#happy birthday to this fucking clown

[ultimateutopia]

he expects gifts and goods and tributes at his front door in 5 minutes.

OR ELSE.

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

I HATE HATE HATE IT!

started as a redraw of this old thing but then ended up being a bit different

[caesarsprincess-moved]

It's the birthday of the man I hate the most in all of One Piece, Donquixote Doflamingo. Thank you Oda, for creating a villain so evil I fucking love to hate him. If he didn't exist, more than 50% of Caesar's victims would still be alive, the smile fruits wouldn't have caused such large scale harm, and Doflacaesar wouldn't be a thing. And I'm pretty sure Caesar Clown could have been redeemed if Doflamingo wasn't there to enable his crimes. Heck, Caesar could have been a STRAW HAT if not for him.

[zennsushi]

More Wally doodles from school @:3

❤🧡💛💚💙💜

[mtlgrandprix]

one of my bosses got me a norovirus exposure for my bday and the other got me a mental breakdown 🫠🙃

[veilblight]

man. whole one hour phone call and not a single happy birthday

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

oh god oh fuck i forgot the dannypocalypse existed

[ham1lton]

NOT A CHILL GIRL.

pairings: lewis hamilton x chronically online fiancée!yn

faceclaim: jordana brewster

summary: chronically online, funniest on the grid, and the proud owner of a face card that never declines—at least, according to yourself. your fiancé might raise an eyebrow at the first claim, the world might debate the second, but no one’s arguing with the third.

warnings: just jokes. don’t take any of this seriously.

author’s note: hope u enjoy bunny anon! :D

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 187,938 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: celebrity stylist, and fiancée of f1 legend lewis hamilton, yn yln took to instagram stories to share some concerning posts. what do we think about these captions, ham1ltons?

view all 23,837 comments

yourinstagram MAMA I MADE IT

— user1 yn you have dressed some of the top celebrities and this is what you’re excited over??

— user2 forget that. she’s fucking LEWIS HAMILTON!!! and this is what she’s excited over???

user3 this is a v tame post for yn LMFAO

— user4 like she’s posted worse 😭

user5 she’s so unserious i’m obsessed

— user6 my fav wag

user7 i love the fact she’s dressing zendaya, showing up to her hot fiancé’s races and still finds time to shitpost

— user8 she’s so me

user9 she should be embarrassed. she’s grown

— user10 she will never see this btw

user11 i need to know lewis’ thoughts on these posts

user12 she’s the moment. i want to be her so bad.

— user13 successful in her own right AND secured the bag. #needtoBEthat

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

INSTAGRAM LIVE

yn i’m using lewis’ ninja creami to make slushies and sydney isn’t picking up her phone because she’s on set. so entertain me, my little gladiators.

user1 what flavour slushie are you making and why is it pure tequila

yn no. it’s a margarita mix. mostly anyways. all about balance babes.

user2 worst red carpet outfit request you’ve ever gotten?

yn girl some actor asked me to dress him up in head to toe camo… i wanted to be sick.

user3 yn, when’s the wedding? lewis is literally ready to propose again.

yn not until jungkook confirms he’s off the market. i need to know i’m not leaving options on the table.

user4 did you see lando’s post underneath your birthday post to lewis.

yn i did and i’m angry. how dare he be funnier than me on my own shitpost.

user5 who’s better at gift-giving, you or lewis?

yn me. obviously. lewis once got me a pen because “it looked sleek.” it was a nice pen, but still a pen.

user6 yn, if you could style anyone in history, who would it be?

yn harry styles but in 2012. imagine the chaos if he let me near those blazers.

user7 how did you guys meet?

yn via a mutual friend at a party. i thought his choice of shoes was disastrous and he thought i was funny. so obviously i went home with him that night. then i fell in love or whatever.

user8 you are literally the blueprint for chaotic but lovable. never change.

yn never will, little gladiator. never will.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by yourinstagram, thirstystan1 and 1,098,125 others.

lewishamilton: sunday best, thank you theststyle

view all 19,827 comments

yourinstagram why won’t this damn app swipe RIGHT?!?!?

— lewishamilton wrong app sweetheart

— yourinstagram oh shit 😓 can you show me how to download the right one? ever since ashley madison shut down and farmersonly.com banned me for “unsolicited flirting,” it’s been tough out here.

— lewishamilton maybe try clownsonly.com—heard they’re taking new members.

— yourinstagram wow. this from the guy who once googled “how to impress a bad bitch” and got caught.

— lewishamilton a bad bitch was impressed, wasn’t she? checkmate.

— yourinstagram yeah, well, don’t get used to it. also, happy valentine’s, loser. 💖

— lewishamilton happy valentine’s, clown. ❤️

— user1 y’all are some weirdos 😭🩷

user2 YN GIVE HIM TO MEEEEEE

user3 #NEEDTHAT

— yourinstagram #TOOBAD

— user3 YN PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user4 need this relationship NOW

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[heartfullofleeches]

Coworker: Why is every demon, monster, ghost, whatever here obsessed with you of all people??

Fast Food Reader: ....

-

Bathroom Succubus - high off her ass: Fuck, Fuck, Fuck- I'm scared, Y/n!

Fast Food Reader - possibly stoned as well: We do this together on the count of three... 1...2...3... Bloody Mary

-

Fast Food Reader, dumping a box of bracelets they made during their shift in the ball pit: Made some more bracelets for you guys- Don’t fight over them or I won't bring more tomorrow-

-

Fast Food Reader, scrubbing blood out the mascots fur: I know I can't really stop you from butchering people, but could you please stop bathing yourself in their blood??

[Lambchop quietly stands up - dunking their head in the bloody water so Reader has to start over]

-

[Fast Food Reader places a cup full of mop water on a customer's table]

Customer: What the fuck... What the hell is this??

Fast Food Reader: The dirty water you're going to drink. Right before you apologize to our janitor for that shit you pulled with them earlier.

[The Janitor runs off to the janitorial closet to write another love letter they'll never give]

-

Fast Food Reader: Happy birthday, Twister!

[Throws a gift box in the clown's party room and sprints off]

Twister: A present? For me???

-

Deer Kidney Guy/The Weeper: So cold....It's raining again.....I miss you....Please let me in...

[Fast Food Reader throws a blanket, an umbrella and a picture of themselves out the drive-through window]

-

Fast Food Reader, carrying a box of stickers and magnets to the ice cream machine: Since I don't really go home anymore I brought you some stuff I used to hang on my fridge- Thought you might like some decoration, R.

