#drabbles

[multi-fandom-imagine]

how have we as a fandom collectively not discussed lucifer corruption kink. because idk about anyone else but GODDDD FUCK

i was raised christian and that shit is so hot. like.. god DAMN

it's the "you used to be so devout when you were alive, what would they think of you now with the devil's cock in your mouth?" of it all for me.

A/n: this is just 🤌

You shouldn't be doing this, you were an Angel, one of the highest ranking members but looking up at the King of hell, the very man that Adam warned you about. Even when you were alive you knew better than to mess with him.

And yet, you found yourself unable to care at all.

You were on your knees, the man grasping your chin as he gave you a smirk but his eyes held something completely different.

"you used to be so devout when you were alive, what would they think of you now with the devil's cock in your mouth?" Lucifer then let his fingers glide down your cheek as you arched into his touch.

He couldn't explain why he wanted you so badly, he may have wanted to corrupt you but he also wanted to as his, he wanted you to be his and his alone.

Swallowing thickly, you could feel your heart race as you nodded your head and with a snap of your fingers you were lying in his bed. His dark eyes looking you over, wings wide and those horns. You wanted nothing more than to touch them.

"Sir....please..." you wanted something that Adam would never give you. "Please fuck me."

Lucifer grins, a mischievous glint in his red eyes as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, his words dripping with desire.

"Such a dirty mouth for such a pure girl." He stated hovering above you, his hands slipping under your dress. "Please...call me Lucifer and trust me Angel. I've been waiting for this moment for far too long," he whispered, his voice laced with a mixture of excitement and possessiveness. "I'm going to show you just how much better I am than Adam will ever be." His voice was thick with desire as he continued, his words a blend of dominance and longing.

"You're mine. Only mine," he growled. "I'm going to make you forget about him completely. I'll make you scream my name, beg for me to take you. I'll give you pleasure like you've never experienced before."

His lips then crashed against yours, a surge of passion and hunger fueling the kiss. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he were claiming it as his own. His hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting sparks of desire within you.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "Now that you're mine, I'm never letting you go."

With each word, Lucifers confidence grew, his grip on you tightening. He was determined to make you forget heaven,forget about Adam and to show you just how much better he could be. And in that moment, as his lips trailed down your neck and his hands explored your body, you couldn't deny the overwhelming desire that burned within you. You were his, and he was going to make damn sure you knew it.

Whimpering against his lips, you rubbed yourself against his groin as your breaths came out in shallow pants.

Lucifer's desire intensified as he felt your body pressing against his, your movements igniting a fire within him. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer as he ground against you, the bulge in his pants growing harder with each passing moment.

"Mmm, you're so eager, aren't you, Angel?" he purred, his voice thick with need. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? To feel me deep inside you, claiming every inch of you?"

His hands now roaming over your body as he slowly undressed you, his touch gentle yet possessive. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, his breathing growing heavier with each passing second.

"I want you too spread those pretty legs for me."

As you complied, he quickly shed his own clothes, his cock springing free, hard and throbbing with need. He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he gazed down at you with hunger in his eyes.

"You're mine, Angel. And I'm going to make you feel so good," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and adoration.

Without further hesitation, he plunged into you, filling you completely with one swift thrust. A moan escaped his lips as he felt your warmth enveloping him, a perfect fit that sent waves of pleasure through his body.

He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one driving you closer to the edge. His hands held onto you tightly, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that was both primal and passionate. His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of possessiveness and aching desire.

"You're so fucking tight, Angel," he groaned, his voice laced with pleasure. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock."

He quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased his own release. His lips found yours once again, claiming them in a passionate kiss as he poured all his desire and need into you.

"Come for me, Angel," he whispered against your lips. "Let me feel you clench around me. Let me make you mine in every way."

As you both reached the peak of pleasure, Lucifer's own release washed over him, his body shuddering with the intensity of it. He spilled himself inside you, his moans mingling with yours as you both rode out the waves of ecstasy.

Lucifer collapsed beside you, his breathing heavy yet satisfied. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your forehead.

"You're mine, Angel," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness. "And I'll do everything in my power to make you happy."

#drabbles #drabble #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin x reader #lucifer hazbin #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #lucifer smut #lucifer mange x reader

[madaqueue]

then beg

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

a/n: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK srry guys idk what came over me when i was writing this (i need him so bad)

you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold out, your teeth biting down into your lower lip so hard you could nearly taste blood.

“c’mon now, sweetheart, just one little word and this’ll all be over,” your boyfriend purrs above you, his black hair cascading over his shoulders and tickling your bare skin.

you shake your head no, grasping onto any remaining pieces of resolve, collecting the shreds of your determination, to last just one more minute - that’s all you need, you try to reassure yourself.

truthfully, you never thought you’d be the one in this position - after all, it was you who originally made the bet with suguru.

you had put up with enough of his teasing, enough of being called ‘needy’ for just wanting to kiss him, and today you decided to stand up for yourself.

when he walked into your apartment, he just looked so perfect in his work clothes, his dress shirt rolled up above his elbows, his bangs falling across his forehead, how could you not want to fuck him on the spot?

