#Moving crates for rent

[ecostax]

When it comes to smart and sustainable packing, Eco Boxes Moving from Ecostax is the way to go. These durable, stackable boxes make organizing your items easier while reducing waste. Trust Ecostax to provide an eco-conscious solution for a more efficient and stress-free move.

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Friday

Hi! In the light of the new stuff for 8x09, I've decided now is the time to share a bit of my Buck Adopts A Puppy fic I've been writing since early last week. It was meant to be a secret and I was just gonna post it but now I simply must share some. Pls enjoy!

2 weeks after Eddie leaves, Buck gets a puppy. This hadn’t been the plan. Nowhere had he written down: “2024 resolutions: get dumped by boyfriend, abandoned by best friend, become depressed and adopt a puppy.” It wasn’t on his to-do list at all. It was just… everyone left him, right? Tommy left. Eddie left. God, even before that, people were leaving – Abby, Ali, Taylor, his parents, the list goes on. And there’s only so much abandonment a man in his early 30’s can take before he snaps and makes a rash decision. A decision such as ambling down to the nearest shelter and gazing wistfully at the puppies whilst wishing gosh, if only I could have one of these little creatures. They wouldn’t abandon me. And then he’d realised that he’s an adult with autonomy, and there’s not really anyone left to tell him no. No more Jiminy Crickets left on his shoulder. Which is how Buck finds himself standing in the middle of a dog shelter, surrounded by the cutest puppies he’s ever seen, and the overwhelming feeling that he’s about to make one hell of a Choice. “You getting a puppy for your family?” the nice volunteer asks as Buck stands, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, in a throng of puppies. “Uh, you could say that.” He crouches and holds his hand out to a small ratty looking thing that tentatively sniffs him before scarpering, hiding behind a crate. The volunteer gives him a quizzical look but doesn’t push him any further, instead giving him the time to get to know the puppies. There’s about 10 of them, all different breeds and sizes. If Buck’s honest, he’s got no idea what he’s looking for, and he says as much to the volunteer. “Well, I guess it depends on what kind of personality you like. There’s dogs here that’ll be more laid back, some that’ll be super high maintenance, others that are really smart. What kind of house are you in?” Buck lifts a small rottweiler looking puppy into his arms and lets it lick his fingers. “I’m in an apartment but I’m looking to move soon – get some more space. Definitely somewhere with a backyard.” Not that he’ll tell anyone, but he’s secretly eyeing up Eddie’s house. It’s completely empty now that Eddie’s gone and is deciding what to do with it, and Buck is pretty confident he can convince Eddie to rent it to him for a reasonable price. He just needs to – ya know – initiate that conversation first.

np tagging @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @bigfootsmom

@bidisasterevankinard @wikiangela @theotherbuckley @whatwouldeddiedo @cal-daisies-and-briars

@bekkachaos @monsterrae1 @steadfastsaturnsrings @iluvyoubuddy @midsummersmorn

@tommysdaddykink @comfortingevanbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @aroeddiediaz

@inell @wildlife4life @tommykinard @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @bucksbignaturals

@jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss @watchyourbuck @bi-buckrights

[marlynnofmany]

Other Uses for Packaging

I waved goodbye to the customers — other humans this time — then sat back and waited for the trash pickup. I didn’t blame them for not wanting to take all the packing material out into the spaceport. They hadn’t brought a hovercart or forklift, and had been unprepared for the huge crate full of bubble wrap and foam.

Other times, our little courier ship had done deliveries where time was short or regulations were tight, and all we would have been able to do was advise them on where to rent a hovercart or buy a crowbar. Luckily for these customers’ convenience and my conscience, today we could stick around and help them unpack the custom end table or whatever that was.

They’d left happy, with something much easier to carry, and Captain Sunlight had headed for the cockpit to call in the station’s trash crew. (Apparently this was a regular feature at this space dock, which was a nice change from the last few where we’d had to move the ship’s garbage over to the trash area under our own power.)

Zhee looked over the crate that he’d just taken great joy in disassembling. “Wood may be valuable here,” he said with a thoughtful click of a pincher arm. “If not to the station at large, then surely to another ship. I wonder if the captain thought of that.”

I glanced back at the open cargo bay. “Probably?”

“Probably,” Zhee agreed.

We were both silent for a moment while the spaceport bustled around us.

“I’m going to check,” he said, tapping his way up the ramp on his many bug feet. “Make sure none of that blows away.”

“Sure thing.” I looked at the piles. The only breeze in here was the faint wafting of ventilation systems and the occasional gentle landing of other ships at a safe distance, but I understood the impulse to be careful. That one package awhile ago, full of styrofoam beads, had been memorable. And terrible. The darn stuff was almost as bad as glitter, what with the way it stuck to things with static electricity. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

This set of packaging was much better. The boards made a tidy stack, the foam was in rubbery sheets that didn’t leak bits everywhere, and even the bubble wrap was in long rows instead of individual panels. This was no top-of-the-line cryo suspension or force field generator, but it was respectable.

I organized the mess a bit while I waited. The rest of the crew either had stuff to do on the ship or out in the station, so despite all the ambient noise, things were quiet.

I started rolling up the bubble wrap, thinking someone might want to use it again, but found that many of the bubbles had gotten popped in the disassembly, leaving it only good for one thing.

The first bubble popped with a satisfying snap. By the third I’d pinpointed which direction the sounds were echoing from most, and I enjoyed the different noises I could get by tilting my head. None of the pedestrians were close enough to pay much attention, so I happily worked my way down the roll. I’d seen multiple other types of bubble wrap, some made by different cultures and different materials, and most of them didn’t actually pop. What a simple joy to find the regular old Earth kind again.

Mur’s voice from the cargo bay asked, “What’s making that sound?”

I sighed and turned. “Don’t tell me, this is another swear word in your language.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “No, of course not. I just wanted to know what’s breaking out here. It sounded like a problem.”

Before I could answer, Paint appeared behind him in a rush. “Is there a problem??”

“No,” I hurried to say. “Everything’s fine. It’s just bubble wrap. See?” I held up the section I’d been working on and popped another bubble.

Paint winced. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s just garbage.” I rolled up the part I’d already flattened, then twisted it to pop the next row all at once.

“Okay, that almost sounded like a swear word,” Mur admitted.

I had to laugh at that. “Of course it did.”

Blip and Blop hurried out to join the growing crowd in the cargo bay. “What keeps breaking?” Blip asked, frills waving anxiously.

“It’s just bubble wrap!” I exclaimed. “See?” I held it up and popped another one.

Instead of nodding and going back to whatever they’d been doing, my alien coworkers remained perplexed. “Why does it keep popping?” Blop asked. “Are you doing that?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Why?” asked both Frillians at once. Paint and Mur also looked curious.

“Because it’s fun?” I replied, scrambling for an answer. I hadn’t thought this needed explaining. But apparently it did.

Paint asked, “How is that noise fun?”

“Well, it echoes—”

“You don’t need to worry about condensing materials for the trash pickup, if that’s the concern,” Mur said.

“Yes, I know—”

“Are there food items on your planet that you have to open like this?” Blip asked. “Large fish eggs, maybe?”

“No, ew! It’s just—”

A shadow loomed taller than the Frillian twins. “It is violensssss,” Trrili hissed, making them twitch. (I don’t know how she found a shadow in the cargo bay. Sometimes I think she brings them with her.) “Small-scale, sanctioned violence. These can be destroyed without repurcussionssssss.” She was choosing which words to hiss on, for effect.

“Sure,” I said, spreading my arms and lifting the bubble wrap. “Let’s go with that.”

Trrili wasn’t done. “Each tiny section can be crusssshed individually, with precision, or multiples at once for maximum volume.” She glided forward on quieter feet than Zhee’s, and the others made room for her.

I held out the bubble wrap. “You want a turn?” Her pincher arms didn’t seem suited to it, but I was curious to see where she’d go with this.

“Plasssssse it on the floor.”

“Sure.” I flapped the row out in front of her like a red carpet, and she moved like the predator she was to crush one after the other. With precision. And shiny black bug feet.

It gave me an idea. “Hey, wanna see who’s faster?” I grabbed another section and laid it out to one side. “You’ve got more feet, but my shoes are bigger.”

Trrili spread her mandibles in her favorite creepy smile. “Challenge acssssssepted.” She crouched like a spider and waited for me to be ready.

I glanced back at the others. “Anybody else wanna race?”

Mur spun on his tentacles and scooted back into the ship. “No thanks! I’m going back where it’s quieter.”

“Me too,” Paint said. “But thank you!” She scampered off.

Blip and Blop looked at each other in silence for a moment, fins waving. Then they turned to me. “We’ll judge,” Blip announced.

“All right!” I said. I wrangled my own section of bubble wrap, roughly the same length as Trrili’s, and struck my own ready pose. “Say when!”

The twins chorused, “Start!” and we were off. Pops filled the air along with Trrili’s delighted hisses and my laughter. There were probably people staring, but that didn’t matter.

Maybe I could talk Trrili into a dance-off afterward. On whatever was left when one of us was declared the champion of small-scale, sanctioned violence.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[yandere-romanticaa]

As a request, may I ask please for a reader running away from the Fatui debt collector and ending up by getting caught by Childe ?

The strong regard in which the Fatui held their contracts in could almost rival the nation of Liyue itself. By signing your name on the paper you signed off your entire life away, perhaps even your very soul if the situation or person called for it. The Fatui were rolling in mora and their Harbingers were some of the richest people to ever grace Teyvat. Their bankers know what they are doing, no penny is ever left unchecked and all of the clients pay what they are owed, no matter the cost.

You were one of those unfortunate clients.

On paper, their professionalism was okay, maybe even great if you're delusional enough. But everything came at a cost and you realized that the Fatui were only ever interested in keeping their side of the contract intact.

After mysteriously being laid off your job and losing every earthly possession you ever owned, you were left with no options other than to turn to the Northernland Bank. Despite its somewhat sketchy reputation there was also a decent amount of individuals who were quite pleased with the banks services, which is exactly why you felt all the more urged to go there. Everything was going smoothly for the first few months. You managed to pay rent and get some other basic necessities in order such as food and clothes but you were still far from the safe zone. You never managed to pay your debts on time which made the clerk at the bank frustrated with you.

"We can be kind to you only for so long." she'd say.

"Don't make the same mistake again."

You promised her that you wouldn't and you intended to keep that promise.

Unfortunately, life almost never plays out the way we want it to.

After weeks of endless job hunts, no one wanted to take you. It made no sense whatsoever! You had no criminal record, were always diligent on your previous job and had no enemies. Whenever you'd have an interview the people behind the counter would always be quick to shush you and tell you that they could not take you in. The last place you applied for, a small flower shop, was so quick to turn you down that it should be considered the world record. The moment you said your name out loud it was as if a switch was pressed and the owner switched gears entirely. Her demeanor went from calm and sweet to anxious and downright terrified as her entire body started shaking. She was beyond forceful as she shoved you out the door and told, no, begged you to not come back, ever.

In those brief moments you shared with the woman she became fear personified. You never understood why but right now that didn't matter.

Not when Fatui agents were pursuing you in the darkness of the night.

They were like the harrowing winter wind, sharp and swift. They barged into your home and demanded you pay what you owed unless you wished for more serious consequences to take place. The hooded agent pressed his large blade against your neck and his fire red eyes tore into you, daring you to make a move.

He was not expecting you to actually do something, let alone kick him in the shin.

A cryo mage and a hydro skirmisher were hot on your tail but you managed to quickly outrun them.

Panting, you hid behind a large pile of wooden crates near the harbor. There was little to no light aside from the stars, providing you ample cover against your assailants. This wasn't unfortunately only an advantage for you alone as they too could make use of this darkness. Not only were you outnumbered but also found to be completely and utterly defenseless. With little to no combat training and no vision to speak of, this endless chase became more and more unbearable. Options were also limited - keep hiding and make a run for it outside of the city but risk getting chased all over the content or come out of hiding and face the music.

Neither option was good. Death was all but guaranteed. The Fatui did not understand the concept of mercy.

That was a sentiment that the 11th Harbinger knew all to well.

He watched you from a window, ocean blue eyes tailing after every single move of yours. His chin rested on his hand while the other toyed with a white glaze lilly that grew close next to him, the soft petals providing him a much needed source of silly entertainment. In his eyes you were this glaze lilly - gentle, beautiful. Easy to break. It took him no effort whatsoever to tear your life to shreds and keep you docile. Tartaglia was a little bitter how you did not remember him back when you were younger, which might be the reason as to why he is being so harsh right now. He always liked to play rough and the sight of you shaking made his blood rush with pure and utter glee. Everything was going according to plan and he could not have been more satisfied. A wicked smirk danced on his lips as he ripped the glaze lilly from the pot, its green stem now firmly in his hands. A wave of determination came over the young man as he let out a quiet laugh to himself.

As fun as this was, he was done. No more games, he was going to have you.

It was time to step into the heart of the action.

Like an acrobat, Childe leaped out of the window and landed gracefully on both his feet, the bow on his back firmly set in place. His fingers twitched in anticipation as he creeped up closer and closer towards you. He was so quiet that not even a mouse could hear him.

It really wasn't your fault for screaming so hard, he thought to himself. Anyone would have gotten scared if someone just came up to them like that. As a matter of fact, he even found it kind of cute!

The shrill screams naturally caught the attention of the people he told to hunt you down and in a flash they stood before the two of you, panting but ready for action. The measley subordinates were, unsurprisingly, startled to see a Harbinger out in the open like this, prompting them to immediately lower their heads and bow deeply.

You were too caught up in your own paranoia to hear Childe mumble a quiet "You are dismissed." command to them. You trembled, fat tears caking your face as the ginger turned to face you, a small smile on his lips. He scared you enough for now, hasn't he? Reaching out towards you he held your quivering body, your face pressed deeply against his chest as you wept loudly. The grey fabric of his clothing soon turned a much darker shade due to the heavy tears but you could not care less.

Tired, you were so tired.

Despite having no clue to the identity of the man who held you so gently, there was absolutely no chance you were letting him go. You made your decision right there and then - snaking your arms around his thin waist you stayed like that as you let out everything out of your system, the pain, the fear and every other dark emotion which clouded your heart, all the while having no clue that your savior was the one who brought out all of this misery to you.

He could be a sadistic bastard, Childe knew this. He went too far in tormenting you and was most surely going to make everything up to you.

Right now though all he could do was sit on the ground and cradle you in his arms as his heart wept alongside yours, but with much different reasons than yours. He was a walking paradox, both the tormentor and the savior. All in due time though, you would grow to love it.

He would make sure of it.

🥀 TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @xiaopleasecomehome, @yumekos-gamble, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @saturnalya, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss

[do-it-jakey-baby]

Fourth of July

Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Synopsis: Sam hated you, it was evident in the way that he spoke to you every time you saw him, but one Fouth of July weekend, everything changes.

