doing specifically, since it’s been a couple days since then.”

A handyman. Stanley was a handyman now. That was- not something he would have expected from his brother. It sounded so… Mundane.

He remembered Ma talking to him about some of the absurd commercials that his brother had managed to get on to the public broadcast channels. A bunch of scam products that he’d put together that weren’t worth whatever Stanley had paid to get them played on the television networks. It had been obvious (to Ford at least) that his brother had been trying to squeeze every penny possible out of anyone dumb enough to purchase them. But the commercials had all stopped by the time Ford had finished his first year of college.

He’d assumed that his brother had wised up and taken his snake oil elsewhere. The people of New Jersey weren’t geniuses, but they weren’t fools who could be tricked forever. It was only a matter of time until people examined the quality of his products and brought it up to the appropriate authorities. He had assumed Stanley had stopped when that had happened and that was why the commercials had stopped.

Those commercials had always been in the back of his mind on the (very rare) occasions he pondered what his brother was up to. All he could picture was Stanley as some over-the-top, irritatingly chipper salesman selling low-quality products for absurdly high prices.

(And, maybe, getting in over his head. Breaking laws to sell things he shouldn’t to get rich quickly. Or running into a “customer” with a grudge over some subpar product he had sold them. A Liar. Selfish. Greedy. Like Pa always said.)

The idea that Stanley would have decided to change careers at some point had never crossed his mind. Never mind his brother taking on a common, mundane job like being a “handyman.”

Although he supposed, a handyman would find more consistent business in the long term than a self-employed salesman would. While not a job that would get him a large amount of money very quickly, it was certainly a more stable line of work. There was always a need for a handyman, no matter where you went.

Stanley had been trying to get to work after sleeping in and ended up being attacked by a wild animal.

What terrible luck…

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilks.” Ford looked back to Fiddleford, who was smiling politely at the woman. “We’d best start getting settled.”

“Of course, dears. Come by in the morning, alright? I try to make some breakfast fixings for the folks staying here, so if you want something to eat then please stop in.”

“We’ll keep that in mind!” Fiddleford called cheerfully, waving as they left the office. He looked back at Ford as the door closed. “We oughta grab our bags from the truck and bring ‘em to the room.”

Ford nodded.

“Right. No time like the present.”

Both of them went back to the truck and pulled out their respective luggage. It was good luck that they’d ended up parking next to Stanley’s car since it was also next to the room he’d been staying in. Which was now the room they would be staying in.

(Stan must have taken a taxi to get to wherever he was working. Likely because he didn’t know the local streets very well.)

Ford slid the key into the lock of room number twelve, opening the door with a click and stepping through.

His first thoughts were that the room was, in fact, meant for more than one person to stay in. And the second was that the room smelled like lavender.

Which was… Not what he was expecting. Though he hadn’t really expected any kind of smell for a motel room. And yet, the room smelled like lavender and a few other herbs that he couldn’t name off the top of his head. Like someone had burned incense or some scented candles or something in the room. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Huh… Smells kinda floral in here,” he heard his friend mumble. “Better than most motel smells, at least.”

He hummed in agreement. He walked further in, looking around as he did with Fiddleford at his heels.

The room was small with two twin-size beds pressed against a side wall, just like Mrs. Wilks said they would find. There was a desk against the wall opposite the beds and an old tv propped up on top of the dresser. Heavy curtains hung over the window, blocking the light from outside and making the room fairly dark.

Fiddleford was quick to wander further in, opening the curtains so they could both have a better look around the room.

The room was decorated in cool colors, lots of blues and whites with some black trim on various parts of the room. The pillows on the beds were white, the comforters were dark blue, and the headboards were wood and painted in black. The desk, chairs, and dresser all had the same black painted wood. Though the chairs had blue patterned cloth cushions on them.

Just as he’d theorized in the parking lot, there were more nautical-themed items in the room.

A painting on one wall with a large ship depicted in it, a lampshade with ocean waves printed on it, a coat hook designed to look like an anchor hung up by the door, and a few other simple things like that.

Only one of the beds looked like it had been slept in, the one furthest from the window. The one that Stanley had slept through his first day in town in, most likely. It was partially made, and obviously not by the employees, with the large blue comforter pushed down onto the floor. One of the extra pillows was set on top of it.

Stan seemed to be using the other bed to lay out a dull orange and dark green duffel bag and an old-fashioned suitcase instead of putting his belongings away in the dresser.

Which would make sense, since Stanley probably wasn’t planning on staying for very long. Why unpack everything when you would only need a few things for one or two nights? He’d obviously just thought it was easier to keep it all in the bags until it was time to leave again.

(And Ford wasn’t inclined to disagree with that logic. It was something he would have done as well.)

There were some books sitting on the desk, next to the motel’s telephone. One was left open with a pen laying on top of it and another, a larger book set in the middle of the desk. There was also a dark brown, rattan picnic basket on the desk, opposite from the side that the phone was sitting on, with a few green dishes and silverware laid out beside it. A small cooler sat on the floor near the desk chair.

