#cube sugar making machine

[satorusugurugurl]

Brat tamer and daddy kink with geto, gojo and toji please 🙏🔥

Brat Tamer’s

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Toji Fushiguro, FAB!R

Word count: 4,982 (I got really into it)

Warning: unprotected sex, degrading, overstimulating, public sex, dirty talk!

A/N: I literally loved this, I got so excited. I stayed up late editing it when I need to be up in four and a half hours! Please enjoy!

Summary: JJK men and how they fuck the bratty attitude out of you! 🥵

Gojo Satoru:

Rage boiled in the pit of your stomach as your leg bounced. The foul mood you were in wasn't because you woke up early on a Saturday or due to you sleeping on the couch. No, your sour mood is sponsored by your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.

The bastard had been the biggest twat tease the previous day. All Friday long, he sent you the most provocative, smutty, thirsty texts the world had ever seen. Sexting, who the hell even sexted anymore?

Gojo Satoru did.

SATORU: damn, I'm thirsty. 😩

YOU: Buy a drink then? 🤨

SATORU: but they don't have what I want. .🥲

YOU: How could the vending machine be out of Cola?

SATORU: I don't want soda. I want that dripping pussy in my face. I wanna lap my tongue up and down, swirl it around your clit, and fuck you with my tongue until you cum on my mouth. Then I'll do it again, this time flattening my tongue over your cunt, encouraging you to use me how you want. In whatever way, Y/N, 🥵 I need you to sit on my face. I promise you the second you get home; I'm going to live between your thighs for the night. 😏❤️🌶

The conversation progressively got hotter and hotter until you found yourself clenching your thighs together to stop the insistent throbbing. God, it was so erotic. You loved reading his nasty words and were disappointed when they abruptly stopped. Maybe he’d taken pity on you, giving you a break to enjoy your dinner with Shoko and Utahime.

You were stripping the second you got home, kicking your shoes off, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door. If you knew how to teleport like Gojo, you would have been in the bedroom instantly. Alas, you had to run for it, sliding inside, hoping to find a naked Satoru with a rose between his teeth. Instead, you saw him snoring, drooling all over his pillow.

He had teased you all day, ruined a perfectly good pair of panties, to end up passing out on you!?

Sure, he was the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of the modern age, and he needed to get all the rest he could. It didn’t help that he had been on a long mission two days beforehand. But he could have rested after he fulfilled his nasty promises. But no, the bastard fell asleep on you.

“Morning Sweetheart.” Gojo walked into the kitchen with a yawn, oblivious to your rage. “Man, I slept like a baby.” He glanced around, searching for you, as he scratched at his stomach.

“Aw,” he stiffened at the tone of your voice, “did my old man sleep well?” Gojo watched as you lifted your coffee cup to your mouth, taking a long sip and glaring daggers at him.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Old man.” You snapped before taking another sip.

Gojo scoffed, grabbing his mug from the cabinet and filling it with hot coffee, fixing it with five cubes of sugar and sweet vanilla creamer. “Why the hell are you calling me that for?” There was only a two-year difference between you two. So he assumed that you woke up in a bad mood or you were being a brat at eight in the morning.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” Sarcasm laced your voice, “I assumed you turned into an old man last night. Seeing that you passed out at nine o'clock last night. After you were a twat tease all day! You know, promising to eat my pussy in Ultra 4K HD.”

Oooh, that's why you were so pissed off.

“First off, relax; I was so tired when I got home. I just intended to nap, but it turned into an eleven-hour nap. And, you know I'll make it up to you, princess.”

“No, you won't.”

Your blatant defiance had Satoru choking on his coffee. He sputtered and hacked into his elbow as tears flooded his eyes. The entire time he was fighting for his life, you watched with a smirk. Knowing you were the cause of that reaction.

“I'm sorry, I must have misheard you.” Gojo took a deep breath, clearing his throat. “It sounded a lot like you just told me no. As in, you don’t want me to eat your pussy.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pressing your breasts together. “You heard correctly.”

“Ha,” Satoru shook his head, leaning forward as he rested both hands on the kitchen counter. “Good one brat. You and I both know you’re lying. Keep it up. See what happens.”

“What.” You said, tilting your head. Assuming you hadn't heard him, Satoru opened his mouth to repeat himself. “Ever.” You finish with a smirk.

Now, that was annoying. Satoru’s blood was boiling as he realized you woke up and chose violence because he didn’t eat you out last night. Annoying as it was, he’d be lying if he said your attitude had his cock twitching inside his pajamas. Two could play in this game. He'd give you one last chance to behave before he taught you a lesson you would never forget.

“You’re going to listen to me carefully, baby.” You whined as he grabbed your face in his right hand, squeezing your cheeks gently, forcing a pout to form. “You’re going to be a good girl, and stop being a brat.”

Releasing his grip on your face, Satoru grinned, pleased with the pout that remained despite not forcing It. Now that you had been properly scolded, he could enjoy his coffee without choking to death. But before he could sip the sugary goodness, your pot twisted into a sly grin.

“Make me.”

Satoru’s eyes darkened before gently placing his cup down. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as he walked around the counter, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. He dragged you across the floor, which was easy, thanks to his curse technique. He whistled a cheerful tune as he entered your bedroom.

Which is where you had been for the last hour.

“S-Satoru!” You cried out, eyes wide as your back arched off the bed.

Satoru pushed your trembling thighs further apart. His tongue gently flickered at your abused and throbbing clit as his fingers curled inside of you. His cerulean eyes never once broke contact with your face in the hour he's been nestled between your thighs. Satoru was a man on a mission. A specific mission that was going to involve you crying from overstimulation by the time he was through with you.

“Too much!” You squeaked as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking on it. “Satoru! Satoru, please!”

He ignored you, promptly sucking harder as his fingers fastened their pace, curling against the spongy spot inside you. With a strangled yelp, you threw your head back, trembling hands reaching for his soft, snowy locks. You yanked him back. Away from your pussy with all the strength you could muster.

Satoru could have easily swatted you away, but he decided to be nice, allowing you to pull him away from your dripping sex. God, he looked as feral as you felt. Eyes narrowed, mouth dripping with your slick, pale cheeks flushed red.

“Oh, sorry, did you say something?” His talented tongue darted out, cleaning your slick off his lips. “Sorry, I’m an ‘old man,’ so I didn't hear you.” His tongue went back to work, swirling slowly around your clit as if it were his favorite candy.

“Mnnngh!” you yelled, gripping his hair tighter, “Toru!” He still paid you no mind, focused solely on making you cum for the sixth, seventh, eighth time? You'd lost count after four. “Toru!” Your legs trembled under his relentless attack. Satoru hummed, knowing you were close. He sped his fingers up, tongue flicking madly over your clit.

“Fuck! Fuck! Ahh!” You cried out as you squirted all over his face. But the man didn't stop; he kept the same speed going. Determined to make you cry from immense pleasure.

It was getting too much to handle. Spots were forming in your vision as you convulsed under him. There might be only one way to stop this never-ending orgasm loop. One that would most likely result in you getting fucked into the mattress, but at least that way, he would leave your poor clit alone for the time being.

“D-Daddy,” you whimpered, “Daddy, please.”

Just like you knew he would, Satoru lifted his head like a puppy being called for dinner. The damn bastard had a shit-eating grin plastered over his cum drenched face. “Oh, you called baby girl?~” His head rested against your thigh while slowly keeping his fingers moving inside of you.

“Nngh, oh fuck, I’m sorry, Daddy, please, I need your cock.” You cried out in relief, relaxing as he sat up, leaning back on the heels of his feet. “Daddy~ daddy, please.”

You knew he couldn’t take much more of this of the endless foreplay himself. His cock was straining against his pajama pants, a small wet spot forming against the gray fabric. Indeed, he was done punishing you. It had been a long, amazing, but still exhausting hour.

“Please, what? Use your words, beautiful.”

“Please fuck me.”

Tilting his head, Gojo rubbed at his slick chin, pondering thought. “Fuck you? You want your sweet daddy to fuck you?”

His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, making you jerk slightly. “Yes! Please, Daddy, I'm so sorry.” Satoru hummed in satisfaction before leaning down and kissing you deeply. You moaned, and he used the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. The taste of you flooded your mouth. He always kissed you like this before he fucked you.

Finally, the torture could stop.

He hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting your hips to rest over his own. But much to your horror, he pulled back, smirking as he lifted you high and higher until your legs were over his shoulders, and his lips trailed over your inner thighs with nips and hickeys.

“T-Toru! Wait, let's be reasonable!” A pitiful squeak escaped you as he dragged you to the edge of the bed. “I-I said I was sorry, Daddy!!” Terror plastered over your face as he dropped to his knees on the ground.

“Baby girl, I am being reasonable.” He pulled your hips closer to his mouth, his hot breath fanning over your cunt. “You were so hurt and distraught over me breaking my promise last night. So I have to make it up to you. I plan to fuck you all day.” Blue eyes glimmered, half-lidded, as he stuck his tongue out, dragging it slowly over your entrance. “With my tongue.”

Before you could utter another rushed, heartfelt apology, Satoru’s mouth sealed over you again, sucking you like you were his favorite treat. At this rate, he was going to suck the soul out of your body.

Geto Suguru:

“Sorry! Sorry!” You hummed out before stopping right in front of Suguru. You made it a point to bend over, your ass brushing against his crotch. “My shoe is untied!”

Suguru cleared his throat as you pretended to tie your non-existent shoelace. “No worries.” His throat was dry, and you looked over your shoulder to find him staring directly at your ass. This was going exactly as planned!

Last weekend Gojo had asked Suguru if he was a tit or ass man. Usually, your sweet boyfriend would say something along the lines that you as a whole, was his type. But between the shots of sake and the three beers he'd chugged, he eyes you carefully in thought. His dark gaze moved from your chest before he leaned back in his chair, trying to examine the ass you were sitting on. The whole scene had your friends whistling and clapping at the way he practically undressed you in front of them.

“Ya’ know, I was a tit guy in high school.” Suguru downed another shot before he draped his arm around you, pulling you firmly against his side. “But since Y/N and I started dating, I can confidently say that I am an ass man, Satoru.”

This discovery had your curiosity peaked. So there was only one logical thing for you to do. You needed to put his statement to the test. For science, of course. Nothing more than science.

Your first experiment was to see how he responded to you flashing him. When he had just gotten home from the gym, you welcomed him back by lifting your shirt showing him your breasts. In all of his sweaty glory, Suguru didn’t miss a beat. He dropped his gym bag, tossed you over his shoulder, and carried you to the bedroom, where he got his cool-down workout in.

That was the typical when he saw your boobs. Suguru loved your breasts. He loved to caress them, hold them, and bury his face in them after a long and stressful mission. In all of your previous relationships, no one enjoyed playing with your breasts as much attention as Suguru did. So to hear him say, with his own words, was a bit far-fetched.

Thus began your experiment to find out what he really was!

Throughout the day, you purposely dropped your pen, bent down to pick up your keys, and, of course, leaned over his desk in order to retrieve a paper that had mistakenly fallen into the ground. Each and every time you glanced back to look at him, to see an almost distant expression on his face as his eyes were glued to your ass.

His staring was hardly a reaction compared to you flashing him. Either he had been drunk when he answered Satoru, or you weren't putting in the effort needed to truly test him. He left you no choice but to step your antics up.

“Y/L/N-Sensei!” Itadori beamed as you carried a stack of papers into the classroom. “Do you need help with that?”

“No, I got it, Itadori!” You neatly placed the papers on the desk, grinning at Suguru, who was talking to Megumi about his stance in the earlier training. “I do need to borrow Geto, though. Sorry, guys.”

Hearing you call his name, your boyfriend turned, a soft smile gracing his gorgeous face. “Okay, class is dismissed for today. I'll see you all tomorrow.” The three first years left the opposite way that you led Suguru down.

“I needed to grab the box of paper talisman paper out of storage.” You opened the door to the storage closet. “But I can reach it.”

“So you're just using me for my height?” Suguru gasped dramatically. “Has our whole relationship been a lie, Y/N?”

With a giggle from you, Suguru stepped inside, reaching for the box on the highest shelf. Now was the perfect chance to see how he reacted to your ass. You stepped inside the closet with him. Your darling boyfriend is oblivious to your mischievous intentions.

“Oh!” Suguru turned to watch as you shut the door. He didn't get to ask what you were doing when he suddenly stiffened as you squeezed between him and the shelves. “I was wondering where they kept the extra pens!” You stood on your tiptoes, rubbing your ass on his crotch. Suguru hissed, and you could feel his cock twitch in his pants.

“Sorry! I just!” Standing on your tiptoes, you barely reached for the box of pens before dropping down. You repeated this action several times, practically dry-humping against him while attempting to maintain your innocence. “They're just so far away!”

When you reached your fingers again, grazing the box, Suguru’s hand clamped down on your wrist, squeezing it. His labored breathing hit the back of your neck as his cock throbbed hard against your ass. The air inside the closet was suddenly ten times hotter and stuffier than it had been seconds ago.

“I fuckin’ knew it.” Suguru snarled, his lips pressing against the back of your neck as her hands grabbed the hem of your pants. “You’ve been bending over in front of me all day on purpose. Are you seriously trying to test me?”

You were suddenly pushed against the shelves with one of his hands as the other yanked your pants and panties down, pooling them at your knees. “What are you talking about?” You attempt to come off as confused, but hearing the zip to his uniform being dragged down had you shivering.

“Oh, don't play dumb. You were testing to see if I was an ass man or not, weren't you?” He ends his question with a smack against your ass. “That's why you kept bending over, you know, like a brat.”

“Still don't know what you mean.” Your act is slipping up as you hear Suguru spit behind you. A second later, his hot, spit-slicked cock grinds perfectly over your ass. “Oh shit~”

Sugar kneads at your ass, thrusting his cock between your cheeks. “You can keep playing the innocent act, but we both know you're a terrible liar, Y/N.” He adjusts himself, allowing his cock to move further down, his tip teasing the entrance to your pussy.

“I am? Man, what gave me away?”

“Your shoes don't have laces.” With a sudden and sharp thrust, Suguru slams inside of you, his hand clamping down over your mouth, muffling your scream of pleasure. “Silly little brat, you wanted this as much as me, Your pussy is soaking wet for me, and I didn't even get a chance to touch your pretty cunt.”

You scream into his palm as he starts thrusting into you, the shelves shaking, dust flying around the two of you. As boxes and papers fall to the ground, Suguru picks up his pace. Your pussy is so tight and wet. It feels so good to be buried deep inside of you.

“Fuck~ fuck your pussy is the best,” Suguru whispers slowly in your ear, his dark hair falling over your shoulder as he leans fully against you. “This is like my own personal treat for being good and not fucking you in front of the entire school.”