Warnings: smut, adult themes, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers, profanity, drinking, mean Sam, soft Sam

18+, MINORS DNI

Your tyres crunched along the gravel as you navigated across the parking lot, until you found the perfect wide space for your Land Rover Defender. You parked up, slinging your backpack over your shoulder and making your way to the trunk. You open it up, your furry little companion barking with excitement, scrunching his nose and panting.

“Hey, boy! Ready for a weekend of adventure?” You giggle, ruffling the curls on the top of his head. He jumps down from the car and runs alongside you, looking up every so often to make sure you’re still there. You’re back in Michigan for the Fourth of July weekend, celebrating as usual with your best friends at a cabin your rent every year for the festivities. As you round the corner, you spot a familiar face. Sighing, you prepare yourself for whatever he has in store for you today. He’s bent down, picking up crates of beer to take into the cabin, but peers up as he hears your boots traipsing through the stony ground.

“What are you doing here?” He rolls his eyes, pushing his hair back as it falls around his face.

“I come here every year, Sam. You know that.” You frown, already finding his presence unbearable.

“Just thought you might be busy this year.” He mumbles.

“Well I’m not. Would it kill you to not be a total jackass for like, five minutes?” You throw your hands up, exasperated. This wasn’t how you wanted your weekend to begin, especially after the week from hell you’d just endured.

“That wouldn’t be very me of me, would it?” He scoffs, smirking slightly.

“No, it certainly would not.”

He cocks his head to the side, still sporting that infuriating smirk. “What, no smartass remark?”

You sigh, rubbing your hand across your forehead. “I don’t have the energy for you today, Sam. Why don’t you just pretend like I’m not here, avoid me and I’ll avoid you.”

His smirk suddenly vanishes from his face, replaced with an expression you can’t quite read. He stands, taking a step towards you.

“You ok?”

You recoil slightly, taking a step back and almost tripping over your dog. “Yes. Fine. I’ll be better when you leave me alone. Where are your brothers, anyway?” You tap your fingers impatiently against your thigh, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to end. Your eyes scan the front of the cabin, finding no one else’s presence.

“Inside setting up. Why, you trying to ditch me already?”

You scoff, your arms raising from your sides to cross over the front of your torso. “Ditch you? Sam, we never speak, let alone hang out together. You literally just asked me why I’m even here. So yeah, I’m looking for your brothers because they actually like me.”

He just stands there, staring at you with the same expression painted on his face. You raise your eyebrows at him, confusion taking hold at his out-of-character behaviour. In the 6 years you’ve known him, he’s never once asked you if you’re ok. He doesn’t take an interest in you, and is never nice.

“I’m really not in the mood for this today. Please, can we not do this.”

He looks momentarily defeated, but quickly shakes it off with a shrug of his shoulders. He bends back down, picking up the crate of beer. Thank god for that. You take that as the end of the conversation, so move past him quickly and turn the handle to the door of the cabin, letting yourself in.

“Honey, I’m home!” You call out into the foyer. It only takes a fleeting moment for a mess of dark brown curls to round the corner, running directly to you and lifting you up into his toned arms.

“Peach!” He hollers at you, spinning you around.

“Daniel! Careful of Hendrix!” You giggle, holding onto his shoulders tightly.

He puts you down, placing a kiss to your cheek, then bends down to fuss over your dog.

“Henny, my man! You’re just as handsome as the last time I saw you, buddy!”

Hendrix wastes no time flopping down onto his back, showcasing his tummy eagerly. Danny obliges, giving plenty of loving pets.

“When did you get here?”

He looks up at you from the floor, still running his hands over Hendrix’s fluffy coat. “Like, twenty minutes ago? Got unloaded pretty quickly. Sam is just helping Jake fill up the bar, fuck knows where Josh is.”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You grin, watching as Josh enters the room, his arms outstretched to you.

“Beautiful girl, how are you?” He coos into your ear as he envelopes you in a bear hug.

“Could be better, but let’s not fixate on that. I’m here to have a good time with my best friends.”

“But we can talk about it at some point right?” He pulls back slightly, giving you a concerned look.

“Maybe, but not now. Please.”

Just like always, your saving grace plods into the room. Jake pushes the sunglasses that are sat low on his nose up into his hair, smiling brightly at you.

“I thought I felt the temperature raise, the sunshine has returned. Hi, sugar.” He places his hands onto your shoulders, giving you the once over before kissing your cheek softly.

“Hi Jacob.” You giggle, scrunching your nose.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes. You look up to see Sam stood in the doorway, his steely expression fixed on you. You audibly sigh, feeling deflated again after such a warm reception.

“I’m uh, gunna go get a drink.”

You exit the room hastily, making a beeline for the bar. You find a lowball, fill it with ice, then pour yourself some neat whiskey. The good kind that Jake always keeps generously stocked. You swirl the amber liquid around in the glass, then take a hearty glug, savouring the burn as it slips down your throat. You take a few centering breaths, but are interrupted when you feel a presence in the room with you. It moves from the door to beside you, a pair of hands reaching out to grasp the bottle of whiskey.

“Didn’t know you liked this stuff.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Sam.” You huff, taking another swig from your glass. “I wasn’t joking when I said I’m not in the mood for you and your attitude today.”

He leans on the counter next to you. “I’m not trying to have an attitude with you now though, am I?”

“Makes a change.”

He smirks at you, pissing you off even further. “Sam. I said I’m not in the mood, leave me alone. I’ve-” You sigh loudly, raking your hands through your hair. “Never mind…”

Sam places his hand on your arm, causing you to turn and face him in shock. His face softens for a moment, then turns more serious. “No… what were you going to say?”

You feel yourself reaching boiling point, your hand darting out to grasp onto your glass as you knock back the rest of your whiskey. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slamming the lowball down onto the counter. “Fine, you wanna know so badly? I’ve had a really shitty week. My boyfriend broke up with me and now I have to move out of my apartment. Happy now? You wanna give me some sort of snide comment about how he must be so happy to be rid of me? Go ahead, Sam. I’m all fucking ears.” You grit your teeth, bracing yourself.

Sam clenches his jaw, his eyes studying your face intricately. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing within his throat. He’s just standing there, looking at you. What a fucking prick.

“Are you really just gunna stand there and stare at me?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, like he’s deciding on if he should say something or not. You’re tired of waiting now, so you begin to push past him to leave the room and find solace amongst real friends. That is, until his hand darts out and firmly grabs onto your wrist.

“Wait.” He mumbles.

You tug on your arm, but it’s no use. He’s got a vice-like grip onto you. Tears sting in your eyes, a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “Sam, what are you doing?! Let me go.”

His eyes widen and he loosens his grip ever so slightly. “Please, I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry.”

Your face contorts, your confusion displayed clearly across it as you struggle to figure out on earth is going on. “You don’t want me to go? Why? Fucking hell, Sam, you’re giving me whiplash.”

“I, uh-, I don’t like seeing you sad.” He mumbles, his fingers now rubbing along the pulse point of your wrist.

“What the fuck has gotten into you? That’s bullshit, and you know it.” You spit, feeling the fury rising within your stomach.

Sam’s face falls, he looks genuinely upset by your words. “That’s not true.”

You frown at him, your eyes scanning his face for any sign of deceit but you find that he’s actually being genuine for once. “Then why are you so mean to me all the time?”

He swallows again, seemly caught in an internal battle. His eyes dart around the area, looking at anything but you.

“You know what, Sam? If you can’t answer me then I have nothing more to say to you.” You had lost all patience at this point, wanting nothing more than to rejoin the others. You attempted to snatch your wrist back, but Sam’s grip tightens once more.

“You want to know why I’m so mean to you?”

“Obviously, hence me asking.” You roll your eyes.

“Because it’s the only way I could make sure you thought about me.”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never had your full attention. You’re always distracted by other people, always laughing and joking and having fun with anyone but me. But when I’m mean, you look at me. You notice me.” He whispers.

“Sam, you’re confusing me so much. Why don’t you just talk to me like a normal person?”

“Because I don’t know how to!” He raises his voice, slamming his hand down onto the counter. “I was afraid of getting closer to you. Afraid of rejection. I pushed you away because I didn’t want to admit how I’m feeling. How I’ve felt all this fucking time.”

Your eyes widen, the pieces slowly coming together to form the whole picture. “How you were… feeling?”

“I like you, ok? A lot.” He rubs his hand across his face.

“You… like me?”

“Christ, Y/N. Of course I fucking like you. I just never wanted you to know, so I’ve acted like a total ass.”

You stand there, staring blankly at the man before you who has just given you the most open and vulnerable conversation ever, revealing that he has feelings for you.

“Please say something.” He mutters.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I’ve spent all this time thinking you hated me, now you’re telling me you like me? This is so overwhelming.”

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you. I’m sorry.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

Oh, god. Forever. Like, a stupidly long time.”

“And you never thought to say anything to me, at all?”

Sam lets out a dry laugh. “I thought about it, but then I saw how you are with my brothers, with Daniel. The way you light up a room. How nice you are to everyone. I knew I’d just drag you down, or not be good enough for you. Then you started dating that dickhead. So I kept it to myself and did what I could to get you out of my head. But it never worked.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t really know, I guess it just kinda came out. I felt bad that I’d upset you while you’re going through shit.” He steps closer to you, the scent of his cologne taking over your senses completely. It’s so undeniably Sam, earthy and musky, reminiscent of the incense he frequently burns. You feel yourself gravitating towards him, like there’s a magnetic pull between the two of you. He notices the proximity, so reaches out and pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Sammy.” You whisper.

You hear his breath hitch in his throat. “You’ve never called me that before.” He whispers. His fingers are still in your hair, trailing down to stroke against the side of your face.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Sam swallows thickly, before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

You take a deep breath, about to spill your own truth. “When I first met you, when I was over at Danny’s house that day, I had the biggest crush on you. I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on. To begin with, you were nice to me, but then you turned so suddenly. It kinda broke my heart, y’know. I’ve spent so many years trying to chisel away at you, hoping that someday you’d stop hating me. But you never did.” You sigh, feeling extremely vulnerable.

Sam grimaces, his thumb ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I was just terrified of my feelings. I’m so sorry, I’ll never stop being sorry. I acted like such a dickhead.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand darts up to Sam’s face, cupping his cheek. He sucks in a sharp breath, the proximity between you both now considerably smaller. He moves his hand from the side of your face to the back of your neck, massaging his fingers into the nape. Your lips part slightly at the feeling, and you watch as his eyes darken.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” He says in a low growl. His face is now only inches away from yours. You can feel his breath, hot and fragrant with the lingering scent of the Topo Chico he had whilst unpacking. In a moment of weakness, you close the gap. Your lips brush against his lightly, eliciting a groan from deep inside his chest. He kisses you back, his grip on your neck growing tighter. His lips move against yours desperately, like he would perish without the contact. He steps forward, pushing you up against the counter. You let out a soft whine into his mouth as the kiss deepens, your hands sliding up the back of his shirt and tracing patterns on his soft skin. You feel him shudder under your touch, pulling you closer and enveloping you in him. His tongue begs for entrance into your mouth, and you oblige, letting it mingle with yours.

Suddenly, you pull back. Your eyes widen as you realise what’s happening, and the speed in which it is. “Sam, what are we doing?”

“I have no idea, but I don’t want it to stop.” He mutters, his arms still wrapped around you.

You feel conflicted. One the one hand, this is something that you’ve secretly always wanted. But on the other, you found it hard to just forget the years of torment that he had put you through. “I don’t know if I can do this. You really hurt me over the years, regardless of how I felt about you.”

Sam frowns. “Please.” He murmurs, his hands gripping into you. “Please, just let me prove that I’m not an asshole. Let me make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it, believe me I do. Just give me a chance to show you what I can really be like.”

You rest your forehead on his. “I don’t know. God, you make it so hard to say no.”

He closes his eyes. “Then don’t, angel.”

Something inside of you snaps at the pet name, igniting a raging inferno. “Fuck it.” You snake your hands up to his face, pulling him closer and kissing his lips hungrily. His hands drop down to your hips, gripping onto them firmly as he yanks you into him. His desire for you is on full display, evident in the way that he’s kissing you back.

“God, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this.” He whispers between kisses.

You hitch your leg up around his waist and his hand moves to cradle your thigh. You feel your body growing hotter as the situation unfolds, the pressure in the pit of your stomach almost unbearable. His lips drift from yours and down onto your neck, lightly nipping against the sensitive skin. You let out a soft moan, which he seems to enjoy judging by how he’s straining against you.

“Take me to your room.” You pant.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He bends and picks you up in one swift movement, your legs wrapping around him as he hurries across the hall and through the bedroom door. He throws you down onto the bed, a menacing look in his eye.

“Are we really doing this?”

“I fucking hope so. Only if you’re comfortable with it, angel.”

You grab onto him, pulling him down onto the bed. You climb over, straddling his lap and pressing yourself down onto him, feeling every inch of his body.

“You feel so good. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve imagined you like this.”

You begin to undo the buttons of his shirt, gazing down at him. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

He lets out a shaky breath as you begin to trail your lips down his neck. “I- fuck. I think about what it would feel like to have your hands on me, what you’d sound like when I find all the right spots, how you’d say my name breathlessly.”

“Like this?” You coo, splaying your hands across his now bare torso, grinding down onto him as you dig your nails in lightly.

He lets out a low, guttural moan, his hands grasping at the hemline of your t-shirt. You lift your arms up to allow him better access, feeling the material slide up and over your head. You aren’t wearing a bra today, which leaves you entirely naked from the waist up.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He leans forward and sucks your nipple into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping over the sensitive bud. Your back arches at the contact, a soft whimper falling from your lips.

“God, those pretty noises. You drive me crazy, Y/N.”

“Keep it up and you’ll hear more.” You smirk.

His eyes rake over your body hungrily as he explores you with his hands, getting to know every inch. “I’m going to savour every goddamn second of this.” He growls, flipping you over so that your back is pressed against the mattress. You writhe against him, the electricity of the atmosphere zapping in your ears and all over your body with every touch. Every brush of his fingers against your skin sends shockwaves through you. Your thumb drifts up to his bottom lip, pulling it down lightly. He takes it into his mouth and bites the tip, causing your eyes to flutter back into your head. He manoeuvres himself down the bed, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts. He pulls them down slowly, then makes light work of sliding your panties over your hips. He bunches them up into his hand, putting them in his pocket.

“Souvenir.” He winks.

“You’re gross!” You giggle, pulling him towards you for another kiss. You feel your jaw fly open as he drags his middle finger up through your folds, teasing your entrance.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“It’s all for you.” You breath.

A low growl rumbles from his chest as he begins to work circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling blossoming between your legs, Sam getting you exactly where you need to be at a frightening pace. You begin to claw at his belt buckle, but he grabs onto your wrist and pins it up above your head.

