#clear hand soap dispenser

[missroxelot]

Powder Room in Phoenix

Mid-sized rustic blue tile and mosaic tile marble floor and white floor powder room idea. It features blue cabinets, a one-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, marble countertops, white countertops, flat-panel cabinets, and a freestanding vanity.

[leidensygdom]

I gotta say, one of the wildest radical transphobes' talking "points" is probably bathroom discourse. I can't even put to words how utterly detached from reality it is. It's terminally online stuff.

So, bathrooms. I don't know if somehow other people's realities are somehow vastly different from mine, but I feel like the extreme clear divide between "men's" and "women's" bathrooms is just not real. Where I live, stalls are often gendered, but how much they get used in that way is far less consistent.

For example: If the place had only the space to make one bathroom accessible, it's gonna be the women's bathroom. Always. It doesn't mean only disabled women have access to bathrooms- It means that the women's bathroom is also going to be used by disabled people. And this is common. Really common. Maybe it's because the women's bathroom tends to need more space- For pad dispensers and trash cans, for baby-changing stations (yes, I hate that these are only on the women's bathroom usually), and so on. Now- You see a guy enter the women's bathroom. Are you gonna micro-analize if the guy looks disabled enough to use it, or are you going to wash your hands and go on with your life?

Again, baby-changing stations are almost always located on the women's bathroom. It sucks- It should be in all bathrooms. But it's how it is. You see a cis guy enter with a kid. Or maybe not even with a kid- Just enters, wanders around, finds the baby-changing station, gets a diaper from the dispenser and leaves. Are you gonna throw a fit or just let this guy handle his kid?

Bathrooms get cleaned on the regular. A lot of times, you may wanna go there, and get told it's being cleaned, and just get asked to use the other gender's bathroom. Cleaning can take hours. If the men's bathroom is being cleaned and everyone is now using the women's, are you going to deem the bathroom to be the world's unsafest place or are you just go take a pee and leave?

Fucking hell, sometimes the stall you want to go to is incredibly dirty. It happens. No need to get on details. Just the kind of stuff that makes you want to not use it. Or maybe it's clogged, or maybe it's not working. Maybe there's a note saying "Broken, do not enter". Do you cry about it or just go find another stall- Which may be on the other fucking gender's bathroom?

Most times I'll use whatever bathroom is available. One is busy? Ok, let me get to the other one. I'm AFAB and while I don't present femininely, I still look like a woman to most people. Have I ever been in danger because I cleaned my hands besides someone with a dick? No. Grow the fuck up. This isn't even rare. People will switch bathrooms for speed. People will switch bathrooms because one of them is out of paper. Because one of them is out of soap.

The mall in my current city recently installed "Family" bathrooms. They're not being marketed as unisex, or inclusive, or anything. Just "family" bathrooms. For everyone. They're great. It's the bathroom everyone will use- Men, women, anything in between and outside of that, kids, disabled people, etc. There's a bunch of stalls adapted to different needs. There's accessible stalls. There's pad and diaper dispensers. There's stalls that have a big toilet and a little toilet so parents can go with their kids. There's tall sinks and short sinks- So disabled people and kids can reach.

And, to nobody's surprise, there's no reports whatsoever of any sort of assault in them.

I'm just. I don't know. I'm sorry you can't detach the existence of a dick near you from immediate assault. I don't know why that changes in the context of a bathroom- I've never (in my long life of using whatever bathroom) been in danger for that. And I'm talking as someone who has had some unsavory experiences in other situations. Grow the fuck up and maybe stop basing your views on imaginary scenarios y'all need to come up with to justify your hatred of a minority. Maybe if y'all got off your keyboards and went outside for once, you'd realize bathrooms work much differently from whatever weird ideal you have formed about them.

[hrryshoney]

you’re asking me my symptoms, doctor

A/N: hii here’s beloved gyno!au. title is reference to Escapism by Raye lol. i’ll put warnings but def don’t read if this is gonna make u uncomfy. anyways this really came to me in a prophetic vision (slut hour daydreams) so i hope u enjoy and it lives up to expectations? and Shouts to everyone who i bounced ideas w and talked abt this Man w! ty ily mwah mwah

warnings: smut 18+, fingering, inappropriate actions in a doctors office, a bit of corruption maybe hmm idk, degradation, praise, taboo topics/power imbalance (doctor/patient), use of Y/N, dom and sub dynamics, problematic age gap maybe (reader is 22/23, matty is 29/30), dirty talk, etc..

You were sitting nervously on the exam table, leg bouncing up and down. Doctor’s offices always unnerved you, to say the least. The unnatural fluorescent lights with their buzzing, the cold chill, and sterile smell.

Today, though, you had to book your gynecologist appointment. Now, you’ve been to one gyno before, a woman whose practice was nice and small before you moved cities. Going into your third year of University, you wanted a change in scenery. Now, your gyno would be a man.

A kind woman with dark hair had just come into your room after knocking twice, giving you a hospital gown and a warm smile. Telling you to undress to your underwear and bra. That you should, “Sit tight! The doctor will be in soon.”

So, here you were. On the examination bed, awaiting your doctor eagerly. When you heard a similar knock on the door, but an imperceptibly firmer one, your head shot up. “Come in,” you cleared your throat and called out.

When the handle turned and your aforementioned Doctor walked in, you felt deceived. Deceived in the best way, though, because your Doctor was hot.

He was wearing a white coat, one with a silver tag that read MATTY, his medical badges hanging from the plate. With his glasses and the lightest dusting of gray through his black, curly hair. He couldn’t have been younger than his late 20s, if older than his early 30s. And as he reached out to grab the clipboard off the counter, you were able to see the smallest bit of black ink on his wrist.

He looked down at his documents, squinting slightly. He then set it back on the counter, walking about the room and getting some hand sanitizer from the dispenser. Your eyes are drawn to his hands immediately. When he clears his throat, you come to.

“Good afternoon, love. Y/N, correct? I see it says here you’ve only been to the gynecologist once before, and it was a female doctor,” you nod along to his words, watching him take a seat and hold eye contact with you. “Just wanted to let you know, you shouldn’t be worried. Just typical stuff today, alright?” You nod again, feeling smaller now. Even when he’s sat on his stool, he feels bigger than you.

“Gonna need your words, Y/N.” You can’t tell if he’s joking, even if you see the smirk on his face. Shifting in your seat, your gown ruffling below you, you manage a, “Yes, Doctor.” Through your dry mouth.

“Ah, almost forgot to introduce myself properly.” He laughs, but you swore you saw his eyes darken for a swift second. “I’m Doctor Healy, but you can call me Matty if you feel so inclined.” He grinned, and you felt like his words had a double meaning past the surface.

“You’re here for a routine checkup, I take it?” Moving over to the sink, pumping soap on his hands and running the water. “Lay back for me.” He instructed you as he washed, back turned. You listened without second thought, body going stiff.

You heard the tap turn off, Matty was drying his hands with paper towel now. He walked over to the table, standing above you and looking down. “If you don’t mind, can I ask you some questions before we begin?”

You began to nod, but remembered your reaction from earlier. Giving him another “Yes, Doctor.” he smiled easily. “Great… Now, are you sexually active?”

If you thought you were tense before, then you were like a board now. “Um, no.” You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt your skin heating, feeling terribly bare.

“Right, have you been? In the past?” was this a normal question to ask? Of course, they’d want to know of your bodily health. But of your… sexual activity as well? For you, though, there was nothing to report. Seeing as you were a virgin, which meant no sexual experiences other than yourself.

“Um, sorry, what are these questions for?” You couldn’t stop yourself from nervously laughing, your deflection of an answer hanging in the examination room.

Matty’s eyes dragged along your frame, going from your lips and then back to your eyes. You almost missed the beginning of his sentence when he spoke up. “All protocol, of course. It’s slightly awkward, but I’m obligated to ask. So?”

“So, no. I.. have not been in the past, or like, ever.” And you wanted to melt into the floor. Surely you would have to switch doctors after this again. Too embarrassing of a feat to face.

Another look and pause that goes on for much too long. Your stomach was starting to hurt. Well, maybe not hurt, but you needed to fix it and quick. When Matty claps and rubs his hands together, it snaps you out of it. “Interesting. Well, then, let’s begin.”

You noted that his pupils were huge behind the glasses, and his black slacks hugged his crotch very well. Did they look like that when he came in? You shifted again, trying to rub your thighs for some friction.

“Can I touch you?” His accented voice was deep and gravelly now. Leaving not much to the imagination of how this phrase might sound in a different situation coming from his mouth. His mouth, pink lips that he couldn’t stop licking, and slight stubble on his chin.

“Yes, Doctor Healy.” Your voice sounded submissive enough, and you almost yelped when his hand came down to grab your gown covered thigh. Roughly drawing circles with his thumbs into the spot. “Good girl. You’re tense.”

You shivered, eyes closing and opening again. The silence in the room felt so loud, and your doctor’s appointment was feeling a bit too erotic for what it was at this point. “I- I don’t know why I am.” Lie.

“Need you to relax for me, sweetheart.” His cold hands rub up and down your thighs. He’s making eye contact with you, causing you to cast your eyes to the ceiling. “Wanna put your legs in the stirrups?”

“Would that help, Doctor Healy?” You hear the sharp inhale of breath, followed by a cough. Trying not to lift your hips off the examination table from his constant skin to skin contact.

“It would, thank you.” He moves to grab your legs, setting them on the edge of the platform. His grip feels rougher than acceptable, fingertips leaving indents on your thighs. He reaches under your gown, looking at you for your nod and slipping your panties off. “May I start?”

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you.” And when you feel his fingers run down your slit, you don’t think it’s protocol. You were already embarrassingly wet from the interaction. As his hands move and brush your clit, you can’t hold back the moan. When you open your eyes, you’re met with Matty peering at you over his glasses, an amused smirk barely peeking through his expression.

“Oh, that’s no good, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, faux disapprovingly. His thumb comes back to press on your clit. “You’re so wet. What’s that from, huh?” He took his middle and ring finger, circling around your hole.

“It’s- You! You’re doing it, it’s your fault.” You cry out in pleasure and frustration. He was so condescending, but it felt so good. You know you needed to be more conscious of your volume, still being in a doctor’s office.

“My fault?” He almost gasped in surprise, “Oh, no. I don’t think so. I’m just trying to do my job, make sure everything’s okay down here.” Maneuvering his hand, he gave you two quick but firm taps on your clit with his middle and index finger. “Can you remove your gown for me?”

“Is this protocol, Doctor Healy?” You asked, half genuinely curious to see his answer. Moving to lift your bum, untying the gown from behind your back. Your legs were slightly shaking, and you saw his hand go to cover the smile that graced his mouth. You moved both your shoulders out of the arm holes, discarding the gown to the side. Leaving you in just your simple black bra, that had simple lace trimming.

“‘Course, making sure you’re in shape, and all.” His eyes dragged down your frame, stopping at your breasts. He was taking in your figure now, so you had the time to do the same. Your eyes immediately pulled to the now prominent bulge in his pants, and his fingers that seemed to twitch in anticipation.

“Do I appear to be in shape, then? Good for you?” Unbeknownst to you, what you had just said lit even more of a flame inside of Matty. You were asking him if you were good for him? He could show you what a good little slut he could make you.

He lets his hands rest between the apex of your thighs again, “Gonna spread you open a bit, okay? Think this’ll loosen you up for me.” Matty’s long fingers make their way to your cunt, running them up and down. He slides them down to your hole, collecting the wetness there and spreading it up to your clit.

His other hand came up to unclip your bra from behind your back. He did this expertly with one hand, leaving it to fall so he could grab at your breast. Palming at it for a while before pinching your nipple. You let out a whimper, and he gave you a soft slap on the side of your chest. He grabbed it roughly again, evening it out and applying more pressure to your clit as he did.

Your hand came to cover your mouth, not wanting to let your moans out. A soft, “Doctor,” fell from your lips, causing him to slip one finger inside of you. You couldn’t hold back, then. “Please, yes!”

Matty is running the tip his finger lightly along the inside of you, and it’s not enough. You begin to whine, but he cuts it off quickly. “Gotta relax or I won’t be able to run my tests. You don’t want that, do you?” His smirk is enough to make you want to slap it off him. Though, your whole body goes slack when he pushes his whole finger inside of you.

You’re moaning freely now, seeming to have forgotten that you’re still in a professional establishment. You were relentless, the pleasure he was giving you was too much in the best way. “Doctor- Matty. Please, need it.”

Matt’s pupils dilated, if it was possible for them to get larger. “Say my name again for me.” He groaned out, rocking his hips into the side of the table to relieve some tension. “Matty. Matty! Need you, please.” You obliged easily, drunken off the feeling. Matty pressed a second finger into your pussy.

“Poor thing. Never had anyone in this little hole before, huh? Perfect little cunt is so tight for me, were you saving yourself?” You think your reactions have gotten to his head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your head was nodding in response to his words, eyes rolling back to your head.

You could feel pressure building in your stomach, the sound of his voice was getting to you. “Mhm. Doctor, think I’m gonna cum. Please, can I?” His hand sped up after hearing your words, thumb pressing on your clit. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, on to the protective cover of the exam table.

