#custom Law papers

[delusional-mishaps]

why do customers always such

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The US Copyright Office frees the McFlurry

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I have spent a quarter century obsessed with the weirdest corner of the weirdest section of the worst internet law on the US statute books: Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the 1998 law that makes it a felony to help someone change how their own computer works so it serves them, rather than a distant corporation.

Under DMCA 1201, giving someone a tool to "bypass an access control for a copyrighted work" is a felony punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine – for a first offense. This law can refer to access controls for traditional copyrighted works, like movies. Under DMCA 1201, if you help someone with photosensitive epilepsy add a plug-in to the Netflix player in their browser that blocks strobing pictures that can trigger seizures, you're a felon:

https://lists.w3.org/Archives/Public/public-html-media/2017Jul/0005.html

But software is a copyrighted work, and everything from printer cartridges to car-engine parts have software in them. If the manufacturer puts an "access control" on that software, they can send their customers (and competitors) to prison for passing around tools to help them fix their cars or use third-party ink.

Now, even though the DMCA is a copyright law (that's what the "C" in DMCA stands for, after all); and even though blocking video strobes, using third party ink, and fixing your car are not copyright violations, the DMCA can still send you to prison, for a long-ass time for doing these things, provided the manufacturer designs their product so that using it the way that suits you best involves getting around an "access control."

As you might expect, this is quite a tempting proposition for any manufacturer hoping to enshittify their products, because they know you can't legally disenshittify them. These access controls have metastasized into every kind of device imaginable.

Garage-door openers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Refrigerators:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/12/digital-feudalism/#filtergate

Dishwashers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/03/cassette-rewinder/#disher-bob

Treadmills:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/22/vapescreen/#jane-get-me-off-this-crazy-thing

Tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

Cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty

And even printer paper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#dymo-550

DMCA 1201 is the brainchild of Bruce Lehmann, Bill Clinton's Copyright Czar, who was repeatedly warned that cancerous proliferation this was the foreseeable, inevitable outcome of his pet policy. As a sop to his critics, Lehman added a largely ornamental safety valve to his law, ordering the US Copyright Office to invite submissions every three years petitioning for "use exemptions" to the blanket ban on circumventing access-controls.

I call this "ornamental" because if the Copyright Office thinks that, say, it should be legal for you to bypass an access control to use third-party ink in your printer, or a third-party app store in your phone, all they can do under DMCA 1201 is grant you the right to use a circumvention tool. But they can't give you the right to acquire that tool.

I know that sounds confusing, but that's only because it's very, very stupid. How stupid? Well, in 2001, the US Trade Representative arm-twisted the EU into adopting its own version of this law (Article 6 of the EUCD), and in 2003, Norway added the law to its lawbooks. On the eve of that addition, I traveled to Oslo to debate the minister involved:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/28/clintons-ghost/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

The minister praised his law, explaining that it gave blind people the right to bypass access controls on ebooks so that they could feed them to screen readers, Braille printers, and other assistive tools. OK, I said, but how do they get the software that jailbreaks their ebooks so they can make use of this exemption? Am I allowed to give them that tool?

No, the minister said, you're not allowed to do that, that would be a crime.

Is the Norwegian government allowed to give them that tool? No. How about a blind rights advocacy group? No, not them either. A university computer science department? Nope. A commercial vendor? Certainly not.

No, the minister explained, under his law, a blind person would be expected to personally reverse engineer a program like Adobe E-Reader, in hopes of discovering a defect that they could exploit by writing a program to extract the ebook text.

Oh, I said. But if a blind person did manage to do this, could they supply that tool to other blind people?

Well, no, the minister said. Each and every blind person must personally – without any help from anyone else – figure out how to reverse-engineer the ebook program, and then individually author their own alternative reader program that worked with the text of their ebooks.

That is what is meant by a use exemption without a tools exemption. It's useless. A sick joke, even.

The US Copyright Office has been valiantly holding exemptions proceedings every three years since the start of this century, and they've granted many sensible exemptions, including ones to benefit people with disabilities, or to let you jailbreak your phone, or let media professors extract video clips from DVDs, and so on. Tens of thousands of person-hours have been flushed into this pointless exercise, generating a long list of things you are now technically allowed to do, but only if you are a reverse-engineering specialist type of computer programmer who can manage the process from beginning to end in total isolation and secrecy.

But there is one kind of use exception the Copyright Office can grant that is potentially game-changing: an exemption for decoding diagnostic codes.

You see, DMCA 1201 has been a critical weapon for the corporate anti-repair movement. By scrambling error codes in cars, tractors, appliances, insulin pumps, phones and other devices, manufacturers can wage war on independent repair, depriving third-party technicians of the diagnostic information they need to figure out how to fix your stuff and keep it going.

This is bad enough in normal times, but during the acute phase of the covid pandemic, hospitals found themselves unable to maintain their ventilators because of access controls. Nearly all ventilators come from a single med-tech monopolist, Medtronic, which charges hospitals hundreds of dollars to dispatch their own repair technicians to fix its products. But when covid ended nearly all travel, Medtronic could no longer provide on-site calls. Thankfully, an anonymous hacker started building homemade (illegal) circumvention devices to let hospital technicians fix the ventilators themselves, improvising housings for them from old clock radios, guitar pedals and whatever else was to hand, then mailing them anonymously to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#medtronic-again

Once a manufacturer monopolizes repair in this way, they can force you to use their official service depots, charging you as much as they'd like; requiring you to use their official, expensive replacement parts; and dictating when your gadget is "too broken to fix," forcing you to buy a new one. That's bad enough when we're talking about refusing to fix a phone so you buy a new one – but imagine having a spinal injury and relying on a $100,000 exoskeleton to get from place to place and prevent muscle wasting, clots, and other immobility-related conditions, only to have the manufacturer decide that the gadget is too old to fix and refusing to give you the technical assistance to replace a watch battery so that you can get around again:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/9/26/24255074/former-jockey-michael-straight-exoskeleton-repair-battery

When the US Copyright Office grants a use exemption for extracting diagnostic codes from a busted device, they empower repair advocates to put that gadget up on a workbench and torture it into giving up those codes. The codes can then be integrated into an unofficial diagnostic tool, one that can make sense of the scrambled, obfuscated error codes that a device sends when it breaks – without having to unscramble them. In other words, only the company that makes the diagnostic tool has to bypass an access control, but the people who use that tool later do not violate DMCA 1201.

This is all relevant this month because the US Copyright Office just released the latest batch of 1201 exemptions, and among them is the right to circumvent access controls "allowing for repair of retail-level food preparation equipment":

https://publicknowledge.org/public-knowledge-ifixit-free-the-mcflurry-win-copyright-office-dmca-exemption-for-ice-cream-machines/

While this covers all kinds of food prep gear, the exemption request – filed by Public Knowledge and Ifixit – was inspired by the bizarre war over the tragically fragile McFlurry machine. These machines – which extrude soft-serve frozen desserts – are notoriously failure-prone, with 5-16% of them broken at any given time. Taylor, the giant kitchen tech company that makes the machines, charges franchisees a fortune to repair them, producing a steady stream of profits for the company.

This sleazy business prompted some ice-cream hackers to found a startup called Kytch, a high-powered automation and diagnostic tool that was hugely popular with McDonald's franchisees (the gadget was partially designed by the legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang!).

In response, Taylor played dirty, making a less-capable clone of the Kytch, trying to buy Kytch out, and teaming up with McDonald's corporate to bombard franchisees with legal scare-stories about the dangers of using a Kytch to keep their soft-serve flowing, thanks to DMCA 1201:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Kytch isn't the only beneficiary of the new exemption: all kinds of industrial kitchen equipment is covered. In upholding the Right to Repair, the Copyright Office overruled objections of some of its closest historical allies, the Entertainment Software Association, Motion Picture Association, and Recording Industry Association of America, who all sided with Taylor and McDonald's and opposed the exemption:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/us-copyright-office-frees-the-mcflurry-allowing-repair-of-ice-cream-machines/

This is literally the only useful kind of DMCA 1201 exemption the Copyright Office can grant, and the fact that they granted it (along with a similar exemption for medical devices) is a welcome bright spot. But make no mistake, the fact that we finally found a narrow way in which DMCA 1201 can be made slightly less stupid does not redeem this outrageous law. It should still be repealed and condemned to the scrapheap of history.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Updated! A few days ago the contract Crowley signs in S1 came up on discord. Being the crazy person that I am, I set on the quest of finding out what it actually says. I couldn't make out everything, especially at the end where Crowley's hand and the sparks obscure the lines but I made out most of it (transcript below the break).

One of the things I like the most is that the contract specifically says "Anthony Crowley of Mayfair, London." In the book, Hastur tells Crowley not to use that name: "No. Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.” Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper. It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded."

Interesting things:

The contract is referred to as "the Agreement" - HA!

The contract is between Hastur and Ligur ("the Customer") and Crowley ("the Service Provider"). Not with Hell itself or with Satan.

The contract never actually says what "the Service" is nor does it say how much Crowley is supposed to be paid (so is it just delivering the baby to the convent, or all the upbringing too?)

There is a part that says Hastur and Ligur will pay the costs when the operation is done. But later on it also says that Crowley will not be reimbursed for his own expenses. Talk about being shortchanged!

Hastur and Ligur will NOT provide any help

Crowley must contribute to a retirement plan (Superannuation) for himself and his employees if he has any (how thoughtful)

And lastly, I learned the UK has Superannuations and it is not just an Australian thing! (go figure! the things GO teaches me)

So here you have it. A contract from Hell! literally If anyone can make out the words I couldn't or finds an error, please let me know and I'll update this one.

Full transcript:

[Line covered by clip and Ligur’s fingers] (the "Agreement")

BETWEEN

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL (the "Customer")

AND

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON (the "Service Provider")

BACKGROUND a. The Costumer is of the opinion that the Service Provider has the necessary qualifications experience and abilities to provide services for the Customer. The Costumer will pay the Service Provider per project agreed. Each project has its own costs and the Service Provider agrees to inform the Customer what are the costs involved when setting the operation and the Costumer agrees to pay the total amount when the project is delivered. b. The Compensation will be payable upon completion of the Services. The Service Provider is responsible for paying any Superannuation Guarantee contributions that may be required in relation to the work performed by the Service Provider or by the employees of the Service Provider under this Agreement c. The above Compensation includes all applicable sales tax, and dues as required by law

Provision of Extras a. The Customer will not provide any resources, assistance or extra for use by the Service Provider in providing the Services Reimbursement of Expenses b. The Service Provider will not be reimbursed for expenses incurred by the Service Provider in connection with providing the Services of this Agreement. Independence of Services c. In providing the Sevices under the Agreement it is expressly agreed that the Service Provider is acting as an independent contractor and not as an employee. The Service Provider and the Customer acknowledge that the Agreement does not create a partnership or joint venture between them, and is exclusively a contract for service

Notes a. All suits, requests, demands or other communication required or permitted by the terms of this Agreement by will be given in writing and delivered to the Parties of the Agreement as follows

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL

and each [Illegible words due to Crowley’s hand] notify the other.

[ILLEGIBLE WORD]

ANTHONY J CROWLEY

[goggles-mcgee]

Phantom Fudge

I love the fics of Danny settling into Gotham and having some sort of business and just absolutely confusing the Batfam with how flippant he is about the crime.

My take is, instead of a coffee shop or bookstore or occult shop, Danny opens a fudge shop!

His parents taught him, and he found he actually really loved it, and besides, his dream of being an astronaut was out of reach due to his unique medical readings. In this au, his parents learned about him being Phantom and took it well after a good period of spiraling because-Holy shit they shot their son. You may be asking, Goggles, didn't you just make a post that was all about Jack and Maddie not taking the news well? Yes. Yes, I did.

I go back and forth with wanting to salt them and not. I like both.

So anyways, Danny is the heir to the Ghost Throne, but he won't actually take up the official title until his time on Earth is naturally over. After everything got better with his parents and his regular ghost fighting buddies, he actually was able to raise his grades and graduate. Many teachers were amazed at the progress but really, Danny may not have been as smart as his parents and sister (he is an unreliable narrator and is actually very smart just not as conventional as his family) but before his accident he had done pretty good in school. The GIW was still a thing, but without the Fenton technology, they weren't doing as well as they previously did. His parents broke their contract after they rescued him from the GIW labs, it was a little after he told his parents about his halfa status and they came storming in to save him and all the other ghosts that were captured. After that, life got so much better. His parents listened to him, and he got to teach them all about his people. They started publishing more papers with actually accurate information and were doing their best to overturn the anti-ecto acts. They haven't accomplished it, but Danny was sure they would.

