#i need to do that shit more! i have a whole folder of spots i want to do studies. just haven't gotten to it

[busaikuknee]

end-of-year doodle/abandoned wip collection! did a lot more this year than i remembered

[slayfics]

Katsuki buys you flowers.

900 words

Katsuki sighed in annoyance as you scrolled through a photo album on your phone, sitting across from him at the local cafe.

"Just delete the whole thing damn it," he stated.

"I can't, I have to look at them each one last time," you protested.

The album was a collection of all the photos taken with you and your now ex-boyfriend.

Katsuki watched bitterly as you scrolled past each photo. The way you'd zoom in and gaze at the image with wistfulness in your eyes made him sick.

"Fuck this," he exclaimed and reached over the cafe table to snatch your phone out of your hand.

"Hey!" you yelled but did little to fight Katsuki for the phone back knowing you'd lose that battle.

"Don't whine. I'm doing you a favor. You don't need to look one more second at this jackass," he said deleting the whole folder of memories. "If you keep doing that, you're going to forget why you left his sorry ass in the first place."

"I don't think that's likely. Two things can be true at once Katsuki. I can enjoy all those old memories and still feel I made the right decision to leave," you argued.

"You say that now, but I know the second he shows up with flowers begging for forgiveness your ass might feel differently," Katsuki predicted.

"That would be the first," you scoffed.

"What?" Katsuki asked gazing up from your phone.

"That would be the first. He never bought me flowers." You stated

"You're fucking joking me," Katsuki said his eyebrows scrunching together.

"Nope," you confirmed.

"All those fucking years you were together, and he couldn't have been bothered to even do that?!" Katsuki rubbed the bridge of his nose, "That's it I'm deleting his number too," He said scrolling over to your contacts on your phone.

"Katsuki!" you yelled in protest.

"Don't Katsuki me! That ass wipe doesn't deserve to take up a spot in your phone." He declared. "What the hell did he even do for you?"

"We would go out to eat all the time, at nice restaurants," you answered.

"Not good enough," Katsuki stated.

"What do you mean not good enough?" You asked.

"That idiot loved fancy shit like that, but do you? How many of those dinners were because he wanted to treat you? Probably none. Those dinners were something HE wanted to go do, not you. Fucker doesn't even know you. You'd prefer a home-cooked meal where you can be comfy in your PJs and dance to whatever dumb song you're obsessed with that week in the kitchen. Don't even try to tell me I'm wrong." Katsuki explained. 

"You're right," You agreed. "But he didn't know how to cook, and my songs aren't dumb!"

Katsuki blinked at you lost for words, a sharp exhale coming from him in utter disbelief that you spent so long with this man. "That's it, get up. We're leaving," Katsuki stated standing from the table and tossing your phone back at you.

"What? But I haven't finished my matcha," you said.

"So, we will take it to go. We're gonna stop by the grocery store, I'm gonna pick up stuff to make you a real meal, and you can show me how 'not' dumb your song pick of the week is." Katsuki decided.

You struggled to gather your things to follow him out in the hurry he was in.

Exiting the cafe Katsuki was holding the door open for you in his car,. "Such a gentlemen," you teased.

"Well, someone has to show you what that looks like," he stated, shutting the door after you got in.  

Katsuki drove you both to the nearest grocery store, "Stay here," he instructed when he parked.

"Hu? No, I'll go in with you." You said unbuckling your seatbelt.

"I said stay here. I won’t be long," he said firmly.

"Alright fine," you said waving your arms up and refusing to fight with him.

Katsuki left the car and made his way into the store. You pulled out your phone to pass the time while waiting for him.

A void grew in your stomach at realizing Katsuki had indeed erased all the whole album of pictures with your ex-boyfriend. Banishing the years you spent with him into the past. Only your memory serves you now as a reminder of the time shared together.

In a desperate attempt to salvage some memories you wanted to keep, you navigated over to your recently deleted folder. Only to see that Katsuki had deleted that too.

Photos and contact numbers were deleted from your phone, it was as though your ex never even existed. Just as your eyes began to sting with the threat of tears, the driver's door flew open.

Katsuki tossed something into your lap, “here.”

You looked down to take in the sight of a fresh bouquet in your lap. The tears that threatened to fall from sadness broke through.  Although the sadness behind them had been banished. Replaced by a fresher feeling of appreciation.

“Hah? Don’t get all teary eyed on me damn it,” Katsuki complained, tossing a few grocery bags into the back.

You watched his swift movements and couldn’t help but think, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing your ex was exiled into the past.

“I got enough to make a decent meal. You ready to go?” Katsuki asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you said wiping a stray tear and smiling for the first time in a long time.

sinners: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialsapphire @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @peachsukii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99 @jays-adventure3 @bythevay

[girlleon]

B-E-H-A-V-E, ARREST US! (ITALIAN MOBSTER, LOOKING SO PRECIOUS!)

leon kennedy x fem attorney reader

warnings: unwanted advances, car crash, ummm he breaks into your house… slight misogyny in his internal monologue? ooc leon too. Obsessive behavior if you squint. copious amounts of pet names because he’s on some shit. more unreliable narration. title taken from kill v maim by grimes

an: this was inspired by the courtroom scene in the dark knight sorry hope you enjoy :)

Leon Kennedy looked like he was having the time of his life as he was yanked out of the prison’s bus, smiling smugly as he was led along to the courthouse. Some cops had to push the press out of the way as they tried to shout questions at him, shouting at the press to get back and clear the way. You wouldn’t think a criminal trial would get such a big production, and yet. The head of the Salazar crime family gets caught on RICO charges and the press goes insane.

He doesn’t get a glance at you as he’s ushered in for the first day of cross-examinations, chains around his wrists and ankles jangling.

The presiding judge arrives and all stand before sitting. The charges are read—hundreds of counts of extortion, racketeering, witness intimidation, obstruction of justice, et cetera. Then, he’s brought up to the witness stand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God, yadda, yadda. “I do.” He wears that smug smile like the Armani suit he chose today, sitting with a bang of the gavel.

And aren’t you just so cute, in your little skirt suit and button-up shirt. A cutie like you shouldn’t be in a courtroom, you should be in his bed. What a cute little Assistant District Attorney, he should’ve looked you up when he had the time, he didn’t know the DA’s office hired such adorable looking little things.

You look visibly uncertain when you catch him eyeing you up and down, looking back at the big bad DA—Redfield or something—who sits at the table looking extremely unamused. “Please state your full name for the record.” You tell him, thumbing through the little manila folder you’ve got in your hands, heels clicking on the floor.

He leans forward into the microphone with a small smirk. “Leon Scott Kennedy.” He’s not listening to a word you’re saying as you pace in front of him, only clueing in when you look at him expectantly, eyes bright behind your glasses. “Can you repeat the question?”

You look so cute when you frown in irritation, he might just eat you up. “I asked if you can explain the thousand percent exponential increase in your earnings in just one month.” You fiddle with the papers, eyes flicking off to the side. “Exhibit ‘C’ in front of you.”

“Ah.” He looks down and spots the cute little graph, wondering if you made it. “My investments turned out swimmingly.”

“Your investments.” You repeat flatly. Cute little habit you have of parroting him. “Who did you invest with?”

“Oh,” He waves a hand blithely, “a new company, you wouldn’t know them and don’t need to worry your pretty head about it.”

You freeze, not sure what to do as he flirts with you so openly.

The judge gives him an irritated look and says, “I’ll remind the defendant to remain civil.”

Leon shrugs it off, he’s made of iron, he can handle this little bit of pressure, it’s good for him anyway. And he loves a challenge.

You clear your throat a little nervously, leafing through the notes you have. Aw, your little hands are shaking minutely, he bets if he held them, they’d shake more. “This company has no record of existing before those investments.”

Leon blinks. See? The pressure’s good for him. He gives you a slight smile as he recalibrates, linking his hands together in his lap. “Is that so? Then where would it come from?”

“Why don’t you tell the court?” Comes out a little short and his lawyers object on the grounds of it being combative. He watches you count to ten before you calm down enough to nod to the judge when he tells you to tread carefully. “I’ll rephrase: I’m hoping you can tell us.”

Leon leans so close to the microphone that his lips nearly touch it. “I think you mean, you’re hoping I can tell you.”

Your jaw tenses, and that can’t be good for your teeth, a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so stressed. Unexpectedly, you go with it, shrugging blithely before you say, “Sure.” Your move, is what you really mean.

He grins widely, amused and delighted all at once. “I had my friends do a little digging for me to find a suitable investor for our… money.”

“Uh-huh.” You shift a little, your confidence coming back. “What made you trust this investor?”

He comes to a pause—he hadn’t been expecting that. “What do you mean, counselor?”

You grin just this side of smugly at getting him slightly off kilter. “This investor has no prior portfolio of successes or failures. How could you trust them if you have no background?”

Leon’s chains jingle as he spreads his palms with a shrug. “Investing is risky. And everyone has to start from somewhere, Tesla wasn’t built in a day.”

The jury and gallery murmur before the judge bangs his gavel for silence.

He watches your face harden in annoyance. “A bit of an unnecessary risk, no?”

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” He throws out to see you confused, your head cocking at him as your brows furrow. You stare at him for a good few minutes and he can’t resist leaning in with a slight smirk and asking, “Cat got your tongue?”

The judge reminds him again to behave, if he does that again, he’ll be taken to jail in contempt of court. Oh, but that would be fun, wouldn’t it? It’d be an inconvenience for him, but to see the little look on your face as he’s walked away… he’ll keep that in mind.

You clear your throat and he watches you swallow, throat bobbing. “What made you choose to throw your lot in with a company that didn’t exist before the very month before your earnings increased?” He can practically see you telling him to dig a hole, any hole.

Leon shrugs. “Gut feeling. And my friends had given me good things from them.”

“How come their investments never showed up in their portfolio?” He watches you try to contain your glee. You’re too cute when you’re trying not to look too happy and remain professional, he bets if you won—which you won’t, he’s made sure of that—you’d be skipping down the courthouse steps.

Leon pauses for a long while, eyeing you as he considers all the possible answers—I never asked, why don’t you ask them, it was under the table—before he settles on, “My mistake, counselor, I’ll clarify: I’d meant that my friends had heard good things about them through the grapevine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You say, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ll repeat myself: that company—CAPCOM Industries—doesn’t have a prior portfolio of investments, good or bad. How could they have heard good things if there’s no previous work, if they don’t even exist before the month when your earnings went up?”

The defense objects on the basis of badgering, which the judge overrules.

Damn, you’re good, and foxy in all the ways that can be meant. Which leaves him with one option. He smirks and leans into the microphone, maintaining eye contact for a stilted amount of time. Eventually, he says, “I plead the fifth.”

Oh, beautiful. You couldn’t have given him a better reaction. Your jaw drops open and you stare at him for a long while as he sits back against the witness chair.

He’s cross-examined for a few hours before you’re all adjourned for a two hour long recess.

Cross examinations go on for five more days before closing statements come, this trial having gone on for a month at this time.

Defense goes first, blathering mindlessly about how Leon has a right to spend and earn his money how he chooses, on and on. He tunes it out, more interested in watching you pull your silly looking peacoat off and hang it over the back of the chair, dressed in a cute little button up and slacks set, your hair gathered at the back of your head. How cute, he bets they’d look cuter on his floor. Corny, but he had to use it.