“you’re so sweet when you’re all desperate like this,” he chuckles as you paw at his belt before he even has a chance to get his shoes off.

“suguru, i’m not that desperate,” you huff, stepping back and crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

"oh yeah?" he tilts his head in amusement. "you couldn’t even wait ten minutes from when i got home, you needed me to fuck you so bad.”

“yeah. and you know what? i’ll prove it,” you state confidently. “ten minutes. i bet you i can go ten minutes without you fucking me.” 

“you’ve got yourself a deal, angel,” he smirks, slowly waltzing over to you. his hands meet your waist, his touch sending shockwaves through you as his palms kneed the soft flesh of your ass.

“d-deal,” you stammer, conviction beginning to waver as he leans over, placing wet kisses along your neck.

and now, it’s been nine minutes of geto cruelly teasing you, bringing you to the brink of your release before pulling back.

he rubs his cock over your slick folds, the pressure driving you insane as you rut your hips up off the bed, craving anything more he’s willing to give you.

but, of course, he was not going to lose so easily.

“you poor needy thing,” he coos, watching you writhe in agony below him. “i told you, all you have to do is say ‘please’ and i’ll fuck you.”

it was becoming too much, the constant taunting and temptation overwhelming you. your body felt like it was on fire, everywhere he touches igniting new flames.

before you can stop yourself, your lips move on their own.

“please,” you blurt out weakly.

“what was that, princess? couldn’t quite hear you,” he teases, holding a hand up to his ear.

“please, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you babble desperately, “please fuck me, please suguru, please.”

with your eyes tightly shut you can’t see the way he grins, more than happy to give into your demands.

without a moment of hesitation he thrusts into you easily, a moan escaping your lips as you finally get what you had been craving. your warm walls envelop him as your eyes nearly roll back, your pussy beginning to clench around him.

“h-hah,” he whispers, “don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already, i knew you were desperate but fuck.”

his words sound fuzzy, far away; right now, all you can feel is him, the fullness, the stretch, the sweet burning pleasure of his cock inside you. after what felt like an eternity of being denied it, you get suddenly pushed over the edge of your orgasm.

“p-please,” you moan, the words aimlessly tumbling out of your mouth, “please, please.”

your vision goes white as your entire body shakes, racked with wave after wave of ecstasy. broken pleas continue to fill the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore, you just know that you need more.

as you come down from your high, you finally open your eyes to meet suguru’s, a glimmer of desire in his dark irises.

you feel his thumb stroke the tears off your face that you hadn’t realized were falling before he wipes the drool that had pooled at the corner of your open mouth away. he kisses you messily, his tongue easily sliding between your parted lips, his cock still buried inside you.

“you really are needy,” he breathes in awe through a smirk, “but since you asked so nicely, i’ll keep fucking you like the desperate slut you are, how’s that sound?”

blinking up at him through glazed-over eyes, you nod. “please?”

#trying out a new divider for my lil drabbles too teehee graphic design is my passion #q writes #drabbles #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you

[ikinremu]

Bad Day

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Shower Sex, Oral (M receiving) , Degrading, Praise, P in V, Unprotected Sex

Hot water ran down your nude body as you lathered yourself in bubbles, soapy hands gliding over your soaking skin. You'd been in the shower barely five minutes, massaging the suds all over when you felt two familiar hands wrap around your waist, locking over your stomach as a pair of soft, tempting lips pressed against your jaw.

"Hey sweetheart." Sirius murmured into your neck, the sculpting of his naked, toned torso pushing against your back as his arm hugged your frame beneath the steaming shower water.

You leant your head back, peering up at his wet, ebony hair. The contrast of it against his pale skin. "Hey." You smiled.

He seemed... off. It didn't take much to gather he was frustrated. You didn't dare pry, sticking with a simple, "Bad day?"

Sirius nodded, rotating your body so your soft, bare chest pushed up against his own. His dark, silky hair was plastered to his forehead by the water, large hands cupping your cheeks. Fiercely, his mouth dove onto yours, the pair of you stumbling back as his tongue snuck past your lips, moving greedily with yours.

Almost immediately, you found your back pressed up against the cool shower tiles, scorching water raining down on the pair of you. He swept a hand downwards, running it smoothly over your skin, offering your hips a possessive squeeze.

Breaking the heated kiss, you lowered your voice to a mere whisper, "Take it out on me."

Gaze darkening, Sirius trailed his eyes over the sight of your wet, naked body. Your stomach flitted under his watch, and you felt his hard length brush against your thigh.

His mouth tugged into subtle amusement, "You sure, baby?"

"Mhm." You smiled sweetly, unable to be more sure of the fact, "Let me make you feel better."

Not a moment gone by, Sirius snapped, seizing you by your hips, lips enveloping your own in a fierce, sultry embrace.

"On your knees for me." His sharp, balmy breath caressed your skin, and his words ran right down your spine.

Hot water pattered at your back as you swiftly knelt before him, arousal brewing between the squeeze of your thighs.

"That's it.." Sirius praised, transfixed by the sight, the way your eyes honed in on him from below, "Open."