That's actually why he moved to Gotham. Tucker had the idea of contacting the Justice League to help with the anti-ecto laws, but their calls weren't being answered. Neither were the...strongly worded emails Sam sent in. So Danny did what he did best and jumped into something not entirely thought out but hoping for the best. He moved to Gotham so he could get close to Batman and ask for help. He got accepted into Gotham University on a scholarship. But he wanted to make some money on his own without his parents sending him some kind of allowance, and he didn't want to work at Bat Burger. He started selling fudge around winter at his school, and he got permission to do so.

From there, he got enough money to actually open a small fudge cart. Then he got enough for a small shop near his apartment which was rather close to Crim Alley so he hired some working girls to help with the shop and he employed any Alley Kids looking for some cash as delivery workers. (They only delivered in Crime Alley, though, but that was fine with Danny.) Danny loved his little fudge shop that he lovingly named Phantom Fudge, and the sign had a cute little ghost eating some fudge on it. When he was in school for classes, he left the shop in his friend Ginger's hands. She had been a working girl before, but before that, she had had experience working a small mom & pop kind of shop, so Danny felt good leaving her in charge. When Ellie visited, she helped out with the shop too.

Danny was thriving. Then he started getting customers of the ecto variety because, of course, he would. Apparently, he was something of an ecto filter for the shades and ghost of Gotham, so they would visit his shop to soak up some of the pure ectoplasm in the air. Then he experimented and made some ecto-fudge, which is what he gave to any ecto beings that entered his shop. Most couldn't pay, but they would give him a heads up if they saw anything shady happening around his shop.

Like a little heads up that some robberies were happening in the area, or some rogue was getting close. It was a nice little system they had. Though some ghosts came in just to tell him their unfinished business and like...he wasn’t King yet, but these were his people, so he tried to help them out as best they could.

One particular couple showed up a lot and would ask him to help warn their son of any danger they heard was brewing. They would ask him to leave messages for the son or any of his kids but also the butler if needed. Danby thought this guy had some great parents. They didn't cross over because they needed to make sure their son was safe and taken care of. It was most likely that they wouldn't cross until their son did by the sounds of it. He got permission to call them Grandma and Grandpa, which was weird, but he didn't question it.

Martha and Thomas were nice spirits, so he had no problem helping them out. But Danny is Danny and his well-intentioned help of course caught the eye of the whole batfam.

They had been receiving letters in the Manor that appeared mysteriously. The first one they had all thought was a prank from the many people there. It was a simple, 'Don’t go to the gala. Something bad will happen.' That started it all. They were all baffled but laughed it off, and those who went to the gala didn't know how to feel when the seeming wait staff took over the event and held the guests hostage.

A coincidence surely.

Then they got another note, 'Freeze is planning to do a B&E and snatch some equipment from a Wayne lab. Idk which one since you have so many.' And just like last time, the note was speaking the truth. It continued from there, and everyone tried to capture whoever or whatever was leaving the notes, but any cameras they had glitched out before returning to normal and showing a new note had showed uo somewhere in the Manor. Bruce was going crazy trying to figure out who or what their messenger was.

Alfred once found a note that said, 'Tim has been awake and pushing himself too far. He is going to crash.' He took it to heart though and made Tim rest and take a break. He would not let the note happen. Tim had had far too many crashes the past couple of months.

The note that broke Bruce, though, was small in words, but it made him feel crazy. It was his parent's death anniversary, and when he went to visit the exact spot, he saw a sticky note on the floor. He shakily picked it up to see all it said was, 'It's okay.'

Now he is really worked up and determined to find the note messenger.

While that's going on, Danny also gets some local vigilantes visiting his shop, and he is so excited to see them and try and be their friend so he can ask for help. Plus they seem to be fans of his fudge and that just makes him happy.

The batkids thing the Phantom Fudge shop owner is suspicious, but hot damn did he make some bomb ass fudge.

[sturnioz]

I really want a confident!reader fic bc I LOVE fratboy!chris being mean (it’s literally the best part) but I also LOVE is she is like ‘mmm no.’ But not like a bratty way yk just standing up for herself, she knows her worth

(Also shes doing a law degree so miss girl can argueeee)

"can you stop touchin' my shit?" chris glares from across the bedroom, his eyes narrowed as he watches you browse his cluttered desk. he's sprawled on his bed, fingers deftly rolling a joint with new coloured papers you insisted on having. you've always been his most difficult customer, and he doesn't bother hiding his annoyance. "didn't bring you up here so you could put your claws on everythin' — cut it out."

"mm, no." you hum, smacking your glossy lips together as you pick up a broken dab pen. disgust flashes across your face at the sticky oil that coats your fingers, and with a dismissive flick of your wrist, you drop it back onto his desk with a loud thud.

grabbing a few tissues from a nearby box, definitely used for some late night activities, you wipe your hands clean, tossing the used tissue aside like it's nothing.

"pick up your mess. now."

your gaze darts around the chaos of his room, raising an eyebrow at the scattered clothes and empty bottles. "right... 'cos a tissue on your desk is really crossing the line."

chris lets out a frustrated laugh, his tongue prodding at his cheek in irritation. "and you're really pissin' me off."

"boo-fucking-hoo — can you hurry up? i don't want to be stuck here any longer than i have to."

"you're the one who decided t'be difficult as fuck 'n want pink skins," chris scoffs, licking the edge of the paper. "not my fault you're not satisfied with what y'get.. some fuckin' spoiled brat you are."

"and yet, you still want my money." you retort, crossing your arms with a smirk.

"do you always have t'be bitchy 'n talk back?"

"why? am i hurting your feelings?" you fake a pout, relishing the way his agitation grows — his jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he finishes rolling a few joints before shoving them into a baggy, and he holds it out to you.

you snatch it from his hand with a grin, staring at it like it's a trophy. then, with another flick of your wrist, you toss a few crumpled dollar bills in his direction, hitting him square in the face.

he huffs, tightening his grip on the bills. "thanks."

"you're so welcome," you reply, spinning around to head towards the door, the sharp clicking of your heels echoing throughout the room as you approach the exit. curling your fist around the doorknob to head back to the party, you quickly peer over your shoulder, flashing chris a sarcastic smile. "don't forget to have these ready next time, 'kay? wasting your customers' time is not good for business."

"fuck you."

"you wish, sweetheart."

[traffytaffy]

OP Men and proposing💍

Ft. Law, Kid, Sanji, Zoro.

Sorry i haven’t posted in a bit. I had like no ideas, but this was actually requested by my best friend who was going through “marriage fever” lmao.

Requests are open!

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Law;

-Marriage isn’t something he’s concerned with but if it is something that you’ve shown interest too, then he’ll consider it. But expect a proposal after several years of being together.

-He would prefer something quiet.

-Somewhere that only you can hear the way he speaks to you in his gentle voice as he tells you everything he loves about you. 

-He wont get on one knee but he would be right next to you, thigh-to-thigh, hand-in hand… as the close contact of his warmth radiates off of him and onto you.

-He would probably pick the night time so it would be more peaceful as the moon and stars are out (also so you don’t see his deep blush)

-He looks embarrassed at first but decides to just be upfront and honest.

-He would pull out a diamond ring. It wouldn’t be too extravagant,something minimal but filled with love.

“Would you…accept this? And make me the happiest man…once more?”

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Kid;

-Marriage doesnt really pass his mind. If youre with him. You’re his, not a paper or a ring can tell him otherwise.

-I dont think he would care about the logistics of it, but he decides to take matters in his own hands once he sees someone flirting with you…

“Married?”

You nod to get the person flirting with you away…

“I don’t see a ring on ya finger”

-After…beating their ass. Kid would make you a custom ring with an engraving of you and his initials.

-Instead of getting on one knee. He just hands you the ring, his flustered face not able to meet your eyes and all he says is:

“Keep it on, you hear me?”

-And thats all you needed to hear to know you’re a married partner now…without even saying yes.

(You can not convince me he’s not a big softie)

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Sanji;

Do i even have to say it?

He has every…little..thing… planned..

-Its Sanji, you should know he would make a proposal the most romantic gesture he has ever done.

-He’d probably buy you bushes of flowers. Petals running up and down the beach where you find a candlelit dinner waiting for you. And of course… he cooked it all.

-French wine. The best of the best.

-His suit was fresh and crisp, not one single wrinkle in its fabric. You actually felt a bit under-dressed but he assured you that you were the most beautiful thing to him no matter what you wore.

-You felt like an idiot cause out of all the extravagant dates and romantic gestures hes done for you, it took him getting down on one knee for you to finally understand what was happening.

-He has a long speech. You probably have to shut him up by giving him a kiss midway through and saying “please shut up. Of course its a yes” in a sweet and playful way obviously.

-Cause he didnt need to say every great detail about you for you to know your answer was always going to be a yes.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Zoro;

Probably accidentally got lost and made it to an office where he can file for marriage.

(Kidding…well maybe..?)

-He probably would propose if its something you want. As for him, its not really a big deal.

-He actually does try to plan it out to the best of his ability, asking his crew members for help.

-He loves you so much and wants this to go as planned that he even asks Sanji of all people for help. Sanji takes care of cooking a special dinner for you two.

“Im only helping you cause its for y/n”

But secretly, he wants Zoro to be happy as well.

-When it happens, you two are alone on the deck of the ship, sharing a drink after the two of you ate the dinner Sanji had made for the two of you.

-When the time of the night came that he thought was right, he is sweating profusely.

“Can i talk to you?”

-You nod and listen as your beautiful eyes stare into his, causing him to stutter.

-He doesnt have a speech or anything, he believes the words should just come to him.

But they dont.

-He pulls out the ring and looks at everything else but you.

-He holds the ring out to you while rubbing the back of his head nervously.

“Marry me?”

[fairytsuk1]

get on your knees | (s)

apart of maki's kinktober: the 2024 anthology

prompt: creampie, praise/degradation, secretary!au

pairing: shota aizawa x reader

words: 6.4k

warnings: unprofessionalism, boss/secretary relationship, dom/sub themes, impact play, degradation and praise, strangers to lovers, creampie, body worship

"Yep. Yep, thank you. Call us again if you need further help. Our way is the right way. Thank you. Goodbye."

How much longer could you keep this up? Between shrill old ladies desperate for solutions to their self-caused issues and the men who wanted to turn your customer service line into a phone sex hotline, you were running out of both patience and sympathy.

You knew it'd be dull work when you applied. It was in the name: customer service representative. You didn't mind. Dull work meant working as a stocker and meticulously organizing food products. It meant waking up early and chatting with the same group of people over the same brand of weak coffee every day. It could be meaningless; it could be meaningful.

Your temples are rubbed by your fingers, aching for relief, and you wonder if your company is any good with benefits after you've quit.

Real people were missed by you. No more old women and pervy men. You wanted something substantial. Something real, something alive. You decide you need to get outside, away from the phone. Your poised, fake voice was due for a break.

Your lunch is subbed for an afternoon walk. The same route you always take, the same things you pass by like always. It's all the same. Trees bend and sway under the will of the wind, and you find yourself looking down at the ground. Did you always do that?

The coffee shop is bustling, the bookstore is closed, and the park is full of screaming, laughter, and joy. The police station looks lifeless as always, but the local lawyer's office is… open, shining and bright, and strangely standing out. The actual building is cream and desert colors, yet its sign has bright bulbs exclaiming help wanted.

In tiny font under the main signage, you read "secretary."

It would be dull work. Lawyer jargon, a hot lawyer who you hear from around town is to die for. Like smooth chocolate. Your sneakers pad on the ground before you're even aware of it, carrying you past the threshold of oak doors into the domain of law.

Inside, it's dark and stormy. It is entirely opposite to the outside, making your head spin. It's quiet, and your footsteps echo as you traverse the halls looking for the lawyer. There's no one at the secretary's desk, and you can't help the daunting hand that runs over its ridges as you pass by.

Another oak door sits menacingly ajar. You press forward. Your heart stutters in your chest, butterflies hatching as you see him sitting cleanly, sexy and firm.

There he is. He's got inky black hair pulled neatly into a low bun; your breath catches in your throat when stormy dark eyes pull up from paperwork to you. You feel so exposed, so on display, as you fidget and murmur, "Hello."

He's quick to the chase, "Are you here for the secretary job?"

The lawyer's eyes scan yours, and you find yourself nodding; too afraid to speak further. His eyes then trail over your form, and you wonder if your work-from-home outfit was too casual. How would you have even known you'd have encountered this icy gentleman during your typical stroll?

Aizawa is grateful that the prettiest candidate will come in on his break. He could forgo lunch for you; he'd be fine having that sweet pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Hm. Resume?"