Oh, the DA’s making you give the closing statement. That’s just cruel, you’re just a little creature and should be protected. To him, it just looks like a little girl trying to walk in daddy’s shoes.

You get up and shift around the edge of the prosecution’s table, your notes in hand. Wow, you really fill out those black slacks so well, he’ll have to thank whatever God is out there for building you like that.

He tunes in when you say: “You all have had the chance to hear many things over these past few weeks.” Your hands shake slightly, cue cards creasing at the corners. “That Leon Kennedy is being wrongfully prosecuted, that we have no right to poke into a man’s business and how he makes his money.”

He watches you pace in front of the jury, loafers whispering on the floor. That’s a shame, he likes you in heels, really makes your legs look long.

“You also have heard testimonies about how police have been hindered from doing their very jobs for fear of one bogeyman. You’ve heard testimonies of people he’s sold drugs to in front of NA meetings. On and on.” He watches you turn around and meet his eyes, tongue darting over your lower lip. He swallows when he sees that, stomach flipping. That’s embarrassing, he’s a grown man, he doesn’t get butterflies.

“When you take all that away though, all that remains is one man, this man.” You turn back around and point at him behind you. “No man is above the law, especially not one who terrorizes our city. We must take it back from him. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for your time.”

The judge waves a hand and the bailiff takes Leon out of the courtroom to wait out the verdict in his jail cell. He maintains eye contact with you the entire time he’s dragged out of the courtroom, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

The next day, all parties are brought to court to hear that the jury is deliberating. The next day, the same. The day after that and the day after that are the same. The entire next week, the jury is still sequestered and deliberating.

Until you wake up one day, a pit in your stomach as you dress for court and wade through the paparazzi and news outlets on your way into the courthouse.

All rise as the judge presiding enters, all remaining standing when the jury spokesperson finally answers the judge. “We’re deadlocked, your honor.” She says solemnly, “We’ve been deadlocked for weeks, nobody will budge.”

Your stomach drops all the way down to mingle with your intestines, your knuckles blanching at your side.

The judge sighs and looks down. “Then I’ve no choice but to declare the state of New York versus Leon S. Kennedy a mistrial. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for your time. Case dismissed.” He bangs the gavel with a sense of finality.

Poor baby, you look a little like you have to sit down when you hear that. Leon shakes the hands of his lawyers, smiling like the cat that got the canary before he looks over at you.

Even worse, you can’t retry him with these charges because it’d qualify as double jeopardy. The bailiff contemptuously uncuffs him and he rubs his wrists, watching you stand there with your mouth agape, looking positively destroyed at not being able to put him behind bars. He bets you look just a little like that after being fucked silly.

Jeez, little thing, you don’t need to look so damn sad about it, he’s sure he’ll slip up at some point and you can have your fun with trying to prosecute him and igniting your little cat-and-mouse-game.

He makes a point of waggling his fingers at you as he walks by. “Don’t be so sad, cupcake.” Leon says blithely, sauntering out of the courtroom like he owns the damn place. “Better luck next time.” He calls out, a smug laugh echoing off the marble as he walks away, the doors shutting behind him firmly.

You’re at the DA’s office for the rest of the day, trying to get the files in order for the archives because a lawyer’s office is a little like a church—you never get rid of anything that may be important, no matter how old it may be.

You’re in there for a long while before you go out to the parking garage around two thirty in the afternoon, your car flanked with paps. It takes a while until they let you go, having to lay on the horn until they scramble out of the way and you’re free to go. You’re most of the way home when you notice a black SUV following you. Your hands flex on the wheel as you speed up just a little, taking a right turn to test your suspicions.

They follow.

Could be just a fluke. You take another right turn.

They follow again.

Could be another fluke and really awkward, anybody ever tell you that you’re paranoid? You take a third, then fourth right turn, the SUV following you the entire time.

Okay, so you’re not paranoid, and you’re being followed. You take every almost legal action you can, too caught up in the SUV behind you to note the SUV aiming right for you on your left.

The cars collide and your air bags go off, knocking you unconscious and giving you a bloody nose. Thank God you’re not awake, otherwise, you’d notice that the driver gets out of the car to see how you’re faring before speeding off.

You come to when the paramedics are there and trying to stabilize you, your neck in that stupid looking brace as they ask you questions you already know the answer to, hauling your sorry ass into the ambulance after gathering your bag and hightailing it to the nearest hospital.

You’re given two of morphine as you’re kept alive long enough for them to cart you to the hospital. You’re in and out of it as the EMTs give the hospital the details of you being t-boned, loss of consciousness at the scene, pupils equal and active, and so on and so forth. The doctor asks for your name and you give it a little sluggishly, but correctly. They work on you in a trauma room, x-raying and suturing up the cuts on your face, feeling for any fractures on your nose and eyes and any abdominal discomfort.

When they deem you lucky you weren’t hurt further, you ask if they can take off that ridiculous neck brace—you’ve gotta fight them for it, but they acquiesce because you’re so good at arguing your case. When you’re taken to a hospital room to wait for the cops, you call your secretary and update her on the situation.

Are you okay? No. You rather liked that stupid car.

No, like, physically. Yeah, you somehow only got away with a couple cuts, bruises, a mild concussion, et cetera.

Are you safe? Probably.

Do you need anything? A change of clothes and something greasy in the morning, they want to keep you overnight for monitoring.

I’ll get some flowers for you! And a card! No thanks, that’s not necessary, the pollen makes your ears itch.

The police eventually make their way up and you give your statement, more and more irritated when they see it fit to try and interrogate you when you’re not under arrest, but that’s cops for you.

You have a fitful sleep because those lights are always on and your bedroom is usually kept dark, you like honoring your circadian rhythm. Which is why you’re awake at seven when you receive a call from an unknown number.

“This is the assistant district attorney speaking.” Your voice is a little scratchy from lack of water, you have to turn and clear your throat.

He chuckles on the other end of the line, the sound making you freeze. “Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, counselor?”

You straighten up. “How did you get this number?”

“I have my ways.” Leon replies casually, “How are you feeling?”

“Shitty.” Mild concussion, one major cut and two minor cuts on your face, a minorly broken nose and bruised ribs and sternum, but you’re fine.

He laughs on the other end of the line, warm and… affectionate? “Such language so early in the morning.” He tuts, his sheets rustling as he shifts.

You grind your teeth and count to five before you respond, holding your phone so tight you think you hear the case creak. “You hit me with a car.”

He scoffs, shifting his grip on his phone. “I certainly did not.”

“Then you had your underlings do it.”

He laughs again and you almost want to throw your phone. “You’re sharp.” Indirect confirmation, this entire conversation is inadmissible in court. Motherfucker. “I like you, you know.”

You pause, anger momentarily dissipating. “What?”

“I like you.” You can damn near hear his smile.

You pause for long enough that he wonders if the line went dead. When he checks, his phone still has that timer counting how long you two have been on the phone: edging onto five minutes. He waits for a little longer, eventually starting to feel uncertain when you repeat, “You like me.”

He laughs, just slightly tinged with relief. “Yeah. So? Is that so hard to believe?”

Coming from the man who arranged for you to be in a car accident? Yes, absolutely. “Yes.” You say shortly, eyes wandering around your hospital room. “Absolutely.”

He tuts on the other end of the line, more rustling coming through as he shifts and gets out of bed. You never would’ve taken him for an early riser, you thought he was the sort of guy to laze around until the last possible moment—but then again, you’ve known a lot of drug dealers in your time and not all of them were lazy. Dealing drugs, apparently, requires a lot of hard work, regardless of whether it’s street operations or organized crime like Leon fucking Kennedy makes most of his money. “That’s a shame, I was hoping I could take you out.”

And apparently, he has a fondness for double entendres, you just know he’s holding back a cackle. But even onions have layers.

“Not happening.” You feel immensely satisfied when he pauses this time, holding back a smirk of your own.

“May I ask why not?” He asks eventually, voice carefully level. You get the feeling that he’s never been rejected before.

You pause in turn this time, befuddled as to why he’s even asking why not. There’s many things: he’s evil, you’re on opposite sides of the law, you don’t even like him one bit, it’s a conflict of interest—“You know why.”

“No,” He says firmly, surprising you. Okay, maybe you can see why he became the Don. “I want to hear it in your own words. Why not?”

It’s your turn to pause, staring at your phone as the seconds tick by. “You’re a mob boss. Why would I want to go out with you?”

“Why don’t you?” He presses, voice hardening before he reminds himself that he catches more honeys with fly, rather than vinegar, or whatever the stupid saying is.

You hang up on him and put your phone on do not disturb when he calls you back. You’ve got a caffeine headache and a concussion headache and it’s too fucking early to deal with this bullshit. Your secretary finally gets over here around eight thirty with a change of clothes hanging from her arm and a bag of appropriately greasy food and a coffee for you. She pauses in the doorway when she sees you, brows furrowing in concern. “Jesus. You look like you got hit by a car.”

You frown at her, setting the clothes at your feet when she comes closer, passing you everything you asked for. Food gets eaten and burnt coffee gets drank first, grimacing with every sip. You can’t change yet, still hooked up to all these monitors. A doctor comes in at nine-oh-five sharp, flipping through your chart before he asks the perfunctory questions and declares you safe to go home—gotta love the American medical system. A nurse unhooks you from the monitors and gently drags the IV needle out of your vein, giving you privacy to change.

You’re summarily sent home with a concussion care sheet and strict orders not to return to work for two weeks. You’ll stay home for a week at absolute maximum, but it’s the thought that counts. You and your secretary take her car to your apartment because yours is totaled and you argue with your insurance most of the way there. When you get out, she stops you with a gentle grab of your wrist. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up with you?” She asks, teeth digging into her lower lip.

“I’m a big girl.” You snort, gently removing your wrist from her hold. “You left the key in the right place, right?”

“Yeah…” She says reluctantly, left leg bouncing.

“Okay, then. See you in a week.” You get out of the car the rest of the way and she calls back, “Two weeks!” Before speeding off. You make your way to the apartment building—one of the most secure in the city—and buzz yourself in, walking through the lobby and garnering a few stares as you walk over to the elevator and press the button for your floor. You lean against the wall for support, pressing a hand to your aching head.

You sigh once you’re inside your penthouse, toeing off your shoes and hanging your bag on a hook by the door, trudging to your room and collapsing on your bed. It takes you three days of medical leave for you to become officially restless, you hold out for the next four days before you come in on Monday to your desk covered in Get well soon! Bouquets. You pause and stare at it, then note a giant teddy bear holding a heart that reads: You’re bear-y cute!

No note for the flowers or teddy bear, but you know who they came from.

You have a normal month of work, discarding the bouquets Leon sends every damn day. Just how much money is he throwing away trying to woo you? Eh, just a penny in the bucket; when you were gathering evidence for that RICO case against him, you saw how much he made in a month, easily your yearly salary.

You come home from a long day—your office is litigating another for a miscarriage of justice, you haven’t come home in days—sighing as you hang your coat and bag up, freezing when you hear a gun clicking. “A little cliche, isn’t it?” You move a little slower as you toe off your shoes, kicking them over by the shoe rack. “The click of a gun as a greeting, I mean.”

Leon laughs, then puts the safety back on the gun, setting it on your coffee table. “Why not have a little theatre in your life?” He eyes you as you turn on the lights, revealing you, consummate professional in your adorable looking slacks and button-up shirt. “Anybody ever tell you that you fill those out really nicely?” He says, eyes on your thighs and ass as you walk over to the kitchen.

