#blob salts

[wajjs]

but the green lanterns are 100% spooked by batman & co, am I right pals hahaha 🫠

[yuckybusiness2]

Winter Weight

[shining-starfeather]

Decided to create some alien slugs for a comic. These splorpable little fellas are generally the least conflict-seeking sillies to ever be found by humanity. But, unfortunately they have to deal with the events I'll only detail once i get to that point in the story.

Also a tidbit I forgot to mention in the drawing is that they essentially have different varieties depending on the environment their ancestors have adapted to. And due to their planet's sheer humidity , all of them can exist on land, but there are those who are better adapted to the oceans (the majority of their population) and those who are better fit for their islands (the minority of their population). I might draw some examples later to represent the different races within the species after coming up with some of them.

[gonemechaniic]

I still have a few more cooking/baking starters to do .... as well as a bunch of drafts and memes sshh but foooo this weekend has drained my social battery something fierce ono I might just zone to out with some video games or smth cause my brain is feeling kinda .... not great tbh x3

But umm casual reminder that you're awesome and I'm incredibly proud to know you 💛

[whovian223]

New to Me - March 2024

New to Me #boardgame - March 2024 @garphillgames @PlayRenegade @StrongholdGames @wizkidsgames @Game_Brewer @apegames @Zmangames_ @Pandasaurusgame @StudioBombyx @pegasusspiele

[alnilaem]

a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

-

Something is wrong. 

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 

“Welcome home, Love.” 

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

[dstryvampres]

Riders on the Storm

Neil Lewis x Reader

Summary: you decide to pick up a hitchhiker, he gives back a generous payment.

Warnings: car sex, semi-public sex, I misuse the geographic term of badlands(sorry geology lovers), p in v, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: don't pick up hitchhikers please, this is fiction, i hope you guys are smart enough to already know this...

Eight hours. That’s how long you’ve been cruising through the badlands of North America. At some point the eyes, after staring at the same scenery for so long, start playing tricks on you. They are small tricks. Inconsequential, even. A ploy to entertain you made by your own brain. Yet, they are just enough to piss you off, drive you a little crazy. You’ll see something flash across the road, a black blob that never existed, maybe a cactus in the distance that when you look away and then back is gone.

That’s what you think Neil is initially, another one of the tricks being played by your mind to fill some space, but he doesn’t disappear when you get closer. In fact, he gets all the more real as you approach. Arm stretched out in front of him, thumbs up, a hitch-hiker, clad in a pair of dusty jeans and a off-white tee, backpack slung over his shoulder. How long has he been out here? How dehydrated is he? Who hitchhikes anymore? You roll down your window and stop your car in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Neil asks, before you can get a word out.

You debate telling him a fake destination, you never know who’s out there after all. There’s a look of loss and sorrow in his eyes that makes you pity him, almost like a kicked puppy. You decide to tell him the truth.

“Vegas.”

“Well, I’m headed down that way too, not as far, I just need you to drop me off in Salt Lake City,” Neil pleads. He’s got these big blue watery eyes. How could you say no? “I’ll pay for gas?” 

“Get in,” you sigh out, unlocking your car.

Neil looks enthralled by the news, basically running over to the passengers seat and hopping into the car. You put the car back into drive before speeding off from where you first met and picked up Neil. He introduces himself to you, and out of courtesy you do the same. Soon enough the car settles into an almost awkward silence, quiet beside the car’s radio softly playing music. Neil stares out the window, hugging his backpack to his chest.

“So, why are you going down to Vegas?” Neil asks, breaking the silence. 

You jump up a little, thinking that he had fallen asleep.

“Bachelorette party. Why are you going to Salt Lake?” you hum, trying to play your previous surprise off.

“They’re hosting a pokemon tournament down there,” Neil smiles, seeming to find the contrast between your two respective reasons amusing. “Is it your bachelorette party?”

“God, no,” you say, shaking your head.

Neil seems to find your response even more amusing, starting to laugh. His laugh was warm and spread throughout the car, leading you to join him in his fit of amusement. 

“What do you even do at a pokemon tournament?” you ask, once you’ve gained more composure.

“Battle it out with cards,” Neil states, only leading to him bursting out in more laughter.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. The way his eyes crinkle up as he laughs, and how he throws his head back.

“What do you do at a bachelorette party?” Neil retorts, shaking his head trying to stop himself from laughing again.

“Get drunk and, if I’m lucky this weekend, get laid,” you respond, increasing your speed back up to the speed limit.

“Well, it seems we both have equally exciting endeavours this weekend,” Neil says, reaching over to just barely increase the music so that it’s audible as you talk.

“Yours is far more exciting than mine,” you joke, rolling your eyes. “Actually, can I ask what you’re doing hitchhiking down to Salt Lake?”

“Uh- yeah… My car broke down about a mile back from where you picked me up. It was a piece of shit that was already giving up on me before I took it on the interstate. I was like halfway to the city, in the middle of nowhere, when it just started to slow to a stop. I heard some sputtering from the engine and before I know it I’m just stopped on the side of the road,” Neil pouts as he tells you the story, letting out a deep sigh accompanied with the shake of his head when he finishes it up.

“I’m sorry. Do you know how you’re planning on getting home then?” You ask, now genuinely worried about your passenger princess.

“My friends are going to drive me back up, no worries,” Neil offers you a smile, seemingly charmed by your worry of him.

For the next hour, you and Neil let the radio of your car do most of the talking. This time it’s a comfortable silence that settles. The initial fear of him murdering you on this deserted road slipping away as the minutes pass. If he wanted to murder you, he would’ve already!

“Can we pull into the gas station, I’m running low,” it’s not really a question, you’re just telling him why you’re veering off the interstate.

Neil hums out in response, seeming to have fallen asleep, or in an adjacent state, during the hour or two gap of silence. He stretches out, making sure not to inch too much into your own personal space, then rubs at his eyes.

“Sleep well?” you tease, only earning a soft grunt in response.