His command fluttered in your abdomen, excitement swarming your mind. Eager to please, you parted your soft lips, his thick cock sliding into your mouth. A low groan escaped him, the warmth of your willing lips engulfing his length. His large, splayed hands slid over your scalp, forming a firm grasp as you began slowly sliding your mouth up and down his cock.

"Just look at that," He grunted, "Such a pretty little slut, hm?"

Steaming water trickled down his torso, further slicking his pale skin. With a gruff sound, Sirius's hips bucked slightly against your mouth, testing for limitations.

His tip hit at the roof of your mouth as you welcomed him deeper, his lenient jolt sliding his length further against your tongue as you clenched your thighs together, arousal fluttering between them.

"Look so fuckin' good with my cock in your mouth, hm?" Sirius crooned, feeling the soft plump of your lips surround his shaft.

Your mouth hummed quietly around the length of him, salty tears brimming your waterlines as he filled your mouth. His pale, slender fingers explored your hair, guiding your movements as you trailed your tongue over his slit, enthralled by the taste.

"That's it." Sirius practically grunted, eyelids flitting a little, "Take it like a good fuckin' whore."

The lasting warmth of his words fizzled in your abdomen, only furthering your arousal, inner-thighs slick with both arousal and hot water, squeezed frantically together in a need for friction. Drool coated your inner lips as the motions of your mouth grew sloppier, drawing louder, breathier sounds from him as his hands remained firmly upon your scalp.

Groaning rather huskily, his hips wavered, cock twitching against your tongue, "Fuck.. such a good cocksucker, hm?'

Suddenly, Sirius slid himself from your throat, dampened shaft grazing its way off your tongue. The wet skin of both large, balmy hands switching to your face, just gently cupping your jaw as he swept the pad of one callous thumb across your lips, swiping the dribble from your mouth.

"C'mere." He huffed as you raised slowly from your kneel on the humid, soaked shower flooring. His greedy hands clutched your waist, pulling your bodies together, your naked chests pushing tenderly against one and other.

"You gonna let me use you?" His low, sharp tone brushed against your neck, a shiver coursing your spine. A desperate, somewhat fierce kiss met the angle of your jaw, the pair of you stumbling together, your back resting comfortably against the tiles, the two of you colliding directly beneath the steaming shower stream.

"Yes.." You whispered back, briefly planting your lips on his.

Craving more, Sirius snaked the agility of one hand down your torso, accompanied by a rather teasing nature as he parted your thigh, baring your desperate cunt to his fingertips.

With a painfully charming gleam, his eyes peered into yours, threads of dripping hair falling in-front of his face as he handled his thick cock within his fist, angling his pre-cum coated tip with your entrance.

Heart pounding dramatically against the wall of your chest, you spread your legs a little wider, granting Sirius the opportunity to bring himself impossibly close.

As your stomach buzzed, your back formed a vast arch, feeling Sirius slide his length between your drenched folds, filling your cunt so flawlessly with the ease of a single motion.

Saying all that was needed, a rather loud moan seeped from your mouth as the hot water pattered down your bodies. Steam swirled through the air as Sirius finally planted his first thrust, accompanied by a low, gruff sound of relief.

"Fuck," He uttered, hips jerking up against yours once more, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, sweetheart.."

Large, greedily splayed hands seized your hips, kneading at the soft flesh. Shaky, breathy whimpers flowed from your mouth as his tip hit further, thrusts reaching the depth of your g-spot.

"Fuck.." You heaved, head lolling backward against the wall as your body melted against the sensation of him.

The sharp, pale complexion of Sirius's face met your chest, taking one tender nipple into his mouth, working his tongue at the spot for only a few seconds before realising it with a little 'pop'.

He trailed the plump of his lips over your neck, suckling almost harshly at the skin - applying force of which you had no doubt would leave a mark.

"That's it, take my fucking cock.." Sirius encouraged, tossing the plastered strands of hair from his face, sweeping his hands across the undersides of your thighs, "Give me those legs, baby."

Upon that, you swung your legs round his pelvis, allowing him to drive deeper in your pussy, squeezing mercilessly with each jerk of his hips.

Hands spread over your behind, Sirius clutched on with an overwhelming sense of yearning as he tugged you against his cock, groaning as your sopping walls clenched around him.

"My fuckin' slut, aren't you?" He uttered, offering the plump of your ass a light slap, fuelled by the feeling of your body in his hands.

The lustful words flipped in your stomach, drawing yet another moan from the channel of your throat, "Yes.. Shit.."

Your bare, soaked bodies rocked together beneath the belting shower stream, jolting with a pattern only falling messier by the second.

A fog of breath stroked your jaw, "Just take it." He spoke, "Let me use you."

His shaft twitched as it slipped in and out, the tight heat of your cunt wrapping his length, driving the pair of you equally wild.

Unable to stand being vacant any longer, your hands tangled through Sirius’s dark, silky hair, making a path down to grip at his toned back in search of support. Wet skin slapping together, his fingers switched upon the swell of your clit, circling the increased sensitivity as your teeth punctured your bottom lip - bombarded by sensations as a familiar knot bound itself tightly in your stomach.

“I’m so close..” You exhaled, breath crackling in your throat, the euphoria of a release building in your stomach as the pace quickened.