Your empty hands are glaringly obvious. Your purse hangs heavy and resumeless on your shoulder.

"I, I don't have–I didn't bring one, I mean."

"Did you see the ad in the paper?"

"No. I was walking and saw the lit-up sign."

"... I see," he drawls, still eyeing you before motioning to the seat in front of him.

Sinking into the cushion, you try to look presentable as you cross your feet–the rip of your stocking just barely visible from where he sits at his woodsy desk. He stares at you before asking.

"What talents do you have?"

"I'm a very hard worker," you pitch softly. "I won several typing awards in school."

He says nothing to that; maybe you've said or done the wrong thing. His hand rubs at the stubble on his chin, and your throat dries up at the various rings decorating his long, pale fingers. You would give anything to feel that scruff between your thighs, nails leaving indents as he plants kiss after kiss up your leg.

"It's very, very dull work. Perhaps too dull for you."

It's an opening. A job you can practically taste on the tip of your tongue.

"I don't mind," you add. "I'll do anything."

The terse stare you both share leaves you sweating. What were the chances: no resume, lack of secretary experience, and you wore ripped stockings. He licks his lips, eyes flickering up and down before nodding to the side.

"Please make me a coffee. Not too much sugar."

You're up in a heartbeat as you grab his half-empty cup. Suddenly, it's obvious you don't know anything about the building you're in as you head to the first door: "It's not that one."

The second one is a bust, and the third opens you up to his quaint office kitchen. Coffee was easy! Sure, you spilled a few coffee grounds and milk. Maybe you struggled with the machine as it brewed its ground beans. In the end, the mug sits hot and ready on his desk. You're ready for him to say it's perfect. That he'll reward you with a black coffee-tinged kiss.

"Too much sugar," he grimaces a bit. "Be here tomorrow at eight a.m."

You were in the parking lot by seven.

He never reveals too much to you. You still don't know so many basic things, even though you know how he likes his coffee, and you've seen how he does push-ups in his office when he's stressed. You see everything and nothing. It's agonizing.

The work is dull. You like it. It's typing letters, queries, and correspondence; it's all stuff Aizawa could be doing but chooses you to do. It makes you feel special in a sick way. You're stumbling from a bump in the carpet as you set a stack of papers on his desk. There is one problem, though.

"I alphabetized all the clients, sir," you say firmly.

"Thank you," he always says your name in that smooth drawl that leaves you drooling.

You're waiting. Waiting for those two words or even a glance up at you. He only sips his steaming coffee and peruses through the paper like you're not even there.

"Is there something you need?"

There was just one problem.

"No, sir," you say. "Sorry."

He never praised you. Aizawa hums, and you're turning on your heel. That took forever to do, and all he could say was, "Thank you." Was it wrong to ask for praise from your boss? The deep boom of his voice shakes you from your thoughts as he calls out after you.

You return like a dog, face alight and waiting. A stir in his gut has Aizawa hot at the back of his neck.

"That outfit… it's sloppy. You represent me. Your hair has flyaways, you leave crumbs everywhere, and you're messy."

Your boss stands and takes measured steps toward you. You're shrinking like prey under his gaze as he jabs at your faults.

"You make typos. You spill coffee grounds when you make my coffee." he's in front of you now, looking down and so close you can feel his breath. "You wear ripped stockings."

"I-I—"

"Don't say anything. Just look, and listen to me."

He is oh so pleased when you nod obediently. What a good girl.

"You represent me. You are the first person clients see when they come seeking my legal counsel. You could put in a little more effort, right?"

You're unsure of an answer. Silence or confirmation? Your knees knock together, "yes, I could."

There's a beat of silence. It seems so loud in the room.

"Good."

You wanted to sink to your knees then and there with an open mouth. An open throat. Aizawa sighs, seemingly relieved, as two big hands clasp onto your shoulders.

"Go home. Take the long way. Look at the sky and the trees and the stray cats. Pet one," he murmurs, and his fingers flick your chin. "Go and enjoy."

Just like that, he's edging away from you like he'd never gotten so close in the first place. Your heart stirs confusedly in your chest, battered from the pointed insults but feeling like they've freed you from any preconceived notions you had regarding your boss and you.

He thought you were good.

It was as if you'd never taken a walk before. Things were bright and so fruitful that there was a natural skip in your step as you brought yourself past the trees, the fountain made of marble with an angel sitting pretty and the people out and about. That joy carried you all the way home. You couldn't get how he looked at you out of his head as you flung yourself upon the bed.

You try practicing how you'd thank him, but it all comes out stilted. Unsure. Who was Mr. Aizawa? Did he like being thanked? You knew what you liked. Your hand brushes against the edge of your underwear as you recall how he'd murmured, "Good."

It just feels right to rub your clit and imagine your boss doing it for you with his hands coated in silvery rings. It'd be a mix of hot and cold as he rubbed at your pussy, "My, you're so wet for me. You really are so naughty."

Your hand twisted tight circles as you ground against your palm, face hot and panting into the sheets as you mewled for Aizawa. The syllables were foreign on your tongue, but you find yourself cumming with a cry of Shota!

After that, it was impossible to stay professional for very long.

Since those harsh criticisms, you'd started putting your all into the little things. New stockings on sale that highlight the smooth expanse of your leg while tucked into dainty kitten heels. You wiped up your mouth and counters after lunch and coffee. You were representing him.

Aizawa had noticed your preening. It was eerily similar to his cats. You would linger in front of him, waiting for a treat. He sighs, sinking into his chair, lids burning with the idea of you on your knees or bent over in front of him. He has to be careful when that familiar twinge of arousal wakes up more than just his mind. His hand comes to palm over the half-chub, but then your voice is filtering in over the phone.

"Sir? Miss Midnight is here," you murmur, and he grips himself over his slacks with a soft groan.

"Tell her I'm not here."

"I think she knows you're here," you say, eyes flickering between the phone and the woman herself, who flips through a magazine.

"Do not let her come back here. It's an order."

There's a click, and you're gone. You always listen so obediently. It was his favorite thing. Midnight's voice rings out from behind the grand wooden doors, your voice mixing into a beautiful tone of harshness and softness. He can hear how your chair scratches against the floor as you stand, guarding his office protectively.

"I know he's in there!"

"He is not," and you're puffing your chest out with a confidence that you're unsure of its origin. "You must come back another time."

Aizawa pants into the open air at your sweet little voice, trying to be commanding. He has to grip his base so he doesn't spill his load all over his black slacks. It grows quiet, and he knows the knock of your hands from memory.

"Come in."

You're hesitant, hands coming in front of you to fidget before you're forcing your hands by your sides. The pressure of Aizawa's presence has a hold over you that you can't shake. "She left. She said she'd be back tomorrow."

Lecherous eyes take in the loosening of his tie and how he relaxes instantly at the relief. He looks warm, if a bit debauched.

"I see," and he's staring at the ceiling before lazily trailing his eyes back down to your body. "Come here."

Soft feet pad even closer. You're not sure if you're even breathing.

"Thank you for listening. You are good at what you do.

"Thank you, sir."

He lets the stillness linger in the air, watching how you step even closer. You wanted a treat.

"Another thing. Where did you buy that skirt?"

"... At the department store."

His mouth flattens, and he hums, reaching into his wallet. " It's nice. Buy yourself something off the rack, not from the sale section."

Your face burns bright as he slides the cash over. This feels strangely good. You knew it was wrong, but you just couldn't help yourself. It was a substantial amount—too much for a boss to give to his secretary.

"Am I… allowed to take that?"

Aizawa smirks coolly, "I just gave you permission to."

The implication of his words leaves your legs crossing, much to your boss's amusement. He tells you to take the day off, and he's so soft this time. No harsh criticisms. All he wants to do is take care of you; the stack of money is comforting as a couple hundred sits heavy in your bag.

You buy a cute two-piece suit. It accentuates your curves nicely, and you can't help but wonder if Aizawa would feel the same. Adding a few accessories you don't think he'd mind, a gold choker glints at you, and you look around before shoving it to the bottom of your shopping bag.

He doesn't even comment on it. Of course, he doesn't. Your fingers click the keys with a bit more anger than normal. Who gives you money to buy an outfit and then doesn't even compliment you? Your boss, that's who. Fingers rip the written communication from the typewriter with a huff.

You're about to go to him, but he's coming to you first. Your breath stutters in your throat at how his eyes pierce you with every step. Aizawa stops and flicks the paper onto your desk with narrowed eyes, "can you tell me what this word says?"

"I-Indelible."

"And this one?"

He points to another word circled in red and your shy eyes are batting up at him, "rash…"

"So I didn't hire an illiterate typer, that's good. But then that means there must be a reasonable explanation for these glaring typos, hm?"

Aizawa's fist bangs on the table as you neglect to respond, "I–no, sir…"

He leans close till you can feel his breath on your lips. You're shaking and unsure if you want to burst into tears or kiss him on the mouth. And then he sees it, his eyes trailing down your body to see the familiar scratch of lines and ripped fabric on your calf. You'd hoped he hadn't noticed, but you can't help the twitch of your lips.

"Come to my office," Aizawa says shakily, voice intense and full of mirth.

You walk behind him to enter into his domain. Aizawa stares at you, breath labored as he swallows thickly. Neither of you are speaking, but it's clear how his presence dominates yours. It's effortless. It's easy for him.

"Put the paper on the table and your hands on either side."

Your hair sways as you put your hands on his grand office desk. The red marks stare back at you mockingly, your breath stuttering as you feel his presence behind you. He looms, and you can just barely feel how his hips align right behind yours. A deep, primal need wants to arch your back even more than it already is.

"Bend over more."

Was he serious? Your ass brushes against his crotch as you bend farther, with your pencil skirt rising higher. Your upper thigh is exposed to cool air, Aizawa's rough hands brushing against the soft skin. His thumb just barely brushes your panties, and you're biting back a whimper.

"Read it aloud."

Aizawa bites his lip as you do exactly what he says.

"Dear Mr. Toshinori," and you're cut off by a firm spank on your ass.

Your breath stops in your throat as you turn your head in disbelief. Aizawa says nothing, and does nothing, maintaining eye contact as he swats your plump butt again. It hurts and your eyes water. Something inside you tells you this is wrong, but it's overwhelmed by the wave of it feeling so right.

"Go on."

A sniffle escapes you, humiliation and pleasure mixing into a twisted thread of satisfaction, "the effort you've put into this case has been indelible–"

Another firm smack that leaves a gasping moan escaping you. You can hear his labored breaths mingle with your needy ones as he lays smack after smack against your aching bottom. Your whimpers come out more easily with each hit. Your eyes blur with tears that drip onto the crisp paper, blurring the letters you'd so carelessly put together. The red of Aizawa's pen seeps into the salty stain, and a cry escapes you.

"We don't want to be rash," another loud smack. "With all my love, Aizawa Shota…"

The two of you are panting, and Aizawa sighs as he presses the bulge in his slacks against the cleft of your sore bottom. He's so hard. You can't help how your hips grind against his, how the two of you play this forbidden song and dance of boundaries a second longer. He stills you with a fond voice.

"Very good," and you could cum with how he says your name. "I expect you to be better the next time around."

A strong hand smooths over the sore skin and fabric of your skirt. He takes care to readjust your clothes. His hands feel incredible with every soothing stroke. Your tears subside within no time, and you wish the moment would last forever.

He doesn't see how your eyes close in relief as a smile graces your lips, "I will, sir."

"Thank you."

You make no mistakes for the rest of the week. You might be the perfect secretary. Aizawa was beginning to reveal himself to you more and more; you were absolutely delighted. If he wanted to overwhelm you with himself, you weren't opposed to submitting to him entirely. You'd let him eat you if he wanted.

It's how your quaint, dull secretary job turns into a game of cat and mouse. Everything is predetermined by him. You crawl to his desk with the written communication tucked between your lips, sidling up next to him as he takes it with a "thank you."

Reveling in it is what keeps you going. It leaves you crawling, kneeling, and purring for "good girl," "thank you," "very nice," and "well done."

This time, you stand beside him like a shining knight while he reads over the newspaper. It's still early morning, only about an hour to your shift before he's straightening up and talking to you without looking at you.

"What do you eat for dinner, sweetheart?"

You can't help but smile every time you hear that tender nickname.

"U-Usually meat and potatoes and a vegetable."

"That's the daily menu?"

"Today I wanted to make mashed potatoes, peas, and meatloaf."

"Hmm," and then his steely eyes are turning and landing right on you.

