#someone please come mop me up off the floor

[soft-tummy-lovin]

what’s better than ordering local deep dish pizza?

encouraging your partner to eat more of it than they planned to and giving their stuffed tummy all the rubs and kisses you could hope to give while they complain about being too full

[writersdrug]

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

[seungfl0wer]

*Changbin Calling You Clingy*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Arguing, not proofread. Should be all actually

-This is part of a series find the others here:

Bangchan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Today was a cleaning day for you, you were scrubbing everything trying to get things clean. Your boyfriend’s parents were stopping by for dinner and you wanted the house to be spotless. Changbin was sitting at the dinning room table talking on the phone with someone as you gutted the house. You swept the floors, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the fridge and now you were mopping the floors.

You had stopped doing so though because you needed more soap which was at the top of the shelf. You tried reaching it but you just ended up pushing it further back. You sighed “hey babe can you help me?” You say feeling defeated. You got no response. You ask again this time a bit louder “babe! I really need your help can you come here?” Ignored. Again.

You rolled your eyes “Changbin I know you can hear me!” You huffed looking for a sturdy chair just to grab it yourself “y/n I’m on the damn phone!” He said back his tone harsh. “Can’t you just help me for one second?” You ask peering around the corner to look at him. “Are you for real right now? Get a chair or something this is a work related call I can’t just get off it. Stop being so needy and clingy be an adult. You’re so damn dependent on me!” His words spewed out like hot liquid burning you slowly.

He sighs seeing the tears in your eyes “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that, everything just happening today- please just give me a minute and I’ll help you.” He said his words becoming more soft. You wiped your eyes and walked away without saying anything. “Fine. If he doesn’t wanna help and be a dick, I’ll do it myself” you said as you grabbed a chair. You got up on it to grab the bottle, as you put your foot down off the chair you ended up slipping from the floor being wet.

You ended up hitting the floor pretty good no time to react or put your hands down. You ended up face planting making your head smack against the ground and twisting your ankle. Your nose was also now gushing blood along with your lip, you grabbed a tissue to try and stop it wanting to yell for changbin again but stopping yourself not wanting to piss him off more.

You sat on the floor trying to help yourself before getting up and painfully strolling to the bathroom. Your ankle was swollen by the time you sat down on the tubs edge. You grabbed the first aid kit you keep under the sink to try and find something to clean the wound better. Changbin at some point had come to help you finally but not finding you there. He kinda just shrugged and went back to the cleaning he started before the call.

You got yourself all pulled together or at least you tried to before you hear changbin sprinting down the hall calling for you “y/n! Babe where are you!” He said running past the bathroom before coming back seeing you sitting there “babe oh my god! What happened I saw the blood are you ok?” He asked coming towards you “I’m fine Changbin.” You said coldly. You slowly got up as you limped past him “you don’t look fine you look like you’re in pain.” He said softly “Wouldn’t wanna bother you with it, might sound clingy or something.” You said using his words against him.

His eyes widen a bit “y/n I said I was sorry” he said reaching out to hold onto you “please let me help-“ he said before you cut him off moving away from his touch “no. I don’t need your help. I’m an adult I’m fine.” You said eyes glaring at him as you walked back to the spot you had fallen. You cleaned up the drops of blood and finished cleaning. The house was quiet, Bin wanted to say something wanted to help you but each time he even looked your way you shot him a look.

His parents came and went both of you trying not to let them feel the tension. After they had gone you started to clean up from dinner. “Babe I’ll do this you go sit down ok?” He said putting the dishes in the sink “no I’m fine” you breathed out. You finished cleaning and headed to the bedroom as you did you became a bit dizzy you grabbed ahold of the wall to steady yourself. Bin had noticed you in the door way, he walked towards you putting his arm around your waist. “I just have a headache.” You said pulling away from him before he walking into the bedroom.

You fell asleep almost instantly as you hit the bed, changbin on the other hand curled up on the couch and cried himself to sleep. He felt like a big piece of shit abuser. He knows he didn’t hit you however seeing your lip swollen because he didn’t help you made him feel so. And raising his voice at you? He’s never done that, the words he said were just words of anger words he never meant.

You woke up from a bad dream in the middle of the night looking around for bin to hold on to. You started to cry a bit seeing he wasn’t there with you. He had heard you rustling around and was making his way back to check on you before he heard you crying. “Y/n?” He said softly opening the bedroom door. He saw you sitting there half asleep crying your eyes out talking to yourself “why do I have to be so stupid I can’t even do small things by myself without fucking hurting myself. God I’m so stupid” you said crying even harder.

Bin was about to run to you before you choked out “he’s right all I am is clingy and I can’t even do anything for myself, why the fuck is he even with me? I bet he just pity’s me.” His eyes started to water feeling the familiar feeling of earlier cry. He didn’t say anything he just came into the room quickly grabbing you pulling you into his lap. “Y/n hey” he shushed you as he patted you back trying to sooth you. “Babe I love you I’m not with you out of pity. There’s so much you do and so much so just love about you. I’m so fucking sorry for what I said earlier.” He rambled.

“I didn’t mean those things I was frustrated and just wanted you to leave me alone while I was talking so I hurt you. I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t fix what I said but I’m sorry.” He said leaning his head into your chest. You couldn’t muster up any words as you cried feeling yourself falling back asleep. Bin smiled to himself a bit as he saw that you had fallen asleep. He laid you down before laying down beside you.

“Y/n I love you and I promise I’ll make everything up to you. You’re not clingy I love how you are..” his voice trailed off “please don’t let this change you. I couldn’t live with myself if i made you change anything about your amazing self.” He said rubbing your back feeling himself ready to fall asleep. “I love you with all my heart y/n I’ll fix this I swear.” He said as he fell asleep with you.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[deviouz]

INSATIABLE.

WARNINGS / shameless smut so MDNI. satosugu shenanigans. small lil drabble that i didn't proofread (:

GETO SUGURU who comes home to a living space lacking life. it’s quiet, unexpectedly so, and he almost feels offended that neither you nor GOJO SATORU have come to greet him as it was almost ritualistic. the lights are dimmed, though he was still able to pick out the telltale signs of clothes littering the floor, slowly trailing down the hall to the bedroom.

as suguru inched closer to the door, lips curved into a sly smirk, it became more than evident that you and satoru were having a bit of late night fun. through the crack in the door, your quivering body was splayed out on the bed, back arched in a curve that had suguru sucking in a sharp breath. your facial expression was pleasure-struck and mouth left agape as moans filled the room. his eyes trailed down to where one of your hands laid atop a familiar mop of white hair, fingers threading through the soft locks rather desperately.

“fuck, satoru, please!” your voice broke in the end, brows knitted together as your thighs clamped around satoru’s head. it wasn’t surprising in the slightest to hear him moan in response, cruel in his unrelenting.

“one more, baby, jus’ give me one more and i’ll stop, ‘kay?”

suguru almost cooed at the way your head shook side to side, tears welling up in the corners of your pretty eyes. satoru no doubt had you spread out on the bed and cumming on his tongue for hours on end. on a good day he was insatiable.

it was then suguru had decided to make his presence know. the door opened with a soft creak, causing you to gasp and satoru to look up for a second before burying himself between your thighs once again.

any shame you had felt from suguru’s discovery vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. your eyes blearily flitted over his figure, eyes attentively watching as suguru shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the chair in the corner.

it was growing increasingly difficult to keep your eyes trained on suguru, especially with satoru seemingly in competition for your gaze. he had picked up the pace, tongue and fingers working in tandem to have you letting out the sweetest sounds.

“someone’s feeling awfully greedy tonight,” suguru commented, brow raised in a perfect arch. “how long has satoru been between your thighs, my love?”

the bed dipped to your left, making way for his figure. your head was soon turned towards his chest, hands grasping at the fabric of suguru’s shirt as you felt the muscles tighten in your stomach for the umpteenth time that night.

“too long, sugu��! i can’t, ‘toru, please—!”

despite your pitiful attempts to persuade satoru for some semblance of mercy once more, it wasn’t long before he had you tumbling into yet another orgasm. it was hard enough to have you tugging at the bedsheets and damn near crying out in ecstasy — the kind of debauched sound that caused the move from the last apartment, much to your chagrin.

satoru was quick to soothe you, hands coming to massage at your hips and kiss up the expanse of your body until your lips met in a sweet kiss. you could hear him giggle, the fucking audacity, lips melding into yours so perfectly. in the low lights of the bedroom, it was evident that satoru’s lips were swollen and stained a shade of rosy pink, cheeks flushed enough to match. the batting of his eyelashes was almost enough to forgive him and his need for overindulgence. almost.

as suguru’s lips trailed up and down your neck, wandering hand coming to rest at your hip, you knew you were in trouble.

“think you can cum again, sweetheart?”

it was impossible to resist suguru when his voice hit that low timber, soft enough to almost be a purr.

truth be told, both of them were increasingly insatiable and absolute fiends when it came to you.

[sl4sh3rsub]

art the clown hcs (nsfw: mdni)

art the clown x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warning: so so much. unhygienic behaviour, p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), creampies, fingering (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), dubious consent + cnc (with art), noncon (with [sometimes intoxicated] victims + art, not with reader), art is mute, reader is put on display and used as bait for art's activities, art makes his own snuff?? idk but there's sexual stuff with dead bodies + art in the same vicinity, masturbation, blood kink but lots of blood in general, gore, mentions of injury and giving injury (not on reader), public sex/exhibitionism, oral (giving + receiving), rimming (giving), period sex, cumrag, sexual photographs taken of/for reader, art goes commando, scarification, art is a switch - if only to commit to the bit, fear play (empty guns, dull knives), bondage (reader receiving), cum eating, somnophilia, shoe humping, cum tributes, feet stuff mentioned, musk kink, corruption kink mentioned?, mtf section mentions art performing an orchiectomy

a/n: kinda edited. he's so nine inch nails/orgy coded and the movies are so scary that i chickened out rewatching parts of terrifier 2 pls forgive me :3 the first dot point is to set the mood, sorry but it gets right into it

READ THE WARNINGS this one's very intense - please, if you think this might be too much for you or just uncomfortable, skip this one.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

art will put on a home video of him torturing and toying with someone while you're held between his legs - he wants to have a fun little viewing party for his recent exploits! he toys with your hole, teasing you as his cock ruts into your lower back. the sinister clown ignores the thrashing of your legs as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of your poor, tired body. the only time he lets up, giving a break from his constant stimulation on your sweet spots, is when he pauses to mimic a wave or jolly dance in the video he's showing you. the way your slick arousal thins and connects his fingers whenever he waves at the screen would be comical if your head wasn't so fuzzy from the constant edging. he loves tormenting people but the methods for you are a bit more... delicious

whenever he comes home injured, he patiently sits propped against a wall as you tend to his weeping wounds. judging by the ripped clown suit and gashes littering his skin, it was evidently a rough night. he doesn't bother to tell you that he will heal at abnormally fast speeds, he just loves the sight of his blood smeared on your skin. while you bandage art up, the gauze ends up giving him more coverage than his shredded suit - he meets your gaze with a sly grin as he thrusts up into your hand, showing what he has to offer. you'll have to ignore the drying blood all over the two of you, as he rushes to pull your face into of his lap to let out some pent-up energy :<

he's always so playful whenever you both get down and dirty, whether it's pulling surprised expressions whenever you cum, dragging his finger down from your lips to your throat to shush you or flick your nipples only to giggle at your surprised face

if art is not in the mood to trudge home alone after a rampage, he'll text you an address to meet him at. to no one's surprise, it's always a laundromat. he loves to fuck you in the empty establishments while his clothing is in a washing cycle - after all, it would be rude to get your clothing dirty while he's taking you from behind over a dryer. he pays extra attention to getting off and finishing inside you as a way to wind down from a wild time, his creamy release dripping onto the floor. guess you'll have to bust out the mop on shaky legs while art cheerily dresses himself and patiently waits for you on the bench next to the window - he can't help but admire his special person and be proud of how he made them come undone

his favourite way to wake up is to have his throbbing cock in your mouth, his gaze half-lidded as you work your hand along his length and envelop him with your soft lips. art is addicted to you sloppily gagging on him, spit and precum drooling down his balls. his huffs of pleasure gracing your ears are the sweetest part of any early morning

whenever you finish giving art head, kiss his tip softly after swallowing, making sure to slurp up his cum from dribbling down his shaft and he'll trace a heart on your forehead with your tears from gagging on him. if you meet his gaze as you catch your breath, he'll quietly shush and tut at you in reassurance while you rest your cheek against his bare thigh, petting your hair