"Yeah?" He smirked, "You gonna cum on my cock?"

Nodding with an increase of yearning, you revelled in the feeling of his thrusts growing sloppier as he joined you in the quickening promise of a release.

“You can do it, come on.” Sirius praised, working his digits faster on your clit, the sensitivity pulsing with each stroke. A rather messy, throatier moan poured from his mouth as he planted another light slap to your ass, a little harsher than the previous, “Use that fuckin’ pussy. Make me cum.”

Naturally, the fuel of his lustful words ran through your body. The wound tension in your stomach snapped so suddenly, much-anticipated release completely washing over you. As the dripping walls of your pussy spasmed with your orgasm, Sirius lost all composure, sliding out of you with a blend of both relief and disapproval, groaning as his hot, pale release coated your thighs.

Face broken by his typical, charmingly bright grin, Sirius gently leant his forehead against yours, feeling the shower-stream cleanse your skin, letting your - soon to be sore - legs drop from his hips, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

#smut #smutty #drabbles #oneshot #marauders #marauders smut #sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you

[muzzlemouths]

[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!” He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related? #I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Muddled Waters 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your boss has a dangerous secret.

Character: Nick Fowler (mob au)

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

You skewer candied cherries on a long toothpick and balance them over a martini glass. The deep blue drink with a layer of foam is perfectly aligned with the crystal brim. You stand straight as you top off the last of the drinks, a new batch for the waiting customers.

You put the small silver measuring cup aside and nearly cry out as the silhouette hovering in the corner of your vision moves. You touch your chest in surprise as you face Nick with a bashful smile. You didn’t even know he was around that day. Lately, he’s been absent more than not.

“Oh, hi,” you laugh at yourself, “I didn’t hear you...”

“I have a bad habit of that,” he grins, “some have compared me to a cat.”

You tilt your head, “some? You mean, me?”

He shrugs, “was that you?

“Maybe,” you turn and carefully move the stemmed glasses to a tray.

“New flavour?” He nears and stands close. You can smell his cedar cologne.

“Blueberry,” you explain, “bit sweet for my tastes but it fits the season.”

“Ah, sounds interesting,” he reaches and takes one of the glasses and you gasp.

“Nick!” You turn to him and he grins as he sips, the foam clinging to his top lip. He hums as he removes the toothpick from across the rim and nibbles off one of the cherries.

“Tasty,” he commends.

“Why-- Now I’ll to make another.”

“They can wait. It’s more than worth it,” he assures, still standing close as he slurps.

You work in the warmth of his looming proximity. He’s never had much of a personal bubble. Working behind a bar, you’ve grown used to being crowded. You measure and pour and muddle. You garnish and set the drink to replace the one your boss took.

“Right, ready,” you declare.

“Here, let me get those,” he slides the tray across the counter before you can react.

“No, you don’t have to--”

“I want to. Boss man’s gotta do some work around here,” he scoffs and lifts the tray. “You take a load off, sweetheart, I need those hands well-rested. No one else has that magic touch.”

You tisk and shake your head. He can be ridiculous. You won’t complain, he’s the least uptight boss you’ve had. The place isn’t too bad. Upscale with well-tipping patronage. It’s not your typical bar. Most of your work is done behind a wall as the customers drink in private rooms or in the common room where refined jazz wafts through the dim air. The whole place drips of exclusivity.

You clean up and wipe the counter before you wash your hands. Another order appears on the screen. Customers order on a sleek touchscreen, unbothered by servers amid their hushed conversations. You assume they are the types with private jets and luxurious yachts. Of course, they’re too special to drink like normal people.

You start up the next order. Spiced apple cider. A classic though it’s not often ordered. Two to put up. You mix the drinks in mason jars with thick handles. You finish them each with a cinnamon stick.

“Ready to go?” Nick has you squeaking again.

“God,” you throw your hands up and laugh, “how do you keep doing that?”

“Hey, not my fault. You’re in the zone. You know, you get all squinty,” he makes a face, “it’s like the whole world doesn’t exist. Makes me feel a bit small.”

“Mm, well, I guess you’re right. I should pay more attention to my surroundings,” you lift the mugs, “I got these, Nick.”

“It’s no problem, one of my buddies,” he wraps his hands around the jars, “been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh, okay then,” you let him take the cups.

“Take it easy. You do too much.”

You smile tightly and lean on the counter. He goes and you turn around to tidy again. You can be precise. You like a clean station. You’ve worked with too many people who leave the bartop littered in lime peel and broken toothpicks. You can’t make a good drink if you’re working in filth.

But it isn’t just your work. You try not to let the personal seep in but you can’t help who you are. Things should be just so. Books should be lined up and sorted alphabetically and the dishes should be stacked neatly, and the carpet can’t be crooked.

You exhale and run your hands over your apron. Most people might envy your boss for his high company and exorbitant wealth, you just covet his coolness. He’s never bothered by much.

“Sweetheart,” he enters, this time with fair warning. You look up at his pet name. He always calls you that. “What’s that chocolate one you did last time?” He snaps his fingers, “you know, it was kinda creamy--”

“Brandy Alexander,” you answer, “yeah, uh, we’re out of dark creme de cacao. I put it on the inventory.”