Ice cream machine Ghost: heheh.... Hell yeah

-

Fast Food Reader, laying their head on the Storyteller's lap: Could you tell me the one about the overworked cashier who finally gets some sleep without a nightmare for once again?

-

Fast Food Reader: ......Fuck if I know.

[daydreams-after-dark]

After Dark Master List

all stories are nsfw / 18+

↠Full Fics ↞

Ot8 free use jail cell (incomplete) inspired by the police station skz code.

"What's Your Fanfic Fantasy" (Complete)

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung // This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

↠Han Jisung↞

Sub police officer Han x con artist fem reader

Hannie wants to play with your ass but you’ve never done this before.

Back in Ten: soft dom CEO Jisung wants you to wear a strap and fuck his ass, after an important function.

Jisung Kinks // after dark hard thoughts

If Han was as small as a barbie doll

fem!Hannie freaky roller skater girl and fem!hannie double pen at a party

Drabble: Can I watch you, Sungie?: posted on my main blog. You come home from work early to find Jisung on your bed fucking himself with a dildo.

↠Bangchan↞

Masterlist Scientist Chan (Chris) x science!subject reader - feat. other members along the way.

↠Minho↞

Male escort Lino x fem birthday girl reader.

Stop Lift Button your work colleague Minho has moved into your apartment. What happens when he jumps in the lift with you.

Star Student Part 1: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. You put on a show for your hot Professor while he’s trying to teach a class. (This is an adult classroom situation.) (5 min approx read)

Star Student Part 2: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. Professor Minho makes you stay after class to fix the problem you caused.

Show Mommy: Lee Know dressed as Aunt Lina was doing things to you as you watched him on set. But what happens when you are invited to an after party and accidentally end up in Lee Know's room, and he's still in costume?

Billionaire Lee Minho and his Little Plaything You're at billionaire Lee Minho's extravagant party at some fancy historical manor, where unbeknownst to you he want to make you his "Plaything". Before you know what's happening you find yourself in a room with Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin. Minho has plans for you but he doesn't know you can play games too. Pairing: Lee Know x fem reader, Changbin x fem reader, Hyunjin x fem reader. Word count: 8k approx

Submission: Lee Minho x fem reader. You're billionaire Lee Minho's "plaything", but tonight the tables have turned and he let's you dom him. Approx word count: 3.4k

Ask: Minho face f^cks male!reader 🫠 this was so fun to write 🥵

↠Minsung / Minsung x reader↞

Minsung Saves the Day Minsung x fem reader (5 minute read) You've just been fingered to the brink of orgasm by Chan and Hyunjin in the back of a car, whilst Minho and Seungmin sit up front. Now you've arrived at the club and there's only one thing on your mind.

Behind the Curtain: mean!Han x bratty!reader + helpful!Minho. You tease your boyfriend Han before a show and he's not happy. So he punishes you, leaves you in a needy mess, and sends Minho to look for you. What happens when Minho can't resist your needs?

Kidnapper Clowns: clown!jisung x fem reader + Minho (5 minute read). dark smut // reader is "kidnapped" and tied up in the basement of two men in clown masks. Everything is planned/consensual.

Pretty Little Kitties: Jisung x reader x Minho. Jisung buys you and him matching kitten ears and tails. Minho joins in.

The window across the street: Han x fem aunty Lina x fem reader.

Private Show v.1 minsung x fem!reader | version.1 - you're a dancer at an exclusive establishment where you perform for kpop idols in masks. Minho and Jisung are after a specific kind of private show from you.

Private Show v.2 similar to v.1 but Minho and Jisung are in masks and reader doesn’t know it’s them (or does she?). This version plays out differently to v.1 and is super unhinged.

Minho edges Han

bratty fem!reader, Minsung must punish you

↠3Racha↞

We’ll make it fit: 3Racha Chan x Changbin x reader w/han for 2secs. They want to use her like their little toy. Dp.

3 racha c^m dump: Han asks you to meet him in the corridor at the bar. Bartender Chan and Security Guard Changbin join in.

3racha free use hard thoughts 1/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 2/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 3/♾️

↠Other Members / Mixed pairings↞

Werewolf chan turns inside you

Massage Therapist Changbin

Good cop Han / Bad cop Minho

Dom Seungmin and Jeongin x fem reader

Who in skz likes anal? ask

Taken: Drabble - Ot8 x gn reader. You’re snatched after work by 8 sexy men and taken to an abandoned warehouse… exactly what you’d paid for.

Middle-aged neighbour Chan and his friends x fem!reader

Skz reaction to you wearing a butt plug

All Stops to Cumville Station ot8, but featuring Minho, Seungmin and Chan

If skz worked at an adult shop what would each member recommend?

Let Daddy Take Care of it chan x hyunjin x fem reader (5 min read) Fem!reader is horny on the way to the club. Chan and Hyunjin help her out with their fingers in the backseat of the car.

After Hours: Felix; personal assistant | You; Corporate Boss. You're a corporate boss, he is your personal assistant. You're his boss by day, but after hours his soft dom side gets you weak.

Sweet Sweet Punishment: Bratty Han convinces you to let him go down on you without permission from Chan and Lino. They punish you both in front of everyone when they get home. features ot8.

Little Deaths (posted on my main blog) ot8 x reader. You’re stranded at a mansion where 8 horny ghosts must pleasure you.

Fuckbois Jilix: thoughts on how they pick you up and take you home.

Fuckbois Jilix version 2

The Sunshine Princesses

Concept: Freeze: gangster boss fem reader x Chan x Hyunjin

Male reader x Han x Jeongin: you’re the meat in this delicious sandwich / dom top Han, Jeongin bottoms for the first time.

Thing dom chan likes to do to you (posted on my main blog)

Who in skz will share you (ask)

↠Fem!skz Universe↞

↪ Enter here

[fanaticsnail]

Aphrodisiac: Caesar Clown

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Themes: Caesar x f!reader, gendered terms used, aphrodisiac (reader), dub con, crying, whimpering, kissing, breeding mentioned, creampies, oral, multiple orgasms, angst, fluff, unrequited requited love, mdni, smut, 18+, nsfw.

Notes: It is @imveryyellow's birthday! Happy birthday, you absolute darling. I am so happy to share this fic made for you. I hope you like it! Art source from One Piece.