“This is about you right now, angel.” He clicks his tongue, quickening his fingers as you squirm beneath him. You’ve always wondered how it would feel to be at the hands of Sam. You used to watch in awe as he picked away at his bass on stage, the way he’d throw his head back when he got lost in the music. He was exceptionally talented with his hands, and now you were finding out about the other side of his skill. As you’re transfixed on the feeling, you don’t realise he’s now lowered himself down even further until his tongue makes contact with your clit. You gasp, bundling your hands into his silky waves. He focuses his tongue on your sweet spot, whilst pumping two fingers in and out of you, curling up to reach where you need it most. You’re unravelling rapidly, your breaths laboured as he coaxes your climax from you.

“Sammmm.” You whine.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you. M’gunna take care of you like I always should have.”

You feel your legs shudder as his words tip you over the edge. He works you through it steadily, his lips ghosting over your neck and collarbones. You sigh softly, then prop yourself up onto your elbows.

“Take your fucking pants off.”

Sam looks momentarily taken aback by your brashness, but its quickly replaced as a devious grin spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

He stands and fulfils your request, unbuckling his belt and letting it thud to the floor. He pops the button and unzips, sliding the pants over this thighs and letting them pool around his ankles. He steps out, kicking them backwards and stands proudly in front of you.

“Lose the boxers, too.”

He smirks, flicking his fingers into the waistband and taking them off, meeting the same fate as his pants in a pile behind him. God, he’s gorgeous.

You beckon him towards you with your finger, looking up at him with lust filled eyes. He moves to hover over you, but you wag your finger in front of his face. “On the bed next to me.”

He lays down beside you and you raise up onto your thighs, climbing over and straddling him. His eyes widen as you take him into your hand, pumping a few times, then line him up with your entrance and slide down onto him until he’s filled you completely. He lets out a strangled cry, his hands flying up to grip into the meat of your hips. You begin to lift up, starting with an agonisingly slow pace. Sam’s eyes meet yours, pleading for further movement.

“Oh, you want more?” You tease, changing pace immediately and bouncing up and down with force.

“Fuck!” He chokes, his fingernails digging into your skin, marking you for days to come. He drives up to meet you, the tension in the air thick as your sweaty bodies blend together effortlessly. Everything is a blur as you both reach your peaks together, your movements becoming sloppy as the pleasure consumes you. His hand snakes up between your breasts and grips around your throat, constricting the blood flow and making your head feel deliciously fuzzy. Your walls begin to flutter, so Sam reaches forward and teases your clit, his left hand still wrapped tightly around your neck. He stares into your eyes, his pupils blown wide, mouthing cum for me. You let out an obscene moan, tipping your head back in ecstasy as the pleasure washes over you like the sunshine on a summer’s day. Sam’s hands fly to your hips, pulling you down onto him roughly as he reaches his own release.

“Holy shit.” He gasps as he twitches inside you.

You press your forehead to his and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He whispers, sweat dripping down his brow. He kisses your lips with a newfound passion, letting his tongue swipe against your bottom lip. You place your fingertips gently on his cheeks, tracing them down to his jawline.

“I forgive you.” You smile, watching his face light up.

He kisses you again, over and over. “Thank you. Thank you.” He chants, squeezing you impossibly hard as you giggle in his arms.

“I suppose we should uh, clean ourselves up and re-join the others.” You chuckle.

“Yeah, they probably think we’ve killed each other.” Sam grins.

You both re-dress, using the bathroom in Sam’s room to fix your hair and smudged make-up, then exit the room one by one. As you enter the living area, you’re met with 3 pairs of eyes staring at you. You give them a sheepish smile, rubbing your elbow nervously.

“Fucking finally.” Jake smirks.

You throw your head in your hands, your face flushing the deepest shade of crimson. Sam bristles beside you as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You owe me $20, cough up!” Jake nudges Josh, who is rolling his eyes.

“You guys made a bet?!” You scold, glaring at them.

“Oh honey, this bet has been going on for longer than you can imagine.” Josh laughs, sending you a wink.

“Yeah, yeah. Can we not. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” Sam places his arm around you, causing all of the hairs on your body stand to attention. The display of affection in front of his brothers is truly heartwarming, and you know in that moment you made the right decision.

“Shall we go grab a drink?” He whispers, smiling down at you.

“I’d love that.”

As you walk off into the kitchen, you hear the muffled sounds of the three boys engaged in a lively conversation.

“I always knew they’d find each other one day.”

~

To be continued… ?

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Don't cry. || Nikto

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: E Words: 3K~ (this one got away from me) Pairing: rogue asset!Nikto x civilian!Reader cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., bad/incorrect medical care, injuries (described), being held at gunpoint, verbal and physical threats, blood and gore. other tags: you/your pronouns. fat/chubby!reader, no russian. Summary: A stranger takes you hostage in your own home and demands medical care... But you might have gotten more than you can chew. a/n: YES, Nikto’s voice actor is only 5ft10 but he’s 6ft5 in my mind, and I’m in charge sooo.

It's cold as all fucking hell in your small town. No. Not as all hell. Because you're pretty sure hell is supposed to be boiling hot.

Why did your family have to come from this small town in bum-fuck-nowhere Russia? And more importantly why did you decide to move back here after college?

Oh, yeah. The house. The little home that your grandma lived in since she was a child, that was fully paid and required no rent, and had very low property taxes due to it being ancient… And was left to you in her will. 

Well, in days like these, you can't help but despise the stupid fucking house. 

The pipes are frozen, which means you've resorted to getting water from the local firehouse every morning, as do the rest of your neighbors. Plus, it's freezing even with multiple layers of clothes and socks and scarves on. You sleep in front of the fireplace all winter and still fear you'll be dead in the morning.

Every year it's the damn same.

Maybe going to study in Moscow and then doing your master's and doctorate abroad softened you up. But you didn't remember it being so fucking cold.

Having as much meat on your bones as you do, it really shouldn't be as difficult as it is to withstand the cold. Sometimes you wonder if all those damn studies about how fat helps preserve body heat didn't apply only when people had heat to preserve.

Those are the thoughts in your head as you throw your last log in the fireplace and realize you need to get more from the woodpile outside. "Mother fucker goddamn piece of shit..." You complained.

Throwing on a winter coat over your robe, you stuff your double-socked feet into your winter boots, cover your head with a beanie and wrap yourself in a scarf.

Then you venture outside with the flashlight from your junk drawer, to illuminate the way. The wind outside is biting and the snow is tall, causing you to almost trip over your own feet.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... cold." You grumble under your breath.

Sticking the flashlight between your teeth, you grab a few logs of firewood and slip them vertically into a black milk crate at your feet, trying to hurry so you can go back inside.

As soon as the box is stacked as full as you can carry, you bend at the knees and hurl it up by the handles, gritting your teeth against the flashlight between your teeth.

That's when you feel something hard press against the back of your head... and you hear a muffled voice. "Don't scream. Don't look back. Just move." The command chills your spine more than the -17ºC weather outside.

Your eyes shoot wide open in a panic and you have to force yourself to resist trying to look back. Instead, you nod and wobble your way along to the backdoor while carrying the heavy crate of firewood.

Once you slip inside, you set the crate down in the kitchen floor and take the opportunity to look out of the corner of your eye at the the stranger that held you hostage. 

He slams the door shut behind you and deadbolts it shut, then he rushes to the window, ripping the curtains shut.

He's wearing a flight suit and military gear but it's all in a navy color that you don't recognize… Maybe the Navy? But what would a Navy soldier being doing here alone, in the middle of the woods in your land locked town? Plus, he's clearly armed, carrying a pistol in one hand. The other wraps around his midsection and he's leaving a trail of small blood droplets on your floor.

His face is covered by a mask that looks more like a bunch of denim patched together than anything, leaving only his eyes showing. It’s even bolted to itself to not be easily removable.

“Where?” He asks you, eyes and gun trained on you as you straighten up and show your hands in innocence.

“Where… Where what?” You ask in confusion. Your body trembles all over and you’re pretty sure that you’re going to piss your pants if he keeps staring at you like that and barking vague orders at you.

“WHERE?!” He insists, raising his voice in a growl that sounds more animal than human. “WHERE. ARE. WE?” He adds, his voice boiling with anger and condescension.

“P-Provrsk!” You shout the name of your town as you flinch away from his own raised voice. Your gaze is locked onto him, taking in his mask and the blue eyes that stare at you from behind them.

You’ve never had to worry about a masked intruder in your home, ever. This is a small town, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here. Especially not one that looks like he’s deserted from the FSB.

“DATE?” He shouts at you again, making you flinch once more as your whole body tenses and curls into itself in fear. 

“8th of February… Thursday.” You reply, your eyes beginning to well up in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me…”

You’ve never been the crybaby type, in fact, you’d say you’re pretty good at staying contained in your day-to-day life, even when life is beating you down… But something about a 2 meter tall man in your kitchen shouting at you while waving a pistol around terrifies you to your very core…

With a deep breath, he leans himself back against the kitchen counter and another animalistic growling escapes him as his left leg straightens and twitches under him, his knee likely weakened. He’s still clutching his side with his hand and more blood puddles at his feet, dripping between gloved fingers.

He looks like he’s immeasurable amounts of pain and considering he seems to have walked here with an injury that’s still bleeding, you can’t help but wonder if the adrenaline isn’t starting to wear off.

The sight of him is pitiful… And for a moment he’s not some terrifyingly “You need… a doctor?” You ask him, more in a tone of affirmation than of question. He needs a doctor and you know it.

“No doctor.” He replies sharply, showing he still has all his mental faculties in place… Somewhat.

“You’re hurt.” You remark softly. “Bleeding all over my floor.” You add. You’re trying your best not to shake and cry and you’re not quite sure you’re succeeding.

“No doctor.” He insists as he shifts his weight around on his legs and hisses. "Needle, thread and alcohol." He demands of you and you’re not stupid enough to disagree with the armed man.

“In the upper cabinet behind you… The metal tin.” You instruct while barely pointing your finger at the cabinet door on his left side for fear that any more sudden movements will cause him to take you as a threat.

He sets the gun very carefully on the edge of the counter so that his free hand can reach up and over, patting at the cabinet, throwing the door open and feeling around inside for the aforementioned metal tin.

He’s been smart enough to put your small kitchen table between you either way, preventing any sudden lunging activity from you.

He never once turns his back on you, not even his face. His eyes are still locked on you, sending shivers down your body, making sure you don’t try anything… Not that you’d be stupid enough to dare.

He finally grabs the repurposed butter cookie tin and sets it next to him on the counter before grabbing the pistol once more and aiming it at you. “Metal spoon.” He demands.

“Over there… second drawer from the left…” You point discreetly at the drawer by the stove. 

“Get one.” He demands again and so you do, hands raised, taking very tentative steps across the kitchen, your heavy snow boots thudding against the floor.

Carefully, you lower your hand and pull open the drawer. Before you can even try to grab a spoon, you hear him bark at you again. “Only a spoon. Don’t try to grab a knife.” He warns you. 

Nodding very slowly, you reach inside the drawer and retrieve a metal table spoon and show it to him. “Stove.” He orders you again.

“Heat it up?” You ask softly and he grunts in what you assume is confirmation as he nods curtly at you. “I need matches.” You point at the drawer again and very slowly fetch the box of matches before closing the drawer.

Turning very carefully toward the old stove, you turn one of the knobs and strike a match, lighting the burner before extinguishing the match. “Heat the handle.” He demands and you nod in understanding as you peek at him sheepishly.

Slowly, you grip the spoon by the bowl and hold the metal handle over the flame, moving it ever so slightly to ensure an even heating up of the tip, your eyes locked on the flame and the slowly reddening type of the metal spoon.

While your back is turned, you can hear some rustling and a heavy thud on the floor. You assume he’s getting rid of his heavy gear in order to patch himself up… “Hurry up.” He barks.

“I can’t speed up the fire.” You reply softly, too afraid to speak too loud. 

“Watch your tongue, or else I’ll cut it off.” He adds, his voice grunted through as you hear some more rustling. His threat was enough to send chills down your spine and sent you back into muteness. 

Another minute or so later, you can feel the heat spreading across the whole spoon and even the bowl is too hot to hold. “It’s ready.”

“Move, quick.” He demands and you turn to face him, finding him still in the same spot, across the kitchen, leaning against the wall. He’s shed his plate vest, and undone the zipper of his flight suit, removing the sleeves and leaving it to hang around his hip. That exposes his torso completely, per lack of any undershirts or other layers. You wonder how he hasn’t frozen out there in just a flight suit…

The sight of him is so shocking and… disgusting. You feel your stomach turning, the warm meal you had an hour ago threatening to come out the way it came. He’s covered in scars, his chest speckled in patches of red skin or pale, melaninless skin, something you can only assume are burn scars.

The right half of his torso is covered in dried blood, sporting a hapharzard, thick suture that you can only assume he did a few days ago considering how swollen and red the skin around it is… Infected.

And, of course, the pouring, wet, red blood that escapes from his left side… It looks like he took a gash on it… maybe a gunshot, maybe an explosion, who’s to say… But he’s definitely got a hole and he’s leaking like a faucet.

“MOVE!” He barks at you, causing you to jump, startled out of from your shock-induced trance and you quickly rush over. He grabs the spoon from you with more aggression than you expected and shoves you away with a swift elbow to your side, to force you away from him. You fall on your ass, grunting softly upon landing. 

When you were younger, kids used to joke that all your fat would serve as an airbag in the case of a car crash, but the truth is, as you landed on the floor, you ass and legs hurt… As did you side from the elbow you took to it.

Your eyes well up in tears at the soreness on your body, as well as the sound that escapes him and reverberates through your kitchen as he sticks the red-hot spoon handle onto his open wound, gritting his teeth behind his mask as he cauterizes the wound shut. The sound is terrifying, like a gurgle mixed with a shout and an animalistic growl. (find the scream inspo here) 

You don’t want to look. But he’s doing this inches away from your face. You can’t help but watch in horror.

HIs legs shake underneath him and he struggles to keep himself upright but succeeds by landing his elbow and forearm on the edge of the counter. The hand that’s holding the pistol, the left one, flexes around the handle, fingers trembling with the pain. He struggles to stay on his feet as his right hand keeps softly twisting the spoon handle in his wound before pulling it out.

He grunts as he lets the bloody spoon fall on the floor at his feet and his head falls back with a couple more grunts and huffs, resting on the upper cabinets, his right hand clutching the wound again for a moment. You’re sobbing on the floor. Something about the sight you just got broke your resolve for a moment. You’re afraid… Very much so.

Just as you’re trying to calm yourself down, crawling backward over to the table to use a table as support to stand up from the floor, the sewing supplies tin crashes onto the floor at your feet with a ruckus so loud you can’t help but squeal.

Looking up at him, you notice him glaring at you. “Suture.” He demands angrily.

“I-” You attempt to speak but you can’t. Too afraid and too choked up to succeed in more than a light stammer.