the clown likes to play a game where he captures male victims he's focused on, strips them down, then ties them up in a row and gags them. he makes them watch as he pleasures you in front of them, spread on display as he mocks them and their tears, all while you come undone on his cock and fingers. he punishes the one that gets hard first (away from you, of course - he drags the guy to the next room to deal with later). art puts you on display in front of the remaining men, dons a shitty wig and red lipstick then slowly jerks off the softest person as they gradually get more aroused at the sight of you playing with yourself and moaning for art to fuck you. art is overall most turned on by other people watching you without touching what's his - he loves showing you off and feeling proud that they could never pleasure you like he could :3

art fucks you against the windows of buildings he's snuck into - he loves giving an eyeful for his potential victims and he's not above tempting them into the building he's camped out in with the false promise of joining in

he has certain hand signals for you to bend over, drop your pants or get on your knees. it's not in an intimidating dominant way, it's simply out of necessity as he cannot verbally order you to do anything in the bedroom

your pleasure is not the priority all the time - art's main goal is for him to feel good, however he may realise that certain things make you squeeze his cock perfectly and as a result, your orgasms are a coincidental byproduct of his lust

art is a sucker for being balls deep inside you when he cums but he also enjoys painting your sloppy hole - an excellent view, plus there's so much to scoop up and finger deep back inside you

whenever he cums, art's tummy tenses and his thighs spasm as his eyes roll backwards. his chest shudders as his breathing gets shaky, needing to grab onto something to steady himself. his cum itself is generally thick but whenever you remind him to drink water, it'll get very thin and watery. it's important to note, his cum colour fluctuates between a regular milk colour and pitch black goop

art the clown freeballs in his satin costume, just hangin out for the sake of convenience and simplicity - if he's needing to piss, rub one out or get undressed to sleep, why should underwear be in the way? he's an absolute pervert, so he loves you seeing his dick whenever you look at him

force him have a shower - not even a bath, the water would get dirty too quick. caked layers of metallic blood and dirt don't help anyone's general scent and if he's around you a lot, you don't want a smelly clown trailing you and in your general vicinity

he wanders around naked after he takes a hot shower, when his costume is drying and his painted neck is waiting to be properly touched up. expect to see his bare dick twitch while you stare in shock, mouth hanging open at his blatant lack of shame in his nudity. the same thing applies to whenever the clown suit has a hole in it - at this point it's any excuse to be in the nude and flaunting his body around, the tapered tip of his cock always pulsing under your bashful eye

art carves his name into you - or something like 'art was here', 'art's art' or 'art's toy' - but you get to choose where! in his mind, it's like a collaborative effort :<

he's addicted to your warmth and tightness, so be ready to have his pasty cock buried in you whenever there's nothing to do. he'll pull you onto his lap while bunched up and all tense, pull down your underwear and spit on his length, slowly sliding into you as his muscles release all tension. he's practically a limp puddle once he's deep inside - he's comfortable enough to nap like this and will cuddle you until you feel the same way. the bastard will occasionally toot his horn to scare you into clenching around his softly throbbing dick

his love language is physical touch - his hand is always hovering near your hip, ass or lower back and he pats your cheek or kisses your temple if you've been good, petting your hair as you doze off next to him. his version on an 'i love you' is a warm palm cupping your face as he intertwines his body with yours, your muscles relaxing as you lean into his heat

the clown always, always leaves deep bites and bruises all over your body. prepare to have painkillers at every single meal, because he makes sure you're aching and bleeding when he's done with you after a rough day

as he doesn't make you participate in his meals of flesh and rubbish, expect to have his victim's homecooked leftovers, as well as pizza and other take-out regularly - all with a little extra salty glaze ontop <3 he's a romantic after all and still wants a small part of him inside you no matter what, that way you're never really lonely - his warmth settling in your tummy and also leaking from between your legs

art marks up your neck with his tongue and nails, leaving crescent moons and maroon roses etched into your skin like a morbid necklace. although he's not happy that you don't heal abnormally fast like he does, your shudders as his cold nails trail over your tender flesh spark a warmth within his gut and a glint in his eye

art chokes you so often that his hand is practically your necklace. he likes the control he's able to exercise subtly with a squeeze of his fingers and you don't mind the comforting pressure of his thumb skimming over your pulse. be sure to wash his gloves often thought - whenever you drool or have given him head and his hand then takes its place around your throat, the remnants of the fluids often soak into the material clinging to his palms. eventually, it'll make his skin tacky with dried cum and spit, stuck to the threadbare gloves

his guilty pleasure is having you ride him and take control, with zero regard for accidentally overstimulating him - sure he could breed you of his own volition, in his own time, but he's your toy in that moment with no control. the coincidental creampie being fucked deeper and deeper in you makes a shiver run down his spine. he's willing to be a pliable doll for you to mould into a quiet fuck toy to play with. be sure to hold art close and comfort him after you take control and he'll do the same back after he's been rough

art gets his hands on incredibly dull knives and empty guns with no magazine, especially pistols, and brings them into your sexual life. he loves the fear in your eyes as he trails the blades down your chest, tracing your nipples and thighs but the clown is especially turned on by making you suck the barrel of a gun - pretty eyes glittering in panic and arousal. he makes a game of rigging a shotgun with tripwires - if you shift too much while he trails his tongue down your body or thrash as he makes you cum on his face, the threat of the trigger being pulled gives you a rush of adrenaline that makes your eyes roll back, vision fading white. his gun fixation is not limited to just that - some other ideas he's been cooking up include you being fucked by a dead cop's handgun while humping his clown shoe, as well as you christening each new weapon he creates during his tinkering sessions

if he's desperate to jerk off, he'll do it wherever - ready to get it over with even if he ends up rubbing one out next to a dead body or in the middle of a public park. if he returns to you with dirty gloves and semen drying on the wrist, don't ask what happened because his mimed description of events is never pleasant

art sits on your face and gets off with his fist while you fuck him with your tongue, lapping at his hole. he tosses his head back and pants very softly, thighs trembling as he grinds himself on your face - bonus points if you let him pull back and fuck your mouth with his cock for a bit before returning to suffocate you between his asscheeks

he loves licking your skin everywhere. absolutely everywhere. he loves the taste of your salty sweat and warmth, feeling powerful having your pulse race under his tongue. if you fuck him, stuff your fingers in his mouth and his eyes will roll back in his skull

art suspends you with chains and rope, teasing you until you're begging to be fucked. his deft fingers trace your curves and edges, flicking and pinching your nipples, inner thighs and ass as he manically grins with a clear cock print in the front of his suit. he only maneuvers you to take his cock once you're dripping spit, tears and arousal onto the cold floor and screaming for him

as art knows you belong to him, sharing you with another man gets him going like nothing else - he'll eiffel tower you with a restrained captive, urging you to choke on the stranger's hardening dick as he fucks you so deep you're gasping for air and seeing stars. what's gonna happen, the guy survives? fuck no, he's already practically giftwrapped at death's doorstep just from becoming art's captive. why not make the last few hours of his life enjoyable and more than fulfilling - if the poor sod is willing, you could even keep him for a night or two as a pet

if you have genital, nipple piercings or even a septum done, art will dangle a little bell from each hoop. it immediately brightens his day to hear the little jingles whenever you're bouncing on his dick and he can't resist flicking them to make you jolt or smacking your ass whenever you walk near him just to hear the sweet soft tinkle under your loose clothing

art cleans up each basement/house he temporarily stays in, with a designated bed to fit the two of you and ensures there's a bathroom and basic laundry attached for your comfort - he notices you tend to avoid his being in his proximity whenever he gets too smelly. he may also move in with you for bouts of time - provided you have the space - but also camps out at his usual haunts and drags you along to hang out with him! the poor clown hates being lonely :(

he might go on a walk with you and toy with you - he gets off on watching you panic as he whips his dick out in public and gestures for you to kiss it, rub your face over it and worship him, hard or not. the control he holds over you and the headrush of power, combined with your submissive gaze aimed up at him, makes his growing affection and attachment towards you grow stronger

he brings you human organs and shitty handwritten poems - 'here's a heart but i wanna be the one pumping inside of you <:o)' or 'i could call you this esophagus the way you swallowed me so well last night >:)'

he has a collection of picture frames in his hideout because he takes photos of you and sticks them in nice frames - who needs playboy magazines when he can make tributes to you? you can tell which one is his favourite, with the crusty sludge stuck to the glass and wood protecting the flimsy picture

art definitely wants a footjob every now and then, every once in a while. it means he can tie up your hands while you get him off AND he still has two hands to play with you - a win win situation all around. he's not really into it strictly because it's feet, he just gets off on the thought of corrupting you more with such a taboo action

he has a love-hate relationship with piss too - he loves to have you obediently under him as he showers you with piss and cum, corrupting you a little more each time he marks you with his smell, but he hates because it masks your natural scent which is one of the few things that makes his head spin

if you get anxious or restless, he always has a cold body nearby.. oh you want something warmer? feel free to suckle on his soft cock or his sac while you cuddle his leg and fidget with the cloth of his pantleg

although he's gotten a lot better at regulating his personal hygiene since you met him, he doesn't always clean himself up - the musky and tangy stench of blood, sweat and grime permeates his suit until he scrubs clean

art loves it when you do filthy things for his pleasure, like sniffing his armpits while humping him or rimming him with his sweaty balls resting on your nose, making your brain go dumb

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

whenever art is thinking about being away for a few days to camp out at a certain location, he'll grab himself a clean rag and dedicate an entire night to getting you to cum on the cloth as many times as possible. it wouldn't be a pair of underwear from either of you - he hates wearing any type of clothing under the suit, even if it's your cum stained boxers - so it'd have to be a ripped piece of cloth from an old clown outfit. he'll jack you off and fuck you while holding it over your tip and even gag on your cock until the flimsy material is coated and probably permanently stained in your spend. he just wants a keepsake for the road and why not make it imbued with memories of the two of you enjoying yourselves? his own little cumrag to remember what he has back home, something special to return to!

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art craves the sensation of you throbbing under his tongue, the feeling of your pulse as you leak your pleasure all over his lips and the heavy musky taste slips down his throat

he'll get you a cute, sparkly plastic ring from a gachapon machine down at the arcade and fake proposes to you! later in the week, he'll break into a sex shop and bring home a matching cock ring (he's a romantic)

art has an obsession with your balls - nipping at them, having them slap against his chin or nose bridge as he messily takes as much as he can down his throat, you name it. expect greasepaint at the base of your cock and staining your pubes

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

if he's on top and riding, he'll put all his weight into choking you while he bounces up and down on your cock, eyes glinting with pride at your gasped thanks whenever he pulls you back from the brink of unconsciousness

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

art is obsessed with you whenever it's 'that time of the month' - you can barely get away from his wandering hands and quiet presence. he drops everything the moment you reach for your favourite snacks and heat pack, drags over a dark towel he keeps on hand for you. ever since he learnt that orgasms help relieve cramps and pain, he has felt a lot less selfish for wanting to ravage you while you're tender and bleeding. he has numerous photos of his bloodied cock framed by your ass cheeks or your warm cunt and he often takes videos on your phone of his length throbbing and oozing copious amounts of pink cum <3

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your puffy pussy imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, still slick despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole, soaking the fabric

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and pussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art pretends to talk and communicate with your cunt - acting out gestures as if holding a conversation with your clit while slowly coaxing you to cum and even gesturing at you to shush if you try to interrupt the important moment

eats devours pussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your clit and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. greasepaint might stain your thighs afterwards but it's a small price to pay for a talented clown's best efforts

art will find pretty lingerie for you to wear for him, parading around his hideout, making sure you know how hard he gets at your nipples and pussy covered delicately in lace

he flicks and circles your clit while you sleep, cumming all over your pussy before putting your panties back in place. he loves leaving little presents like that for you when you wake - a fuzzy head and a sticky and throbbing mess down there, strings and globs of cum connecting your thighs and the flimsy, soaked material

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

art has never had a handsome toy with a self-lubricating hole before - his fascination with your t-dick leads to endless nights of him experimenting on you with his mouth, fingers and cock to see what makes you tick. his favourite pastime is suckling on your tender dick while he pulses his fingers against your cervix, your whole body jerking from sensitivity as his deft fingers circle your sweet spots