His words, the tone of his gravely voice, and the mere force he was fucking you at. It had you hurdling to the edge so fast you felt like a teenager again. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you convulsed around his cock, cumming so hard you thought you might pass out. And Geto, he wasn't better off. You'd been rubbing up his cock off and on all day, the ultimate edging.

His teeth dug into your shoulder to silence his moans and whimpers as his cock throbbed inside of you, filling you with his seed. You breathed heavily against his palm, gasping for air as he dropped his hand from your mouth to your chin. He turned you to face him, kissing you ever so gently as he slowly pulled out of you.

“We need to go home.” With shaking hands, you tried to pull your clothes back up. “I’m going to fuck you for each time you ground that sweet ass against me today.” Suguru kindly decided to help you with your pants, pulling them up and fastening them secure. “Hope you're ready for a long night, Princess.” His hand slapped your ass as you both headed out of the closet. “Cause that ass is mine.”

In conclusion, you discovered the truth: Geto Suguru was, in fact, an ass man.

Toji Fushiguro:

“We’re having dinner with a potential client tonight. Make sure you wear something nice. Not like your usual t-shirts and shit.”

His words rang through your ears repeatedly as you eyed yourself in the bathroom mirror. You'd show him something nice. The asshole dared to tell you to wear something nice?! Mr. Sweatpants himself? What a dickhead!

After he took off for work, you made it your life's sole mission to get dolled up to a t. If he wanted to impress your potential client, you'd make their fucking jaws drop. You'd be so hot; they'd take the two of you on as clients just in the hopes of seeing you in all your fuckin’ glory!

“I assure you, my partner and I can immediately get the job done for you,” Toji said, sipping on the red wine his potential client so graciously bought.

“You both came highly recommended; I look for— my God.” the elderly man perked up. “What a stunning woman.”

Toji scoffed into his glass; he didn't care to look at other women. You were the only one he had eyes for. You were the only woman that mattered. He did, however, pay attention to the older man’s eyes. They were following whatever poor woman was walking about. Watching the man in his eighties undress them with their beady eyes was a sickening sight.

“Oh!” The man in front of Toji perked up, straightening his tie. “She's coming this way, Fushiguro.”

The sound of high- heels clicking against the tile didn't have Toji intrigued in the slightest. But the smell of your perfume and the sudden silence had him whirling around in his chair. “So sorry to keep you both waiting.” You stood there behind Toji’s chair.

Your makeup was done, and your Y/H/C hair was styled expertly. Toji had seen you dolled up countless times before. That wasn’t new. What was new was the super short red dress you were wearing. It clung to your curves, leaving hardly anything to the imagination. Your breasts bounced, threatening to pop out as you bowed at the elderly client. When you straightened your back, Toji felt the vein in his forehead throb as your dress, which went up to your mid-thigh, rode up slightly, showing off more of your smooth skin.

While you looked absolutely delicious, this was not what he had meant when he told you to dress nice.

“Please don't apologize, darling.” The soon-to-be-dead client motioned to the chair next to Toji. “Please sit. What would you like to drink?”

“Wine, please.” Toji gritted his teeth, eyes constantly darting from you to the client.

Throughout appetizers and drinks, you made sure to lean over, stretch, and emphasize your body in every way you could. In doing so, you caught the attention of passing patrons, the disgusting man in front of you, and your boyfriend, who was fuming with anger. Okay, yes, this was partially his fault. He put himself directly in this situation. Next time, he’ll know better than to tell you what to do.

When they brought out the main dishes, the elderly man licked his lips, holding a fork out to you, noodles expertly wrapped around it. “Have you ever tried the pesto pasta here? It's my absolute favorite. Give it a try, Y/N!~” Fighting back a grimace of disgust, you put on a smile. You leaned over the table, opening your mouth wide as you took the food directly off his fork.

While the act of being fed by a perverted old man was disgusting, the delicious flavor of chicken, pesto, and garlic made up for it. It was so decadent that you moaned as you swallowed the bite. Hearing a sound that was for his ears only made Toji stand up, his chair falling back from the speed of his actions. His face focused on you before he grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N! Pesto has pine nuts in it!” There was a tone of faux worry in his voice.

“Huh?” Cocking an eyebrow, you were about to tell him you knew that. When he scooped you up into his arms.

“You idiot! You're allergic to nuts!”

The clanking of silverware caught your attention, and your eyes peered back at the table. The pervert looks pale, terror painting his face. “I'm so sorry! Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No! I have an Epi-pen in my car. I’m sorry, but we need to leave right now.”

“N-No! Please don’t; we can reschedule for another day.”

The old man watched as Toji hurriedly carried you out of the dining area of the restaurant, not once hearing the “Not a damn chance we’re doing this again.” From your very pissed-off boyfriend.

Toji suddenly turned and carried you down a hall before B-lining it into a family restroom. He plopped you down on the counter before locking the door behind him. His worried expression melted away, replaced with a darkened, more devious, rageful stare. The sheer power of his stare had you tugging your dress down in an attempt to cover your thighs. Something you had refused to do throughout the dinner.

“Oh no, you don't,” Toji’s large hand smacked yours away, “you’re the one that dressed like a slut, you might as well embrace the look.”

A shuddering breath escaped you as his fingers slipped under the skin-tight fabric, pushing it up to rest above your hips. The whole time his fingers grazed over your skin, you could see the anger in his eyes turning from a simmer to a boil in real-time. You were suddenly regretting your choices.

“Toji, we’re in a family restroom. Someone could hear us.”

“Oh? Suddenly, you're taking note of people noticing you? You didn't seem to mind when that dirtbag was eyefucking you all night. You left very little to his imagination.”

“Well, you told me to wear something nice, so I did.”

“The only place this slutty outfit is good for is in my bed.” He forced your thighs open wide, his fingers curling under the lacey hem of your panties.

His fingers were warm and oh so close to your throbbing sex. “Toji, they’ll hear us.” You scolded in a hushed tone, eyes darting towards the door leading out to a full restaurant of people.

Toji hummed and ripped the flimsy fabric of your underwear in half, causing you to gasp. “Then I guess you’ll be needing a gag.” Grabbing the back of your neck, Toji slammed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

God, he tasted like rich wine as his tongue slid into your mouth. You followed his lead, massing your tongue against his as he worked at his belt and pants. He deepened the kiss before pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your dripping sex, coating your slick all over his shaft.

“Toji~” You hummed happily as the tip of his cock popped into you. Your hum slowly grew into a whine that worked its way up the back of your throat.

“I don't think so.” Your boyfriend pushed further into you. Using his free hand, Toji squeezed your cheeks in his hand, forcing your mouth open. “You were just saying someone could hear us.” He shoved your ruined panties in your mouth. “So shut the fuck up slut.”

Tasting yourself, combined with his cock slowly thrusting into you, made you cry out around your panties. Your hands shot up, gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. The sting of pain urged Toji on as he slammed into you harder.

“I know I told you to dress nice, but I take that back.” His fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer, pushing his dick firmly against your cervix. “You flaunting your body like that tonight made me realize I don't want anyone lookin’ at ya’ like that” His thrusts turned harder and fast, his cock pressing into your cervix over and over again. “You only dress like that for me, Y/N; you’re my slut.”

Rolling your eyes back, you mumbled some unintelligible response back to him. Hearing the lack of words coming from you had Toji smirking against your neck as he nipped and sucked at your sensitive skin. Bite marks and hickey’s littered your skin, marking you as his. If you even dared to wear something so revealing again, anyone who would dare look at you would know you were taken.

Taken and thoroughly fucked.

Being marked, having Toji fuck you into place. God, it was too much, way too much for you to handle. Your pussy started throbbing, clamping around his cock, as drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth. Wincing at the sting from your nails, Toji released himself from your neck. Tilting his head to the side, he chuckled.

“Awww~ is my little slut going to cum?~” Nodding your head, Toji licked his lips. “You gonna cum all over Daddy’s fat cock slut?” Another nod, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. “Then what the fuck are ya waitin’ for?” Snarling next to your ear Toji fucked you as hard as he could.

That sent you over the edge. You screamed around your panties cumming all over his perfect fat cock. “That’s it, that's a good fucking girl~ cum on my fat cock.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “Cum on my cock, cum on my cock. That's it~! Gonna fill you up, take it, take it slut.” Toji’s head tilted back as he roared, pumping rope after rope of hot cum into you.

He remained like that, holding you on the counter, buried inside of you. Once his cock softened, Toji pulled out of you. You dug your panties out of your mouth. You were holding the spit-coated fabric in your hands. You looked between them and your boyfriend, who was stuffing his dick back into his pants.

“Who knew me dressing up like this would end with mind-blowing sex?”

“End?” Your panties were snatched out of your palm. “Baby girl, we're just getting started.” he wadded up the fabric before sliding his hand between your legs. “So I'm just gonna—” you gasped as he pushed your panties inside your pussy, “keep you plugged up until I get you home.”

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[bleubrri]

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ᴀ ʀᴜɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ — ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ

ft armin, erwin, eren, jean

contains: rich boys, country club au, reader works there, black!fem!reader, petnames, semi-public sex (storage cupboards, cars etc), armin being kinda mean and possessive, degradation, impact play, daddy kink if you squint, vaginal sex, creampie, fingering, cunnilingus, sugar daddy behaviour

༄ؘ ARMIN ARLERT

is the most entitled brat you’ve ever encountered. apparently his favourite thing to do is torment you. that, and not so subtly peek at your underwear.

“whoops! my bad.” he says after hitting the ball entirely out of range. “guess tennis isn’t my strong suit. go fetch it for me, will you?” you’re glowering, eyes flicking between the abundant basket of balls loaded into the tennis ball machine next to you and his stupid, perfect, smiling face. “of course.” you grit, stomping off in the direction of his swing.

you shriek as the ice cold lemonade makes contact with your shirt. the fabric sticks to your skin as the ice cubes leave wet trails across your collar bone. “oh i’m so sorry!” the heads that have turned to witness the commotion probably eat up his fake apology. but you know better, watching his eyes trace the outline of your nipples as he shoves napkins into your cleavage, not-so-accidentally squeezing the tops of your tits. he leans in close, whispering for only you to hear. “let me help you, bunny. don’t want you walking around all wet now, do we?”

the feeling of his blunt nails grazing your scalp makes you shiver, but it’s quickly replaced by a yelp when he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you back to face him. the force of his thrusts is rattling the shelves of the storage cupboard, the wet sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the space around you. he’s sucking deep purple bruises into your neck, snarling into your ear as he presses you further into the wall. “you like being fucked like a slut? or just acting like one?” you can only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his pretty cock pistoning into you and mildly annoyed that your cunt clenches at his words. “yeah, you like—shit—you liked parading around half naked for those guys?” that isn’t exactly how you’d describe giving a group of boys directions to the snack bar in your lifeguard uniform, but the shoving of his fingers past your lips makes you think he didn’t really expect an answer anyway. he cums without warning, spills inside of you and sinks his canines into your throat as you whimper against him. once he’s pulled out, he tugs your panties back in place to stop his seed from trickling down your thighs. he kisses the marks on your neck gently, though his tone is anything but. “don’t let it happen again, bunny. you’re mine.”

༄ؘ ERWIN SMITH

he’s a romantic at heart, can’t help but shamelessly flirt to try and sweep you off your feet. you’ve told him to stop his extravagant tipping, but he insists. you do provide excellent service after all.

“would you be a dear and grab the 7-iron?” he asks, surveying the lushness of the course from behind his sunglasses. you smile and nod enthusiastically, trotting off to retrieve the club while he admires the sway of your hips in your cute little tennis skirt. you hold it out to him, expecting him to take it and swiftly begin his game. instead, he places his large palms over your hands, “do you play?” you try not to crumble under the weight of the ocean held in his eyes, “me? i—no. never.” he hums, gesturing to the tee, “allow me.” your breath hitches when he presses up behind you, his broad frame surrounding you as his hands come to rest on top of your own, gently coaxing you to swing.

“ah, there she is!” he spots you just as you’re exiting the back room back onto the floor, and his heart swells at the sight of the little diamond sitting in the centre of your clavicle. his little diamond. “why don’t you come and join me, darling? i could use a little luck it seems.” you practically skip over to him, perching yourself in his lap while looking over the hand he was dealt and the cards scattered across the table. you end up more focused on the game than him; he’s far more occupied with brushing the curls away from your neck, admiring the contrast of your skin to the pale silver of the chain and pressing a kiss to your nape.

“i told you, ‘s not fair on—oh fuck—on the others! y-you needa stop tipping like that, erwin.” you try and sound firm, but it fails miserably when your voice raises an octave on the last syllable of his name. the heat from your skin and your hurried breaths have fogged up the windows of his ridiculously expensive car as erwin eats your pussy like it’s what he was fucking born to do. he raises his head from between your legs, thick brows furrowed and chin dripping with your essence, his mouth opening to protest before you cut him off. “i’m serious.” you say, reaching down to brush the blonde locks from his forehead. he sighs, absentmindedly peppering kisses to your inner thigh. “fine. if you let me take you to dinner when i’m done here.” you open your mouth to answer, but it morphs into a groan in your throat when he presses the flat of his tongue to your clit. “y-yes! yeah fine, fine just—oh god—touch me please.” and he’s more than happy to oblige, sucking your swollen clit into his mouth and selfishly slipping a finger past your entrance in the hopes that your date could come just a little faster.

༄ؘ EREN JAEGER

isn’t exactly… the county clubs demographic. still, it doesn’t seem to stop him from walking around like he owns the place (which might be half true, you’re pretty sure his father has shares in the company).

your first thought is that the cherry red paint job and rumbling engine of his vintage mustang is more than a little obnoxious. it’s also your second thought when you take in his outfit as he steps out of the car: faded jeans and a leather jacket, with thick silver rings and shoulder length hair that’s haphazardly pulled up. your stuck up colleague frowns and addresses him, “uh, excuse me sir but i’m afraid there’s a fairly strict dress code.” you roll your eyes from your place at the valet stand, but don’t interfere. eren barely looks up from his phone, fishing a wad of notes from his back pocket. “how ‘bout i pay you to shut up and mind your fuckin’ business?” the snort that escapes you is involuntary, and you try desperately to cover it with a cough that neither men are convinced by. erens sharp eyes snap up to you, winking as he tosses you his keys and strolls inside.

“help! help i’m drowning! can’t—can’t swim—” you’re standing by the edge of the pool looking down at him completely unimpressed as he flails about in the shallow end. you quirk a brow and he stills, pouting. “what kind of lifeguard are you? i coulda really been dying…” scoffing, you turn to leave when his fingers wrap around your ankle and your heart drops. water rushes pash your ears as you’re dragged into the pool, kicking to the surface and hacking out your lungs. “what the fuck?!” you’re seething, screaming about your hair and scowling at him while he laughs until his sides hurt. once he starts to feel a little guilty, he cuts off your words, kissing away the chlorine from your lips and promising to make it up to you.