Since Stanley had arrived at the motel late in the night, he must have had some food of his own that he’d eaten before going to bed. Carrying a picnic basket for dishes was actually rather clever since those were usually made to carry dishes safely while traveling. His brother must have picked it up while on the road since he was certain Stanley hadn’t owned one before he’d left.

(Their father would have never kept something like that around, let alone allowed Stanley to have it. He would have been far more likely to sell it than keep it.)

As for the food in the cooler, it had probably gone bad by this point. Unless they were some kind of dry stock that Stanley just kept in a cooler for convenience. He would probably have to check it later, there was no reason to let something rot inside. Mold was a pain to clean out, too. So the sooner they took care of that the better.

There was an ashtray sitting on the bedside table between the two beds under the lamp, designed like a lighthouse with a large lampshade over it, with what looked like a half-burned cigarette sitting in it. But it didn’t look like the kind one would normally buy from a store.

Coming closer, the herby-floral smell grew stronger. Was it some kind of herbal cigarette, then? He supposed that would explain why it looked so unusual. He almost wanted to say it looked homemade, as well.

(And it didn’t look like weed. He’d never partaken in the substance himself, though he remembered people from college who’d used it. Fiddleford had tried it once, purely out of curiosity.)

There was a framed photo sitting beside the ashtray, pointed toward the bed that Stanley had likely been sleeping in. The frame was interesting since it looked like someone had made it from branches and was well lacquered to keep it in good condition. There was a small stick that was carefully attached to the back to help it stand up.

It was something he’d never expected his brother to have, yet there it was on the bedside table.

His curiosity peaked, he walked over picked up the picture, and looked it over. And saw a much younger version of his brother looking back out at him.

His hair was much shorter than it was now, though still longer than when he’d first left home, and he was dressed in a t-shirt and baggy overalls, with a large basket of apples in his arms. An old straw hat partially shaded his face from the sunlight. He looked nineteen, maybe twenty years old, if Ford had to guess. Especially since the Stanley in the picture still had the acne that Ford remembered from their teenage years.

Standing beside his brother was an old man that Ford didn’t know.

The man had a square, wrinkled, weather-beaten face with bright eyes and a full head of long, silver hair that was tied back at the base of his neck. A tattered, wide-brimmed hat was pushed back on his head, with some kind of bird feather stuck into the headband. He had a flannel shirt on with the sleeves rolled up underneath a set of overalls of his own. The old man was also carrying a basket, though smaller than the one Stan had. Behind them was an orchard and a small wagon with more baskets of apples already loaded in.

Both of them had smudges of dirt on their clothes and faces from working, standing under the bright sunshine the photo was taken in. But they both seemed happy as they grinned widely at whoever was taking the picture.

(It had been years since he’d seen his brother smile like that.)

Ford’s eyes roved over the two, taking in all the little details in the snapshot of what his brother had done after he left Jersey.

Was this a job his brother had held for a while? Was the old man his boss? Being a farmhand wasn’t something Ford would have expected from his brother. But, considering how old the man looked, maybe Stanley had decided he really needed the help.

It must have been a good job, or he at least had a good relationship with the man, if Stanley kept a photo from it near his bed…

(Had Pa put any pictures in the duffle he threw at Stanley when he was kicked out? Or had he only put his brother’s clothing in the bag? Did Ma manage to sneak any in before Pa had thrown the bag? Had his brother been able to keep anything from home?)

He gently set the photo down again, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

At least his brother’s life on the road hadn’t been entirely terrible, even if it had taken a path that Ford would never have expected from him. He’d had some good things happen to him while he’d been living on his own. At least one good boss who’d made a very strong (positive) impact on him.

Small mercies, he supposed.

There were worse things that could have happened to Stanley than switching his profession or working with a kind old man. There were many, many dangerous people and dangerous jobs that he could have ended up with instead.

Especially without his highschool diploma to prove his education level.

(Unless Stan had gone back to the school at some point to get it on his own? Would the school have even let him take one without their parents there? Ford was pretty sure you could do that, now that he was thinking of it.)

It would have been far too easy to fall in with the wrong crowds while on the streets. Start taking jobs from the wrong people. To fall for people promising things they would never deliver, with prices far higher than he could hope to pay. To be lead to believe that he was doing good only to take a fall that he would never be prepared for.

To be taken in by the worst sort and so thoroughly tangled in it that he would never be able to escape.

(Why was he only thinking of those things now? Why did it take seeing his brother in the hospital for him to consider the danger Stanley would have been living with while on the road?)

Thankfully, it seemed Stan had managed to avoid that happening. He’d avoided being in too deep. He’d avoided the worst cases. Yes, he was in the hospital, but not for the worst possible reasons. For mistakes he’d made without the rest of their family’s help finally catching up to him. He would be okay.

(Ford had been angry with his brother, but that didn’t mean he wanted the worst for him. He didn’t want bad things to happen to him.)

It was good that, at the very least, Stanley hadn’t been too far from Ford for him to help. He was close enough that Ford could come and help Stan get back on his feet again after all of this. It would cut into his work for a small time, but he wasn’t inclined to feel too bad about it.