You grunt in disgust, pulling your hair down from where it was gathered at the top of your head. “How did you get in?” You ask as you fill up a glass with tap water. Really, you’d rather go for a mixed drink or some wine, but you don’t trust him enough to drink in front of him. This is really just the horseshit icing on the bullshit cake, to be honest.

“Pfft.” Leon waves a hand. “Key on top of the door. You should’ve moved it after your assistant came and got you clothes the day you got out of the hospital.” He shifts, long legs crossing. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Better.” You say shortly, keeping space and the counter between you two. “It’s amazing that I wasn’t more hurt.” You walked around with a butterfly bruise across your nose for a while and the DA had to keep you out of court until it cleared up, but you’re fine.

He smirks, pink mouth pulling up and to the side. “Yes, quite a miraculous thing.” He sighs and gets up, buttoning his suit. Is that what he thinks real people dress like? Jesus.

“I find that I rather like you alive, not dead.” He says conversationally, looking over at you and really taking the chance to drink you in, brows twitching together when he sees how tired you look.

That’s not how you’re supposed to look, you’re supposed to look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and all excited. “You look tired, bunny.” He tells you, leaning against the table.

You stare at him for a while, head cocked to the side. “Work.”

“Ah.” He kisses his teeth, eyeing you up and down shamelessly. “There are easier ways to make money, sweetheart.”

“I love my job.”

He laughs, soft and deep. You shift a little from foot to foot, nails tapping against the counter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, babydoll.” He waves a hand and watches you bristle, shoulders stiffening and drawing up. “You can’t offer a guest a drink? I’m parched.”

You frown at him. “Guests are invited in. You broke in.”

He leans over and swipes the half full cup from you and turns it so his mouth can touch the imprint of lipstick you left behind. “No sign of forced entry.”

You’re a little too shocked to say or do anything. “Because you used the key.” You watch his throat bob with a swallow.

“Tomato, tomato.” He sets the cup down and gives you a debonair smile. “Anyway, counselor, I thought it’d been a while since we talked.”

You stare at him for a while. “And you can’t get yourself arrested instead?”

He laughs a little louder and your hands fist on the countertop. He strolls to your door and opens it up. “Where’s the fun in that? Get some sleep, counselor.” He calls out, door shutting behind him and rattling the pictures on the walls.

You wouldn’t think it after seeing him on the witness stand, but he’s got a dramatic streak the size of you.

Leon smirks when he sees you walk over to the holding cells, an unexpectedly stern look on your face. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, cutie.” He drawls, head cocking as he looks you up and down, eyebrows raising.

“So you took my advice about getting yourself arrested.” You fold your arms and lean against the wall.

He gives a dashing—and a little smug—smile, eyes flicking up from where they ogle your chest. “And you can prosecute me again, I love watching you work.” He stands up from the bench, wandering over to the bars. He leans forward, hands wrapping around two as his head cocks, still grinning like a fat cat who got the canary.

You don’t move from where you’re leaned against the wall. “You’d be wasting the court’s time over a speeding ticket. The DA doesn’t take those cases.”

“Ah, not a speeding ticket, beautiful.” He uses pet names so easily. He leans in as if to tell a secret—you lean in too, straightening up slightly. “What if I’d said I turned myself in?”

Your stomach drops. “I’d say that you’re a liar.”

“Ouch, counselor.” His smirk remains on his face. “I’m many things, including a bogeyman, but I don’t lie.”

Your face warms. He really remembers your closing statement? You’ve had two cases every month since then. “Legally, financial fraud counts as lying. False advertisement, for another.”

He scoffs, blue eyes rolling before he shakes his head at you. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

You were just joking, but telling him that takes all the fun out of it. “Why turn yourself in?”

“Easy, counselor.” His—clean, warm, smooth—hands flex around the bars. “I’m not on the stand yet.”

“I’m not examining you.”

His dimples show, eyebrows jumping up as he stares at you like you put the stars in the sky. “Touché.”

You can’t prosecute him anyway because of a legal hiccup; somehow, you think he meant for that to happen, to walk into the police station, knowingly not be read his rights and to confess anyway, thus violating his third or fourth amendment, that parts not your deal, it’s the stupid cowboy cop’s fault.

You’re there, trying to do a good impression of disappointment as the judge informs everyone that the case is dropped, yet again putting these charges—and all he admitted to—inadmissible under, yet again, double jeopardy.

Leon, for his part, looks pleasantly surprised, then a little quizzical as his cuffs are unlocked and he’s set free. He catches you by the arm after lurking by the door for you to come out, dragging you to an alcove. “I was read my rights.” He tells you, blond brows furrowed as he boxes you in.

“Were you?” You ask innocently, head cocking like a confused puppy—Leon almost wants to kiss you for it. “It wasn’t on the recording of the procedures.”

He stares at you; you watch him with interest as the cogs turn behind his eyes. Understanding clicks in place and you pat his chest twice.

“I’ll see you next time, cupcake.” You tell him, close to skipping away, you’re so giddy. He watches your hips sway as you walk away, lower lip between his teeth before a smirk crawls across his face. He walks away whistling, scuffing his dress shoes on the floor.

[fuck-customers]

Being a secretary is maddening. I spend all day hounding clients to send me their documents. The bulk of the actual work I do takes so much less time than getting nepo baby businessmen to do the bare minimum. All day I’m spam calling guys who make more money in one month than I’ll ever have in my bank account—telling them they need to spend 5 minutes at a computer to make it possible for their time sensitive task to get done. Just send me the files. Send me the files that your secretary prepared for me in a folder labeled “Send to anon at email dot com” -literally everything gets spoonfed to them and it still takes weeks- and the spot shit gets stuck on is always the execs wanting to “check” their employee’s work before sending it out… except they can’t even be assed to read the damn documents that are, I cannot stress this enough, critical for the continuation of their company that theyre so proud of. So it sits on their desk for two weeks while I bother their whole office, until they finally just send it, unread, with “DRAFT - DELETE BEFORE SENDING” in the header and a blank signature line on the bottom. Thankfully the job benefits include mental health coverage, because there is an intense concoction of prescription pharmaceuticals behind my customer service persona that makes it impenetrable. Otherwise i would genuinely flip my cubicle.

Posted by admin Rodney

[d8tl55c]

scene of programmer021 throwing together the code for the first TCOs: "what if i just give them 100% in all stats lmao."

releases one into a sandbox*

sandbox bricked irretrievably within 3 minutes

ho-ly shit.

..... that's hilarious.

they try like ten more times, each with the same outcome. the little worm is good at what it does, scary good, and programmer is grateful that they went the extra mile with the sandbox layer of protection from it.

at a safe distance, the TCOs are brilliant sparring partners.

*(basically a mini computer running inside of (but held separately from) another computer) (used to test new features without risking a whole system)

it looks at them.

on the twelfth go, they've learned enough of its tricks to have more of a chance. both of them take a moment after a long scuffle to catch their breaths. the stick figure gasps on the floor - it's amazing! so lifelike! and programmer is celebrating this little victory for the field of recreational AI right up until

TCO #12 turns its hollow face out through the screen, looking at them.

programmer is unsettled.

can it see them?

their webcam is off.

surely it's impossible?

right?

and yet, it seems to see them regardless, because not only does it react to their reaction (little twitches eerily realistic, how did their program know to do those things), it capitalizes on their shock. it springs to its feet while they're still open-mouthed and reaches the walls of the sandbox window (which programmer had been herding them away from at all costs), crashing against the side, rebounding, and hitting them again and again.

programmer flails to reconnect to their Cursor (you know when you forget where it is and have to wave it around before you can use it again? like that, but with even more panic, confusion, and imminent peril).

there are cracks in a multitude of funny colors forming at the edge of the sandbox instance. pieces of the window dent out of its normal bounding box. The Chosen One adapts instantly, focusing its hits toward the weak points.

WTF! this has gone way too far.

programmer's Cursor swoops around from out of nowhere and catches the TCO by the base of its head. it tries to breathe fire and only manages strangled puffs of smoke. its legs kick the air. where once it was so elegant and poised it twists and writhes-

programmer drops it.

they feel cold.

their Cursor retreats outside the walls of the sandbox PC, clicking into the main system's File Explorer. already open is the folder with this sandbox, its partition of storage, and setup files inside.

they click it. press Delete on their keyboard.

the TCO tries to stand. it pushes through a dizzy spell, one hand holding the spot under its head that must be its neck, and sprints toward the breach it was working on.

a confirmation pane appears, from the process responsible for running the sandbox.

its arms are strong, but the more TCO_12 struggles the more it's clear that this wall would need way more firepower and concerted effort... and time... to break. it's out of time. it realizes this.

are you sure you want to end this process? ALL data will be lost.

programmer sees when it loses hope, because it abandons the wall. it abandons the whole game: the pride and dignity it fought with, the play-pretend that it held any real power here. it turns outward again, toward the screen. small hands slam against the barrier between them, knock-knocking faster, faster, please please please, its legs shake and give out but it keeps knocking, on its knees, please please please please PLEASE

the sandbox is deleted.

the window that displayed it freezes, lighting up too-bright and desaturated.

a snapshot of the TCO is frozen in place, begging for...

begging for what? it was never meant to know anything. to want anything. how did it know there was anything outside its reality to want?

or was it simply afraid to die?

Windows catches up, and sweeps the frozen program away.

programmer021 is left alone with the spot where TCO_12 used to be.

their friends want to play with their latest stick figures. they were supposed to update today.

programmer numbly uploads the most recent release build they have. killer and BEAST were fun to work on. they'll warn everyone not to touch TCO until.... until programmer works out how to... until ever, and if one of them does, it'll be their own fault.

[ontheshroom]

Let’s talk business.

Ceo!Jack Harlow x fem!reader

Smut, contains female receiving oral.

Exclaimer: I don’t know shit about businesses.

Synopsis: Jack has a hard time dealing with an ex business partner and needs you as a stress reliever.

******************************

“I’m not interested in that offer.” Jack shakes his head.

“We can only go up 5%!” The man argues.

“Your numbers tripled with the state of this economy, then they fell, and now they’re back up. You’re telling me the best offer for your business’ security is 5%?” Jack asks, ready to drop the whole business ordeal. He’s sure his lawyer made enough loopholes to spin anyone’s head who tried to fight off the drop.

“L-look. We could do 15%, but that’s it.” The man argues.

“How did you go from the highest being 5 to 15? I don’t want to play games with you.” Jack sighs, leaning over his desk dominantly.

You walk into the office wearing your usual skirt and blouse outfit. You walk up to Jack’s desk, feeling eyes burning into the back of you.

“Do you like what you see?” Jack asks as you grab a stack of papers off of his desk.

You look up thinking he’s talking to you, but notice he’s only staring at the man.

The man utters indecipherable words.

“This is y/n, she’s my assistant,” Jack says, pulling your arm so you’re standing next to him.

“Y/n, Gary here shot me an offer for an increase of 5% of his business, now please remind me, baby. Do we do anything less than 35% at the lowest?” He asks you.

“No, sir.” You shake your head.

“Now, y/n here is smart. I mean smarter than every incompetent person you have working for you.” Jack says, looking at the man.

He hands you a folder, that contains the latest business details of the man, Gary, in front of you.