“that’s it, baby.” he groans, grip tightening on your hips to slam you down onto his cock. you’re still not used to his thickness, his blunt tip pressing against your soft cluster of nerves with no effort at all. “fuuck you look so pretty riding my dick. should take t’day off so you can sit on it all fuckin’ day.” he mutters into your sternum, busy trailing wet kisses to your tits and delivering harsh slaps to the meat of your ass. the sting from the cool metal of his rings has you reeling, pinpricks of pain melting into pleasure with each thrust of his hips. “or better yet,” he continues, “quit altogether so i can fuck you whenever i want.” you laugh breathlessly, nails digging into his chest as you bounce on his cock in the drivers seat of his mustang. “you already do that anyway. besides, c-can’t all live off of daddy’s money can we?” he loves that you’re still so sharp, even when you’re starting to drool from gushing around his cock. “that so? you want daddy to pay your shift, pretty girl? or you like fuckin’ me on the clock?” he gets distracted with the sloppy press of your mouth to his, by the lewd sounds of your perfect fucking cunt squelching with the final few lifts of his hips. but once he regains his focus he deposits 100 into your account (more than what you earn per shift, you berate) and tells you to call in sick. “i’m nowhere near done with you.”

༄ؘ JEAN KIRSTEIN

bless his heart he is a babbling, blushing mess around you :( he’s so easy to tease, but you mean well because he really is adorable.

he knows you’re busy when you’re working, so he tries not to hover or pester you too much (you wouldn’t mind in the slightest). but he sends things over to you all throughout your shift. you look a little flustered? he’ll send a drink over. lunch break still hours away? maybe you could use some snacks. “jean, you know i get snack privileges, right? and…unlimited drinks? like all day?” he did not know that. “of course i know that. you’re just… busy is all. less stress if i get them for you.” you hum, pretending not to see the pink that spreads across his cheeks.

“hey, so..wouldyouwannagettogetherafterworksometime?” you stop in your tracks, freezing your motions of putting your bag over your shoulder and dramatically sucking in air through your teeth. “that’s kinda an abuse of power don’t you think?” his dreamy hazel eyes are wide and you instantly have to bite your lip to stop laughter bursting out of you. “oh—oh my god, i’m so sorry i—i didn’t—” you’re grinning as you slink next to him, “i mean what’s an innocent employee of this fine establishment to do?” you drawl, boldly linking your hands together. “you’re— you’re joking.” he breaths, the fear trickling down his spine quickly replaced with relief. “yes. and i’d love to. if the offers still on the table after that.”

jean’s counting the number of paddle boards in the dim light of the pool supply shed when you come bustling through the door, breathless and gorgeous and his. his lips are on yours before words can manifest, running his hands down to your waist and pulling you close. “only have… 15 minutes.” you manage between heated kisses, and he hums, breaking the string of saliva that tethers your mouths when he drops to his knees. he’s sliding your shorts and panties down your legs and already looking at your centre greedily, but still you feel guilty. “wait, wait what about you? are you sure?” he looks up at you incredulously, already palming his erection at the lusty scent of your arousal. “are you kidding? gimme 10.” and when he plunges his tongue into the silky depths of your cunt, you can’t find it in you to protest. (he manages to tear the thin line of tissue under his tongue in his eagerness, but he seems perfectly content when you cum in 8 minutes).

a/n: this is a cry for help, sugar daddies hmu

#tennis balls? not the only loaded balls around here amirite #bunny is like.. /the/most condescending petname ever imo🚶🏾 #aot x reader #aot smut #armin x reader #erwin smith x reader smut #eren x reader smut #jean x reader smut #armin x reader smut #eren x reader #jean x reader #aot x black reader #aot fluff #aot #snk #attack on titan #eren jaegar #armin arlert #jean kirstein #erwin smith

[varpusvaras]

Fox and the Guard first learn about sugar once they start to do rounds in the Senate. They have these nifty little caf machines in the halls there, with these little cubes you're supposed to mix in to your liking. Thorn steals few of them once and puts one in Fox's morning caf. Sugar becomes the most trafficked substance in the Guard.

Some time later, after one really, really long day, that had included dredging in the lower levels, running up and down more stairs that was humanely possible, and being hosed down in cold water multiple times (why was all the water always cold on Coruscant?), Commander Fox goes to report to Senator Organa. He's one of the nice Senators (the nice Senator, if you ask Fox), and the man gives him one look and makes Fox sit down, and hands him a cup of something warm.

"I'm not really a chef", Senator Organa says, "and my office doesn't really have cooking equipment, so this is all I have at hand, but you really look like you need some warm food inside you, Commander."

It's against at least seven different protocols and regulations to accept anything from the Senators, let alone food, but Fox is tired and cold and the last time he has had something warm to eat that wasn't caf was...honestly he's not sure anymore.

The liquid in the cup looks to be some sort of soup, and Fox takes a sip from it. He stops and stares at it.

Senator Organa tilts his head.

"Is everything alright, Commander?" He asks.

"Yes, Sir", Fox answers quickly. "I just wasn't expecting the taste."

Senator Organa looks a bit puzzled, even if he is doing his best to to hide it.

"Well, it is rather easy to make, if you like it", he says then. "The ingredients are really basic, so I could bring some down to the Guard. It's just some roots and salt-"

"Salt?" Fox interrupts before his own thoughts have even finished. "Like, from the ocean?"

Senator Organa looks both really puzzled, and kind of like he wants to laugh. What Fox wants to do, is to die immediately.

"Well, some places do get their salt from the ocean", Senator Organa says, and then pauses. "...am I correct in my assumption that salt isn't widely in use on Kamino? Senator Burtoni complains every time her food has even touched it."

"It appears so", Fox says, trying not to sound like his next step is jumping out from the office's window.

"I see", Senator Organa nods. He then looks at the cup in Fox's hands and smiles. "Do you want some more, Commander?"

Fox also looks at the cup in his hands. It's empty. Fox doesn't remember finishing it.

Senator Organa already has more soup out, and Fox feels like it would be more impolite to say no.

"Yes, Sir", he says.

He finishes three more cups before he has to go, and Senator Organa looks vaguely like he has been robbed of a great joy in life as he cannot continue feeding Fox more soup. Fox also vaguely feels like he's been robbed.

(The rest of the Guard also seems to feel like that, judging from the looks on their faces when salt appears in their base's mess one morning, and their food starts to...have a taste.)

("Do you think it's too soon, if I introduce spices to them?" Bail asks the hologram of his wife on his desk.

"Start slow", Breha answers. "And no chilis without warnings.")

#fox thinks of all the water on kamino like all that salt just swimming in there #freely without anyone caring #Fox: I wish I was salt #Bail really wants to just feed the man lmao #this was also supposed to be like three paragraphs oops #commander fox #bail organa #breha organa #bail/breha/fox #but like pre-relationship #just assume that they are canon to everything I post lmao #sw #tcw

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 13)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Trigger warning: discussions of trauma surrounding ‘desirable victors’ and mentions of sex.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

The tribute parade is a glimmer of hope after a losing streak. Capitol citizens screaming and chanting for Katniss as the chariots are drawn out for display. Even the elites are vying to sponsor the star crossed lovers, who saved their mentors and the sweet little baby in Y/N’s womb.

There is no waving or smiling this year, at Cinna’s request.

“Way to make friends out there, you two.” Haymitch waves over Peeta and Katniss once they dismount the carriage.

“Well, we learned from the best,” Katniss shoots back.

“I want to introduce you to some special friends of mine, this is Chaff and Seeder.”

Seeder smiles in acknowledgment.

While Chaff closes the distance between them, giving Katniss a kiss on each cheek; then pulling away in a fit of laughter.

She is caught off guard, dismay painted across her features.

“He’s very friendly.” Haymitch chuckles, clapping his friend once on the back. “But don’t invite him over, he’ll drink up all your liquor.”

Y/N approaches with Cashmere and Gloss in tow, as if Finnick introducing himself with the sugar cube, before the parade, hadn’t been enough.

“There she is,” Chaff opens his arms, “come here.”

Y/N smiles, slinking around the side to greet him, for what might be the last time.

“It’s good to see you, baby.” He tells her, in earnest. For a minute there, I thought you were coming in with us.

“Good to see you.” She pulls away, giving Seeder a quick hug. Tears welling up in her eyes, without permission.

The older woman taps her chin, when they break apart. “Don’t you cry.”

“We wanted to come introduce ourselves,” Cashmere explains. “I’m Cashmere, this is my brother, Gloss.”

“We’ve heard nothing but good things.” Peeta says, truthfully.

“Pleasure,” Gloss grins, extending a hand to Peeta, allowing his sister to mirror the gesture with Katniss. Moving in perfect synchronization, like a well oiled machine.

“And to thank you,” Cashmere squeezes Katniss’ hand.

“For what?” Katniss wonders.

“Saving my friend.”

You love her too. The realization sits heavy in Katniss’ chest.

“Alright, let’s go get some of that makeup off you.” Haymitch spares Katniss from farther floundering.

They move into the elevator, just the victors of district twelve, until a hand slips in to stop the doors from closing.

Johanna she struts in with a heavy sigh, pressing the button for the seventh floor. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Katniss responds, under her breath.

“My stylist is an idiot.” Johanna tosses her bracelets to the ground. “District seven, lumber…I’d love to bury my axe in her face.” She shuffles closer to Peeta, moving her, long, red, ponytail over her shoulder. “Unzip?”

“Sure.” Peeta stammers, earning him a death glare from Katniss.

Johanna does not look away as she strips down to nothing, without preamble.

Katniss’ mouth is slightly ajar, Peeta’s lips set in a nervous smile.

“Not in front of the children,” Y/N gasps, rushing to hold a hand over both sets of eyes.

“Come on, you know you like this.” Johanna chirps, playfully.

“I remember when mine used to sit up like that.” Y/N cranes her neck to meet Johanna’s gaze, “enjoy it.”

“Cry me a river, you’re a walking wet dream.” Johanna rolls her eyes.

Haymitch is strangely silent, enjoying their banter.

Whether they are fighting or flirting, Katniss cannot tell. In any event, she’s glad when the elevator dings on the seventh floor.

“That was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” Johanna grins, quite pleased with herself as she exits.

“Johanna Mason, district seven.”

————————————————————————

“Explain to me exactly how this is going to work.” Y/N whispers, beneath the spray of the water.

Whoever is tasked with monitoring the audio from their room, in the tribute center, must think they have the highest libidos in Panem. Though they are here to exchange information, they are also in the shower, nude, at very close proximity.

“Plutarch has access to the trackers, he can override the information.” Haymitch allows his eyes to close, at the feel of familiar fingers in his hair. “Cannon goes off while the tribute is still alive. They are extracted by the crane, from the hovercraft, same as always. One by one. Ideally, Katniss and Peeta near the end, Snow will want to see their bodies for himself. By the time he realizes what’s happened, everybody is safe, underground, in thirteen.”

“What about twelve? First thing he’ll do is retaliate.”

“We have open lines of communication, we’ll be able to warn them.”

Y/N nods, in understanding. His lips are on hers then and they are no longer pretending.

————————————————————————

Keeping this secret from Katniss and Peeta is easier than Y/N anticipated. They assume she is distancing herself out of self preservation, reverting to the calculated woman they’d met on the train last year. Neither of them blame her.

They score twelves during individual assessment, painting even larger targets on their backs. And tonight, the last night before the games, they are prepping for their interviews with Caesar.

Katniss is almost certain that the master of ceremonies will ask about her volunteering. She does not regret it, even now, she would do it again in a heartbeat. No one deserves a happy ending more than you. Katniss hates that she is being laced back into Y/N’s wedding dress.

“I think you’re going to be happy with the alterations.” Cinna fluffs up the layers of fabric.

Haymitch downs his drink, drowning the vision of his sweet girl in the dress; squeezing his fingers when it hurt too much. The way she shook like a leaf beneath him, “it’s just you and me.” She is still after that, steady; allowing him to bring her pleasure she has never known.

Crying when it is finished, because he locked himself in the bathroom to vomit. Sick over what he had done to keep her safe, while she thought he was disgusted by something she’d done.

Apologizing profusely when he returns. “Haymitch, I- I was just nervous. Not because of you…I’m sorry it wasn’t, I’m sorry you didn’t like it. I’ll do better next time.”

His heart seizes, thrumming to an unbearable ache. “It’s nothing you did. Please never think that I-” Haymitch stumbles over the words. Evidence of his ‘enjoyment’ is mixed with her blood on the sheets, rolling forth a fresh wave of nausea. “Like you said, it’s not because of you. It’s everything else.” Snow and the cameras and-

Y/N knows how much he’s already given up, the deals he made for her. “I still want it to be real someday.”

Their marriage, their love story.

“You tell me when it’s real, and I’ll ask you to marry me again.” No more rushing, no more bullshit.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Haymitch swears. I’m getting you out of here. No matter how long it takes, I’m getting you out.

They are no longer in that room, trapped beneath the mechanical whirl of the cameras. They are here, with Y/N’s arms around his waist, one hand resting over his heart. Holding him where it hurts, because she understands him better at thirty than she could at nineteen. This dress is a prison, he hopes the girl on fire lights it up.

“These victors are angry, Katniss. They’ll say anything to try and stop the games, I suggest you do the same.”

When it is her turn to be interviewed, the audience is enamored at the sight.

“Welcome, Katniss Everdeen!” Caesar is humming with excitement. “Look at you, absolutely stunning.”

“Don’t go crying on me now, Caesar.” Katniss retorts.

“Oh, you know I can’t help it.”

“You know I wouldn’t believe you even if you did.”

“Ah ha ha, the girl on fire, so cheeky. I love it. Now, Katniss…on a more serious note, we’re all here a little disappointed, well more than a little, that a certain wedding will not be taking place.” Caesar laments, sharing his sorrow with the nation. “But here you are, in Y/N’s dress, the dress you would have worn. How do you think she feels, seeing you on stage tonight?”

“I hope that…” Katniss exhales. “I hope that she’s proud of me.” She searches beyond the blinding stage lights for Y/N, finding her in the sea of faces. She looks at Katniss the same way she always has, with love, sadness; something more. Perhaps it is pride.

“Awww.”

“I know she is,” Caesar nods. “It has been so beautiful to watch your story, to see this family you found. How you volunteered, first for your little sister and then to save your mentor. You are incredible. Would you do us the honor?”

The twirling.

Katniss finds Cinna, beside Y/N and Haymitch, catching his eye. He gives the go ahead and she begins to turn. The skirt of her dress igniting into flames, leaving a black and gray design in its wake. As fire reaches the top, it has transformed completely. Feathers at her shoulders spread with her arms. Wings.

The crowd rises from their seats, her mentors and stylist among them. Cinna has an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, “for both of you.”

“Thank you,” she leans into him.

“It’s like….it’s like a-a bird! Like a-” Caesar racks his brain.