Because Stan needed his help. Stan needed his help and he missed his brother he could handle taking care of his brother for a little while.

Besides, Stan could be helpful for a while. He’d had a few moments where he was too caught up in his notes to figure things out. He could admit that he missed the obvious on occasion. Things that, when they were children, his brother had easily been able to pick up on. Maybe he could even ask for help with a few other things if Stan felt up to it. Some of his piping had been asking odd noises and a second pair of eyes would help Ford figure out what was going on with them.

And maybe some company when Fiddleford left for the night would be nice… He wasn’t lonely. Certainly not.

“Which bed do you want to take?” He felt himself asking, pushing those feelings and thoughts away to unpack later. They were unimportant for now.

“Makes no difference to me. Unless you have a preference?” Fiddleford was neatly packing up the books on the desk, setting them aside to be put in either the truck or his brother’s car later. Ford hummed in thought, looking back at the two beds.

“You can take the one closer to the window. That way you’re not trying to sleep in the same bed Stanley had been using.” The idea of making his friend use the same bed his brother had been using felt weird. Something about it made him feel like he shouldn’t let that happen. Besides, he’d grown up with Stanley and they’d shared beds plenty of times. So that would be fine.

“Makes sense to me,” Fiddleford said, nodding. He hadn’t really expected his friend to disagree, but it did make him feel just a little bit better.

The two set to carefully packing up Stanley’s belongings before finally unpacking their own things for spending the night. Fiddleford even took a moment to wash Stan’s dishes in the bathroom sink before packing them away. They didn’t stow everything in Stan’s car, both agreeing that it would be better to ask Stan where he wanted them put rather than just randomly putting them in.

It was while Fiddleford went off to get some dinner from a nearby take-out restaurant for the two of them that something unexpected happened. Ford had opted to stay in the room, turning on the local news to see if there was more information about the animal attacks.

He… Wasn’t sure why he kept fixating on that. Something about the descriptions had felt off to him, but he still had no idea what or why. (Maybe it was the need for some kind of closure? Assurance that whatever had harmed his brother was being handled.) 

But his moment of calm was shattered when the motel phone rang.

Ford’s head snapped to the phone, staring at it in confusion.

Who was calling? Who knew that there was anyone to call in the room? Not anyone who knew Fiddleford or himself. Were they looking for Stanley? Had Stanley told anyone he was staying at this motel?

It was possible that he had and Ford simply hadn’t known. It wasn’t as though Stan could have warned him before he came to the motel. But his brother was still out cold in the hospital. So he certainly couldn’t tell him now, or answer the phone himself.

He hesitantly picked the receiver up.

(He hoped he wouldn’t be getting his brother in trouble by answering.)

“Hello?” He asked. A very frustrated voice on the other end answered him

“Oh so there IS someone here. Why the hell haven’t you called me yet Pines? Don’t tell me you haven’t found something by now. It’s been days since you called for directions! And you’ve been giving me nothing but radio silence!”

“What do you mean? Who is this?” Ford scowled at the strangers’ tone. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. He was looking for Stan, and had mentioned being called for directions. Was this Stan’s client?

“Wait- Ah, shit, did I dial the wrong number? I coulda sworn this was the number for Delmar…”

Well, that actually helped, ever so slightly.

“You have the correct motel and room, sir. Stanley Pines, the person I assume you’re trying to contact, is currently in the hospital. I’m his brother and was asked to come by the doctor. I’m at the motel to gather his belongings.” He kept the irritation from his voice as he spoke.

The man on the phone was rude but, if he was his brother’s client, then he was probably irritated from not hearing anything for the past few days. Silence from a paid contractor was a mildly reasonable cause for frustration. (Even if that contractor was Ford’s brother.)

“Oh… Oh shit… I’m, uh, I’m the guy who hired him to come to town, name’s Winston. Charlie Winston. I, ah, own a plot of land I was planning to rent out some space on and needed a second opinion on them for what I needed to get fixed up. So I hired a handyman to give it a once over.”

“And that handyman was my brother,” Ford said, nodding slowly.

The stranger was being… oddly vague about what he’d hired his brother for. He could have just been very private, or not wanting to share details about his business with a stranger. But there was definitely a nervous hint to his words that had Ford’s attention.

“That’s right. What happened to him? Is he alright? Did the doctors have any idea what attacked him?”

“He will be. The doctors say it was an animal attack, but they’re not sure what animal it might have been.” Ford had checked before they left. The nurse he’d spoken to had said they couldn’t quite figure out what had hurt him, but it was something with very large claws. “He hasn’t come around to tell them specifically what kind, however.”

“I see… When he comes around, please tell him to call me. I- I had no idea that this would happen. I want to make sure I get the chance to pay him before you both leave town. Your brother should already have my number somewhere, so he just needs to make the call and I can drop off the payment at the motel. I'll even throw in extra since he’s probably going to be out of work for a while.”

That was… Surprisingly amiable. That Stanley’s client was willing to raise the agreed payment after he’d been hurt on the job.

“Certainly. I’ll be sure to tell him once he comes around. Though it may be easier to just come to the hospital to ask him what he’d found. I’m sure the hospital staff would allow it.”