The crude squelching of hips snapping against hips echoed throughout the laboratory at the base of the Charlotte's keep. Pace set in an impossible rhythm, all fast and jagged, Caesar Clown exhaled in shaken pants and huffs of breath with every in-thrust.

“C-Caesar-!” you whined, cupping his hand gripping your thighs to hold him close while he stapled you to his desk, “Please, fuck me harder! I can't take much more of this!”

Caesar couldn't agree more, his stamina slowly depleting the longer he held you against himself. It was agony for him, each muscle contracting while his knees creaked and begged him to stop.

With the backs of your thighs against his stomach, holding both knees against his much larger chest, he continued driving in his extremely larger cock into your tiny cunt while sobbing out your name. With each buck forward, your breasts rippled and bounced for him.

Paper flying over the desk, several bottles of unmarked, cloudy liquids scattered on the floor, Caesar felt his edge approach once more. Your walls gripped and contracted around him, fluttering innocently like the wings of a butterfly while you began milking him of his release.

“Breed me, Caesar! Give me your cum. N-Need it!” you whimpered, tears beginning to pool on your waterline and sting at your creases. “Please fill me up. Please, please, please.”

“O-Oh, sh-sh-shit-!” Caesar cried in defeat, immediately flooding you with thick ropes of white, viscous splashback pooling at your entrance and painting his stomach with his release. Your vision split with a crack of lightning, abdomen contracting and squirting on his crotch as his tip flicked a switch deep within your body.

Both riding through your highs, he curled his body against yours and tested the flexibility in your legs and back. Holding his cock within your pussy, Caesar looked down at you with eyes holding the greatest sympathy.

He didn't mean for this to happen. Neither of you did. Lying beneath him, nipples pebbled, skin erupting in a sheen of beaded sweat, and goose-flesh puckering at every follicle on your body, your brows furrowed and eyes clenched while you caught your breath.

“How are you feeling, miss?” Caesar asked you softly, laying your legs either side of his hips and gently caressing your cheek.

“I-I-... I-... I need more,” you whimpered up at him, leaning into his touch and already feeling another wave of need rise in your gut and hold onto his cock. Caesar clicks his tongue empathetically before groaning at the way your pussy began squeezing him.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry. I wish it was anyone else-... That I was anyone else,” he admitted softly, attempting to stuff you with his rapidly reducing cock to no avail. “I promise, not much longer. I'm doing my absolute best for you.”

You sobbed when he retracted his cock from your needy core, but your cries morphed immediately to moans when he knelt between your legs and began kissing apologetically against your overly sensitive cunt. Kisses moved to swipes of his tongue flicking against your clit before moving down and drawing his former release out and consuming it alongside your arousal.

Each movement he made was an apology against your body. Each time he bobbed and swiped his head against your core, his honey coloured eyes flicked up to watch over your features. He read your body like a book, a scientist using your wriggles and bucks as a guide for testing his hypothesis regarding your pleasure.

Encouraging your hands down to grip his horns, he allowed you to guide him to move exactly as you needed him to. Feeling you once again close to your release, he chased your ecstasy while you reined him in.

“G-Gonna cum again-!” you warned him, shouting as your thighs shook over his ears, “Hghnmmm- Caesar!” Caesar gripped the desk beneath your ass, his knuckles swelling with white from the firm grasp while you abused his head by bucking into his face. He couldn't help the way his cock began to swell at the moment you coated his face with your transparent cum.

Slowly mouthing at your sensitive clit before drawing down to your slit, he romanced you with skilled ministrations against your quivering pussy. You released his horns from your grip and slumped back onto the wooden desk. Paper stuck to your back as you moved to look at the man kneeling beneath you.

Finally pulling his lips away from your pussy, he peered up at you through humble and innocent lashes.

“Any better?” he queries, his lips glistening with your slick coating it in a heavy sheen. “Worn off yet, or do you need more?” He rose back up before falling back onto his swiveling office chair.

You took a moment to drink him in, noting how worn and haggard his expression was. Eyes half-lidded and lips pouting, Caesar was exhausted, but his cock bobbed up invitingly against his abdomen.

“More.”

Working as the administrator for the Charlotte family, it was your job to personally oversee the progress Caesar Clown was making on the remedy for Big Mom's predicament. The impossibility she had found herself facing was the fact that, while she could continue making more and more children, her sons needed incubators for their seed to sprout into new life. They were impossibly large, and no spouse she found for them were fearless enough to take them.

She tried everything to bribe their partners into getting in the mood for them. Money, sweets, alcohol, time away from her island, returning home to their families as a bargaining chip for whether they become pregnant - but nothing worked. All out of resources, she procured the infamous scientist, Caesar Clown, to produce either a sufficient option for external insemination, or the easier option: an aphrodisiac.

Caesar went with the latter option.

Extracting spores from mushrooms, pollen from flowers, and remedies from herbs growing throughout the island: he bound them together in a centrifuge before fermenting them in demijohns beside his desk.

As you made your way towards his office, you were in your own head about everything balancing among your duties. Seek out Caesar, organize a delivery for sweets, find the kitchen staff and stock take inventory, likely return to Caesar once more to check up again, visit with Oven and Katakuri to get progress on their away missions, organize tea with Brulee and Pudding, hire a new groundskeeper to replace the one Big Mom was unsatisfied with, visit Caesar again to triple check his development: all to be done in a well timed manner and coinciding with tea and biscuits in the main hall with Big Mom to fill her in.

Big Mom has been working you to the brink of insanity, and you have been neglecting your most basic needs. Although eating and drinking, you barely got any sleep and you had no time to seek out any romantic interests of your own. You were no longer your own person. You lived and breathed to serve the Charlotte's, and you wore that title remarkably well.

The only person outside of the Charlotte's you got to see regularly was the clown working away at his desk. You saw no point in procuring him initially on a permanent payroll for the Charlotte's, but the fact he was attractive, and he was very easy for you to look at and talk to, meant a lot to you while you interacted with one another daily.

Everything was always: ‘yes, miss,’ ‘no, miss’, ‘not yet, miss’, and ‘as you wish, miss’ with him. He would look up at you, regardless as to how much smaller you were than the giant, and hold you on a pedestal as his only interaction with the outside world of late. You could tell he liked you, and you truly had no intention of ever taking it further than that…

…Until you knocked over one of the demijohns and spilled the unmarked liquid all over yourself.