“Like a mockingjay,” Katniss finishes for him.

“Your stylist has certainly outdone himself. Cinna, take a bow.” Caesar turns the camera’s focus to the audience.

Cinna kisses his hand and holds it up, sending all his love to Katniss. When the applause has died down, she joins the other tributes, on the risers near the back of the stage.

Peeta is last, in a pristine white suit, designed to match his wife-to-be.

“So, Peeta, the wedding.” Caesar gets right down to business. “The marriage, never to be.”

“Actually, we got married. In secret.” Peeta says, captivating the crowd to a stunned silence.

“A secret wedding? Tell us more.”

“We want our love to be eternal, Katniss and I. We’ve been luckier than most and I wouldn’t have any regrets at all if-” Peeta breaks off. “If it weren’t…”

“If it weren’t for what, Peeta?” Caesar is all but holding his breath. “What?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Once again viewers are out of their seats.

“Baby!?!”

“Tell us more.”

“Well we knew that Y/N would be too far along and we all agreed that Katniss would have a better chance.” Peeta explains.

“Stop the games!” The cry heard around the Capitol, is resurgent and in full force. The victors of district twelve have not one baby at stake, but two.

“Alright now, this is news to all of us.” Caesar reminds the audience.

Their outrage echoes off the walls. “Stop the games!”

“We’re going to find out what we do about this.” Caesars attempts to stop the riot. He leans in to Peeta, asking him to go stand with the others. “It’s a great night.”

Peeta trots up the stairs to Katniss, embracing when they meet.

“Oh, my heart.” The woman behind Y/N leans over the seat. “That’s why you tried to stop her from volunteering. Because of the baby.”

Y/N nods, sniffling for effect. “I just can’t stop thinking about the babies.”

“Don’t worry, President Snow is a good man. He’ll get this figured out.” She rubs at her back.

The victors joining hands only serves to further rally the crowd. Together they watch as the lights cut off. Leaving them all in darkness.

————————————————————————

The deliberation is long, or Snow makes it out to be. Y/N, Haymitch and Effie wait, impatiently, on the bench with the other mentors. It was a good show, with a response better than they could’ve asked for. But in the end, the games are still on.

This is more or less the outcome Peeta and Katniss were expecting. Somehow that doesn’t make it any easier to deliver the news.

Haymitch has to hand it to Peeta, “baby bomb was a stroke of genius. Unfortunately, the games are still on.”

The room is still.

“This is goodbye for now.”

“Presents,” Effie reminds them, their tokens. “Bracelets for you two.”

Y/N opens her box, revealing a slightly thinner version of the bangle her husband’s been gifted.

“And for Peeta, the medallion we talked about.”

“Thank you, Effie.” Peeta hugs her, in parting.

This year is different. Mentors will not be seeing tributes to the hovercraft, only stylists. Presumably for the districts that only had two victors to begin with.

“Thank you, Y/N.” The boy finds her next and she squishes him to her properly.

“You’re welcome,” she sighs. Stay safe.

When it is Katniss’ turn to say goodbye, the girl on fire is struck by the realization that she cannot. Instead she buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.

“You can do this, Katniss.” Y/N passes a hand over her hair, “I believe in you.”

Katniss nods, “thank you.”

The five of them remain together for a while. Katniss and Peeta splinter off first, sending them all in different directions. Effie to her room, Y/N and Haymitch to opposite floors of the tribute center.

Y/N reaches the last level before ground. Cashmere is waiting, wringing her hands. “We almost did it,” stopped the games.

“This isn’t over yet,” Y/N reminds her. “I have something for you.”

Cashmere sighs, the rebel plan is a wild one and there’s no guarantee it will work in time.

Y/N turns over the gold bangle, “Katniss knows it’s mine. As long as she sees it, she’ll honor the alliance.”

“I’ll do what I can to keep her alive…the boy too.” Cashmere assures her.

“Keep you alive too, while you’re at it.” Please.

The blonde gives her a sad smile, “you know me.”

Part 14

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109

#the hunger games fanfiction #thg haymitch #the hunger games #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x yn #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #johanna mason

[dvzaiosamu]

a short drabble about a soft moment with you and osamu dazai drinking coffee.

no warnings ahead, I hope you guys enjoy this really short drabble.

Today has certainly been an interesting day in its own way. Today, a warm summer in Yokohama, Japan, you had planned to drink coffee like every day, only today you would make a small change in the type of coffee.

You had just gotten out of bed, wearing a thin (favorite color) dress that gave you the coolness you needed in such hot months in the second largest city in Japan. While you were posing in front of the mirror, combing and enhancing your hair to make it look more aesthetic, a familiar person was present next to you, hugging you by your hips while letting his head rest on your shoulder, it was no one other than Dazai who wanted to spend time with you, taking advantage of the fact that the day was free 'according to him', you weren't entirely sure if he simply lied to you or if the president really gave you a day off for today.

"You look beautiful as always, belladonna..." He whispers next to your ear, with a voice full of softness.

"My, my, you flatter me so much, Dazai," you mutter back.

"Perhaps..." He trails off, smiling. "Come on, are you going to come down and have coffee with me?"

"Alright, alright, let's go, Osamu," you rolled your eyes in an amused way and took his hands off your hips, so you could get away from there, preferably to make yourself a coffee.

The young man laughs lightly and follows you like a puppy to the floor below, where your modest dining room is located next to a window with small views of a flower garden that you have. When you go to the coffee machine to make yourself a coffee, you remember that today you wanted to try something new. So instead of drinking your usual coffee, you decided to try an American coffee, the bitter ones.

"I notice that there is a new change," he comments, looking over his shoulder at the option you chose in the coffee maker. A smile appears on his lips.

"I just wanted a new change, that's all."

"I see..."

When the sound of the coffee maker finally stops, the two cups of coffee are taken out by your hand and directed towards the table. As you place them, Osamu soon sits down and adds a sugar cube, while you leave it simple.

"Hey, belladonna. Have you ever seen yourself with as much splendor, elegance and beauty as I see you with?" Suddenly he comments.

"I'm not sure, for that you would have to lend me your eyes," you respond, with a wearable smile, your lips resting on the ceramic, taking a sip.

"Right!" He exclaims with a wide smile, his eyes shining slightly. "You are very beautiful."

When you least expect it, he tenderly takes your hand and plants a romantic kiss on you, with a seductive and poetic look. "And you're mine".

#bsd #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #osamu x reader

[trulybetty]

dec' x 02 - baking

Prompt: baking Pairing: frankie morales x gn!reader Word Count: 502 Warnings: none, just more domestic fluff AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

Frankie, with his background in engineering and a penchant for precision, was already reading through the recipe you had chosen when you stepped back into the kitchen, his brows furrowed in concentration. He was a man who liked instructions, and clear guidelines he could follow, and was approaching the task of helping you with your annual holiday baking with the same eagerness to learn and excel that he did everything else.

“Okay,” Frankie began, looking up from the recipe. “It says here we need two cups of flour. Do we have a measuring cup?”

You laughed as you reached around his waist to the drawer behind him, scooting him aside to open it. Pulling out the set of metal measuring cups, dangling them from the hook of your finger they swung back and forth as you presented them to him. Only for him to take them and then examine them like they were intricate tools from his own toolkit.

“Then we’re going to need to sift the flour into that bowl,” you said, pointing at the mixer on the countertop behind him.

Frankie nodded, his gaze fixated back on the recipe again as if they were the blueprints of some intricate machine. “Sifting. Got it.” 

His hands, those of a man familiar with both the delicate components of any aircraft engine and the demanding physicality of military life, picked up the sifter with an almost reverent care. 

Leaning back on the counter you watched as he measured the flour, levelling the cup with the back of a knife — precision in every movement.

You couldn't help but smile. It wasn't every day you got to see a man who’d jumped out of airplanes and commanded operations with unwavering focus fussing over a cup of flour.

Frankie eyed the mixer like it had shown up overnight and wasn't a staple fixture in your kitchen. A slight furrow creased at his brow. “Creaming means...?”

You fought back a laugh, you knew he was deep into this task as there was no way Francisco Morales would ever let a possible innuendo like that slip by without comment.

You stepped closer, your proximity to him not unwelcome, and showed him how to use the mixer. “Just like this,” you said, guiding his hands to add the butter cube by cube. “It aerates the butter and will make the cake light and airy.”

As he caught on, you could see the familiar spark of understanding in his eyes, the same spark you've seen when he's solved a complex problem or pieced together a challenging puzzle. 

“So just like ensuring the proper airflow in a jet engine?” he commented with a smirk on his lips making you laugh.

“I'll have to take your word on that Captain,” was your response as you leaned around him to drop in a teaspoon of vanilla.

Frankie's laugh was a rare sound that very few truly got to experience, but there it rang out in the quiet of the kitchen, warm and deep. He placed a kiss on your forehead with a squeeze of your hand before he turned back to the task at hand. The two of you stood watching as the mixer whirled in the bowl as the butter and sugar transformed into a creamy, pale cloud.

#december x 500 #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie x maverick

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 linked here

Chapter 3 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of blood and pus (not graphic)

You decided it was in your best interest to listen to Levi’s advice and go see the medic to get your fingers treated. You knew they couldn’t do much for blisters but getting bandaged up, at the very least, would prevent infection and further damage. Even with the aid of your new sewing machine, you couldn’t risk your hands being out of commission since you had no other means of making money. So, before the sun rose too high in the sky, you walked to your small stable, ready to unleash your horse from her confines to take you back to the Scouts. However, when you greeted her, she didn’t look too good.

“Aww my poor thing, are you feeling alright?” you asked, petting her snout and coaxing her to eat a sugar cube, but she refused it.

She probably worked too hard yesterday dragging that cart in the heat, you thought to yourself, a frown forming on your face. You became increasingly worried when she began to cough and you knew that was a bad sign pointing to illness. Trying to stay as calm as possible, you made sure she had plenty of food and water for the time you’d be gone and after you gave her snuggles, you started the trek into the forest on foot.

As you got deeper and deeper into the woods, you realized the risk you were taking. Titan sightings had been on the rise everywhere and here you were without a horse. You couldn’t imagine them infiltrating Wall Rose, but anything was possible. If you were unlucky enough to run into one of the giant beasts, you’d be their dinner in no time. Thankfully, your place was only a 10 minute walk to the former Survey Corps HQ, but today, it felt like a lifetime. You picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. You were so on edge the entire trip that you couldn’t appreciate the birds chirping and flying away, too fearful that it could signify something was headed your way to gobble you up. Your anxiety didn’t cease until you spotted the castle. The slightly crumbling walls never looked so beautiful to you than in that moment. Catching your breath, you straightened out your disheveled outfit. As you approached the gate to enter, you were questioned by two young soldiers who were on the lookout tower.

“Who goes there? State your name and business” one said, clearly deepening his voice in an attempt to seem older and more intimidating. His comrade, unamused, elbowed him in the stomach. They began to quarrel and any other day you would’ve found their antics endearing, but you were in a hurry.

“My name is y/n L/n, Captain Levi told me to see the medic here.” You held his note in your outstretched hand. The boys stopped bickering as the taller one came down the tower, leaving the one with the buzz cut above. The gate was opened barely enough for you to squeeze through as the boy read over your letter. Satisfied with its contents, he nodded and handed it back to you.

“Here you go, miss, the medic is-” The boy suddenly stopped, a look of realization dawning on his face. “Wait, y/n L/n? The seamstress?”

When you nodded yes, he broke out in a huge smile.

“No way! You’re a legend around here!” He yelled up to the boy on the tower. “Connie! She’s the seamstress!”

Connie smiled eagerly as he waved and shouted, “Thank you for all your work, Ms. L/n!”

You felt your heart pang with sadness. These kids were so sweet, yet you knew they had to face so many horrors in their short lifespan. You were just glad to bring them a bit of joy in an otherwise bleak existence.

“No problem, Connie!” you yelled back, giving him a wave. “Thanks for all the hard work that you do!” You let out a laugh when you saw him clutch his chest and pretend to faint. Your attention was turned back to the boy who was still next to you.

“So, you need the medic? You know where to go or can I escort you?” he asked.

“I have zero clue where to go, but is it alright that you leave your post? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Connie’s got it,” he sputtered out, but quickly returned to a more poised version of himself. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a pretty lady like you to get lost around here. Name’s Jean.”

You tried your hardest not to giggle as he led you to your destination. These kids were truly something else! You were glad they hadn’t lost their teenage “charm” to the cruelty of the life around them, but if Jean kept flirting with you, it’d be a bit awkward.

“What do you guys do for fun around here?” you asked, keeping the mood light.

“Fun? I mostly train while the other soldiers slack off. I could show you a few of my moves if you’re around after my shift at the tower is over,” Jean said, not-so-subtlety flexing his muscles. You sighed. You had to put an end to this, now.

“Hey Jean? How old do you think I am?”

He took a moment, obviously thinking hard. “You don’t look a day over 20.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you replied, “but I’m definitely older than that. Think Captain Levi’s age.”

“Wow, that’s old!” he exclaimed, a surprised look on his face. “You’re only a few years younger than my mom.”

You weren’t sure what his response would be, but you certainly weren’t expecting that. You weren’t in the mood for conversation anymore. Luckily for the both of you, you had arrived to the infirmary and Jean begrudgingly took his leave (he wasn’t sure if you’d be able to find your way out but you finally convinced him that yes, you’d remember to make a left at the end of the hallway and walk in a straight line back to the gate you entered). Getting your fingers bandaged up felt really nice and you wondered why you didn’t do it earlier. Right, you couldn’t afford gauze. Thanking the medic for being gentle yet speedy, you hurried back toward the gate. Little did you know, a certain raven haired man was watching you like a hawk.

As you approached Jean and Connie once more, you heard a familiar voice.

“Oi! Brat!”

The three of you whipped your heads around to see Levi walking your way.

“The woman brat, not you two. Back to work,” he barked, and the boys saluted quickly, not wanting to get on his bad side.

“Where’s your horse?” he questioned you, arms crossed and scowling. Was he always so serious?

“She’s at home.” You wanted to explain yourself further but he spoke too fast.

“You mean to tell me, you what? Walked here? Tch, you’re stupider than I thought. I’m taking you home.”

You understood how he rose up the ranks to captain because he was very good at bossing people around.

“Captain!” you hurried to catch up to him since he was already almost to his horse at the stables. His legs were short but he was lightning fast!

“Captain! Please, it’s alright. I got here fine, I’ll get home okay. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“You’d cause me more trouble as potential titan food or robbery victim. Quit your whining and get on the damn horse.”

It was no use arguing with him and you needed to get home fast anyway since your client appointments were coming up soon. When you found yourself with your chest pressed against his back, legs touching, you felt your heart begin to race but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Levi’s horse bucked forward a bit and you struggled to keep yourself upright, having nothing to hold onto.