“I-I can’t. I have a very busy schedule so I wouldn’t have time to stop in just to ask. Especially since I don’t know when he’ll wake up. It would be better if he called me first.”

“Well, if you insist,” Ford said with a frown.

“Please do, I really do want to hear from him.” He listened as the stranger gave a few more pleasantries before they finally hung up the phone. He set the phone back down on the hook, his thoughts buzzing.

Something about that exchange felt… Strange. Oddly nervous and stilted.

The client was planning to pay for Stanley’s services, which was good, but something rang as strange in Ford’s mind.

Maybe it was the way the guy had asked about what had hurt Stanley? Their insistence that Stan needed to call them once he woke up? Had Stan really been sent to investigate a plot of land? Or had he been looking into something else?

And how had they known that Stan had been attacked by something? He said he had no idea that there was anything dangerous in the area but… Hadn’t the animal attacks been happening for weeks now? Wouldn’t Stan’s client have known about them? And shouldn’t he have thought to warn him about them?

It seemed that his brother would be answering some questions once he finally came around.

And there was a very real possibility that Ford was going to be having words with Mr. Winston.

AN: And done! I feel like the ending was a little rushed, but at least I got it down.

Also, I am not a doctor nor do I ever plan on becoming one, so if you see any medical errors, that's probably why they're there.

Comments and questions are always welcome!

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK MATCHUP EXCHANGE — @i-am-so-strange

Your match is...

— Bachira Meguru !

✦ I'm not going to lie, Jeirin, to me it's obvious that you need someone who can bring sunshine and move into your life. Someone who can spark new ideas, suggest new activities, and pull you out of your comfort zone when you need it. Or just when things get boring.

✦ In other words: someone who can create a healthy balance with you.

✦ And I didn't think too hard about it. To me, Bachira is one of the best in this sun/moon dynamic.

✦ He's a bit hyperactive, very quirky but also very sensible—and he hides it well.

✦ It's actually because he hides it well that I'm convinced it could make a great dynamic with you, who would be able to truly understand who he is deep down.

✦ Conversely, I think he understands you pretty well too. Purely on instinct, really.

✦ What I love about you two is that you're both very passionate, and when you're in that mode, that's when you both unlock your full potential.

✦ I get the impression from your description that you're someone very stable who doesn't get easily thrown off, which is a good thing when you know that Bachira can get swept up in his own emotional storms. You can help him to handle his feelings. Having confidence in his skills, and as a person.

✦ On the flip side, and because these are my favorite dynamics, he knows how to be relaxed and goofy at the most random or inappropriate moments; he brings a touch of joy wherever he is. I think it even makes you smile to yourself when he says or does something silly.

✦ And if I may add a note on your style—I imagine it to be understated, discreet, more on the business casual side, you know, in contrast to Bachira, who prefers to show who he is through his clothes. Expect to see a striking color contrast when people see you two together on the street.

✦ I think cooking could be a bonding point for you two, in those slightly awkward situations where Bachira tries something but totally messes it up; you rush in to save it and avoid disaster. In the end, it makes him laugh, and he probably doesn't even remember what you told him to fix it, but you both had a fun time and that's all that really matters.

✦ Add beach walks to your favorite activities.

✦ Bachira's the guy chasing waves and people's dogs. Your dog.

✦ At the end of the day, his clothes are all messed up, he's got sand in his shoes, and seaweed stuck to his ankles. That's Bachira.

✦ A love language I totally see him having: quality time. The kind where he knows how to just sit with you at the right moment and listen. Just listen. And when he feels it's the right time to speak, he gives you reassuring comfort, with words and gestures. I imagine he's big on showing affection and loves to give hugs when someone's feeling sad or down.

✦ He doesn't expect you to be perfect. He even knows you'll never be, and that's exactly why it's easier to show vulnerability with him—he really sees you for who you are.

✦ And what else? Those long days in front of the TV putting up with canned pineapple?

A word about your match: I didn't think of anyone else :) Isagi did briefly come to mind while I was writing for Bachira (lol, Isagi, get out of my head), but only because some traits you like reminded me of him, not because I think he's your perfect match. Meanwhile, take care of the little bee; he'll surely give it back to you. Bzz bzz. 🐝

© TIGREBLVNC 2025 | INTERESTED IN A MATCHUP EXCHANGE? CHECK THIS.

[darthannie]

day eleven: bondage with lenny miller

pairing: Lenny Miller x f!reader word count: 712 warnings: shibari (not in extreme detail), m receiving oral sex, unprotected sex a/n: Lenny is a simp and I want him to fall in love with me. kinktober masterlist

Lenny had been pining over you for years. Working in the same building had its perks. You became quick friends, frequently going out for lunch together and even working on the same case occasionally. Your relationship with Lenny was flirty but neither of you wanted to admit any sort of attraction between the two of you. 

It all came to a head when Lenny kissed you when you were out for drinks one day. He put his hand on your neck and pulled you in. You kissed him back and you both had to have a long talk about what to do next. 