“It looks like your business alone had made more than 8 million in six months since your business decline. I don’t see what else you’d be doing besides investing money at 50% considering you’d be able to double it in a year?” You ask him.

“You wanna know why, doll? Cause he’s trying to lowball me.” Jack says, lighting a cigar.

“I think it’s best we cut all ties. When your business fails, which it will. It will fall so hard to the ground It’ll send an earthquake to all of your competitors who will be making more money than your in debt ass to come to invest in Harlow Enterprise.” Jack says, closing the folder and handing it back to the man.

“You can’t back out yet! I’ll sue you.” The man argues.

“So do it. Just know when I fight back, I’ll take everything and 100% of your business.” Jack says, shooing the man out of his office.

“That was a lot of circle running,” Jack says to you, rubbing his hands down his face.

“Want me to make it better?” You ask with a smile.

“Yes.”

You begin to drop to your knees but are stopped by Jack’s hand grabbing your arm.

“I want you laying on my desk with your legs spread.” He says.

“I th-“

“Don’t argue with me Mrs. y/l/n.”

You nod and sit down on his desk with your legs spread, your cunt already glistening. You haven’t worn underwear to the office since you started seeing Jack. There would be no real purpose to them besides them getting in the way.

Jack hums in approval before licking a strip up your cunt. Swirling his tongue perfectly in your entrance before trailing up to your clit. His tongue flicks up and down as he sucks, making it impossible for you to hide your whines of pleasure.

Two of his fingers slip into you and curl hitting your g-spot.

“God, Jack.” You throw your head back.

His pace quickens as he sucks harsher, sending your head above the clouds. You squirm under his hold as you feel yourself reaching the cusp of your orgasm. Your gut tightens as you cum, squeezing his head with your thighs. A loud moan of his name leaves your lips.

“Much better.” He says, pulling back with glossy lips.

You nod in agreement, leaning down and kissing him.

[iraprince]

hi ira! im p sure i remember u regulary scan ur traditional stuff n also times where u said u didnt do it for a while or smthg. do u have any tip on where tf to start w a big backlog...i didnt have acess to a good scanner or camera for a long time and now i do but i have so much shit i wanna scan in (both sketchbooks n loose papers) i have no idea where and how to start :')

[wheezing softly] yeah "regularly" is the goal, but hitting big backlogs every few weeks is more accurate to reality lmfao. but that means i have a lot of little things i've folded into my workflow to make it more doable!

that being said, i'm sure what works best will vary person to person, but the core rule that works best for me is: scan the backlog in batches, but digitally clean/edit/organize each batch in one sitting. picking up in the middle of where you left off in a physical stack is easy; picking up where you left off in a bunch of nebulous digital files is a fucking nightmare.

what i mean by that is, like, let's say i have a stack of 60 sheets of paper to scan in. maybe i don't have the time/energy/attention span to scan all 60; i start running out of steam at page 20 or something. in that case, that's fine, set the rest of the pages aside; but if i sit down to start cleaning/editing that folder of 20 scans, i should do them ALL NOW. if i don't think i can clean them all tonight, i'm going to wait and start tomorrow.

the reason i'm adamant about that is like, say i get through cleaning scans 1-6 out of 20, then i want to pick them up tomorrow.... frankly unless i remember to write myself a note (and i probably won't) i'm going to forget which one i was on. it's a pain to open a bunch of the scans trying to remember which one i did, i lose the "flow" that you can kind of get into when doing tedious stuff like this, etc... these are all tiny problems that i know ppl can come up w a million simple solutions for but the fact of the matter is for a task that is already kind of overwhelming + tedious that i'm already dreading, ANY AND ALL sources of friction are going to make it more likely that i'm just going to keep putting it off, and then it just Won't Get Done.

basically, discover anything that potentially throws you off or makes you lose your spot or just makes the whole thing more of a pain in the ass (i can't remember where i saved everything, the papers are disorganized and i can't remember what i've already scanned, etc) and ELIMINATE IT (throw everything into sub-folders of one big folder called "SCANS" even if it's ugly, gather ALL the stuff u need to scan into big piles in one place even if it's ugly and then move them elsewhere when scanned, etc). it's tempting to want to be like "i will get all my shit perfectly color-coded studyblr organized first and THEN i'll do my scans" but realistically that just means you're never ever going to do it. shit does not need to be organized. shit needs to be EASY!!!!!!

now some technical stuff, which is again super personalized to what works for me but maybe it'll give ideas!

i use a free scanning software called NAPS2 and it's a godsend. there's a batch scan setting where u can tell it how many pages u have to scan, then set how many seconds it waits between each scan (i.e. 10 seconds, just enough to take each finished page off and swap in the next one/flip to the next page of ur sketchbook) and then it'll just automatically keep scanning/waiting 10 secs for the next one/scanning until the stack is done, WITHOUT having to click "scan" every time. ymmv but for me this is really nice bc my scanner is on the opposite side of the room from my computer lmao (walking back and forth to hit "scan" every time is a friction point. ELIMINATE.)

NAPS2 also makes batch-saving things really easy with placeholders! for example, let's say i have 120 pages to scan and i want to save them to a folder. instead of having to save and name each one individually as i go (friction point. ELIMINATE.), when i'm done scanning i can batch save and name them "april 7 scan $(nnn)" and the program will automatically name each one "april 7 scan 001.png," "april 7 scan 002.png," etc etc all the way up to "april 7 scan 120.png." it saves me an incredible amount of time. (you can also do placeholders for current date/year/etc if that's useful to you, but i already tend to manually sort my files into monthly folders so the placeholder numbering is the only thing i've used personally.)

if you have one of those "all-in-one" home office printers that has a top-loading feeder you can use for stacks of loose pages instead of putting them directly on the scanner glass, that can also be a good way to get a high volume done without having to open and close the scanner/place each individual page on the glass/hit scan every time etc; but i would only advise that for casual scans where the quality/alignment doesn't matter much, bc there's a higher risk of jamming/wrinkling and sometimes a lot of the scans come out a bit crooked that way.

when you're digitally cleaning (this is clip studio specific but i'm assuming a lot of software operates similarly): once i've done whatever correction/adjustment layers i need to crisp up my scans, usually a tone curve + saturation adjustment in my case, i hold off on merging the adjustments down right away!!! you can copy those adjustment layers and then paste them on top of all the other scans you have to edit. i.e. copy the tone curve layer from scan 1.png, switch tabs into scan 2.png, ctrl+v. scan 3, ctrl+v. scan 4, ctrl+v. rinse and repeat and now look, you basically only had to do the tone curve once and then you can get the rest of the batch 90% done with one keyboard shortcut each. depending on each image you'll probably have to tweak them for them to look their best, but it's still way faster than navigating the menus and redoing your tone curve/level adjustments/etc from scratch every time (friction point. ELIMINATE.), especially if you're trying to fight your way through dozens of files.

uhhhh what else. well here's just a quick flowchart of my scan process in case it helps visualize! my philosophy is for everything to be in service of the end goal (get scans organized into patreon sketchbook compilations/set aside for later refinement/ready to upload, then i'm probably never going to look at them much again); i organize just enough to make that EASY, but i don't bother with any form of organization that i won't need to reference later. again, more steps just = more reasons the shit is not going to get done. ELIMINATE. STREAMLINE. WIN

(there's also a folder by year but i forgot to stick that in and also who cares. i hope this makes, like, any sense at all)

[carmenized-onions]

Can you do like a quick lil summary of chapt 10 because I’m so fucking lost honestly. It’s not your fault I’m just lowkey so stupid😌. Honestly I love your writing style and this whole fucking fic❤️

Oh my sweet summer child, you are not stupid, you've gotten ten chapters in babe you're doin' just fine

I considered it, but I shan't do a summary because I know myself and I know that whatever summary I try to do will end up way too emotionally charged in some spots and make it very clear what i'm being slick about, but i will clarify a few things--

Things Carmy thinks = does not actually mean that shit happened LMAO, bro is an UNRELIABLE narrator. Do not trust his spirals as being anything more than a spiral.

People theorizing abt ICE Chip's = I honestly, was not expecting anyone to start getting it LMAO. i think you need to know some very specific things from like, being alive, to have an idea of that it might mean. So you're not behind or anything! There's bits and pieces of the story that YOU'RE not all caught up on, but the Characters are, so i get why that might be confusin', but i promise it'll get clearer with more chapters as more things are actually revealed. Carmen's got no actual idea what that folder meant, and neither do you!! That's the point, baby, you're good

And if those aren't the things you're feelin' confused about, baby it'll be a week or so I think before the next one drops, you've got time to re-read and chew down on whatever hock I've written, you're smart !!!!

and also thank you! i'm so glad you've enjoyed so far, however confusing it might be, lmao

[hxneyfarm]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand for the bit pls and thanks!!!

hi babe <33 instead of posting multiple parts across different asks, i'm using your request to post the whole snippet, and tagging the others who've requested for the bit so they see it too: @patchworkgargoyle, @inairbinad, @kkpwnall, and @starryeyedjanai

(yes, i plagiarized this idea from you - hope you don't mind xo)

thank you this one is so so so much fun to work on <33

“I can’t believe I’m entertaining this conversation right now.” “So don’t! You asked, Steve! Don’t you have someplace to be anyway? Plans to finalize?” “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be back later.” “Love you, dingus, don’t stare at his lips too much!” “Go fuck yourself, Buckley!” Steve calls as he makes his way to the door.  Eddie’s not at the bar when Steve walks in. There’s a woman with sharp eyes and big, curly hair in his place. Her dark skin looks nearly blue in the low light of The Crawl. She’s shaking a cocktail shaker when she spots him, her lean arms bare save for the silver bangles on her wrists.  “What’s your poison, handsome?” she asks him as she strains the cocktail into a tall glass without looking. “I’m looking for Eddie?” he says. “He asked me to meet him here.” “You’re Steve?” she asks in disbelief, her eyes dragging over him. “Uh, yeah?” “Come on back, Steve.” She swings the little waist-height door at the far end of the bar open for him and points toward a door at the other end. “Through that door, straight back. Eddie’s office is on the left, labeled Go Away. Just knock before you go in there, he’s doing payroll. I’m Lindsay, it’s nice to finally meet you.” “Finally?” Steve asks with a smile. “Eddie mention me often?” “Just that you’re the most recent thorn in his side,” Lindsay tells him, grinning, and then waves him off. Steve’s not sure what he expected the back end of The Crawl to look like, but the meticulous organization he finds definitely wasn’t it. Everything is stacked and labeled and in its rightful place. There’s a chart on the freezer door with dates things need to be rotated and swapped out. There’s barely a speck of dust to be found.  Eddie’s office door has a big red sign on it with black block letters that read GO AWAY, and Steve knocks.  “It’s Steve.” “Come in,” Eddie says, and Steve does. This is more what Steve had expected; the office is barely controlled chaos. Eddie’s got a dual monitor setup like the one Steve uses at work. The desk is old and heavy, likely an antique, and the one spot on it that’s not littered with papers and folders and computer equipment boasts an overflowing ashtray and several rings of water damage from years and years of glasses without coasters.  Eddie taps the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray and Steve watches the ash tumble onto the desk. “Should you be smoking in here?” “What are you, the fucking cops? Sit down, we’ve got shit to talk about.”