“You can wrap your arms around me, you know. I don’t bite.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s true,” you muttered, hesitantly resting your arms on his apparently sculpted abdomen. Little did you know your comment coupled with your closeness caused Levi’s lips to quirk up in the smallest manner.

The horse ride to your place was quiet, neither of you in the mood for idle chitchat. It was nice to see the world from the view as a passenger on a horse for once. Usually you had to pay close attention to where you were going, but today, you felt a sort of freedom for the first time in a long time. You were the safest as you’d ever be, riding with humanity’s strongest soldier, in a quiet forest. Was this was heaven felt like? Being in the presence of nobody but the trees, a handsome man and a galloping horse?

Wait.

Did you just call Levi handsome and envision your dream life with him?

You shook your head, trying to shake those thoughts from your mind as fast as possible. You just met the man a day ago, for crying out loud, and the only reason you were catching feelings was because you were touch starved. Definitely not because he was extremely cute, was super helpful to you for no reason in the past day you’ve known him, and was eyeing you from his turned around position on the horse, wondering what the hell was wrong with you, why are you daydreaming like an idiot—

Oh yeah. You must be home.

You blinked a few times, hoping it would be enough to wipe away the sin of dreaming about a man you could never have.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. This is me.” You let go of his waist and he dismounted, waiting for you to do so as well, and he tied his horse to the pole you had in front of your house. You were confused by his action, thinking he was going to leave after dropping you off, but you didn’t mind his company so you invited him in. As you entered your house, you hoped the captain wouldn’t notice all the structural damage and rot your residence had. You didn’t think you had it in you to take any more of his criticism. You thought that too soon, however, because Levi immediately got to examining your workshop like some sort of crazed policeman scouring a crime scene for the last clue needed to solve a murder.

“Thanks for the gift, by the way. It’ll be very useful,” you said, breaking the silence and nodding to the sewing machine.

Levi rolled his eyes, temporarily pausing his inspection. “I got it for you because I didn’t want your nasty blood and pus filled blister fingers all over everyone’s clothes. And so there’s no more favoritism in whose uniform gets the best treatment, especially if that person was Hange.”

“Does that statement stand if I decide to make you the person to receive special treatment?” you teased, while Levi shot you a glare. You busied yourself with arranging the measuring tapes and other equipment needed for your clients who were bound to be there at any moment. You noticed Levi was still stalking around your workshop and he answered your unspoken question of what he was thinking about.

“This house is a mess, inside and out! It’s one titan fart away from getting blown over. How can you work in such a shithole?”

Ah, so he had noticed. You averted your gaze, not wanting to irritate him further. “Commander Erwin found this place for me and without it, I’d have nowhere to live. The Scouts are my main source of income but I take on civilian jobs for supplemental income. I’ve been saving my money to rent a house in one of the local villages or fix this place up but I… my horse is sick and she needs to see a veterinarian. I’d gladly live in this shack or worse as long as she gets the help she needs.”

“How do you determine the fee for your work?” Levi suddenly asked, “Is it by item or size of the tear?”

You tried to gauge what Levi was thinking but he wore his trademark unreadable expression.

“Both, but mostly how big the tear is. For example, a cheaper fix would be an undershirt with a small hole and something pretty expensive would be a cape with a giant hole. I usually-”

You were interrupted by Levi unclasping his cape, grasping it firmly in his hands, and ripping the fabric in one fell swoop. You stood there, dumbfounded, as he placed the mangled textile on the table next to you.

“I would like this back by tomorrow or the next day, if that’s alright.”

The captain turned to leave while you were left struggling to find your voice.

“Tomorrow evening works,” you managed to squeak. “Drop off or pick up?”

“Pick up is fine. See you around closing.” He shut the door behind him and you were left wondering—

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 3

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi angst #levi fluff #levi ackerman x reader angst #levi ackerman x reader fluff

[cibeeorsomeshit]

Stolitz Week 2024

A/N: Continuation from the day one prompt, but probably can be read as a standalone as well.

Day Two: Hurt/Comfort; Chocolate/Candy (ao3)

Why are you anxious? Maybe because you're drinking shitty coffee and smoking cigarettes with your sort-of crush at three a.m.

Blitzø had never been able to tolerate sweets. Fizz would often find pockets of time between practices and performances to visit the cotton candy machine and joke with whoever was in charge of it, hoping they would give him a sweet cloud. Barbie would pick up any candies dropped around the circus ground by visitors and hid them in her dress. Mom only ate sweet pastries for breakfast, and Blitzø remembered how she always ended her night with a hot cup of cinnamon and brown sugar milk, the heat and smell of it so vivid even now Blitzø reacted to the spice like someone cutting onions.

Give him hard liquor. Bitter coffee with only ice cubes to soften it. Once at a club a guy bought him a fruity cocktail thinking that would lead to his cock getting inside of Blitzø. Blitzø drank it, because booze was booze, but he definitely didn’t let the guy anywhere near his hole.

And yet here he was, three a.m., with Stolas at an all night joint that only served coffee and some sort of goop that could either be scramble eggs or a really unfortunate looking donut. Blitzø had texted him in a moment of feverish vulnerability and immediately wanted to delete the message, but Stolas, as usual, read his text right away.

The little speech bubble was so hypnotizing that Blitzø nearly went cross-eyed at how hard he was staring at it. He was expecting a polite refusal, or maybe some sort of confused inquiry of why he would join Blitzø when the last time they saw each other Blitzø broke his end of the deal by sleeping in Stolas’ bed without dicking him down first.

But Stolas only asked where to meet Blitzø. Blitzø chose a place out in the edge of Imp City where not even the homeless went because even they weren’t this sad with their lives. He had thought that would change Stolas’ mind, but again, Stolas simply replied he would be there in ten.

And there he was, not even ten minutes later, in all his royal glory (wearing a simple sweater and pants yet still somehow looked more put-together than Blitzø in his best suit ever was). The server working behind the counter went from dozing to full-alert real quick, stammering something that might be construed (a word he learned from Moxxie) as a formal greeting. Stolas nodded absentmindedly at him, his eyes already on Blitzø, feathers fluffing out in pleasure as he walked over and sat down.

Blitzø had to force a giant gulp of scalding coffee down his throat to mask — whatever was going on on his face.

“I thought you hated hot coffee,” Stolas asked. He was moving around in the seat to find a position that could fit his long limbs without jostling Blitzø under the table. Blitzø extended his leg and gently bumped his boot into Stolas. Stolas smiled, and wordlessly let his legs stretch comfortably under the table, tangling with Blitzø’s swinging legs.

“They didn’t have —” before Blitzø could finish his sentence, the server hastily presented a glass of ice cubes to him. Blitzø gave him a dirty look but didn’t say anything. He bet the guy would cook up something that wasn’t even in their kitchen if Stolas wanted.

Stolas just asked for coffee and whatever they were serving that night. When the food came Stolas poked at it gingerly with a straw and left it be.

Blitzø waited for the questions. When should they make up for the last full moon? Did Blitzø bring the book with him today, since last time Blitzø was so out of it he forgot? Did he not know how super-duper-fucking-trouper important that book was for his duties? Why did Blitzø leave before Stolas woke up when he hadn’t done that in so long?

The self-induced stress was enough to make Blitzø dig out his crumbled pack of cigarettes. Stolas wasn’t even talking, he was just humming some tune to himself, not chattering away for once. Maybe it was the night. Maybe it was the unusual invitation. Maybe Stolas just knew him better than Blitzø thought and could tell he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

Blitzø lit a cigarette and took a deep, long drag. He could feel Stolas looking at him, heavy and heady and with the faint waft burning parchment papers. He thought everyone felt it wherever Stolas turned his gaze onto them, but Moxxie called him crazy. Millie just smiled with all her teeth, and Loona said they both smelled gross when they looked at each other.

Stolas’ coffee hadn’t arrived yet, probably because the guy was making it with french press or some fancy shit instead of pouring days-old coffee from their rusty pot, so Blitzø offered his own coffee, which Stolas refused, and a cigarette, which Stolas gladly accepted. The table didn’t have an ashtray so they put it out on the scramble-egg-donut until it was a spiky scramble-egg-donut. All the while they didn’t say a word. Stolas looked completely at ease and Blitzø couldn’t help his tail that wrapped around Stolas’ legs under the table.

Finally Stolas’ coffee arrived. It smelled like actual coffee and not the brown water in Blitzø’s mug, though Stolas ruined it immediately by pouring five packs of sugar in it and stirring it daintily with a finger.

“How do you even drink that?” Those were the first words uttered in nearly twenty minutes, and his voice was rough from the smoking. Stolas took a sip, hooting softly and happily.

“I like it sweet,” Stolas said simply. “I would order a mocha but I doubt they have it.” And he laughed at Blitzø’s expression, pushing his mug toward Blitzø. “Have a try.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come on!”

“I rather drink piss.”

Stolas huffed and took his mug back. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Ha!” Blitzø croaked. “You’re calling me dramatic?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t, did I?”

Blitzø lit another cigarette. The fluorescent strip lights over them flickered every now and then, crackling like dying insects. The only other sounds were the exhale of smoke between them. The server had disappeared at some point. The streets outside were dark and silent, the twisting and tittering buildings so dense that the shine of the red sky was unable to peek through.

“Do you want the book back?” Blitzø finally asked, accompanied by a large puff of smoke.

Stolas blinked at him with all four eyes. “What makes you think so?”

“Because we didn’t — last time. I didn’t —” Blitzø retracted his tail and wrapped it around himself instead. “I broke the deal.”

“Oh, darling.” Stolas leaned forward and took away his cigarette, stubbing it out with a pinch. “Do you think I was upset? Do you think I’m upset?”

“I mean.” Blitzø couldn’t understand Stolas’ reaction. “Yes?”

“Seeing you on the full moon hasn’t been about the book in a long time.” Stolas traced the white scars on Blitzø’s hand, and clarified as an afterthought, “For me.”

“So you don’t want to continue this squid pro quote shit anymore?”

Stolas leaned his cheek in his palm and smiled adoringly at Blitzø. “I’m assuming you mean quid pro quo?”

“Whatever. That.”

“Hm, I think I would rather we switch to more of an omnia tibi situation.”

“I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

“It means I will give you everything you want.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Any normal being would have looked like shit under fluorescent lights. Blitzø was pretty sure his dark circles were on full blast in this light, but Stolas’ heart-shaped face glowed. “Blitzø,” Stolas started to say. The hand he was leaning on squished his face a bit, endearing in a mystifying way. “Why do you think I’m here right now? It certainly isn’t for the coffee.”

That was a confrontation he was avoiding since he texted Stolas earlier.

“I have a sneaking feeling you think I wouldn’t choose to be with you just to be with you.” Stolas finished his coffee. “You can have the book whenever you need with no strings attached, no something for something, because I like you.”

Blitzø’s heart was doing some freaky twitching he wasn’t used to. “You like me.”

Stolas almost seemed offended by Blitzø’s deadpan response. “Well, it’s not very hard to like you, is it? I like your company. I like your cute face. I like your humor. I like your taste in clothing — there’s just a lot to like! And whatever part of you that you seemed to view as intolerable matters very little to me compared to how much I like you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blitzø stood up in his seat. “You have crap taste. You drink coffee with sugar.”

“I’ve been told I’m very smart.” Stolas leaned back in his seat. “And if you give it a try, you might like it as well.”

“And if I don’t?” Blitzø rested a knee on the table.

“Then I will simply have to accept that.” Stolas smiled like he was falling. And Blitzø was falling too. Forward. Downward. But mostly forward.

Stolas’ long limbs wrapped around Blitzø like it went on forever. Blitzø’s tail wrapped around them and they were so close. In this shitty all-nighter joint with squeaky chairs and bad coffee that should make anyone want to kill themselves for choosing to spend their night here, but Stolas was here and he caught Blitzø in his arms. Blitzø was here and he decided to fall forward.

It was pretty fucking scary. It was also pretty fucking sweet.

(Day One) ← →(Day Three)

#stolitz #stolas x blitz #stolas #blitz #blitzo #blitzø #helluva boss #my writing

[oyesmendes]

pancakes & coffee for two

masterlist

it was the stream of sunlight and the cool sheets of daniel's side of the bed that woke you up. you hadn't opened your eyes, but your hands felt around the bed for the warm body that you craved, and it was no where to be found. frowning, you opened you eyes to be met with the blanket fully covering your body, and his side of the bed empty. its supposed to be winter break, off season, no morning workout commitments, yet the australian was no where to be found in your shared bedroom.

you made your way out of the room, and the sound of clanging of bowls and utensils brought you to the kitchen.

"danny, what are you doing?"

you lean against the wall, arms folded loosely in front of you. he grins at you, whisk in hand as he stirs up some form of liquid in a metal bowl. the metal bowl from your prized kitchen aid, which was bought with your first paycheck, cradled in the arms of your boyfriend.

"morning love, i'm making pancakes." he tells you, shifting his attention back to the ipad that was propped carefully in front of him.

"you- you're making breakfast?" you look at him, wide-eyed. then your eyes scan the room, and the table was absolutely battered - carton of eggs left wide open, flour all over the countertop, chocolate chips, blueberries and bananas laid all across the surface.

"oh don't look so scared honey, i've got things under control."

and when daniel meant he had things under control, he meant spooning the pancake batter straight on to your induction stove.

"DANIEL!" you shouted, but it was too late. at least half the ladle of batter was spreading onto the surface. you ran over quickly, turning the stove off and take the items from his hand.

"use a pan, babe. please." you nodded towards the wall lined with perfectly shaped pans for frying, boiling, grilling - you name it, you had it. there's a sheepish grin on daniel's face as he picked out a medium sized pan, placing it on the induction stove right next to his disaster. you grabbed a wet cloth, wiping the now half cooked batter off the stove.

you rinsed the cloth at the sink, and daniel hugged you from behind,

"m'sorry, just wanted to make breakfast for us."

"its okay danny," you spun around to face him, "how about this? i'll make us the pancakes, and you can make the coffee? i've got some new pods we could try."

although reluctant and sad that you had banished him with a job that pretty much only required the hit of two buttons, daniel agreed to the arrangement. you started preparing the pancakes, while he chose two matching mugs from the cupboards and placed them by the coffee machine.

he took his job seriously, pouring the oatmilk with much precision into the frother, and making sure he got the temperature of the milk just right. you watch as his tongue sticks out with his concentration, pouring the now warm and fluffy milk into the mug.

two shots of espresso, one cube of sugar, and a splash of milk for you.

you return your attention to the stove. its not long before you were flipping multiple pancakes and you must admit, he did a great job with the batter despite the mess. the house was filled with the aroma of sweet, buttery pancakes, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee made you smile. he hands you your mug as you waited for the next batch of pancakes to cook, and you couldn't help but moan when the coffee hits your tongue.