You pull into one of the pumps, turning off the car and hopping out of your car, towards the pump. Neil follows you slowly. You quirk an eyebrow at the man, but he just ruffles through his backpack. Once he’s pulled out his wallet he locks eyes with you, staring blankly for a few seconds at your confused expression.

“I promise to pay for gas,” Neil deadpans, fishing his credit card out of his wallet.

“I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I be joking about that?” Neil inserts his card into the machine attached to the pump before you can even respond.

“Neil you don’t have to,” you say, tilting your head in pity.

“Well, I don’t know how else I could repay you for a favour this big,” Neil starts to fill up your car.

“I’ll get you snacks, a drink maybe? I can’t let you pay for gas, it’s so expensive,” you're almost whining as you say this, stamping your foot lightly.

“Fine,” is all Neil says in response.

You wait for Neil to finish filling up your car, leaned up against your car, arms crossed. It’s almost embarrassing that you’re just letting some stranger pay for your gas, but you can’t complain about the view he’s giving you. His bicep flexed as he held the oil pump, looking around at the scenery. Back turned to you for a moment, and you can see the bones and muscles of his back move around as he stretches briefly. Then, you get to admire his smile as he puts the pump back and removes his card.

“Do you want to go in now?” you ask, watching as Neil puts his card back into his wallet.

Neil nods, and you lock the car before heading over to the small convenience store attached to the gas pump. You and Neil split up, seeming to have different priorities when it comes to snacks and drinks. Caffeine is what you desperately need to complete the next eight hours of this trip, so you wander over to the energy drink section. You settle on a pacific punch monster, before turning your attention to a snack. Something light perhaps? No, you’re starving. Gas station food is never the best, and you likely wouldn’t have eaten anything here if you noticed earlier. Alas, you were too busy focusing on driving and now you must settle. 

It seems that Neil was also relatively hungry, as you found him in the refrigerated food section. A Dr Pepper tucked under one arm, and a bag of puffy cheetos under the other. He gives you a polite smile before going back to browsing.

You decide the best option here is a sandwich, picking it up and then going around to wander until Neil is finally done. Sometime along the way you pick up a sweet treat, and stack that in your small pile of three. 

“I think I’m good now,” Neil says, walking over to you with two taquitos now added to his collection.

You insist on paying for both of you at the cash register, much to Neil’s chagrin, and head out to the car. Situating both of your drinks in respective cup holders before heading back onto the interstate. Sandwich you bought is situated in one hand, the steering wheel in your other. The sandwich is truly nothing to write home about but it satisfies your persistent hunger enough. It’s about three fourths of the way through the sandwich that you notice the dark clouds looming ahead of you. You’ve never been a huge fan of driving through storms, but maybe you’ll get lucky and this one will be light. A sprinkle of rain before clearing out for the rest of the trip.

Neil opens up his Dr Pepper, breaking the silence in the car. He utters out a soft sorry before he’s gulping down the drink, washing down the taquitos he just ate.

“Were the taquitos good?” you ask, taking a bite of your own food.

“They’re good for gas station food, never really have to worry about them,” Neil replies, wiping his upper lip off from the Dr Pepper residue.

You him out in response, mouth full of gas station sandwich. There’s now a soft pitter patter of rain hitting the car.

“Hope it doesn’t get any worse,” you pray around the sandwich.

“I mean it looks like it might…” Neil muses, quickly adding on a ‘but I don’t think it will!’ when he notices your eyebrows furrow.

Unfortunately for you, Neil was right. It had gotten so bad that you didn’t feel comfortable driving, pulling over on the side of the road to wait this out. Luckily for you, this gave you time to snack on your little treat. Unluckily, you were now stuck in a car for God knows how long until conditions got better.

Thunder rumbles outside.

“Yknow, because you bought me food, I feel like I didn’t repay you enough,” Neil frowns, stuffing his cheetos into his bag, seemingly not up for them anymore.

Maybe it was the long drive both ahead and behind you, or possibly being stuck in the rain. Could’ve even been the gas station sandwich you had just finished. Yet, for some reason, you replied to Neil’s small statement with:

“I got a way you can repay me.”

Leaning over the centre console, eyes fluttering closed. There's a small pause, and for a moment you feel like Neil’s going to reject you, laugh this weird situation off completely. Then you feel his lips on yours. It takes two seconds before you feel like you two are melding together. Your whole body feels fuzzy and warm, despite the rain pouring outside and the blast of the A/C. Neil breaks away for a second, panting. His pupils are wide, almost engulfing the blue iris of his eyes fully.

“We should move to the back,” Neil suggested, tilting his head towards the backseat.

You climbed over the centre console and into the backseat, Neil following you over as soon as you were seated. Once he too was seated, he placed his hands onto your thighs. Rubbing his hands up and down the exposed skin. He looks at your thighs for a couple seconds before looking back up at you. One of his hands goes up to cup your cheek, bringing you closer to his own face. Softly, a brush against the area, he places a kiss on both corners of your mouth, then kisses you again.

Neil eventually drags you into his lap, or as close as you can get to sitting in his lap while cramped in a car. You sip your tongue into Neil’s mouth as he gives your thigh a squeeze. You moan into his mouth, your own hands navigating their way down his chest and to the hem of his jeans as Neil works up your thighs to the hem of your shorts.

You both hopelessly fumble with the other's pant button and zipper. Now just a mix of soft moans, sweaty hands, and tongue. You’re able to push Neil’s pants down to his knees first, leading you to help him slide your own shorts down. Both of you pull away from the kiss to admire the other, and just as a treat for Neil, you slip your shirt off exposing your lack of a bra. Neil’s eyes widen as he admires your body, stopping himself midway through taking off his pants to do so. You palm at the bulge in his underwear, trying to encourage him to finish taking his pants off. Which is surprisingly successful.

Thunder crashes in the distance.

Neil starts trailing soft kisses down your neck and collarbones as he plays with your breasts, massaging them and tweezing at the nipples. You let moans slip into the air of the car. The windows have started to fog up, giving you slight peace of mind that no one who passes by would likely be able to see either of you. Though, with how hard the rain is coming it would be hard to see anything.