Dating would be too complicated at the moment, so you agreed to keep the relationship physical. You tried out new things and explored sexual fantasies. It was a lot of fun, but nothing more. Just fun. 

He brought up wanting to bind you up one night as you both lied together after having sex. As it turned out, Lenny was skilled at tying knots. 

He asked rather bluntly, “Have you ever thought about being tied up during sex?”. You’d never expected him to be into such a thing but you weren’t about to say no. The idea thrilled you.

When the time came, he was heavily methodical. “I’m going to tie a harness and then I’ll bind your wrists. It won’t hurt. It’s going to feel tight, but it won’t hurt.” 

You nodded. Nervousness started to set in. This was oddly more intimate than any other time you had been with Lenny. This was perhaps the most explicit display of trust you’d shown each other. 

You stood, fully naked, as he wrapped the rope around your chest. He fiddled with it before getting the length just right and continued guiding the rope around your body. When he finished, you had a “y” shape on your chest, framing your breasts and making them more prominent.

He then wrapped the rope around your wrists, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose. When he finished tying he brought you down to your knees. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his already hard cock. 

You hurried to fit him all in your mouth. Your knees were more spread apart than usual in order to balance as you bobbed your head. The sounds coming from your mouth were nothing short of indecent. Your moans and his grunts filled the room. He pulled out of your mouth and helped you up. 

He kissed your lips as he felt the ropes. He helped you towards the bed and laid you on your back. He took off his clothes and felt up your body. He was captivated by the sight of you bound underneath him. When he thrust inside you, you mewled. 

He felt like he had to pinch himself. Having you under him, restrained, and for him to use affected him more than any other encounter ever had. He continued fucking you into the bed. You pulled at the restraints impetuously. You just wanted to reach out and touch him. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he gasped. 

His fingers teased your clit as he hit a new angle. Your back arched and your legs shook, reaching your breaking point while you tried again to break out of the restraints. 

He pulled out of you and came on your stomach. He caught his breath, kissed your forehead, and rushed to the bathroom. He brought back a damp, warm washcloth and cleaned you up. He started un-tying you, starting with your harness. He neatly folded the rope and put it aside. 

Next, it was time to free your wrists. As he did, he kissed where the ropes had dug in, making you blush. When your hands were finally free, you grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him towards you, kissing him passionately. 

Neither of you knew what to say after that. Something had shifted. The experience brought you closer together and you didn’t know how to admit that this was the final straw. You fell for him. Hard. The care he took with you and the time he spent making sure you were okay after showed another side of him, one that you wanted to get to know more. 

Now, you just had to tell him. 

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @eleanorthemo,@ilovepeoplesdads, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[agentmarvel]

nsfw alphabet - kyle "gaz" garrick

afab!reader

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

♡ a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- Kyle is phenomenal with his aftercare. He'll take what he needs, but he gives it back in spades. We're talking brushing knots out of your tangled hair, a preemptive back rub, knowing how sore you'll be in the morning from the positions he had you in, peppering your sweat-sheened face with kisses while he thanks you for doing so well for him... And it continues until after you fall asleep on him. He's whispering the sweetest nothings even as your breathing deepens and slows.

♡ b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- Call him a simple if you want, but he absolutely adores your smile. Any chance he can get to see it, he's cashing in. Bad day? Charm is turned up to 11 until you're giggling like a lunatic. Already in a good mood? He's smothering you in kisses and affectionate touches to keep you sunny. Even in bed, during the most intimate moments, he's heaping praise on you, never failing to remind you how bloody beautiful you are or how much he loves you. He never passes up on an opportunity to make you smile. It's the best part of his day.

For himself, he favors his arms. He's more lean muscle than sheer bulk, but don't let that fool you. Kyle is strong. Work aside, those arms have so much purpose, especially for the benefit of your relationship. He'll use those arms to cart groceries in so you don't have to make two trips. He pops the tops off of jars for you when they're stuck and holds up new art for the house while you eyeball how level it is, even when the frame is solid oak and weighing heavily on him after a few minutes. Best yet, those arms of his keep you safe, hold you close at every available opportunity, and support you through your lows.

♡ c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- While he'd hesitate to call it a breeding kink, Ky prefers to cum inside you. Something about the idea of having a baby with you prevents him from pulling out anymore. He likes to imagine a perfect meshing of the two of you, a sweet little boy with wild curls and your eyes running across the yard, screeching peels of laughter as you chase him around. Now isn't the right time, given the frequency and duration of his deployments, but in the meantime, a little extra practice can't hurt.

♡ d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- He won't admit it, but Kyle has been trying extra hard lately to see if he can make you squirt with just his dick. You've done it a handful of times with his fingers, and he is obsessed with the synphonic sounds that come out of you when he makes it happen.

♡ e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing. He's so attentive to the most minute details, and that makes him so very proficient. Prior, he'd had a few short-lived but meaningful relationships, through which he learned what he likes and how to merge that with someone else's preferences, making him a solid 11/10 in the skill department.