[daintyduck99]

mumbling unintelligibly into the embrace for the Stranger Things pairing of your choice =D

Read it on AO3 here

The gym might be Robin’s least favorite spot in the entire school.

The whole place is too damn loud in ways she can’t control, a cacophony that sets her teeth on edge. It’s got a fusty odor. Obnoxious couples giggle and flirt and smoke and get frisky under the bleachers, as if fulfilling a cliche in this disgusting place is actually worth bragging about.

Worst of all, she’s a weird runner, and Coach, a terrifying, androgynous entity that everyone, out of either fear or respect, simply calls Coach, shows her and her spindly limbs no mercy. Yes, she probably should be good at sports with her height. No, she’s not that coordinated. At all.

She shouldn’t even be in what’s possibly the armpit of Hawkins High (though the freshman hallway is a serious contender), but Vickie forgot her flip folder in the stands after last night’s game, and Robin has a free period before band and a weakness for polite, pretty girls.

Speaking of which, the girl’s volleyball team has command of the court.

Shit shit shit

Robin does her best to avert her eyes and powerwalk past in a totally normal, not weird way, heart hammering in her throat. Honestly, it’s a lot like walking by the women’s underwear section of that huge department store in Indianapolis, something totally mundane that shouldn’t make her feel strange, and yet.

A strong voice abruptly cuts through the cacophony, clear and urgent as a flute.

“Look out!”

Double shit fuck shit

Her aforementioned spindly and uncoordinated limbs do her no favors.

BAM.

A low groan meets her ears as her soul reunites with her body on the gritty gym floor. The sound stops once she realizes it’s coming from her mouth. Her head throbs. Pity she can’t shut that one off, though she usually doesn’t succeed with her mouth, either. Meager point, Robin.

“Oh my god.”

That’s Flute Girl. Robin’s eyes flutter, catching a flash of startling blue. Slender hands slide around her ragdoll body and lift her gently, pillowing her head someplace soft and warm and sweet smelling, almost like vanilla but more flowery. Not floury, but like, flowery. She likes it.

Flute Girl lets out a perfect, tinkling laugh. Her fingers comb through Robin’s hair, probing gently.

“Thank you? It’s supposed to smell like orchids, if it’s my body wash you’re wondering about.”

Shit shit shit!

Robin lurches up and nearly butts heads with Nancy fucking Wheeler, one of the prissiest, most intimidating girls in the entire school. She's intimidating on the court (not that Robin makes a point of noticing) and in class (supposedly), but also in terms of looks, especially now that Robin’s seeing her up close.

From her lap.

Where Nancy must have put her.

She must’ve gotten hit so hard that it transported her to an alternate dimension.

She scrambles away as best she can with stupidly long limbs and a potential concussion, which goes about as well as her attempt to dodge the ball. Nancy steadies her by grasping her shoulders, still kneeling on the dirty gym floor like Robin’s worth wallowing there.

Her face, already so severe without her hair loose to soften its sharp angles, creases with concern. She’s intense, and her blue eyes burn into Robin’s, maybe-concussion or not.

“I need to get you to the nurse.”

“No, no, my dignity might have died but I’m sure it’s fine.”

She swallows as Nancy’s eyebrows fly toward her hairline. She stays silent, and Robin’s unable to stop her mouth.

Yet again.

“How much of that did I say out loud, though? Actually, forget it, I don’t want to know, R.I.P. Robin Buckley’s pride.”

Nancy’s eyes rove her face appraisingly. A small smile plays around her mouth.

“You took that spike head-on. In a weird way, it was actually sort of impressive.”

“Remind me to put it on my resume, then,” Robin says wryly, and Nancy doesn’t laugh, but she exhales sharply through her nose like she wants to, and her eyes shine. It loosens something in Robin, leaving her light-headed and floaty.

Maybe Nancy isn't such a priss. Maybe the gym isn't the worst place in the world.

Maybe that's the quite-probably-a-concussion talking.

Whatever it is, it's awfully optimistic.

[reikunrei]

Hiii

questions 2 and 3 of any Free! pairing olus makorin 🤭

oohohohooo yes!!! thank you thank you!

2. Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?

makorin:

I think that, for the most part, both makoto and rin are relatively neat and tidy. rin being tidy is something we’ve had canonically confirmed, and he has that sort of vibe about him, especially for stuff like clothes, the kitchen, and the bathroom. makoto also seems like a relatively tidy person, but only because he used to be more of a mess as a kid. and not even like stuff everywhere, food left out, dirty laundry everywhere, etc. it’s more like things getting put in the wrong place, leaving something out to be noticed later but growing around its presence instead, and a big one for him would be buying food and then forgetting it’s in the fridge because he can’t see it and then his poor batch of apples have gone rotten.

when he’s especially stressed, it leads to piles of stuff stacking up, which, of course, makes him even more stressed and suddenly it’s “oh no I need to find this important paperwork but I have 7 different stacks it could be in!” and now there’s paper everywhere as he tries to search for it and he’s near tears about it.

in the end, I could see rin buying him sticky tabs and label makers and folders and shelves to keep everything organized. sometimes things still get misplaced, but rin would take it upon himself to just casually pick up something out of place and go “yo, makoto, where does this live?” and makoto always finds the right spot for it. his favorite thing is the little blank magnets rin bought for them to doodle their produce on to indicate when something’s in the fridge so they use it before it goes bad.

and for my second pairing let’s dooooo hmmm momotori!!

now, hear me out, I know people would want to say that chaotic momo would be the one who’s the mess, and while he’s not necessarily neat and tidy, ai is the one who’s a total mess. similar to when we had it confirmed that rin is very neat, it was confirmed that ai is not a neat person. he tries to be! but as the week goes on, more and more stuff stacks up. the weekends are his time to clean up, but it gets awful before then. he also definitely tries to justify it with “it’s an organized chaos!” which is more or less true, but also… not. like if he’s searching for something on his own, he can find it pretty easily and without stress. if someone else asks for something specific from his tower of shit? the room will be a mess before he finds what they’re asking for, and he’ll be an apologetic nervous wreck about it the whole time. he definitely needs someone to kick him into gear in order to get things cleaned up, and for him to stay on top of it. and he definitely needs someone to say to him “no I promise you can throw this instruction pamphlet out, we don’t even have this device anymore.”

sadly I do not think momo is entirely that person, but! momo makes cleaning fun! he might gripe about it if he’s asked to do it, but when he’s the one suggesting it, he ends up going on a tear and makes the whole place spotless. he’s probably messier by way of like. food. not to any gross levels, but he’s left out a few too many dirty plates before and got way too excited about the cockroaches that ai was trying to scold him for. he’s also definitely neat about his interests, like stag beetles and other insects!! any jars and terrariums he has are super well kept and don’t have any buildup of grime, and all their food and supplies are super organized so he can treat them with the best care possible! that especially makes ai happy, because while he doesn’t dislike pyunski, he definitely does not want loose critters climbing all over the place.

3. Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown?

makorin:

this is kind of a tricky one! because I can totally see makoto taking initiative and working it out, but also, god bless him, he’s kind of a moron. like, he could fix it, but it would take him 10x longer than rin bc he’s looking at the manual 17 times and can’t tell what’s what and keeps second guessing himself and getting scared because “what if I make it worse! what if I make the car explode” and rin sighs and says “you’re not gonna make it explode, makoto.” I think rin being basically on his own in australia at a young age made it easy for him to take charge and fend for himself, so he knows how to wing it and figure things out as he goes along.

honestly, I’m very tickled by the idea of makoto being unable to do the easy stuff like change a tire or refilling the wiper fluid etc. like it’s meant to be easy so he psychs himself out about it! however, if it’s something trickier than that, as soon as he gets over the immediate panic of the car breaking down, he can sit there and work out some fairly complex stuff, at least enough to get it going until they get to a mechanic. rin, on the other hand, I think handles the simple stuff like a pro. changes tires super fast, changes the oil frequently, is always ready to jumpstart a battery, but if it’s even slightly more complicated than your average mishap, he gets that deep furrow between his eyebrows and starts grumbling as he reads the manual and curses and gets all pissed off and frustrated. that’s when makoto’s “I need to take care of you” instincts kick in and his nerves completely dissipate as he helps rin through it step by step, leaving rin gaping at him like “he can’t even change a tire how did he figure this out.”

and let’s just do momotori again bc they’re cute!!!

I honestly think that, on their own, the both of them would be hopeless. ai is too much of a worrywart and momo would get distracted and be like “wait what’s this!?” and ai has to slap his hands away like “no don’t touch it we’ll never figure out how to put the pieces back together!!” like, maybe momo would try to brute force things, and think he totally fixed it, but in a way that’s like “you got the right answer but the process was completely wrong” so they still have to take it in to the mechanic to do it properly or else it’s going to be even worse later. ai would probably be fine for simple things, but he even struggles with changing a tire, so he usually just calls for a tow lol.

in the end, if they do like a cross-country road trip (by momo’s insistence) and if they broke down, I could see momo being stubborn and insistent on figuring it out on his own, like a fun crazy puzzle, and ai humors him while the tow company is on speed dial on his phone, and they end up stuck on the side of the road for hours but at this point ai is in too deep and he has to let momo see this through to the end, because he thinks he might actually do it! and he does! and momo scoops ai up and swings him around and they yell and cheer and get funny looks from the few other drivers that whizz by but ai is proud of momo and neither of them care about the looks!!

[sindumpster]

Hey Wiggs idk if you have any experience in storywriting but i really wanna introduce my own characters to the world but have no clue how. I can't draw to save my life and i'm too insecure about my writings i always delete the drafts. H e l p

STOP DELETING YOUR DRAFTS!!

Like I mean this in the kindest way, but how are you going to share anything you make if you delete it? Especially drafts, because the whole point of a draft is to serve as a stepping stone. How are you going to improve upon a story you no longer have? At the very least, make yourself a hidden folder and save it to that so you can pretend it doesn’t exist without actually deleting it. Or make a burner email or private account somewhere you won’t check often and copy-paste your drafts to it. There’s a butt ton of ways, but I recommend picking one until you’re comfy letting your drafts stay.

Cuz yeh I do have a bit of experience as a writer. I consider myself more of a visual arts person, but I do write a lot, both for college and for myself (and RPs with friends, which is also a practice option). And I started with writing stories years before I pursued art. Neither of which I was particularly good at when I started out. I’m not a savant-type lol, I had to practice and keep working at it. It’s like learning to play an instrument—nobody expects you play Bach the first time you pick up a violin, but if you stick with it, you can learn how to play Bach.

But you’re also gonna be your own worst critic, and you’ll also have to learn how to fight the gremlin in your brain that says you suck. Like if you think I’m a good artist/writer/whatever, know that I still have that voice that tells me I suck, and that I can’t draw or write for shit. There’s artists and writers out there that make me look like a baby by comparison, and they have to fight that gremlin too, because you can always do something better. There is no point at which you can no longer improve. But that’s also kinda cool because it means there’s no limit to what you can make, and no cap to how good you can get if you stick with it. As a creative, it’s both a blessing and a curse, but it takes time to appreciate the blessing side of it.