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and boypussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

he keeps a pair of your slick-stained boxers in his ol' bag of tricks, a little keepsake for his on-the-go orgasms - he's a sniffer for sure, securing it over his face so both his hands are free to use on his dick as he gets off to your scent

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

eats devours boypussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your cock and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. you both tiredly giggle after he's done - the face paint around his cheeks and lips is hopelessly smudged, especially after he licks his lips and grins at you. guess he'll have to redo it later, no harm done <3

he fucks you so hard and bruises your cervix to the point where you can only moan his name and whine when he properly pulls out and gives you water with a heatpack and blanket, genuinely scared he went too rough on your insides. if your legs fail after such a long night, he'll throw you over his shoulder or pick you up like royalty and use his inhuman strength to carry you around

_ _ _ _ _

mtf hcs

art the clown is thrilled to have a pretty toy with parts he's familiar with! his fingers nudge your prostate as he suckles on your tip to draw out your sweet noises. he takes you down his throat with ease, tongue lapping at your base - the combination of art's deft fingers working your hole and his hot throat clenching your length brings you to the edge embarrassingly fast. he's always had a thing for seeing his black lip paint smeared on your balls

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your bulge imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, slick from your precum drooling and sticking to the fabric despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole

he insists on battering your prostate until you're shooting blanks - he never lets up on your poor hole until you're fully spent and your head is empty with only his name on your pretty lips

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through dressing up prettily and then stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge, chest and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

the clown loves to have you dolled up in lingerie and parading infront of him, bulge and hard nipple pressed against the soft and dainty fabric. his cock gets visibly hard at the sight of you and his head spins at the sensation as you shyly offer to help with his urge to take you then and there

if you're desperate for gender-affirming surgery, art will hone his skills in surgery and sterilization to safely give you an orchiectomy - pun intended. he'll practice and go through the motions for weeks if it means you are happy and he gets to care for you

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it, i'm writing this at 5am. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

_ _ _ _ _

@stonerinthelonlycorner

[fullofgutsndopamine]

i’m half doomed (and you’re semi sweet)

tw: mention of fighting, flashback of fighting,hasan is kind of a dick, angst if you squint, unspecific fighting, mention of break up

more here

there’s loud giggling coming from deep in the house.

honestly you didn’t realize how much you missed it until just now, just realizing how lacking it was, how quiet the house was without hasan’s loud footsteps and constant bumping around.

“Aurora-“

you call gently, just as hasan rounds the corner, his hair a million different ways and a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Speak of the devil.”

you say lowly, hoping that the only person who heard it was hasan and not his twin that is two steps behind him, constantly colliding with the back of his legs.

“Mama,” she buries her face into your legs until you kneel down, moving the mop of curly hair out of her eyes when she speaks again. “Can Papa stay?”

it’s a question, not a demand.

“Oh,” hasan says quickly, panic evident in his eyes. this is definitely not something he was prepared for, “baby-“

“Baby,” you coo, the spoon resting on the oven, “We have an early morning tomorrow-“

“and-“ hasan’s knees crack as he kneels on the tile of the kitchen, his hands a claw as he tickles her belly, “someone has to get some good sleep because someone has a birthday tomorrow. I wonder who that could be-“

she giggles, her hands go into hasan’s hair as she gently pulls at it and he continues to tease her:

“who’s birthday is it tomorrow? Hm, I can not for the life of me remember-“

she giggles, climbs onto his knee and pulls at the corner of his eyes, pulls at the corner of his lips until he’s smiling:

“it’s mine, Papa!”

he gasps:

“it’s yours?!” he shakes his head, “absolutely not. you’re my baby you aren’t allowed to get older-“

you have to turn away. it’s too sweet, reminds you of when things were briefly okay-when hasan was home and didn’t have dark bags under his eyes, when he would actually come around and help-those long nights out when he came home reeking of cigarettes and in stained clothes, how your voice cracked as you begged to not be a single parent (or at least, what felt like one)

hasan’s eyes flash to yours as he stands, Aurora thrown over his shoulder. his voice drops as he leans in, and you try to ignore how you can feel his hot breath against your ear:

“i’ll leave soon. i’m sorry-“

suddenly meek and mild, not the hasan who made himself known, had no problem with that-

“Papa,” Aurora sticks her head out from behind his back, “Stay for supper? it’s just me and mama-“

his eyes snap to yours. his, wide with worry and like a deer in headlights, trying to not fuck up this co parent thing.

“Baby-“

“Mama,” Aurora pleads, “Please?”

her eyes are wide and sad and they suddenly look very much like hasan’s

“Well,” your eyes shoot to wilbur’s, “If Papa doesn’t have any plans-“

Aurora doesn’t hear that part. hears exclusively the yes that she got and squeals as hasan tries to steady her on his shoulder.

“hope you weren’t busy.” you smirk. you’re teasing, obviously, as you stir the pasta on the stove.

“Go wash your hands, babe.” hasan says gently, sets her on the floor and watches as she runs towards the restroom, still squeaking.

“Nah.” He shrugs, leaning over the stove now, finally answering. “i had a frozen pizza with my name on it but honestly-“

his hand dips into the pan on the stove, where there’s some sauce the chicken lays in. his finger connects, drags through it and brings it to his mouth with a happy sigh before you can smack his hand away:

“no, no.” he finally says, wipes his finger on his worn jeans, “this was much better, anyways.”

“what, freezer burned pizza doesn’t cut it these days?” you tease back against your better judgment, “you’ve changed.”

He laughs and the side of his eyes crinkle and the bags under his eyes are more evident and you try to shake it off before you can over think it.

“Look-“

Aurora comes back into the kitchen, all but stomping as she gets to the table:

“Mama,” She pulls her chair back, “Papa can sit next to me. I’ll get him a plate!”

You turn the flame off the stove and reach over, grabbing a plate and handing it off to Aurora, who tangled her hand into her father’s and drags him to the table with his plate.

dinner isn’t even as uncomfortable as you imagined. you imagined him clearing his throat, desperately looking for something to say, or having to take an emergency phone call to try and make himself leave early-

instead, he listens contently to every word aurora says. gasps at the appropriate times when she tells stories, knows when to gently remind her to focus on trying to eat; he falls back into the routine you two had like no time had passed. it was comforting, in a way, but knew the familiar ache would come back when he left

instead, you ignore it for your daughter. try to push it down and make it a problem for tonight-already knowing sleep won’t be on the agenda anyways, so this is something you can overthink again and again until your forced to pace in your kitchen by the light of the stove-

“I mean,” hasan clears his throat, “it depends on what your mama thinks-“

“Hm?”

you try to not make it obvious you weren’t listening, lost in your own thoughts.

“I said,” Aurora huffs, “Papa should stay and read me a bedtime story! for my birthday, mama!”

hasan looks sad in his seat. like it hit him that he’s doomed to a lifetime of day before or day after, always belated birthdays with his daughter, always an excuse or a reason-

“babe-“

you can tell by the way hasan speaks he’s setting it up to gently let her down, to try and slowly pull the dagger out of her back

“that sounds like a good idea to me,” you stay instead, “I think you have a new book Papa would like too-“

hasan’s head snaps up so quick at your voice you’re briefly afraid he’s going to break his own neck.

“M-me?”

his finger is hard against his own chest, his voice borders on shock or disgusted, you aren’t sure which one yet-

“Put your plate in the sink, Rory.” you say gently instead, “And then you can show papa your book.”

she squeals as she hops off the chair, drops the plate and goes back to hasan, where her fingers tangled into his and she pulls him away.

enough time has passed and the house is quiet enough you can hear the sinks steady stream of water fall from the faucet, a leak you can never remember to fix, that you finally figure you should check to see why it’s so quiet.

your hands play with the bottom of the old shirt you wear, suddenly aware of the old clothing and how dirty and stained it is-how for a while, hasan would be dressed up when he got home, when things were briefly okay-white button ups untucked out of jeans after a long shift, the buttons undone on the sleeve and how they were crookedly shoved up to his elbows-

a deep breath, insisting the worst-a toddler meltdown, hasan frustrated and near tears or him just gone, somehow escaped through the front door as you devoured the silence of a dinner you haven’t had in years

instead as you nudgethe bright yellow door open, you find hasan-

the bed is far too small for him; his feet dangle off the edge of them and you know his neck and back are going to hurt the next day now-but instead of a meltdown he lays on his back in the too small bed and on his chest, a little head curled under his chin with the blanket drawn up to her own neck, eyes closed and fast asleep but hasan still gently flips through the book, his voice low and steady as he reads gently in her ear-

“you’ve always had some special talent for being able to put her right to sleep.”

he laughs, closes the book and sets it on the nightstand where a picture of the three of them at a pumpkin patch years ago lays-Aurora on your hip, hasan’s face pressed against yours and silly smiles on your faces, cheeks pink from the wind blowing-

“i’ve always said i was boring,” he sighs, ruffles Aurora’s hair gently, “Guess that confirms it.”

“come on,” you roll your eyes, “I have coffee for the road for you. Just how you like it.”

he hesitates for a second. a careful kiss to the crown of auroras head, before he starts the gentle dance of untangling himself from her. limbs appears slowly; an arm, a leg, a torso-Aurora never stirs; a heavy sleeper like her father as he ducks out of the room.

in the kitchen you carefully pour black coffee into a to go cup, making sure the temperature is right before putting half a packet of splenda (the yellow package only, the one you keep far in the back of the cabinet for him, for these rare visits, in hopes he’ll come back) before securing the lid and handing it over.

hasan takes a sip, savors it as he groans and closes his eyes, really enjoying every sip.

“I needed that, princess,” he sighs, “thank you.”

princess hangs in the air and you try to not let it overpower you. try to not let him see the pink that climbs up your face with the old familiar name

i miss you, you think. the bed is too big without you. instead it comes out; “Any plans for the night?”

he takes another long sip of coffee before answering: “nah.” and he leaves it at that.

you snort, “i have a pack of 25 multi colored balloons that need to be blown up if you’re bored.”

you’re teasing. it’s obvious, at least you think. previous birthdays where hasan would be poured over the scratched up table in the front room, slowly, carefully, blowing up balloons until he collapsed back in the seat always insists this is the last year he would be doing this. you tried to bite back the sting when you think that time actually was the last time.

“Yeah,” hasan nods, locks his lips: “sure, i’ll do those real quick-“

“hasan,” you scoff, “you don’t have to-“

he throws back the last of the coffee, shakes his head: “it’s the least i can do. always your least favorite part. i’ll be quick, and then i’ll leave, i promise.”

out of habit when he says promise your pinky goes in the air and as if he’s never left, hasn’t stopped doing it, his pinky immediately wraps around yours, shakes once, falls

“where the usually are, yeah?”

hasan asks but doesn’t give you time to answer before he digs through the drawer, comes out with his victory, the small plastic bag of balloons.

hasan sits on the couch, gently blows them up, acts like he doesn’t hate it as you carefully unfold the banner of letters that read out happy birthday in various pastel colors as you struggle you hang it over the picture window.

“why don’t you let me do this?”

you feel hasan’s hand on the small of your back before you can even register his voice.

“remember,” he said gently, his voice low like he’s afraid he’s overdoing it, “before-you’d wrap the presents and i’d hang the banner-“

“because i could never reach the top-“

you both finish at the same time.

your hand is still in the air as you turn to face him: “and you always insisted on playing the beatles version of happy birthday as we did it. again and again-“

“i know,” he smiles, “and you’d always swear you couldn’t sleep the next three nights because it was stuck in your head.”

“that’s right.” you’re finally laughing, leaving out how you haven’t listened to that song in years now, “again and again-“

gently, he grabs the side of the banner out of your hands and has a hand on your hip as he gently supervisors you walking off the ladder before he takes your spot.

when he turns around you’re back and he knows from the old box in your hands immediately what’s next:

“the usual place?” he says gently, instead of the old comments he’d usually spit out; ‘again?’ or ‘this is so fucking stupid. she doesn’t want these pictures out’

you pass him the first photo, the frame half broken and super glued back together,permanent fingerprint stains on it that you can’t get out no matter how long you scrub or soak it-

“she was so fucking tiny.”

if you didn’t doubt yourself, you’d think hasan’s voice cracked, bordered on a whimper as his fingers danced over the silhouette of her in the frame. the day you brought her back from the hospital; hasan’s clothes are wrinkled and the bags under his eyes are big, even though his eyes are downcast and he’s looking at the tiny pink bundle of blankets in his hand with such a proud smile

“you were so afraid you were going to drop her,” you finally say as you set the final photo out, “i’m surprised i got you to take that picture.”

he carefully sets it on the table like he’s afraid it’ll break, but you realize it’s angled towards him as he sits back in the chair and brings a balloon to his mouth

“you can help me bake the cake,” you say gently as you sit on the armrest of what use to be his chair, “if you aren’t busy.”

your hand rests on his shoulder, plays with the tip of his collared shirt that’s wrinkled:

“might as well stay.” you try again. “p-please. Aurora”you shake your head, “aurora would be thrilled to see you.” you get out.

stay you think let’s get this right i can get this right

he nods slowly: “i’m here.”

and you recognize the weight in it, how you waited for this, as his hand drops into yours and follows you to the kitchen.