"mmm, this is good danny." he takes the mug back, setting it on the counter so you could get back to the food.

"at least i could get one thing right."

"aw don't say that, you made a perfect batter for the pancakes. its a job well done." you gesture to the stack on the plate. he wraps his arm around your shoulder after you cook the remaining pancakes, and you both just stand there for awhile - admiring the view out of the window overlooking the city.

"just don't take my stove as a hibachi grill again please." you joke. daniel squeezes you closer to him, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

"i promise i won't."

"good. now eat up because you're on clean up duty."

a/n: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP IDK WHY I DID THIS!!!! reposting bc i dont show up in the tags???

taglist: @primadonnasdream @dr3lover @chicadelapartamento512-blog @thebagginsofbaggend @d0ntjudgemy50shades @cowspew @justthatgirlxox @ggaslyp1 @fromthedeskofjoii @lorenakaspersen @words-4u @o0itsjustme0o @gulsolsikke @enjoymyloves @rmaddens-blog @care2703 @katcontrreras @tattered-tales @piceous21​ @kyomihann @sgkophie @idkiwantchocolate @ricc3rodeo @organasith @anthonykatebridgerton @icecoldtires @vamossainz55 @ophcelia @dudde-44 @ladyf1 @kissatelier @leclerc16s @nmw-am @dan3avocado @ally4and33 @amsofftrack

let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist!

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fanfiction #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fic

[guilty-pleasures21]

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

As promised! New chapter!

0. The slow burn

Part 1 - the meet cute

Part 2 - the coffee mug

Part 3 - the spicy song

Part 4 - the absence

Part 5 - the watch/the sweet song

Part 6 - the backrub

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

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

He sighed and reached for his cup of coffee, his hand grasping at the air above the desk. Where … He looked down, finding an empty space where his mug usually sat. He raised an eyebrow, confused, then remembered that X wasn’t here today. Not that he needed her to babysit him or anything. He hit the switch to lower the platform, then stepped off and began making his way over to the pantry. And that was where one of the Peter’s found him, banging around in the cupboards.

“Hey, boss,” he began cautiously, leaning over the other side of the island. “What’cha lookin’ for?” Miguel stopped what he was doing, straightening up and placing his hands on his hips. He stared at the cupboard for a minute longer. Then, when he still couldn’t find what he was looking for, he sighed and shut the doors before turning around to face Peter.

“Do you know where my cup is?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in thought. “The green one?” Peter raised an eyebrow, thinking about it. Then he snapped his fingers, eyes going wide with recognition.

“Oh! The one with the little dinosaurs that change colours?” he asked. Miguel stifled a groan, rolling his eyes and pursing his lips in annoyance instead.

“Yes,” he mumbled, avoiding Peter’s gaze. He didn’t have to have the cup, it wasn’t an absolute necessity … but he found himself getting more and more irritated at the thought of drinking coffee out of anything else. Especially one of those generic white mugs he’d had the cupboard filled with for the other Spiders. Peter considered the question.

“Uh, I think X took it. She usually keeps it with her in case anyone tries to use it,” Peter informed him. Miguel’s brows came together in a frown.

“What … Why would she care if someone else used it?” Peter raised an eyebrow, as if it should have been obvious.

“Because she bought it for you?” he revealed. That was a surprise. He hadn’t known that she’d bought it for him: that she’d seen it and thought of him and then brought it to him just so he could have something that belonged to him, something that was all his own.

“Oh.” He stood there for a second, a number of different emotions flooding through him; emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront right now. He shook the thoughts away, returning his attention to the coffee machine. He grabbed a random mug lying on the rack, then shoved it under the nozzle before punching in his usual order. He removed the cup once it was done, adding his usual amount of sugar and milk before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. He almost spit it out immediately, the hot liquid scalding his sensitive tongue and taking him by surprise. “¡Ay, coño! Why is it so hot?!”

“Uh, it’s always hot?” Peter replied, confused. Miguel frowned, getting more and more frustrated by the conversation.

“But this … this is boiling!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the cup as if it had intentionally offended him somehow. Peter thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers suddenly, remembering something.

“Oh! Yeah! X always adds an ice cube at the end. To cool it down? She said something about not wanting to shock your super senses or something?” he supplied. Miguel gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he tried to maintain his temper. Could he seriously not even make his own cup of coffee without X around to do it for him?! He huffed and grabbed the cup, retreating back to the control room without another word.

The next problem presented itself when people would not stop showing up in front of him, all of them complaining about some inconsequential problem they really didn’t need his help for. It was starting to prevent him from getting any actual work done, not to mention surpassing the quota of social interactions he was able to handle in one day.

“Why does everyone seem to be having a problem today of all days?!” he ground out, fingers clenching into fists on his desk. Lyla popped up next to him, studying her nails detachedly.

“Actually, I’ve run the numbers and we’re experiencing the average number of problems today.” Miguel raised his head immediately, turning to Lyla with a scowl on his face. Not possible. There was no way this many people encountered this many problems on a daily basis. He’d definitely have noticed if it was true.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Lyla confirmed, turning her attention to him now, “you just never notice because X takes care of it for you. I think she likes you …” He clenched his fists at that, at yet another reminder of how much he’d let himself come to depend on her. Never mind the fact that his heart fluttered at the very suggestion of her having feelings for him.

“Lyla,” he growled, his tone threatening - a warning to not bring the subject up again.

“Oh, no,” Jess agreed, coming up behind him. “She’s definitely got it bad for you. Have you seen the way she looks at you?” He should have locked the door to the control room. He stayed frozen in position, refusing to turn around and entertain either of them, what with their ridiculous ideas about him and X.

“Oh my god,” Lyla flickered over to Jess’s side, grinning with delight. “So. Cute. Literal hearts in her eyes.” He frowned, hating how his curiosity continued to rise with every mention of her.

“Especially when you guys have your nerd talk going on,” Jess continued, refusing to let the subject go. “It’s like you guys are speaking this whole other language, but I swear that’s the only time I’ve ever seen you smile.” Lyla placed her hands on her cheeks, her eyes widening as she let out a concurring gasp.

“Oh my gosh! You noticed it too?!” She turned back to Miguel then, a smirk plastered over her holographic features as she waited for his response. He gripped his hips, trying so hard to be irritated, to stop his scowl from twisting up into a smile - the very smile that took over his features every time they had one of their ‘nerd talks’. He cleared his throat and turned around to look at Jess.

“Is there an actual reason that you’re here right now?” She rolled her eyes at his tone.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I thought I’d give you a debriefing on our mission earlier, but if you’re not interested …” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. How did everything always turn into his fault? If only X had been here, then she’d- He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, his frustration building up again as he tried to get rid of the rapidly rising desire to have her back by his side. He looked up at Jess and waved a hand for her to continue, his tension easing slightly when she shared how successful the mission had been - another anomaly wrangled and another canon event proceeding as intended.

“Great,” he replied, his tone dismissive as he turned back around to his computers. “Thanks, Jess. Go get some rest.” He hesitated before saying the last part, unsure as to whether he was in any position to give her such advice. But he’d become softer recently, no guesses as to who had provoked such a change in him.

“Will do, boss,” Jess assured him, a teasing tone in her voice - she’d noticed his gradual change in demeanour as well, it would seem. “Call me if you need anything!” And with that, she left.

The final straw came not long after, when Ben strolled into the room asking where the cashews - the p*nche cashew nuts - were. As if he’d know where the hell the f*cking cashew nuts were. Who even ate cashews anyway? Why not peanuts or almonds or something remotely normal?! Why couldn’t one variant in the entire maldito multiverse be normal?! Just one! Was that too much to ask?!

“Has he been like this the whole day?” Peter murmured to the holograph taking cover behind his shoulder. She flickered to his other shoulder as Miguel switched to Spanish, continuing his rant without pausing to take a breath.

“He hasn’t even had lunch yet,” she confessed. Something shattered and another slew of what Peter could only guess were curses fell from Miguel’s lips. He clapped his hands together, determined to resolve the situation.

“Okay,” he began, webbing up to the platform and placing a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get some food, huh, Miguel?” Thankfully, the big man let himself be led away, his muttered curses tapering off as they neared the cafeteria. He pressed a button on his watch to activate his eye protectors, shielding his sensitive vision from the artificial lights around them. He took a seat at an empty table as Peter went to get some food, his threatening aura warning away anyone who might have been tempted to approach him. Peter slid the tray of food in front of him, then took the seat beside him.

“So,” he began cautiously, wondering how to broach the subject, “do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Miguel grunted, a little calmer now that he’d gotten some food into him. Peter shifted in his seat to face him fully.

“Well, it seems like something’s bothering you,” he pointed out gently. “Do you … want to get it off your chest?” Miguel paused his eating and began fiddling with his fork instead, his lips pursed in thought as he considered the question. How could he get it off his chest when he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was?

“I’m just …” he hesitated, looking around for an excuse. His eyes landed on his food. “I’m probably just hungry.” He dug into his meal, filling his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. But it wasn’t that, he knew. Food wouldn’t be enough to fill the uncomfortable ache currently throbbing in his chest. He hunched over, signalling an end to the conversation and Peter sat back in his seat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of him, but not wanting to leave his friend alone either - not in this state.

“Oh! Where’s X?” Peter asked suddenly. “I haven’t seen her around today.” It was a Saturday, so she should have arrived in the morning, then spent the day bouncing between the biology lab and wherever Miguel was in the building. It was pretty obvious to everyone that she liked him - and Peter was glad to find that Miguel seemed to enjoy her company too. He always seemed more … at ease whenever she was around. More relaxed and less … agitated.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of her name, his leg beginning to shake beneath the table as the knot in his chest tightened. “She’s busy. She’s not coming in today.”

His response was brusque, the words almost a growl as they came out of his mouth. He sounded defensive, unexpectedly so, and it only made Peter all the more desperate to push the topic. He leaned forward, trying to sneak a peek at his friend’s reaction. But Miguel turned his head away quickly, hiding his expression from view. “Well, when is she going to be back?”

“Wednesday.” He winced, hating how immediate his response had been - hating how it sounded like he’d just been counting down the days until she returned. Which he most definitely hadn’t been. It was only for a few days, after all, could he not survive just a handful of days without seeing her face? Her … cute little smile and her … pretty eyes … and the way she’d always listen to him, nodding in understanding even when he wasn’t making any sense at all. He held his head in his hands and groaned, frustrated with himself. Then he stiffened, suddenly remembering that Peter was still sitting right beside him. “Uh, I mean … That was a … completely unrelated … issue that I was … that’s bothering me.”

“Riiiiiight …” Peter nodded, completely unconvinced. But he let the subject drop anyway, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence as Miguel went back to his food.

“Hey, Miguel!” X began cheerfully, walking into the control room. “I got your coffee!” She set the mug down in front of him - his mug, the one she’d gotten just for him - and smiled up at him cheerfully. Like nothing had ever happened. Like it had had no effect on her, not seeing him for a whole five days. Like she didn’t even care enough to miss him. He huffed and turned away from her, the corners of his lips twisting down in irritation.

“I can get it myself,” he told her, his tone harsh. She froze, taken aback by his response. He’d never snapped at her like that before - he only ever pretended to get exasperated with her, that amused snort escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes and shook his head at something she’d said. She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to calm her racing thoughts. There must have been something else bothering him; something else that had him lashing out at her without him even realising it. She set her glass down on the desk, then curled herself up in the chair - her chair, the one he’d brought out just for her - and studied him carefully.

“I know,” she replied softly, still waiting for him to turn around and look at her. “But …” ‘I like getting it for you. I like making it for you. I like looking after you, like … like we mean something to each other.’ But that would only end up pushing him away, she knew, because he was afraid. He was afraid of letting someone else look after him - of letting someone else in enough to depend on them. Just like her.

“Wait!” she exclaimed suddenly, causing him to startle and finally turn to her. She untangled her limbs, sitting up straight and pointing a finger in the air. “I do that too!” His brows furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. He folded his arms across his chest and looked away, forcing the question out of his mouth.

“Do what?” he asked reluctantly. She smiled.

“Get mad at people for caring about me?” She paused, waiting for his reaction. She leaned back in her seat when he didn’t respond. “It’s terrifying right? Letting someone in enough to depend on them? ‘Cause people like to leave?” Her voice softened as she said the last part - like she knew exactly how it felt; to be left behind. He held her gaze, stunned by how easily she’d called him out, how quickly she’d understood the real reason behind his sudden hostility.

“But don’t worry!” she continued, brightening up again. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m kind of obsessive-possessive. I’m never going to leave you. Not by choice, anyway.” She added the last part as an afterthought, as if remembering that the choice might not always be hers. But when it was hers - when the decision was hers alone - she’d never choose to leave him; never choose to abandon him. His chest warmed at the thought.

“Uh, I …” He turned away again, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Because what could he say? What could he say when she’d been so patient and understanding and he’d been so … so unkind? He cleared his throat and tried again. “Careful, arañita - you’re starting to veer into villain territory.”

He was joking - actually joking with her! She felt a delighted warmth spread through her body at his attempt at humour - at his apology. She grinned. “Is that my origin story? The path to evil is paved with good intentions?”

He snickered at her response, the sound escaping from his lips before he’d even realised. His eyes widened in embarrassment and he glanced over at her, pulling his gaze away again when he saw the pleased smile on her face. He cleared his throat, trying not to think about what it meant, her pride at having been able to put a smile on his face.

“No, don’t do that, arañita,” he told her gently. “I don’t want to have to hunt you down.” He slid his gaze over to her, his eyes narrowing in anticipation of her response. She tilted her head as she considered his argument.

“Mmm, that’s kind of sexy though.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she met his gaze and his stomach flipped at the sight. And then, Dios, then she bit her lip, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest as she trailed her gaze over him, his body heating up wherever her eyes landed. She licked her lips and pulled her gaze back up to his, that devious expression still written all over her face. Sexy? She’d called him sexy? Or, well, she’d called the situation sexy. But the way she’d looked at him after saying it … He swallowed hard and turned away, trying to come up with an appropriate response, anything that would diffuse the sudden tension that had fallen over them.

Tags: @leahnicole1219

“Uh, how’s your research, arañita?” he inquired, staunchly refusing to meet her gaze. “Any progress on the … the samples from Earth-742?” Her eyes lit up - as they always did when she started discussing her progress in the lab - and then everything was back to normal again. Everything except his heart, that is, which continued to flutter in chest everytime he glanced over at the smile on her face.

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel x oc #miguel smut #atsv fanfiction #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel fluff

[ihni]

Patience

Written for @billyhargrovebingo, square A1; "A price I'm willing to pay".