“SUTURE!” He repeats his demand, his voice loud and sending chills to the innermost part of you as he leans forward a bit to look at you.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” You shout in return through whimpers and whines.

“Stop crying. You have no reason to cry yet.” He warns you, his voice bitter and mean.

Your whole body quakes as you sob and scramble up on all fours, to grab the tin of sewing supplies from the floor.  You pop it open with shaky hands and rummage inside, searching for your pink pin cushion and, upon finding it, you plucked out a needle.

“You’re scaring me…” You were able to get out through trembling lips as you grab a spool of black thread.

“We will do much worse than scare you if you don’t start moving faster.” He tells you. “Do not test my capacity for violence.” He adds. “Now move.”

Slowly, you crawl over to him and kneel between his parted legs. You’re so close, you can smell him… And he smells gross… He reeks of sweat and piss, which mixes with the metallic scent of his blood, and gunpowder that lingers on his flightsuit which he now wears as pants only.

Your trembling form makes you struggle to thread the needle but after a few attempts, you succeed and unfurl much more thread than you’d realistically need. While you do so, his pistol changes grips and his right hand holds it aimed right at your head.

Slowly, you push the needle through his skin, grimacing at the wet noise it makes as you drag it through and you hold back a gag and a sob as you try your best to suture him shut. 

You don’t know much about medicine… But you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to do a ladder stitch so you can pull the thread taut at the end and ensure the injury closes… So that’s what you start doing, trying your best to not tremble all the way through it.

He’s holding himself surprisingly calmly through it as you stab his skin/wound multiple times… You risk looking up at him, your eyes still teary, your lips trembling, your face red from holding back tears and a gag. 

All you find is a pair of soulless blue eyes staring down at you through the two holes of that mask. They seem as cold and unforgiving as the snow outside… They’re bloodshot and the pupils are dilated. And he seems to be looking at you with a predatory gaze that makes you feel small and insignificant.

"Who are you...?" You ask tentatively, surprising yourself at how small your voice sounded, how meek.

"Nobody." He reply  as he leaned the pistol against your temple. “Finish.” He demands. 

Gulping and nodding, you finish the stitching and pull it taut, which earns you a hiss from him. You tie off the thread and snip it off with a pair of little scissors from the sewing supply box.

Just as you’re about to pull away from him, the needle between your pointer and middle fingers and your hands raised in an act of peace, he pistol whips you across the temple.

You squeal in pain, and throw your hands on the floor to support yourself from fully falling on your side, losing the needle somewhere in the tile floor of the kitchen. Your eyes are cloudy with tears again as you whimper in pain, unaware of what caused that violence. 

Is he going to kill you? Steal from you? Make you prisoner in your own home?

“Don’t move.” He demands. “It’s not finished.” He warns you as you struggle to get back on your sore knees.

You watch in horror as he shifts position, to no longer be kneeling on his elbow on the counter, and instead straightens up. His right hand continues pointing the gun at you and, very slowly, the left inches his flight suit down some more.

Slowly, you’re exposed to the sight a large gash across his left thigh, that draws down diagonally to his left knee which is swollen red and bruised…

As well as an obvious lack of underwear and a semi-hardened cock laying against his right thigh, the hilt surrounded by bushy blonde pubes. Your eyes double in size and you have to once again contain yourself from gagging and crying in disgust.

“Get back to work.” He demands as he points at the wounds on his leg. “And don't you dare cry." He adds. "Or else I'll give you other reasons to cry about.” He warns as his hand glides over his cock.

This is fully inspired by the beautiful work written by @391780, gotta love all the nikto ficlets and all the fat!reader stuff! Also wrote this a bit as a request by @ms-rayray who asked me for fat!reader stuff, and also a shoutout to @xxshadowbabexx and her eternal love for nikto.

[dirty-bosmer]

Spacious bedroom for 1! Prefurnished, 10 minute walk to Anvil docks, 1500 septims a month!!!

Room for let in our gorgeous, pond-side Anvil manor. Has a private entrance through the basement, which is so far underground you'll be practically in your own zipcode (you're welcome to use the basement for personal storage, but we can't take responsibility for anything that goes missing from the crates). Door is keyless entry, unlocked via sigil. Very large and very quiet! Perfect for studious young mages. Preferably no necromancers as the previous occupant was a lich, and he left quite a mess. Soured us on the undead, sorry!

In the interest of full disclosure, we did find some ghosts in there upon moving in, but we've successfully exorcised the spirits so they shouldn't pester you anymore. We tried sweeping out the spectral mist, but it's quite stubborn. If that bothers you or you’re allergic, we're willing to shave a couple hundred drakes off the rent!

[cera-writes]

Hi there I love your work you are very talented I was wondering if you could write a fic about gambit x reader who has powers like atom eve from invincible ie matter manipulation and energy constructs

I hope you Will be able to do so if not that's also ok have a nice day

A/N: Thank you so much!! Hope this was okay for your request! I'm super sorry it took so long for me to finish this up!

The scent of stale cigarettes and desperation clung to the air as you navigated the labyrinthine back alleys of New York. Tonight's target: a heavily guarded warehouse rumored to house a stolen shipment of mutant growth hormone. Not exactly Robin Hood territory, but rent didn't discriminate on ethics. A loose brick skittered under your boot, the telltale sign of a pressure plate. You smirked, picturing the goons scrambling for a nonexistent bomb – a trick you'd learned the hard way.

Suddenly, a figure dropped from the shadows, landing effortlessly beside you. Crimson and onyx eyes gleamed under the dim glow of a flickering streetlight. "Need a hand, cher?"

It was Remy LeBeau, the infamous Gambit. His roguish charm usually left you cold, but tonight, with two of Hammerhead's goons charging out of the warehouse, his timing couldn't be better.

"Always a pleasure," you deadpanned, hands crackling with raw energy. "Just stay out of my way, Cajun."

Remit whistled, a playful glint in his eyes. Before you could react, a flurry of playing cards – some standard, some ornately decorated – sailed through the air, charged with explosive energy straight in the thugs' direction.

"Don' mind if I do, cherie," he drawled, as he watched the cards make a beeline straight towards the goons. The cards detonated leaving smoke behind in their wake, leaving the goons groaning on the cobblestone street.

You rolled your eyes, momentarily distracted. It was a bad habit – one Gambit always seemed to exploit. A wave of your hand sent a metal dumpster lid soaring through the air, slamming shut the heavy warehouse doors.

"Looks like we're on the same page," you conceded, a grudging respect tinging your voice.

Working with Gambit was a gamble. You'd first encountered him trying to "borrow" some tech from a shady organization you'd been infiltrating. The ensuing chaos had forged an uneasy alliance, one that begrudgingly acknowledged your shared skills.

Inside the warehouse, the air grew thick with dust motes dancing in the beams of your makeshift energy constructs. You moved with practiced ease, manipulating the metal crates into makeshift platforms and walkways, making your way deeper into the cavernous space.

Suddenly, a booming voice echoed through the vast hall. "Well, well, what do we have here? A couple of freaks playing dress-up?"

A hulking figure with cybernetic enhancements emerged from the shadows. Hammerhead, the local crime lord, his face a grotesque parody of a human skull.

"Looks like we have company, cherie," Gambit murmured, flinging a card. It exploded with a dull thud, barely slowing Hammerhead's charge.

The fight was a blur of steel and energy. Your constructs clashed against Hammerhead's cybernetic limbs, while Gambit danced around him, using his agility, bo staff, and charged cards to wear him down. Finally, you saw an opening.

"Remy, now!" you yelled, gathering a concentrated burst of energy in your palm.

Gambit tossed a card at Hammerhead, this one a queen of spades. It detonated with a blinding flash, momentarily disorienting the villain. You seized your chance, launching your energy blast directly at the power core strapped to his chest. It was seemingly fused into his body through his armor, the one thing that gave him an open weakness.

There was a deafening crackle of electricity, followed by a sickening screech as the power core overloaded. Hammerhead crumpled to the floor, smoke rising from his damaged armor.

Silence descended upon the warehouse. You deactivated your powers, the exhaustion settling in your bones.

Gambit chuckled, leaning against a stack of crates. "Nice work, cherie. Y'sure know how to light up a room."

You huffed a tired laugh. "Just don't get used to it, Cajun. This was a one-time thing."

He winked, his signature smirk playing on his lips. "We'll see 'bout dat, cherie. We'll see 'bout dat."

As dawn painted the New York skyline in hues of orange and pink, you stood atop the warehouse, watching Gambit melt back into the shadows. He was trouble, that was for certain, but tonight, at least, you were on the same side. Perhaps, you thought, a little chaos wasn't so bad, especially when someone with a charming smile and a knack for explosives had your back.

[cros-s]

Shooting the shot

imagine having a crush on Captain Vangeance for a long time, then you met him as "William"

this delusional thought has been living rent-free in my head for a long time now... that I finally did something about it. Took me a very long time and some help. Also, it's my first time putting my Black Clover OC in the wild, hehe~, just for this one-shot, cuz I really like the delulu thought. Feel free to leave your thoughts :P

It's this time of the year again, Clover Kingdom's Star Awards Festival. The street lights that line up along the streets, lighting the cobblestone roads that leads the people from every social status to eye-catching stalls, lively street performers and some more magical spots that this event brought.

Although the festival is lively and peaceful, security should is still be one of the top priority. This year, the Golden Dawn squad has been assigned to patrol the streets, with William Vangeance, their masked captain, taking the lead, despite having to attend the awards ceremony that will conclude the celebrations.

In his patrol, and despite being a focused leader as he is, he couldn't help but pause at some spots that seems to tug his attention. The warmth, the music, the liveliness of the attendees—the kingdom he swore to protect, it calls to him as if asking to be appreciated.

On a different side of the festival, Hera moved through the crowds, capturing every moment that caught her attention through her camera. From the flowers being sold by the roadside to the group of friends passing by with big smiles on their faces, these were the kinds of moments she wanted to keep.

As she focused her camera on a certain stray cat resting atop of empty crates in a quiet alley, she walked backwards to find the perfect angle. In her distraction, Hera slipped on a fruit peel she hadn't noticed.

Her camera flew up in the air, while her head processes multiple thoughts at the same time. Torn between catching her camera or protecting her head from hitting the curb, all while internally blaming herself for not hanging the camera straps around her neck.

Then just when she accepted she cannot do either of them a hand wrapped around her waist, saving her from the inevitable headache. She sighed in relief and gasped at realization. "Captain Vangeance!?" She exclaimed. Just as soon as his other hand catches her camera, saving them both from damage.

It's him. She thought. The captain of the squad she had always admired. No—the captain she had always admired. She never thought she'd ever see him upclose but here she is, wrapped in his arm. "Are you alright?" He asked. His voice waking her from the daze.

"I... yes... thank you.. and I'm sorry for the trouble" she answered, as he help her regain her balance.

“There’s no need to apologize,” William said gently, handing her the camera she had almost dropped. “The festival is crowded. It’s easy to lose track of where you’re going.”

Hera smiled sheepishly, taking the camera from him. “Thank you… I didn’t expect to see you.. the... Captain Vangeance, in here” she said, as she tried to steady her thoughts to suppress the awe that's bubbling inside.

“I’m here on patrol,” William explained, though his voice softened as he continued. “But it’s hard not to get caught up in the festival.”

Hera nodded, her eyes scanning the vibrant setting of the festival. The lights, the sounds, the movements—it was all so beautiful, and she couldn’t help but feel inspired.

Then, on an impulse, she looked at William, her eyes bright with an idea. “Would you mind if I took your picture?” she asked, her voice starting out hesitantly.

William blinked, surprised by her request. “My picture?” he repeated, as though unsure why someone like him would be worthy of a photograph.

Hera quickly explained, her excitement bubbling to the surface. “well... it’s just… you’re always so calm and composed. I think it would be interesting to capture that in a photo. Plus,” she continued with a small grin, “it’s not every day that someone gets to photograph a captain of a Magic Knight squad."

For a moment, he was hesitant but she was enthusiastic and her eyes were determined. "Please, just three shots. And it will be just for me." She added. William sighed, he figured she wouldn't take no for an answer.

“All right,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Three shots.”

Hera beamed, grateful for his trust. She raised her camera, while adjusting the settings as she find the perfect angle.

“Okay, just relax,” she said softly, framing him in her lens. “First shot.”

Click.

The first picture was taken, William standing tall in his usual calm and enigmatic demeanor, the soft glow of the streetlamps framing his form.

“Now something a bit less formal,” Hera suggested, a playful glint in her eyes. “Try relaxing your shoulders.” she added, as she roll her shoulders as an example for him to follow.

William complied, slightly loosening his posture. Hera smiled, appreciating the subtle change.

“Second shot.”

Click.

The second photo captured William looking slightly less like the intimidating captain of the Golden Dawn, and more like a person simply enjoying the festival.

And then came the third shot.

Hera lowered her camera for a moment, looking at him through her eyes, not just her lens. “For the last one… I want something special..." she trailed as if in thought "Something real.”

Something real. His chest fluttered at the thought. The words lingered in his mind. Having been placed on a pedestal for so long, his life had been about maintaining an image, about being a symbol for others—something he longed to change. And today, he was taking his brief chance.

If she was looking for something real, then she wasn’t asking for the captain of the Golden Dawn—she was asking for William, the man behind the mask.

"Hmm.." he hummed and nodded, as he slowly reached up and, to Hera’s astonishment, removed his mask.

Hera gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise. It wasn’t just the fact that he had revealed his face—it was the trust, the intimacy of the moment. She had never seen William unmasked before, and not even a single newspaper talked about it, but now, in this brief exchange, he was showing her something he didn’t show to just anyone.

It was as if, in this fleeting moment, he had chosen to let her in–a stranger.

Hera fumbled for her camera, her fingers trembling slightly, not from nervousness, but from the weight of what was happening.

“Third shot,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She lifted her camera, and through the lens, she framed William as he truly was—calm, strong, but also vulnerable. His white hair reflecting the lights, his face... serene, his eyes reflecting a softness that few had ever seen. For Hera, this was more than just a photograph... it was a glimpse into a side of him that felt like a gift, a special moment that belonged to her alone.

Click.

The third photo was taken, and Hera slowly lowered her camera, while breathing out the breath she's been holding.

“Thank you,” she said, as she smiled at him with sincerity, “for trusting me.”

William chuckled softly, “You’ve shown me that some moments are worth capturing,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

As he placed his mask back on, there is something else that lingered in the air. A connection between them that has formed. Faint, yet, more real than anything.

The celebrations around them continued, with its music and lights, but for William and Hera, this moment would forever stand still—captured not just in a photograph, but in their hearts.

something to share: the dialogue color is the same as their eyes. I also wanna do something base on this for his birthday, it's next month! >u<)♥ draft here

[kimmiessimmies]

Honeycomb Hills Apartments

Malte's home!