…weird ramble aside tho, I think you should also lower your expectations when it comes to drafts. Like I mentioned before, drafts are stepping stones. Sometimes my drafts are incoherent word vomit where I just throw up sentences and words as they come to me, or lists of things I want to have in a story. Drafts will never be perfect, and may not even be good, because they’re for sorting out your ideas and trying things. The point is to fuck around and find out. Give yourself permission fuck around. Maybe it’ll go somewhere, maybe it won’t. If you stick with it though, you’ll eventually start revising and honing it down, and it’ll sound more like complete story. Trust the process and give yourself permission to make mistakes. And if your end goal is to post it, figure out how to get it to a point where you’re okay putting it out in the wild. But ultimately, let yourself enjoy the process of creating, even if you think it’s flawed. Perfection is an illusion, so fuck perfection, and have fun instead.

Another thing I’ve found is that sometimes you just need to let a project sit (writing and drawings). I usually let art age a few days where I don’t do anything, and I don’t post it. It lets me come back to it with fresh eyes so I can spot anything I want to fix. But also I’ll dislike it less. Sometimes you just hate something because you’ve been staring at it for too many hours/days/weeks, and need to NOT look at it. Writing especially, sometimes I just need to walk away from a draft for a while, so that instead of being like “THIS IS ALL GARBAGE >:[” I can instead be like “I like the idea, and that last line is 👌, but this dialogue feels a little stale”.

Also if it helps, I’ve rewritten this ask 4 times now. I’ve been drafting, if you will I’mnotsorrylmao. And I’m certain there’s a better, more concise way to say what I want. But if I fixate on that, I’m never gonna post an answer to this ask, am I? And that would suck so much worse that this imperfect response lol.

PS: I know writing and drawing are super complicated and nuanced, along with all the feelings related to them, and there’s a ton I didn’t even touch on cuz otherwise I’d never finish writing this. But if you need any pointers or more specific help on how to start, feel free to ask or reach out.

[ohwhoopsok]

I posted 1,250 times in 2022

That's 524 more posts than 2021!

18 posts created (1%)

1,232 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@multiplelizards

@digitalmeowmix

@silver9mm

@contemplativepancakes

@zmediaoutlet

I tagged 295 of my posts in 2022

#wincest - 13 posts

#fic recs - 8 posts

#the witcher - 6 posts

#whoops' whining - 6 posts

#whoops' words - 6 posts

#boost! - 5 posts

#my writing - 5 posts

#op your mind... - 3 posts

#^^^ - 3 posts

#tag game - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#….i mean sam did get to be the car for a little while like there was one brief shining moment where he was everything dean loved at once

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

🦚 geraskier fic rec 🐺

Better Than The Memory by objectlesson (E)

Warnings:

Squick and possible consent issues re: clothing?? Idk.

Author’s Summary:

Sure, Geralt was muscley and had beautiful, shapely, irritatingly symmetrical lips and an ass shaped by the hands of the gods themselves but—those features alone have never been enough to do it for Jaskier. He’s not a ruffian. He needs a little more than natural strength, he needs effort. It shouldn’t matter that Geralt is gifted in certain areas because he bathes once a week maybe if they’re lucky and lives in his armor and kisses his horse on the mouth and is otherwise a truly disgusting human. Or not human. A truly disgusting witcher.

So it’s absurd and quite shocking, really, when Jaskier starts to get hard every time he can smell Geralt of Rivia’s sweat.

Whoops’ words:

So. I’m working on a fic that involves some sweat/pit/stink kink, right? And I thought to myself hmm lets see what that ao3 tag is like, real casual, just out of curiosity...... 👀💦 Listen to me, listen-- I wasn’t even remotely prepared for this?? This shit is so hot, I’m embarrassed in my office by myself.

Jaskier’s just so fucking desperately turned on the whole way through and disgusted by how horned up he is about Geralt being fucking gross and well fuck me dude I guess I feel that on a newly awoken personal level?

And of course Geralt can smell that. I love fics where Geralt knows what’s up all along and just doesn’t say anything until the climax, no pun intended. And woof what a climax it is, because besides being so ungodly hot, there’s a few emotional lines that made me just--get up and walk in a circle for a second.

This fic is like 2 years old and I’m not sure she even writes for the witcher anymore, but boy howdy if you’re into raunch, give this a look. ⭐

4 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#4

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Hey! @resident-lambert-hoe tagged me! How dare you call me out like this in my own home!!

Just kidding, sure, let’s play! 💕 For my own sake, only going to count the ones that are actually in some way “in-progress”, as in I have opened them recently and still tend to them, because… I got folders full of bunnies and wildflowers I’m letting grow wild until I figure out if they need to be cleaned up and presented to the world wild web. 😅

…This was almost embarrassing to type out lmfao, the Fandom Trumps Hate fics get such nice, organized titles and then just jdfiasdlfasj BUT I only count 15 truly in progress WIPS. Plus another FTH fic once I get the prompt that will take spot #3, but I digress...

In order of most recent edits!! (with ships in parentheses)

1.      SPN - FTH2022 - vaderlingo - WOK (Wincestiel)

2.      AFTG - FTH2022- bri - AD (Andriel)

3.      RE8 TD SCL (Duke/Reader)

4.      TW ves om (Vesemir/Jaskier)

5.      TW Soft As Witchers (new part! Jask/Lambert + Jask/Geralt, Jask/Eskel)

6.      TW Stagger (Jaskier/Letho)

7.      TW Snake Charming (Jaskier/Letho +or/ Gaetan, tbd)

8.      AFTG Crumb Snatchers (new part! Fox Found Family)

9.      TW Snakelings (Jaskier/Letho)

10.   Stanford Open Door Policy (Dead Dove Warning: Lucifer/Sam, eventual Dean/Sam)

11.   RT Siren Head (RPF: gen? tbd, Fiona & The Twins)

12.   RT 67 (RPF: 🙂🧨)

13.   LADS FIGHTING (RPF: poly Fakes)

14.   SPN AdamSam (on the tin)

15.   Hand Crafted (Destiel, eventual Destiel/Sam/Meg)

If you read this far and want to play, this is me tagging you, BUT uhhhhhh

@tapnbluesnlindyhopdancer @alwaysthrowsscissors @samanddeaninpanties

@mumble--bee @wrenseroticlibrary @silver9mm would y’all like to play? 🤗

5 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

#3

Pausing to hop on the fandom celebration train before I dive headfirst into NaNoWriMo season!

👏🏾 Leave a kudos on a fic (witcher - geraskier)

well-rounded by PenAndInkPrincess is a great example of the cutagens tag, dude, it’s about how Geralt’s cat eyes give away when he likes things, including a certain bard.

👏🏾 reblog an art post (supernatural) I’m cheating bc I’ve shared this before, but the boy king deserves to be seen twice, so feast your eyes again.

👏🏾 message a creator (all kinds of shit bc he’s talented) Done via DM!

👏🏾 make a rec post (witcher - geraskier) SO, I wasn’t sure how to go about this one but objectlesson wrote a fic so good it stressed me out this afternoon, so I made a rec post for Better Than The Memory (Rated E, squick warning)

👏🏾 reblog a fic post (supernatural - sastiel)

Right Here, Right Now by @alwaysthrowsscissors​ because I’m clearly a maniac and left it in my likes tbr but *sniffs thoroughly* YEP, STILL GOOD 🤤

👏🏾 comment on a fic (teen wolf - sterek) Went back to find At least the Road to Hell is paved, I'm not good with Stairways by lady emebalia, because I was too embarrassed to comment on a fic for a fandom I wasn’t even in BUT it’s really good and she put a lot of work into it, so frankly, she’s owed her flowers. 🌹

👏🏾 reblog an edit (911 - buddie) 911 is sorely underrepresented on my blog, but I’m a clown for a good buddie edit and this one is fantastic.

👏🏾 interact with a meta post (supernatural - wincest) I’m cheating, because used this John Finds Out about Wincest meta post @mannequin3thereckoning​ shared on her bingo BUT thing is, I love this fucking trope so much and op’s galaxy brain is wide open.

Idk if this counts as a blackout truly but it was fun, thank you for sharing the event, @thehighfiveproject​!

6 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#2

i’m working on edits for something and i mentioned dean liking leaving hickeys and got caught up in the thought of big, flowery splotches of plum sticking out of the collar of sam’s monkey suit and he just laughs it off when someone looks at it “yeah the missus got a little carried away, it’s hard traveling for work” blah blah all while knowing good and goddamn well dean’s got on panties under his suit because loves being sam’s needy little wife i rest my case your honor

37 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🚨Roe's Emergency Fandom Response 🚨

We all heard they shot Roe. In the spirit of leaning into anger > despair, I’m making a very informal invite to tumblr at large.

If you are a creator willing to make something as thank you gift for people who make a donation to an abortion fund or a person willing to be said donor, hear ye, hear ye.

I threw together a google form for creators whose inboxes are open to people coming to them with requests in exchange for donations to an abortion fund or other reproductive justice organization. Assuming this gains traction, potential donors can review interested creators here.

Of course, if google makes you itch, feel free to just reblog this post and share your specific details/offerings below.

This is not a formal/moderated event. It's just a repository to keep a running list of interested creators for donors to review. Specific details (what will be created, minimum/proof of donations, timeline for completion, etc.) will need to be worked out between creators and donors BEFORE the donation is made.

You can message me at any point if you’d like your response deleted from the google sheet.

And as always, you’re not hopeless.

Thank you. Even being here counts for something, so thank you, thank you.

522 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[lewistoferrari]

poly!141 x plus-sized fem!reader

idk i was delirious when i wrote this, it’s terrible.

was thinking about therapist!reader who’s sleeping with four of her favorite patients, consequences be damned. :(

yes, you’re getting your back blown out by the boys. they don’t even know you’re sucking & fucking all four of them. and why would they??

the only person who needs to know the connection is you. the 141 does not discuss their therapy sessions with each other. it’s always, “how did therapy go?”

“it was shit.” of course it was kyle. he barely payed attention. he’s either staring at your tits or trying to catch a glimpse of your panties when you wear skirts.

they’ll get a gruff, “the usual,” from john and nothing more.

johnny, kyle, and john are lucky if they even get a grunt out of simon. he’s tight-lipped about his therapy sessions.

they’re all amused when they get a scowl from johnny, which is followed by an, “if i have tae talk about mah feelings one more time.”

they do know that they’ve been getting their dicks wet a lot lately, but not from each other (it makes johnny sad that he hasn’t sucked simon off or had kyle bouncing on his cock in a while).

johnny and kyle brag about you giving them the best and the sloppiest head every time they see you. simon likes to talk about how he always has you face down with your ass up, teary-eyed, and clawing at the sheets while he fucks you into oblivion. john tells stories about how you milk him dry whenever he makes you ride his cock. it’s a miracle none of them have run into each other while you were around.

but then simon asks you if you would join him for lunch. you like him a lot, more than you probably should, because there’s kyle, john, and johnny who you also like. it all comes to a head one day when you finally accept simon’s invitation. you almost have a damn heart attack when you spot him sitting at a table with johnny, kyle, and john.

shit.

since they haven’t spotted you yet, you think about making a run for it. as much as you hate lying, you’ll have to come up with some believable excuse for missing lunch. simon would understand, wouldn’t he? you’re already close to booking it, when a woman and her girlfriends kindly ask you to stop blocking the damn door. the moment you apologize and step aside to let them out, four sets of eyes are on you immediately, making you freeze.

it isn’t until johnny and simon are both saying your name in unison that it starts to register. they look at each other, then to john and kyle who are both staring at you like a lion eyeing its prey. you walk to the table, feeling anxious, like you’re being led to your death while you listen to them yap about how you’ve been fucking the whole task force this entire time.

the urge to run is getting stronger by the minute, but you ignore it and thank kyle for pulling out a chair for you instead. you sit between him and johnny, not even bothering to make eye contact with any of them. you’re too busy trying to figure out how the hell you were going to explain yourself.

the silence that follows is deafening. you stare at the table, while they stare at you. it’s kyle and simon who break first. they start laughing at the absurdity of it all, with kyle gasping out, “we’ve been sharing the same bird!”

you glare at him, before saying, “well none of you were supposed to find out.” you don’t find your situation funny at all. when you had arrived, you thought you’d only see simon sitting at the table, and not his entire team who fucks you six ways to sunday on a daily basis.