It's as if a spotlight has shone down directly on you. You fidget on the spot immediately. Aizawa's lips quirked up as if he wanted to laugh, and you mirrored him back; you know he found your flightiness endearing. Cute, even. You'd heard him say so under his breath a few days back.

"I want you to have five peas. A scoop of mashed potatoes and no meatloaf."

You stay silent. He's not done. He smiles warmly, eyes scanning you appreciatively.

"And as much ice cream as you want."

"How did you know I like ice cream?"

He doesn't reply. He'd seen you out and about while he was waiting for his dry cleaning. You'd been happily chatting with friends, a giant cone of flavors on your right, while you gestured with the left. Aizawa hadn't wanted to interrupt you in your natural state. It was a shame, though, considering he couldn't shake your smile and your laugh from his head that entire day.

"I just know."

You make precisely five peas and a heaving bowl of mashed potatoes. The meal is done quickly, but you call him just before eating.

"A scoop of mash, five peas, and as much ice cream as I want."

Aizawa sits comfortably in his living room, wine glass in hand, "good girl."

It's a meal you savor. It's a wine he relishes. It's a simple delicacy, as if you share the meal together, knowing one is thinking about the other. Aizawa and you fall into this routine of codependency. You go where he goes. You eat from his hand and never bite. He offers you more and more. He lets you engorge yourself on him while he feasts himself upon you.

But, things grow different. He stops asking you to get on your knees, and you see him shutting the door behind you more and more. His face looked pained every time, as if he wasn't banishing you away to your secretarial desk. Why is he doing this? Why was he denying his sweetheart?

You listen to the audio of his lulling voice dictating you on what to type. You're not sure if you or the brat inside you insist on making typos, but you know it's the entirety of you that will be held responsible.

You smirked anyway as you delivered the paper to him with a flourish, "This one is finished."

He takes it silently and puts it in the envelope to be sent. You falter a bit and quizzically ask.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

"I'm really busy," he says your name so flatly you almost want to stomp your foot in protest.

Whatever. Quick feet turn, and you're heading off without a second thought. If he didn't want to read it, that was just fine! It wasn't as if you cared. You return to work, and your shift passes by slowly. Then, you hear the static and clearness of Aizawa's firm voice.

"Come to my office."

You're skipping with joy to the door, arms swinging at your sides before you compose yourself in front of the door. You open it, and he's immediately staring dead at you. His eyes are like a flame. Aizawa's voice shakes with restraint as he tells you to come close and bend over.

It's lewd how you drape yourself over his desk. Your hands are poised as you lay them flat against the desk, butt perked and wiggling ever so slightly. If you were a cat, your tail would swish, and maybe Aizawa would go easier on you.

But you're not a cat; Aizawa never goes easy on anyone. Not his clients, not the courtroom, and certainly not you. His rough nails scrape against the soft flesh of your bottom as he tugs your skirt up, and then your panties drop to the floor. You're bare and shaking in front of him, face dark and pressed into the wood you lay on. He gives no tells, your ears straining to hear something, anything.

Aizawa slowly unzips his slacks, and you're panting with neediness on your breath. You can feel how a strong hand easily shifts your hips to the side as if you weigh nothing; he's still silent as a hand grips the base of his cock, and he groans.

You wish so badly to turn and catch him in the act. He spits lewdly and tugs your skirt up higher till your ass is on full display. He grunts, and it's so slick listening to his palm hit his fat balls and work the tip over and over again. A whimper escapes you when he digs his palms into the fat of your ass and grips it for purchase. It feels so heady, and you're forced to listen as Aizawa fucks into his palm.

The wet noises echo, his hand speeding up as he groans your name. A confident thrum leaves you thrusting back, and the choked moan he lets out is downright delicious, "fuckk."

His breath becomes strangled as he works himself. Then, he's letting out a deep yelp, and you're coated in hot white strands of his cum. It soaks into your panties, and your hole clenches around nothing. He's still breathing shakily, his hand tracing the marks he left on you before pulling away entirely. You can smell his cologne when you turn knock-kneed before him.

"That'll be all," he mumbles with ragged pants.

You stare at yourself, awed, in the mirror. The streaks on your panties are visible as you slip a hand past your waistband and hold a hand to your mouth. You cum just like that, in Aizawa's company bathroom, with his cum on your ass.

He doesn't make an appearance for the rest of the shift. You want to knock and ask, "Are you okay?" But, you worry it'd just make things worse.

Meanwhile, Aizawa stares at his desk contemplatively. A letter sits mockingly as he stares at it. The white stain on his slacks mocks him. He keeps trying to rub it out, but it won't budge. This can't go on.

Dear Sweetheart,

This is disgusting. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm like this.

He crumples it and tosses it off somewhere, sinking into his office chair with an arm draped over his eyes. This was pathetic. It was unseemly. He had to intervene before he got out of control. Aizawa tries to ignore the deep pain within his chest that winces at every thought of separating himself from you.

That was what he told you the next day, "we can't be doing this every day. It's… wrong."

"Why not?"

You're tearful and shaking. Aizawa's heart shatters so suddenly he has to look off to the side, eyes tracing the whistling trees outside the window.

"Why. Not?"

"Because we can't," he hisses in regret at even letting this conversation come to fruition regardless.

Your hands smack against your thighs as you stand and come closer. You never used to go into his bubble, and now you had no problem merging the two of you together, "I love you."

It was the genuine, honest truth. You loved how he told you how many peas to eat when he'd stroke your hair when he first called you sweetheart. You were sure you had started loving him then, some time or another, between the blending of professional boundaries.

"Don't be immature–"

"I'm not leaving.

He gets close, eyes narrowed as you stay rooted on his Persian rug.

"You're fired."

"No, I'm not," your tears spill over your cheeks in fat rivulets. "Don't do this."

Aizawa scoffs, grabbing his coat and huffing, "I'm going for a walk. Don't be here when I get back."

You stay rooted. You don't move an inch, only wiping your face and continuing to stare out his office window. This was the most heartbreak you'd ever felt. Aizawa was the first real man you had met, and he was tearing himself away from you. This job had never been dull from the second you saw him.

He's been gone for so long. Your legs ache, and you wonder if he went home, if he decided to leave you there through the night on trembling feet and shaky breaths. No. He wasn't like that. You'd wait.

The walk did nothing to soothe him. All he could feel was a pull towards you, like an anchor desperate to return home. Each step was heavy, and he turned around halfway to practically run back to the office. Were you still there?

You're still standing with your arms at your sides. You're not crying anymore, your face hard and focused. You're pretty upon his Persian rug, and Aizawa feels downright giddy. The giddy feeling is overshadowed by the thrum of darkness at the reality of the situation. He felt awful, wanting, and overwhelmed with emotions. He had so many emotions he almost couldn't stand it. Almost.

Aizawa sits outside the office door, head in hand. A thread born from sickness and loneliness was watered and tended by you, and he was so afraid.

The two of you stay rooted.

Only when the sun shines before noon the next day does Aizawa open the door. You're turning your head instantly with watery eyes and a grumbling stomach. You knew it, he hadn't left. He'd have never left you alone at this rate. You were his, and he was yours.

His footsteps are heavy as he draws closer until he's right before you. You look at him so softly. Your eyes are like dams threatening to give away if he didn't accept this watering, this tending. You'd worked so hard.

You collapse into his arms the minute he holds you, and he goes down with you, both of you sinking onto the floor in a loving heap. He doesn't even let your head touch the ground, only looking at you with fondness.

Aizawa kisses you, and it's like a cool drink of water. You're satiated yet hungry for more. Hungry for him.

"I'm going to take you home," he whispers tenderly, accompanied by a hand smoothing down the side of your waist before hooking under your knees.

He bridal carries you past the threshold of his office and building and towards his car. It's an intimate carry; you hold onto him with a soft smile.

His steps are measured as he takes you up the stairs of his home. Your eyes greedily latch onto every detail you pass by: the pictures daintily hung on the wall, the way a cat peeks in from the kitchen, the way the whole home is ornate and decorated. It's lived in, and you bring yourself closer to burying into Aizawa's neck.

The minute your back hits the bed, you're engaged in a passionate lip-lock that won't quit. It's not the rough dominance of Aizawa trying to eat you whole. It was the experience of two lovers finally able to blend as one.

He's gentle as he lays you back against plush silken sheets, immediately crawling and molding his body to yours with a hefty groan. His body weight is addicting. Your thumbs press against the divots in his back to try and bring him impossibly closer.

"Been wanting to kiss you since I saw you, pretty girl."

"Me too," your tongue laves over his bottom lip. "I only wanted you."

"I know. I see you."

He breathes into your neck before diving in to lick and suck at the supple skin. You can't help the squirming and the hot whimpers that escape you, the rough patches on your neck growing more abundant with every kiss of his lips and bite of his teeth.

"I want you," you confide, hands loosening his hair from the tight bun into loose strands that surround you. "I need you, Aizawa."

"Call me Shota." a burning hand trails down your hip to between your legs.

You're already mewling, trying to shut your legs despite Shota insisting with a "be good" to keep them open. His hand catches your thigh, and you shrink at his look that pins you to the covers.

"Be still," he says, and a finger drags up your puffy lips over your underwear.

The fabric catches on your clit, and you gasp; your hips tilting back and forth for moremoremore–

Shota tugs your panties to the side and spreads you open, his eyes greedy as they rake over every inch of your dripping cunny. You know you're making a mess all over his hand as you writhe and leak.

"Shota, ohfuckk. Don't stare," you barely manage to get out when his rough thumb circles your needy clit.

"I'll stare as much as I feel like, sweetheart. You're dripping for me, soaking my hand. 'S so cute."

You can't even find it in yourself to plead for him to stop. He sinks two fingers in you like it's nothing, an amused chuckle reverberating through his chest at the sight, "You play with your pussy a lot? She swallowed my fingers up like it was nothing. Is it gonna be the same when I stuff you full?"

"I'll take it, I-I can take your cock."

"Good girl. Saying exactly what I want to hear," and he's kissing you.

His hand leaves you, much to your chagrin, and you're left spread open wide in front of him as he rapidly undresses. His bulge is big, and you're almost a bit intimidated when his boxers reveal the shape of his thick cock leaking pre-cum. You wet your lips, and your knees go to touch before he pulls them open wider and settles on his haunches.

"Getting shy now?"

"No…"

"Then open your legs."

It's not a question but a command. You do as he says.

His underwear is pushed down to free his dick, the thick length bobbing and brushing against his happy trail. It's so lewd, and he looks so manly. His muscles are rippling, and he's so hard between your legs. Your hole clenches around nothing, and Shota runs the angry red tip through your folds.

"Ah! Don't tease me," you murmur, feet flexing with need.

His fat tip just barely presses against your hole, just barely pushing past your clenching pussy with a lazy grin, "I won't. Just lay back, honey."

Shota's voice is syrupy and smooth. His hands push your thighs farther than you thought they'd go as he sinks inch by inch into you.

"Oh, oh, Shota–you're so big."

"Poor pussy's squeezing me so tight," he grunts lowly. "You feel so good, sweetheart."

He plants a soft kiss against your ankle before shifting and bullying three inches of himself inside you. You cry out, eyes rolling back as he shallowly thrusts and works you open, breath heavy on his lips as he fucks his cock into you.

Your pussy's so sloppy, leaking and creaming around him before he's even balls deep inside you. Shota mounts you, and you're scrunched under him with a whimpering wail, "There we go. Nice and full, huh?"

"Y-Yeah! Ohgod, I-I can't–"

"Oh, fuuuuck."

He moves slowly and thrusts so deep you feel him in your stomach. It's sinful, the way his hips start to rock into yours, tip rubbing against your womb as you moan and moan.

"God, 'm so deep inside you. Fucking claiming this pussy, right? Just giving my girl what she needs, a nice, good pounding."

Shota's balls smack against your ass as he speeds up, sticky clit mashing against the coarse hair at his base as he rams himself into you again and again. You feel delirious as you get fucked further into the mattress. The two of you are one, creaming around his base as your nails scratch lines across his back.

"Rub your clit, baby. Make yourself feel good."

“‘M gonna cum, Shotaaa!”

"Hold it," he hisses, hips still pistoning in and out of you as he thrusts particularly hard. "Want you to rub yourself, sweetheart. You can do that for me, yeah?"

You're near tears as your hand shakily flits over your sore pussy, howling from pleasure as you circle it once, twice–" I-I can't, please, lemme cum!"

"Hmm," and you can feel how he throbs inside you.

Your walls suck him in impossibly deeper, and you can see the sweat dripping down his forehead as he heaves a breath. You squeeze again, and he glares at you darkly, eyes narrowed and stormy as he settles his hips on top of yours, heavy balls churning with the need to cum.