The reaction was immediate: Caesar hastily sprinting to his feet and finding clothes and towels to dab it from your flesh while cursing, not at the loss of liquid, but how you were immediately exposed to it. He babbled out about how he was yet to find a remedy for the brew, and how there was only one way to dispose of the substance from your body.

You were barely alert to his words. As soon as the scent fled to your nose and fogged your vision in lustful clouds, your panties immediately splashed with the haste of your arousal. Without even being touched by an external source, simply the wind Caesar produced against your body while hastily drying your skin and cleaning you up was enough to have you climax immediately.

The mewls and cries you expelled, your pussy spasming in euphoria without ever being touched, was enough to inform Caesar that his product was well in motion and coursing through your veins.

“Miss, are you alright?” he asked softly, disposing of the rags immediately. His hands clasped around your ankles to check in on you, but your mind was in such a daze that you couldn't do anything other than suck in a shaken breath. Your knees buckled and you dropped a stack of paperwork you were carrying on the floor beneath you.

“C-Caesar,” you whined for him, attempting to clench your legs shut to provide your pussy with stimulation. “What the fuck did I just knock over? C-... Fuck-... Caesar, I n-need-... I need-...”

Immediately, you leaned down and captured his lips with your own, morphing them needily against his while reaching towards your clothes and peeling them from yourself. Caesar muffled a cry against your lips, scampering backwards and attempting to pull himself away to save you from using him to defile yourself with.

In lieu of calling you the little title he'd bestowed onto you, he whispered your name against your lips to gain your attention. Using his chin to pry himself away from your lips, he tried to have you see reason. He knew there was truly no use, the potent aphrodisiac now taking to your bloodstream through your respiratory system, and in search of one thing only he could truly give you.

You needed to be filled with his cum, and you needed to ride it out for as long as your pulse beat with the aphrodisiac flooding your system.

Caution to the wind, Caesar attempted to be as careful as he could with you in aiding you to a comfortable position, but he halted as soon as your hands began touching his cock. He was nowhere near as aroused as you were in your heightened state, but your enthusiasm for him caused his cock to immediately spring up in attention.

Caesar’s empathy was unmatched in this situation. He knew what Big Mom wanted, and this batch was extremely potent. Although he found you attractive and adored spending time with you, he knew that you would never want him the way he wanted you without this.

As he removed your arousal-soaked panties, and peeled off his garb, slowly placing your back against the desk, the only phrase he repeated was two words to depict his honesty intentions.

“I'm sorry.”

Using the reserves of your strength, you moved to stand on jellied legs. Hastily closing the distance between you both, you straddled his lap and sunk down your dripping pussy onto his cock and sighed in relief at the merger. Caesar groaned out and gently began rocking you up over his shaft by clapping a hand on either side of your ass.

He was so much larger than you, even from this position, your faces could barely touch. Opting instead to nuzzle into his chest, you both lazily rolled in time with one another while you felt the need once again bloom in your abdomen and spur you on.

“I'm sorry,” he again whispered, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of your neck into his chest, “I'm sorry this happened, and I'm sorry it's me helping you through it.” Caesar's tears began to fall, soft sobs spilling from his lips which ticked up at the edges while rolling his hips in time with your own. “I'm sorry for everything. You deserve more than this.”

You couldn't help but giggle at his admission, not so much laughing at his devastation, but reactionary to the situation currently unfolding between you. You, an administrator to Big Mom, being impaled on the cock of the man she hired to create an aphrodisiac so potent it would make any partner willing to be used as a depository for her children’s cum.

And he was the best lay of your life.

You were uncertain whether it was the aphrodisiac, or whether he truly was as skilled to make you see stars every time his mushroomed tip kissed your cervix. Planting your hands on his shoulders, you felt the aphrodisiac begin to wear off at the sides of your mind. Despite the need no longer incurring, you felt yourself truly wanting to continue riding him.

“What's-... What's so funny?” Caesar sniffled out, causing you to look up at him while you continued bobbing on his lap. You darted your eyes between both of his, and smiled broadly.

“You're… You're not half-bad at this, is all,” you giggled, “Regardless as to how brief the interactions are between us, I do enjoy your company, Caesar Clown. I'm glad it's you.” You drew your arms down to clutch at his waist, driving yourself harder on his lap and riding him with a hastened pace.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered, moving his hands to both girdle your waist within his thumbs and forefingers, “I love talking to you, too. You're the highlight of my day each time I see you down here.” He matched your rhythm, feeling his balls begin to twitch and quiver in his gut.

“You are mine too,” you admit, feeling your need begin to split at your vision, knowing this was truly an eruption fostered by your own needs, without the influence of the aphrodisiac. “I actually find you quite delightful. Y-You're also really fucking good at this. Fuck, a little slower please? Can you please fuck me harder too?”

“Yes, oh fuck, yes,” he gasped, using his much larger frame to slowly slot you down in timed rhythm on his lap. “I-... You-... Fuck, I've thought about this since I got here. D-Didn’t want it to be like this.”

As you felt your vision begin to tip over the edge, you moved your hands from his lap and hooked them around his neck. Drawing him closer to you, you pressed a needy and passionate kiss against him. All tongue, lips and teeth, you christened his cock in a crown of lust while you tasted yourself on his tongue.

He moaned in your mouth, feeling his abdomen tense up and his cock immediately shot up a lighter expulsion than the one he had moments prior. You came with a soft whimper against his lips, both of you slowing your movements while you were engulfed by his frame.

Breaking away from his kiss and gazing down at him, you smiled with a soft promise uttered from your lips.

“That's okay, Caesar. There's always next time.”

After cleaning one another up and sealing the soft pact with a kiss, you made it through your duties in a timely manner. With a small spring in your step, you had a progress report regarding Caesar’s success for Big Mom’s consideration prepared with an anecdotal, first-hand experience of how the concoction truly worked.

Finally seeing a future for the generations of Charlotte's, she was in such a delightful mood, she dismissed you and Caesar both from the remainder of your duties for a longer weekend. Using this time to navigate your budding feelings for one another, you truly enjoyed getting to know him better as a man rather than a coworker. You became quickly infatuated with him, and he was obsessed with you and the way he could make you smile.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[cloudzoro]

Happy Birthday, Buggy the clown ♡

cw: fem!reader, smut, face fucking, clown makeup

masterlist

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You finish filling in the lips of your new clown makeup and lean back to look in the mirror. It's your husband Buggy's birthday. You noticed that recently, he's been dropping hints that he wants to see you in clown makeup, so you decided that this would be the best opportunity to do so. You can hear Buggy's footsteps approaching, so you climb onto the bed and pose for him.