“Inventory,” he nods and his blue eyes flick away guiltily, “yeah, I was supposed to do that.”

You cross your arms, “yeah, you were.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I swear, I thought of it,” he crinkles his nose, “but it must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Mhmm,” you sniff, “well, you have been busy. I didn’t even know you were in town.”

He looks up and his cheek dimples. His gaze falls back on you, “lots of running around. Sorry, sweetheart, if it was up to me, I’d be right here, tasting all your delights.”

You nearly snort but instead just furrow your brow.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you shrug and turn away, the screen showing another order. “Sometimes... the way you say things...”

He chuckles and leans his elbow on the counter, “I do like to choke on my own foot.”

“You know, I said before, I could make time for inventory. I don’t mind making orders--”

“Don’t bother,” he cuts your offer short, “I know people. I can take care of it. I’ll make a few calls tonight.” He stays as he is, angled against the counter as he watches you. He rests his chin on his knuckles and you glance over as you squeeze a lime dry.

“What?” You ask as you measure out the juice.

“How’d you learn to do all this?” He asks.

“I took a few courses, worked a few dives,” you say, “did a gig on a cruise ship. You know, you figure it out.”

“And you enjoy it?” He says, “I mean, I can tell you do.”

“It keeps my hands moving and my head from racing,” you explain as you mix the drink in a shaker.

“Sounds amazing,” he stands straight, “sooner or later, I need to find something to keep me busy. Something that doesn’t make me crazy.”

You garnish and he swipes up the glass before you can stop him.

“Well, you might just have a calling as a waiter,” you say sarcastically as you wipe your hands on a towel.

“I don’t know about that,” he grins, “I’m not much for taking orders.”

#nick fowler #the 355 #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #drabbles #series #au #sweet and spicy #muddled waters

[gas-way-war-own]

#kj apa #fmab #paint #borderline personality disorder #glass onion #dibujos #drabbles #toshinori yagi #catherine tate #apink #ed not sheeren #Jurassic park #bollywoodedit

[everyone-miss-kitchen]

#natalie dormer #men's style #chanbaek #street style #medium format #fate series #tumblarians #dibujo #peter parker x reader #kj apa #paint #drabbles #ed not sheeren #mentally fucked

[dross-the-fish]

A Spider's Touch

the train wound through the countryside carrying two young men bound for university. One a large, handsome, fair-haired Scottsman who's clothes were of fine cut and who's hair was styled in a fashionable cut and the other a slight dark-haired Englishman in dusty hand-me-downs, who had yet to outgrow the unfortunate stage of early manhood that left him with the bare wisps of a thin mustache and sideburns that would only sprout in patches along the side of a jaw still rounded with boyishness.

The two were clearly friends, they sat side by side and chatted easily and the larger of them was confident and relaxed, one arm propped over the back of the seat with his legs sprawled out in front of him. A dog eared magazine dangled loosely from his hand.

"You think old Hastie will be with us again this year?" he asked his smaller, darker companion.

"I hope so, it'll be nice to see him and with the three of us we could afford to rent a flat off campus. We're not even there and I'm already sick of the thought of living in the dormitories. Are you going to behave yourself this year, Harry?"

"I told you I would, didn't I, Utterson?" there was a faint touch of irritation. Don't nag me

"Of course, but one likes to be reassured," came the cool reply. Don't give me reasons to

They chatted awhile longer until Utterson began to nod off, his head falling to window. Henry Jekyll watched him, took note of a hand falling onto a knobby knee. It was not a lovely hand, in fact he was sure it would be quite ugly when its owner grew older. Bony fingers with prominent knuckles, dry skin around blunt, short nails that had been chewed to the quick and a thick vein that ran from the knuckle of the index finger diagonally towards a sharp wrist. When Gabriel Utterson grew old Henry was sure it would be skeletal and clammy, dotted with liver spots. Not a lovely hand…but a fascinating one, and one he couldn't stop gazing at.

Impulsively Henry's own hand reached out, traced that vein with a long elegant finger in a slow and deliberate stroke.

Utterson gave a twitch and his eyelids fluttered. Henry jerked back and made a quick show of being absorbed in his magazine. Utterson's brown knit, he grimaced rubbing his hand and looking about the cabin.

"Something wrong?" Henry asked coolly.

"I think something crawled across my hand."

"I think I saw a spider in here earlier," Henry lied.

"Disgusting, I hate those things," Gabriel shuddered rubbing a little harder as though trying to rid himself of the repugnant touch and the gesture made Henry's heart drop.

Disgusting

Loathsome…that's what you are

Don't touch me

the ugly voice in his head rasped and he felt a shameful heat rise to his cheeks. He held the magazine higher, hiding his face and he gave Utterson a hum of acknowledgement.

Gabriel Utterson would never understand why Henry Jekyll had remained so silent for the rest of the trip and he would be too busy looking anxiously for the invisible spider that had touched him to care.

…..

40 years later

…..

Gnarled, arthritic and covered in liver spots. the vein more prominent than ever.

Edward watched as those wasted skeletal hands gripped the top of a cane while Utterson stared at the abandoned townhouse once belonging to Henry Jekyll.