“are ye sayin’ ye knew we were on the same task force?” johnny asks. he’s eyeing you in disbelief, while his dick is getting hard at the thought of his bonnie girl fucking his team.

of course you knew. you’d received the task force’s files together in one big folder. when you started fucking them, you made sure their appointments weren’t on the same day, and that they never overlapped. “at the time, i was taking the necessary steps to keep any of you from finding out about each other.”

your eyes cut to john as he leans back in his seat, while stroking his beard with the same fingers he’d stuffed in your pussy the night before. he wore a thoughtful expression on his face. “how long did you think you could keep this up, dove?”

all you can do is shrug and say, “hell if i know.”

you eye john warily when he laughs. there’s no trace of humor in it. (he was definitely calling you a deceitful little minx in his head) you’re not given much time to dwell on it though, because kyle’s hand is squeezing your thigh. you’re not sure if he’s offering you comfort, or if he’s issuing a warning.

“didnae think it through did ye, hen?” johnny asks cooly, his pretty blue eyes full of mirth.

you don’t answer him. your eyes are on simon who’s watching you like a hawk, as he always does. this time though, it makes you feel a little guilty. but before it can fester, it vanishes completely. why should you feel guilty for getting dick from four different men every day of the week?

you deserve to have some fun. you can’t be a workaholic all the time.

you open your mouth to speak, but your waitress beats you to it when she stops by the table to take the group’s orders. you’re feeling grateful for it. the hell were you even supposed to say to them? no i didn’t think it through, the only thing on my mind was sex.

while the sex part was true, you really did like the entire task force. it’s not your fault your heart resides in your pussy :(

you relax a little when the spotlight isn’t shining on you anymore. everyone’s enjoying their lunch. the conversation is light and the food is good. you’ve had to smack johnny’s hand away from your plate several times already because he insists on stealing off your plate.

“let her eat in peace, johnny.”

johnny pouts at simon, but backs off. the waitress had taken his order after yours. john tells him that he should have just ordered the same thing you did. but none of them are even surprised when you cave and offer johnny some of your food in exchange for his. their chatter starts back up and john and simon are discussing something that you’re having a hard time keeping track of, because kyle’s hand is back on your thigh.

“you really weren’t going to tell us?” he asks in a low murmur, only made for you to hear.

“n-no,” you stutter, sounding a little breathless when he caresses your inner thigh. you slip a hand under the table to remove his, but he won’t budge. “we’re out in public, move your hand.”

kyle refuses and he tells you just as much while he rubs at your mound. your eyes then cut to johnny for help, but he’s ignoring both of you. he’s eating and happily yapping.

“don’t look at johnny, he can’t help you.”

you whimper softly when he slips a hand under your skirt and rubs your clit through your panties. the friction has you moaning loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. simon snorts when he sees your facial expression and kyle’s grin. johnny doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement when he looks down in your lap. john just sighs and gives kyle a stern look, before telling him to release you. his eyes dance with laughter at your whining when the hand holding you hostage finally retreats from between your plush thighs. you actually consider stabbing kyle with your fork when he coos at you mockingly and tells you not to pout. i’ll play with that fat pussy later, baby, i promise.

you don’t say another word until the plates are cleared and john is asking for the check.

“so what now?” you ask casually. no one says anything because they’re waiting for you to continue, but you don’t.

it’s simon who speaks first. “you giving us an out, dove?”

you nod.

“how sweet of you, but what makes you think we’ll ever let you go?” john asks patiently, waiting for you to come to your own conclusion.

it’s not hard at all. the way all four of them are staring at you makes tremble a little. what the hell have you gotten yourself into? “are you saying—but i’m not dating any of you!”

“is that so?” kyle chuckles.

“sweetheart you became ours the second you spread your legs and offered your cunt to us,” simon tells you. he says it with an air of finality, as if he dares you to disagree.

you couldn’t object when you’re the one who started all of this in the first place, knowing there are rules against fraternizing with your patients. morals and ethics went out of the window the day you let john bend you over your desk, and when you let kyle bury his tongue in your pussy in the couch your patients frequent. you didn’t have a care in the world when you buried your face in johnny’s lap and took his leaking cock down your throat, or when simon made you ride him while he sat in your chair. then there are the nights when they have you pressed into the mattress as they take their time worshiping every inch of your body, reveling in the sweet little whines and moans tumbling from those soft lips of yours.

there was no going back for you.

john pays the bill and leaves a tip for the waitress, while kyle and johnny leads you out the doors of the restaurant. when you step outside, johnny drapes an arm over your shoulder and tugs you into his side. he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “c’mon hen, i can’t wait to have yer cunt in mah mouth.” he looks over to kyle with a sly grin. “ye gonna ride mah cock too, garrick?”

oh.

kyle doesn’t answer johnny’s question because he’s too busy watching you to gauge your reaction. he relaxes and smiles softly when you link your fingers with his and pulls him closer to you and johnny.

the three of you are so caught up in your own little world, you miss the fond look shared between simon and john as they bring up the rear.

-

a/n: thanks for reading!

masterlist

[devnmon]

the round room, 1:45 a.m.

Warnings: NSFW, sub!emily, semi-public sex, oral (emily!receiving), posessive!reader, reader covering em's mouth with a tie, degradation kink lowkey, 3 different positions bc im a whore, pussy slapping, reader is also wearing a shirt and tie

Summary: You find Emily among the last of the individuals in the BAU building at night. What happens afterwards is a venture in itself.

wc: 2.3k

a/n: heyy welcome to my first Emily Prentiss fic! I've been wanting to write for her but forgot for a while. So here is a rare sub!emily fic; she's usually written as a dom, but this is based off my own hcs of her. i <3 this fic and i hope u all do too. more to come soon xx

A long day's work had finally come to a head.

Currently, it was late at night, after hours in the BAU office. You continuously read through many case files that were due on Hotch's desk first thing in the morning. It wasn't until the whole bullpen had cleared out, that you concluded the final report.

For the first time in a while, you glanced at the now darkened area around you.

The clock on the wall read 1:45 a.m., which wasn't the usual overtime hours for you at the BAU. Usually your profiler team was out in the field, working on a case for about a week. Unfortunately, it happened to be a night of paperwork and long hours in the office.

The only belongings you saw at the surrounding desks were Reid's bag and sweater. Any other light source still on besides your lamp were the one on Reid's desk, and the few slivers of light that beamed through the slightly open blinds from the round table room.

From the bullpen, you could tell there was someone inside.

You pondered who the movement behind the blinds belonged to. A moment later, you heard a stack of folders drop to the floor. That was enough to raise you from your seat, making your way towards the sound.

A low voice muttered behind the ajar door, which hung open a little less than halfway. Your hand pressed against it, revealing Emily hunched over on the floor, reaching for each of the files she'd dropped. You saw the back side of her black hair, trying to clean up the plethora of tan folders, not having noticed you yet.

"Need help with those?" You asked lowly, trying not to startle the woman from outside the door. Upon speaking, Emily jumped a bit before she turned around, then immediately relaxed once she saw you.

"Hey... yeah. Thanks." She breathed, a little startled that someone else was at the office as late as her. The two of you gathered each of the files, making sure they all contained the correlating pieces of paper they needed. When the folders were placed neatly back in a pile, Emily placed it on the table, sighing in content. Still shorter than her with the both of you in heeled boots, you looked up at her with a smile.

"You alright? Must be tired, it's almost two. Shit, we've been here so long that even Hotch beat us home."

She chuckled at the rarity of that ever happening.

Somehow there was no doubt that you both (and probably Reid) were the only ones left here for the night.

"I'm exhausted. Been working on this caseload all damn week.. but now that I'm finally done, I can go home and relax." The dark haired woman replied with a flirtatious smirk. Right away, you knew what she meant.

"Mhm... but I can't wait to get home. I want you now..." Your breathy voice made Emily clench around nothing, remembering all the times you'd hit the spots that drove her crazy.

She bit her lip, immediately pulling you in by the tie for a kiss, the few soft pecks becoming deeper with each one she left on your mouth.

“Been thinking about you all day..” Emily muttered, your lips began to travel down her neck, breathing becoming heavier. She felt a gush of heat in her core, one that was drawing her in to you.

“Mmm.. yeah?” You asked, loving how she looked in her white button down shirt.

Emily, dark haired, heart-shaped lips, quick-witted Prentiss, was the type of woman who fluttered in your presence. She tried her best to hide it, but even Hotch picked up her strange behavior around you. During the days, at the office, it was best to keep your noses buried in work. You couldn't imagine what would happen if you and her were found indecent somewhere in the building.

“Yes…” she breathed, “Could barely get any work done all day today cause I was thinking about you..”

Your teeth nipped at her skin, picking up the hitch in Emily's breath as your lips followed a trail down to her chest. Pulling away only made her want more, jutting her bottom lip out. Those dark brown eyes of hers locked onto yours.

"I saw Reid's bag... he's still here. Can't have him finding us with my head between your legs..." Upon hearing your words, Emily's dark eyebrows furrowed, stepping away from you for a moment.

She reached around to close the rest of the round room's blinds, while you shut the door and turned off the overhead lights. The only glow that remained was the monitors mounted on the wall.

Once she turned back to you, you connected your mouth to hers again. Emily hadn't put on lipstick today, which you realized upon first taste. Your hands wrapped around Emily's waist, pulling her close while you sat her back on the table. Her hands raked through your hair, pulling slightly at moments.

Your hands traveled to her off-center belt buckle, an aspect of her style you found unique, and that looked good on her as well. Her pants undone, you pulled them down past her thighs before stopping to whisper in her ear.

"Don't make a sound... or someone will hear you, baby." She nodded vigorously in response, her desperate state slapping a smirk across your face.

While unbuttoning the buttons, your lips traveled down between the valley of her breasts and stomach, shrugging her shirt the rest of the way off. This area of her body was always as sensitive as others, not knowing how many countless filthy sounds you've pulled from her just by playing with her breasts.

Goosebumps covered Emily's skin while you softly rubbed her torso, crouching down to spread her legs. The pair of panties she wore had a visible wet stain soaking through the front.

"Fuck, you're soaked already... " You praised, hearing Emily groan at the sound of your voice. One of your hands cupped her heat,

"Please babe... it's so late now," Emily breathed between breathy sounds, wanting to be pleasured by you, but also wanting to get home.

But you just couldn't help yourself.

Another whimper escaped her lips, an inaudible please, watching as her head fell back. Chuckling to yourself, you pulled your hand from between her thighs and stood up. Her eyes immediately shot back to you, confused and upset at the loss between her thighs.