Your hips began to lift off the surface again, before Matty’s unoccupied hand came to press down on your abdomen again. “Feels that good, darling? Can’t even stay still for me.” You opened your eyes to look at him, gaze falling to how his hand lifted off of you and went to palm himself. “Come on, be my good little slut and cum for me.”

Ultimately, that was what did you in. You gasped loud enough for the whole office to hear, eyes clamping shut. You saw white behind your eyelids and your hips lifted freely off the table this time. Matty’s fingers coming out of you, rubbing your clit through your orgasm. You heard Matty moan in the back, making out a “fuck me, that’s good. You’re beautiful,” coming from his mouth.

As you came down from it, you opened your eyes to see him licking both of his fingers. “Taste sweet, gonna have to get my mouth on you next time.” He said nonchalantly, still looking down at your pussy. You tried to take your hands and put them in front of it, feeling shy all the sudden.

“Little late for that after I made you cum.” He giggled, going to get a towel from the cabinet above the sink. “Lemme clean you up.” You flustered but agreed in the end. When he came back with the towel, he leaned down to kiss you. You reciprocated easily, jumping when the towel came in contact with your skin.

“Thank you for.. that. For the appointment, Doctor.” You giggled, his head snapping up and eyes narrowing. You raised your hands in faux defence, the smile staying on your face. He smiled with you.

“Came so nicely for me, think I should be the one saying thanks.” He gave you another smirk, getting your panties from the side when they had been discarded. He tapped your thigh, signaling for you to put your legs through. Doing the same with your bra, he then helped you off the examination table.

“Seriously, you were really good. You know, for my first time.”

“Would barely call that a first time, I’ll give you that another time though.” He winked, turning around to look for your other clothes. Your jaw dropped, but you recollected yourself before he turned back to see.

“Right well. Thank you..” You said awkwardly, looking down at your feet. Where were you supposed to go from here? You just got fingered by your gynecologist in his public doctor’s office. You would have to reflect on this when you got home.

“Not an issue, really.” Matty sidestepped you to get to one of the cabinets behind you, slapping your ass as he did. Tease. He was being much too normal about this.

“I mean, what kind of doctor would I be if I left you unsatisfied with your appointment?”

[mochirimochi]

Someone Else

William Afton X Reader

I continue to wanna smash the pervy dilf in the rabbit suit.

Part 2 in a series. I strongly suggest reading part 1 first, but you do you.

p1 ● p2● p3 ● p4

-----

William spots you attempting to make a quick escape through the security cameras. He decides to make a quick call to demonstrate the... benefits of sticking around. You're his, afterall.

18+ Minors DNI.

~3500 words, no use of y/n

------

content: extremly dubious consent, voyerism, mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, degradation kink

cw for abusive relationships

You can also read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51615532

-----

You slowly blink your eyes open and it takes a moment for you to remember why you’re lying with your face down on a musty old couch cushion. You sigh and force your pounding head up, attempting to ignore the screaming pain in your hips and back. Why in the world were you so sore? You’d slept on worse couches than this one and they’d never done you this dirty before. You’d had the most vivid dream as well, the strangest, most frightening, and yet also the most… stimulating wet dream you’d ever had in your life. 

You push yourself into a seating position and a sharp twinge between your legs gives you pause, as does the breeze over them. Slowly, you look down and realize your pants and underwear are tangled around your ankles. Still tangled around your ankles.

Fuck. 

The events of the night before come flooding back to you with all new clarity and you bury your head in your hands with a groan as it sinks in. You don’t know whether to be ashamed, terrified, or uncontrollably aroused. Actually, you seem to be managing to feel all three things just fine. When you stand up your hips practically scream, and after a moment you feel something warm and viscous begin to slowly drip down your thighs. Your cheeks and ears burn with what must be the most intense blush you’ve ever felt.

First order of business is going to have to be getting clean. You’re sure you can manage that literally, but figuratively it feels like you might never achieve it again. You pull up your jeans and underwear and limp your way out of the staffroom on stiff, aching legs. Around the corner you spot a bathroom and you push your way through the doors. To your surprise and relief it not only contains the regular amenities, but also a cramped shower stall. It makes sense, the mascot suits the staff wore sometimes must have gotten awfully hot on the inside, you’d probably want your employees to freshen up a bit after wearing one before they went back out to interact with customers.

You reach in and flick on the shower, twisting the knob all the way to the top of the hot dial. You don’t really have any hope for hot water, but you can dream can’t you? The shower spits out a stream of cold, rusty water that thankfully clears after a few minutes. While the water flows you strip out of your clothes and use a fist full of the paper towels that are thankfully still in the dispenser to scrub off the worst of the grime that’s accumulated in the stall. To your utter shock the water eventually begins to warm, and you gratefully step into the hot shower.

There’s no soap of course, but it’s better than nothing. You rub your hands over your body, flinching when you hit a large bruise on either hip. Unbidden, your mind slowly starts to drift back to the night before. You remember the way his nails sank into your flesh, his iron grip as he’d slammed into you. A shiver runs through you and you don’t even have cold water to bame it on. Before he left you last night he grabbed your panting form by the hair one last time, pressing his face into your neck and licking you from collarbone to ear.

“Stay as long as you like.” He’d practically purred, pushing his cheek against yours as you whimpered helplessly. “As long as you let me collect rent.” With a sharp nip to your jaw he’d finally let you go, allowing your limp body to crumple onto the couch. You must have passed out after that, because the next thing you can remember is waking up.

Just thinking about it makes desire curl in your stomach all over again, but it also makes your blood run cold. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think he’d come to you that night looking for sex. No, you have a feeling his intentions had been much, much worse than that. It seems to you like you survived that encounter through sheer, dumb luck. The best option for your continued survival is probably to beat a hasty retreat and find somewhere else to lay low. Yes, that’s definitely what you should do, but even as you mentally commit to getting the hell out of dodge you can’t help feeling a pang of disappointment. You can't remember the last time you were so uncontrollably and unreservedly turned on. None of what happened last night should have aroused you. You know on an intellectual level that it was deeply, deeply wrong and dangerous. Your body however, feels differently.

Your body isn’t the boss of you though, and as you turn off the water you resolve to pack up and leave. It’s better to be left wanting than left for dead after all.

You do your best to dry off with the paper towels, a frustrating affair that leaves you mostly still damp and you struggle your way back into your clothing. There isn’t much to be done about your wet hair, so you settled for running your fingers through it to tease out the worst of the tangles. Without letting yourself think about it too much you hurry back to the staffroom and begin to gather your things. You don’t have much to grab, just your flashlight and bookbag. The guts of your phone are still spread out across the floor and for some reason you feel compelled to pick them up and drop them into the nearest garbage. It feels like disrespecting the building by leaving trash around would be the wrong move to make.

After peeking out the window to make sure the coast is clear you shrug your bag over your shoulder and hastily make your way down the hall. You can’t help but feel like you're being watched as you walk, and your brain pictures a large yellow figure looming behind every door you pass.

Just as it seems like you’re going to be able to make your way back into the main area of the building, something stops you in your tracks. The sharp and abrasive ring of an old fashioned phone pierces the quiet and you twist towards the sound. It’s coming from the room next to you, helpfully labeled as the “security office”. You continue to peer into the room as the phone’s shrill ringing echoes in the empty hallway. You can’t think of any good reason that someone would be calling the long defunct business and dread begins to pool in your gut.

The phone is not your problem though, and after a few more piercing rings it falls silent. You give yourself a shake and try to move on, taking a few steps forward and reaching for the door to leave. Just as your fingers brush the knob the phone rings again, causing you to practically jump out of your shoes. You turn back towards the room, staring at the door in trepidation until the ringing stops. It has to be a coincidence, right? You stay frozen for a few long minutes, but the phone doesn’t ring. It could easily be a wrong number you reason, or kids calling on a dare. You reach out for the door one last time and your heart begins to hammer as the ringing once again fills the silence.

Not a coincidence then.

With a gulp you begin to move towards the security office, stepping through the door and casting your eyes around the room in search of the phone. You spot it sitting on a cluttered and dusty desk, just behind a rickety old fan. Your hands shake as you reach out and pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

–

William has been glued to the monitor from the moment he arrived in his office. Connecting the video feed from the pizzeria to his office at the counseling center had been a simple endeavor, and one that he had found necessary to keep an eye on his… wards over the years. He’s thankful for it now as he watches you blink the sleep from your eyes. The sight of the dark purple bruises forming on your hips and ass sends a wave of possessive pride through him that has his cock twitching in his trousers, and he hisses in disappointment when you pull up your jeans to cover them. 

He watches in amazement as you effortlessly navigate the halls and disappear into a bathroom. What is it about you? How can you survive unscathed and with such little effort where so many before you struggled and failed? He knew the animatronics knew you were there, he’d watched you bumble right into Freddy the night before. Yet somehow they had no desire to pursue you, they even seemed to be actively avoiding the areas of the building they knew you were in. Were they trying not to frighten you? It stokes a deep curiosity in him, the same one that had driven him to visit the pizzeria in person last night for the first time in years. 

What makes you so special?

That curiosity had been all that motivated him the night before, but now he finds he has an even better reason to keep an eye on you. Claiming you last night was thrilling, and now that he has that he wants to do it over, and over, and over again. He’d watched you sleep all night through the security feed, stroking his cock as he replayed your dalliance in his head until he couldn’t take it anymore. You’d been so wanton, so pliable. It was exquisite. 

His brows furrow when you emerge from the bathroom (damp clothing clinging deliciously to your frame) and begin to pack. It’s immediately clear that you’re planning on leaving.

Now, that just won’t do. He’s just gotten you, he won't be letting you go that easily.

He didn’t expect you to pick up the first call, but when you ignore the second his teeth clench in frustration. 

No, that won’t do at all. You’re his, and things that are his do not ignore him.

When you finally begin moving towards the phone the wait is agony, but he relishes the fear in your eyes as you lift the receiver.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

–

You suck in a deep breath at the familiar voice, your blood is pumping so fast you can hear it roaring in your ears. The mix of fear and desire from last night comes flooding back to you all at once and you squeeze your legs together despite yourself. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to stay here.” You lied, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “I was going to find somewhere else to stay.”

“Now that won’t do at all. Here I’ve offered you room and board out of the kindness of my heart, and at such a reasonable price. You wouldn’t throw all that back in my face by leaving, now would you?” His voice is smooth and even, taunting you. The underlying threat in his words sends chills down your spine.

“I appreciate all that, thank you.” You push the words out quickly. “But I don’t want to impose on you anymore. I’m sure I can arrange to stay with someone el-”

“You’ll do no such thing.” He cuts you off with a harsh growl. “You’ll stay where you are like a good little slut.”

You flinch at his words, but heat floods your stomach.

“Please, I can’t stay here forever.” You whisper, clenching your fingers around the phone cord.

“The way I see it, you don’t have much choice in the matter. You’re mine now, little mouse, let’s not forget that.” 

A whimper forces its way past your lips, and you can’t be sure whether it’s in fear or in longing. You hate that your body is reacting to him like this. You’ve just jumped headfirst from one terrible situation and straight into one that’s even worse. And yet you find yourself practically buzzing with anticipation. You shake your head to disagree with him, but it doesn’t have much conviction behind it. 

“There’s no use fighting it, little mouse. Besides, you didn’t seem to mind it last night.”

“I’m not. I can’t.” You gasp, but you don’t know what it is that you can’t do. Can’t stay here? Or can’t fight it? Does it even really matter?

“You can and you will.” His tone is sharp, demanding. You can feel your chest heaving in desperate breaths and his next words fill you with a delightful dread. “I want to hear you say it.”

“No.” It comes out in a whisper, and even to you it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“I want you think very carefully before you say ‘no’ to me again.” He speaks slowly, and the words sound like they’re coming from behind clenched teeth. “Now say it.”

You clench your fingers even tighter around the cord and feel the hard rubber press into your skin. After a moment you finally manage a response.

“I’m yours.” It’s barely audible, no more than a breath, but you know it’s true the moment you say it. Just admitting it fills you with a shocking longing.

“Again.” 

“I’m yours.” Louder this time, it comes out in a breathy moan.

“That’s my good little slut, I knew you’d make the right decision.” He chuckles into the receiver, but his voice is deep with arousal. You clench your legs even tighter and grasp at your stomach with your free arm, desperate to relieve the throbbing heat at your core. “Does that get you off? Knowing you’re all fucking mine?” The rumbling of his voice in your ear and the desire behind his words has you gasping.

“Yes.” God, you wish he could step through the phone and take you right there, bend you over the desk and fuck you into oblivion.

“Then be a good little whore for me and take off your shirt.”

–

God, you’re exquisite.

Hearing your whimpers, watching you give in to him, knowing that you’re his? It’s enough to drive him insane. His cock is straining at the seam of his trousers and he can’t resist the urge to free it any longer. He takes himself in his hand with a satisfied groan, letting his head fall back against his chair and closing his eyes for just a moment to drink in the pleasure.

When he looks up again your hands are tangling themselves in the hem of your shirt as you chew your lip, pinching the phone between your ear and your shoulder. Just as he’s about to repeat his command you slowly begin to pull your shirt up.