Rated: G, Words: 1994

(On AO3)

~~~

Flo ran out of patience twenty years ago.

For eighteen of those years, she’s been working for Hawkins’ Police Department. People have come and gone during her time here, but she has remained, through thick and thin.

Besides Flo, Jim is the one who has been here the longest, with his five years. Calvin came in a year later, and Phil only started two years ago when his family moved to Hawkins from Montana.

This means that Flo has been here longer than the three of them combined, which gives her seniority. Sure, on paper they all outrank her, but in reality, she is the one who keeps things running around here and they wouldn’t dare cross her. They all know that Flo has no patience for bullshit.

Not anymore. Not since she threw her abusive piece of shit husband out on his ass twenty years ago, got a job, and managed to raise their three teenage sons by herself despite what everyone said about her behind her back.

Everything at the department runs smoothly, because Flo is in charge of it. The boys know better than to encroach on her territory, and have learned to ask her for the things they need rather than try to find them themselves and risk messing with her system. They’re fast learners, that way. Or maybe her glare is just that terrifying.

“I don’t think they’re afraid of you,” Harold said over breakfast one day when she mentioned it. “They’re simply showing you the respect you deserve, honey.”

Flo huffed and rolled her eyes at that, but Harold had only smiled serenely at her and put another sugar cube in his coffee.

Harold is, perhaps, the only person for which Flo will make an effort to be patient. They met years ago, but didn’t get together until all her sons were already grown up and had moved out, far from Hawkins. And even then, it was two years before Flo let him into her life fully.

All the patience that Flo lacks, Harold has in abundance. Enough to cover the both of them, he usually jokes.

She is thankful for him. He’s a good man. Not everyone is lucky enough to find themselves a good man – she knows that by experience.

Flo has a lot of experience. Which is why her eyes narrow when she walks into the station one morning to find a young man in handcuffs seated at Phil’s desk while Phil is rummaging around in the filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

The young man glances up as she passes him – he’s got a black eye with a swollen eyelid, and splotchy bruising on his jaw – but looks down again before she can meet his eye. Frowning, she walks up to Phil and clears her throat. To his credit, he only jumps a little and immediately backs away from the filing cabinet.

“I wasn’t ...” he starts, “I just needed an empty file.”

She raises her eyebrows and looks at him over the rim of her glasses as he gives a helpless little shrug. Without a word, she walks over to another cabinet where she keeps the empty files. He takes the one she hands him with a low “Thanks, Flo”, and walks back to his desk to deal with his young perp.

Flo listens in as she prepares for the day; brings in the morning paper, starts the coffee machine, goes through the agenda for the day, looks over the unintelligible scribbles that Phil – who had the night shift – calls notes. While she works, she listens to Phil as he talks to the kid – a Mr. William Hargrove, apparently.

It’s quiet in the station in the morning, and Flo hasn’t turned the radio on yet. She may be old, but there is nothing wrong with her ears and it’s not like the other two occupants in the room are talking in low voices. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. She’s the one who types out the reports.

The more she hears, the deeper her frown gets. When Jim finally shows up around nine, Flo intercepts him before Phil can catch his attention. She hands him a cup of hot coffee and pointedly doesn’t comment on the pastry crumbs in his moustache that show that he visited the bakery on his way to work.

“Jim, a word?” And Jim knows better than to cross her this early in the morning, so he accepts the coffee, nods, and gestures for her to lead the way into his office.

“That young man in there,” Flo says as soon as the door is closed behind them and points with her thumb over her shoulder. “Phil picked him up at the gas station outside of town around daybreak. He was slinking around the parking lot, and Phil caught him at the back door, holding a brick. Looking like he was trying to break in.”

“Okay?” Jim says, taking a sip of his coffee. He’ll be able to read this in Phil’s report later, so he’s probably wondering why Flo is telling him this.

She huffs. “The kid is beat up, Jim. He says he got in a fight but no one has made any calls about a fight tonight. There are no marks on his hands. He’s been sitting hunched-over since he got here. And you know what they sell at the gas station, besides gas and snacks?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.

Luckily for her, and everyone else in town, their Chief is no fool. And he, too, has some experience with these things. His eyes clear in realization. “Pain pills. Basic first aid stuff.” She nods, satisfied that she doesn’t have to spell it out for him. “Who is he? I don’t recognize him.”

“New in town, apparently,” Flo says. “Name of Hargrove. The family moved in from California a week or so ago.”

Jim hums, and Flo knows that he’ll take what she has said into consideration when he inevitably talks to the boy, after he’s sent Phil home to get some sleep. It’s enough. She’s done what she can.

Or so she thinks, until she walks out of Jim’s office and sees that Phil is leading the young man towards the holding cells. The kid looks beaten down. Exhausted.

“Oh just leave the kid here,” Flo says and watches as both of them stop and turn towards her.

“Protocol states –“ Phil starts, but Flo huffs and waves it away.

“Since when do you care about protocol? Jim will want to speak to him soon anyway. I’ll look after him. You go home, Phil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Phil knows better than to argue. Fast learners, the lot of them. He goes to exchange a few words with Jim before going off his shift, and leaves Flo and the kid alone. She gestures at the chair in front of Phil’s desk, the one he was sitting in before, and the kid sinks back into it. Flo knows she’s not imagining the wince as he’s sitting down. It’s gone in a flash, but it was definitely there.

She turns her back on him, only in part to give him a chance to compose himself. A minute or so later, she walks back to him and places a mug of coffee, a glass of water and two white pills on the desk in front of him.

He looks up at her, surprised. “What’s this?”

Inpatient, she gestures at the items. “What does it look like, kid?”

“I don’t need –“

She’s not about to get into a discussion with him, so she cuts him off. “I’m not forcing you to take them. Take them or don’t. Up to you.”

She turns her back again and leaves him to his own devices. She has her own work to do, after all, the phones won’t answer themselves and Mr. Thompson usually calls first thing in the morning to rant about whatever the neighbor’s kids got up to last night.

When she passes the kid next, the pills are gone and the water glass is empty. She’s glad to see it, even if she doesn’t say anything. The boy is holding the coffee cup with his handcuffed hands and taking small sips, grimacing at the bitterness of it. Flo probably should have offered him milk or sugar, but everyone at the station drinks their coffee black so it didn’t cross her mind.

She meant what she said, though. The kid can drink it, or not. His choice. She’s not his keeper.

She putters around the station while Jim speaks to the kid in his office. Talks a bit with Gail who is passing by with her dachshund, and waters the few spider plants that she has placed on the south-facing windowsills.

The kid emerges from the office uncuffed, with Jim following behind him.

“I’m driving Billy here back to his car,” Jim says, pulling on his jacket. “I’ll be right back. Hold the fort, will you?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He knows that she will.

She spends the time while he’s out typing out Phil’s near-illegible notes for the kid’s file, and adds a couple of details she heard them talk about that Phil forgot to write down. She’s done this for decades, she knows what details are important. She’s just finishing up when Jim comes back, this time alone.

He sinks into Calvin’s empty chair, which is the one closest to Flo’s desk. None of them speak for a moment, then Jim sighs. “I think you’re right.”

“I know,” Flo says, and hands him the boy’s newly typed-up file. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s not really anything I can …” He trails off when she levels him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t look at me like that, Flo. I am the Chief of Police, I have to follow the law. I can’t do anything if he’s not talking. And he’s not talking.”

She purses her lips. “They live over on Cherry, you know.”

He frowns, suspicious. “So?”

“I have a friend who lives on Cherry. Ruth. I haven’t visited her in a while.”

Jim groans. “No, Flo. I’ll keep an eye on the family, okay? You don’t have to get involved again –“

“Who said anything about getting involved? I just think it’s about time I visited my good friend Ruth. We haven’t talked in ages. Maybe she has some new gossip for me. About her new neighbors.”

Running his hand down his face, Jim groans again. “Please, Flo.”

“It’s a small town. It’s important to get to know your new neighbors, after all. As a representative for the Police Department, perhaps I should go and say hello.”

“You’re killing me,” he says under his breath, standing up with a grunt. “I’ll make some calls to an old colleague in California. Happy?”

She levels him with a look and raises her eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She does, and they both know it. She’s also not going to let it go. They both know that, too.

“This is gonna blow up in my face somehow, I know it.”

As Chief of Police his hands are tied in a way that hers aren’t. Going through the right channels is just too slow-moving for her. She doesn’t have that kind of patience.

So she shrugs. “That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters. “Because you won’t be the one paying it.”

“Excuse me?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Who does all the paperwork around here?”

He inclines his head as if to say ‘fair’, and then adds, “Fine. You win. But if you happen to go and say hello, please take Harold with you. At least he has a sense of tact.”

She glares at him, but it’s half-hearted. Harold will want to come with her, anyway, when she tells him about the boy.

#billy hargrove #flo #stranger things #billy hargrove bingo #ihni writes #listen i just like flo okay #i think she is a gruff old woman who is anything but cuddly #but is efficient and caring in her own way

[thefangirlofhp]

10. sweet-tooth

The Garden is a strange small cafe on the curb of a secondary street. It is strange in that at first glance, one reckons its hanging showers of greenery and flower vines indicate an abandoned forgotten shop or an aesthetic florist’s work, but its quaint outdoor seating arrangements of ivory white benches and chairs coupled around round tables. Its large window display showcases its black checkered floor and couches, with its name printed in glittering gold on the large front which an employee is wiping with a fiber cloth from the inside.

Azriel ducks under the pink canopy from the patient drizzle the sky occasionally peppers them with. The grey clouds are dispersed amongst the sky, occasionally passing over the sun and shading them with the trademark gloom of autumn and its crisp weather. He rakes his hand through his hair, effectively jelling it back with the moist and gives his appearance a quick run over in the window’s reflection. He pauses, for a moment, as the worker inside does her round on the glass and finishes rubbing a spot of a small hand-print off the glass. Her face appears when she lowers her hand, finding herself locking eyes with him and instantly beaming.

He smiles, yanks open the door and strides in long hurried footsteps.

“Hi,” Elain throws her arms around his shoulders, gives him a tight squeeze that he bends into as he finds himself giving them a spin.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, blinking back a sudden sting in his eyes as the flashing gratitude for having her pinches his heart. “How’re you?”

“Fine,” she says, muffled in his shoulder. “It’s a little busy today. It only calmed down ten minutes ago.”

He glances over her shoulder at the customers inside having their drinks and indulging in chatter audible over the faint background music Elain plays. He draws back, to get a more than cursory look at her face.

“The vomiting?” he asks, his eyes darting over her smile and eyes, trying to fish out a morsel of an indication to exhaustion. “Sorry I left so early.”

“It’s okay,” she shakes her head. “And the vomiting wasn’t pleasant, but more tolerable today.”

His eyes squint, finding only a slightly paler tone to her skin and perhaps faint undereye circles.

“I’m fine, really,” she reassures him. “I was wiping windows. I am very well.”

He does have to concede that. Behind them, the doorbell chimes with two new customers just off work as he is. The afternoon yields a particular rush, one post-lunchtime and pre-dinnertime where most people pick up a snack to sedate their hunger meanwhile.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get those?” he offers, earning a brilliant smile that sets his heart on fire. Azriel strides over to the counter, where Cerridwen is taking the orders at the register.

He shrugs off his jacket, ties an employee green apron over his white shirt and washes his hands thoroughly in the sink. One iced-latte, matcha tea and a chocolate parfait. It is pleasant to exchange the noisiness of a news outlet’s office for the busy hum of a café; the coffee machine brewing espresso shots, the loud clink of large ice-cubes thundering their way into plastic travel cups and the ear-trickling pouring of chilled milk over ice. He likes the slow work of it, the gradual building of each drink until he clicks on the lids and slides on the café’s cupsleeves over them.

Elain runs an interesting cafe with the kind of pricing a business should not be modeled on if it wanted to stay afloat and make profit while keeping the clean crisp space it does but Elain has an infamously creative menu, with the classical options one would find in any café but presented in unique packaging and exciting colors that even has Azriel, whose poison everyday is a black coffee with one sugar, interested in trying. She markets herself well online, as well, with challenges like trying out the entire menu in a month to win a coupon that would serve two people and adding new drinks and desserts to the menu every once in a while.

She pours her heart and energy into the place, as Azriel often catches her in odd hours running the blender in the kitchen trying out new recipes or sketching new ideas of packages. She runs offers like discounts for regulars, and free delivery for certain orders. Sometimes people wanted to walk into a place and drink something new, or have something incredibly specific in mind that usually Elain catered to.

Azriel enjoys making the parfaits, even though he is not a personal fan of them and Elain really only makes for him the high-protein Greek yogurt specimens for his gym days (she has a special section in her planner on a healthy menu for fitness month in May that she’s subjecting him to sampling). He does admit it is like assembling an art’s craft, with ample room for creativity and little chance of erroring. The counter offers just as much colorful options as a crafts’ store that he finds himself straying a little off course with the assembly.

Kosssh goes the whipped cream, crackling its way out of the nozzle as he tops off the dessert. He slides the Orea cookie in place in white clouds of fluffy goodness, sticks in a KitKat bar and wafers and drizzles on a generous helping of thick chocolate syrup.

He watches Elain finish wiping the windows, as he wipes down the counters and aligns some lids and washes up dishes. She fixes chairs in place and sweeps the floor and eventually sits—nearly collapses—on a couch.

“Are there any bagels left from this morning?” he asks Cerridwen who sits at the register sipping a purple and yellow soda drink and points him towards them.

He cranks up the heat on the stove, lets the pan heat up enough before cracking an egg over it and gently scrambling it, taking care not to over cook it. Azriel pieces together a cream-cheese and onion, ham and egg bagel sandwich with the care he assembles Lego pieces and the affection he reserves for his wife alone. He takes his time lathering the cream cheese, arranges the ham carefully before topping it with the egg and gently pressing it down with the other half of the sesame bagel. Cuts it in two careful halves and plate it on a tray, with a lemon soda.

“You all-right?”

Elain looks up and opens her eyes when he announces himself only for them to widen as he puts the tray on the glass table before her. “Oh thank you,” she rushes out, so sickeningly grateful for the gesture. “Yes I am, I’m just feeling a little tired. Brain fog, you know?”

“Little fucker fucking around already?”

Elain snorts, reaching for a half and settling back comfortably. “This is really good, thank you.”