I shared a preview yesterday, but here is the full post. And when I say full, I mean "OMFG, Kim did you really have to write another essay?!" Yes. That kind of full. I'm not even sorry.

I was so happy about finishing these apartments that I plunked down three in a row. 😄

Each building has four apartments, all similar: 2 bed, 1,5 bath.

Currently, I only moved one person in: Mister Malte Nerhus, aka Rachel's... I wanna say boyfriend, but then I might be getting ahead of things... crush! Let's say crush!

Malte came to Honeycomb with not a lot of money in his pocket, happy and eager to start working at the university library. When he started looking for a place to live, a two-bedroom apartment wasn't really what he had in mind, (Malte would have been fine in a studio apartment) but it was the only thing available to non-students in Honeycomb Hills and the rent was quite affordable because these apartments are part of an experimental project set up as part of "Greenify Honeycomb Valley": the tenants of the first apartments get a discount on their rent if they fill out regular questionnaires containing questions on how to make the apartment more sustainable and eco-friendly.

So, Malte moved into a two-bedroom apartment, claiming the smaller bedroom as his own and leaving the larger one empty. If they decided to come over, it could potentially sleep his entire family (his mother, grandmother, and two sisters). He spent his money wisely and using the resources available, soon made a home out of this place.

The large windows are Malte's favourite feature of his home. He built sofas out of old mattresses. The Honeycomb campus has two rather large student dorms and whenever a student graduates and moves out of the dorm, the mattress on the bed they used gets replaced for the next resident. Some of those old mattresses are too filthy to even look at, but many are actually still in good shape. Priding itself on being green, the university actually has a website on which they put up old-but-still-good-for-another-round furnishings, free-to-collect. Malte put new, cheap coverings on the mattresses. Easy to take off and wash when needed.

Malte loves cushions and blankets. You find those all around the house. Some were already his, the others were flea-market and thrift store finds, just like all the rugs in his home. Old crates function as a coffee table and makeshift shelves. Of course there's books everywhere. The lamps are wall fixtures that were already in the house, as were the curtains, and the poster on the wall is the cover of one of Malte's favourite books, gifted to him by his colleagues from the library where he works as a housewarming present. The guitar and the laptop are Malte's own possessions and the plants are the one item he actually spent a bit of money on, because plants are a must.

Malte is a creative spirit. Painting, drawing, writing and making music all keep him sane. The painting easel was a thrift store find, and to protect the floors of his rented home, Malte put down a tarp underneath. The easel faces the window, of course. All the artwork on the wall is made by Malte or his sister Solveig. The shelves he built himself from old wood and on the top shelf there's a picture of Malte and his family. A little reminder of home.

The kitchen came with the apartment. The table consists of a couple of boards on two sets of trestles. That was an easy build.

The two folding chairs (there's a third folded against the wall next to the fridge) Malte brought from home and the other two chairs are old discarded university classroom furniture Malte found on the previously mentioned website.

Malte's bike has a place on the wall. It's his main means of transportation. The car in which he took Rachel on their second date wasn't his, a colleague lend it to him.

In the other corner of the room, there's a little workspace. The desk was another university reject and the chair a thrift store find. The paintings are Malte's own work and the pictures show him and his mother and eldest sister.

Here we have three very similar pictures from Malte's bedroom, but I still wanted to use them all xD. Here we find old mattresses again, although the top one is new. Old crates also make great night stands and a bedroom without books isn't a bedroom. The yellow lamp is a thrift store find and the green one a Swedish furniture store one. On Malte's nightstand there's a picture of his mother, grandmother and sisters. The poster above his bed as well as two on the other wall (see next picture) are enlarged prints of Saarqartoq pictures. Rachel had these printed as a gift for Malte because she knows he does miss home sometimes.

Malte doesn't have a wardrobe, but installed a rod against the wall which does the job perfectly.

In the orignal design of the room, the architect intended for people to place a bed below the high window. Malte thought this idea was no good at all. He wanted to wake up with a view! So he went against the design of the room and put his bed against the wall so it faced the tall windows and the green outside. The watermelon bean bag was his latest thrift store gem. It was just too cool to pass by.

And that concludes the tour of Malte's home. There's also a bathroom, which is just a bathroom, and a balcony, which I didn't take any pictures of at this time, but which will show up in a story post, I'm sure.

[lostheaventales]

A Little Rendezvous Pt.1

Description: Tommy went straight to Lucas Bertone’s shop to get the prize Lucas promised to him after he won the race. That prize leads to a bit of a predicament.

Relationship: Tommy Angelo x Lucas Bertone

(Note : I’m not good at writing smut so sorry if this is kinda cringe.)

Gift for Anon

⚠️Warning⚠️: Smut, Mpreg

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After changing into some more comfortable clothes, Tommy joined the party. Vincenzo greeted him with a handshake and was all smiles. Salieri gave him some money. Sarah shared a bottle of booze with him. He’d never been celebrated like this before. It was different, but he liked it. He felt like a celebrity.

Tommy was approached by Lucas Bertone, the mechanic who interfered with Lichtenberg’s car. His cheeks turned hot and red. It was a hard pill to swallow when he realized that he had an attraction for the younger man. He didn’t know what it was about him. His blue eyes that matched the color of the heaven’s above, the quickness of his hand, or the slight Italian accent that rolled off his tongue with ease. Whatever it was, it held onto him tight on a leash. They’ve only just met the night before and he found himself acting like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever he comes to mind. He didn’t know anything about him, which included his preferences in romance. It was unlikely he would get what he so badly wanted.

Lucas reached his hand out for a handshake, which Tommy gladly took. “Hey, Tom, I just want to thank you for stepping in like you did. I had six months rent ridin’ on that race. I’d be homeless now, if not for you.” He sounded as if he was on the brink of tears.

“I just did what the Don asked, Lucas,” Tommy said, trying to keep his composure.

There was a slight shift in his tone. “Well, you gotta let me find a way to repay you.” He smiled. “Stop by my garage tonight when you get the chance. I might have something for you.” He winked as he walked away.

Shivers were sent down his spine. Tommy cleared his throat, finding it hard to move. When he finally was able regain control of his body, he went on a short scavenger hunt to find Paulie, who, according to the people who’ve seen him, was heavily drunk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dropping an intoxicated Paulie off at his apartment and grabbing a bite to eat, he went straight to Lucas’s garage. He walked to the opened roll-up door. Lucas finally noticed he was there. He wasn’t wearing his overalls or his hat, presenting his slicked-back brown hair. Before he could say anything, Lucas wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Great, you’re here.” Lucas unexpectedly kissed his lips.

Tommy’s breathing quickened. “So what is that something you promised me?”

Lucas kissed his lips again. “You’ll see.”

He went to close and lock the garage door. What he imagined was finally happening. He was hoping this wasn’t a wet dream. Lucas began unbuttoning his shirt Once a good amount of his chest was exposed, Lucas rubbed his hands over the skin while kissing him. There was a familiar tightening in his crotch. It was becoming uncomfortable, getting in the way of him fully enjoying the moment.

Tommy began unbuckling his belt. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“No, not at all. In matter of fact…” He looked down at the clear bulge tucked away in his underwear. “You look way better with them off.”

Lucas placed his palm on his groin and squeezed. He crouched, then pulled out his hard cock. Tommy sighed as Lucas guided it into his mouth. Lucas smoothed his tongue up and down his shaft. He closed his eyes, moans uncontrollably leaving his mouth. Despite being only seconds since they started, Tommy felt himself getting closer to the edge.

Tommy grabbed onto Lucas’s face to get him to stop. “Bend over. I need more of you.”

Lucas nodded, licking his lips. He leaned over a stack of wooden crates as support. Tommy grabbed his cock and inserted it into Lucas’s tight hole. He thrusted inside of him, loosening the skin around his cock. The crates shook with the momentum of their bodies.

“Fuck, Tommy! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Lucas screamed. “You’re so fucking big. Fuck!”

Tommy slapped his ass cheek. “Yeah? You feel so fucking amazing.”

“Fuck! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” Lucas moaned out.

Tommy felt his climax reach its peak. A massive wave of relief washed over him as he finished., which confirmed this wasn’t a wet dream. This was actually happening. A wet dream wouldn’t let him get this far. They put their clothes back on once they returned to their senses.

“Have I repaid you?” Lucas asked, caressing his cheek.

“You have repaid me very well.” Tommy slowly rebuttoned his shirt. “Will I be seeing you again?”

“Yeah. Will I be seeing you again?” Lucas asked.

“You know you will.” Tommy smiled, slightly pinching Lucas’s cheek.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3 Months Later

Tommy was sitting at Luigi’s bar, having a nice conversation and drink with the elderly man. A tap on his shoulder caught his attention. He turned around to see Lucas. Tommy smiled at him, but Lucas didn’t look happy.

“Hey, Lucas. You alright?” He furrowed his brow.

“C-Can we talk in private please?” Lucas looked around nervously.

Seeing his quick glances at every angle of the room, Tommy thought he was in trouble and possibly needed to go on the run. The constant looking over his shoulder made Tommy feel uneasy. They went to the billiards room. Tommy closed the door behind him.

“Are you alright?” Tommy placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“I’m pregnant,” Lucas blurted.

It was like the world had stopped spinning when he heard those words leave his mouth.

“A-Are you sure?” Tommy asked, trying to see if there was a possibility that Lucas could be mistake something else as pregnancy.

Lucas opened his coat and pulled up his shirt, revealing his rounded abdomen. It wasn’t big, but it was obvious that there was a baby in there. “Shit, how far along are you?” Tommy put his hand on his bump.

“Three months. I just found out.” Lucas covered up his bump.

He went on how, for months, he tried to ignore the symptoms. Blaming the nausea on food not agreeing with him. Putting the weight gain on working out much. It eventually came to a point where he couldn’t ignore it. He went to the doctor where he discovered the news.

“What are we going to do?” Lucas cried.

Tommy embraced him. “Don’t worry. I’ll support you every step of the way.”

Lucas sunk into the embrace, relaxing his head on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy knew one day parenthood would find him. He was glad that it was Lucas he was creating a family with. Despite not knowing each other for long, Tommy could see a very bright future ahead of them as they worked together as parents.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being "negative" about a bunny and refusing to apologize? I don't think I can really shorten this, so I'm sorry for the lack of a TL;DR :/ It's pretty long!! TW for animal death(and potentially animal abuse?)

My mom(42 F) has a habit of randomly bringing pets home. For context, she's a single mother with four kids, with me(17) being the oldest, alongside my sister("E",13) and my two brothers(7 and 4, not relevant to the story). My sister and I share a room and my brothers share one too. My mom works a job that involves sleeping at work and doesn't think it's worth it for us to rent a three bedroom, so she sleeps on the couch on her nights off.

The first time was mid-2020 when she brought home a feral kitten my grandpa found underneath his house. What was supposed to be a family pet quickly turned into a pet that was kept only to E's and my room. He had some sort of sinus issue where he snotted everywhere all the time, so snot was constantly needing to be cleaned and being found randomly on our things. The cat was eventually rehomed after a year because it scratched my sister really badly to the point that my mom was concerned she would need stitches(she didn't. the cat didn't like being pet / touched and my sister wouldn't respect its boundries).

The second time was another cat(2021) that followed my mom from her cat to her place of work. This was when I started getting frustrated with my mom randomly bringing home animals, since the same set up that happened last time happened again- except this time, the cat got old enough to spray, and my mom kept forgetting to get him fixed so our room just smelled fucking awful. This cat was also rehomed when I broke down after realizing it has sprayed all over my books. I told my mom he either needed to be fixed or she needed to get rid of him. He was gone the next week.

Then last year it happened again- except this time, with a puppy(2022). My aunt was looking to get a new dog and sent some puppy photos to my mom, which she cooed over and showed me. She told me she was considering bringing one home, which I instantly told her was a bad idea and went over all the cons. Mom seemed to agree. Then guess what happened to be an early Christmas gift.... -_-

My sister and I took charge on the dog. We got our brothers to agree on a name for him(anyone with younger siblings knows this is a BIG deal lmao), started attempting to crate train him(basically making sure he's okay with eventually being left alone without crying the whole time), and we were the only ones trying to potty train him. Our mom didn't stick to any of this(including choosing a new name??) and the dog still isn't potty trained, and I'm the only one other than my mom that doesn't refuse to clean up after him. The dog doesn't stay in our room like the other animals, but it took months for my sister and I to convince our mom to get a hook lock for our door so the dog wouldn't keep coming in and peeing. The dog didn't end up getting rehomed, but now regularly stays at our aunt's house way more than ours.

It's worth noting at this point that all of these pets were "family pets" according to mom, and she would get upset when me and E pointed out we were really the only one taking care of them. The dog evened out after a while and now it's mostly my mom and I doing the work when he's here, but the cats are still a point of tension for us.

And now. For the fucking bunny!! Jesus christ I'm sorry there's so much backstory to this!!

A week ago my sister comes into our room and wakes me up to tell me mom brought home a baby bunny. It was scary small(3.5 inches long not stretching, 2 weeks old), and wasn't moving much but was clearly alive. My mom said it ran into my Nana's yard after the dog next door scared it off, and it's pretty safe to assume the nest is destroyed. But instead of bringing the rabbit to a wildlife rehab or something, my mom brought it home and told my sister she could keep it. They then put it in a box with some grass and water and did no further research.

I was pretty livid, because 1. This is a WILD rabbit. That's a crime in my state, 2. I think it was insanely irresponsible for my mom to drop this on us, 3. This is not a pet and it's very likely it'll die in our care just from us not being experienced, and 4. On a very basic and selfish level, I didn't want to take care of this animal and I didn't want it in our room(which it had to be). But E has been asking for a bunny for years, so for once she wasn't on my side about a new pet being dropped on us. So I was pretty outnumbered.

I kept pushing for my mom to contact a professional at the very least to ask about its diet(it's very easy to kill baby bunnies by feeding them the wrong thing), and kept trying to get my sister to stop holding / petting it since rabbits can die of stress. My mom listened after a day and my sister never did. Tbh I also thought if my mom contacted a professional the pro would tell her to absolutely not keep the bunny? But it was never brought up in their convo, so I think my mom might have lied about it or something, idk.

I continued being "negetive" about the rabbit and my sister kicked me out of our room for it. I refused to care for it too, even though my mom kept insisting it was a "family" pet(without me it was just her and E taking care of it, and since it stayed in our room my brothers never really got to see it). To be honest I really didn't feel like I had a lot of options, and I thought if I didn't help then maybe they would get overwhelmed or something and decide to give it to a professional. But I still kept trying to give pet care advice, because I didn't want any harm to come to the bunny(for example, my sister likes our room to never have to ac on, but i made sure she was keeping it cool enough for the bunny).