[shewroteaworld]

How He Made You Feel

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Reader

Premise: Right before the first sleepover of your romantic relationship, Jake puts a high school teacher behind bars for attempted sexual assault. The case brings up some difficult high school memories for you.

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sexual harassment, downplaying of sexual harassment

Word count: approx. 2,500

A/N: I'm back! Let me know in the comments if you want more Jake Peralta fics. (I'm not sure there's an audience for it.) Hope you enjoy! <3

Jake Peralta is the king of cinnamon buns. Eating the ones you bake, that is. 

“This is like heaven on my tongue!” He moans. He licks some cream cheese frosting off the top. “Babe, these are seriously amazing.”

Your back relaxes. “Thanks, Jakey.”

Right after your shift at the 99th precinct, you zipped to your apartment to chill before the first sleepover of your romantic relationship (no pressure). Rather than chillaxing, your anxiety sparked, and kneading dough became the outlet. Your in-a-pinch cinnamon buns never fail to soothe your soul or anyone’s taste buds. Now that you’re in his kitchen, you’re grateful for the baking conniption. Jake’s indulgence gives you a moment to ground.

As he gulps down another bite, his eyebrow quirks. “Jakey?” He flashes that cheeky grin you love to hate.

Your face warms. “I never said that.”

“Nope! No take backs! It’s on the record!”

You scoff. “Aren’t you a little young for hearing loss?” 

“Hey!” He pokes the edge of your forced frown. “You said it, and you know it, and it was adorable.”

Your heart beats in your ears. “You liked it?” 

Jake’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I liked it.” He smirks mischievously. “And you’re getting all mushy on me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, Peralta.” 

“I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He pokes your side.

You jerk away. “You don’t, and you know it.”

“If you say so! But I know what cutesy-nickname territory means.”

The buzz of his phone spares you from his ribbing. “Our DoorDash is here. I’m going to pick it up downstairs.” Jake slips on his slides.

“Kay. Thanks.”

He leans over his kitchen chair to kiss your cheek. “Course. BRB.”

Jake rushes out his apartment door. In his absence, you observe his place: the mopped kitchen tile, his clean olive green couch, his stash of beginner recipe books tucked on a shelf above a kitchen counter. When you first transferred to the 99, you couldn’t imagine Peralta had an inkling of an organized domestic in him. 

Your tan trench coat hangs next to his leather NYPD jacket on the coat rack in the hall. Your heart palpitates. That was the first stitch of your domestic lives being sewn together. You wring your hands.

Jake doesn’t care about stains. You’ll eat Indian take-out from the container while watching some corny comedy he loves and you bemoan on his bare sofa. You tidy the kitchen table anyway.

The wave of anxiety begins to crest as you straighten junk mail from random magazines and political campaigns. You brush crumbs off the new placemats you forced on him through Office Secret Santa. (Weave placements are a recipe for soup-spill disasters.) You leave the manila files of cases he’s working on untouched off to the side.

You pour two tall glasses of water.  So what if you ordered drinks? Jake’s bloodstream will become half orange soda if someone doesn’t counteract his addiction.

Just as you’re setting the glasses down, there’s a knock on the door.

You jump. Your hand jerks, sending a manila folder flying to the floor, its confidential contents scattering behind the island on impact. Shit. 

“Forgot my keys, babe!” Jake calls.

“Coming!” 

Upon opening the door, a smiley Jake awaits you, holding a white cardboard box to his chest. The mouth watering aromas wafting from it don’t calm your cortisol levels. 

His head tilts. “Why the long face?”

You step aside. “When you knocked, I jumped and slapped one of your files off the kitchen table. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows. “It’s no problem.” He says, as if he doesn’t understand why you’re on edge. 

“Everything spilled out.” You elaborate. Though you wouldn’t describe Jake as neat, he’s particular. Though the order of his files and notes are Greek to everyone else, it makes sense to him. He hates when someone “tidies” it without his permission.

Jake walks towards the kitchen. “Yeah, on the floor, not another dimension. It’s okay. Besides, it doesn’t need to be in any specific order– I closed that case today. I’m returning everything to the file room first thing.”

You trail behind him. “Did you close while I was uptown with Boyle?”

“Yep.” He plops the takeout box on the table. He kneels down to gather the rogue papers. “While you were out gathering evidence, I was cracking the code on this creep.”

Your eyebrows knit. “Sexual assault case?” You sort your take out into categories: his, hers, and shared. 

Jake taps a stack of papers straight against a countertop. “Attempted.  And he was a fucking high school teacher. Luckily, it was all on security cam. Easy win.”

The styrofoam carton of lamb samosas trembles in your hand. “That’s upsetting.”

“Majorly. Sadly, he’ll probably get off easy. I mean it was attempted. Not that it should’ve been full-on assault or that what happened isn’t terrible–”

“I understand what you mean, Jake.” You assure. It’s how sex crimes go. 

You open your potato samosa carton. “These are the bomb dot com,” you say. It’s an easy lay up for him.

“That ass is the bomb dot com!” Your chest loosens at the change of topic.

You shoot Jake a glare. He puts his hands up. 

He picks up the last of stray papers as you grab plates and utensils.  When he’s done, he grabs the drink holder, your Pineapple Fanta and your pink lemonade each tucked in a cardboard slot. “Let’s go sit, m’lady.”

You reach for the drink holder with your free hand, but he twists his torso away. He nods towards the living room. “Relax. Pick a show. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

When Jake joins you on the couch, you immediately reach for your potato samosas.

“You weren’t kidding when you said those were your favorite.” Jake chuckles.

“Absolutely not. Try the lamb. They should be in the center– that’s the shared column.”

Jake affectionately rolls his eyes. “You treat life like an Excel spreadsheet.”

“Someone has to.” The cold condensation on your small pink lemonade chills your hand. “Hopefully, a detective would.”

He grabs his chest as if you struck him. “Your passive aggression is a stab to my heart!”

You pop open the container of jasmine rice. “What subject did that teacher teach?” You ask.

“The creeper?”

“Mhmm.”

Jake opens a container of chicken saagwala. “History.”

You hum disappointedly. “History teachers were always the coolest. Especially the male ones.” You stab your plastic fork into the rice and reach for the curry. 

“Now I wish I slept less in history class.” Jake remarks. 

You stare blankly at the coffee table as you spoon your (hopefully) extra spicy curry onto your plate. 

The couch sighs as Jake sinks back into the cushions, his left arm stretching to lay behind you on the sofa’s back. “Such a scumbag. The girl was barely legal–could’ve been one of his own students. To make matters worse, she looked 16.”

In your head, you count your breaths. You zone in on the white grains of rice you’re absentmindedly pushing into your curry sauce. 

You see your high school hallway. You remember the misery, the pressure. Mr. Johnston.

“You listening to me, babe?”

He taps your calf with the tip of his slide. You flinch.

“Sorry,” he says. Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“That’s alright.”

In your peripheral vision, he leans forward. “You okay?”

You nod. “I’m great.” You click on his TV. “Just got a bit lost in my thoughts for a second.”

You feel Jake studying your side profile.

You click on Netflix. “Let’s do something lighthearted.” You drop down to his My List. Thankfully, you don’t have to search long to find something passable. 

“This one okay?” You ask. “I’ve been wanting to watch this too.”

“More than okay.”

The strings of the production company’s opening music fill the living room. You fiddle with your fork. Queasiness bites at you.

You need to shake this. This was your first sleepover with Jake. Don’t ruin this experience for yourself. It was so long ago. Nothing happened. It was uncomfortable, but you were alright. It was nowhere close to what that victim experienced. You’re fine. Is your asthma acting up?

You rest your plate on the coffee table. “Keep watching. I need the restroom real quick.”

You speed walk across the apartment to his bathroom, locking the door behind you. You turn the faucet to screeching cold. You dip your head into the basin and splash ice water in your face.

Your lungs gasp open from shock. Your brain drops back into your body. 

Everything’s safe. You’re okay. Tonight will be great. Don’t let some creep going to trial rattle you like this and ruin the evening.

You find a clean towel in a drawer and dry your face. After taking a detour to his bathroom to toss it in his hamper, you take three final deep breaths, your hand over your heart.

You’re fine. Nothing’s happening.

You return to the couch with a soft smile. “Sorry, Jake.” 

“No problem. You okay?” He asks again.

You hate lying to him. “Yeah, I just had to pee.” 

The movie snaps back to action. Though you didn’t ask, he paused for you. As the film unfurls, as predicted, you poke fun at the plot and Jake ardently defends it. The banter warms you, but the knot in the pit of your stomach refuses to unfurl.

Once your plate is clean, you lay your head on Jake’s shoulder. As the leading actress does something you don’t register, Jake’s laughter ripples through your hollow chest. 

It was so long ago. Nothing happened. It was uncomfortable, but you survived it. He never touched you. It was so long ago. He must be retired by now. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing to be your fault. Nothing criminal happened. Nothing. It was so–

“(Y/N).”

You gasp. You snap up straight. The movie’s been paused. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t get your attention.” Jake says gently. 

Your heart sinks. “It’s…I’m just in my head.” You roughly run a hand through your hair. “So sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You stare at your knees.

Jake intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s definitely substantial for you to be distracted like this.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m here.”

You smile sadly. “I don’t want to bring the vibe down.”

“Acquiring (Y/N) lore rivals catching bad guys as my favorite thing to do. Telling me about your feelings could never bring the vibe down. ”

A courteous dismissal gets tangled in your throat. Is that really what you want to say? 

Your free hand fiddles with the end of your hair. “I really don’t know how to talk about this.”

“Take all the time you need.”

You force a deep breath. “Your case threw me off.”

His eyebrows knit. “The teacher–creep one?”

You nod. “The teacher…you said he harassed a young woman who looked 16.”

He nods.

“It reminds me of an experience I had in high school when I was 17.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “How so?” He asks gently.

“There was… this science teacher– Mr. Johnston. One semester, I had to walk by his classroom everyday. I had to walk from my homeroom on the opposite end of the school, so sometimes I would get there right after the bell rang. When I was alone, he would always offer to walk me to class…even though it was only a couple doors down from his.”

Jake nods. 

“He said he was trying to make sure I didn’t get in trouble for tardiness…but he never told my teacher he walked me. And he did it even after he knew I wouldn’t get in trouble and that I was only going two doors down from his classroom.”

“That’s definitely weird.”

“He also used to do this weird thing where he would walk right behind me…I think it was supposed to be copying my walk to tease me. One day, he came up super close behind me– close enough to smell my perfume. All I could think about was how close to my ass he was.”

Anger cuts through Jake’s expression. “Did anyone see this?” 

“Some other teachers did. They didn’t see anything wrong with it…they laughed it off everytime. I guess they saw it as a harmless joke. But, it made me really uncomfortable. Everyday I would pray that he wouldn’t say hi to me or be weird and would just let me walk to class. I figured maybe I was crazy, making something out of nothing, but it just felt wrong. At the time, I tried to block it out, I had other stressors to deal with…but right after I graduated, I reflected on it and other stories I heard about him…and I was creeped out.”

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry. Did you ever report this?”

“I confided in another teacher about it, but I never formally reported anything. I don’t know if he ever talked to his colleague about his behavior. Plus, I didn't think there was anything concrete to report.” You sigh. “It felt so wrong. I remember being so afraid of being alone in a room with him…he was a co-advisor for some extracurriculars I was a part of. There, he was always completely indifferent towards me but in those hallways in the morning…”

“With less people.” Jake notes. “And colleagues who didn’t take his behavior seriously.” 

You nod. 

“(Y/N), I’m so, so sorry. That isn’t okay.”