Lightning illuminates behind you.

You move to take your own panties off, hoping it will be enough to get Neil to just fuck you already. Pushing his hands and lips off of you before leaning back into the leather seats of your car before spreading your own lips with your fingers to expose your wet cunt. Locking eyes with Neil. He lets out a sigh, shaky and needy despite the fact that no one is touching him. He stares hungrily at your cunt, licking at his lips.

“Fuck baby,” Neil pants out, slowly taking off his own underwear.

His cock slaps against his stomach once freed. It's thick, not so much long, but very thick. You can’t imagine just how good the stretch is going to be once he's inside of you.

“Go ahead,” you urge, you’re sure you're wet enough that he doesn’t even need to finger you.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks, eyebrows furrowed. His face seems genuinely worried, but the head of his cock is already lined up to your entrance.

You roll your eyes and nod, and not a second goes by before Neil pushes his cock into you. The intrusion alone makes you see white for a few seconds. You let out a small yelp, he’s so thick. He pushes himself to the hilt immediately, letting out a groan as your heat encloses tightly around his cock. 

“So tight and wet for me,” Neil moans out, placing a hand on the seat to stabilise.

“You’re so thick,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment desperately trying to adjust to his girth before Neil starts moving.

Neil gives you a couple more seconds before he’s slowly pumping in and out of you, consistently spearing you on his cock. His is definitely the thickest cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of being split on. Devastating to know you didn’t even have to get to Vegas to get the best dick of the week.

Everytime Neil rocks back into you, you let out a small squeal. Somehow each time he comes back into your cunt, he feels almost just as thick as when he first entered you. As he thrusts into you, building a steady pace, you seem to get wetter. Making the task of taking his cock a little easier, but also building a small puddle of your slick onto your leather seats. His cock glides across your sensitive spots each time, before his tip presses into your g-spot.

Neil is panting above you, alternating between closing his eyes in pleasure, staring at his own cock coming in and out of you, or looking at your own expressions of pleasure. Your moans fill up the air in the car as your hands scratch at the seats for purchase. 

Neil’s pace starts to increase, soon becoming rapid enough that you bump your head on the door of the car once. You wrap your legs around his hips, head becoming fuzzy as your own high is rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum, Neil, gonna cum,” you babble out, reaching down a hand to rub at your clit.

“Me too. Pretty girl, where do you want it?” Neil gasps out, placing both hands on your hips forcing you into a position to take him in deeper.

“Tummy,” you groan, feeling your high on your heels.

You cum around Neil’s cock, screaming out his name as you see stars. Neil pulls out of you, disappointing you only slightly. Ropes of cum land on your tits and stomach. Soon enough both of you are coming down from your high, Neil slumping against the door adjacent to you.

That was definitely payment enough.

Taglist: @paradiseprincesss @luluartpop @xanaxiii @galactict3a

[imaginesforeons]

Bubble and Foam(Yandere!Nanami x Reader)

~You and Nanami take a bath~

CW: Past kidnapping. Yandere Nanami. Forced nudity but not really NSFW.

Word Count: 1,347

Reqs are OPEN! At the top of my page you can see what fandoms I write for, so DM me with your ideas!

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

There used to be, you think, something calming about the sound of water lapping at the sides of a tub. The way the mirror and windows would fog, until your reflection was only a blob of color through the glass was delightfully anonymous, and you used to draw little flowers in the corners of the mirror when you were done bathing. The steamed room felt nice on your skin, and you always reached a light doze, warm and relaxed as you were in a tub with essential oils or salts or mountains of pearlescent bubbles. It was a private place, a slice of the world set aside just for you, and you treasured it.

There used to be something calming about it. But things changed.

Now you stood, shivering and bare except for a towel that was much too short wrapped tightly around you, nothing inside you feeling calm. It was easier, you knew, if you went along with the stereotypical domesticity that Nanami seemed to crave. It took you a while to understand, but when you realized and started treating him more like a husband than a man who probably suffered from insanity, he became calmer, smoother, like a rock polished of all its edges. Instead of hiding yourself away when he came home from whatever made him look beat up and bloody, you’d make him dinner. When you’d wake up to an empty bed, Nanami already long gone, you’d make it instead of trashing the room. You even tried to greet him at the door at the end of his workday, shyly pressing a kiss to his cheek, yet leaning back with a hammering heart whenever he seemed to want more.

You did this, because in return he became softer. He became- not like a husband, exactly, but a prison gaurd with his favorite prisoner. With his supervision, you were allowed to watch tv. You could request books or magazines from him, and he’d deliver. Once, you were even allowed to go to a park by his house, even though the entire time you were outside his arm stayed wrapped posessively around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly over your hip bone. It was a precarious balance of risk and reward, but as you stared at the tub, stomach sinking ever lower, you weren’t sure this risk was worth it.

This was too far.

“I can’t do it,” you said, staring at the slowly filling tub in front of you with terror. “This is too much.”

Nanami dipped his hand in the water, moving it back and forth, eyes unreadable behind his glinting glasses. “It’s just a bath. Nothing else.”

He was wrong, because it definitely was something more. Nanami had seen you in your underwear once, but only because you needed help changing the first night he took you, as you had a bad reaction to whatever drugs he used for sedation. He had never seen you naked. You and he had never, to put it bluntly, had sex. The most romantic thing he had done was kiss you on the lips, and both times you had fled to your shared room for the rest of the night. The only sleeping together you and Nanami did was sleeping in the most literal sense; you shared a bed, and only because Nanami insisted on it.

“We’re not having sex,” you blurted, then immediately felt your body go hot with embarrassment. It wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin; you’d had sex before, but it was never with a man who had kidnapped you. It was never with someone as strong as Nanami, who you had seen punch a hole through a metal door and come out of it with not even bruised knuckles. Watching the muscles in his arm flex as he stirred the water, you felt your mouth dry, and your hands tightined the grip they had on your towel.

“No,” Nanami said flatly, making you feel more ridiculous than ever. “We’re not having sex.”