Well... After four days, the bunny died. E was pretty heartbroken, obviously, and my mom was sad, but to be honest I'm just sort of bitter. I'm upset a rabbit died just because my mom wouldn't listen. For more context, I also thought bringing in the bunny was a bad idea because my sister recently lost her dad, and I knew if it didn't end well this would just add more grief to her life. I 100% don't think she's TA in this situation, even if she has frustrated me.

I'm still pretty pissed at my mom for all of this, so yesterday when she sat me down and told me I should apologize to E for how I behaved, I didn't take it well. She said my negetivity made it so E didn't fully enjoy her time with the bunny, and that if I had handled things differently maybe things would have tunred out better. I know E has been avoiding me, which started when we first got the bunny and she kicked me out of the room for being too negetive. I feel like she just needs time to process, and to be honest I don't think this is something I should apologize for, even if it is an apology just to make her feel better. It feels like that would be irresponsible of me? Idk. I told my mom none of this would have happened if SHE hadn't been so irresponsible and brought the bunny home to a grieving teenager, when there wasn't much of a chance of the bunny surviving with us in the first place, but tbh ever since her dad died I've been really trying to do right by E, so I second-guess myself a lot now.

So AITA for being negetive about the bunny and refusing to apologize? To be clear again I don't think E is TA here, but they're both upset with me so idk.

What are these acronyms?

[alea-says]

H50 Fic Teaser - fake!dating McDanno style

Well, sorta fake!dating. That's where the idea started, but is it ever really fake with these two?

With thanks to @goneahead for the idea of having them fake!date in order to get better housing benefits

Warnings: only for canon-level violence and snark, PG-rating.

____

In Danny's defence, there were literal bullets flying around them so he thinks he can be forgiven for taking a moment to comprehend just what Steve had asked.

“What? Are you insane?” Ducking back behind the rapidly diminishing crate that was his cover, Danny checked his remaining bullets. “You really think now is the time to ask this?” Twisting to the side, he got a couple of shots off – one of which hit his target, which meant one less perp shooting at Steve.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Steve yelled back at him – from where he was a few metres and quite a few lines of fire – away from Danny. “Is there a better time to ask?”

“Maybe when we're not getting shot at!”

“Moving!” Steve yelled, which meant Danny had to pop up and lay down cover fire so his idiotic partner didn't get killed as he threw himself out into the open.

“If you hadn't noticed,” Danny informed him – rather loudly, but then he had to speak loud enough to be heard over the gunfire, “I'm somewhat busy at the moment!”

“It's called multi-tasking,” Steve yelled back, even as he rolled to cover and Danny was able to retreat once more behind what remained of his crate.

For all that Steve had thrown himself, once more, towards certain death with only his stupid luck and whatever backup Danny could provide, he had managed to make a tactical move at the same time. Which meant that it was only a few bullets later and the last of their perps were surrendering.

“I'm just saying,” Danny remonstrated, gun aimed steadily at the three perps kneeling on the ground with their hands behind their heads. “There is a time and place for questions like that, and this is neither the time nor the place. What on earth could have possibly induced you to ask that?”

Steve, holstering his gun with the confidence of knowing Danny had him covered, just cast him that stupid grin he always seemed to get after defying certain death once more. “Well, I'm sorry, Danny, but if we're going to file before the next payrun, we're running out of time.”

“Wait, payrun?”

“Of course.” Fastening Guy 1's hands in cuffs, Steve moved onto Guy 2. “I did the math. With you, me and Grace, we'll be in the next bracket for the housing bonus – it's all based on number of family members.”

Danny gaped at Steve. However, long practice kept his aim steady as Steve moved on to cuff Guy 3.

“I know you hate the place you're staying in, it's really not worth the rent you're paying for it. You move in with me, no rent, and Grace has easy access to the beach.” He stepped back from their perps.

“Oh. Oh, so this is all about me?” Danny shot back. “Don't think I don't know how much you've been spending keeping your house from falling apart from all that salt!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So it benefits both of us. I don't know why you're so worked up about this Danny.”

“Worked up? You think I'm worked up? I haven't even started getting worked up!” Considering the perps were now all cuffed, Danny took the opportunity to wave one hand for emphasis (he wasn't going to completely take the gun off them, not considering how many times they'd shot at Steve). “You asked me. To. Marry. You. In the middle of a firefight!”

[iamthedamndonutdrawcat]

🧍‍♀️idk how fic culture works + im too dumb and brainrotted to praise this art well enough i'm sorry

If there was one thing Remus Lupin knew for sure, it was to never trust Sirius Black. From feeling the sun on his face after long grey winter months, standing in a dark shower and washing a messy nights’ drunken sweat off his body, the relieve of finally finding his way to a new place without a map, to the rush of perfecting a riff after hours of excruciating work; there were countless moments that reminded him of the happiness that came from gaining distance to Sirius. And still, he found himself searching every room thrice in hopes to find that infuriating bastard. READ THIS AND KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE BOMB LIKE THE WHOLE INTRO IS SOOO GOOD IM NOT EVEN JOKING NVR SAW SOMEONE EAT UP AN INTRO THAT GOOD LIKE

the way u set the scene ?? Like omg it's so good like i felt like I was dropped into the best fic ever but ALSO it gave enough backstory it was like it just made sense idk WHAT i'm saying but the beginning was so strong (as was the middle and end)

In the corner stood Peter’s drum kit. They had moved it here a few years ago when it became clear the established place of music related group hangouts would be at James’ and Peter’s parents had been all too eager to help them load the kit into a rented car and drive it over. At the Potters’ there weren’t easily annoyed siblings, overworked parents or sensitive neighbors sharing a wall with the noise. Though, since moving here the kit had spent lots of time untouched. Peter tried to hide his disappointment about not getting to play the drums as often and had told Remus about feeling as though one of his main outlets had been ripped away from him and placed in an only conditionally accessible space. When Peter faced the drums now, there wasn’t as much practiced confidence that had dictated his moves before. Luckily, Peter had only had enough time to ponder this to tell Remus with an inebriated loose tongue, before James had made Peter forget any and all frustrations with the introduction of the most outlandish gifts his parents had ever granted himI JNOW T G IS PARA !! IVE SEEN IT BEFORE !! AND IT STULL EATSSS

James trying to imitate knay3 ? But sounding like money boy???. Yes.(i dont even kno the second guy + i bareky know kanye and even i can understand how much this metaphor ate)

did I mention how GOOD the flow in this ficnis ??? Bc it is so GOODDDD like the para breaks are at the right time and the timeskips are always eating and ughhh...i lovenyou..

Of course, he enjoyed contemporary music, he wasn’t a total snob! Most of his time online was invested in finding unknown masterminds, the lesser monthly listeners or Google Search results the better. Across the room stood a shelve filled to the brim with his massive physical media collection, so many vinyls and CDs there wasn’t enough room for his books which now formed towers against the only free strip of wall. Remus relished in the confused looks he got for his strange answers to the question who his favourite artist was and prided himself in his vast analogue and digital musical collection. He had invested lots in it, after all: hours of picking through crates filled with crooked vinyls, arguing over prices with grumpy merchants at flea markets, and suffering several viruses while pirating his newest online finds to put on his iPod. Words canot desc how much this para (and the fic and u) means tonme....

the pov!!! IT EATSS LIKE THIS IS EXACTKY HOW A BERLIN REMUS LUPIN IN A MODERN AU'S BRAIN WOUKD SOUND LIKE!! HOW DID U KNOW !!

chronically offline remus...I love him love him love him love him yes he uses an iPad yes he doesn't text yes he hates his laptop yes yes yes

THE WAY U INTRODUCE CHARACTERS IS SOO GOOD ?? LIKE JANETTE IS ONLY PRESENT FOR A LITTLE BITVIN THIS CHWP BUT I ALR KNO HER AESTHETIC ND VIBES ND EVERYTHING?

A few years ago, dinner would have been served by 6:30pm, a candle on the table and Hope’s laughter, her inquiries whether Remus liked the food and sweet reassurances brightening the room. Neither Lyall nor Remus had lit a candle in this flat in 7 years. Ow 🤕

Remus Lupin employed several coping mechanisms to keep himself grounded, one more harmful than the other. His favourite by far, however, was smoking. On a good day, Remus could be seen slinking off the school grounds to the secret smokers’ corner during two of the three 20-minute breaks distributed over the school day. On a bad day, his lighter lit up up to ten times. Smoking gave him a sense of direction, a topic to talk about and get to know someone over, a means to make acquaintances, and an excuse to flee social gatherings. Once again the flow in your sentences and paras?? It feels like I'm swimming (?)

Sirius vaping...remus staring at srs...the GOSSIP??..mary mentioned...yes she would start a cat fight....MARY INTRO YES YES THATS MY WIFE 1🥹🥹🥹 “What are you so prissy about?!” if i would get a tattoo i'd tatto that bc it's the hardest line evr bc im also infact wondering what remus is so prissy abt..mary (and you) eat everytime Maybe smoke five instead of eight blunts a week, yeah?” Mary spat after him, sensing the lie. “Then you’ll be more pleasant to be around.” <- ATEEE

Lyall had given it to him in an attempt to raise Remus’ interest in the digital world and its technological benefits. Remus, however was mostly impassive, wanting to stay offline for the better part of his everyday life. It was a constant point of conflict with the increasingly digitalized world around him, but he stayed stoic and barely used the laptop. He knew how to handle Word and PowerPoint professionally, and that sufficed. Otherwise, he only utilized it to jump on the odd gaming server with the marauders, download a new music release or research a subject for class. Offline remus u will always be famous to me

Gia is so iconic...She had emerged out of the darkness like a fairy and had captured their attention immediately, confidently stepping into the big group of strange teenagers she had never met before, making easy conversation with the girls im crying...I love her and I don't even KNO her ??

Jealous remus....emmeline having a crush on mary...siriue helping emmeline....yes

Oftentimes, when their eyes met across a room, a table or a dark field, surrounded by friends and onlookers, Remus wished he could keep Sirius forever in his room, to spend all their time playing their guitars and turning poems into songs; to take infinite pictures of the beauty lounging on his king sized bed, smiling into the pillow and tracing the vintage Taxi Driver poster Remus had put up years ago, Robert De Niro looking down on them in the hazy light shining in through tall windows. Here, Sirius was never afraid to display his affection, to give out kisses and embraces unabashedly, share his secrets and the thoughts wandering the halls of his mind; and in turn, he let Remus show him his devotion. If Sirius was Remus’ god, this room was their temple; where Remus worshipped and Sirius was merciful, loving and good.Knawing..at ... the bars...of...my...enclosure...

It’s like a fucking pattern. I banter with someone and it’s all fun and games and I enjoy it and let my guard down. But then they hit too close and it strikes so fucking deep and all I can do is react as loud as possible to push them away and make them unsee whatever it is within me…” He had started pulling at the skin of wrist, at the blue trails illustrating the paths of his blood and threatening to bloom into big purple oil patches if he kept pushing and prodding; a nervous tic. Remus stilled his hand, interlacing their fingers. Double ow 🤕🤕

THE BANTER THE DIALOGUE OMIGO OMIGOD this is exactly how marauders in a modern day berlin aunwould act btw they woukd say that they would do that they would think taht this is so accurate

LILY LILY LILY LILY LILY !!!! LILYYYY 🥹🥹 ILY

In early April, spring sprung up on Berlin, lacing the city in golden sunshine and a warm breeze. Remus stood by the bike stands outside school, face upturned to the sun. The warmth on his skin and the wind in the fresh birch leaves above brightened his mood enormously. Berlin winter were long, grey and rude, unforgivingly cold without ever granting the childish joy of snow; in them, old and nasty voices, forgotten throughout the rest of the year but prompted back by the freezing winds, emerged from the dark pits of conscience. Remus preferred spring and knew that, if he kept his face in the sun long enough, the first couple of freckles would appear on the bridge of his nose. Sunshine remus lupin w freckles mentioned *dies*

I love ur lily I love ur Remus I love the rlnship bn lyall and remus (not rlly bc ots sad..i love how u desc it) I love u..Lily being sneaky.....not remus saying him and srs nvr fight 😭😭 I think they fought like 4 or 5 times in this chap alone like JILY CHDCK !! Ppl jeep thinking srs is homophobic...lmao so real /j

Still, the distinct feeling, that they would respect his choices way less if his taste in men turned out to be emotionally ambiguous and snarky ones, prevented him from disclosing anything to anyone, not even Lily triple ow 🤕🤕🤕

have I mentioned how much I love ur OCS and how u desc them?? I think I should've mentioned that bc it's true

hay day farm mentioned....srs Black's ipad...poor leila...srs using chatgpt is so real unfortunately..DORCAS YIPEEE...remus not having whatsapp...markene being gf...remuss nokia...remuss ipod..He’s too scared of getting all the bitches if he had an Instagram account.” cackling..simp jfp ...that's my man right there....srs black is a homophobe send tweet omigod I love this whole section so much...

As a child of constantly busy business entrepreneurs turned lobbyists, James carried a twinge of twisted abandonment with him; even though it seemed utterly ungrateful. Fleamont and Euphemia were completely smitten with their son, willing to give him anything he politely asked for. James had never needed to be scared of a topic, a question or a request; there was nothing his parents were unwilling to discuss with him. Maybe that was why it cut him so deep when his parents were out again, busy with an enterprise or acquaintances, and why he was so eager to fill the empty house with friends and noise. With Sirius there, James needn’t worry about the silence his parents left behind. TY FOR GIVING JAMES LAYERS !! THIS IS V IMP TO ME!!!

problematic marlene :/ real I fear ty for not making ththe ers (esp the women) perf ppl w no mistakes and the same opinions this is also v imp to me

Still, he remembered the intensity, the agony, the soul gripping bone breaking breath-taking choking all-encompassing pain, how it formed the entire world into a dark place full of trip hazards and sharp edges, pulling and ripping at him, until all that was left were his own hands and what lay beneath them. The only way of forming the world was deforming himself. It was a thought-eliminating numbness he couldn’t find anywhere else, neither in weed or the pills he’d tried at parties ages ago or in the feeling of a body against, around his own.He remembered the many tearful nights that led him to where he is now – covered. His arms in scars, barely showing the smooth skin that once lay beneath. His arms in clothes, always long-sleeved. It’s been four years since the sun last touched his skin and the only eyes that ever lay on it are those of his father, the medical staff at the A&E, his therapist, James, Sirius, Peter and, glimpsing, even Lily. Quadruple ow 🤕🤕🤕🤕

Marlene and srs banter / arguments is so perf had a group chat – without Remus, of course – I love ur offline remus ALSO I LOVE THE WAY U PWINT PICS W UR WORDS ?? LIKE IVE NVR BEEN IN A BAR BUT IK WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE NOW LIKE U COULD GIVE ME 1HR IN BERLIN AND ID B ABLE TO IDENTIFY IT

Sirius told some half-assed story about wanting to DJ at a club, while the truth was none of the boys actually made an effort to secure themselves a place in Berlin’s music industry. Their dreams about performing on stage and their half-baked Soundcloud singles were still a private matter and taking the big stage still wasn’t an immediate urgency. Ik I've been saying this alot but umm this is also v imp to me !! Like obvi they can b ambitious and etc etc but they're babies. !! They shld take it slow 🥹🥹 !