Buggy returns from his cross-guild meeting, grumbling under his breath, pissed off that he has to work on his birthday. When he enters the room and notices you lying on the bed, a genuine smile spreads across his face to match the one he paints on every day. His gaze starts from your feet and moves up your body, taking in the pretty lingerie you're wearing just for him before finally getting a good look at your face. The clown paint launches him into action, and he approaches the bed. Buggy sits down on the edge of the bed and tells you to take a seat on his lap, which you quickly obey. Now that he's got you straddling him, ass seated comfortably over his cock, he can take a closer look at the intricate makeup you've done just for him.

“What's all this, sweetheart?” he asks, fingers lightly gripping your chin to tilt your head so he can examine your work. You explain that this is his special birthday present and that you knew he wanted to see you in clown makeup. When you finish your explanation, you can feel Buggy's cock getting hard against you. “It's such a shame that you worked so hard getting all made up for me, and now I'm gonna ruin it”, he says, fake pouting at you, which makes you laugh before leaning in to kiss him.

He kisses back with unrivalled enthusiasm, helping you undress him without breaking the kiss. Once he's down to his underwear, you pull away from the kiss, and Buggy opens his eyes to watch as you drop to your knees on the floor. He hums in amusement as you eagerly pull his cock free, then moans loudly as you lick a stripe up the underside of it. Buggy can't bring himself to look away as you take his cock into your mouth. You bob your head, trying to keep your tongue pressed against him as you suck him off. Buggy's noises make you want to touch yourself, but you push your needs aside to focus on your husband. You pull off him, and at first, he looks mad. When you ask him to fuck your face, he grins down at you looking ready to eat you alive.

He growls when he sees remnants of your lipstick smeared on his cock; at first, he had wanted to see you in clown makeup because he thought you'd look sexy in it (he's right). Now that the makeup is leaving reminders of your presence on him, it takes on a whole new level of significance. He keeps eye contact with you as he slips his cock back into your mouth.

One of his hands comes to settle on the back of your head and push you down so you take all of him down your throat. He lets you pull off slightly before rocking his hips. It's like he slowly loses his grip on reality as he gets rougher and rougher. He grunts and moans as he fucks your face. The force causes tears to roll down your cheeks. Your hands are braced on his thighs for support, and the sting of your nails against his skin is the final straw that sends him over the edge, spilling his cum down your throat. You swallow as much as you can and release his cock from your mouth to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

For Buggy, the clown paint is a mask; it covers his insecurity so he can pretend to be in control. He stares down at you and your ruined paint. With tear tracks breaking up the paint on your cheeks and his mouth and cock smearing your lipstick beyond recognition he thinks you look beautiful. The vulnerability in the paint is striking to him; it's almost enough to change his views on his own makeup.

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taglist: @bloodfixnd @mythicallystupid

[macbethsymphony]

CHARLOU!!!!! BB!!!! I'm so glad you're doing this! As you know it's my bday in 2 days! Can I request something small, a drabble or something with my boy? You know the one, the prettiest scientist out there, my beautiful gas giant! THE ONE AND ONLY CAESAR CLOWN!!! Pretty please~ (Again, so fucking proud bb ily)

-M✨

MILLIE!!!!! BB!!! Anything for you my love! I'm a day late but you already knew that! Happy birthday 💕 It... ahem... evolved into a full fic, cause I love you like that. I know you hate y/n so 'little one' it is for you! Barely proofread and finished it high on Nyquil, so forgive the mistakes. Hope you enjoy, you horndog!!!

Choke

Caesar Clown x Female Reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, pure smut, nonexistent plot, handjob, oral, face riding, choking, p in v intercourse, size difference, not proofread, no beta, just good old scientific brilliance and bad decisions

Summary: You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. Still, how could you resist the pretty scientist? It was truly an impossible task.

You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. You were willing to acknowledge your shoddy track record, unashamed of it really, but the unequivocal stares of disapproval Nami shot your way every time your eyes traveled to the scientist most definitely stung your ego.

You flipped a page of his research, trying your best to understand the complex jargon neatly written down. It surpassed your knowledge and not only by a small margin. The man was a genius, an overdramatic morally bankrupt asshole too, yes, but a genius nonetheless.

Scientist to scientist, you had to admit you understood the reasoning behind his actions, the incessant red tape of ethics was, after all, often a deterrent to progress. But still… those test subjects… children? You’d never stoop so low.

Or so you liked to think. Maybe you were putting yourself on a moral pedestal. Who knew, you guessed. After all, it was not like your research had ever been important enough for a warlord to hover over you. Who knew to what lengths you’d go to if that’d happen? Though you still hoped you would never go so far.

Your tired stare left the complex equations for a second, looking at the man in question, sitting on the floor next to you. You leaned back in your chair, gaze studying the bored expression on his face.

Despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was in the afternoon sun. The softness of his features was an interesting contrast to his usual boastful condescending smile. It was a rare moment where you could look at him in the eyes. He usually neck-breakingly towered over you. Hell, even sitting at your feet he was still considerably taller than you.

With a sigh, you went back to the incomprehensible data. You didn’t understand shit.

“Caesar.” You swallowed down your pride. “Care to explain this part to me?” You surveyed the deck, noting the incessant activity. “Perhaps away from this circus.”

You watched as he processed your words, his gaze shifting from boredom to mild interest as he considered. Then his manic laughter hit your ears softly.

“What is it?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, condescension thick in his voice. “Too complicated for you, little one?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Skipped a fucking beat.

You suddenly stood. Fucking beautiful bastard. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at the sight. The way his hair flowed and framed his face, the easy smile on his lips, the amusement in his amber eyes. You quickly hit his head with the papers in your hands in reproach, an impulsive attempt to hide the pink plastering your face.

“You know damn well you’re smarter than I, Caesar Clown,” you shouted over your shoulder as you stomped to the privacy of the aquarium. “Are you coming or not?” You held open the door impatiently.

His laughter redoubled, but nonetheless, he stood up and followed. As he passed you, bending over to pass the doorframe, the floating fabric of his coat brushed against you, sending a shiver you desperately tried to suppress right to your core.

Caesar's towering frame dominated the small room as you headed to the hidden bar at its center. The soft ambient light from the aquarium’s large windows cast a serene glow over the glasses you retrieved, filling them with amber liquid. You downed the contents, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat, washing away the chaos of your thoughts temporarily. You filled it back up before settling yourself on the banquette.