His hair had gone completely grey, and his mustache and sideburns had come in thick and full now on the wasted husk of a face.

When Utterson finally had his fill of grieving and walked away he passed very close by the alley where Edward hid, observing from the shadows. He stopped, as though sensing a presence and Edward went very still. The cane tilted as the weight of his hand leaned it forward, dark eyes squinting under heavy white brows scanning the darkness before him for signs of life.

he was so close…

Impulsively Edward reached out and brushed a finger along the vein of that hand with a touch that trembled and barely dared make contact.

Utterson started and dropped the cane with a clatter, shaking his hand as though trying to fling away the unwelcome crawl of a spider on his skin. He cursed. Picked up his cane and before he could rise to get a better look Edward had already disappeared.

#Drabbles #Jekyll and Hyde #Edward Hyde #Gabriel Utterson #Henry Jekyll #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde

[renlyslittlerose]

Today's drabble is... 'Falling Asleep'. I wrote this one for me. It seems I can only write Vaderwan when it's just a drabble 😅

---

Vader was asleep.

One couldn’t tell just by listening to him. The harsh mechanical sounds of artificial bellows remained the same, slow and steady and even, giving away very little as he hid beneath his mask. But Obi-Wan saw the subtle drop in his shoulders and the curve to his spine as he sunk lower in his chair, his grip on the armrests relaxing ever so. For a moment he saw his Padawan again, bored and exhausted as he slouched in his chair and dozed in the heat of the sun.

Swallowing the ache, Obi-Wan returned his attention to the meeting, listening to the droll conversation and various reports with idle interest.

Vader had been gone on a week’s long mission, returning only yesterday. He’d stunk of death and cauterized wounds when he’d returned, a chunk of something lodged in his armour that the droids struggled to remove as he sat and gave his report to Obi-Wan and Admiral Daala. His face remained hidden behind the impassive black mask, but Obi-Wan could feel his exhaustion through their bond even then.

Obi-Wan had made a remark about someone finally getting the better of him. Vader had been too tired to come up with one of his usual retorts, and simply lumbered off to his chambers with the metal still stuck in his pauldron.

Evidently, he’d not gotten much rest afterward.

“Admiral Kenobi? Lord Vader?”

Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad to see the meeting had been adjourned and most had already left, save for one of the scribes who stood nervously in the doorway.

“Lord Vader and I have something to discuss in private,” he said, and waved the girl away.

He spared Vader another glance. He was still asleep, though Obi-Wan had to stare to be sure, watching his shoulders as they rose and then fell, and how his grip remained featherlight. Though protected in layers of his suit that hid both his body and thoughts away from the rest of the world, he seemed vulnerable in ways that Obi-Wan wasn’t used to seeing outside of his chambers.

It was an odd thing to witness.

Returning to his work, Obi-Wan completed his reports just as Vader seemed to come to. His grip tightened on the seat, his shoulders straightening, and his mechanized breathing stuttered for a moment, a gasp filling the space before the bellows pumped air back out.

Obi-Wan stood and sent Vader a quick glance. “Enjoy your nap?” he asked as he passed.

Vader’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist, holding on with focused softness. Obi-Wan still wasn’t used to feeling the metal touch of his left hand - unmoving, resilient, hard. He missed the grip of his old fleshed one, calloused and warm along the dip of Obi-Wan’s spine and the curve of his jaw.

“Why?” Vader asked.

Why? Because you looked like you needed the rest; because I still feel it’s my duty to care for you; because I wanted for you to rest, if just for a moment.

“I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of the council,” he said primly. “It’d look bad on both of us, if you were caught sleeping during a debrief.”

He turned his hand then and wrapped his fingers around Vader’s wrist. He squeezed gently as he stared into the lifeless eyes of his mask. A spark fluttered through their bond, and Obi-Wan knew his lie was discovered.

Retracting his hand, Obi-Wan headed to the door and paused in the entrance. “Now that you’re rested… come to my quarters later this evening, will you?”

He left before Vader could answer. Vader never said no to him, anyways.

#lemon fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #vaderwan #obikin #drabbles

[brionbroadway]

She is the only one to see it.

A kid with words that fit as well as his clothes, a rehearsed personality and purpose. A funhouse mirror, a reflection of Kristen that is so obviously wrong. The shirts hung too loose on her; her sentences were punctuated with question marks instead of periods.

In many ways, it is easier for Buddy, and in other ways, that’s made his life harder.

A deeply closeminded grandfather. A church that prioritizes his devotion to them over their devotion to him. A life that is determined for him.

A best friend who would slit his throat.

He did not have to question any of it, and now he’s lost the chance to.

Riz’s voice cuts through Kristen’s thoughts. Assurance that yes, they will figure out this mystery, yes, they will try to revive Buddy, yes, they will always help her—but first they have to get out of this room.

Kristen listens. She has doubted enough to know what to trust.

Through the remainder of the exam, Kristen keeps an eye on Buddy: a witness to him that she was meant to be to Helio.