You tip your head just so as you lift your shirt off over it, giving him the perfect view of the love bite he’d left at the base of your jaw as a parting gift. His cock jumps in his hand and he groans in satisfaction. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your body, leave evidence of his presence everywhere he touches. His attention shifts to a deep, mottled bruise at the base of your neck, one that he knows he didn’t leave. The groan turns into a growl. He remembers the pathetic man whose voicemail he overheard you listening to the night before. The thought of another man putting his hands on you, leaving a mark on what’s his, fills him with rage. Your body is for him and him only, no one but him will ever touch you again. He’ll have to find a way to pry his name out of you, although the thought of anyone’s name but his on your lips makes him sick.

His attention comes back to you as your shirt drops to the ground. He’ll have time to worry about staking his claim on you later, he decides as he watches you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for his next direction.

“Now the bra.” He breathes into the phone and watches as you slowly pull down the straps and undo the clasp, baring your breasts to him for the first time. He wishes that the monitors were bigger, that he had more than one angle to appreciate your delectable body. He wants to touch you, but settles for stroking his cock while he watches you squirm for him. He sees your eyes roaming around the room, looking for the camera that you must have realized is there by now. When you finally find it, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes he can’t suppress a groan. 

You're all his, and he plans to take full advantage of that.

–

You don’t know what’s come over you.

Your chest is heaving, your whole body trembling as you hang on his every word. A small part of your brain is still rebelling, telling you this is capital “B” bad and you should turn around and run straight out that door and never come back. But that thought can barely surface before it’s washed away by a flood of earth shattering arousal like you’ve never experienced before. You really should run… but you won’t. 

His voice comes through the phone again.

“You wish I was there don’t you?” His voice was like velvet brushing against your skin. “Wish I could bend you over that desk and take what’s mine.” You gulp, had he seen your hungry glance towards it earlier? You nod frantically.

“I can’t hear you, little mouse.”

“Yes, please, come take what’s yours.” You rasp, you hear another groan on the other side of the line.

“Well then take off your pants and show me how much you want it.” You almost drop the phone in your haste to rip your jeans off and another deep chuckle signals his approval. “Now sit in the chair and face the camera.”

You do it without a thought, swiveling the chair around and crumbling heavily into it. Your practically soaking panties are the only barrier between your ass and the seat. 

“Spread those legs for me, I want to imagine my face between them.” You obey with a moan. You’re desperate to touch yourself, desperate to plunge your hand into your panties and relieve the thrumming pressure between your thighs. You don’t dare to deviate from his instructions, so you sit there, the cold air and your arousal forming goosebumps on your skin.

A few minutes pass before his next direction, you can hear his deep breathing through the phone as it quickens. You realize with a gasp that he must be touching himself and the image in your head makes you throw your head back and groan. The thought of him stroking his cock to the sight of you is almost enough to push you over the edge and you haven’t even touched yourself yet. You haven’t even taken your panties off yet.

“Please.” You beg, and for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few hours you don’t know what it is you’re begging for.

“Stroke that pussy for me until you cum like the little slut you are.” He barely has time to groan out the words before you plunge your hand into your panties. You’re so sensitized that you gasp when your fingers meet flesh. You imagine that they’re his fingers and you whimper at the image. The sound of his ragged breathing in your ear tells you he’s matching your frantic pace.

“No one else will ever make you feel like that, little mouse.” His voice is tight and strained.

You groan as your hand works with feverish intensity. You’re so close.

“Whose are you?”

“Yours”  You’re gasping for breath, his voice driving you wild with desire.

“Who owns your pussy?”

“You.” There isn’t anything you won’t agree too right now, as long as he doesn”t stop talking.

“And you won’t try to leave again.”

“Never.” You practically sob out the words, your brain going blank as your body takes over.

The intellectual part of your brain is sounding another alarm and desperately waving a red flag, but the red heat of your desire outweighs everything. You scream as you reach your peak, twitching and spasming as your muscles clench with a strength you’ve never known before.

You hear his breath stutter, and his deep groan sends another wave of pleasure through you. You imagine him coating his fist and thighs in his cum, all the while watching you from wherever his video feed leads.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the only sounds filling the room are the twin sets of ragged breaths that come from you and the man on the other side of the phone.

“You won’t forget who you belong to again.” His words are both a threat and a promise. When the receiver clicks and the dial tone assaults your ears you collapse out of the chair and onto the floor, still quivering.

You are literally and figuratively fucked.

[this-aint-massachusetts]

more FNaF hcs because the tism™️ is telling me to info dump

sorry if some of these are the same as the last one I forget which ones I put before 🙁

-When Mike was chasing after the car he tripped scraped his knee broke his ankle and busted his kneecap and just gave up on life right then and there

-Mike smokes weed but he could take the tiniest tinniest hit of a bong and he’d cough up a lung so he just mainly sticks to blunts or bowls

-Abby has called 911 multiple times because she wanted to contact Vanessa but it obviously didn’t work. 

-Vanessa used to dye her hair fun colors but she can’t anymore cuz of her job but she wears colorful extensions 

-Abby’s therapist has tried so hard to hint at Mike that he should get an autism diagnosis because his sister has one and he still hasn’t picked up on it despite showing clear traits of autism 

-When golden Freddy and Abby left the cab he just handed Cory a piece of paper with ‘one million dollars’ scribbled on it in green crayon. Cory was to scared to say no he just was like “yeah ok sure” and then cried 

-Mike and Abby did not go to Aunt Janes funeral they instead went to Dave and Busters and played arcade games while their entire extended family blew up Mikes Nokia phone

-Aunt Jane was a “wine mom” and was in heavy denial of being an alcoholic 

-Abby really likes bugs and puts them in her pockets but Mike is terrified of bugs so he freaks out whenever he sees them crawling on her or in her laundry 

-Vanessa apologizes to people while arresting them

-The animatronics consider the cupcake to be their puppy and get confused when people think he’s a menace

-One time Doug ran into Mike and Abby at Walmart once and he just threw his thick ass lawyer wallet at then then ran away to have a panic attack. Mike and Abby bought a blow up pool that day

-Doug had to go to therapy due to Aunt Jane being an absolute fucking Karen

-Doug’s now a regular at Sparkys and is besties with Ness, he considers Ness “The son he never had”

-Bonnie kid (Jeremy) really liked Spider-Man

-Vanessa has a pitbull named Princess that she took home from an animal control call. (The dog is a fucking danger to society)

-Abby picked up on some 80s slang from the animatronics and now just says radical to everything 

-Max and her friends would be doing TikTok trends before TikTok was even a thing (stealing soap dispensers from public bathrooms, sticking pennies in electrical sockets ect)

-Vanessa is a Disney adult/hj

-There’s a rubix cube in the pizzeria that the animatronics have been trying to solve since they’ve been dead basically 

-Every night after Abby goes to bed Mike goes to the kitchen and eats shredded cheese by the handful. Abby caught him once and he cried.

-Mike is the type of person to ask those weird questions while watching movies, like: “If their underwater how are they drinking soda?”

-Mike would stuff all his emotions and feelings down till he bursts and it usually results in him locking himself in his room while having a panic attack

-Max was also a weed dealer so Mikes out of a babysitter and a plug. 

-Vanessa hates soda, loves tea tho

-Mike really likes the Care Bears and uses Abby as an excuse for liking it

-Ness uses those really cheesy pet names for Mike, some of them southern originated because I believe in southern Ness solidarity. Ex: Sweetie pie, Sugar, Doe

-Abby is really good at hide and seek but caused Mike a few panic attacks because of how well she hides

-After Freddy’s neither Mike or Abby could sleep without a nightlight so she lent Mike hers on the agreement she could sleep in his room with him. (He of course accepted)

-Mike: Where’s my Diet Coke?

Vanessa: Oh I threw it away, sodas not good for you.

Mike: Oh ok- WHAT.

-Abby still asks Mike to tie her shoes for her even though he already taught her how to tie them herself

-Mike has a very particular morning routine that he has to follow every morning and feels icky if it gets interrupted for any reason 

-Mike is more noise sensitive and Abby is more texture sensitive but Mike still hates certain textures (ex: olives)

-Mike has considered owning chickens and even went with Abby to look at little chicks but she soon started sneezing and feeling sick and that's when they found out she's allergic so that quickly got shut down

-Abby gives her stuffed animals lore and hierarchies and Ness is always asking her about it when her and Mike go into the diner

-Vanessa Has a very minimalist style not because she likes it but because she's scared of getting attached to anything she calls home which at times worries her when she's with Mike, Abby and Ness. This results in her sitting in bed, chewing on her lip thinking of constant escape plans and emergency exits in case her father ever returns, if something bad happens, etc.

-Mike likes seeing Abby draw him and pretends not to notice when she stares and tries to get the color of his shirt just right (he buys clothing in colors she has to make it easier)

-Abby is the type to point out cows and horses and will repeatedly kick Mike's seat even while he's driving until he acknowledges them

-Abby doesn’t understand why her and Mike can’t just print more money to make them rich and Mike has had to explain to to her 12837383838 times

-Ness is a theater kid (yeah if you didn’t see this coming I think you need glasses)

-Ness and Mike play lps with Abby, Abby explains all of her lps lore extensively and Ness listens to every bit of it while Mike is just like: “I love you both but wtf”

-Mike sometimes age regresses sometimes when put under pressure and Ness is literally the best caretaker ever (this one’s based on a Dreamtheory fic I read once and I fell in love with the idea)

-Ness and Mike call each other every night before going to sleep and once Mike forgot so he woke up the next morning to 300+ voicemails from Ness asking if he’s ok

okay that’s all i have for now I’ll post more later when i feel like it oki byeee 😘✌️

[stormz369]

The King of Hell and Me: Ch 2 - Molting

Chapter Guide Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Summary: Lucifer goes missing because he's embarrassed. Preening ensues. Wolf-demon reader. Warnings: fluff, Lucifer being bad at vulnerability, animal characteristics, implied arousal, rated mature (maybe?) Word Count: 3k

Lucifer had his own home, of course. But since the hotel’s grand re-opening, he’d been staying in his suite here. To be closer to Charlie, or to get himself out of his depression funk, or maybe both, it wasn’t clear. Either way, we’d found ourselves spending a lot of time together. We ate breakfast together most days, he told me all about his most recent duck-based inventions, and he was the only person I let into my office while I was doing my work for the hotel. Charlie had hired me as an all-purpose consultant, letting me work on any projects I wanted, and I dove straight into the advertising/community outreach/PR side of things. My work didn’t typically look like much until I had a completed product to present, so I didn’t like to have people watching my process, and as long as I kept her in the loop Charlie didn’t mind my secretive ways. But Lucifer was a creative mind too. He understood that sitting at my desk apparently doing nothing wasn’t actually nothing, and he let me be.

He was also the only person allowed to put things in my office, but that was only because he felt it was odd that I was a wolf without a pack, -because “Even hellhounds have packs, dear girl! Wolf-demons aren’t that uncommon, you need a family!”- and had started making one for me, a slowly growing pack of rubber ducks with wolf ears and fluffy tails. Every so often I’d find a new one in my office, and each one did something unusual. A pair facing each other on the windowsill had a laser between them that would alert us to intruders, but most were silly things like duck-wolves that could jump and growl, or were actually soap dispensers or changed color with the weather. 

It actually worked out to be a mutually beneficial relationship. We both had a tendency to dive headfirst into our hyperfixations, and when one of us did, the other usually managed to keep them from spiraling too far. He’d comb my hair and fur, and remind me to take breaks. I’d bring him dinner and get him out of his room when he was getting frustrated. One time I even sat in the bathroom taking notes while he talked so he could shower without losing his flow. We weren't exactly romantic, but it was far more emotionally intimate than any romantic relationship I’d ever had. And, with no one else filling that role for either of us, we did end up on the receiving end of a lot of ‘old married couple’ jokes. 

And that’s why, when he suddenly just wasn’t at the hotel one morning, I got a bit nervous. And, I’ll be honest, frustrated. I reminded myself that just because we typically spent breakfasts together didn’t mean we had to every day. Just because he’d told me every time he was leaving the hotel for the last few months didn’t mean he was beholden to me. We were friends, but he wasn’t mine and I couldn’t tell him what to do. I had no right or reason to be put off by this unexpected change to my routine. So I ate breakfast alone, went down to my office to work alone, and … couldn’t get into it. I couldn’t focus, everything was just a bit off. I should be able to hear his breathing, see his faint glow out of the corner of my eye, feel his hands in my hair. But I was entirely, soul crushingly, alone. 

I texted him every day for the first week. Then once every few days, which quickly became once a week, but he never responded. He didn’t even look at them. I was starting to think he might be mad at me, but I couldn’t imagine what I could have done to upset him so much. I started working evenings, finding it less uncomfortable to be alone at night, but I had trouble getting much done either way. Charlie started bringing me breakfast in my office when everyone else had dinner. I appreciated that she was making sure I ate, but I was just as worried about her as she was about me. Lucifer hadn’t reached out to her either, and he wasn’t taking her calls, and her calm facade was starting to crack. At least she had Vaggie though. I was just alone.

A month into his disappearance I was working late again. Everyone was in bed, and I was trying to finish up this advertising campaign mock up for Charlie, when I heard the door of the hotel creak open. My ears perked up, and I cracked my office door open, listening carefully. I couldn’t make out who had come to visit. There were footsteps, light and airy but far too heavy to be Lucifer. I sniffed the air, glad for my more animalistic senses, hoping to catch some kind of clue. Friend, or foe? Welcome, or defend? The air smelled … musty, and damp. Something was very off.