You observed the scientist as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smug grin, thinly veiling his excitement. "So, what part of my brilliant work is baffling you?" he asked, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. It was cute, how thrilled he was to talk about his research. "This section here," you said, pointing to the page filled with complex equations and chemical notations. "Your derivations seem to assume certain constants that I don't recognize. Care to enlighten me?"

Caesar's grin widened as he sauntered next to you, peering over at the page in your hands. You could sense the heat radiating from his body, he smelled like a laboratory, almost antiseptic. You liked it, it was somehow comforting and it took all your willpower to maintain your composure.

"Ah, I see," he murmured, his voice low and close. The seriousness of his tone surprised you. You’d expected condescending laughter, not an actual answer. It made your heart beat. Fast. You could feel his breath on your skin as he explained. "These constants are unique to the gas properties I've synthesized. They're not something you'd find in standard scientific literature."

You peered up at him, your gaze bright with a million questions. "And why is that? What makes them so special?"

Caesar's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Because, little one, they are the result of my own genius. A proprietary blend of compounds that I alone have perfected."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but be drawn in by his passion for his work. It was clear that, beneath his arrogant exterior, Caesar was deeply committed to his research. And, in a way, you admired that.

Hours had dragged on, he was still speaking, lost in complex arrays of numbers that no longer meant anything to you. You were barely listening anymore. Hell, who were you kidding, you’d lost track of his explanations ages ago. He was so pretty, the excitement in his eyes made his whole face light up.

You downed the remnants of your glass, trying to come back to reality.

“Say, Caesar, do you like women?” The words left your mouth without your mind registering. Fucking liquid courage. Your heart sank as you awaited his teasing, the unsteady rhythm loud in your ears.

He froze.

Oh.

That was a nice expression on his face. Blushing and wide-eyed. You wondered if it would be the same if you made him cum. Would he whimper and beg as your fingers tightened around his cock? Gods, now you just HAD to know.

“M-me?” He stuttered instinctively slumping to the floor, the chains at his wrists rattling as he pointed to himself.

Your mouth curved into a sly smirk. You leaned forward, then stood up. For once you towered over him. You reached out to his jawline in a fleeting touch, tracing his chin, tilting his face so he looked at you. You stepped closer, feet between his legs, eyes blown by lust as you met his gaze, impulse taking over your very being. You knew this was a shitty idea, but who cared.

“I don’t see anyone else here, Caesar,” you were close now, your breath almost mingling with each other’s. “You can stop me if you want.” Your hand danced lower, his throat bobbing against cool fingers. “I won’t mind.”

But he didn’t stop you.

You placed a chaste kiss against his cheek, then his lips, giving him all the time in the world to oppose.

“What do you say, Caesar?” You cocked your head to the side, inviting him in.

His breath hitched, then his laughter started to nervously echo off the walls, gaining confidence with each chuckle. He leaned into you, his whispery laughter touching your mouth as the glint in his gaze slowly matched your hunger.

Your lips met his once again, silencing him with a yearning you hadn't realized was simmering beneath the surface. His laughter melted into a raspy moan as he responded eagerly, moving against you in a desperate dance of desire. Your tongue dragged along him, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lower lip, begging for more.

Your tongues tangled. You lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the taste of him intoxicating, a heady blend of scientific brilliance and bad decisions. Everything about him was massive in comparison to you, he was filling your mouth in ways that were unknown to you. It was nearly overwhelming, and it would be were he not so hesitant.

Your fingers tangled in his hair almost roughly as you leaned into him. The chains at his wrists rattled as his hands went to your waist, gloved digits inching up your shirt. That wouldn’t do. You wanted, no, needed, to feel his skin against yours. You pulled away, lidded gaze tracking the strand of saliva that connected the both of you for a moment.

“So pretty,” you whispered, your hands leaving his hair, traveling down his chest, pushing aside fabric, his coat dropping off of his shoulders, catching at the crease of his elbows. Your hands went to his, still at your side, and brought them to your face. They were so fucking big, long fingers dwarfing your own. You placed a soft kiss to his palm before biting on the tip of his glove and tugging it off.

His gaze never strayed from yours, his pupils blowing larger with each passing moment. You tugged off the second glove and settled them back to where they’d been, flesh finally meeting flesh. It made you want to roll your eyes in satisfaction, melt into him. But gods, you needed more. So much more.

The tips of your fingers slowly teased the hem of your shirt up before discarding it in a quick motion, your bra unashamedly following suit.

You dropped to your knees. You silently cursed the sea stone shackles preventing you from stripping him fully. Your hand traveled up his thigh, fabric bunching as your nails dug in slightly. He gasped, eyes blown with lust as you roamed closer to the extremely obvious tightness in his jumpsuit. Your other hand settled on his heart for a fleeting moment, savoring the subtle beat beneath your palm. Ever so slowly your fingers wrapped against the zipper tab, dragging it down and revealing pale skin.

You looked up at him through your lashes as you traced along his v-line, relishing the shudder in his breath as you palmed his hard-on through his underwear.

“Already so hard?” You teased, inching the elastic of his boxers down, freeing his cock. The hand you had on his thigh went to his hand and guided it to your breast, urging him to pinch and squeeze. “Who knew you were so desperate, Caesar Clown?” You brushed a bead of precum over his tip before wrapping your fingers around him.

Fuck he was big. Your fingers couldn’t close around him. You brought your other hand to his cock, twisting in opposite directions as you worked him up and down tantalizingly slow.

“Fuck,” he moaned, arching his back and bucking his hips in a frantic attempt for more.

The blush on his cheeks, his parted lips, the way his body steadily unraveled beneath your touch, it all sent an intense desire between your legs. You smiled, squeezing a little harder as you traveled to his tip. A whimper escaped him and it tasted sweeter than honey to your ears. His hand dropped from your breast to your waist, then to your thigh and to your core. The tips of his fingers found your soaked underwear, pushing it to the side and meeting your slick.

You felt him trace your slit, the pad of his thumb circling your clit as he entered two fingers into you, pumping in and out slowly. For an instant your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your breath catching in pleasure. They felt so different from yours, stretching you and reaching to places you couldn’t. Your hands stuttered in their movement.

His laughter touched your ears. “You’re quite desperate yourself, little one,” he stated between two grunts.