Of course, she was the only one to see what truly happened to him.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year #d20 #d20 fic #drabbles #kristen applebees #buddy dawn

[hiskillingjar]

can i get a fem ren forcefemming a transmasc reader 😭 for legal reason i am a transmasc with *that* kink but if you don't wanna do it then i understand cause most people would frown upon on me with this 😭😭😭😭

no shame!! forcefem is hot and there's nothing wrong with finding it hot <3

1000+ words, cw for light misgendering (it's for kinky reasons). this too is toxic yuri

"This doesn't really feel right," 

Your voice was a soft murmur as Ren brushed your hair in the bathroom mirror, her tail swiftly wagging to and fro behind her as she did so.

There was an eager little smile on her pixie-sweet face, and you knew she was absolutely revelling in how much your hair had grown while you were in her captivity, long enough that it was beginning to curl around your neck and drag over your shoulders

She had a preference for a more...feminine presentation, and she didn't make it a secret in the slightest. 

"You don't like it? Really? But your hair is gorgeous~!" Ren cooed playfully, moving the brush away from your hair and turning you around to face her, that dumb smirk still on her face. “I would seriously kill to have hair like yours, so long and thick, ugh! I’m so jealous.”

"I'd…really prefer it if I could cut my hair," You mumbled when you peered towards her shyly, ducking your head down and brushing a long lock of hair behind your ear. 

You had known girls back in college like you, growing their hair out awkwardly, heavy bangs, hiding their faces, not yet soft enough to pass as well as you had back then. You had felt a sense of kinship with those girls before, but even more so now. 

"Like, the length of it…” You continued, reaching up to tug where it was longest. “It makes me kind of…dysphoric, you know..."

Ren frowned a little as you spoke, her ears tipping back and her tail stopping its wags. 

Your request was reasonable, you thought so anyway, and you knew that she was suitably plugged into “the discourse” regarding your transmasculinity and gender dysphoria and things like that to understand why it make you feel so uncomfortable.

She had bought you testosterone off the dark web, for God’s sake. She must have seen you as-

"...but I like your hair the way it is." Ren replied in a small voice with a childish pout to her full lips, seeming almost... offended that you had even asked. “It looks pretty.

"I know that," You said with a sigh, rolling your eyes. You knew she was very particular about what she liked (how you looked), and probably didn't appreciate you not catering to her every desire. She was so...needy sometimes. And so demanding too. "But...you get it, right? You know why I want to do it.” You looked back into the mirror with a frown. “It makes me look so...girly."

"But that's exactly what's so adorable about you."

Ren's eyes narrowed when you looked away, her face morphing back into a smile as she peered at you over your shoulder.

"You're a femboy. Of course, you’re going to look girly~"

"Don't call me that," You replied curtly, quickly looking back towards her, your face flushed and your expression angry. "That's...like, super fucking demeaning and offensive, Ren, whatever it is you’re trying to say-"

“Huh.” Ren cut you off and stood back, considering you for a moment with a wry tilt of her head. "You get…pretty upset when I call you a femboy, don't you?"

"Obviously," You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms with a huff. "It’s like…if you were offended at being called a…jail bait or a ‘legal loli’, or something.” She snorted with amusement and let out a high cackle of a laugh, obviously not taking the insult to heart like you did. Lucky her. “It's like you see me as a porno category or something...it's insulting."

“Well, sure, maybe it’s insulting if you take it that way,” She replied airily, both her hands behind her back as she took a few steps closer to you, her tail wagging again. “But you are a femboy. Just don’t take it so personally.” She grinned, showing off wet fangs. “You’re a feminine boy, hence, ‘femboy’. I’m just calling you what you are~”

“Yeah, well, it’s not my choice to look feminine, okay?” You bit back, pushing past her to sit on the rim of the bathtub, your head in your hands, long hair covering your face "If you let me cut my fucking hair again, maybe I wouldn’t-"

"You mean, if I allowed you the privilege of making yourself ugly for me?

You flinched as you felt Ren push a hand into your hair, pulling a grip of it hard and forcing your eyes up to hers, golden and shining with malicious intent.

"And why would I do that?” Her grin broadened. “I don’t know about you, but I'm very much enjoying looking at a pretty girl right now~"

Your face flushed a little darker and you bit down hard on your lip, trying your best to look away, so she didn’t see how much she was getting to you.

"I'm not a girl, Ren..." You murmured hotly.

"Are you sure?" Ren smirked, her fingers (her painted claws) running through strands of hair as she pulled your head up slightly, her curled fist at the base of your skull. “You know…you say you feel like a boy inside, but you definitely don't act like it.”

"Well...what would a boy act like?" You asked with a defensive glare. "If I'm not acting like one..."

"Maybe you'd put up more of a fight~" Ren teased, as she moved her free hand to your chin so she could tilt your head up slightly and meet your gaze more directly. "...You're not fighting me very hard right now. And I’m, like, way weaker and shorter than you. Maybe you secretly like being called a girl?"

"No…" You murmued, trying to pulls back from her grip.

“It’s easier though, isn’t it?” She asked, with a thoughtful tilt of her head, not letting you pull away, even an inch. She was stronger than she looked, no matter what she said to the contrary. “To not have to work so hard, to give in, to let everything just…happen to you, right? That’s kind of, like,” She paused with a thoughtful expression before laughing again. “The only perk to being a girl, you know.”