“I’m still not really sure if anything did happen to me. He didn’t touch me….he just…”

Jake shakes his head. “Followed you down hallways and got close to your body. That’s not okay.” He squeezes your hand again. “How did it make you feel?”

“Violated.” You admit.

Jake nods. “That’s what matters. How he made you feel matters. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Tears well in your eyes. “Thanks, Jake.”

Jake offers you a tissue. “Do you know what ever happened to that teacher?”

You wipe your eyes. “I believe he retired…not 100% sure.”

His face hardens. “I can track him down if you like.”

“No, Jake…there’s nothing to report. No evidence. Just a dead-end case of “he said she said” from over 10 years ago. Even if I reported it earlier, I doubt anything could have happened.”

Jake groans. “This sucks. I’m sorry for what you went through. No one should feel uncomfortable with a teacher at school. Jesus, every time I think I get what women go through, I learn it’s worse than I imagined. I’m so, so sorry.”

You dab your eyes. “Thank you for not belittling what happened to me. It’s great to have someone like you...you don't downplay what I feel."

He kisses your nose. “It’s part of my boyfriend duties; it’s what I’m here for.”

You press a tender kiss to his lips. “Thank you for being a safe space to talk.”

He returns the peck. “Forever and always.”

Jake Peralta is a goofball. He can be messy– both literally and figuratively. But at the core of it all was a mensch’s heart. 

[spacerockfloater]

You know what, I didn’t need to see Ewan Mitchell in HOTD to be convinced; I knew I fucked with Aemond since the Driftmark episode.

I don’t like him because he’s hot when he’s older. I like him because he’s metal as fuck. The way he talked to the floppy four was art.

“It’s him! / It’s me.”

Boy, it sure as hell is him. He ate that line up. The fucking nerve of speaking about him without addressing him. He was so done with their bullshit.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now.”

Gagged her ass. Like, he met her literally today. He never knew her mother, he doesn’t owe her anything. Not to mention that during the funeral he tried to approach them and offer them his condolences with the softest smile ever and they just glared daggers at him for literally no reason until he backed off. Didn’t even let him approach. They don’t even know him and they hate him! And the first thing they tell him once they finally speak to him is accusing him of theft, as if a dragon is an object btw. Like, what are they gonna do? Tell their mum? Shut up.

“Then you should have claimed her.”

Right?! As if they didn’t cross the whole ass Narrow Sea all the way to Driftmark. It’s not like Laena died yesterday. It’s been a good fucking while. They could have at least tried claiming her at this point. What was she waiting for? And please don’t tell me she was waiting for the mourning period to end because she was keeping an eye on Vhagar constantly, hence why she was immediately aware that she flew away. That dragon is on her mind 24/7, she just had no idea how to get her. And like, it’s done. If Vhagar chose Aemond, then she would have never chosen her. They weren’t destined for one another. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be mad as shit, too. At myself, that is, for not being as smart as Aemond.

“Maybe your cousins could find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Ate and left no crumbs. This is a direct jab at Jace and Luc, too. Like, they grew up together as brothers and they thought it was okay to mock him for not having a dragon, but the moment they meet these random girls they are suddenly okay with Rhaena not having one and are ready to jump the boy they were raised with for their shake? How two faced. Typical bastard behaviour though. He was doing that girl a favour by letting her know what kind of people she’s got on her side.

And the fighting scene was delicious. Four vs one and he still mopped the floor with them. Maybe they should think twice before they lay hands on someone again.

Don’t come in my comments crying about me hating on children yada yada. Wake up, this is a fictional show about kids who wield nuclear weapons of mass destruction. Like, it was okay to dislike 11yo Draco Malfoy for being an obnoxious piece of shit, but disliking kids that physically attack another child with the intention of killing him is suddenly too much? Like, I don’t give a fuck. I want to see all four of them biting the curb in 4k. And please don’t start with the racist accusation bullshit. I thought Baela was a raging pick-me cunt since before the show, in Fire and Blood. And I absolutely adore Vaemond Velaryon. It’s not about race. It’s about characters.

P.S. Laena, who claimed Vhagar at 12 and chose to die by burning alive, would be absolutely ashamed about her daughter’s behaviour and lack of courage. But yeah, Daemon, being the crazy ax murderer that he is, would surely vibe with unnecessary violence. Those are his girls!

[luveline]

hiiii jade! i absolutely adore your writing, and when i saw you might be taking blurb requests i had to jump on it lol

can i request maybe a little blurb where reader goes to pick up her bf remus at the airport after a long time apart/being long distance for several months?

i hope thats not too specific, and please feel free to ignore it if it doesn't inspire you!

thanks gorgeous!

You might have worried that a long separation would make things fall apart. Remus would want things you couldn't offer over the phone, or he'd find someone at his university that was more interesting, but one conversation kept you going, one confession. 

If you can't do it, I won't go, he'd said. 

You hadn't known what he meant at first, still mulling over the idea of his being away for so long. What?

It wasn't fathomable. It was everything he'd ever worked toward, the peak of his career, the culmination of all his successes. You honestly thought before he said it that you wouldn't have a choice. Either you had to make it work for you or he'd leave you to live his life. 

But no. If it means we won't last, I won't go, he'd clarified, looking you in the eye, his lips hooked into one of his fond smiles. You're more to me than any of it. If we can't stretch the distance, I'll stay home. I'm happy to stay home. 

Obviously, he had to go. But it's a lot to know you're loved like that, so deeply he'd give up everything he worked for just to keep you. You'd never make him choose, and hence began the longest, most heart-breaking five months of your life. Every time you were supposed to visit him plans fell through. Each time he tried to come back there were things to do. But you know he got on his plane home, and you're pretty sure you know which escalator he's going to come down. You wait at the bottom of it, waiting, waiting. You start to worry he's somewhere else. 

"You come here often?" a warm voice asks from beside you. 

You flinch. "That's not funny!" you hiss, but then you get a good look at him and have to fight to stave off tears. Remus stands next to you, suitcase to his left, backpack weighing down his shoulders. He looks tired, but excitement lightens his eyes. 

Five months you will never, ever get back, and Remus is still so handsome. 

"Dove," he says. You almost forgot how he says it, like it's yours alone to be called. "Lovely, come here." 

You step into his arms: too much, too rough, almost chinning him as he grabs you. "Remus," you say in a gasp, startled as he bends back under your weight and your heels rise off of the floor. "Don't! Don't do that, I'm gonna crush you." 

He sets you back down carefully, but he doesn't say much, and he certainly doesn't let you go. You don't notice his quiet at first. You're too busy being selfish, soaking in the realness of his arms, the rigidity of his biceps and his forearms wrapped around you. 

"Was your flight okay?" you ask, tipping your head back. 

"It was fine." A silver shine of tears nestles between his soft lashes. "It felt long." 

"Don't cry," you say, again startled. "Remus, don't be upset. I'll start crying too and then we'll be that couple who cries on each other at the airport." 

He smiles and a tear rolls down his cheek. "I missed you. What was I thinking? What was I," —he scrubs at his eyes roughly— "thinking, I could be away from you that long?" 

You wipe his eyes much more gently. "I love you." 

"I love you too," he says, leaning down for a kiss. 

Your first kiss in five months has a lot to live upto. You'd been the one crying as you said goodbye at the airport, and Remus had left you with a kiss to remember, firm and sweet with his hands on either side of your face, as if to say, everything will be alright. 

You have to do the reassuring now. You weave your fingers into the soft mop of his sandy brown hair, his gentle curls, brushing them away from his cheek as you kiss him. It's definitely too open of a kiss for a public place and you're both prone to shyness, so after a few stolen seconds of heat you break the kiss to hide your face in his collar. 

"Please don't go away again." 

Remus laughs and sniffles. "No. I don't think I'd survive it." 

[treason-and-plot]

POST 2 OF 2

“Why would it be a joke?” says Raj.

Kaleb’s expression is now one of amused scorn.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that despite all the beautiful and sophisticated women to choose from in Paris, your brother has never been able to get over someone like Mia,” he says. “Come on.”

“What exactly are you trying to say, Kaleb?” says Mia.

“Yes, Kaleb. Please explain what you mean by ‘someone like Mia’,” says Raj. 

“Isn't it obvious? The type of girl you just have a good time with,” says Kaleb. Raj stares at him impassively. “Someone who fucks guys in public bathrooms,” Kaleb continues, with a snicker. “C'mon, man. Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

“Get out,” says Raj.

“Sorry?” says Kaleb.

“Get off my property,” says Raj. “Now.”

Kaleb frowns.

“But my clothes-“

“Fuck your clothes,” says Raj. “Get off my property now. Before I break your jaw.”

Kaleb opens his mouth to say something, then decides better of it and squares his shoulders and walks past Raj with all the dignity he can muster through the souvenir shop and out the front door of the museum and into the rain. Once he’s outside he starts running. Nanette is giggling to herself behind the desk. Raj turns to Mia.

“Get rid of that cretin’s clothes and mop and disinfect every surface of that bathroom,” he says. “And after that you can mop the entire floor of the museum. And clean and dust all the display cases.”

“Yes Raj,” says Mia meekly.

“And a word of advice,” says Raj. “The next time I tell you to break up with someone, it would probably be in your best interests to do so as quickly as possible. Understood?"

“Yes, Raj,” says Mia.

[zombholic]

| 𝐃𝐑. 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 |

𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗮𝘂, 𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗯𝗯𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘇𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝘀𝗳𝘄

“when i kill myself imma make sure to add this job to my suicide note” you rolled your eyes as you and your co-worker cleaned the spilled caramel frappuccino off the table and floor.

“we don’t get paid enough for this shit honestly” your co-worker, jesse, exhaled from his nose in annoyance throwing the rag in the sink. hearing the bell jingle indicating a customer just walked in to order the most outrageous drink known to man.

“im going on my fifteen, don’t call for me” jesse took his apron off, walking onto the back. turning to the register you looked at the customer only to be greeted with the most gorgeous woman you have ever laid your dull eyes on.

“hi, what can i get you started on?” ripping your gawking eyes off the tall woman to look at the register. “just a large black coffee please” she smiled taking out her wallet “guessing that’s going to be hard to take off the floor” she chuckled referring to the spilled frappuccino.

“oh my god i know! i don’t get paid enough for this” you put in her order “you probably get paid so damn good” you clicked your tongue looking at the scrubs and white coat she was wearing. getting a laugh out of her she nodded “yeah, well i am a doctor.” “well doctor can i get your name for your, don’t take offense nasty coffee decision.”

“abby, and none taken it’s the only thing that keeps me awake for twenty-four hours” she pays for her drinking before going to sit down to wait for her order. jesse arrives back with the most irritated expression plastered across his face, you start brewing hot coffee as you looked around making sure no one would hear what you were going to say to him.

“that lady over there” you nudged his arm while pouring the coffee in a plastic cup “i already planned our wedding and how many kids we’ll have” he scoffed, shaking his head, grabbing a mop to clean off the coffee on the floor “why do you always have a thing for the milfs” giving him a menacing smile as you called her name for her to get her coffee.

“have a great shift doctor abby” you handed the coffee over, feeling your face get hot just by looking at the goddess “you too sweetheart” she shot you a wink before walking out the door.

groaning loudly as you threw ur head onto jesse’s arm “if i don’t see her again i will actually throw myself off a bridge” he pushed the mop handle into your hands “im going to send you to a mental facility y/n” he laughed watching how you were so mesmerized by someone who is possibly straight and married with three kids.

—

you had the opening shift today so it was just you all by yourself, you contemplated throwing yourself out your moving car but decided not to. opening the glass door you had at least an hour before the cafe was open, going on with your usual opening routine you went by the door to flip the close sign to open.

leaning over the counter scrolling on your phone since it was a small coffee shop and not many people come in at 7am on a sunday. hearing that god annoying bell ring you put your phone away only to see the love of your life walk in. “doctor abby, i remember you” you gave her a giggly smile.

“i remember you too ms…“ she squinted at your name tag “ms. y/n, i’ll just get a-“ “black coffee?” you finished her sentence “great memory” she let out a soft laugh “not really, i have the worst memory known to man actually, it’s just no one really orders black coffee” you started brewing up her a new batch.

“so doctor, can i ask how old you are?” you wanted to make conversation with her, “i’m thirty-two actually, what about you?” “twenty-one” yes you had a thing for older women but who wouldn’t? “how long does it take to like become a doctor? also what kinda doctor are you?” you handed her the coffee leaning over the counter, your hands holding up your head.