♡ f = favorite position

- He loves missionary. Your legs wrapped around his slim hips, finger entwined by your head while his other hand curls around your waist or your jaw. Being able to watch your face, the way you give him an almost offended look when he slips his cock in, those sweet smiles lingering behind every orgasm he draws from you. It maintains a level of intimacy that sex feels hollow without.

♡ g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- Gaz has a great sense of humor, and that translates well in these scenarios. He's able to showcase the delicate balance between the two, acknowledging bodily noises that would ordinarily be considered sort of embarrassing with cute quips without making you feel bad. Your comfort is important to him, and those hushed giggles tell him you're at ease with him.

♡ h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- V well groomed. He takes a lot of pride in his appearance (that's what bagged you, right?), and putting in the effort makes him feel good about himself. Being a little high maintenance gives him a wicked confidence boost. Simply put, when he looks his best, he feels his best. He trims the upper and lower beards for himself and crops his curls for work.

♡ i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- Intimacy is something Kyle prioritizes. He shows his love in a very physical nature: little touches whenever he can, holding your hand at any available opportunity, a steady stream of kisses whenever possible. It's compulsive, his need for you to understand just how strongly he feels about you. He fights because it's his job; he survives because of you. You're his reason to come home safely, and he never wants you to forget it.

♡ j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- He's pretty standard on this front. If he's away from home, he's rubbing one out at least twice a week. Can't get himself off unless he's imagining you, though. Fuck, he worships you. You're all-consuming in his mind, and every load belongs to you in some way or another.

♡ k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

- PRAISE. Giving, more so. The way you react to the things he whispers in the dark does something to him, something he can't quite describe. And when he makes you sing your own praises? He's done for. Listening to you pant and whine while you're trying to tell him you're beautiful? Immaculate. Cums immediately.

♡ l = location (favorite places to do the do)

- Surprisingly, he favors the shower. There's something inherently profound about the way you interact beneath the stream of water just this side of scorching. Seeing your phantom curves amid the temperate fog, the feeling of anticipation, unable to just wait a few minutes longer, it all drives him mad with need. It's tantalizing, the way you dance around each other in an effort to fight the instinct. Affectionate how you'll lather up your hands to leave a streak of bubbles across his chest, but the look in your eyes dares him to make a move. It's become his favorite game, and it always feels like it's the first time all over again.

♡ m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- Kyle particularly enjoys watching you do domestic things. It's a slippery slope. Simple things like cooking, cleaning, laundry, even watching you sit down to sort the bills gets him bricked. Reminds him that you actually chose him. You moved in with him, into a house that you picked out together. He has a ring hidden away in a place you'd never even think to look, and he's waiting for his next annual extended leave to propose. Thinking about making you his wife, knowing he's finally found the one, it never fails to arouse him.

♡ n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- He's not on board with CNC. The real-world horrors he's had the displeasure of seeing set a very strict limit. Even if he knows you're faking the fear, even an extensive discussion beforehand, he would stop everything the second you showed any sign of hesitancy. Wouldn't even wait for a safeword. You say no, immediate halt.

He's also fundamentally opposed to degradation, knife play, and breath play. Again, a very strict limit set by his experiences in the field.

♡ o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- Oh, Gaz eats it for his pleasure, 100%. Eats it like a man starved. He'll wring two or three blinding orgasms out of you before he even puts so much as a finger inside you, and after that, he'll take two more. He does not give a single fuck if the entire bottom half of his face is soaking wet. He'd rather go down on you than vice versa (not that he won't accept the enthusiastic reciprocation), and once he's set on it, there's no talking him out of it.

♡ p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- Kyle isn't the kind of guy to just fuck. He is, at his core, the love making type. He's all about making it last; a conveyance of emotions rather than the physical gratification. He isn't shy about expressing his feelings verbally, but there's something special to him about being able to show you how he feels.

♡ q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- Not preferred (see above), but always an option. They don't happen too often. Typically, it's only at the last minute, like sneaking into the bathroom while you're doing your hair or surprising you on your lunch break at work when he gets home earlier than anticipated and just can't wait a second longer. Half the time, quickies consist of him burying his head between your thighs until you're a whimpering, quivering mess, cumming completely untouched just from the sounds you make.

♡ r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- Within his personal parameters, Kyle's definitely down to experiment. Trying new things is exciting and fun, and he's all for new experiences. He's minimal on risk, though. He believes some things need to stay private.

♡ s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- His stamina is pretty impressive. While he can typically only manage one round in a night, that round will last close to an hour. Cannot stress enough how much he looooooveeesssss dragging it out. He has the physicality for it, and he's built for pushing his limits.

♡ t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- He doesn't own any himself, and generally speaking, he's committed to making sure you don't really need them when he's home. He'll pull out the bullet vibe from time to time if you're just not quite getting there, but that's about the extent.

♡ u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Kyle Garrick is the biggest fucking tease. He'll send you lewd pictures while you're out with friends, whisper nasty shit to you across the table while you're having date night, squeeze your inner thigh while he's driving, etc. He's relentless, but will act fucking clueless when you call him out on it just to get a rise out of you.