You were quiet as she pressed closer, the wisps of her short hair (because she was allowed to have short hair and you weren’t) caressing your cheek as her pixie-pointed nose pressed lightly against yours.

“You should try it…or, well, go back to it.” She tittered, rubbing her thumb over your stubbly chin. At least she let you keep your stubble (but for how long?) "Because you look like a girl. You act like a girl. You take everything way too fucking seriously like a girl.” 

She brought her face close to yours, her breath warm on your flushed skin.

Her lips barely grazed yours, menacing, taunting.

"I bet you’d taste like a girl, too, if I kissed you."

“I-If?”

"If." 

#ren hana #ren x mc #ren x reader #qs #drabbles #ren btd #trans people into forcefem. come here. i'm kissing you

[multi-fandom-imagine]

LUCIFER MY BELOVED <3 <3

I love pregnant reader/Lucifer stuff, could I maybe request some domestic fluffy dad-to-be Luci pls?

A/n: Dad!Lucifer 👏

"Are you sure you are okay?" Lucifer hovered over you as you were relaxing in your chair.

Letting out a soft laugh, you sighed as you placed your hand on your belly letting your eyes drift closed for a moment. "I'm fine Luci, you need to stop worrying so much."

Lips quivering, Lucifer knelt beside you as he rested his cheek on your belly. "Darling...I have too." Giving you a pout he then placed a kiss to your wrist smiling up at you. "You are a goddess, you needed to be treated as such."

Letting out a yawn, you let your body relax into the seat as he started to message whatever ached. Your eyes drifting close. "Fine." You muttered giving him a teasing smile letting your fingers caress his cheeks, Lucifer arching into your touch.

"I cannot wait to meet you." Lucifer muttered placing another kiss to your belly. "You are very loved...you have your mommy and daddy....you have your big sister Charlie and Auntie Vaggie." Closing his eyes the King of Hell clutched the fabric of your dress as he blinked away a few tears.

"I promise I will be a good father."

"You don't have to promise Lucifer, because you already are."

#drabbles #drabble #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader

[owl127]

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes. 

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.” 

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?” 

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought. 

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood. 

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

#a couple weeks late but here it is #loved this prompt #drabble #drabbles #the 100 #clexa #lexa the 100 #clarke the 100 #why not make out with chocolate cake watching the british bake off? #sounds reasonable #clarke is a cocky little shit because why not

[fbfh]

I remember reading your Leo Valdez smut for the first time in ao3 for the first time and drooling. I also fell in love with you and you were the reason I downloaded this app😭😭

BAAAAAAAAAABES!!!!!!!!!! I am so honored that I'm the reason you got sucked into the hellsite <3333 I swear to god I will never get used to the fact that people actually like my writing. it feels so weird but fun and I'm so happy that my silly little maladaptive daydreams bring yall joy!!!!!!

fr though Leo Valdez FUCKS. he will make you so dizzy and fucked out that you won't even remember the delicious dizzying filth he's moaning into your ear. half of it is in spanish too. his lips are so soft and warm and his touch is so addictive. you want him all over you all the time, and thankfully he will do everything possible to make that happen.

"your wish is my command, estrella..."

#drabbles #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez drabbles #leo valdez smut #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus drabbles #heroes of olympus smut #AUUUUUUGGHHHHHHH HES SO #I think yall are really gonna like some of my ocs #specifically Jason and Rhino and Calyx

[truetogaia]

just thinking and crying over the way simon would continue to refer to you as “his girl” even after your sudden passing.

he would talk about you as if you were still alive whenever relationships came up in conversation. and he’d be so reluctant to allow anyone, even his respected comrades, to try and comfort him.

“yeah, me n my girl have been together for years now. she’s everything. all i’ve got, ya know?”

he would make sure to always keep your resting place full of life. Whether that was by planting your favorite plant, and naming it after you, or always keeping it filled with bouquets of your favorite flowers. and he’d always take your beloved pet that you left behind to go see you.

“did you miss mommy, p/n? i bet our girl missed you so much.” and he’d smile sadly when your baby showed signs of recognizing your grave. his heavy hand petting it comfortingly “so excited to see her today, yeah?”

cod masterlist

#in my crying era #drabbles #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost angst #simon riley angst #ghost x reader #cod angst #cod fluff #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff

[aakeysmash]

Katsuki just needs you to lay your eyes on him to get hard.

You can be sleepy and looking up at him with your eyes half open and he gets a boner.

Roughed up in the morning, teeth still not brushed and you just peek at him from one eye before snuggling into his open arms? He’s getting a boner.

Maybe you’re moaning with his food in your mouth while complimenting how good of a cook he is with sparkling eyes, and his blood rushes straight to his dick.

And it’s not always because he wants to fuck you, even if he does have a super high sex drive and would bend you over 4 times a day if you’d let him.

Sometimes it’s just because his heart skips a beat while thinking about how softly only you know how to look at his soul, even behind all his rough exterior.

#this is literally boss!​bakugo from my barista au #just wait until they finally get together amd theyll be like this #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou x reader #bnha #bakugou smut #bakugo fluff #soft bakugou #drabbles