"Go ahead, since you wanna cum so bad."

"Sh-Shota!"

You're fucking squirting. Your juices make more of a mess, and it does it for him as he slams into you for a few more thrusts before hunkering down and sliding right against your womb. A few tears escape you as rope after rope of cum fills you to the brim, your eyes rolling back as he milks himself inside your sweet cunt.

"God, fuck," he shudders, hips twitching as he finishes breeding you.

Shota's eyes are closed as he holds you both in that position. If you weren't on birth control, you'd be in trouble as globs of cum spill out when he adjusts his grip on you. He pulls out slowly, watching the white fill and drip down your ass lewdly. He looks magical the way he bites his lip and spreads your open, hole clenching and letting out more of his release.

"You're so pretty."

Both of you are spent and exhausted. You can't find it in yourself to reply. Aizawa's muscles bulge when he pulls you closer into his body, a shiver coursing through you at a lazy finger trailing over your spine. Both of you are quiet for a while, the intense passion taking a load on you both.

You nearly fall asleep while he strokes you.

"Where are you originally from?"

It makes you pause before you answer your hometown, eyes pulling up to meet his soft ones.

"... Where did you go to school?"

"UA High School. Then, I went overseas for my law degree."

"Oh. I always wondered where you went."

"I always wondered where you were from," he whispers, noses your face, and plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

The two of you swap stories and questions just like that for hours. It means everything to you, and Shota wishes you could've done this sooner. Wishes he could've known this woman before.

"Do I still get to keep my job?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

-

You walk, arms spread out wide and attached to the spreader bar. You adorn yourself with a clean white blouse and a navy blue skirt—prim and proper. It's easy now, as you squat to grab a paper with your left hand and turn to your right to staple it.

It's easy, grabbing things with your teeth as you prance around, spread open as if on a cross for him. Your boss wanted you that way; he wanted you to be spread open and bare for him, fresh enough to eat.

You carry the tray with coffee in your right hand and the stack of papers in your left hand. As you approach the ajar office door, you can hear his voice, "Come in, and get on your knees."

The oak office door is kicked closed behind you without another word.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

I realize disney's been tending to stick with the jedi exclusively adopting children with parental permission, if parents are alive, and I appreciate that aspect, but I have thought about the concept (which I am told crops up in legends) of them having some sort of legal right to force sensitive children in the republic, just because it is interesting- especially thinking about cases of child abuse.

Something that disney, legends, and fanon, all generally agree on is the idea that force sensitive children are often in danger because of their force sensitivity. Some take it further with an analogy for neurodivergent kids, since them being weird kids is a recurring theme.

And well. Realistically, over the course of about a thousand years there must have been a few jedi who found a force sensitive child who was in a deeply unsafe situation but their family or guardians had no intention of giving them up for whatever reason. How firm is the parental permission rule in that situation? What if that child is gonna die there?

Laws and systems and rights are finicky things, with often odd histories. I guess, out of all the options available, I can imagine that there was legal framework giving jedi a kind of social service role for force sensitive children and only force sensitive children*, the probably mediocre result of some bit of regulatory legislation that happened at some point, ostensibly there to protect these vulnerable children, that makes it so that technically, if a child passes this standardized test, the jedi can take them away, and that's written in republic law somewhere. Does that law also specify the jedi have to prove unfitness of the guardian? Maybe, maybe not (the republic doesn't seem to have a lot of attention to detail). Does that mean it's actually jedi custom to just go ahead and forcibly take children as a normal thing? Every line of canon dialogue says no. It could be a legal right they have but aren't 100% comfortable with, and are aware it would be unwise to abuse.

.*this is where I plug my headcanon that the blood test is bureaucratic box ticking first and foremost. it's not that i hate midicholorians, but it's a well established thing that jedi can sense force sensitive children absolutely fine without doing a blood test. For their own internal purposes, it's maybe a scientific curiosity to get a count. but for the paperwork? That is a piece of paper that officially categorizes a child as force sensitive in a way that regular people can quantify. so there.

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Home. The word itself tasted like mothballs and childhood memories, both bitter and sweet on your tongue. 

What others would call home, did not feel like home to you at all, not after your mother had destroyed everything that you were familiar with just when you had turned fifteen.

It was then that she had begun an affair with an actor named Cillian Murphy, whom she had met on the set of a movie he was filming and, just as if she had planned it all, she became pregnant with your stepsister Sadie. 

Your mother was 37 at the time, with Cillian having been five years her senior. 

It was all over the papers at the time and, just as you thought that things could not get any worse, she left your father, who was heartbroken and bewildered, and moved in with this then stranger to you.

You and your twin sister, Cliona, were expected to just follow suit, like little lost puppies and whilst Cillian himself seemed like a nice man, it was not something that you were able to do that easily. You had always been strong willed and gave your mother quite the run for her money with your rebellious nature which, in part, was the reason why she had pushed you to go away to live your father in New York.

New York was where you had finished school and, as soon as you turned eighteen, you made your way on a journey around the world. 

You travelled to New Zealand, Africa and then South Amerika too.  There were times when your money ran out but you always managed to get by, taking on odd jobs here and there, just so that you could survive.

It was during your time in Tanzania, when you met a woman, in her forties, who worked in an orphanage with you, and it was her who introduced you to photography. She told you that the camera was woman's truth and that with it, you had the power to tell stories.

She handed you her canvas camera and you began to snap away, discovering facets of Tanzania, its people and its wildlife in ways that words alone could not articulate.

The experience had left an indelible impression on you and from that day onwards, you knew that photography would be the lens through which you viewed the world and translated your experiences.

Your wanderlust had taken you on a three year journey, one that had seen you capture the beauty of the world through photographs. You had even managed to sell some of them to a hip magazine, which showcased your work alongside a spread of your adventures.

The pay was decent, just enough to keep you going and still let you see the world.

College had been an option, but not one you wanted to seriously consider. You had never been one to follow the rules and conventions that came with higher education, and the thought of being stuck in a classroom for four more years seemed unbearably tedious.

But then, after an amazing three years, your travel journey came to an abrupt end when you got into trouble with the law while passing through the UK, on your way back to New York. 

At London Heathrow,  just after taking a flight from Rome, you were stopped by customs for questioning regarding a package that they found in your luggage. It was a small box that just fit snugly within the zippered pocket in your backpack.

Inside the box there were as an illicit substance and it was this substance that got you arrested. 

You were questioned for hours, leaving you dazed, frightened and confused about how the drugs had even gotten into your bag and, after a series of panicked phone calls to your family, your mother agreed to bail you out.

Days later, in court, you were given a short sentence, including a travel ban for three months and house arrest for one.

"I much rather go to jail than live with my mother for four weeks," you thought to yourself, but the sentence had been handed out and, before you knew it, you were taken to where you had once lived, in the outskirts of London. 

Time seemed to slow down the moment you crossed the threshold of that Victorian house, so familiar in every fine detail that it seemed to shrink around you.

The police officer who accompanied you rang the doorbell on your behalf and, after a few moments, your sister Cliona  , whom you hadn't even spoken to in a year, opened the heavy oak door.

Her dark eyes, much like yours, narrowed at the sight of you, before dissolving into a cold, expressionless mask.

"Hi, Cliona," you greeted her, but it was clear that she wasn't interested in talking.

Her thin lips barely moved as she spoke. "Mum isn't home, but come on in," she simply said to the officer rather than you. 

Cliona's dismissive attitude was nothing new to you, but it still hurt.

You had once been close, like two peas in a pod, but she had changed somewhere along the way. Growing up, you had always been the rebel, the one who pushed boundaries and questioned authority, while she was the obedient one, always trying to please your mother.

Over the years, that gap had only widened, until it seemed like you were living on opposite ends of a vast, unbridgeable chasm.

With a resigned sigh, you stepped into the hallway which is when you saw him, for the first time in 18 months.  It was Cillian, emerging from one of the rooms at the far end of the hallway, with your little half sister Sadie clinging to his side, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his fingers.

As soon as Sadie saw you, she ran towards you , squealing with excitement, and you couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in her voice as she called out your name.

"Y/N! Y/N!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around your waist. Her laughter echoed through the expansive hallway as you stooped down to pick her up, your heart feeling warmer and softer than it had in months.

You had always kept in touch with her, and even visited her on numerous occasions, putting up with your mother for short periods of times for Sadie's sake, mostly while Cillian had been away filming.

He was a busy man and your interactions with him to date were limited.  Cillian took a step towards you, his warm smile radiating kindness.

"Welcome home, I suppose," he said with a slight chuckle, his rich voice resonating through the room. You couldn't help but blush as he looked directly into your eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine delight at seeing you. It was a small but friendly gesture that made you feel a little better about this somewhat unfortunate situation. 

"Thanks," you mumbled, not quite sure what to say in response. You had imagined seeing him again, but there was something utterly different about him now, something that you had not noticed when you saw him last, about eighteen months ago, at your aunt's wedding. 

He had grown a little older, his hair was peppered with more silver strands, giving him an air of maturity, though his eyes seemed the same vibrant shade of blue that they had been before, sparkling with intelligence and a hint of mischief.

While you were spending some time with your little stepsister, the police officer pulled out some paperwork and what looked like an ankle monitor , informing you that this would now be a part of your daily life since it was ordered by the court for the next one month.

You couldn't help but wince at the sight of the device. It felt like an electronic handcuff latched on, but you didn't complain, knowing that it could have been much worse.

"So, I guess it's a house arrest for you now," Cliona said with a roll of her eyes, "good luck with that." 

"It's only for thirty days," the officer  interjected, clearly trying to soften the blow of the situation, "and if you follow the rules and stay out of trouble, you'll be free to go where you want after that, at least within the UK."

You couldn't help but feel a wry smile creeping up on your face, thinking about all the things you would be able to do once this house arrest was lifted.

But for now, you had to follow the rules and make the best of a less than ideal situation.

"Mr Murphy, are you happy to sign for this?"  the officer asked Cillian, handing him the paperwork related to your bail conditions. Cillian looked down at the documents, his brow furrowing slightly as he read over the terms. 

"Sure," he then said, signing his name with a flourish before looking at the monitor with disdain while the officer turned it on, causing it to light up around your ankle.

"What a strange contraption," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he handed it back to the officer who was quick to leave shortly after that.

"I should probably find my room and get unpacked before mum gets home. I know how much she hates mess," you said as soon as the officer drove off and Cillian nodded  in agreement.

"Of course, you can use your old room, it hasn't changed much," he said before picking up your large backpack and guiding you upstairs.

"You know I could have carried this, right?" you  remarked to Cillian as you watched him struggle with your backpack, his face turning slightly red with the strain.

He chuckled good-naturedly. "I know, but it's no trouble, really," he said as he adjusted the weight of the bag on his shoulder.

You nodded silently, following him as he took you to your old room, which was still located at the far end of the hallway, as it had been before.

He opened the door for you, stepping aside so you could enter first.

As you stepped over the threshold, your senses were immediately bombarded by a whirlwind of emotions – nostalgia, bitterness, and a strange undercurrent of longing.

You had spent countless nights in that room, sitting by the window, watching the stars through the cold glass, dreaming of the day when you could escape the confines of that house after finding out that your mother wanted a divorce. But then again. you were older now and none of this mattered anymore. Now, it was somewhere to sleep for the next thirty days, and, after that, you knew that you would be evaluating your options.  You left your camera bag by the door but the moment you turned around you caught Cillian's gaze, and you could have sworn that there was something tender hidden deep within the blue recesses of his eyes, like a secret too precious to be shared with the world.

"I'm glad to see that it's still the same," you muttered to yourself, as you placed your other smaller bag onto the bed. 

Cillian chuckled lightly, reminding you that he was still standing there, a few feet behind you.

"I'll let you get settled in now," he said with a warm smile. "Dinner is at seven, if you want to join us. Your mother should be home by six," Cillian added, before walking out of the room, leaving you to your own devices.

"Thank you Cillian," you called after him, letting the moment linger for a second, as a chance to catch your breathe and let your thoughts reel.

The air in the room felt heavy, the scent of old books and dust hung thick against it, like an unwelcome fog. The room was exactly how you remembered it, every piece of furniture, every painting on the walls. It was like going back in time.

"Fuck," you  muttered under your breath, as you pulled back the window curtains, revealing the oak tree that stood tall and strong outside. The view had not changed one bit and this realization was as oddly comforting as it was heartbreaking.

You ran your hand over the windowsill, recalling how you used to sit there for hours on end just watching the world go by in this quaint little town on the outskirts of London. It triggered memories of when you had first noticed your mother changing, and her new job on the set of Peaky Blinders getting the better of her. 