He turned off the water, and the silence of the bathroom was more deafening than anything you could have imagined. The tub sat full, yet empty of people, like it was taunting you. Hadn’t Nanami just turned on the water? When had it have the time to fill up so quickly?

“Let me get in first,” you begged. “Please?”

Nanami’s brows rose. “I thought you would have been more against this.”

“I am!” you exclaimed. “It’s just that…” It’s just that you’d like to get in first and fast, so he’d barely have that chance to see you. Nanami had put some type of salt in the water, which made the room fill with the scent of lavender and gave a slight cloudyness to the quality of the water. Combined with the height of the water, it should be just enough to hide everything important from the towering man in front of you.

“...maybe you could turn around first?”

Nanami’s brows fell into a scowl, and he took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course. Turn my back on you, and allow you that chance to attack me. It’s only happened once, so why shouldn’t it happen again?”

“Only once! And that was weeks ago!” You waited in terse silence, watching for any reaction.

Nanami only crossed his arms over his bare chest, muscles bulging. He was in a towel too, but where yours covered you from collarbones to thighs, his only hung low on his hips, putting everything on display. Well, you thought, staring at the trail of dark blond curls starting at his belly button and trailing behind the towel, almost everything. How was he able to look so confident dressed in so little, while you felt like the world was collapsing in on you?

“I wouldn’t be able to do anything even if I wanted,” you tried. “There’s nothing in here for me to attack you with. So could you turn around for just a second? Please?”

Nanami sighed and shook his head, and just when you thought he was about to say no, he turned his back. You took this as your chance, shucking your towel and praying that he wouldn’t peek as you lunged into the steaming water, submerging yourself up to your neck. To your side, Nanami let out a grunt, and untied the towel, letting it fall to the ground, exposing his-

You jerked your head to the side, staring resolutely ahead. You didn’t move, not even when you heard Nanami step into the tub. When he settled, placing his legs so they were on either side of you, bracketing you in, your hands clenched.

Slowly, he slid an arm around you, ignoring the way you clung to the rim of the tub and pulling you against him with ease. You had never felt so much of his skin on yours, and you felt your pulse climb as he moved against you. His hand fell over your forehead and began to pull you back.

“Relax,” Nanami said. “Let me wash your hair.”

You forced yourself to stay still, resting against his chest as he cupped water over your head and hair. When you heard something click, you jumped, eyes shooting open only to see a bottle of shampoo. Nanami squeezed a fruity-scented dollop out, set the shampoo aside, then covered your eyes with his free hand. When you caught the hint and forced them shut again, he started moving strong fingers across your scalp, deliberate yet tender.

You stayed still against his chest, a heaviness overtaking you, and you fought back the drowsiness. As you did, Nanami worked his hands through your hair calmly, in little to no rush. He rinsed the suds from your hair, and placed a kiss at your temple before smoothing conditioner through your locks.

While he washed the conditioner from your hair, you sank into something resembling relaxation, and for a moment allowed yourself to pretend you were alone. The steady rise and fall of the chest behind you made it hard.

[fatasticfeedernurse]

Missunderstanding

eating healthy? Exercise? Nonono my dear, you didnt understood the kind of dynamic between you and me. We are not working towards making you fat on a long, steady run that will end up in you being obese in a relative safe way.

Ohh no, we dont want that. But...what do we want? The answer, its results!

So what do we do to achieve that? Double, triple meals, loaded with fats, oils and salt, always snacking in between. Not letting you move a single muscle, turn every part of your body that can move into soft mush that will leave you pinned down to the bed/couch.

We want to turn you into a blob quickly, afterall you said it yourself "i want to get fatter". And your eish is being granted. Unrestricted, unrestrained and unregulated gluttony and spoiling, your chest pains may be constant and shortness of breath may be heavy. But we have pills and machines to deal with that. What we dont have is another way to satiate your hunger....so open up pig, this foo wont eat itself~

[evilminji]

I Ponder The Humble Blob Ghost!

You think they are what happens when you ALMOST but not quite A Ghost(tm)? Like, you have the ectoplasm and the will to continue... but you didn't really have A Thing in life? No Final Crystalizing Thought that brings focus? Just "ow! Ah! I'm scared. Don't wanna die!" And theeeeen.... *poof!*

Why am I Orb? Am squish? No bones.

Like? Remove any one piece of the Critical Formula and you get Blob instead of Ghost? Different KINDS, mind you, but blobs none the less.

Like Skulker! Not enough Ectoplasm. Ended up Blob. He CLEARLY had the Will, the Obsession, the gory end and unfinished business... buuuut? No green goo to power the creation of a full body. He clearly knows what he's supposed to LOOK like? But it's not something FIXABLE? Even with his now unlimited access to Ectoplasm.

Like in utero damage that permanently stunted his growth. HE is fine. All his facilities are on-line and checking in as they should, for the level of sentience expected of a ghost of his people. He just... smol. Same strength, intelligence, and power as he would have always HAD...

He just got handed a really, REALLY crap "customize your eternal meatsuit" option screen. Like for real guys. Basicly NO options. His salt is eternal and entirely justified. He could have had his tattoos. He paid a LOT of credits for those! Sat for DAYS! Had to track down this One(1) artist on this SHITTY little trading hub, that BARELY QUALIFIED as one, to sit in on uncomfortable overturned crate... IN A GAS MASK because the AIR SUPPORT KEPT KICKING IT... for hoooours!

It was a WORK OF ART. You would have CRIED.

This is BULLSHIT.

But wait, I hear you say, staring at the Blob ghost chewing on a lamp post. The one that has wii music playing behind the eyes. No thoughts, head jello, one might say. What about THEM?

Good point! Remember that formula?

LOT of Ecto! But THAT... might be either an animal or a fungus. We'd have to check. ANYTHING can and DOES die. If it's alive? It can die and potentially leave a ghost. But! Consider the noble Ghost Rabbit! *holds up squirming rabbit that is ABSOLUTELY trying to both bite me and kick me in the face* A noble and friendly creature!