♡ v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- He's a 6/10 on the volume scale. It's a constant stream of praise and making you verbally negate all of your expressed insecurities, but on his own, it's a lot of heavy breathing and mutterings of curses and pet names. "fuckin' christ, babe/god damn it, you feel too good/shit, pretty girl. taking it so good"

♡ w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- Kyle is super into you feeling yourself. He'll spare no expense while treating you to a self-care day. Seeing you feeling confident in your own skin is such a massive turn-on for him, and as a bonus, the sex is impossibly hotter. He doesn't care if your spa day puts his account in the negatives; it's worth every single penny.

♡ x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- Slim and lean, but shredded. Definitely has visible abs. Light dusting of hair across his chest. Biggest dumpy in the 141. He has two tattoos; one on his chest for his mum, one on his ribs for you (something subtle, he's too paranoid about his work to get anything that could lead the enemy to either of you). "Keepin' my best girls close to my heart," he'd said with a wink.

8" (and knows exactly how to use every single one), cut, straight, average thickness

♡ y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- His drive is fairly standard. Once or twice a week for the full experience, twice or thrice more just to eat you out. But he'll almost never turn you down if you want it.

♡ z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- It takes a while for Gaz to fall asleep after. Despite all the lost sleep to be made up for and the massive energy expenditure of his regular day-to-day, he cherishes those quiet moments. The moments when your head is on his chest, heartbeat lulling you closer to the edge of sleep. The moments when your fingers wrap around his as he strokes your hair. The moments when you're sleepily mumbling those three little words that never fail to make his heart race. Those are the moments that get him through his hardest missions, and he can't bear to let himself fall asleep before experiencing that again.

[changingplumbob]

Shay McClain - Hopeful Bachelorette

Entry for Mad About Dodo by @akitasimblr

Tell us a bit about yourself. What do you do to keep busy? How would your friends describe you?

Okay, well, hi, I'm Shay. I never really fit in at school so after graduation while all my classmates headed to university I wanted something different. I've always liked making stuff so I was looking at getting into carpentry and then one of my dads had the best idea. They both know I love adventure and exploring so they suggested I travel and volunteer with organizations like Habitat for Humanity. I do a bit of carpentry when I'm home to keep the funds up. But yeah I travel the world getting to see cool places, surfing and mountain climbing, and putting my hands to good use making homes for people. Most of my friends are people I've met through that and they'd probably say I'm confident, my dads would probably say over confident, have a passion for making things, especially out of junk but in my defense people throw a lot away too quickly, and... just... a lust for life. But have you looked around? There's beauty in everything.

And why have you applied for Mad About Dodo?

My dad's are worried I'll die alone so have been trying to sort out a way for me to meet people, of course they can't exactly organize a blind date for me when we're in different continents. Don't get me wrong, I would like love in my life, it's kind of the piece that's missing you know. Anyway they sent me the entry details and I have to admit, Dodo is cute. Not that I would just apply because of an attractive person but I was reading about how he's tried other challenges before and I admire his perseverance to keep trying. That's what we have to do at the job sites. So if he's looking for someone to sweep him off his feet I'll do my best.

What do you think of your outfits?

I'm happy they're not just draping us in leaves and calling it a day. I think we've managed to pull together some stuff that'll fit in on an island. But why did we do a cold weather outfit? Aren't islands warm?

How do you see yourself getting on with other competitors?

I've honestly no idea. But I can tell you right now they better keep their pranks away from me. Seriously, a joke that's made at the expense of someone else isn't a joke. Learn how to be funny without punching down.

If you're the kind of person that can spot the good things in life I think we'll get on. I do hate small talk though, let's get to the good juicy stuff! Life's too short to be commenting on the weather constantly.

Tell us about some of your likes and dislikes

Well like I said I really like making stuff. I enjoy fabricating but my favourite is when I can carve stuff like sculptures or furniture. I'm also big into fitness, I like to keep myself in shape. I like yoga to even if I can't balance right half the time.

Dislikes... juice fizzing. I'm not going to go into detail but I had a bad experience. Mischief obviously, I'll crack jokes anytime you like but don't expect me to tie you to a voodoo doll. Programming is also something I just find boring as well as research, so it really is best that I didn't go to university.

What are you looking forward to?

Getting to know Dodo. Hopefully he can be more than a friend. I'm also looking forward to testing out my survival skills. I think they're pretty good with the work I've done but you never know until you're in the situation I guess. But yeah, mainly getting to see if this guy is the one for me, if I can be the one for him.

What are you dreading?

Sunburn! And walking around not realizing I've been pooped on by a bird.

I know most people would probably say lack of bedding and plumbing but I've gone without them before, I can handle going without them again.

Do you have a message for Dodo?

Hey Dodo, if you want someone who can work wonders with their hands I'm here *laughs* No, I'm kidding, please don't tell him I said that. Umm... Hi Dodo, I'm looking forward to building this next part of my life with you in it. See you on the island!

Download SFS

[beanghostprincess]

You ever think of random AUs specifically for ships?