She was one of the production managers, young and enthusiastic, and of course, this is where she met Cillian.

It all went downhill from there, and as they got more and more involved, her behavior changed. 

But you never thought to blame him for the failure of your parents' marriage. Their marriage was doomed for years before and yet, the way she put an end to it, by starting an affair with another man, was what really irked you.

Pushing aside these thoughts of the past, you forced yourself to focus on the present and this presence included staying here, with your part of your broken family, for the next thirty days and you knew that this was going to be tough. 

And tough it was when, over dinner later that day, your mother criticized your life choices.

"You know that none of this would have happened if you had decided to live a normal life," she charged at you between bites of roast chicken and boiled potatoes. "Finishing college, finding a real job, staying out of trouble...," she continued on, and her voice was sharp and condescending.

How many times had you heard her repeat the same things, trying to mold you in her image, trying to give you the role that she had always wanted for herself? You swallowed hard, keeping your composure even as the anger boiled inside you.

"Photography is not a career. It's an art and art doesn't pay the bills," your mother added with disdain. 

"Well, art sure pays your bills, because you did not work for years and still have a roof over your head because your husband clearly earns enough money acting," you replied calmly, taking a sip of your water. You glanced at Cillian, who was sitting quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Sadie, however, was busy coloring with crayons, oblivious to the tension around her.

"That's different," your mother retorted, frowning at you. "Cillian is smart about his work while you, on the other hand, are reckless," she continued on, causing Cillian to sigh heavily. 

 "Marion, enough," he simply said, shaking his head probably taking pity in you and your current situation. "Can't we just enjoy our meal together as a family?" he then asked, and your mother huffed but said nothing more.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, with only Sadie occasionally breaking the awkward atmosphere with her chatter.

After dinner, you offered to help Cillian with the dishes, stacking the rinsed off plates 

by the sink while he loaded them into the dishwasher. As he worked, you couldn't help but notice the way his sleeves were rolled up his arms and his hands moved with ease, his fingers deftly maneuvering the utensils as he placed them in their designated spots in the dishwasher.  He had incredible hands, almost perfect, and whilst this was a small thing, it was also oddly intimate, and you felt the heat creeping up to your cheeks as you watched him.

You shook your head slightly, mentally chastising yourself for reacting in such a way.

Cillian was your stepfather, nothing more, and yet there was no denying the way your heart skipped a beat when his hand brushed against yours as you both reached for the same dish.

He smiled at you as he caught you looking, and your face flushed with heat.

"Thanks for helping me with these," Cillian then said as he closed the dishwasher with a soft click. He wiped his hands on a nearby towel and turned to face you, his eyes finding yours. "And, you know, I'm sorry about the whole house arrest thing. If there's anything I can do to make it easier for you, just let me know."

His words caught you off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had extended their help to you without expecting something in return. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Thank you," you finally managed to say. "But it's fine," you nodded. "Thank you for letting me stay here,"  you added astutely, trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

Cillian gave a slight smile, "Of course," he then said before

turning to walk back towards the living room. "I better go keep your mother company," he said, pausing for a moment before adding, "And, I meant what I just said about the house arrest, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me."

Left alone in the kitchen, you couldn't help but replay that moment over and over again in your mind. You tried to shake it off as just a kind gesture and not something more, but something about the way he looked at you left you questioning yourself, leaving a strange flutter in your chest.

Shaking of these thoughts, you went to your room in order to find something to read or maybe even draw. But of course, your mother had got rid of most of your art supplies when you moved out, claiming that it was all just a waste of money.

Thus, after you got changed into a singlet and some PJ shorts, you made your way back downstairs, recalling a few large shelves stacked with books in the study, which was locate right next to the living room.

Cillian was still sitting with your mother on a comfortable couch but, much to your surprise, there was a large gap between them. He was reading a book while she watched some reality TV show with her uncritical gaze.

When you entered the room, Cillian looked up from his book and his eyes were immediately drawn to you, taking in your form, even though there was nothing particularly sexy about what you were wearing.

He felt the heat grow in his chest, dimming his thoughts and distracting him from the lines of text that he had been attempting to read which, to him, was a strange sensation and not one he had expected. 

Thinking that you had gone unnoticed, you walked into the study and towards one of the large bookshelves before flicking through the spines of the countless novels stacked up haphazardly along the rows.

But then, suddenly, you heard a familiar voice from behind you.

"Can't find anything interesting?" Cillian asked, making you jump and drop the book you had been holding in your hands and, almost simultaneously, you dropped to your knees to pick it up, your heads bumping into each other. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, your hands flying up to your forehead instinctively as you tried to steady the pounding that had started there.

"No, it's my fault," Cillian apologized, his voice close behind you and he put his hand on your shoulder, causing tingles to run down your spine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said as you turned and looked up at him, your eyes meeting briefly.

"I was trying to find a novel and, god, there are so many to choose from in here," you added, gesturing towards the towering bookshelf that seemed to stretch up towards the high ceiling.

Cillian chuckled, "Well, I do read a lot, but don't worry, I can give you a few recommendations if you want them," he said, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"I would love some recommendations, actually," you said, your face lighting up. "Something about, I don't know, human nature I suppose. I love reading stories about conflicted individuals or history," you said, with a light shrug of your shoulders.

Cillian smiled at your answer, "Did you read the Grass Arena?" he asked, his voice full of curiosity.

You nodded, "Yes, I did. The story was dark but tantalizing," you mentioned, leaving Cillian a little surprised.  "I think it's really good book," you smiled, causing Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

 "A really good book huh?" he echoed, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. "It's one of the best, I think. John Healy's work should be regarded as an invaluable contribution to literature," he declared, and you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, momentarily getting lost in his bright blue eyes.

"Okay, I agree. It's probably in my top ten," you whispered, before shaking yourself out of your trance-like state, adding, "So, any other recommendations then?"

Cillian nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he guided you towards a different bookshelf.

"I think you might like this one," he said as he pulled out a tattered copy of 'On the Road' by Jack Kerouac, the pages yellowed with age. "I know it's a classic, but it's always a good read and you love travelling, so if you haven't read it yet, you should," he added, his voice full of warmth.

You took the book from him gratefully while inadvertently brushing against his hand. Your palms grew warm and tingly, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. Cillian's eyes locked with yours and there was a charge between you, a current thrumming beneath the surface that tickled your skin.

"Uhm, thank you ," you mumbled, sliding the book from his grip and stepping back. He nodded, seeming to understand the sudden need for space.

"Sure thing," he said, before turning to head back to the living room. "Goodnight, Y/N," he told you and you nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart before tucking the book under your arm and heading to your bedroom.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaagcill\\\uirred @blondie-22

[henry239]

https://uconnect.ae/read-blog/123661_top-5-trends-in-academic-writing-for-2024-how-assignment-help-canada-can-keep-yo.html

[zorosleftmantit101]

Bro wtf im alive!!

———————————————————

ONE PIECE MEN

As shit from the groupchat

———————————————————

C/W: swearing, NSFW, mentions of suicide, general shit post stuff.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Franky, Brook, Chopper, Usopp, Ace, Sabo, buggy, Shanks, Crocodile, Doflomingo

NOTE: Schools back and its been super fucking busy + plus im hyperfixated on bulders gate and game of thrones rn

———————————————————

Luffy: My balls dropped insted

Zoro: Peburty

Zoro: How tf do u spell iy

Zoro: Pubesraty

Zoro: Pubes

———————————————————

Sanji: Valentines more like. Suicide

———————————————————

Buggy: Ur so wacky

Shanks: *wanking

Shanks: 109 mph dick slaming in and out of this dirty half full starbucks cup i stole from a homeless crack addict (im imagining its ur tight boy pussy asshole)

Buggy: Shanks.

Buggy: Stop.

Shanks: Erm no!

———————————————————

Franky: Teachers should NOT say nice things to me (i have a praise kink and daddy issues)

———————————————————

Nami: Bro i gotta shit so bad

Usopp: THEN SHIT BRO

Nami: Im in the car

Usopp: Oh

Usopp: THEN SHIT AT SCHOOL

Nami: I am NOT shitting at school

Usopp: PUSSY

Nami: this was all a trick girls dont shit

———————————————————

Brook: Im so excited to drink today im actually shaking #slotmachines

———————————————————

Luffy: Happy Monday!

Chopper: It is NOT Monday my guy

Luffy: ... the shotgun is in my mouth

———————————————————

Franky: Bc l've got another day off

Franky: Should I come visit

Robin: YES

Franky: Hmmm

Franky: If I get bored I'll ride up

Robin: Then ill ride u up

Franky: What time u guys got recess and lunch

Robin: Get u preggo

Franky: SHIT

Franky: ILL BE THERE

———————————————————

Kid: just punch the customer

Law: nah I need that shit to traumatise them, I need the customer to be rude to me and I start levitating in the air while chanting and blood pouring out my eyes

———————————————————

Kid: When parents let their kids order and its like "what's that fetus, your learning to speak!! Yeah well spell trombone, didn't think so faggot"

———————————————————

Ace: U stick ur dick in ur bum and get urself pregnant

Ace: 2024 lets make it happen

———————————————————

Sabo: "Emo!" So close! I'm actually wearing the skin of your mother

———————————————————

Doflamingo: OK BUDDY DEGRADE ME MORE IM THIS CLOSE TO EXPLODING IN MY PANTS

Crocodile: MOTHERFUCKER WHAT

Crocodile: YOU DIRTY CUNT

Crocodile: WAIT

Crocodile: NO

Crocodile: YOU PERFECT HUMAN BEING

Doflamingo: NGHH (reverse psychologyed your ass)

———————————————————

Sanji: Ouchieeeeeeeeeeee my back hurtsss urghhhhh i wish their was a big sexy latina to sit on my face, only to make the pain go away of course

———————————————————

Nami: Guys i close the store in half an hour and im boooooredde i already finished cleaning wveryhringggg

Robin: Okok pro tip

Robin: Do u have pens?

Robin: Hand sanitizer

Robin: And paper towel

Nami: Im gonna just finger myself

———————————————————

Franky: That was my son 3 years ago before the incident...

Brook: Was the incident me whipping the nae nae! YOLO cash money dab on them fortniters

Franky: No

Franky: Big Foot stepped on my unborn baby

———————————————————

Law: If i die i wanna be reborn as an electric chair

———————————————————

Killer: Cheaters are dick beaters - Shakespeare probably

———————————————————

Sanji: You are quite literally the most cutest girl I've ever seen

Luffy: Bro my dick actully smells so fuckimg bad, it never smells bad do i have aids

———————————————————

[donquixotehomura]

Valentine's Day with One Piece Boys

Master List

W.C:3295    so uhhhhh my hand slipped oops... I took some assumptions here and I changed some things that are common about these characters in Fanfic writing, my brain couldn’t come up with a lot for Law I’m sorry about that, Crocodile and Doffy can be read as pre or post becoming Warlords, some might be OOC but IDK I wrote this in about a day lol (my eyes fingers and back hurt I need to correct my posture lol) sorry if I didn't write for your favorites, have fun and lemme know what you think I love feed back It took two and a half fucking hours to put the gifs in, cause the line thingy where you add stuff only showed at the very bottom so I had to keep editing and dragging shit around, I'm sure I'm doing something wrong, also I had to look up all the gifs here even tho I have tons cause for some reason "something goofed" .... end my suffering also I wrote this on word and then brought it here so if formatting gets weird that's why, even tho I spent hours on making sure everything is good shout out to my inspo who also encouraged me to write it @cinnbar-bun

 

Dracule Mihawk, Roronoa Zoro, Portgas D. Ace, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass "Captain" Kid, Charlotte Katakuri, Massacre Soldier Killer, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar Law.

Dracule Mihawk:

Mihawk and Y/N prefer intimate celebrations for Valentine's Day. They often opt for a quiet evening together at their secluded castle, away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. 

Despite their stoic exteriors, Mihawk and Y/N are surprisingly sentimental when it comes to expressing their feelings. They exchange handwritten letters on Valentine's Day, pouring their hearts out on paper in a way that words spoken aloud cannot convey. 

Instead of extravagant gestures, Mihawk and Y/N prefer to exchange gifts that hold sentimental value. Mihawk might gift Y/N a rare book on something she likes, while Y/N might give Mihawk a custom-made piece of simple jewelry like a small bracelet she personally crafted for him. 

On Valentine's Day, Mihawk surprises Y/N by offering to cook dinner together. Despite her lack of culinary skills, Y/N appreciates the bonding activity and enjoys spending quality time with him in the kitchen, even if it results in a few culinary mishaps. 