I flicked my wrist, extending my claws, and made my way silently down the dark hallway. The intruder stumbled up the stairs, it would be silent to those without acute hearing, but I heard every step. I followed along, trying to visualize where they were from the sounds. They made their way past the elevator and up more flights of stairs, and I tracked along behind them, staying a floor below them to avoid detection. I wanted to know who they were, but I also wanted to know what they were looking for. When they finally made their way down a hallway, I glowered. They were on Charlie’s floor. I waited, listening halfway up the stairs so I could pounce if needed, until I heard them stop at a door. I jumped up, landing a few feet away from the short, trenchcoat clad figure. They jumped, pressing themself against the wall as if they could disappear through it, and dropped … a key?

“... Lucifer?” I whispered.

He turned toward me, a sheepish grin on his face. “... Heeey … I’m home!”

I sighed, scooping up his key and unlocking his door, gesturing for him to go inside. “Don’t wake Charlie.”

He nodded, darting inside. His footfalls were too heavy, he was hunched over a bit, and his back looked bulky under his coat. Something was wrong. He sat awkwardly on the couch, kicking his feet a bit. “Sooo … How’ve you been?”

“How have I been? … Luc, where have you been? … Y- you didn’t call, you didn’t tell anyone where you were going, or when you’d be back, you sneak in in the dead of night in whatever that is, you smell like a drowned bird, and you’re walking like an injured dog. And you ask how I’ve been???” A deranged laugh ripped its way out of my throat as I collapsed onto the seat next to him. “... Do you even care that we’ve all been worried sick? … I … you didn’t text me back … You were just … gone.”

He flinched a bit, hesitantly reaching for my hand. “... I .. I’m sorry, puppy … I didn’t mean to scare you. I just … I had something to attend to.”

I sighed softly, letting him take my hand. “What was so important that you couldn’t even tell us you were ok?”

“I … just had to …” He sighed. “Look, it’s kind of embarrassing, ok? I …” He mumbled something, a low whine in the back of his throat masking his words.

“... What was that?”

“I’m molting, ok?” He whined, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m molting, and I can’t comfortably put my wings away until it’s over, and they’re ugly right now! So I just … I thought I’d just go to the manor until it was over. I was only coming back tonight to get my sketchbook so I could work on a project…”

I blinked a bit, trying not to laugh. “... Right. … Just so I’m clear, cause I didn’t really interact with birds on earth. Molting is the one where birds lose a bunch of feathers and get new ones, right?” He nodded. “And it’s a yearly thing?”

He nodded again, “For most birds. Angels get a little one each year, and a big one each decade. It takes forever! It’s … unpleasant. Messy …” He grumbled softly; “humiliating.”

“Humiliating? It’s just part of having wings, isn’t it? How is that humiliating?”

“... You’ve seen my wings, what did you think of them?”

I let out a sigh, thinking. “... They’re bigger than I expected, but that makes sense since you’re not a bird. They’d have to be pretty big to lift you up … unless you’ve got hollow bones and they’re just ostentatious?” I chuckled a bit, hoping to lighten his mood, but it didn’t seem to work. “... They’re beautiful, and they look really soft … You look so majestic when you fly …”

“Exactly. … Beautiful. Majestic. That’s what they’re supposed to be … but when the molt comes they’re … really not that. … Molting is messy, and itchy, and … gross! … I look like a plucked chicken under this coat…” He whined softly, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes as he hid his face in his hands. “And the worst part is that I can’t even rush it along like we did in heaven, because I can’t reach!”

“... Can’t reach? … Do you have to pluck something, or?”

He nodded. “At the end of the molt the new feathers have these keratin sheaths that have to be removed … In heaven we’d get a few trusted angels together and circle up, but I can’t do that here! So I just have to wait for them to peel off on their own!”

I frowned softly, gently stroking his shoulder. He whined softly, looking at me hesitantly. “Lucifer, … I’m sure this is a … sensitive topic, and I’m sure there’s a reason you didn’t ask, but … if you wanted to ask, … I would help. And I promise, I wouldn’t judge you for what they look like right now, or talk to anyone else about it, or anything like that … It’s just like when you got that matt out of my fur, that was pretty embarrassing for me, but I couldn’t see it well enough to get it out myself. So you sat down with me, and you took a set of combs, and detangling spray, and a pair of scissors, and you fixed it for me. … You could have just cut it out, but you didn’t. You sat there and meticulously detangled it for hours, and then you trimmed everything so it wouldn’t get bad so easily again. Remember? … I could do the same for you.”

He nodded slowly, sighing softly. “I just … I didn’t want you to see … you don’t understand, they look really bad right now …”

“So did my neck.”

He thought for a moment, sighing before he carefully slipped the ugly beige trench coat off. His wings were pressed firmly against his back, almost trembling. He turned away, letting me get a good look at them. The majority of his flight feathers had already gone through the process, but about half of the fluffy down feathers were still encased, or partially encased, in cylindrical sheaths. I smiled softly, gently stroking down his spine. “It really doesn’t look so bad, Luci. Let’s get comfy, ok? Do you wanna lay down somewhere?”

A shiver went up his spine, and his wings attempted to puff up in response. It did look a bit sad, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that. He was feeling uncomfortable enough as it was. His wings were usually a source of great pride for him, I wasn’t about to make this harder for him. He slowly nodded, and carefully got up. I followed him to his bedroom, a little concerned by how wobbly he seemed.

“... Luc, is the molt really the only thing that’s going on? You seem a bit … off?”

He collapsed onto his bed, pulling a pillow under his chest and crossing his arms under himself. “It’s enough … The little molts take a lot of energy, but the big ones … The big ones really suck … I’ve been in bed pretty much since I left …”

I nodded, sitting next to him. “I see … so, I just start peeling these things off the feathers?”

He nodded. “Gently, please … You can roll them a bit if they resist, but if that doesn’t work move on to the next one. Most of them should be ready though.”

I hummed softly, gently taking the wing in front of me and carefully extending it. He groaned softly, following my movements compliantly. I let the wing rest on my legs and began carefully sliding my fingertips over the little cylinders. Most of the keratin sheaths started to flake and crumble away under my touch, and I carefully rolled the slightly more resistant ones between my fingers. Under my touch, fluffy down and contour feathers began to emerge. I gently brushed the debris away, careful of my claws. I knew I had to do this perfectly; to prove he could trust me with things like this. He wasn’t moving or making any noises though, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.

I worked methodically from the bottom where his wing attached to his back, up and out to the wingtip, periodically brushing the detritus away and stroking his freshly exposed feathers. I finished the right side and got halfway through the wings on the left before I ran into one that started to peel away, but then didn’t want to budge. I was about to move on like he’d told me, but I paused when I heard the first noise Lucifer made since I started touching his wings; a high pitched whine. He squirmed uncomfortably, and his wings ruffled up a bit.

“... Luci? D- did I hurt you?”

“Noooo … I want it off …” He whimpered softly, pressing his face into the pillow. “... C- Can you scratch it a bit? Just a bit!”

I nodded, humming softly my agreement, and carefully ran a claw along the sheath. His high whine returned, but this time it seemed a bit more … pleased? I scratched again, watching little bits of the sheath peel away. After just a little bit more the sheath fell away entirely, releasing its fluffy feather, and Lucifer sighed happily. 

“Ohhh fuck~ … Oh, that’s so much better! Your hands are magic~” He moaned softly, bringing a blush to my cheeks.

I cleared my throat; “... I’m glad you’re liking it, Luc.”

I carefully continued to the tip of his wing. There were only a few that hadn’t been ready to go yet, and his wings were back to their full, shiny, fluffy glory. He sighed happily, but didn’t move to get up, so I just continued to stroke his feathers.

“Ahh~ … Puppy, that’s wonderful~ … But y- … you do know, wings are sensitive, yeah?” He slowly lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at me. The heat on his face made me squirm shyly, and I shakily removed my hands.

“S- Sorry … I …” I blushed bright red, scooting backwards. He whined softly, slowly sitting up and facing me.

He shakily reached for my hand, running his thumb over my fingers. “... I wasn’t trying to make you stop. …”

I blushed even more, looking up at him shyly. “... So … should I continue?”

He slowly lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. “... Only if you wish to.”

I nodded slowly, shakily pushing him to lay back down. He did, watching me out of the corner of his eye, and I straddled his hips, stroking his wings gently.

“... They’re so beautiful, Luci … You are beautiful …” I was mesmerized, letting my hands trail along the soft feathers. 

He sighed happily, settling under me. “... I cannot believe I let this go on for a full blessed month when I could have had your hands on me this whole time …”

I chuckled softly, continuing to preen him gently. “Never again, yes? You come to me for this, whenever you need it. Or even if you just want it. … You take care of me, and I take care of you.”

“Because we’re an old married couple.” He nodded, yawning softly. “Yes, love, anything wifey wants~”

I blushed brightly, trying desperately to stop the squeak from leaving my mouth. Others had called us a married couple before, mostly to tease us, but we had never said it. “... That’s right, husband. Anything I want.”

He smirked slightly. “Husband … I like the way that word sounds when you say it ... If you’re not careful, I might just make you my wife for real …”

“... And what exactly would ‘being careful’ look like?”

“Oh, you know. Not letting me touch you anymore, keeping me out of your office, making fun of my ducks. … Taking your hands off my wings would definitely count as being careful.”

I chuckled softly, steeling my nerves and leaning forward to kiss his cheek. I whispered against his ear; “sounds like a horrible way to live. I think I’ll take my chances.”

His eyes flew open, looking up at me. A bright red blush spread across his face, and a hesitant smile graced his lips. “... I agree. A horrible way to live.”

He carefully slid out from under me, turning around so I was in his lap instead, and gently cupped my cheek, rubbing gently with his thumb. I leaned into his touch, sighing happily, and he slid his hand up to stroke my fluffy wolf ear. An almost electric feeling shot through me, leaving me gasping, and I hesitantly looked up at him. He smirked slightly, pulling me closer and kissing me softly before he whispered in my ear; “Now don’t give me that look, love~ You’ve been doing it to me this whole time~”

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic january 27 - scene - 1653words - nsfw!

aka jegulus watched saltburn together and after a long week things escalate in their bathroom aka boydinner is served *giggles*

Regulus swallows another sip of red wine, tips his head back with a sigh and sinks deeper into the warm bath, feeling his muscles uncoil as the burning heat starts seeping through his skin.

It’s been a hell-ish week at the office and he’s more than ready to unwind, yearning to curl up on the couch with James and Mochi and cuddle the afternoon away once his fiancee is home.

As if on cue, Regulus hears steps in the hallway and then a gentle rap of knuckles on the bathroom door.

“Reg?”

“Come in, baby,” Regulus calls.

The door opens and James steps in with a crooked grin on his face, eyeing him fondly where he’s splayed in the tub.

“Hi, love.”  

Regulus gives a sigh of pleasure, eyes raking appreciatively over the thigh slacks and the fitted long sleeve that might as well be a compression shirt.

James chuckles and shakes his head as he pads over, socks on the tiled floor. He goes to wash his hands, not taking his eyes off Regulus even as he misses the soap dispenser twice. 

There’s not really any suds in the water, clear and stained a gentle sage green from the essential oils bath extract.

Regulus stretches out, lets his head loll back and to the side, eyes lidded and a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when James’ mouth falls open.

“Like what you see?”

James seems robbed of any clever comebacks, breathing a simple, “Yeah,” as he distractedly wipes his hands on a towel.

Regulus hums, low but impossibly sweet, a little contemplating, “What are you gonna do about it?”

James moves as if in a trance, staggering over to the tub and slowly descending to his knees on the small step it stands on. A little throne of its own.

Regulus sits up a little straighter and reaches a dripping hand out to tangle them in James’ wayward hair, tilting his head and gouging him for subtle reactions. Doe eyes widen behind his wire-framed glasses and the peak of a pink tongue swipes out to lick over his supple bottom lip.

The desire blankets over Regulus, thickening the steamy air and permeating the blood in this veins with a consistent thrum.

James goes with a quiet whine, breath shaky, as Regulus reels him in and shamelessly licks into his mouth. Greedily shoving his tongue behind James’ teeth, sucking on his fiancee’s tongue. 

There’s a squeak of dry skin against porcelain, James’ knuckles turning white against the grip on the edge of the bathtub and he whines sweetly when Regulus experimentally clenches his fingers in the back of his hair.

Regulus pulls back and gleefully takes in the flushed and dazed state of the other man. His grip relents and he shifts his hand to dig a thumb into the underside of James’ chin, right above his throat. “Touch me.”

James proceeds to strip his shirt, panting, leaving his torso bare, and dip a hand into the scalding water, squeezing Regulus where he’s hard against his stomach. He wraps his palm around the shaft only a few moments later and starts stroking carefully, the bath water rippling and lapping at the sides of the tub. 

Regulus feels a tremor whack his body and he throws his head back with a soft groan that makes James moan helplessly in return.

“Jamie,” Regulus breathes.

“Fuck,” James makes and his eyes flash with desire, cheeks tinting an even more vivid shade of scarlet. Regulus is obsessed with him.