You smirked, your attention brought back to him. The cheeky bastard. You picked a faster pace, each stroke precise as you sought to make him eat his words.

He broke into a wanton moan, his fingers stopping inside of you at the overwhelming sensation. Your hips rolled in tandem, instinctively searching for your own release. It wasn’t enough to get you off but the way your clit grazed on his palm, smearing arousal all over his hand made your breath shudder along his.

“So good for me.” You brushed against his tip, gathering more precum still leaking from him, coating him, your palms slick as you continued with more fervor.

His hips thrust up, trying to match your pace, mewls and incomprehensible begs escaping his lips. His body convulsed as he came, thick ropes of cum spilling onto his abdomen. You didn’t stop, maintaining the strokes up and down his cock, prolonging his orgasm. One of your hands left him to rejoin his hand at your core, increasing the pressure of his palm against your clit as you rutted against him.

He was still in his high as you bent down, slowly licking the cum from his stomach, hips rolling against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly. “You’re unusually silent, Caesar,” you said as you moved up, cleaning ever so thoroughly, cum salty on your tongue. “Who knew it was this easy to shut you up.”

It seemed to flip a switch in him as he finally came back to reality. His fingers picked up their work, his laughter strong as he rejoiced in the needy mewls escaping your lips. You didn’t mind, if it brought him the illusion of control, you’d let him indulge.

He was so big, and while you were already dripping you’d need to be wetter for this to work. You eyed the way his mouth twisted into a condescending smile, your walls twitching around his fingers at the sight. “Is that pretty mouth of yours good at something other than explaining your research?” You hinted none too subtly at what you wanted.

His laughter became manic at your suggestion. His tongue passed his lips and you mewled and bucked against him, desperately trying to chase your high. Two of your fingers joined his inside you, the stretch so divine that your other hand shot to his chest, nails digging into him looking for purchase.

“Why don’t you explain to me exactly what you want, little one.” He increased the pressure against your clit, fingers inside you working in a come-hither motion. You were so fucking close. You pushed against his chest, instructing him to lie down and he did, leaning back unto his elbow.

“I want your tongue, Caesar,” you panted, your vision feeling blown out from pleasure. “I want your face between my thighs as I ride that clever tongue of yours.”

The speed of his thumb against the bundle of nerves increased as he felt the rhythm of your hips stutter. “Is that all you want? How about you come on my fingers first, little one, then I’ll drink from that pretty cunt of yours.”

Oh gods, that sounded heavenly. You hadn’t expected such words out of him, his hesitation entirely gone. Your hand left his at your core, plastering itself on your mouth in an attempt to muffle the moans escaping you.

“Please,” you begged ever so close, hips stuttering. He laughed, the sound sending you over the edge. Your body went taut as you came, thighs closing tightly around his hand.

His fingers left your heat when it became too much. You looked at him as he picked you up by the waist, dragging you close to his face as he settled himself down on the wooden floor.

You took him on the invitation, quickly discarding your ruined panties to the side and straddling him, grip tangling in his hair as you eagerly awaited the feeling of his mouth. The metal of his cuffs was cold against your flushed skin as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, your skirt rising to your waist as he lowered you slowly to him.

His tongue circled your clit leisurely at first, the sensation slightly too sharp after your orgasm. Then his lips enveloped the bundle of nerves and he began to suck and the moan that you let out was so loud that you prayed that everyone on board was well and asleep in their bunks by now. Your hands shifted, looking for balance as your thighs trembled, fingers gripping the base of his horns.

The moan he let out at the sensation was just as loud and depraved as yours. You heard his hips buck into nothing as you started fucking his face brashly. His tongue darted in you and you felt so full. You hadn’t realized it was so long and thick. He was hitting all the right places, drinking you in desperately. His nose caught on your clit and your thighs instinctively sought to close at the overstimulation, but his hands held you steady and he redoubled his pace.

Everything seemed shaky and blurry around you, your breathing uneven and struggling between the mewls and begging flowing out of your lips.

“Caesar,” you chanted, your eyes rolling at the back of your head. Your toes curled as your high approached dangerously. “I’m going to come, please.”

And you came. Hard. He continued to lick and suck as your vision filled with white and you cried in ecstasy. As the movements of his tongue bordered into overstimulation you backed away, sitting on his heaving chest, his own pants matching yours.

Your gazes met and you smiled, satisfaction clear on your expression. “Are you going to be a good boy and let me fuck you, Caesar?” You asked, shifting down slowly. You grabbed his cock, lining yourself to him. His lips parted in a shaky exhale, thick with anticipation. “Caesar?” You demanded again when he didn’t answer.

“Gods, yes, little one,” he breathed out in a shaking voice.

You smirked, lowering yourself, the tip of his cock stretching you out. “So good,” you whimpered, your head rolling back, taking him further and further.

His hips twitched, and you pressed down on him, stopping the movement and giving him a warning look. “Be patient for me, Caesar,” you moaned as his hands found your thighs, nails digging into plush flesh in restraint.

He was so big, the stretch was almost painful but the ecstasy of having him sheathed inside you was addictive. “Fuck, Caesar,” you mewled as you rolled you hips. “I wish those shackles were off.” You found a steady rhythm, pace quickening in search of rapture. “I bet you could control so much, control the oxygen around,” you stuttered in pleasure. “Choke me just enough as you’d fuck me good, hm?”

He groaned at the idea, his moans matching yours, the heat in his gaze blazing hot at the words spilling out of your mouth. He brought his hands to your throat, answering your desperate pleas. He was speechless as he watched you fuck yourself on his cock, the sight divine as his fingers tightened perfectly around you.

You keened and mewled, lightheaded and oh so close to your release.

So good.

It was so fucking good.

“That’s right, little one,” you heard him encourage you through the curtains of pleasure dominating your mind. His hips met yours, chasing his own pleasure.

Your walls twitched around him and you sobbed out him name, tears staining your flushed cheeks as you came around him. The world was slowly disappearing, darkness on the edge of your vision as rapture took over your very being.

You distantly felt him come inside you, thick hot spurts against your womb. His thrusts became shallow and his hold on you slackened, letting you fall over his chest, damp skin meeting damp skin.

It took you a while to come back to reality, the steady rhythm of his heart almost bringing you to slumber. You slowly shifted, hot seed dripping down your thigh but his arms wrapped around you and brought you back against him.

You giggled, feeling giddy as his fingers gently traced the curve of your spine. His laughter mixed with yours and all seemed perfect in that moment.