THIS is what happens when an animal: has sufficient Ectoplasm at the death site, a reason to continue living (fairly common. It's usually their offspring, escape, the instinctual drive to survive itself or other understandable base drives. Like love, loyalty, or hunger.), and that all important High Emotions End.

Miss any of these? You get Blobbertson over there! He's clearly a hungry boy! But! Not very DRIVEN is he? Just floating along, chewing on whatever seems interesting, looking for a snack. He's food motivated. But not MOTIVATED motivated.

Blobbertson over there? A peaceful death. Too much Ectoplasm too leave, too food motivated in life NOT to carry over, but? No DRIVE. To DEFINE and DEMAND the Ectoplasm in his little body become sharp and active. No highly emotional state to stir it into action.

Is Blobbertson INCAPABLE of higher emotions? No. He is every bit as capable as the Ghost Rabbit that has savaged my hands and escaped while you were reading. It was, in fact, NOT as friendly as originally assumed. I may be bleeding. Unimportant. Blobbertson is PERFECTLY capable of getting attached. Being trained.

Whatever level of intelligence Blobbertson had in life, still remains. And WITH that? Comes the ability to improve and grow in death! IF (and this is the big one) he ever finds MOTIVATION to do so.

Because you see, Blobbertson is quite happy. No thoughts, brain jello. Drifting along in a happy green ocean like a jellyfish. Only concerned about his next snack. It's comforting. His food obsession filled, his tiny motivation barely enough to move him place to place.

He would GLADLY sit in one place and eat for the rest of eternity. Head blissfully silent.

And that's OKAY! It truly, honestly, is. Not everyone has to be conquers and kings, crafters and cosmonauts. Sometimes you just want to spend the rest of time playing in the sand. Resting on a sunshine-y hill. Not EVERY soul is a loud one.

This is the INFINITE Realms.

And there are places like Amity Park out there. THICK as cold honey with Ectoplasm in the air, gently infusing all the life that grows there with greater and greater chance of Ghost-hood. Even the peaceful blinking awake after that final rest to look down and... little nubby green paws.

Congratulations on becoming a Blob, grandma! Yes, I imagine you ARE furious it is inordinately difficult to knit like this. No, I don't think complaining to the king will help, MeMa.

That said? I can not tell you if Blob Ghost all belong to the same Family or the same Order, but they are NOT the same species! The WAY in which you fuck up that ever vital Fomula results in WILDLY different Blobs! Was it an animal? A sentient species? A sentient PLANET? A complexe interlocking colony of fungi? What was the EXACT Ectoplasm concentration at the death site? Was that the historical levels or the At Death levels? Was the individual under sedation?

Yes! All of this IS in fact, VERY relevant!

And you think it ends THERE? HA! The SKIES are FILLED with Fighty Mother Fuckers! Ghosts LOVE to fight! It's built into their social dynamics and hierarchy! Good ol brawls to get the Ecto pumping!

......Local Blob Farmer would like to take this moment to say "GET OF HIS GHOST PEONIES, YOU HEATHENS."

No they would NOT like to join your 24/7 thunder dome in the sky, THANKS! Martha here is trying to compose some Atlantian Shell Poetry. Blobby Jr of Blobbington and Blobbington Incorporated is TRYING to study! You've DESTROYED THE COMMUNAL ZEN GARDEN!!

Get! GET!!! *swings broom*

And THEN you look not even a mile east? And it's the floating island of Blobs. They LIKE that rock. It's just an ever shifting, accidentally rolling off the edge, falling slightly, making an offended squeek, and floating back to the top of the pile to repeate the process, MOOSH of thousands of blobs. No one's certain if they used to be seals or some sort of cat.

Apparently THAT island is Warm(tm).

So there they sit. Making contented noises, chirping and shoving for the best spots. They never leave. You can literally just... float up and sit on them. It's amazing. You gotta be careful not to get buried, but it's So Soft and bouncy? And they are ALL making that soft happy Blob vibrate noise. It's like a giant, island sized, warm and almost fuzzy but not, water bed that massages you.

Just DON'T start anything there! Holy SHIT are they territorial. You Will Die. They SWARM.

And THATS not even getting into the Blobs that are? Literally brainless. Some people eat those. Which? I guess? They ARE basicly Ectoplasm jello. But SOME of them are NOT? Like... it's a debate. Hot button issue, ya know?

Some fungus turns into Ecto Jello with negative IQ and delicious insides. Is this food? But OTHER fungus was SENTIENT in life and become a whole RANGE of Fungus ghosts, from Blob right on up to complexe dryad like ghosts! Clearly NOT food unless you are a MONSTER. But THEY argue the FIRST group are ALSO not food?

Plant Ghosts have strong opinions and are willing to Gruesome Violence about it.

Which brings us back to the Humble Blob Ghost! Check before you pet! That might be grandma! Or planning to eat your hand! Just as Mammal tells you little to nothing about what animal you are looking at, so too does Blob and Ghost! Stay safe out there! And if anyone sees a glowing green rabbit? I want my blood back! That's supposed to be in MY body! Rude!

This has been, the daily ghost!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[strangelittlestories]

The demon appeared amidst the ring of candles and immediately threw itself against the edge of the summoning circle, trying again and again to break the barriers of salt, chalk and soul.

Alas, it was no good. The magician had invested in high quality chalk paint and superglued the salt over the top, so even the most thunder-thick and sin-hot hellstorm could not pierce the barrier.

Drops of sweat appeared on the summoner’s brow as she felt the strands of spirit she’d wrapped around the runes and candles tested - but her soul stood strong.

“Well then,” said the demon, after it had exhausted itself with its struggles, “get on with it. I suppose you want damnable power or eternal life or some boring shit.”

“Do you remember me?” Asked the woman outside the circle.

“Should I?” The demon’s sigh echoed with quiet screams.

“We met when you were an angel. You saved my life. It was down by the riverbank not far from here.”

“...oh sure, for you it was a transcendent event. For me, it was Thursday.”