James steals his next breath right out of his mouth when he dives in again for another obscenely open-mouthed kiss. All spit slick tongues, soft lips and greedy mouths.

The hand under the water keeps stroking Regulus, deft and firm, a hint of roughness from the thin chain of calluses on the top of James’ palm that Regulus relishes in.

When he breaks the kiss to suck in some oxygen, moans spilling free and reverberating off the tiled walls, James whines in disagreement. Always one to have his mouth be busy—orally fixated, terribly sexy, idiotic man—so Regulus promptly shoves two fingers between his lips that James gives a startled moan around.

James’ brows furrow and he adjusts restlessly in his kneeling, undoubtedly uncomfortably hard in his own pants.

His hand squeezes, making a bolt of arousal shoot through Regulus and his body shakes in the water. 

Regulus hisses, another loud moan spilling from his lips when James hallows his cheeks around his digits, “I love you, I love you, fuck–”

James groans and his eyelids flutter as his thumb circles Regulus’ leaking tip underwater, like he’s getting off more on the touch than Regulus is. 

His fiancee wheezes lightly, swallows before he presses out, “Need you in my mouth.”

Regulus whines, half in protest of having to rise from the hot bath, half at the prospect of feeling James’ slick mouth around him properly.

They scramble a little, the water lapping dangerously high against the side of the tub and James desperately chasing Regulus’ mouth once he withdraws his fingers.

Regulus is absolutely sopping wet as James manhandles him out of the tub, snatching his bathrobe from the little tray next to the tub and clumsily tugging it on him as he refuses to let him breath, continuing to kiss and lick into Regulus’ mouth.

A Lo’ you mumbled against his lips and he feels James palpably running out of patience as he yanks at the robe’s belt, pulling them flush together and barely giving Regulus the chance to wind his arms around his neck before he’s is sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub, legs splayed wide and taking another kneel at his feet.

Regulus’ curls are dripping on James as he looks down and watches him smooth along the inside of his thighs before hungrily swallowing down his flush cock in one go.

Understandably, it doesn’t take long after that for Regulus to feel his orgasm start to coil in the pit of his stomach.

The grip on James’ curls must be painfully tight as Regulus moans out, “Gonna cum.”

And then James pulls back but before Regulus can so much as make a sound in protest another groan punches out of him when James keeps jerking him off right above his open mouth, tongue sticking out and glancing up at Regulus through his glasses like a starved man.

“Oh, fuck.” 

And then Regulus is shuddering through his orgasm, cock kicking and spurting white cum all over James’ face as this one keeps milking him.

It’s terribly intense. The way he keeps fully stroking him through it as wave after wave of the climax hits. The way the cum is settling against James skin, sliding down the curves of his nose and cheeks, pooling on his tongue. The eye contact—James doesn’t even close them, the nutter.

Regulus gently stills the other’s hand when the sting of overstimulation becomes too much and, before he can think better of it, hooks the pad of his other thumb behind the lower row of James teeth to keep him from swallowing.

His fiancee sucks in a stuttering breath through his nose and Regulus keeps dazedly watching the cum pool around James’ tongue as his breath mellows out. Gaze skipping over his marked face, the dollop on his glasses, the streak in his hair, the smudge running down the side of his nose, the bit sliding down his chin.

There’s a blurry picture popping into his mind suddenly, a cutout of a scene, and Regulus doesn’t know what possesses him to do what he’s, against his better judgement, definitely about to do.

He murmurs a gentle, “Don’t swallow,” before he retracts his hand and reaches over to where he placed down his almost empty wine glass earlier.

James dutifully does as told, fingers digging into Regulus’ naked thighs where they spasm over now and then.

Regulus swallows down the last bit of his red and then goes to hold it under James’ still open mouth. “Spit, baby.”

And James tilts his head back down and slowly lets the cum trickle out and into the glass, a thick string of Regulus’ spent mixed with his own saliva falling from between James’ swollen lips. 

Once James’ mouth is empty Regulus gently swipes his fingers over James’ cheek, digits scooping up some of the sticky liquid and he wipes that on the edge of the wine glass too, hearing James’ make a strangled sound as they watch the cum sliding down the round inside of it.

It’s not a lot but it’ll do and Regulus leans down to kiss James once before he twists and carefully lets some of the bathwater pour into the glass too.

When he turns back James chestnut eyes are impossibly big, mouth completely slack. His fingers clench around Regulus’ legs again.

Regulus breaks into a little smirk, swirling the liquid mixture around in the glass like a fine wine before he cocks it in imitation of a toast, voice playful when he says, “Cheers.”

James groans brokenly, already reaching for the glass, “I love you so bad.”

He breaks into a grin too, and gives a quick nip to Regulus’ thigh, face still spoiled with his cum and then dutifully tilts his head back and swallows the fucking mix of Regulus’ cum, bathwater and his own spit.

It’s a big gulp and James swallows it all down in one go.

Regulus can’t help himself when he lets out another small groan, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth.

James keeps looking at him, mischief in his eyes, suddenly the hand that’s still on Regulus’ thigh slides higher and then he lavishes his tongue along the rim of the glass, dipping inside and humming obscenely.

Regulus rolls his eyes with a badly concealed smile. “Now you’re just exaggerating.”

James shakes his head, teeth glinting, looking ruined and agonisingly handsome, “Mhmh, never.”

[birgittesilverbae]

"You can't tell anyone" with character of your choice

fic: dads, pt. 1

//

The label from Mary's beer bottle has been shredded and pushed into a pile on the kitchen island in front of her when Lilith slips in off the back porch. She doesn't look up at Lilith's approach, her shoulders tense as she traces her thumb around the lip of the bottle.

Lilith clears her throat. "Mary…"

"You really want to have this out when half of Shan's team is in the backyard?" Mary's voice is dull, flattened in the air between them. Her laugh is equally as toneless. "Though, you haven't shown much self-control today, have you?"

"Mary, you can't tell anyone."

Mary raises her head. Her eyes feel sharp as cut glass where they track Lilith's path around the island. "That's what you're concerned about? Jesus, when have you ever known me to run my mouth?"

Lilith plants her hands on the countertop and leans towards Mary. "You can't–"

"Could you maybe wash your hands before touching every fucking surface in here?" 

Lilith flinches, nods, steps to the sink. "Sorry," she mutters, turning the tap on with her forearm and dispensing soap into her hand with the side of her palm. "I didn't think."

"Clearly." 

She can feel Mary's gaze hot on her back as she scrubs her hands, works soap into the spaces between her fingers, under her nails. It brings to mind the song Libby always hums under her breath when she tries to work paint from her skin, and the thought makes Lilith's breath hang in her throat. 

She fishes the sponge from the drying rack and turns, makes a show of wiping the counter where she'd touched it. Mary raises her bottle in a mocking salute before draining it dry. 

"You can't tell Shannon," Lilith continues, once she's returned the sponge to the sink and dried her hands. "I mean it, Mary."

"That's the last fucking thing I'd ever think of doing." Mary presses a hand to her temple, spares a glance towards the porch door. "If she'd been the one who caught you two, Lilith… Fuck. You got lucky. Not that I'm thrilled about this either, but… Fuck."

"What do you mean?"

"You two and Libby are the only family she's got left, and you've already tossed a nuke in that–"

"We–"

"I know it was rational and I know you thought it through but it sat with her, Lily. She was so terrified she'd lose one of you, both of you, all three of you. She still is. And now the two of you are, what, hooking up? Fuck buddies? Have you thought this through? Because it sure isn't fucking rational."

"We didn't mean for…" Lilith works her jaw, shakes her head. "This was the only–" Mary arches a dubious eyebrow and Lilith deflates, slumps forward against the island. "I don't know what I'm doing, Mary," she admits, her voice hoarse.

"Well, you better fucking figure it out."

[folkoreluvr]

My princely beast | chapter one

Summary: Loki and thanos have almost successfully taken over the planet and have dispensed of the earths mightiest hero’s. In the action however, Loki brings Tony’s daughter to his grand estate in the countryside, addled with guilt for his actions as he begins to break free from Thanos’ mind control.

Pairing: Loki x stark!oc

Warnings: darkish!loki, mind control, captive?, blood, violence, gore, smut

A/n: after re-reading ACOTAR and watching beauty and the beast this little scenario popped right into my head and after days of day dreaming I decided I had to write it.

I stare out of the fogged up window of my bedroom in this strange estate, I suppose I should be more relived I haven’t been thrown into some sort of dungeon or cell. Then again, my captor decided to throw my father to the cells and keep me so maybe I should be more worried. I have spent three days here and am yet to come across my captor, I’d have hope he doesn’t live here if not for the group of servants potting around the place, each with a hanging fear over their heads.

I turn around at the sound of a knocking at my door. Helga, a maid, comes in and places a plate of cookies on the desk in my new cell.

“You should eat something.” She tells me, not a suggestion but more of a command. I shake my head, pulling my soft hand away from the cool window, wiping the wet condensation on my night gown. I have been left such strange clothes, some clearly modern but most what I can only assume is Asgardian. I haven’t worn any of them, only kept onto a silk nightgown that drops to the floor in a soft pink hue and my black crew neck with the words “stark industries” printed on its front in bold white words. I see now that’s it’s probably all that’s left of my family, my legacy. The great Starks, reduced to nothing at the hands of a cruel god. “He hasn’t poisoned it.” Helga stars again with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not been here to poison it and I doubt he would bother himself with such trivial matters if you seem intent on starving yourself anyway.” I grab for the pale cream cookie with anxiousness, watching Helgas face as I eat. I try my best to keep an ounce of dignity, but I haven’t eaten in nearly three days.

“Why am I here?” I ask as I finish the cookie, desperate to grab another and scoff that one but I’ll wait until she goes. Helga surveys me as I sit on the bed, my body pulled as far into itself as possible, hands clenched into fists. Fear. Im completely petrified of why he kept me and what he plans to do to me.

“I do not know.” She tells me, a bow in her head showing her honesty. Maybe that’s worse, if his intentions aren’t clear to his servants then maybe I should try and leave, run as fast as I can and hope to find someone out here in the depths of the countryside. “You are free to leave.” Helga tells me, as if she has read to mind. “He has said that much.” I only stare at her in confusion. He must be a terrible captor if I am free to leave. Helga leaves me at that and the second the door clicks closed I grab for the plate and groan at the taste of sweet sugar.

Afterwards, I look down at myself and see the dirt clinging to my nightgown and the messy nature of my hair and decide to shower, after all it’s very unlikely anything could happen to me in there. I walk into the vast bathroom, it’s an odd mix of old time decor and the newest technology. I fiddle with the knobs until I have it running smoothly and hot and turn around to lock the door. I pull off the jumper and fold it on the shelf but the nighgown I accept is a lost cause. When the hot water begins to cascade down my throat I all but groan, savouring the feeling of warmth and comfort. The shower is fully stocked with an array of luxurious products. I grab at the soap and scrub my body red and raw, desperately trying to remove the dirt from me but it clings to me. I slide down the soaked wall of the shower and sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and for the first time in three days, since I lost everything, I cry. The pattering of hard water on stone drowns out the sound of my choked out sobs, as I heave and heave, searching for breath. After a few minutes I stand back up on shaking legs and scrub at my brown locks. I pull myself away from the warmth of the water and wrap towel around myself.

I step out of the bathroom to find the sheets of my, his bed have been changed and the plate of crumbs removed. Tugging the cotton towel closer, I survey the large chest of drawers, the top is filled with underwear, a lot from my own drawers back home and some of it new. Thick cotton socks are shoved into the corner and corset like bras are lined up in a multitude of colours. I pull out one of these corsets and a pair of my own underwear and toss them on the bed. The next draw is stacked full of nightgowns - again a mix of mine and new ones. The third draw is full of soft cotton shirts and leggings, along with thick knitted jumpers. The fourth draw is the most interesting however, I pull out stacks of thick leather, noting a deep cut vest that laces at the front and black trousers, ones that would no doubt cling to me like second skin. I shove the clothes back in the drawer and wander over to the dark oak wardrobe. All the furniture looks old, worn but the appliances, such as the large tv, new. It was as if the house had been left here abandoned and my captor had claimed it, that was easily possible.

I run my hands along the soft fabrics as I chose a dress. I land on a more earthly dress in a faded green colour and toss it to the bed too. Lined up at the bottom of the wardrobe is an assortment of shoes, red bottomed stilettos, country boots, leather boots that matched the other leather apparel my captor had left for me and an array of slip on shoes. I chose black ones with a small heel and dress myself. The dress falls to my ankles, billowing lightly around me, it cuts diagonally at my shoulders, showing my collarbone. The back laces up and I wrestle with the fabric as I tug them tight, allowing the dress to cling to the curves of my body. I slip on the shoes and sneak at my door, worried I’ll find someone outside it.