Holy shit the tone shift + marpene and srs argument he rolled his eyes at Remus in a relatable manner, expecting Remus’ approval and their joint ridiculing of the girls and their unreasonable lyrical criticisms. But Remus didn’t approve – not completely, at least – and only raised an eyebrow and shrugged in return. Sirius lowered the bottle and glared at Remus with an icy expression, splintered and cutting quintuple ow 🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕

urbwriting...omigod YOU WRITINGGGGGGG ITS SO GOODODOODODO ??? LIKE IM DEAD (im so sorrt for my brainrot)

peter and remus frndship...“I don’t feel replaced!” Peter cried with strangely glassy eyes.bthis para has me going :( but then i rmbr i'm reading the best thing ive evr read and i go :)

Remus didn’t want to fight; he wanted to hold and be held. Tattooing this into my eyes brb..ok I'm back ! No space between them remained and somewhere in that limbo a low moan emitted and Remus was unsure where he began and Sirius ended. Nothing mattered except the smell and feel of Sirius, the moment reduced to purely sensations as the light overhead died and hid them in darkness. It's so poetic I'm acc crying rn not even joking (tho thwt cld just b the tatto...)Even in the deepest fury, he was unable to keep away. <- peak wolfstar

the whole argument is so tense?? Like how do u do that?? I feel like I'm in the room w them?? Something passed wordlessly between them, an understanding, an apology, a promise to be better; and Sirius eyes crinkled and Remus’ felt like he might melt into the ground. All was good. <- phew Regrettably, tranquility couldn’t be trusted and on a silent late afternoon, the unexpected shrill of the doorbell pulled Remus out of his dreamy peaceful wonderland. <- uh oh

THE ENTIRE LAST SECTION IS SOOO GOOD I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A BROKEN RECORD PLAYER BUT ITS TOO GOOD OMIGO OMIGOD OMIGOD THE DOMFORT THE HURT THE EVERTHING TBE POETRY THE PINING THE YEARNING THE "ARE WE BOYFRIENDS" THE SWEETNESS THE TEARS IN MY EYES IM DYING NO LITR IM DYINGGGGG

Wld like to add u didnot make srs the typical dramatic (?) Thing or amth I saw smwhere u said u were worried of diung that and u didn't at alllllll EVERYTHING IS SO PEREFCT I LOVE MY CHILDREN, THIS FIC AND YOUU IM SENDING SM GOOD VIBES THIS WAY + SINCEREST APOLOGIES FOR MY BULLSHIT

i wanted to answer ur first ask but u litr broke my tumblr there is NO reply button anymore on that ask lmaooo

Um. THANK YOU SO MUCH SO MUCB SO MUCH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I ADORE YOU WHAT THE FUCK!!!????????? OH MY GODDD 💖💞💖💞💖💞💖💞💖💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💞💖💞💖💞💞💖💞💖

i've been rereading ur two asks ALL DAY im supposed to be partying rn but i was just smiling at my phone like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA dw abt anything because you made my day no you made my week no i will NEVER recover. this is SO great to hear ily forever (i already did but im ASTOUNDED at how much u liked this)

um i dont even know what to say but like. I am So Infinitely Happy to read about all the tidbits u liked and like YESSSS I AM SO GLAD U SEE THESE THINGS

f.e. I was nervous abt my marlene (&lily) bc theyre lowk bitches but like. Thats what i like about them, let girls be bitchy and have faults omg??

also i just want to say that this sirius, My Sirius has grown so onto me i love him i adore him i want to hold him (but he wouldnt like that) and soothe him but u fear its only getting worse for a bit OOPS

offline remus is so real to me i cannot see that man have an insta or tiktok acc omg

no but on god it means so much to me that u like my writing style and all!!!!! i havent written in so long and its so nice to have that confirmation. Idk im on my feet 4 u rn ily ily ily ily i know the joke is so unfunny but you are MY favourite yapper!!!!!!!!

[ekrochford]

Maul x femreader NSFW self-insert fanfic (part 10/11)

[Second to last chapter, and when I said earlier that this is possibly the most vile thing I've ever written, I'm talking about this chapter.]

Part 10

Both suns were low in the sky by the time you shuffled out of the sandy evening breeze. The distant dunes were glazed in hot-pan red with the night sky a creeping indigo whisper above them. The thinly civilized Mos Eisley was winding down for the night, and the Mos Eisley that slept beneath was stirring. Time to turn in for off-worlders without a lethal weapon on hand.

The supplies you’d purchased for Professor Taq Norr were stored in an empty hangar that you’d rented for the purpose; if it was big enough to house a speeder, it was roomy enough for a few anti-grav crates. The hangar owner didn’t bat an eye. There wasn’t exactly a storage facility in town, and you’d been directed his way for a place to stash goods behind a locked door.

You had the impression that the goods he usually stored were more volatile than the sealed rations, bolts of canvas, fuel cells, and other menial odds and ends on Professor’s list.

The thought of locked doors reminded you of Maul and thinking of Maul put you in a glowing good mood. You passed the Weequay hostess (who hadn’t spoken to you once since yesterday morning) and trekked up the stairs. You had a bag full of freshly cleaned clothes and nobody was in the refresher; you were going to scrub the sand out of your hair, knock on Maul’s door, and wish your ov-blocker implant good luck.

You’re careful not to dwell on what you’d heard this morning. Not as you gather your things in your room, not as you bathe, not as you dress in freshly-cleaned clothes. What would be the point? The galaxy was full to the brim with people who lived outside the law. A girl like you wasn’t about to solve that. A girl like you could only move between worlds in a calculated balance, and the key to that balance was keeping a sharp ear, but minding your own business.

What Maul did and who he worked for was certainly not your business. You were out of here tomorrow, and you’d never see Maul’s face again after that. The only business you had with Maul was the kind conducted horizontally.

Or standing… or tied up… or…

Memories of last night brought on a jagged shiver. Oh, he was going to ruin you for other men. How in the galaxy would you ever track down anyone who could compare?

It had been a long, sweaty day, and it felt so good to just be clean, to be wearing clean clothes. To be laying in clean sheets. You kick off your boots and stretch out on the mattress.

The last thing you think about is where you’re going to hunt up supper before you drift off to sleep.

---

It’s nearly pitch black in your room when you shock yourself awake. Your throat is too tight to scream, but a shriek bounces off your ribcage, struggling for escape. You whip your head around—you can’t see, your lamp isn’t lit. It was still the last dregs of daylight, last thing you remember.

You rocket out of bed, land on trembling legs and listen for something that isn’t a sound. It isn’t a sense, not one you detect with eyes and ears.

It’s the Force again, but you’ve never felt it like this.

You pinch yourself; your body is real. You aren’t having a dream or a vision or what-have-you. You are awake, and something is wrong.

Downstairs. You feel it downstairs, through the floor, radiating upward and outward. It isn’t an object—this isn’t the passive, static memory of metal or stone. This is something alive. When Jedi are near, the Force pulses around them in a gentle white heartbeat. This is a wardrum, and it pounds through the walls, echoes through your skin to your bones. And it’s not white. It’s…

Gone.

You stand in the middle of your room, feeling fragile as blown glass. The memory still punches through you, a ghostly drum in grim cadence. With two shaky steps, you reach your table lamp and click it to life. The shadows retreat into corners.

Evolution has never managed to erase the comfort of a warm light from the human mind. The adrenaline starts to drain from your bloodstream. Just as your pulse slows to a brisk walk, there’s a knock at your door.

Who else could it possibly be? You walk over, tap the unlock, and the door creaks back into the wall port.

Maul takes you in with his eyes, head to foot. Reads you in a glance. You can’t imagine he’s missed your wide eyes and cranked shoulders. His hands fold behind his back. “Are you all right?”

Maybe you’re paranoid, but it sounds like he already knows the answer. “Fine.”

He looks down at you from the shadow outside the door, the glow of the lamp catching his gold eyes. You stare back. Where did he come from? Downstairs? You try to feel his place in the ambient energy of the world—that Force that you’ve never taken the time to know—try clumsily like feeling blindly in the dark. All you feel is an empty space that’s in his shape.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” you announce bluntly.

“Oh?” Disappointment? Disinterest? He’s impossible to read. “Your University friends are finally arriving?”

You nod.

Maul tilts his head, still staring at your face. He wears a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes; those are glimmering yellow, intense as he stands there thinking. And you stand there, too, noticing for the first time his missing undershirt through the open front of his tunic. Despite all you’ve felt and thought and worried, the rippled muscle of his chest and abdomen are difficult to look away from. Difficult to keep your hands off of.

Finally, Maul’s grin curls wider and he holds out a gloved hand.

“Then tonight is our last night together. And I have something already in mind.”

You’re off-balance, careening from one emotional extreme to the other. Anxiety and dizzying lust are pulling you first one way, then the other. You can’t forget the intuitive gut-punch this afternoon, the impression of immense danger like a clanging bell. But it isn’t ringing now.

You take his hand. One more night.

---

Maul doesn’t lead you back to his room. By the hand, he escorts you down the stairs, down to the ground floor, down to the entry level. You don’t worry for a moment about what you’ll find there. Not now; it’s too late to worry about such small things.

Everything is quiet. You hadn’t looked at your chrono—what time is it? Surely you hadn’t slept so long that all the cutpurses and drunks and card skippers tucked themselves in for the night? The two of you reach the bottom of the narrow stairs, and you see that the hostess desk is empty.

He makes a turn into the stillness of the cantina, and you see why there is no sound. It’s empty. Abandoned like a tomb; the primary array over the bar is off, and the only light is the glow of the knee-level backups inset behind the bar. Even the Ithorian barkeep is gone.

Maul leads you inside, and you let him. He casts you in like a boat drifting on still water, and you wander through the rickety, shadowed tables. Your eyes cast about, taking in the details. The shutters are closed tight. Half-full glasses are still sitting out, some tipped over on tabletops, some shattered on the floor. Alcohol drips in a steady beat. Sabacc cards lay abandoned in phantom games, dropped in an instant.

The hair raises on your arms, just as you hear Maul roll the cantina doors shut and tap the lock. What happened here? Your eyes circle round again. A chair tipped over. An abandoned coat.

Maul’s hands close over your waist, pulling your back flush against his body. You feel his breath on your hair, hot exhale, long and savoring inhale. The warmth of his skin seeps through the layers of his clothes into you, melting your lines to parallel his.

“Where did everyone go?” you ask breathlessly. His arms have tightened around you in a coil.

“Elsewhere.” One of his hands crescents beneath your breast, thumb stroking upward. The ‘why’ dies before you take in the air to ask it.

“We don’t have to concern ourselves with the noise, tonight.” Maul leans his lips down to your ear. The way he brushes them down the curve to the lobe is part kiss, part taste.

“There’s still the rooms upstairs, the hostess…”

“I doubt very much they’ll return before tomorrow.” Maul bites down gently on your ear, and anything you may have said in protest withers. But you still wonder—what did he do? Did he chase them out? Or did he…

He hums disapproval, and his wandering thumb flicks over your nipple through your clothes. It shocks a gasp out of you.

“You seem distracted. Will I have to earn your attention?”

“N-no…”

“And here I thought you would behave. Any fool could hear that’s a lie.” His thumb crosses your nipple again, more slowly.

You hear his smile as he speaks into your hair. “Perhaps what you need is to be tied up again. You’re so very obedient, that way.”

Just the thought drains the resistance out of you. Your hands wander to cover Maul’s, and you thread your fingers through his. The two of you are standing amidst the abandoned tables of the cantina like a sea full of bobbing, vacant lifeboats.

You close your eyes to avoid seeing. “Where did you get so good at that?” you ask with a sigh.

“Hmm? So good at what?”

“The way you talk… the way… everything. Where’d you get to be so good?”

When he answers, it’s playful and with a buoyant, pleased chuckle. “I would never claim to be good.” His fingers give your nipple a gentle squeeze through your clothes.

When you can speak, again, “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” He steps back and you turn to see him striding slowly to the bar. Back to the place where you two sat together that first evening. He looks back and tilts his head again, beckoning. “Come here.”

Here, there, anywhere. You follow him to the bar and stand in the same spot where you sat that night, with him in the same spot next to you. Like most of the cantina, the barstools are askew, one lying on its side on the floor. You pretend not to notice.

Maul leans his hip against the bar. “I learned the same way I learn anything else. Some reading, much practice…” He raises an eyebrow at you, smirks. “You can master, oh, just about anything with commitment. With discipline.”

After your last couple nights together, the word discipline has an effect on you that it certainly never did before. Your skin warms, remembering. Memory turns to blood-rushing, heart-thudding anticipation. Maul grins wider.

“Do you know what I thought of when we were sitting here?”

You lean back against the bar, almost as casually. “I bet you’re about to tell me.”

Grinning still, Maul pushes off the bar and comes to stand just in front of you, boots bracketed to either side of yours, effectively pinning you against the bar without laying a finger on you. He rests both hands on the bartop to either side, boxing you into his arms, still without touching. His face is leaned down very close to yours.

“I couldn’t stop thinking that no one in this cantina was brave enough to say a word if I bent you over this bar right in front of them. No one would say a thing. I could yank your pants down—after you’ve begged me to, of course—shove you face-down over the counter, and have you coming, loudly, in a matter of minutes, and no one would have dared to object.”

The smell of his skin, the sight of all that exposed chest, right in front of you, and his words (always, always his words) have finally burned off any lingering anxiety. “Is that offer still available?” You reach for his belt to yank him closer, as you did this afternoon. Maul catches your hands.

“Tsk. So grabby. You didn’t even ask if you were allowed.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Not yet you aren’t.”

Maul has both your wrists in one hand; he pulls them out until your shoulders are hitched forward. He catches you by the hair with the other hand and tilts your head back. He leans in, and you’re more than ready to feel his mouth kiss along the line of your throat. Your skin is electric with need.

Maul, of course, only taunts you, barely brushing. So close you can feel his breath, but nothing else, even as he follows the path of your jugular.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do with you?” You can still hear the grin in his voice, spoken almost directly into your ear.

“Yes.” You do. You can’t wait to hear it, knowing that Maul doesn’t break his promises… “Yes, sir.”

A silky laugh into your hairline. He pulls your wrists, winds your hair around his fist a little harder. “First, you’ll take your clothes off for me. All of them.”

“Now?”

“Soon. Once all of your skin is exposed, I think I’ll need to do something about these wandering hands of yours. Tie them behind your back, maybe. Perhaps that will keep them out of trouble.”

His tongue flicks over your ear, triggering a rumbling tremor through your lower abdomen.

“Then, once I have you naked and restrained, I’ll have all the time I could need to search for these spots that I missed.”