After dinner, Mihawk and Y/N venture out into the castle's courtyard to stargaze. They lie side by side on a blanket, Y/N pointing out constellations and sharing stories about their significance, reveling in the peaceful solitude of the night, Mihawk just listens to her with a small fond smile. 

Throughout the day, Mihawk and Y/N take time to reflect on their journey together, reminiscing about cherished memories and shared experiences that have strengthened their bond over the years. 

As a romantic gesture, Mihawk and Y/N share a midnight dance in the castle's grand ballroom. Lit only by candlelight, they move together in a graceful waltz, lost in the magic of the moment and the timeless beauty of their love.    Going To Sleep Cuddling: Mihawk and Y/N will go to sleep in the end of the day holding each other, Y/N would curl up into his arms, burying her face into his chest while he wraps his arms around her his hand going into her hair to play with the soft strands.  

As Valentine's Day draws to a close, Mihawk and Y/N exchange a few hushed words as they cuddle, reaffirming their commitment to each other and the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures together. 

Roronoa Zoro:

Despite his tough exterior, Zoro secretly spends weeks planning the perfect Valentine's Day surprise for Y/N. He meticulously selects a secluded spot on the island they're docked on, where they can enjoy each other's company away from the hustle and bustle of the crew. 

Y/N, appreciative of Zoro's efforts, prepares a special gift for him on Valentine's Day. Knowing his love for swords, she surprises him with a beautifully crafted sheath for one of his blades, personalized with intricate designs that reflect their shared journey together. 

Zoro and Y/N spend Valentine's Day evening taking a leisurely stroll along the shores of the island. With the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the moonlight casting a soft glow, they share quiet moments of intimacy, lost in each other's company. 

During their stroll, Zoro and Y/N encounter a group of wild creatures roaming the island. With their swords drawn, they effortlessly dispatch the beasts, their synchronized movements a testament to their unwavering bond as swordsmen and lovers. 

As the night progresses, Zoro and Y/N build a campfire on the beach, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows around them. They share stories of their past adventures and dreams for the future, their laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean. 

Under the starlit sky, Zoro finally opens up to Y/N, expressing his gratitude for her presence in his life. He admits that he's not good at expressing his feelings, but Y/N's unwavering support and love have changed him for the better. 

Moved by Zoro's vulnerability, Y/N wraps her arms around him, offering him comfort and reassurance. She assures him that their love is enough, and she wouldn't have their Valentine's Day any other way. 

As the night comes to an end, Zoro and Y/N make a promise to each other to continue facing life's challenges together, hand in hand. They vow to cherish every moment and celebrate their love not just on Valentine's Day, but every day. 

As they watch the sun rise on the horizon, Zoro leans in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips, sealing their promise with a silent vow of devotion. In that moment, amidst the beauty of the dawn, they find solace in the certainty of their love for each other. 

As they return to the ship, hand in hand, Zoro and Y/N share a knowing smile, their hearts full of love and gratitude for each other. Though their Valentine's Day was unconventional and filled with unexpected adventures, it was a testament to the strength of their bond and the depth of their love. 

Portgas D. Ace:

Y/N wakes up early on Valentine's Day to prepare a special breakfast for Ace. She arranges heart-shaped pancakes and fruit on a tray, leaving a note with a playful message for him to wake up to.  Ace spends weeks leading up to Valentine's Day working on a handmade gift for Y/N. He creates a personalized necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a flame, symbolizing their fiery love and passion. 

Y/N organizes a scavenger hunt around the Moby Dick for Ace. Each clue leads him to a different part of the ship, where he discovers small gifts and love notes hidden by Y/N. 

Ace surprises Y/N with a romantic beach picnic at a secluded cove. They enjoy a delicious meal together as they watch the sunset, the sound of the waves providing a serene backdrop to their intimate celebration. 

As the night falls, Ace and Y/N gather with their friends for a bonfire on the beach. They roast marshmallows, share stories, and cuddle close under a blanket, basking in the warmth of their love and the crackling fire. 

Y/N sets up a telescope on the deck of the Moby Dick, and she and Ace spend the evening stargazing together. They point out constellations, make wishes on shooting stars, and share dreams for their future, Y/N certainly tries to find constellations that match Ace’s freckles.  Ace surprises Y/N with a makeshift dance floor on the deck of the ship. He puts on her favorite song, and they dance together under the moonlight, lost in each other's arms. 

Y/N leaves little love notes for Ace to find throughout the day. Each note expresses her affection and gratitude for having him in her life, reminding him of the depth of her love. 

Ace and Y/N spend the afternoon cooking a special Valentine's Day dinner together in the kitchen. They laugh, tease each other, and steal kisses amidst the preparation, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. (Marco is on standby with a fire extinguisher) 

As the day comes to a close, Ace and Y/N exchange heartfelt declarations of love. They express their gratitude for each other, promising to cherish and support one another for all the days to come, both of them yelling it at the top of their lungs of the railing of the ship and the crew is so done with them lol 

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Doflamingo, despite his intimidating persona, secretly enjoys the sentimentality of Valentine's Day. He's known for surprising Y/N with extravagant gifts, ranging from rare treasures he's acquired during their travels to personalized items he's commissioned just for her. Y/N, in turn, cherishes each gift as a symbol of Doflamingo's affection, even if she's not one for material possessions.  On Valentine's Day, Doflamingo arranges a private, candlelit dinner on the deck of their ship or a secluded spot on the island they're currently exploring. He spares no expense in ensuring the evening is perfect, with gourmet cuisine prepared by their crew's skilled chefs. Y/N appreciates the effort he puts into creating these intimate moments and enjoys the opportunity to spend quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. 

Instead of focusing solely on lavish gifts and grand gestures, Doflamingo and Y/N often reminisce about their shared adventures and memorable moments throughout the years. They spend Valentine's Day reflecting on the challenges they've overcome together, the laughter they've shared, the tears they’ve shed and the unbreakable bond that has formed between them. 

Despite their often intense and tumultuous journey as pirates, Doflamingo and Y/N also value quiet moments of affection. They may spend Valentine's Day simply enjoying each other's company, whether it's lounging on the deck, stargazing, or taking a leisurely stroll on the beach hand in hand. It's in these peaceful moments that they feel most connected. 

Doflamingo and Y/N have a deep understanding of each other, and Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unspoken bond they share. They may not always verbalize their feelings, but their actions speak volumes. Whether it's a knowing glance, a comforting touch, or a gentle smile exchanged between them, they both know that their love is unwavering.

Eustass "Captain" Kid:

Despite her tough exterior, Y/N secretly enjoys the romantic gestures she receives on Valentine's Day. Kid, though he may not admit it openly, takes great pleasure in surprising Y/N with small gifts and tokens of affection, leaving them anonymously for her to find.  Kid's idea of a Valentine's Day gift may not be traditional, but it's always heartfelt. He might present Y/N with a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and tailored to her unique fighting style, or a rare treasure he stumbled upon during their travels, symbolizing the adventures they've shared together. 

Y/N, with her artistic flair, expresses her love for Kid through her creations. She might spend weeks crafting a personalized piece of jewelry for him, incorporating elements of his Jolly Roger or symbols that hold significance to their relationship, showcasing her devotion in a tangible form. 

Amidst the chaos of their pirate life, Y/N and Kid cherish the quiet moments they steal away together on Valentine's Day. They might escape to a secluded spot-on deck, watching the stars and sharing stories, finding solace in each other's company amidst the vastness of the sea. 

For Y/N and Kid, Valentine's Day is not just about romantic gestures, but also about embarking on new adventures together. They might set sail to explore uncharted islands, face formidable foes, or discover hidden treasures, strengthening their bond through shared experiences and thrilling escapades. 

Despite their differences, Y/N and Kid's relationship is built on mutual respect and understanding. They may not always see eye to eye, but they know how to support and uplift each other, especially on Valentine's Day, when they take the time to appreciate the unique qualities that make their bond so special. 

Y/N and Kid's Valentine's Day celebrations may not be conventional, but they're uniquely theirs. They might indulge in a feast of their favorite foods, engage in friendly competitions and challenges, or simply enjoy each other's presence, knowing that their love transcends traditional expectations. 

As they spend Valentine's Day together, Y/N and Kid exchange promises for the future. They may vow to stand by each other through thick and thin, to continue exploring the world and facing its challenges together, and to cherish the love they share, knowing that their bond is unbreakable.

Charlotte Katakuri:

Despite their tough exteriors, Y/N and Katakuri secretly enjoy showering each other with romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N surprises Katakuri with handcrafted doughnuts with many flavours, each one meticulously made with love and care. In return, Katakuri presents Y/N with a beautifully crafted box of her favorite sweets, a testament to his thoughtfulness and affection. On Valentine's evening, Y/N and Katakuri escape the chaos of Totto Land for a private dinner date on a secluded beach. They indulge in a feast of their favorite dishes, sharing laughter and intimate conversation under the twinkling stars. As the night deepens, they dance together in the moonlight, their hearts beating in perfect harmony. 

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri exchange heartfelt love letters, expressing their deepest emotions and gratitude for each other. Y/N's letters are filled with poetic prose and declarations of undying love, while Katakuri's letters are eloquent and sincere, revealing the depths of his affection for Y/N. 

As a special Valentine's Day surprise, Katakuri whisks Y/N away on a romantic getaway to a secluded island paradise. They spend their days exploring pristine beaches, indulging in couples' massages, and savoring gourmet meals prepared by a private chef. It's a blissful escape from their duties and responsibilities, allowing them to focus solely on each other. 

On Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri reminisce about their favorite moments together, flipping through photo albums filled with snapshots of their adventures. They laugh at candid shots of themselves and smile fondly at pictures of special milestones they've shared. It's a heartwarming reminder of the bond they've built and the memories they've created together, a few of them are pictures taken by Y/N of Katakuri throughout the day, in some of them his scarf is hiding a smile or a blush a reason as to why she took the picture (yes she walks around with a Visual Den Den Mushi.. At least that’s what I think the picture taking ones are called)    Y/N has been joining Katakuri during his Meriendas for years now and same as rumors spread about him meditating and talking to gods of battle during them rumors spread about her as well (I read a fic about this before where Y/N was considered his oracle and it’s an amazing one I’m trying to find it again) what they don’t know is that these two are being very sappy idiots, cuddling sharing kisses and laughs and stealing each other's sweets, especially on this day, the others just think that they’re doing some sort of ritual about devotion to Gods of Battle only lol. 

As the night falls on Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri retreat to a secluded hilltop, where they lay beneath a blanket of stars, hand in hand. They share stories of their hopes and dreams, tracing constellations with their fingers and basking in the quiet beauty of the   night sky. It's a moment of perfect serenity, a reminder of the infinite possibilities that lie ahead for their love.

Massacre Soldier Killer:

Despite their tough exteriors, Killer and Y/N secretly enjoy surprising each other with small romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N might leave a heartfelt note tucked into Killer's pocket, while Killer might craft a makeshift bouquet of flowers from materials he finds on their travels. Valentine's Day is a rare opportunity for Killer and Y/N to spend some quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. They might steal away to a secluded spot on the ship or find a quiet beach where they can enjoy each other's company without interruptions. 

Killer and Y/N reminisce about their favorite moments together, cherishing the memories they've created during their time as partners in crime. They might exchange stories about their most memorable adventures or laugh about the mishaps they've encountered along the way. 

Despite their limited resources as pirates, Killer and Y/N find creative ways to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. Y/N might fashion a piece of jewelry from shells she finds on the beach, while Killer might carve a wooden trinket with his expert craftsmanship. 

Killer surprises Y/N with a romantic candlelit dinner, showcasing his culinary skills with a delicious meal cooked from scratch. Y/N, in turn, appreciates the effort and thoughtfulness behind the gesture, and they enjoy a quiet evening together under the stars. While they may not always express their emotions openly, Killer and Y/N show their love and affection for each other in subtle ways. A gentle touch, a lingering glance, or a reassuring smile speaks volumes in the language of their relationship. 

Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unbreakable bond between Killer and Y/N. They reaffirm their commitment to each other, promising to stand by each other's side through thick and thin, no matter what challenges may come their way. 

As they bask in the warmth of each other's love on Valentine's Day, Killer and Y/N discuss their hopes and dreams for the future. They envision a life together filled with adventure, laughter, and unwavering support, knowing that as long as they have each other, anything is possible. 

Overall, Valentine's Day is a special occasion for Killer and Y/N to celebrate their love and appreciation for each other, strengthening the bond that binds them together as partners in both love and piracy.