I pull open the heavy wood and find an unbreathing corridor. I keep my hands clenched into fists as I walk slowly down the hallway, my head anxiously darting from left to right like the god will attack me from the shadows. I turn at the end of the hallway and find the stairs to the foyer. I scale down them anxiously, watching the door with heavy breaths. I don’t see anyone else around the house, no cooks or cleaners but the house is in perfect condition and there is no way Helga could do it all herself. Magic most likely, dark dangerous magic belonging to a darker and much more dangerous man. I reach the bottom of the stairs and contemplate going for the door and running but I have no clue where I am, no coat or food and no weapon to defend myself. That’s what I should do, find something to defend myself with. I wander the hallways in search of a kitchen, hoping to steal a cutting knife, better than nothing. I find the kitchen at last but nearly grown as I find Helga in there, preparing a large chicken with numerous spices, I see bubbling pots on the stove full of vegetables and a tray of bread rolls waiting to be cooked. It can’t all be for me. Dread settles over me as I realise he’s coming to the house, to my prison. Helga looks up at me and says nothing, going back to her cooking, the knives are on the other side of the kitchen and if she is distracted she probably won’t notice me grabbing one for the rack. Attempting to be nonchalant, I walk around the kitchen Island and towards my weapons but before I can wrap my sweating palm around a blade Helga interrupts me.

“He keeps his weapons in the armoury, it’s in the right wing, the doors down and to your right.” I don’t turn around, or move or make a noise. I can’t help but question why she would tell me such things, what motive she might have. “There’s a chest full of throwing knives and daggers, ones with sheaths.” She tells me, not looking up from the potato she is currently peeling. “You’ll cut yourself on that knife if you keep it at your chest, the smartest place to keep a knife.” Trusting Helga seems stupid but she seems to have lied about nothing else and there is nothing malicious in her tone. I retreat from the kitchen without a word and stalk down the corridors, I takes me nearly an hour to find the armoury in the maze of a house and true to her word it is full of weapons. I find a chest and prop it open, fishing out a dagger, its handle is gold and carved with runes that match the ones on the leather sheath. A large emerald stone is placed at the hilt and I turn it over in my hands, feeling the heavy weight of the metal - most likely Asgardian. I shove it down my chest and stand up. He might he furious at me for taking from him, he might even kill me but I do not care, I do not have much to live for anymore.

With the dagger safely at my chest, I retreat and head back to my room but I stop when I hear voices coming from the kitchen, I hide around the corner, recognising the quick tone of Helga and the dark growl of my captor.

“She left her room?” He asks, Helga responds in a simple yes as she chops, the sound of the knife clattering though the room. “And what did she do?” He asks her. I still, the colour draining from my face, limbs shaking.

“Came in here in search of a knife.” Helga drones, entirely uninterested. I wait in heavy silence for a negative reaction from my captor but receive none, only an interested hum. “I told her she’d have better luck in the armoury and she left, almost likely to grab a better blade.” My captor muses himself with a huff of his breath and sighs. “Interesting…” he says. “Do relay my message to her.” He asks and then he’s stalking out of the room and I press myself as far into the wall as I can go. I thank whatever good is out there and he turns and storms down the hallway, not even noticing me.

Hours later, Helga stands at my doorway again. I put down a copy of “little women” I found on one of the shelves in the room and look up at her, wondering if it has anything to do with my captor and his conversation with her.

“The prince has invited you to dine with him.” Helga tells me, no emotion in her voice. My dark eyebrows furrow in confusion at his ‘invitation’. “He wishes to disgust a deal.” She informs me, I still remain frozen upon the bed. “If I were you I’d listen to what he has to say and if things were to go awry then… run like hell.” She tells me and then she is gone, shouting down the hall to be ready for eight. I glance at the clock and see it is in an hour.

After twenty minutes of consideration, I decide I will go. I keep on the dress I’m already wearing and ignore the makeup laid out for me on the vanity unit. My hair has now dried and I decided to plait it on a wreath around my head, keeping it up and out of my face, a practical hairstyle in case things go awry.

[derangedanomaly]

whwheh i feel like strange saying this but everyone being like really possessive over fictional ppls is like. i dunno it’s like upsetting because i also wanna joke around and have fun but everyone seems so serious like i don’t wanna have a sans fangirl showdown lmao. anyways NEW CREATION !!! got a bit long with this one. yugioh anon at it again >:3c

summary: you’ve gotten your leg injured while not paying attention in the courtyard, slamming it directly on the concrete path. coming back inside. you’re in the middle of cleaning the stray rocks out when someone (we know who) barges in. reader wears skirt but no real gender. reader is not exactly friends with anyone, pretty new but knows blade the best. reader is also a little dumb but that’s okay we love them <3

Sunsets never became dull no matter how many times you looked to the skies above. Soft pink, like cotton candy coating the top while it mixes in with a light orange. Some lines in between seemed more red if you squinted. Ugh, squinting at the sun is not a good ide-

THUNK.

White blinded your eyes for but a few seconds and in the next moment your hands and knees allow your body to hover over the ground. Tears prick at your eyes, but you use the back of your hands to rub at them. If anyone saw you crying over a few scrapes, surely you’d get made fun of. Being lucky enough to avoid any servants seeing you fall over after staring at the sun was a one in a million chance, but they can’t be far. You don’t think the servants can smell blood like Ted, so you’re set to go!

Well. You don’t think any of the servants can smell blood, however hiring vampires doesn’t seem beyond Nightmare’s capabilities. You raise your body carefully and stand up. Actually, you think he’d definitely hire vampires for the aesthetic. He’s rich enough and has plenty of bodies to keep them fed. Fear of becoming one of those bodies encourages you to walk a bit quicker than your regular pace to your room.

Air stings at your wounds while you head to the one place you feel comfortable tending to your injuries. Any tears have long since stopped as you’ve been walking (read: jogging away from possible vampires) which clears up your formerly blurred vision. Looking at your hands, very few rocks are stuck in and they seem quite small. Not anything picking them out with tweezers won’t fix. You’d check your legs in your room, but you didn’t exactly feel any rocks that would be a concern. As you turn your head back up, you spot your door down the hall. You would thank Nightmare for the room placement, but you doubt he did it for your benefit. Maybe it’d make him move you due to his strange “no positivity” rule. That isn’t exactly how he explained it to you, but you were fairly sure he just didn’t like happiness. Stopping at your door, you pause before realizing you can just use the back of your hand to twist it open. Not even a creak comes from the door as you gently push it open. Finally, your room!

You set off to your bathroom and grab a clean cloth with the tips of your fingers pinching it in your hand. With the other hand, you grab a small soap dispenser. Pushing the dispenser close to your chest, you reach out your other hand and wet the cloth under the sink faucet. With a few cautious steps, you sit back down your bed. You’re like, fairly sure this is what that guide said that one time? Take a soapy wet cloth and gently dab it on the wound? Then tweezers and the medication and bandage? Well, it can’t hurt tha-

THUD.

“Fuck- What do you need Blade?” You question, closing an eye after he scared you into pushing the cloth a bit too hard on the wound. “What are you slamming doors for? Go mess with Ace if you wanna scare people, he’s probably messing with his film set or something.”

Blade lets out an amused huff at the idea. “I’ll fuck with him in a bit.” His face gets a bit strange as he examines you. Can skeletons blush? Probably not? Is he having a magic overload or something maybe? His cheeks are a bit red and one of his eyes has a white dot now.

“Are… we good?” You ask, scooting a bit away from him. He approaches anyway. Leave it to Blade to take a hint, huh?

Blade stops just at your feet and kneels down in front of you. He grabs your thigh and you would move back, but his grip is firm. Despite the strange way he’s acting, he does seem to be fussing over your injuries. The cloth is snatched out of your hand as he dabs it correctly on your knee, then moves on to the other, and the process continues for only one hand. Blade looks up at you when he’s done, but doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he wants… “Uhm, tweezers are in the top drawer?” He walks over and opens it. Yep, guess he’s taking care of you. How did he even know? Why did he even care? You weren’t that stupid that you didn’t know he was a murderer like the rest of the magic skeletons in the household.

Blade heads back to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. He’s… got a surprisingly gentle way of removing the pebbles. Thinking about it, he’s killed a lot of people. Perhaps he learned some anatomy or something to do it better? Doesn’t sound like him at all, but could be an order from Nightmare. Silence is the loudest noise you hear while he picks them all out. It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would.

He smirks at the hand he didn’t clean with the cloth for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t think we have all that much human medication. Normally when people get hurt they’re kinda meant to. I can bandage it for you, though. You gotta have some sort of clean clothes you don’t really care about here, yeah?”

You nod and gesture to some you don’t exactly care for. Those are some of the cleanest clothing you have seeing as you rarely ever wear them. Blade prances over to the clothes, grabbing them and bringing them back. He kneels down in front of you again as he ties the clothing around each wound except for the one hand he didn’t clean. You’re about to ask when he holds your wrist. Oh, good he didn’t for-

Blade takes the injured hand, shiny with small amounts of blood oozing from it, and licks it. An ecstatic grin spreads across his face, even more so when you wince. Before you can ask what the hell that was and why he did it, he gets up and tilts your chin to look at him.

“You know, you taste far too good, little lamb.”

With that, he exits the room as your face heats up. That wasn’t attractive at all in any way, so why is your face doing that?! Why are you feeling flustered?! DID HE JUST LEAVE YOU TO BANDAGE THE OTHER WOUND?!

The thing about people getting possessive over the characters honestly upsets me too. I want everyone to be able to enjoy them at the fullest! I'm a little sad about the way people are possessive over the characters.

This was really good! As always! I loved it! ^^

Blade's always just unpredictable lol. Well, to be fair, all of them are- but you know. TT

[bitterwaters]

Acetone, Alternatives, and Additives

Acetone is the best polish remover, hands down. Pure acetone is the best and cheapest option out there. With a few exceptions, other polish removers are just 80% water, 15% acetone, and a little scent, coloring, maybe vitamin E for texture. They're awful. You have to use more, soak your nails with water (bad!), and scrub harder to get everything off. Just use acetone!

But I'm allergic to acetone! damn that sucks. Acetone-free removers are available; they use methyl acetate instead. They're still mostly water. Give that a shot. If you find it to be too weak to be effective, pick up Orly's polish thinner. It's 100% methyl acetate and SHOULD NOT BE USED TO THIN POLISH. It destroys polish. I don't know why they sell it as a thinner. But it's good for a bottle and brush cleaner, and it'll strip your nails.

Acetone dries me out :( Yup. But the fix is easy: glycerin. I didn't think it would work, but I saw a major difference the first time I used it. It truly does keep skin and nails from drying out! Pick up a bottle at Amazon or a health food store. You'll also need a little water--glycerin and acetone don't mix, but they are both miscible in water.

The standard acetone:glycerin:water ratio is 10:1:1-1.5. Add an ounce of glycerin to ten ounces of acetone, then shake vigorously. If it doesn't fully mix, add a tiny bit of water and shake again. That's it! You're done.

I put this in a dispenser and use it to strip polish. It's perfect for a ten-minute soak using lots of product. For manicure clean-up, I find that I need a higher acetone ratio or polish doesn't get fully removed. I keep that in a separate bottle, probably a 15:1 acteone:glycerin ratio.

You can also buy scented acetone additive if you're a smell freak. Bliss Kiss and several indies make their own. There are unique scents in PPU and HHC every month. Be cautious with indie scents. I recently had a bad reaction to one that contained peppermint essential oil--a notorious skin irritant. It peeled off the top layer of my nails.

Do a spot test with any new additive before you soak your whole hand! Add a few drops to an ounce of acetone, apply it to cotton, and leave it somewhere inconspicuous for ten minutes. If the spot gets hot or itchy, take it off and wash with soap. If it doesn't, you're clear to use it as normal.

[cariantha]

Power Play

Book: Open Heart, Book 2

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, 18+ Only, contains sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut

Word count: 2.9K

Prompt/Summary: Fed up with some of Ethan’s catty and manipulative admirers, Sawyer tries to beat them at their own game.

A/N: Inspired by this ask and the follow up request from @annfg8 for a jealous Sawyer fic. This takes place shortly after the softball game kiss.

Even Ethan was on board when June suggested they present at the conference and bring some much needed attention to Edenbrook. The event coordinators were excited to promote the renowned diagnostics team as the headliners. As such, the team was asked to be part of a moderated panel discussion that morning, followed by Q&A breakout sessions throughout the afternoon. 

In between sessions, Sawyer began to notice just how many admirers sought the attention of the famed Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Most of them women, with an air of sophistication about them in both appearance and accomplishment. They stood before him in their classy sheath dresses and power pantsuits, accessorized with expensive jewelry, designer shoes, and handbags that cost more than her rent. She heard snippets of their conversations with mentions of groundbreaking research, articles published in prestigious medical journals, keynote presentations, and AMA awards. Sawyer also observed the flirtatious posturing. How they leaned in, tilted their heads, subtly touched his arms and shoulders, and on occasion even flashed their eyebrows. 

No longer able to stomach the view, Sawyer escaped to the restroom for a moment to herself. Locking herself into a stall, she heard the click-clack of high heels as two women entered.

“I would let that man do absolutely anything to me. An-y-thing. And from what I’ve heard, he’s currently available,” the woman sang, fixing her hair in the mirror. 

Applying a fresh coat of lipstick, the other laughed, “Ha, good luck. He’s been eye fucking that protégé of his all day.”

“Please. Ethan Ramsey is a man of refined taste. He dated Harper Emery for fucks sake.”  

“Let’s go find Hirata and get the scoop.”

Red hot anger crept up her neck as Sawyer waited for the coast to clear. As she moved to wash her hands, a poised red-head joined her at the sinks.

“Ignore them.”