“i wish my interns asked as many questions as you do” she copied your leaning on the counter but on her side “i’m a cardiologist and almost 14 years, i had to graduate high school early” she took a sip of her coffee before looking at her watch wrapped around her wrist.

“oh a heart doctor, you must be so damn smart, must be nice” you both laughed “have you ever done a heart transplant?” you had a lot of questions for her, not like you weren’t interested, you just think asking questions is flirting.

“yes, i’ve done a lot of heart transplants. i’m gonna be late for work but i’ll talk to you next time sweetheart” she waved you a goodbye before leaving out the door again.

should i ask for her number next time?

AUTHORS NOTE: hey :) im back, dont worry, im already making a part 2, my first series ever!! also my inspo goes to @eightstarr i love their doctor!abby txts!!

[graysturns]

𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣 | 𝕔.𝕤.

notes: oh shit another one! i’m in a good mood today oops

warnings: no smut sorry just chris w the rizz

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

i sat at a booth at the far end of the restaurant, polishing and rolling silverware into neat little bundles. it had been two hours since anyone had come in, so i sent the cook home. i could handle it on my own, the diner had been in my family for years and i basically grew up there. not that there was anything to handle, the floors were mopped, grill cleaned, and now, silverware rolled. but still, someone had to stay behind, just in case.

i was gazing at the sunset through the large glass windows, when i heard the bell above the door ringing. my head shot up and i locked eyes with a beautiful, beautiful man.

i stood up, patting my hands on my ridiculous waitress apron, and approached him with my customer service smile. "hey there, welcome in! just one dining in today?" i greeted him.

"yep.." he spoke awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"would you like to sit at a booth or have a seat at the bar?" i grabbed a menu and a set of silverware from behind the counter.

"the bar is fine, thank you," he took a seat on the spinny stool.

"alrighty then, there's the menu for you, my name is (y/n) if you need anything, and i can go grab you a drink while you take a look at that. what would you like?"

"umm.." he flipped over the laminated sheet. "i'll have a chocolate shake please, extra cherries.

"perfect! i'll be back in a minute" i spun around and headed back to the kitchen, secretly annoyed that i had to pull out the blender, and ice cream, and etc. etc.. but alas, doing something was better than nothing. i hurriedly prepared the milkshake, topping it with whipped cream, then some rainbow sprinkles. i made sure to add five or six cherries on top, then adding some extra whipped cream, just because.

i hurried back to the counter, placing his milkshake before him, and popping a bright pink straw into his drink.

"pink?" he raised an eyebrow at me. i felt a shift in his demeanor.

"yes, pink?" i raised one back.

"do i seem like the kinda guy who likes pink?" he smirked a little.

"it's just pink, doesn't mean anything. i grabbed a random straw sweetie, i'll change it out for you, sorry about that," i reached for the straw.

"no no no," he brought the shake closer to him. "my bad sweetie, i thought you were trying to say something, but that's okay, i actually do like pink."

i gave him a puzzled look. "i'm sorry sir, i didn't mean to offend you, i work in a diner, we call everyone sweetie here, that's how we get old guys to tip big. as for the straw, i'll just let you pick what color you want next time."

he focused on his shake, sipping slowly for a second, before looking up at me, licking his lips.

"i'm not offended sweetie, i kinda like it," he laughs. "i apologize if we got off on the wrong foot, i'm not trying to be rude, or weird or anything, i'm just really bad at flirting."

i let out a sigh "-gosh you scared me! i thought you were gonna murder me or something because i'm all alone in this diner! man, you're terrible you know that?" i giggled.

he looked very amused. "how do you know i'm not a murderer? you can't let people know you're all alone here, as pretty as you are. that's dangerous." focusing back on his shake.

"i'm gonna choose to trust you today, i have nothing better to do. anyways, have you decided what you want to order?"

he pays attention to the laminated sheet once more, then looks up at me. "what's good here?"

i roll my eyes.

"what? did i say something wrong?" he's chewing on his straw.

"that's just like, the most annoying thing you could ever say to a waitress but, again i have nothing better to do." i grab the sheet from his hand and point out a couple things.

"if you're in the mood for breakfast food, the biscuits and gravy are good, if you like that sorta thing, our pancakes too, and my personal favorite is the french toast with a caramelized peach topping, but that takes some time if you're in a rush.." he's staring at me. "sorry I'm rambling, there's so much to choose from!"

"no don't worry about it, I'm enjoying listening to you talk. but no, i'm not in a breakfast kinda mood, sorry. you can keep going, if you'd like,"

i feel a blush creep onto my cheeks.

"..okay let's see here. for dinner, we've got our classic american burger, comes with your choice of fries or onion rings?"

"hmm.. no i'm not feeling a burger at the moment."

"how about a sandwich? we've got grilled cheese, turkey club, BLT, maybe a philly cheesesteak?"

he shakes his head no, so i keep going.

"fried chicken? or a salad? we've also got country fried steak."

"i think it's called chicken fried steak, sweetie." he smirked.

"mmm no actually, it's a country fried steak."

"no it's a chicken fried steak, because it's steak, fried like chicken."

"you know what, i don't even care, that's what you're eating, since you can't make up your mind. alright sweetie?"

"alright." more smirking.

"that comes with a side, what do you want?"

"what are my options?" he licks his lips again, eyeing me up and down.

"eyes up here, sir." i point to my face.

"you can do mashed potatoes, green beans, or a baked mac and cheese."

"i'll get the mashed potatoes, thank you sweetie." he says it without an attitude this time.

"okay great, give me a few minutes and i'll have that right out for you, okay?"

"okay," he replies as i hurry back to the kitchen, pulling out all the ingredients for his meal.

as i'm finishing up, i hear the bell chime again, indicating someone has either left or entered the diner.

i peek out the swinging kitchen door and see the man's seat empty. i hoped he didn't leave just as i was finishing preparing his meal.

i plate up the potatoes, then the steak, and smother it in gravy, then walk out to the counter, carefully setting his plate down where he was sat, then sitting on my stool the opposite side.

suddenly, he walks back in, running a hand through his hair.

"hey sweetie! sorry i didn't mean to make you think i left without paying. my brother was just calling to see where i was, so i stepped outside for a moment."

"that's alright, your foods out, and you know, we don't have to keep calling each other sweetie, you know my name, just tell me yours. "

"no i like it this way, it's nicer.” he takes a seat, grabbing his fork and knife, digging in.

"wow y/n this is amazing! normally i don't like this sort of food but wow, you really outdid yourself."

"oh hush, i just had to throw it in the fryer, don't give me the credit." i beamed at him.

"but i do have to clean up, so i'll see you in a bit, enjoy your meal." i winked at him.

"no, please. stay here, i don't like to eat alone. and i like the conversation."

"i really should go clean up-"

"miss (y/n), just a little company please?"

i can't say no to those eyes. "okay fine, i'll sit with you" i reply to him, returning to my seat on the stool.

"good. thanks, babe."

"so it's babe now?" i raised a brow at him.

"we'll play around with it, see what we like more." he takes another bite.

"you're a dork, you know that?"

"i can be your dork," he smiled at me some more.

"that was so corny, don't do that ever again. please, i'm going to vomit."

"ew, babe i'm eating. you shouldn't talk about vomit. it isn't very ladylike."

"but babe, i can't help that you made me nauseous," i pouted at him.

"i don't make you nauseous. you love me!" he pouted right back.

"babe we just met!"

"but you're calling me babe, babe." he grins up at me.

"you got me there. hey babe, you want another shake?"

"i'd love one,"

"okay, be right back!" i hop off the stool and run to the kitchen, hurriedly preparing another chocolate milkshake, extra cherries and whipped cream.

"here it is," i push out the swinging doors.

"a chocolate shake for you, sir," i giggle as i throw in another pink straw.

"you said i could pick! i wanted orange this time." he frowns at me.

"aw too bad, i forgot. sorry babe. but you get what you get, i can't be wasting straws, now, think of the turtles."

he laughed then proceeded to enjoy his shake.

"i can't believe i've never been here before. quality dinner and entertainment, that's quite hard to come by nowadays," he spoke.

"i didn't consider myself very entertaining, but thank you, we try our best here at Jo's." i beamed at him, sat up straight, then jokingly pointed to the "Jo's Friendliest Face of 2023" pin fastened to my apron.

"i was completely joking babe, but i'm honestly astounded that they gave you a pin for being such a dork! this is a proud boyfriend moment." he teased.

"i'm gonna be honest with you, my dad owns this place and i'm the only one who works here besides the cook. anyways, i stole this pin from my dads office to get more tips," i trailed off.

"so you're a liar and a thief, (y/n)?" he laughed.

"aw no more babe?" i pouted.

"you gotta earn it back," he smirked.

i rolled my eyes slightly.

“okay nevermind, i like it when you roll your eyes like that, babe.” he winked.

my jaw dropped at his comment, it wasn’t outright dirty but it was definitely implied.

“babe at least take me on a date first!” i laughed and lightly smacked his arm.

he chuckled and looked down at his plate, which was now bare.

“as much as i’d love to stay and chat, i’m needed elsewhere, but we can continue this conversation another time.” he grinned cheekily.

“alright sounds good, i’ll be right back with your check,”

“no that’s okay, here’s my card. you can just run it.” he handed me a debit card. i smiled sweetly at him and walked to the computer to charge him.

after running it, i flipped it over to read “CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO” on it.

aw, chris.

i walked back over to him and placed the receipt back on the counter, along with his card and a pink pen with a fluffy pom pom on the end.

“what’s with you and pink, babe?” he smirked at me.

“i just think it’s cute, anyways, have a great night. thank you for stopping in and come back soon. i’ve enjoyed our conversation.”

he poked his cheek with his tongue as he watched me clear the counter of his plate, and walk back into the kitchen. i could feel him staring holes through my skirt.

i placed the dirty dishes in the sink and walked back out, but he was gone.

the receipt on the counter was filled out, and i hoped to see his phone number, because that was a normal thing in this industry, i never cared for it until now though.

unfortunately that was not the case. on his tab of $14.12 he had left fifty-seven cents. totaling to $14.69.

with a winky face by the sixty-nine.

what the fuck?

i ran outside hoping to catch him, and he was there, walking to his car.

“christopher!” i shouted in his direction.

he snapped his head around, and smirked.

“what’s up babe?”

“listen, i don’t normally come after people when they stiff me but what the fuck was all that for? you come in and smooth talk me and now you’re stiffing me, writing down sixty-nines and winky faces? is that how you normally treat service workers?” i got all up in his face.

“and then you made me feel like there was something! i thought i li-“

he grabbed my cheeks and pulled me toward him, kissing me passionately.

“don’t call me christopher please, it’s chris. no actually, babe. i don’t like all that formal shit.”

i didn’t even know how to respond.

i stepped back and smoothed out my apron and cleared my throat.

“um, i-i dont even know what to say.” i stared at the him.

“i was trying to piss you off. i can assure you i’m an excellent tipper. trust, babe. i wanted you to follow me out here, see how much you really liked me.”

he pulled his phone out and opened up a new contact, then handed the phone to me.

i grabbed it and typed in my number, shocked but so intrigued by him.

he grabbed it back and erased where i wrote my name and typed in “babe”.

he gave me another kiss, but just a peck this time.