Sir Crocodile:

Crocodile and Y/N aren't ones for grand gestures, so their Valentine's Day celebration tends to be understated. They prefer spending quality time together rather than getting caught up in the commercial aspects of the holiday.  Crocodile surprises Y/N by preparing a simple but delicious meal for them to share. Despite his gruff exterior, Crocodile has a surprisingly deft hand in the kitchen, and Y/N is touched by the effort he puts into making the evening special. 

Instead of extravagant gifts, Crocodile and Y/N exchange meaningful tokens of their affection. Y/N gives Crocodile a handmade leather-bound journal, knowing how much he values knowledge and planning. In return, Crocodile presents Y/N with a rare seashell he found during one of their adventures, a symbol of their shared experiences. 

After dinner, Crocodile and Y/N enjoy a quiet evening together, lounging on the deck of their ship and gazing up at the stars. They talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, reveling in the simplicity of each other's company. 

Despite their tough exteriors, Crocodile and Y/N share a passion for Planning and Conquest. They spend the evening poring over maps and planning their next expedition, excited about the possibilities that lie ahead.  While they may not be overly demonstrative, Crocodile and Y/N show their love for each other in small, subtle ways. A gentle touch, a knowing glance, or a shared smile speaks volumes about the depth of their bond.   As the night draws to a close, Crocodile and Y/N express their gratitude for each other, acknowledging the strength and support they provide in each other's lives. They may not say "I love you" in so many words, but their actions speak louder than any declaration of affection ever could.

Trafalgar Law:

Y/N is bubbling with excitement as Valentine's Day approaches, eager to celebrate the occasion with Law despite his usual reservations about the holiday. She takes the lead in planning the day, organizing a romantic dinner aboard the Polar Tang complete with candles, rose petals, and Law's favorite dishes. Law, although initially hesitant about the festivities, appreciates Y/N's enthusiasm and decides to go along with her plans, wanting to make her happy. He surprises Y/N with small but meaningful gifts throughout the day, such as a locket containing a picture of the two of them together or a handwritten note expressing his love and gratitude. Y/N showers Law with affection, peppering him with kisses and hugs as they spend quality time together, enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their quarters. They share stories and reminisce about their favorite memories together, laughing and smiling as they bask in the warmth of their love. Law surprises Y/N with a heartfelt gesture, such as letting her cuddle with him instead of working or giving her a massage to help her relax and unwind. They exchange promises of love and commitment, reaffirming their bond and promising to stand by each other through thick and thin. As the day comes to a close, Law and Y/N cuddle up together under a blanket, content in each other's arms and grateful for the love they share. 

[iww-gnv]

I’m straddling my road bike, carrying two boxes of Chinese dumplings in a paper tote. The DoorDash app tells me I need to sprint my payload across Manhattan – cutting across the Holland Tunnel’s on-ramp – in the next eight minutes. I’m trying out food delivery under New York City’s new minimum wage law on a frigid December afternoon. Before – I was a part-time delivery worker between 2018 and 2020 – an order like this would have paid just a few dollars, making it a frantic rush to finish and move on to the next one. Now the new rules guarantee delivery workers nearly $30 an hour of “trip time”. So I stop at red lights, yield to pedestrians, and though I end up arriving a couple minutes late, I feel surprisingly relaxed. My customer seems pleased, too. But the delivery bosses are already trying to reassert their dominance. Since the law took effect, delivery apps have made it harder for customers to tip. Previously, apps like DoorDash would ask customers to tip their couriers when placing orders, allowing workers to see the total amount before agreeing to take the job. Now, Uber and DoorDash have stopped prompting customers before checkout, and those that still choose to tip can only do so after the delivery has been made, through a button that can be difficult to find.

[vintagebuckybarnes]

The Millionaire's Muse

Pairing → College Student! Escort! Bucky Barnes x CEO! Silver Fox! Steve Rogers

Total Wordcount → 1.7K

Summary → When Bucky went off to college, he never imagined he'd become one of the most exclusive and most wanted escorts that New York has to offer. Still, his favorite client - none other than the CEO of Rogers' Industries - is more than happy to remind him why his younger companion earned his reputation in spades.

Tags & Warnings → Canon divergence. College Student! Bucky Barnes. Escort! Bucky Barnes. CEO! Steve Rogers. Silver Fox! Steve Rogers. Large age gap (~ 30 years). College AU. Escort AU. Cursing. Hints of mutual pining. Explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Dom/sub undertones. Dom! Steve Rogers. Sub! Bucky Barnes. Height difference. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Praise. Shower sex. Oral (M receiving). Deepthroating. Cum swallowing.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author's Note → Hi, everyone! First, thank you all so much for enjoying my first story! It has brought me a lot of happiness to see the support. With this story, I'll be diving into my favorite pairing - Stucky - for the first time, so please let me know what you think after reading it! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandombingo → Exclusive Escort For Rich Clients | Shower Sex | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers | Deepthroating

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I asked you to do one damn thing, and even that can't be done?! You're fucking fired, Odinson," Steve barks through the phone before hanging up and throwing it onto his large oak desk. His head of the law department - Thor Odinson - has once again failed to stick to his promises, and Steve's had enough.

As he falls back into his leather chair, he runs his hands through his greying hair, his eyes slipping shut as the anger soars through his body. He lets himself be angry for a few minutes, but then he gathers himself and his mood again, knowing he will need a distraction to get over how he feels now.

Steve reaches for his phone again, his fingers quickly bringing him to one of the contacts he's happy to have stored in such moments. With one hand, he holds the phone to his ear; with the other, he rubs his temple, a soft throbbing sensation starting to appear.

"Stark," the man on the other end of the line says, and Steve immediately smiles.

"Hello to you as well, Tony. Is this a good time?" Steve asks as his eyes roam over his desk, papers spread everywhere after his call with his former head of law inside Rogers' Industries. At the thought, he can feel his blood boiling again.

"It's always a good time when you call, Steve. Lookin' for a distraction again tonight?" Tony says, a hint of teasing in his voice. The two of them have been friends for as long as Steve can remember, and since Tony started an escort service, he's happily used his services.

"You know I do, Tony, but I have one request. Can you send the young boy over again - James? He will be exactly the right kind of distraction I'm looking for. I'll even pay extra if needed."

"No need; he's all yours for the evening. When do you want me to send him over?"

"As soon as he can be here."

With that, Steve hangs up and puts his phone on the desk again, but he's already feeling a bit more relaxed, knowing he's about to see his favorite escort again. From the first time Bucky came by Steve's luxurious apartment, they've had a special connection - almost as if they'd known each other for a lifetime already.

Soft, wordless music plays in the elevator, taking Bucky to the 50th floor of one of New York's most prominent skyscrapers. Even though he's been in this very same position more times than he can count, he can't help but feel nervous butterflies in his stomach as he watches the numbers go up.

He may only be a mere 22 years of age, but he's already built quite a prominent, well-paying client base while working at Stark Escort Services, and today, he'll pay a visit to one of his favorite customers: Founder and CEO of Rogers' Industries - Steve Rogers. Mere months ago, Tony named Bucky 'The exclusive escort for rich clients,' giving him a fantastic reputation while earning enough money to get him through college without any debt.

As the elevator lets him know he's at the desired floor, Bucky gets out before straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair again, wanting to look nothing short of amazing for Steve. Soon, he finds himself in front of a dark wooden door, raising his hand and knocking rapidly.

From inside the apartment, Bucky can hear the click-clacking of expensive shoes on the hardwood floor, and when the large door swings open, he has to try his hardest not to drop his jaw onto the floor.

Steve stands in a tailored, dark blue suit, his shirt half unbuttoned and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His greying hair is lightly tousled from all the times he has run his hand through it, and the beard he's been growing gives him a perfectly rugged vibe, leaving Bucky speechless and hard.

"James, hey," Steve says before stepping aside, a warm feeling in his chest as he watches the young man enter his space. As Bucky walks into the living room, he admires the view that unfolds in front of him, with Steve trailing closely behind as he takes in the sight of Bucky's tight jeans, dress shirt, sneakers, and long hair that's been neatly styled, away from his face.

"Uhm, would you- maybe, want something to drink?" Steve asks, unsure what has suddenly gotten over him. He has seen Bucky more times than he can count, but something about today feels different, and he can't place his finger on why.

Instead of answering him, Bucky turns around to wrap his arms around Steve's neck, kissing the taller man's soft, pink lips in neediness. Though surprised initially, Steve quickly recovers as he pulls him closer, his tongue happily exploring the younger man's mouth.

They can barely let go of each other long enough to get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes on their way to Steve's bathroom, which has a huge rainshower.

"James, I need you so bad," Steve whispers against Bucky's neck between a trail of open-mouthed kisses as the shower's water warms up. His cock is already standing at full-hardness as Bucky wraps his hand around it, his fingers barely fitting around his girth.

"Hmm, you need Daddy's cock, don't ya? So desperate for it you can't wait until you're down on your knees, lookin' all pretty for me?" At those words, Bucky's cheeks turn a deep shade of red, making him look adorable as he meets Steve's gaze.

"Y-yes, Daddy," he breathes out, his thoughts slowing down exponentially while slipping into a fuzzier headspace. Steve's smile spreading on his features has Bucky smiling with him, pride swelling in his chest as he takes his time working Steve's length.

"Well, if ya need my cock so bad, you'd better get on your knees, sugar."

Bucky's eyes widen at the words, but he nods slowly as he steps back, his body drenched by the water from the large showerhead above him. His mouth is hanging open slightly, eagerly awaiting what's to come. Between his legs, his cock is also in need of some attention, but he knows better than to touch himself without Steve's permission.

"Look at ya on your knees, such a good boy for me," Steve praises him as he lets the water run over his broad, muscled back, his thumb pushing between Bucky's lips as he looks up at Steve. A smirk appears as he enjoys the sight beneath him of the young man sucking his digit, his cock being so hard it's almost painful as he takes in the moment.

Without warning, Steve replaces his thumb with the tip of his cock as he presses gently against Bucky's plump lips, pre-cum smearing on them as he opens willingly. A groan escapes Steve's chest at the feeling of the warmth he's entering; Bucky always seems to know how to suck his soul out through the older man's cock.

"That's it," he grunts as he slowly feeds Bucky more and more of his hard length, the younger man's fingers digging into Steve's thighs as his own hands gently guide his head with every move and every thrust.

"Feels so good, fuck- I needed this, needed you so bad." The words keep flowing out as Bucky expertly takes more of Steve into his mouth, his tip quickly hitting the back of Bucky's throat. Drool escapes around his length, and the look in Bucky's eyes is sure to drive Steve crazy - there's not a single thought behind them, and it makes him feel proud of getting him to that point.

Steve entangles his fingers in Bucky's hair, gripping gently as he sets the pace of working himself deeper into his throat until he's taking every last inch of him so deep Steve can barely think straight anymore.

"James- 'm gonna- so close," he grunts as he fucks Bucky with long, deep strokes, the gagging around his cock being like fuel to his fire as his orgasm crests quickly. Without warning, Steve stills as his tip on Bucky's tongue, eagerly waiting for what's about to come.

Bucky expertly swallows around every last drop of his orgasm, the salty taste invading his mouth in the best way possible. Steve's head is thrown back as he ruts his hips a few more times until he's spent and slowly softening in Bucky's mouth, every last bit of his frustrations he had earlier gone completely.

"C'mere," he says as he hauls Bucky onto his feet before kissing him, though this time a lot gentler than before. His thumbs run over Bucky's cheeks as they take their time with the soft kiss, their hearts beating faster with every passing second.

"I'll never get enough of you and this amazing mouth, you know?" Steve says with a smirk, and Bucky's eyes lighten at the compliment.

"And I'll never get enough of your thick cock, Daddy," Bucky says teasingly, making Steve smile widely before kissing him again and sinking onto his knees, wanting to give Bucky the same amount of pleasure he had the honor of enduring not too long ago.

At the end of the night, when it's finally time for Bucky to leave, Steve grabs a few 100 dollar bills for Bucky, even though payment typically goes through Tony, who will give Bucky a fair amount after the fees of using his Escort Service have been paid.

"I-I can't take this, Steve!"

"Buy yourself something nice for the next time you come over, James. I definitely want to see you again this weekend," he says with a wink and a smirk, making Bucky blush deeply. He wants nothing more than to see Steve again, too.

Steve steps forward, pushing the younger man against the front door before kissing him again, needing one last taste before finally letting him go for the evening. That night, he's sleeping better than he has in a long time, and it's all thanks to Bucky - the sweetest, kindest boy he's ever met, but who's also the best lover he could have imagined.

And he can't wait to make Bucky his soon.

Masterlist → Stucky Masterlist

GIF: Source → All the other graphics are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

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