Fuck that was good. You thanked the gods above that you had quite the voyage before you. There was no way you could ever get enough of this.

Masterlist

[atthedugouts]

Birthday Breakfast

Mickey stayed in bed. He could hear all the fucking commotion going on downstairs and he didn’t want to be a part of it. There’s banging of pots, shouts, cupboards opening and closing, and every now and then a loud shush from Ian telling Franny that the birthday boy is still sleeping.

Mickey is the birthday boy.

Birthdays were not celebrated in the Milkovich house growing up. Maybe in the rare times when it was just his mom and his dad was in jail and it happened to line up with someone’s big day. But Mickey can’t recall for sure. 

The Gallaghers are all so fucking close. It makes Mickey uncomfortable. His ideal day would be to play video games naked with Ian. But he can’t do that in this clown car of a house.

But it’s his first birthday being married to Ian and he knows who his husband is. He knows that Ian will go all out because the fucking sap just can’t help himself. So he stays in bed and waits for the inevitable.

 The noise downstairs quiets down and he hears footsteps climb the stairs. Then the door cracks open and he hears an excited little whisper.

“He’s awake Uncle Ian!”

The door opens, revealing Franny and Ian carrying a tray of breakfast.

“Uncle Mickey! Happy birthday!” The little girl shouts. Mickey can’t help but smile. It’s strange that Franny actually likes him.

Mickey sits up and Ian comes over and places the tray of food on the bed.

“Happy birthday,” Ian greets, kissing the top of his head.

“Mommy and me and Uncle Ian made you breakfast!”

“Is that so?” Mickey says, playing along like he didn’t hear every goddamn thing for the past hour.

“Yeah, we made pancakes and bacon and eggs and orange juice and fruit,” Franny explains.

“Is the pancake looking at me?” MIckey asks.

“The eggs are eyes!” Franny points.

Mickey laughs and looks at his husband who has a stupid smile on his face.

“Cool,” Mickey responds and picks up the fork. He can get used to this birthday thing.

[hey-august]

Time keeps moving on and on and on

🎂Happy birthday, clown man! Here's your bday fic!🎁

WC: 810 Warnings: SFW-ish (brief mention of genitals but in a not-sexy way), Buggy x GN!reader, established relationship, Buggy has self esteem issues because of course he does Title from Man Overboard by blink-182

There was a stranger in the mirror. The longer he stayed, the less familiar he looked. Recognizable features became overshadowed and created a dissonance. Steam and condensation clung to the sliver surface. Buggy leaned closer and stared.

That was his hair. It was long and blue, like it should be. But it was thinning. The strands that he hoped were highlights, sun bleached to a light blue color, were white. Stark fucking white and void of color. At first he pulled them out, but the colorless hair grew like weeds. Like plants that propagate and take over if you don’t deal with the source. And how could he, when the source was time.

Buggy recognized his eyes. Well, he did at first. The longer he looked, the more he lost himself. The color was right, but the shape seemed to change. Were his eyes getting baggier? More hooded? Fuck, maybe he should stop pulling his skin so tight when putting on make-up. He wasn’t young anymore, his skin didn’t bounce back like it used to…

And there were the wrinkles. Emotions carved into his skin. Even if Buggy tried to smooth them out by filling the grooves with thick moisturizing creams and rough massages with calloused fingertips, they were fucking canyons. His wrinkles were deep and unfading. Forehead marks that fucked with the smooth lines of his crossbones, creases dug between his eyebrows, crow’s feet flanking his eyes, lines around his mouth that he couldn’t hide with paint.

Shit. Everywhere Buggy looked, he saw more details and definition that didn’t belong to him. That wasn’t him in the mirror. But it was.

Buggy was getting old.

He hated this. He hated all of it. The negativity simmered, sitting on a low heat in the corner of his mind. Every glance in the mirror made the fire hotter. Every day closer to his birthday brought bubbles to the surface, until it all spilled over.

“It’s your birthday! Are you excited?” Your cheeriness finally brought Buggy’s self-esteem issues to their boiling point.

“Why the fuck would I be excited about getting older?” he spat, more than ready to pour out every damn insecurity he had. “Look at me, white hair, wrinkles, flab-” Buggy grabbed, pointed, and squeezed every area of his body’s betrayal. “I’m old and it’s only going to get worse.”

“Worse?”

“Beer gut and droopy balls,” Buggy practically wailed. His future was unavoidable.

The clown pirate continued his long withheld lament, releasing every thought and frustration in a fast moving stream. Complaints about the hair growing out of his ears and no- Nevermind. Achy knees, a back that twinges when the weather changes too fast, hangovers lasting longer and longer. There was so much on Buggy’s list, but a hand grabbing his own stopped the tirade.

“I like those things-”

“Liar. Who would like a washed up clown?”

“Me.”

Buggy’s glare was met with fiery determination. He didn’t want to listen, but you weren’t done talking.

“Babe, I like that you’re getting older because I get to see it happen.” You paused. “I… I feel lucky that we get to grow old together.”

The confession sent blood to your face and turned your cheeks red. You chewed your lip but didn’t turn away from Buggy.

“Ew.” Buggy opened his mouth and pretended to gag. “You really think like that? You’re so sappy, it’s disgusting,”

The clown’s teasing came with a smile that grew bigger by the moment. His chest puffed as he put on a fake sneer and shook his head in mock disappointment.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal. I don’t know why you’re still talking about these things,” Buggy continued, patting your shoulder condescendingly.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “Right, my bad. Happy birthday, Buggs.”

“Thanks, hun.”

Buggy pulled you into a tight hug, holding you like he’d lost the ability to communicate any other way. Like there was nothing else in the world but you, him, and the sea. Like he’d melt into you, dissolve into you entirely, if you’d let him. Like you healed something deep inside.

When the embrace broke, you reached up and pushed back a few loose strands of Buggy’s long hair. You stayed quiet as you studied him. And for the first time in a long time, Buggy didn’t mind it. He didn’t worry that you’d see something disgusting, old, and ugly.

“I like these shimmer strands. They catch the light and sparkle,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair again.

“Hmm…” Buggy hummed, pleased with the flashy compliment. Maybe white hair wasn’t so bad.

There was a stranger reflected in your eyes. He couldn’t always see it himself, but for a moment, Buggy saw himself the way you saw him. He saw the person you wanted to grow old with. He saw someone worthy.

He saw someone lovable.