“I think the meme you mean is ‘Tuesday’.”

“Yes, but the night we met was a Thursday.” The demon curled up in the middle of a circle; a sad blob of darkness in which floated two dying embers for eyes. “You shouldn’t remember me.”

“I know. You were the frost in the air and the ice in the water. You were a shock to the system. You woke something up in me. I studied all this,” the magician gestured to the occult tat that surrounded them, “so that I could thank you.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“It was a surprise to find out you’d fallen, I admit. But I still owe you my thanks.”

“This is exhausting.” The demon twisted uncomfortably, wringing itself out like a cloth woven of shadowfire strands. “Offer your deal, so I can hang you on your own ambition and go.”

“I would like,” the magician put all the force and care of her will into her words, “for you to watch a movie with me. In exchange, I will give up to three hours of my life.”

“...what movie do you want to watch?”

“Anything less than three hours long, I suppose.”

[wajjs]

Anyone who says Hal Jordan is shockingly good with kids doesn't know that it is CANON that he's good with kids. It's not shocking that he's good with them when it has been established multiple times. Reading comics won't kill you, I promise.

[femoso-seben]

Mini Witch

Part2,

You have no idea where you are. You could smell salty and your hair felt crusty and icky. On the other hand, the little blob, König (it calls itself that you refer it as Takoyaki) was crawling along leading you through the trees and soon onto flat airid plans. The flatness turns dry and sandy and there is the ocean.

The little ugly brat vanishes into the water leaving you on the beat.

You could walk away!

You did.

You could smell the scent of civilization (manure). The small village is quant. You found yourself walking from one shot to another. Your sister had left you a note.

“It is easier for your familiar to protect you if they have a weapon.” You found yourself in front of a weapon smith shop. Nothing struck you until a massive axe, like an executioner’s blade.

You needed a few things and had a few money. You needed food for travel new footwear where and a new cloak for the cold.

As night falls you walk back to the ocean to find your very much unhappy and very ungrateful familiar waiting for you. He transforms into a soggy ass man.

“Here, Takoyaki,” he took the ace and stared at it. He swung it around a few times before nodding like it was for him well.

You spend the night on the beach. The cool air of the ocean keeps the summer heat off you. You awoke feeling slimy and sticky. You look down to find your stupid familiar sleeping on your breast again.

“Perv,” you gran it off your skin and drop it into the sand. He curled up as if you dropped a slug in salt. His eyes open and he glared at you.

You get up clean up your clothes and gather your things, that cloak should be done soon.

“Wohin gehst du?” He asks, I look at him, he’s in his human form. A massive hunk of a man. If he wasn’t a familiar you would have surely pounced on him.

“I bought something wait here.” He sat there and you could have sworn it was pouting.

Something was odd.

Your skin crawled the moment you walked into the Villegas. The air was tense and eyes watched you. They were judging and pointing to you. Fear creeps up your back, you stand out like a sore thumb. You kept your head low and got moving but their eyes never stopped staring at you.

You pick up your cloak and try rushing out of the village. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, and fear gripped your mind… if you had a soul your soul be grasped.

“WITCH!” a man in black yells, all the blood rushes from your face as you feel your heartbeat I your ear. You turn and to your horror men on horseback and bow and arrows are waiting.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

You stare on eyes wide like a kitten, body frozen like a baby deer. You were nothing but a child in the face of adults… even if you were a few centuries older than them. You weren’t ready!

Where were your sisters when you needed them? Maybe you should have traveled with them for the first few trips as they suggested.

Your mind went to your familiar… that little thing can’t save you…

Your hands itch and the next thing you know, staff and hand shooting out magic. Fireballs rain down as arrows fly your way. You ran, shoot magic as you did so.

You had nowhere to go! Your sisters were nowhere to protect you. You're a dead witch running.

As your lungs burn and your angry voice screams for your head and your dismemberment. You only had one way out. That stupid ugly thing.

You collapse onto the sand but you can’t find your stupid familiar anywhere.

You’re going to die.

“WITCH!” You froze and stiffen.

You have no energy left. You turn around and back into the ocean. There is a small line were archer ready to shoot you dead.

Arrows fly.

“KÖNIG!” You shout.

The waters erupted. Tentacles shoot out and you turn to find a large monstrous humanoid tentacles man. The small axe in his hand looks like a toothpick. You cast an increasing size magic on it and soon the axe fit his new size.

He swung it, cutting man and horse apart, blood oozing into the sands.

You fall into his tentacles.

“He is very loyal”

“Maybe having a familiar doesn’t suck…

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

@milkywayhou

taglist: @maylovesyousomuch, @trgraves-valx1f0r

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Salty (Discord Drabble)

Eddie, Robin and Steve as the most incompetent roommates au.

Robin thinks she might just fall right to sleep on top of her textbook when a steamy, bright red blob of tomato sauce plops onto the page. It soaks through, staining the words and blurring the printed ink.

She looks up in horror to find Eddie standing before her, grinning expectantly.

“Try,” he insists, pushing the dripping spoon closer to her.

Robin recoils.

“I thought the whole point of you preparing dinner was so I could study?”

Eddie makes a face, “That’s what I’m doing. But you need to taste test, hmm? Here comes the airplane!”

He spits out some garbled noises Robin supposes sounds like an engine as he swoops the spoon at enough of an angle that another blob flies halfway across the counter island.

Robin lunges, grabbing Eddie’s wrist before he can do any more damage.

“Fine,” she relents, tugging his hand, “Give it here.”

Still holding on, she maneuvers Eddie’s wrist, twisting it as she moves her head to get the sample in her mouth –

But when the sauce hits her tongue, Robin gags.

“Good, huh?” Eddie beams.

“Bleh – what? Ed – no!” she spits, coughing now as she pushes the offending spoon away, “Eddie, why is it so salty!”

She grabbles for her water bottle.

“I haven’t added salt yet,” Eddie defends and looks down at the spoon. 

He falls silent and heads for his recipe book. Robin glares at the back of Eddie’s head as she gulps down her water like a floundering guppy.