You moan and bite your lip. “Well… maybe I was mistaken…”

“No, no.” Maul leans back to look in your eyes. His grin is wicked and the look in his eyes nearly sparks. “It’s too late to take it back, now. I never do anything by half. If there’s somewhere I missed…” His claws scrape gently down your scalp, through your hair. Your skin puckers immediately, tickled and stimulated and buzzing sensitive. “I’m going to find it, and I’m going to make up for missing it the first time.”

The base of your spine grinds against the rounded countertop. Maul fills the space around you, from his legs straddling yours, to his massive chest inches from yours, to his hands holding you in place. Your nerves, your entire body hums like a stretched cable and you feel—like a matching tone—that Maul is just as taut, just as satisfyingly tense.

He kisses down your throat, lingering at the hollow between your collarbones, just above the neck of your tunic.

“It’s time for you to take these off for me.”

Maul releases his hands and stands upright, still extremely close, so close that you brush against him as you do what he says. Boots and socks, sturdy outer tunic and work pants, the layers turning thinner and lighter until your underwear joins the pile on the floor. You’re standing naked in a public barroom, but Maul said that no one was coming back tonight. And whether you have too much faith or just enough fear, you believe him. Maul keeps his promises. All of them.

In the low white lighting strips behind the bar, you see him gaze up and down your body. Desire, yes. But planning, too. Planning out how he’s going to devastate you. Head to toe, your skin puckers in rawka-flesh as you stand there waiting under his stare.

With a smirk, he leans in to kiss your lips. “Surely I didn’t miss there.”

Up to your forehead, down the side of your face. He kisses under your jawbone, and his tongue slides against your carotid pulse-point. “Hmm…”

His hands cover yours where you’ve propped yourself upright against the counter. You need the support; if you tried to stand on your own, the floor would tip. He moves to your shoulder, then down your arm, ignoring the way your nipples have tightened to points.

Maul brings your hand up so he can kiss your palm, then the soft underside of your wrist. “You weren’t talking about here?”

You shake your head. At the moment, you aren’t sure what you were talking about before. You aren’t sure you could talk right now, in fact.

Maul brings up your other hand, pretending to search with his lips over your fingers and wrist. His yellow eyes cut sideways at you devilishly. “Here? Or… here?”

You shake your head again. “N-no… not there.”

“Hmm…”

Maul twists you around until your hips bend at the counter level. The bar is cool against the flushed skin of your belly and breasts. Your pulse kicks up three gears, expecting him to crush against you—to skip ahead to the part you’re aching for—but Maul still doesn’t touch more than necessary. The deprivation has you burning, building heat like an empty skillet on a hot stove.

You feel him running a hand up the back of your thigh, teasing up towards your buttocks. Your muscles clench involuntarily, anticipation running ahead of you. You can hear him roll his lips together in the way his chuckle is half groan.

“Would you like for me to spank you?”

It might not be sane, but you would, in fact. Not only because you’re blinded by white-hot arousal that Maul is so very good at feeding, but because you know he likes to do it, he likes the sound and feel and the dominance of it—and maybe if he does, he’ll feed his own arousal and lose his own monumental control and then he’ll…

“Yes. Please.”

His hand has stilled, and you’re sure in that moment that he’s only taking time to aim. Then he sighs.

“No, no… Because I know for certain that I… hit that spot, so that couldn’t be the one I missed.”

A soft cry of protest slips out of you when he takes his hand away. Maul’s laugh isn’t the clipped, cool tone he started with; it’s grown a razor-thin edge as Maul’s excitement creeps up the dial. You aren’t the only one eager to reach the end of this game.

The most important difference is that Maul has much more patience than you do.

Instead of spanking you, he pulls your wrists together behind your back. “What did I promise you? That you’d be naked and restrained?” It’s another strip of the flexible, silky material, and once he’s tied your wrists together you don’t have much hope that you could yank them out.

Maul thrusts your legs apart with a knee. With your legs spread this way, with the cool air against your labia, you’re increasingly desperate to have him. Maul is still exploring your body, touching everywhere except where you want, but he’s started to pick up speed. His claws have just started to dig into your skin. That’s a tell—and if you play it right…

“Sir?” You don’t have to act much to put a whimper in your voice.

Maul pauses where he’d been memorizing your sensitive ribs with his lips. “Yes?”

“The counter is very… solid. Much better than the chairs in your room…”

Maul rumbles a laugh and moves to your back, kissing down the length of your spine until your bound hands get in the way. “You noticed.”

That wasn’t enough, obviously. Maul returns to the slow process of edging you into a frenzy, one kiss, one touch at a time. It’s difficult to think when you just want him to fuck you senseless, when you’re about ready to beg for it.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He catches you looking and gives you a grin.

“Something the matter?”

“No, sir. I was just—thinking about whether you’re going to come all over me, or if—if you’re going to—fill me with it.”

Maul blew out a breath, then a short laugh. “And which do you prefer?”

Honestly? The one you want is whichever consumes his self-control, whichever drives him mad with lust. Whichever completes the delicious process of stripping away his restraint until he’s gone as rabid as he makes you feel.

“It’s not up to me.” You smother your smirk and put on a wide-eyed and breathless face. “Good girls do what they’re told.”

You see Maul close his eyes, take a deep breath, open them again. He loosens his hold on your hips, where you’d just begun to feel his claws sink in.

“Hmm… Because you’re hoping for something?”

You’re hoping for anything, at this point. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

Is this a trick? He’s so very close to the beck of your thighs, you can feel the heat of his body, the tiny brushes of his clothes against you, and it’s making you crazy.

“I want your cock.” You try to keep your good girl voice on, but it cracks a little at the end. Even in your own ears, you really do sound like you’re begging. “Please...”

“You’ll need to do something in return.”

His hands are gone and you can hear him fumbling with his clothes. The adrenaline shot through your body makes you feel like you could levitate—you’d agree to anything. “Yes—anything, sir—”

“It was very disappointing… that we had to be so quiet last night—” Finally, you feel skin against your ass, you can feel his erection thick between your legs. “I want you to say my name, scream it. I want to hear you coming until you can’t anymore.”

“Can’t what? Scream? Or… orgasm?”

“Whichever gives out first.”

He thrusts it into you, and your voice chokes off with the intensity of it. It’s a full-body sensation. You can hardly breathe, let alone speak. Maul is done teasing, done going slow; with the solid bar counter to grind you against, he has the leverage to ram it in as hard as and fast as he wants.

“Well?” He manages to growl.

“Maul…”

“That’s—not all that—loud—”

You’re dizzy on adrenaline, on the sound of the blood rushing in your ears and the unflagging rhythm of his cock lighting up your nerves from the inside. With your hands tied behind your back, you can’t even hold on. Maul holds you in place, holds your legs apart with his thighs. Whatever happens, you’re at his mercy.

So you do scream. His name, pleas for more, sometimes just incoherently. If anyone could hear, they would think there was a murder happening—not that anyone here would dare confront Maul about it.

That should scare you. That should matter. But you couldn’t follow a train of thought now if your life depended on it, so you let it go. You haven’t stopped orgasming yet, and Maul’s pace hasn’t dropped a beat, and for the moment nothing else exists.

You suspect that it’s the sight of you slumped over the bar, ravaged and wrung out and nearly unconscious, that finally pushes Maul over the edge. He finishes with a shouted curse and a long rumbling groan—claws still hooked in your hips, hard this time but you notice it only very, very distantly.

He rolls you over on the bar. This would mean laying back on your bound hands, except that he hauls you up into a sitting position. You don’t help or resist; you feel as boneless as a rag doll. Now that you’re facing him, you see he’s shrugged out of his tunic so that the sweat filming his chest and shoulders catches the low light and the cool air.

You blink at him, dazed, and he looks back. He doesn’t look done. He still looks ravenous, fixated on the breath rattling in and out of you. Your hair must be a sweaty mess, you probably look like you’ve been wrung through the rusty desalination filters out back. That’s certainly how you feel.

He yanks you in against him, swallowing the small gasp that slips out with a kiss—but kiss is simply too tame a word. He consumes you, sharing a ragged breath from your lungs to his. You find yourself caught between his solid arms and his massive chest; his belt scrapes against your inner thighs where he’s practically wrapped you around him.

You break away to breathe. Maul breaks away to look down at you again, propped up naked on the counter, hands tied behind your back. A shiver passes through him.

He presses his hips forward, almost in agitation. “Open your legs.”

They already are, but you spread them wider.

“More,” Maul insists, and where his pants are opened in front he’s gotten stiff again. You open your legs as far as they’ll go, thinking that you certainly wouldn’t object if he plunged it into you from this angle, too.

But Maul catches your hair again, catches your mouth again with his, and proceeds to torment your clit with his thumb. You’re trembling again almost instantly. Maul notices, and grins against your lips.

“Yes… come again for me…”

Without removing his thumb, Maul slips a finger inside you, as well. It’s a surprise that you can feel anything down there, and stars, can you feel it. He adds another finger, massaging your front wall in time with his thumb’s movements.

“But…” you gasp. Maul has pulled back to look down at his fingers sliding in and out of you, so you have a moment to try and catch your breath, calm your spinning mind. “There’s… you just…”

Maul glances up at you, confused and impatient.

“I mean—your—your cum—”

Realization hits quickly. Maul rolls his lips under, taking a breath. “You’re not being facetious, are you?”

You shake your head.

He leans his head back and chuckles. And then he takes a tighter grip of your hair and adds a third finger inside you. The fourth one joins soon after. You’ve been staring in disbelief, but your nerves catch up and the sensation of it dumps into your brain all at once. The result is nearly paralyzing.

“Am I to believe you think I’m squeamish about my own cum?”

He twists his hand, and you know that if he wasn’t holding you up you’d be flat on the counter. It’s intense and kinky and unexpected. For once, Maul doesn’t force you to answer, just twists his hand gently against your hyper-sensitive flesh.

“Did you know that the majority of your vaginal nerve endings are here?” Maul asks pleasantly. He’s gathered himself back under control, but you can still hear the excitement underneath. Thinly, temporarily restrained. He presses his fingers a little deeper until his knuckles slip inside you. The cantina disappears in a gray haze, just for a moment; it doesn’t seem possible that his hand should fit, but the feeling of having yourself stretched over his hand is unbelievable.

You feel yourself tilt back. Maul lays you back on the counter. “In the first two or three inches, in fact. Length is… important…” Maul presses his hand a little deeper. Rotates it. His voice drops even lower. “Maybe I’ll find that spot I missed.”

Before you can even attempt to answer, Maul drops his mouth you your clit, and speech is lost. You can feel him catch on your pelvic bone, and it’s alarming more than painful, shaking you down to the base of your spine.

“Coming again? I can feel your muscles…” Maul has to pause, collect himself. “You had better remember the rules. If you want to stop—and don’t tell me—I’ll be very displeased.”

You nod. “Y-yes…”

“Good girl.”

And he’s at it again, his tongue and his hand and… You feel like you’re caught in a storm, just breathing and surviving the stunning barrage of sensation. You can’t even scream anymore. You keep thinking he’ll get tired of it but you begin to realize that you’re going to have to surrender much sooner than he is.

“M-M-Maul…”

“Hmm?”

“I…”

His hand retreats out of you. “Too much?”

You nod.

“I hurt you?”

“No—I just—I need—to stop—”

You can hear the grin in his voice. “A different kind of too much.”

You try to nod; your body feels like slab permacrete.

“I want a little more… Not my hand… I want to come inside you again.”

You whimper. “It… I must be stretched… Do you think…”

“I don’t care.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and you realize your eyes are closed. You blink them open. “I’ll just have to make those muscles clench back up.”

He’s ready to go, lined up between your legs. You bite your lip and nod.

“Ok.”

Maul tsk’s, but traces his head around your sore clit. “Ok? Not good enough.”

Trembling again, you give him the answer he wants. “Yes. I want more. M-More of… your cock…”

Maul doesn’t answer this time. He slides it in, brings your legs up to his shoulders. You’re lying flat on your tied-up hands, but you’ve forgotten all about them. He drags another orgasm out of you, and it seems like the very last of your strength, but at least he’s finished quickly too. He loves these games and he loves to wreck you; you know the sight of you limp and exhausted from his mouth, his hands, his cock—it only gets him going harder. No wonder he’s coming again almost at once.

You’ve arrived at the point where you know you physically can’t continue. You’re lying back on the bar with zero concern for your surroundings or your nakedness. These small things are too far away for you to focus on, when there are much closer problems, like the fact that you don’t think you can sit up unassisted.

Luckily, Maul helps you upright. Your head spins, but by the time he’s untied your hands, it’s settled again.

You look down at the floor. It’s very far away. Your outer tunic lands over your shoulders and you look up.

Maul is standing just in front of you, arms and chest tucked back into his tunic. He settles a bundle of your clothes on your lap; your boots are tied together in one of his hands.

He seems to be thinking, looking you up and down—with satisfaction, yes, but also pragmatically. It’s as obvious to him as it is to you that your bed upstairs is a long way away.

You nod, uncertain if the two of you are really thinking the same thing.

Maul lifts you under your back and your knees. You’re wrapped in your outer tunic, but it’s not very long. Anyone could see your exposed legs and butt. Anyone left in the building, if there is any. But you don’t worry about that. Maul doesn’t have any trouble carrying you out of the barroom, through the dark and empty lobby, up the narrow curving stairs. You fish your key card out of your pocket—it takes a couple tries to locate the right pocket, but once you scan the unlock, your door opens with a whoosh and a clank.

It's the first time Maul has been in your room. He doesn’t comment, just carries you to your bed and helps you pull the sheets back. Your limbs are gradually reconnecting to your brain, little by little. You can actually sit up on your own as Maul hangs your clothes over the back of your chair and sets your boots neatly beside them.

Discipline. You smile. Of course.

“Good night,” you tell him, maybe a little dreamily. Your limbs may be plugging back in, but the night has been mind-blowing and you haven’t quite descended back to the real world. You almost giggle, almost.

Maul stops to look at you, amused, hands folded behind his back. He looks at you, and looks at you. You sit there, dazed and sleepy, looking back.

And then he walks closer. You think to yourself that sex with this man is going to be the very last thing you do at this rate, thinking he’s about to start up again, another round, another mind-melting climax…

He stops next to the bed, watching you. He sits next to you on the mattress, not smirking or smug but just looking. As though he’s lost in thought.

And then he leans in to kiss you. And it’s a kiss, true to the name. Not sexually charged, although certainly not chaste. The hand that comes up to cup your face is—nearly—gentle in doing so.

When he pulls away, both of you are speechless. You didn’t think he had anymore surprises, but he’s pulled another one out of his sleeve. Maul, on the other hand, sits there, brow furrowed, as if he’s got more on his mind than ever.

He stands up abruptly, bids you an absent-minded goodnight, and leaves without another word. 

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