“Pardon?” Sawyer asked, making eye contact through the mirror.

“You’re Dr. Brooks from Edenbrook. Sawyer is it?” she pumped soap from a dispenser. “I’m Kellie. Kellie Wicker. I’m in Oncology over at Brigham. I’m a friend of Ethan and Harper’s.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sawyer greeted cautiously. 

Repeating the advice, “Just ignore them. Sadly, a good majority of the women in attendance only come to these conferences to meet men. And those bitches are notorious for coming in and marking their territory.” Drying her hands she added, “As if they have any chance with Ethan Ramsey either.” Her snicker echoed in the tiled room. 

Unclear whether it was meant to be a dig, the word “either” didn’t get past Sawyer, who shook the excess water from her hands and reached for a paper towel.  

Tucking her copper strands behind an ear, Kellie continued, “If it’s any consolation, I can tell Ethan respects you. He’s a very proud mentor, and as he put it when we spoke earlier, he thinks you have tremendous potential.” 

“Thank you. Dr. Ramsey’s been a great teacher. I’m incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to work with him, as well as Dr. Hirata and Dr. Mirani.”

“Lucky indeed,” Dr. Wicker concurred. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Sawyer. I look forward to seeing you at the reception later,” she offered, turning on her heel to leave.

“Sorry, can I ask you a quick question? How fancy is this event tonight? I packed a couple different dresses but–” 

“Oh…oh, it’s not fancy at all,” Kellie paused with one foot out the door, “Business professional, dear.” 

“Glad I asked. Thanks.” 

Sawyer returned to the lobby where she found Baz obnoxiously flagging her down. “Sawyer, you’ve got a fan seeking an autograph,” he pointed to the mystery man.

As she rolled her eyes, the man turned around and Sawyer squealed with excitement. “Ben! What are you doing here?”

“Brooksie! Wow, Boston looks good on you, honey. Aside from the fact that you are in desperate need of a spray tan,” he teased.

She playfully swatted at him as he pulled her off to the side to chat. 

Having missed the initial exchange, Ethan entered the lobby, his eyes immediately drawn to the man hovering over what he wished he could publicly claim as his own. 

From what he could ascertain, the flamboyant doctor was someone she knew from Los Angeles. Ben personified the Beverly Hills doctor stereotype right down to his sleek Armani suit and shiny Prada shoes. If Ethan had to guess, he was most likely a plastic surgeon. 

As Ben rubbed his hand up and down Sawyer’s arm, Ethan’s muscles tensed. And when Ben pulled her into a hug and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, Ethan gritted his teeth. Swiftly gathering his belongings, he announced to Baz that he was heading back to his hotel room. With urgent steps he exited the conference center, ignoring those who still wished to win him over with favors and flattery.  

Agreeing to share a drink with Ben later at the reception, Sawyer tried to catch up to Ethan. 

He was already several steps down the hall of their floor, when the second elevator chimed behind him.  

Not wanting to disturb any hotel guests by shouting, Sawyer jogged to his side placing her hand on his lower back to get his attention. “Hey.” The thrill of her touch reduced his blood pressure just slightly. 

Catching her breath, “I feel like I haven’t talked to you all day. How are you?” 

“Fine,” his tone curt. 

“That was quite an impressive following I witnessed down there today. I mean, I saw a bit of it in Miami, but those were mostly pharma execs,” she tried gauging his mood, “I bet you’re glad to finally have some time to yourself.” 

“Yes, I am,” he fished for the keycard in his pocket.

“Ah, the downside of fame,” she teased.

A hint of irritation in his voice, “It looked as though you had plenty of your own admirers.”

With a breathy chuckle, “The only people who approached me wanted to know what you were like,” she stated honestly.

“Hmph. Well, this is me. If you’ll excuse me, I have a couple calls to return.”

Disappointed there was no suggestion of going to the reception together, Sawyer dug into her purse in search of her own room key. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you downstairs later,” she said as Ethan entered his room and closed the door. The interaction, or lack thereof, only fueled the festering feelings of insecurity.  

A couple hours later, Sawyer approached the entrance to the hotel lounge. Stopping short, she noticed how the other men and women entering the room wore formal cocktail attire. Then sashaying across the hallway in a sequined minidress, Kellie glanced to her right. She scanned Sawyer from head to toe and with a quiet but villainous laugh she walked on triumphantly. As the two-faced ginger crossed over the threshold, Sawyer heard her phony voice ring out. “Ethan. Hello handsome. Come, have a drink with me.”

Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, Sawyer retraced the steps back to her room, all the way debating whether to even return. And if she decided to return to that hyena’s den, she wondered which of the dresses in her suitcase she should change into.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her nicest black pantsuit, Sawyer made the decision to fight fire with fire. She thought to herself, she may not be as polished and accomplished as the Harper Emery types who paraded around downstairs, but she did have certain assets that would set her apart from the pack. And she wasn’t afraid to use them.

Shrugging her suit jacket off, Sawyer lifted the ivory silk tank top over her head and removed her bra. She carefully smoothed her wavy hair into a sleek bun and wiped the neutral colored lipstick away, replacing it with a bold shade of red. Her modest jewelry was traded for a sparkly necklace, one that would be sure to draw attention to the aforementioned assets. Tugging her jacket back on, she fastened the only two buttons located at her waist. Sawyer turned from side to side making sure she wasn’t giving too much away, and when she was satisfied, she grabbed her clutch and made her way back down to the reception. 

Meanwhile downstairs, Ethan stood at a high table sipping his whiskey neat as Kellie droned on about her recent hormone replacement study. He swept the room often, shifting his eyes to the doorway every time someone entered. 

Sawyer was a fairly punctual person. With the reception well underway, Ethan’s concern for her grew. His mind raced with all sorts of theories. The worst was that she might be off with Dr. 90210, who was also nowhere in sight. 

Finally revealing her true intentions, Kellie changed the subject. “I ran into Harper a while back. She mentioned that you two were no longer together.” 

“We are not. It was time to move on.” 

“Are you seeing anyone new?”

Ethan didn’t answer. Instead he shook his head, not in reply but in annoyance, and took a swig of his drink.

“Come on, Ethan. We’ve been dancing around each other for years now. Let’s have some fun tonight,” she pawed at his arm. 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sawyer stepped into the cocktail bar, stealing the attention from many conversations. After briefly surveying the room, her confident form glided in his direction. Ethan chewed the inside of his bottom lip to keep his mouth from falling open. But there was little to be done to stop his eyes from roaming her exposed chest. Her bare breasts taunted him, only the lapels of her suit jacket hiding the most sensitive parts. Sawyer looked from him, to his company, and back again. “Dr. Ramsey,” she acknowledged with a nod as she sauntered past. 

“There she is!” Baz shouted as Sawyer approached the bar table where he and June shared drinks. “Whoa, step aside, Beyonce. Sawyer Brooks is the one slaying now.” 

After rolling her eyes at his ridiculousness, Sawyer looked around taking in the overall atmosphere, but June easily saw through the farce. Psychoanalyzing, she could tell Sawyer searched for reaction from Ethan and his current companion. 

“That is quite the statement you are making, Sawyer. Who exactly is the intended audience?” 

Sawyer snapped her head to June, finding a smug expression on her face. 

A few tables away, Kellie followed Ethan’s eyes as they tracked Sawyer across the room. Trying to regain his attention, she ran the lapel of his jacket through her fingers, “So, what do you say?”

He looked to the table where his colleagues stood. “Please excuse me. I need to touch base with my team,” he said, grabbing his drink and backing away. 

“Good evening,” Ethan met the table, coming to stand at Sawyer’s side.

“Hey, Boss!” Baz greeted in return. “So, how’d you all think it went today?”

June spoke, “I’d say ‘mission accomplished.’ I was approached by an editor from the NEJM who wants to write a feature about the team. And speaking of…” spotting the man, she followed him to the bar.  

So that only she could hear, Ethan leaned close to Sawyer’s ear. "You seem to be missing something.” 

“If you mean a stiff drink, then yes, I was hoping to fix that.”

His eyes flashed quickly to the fleshy mound peeking out from underneath her suit coat. “Not what I was referring to,” he straightened, “but allow me to remedy the drink issue. I could use another myself. Be right back.” 

Baz picked up the conversation asking Sawyer what she had thought about the conference, but was suddenly distracted with a passerby. “Scotty?! Scott Briscoe, is that you? Excuse me, Sawyer,” he apologized, leaving to reunite with his old college pal. 

As Ethan waited at the bar for their drinks, he looked back to Sawyer who now stood alone at the table. While it pleased him to find her staring back, he was not thrilled to see men at nearby tables eyeing her as well. 

A moment later, Ethan placed a drink in front of her and Sawyer initiated a familiar game of people-watching. As they searched for their next targets, Ethan spotted Ben schmoozing at a table in the far corner of the room. At the same time, Kellie stood nearby glaring at Sawyer. 

Ethan jutted his chin toward an exit that led outdoors. “Care to join me for some fresh air?” 

“God, yes,” she sighed with relief. 

They threw back the rest of their drinks and made their way outside, finding a long and windy path that curved around to an overlook of the ocean.

“So, what’s with the bold look tonight?”

She shook her head. “It’s actually quite embarrassing and pathetic really.” 

“What is?”

Taking a deep breath, Sawyer proceeded to tell him about the gossiping women and Kellie’s “kindness.” 

“So, anyway…I…I guess I was just feeling a bit insecure and jealous watching these women hang on you all day. And after getting hoodwinked by that Kellie woman, I decided I could either hide in my room all night or play the game using my advantages.”

“Which are?” he was curious.

“That I’m younger and hotter,” she stated proudly, earning a laugh from Ethan.  

As they continued down the path, Ethan frequently glanced over at Sawyer trying to understand the root of her jealousy. How could she have any doubt that he only had eyes for her? But he already knew the answer to that question. The uncertainty of their situation was of his own making. 

“You know there’s no reason to be jealous, right?”

When she barely acknowledged him, he reached for her hand, stopping them in their tracks. “Hey. I know I’ve spent the last several months confusing you. And I’m genuinely sorry, Sawyer. But whether it’s a crowded room or a busy hallway at work, my eyes are always and only searching for you,” he affirmed. “You stole my attention in that waiting room last year and have had it ever since,” pulling her into his arms, “I’m all yours.” 

Sawyer squeezed her arms tight around Ethan’s torso, thankful for the confirmation. 

After a comforting moment, Ethan pulled back to admire, “I wish I could tell you that jealousy looks terrible on you…but fuck, Sawyer…this sexy power play of yours is a major turn on.” His fiery blue eyes burned right through her, causing Sawyer to shiver. 

“Cold?”

“It is a bit drafty,” she giggled.

“Let me try and warm you up.” 

Ethan turned her away from him, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her snug to his chest. Grazing his lips past her ear, she felt the warmth of his breath before he began placing heated open mouth kisses down the column of her neck. With his free hand, he caressed her goose-pimpled skin from neck to navel, his fingers slipping through the open door of her jacket. He traced around her breast before cupping it with his large palm, kneading tenderly. Not wanting to be neglectful, Ethan gave equal attention to her other side. 

Sawyer reached behind, hands holding his hips close, needing to feel more of his hardened length against her ass. “Kiss me,” she urged, tilting her head back.

Obeying, he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, savoring the taste that he had craved every day since Miami. He worked to unbutton her jacket as Sawyer nipped along his jawline. Twisting in his arms, she framed his face and traced her tongue across his lips enticing him to open to her again. 

Ethan drove himself into her until she bumped into the wooden railing. Lifting her onto the top rail, he grasped Sawyer’s backside, anchoring his hands firmly to her ass cheeks to prevent a backward fall. A convenient gust of ocean breeze pushed a flap of her unfastened jacket open. And taking advantage, Ethan buried his head into her chest licking and sucking her peaked nipple. 

Sawyer’s gasps and moans were visible in the cool night air. 

“Mmm…Sawyer,” he mumbled against her silky flesh, “...tell me you’re mine too.”

Dragging him up to eye level, she locked her legs around his waist and slipped her hand between their bodies, eliciting a gratifying groan. Lips barely brushing his, she massaged his erection and purred, “I’m yours, Ethan. Only yours.” Punctuating her declaration, she deepened the kiss. 

Pulling back for air, Ethan tilted his head upward and closed his eyes, enjoying the increased pressure and speed of her ministrations. When suddenly he felt a drop of moisture smack his face. Sawyer felt it too on her naked chest. They both looked to the sky, then to each other, bringing their foreheads together as they accepted their defeat against mother nature.

“C’mon, we should get you covered up and back inside before hypothermia sets in,” Ethan helped guide her feet back to the ground.

After adjusting their clothing and making sure the twins were safely tucked back in, Ethan took her hand in his. 

As they walked back to the hotel entrance, Sawyer leaned into him. “Ethan, has there ever been a time when you were jealous over me?” 

Without hesitation, he answered truthfully. “Yes. Many times.”

“Really?”

“Rookie, I asked you to come out here with me because I saw Doc Hollywood walk into the lounge…and I didn’t want to share.”

“Doc Hollywood?” she looked up in question. 

“The handsy blonde guy you were hugging earlier at the conference center.”

With an amused laugh, “Ben? You were jealous of Ben?”

“Why’s that funny? How do you know him?”