There’s a clamboring of jars and spices as Eddie mutters to himself, pouring over his recipe. And Robin rolls her eyes, thinking that making a spaghetti sauce surely couldn’t be this complicated.

“Oregano, olive oil, pap –,” Eddie lists off before promptly cutting himself off.

“Eddie, what did you use?” Robin asks when she comes up for air.

He sets down something and looks up but still doesn’t turn back to face her.

“... Paprika,” he very obviously lies, his hair bouncing as he talks.

Robin pinches her nose, “We really need Steve to hurry up with his night shifts.”

[moneymartin]

🦌- yikes.

summary: you help lottie bake cookies!

warnings: nothing!!!! its fluffy 💞 lottie sucks at baking but you’re somewhat good at it :p

603 words

if this makes no sense i’m sorry 😭

lottie paced around the kitchen, flour all over her fingers and spread around her face. she had been trying to make these stupid cookies for your guys’ anniversary. how romantic.

unfortunately, she sucked. she sucked at everything involving a grill, an oven, and even a damn microwave. her maids and butlers did everything for her and whenever she tried, she would end up burning something in the process.

there were cracked eggshells on the ground, a bit of the egg white residue, spilled milk on the counter, and sugar scattered like ant hills on the table. “oh, come on!!” she blurts out when another one of the eggs roll off of the counter. it cracks and she lets out an exaggerated whine, drawing your attention over.

the sight is… overwhelming. your kitchen is a total mess and so is your girlfriend. she has bits of flour in between strands of her hair and its all over her face. she rubs at the back of her neck and looks at you with those eyes you can’t help but stare at forever. “yikes…”

“i can’t bake these fucking cookies! look at them!” lottie grumbles. your eyes dart to the baking sheet on the table and the shape of her extremely pathetic attempt of heart shaped cookies. they had turned out into little blobs, the edges burnt, and the chocolate chips somewhat being the only thing edible on those things. “i mean, at least you… tried?” you say and shake your head a little when the pout on lottie’s face starts to show a bit more. “here let me help you out.”

you grab the tray full of obviously inedible cookies and toss the rest into the trash. the thumps make her face contort into one of embarrassment. she felt bad for even trying to make something for you, even when she knew she couldn’t do it. “this is horrible. i hate that i can’t do anything nice for you.” she murmurs. her voice chokes up a bit and you turn your head around to look at her. “hey, don’t be like that. it’s fine. we can always try again.” you reassure.

ignoring the horrible mess in the kitchen, you grab a new bowl and gently wrap your arms around lottie’s waist. “let’s do this instead…” your hands grab hers, helping her reach out for the bag of flour and the jar of sugar. you guide her fingers and add just the right amount of everything into the bowl. she complies of course and just stands there, letting you move her hands around so she can learn. “there shouldn’t be so many eggs, okay? you don’t need 10 for just a dozen cookies.”

she just nods and keeps her mouth shut. she doesn’t wanna talk and embarrass herself by saying something completely stupid. she knows you’re good at baking and she isn’t. so, you’re willing to help. she’s your girlfriend after all. doing something together that’ll end up good in the end is always the best, especially with someone like lottie.

everything goes by quickly. the eggs, butter, brown sugar, regular sugar, milk, pinches of salt, and chocolate chips were already all in the bowl. “see! not so hard, am i right?” you smile brightly and turn lottie around to face you. her back is pressed up against the counter and she cups your face gently, pressing her lips up against yours. “thank you.” she murmurs in between the quick kiss and pulls away, humming softly. she doesn’t seem so grouchy about the cookies she made before and she’s grateful.

“lets shape these damn things now.”

[starrylothcat]

I wish you would write a fic where established relationship between reader and Crosshair gets a little angsty when reader has to treat/comfort Crosshair while he’s suffering from some sort of temporary sensory loss. (Sight is preferred but any would be cool)

Ohhh what an idea, I love this! Thank you! Sorry this took so long, haha!

I had a wild week at work and finally had time to type out this little angsty brainworm 🤓

This is in response to the “I wish you would write a fic about…” ask game that I can’t find the link to!

By My Side

Pairing: Crosshair x Gen!Reader

Warnings: Angst, loss of vision, mentions of drugs/imprisonment. Hopeful ending. Just some classic CrossAngst.

WC: 1300 (I got way carried away)

Summary/Fic Scenario: You and Crosshair were together before Order 66. Crosshair decided to join the Empire, you did not. You begged him to come with you and his brothers, but he made his choice.

You assisted TBB in rescuing Crosshair and Omega from Mount Tantiss and brought them to Pabu. You offered your home for Crosshair to rest, as he was unconscious from the rescue. Cue angst. Will I write a full fic about this one day? Do I have a WIP? Maybe. Hehe. I hope this is up your alley, anon!

When he finally woke, it was to darkness.

Crosshair tried to control the panic rising in his chest, gripping the blankets tight under his fingers.

He blinked again, the darkness easing up just a bit, some fuzzy blobs of color visible.

Panic was still steadily rising, trying to choke out a word, any sound, but his voice was hoarse.

He slowly sat up, realizing he wasn’t restrained in any way, and the bed he was lying on was soft.

Soft?

Crosshair focused momentarily, listening, his one sense that wasn’t currently disrupted.

He could hear distant waves and quiet cries of birds.

Laughter drifted in on a breeze, salt catching his nose.

He wasn’t on Mount Tantiss anymore, that was for certain.

His panic let up slightly as he desperately tried to rub his eyes, hoping to clear the fog.

If he wasn’t there, where was he? Was he dead, is this a dream? A new type of drug they had him under?

His memory was as hazy as his vision, not remembering anything or now he got to be here.

The last broken thought he had was speaking with Omega, her trying to comfort him, saying she knew his brothers were coming to rescue them.

He remembered scoffing at the notion, but deep down, wishing her hopeful statement was true.

Crosshair took a breath, trying to collect his muddled thoughts. His head was pounding and ringing, blood rushing in his ears.

His body was weak and sore, and he was completely disoriented.