Like. The idea of Buggy having been a slave in his SUPER EARLY years, pre-Roger. The idea that Buggy's F response isn't fight or flight, it's FAWN. Crocodile and Mihawk threaten him and he immediately starts flirting, offers to subjugate himself, locking boots - it's played for giggles, mostly, or at least perceived as a sign of Buggy's willingness to throw out pride for survival, but like. Man.

Imagine Buggy WAS a slave. Imagine Roger and crew having freed him or having found him. That Buggy equated Roger with FREEDOM and HAPPINESS and his first taste of LOVE and JOY and HOPE. Roger was his hero, his captain, and Buggy thought of him so highly that it hurt.

So then the fight with Shanks takes a new level - Shaks would have KNOWN Buggy's history - I doubt they'd have been able to hide anything from one another. And then Shanks, Roger's choice of heir, the one entrusted with the ambition and passed on right to the throne, the only person OTHER than Roger that Buggy would have followed, the only other one he trusted - Shanks took all of that expectation, all that burden, and threw it to the ground a fee hours maximum after their safety net was executed and tossed to that very same ground.

Yeah, it was fucked up to put so much on a child. Yeah, it's unhealthy.

But it just adds so many layers of nuance.

Like. Imagine if in one world, Buggy responded with outrage, with aggression. He was hurt and so he lashed out.

In another, he sees Shanks' eyes, he sees the grief and dissociation and fear and numbness - and he recognizes it.

Roger saved him from that, once. Shanks had pulled him from that space before - Shanks had seen it, responded, stayed with him.

Buggy is hurt and scared and cold in a way that's only partially due to the rain, but... but Shanks is HIS. He is Shanks'. So instead of screaming, of crying, of running away - he reaches out.

This changes so much and yet so little. They will never be subordinates, they refuse to serve under a man other than their father, and his body is already cold and stiff and gone. They are instead equals - not the same playing fields, oh no, they're aware enough to recognize that. But while their skills are different, they are arguably the best in their craft. They oppose one another and work well, covering each other's weak points and essentially pulling the wool over the world's eyes.

Shanks and Buggy, Buggy and Shanks, they are connected, braided, woven into the tapestries of fate, and there is no world where they aren't SOMETHING to each other. Red and Blue, Shanks and Buggy, Hot and Cold, Calm and Volatile; they are opposites and the same, North and South, two moons in eternal orbit, balanced and beautiful.

Crocodile and Mihawk don't know the truth. Mihawk has heard of numerous drunken tales from Shanks about Buggy, Crocodile has a preconceived idea of the clown. There are missing pieces, ones he's gotten good at misdirecting attention from.

It boils down to a few key points the two cross guild "lieutenants" have compiled:

• Buggy covers his neck, and if unable to do so, doesn't let anything touch it.

• he does not fight outright

• smoke and mirrors are his specialty

• unexpected or malicious touch leafs to separation

• he is loud, and his voice pitches differently when he's worked up

• he doesn't get absolutely smashed when drinking - he'll pretend, but his Haki is always sharply aware despite how he carries himself

Then one day they cross Shanks - and it's peaceful. Surprisingly so.

Shanks playfully scruffs Buggy, and he just snorts and shives Shanks back with a "by the Seas, you're so touchy!"

Shanks asks for a spar - before Mihawk can even snort and wave it off in disgust, Buggy actually CONSIDERS it. He AGREES. Croc and Hawk are flabbergasted.

Shanks calls Buggy on a lie, cuts through a tangent, and he does it with a painfully fond grin. And Buggy snorts. "Never did work on you, red bastard."

Buggy's voice remains relatively level the whole exchange. He yells, he hollers, but he is mellow as well. He isn't as highly strung, even surrounded by enemy crews. He's laughing and joking and calling people by name. And they are meeting him steo for step, treating him just the same as they do their own captain, and Shanks is treating Buggy as an equal - teasing, familiar, fond, and warm.

What surprises the two ex warlords the most is that Shanks and Buggy exchange glances. They shrug. Flip a coin. It lands on heads, and Shanks pouts but Buggy cackles. They go drink for drink, and then Shanks suddenly stops. Buggy keeps going. He gets absolutely shitfaced and Shanks is only slightly tipsy. They're coexisting, giggling together, casual touches, cuddled up and actively smiling.

It's a bit like whiplash for Buggy's tag alongs, but nobody else seems even a little uncertain. Yassop is smooth when he drops off a bottle of rum on a run to the bar counter. Benn just obligingly hands a cigarette over when Buggy asks. Lucky Roux is divvying up snacks and doesn't even ask before sliding a plate of hotdogs to Buggy.

Just. Buggy having all these odd little quirks, and people being accommodating to them. Buggy having hard nos and Shanks being the sole exception.

Crocodile and Mihawk being freaking BAMBOOZLED by this bc none of their math is mathing.

((Buggy's crew and Shanks' crew are watching this go down like "damn they gay batches are gay AND stupid. This is Quality Entertainment."))

I love all of this SO much I don't even have words to describe it. The concept of Buggy being a former slave makes so much sense to me due to his canon behavior, ngl, and I love it every time somebody expands that idea. I love all of his little quirks and I just-- I have no words. This is great 😭