"Get off the table." you demanded, watching her hop down from her seat, a confused but innocent look on her face. Pulling her pants the rest of the way off, she walked over to you, only to be met with you bending her over the table forcefully.

A hand of yours rested on her behind, the other unclipping her bra. The minute you moved off her, you grasped her ass, hooking one of your fingers around the band of lace lying between her cheeks. Letting it snap back against her skin, she jolted at the feeling.

You left desperate kisses down her back, while her now unclipped bra flung apart and onto the floor. Two of your fingers hooked under the band of her lacy panties, pulling them down slowly. Her pussy was on display, wet and needy to be touched.

"Like what you see?" She asked, smirking. Too tired to punish her for her smart remark, you decided to tuck that moment away for later.

"Yes, baby. Very much." Panties fell down her legs the rest of the way, revealing her cunt before your eyes. It wasn't often you were in the mood to even think about doing something like this, especially at your place of work.

Maybe it was the late hours that pushed you too far to give in. Your filthy daydreams of playing with her pressed over this very table were always something of a fantasy. Once you saw the opportunity to make them a reality, you took it and ran.

The slick from her folds shone in what little light there was, feeling drawn to her in a much bolder way than usual.

"Spread your legs for me, come on. Don't be shy now, honey." You spoke in a sultry voice, the very one Emily had a weakness for. It made her knees buckle, and you could barely lower your tone around her without it ruining her focus for the rest of the day. You swore, every time it happened, she texted you the most filthy things her brain thought up. It was quite distracting.

Emily's feet stepped apart, revealing her in full to you. The sight wasn't enough, you needed to taste her. Your lips pressed to her pussy immediately, moving slowly through her already messy folds.

Your sudden contact sent a jolt through her body, slipping a moan through her lips.

"Fuck.." you heard her whisper, knowing she couldn't control herself sometimes.

"What did I say, pretty girl? Don't make a sound." You spoke, going back to making out with her cunt. Your tongue circled and swirled around her clit, teasing her hole with one of your fingers.

"'M sorry- oh.. f-fuck, I'll be quiet, baby. I'll be quiet..." She swallowed another sound at the end of her desperate attempt at an apology. It ran a shiver up your spine, hearing the tone of her voice in complete submission to you.

"If you can't handle it, I can just make you stay quiet." You began, knowing Emily liked the thought. You pushed a finger inside her slowly, curling ever so gently.

"Ah-" Emily's voice rang out again, lower than before, but still audible. You hummed against her, hips jolting above you. After a few minutes of just one finger inside her, you added another, and that's when she really slipped up.

"F-Fuck!" She called out, loud enough for someone on the floor to hear. For a second, you took your mouth off her, waiting a moment to see if anyone was still around.

"Mmmh..." Emily whined above you, to which you slapped her cunt to quiet her.

"Fucking brat," you muttered, "You don't know how to shut up, do you?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Emily still began, "No- I do, baby.. I do."

"Apparently not good enough." you began removing the tie from around your neck, reaching to wrap it around Emily's mouth. Her whimpering and whining never completely ceased, but it definitely quieted what she couldn't hold back.

Your tongue moved fast and smooth against her folds now, your fingers still pumping inside her. They curled quickly to coax Emily's orgasm from her. The amount of her arousal dripping made it easy to fuck her with your fingers at a quicker pace.

“Love seeing you like this, all a mess for me. You fall apart so easily.. How desperate you are, how fast I turn you on…”  You murmured in her ear.

It was then you removed your fingers from her, pulling her up from the table to press yourself against her back. You removed the tie from around her mouth, letting it hang around her neck.

"You getting close, baby?" You muttered against her ear, feeling her body tremble against yours.

"Mhm.. yes, oh god, 'mclose." Emily whispered, one of your hands grasping at her chest while the other rubbed her clit from the front.

"Yeah, gonna come for me?" You asked, fingers swirling at the pleasure between her legs.

"God yes..." Emily's orgasm neared quicker than ever, the enamor she held for you overwhelming every part of her. You turned her towards you, hands roaming her body, before stopping on her breasts to twist her nipples between your fingers.

Emily tried her best to be quiet, but it resulted in her hand clasped over her mouth in another poor attempt to silence her.

Without warning, you reached down, pulling her by the thighs to connect your mouth to her wet cunt. Immediately she called out your name, moaning and rocking her hips from your tongue. You hum under her, the vibration shaking Emily to her core.

She inched closer with every second your tongue swirled through her wetness, heavy breathing coming from the woman above you. One of her hands raked through your hair, pressing you impossibly closer.

"I’m gonna-“ She whimpered, “Gonna come, baby..”

Her hips began to stutter against your mouth, a flutter of gasping breaths slipping past her parted lips.

Emily was caught in the high of her orgasm as it washed through her body, calling out your name wantonly. Your fingers pumped in and out while she came down from her orgasm. Gazing at her, you watched her chest heave in satisfaction.

"Aw, sweetheart. So pretty when you come for me.." you murmured, standing up to kiss her flushed cheeks. Emily's breath continued to steady, arms wrapping around you.

"We should get out of here..." you heard her whisper, though her hands remained on the belt of your pants, "But... What about you?"

A smirk crept onto your face, "It's really late, babe. Let’s get home first."

Emily nodded, knowing it was exactly what you needed to end the night. She leaned in to place feather light kisses on your jaw. You began picking up her clothes from the floor, helping her get redressed.

Both of you acted as natural as possible while exiting the round room, gathering your belongings to accompany each other to the parking garage.

The only way you’d keep your relationship with Emily a secret was to prevent people from seeing you leave and arrive together. Though, you were part of a team of profilers, who could always tell when something was different.

It was only a matter of time before one of your co-workers figured it out. For now, you and Emily were enjoying being a secret.

As you drove off into the night, you imagined what the rest of the night would bring the both of you.

A/n: Thanks for reading <3 Please support by reblogging!

[meatandbones24]

two years ago me again, this time talking about how cool the zombie apocalypse would be

Personally, I can't wait for the apocalypse to happen. As long as it's a manageable one of course, like slow zombies or some shit like that, I just want to do shit and not pay for stuff, and I really really wanna smash a zombie's skull in with an aluminum bat, that's a real fantasy I have. And some people are all like "but dude, if an apocalypse goes down, there's a very slim chance you'll survive" and to them, I say, "Bitch, do you think I give a shit? I'd rather die killing undead monsters than drift away slowly in my sleep," and besides, when it comes down to if I'm going to survive or if that tool will, I like to think that my J.I.C List gives me an edge in that debate. what is my J.I.C List nobody asked? well, I'll tell you. it's a Just In Case List, a folder I keep on me at all times with plans and tips and tricks on how to survive and thrive in various apocalyptic scenarios. And I will share all of these plans with you in this very chapter, spread across the whole thing, dear reader.

---------------------------------

I can't wait for a zombie horde to wash over the landscape, I just can't wait to pick up that bat, slip on my gauntlets and get down to business, smashin' skulls and stealing shit. and here's what people usually plan for these things: "I'll just head to the hardware/grocery/general store and board myself inside, simple as that," and frankly, people with that mentality are the ones who are gonna get shot in the face by some crazy chaotic itchy trigger finger when they try and push through the automatic Wal-Mart doors to their so-called salvation. I plan on steering clear of stores for two months tops, and when I finally do go there, I'm spending nowhere near an hour tops within those fluorescently-lit cubes of death.

And now for the J.I.C List entry for Zombies

"Zombies: run to your house and hunker down for three to four days, after that, rob electronics stores for a power generator and some games, Then you should steal seeds and make a garden and a water barrel. then we steal a mode of transportation and find another Base of Operations

Things that probably come to mind are guns, baseball bats, and giant ridiculous trucks with push bumpers. and while these things are definitely valuable tools if you have to use them you're probably in the worst-case scenario or you're just Reckless. and either way, you probably won't last long, what every survivor really needs to focus on is the less glamorous aspects of post-apocalyptic life, have seasonal allergies? make sure you have Zyrtec on hand or risk getting jumped by zombies who heard you sneezing. allergic to bees? stock up on EpiPens, unless you want to be that one loser who died from a bee sting instead of a horde of Living Dead. there are a lot of little details to take into consideration when trying to survive an apocalypse.

First aid supplies like bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and any needed prescription drugs will be a lifesaver when someone in your party inevitably hurts themselves, a gash from a rusty nail can be just as deadly as a zombie bite if not treated quickly. then there are the ever-useful utility items we all use in everyday life. duct tape alone has more uses than you'd ever expect, from securing barricades, to restraining hostile humans, to attaching knives to poles for extra zombie-killing reach. Pocket knives and multi-tools have innumerable uses as well, such as sharpening Stakes, severing restraints, or opening cans of food. then there are flashlights, many of us have gotten so used to having a flashlight app on our phones that we forget to keep a real, more powerful, flashlight handy when your phone eventually dies and there's no power available. having a flashlight could be the difference between life and death when travelling at night.

As for transportation, while a car or truck might offer decent protection from the zombies outside, the engine noise will also attract attention and potentially lead them to your hiding spot. Opt for something quieter and more maneuverable like a bike, or if you're intent on using a car steal somebody's Tesla. just be prepared for it to stop working. a possible mode of transportation could be a small bubble car covered in lube, no areas to grab, just slipping through all the zombies like a soap bar slipping through your fingers in a prison bathroom.

So you got your supplies and you're on the move, looking for somewhere safe to set up a base of operations. Step 1: locate a mall, then don't go there. places, where large amounts of people can congregate, are the perfect breeding ground for zombies, and closed areas with large crowds make for easy infection and with all the people instinctively rushing to malls and grocery stores to stock up on supplies, they’re the last place you want to be. instead, head for more isolated areas. your first option and potentially the safest place near the average person would be at a highway overpass or bridge if you could cart enough supplies onto the Bridge, Building Materials, food, maybe even farming implements like soil and seeds. your party could destroy both ends of the bridge and effectively separate yourselves from the dangers below. the biggest risk here would be running out of supplies, as it would be very difficult to go out and scavenge and get back up.

Another option would be a large boat or yacht. The biggest problem with using a modern boat is its need for fuel. if you run out of gas you're dead in the water so if you decide to set up an aquatic base of operations make sure you have as much fuel as you can possibly carry.

Two other hiding places that could become an option thanks to your boat would be small uninhabited islands and offshore oil rigs, a private island would be ideal for those with enough survival experience to build shelter, rain capture devices, and traps to catch wild animals and any hostile humans who show up looking for a fight. your party would have plenty of space to spread out depending on the size of the island and the odds of zombies showing up on your Beach are virtually zero. if you can find an uninhabited Island far enough from other land and people, you can survive the end of the world in relative comfort.

Finally, a deep-sea oil rig is an ideal spot to wait out the zombie apocalypse. you'd be miles from the nearest land, suspended well above the water level, have plenty of nearly indestructible metal shelter, and provided you have fishing equipment you’ve got an endless supply of food at your fingertips.

For those of us who don't fancy the idea of building a shelter from scratch on a remote island and value the security of a floating Fortress, a deep-sea oil rig is a way to go. Of course by choosing any of these isolated hiding spots you limit your ability to gather news and information from the mainland, which means you'll need to make sure you have a radio or some other form of communication with the outside world to know when it's safe to come home if ever.

Preferred weapons: blunt, bladed or quiet weapons such as swords, bats, hammers, power tools, or almost any other default or custom melee weapons"