While captured, they only fed him the bare minimum to keep him alive. If he had to fight his way out of wherever he currently was, he didn’t have much strength left.

It didn’t help that he still couldn’t see.

Crosshair couldn’t continue his plan of escape, hearing a door click and soft footsteps approaching.

“Who is there?” He managed to croak out, the panic and adrenaline that was coursing through his veins mixing with a crushing exhaustion that was now taking over his body.

He was feeble, vulnerable, but still wouldn’t go down without a fight. Crosshair tried to stand, his legs giving out and immediately falling to the ground, unable to make out anything but fuzzy shapes in front of him.

Something was suddenly touching his shoulder, and he scrambled away. He hit his head on what must have been a side table or dresser as he desperately swiped the air with his hands at nothing.

“Stay back!” He hissed, lost in darkness, trying to feel for anything around him to use as a weapon.

“Crosshair…Crosshair, it’s okay! It’s me.”

Crosshair froze, bristling at the sound of your voice. He curled himself into a corner like a wounded animal, ready to strike.

He must be dead. This must be hell.

It was your voice.

You.

Pain gripped his heart, he couldn’t speak.

“You’re safe. We’re safe.”

A million emotions pulsed through his system as he processed the fact you were there. Was this a hallucination?

Crosshair felt a touch on his shoulder again, realizing it was your hand. He flinched at your touch, but didn’t pull away. Your contact was hesitant, unsure.

“Tech said your vision should return within a day or two. It’s a side effect of the drugs from the lab.”

Crosshair felt like he was falling, every word you spoke opening old wounds. He may as well be back on the operating table, being sliced open.

It was you. It had to be. Your cadence, soft yet affirming, the voice that haunted his dreams every night.

After all he did…you were here?

He was glad he couldn’t see your face, what expression did you wear? Disgust? Pain? Anger?

“We can explain everything later. We are all here, safe from the Empire.”

“Omega…?” He finally croaked out.

“Her too, she’s fine, just resting.”

Crosshair let out a breath. She was right, they did come for them. And so did you.

The last time Crosshair saw you, Kamino was burning, sinking to the depths.

He asked you to come with him.

Your hurt, tear-filled eyes still burned in his mind, the sadness on your face, your desperate words to get him to stay with you.

He did not forget the wrathful anger that practically ate him alive as you left him on Kamino, choosing his brothers over him.

Crosshair felt what you had shared never mattered, feeling foolish at ever letting you in, feeling betrayed that he had shown you part of him that no one had ever seen.

The one person he tentatively and slowly let inside was now turning their back, just like everyone always had.

He should have known.

Pathetic.

At least that’s how he felt initially.

As time went on, and he lay alone in his small Imperial quarters, he thought of you.

He thought of his brothers.

He thought of what he left behind.

He thought of what Cody told him, his words taking hold in his brain more and more. Had he made a mistake?

Now here he was, back with them, back with you.

Fate has a funny way of doing things.

Crosshair stayed silent, letting you help him back into the bed.

What can be said after all this time? After the things he’s done?

Why were you here, helping him?

Crosshair felt the side of the bed lower as you sat next to him.

“Crosshair, I…” You started, also not knowing what to say.

“I can explain everything later, or your brothers can. They are right next door. They figured it was best to give you some space. But I…I thought you might need someone around when you woke up.”

Crosshair could pick up the weariness in your voice.

“I can go if you’d like.” You spoke quietly.

Crosshair wanted to reach out, touch you. But he didn’t deserve that, after all he did. He didn’t even deserve to be in your current presence.

“No.” He rasped.

He felt the bed rise as you stood up.

“Let me bring you some food. You’re probably starving.”

Crosshair heard your footsteps leave his bedside, and picked up on the uneven sound of your steps.

“Wait,” Crosshair called, your footsteps stopping.“Are you hurt?”

There was a few moments of silence.

“Just a few scrapes and bruises, nothing serious.” Your crooked footsteps continued out of the room.

Crosshair knew you were lying, obviously dealing with an injury received while rescuing him.

Guilt stabbed at his chest, knowing you were hurt because of him, carrying scars that you’ll probably have forever.

A reminder of what his family had to go through to rescue him, something he was unworthy of.

Yet here you were, caring for him, at his side, even after everything. Risking your life to save the man who tossed you to the side, abandoned you and his brothers for something he thought was right and was too stubborn to see before it was too late.

Crosshair laid there, hearing the occasional sound of a pantry opening, a plate being set on a counter.

He must be in your home, wherever this is.

You came back into the room, setting food down at the bedside table next to him.

Crosshair wearily sat up again as you touched his hand, guiding it to the food.

“Why are you doing this?” He whispered, your hand not leaving his.

Crosshair could feel your hand trembling.

“You were lost. So we found you.”

Your hand tightened around his.

“I said terrible things. I’ve done terrible things.” Crosshair could feel bile rise in his throat, nauseous at the recollections of what he did serving the Empire. Or maybe it was the drugs wearing off. Or maybe it was remembering how he left you.

He was dizzy.

It was all too much.

Crosshair felt your other hand carefully touch the side of his face, which he instinctually leaned into, desperate for contact that wasn’t medical machinery or hands forcing him into restraints.

“I’m sorry.” Crosshair felt hot tears sting at sides of his eyes, confused, lost, anguished.

Forgiveness isn’t something easily earned. He knew that.

It was going to take a long time to come to terms with everything, with his family, with you.

But for now, you were here, and the rest will come later.

Taglist (y’all being tagged in this sorry lolol)

@littlemissmanga @maybethatfanfictionwriter @secondaryrealm @secretthegriffin @sinfulsalutations @anxiouspineapple99 @idontgetanysleep @starqueensthings @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @dreamie411 @coraex @aconstructofamind @multi-fan-dom-madness @freesia-writes @kashasenpai @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @wizardofrozz @pb-jellybeans @wanderer-six @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @523rdrebel @sleepingsun501 @sunshinesdaydream @kimiheartblade

Divider by @idontgetanysleep