“see you later babe.” he winked then slapped my ass before walking away.

i stood there dumbfounded, before running back into the diner and pressing my back against the door.

my phone buzzed and i pulled it from my apron pocket.

unknown number sent $69

unknown number: ;)

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

ahhhh omg i really like this one! hope u guys like it too 🤍

even though i’m new to this i’m super down for requests just lmk

comment on this post to be added to taglist :)

[binsito]

service

pairing: kim seungmin x fem reader

synopsis: busy seungmin hires a cleaning lady to spiff up his home only to accidentally hire a topless maid ♡

word count: 2.5k

rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, swearing, oral sex (f & m receiving), usage of the word "mister" in a sexual setting, "good girl" is used once, slight body cumshot, slight power play ??

note - seungmin as a business man is very sexy to me.. i hope i articulated this story well bc imagining it in my brain was very 😵‍💫

seungmin was a very busy man.

his career often had him working long, stressful hours. his success came with the sacrifice of his social life and maybe a couple of metaphorical gray hairs due to the constant goals he needed to reach for his company.

he was proud of his work, no matter how tedious his job may be. sure, he barely had time to himself but his mother had always advised him to become a hardworking, professional man and of course he listened. at such a young age, he found himself quickly getting promoted and making enough to live comfortably, he couldn’t complain. 

he normally came home late, toeing his shoes off at the front door and sighing as he made his way to his room. tugging at his tie to fall back into his bed. his house virtually looked unlived in. it was a lovely place, marble flooring with high ceilings but the only purpose it served him was to sleep and get ready for work the next day, an unbreakable cycle. he knew he needed to take better care of his home, at least dust it off here and there, but with what time? he could barely use the bathroom for five seconds before work emails would pour in. he figured it was about time he found someone to tend to the house for him, do his laundry, maybe have some meals prepared for him. he had the means to pay for such a service so why not? having a cleaning lady wouldn’t be such a bad idea?

he needed someone fast so he scrolled online for services while he unwinded in bed. the quicker someone could show up to fix his house up, the better. 

he ended up finding an ad that piqued his interest, clicking on it to get more information. the rate they were charging was a bit high but he assumed it was probably because they included more in their cleaning packages. “fuck it.” he sighed out as he booked the soonest available date, at least his house wouldn’t keep suffering from his negligence. __ the next morning, he was getting ready for work as he got a confirmation text message. “morning, mister kim. i’ll be arriving at 10:30, we’ll keep in touch” you had messaged. he was pleased at how quickly his appointment got approved and he finished up so he could greet you when you arrived.

eventually his doorbell rang and he walked over to open it, smiling at you as he moved aside to let you in. 

“hello, mister kim” you smiled as you introduced yourself. you held your hand out for him to shake. he returned the smile and shook your hand firmly, he seemed like a gentleman and his house was lovely. 

he explained everything around the house in great detail and gave you a small tour. it was a beautiful house, very modern and sleek although you could tell he barely lived in it, it lacked the warmth of a typical well loved home. “feel free to make yourself comfortable.. i left a list on the kitchen counter of things i need you to do. thank you for coming so punctually, shoot me a text whenever.” and with that, he was gone. grabbing his briefcase as he hurried out the door to start his day. you looked over the list: sweep and mop, change his bedsheets, iron his suits and dust off his bookshelves. cute, you thought as you noticed he signed his name on the bottom right corner in elegant cursive along with the date.

you started going around the house, working diligently, humming as you carefully dusted off his bookshelves. he seemed interesting, lots of books about philosophy and music. it seemed he was well versed in piano, having lots of classical sheet music scattered about. 

your mind began to wonder.. he was handsome, was he single? he had to be seeing someone right? engaged at the very least? but the more you looked around, the more you noticed the absence of a womanly presence in his home. just one toothbrush, one towel, no makeup lingering around, no forgotten panties or heels, nothing.

you weren’t one to jump to conclusions but normally one’s bedroom held a lot of information about someone.

is that why he requested your services? you wondered..

nothing wrong with hiring a topless maid to clean your house, it was always fun for both parties. he’d be satisfied with a cute little maid doing house chores and you’d be enjoying the attention and compensation. besides, he was pretty attractive and you couldn’t wait for him to get back home that evening to see what would ensue from him seeing you with your tits out for him.

but the problem was.. seungmin had no fucking idea he had requested services from a topless maid. he was tired, half asleep and just really needed his house to be cleaned. maybe he should’ve checked thoroughly, maybe he should’ve read between the lines when the site stated that they offered “special services”.

stupid, stupid mistake. so when he comes home and unlocks the door, the last thing he expected was to see you semi nude.

his jaw almost hit the damn floor, eyes widening while you acted so nonchalant. you glanced over at him with a soft smile, washing some dishes while your pretty tits were on display for him, buds hardening from the cold air in his house. “welcome back home, mister kim” you smiled coyly “h-hi um..” his brain was short circuiting, he didn’t even know what to say or do (he would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly turned on to be greeted in such a way). “excuse me.. im going to set my things down in my office” he said, trying not to look down at your exposed chest as he tried to also hide his painful erection. he quickly walked off and checked the website again once he was alone in his office, laughing at how dumb his mistake was. if he had read carefully he would've noticed the implications of the website. “dammit seungmin.. you are quite the idiot..” he said to himself with a chuckle. however, it was a pleasant surprise even if it was unintentional on his part. he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a nice pair of tits. this was making him realize how badly he needed to take a vacation from work and go have some fun. maybe the lack of a relationship and intimacy was making him dizzy because he couldn’t help but think this was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him.

so he let out a sigh and straightened himself out before walking back out. you had since finished the dishes and were leisurely wiping down his countertop. “everything alright, mister kim?” you asked as you leaned over the counter, head leaning against one of your hands he nodded his head and sat at one of the bar stools “no.. everything’s fine. were you alright while i was gone?”

“mhm.. but i was excited for you to get back.. wanted you to compliment me on my job well done. did i do good mister kim? the house looks nice and tidy doesn’t it?” you giggled softly “oh yes.. looks a lot better thank you. you did a perfect job, good girl” “ah.. would you like me to take your shoes off for you? i mopped and i don’t want you to mess up my hard work..” you pouted. before he could answer, you had made yourself over to him, getting on your knees beneath him and pulling off his shoes. you could feel his gaze on you, he was a little tense and you found it absolutely amusing. you knew he was trying hard to act calm but you could see right through his demeanor. “oh mister kim.. you’re so hardworking.. i can tell.. poor thing. all work and no play..” you cooed. “want me to help with that? i know you want to touch.. just tell me mister kim..” you stated blatantly, no need to beat the bush when you could tell from the tightness of his pants that he was turned on. “a-are you sure?..” his voice was weak, he thought he sounded absolutely pathetic. “oh yes mister kim.. i’m at your service remember? i wanna play too you know? i think i deserve it for doing such a good job.. been waiting for you to get home to me allll day.. i worked extra hard for my reward..” you looked up at him through your eyelashes with a devilish smile. having sex with a client was never off the table for you, especially if you found them hot. if the situation arose and you were both down, you took the opportunity. you liked being taken care of after making their house look spotless. and lucky for seungmin, if he wanted to go further than just a little topless cleaning, you were more than willing to indulge him, he was just your type. seungmin couldn’t even recall the last time he had sex.. he had been so swamped with work that he had since forgotten about such a thing. he was normally so uptight and frustrated with work, the occasional jerking off on the weekend wasn’t even doing it for him anymore. he shyly leaned forward and cupped one of your breasts, giving it a firm squeeze before pinching the bud, his big hands were able to cup a decent handful and he was pleased at how warm they felt in his hand. “how can i help you mister kim?.. oh please tell me.. i’m dying to get to work..” his hands were basically trembling at the sound of your sultry voice. he could barely form a sentence, face flushed with his mouth slightly agape. this was absolutely preposterous but he was brimming with lust and want. he nervously started to undo his belt, pushing his bangs back a bit to get a better look at what he was doing.

there was nothing sexier than a man in a suit, freshly off work, a bit disheveled and tired from the work load but ready to to pull his cock out.

once his cock was visible to you, you bit your lip in anticipation. he was long, his cock leaking and an angry red, you were sure you could take care of his problem very well.

the length was making your mouth water, the idea of him being able to reach so deep inside of you making your thighs press together. “oh mister kim.. your cock looks delicious.. may i have some?” 

mouth open and willing to take him, you were so ready to taste him, hear the noises he would make. normally the shy ones were the loudest ones in your experience and you were excited to see him let go.

“go ahead.. make yourself right at home..” he says, cock twitching as he watched you inch towards his head, sucking on the tip and smiling against it “so fucking yummy..” you whispered before taking more of him, closing your eyes when his cock hit the back of your throat.

you had to use a hand to stroke the bit that didn’t quite fit, gagging on his cock as you coated him in spit. drool trickling down his shaft and collecting on his balls as you reached down to give him a tight squeeze.

“s-shit.. i-i’ll cum if you do that..” he whined, eyes glued on everything you were doing to him.

and that only encouraged you to do it again, feeling his thighs clench as a grunt left his throat, pulling off just before he reached his high and giggling at him as he protested.

“don’t you wanna be inside instead?” you got up from your knees, bending yourself over the counter.

his eyes traced over the swell of your ass that was peeking from under the useless skirt. you were wearing a flimsy thong that would surely rip if he tugged on it just a little bit

“c’mon mister kim.. please.. i want your cock inside me..” canting your hips at him to entice him further but he was already planning on shoving his dick inside you.

he stood up behind you, lifting your skirt further to finally reveal your ass, thong irritatingly in the way so he picked it aside as he rubbed his cock against you. he thought he was dreaming, maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him because there was no way in hell this was happening, not when it felt this good.

he gripped your hips tightly with one hand as his guided his cock to your hole, it was so tight, sucking his tip right in as he bit his lip in restraint. you opened your legs further for him as he pressed another inch in.

“fuckk mister kim.. can you feel how wet i am? my pussy is dripping..” and he definitely could feel it. he could also feel how you purposely clenched around him, how soft your walls were, how inviting and warm your hole was. he couldn’t wait to have you full stretched along his cock.

once he bottomed out, he gripped your hair, pulling you into an arch as he fucked into you, tits bouncing with every sharp snap of his hips

his bangs hanging over his eyes, sticking to his forehead as he muttered incoherent curses.

“s-shit! you’re taking my cock so well..” he groaned, losing himself in the feeling of you

he didn’t know how long he would last, his balls tightening with every thrust. he was soon to be a goner, it just felt so fucking unreal, all this pent up stress about to blow deeply inside your pussy. you moved against him, meeting his thrusts as you reached down to touch your clit, the ridges of his cock pushing against you so perfectly you thought your knees would give out.

“i-i’m gonna cum oh my god.. s-shit shit!” 

one final pump and he was cumming, quickly pulling out to spill over your asscheeks. he was out of breath yet still rock hard.

you got on top of the counter on all fours invitingly, which seungmin gladly accepted the offer. spreading you open as he buried his face deep in your cunt, lapping hungrily as you moaned. wet noises filling his normally quiet home. 

his tongue didn't leave a single crevice untouched, flattening and sucking harshly as your toes curled from the pleasure. he pressed his tongue in while his fingers came up to rub your clit. his nimble fingers coaxing an orgasm from you, one that made a mantra of "mister kim's" spill from your lips.

your essence all over his face as he licked his lips, sighing in ecstasy, giving you a light slap on the ass as he pulled your skirt back down

both of you in a haze yet still craving more. you knew this definitely wasn't going to be the last time seungmin would request services from you.

which was absolutely right.

seungmin quickly booked you again for the following week after you had left, same day and time. you were bubbling with anticipation for the next time you’d come over.

you fucking loved your job.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: The Horrors of War

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The small village was little more than kindling now. Repeated cannons had vaporized what defenses the enemy militia had erected before the attack had even commenced and after the bombardment the majority of those who could fight ran. A few attempted to put up a fight but by then the alliance forces were just mopping up the remnants.

Jimbari stepped carefully over the still cindering rumble as his squad made for the center of the village. A was thankful the helmet filters were still working and absorbing most the stench otherwise he would not have been able to make it three feet with his people’s overly heightened sense of smell.

Taking a look around the ruins he wondered why his team was even here to begin with. Command had ordered them to support the terran advance along the front but the Terrans had never requested assistance before. To the contrary, they seemed more inclined to keep their allies away from their section of the front. Yet command was insistent that this time a Jimbari’s squad help them regardless of the terran’s intentions.

Climbing a small mound of bricks Jimbari lost his footing and stumbled down the other side harshly. He could hear his squad coming over to him as he swept the dust off himself only to find himself face to face with a terran soldier pointing a compact launcher right at his face.

“Callsign.”  The human spoke with authority. Jimbari could hear the footsteps of his men reaching the top of the mound he had just fallen down but the terran never took his eyes off Jimbari.

Quickly holding up a hand for caution to his own men before they mistook the situation Jimbari responded “Red Frank.”

The terran kept his gun pointed at him for a few moments more before pointing it away and offering a hand.

“Sorry about that,” they said as Jimbari took the offered hand and hoisted himself up, “can’t be too careful these days.”

“A wise precaution.” Jimbari replied smoothly as if the terran had not almost killed him. “Lesser warriors have fallen victim to such lack of caution.” The terran grunted acknowledgement and then let out a high pitched whistle.

From the surrounding buildings emerged an entire platoon of terran soldiers. Covered in dirt, mud, dust that expertly camouflaged them; Jimbari was thankful he was able to defuse the situation before a lethal firefight broke out.