“His husband is my good friend from Caltech. I was in their wedding party.” 

“Oh,” he said, cheeks flushing red. “Well, either way…I still wanted you all to myself.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @ofmischiefandmedicine @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin

[natehackett]

OPEN – lunar laundromat

"hey! HEY! don't make me tap the sign!" nate shouted after a group of teenagers huddled by the detergent dispenser. they were loading it full of quarters, taking pod after pod to put into a machine with no clothes. it was clear they were trying to fill the entire laundromat with soap suds and break one of the washers, that was already on the fritz, in the process. when the teens turned their attention to the attendant, he did tap the sign hanging on the front of the desk he was sitting behind. it read one detergent pod per washer. they stopped their giggling and dropped their handfuls of pods before they ran towards the door. "damn..." he came out from behind the counter to pick up the dropped detergent. "if they were really thinking the prank through, they would have just bought a whole box of tide pods and brought them in. maybe i wouldn't have noticed them using so many pods then. it was kind of hard not to notice them spending fifteen minutes in front of the dispenser for no reason."

[nutmeg-puppygirl]

I would like to apologize to my poor girlfriend, who tried so hard to be romantic this evening. While I was getting us both water, she covered herself in pieces of Mr. Beast Bar, positioned from her thigh to her cock to her tummy to her tits to one in her mouth. I came into the room, saw her, set the waters down, sighed, and sadly exclaimed "I need to take a piss."

I go, do my business, wash my hands, try to use the soap pump. It doesn't work. I try adjusting it, it doesn't work. I realize it's gunked up, so I try to clear it with a fingernail. My girlfriend's body chocolate is melting. I frantically grab a nail clipper, flip the lever, and sound the soap dispenser, finish washing my hands, and come back to the room.

I come back to my beautiful patient wonderful patient kind patient girlfriend, stretched out on my bed, and nibble the first piece of chocolate.

I don't like it.

[writebackatya]

I Think We’re Alone Now! WIP Preview

Doing my best to add more stories to the “Gandra Dee & Della Duck (Disney)” tag on AO3. I already posted two previews of this story, one showing Della’s introduction, the other showing Gandra’s introduction. Might as well share the scene where their two stories collide.

Some context for this scene, both Della and Gandra are at a bar in this scene. Della is there with Penumbra and Selene for a Girls' Night Out while Gandra is there because a coworker of hers asked to meet her there so that they could blackmail her after spotting her with Fenton. This story takes place after the episode New Gods on the Block! so Gandra is still with F.O.W.L. but most importantly, this story finally lets me write what I've always wanted to write and that is: Drunk Della Duck.

======

Gandra stood alone by one of the sinks in the women’s restroom. Once she wiped her eyes, she finally had the courage to look at her own reflection. “You idiot,” she sighed to herself as she turned on the faucet.

SLAM

“WHY SHOULD I WORRY!?” Della belted out, slamming the women’s bathroom door open, “Why should I caaaaarrrreee? I may not have a dime! But I got streeeet savoir faire!”

The drunk duck’s singing ceased as the far more sober hen stood at the still running sink.

It was Della who decided to break the awkward silence. “Yo.”

“Hi.”

“How’s your night going?”

“Oh just peachy.” Gandra answered through her teeth. “Yours?”

“Oh I’ll tell you how it’s going,” Della began as she pushed the door closing in on her away, “…peachy.”

“Oh good.” Gandra answered in a faux concerned tone, “I was worried that your night was anything but peachy.”

“Heh.” Della then snapped her fingers and fired two finger gun shots at Gandra while she waddled over to the one of the stalls.

“Why should I worry!? Why should I care!? It’s just be-BOPulation! And I got streeeet savoir faaaiire!”

Gandra said nothing as Della made her way into one of the empty stalls.

Once Della closed the door, Gandra felt as if she had her privacy again. The hen then proceeded to splash the sink’s cold water onto her face.

“AHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Della stopped her singing and instead gave out a sigh of relief that everyone in the bathroom could hear. A rather annoyed sigh left Gandra’s mouth as the running water showered down into the empty sink.

FLUSH

“Woo!” Della exclaimed as opened the stall door and chuckled. “Alcohol just goes RIGHT THROUGH ME!”

“I know.” Gandra replied, keeping her eye contact with her reflection while she shut off the cold water. “I heard.”

“Heh, sorry.” Della apologized, “I just really needed that.”

“The rhythm of the ciiitah! But once ya get it dooooown!” Della continued singing as she made her way over to the only other sink which was right next to Gandra’s. “Saidthenyou can own this toooown!”

Gandra’s attempt to tune out Della’s singing next to her was thwarted the moment the duck bumped her butt against her.

“You can wear the croooooown!” Della snapped her two fingers and pointed directly at Gandra.

After realizing she was not getting a response from the hen silently staring back at her, Della spoke up. “…Billy Joel.”

“Yeah,” Gandra dryly replied, “I know.”

“Cool!” Della winked as she fired two more finger gun shots at Gandra.

As Della went ahead and soaped her hands, Gandra cranked the hot water faucet on allowing it to blast out as she slapped some soap out of the dispenser and into her palm.

“So,” Della spoke up yet again, “how’s your night going?”

“You already asked me that.”

“Right, right.” Della cleared her throat. “…So, do you come here often?”

“To have conversations with drunk soccer moms, no. I can’t say that I do.”

“Ha!” Della honked, “fair enough.”

As the two washed their hands in sync, Della decided to silently continue her song.

“Ev’rything goes! Ev’rthing fits! They love me at the Chelsea they adore me at the Ritzzz!” Della hissed as she shut off her sink.

“Hey, you mind if I give you some advice?” Della asked as she leaned against her sink.

“For some reason I have the feeling I don’t have a choice.” Gandra sighed.

“I really think you should break up with your boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?!” Gandra shut off her sink as a mixture of various emotions (not to mention a whole bunch of nanites) ran through her body as the hen began planning for any possible scenario that might happen next.

“It’s just advice.” Della defended as she grabbed some paper towels for herself. “You don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to. I just think you can do way better than the guy you’re with.”

“Wait, what?”

“That rooster guy you’re with. He’s got that beak that I think might be made of steel. Dressed up like he’s attending a wedding being held in a casino. That guy.” Della said being a little more specific.

“Oh for the love of-, he’s not my boyfriend!” Gandra said as she shook her hands allowing them to air dry. “He’s just some jackass I work with.”

“Ah I should’ve known, sorry” Della apologized as she dried her hands. “It’s just I saw you two together near my table an-”

“He’s just not my type.” Gandra interrupted as she leaned against the sink hoping to end this conversation.

“Oooooooohhhh…Well cool! And hey congrats for gals like us, huh? I recently found about what has been legalized since I got back to Earth.” Della nudged Gandra.

“Hey!” Della spoke up before Gandra could say anything, “why don’t you join me and my girls?!”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” Gandra folded her arms.

“Oh come on, why not!?”

“No offense, but I normally prefer to hang out with people my own age.”

“Whoa, okay. Selene may be an immortal goddess, but she’s still just as fun as gals our age.”

“…I’m not in my thirties.”

“Yeah! Me t-…Fuck, no I am in my thirties!” Della realized as she rubbed her hand against her face and laughed. “So, I’m pretty drunk.”

“You just realized that now, huh?” Gandra pulled out her phone. “Well your better head back to your gal pals before you forget about them too.”

“Oh that ain’t gonna happen, chicky.” Della assured the unamused hen, “I may be drunk, but I’m just as sharp as I would be if I were sober.”

“That I might actually believe.”

“Well believe this, I know for a fact you’re scared to leave this bathroom.”

“Oh? Just like how you knew for a fact that the guy I was with was my boyfriend?” Gandra inquired. “Tell me, was it because he’s a rooster and I’m hen?”

“Whoa, hey. I was wrong and that was my bad.” Della defended herself. “Honestly I didn’t even think that at first when I first spotted you two; you looked like you didn’t really care for him. And the whole time I was like, “This chick looks like she’s the type that doesn’t take shit from anyone and plays by her own rules, why is she with this douchebag?”. And then my mind dug out some memories I haven’t thought about in long time and was thinking “Oh shit, maybe she’s in a toxic relationship!” And boyfriend or not, I can just tell that he was getting under your skin.”

“Well…you’re not wrong there,” Gandra admitted, “but’s he’s just a dumbass. I deal with him every day at work, he’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“But by yourself?” Della asked as she crumbled her used paper towels into a ball.

Gandra scoffed. “What makes you think I’m afraid?”

“Cause you’ve spent the last few minutes talking to a drunk soccer mom when you could have left her alone with her amazing talented singing voice.” Della said as she threw her makeshift ball into a trashcan several feet away.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Della proudly cheered as her trash went into the can.

As Della Duck rose her hands in the air, Gandra Dee stood in silence as she came to the horrible realization that yes, she was afraid.

“So I take it, I was right?”

“…There’s no way around it.” Gandra confirmed.

“Nothing gets past, Della Duck.” The aviator bragged to the off-duty F.O.W.L. agent. “Now come on, how are we going to deal with this douchebag?!”

“We? Oh no, I really don’t think that’d be a good idea. Things might get…worse.” Gandra warned.

“Oh please, I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Della shrugged. “Not to oversell myself, but I’m a bit of a badass and have been in my fair share of fights. And a good chunk of them I was drunk too! Plus I got my girls with me and the minute that cock decides to fight me, I know they’ll have my back!”

A soft chuckle made its way out of Gandra’s mouth, after it left reality set itself back in.

“Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but it’s not that simple.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not that complicated.” Della said as she grabbed a few paper towels that she offered to Gandra which the hen declined. “Why don’t you tell me all about this situation you got yourself stuck?”

“Well-”

CREAK

Just then another patron of the bar entered the bathroom.

“HEY!!” Della yelled at the woman, “GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!! I AM TRYING TO HELP MY FRIEND HERE DEAL WITH SOME SCUMBAG AND WOULD LIKE A LITTLE PRIVACY!”

“Della! Della!” Gandra grabbed Della and held her back, “Della, it’s a public restroom! She’s allowed in here.”

“…Oh…” Della’s face flushed as she calmed down, “right…sorry.”

“Uh…it’s fine.” The woman replied.

Della turned to Gandra. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, come on!”

Della grabbed Gandra’s hand and walked over to the bathroom window.

“Boost me up?”

As Gandra gave Della a boost, the two looked back at the only other woman in the bathroom who was still standing in silence staring at the two.

“…We’re not dining and dashing.” Della explained. “She’s got an asshole she needs to deal with and I got my crew out there.” Della motioned to the front of her shirt that had Moon Crew printed on the front.

“We’ll be back!” Della assured the stranger as she jumped out the bathroom window.

CRASH

“MREOW!”

“I’m okay!!” Della assured the two in the bathroom from outside. “Also that cat you heard didn’t get hurt! It was just startled!”

“…”

Gandra stared back at the woman and then over to the bathroom window. “I uh, guess I’ll be following her…”

“…Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.” Gandra backed up and gave herself a running start before diving out the window.

“…Why do all the weirdos come to Duckburg?”

======

This'll probably be the last preview I show of this story, I still got plenty more to work on but I wanted to share this because Della Duck singing Why Should I Worry? is the thing that made me go "Well shit, now I HAVE TO tell this story.

[endcant]

my highschool had rooms that were odd polygons configured in a mazelike way that meant you sometimes had to pass through one classroom to get to another. the wall panels of roughly half of the rooms were in mismatched colors like olive and beige and blue and manila and puce. i believe some classrooms were even burdened with an uncommon panel of umber, maroon, or black.

some of my teachers used to joke that it was like that because the architect was a psychedelics user, but other teachers would talk about how the school was like this because of some stupid study that was done that suggested that exposing kids to rooms in various shapes and colors would be a psychological benefit as opposed to having uniform white squares to spend their days in.

despite the teachers’ derision, i think it was good for me. i liked older students parading thru my english class to get to theirs. i liked rooms with 5, 7, 10 sides and odd angles and nooks that teachers occupied with carts and cabinets. i liked that the map of the school was pretty but the human scale was a disorienting mess. i liked that wherever the pattern of shapes on the map implies a passable door, there could instead be a window or a forever-locked door or a blank wall. i liked that each hallway was a slightly different color and zigged and zagged in a pattern unlike the others. i even liked that one of the wings was windowless and functionally a dead end during the school day and terminated at the typically locked door to a dusty unused woodshop that nonetheless was lit by the only vending machines in the whole school that still had candy (this was illegal at the time). it also contained a bathroom with a powdered hand soap dispenser, a curiosity i have not seen before or since. i liked that some classrooms dont have doors. i liked that some classes just happen at the end of a long hallway.

i don’t think i’ve noticed any ill effects, besides that sometimes i have dreams about being somewhere with hallways that zig and zag and rooms that don’t always have a clear delineation from one another. in those dreams i know where i’m going, but the unpredictable zigzagzagzigzig continues for far longer than my school’s halls. it makes me wonder how the teachers there dream.

that said, i did prefer a lot of the more brutalist schools i visited at the time. as a teenager, i felt that there was something primordial about large geometries of brick and weathered concrete. it reminded me of being in yosemite. i also envied a nearby brutalist school for its belltower, a brick monolith terminating with an acute angle of dark teal corrugated metal