From the corner of his eye he watched his own men lower their weapons and slide down the hill to join him as the human who had pointed the gun at him held up a hand in a weak salute.

“Lieutenant Mccao of the 31st.”

“Sunrunner Jimbari of the Scar brands.” Jimbari replied as the pair began walking together to the center of the town.

“We were told we had some reinforcements coming, but command failed to mention what you all looked like; just a call sign to be answered.” Mccao informed Jimbari. He noticed that even though they were now surrounded by both their respective warriors this Mccao kept his eyes watching the surrounding ruins and his hands clenched tight around his weapon; a truly battle hardened warrior indeed.

“Would you have killed us if I had given it wrong?” Jimbari replied amusingly, but was shocked when the lieutenant nodded.

“Out here mistakes get you killed.” They replied coldly. “If you’d have given the wrong answer you and your whole lot would’ve been dead before your body hit the floor.”

“Such alertness is to be…” Jimbari began but found himself unable to find the right words. He’d never fought alongside allies who could so easily kill without hesitation. Thankfully the terran cut in before the silence became more awkward.

“You can save the dick sucking for someone who cares; let’s just get this done.”

Jimbari was going to ask what they meant when they finally reached the village center. The perimeter of the area was encircled by a couple terran soldiers each facing outwards being overseen by an officer whom Mccao broke off from Jimbari to go and speak with.

 Lined up against the village chief’s home were several locals all bound and on their hands and knees. None of them appeared clean and they looked as if they were the only ones to have survived the short run battle through their community. There were even a couple of infantile ones clinging to what he assumed were their birth givers and weeping as the birth givers spoke softly to them.

He pointed to the infantile ones bound in rope. “Why are they held like this?”

Mccao looked over his shoulder and followed Jimbari’s eye line to the captives.

“Survivors from the battle,” Mccao replied dryly, “we’ve just finished questioning them.”  Jimbari was unsatisfied with the answer and pressed the issue.

“Why are the…what is your word….”Children”, held like that?”

The terran Lieutenant looked at him surprised as if the answer was simple. “All designated combatants are to be detained for questioning; no exceptions.”

Jimbari could not believe himself. “Since when are children combatants?” he demanded of the terran.

“Since one of them walked up to me friend and detonated a plasma grenade they had in their pocket.”

The answer was harsh as it was truthful. Jimbari could see the pain of the moment in question that haunted him burning behind the terran’s eyes. This warrior had seen things that could not easily be forgotten.

Unsure how to proceed, Jimbari changed topic. “Have you learned anything useful?” To which Mccao shook his head.

“Imperial forces pulled out of here three days ago and left the militia here as a rearguard.” The Lieutenant answered. “They didn’t think they could hold out long so half the weapons they got were sparking scrap.”

As if to emphasize his point he kicked over the broken remains of an Imperial plasma rifle. Jimbari looked at the weapon’s remains and could tell there had been a power overload causing the blast of super-heated plasma to backfire into the wielders face rather than expelling from the elongated barrel.

“What can we assist you with then?” Jimbari asked the Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant looked at the prisoners then at his second who gave a shrug before turning back to Jimbari.

“Like I said, we’re pretty finished up here but there is one thing you could do.” They pointed at the gathered prisoners who were now being dragged backwards and placed against a wall.

“Kill them.”

Jimbari looked at the terran in confusion then tapped his helmet several times; sure that his translator unit had malfunctioned.

“Kill them?” Jimbari asked as if he had heard wrong, but Mccao nodded.

“Yes, all of them.” He said as he waved his hand across the gathered lot of prisoners.

From behind him Jimbari saw his men looking uncomfortable as they heard the terran’s order.

“But they are noncombatants; innocents.” Jimbari countered. The terran surprised him by laughing and wiping a hand across his dirt covered face.  

“This is war; innocence is always the first thing to die.”

From the corner of his eye Jimbari could see the humans who had been watching the perimeter had turned around and now encircled the lot of them. Turning back to the lieutenant he saw the human’s hand had quietly flicked the safety off their weapon; their trigger finger resting slightly against the guard.

“I can see you are looking at this from a morality perspective so allow me to give you a taste of the real world.”

Walking over to one of the younger prisoners clutching to their birth giver, they grabbed them and dragged them over before Jimbari. The birth giver cried out and tried to stop the terran only for one of their soldiers to step forward and drive the butt of their weapon into their chest sending them to the dirt hard.

“Stop this!” Jimbari demanded as the Lieutenant grabbed hold of the little one’s face and forced them to look up at Jimbari.

“You see this little fucker?” Mccao said as he tightened his grip making the young one cry. “This little guy here just watched us blow the fuck out of his dad.”

With his rifle he pointed over to a nearby corpse lying against a wall. It was riddled with puncture wounds from where the bullets entered and part of the face had peeled away leaving it hanging limply in the breeze.

“Pretty much everyone here we killed was from this village and these are most likely their families.” The terran continued.

“They are militia so that makes sense; but-“ Jimbari continued but the terran cut them off.

“So tell me then; what do you think this little kid here will grow up remembering of his childhood? Do you think it’ll be going down to the river with their friends to fish? Or maybe about that crush they had with their neighbor? Or, now this is a wild one, how some alien monsters came into their village and murdered their family and friends?”

The young one said nothing as they struggled in the terran’s grip. Streams of yellow tears running from their pores as they wept much like their birth giver who still struggled to reach them. Jimbari fixed the terran with a cold stare that had made his men quake in fear.

“Put the young one down.” Jimbari demanded, his hand tightening on the grip of his weapon now.

“So he can grow up and kill us later?” Mccao laughed. He brought the muzzle of his weapon up and pressed it against the head of the young one.

“I said PUT THEM DOWN!” Jimbari shouted. He brought his own weapon up to cover the terran as the two sides of former allies trained their weapons on each other. A chorus of shouts to disarm went back and forth as each Jimbari’s team and the terran platoon; neither side willing to lower their weapons.

“Careful now,” Mccao spoke, his voice thick with a dark menace, “with you acting all scary you wouldn’t want me to-“

Jimbari never heard the last bit as the loud discharge of the lieutenant’s weapon went off. He watched the head of the young one cave inwards from the bullet’s impact before shooting out the opposite side in a violent display of gore.

Roaring in rage, Jimbari made to pull the trigger of his own weapon before feeling several sharp pains throughout his chest. He looked down to see several puncture wounds dotting his armor that now spilled out his life blood.

Behind him he could hear the roar of terran weapons going off as the rest of his team was cut down like wheat before they could even retaliate. The terran’s had taken their time during the argument between Jimbari and Mccao to encircle the group and line up kill shots on the entire squad. His team were dead the moment Jimbari brought up his weapon.

Collapsing to his knees, Jimbari clutched his chest trying to stem the bleeding but there was little hope. He looked up to see the terrans turn around to their captives and unleash a lethal barrage of fire, killing them all as they begged for mercy.

Mccao stepped over to Jimbari and looked down at him; his expression a mixture of disappointment and indifference.

 “One day, you’re people will learn the realities of war.” They said as they brought up their weapon against Jimbari’s skull. “It’s a shame it wasn’t today.”

-------------------------- After Action Report 737 Location: Zenellie Village Statement from: Lieutenant Mccao. “We entered the town and cleared out the militia rather easily. They had little to defend themselves with so after we killed a few the rest surrendered too us. We had just gathered them in the center of the village for questioning when Sun Runner Jimbari arrived to support us.

Not long after Jimbari’s squad entering the square a series of explosions went off throughout the village. We dove for what cover we could find as new combatants emerged from the ruins of the village to engage us. I assume they had been hiding inside the village waiting to ambush us all when we were entirely surrounded.

Jimbari was ordering his squad to engage when he was cut down by the previously held captives. They had broken free of their bindings and had stolen several of our guns which they then turned on us while we had been distracted by the counter attack.

I would like it mentioned for the record that he and his men fought bravely, but were cut down by the villagers before we could intervene.  I saw him cut down by a young child of one of the villagers as they unloaded an entire clip into their chest before I got a shot off and took them down.

By the end of it the entire village was reduced to kindling and all of the villagers were dead. We did our best to recover the bodies of Jimbari and his men to be returned to their people for proper burial before heading back to our lines.

In light of such devastation, I would recommend that all captives be treated as dangerous combatants until this conflict is over. “

[weebsinstash]

I wanna be best buds with Lucifer. All my brain cells r now fixated on the short munchkin dressed like a haunted puppet with depression who CLEARLY needs a new passion project in his life.

Depressed Dad is clearly in need of something or someONE to kick him out of his depression funk. Y/N could be just the ESA he needs. The hell equivalent of those little marimo moss balls parents buy for kids who are too irresponsible to remember to feed fish.

What I'm saying is, the platonic yandere potential is off the charts. We go to Valentino to get hungover and fucked, but we go to Luci for a hangover cure and a comfy couch to crash on.

Honestly I was thinking of something, like

Lucifer just wants to assume everyone down there is the worst, but imagine he comes to the Hotel to see Charlie and Reader is there as a guest and, SOMETHING happens

Like I was imagining it would be really cute if Lucifer's first visit to the Hotel went significantly worse and Charlie and him are arguing and Reader is the one who tries to help them make amends. Constantly fighting the feminine urge to put musicals in these fucking fics or posts but you wind up singing a tune about how WAIT, please don't go, the two of them have to make up, and clearly he's a good person and an even better dad because CHARLIE is like rhe nicest sweetest bestest person you've ever met

and then after you're done Charlie is like BAWLING like when Angel forgave her, just grabbing you and her Dad, "this is the first time they've saaaaang, they've been too shy and they did it for US, that's so beautiful!!!" just like HARD CRYING and you're basically like Honorary Child 2 at that point

I can just. mmm, imagine if you knew Val first and then befriended the Morningstars. Valentino tries to force you to do something one day and you're just like, picking up your phone, staring Val dead in the face as you text someone. FIVE MINUTES LATER, there's a knock to the door of the set, and you rush to open it, and everyone starts losing their fucking MIIIINDS as LUCIFER HIMSELF walks in

You give Valentino a grin that would have made a demon proud as if to say "fucking try me bitch" before turning back to Lucifer, "heeeeeey short king! I'm sorry for messaging out of the blue but I missed you! Hey, i think my friend Mr Valentino was about to like, give me a job or something?"

Lucifer's just all, "oh, you mean like working the lights or, helping mop the floors cause, I don't think that suits a young lady/man/whatever like yourself!"

Like can you imagine Val was having you read some AWFUL like NAAAAASTY script before Luci came in and it's still in his hand and you point at it, "hey isn't that it right there?" And Valentino and potentially even Vox have to SCRAMBLE, "No no not at all, this is, uh, my laundromat receipt!" *shoves the entire booklet into a nearby shark demon's mouth

Lucifer is standing there being, kinda judgy like he was with Charlie's hotel but otherwise being friendly and YOURE the one being the "silent" menace. Valentino is GRINDING his teeth, "soooo, Mr Morningstar, sir, big fan, excellent work, uh, what can we do for you?" And you're just slinging an arm around THE DEVIL "oh, me and him were gonna go grab lunch and I was maybe gonna crash at his daughter's new place where Mr Lucifer here is gonna be visiting all the time. You don't mind right?" and Vox has to step in and answer "yeah, sure no problem!!!" because Valentino is about to devolve into nothing but furious squeaking

This is an idea I'm prolly gonna wind up using for a platonic Husker thing but, Reader having an abusive childhood and Lucifer becomes aware that YOUR dad was a mean piece of shit, definitely down in Hell too or previously exterminated, and Lucifer just finds you like DRUNK IN THE GUTTER, "I'm a looooooser just like my dad". Like. Yandad Luci here is probably the type where he sees you having ONE bad hangover and he's concrete convinced you're a hardcore alcoholic and need rehab STAT. Which may be true but what I'm saying is is that, he sees you at your weakest ONCE and he's suddenly like "Oh no, duckling! cmon, let, uh, let ... Daaaaaad help you? 🥺" and you find out his idea of help is like. Extremely well intentioned but horribly well executed as he's over here, "you know what helps MY depression? Inventing things in my workshop" and you look around to 4000 versions of the same rubber duck and you're like "s so.... is it working" and he just emphatically declares "No! :D but I think it's getting a little better with you here!" and your fate is fucking sealed and wait until Lilith moseys on back into town and finds the "savior" of her goofy little husband and best bud of her daughter and now you've got every Morningstar on your side in totally The Most Normal Ways Possible :)