“No problem. Figured I’m best limited to arrangement of pre-prepared ingredients only after yesterday’s dinner.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Elain tries to bandage his feelings but he’s since then given up on cooking—who fucked up pasta so spectacularly? An idiot. Even if it was prepared with the good-intention of taking the load off his newly-diagnosed wife. But Elain wasn’t complaining when they instead ordered take-out and rewatched an entire season of The Office and fed leftovers to her overweight cat.

Which reminds him, he ought to stop referring to his sesame-sized fetus with the same terminology as a disease but what did one say with regards to such matters? He hadn’t researched that far yet.

“I couldn’t eat the thing and I scarfed down Cassian’s cooking for all of college,” he replies. “Speaking of, he called. Nesta wants to throw you a baby shower. Now keep in mind this is still a surprise but he says she’s called dibs and Feyre’s claimed first-birthday rights. Just so you know.”

Elain blinks. “I’m not even two months yet.”

Azriel shrugs and crosses one leg over the other. “Besides, who even throws birthday parties for a one-year-old? They’re still blobs of incoherent nonsense, why the bother?”

Elain gives a suspicious snort which she masks with a cough.

“Sorry,” she snickers. “I just can’t help a very vivid memory of a surprise half-birthday party for a certain six-month-old and being asked to bake a specific custom cake that kept changing every fifteen minutes.”

Azriel sticks his tongue in his cheek and finds himself at loss for words.

“Ok, that’s fair enough.”

Elain laughs softly. Doris Day softly croons about dreaming a little dream of her and Azriel thinks about the different people who’ve ever sung and it and finds himself daydreaming one small such dream about assembling a beautiful crib in their apartment for their office they’re going to be turning into a nursery later. He’s thinking about this café being the after-school spot for their kid to come hang out with their friends and help out their mother. Elain will make them sweet cold smoothies at the end of spring’s term, give them hot chocolate during the fall and ginger biscuits before the winter break.

He softly smiles. Right now, here, is a fine spot to be and just as much a dream he cannot get used to, still.

@flufftober day 11: sweet-tooth

#flufftober 2023 #day 11: sweet-tooth #some SWEET TOOTH rottin' FLUFF for ya #elriel #elain archeron #elriel fic #acotar #azriel #acotar fic #elain x azriel #there's a sprinkle of early pregnancy in there too heads up if that ain't your thing

[flyingwargle]

everything is the same as before, but also not. his futon is still on the floor, blanket crumpled as if he had just climbed out of it yesterday. the note left for the others remains on the desk, memory of frantically writing it still fresh in his mind. the books that he was reading before warping to the luofu remain behind his crooked pillow. the tea set is untouched. the machines hum softly in the background.

everything is the same as before, except for him.

dan heng touches the base of his horns with lithe fingers. his ears are more sensitive, and his senses are sharper. he can hear the engine's quiet hum, doors sliding open and shut, muffled voices and footsteps. power swirls within him, ancient and unfamiliar, yet also recognizable by the way his fingers move through the air, coalescing water instead of wind.

now that he has embraced his previous incarnation, he no longer follows the path of the hunt but treads along destruction, similar to caelus when he first awakened the stellaron in his body. he sits on his bed, manifesting cloud piercer on his lap. his old friend will be able to rest, for now, until he wields it, once more.

knocks sound on his closed door. he looks up and calls, "come in." it slides open, and caelus steps inside.

"hey. i'm not bothering you, am i?"

"no."

silence dances between them, similar to when they stood in front of the high elder's statue, their first reunion after being separated, the first time anyone on the express saw his transformation. dan heng lowers his eyes. "do you want some tea?"

he doesn't see the nod, only hears footsteps across the floor and a swish of jacket as caelus sits on the steps. dan heng prepares his tea set, takes out a bag of tea leaves, and plugs in the electric kettle. he works in silence. caelus watches in silence.

dan heng draws in a breath. he has to start the conversation somehow. "speak your mind. i know you have something to say."

nothing. he looks up. caelus stares at the bookshelf, lips pressed together. "words are free," dan heng says. "use them how you'd like to express yourself."

"is that dan heng saying that, or the high elder?"

ah. dan heng lowers his eyes. "i am not my previous incarnation. we share a similar appearance and abilities, but that's all. i am dan heng; dan feng was forcibly molted for his crimes."

"i don't know what kind of dynamic we have now." caelus's tone is quiet, melancholic. "it was easy, before, but now...you're a thousand years old yet you're not. you have cool powers. you have a duty to an ancient race of dragons-"

"my duty to the xianzhou is fulfilled, but my duty to the nameless is not. i'm here now, aren't i?"

"but for how long?"

"until we've traveled the path carved for us in the stars." the kettle whistles. dan heng pours a thin trail of steaming liquid into the pot. "there is...much history that has been lost because of what dan feng did, but that responsibility does not fall to me. i am the astral express's guard and administrator of the data bank. that won't change."

he offers caelus a cup. the trailblazer doesn't move, so he leaves it in the space between them. dan heng releases a breath. "i am sorry i didn't say anything about it. i had no intention of revealing it until i had to. and now..."

"and now...the horns stay?"

"...yes."

"and the tail?"

"that, too."

caelus looks at him through narrowed eyes over his shoulder. "lucky for you that you can hide it whenever you want."

"consider it a perk of being a reincarnation of the high elder." dan heng nudges the tea closer to him. caelus hesitates before taking a sip. he makes a face.

"bitter. it's march who has the sugar cubes with her." his hand falls on his lap. "she hasn't talked to you yet, has she?"

"no."

"i'll get her to come at some point. for now..." their eyes meet. caelus keeps his tone steady. "you'll keep traveling on this path with us?"

"yes."

"no matter what happens?"

"i travel with the nameless as dan heng. there is nothing more or less about it." his fingers drift over the express's emblem on his shirt.

"okay. thanks." caelus is still, hesitant. he offers a hand. dan heng blinks at it. "welcome back, dan heng."

"thanks." his hand fits in his, a familiar shape and warmth over his.

nothing has changed, yet everything has. regardless of what will come next, dan heng remains sure of his own identity.

#text #flyingwargle original #drabble #honkai star rail #honkai drabble #caelus #dan heng #dancae if you squint #astral express family #imbibitor lunae #WHO IS READY FOR IMBIBITOR LUNAE #good luck everyone rolling!!

[stumblngrumbl]

Brownies!

I make these in just two bowls but to illustrate the ingredients i used an extra. I use a fork to beat the eggs and all mixing is done with a spoon - no machines needed here, and in fact using a mixer will ruin the texture of the brownies!

Stop buying brownie mix; it barely saves any steps or ingredients and even the better brownie mixes have a certain je ne sais quoi* missing.

To start, melt a cube of butter + 6oz (1c) of semisweet chocolate (i use Costco's Kirkland chocolate chips, very good chocolate). Don't get it super hot, just enough to melt the chocolate; stir it a bit during the melting to check if it's done before it's overheated (microwave is fine here - just do it 30sec at a time with stirring between).

Second bowl is two eggs which need to be beaten:

To the melted butter + chocolate, add a cup of brown sugar and 1t vanilla. I use white sugar plus a tablespoon of blackstrap molasses, which is the equivalent of dark brown sugar without the storage problems brown sugar brings:

Beat the eggs and mix in well to the brown mixture.

Mix in one more cup of chocolate chips (not pictured); give it a minute or two to cool off it's it's so warm that it might melt these as you don't want that.

Then, add ½c flour, ⅙c (3T) cocoa powder and ½t salt.

It's really important that you don't overmix the flour into the mixture - if anything, still seeing a slight streak of flour left in the batter is a great indication that you've mixed it just enough!

Butter a baking dish (I forgot that part last night) and put the batter in.

Bake it at 350°F for 35 minutes... possibly up to 45 minutes depending on how fudgy you want the brownies. Poke it in a couple spots and see if the batter has set, but make sure you're not looking at molten chocolate. Best yet, cook to 180-190°F internal, if you can check, as that way you can preserve more moisture for fudgier brownies (go to 200-ish if you want them drier).

Pic of the final result at the top of the post.

*: actually I do know what's missing - quality ingredients, in particular vanilla (gl finding a mix that doesn't use vanillin instead) and butter

#baking #brownies #recipes #video

[mutatiio]

FIVE SONGS for your muse.

i. take a bow by muse : you'll burn in hell / yeah you'll burn in hell for your sins / and our freedom's consuming itself / what we become is contrary to what we want / take a bow / death / you bring death / and destruction to all that you touch

ii. breaking the habit by linkin park : i don't know what's worth fighting for / or why i have to scream / i don't know why i instigate / and say what i don't mean / i don't know how i got this way / i know it's not alright / so, i'm breaking the habit / i'm breaking the habit tonight

iii. the bomb by florence & the machine : i've blown apart my life for you / and bodies hit the floor for you / and break me, shake me, devastate mе / come here, baby, tell me that i'm wrong

iv. back against the wall by cage the elephant : you've got my back against the wall / oh god, i ain't got no other place to hide / chained down, like a sitting duck just waiting for the fall / you know, yeah / you've got my back against the wall

v. afraid of heights by boygenius : i know that i fucked up when i / told you i'm afraid of heights / it made you wanna test my courage / you made me climb a cliff at night / you wanted me to jump and i declined / you called me a coward, i replied / i don't wanna live forever, but i don't wanna die tonight / when the black water ate you up / like a sugar cube in a teacup / i got the point you were makin' / when i held my breath 'til you came up

FIVE QUOTES for your muse.

i. that is the kind of fear that lives inside anakin skywalker: the dragon of that dead star. it is an ancient, cold dead voice within his heart that whispers all things die. . . – matthew stover, revenge of the sith

ii. anakin matched his stare. perhaps i’ll take yours. his own voice, inside his head, had a hot black fire that smoked from the depths of his furnace heart. you think you can stop me from saving my love? you think you can make me watch her die? go ahead and vaapad this, you--

“anakin,” obi-wan said softly. he gestured to an empty seat beside him. “please.”

and something in obi-wan’s gentle voice, in his simple, straightforward request, sent his anger slinking off ashamed, and anakin found himself alone on the carpet in the middle of the jedi council, blinking. – matthew stover, revenge of the sith

iii. “take it from me. please, master.” anakin wanted to fall to his knees. a deep tide of feeling, of dread, had risen up within him and choked him. he felt tears in the back of his throat. even his friend tru was afraid for him. just as ferus was. just as his own master was, the person who knew him the best. – jude watson, the moment of truth

iv. it matters little how small i am in the pool of another’s eye. it’s awe or indifference i crave. i want to be seen clearly or not at all. – ama codjoe, the bluest nude

v. a thousand emotions have swept through me to-night. i don’t comprehend half of them. – kate chopin, the awakening

tagged by: @debelltio tagging: @mayxthexforce ( obi-wan!! ) / @alootus / @jeditrash / @iniqutous / @misfittcd ( qui-gon ) / @rottingkiss ( misa )

#⸢ dash game ⤑ anakin ⸥ unapproved mission. #afraid of heights is specifically obi-wan @ anakin. #it makes me Emotional so it's here. #anakin hissing and growling at mace had to be here. he literally had me with my head in my hands on my walk.

[swampstew]

KIᒪᒪEᖇᑕOOK - ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight's story. Rated Mature for language.

Going Live in 3…2…1…

GO

“What’s up everyone, Killer here. Today we’re going to be making a delicious Tiramisu that I like to eat whenever I’m having a hard time. My friend and coworker Quincy has been having some bad luck lately so I’m making one for her.”

The live chat was already spitting out messages more than Killer could read them. Most of them asking if he could send them baked goods for bad days too. He chuckled softly under his helmet, pulling his hair back into a low ponytail to avoid it going into the baking process. The fabric of his polyester blend muscle shirt stretched to accommodate Killer’s muscles without riding up his stomach and revealing his tight abdominals…too much. His jogger pants hugged his hips, perfectly framing his glutes and thighs.

“I can’t possibly make a dessert for every single person but take comfort in knowing that I’m rooting for you through your personal struggles. You got this,” pointing finger guns at the camera.

Turning around, he walked away to grab some ingredients and baking tools. The sound of pinging and comments going wildly in the background, a tad louder than the music on the speaker.

“This is a refreshing and savory dessert. I always feel like I’m biting into an espresso cloud and suddenly I’m a little bit happier, if only for a brief moment.”

Pulling out one mixing bowl, “First, we’re going to make our creamy filling. I’ll be using room-temperature mascarpone, cream, sugar, and vanilla extract. We’ll whip it until it gets nice and stiff. In between the whipping, I’ll also be dipping these lady fingers in this bowl of liquids – now I like to soak the fingers for about a minute to really soak in the espresso and liqueur. Makes the whole dessert just gush in your mouth.”

Killer was prepping the glass pan he was going to stack the layers in and he heard the transactions and notifications chime endlessly. What the hell was going on in chat today. He finished prepping the tools and ingredients before rushing to his phone to read everything.

Oh shit.

Oh fucking shit.

Killer did not mean to make any of his instruction sound as sexual as chat had perceived it to be. Oh no, the things he can’t unread. The blonde was incredibly grateful he kept his helmet on during all content creation, feeling his face break out in flushed flames. The echoing sounds of Kid and Wire’s cackling from inside the house only made it worse for Killer.

God damnit.

“Hng, er-uhm, as I was saying, once we get the…base ingredients prepared, we can get into some architecture. I think a good balance is about uh—2 to 3 inches of filling between biscuit layers, depending on how…erm…bloated the biscuit has become.”

As he loudly poured ingredients into the stainless-steel bowl, he quickly and quietly addressed the highlighted messages, not daring to repeat his answers before starting up the rotator blade. The machine Killer bought was a high-end model, it was a good quality standing mixer with a low humming drone when in use. Killer treated it as if it was a roaring engine.

“IT’S GETTING NOISY SO I’M GOING TO TURN UP THE MUSIC TO DROWN IT OUT. WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE MESSAGES FOR ABOUT 10 MINUTES,” he spoke loudly as he used the remote to turn the speaker up.

Killer’s mouth was dry. He rushed to the fridge to pull out ice cubes for his water, plunking a swirly straw in the glass and draining his cup in seconds. Three times.

Feeling relieved, he made his way back to the island tabletop. He started soaking the lady fingers in the bowl and slowly layering the glass pan bottom with a row of soaked fingers. Once the bottom was covered, he checked the mixer. The creamy filling was looking stiff. Turning the machine off, Killer also lowered the volume of the speaker.

“You’ll see that the texture is ready when you can raise the blade and the filling is light, fluffy yet firm. You should be able to hold the blade upside down without the peaks falling or losing integrity. Now to make my life easier, I’m going to transfer this into a piping bag to fill the layers and then smooth it out before adding the next layer of lady fingers.”

Killer started to read out messages as he filled and stacked.

“_LickMeImurLollipop says,” he almost chokes, “’Marry me and I’ll make you a stay-at-home husband. You can bake to your heart’s content, filling doughnuts and whatever you want with your cream😏.’”

He took a long sip of water, “That’s a very tempting offer, Lollipop. I’ll keep it in my back pocket for a rainy day, ok sweetie?”

Using a flat blade to smooth the creamy layer, “JustAsking says or I guess asks, ‘Will you ever do a face reveal?’  The answer to that, as its been every time since my first upload, is NO. Please respect my boundaries, I’m a human being.”

“SchoolPunkRock says, ‘Been watching you since day 1 and I love your personality and attitude. And also your food. If you ever make a cookbook, I’d buy it in a heartbeat. I’d buy 10 copies.’  That’s really nice, thank you. That’s not something I’ve thought about but a great idea, nonetheless. I might explore that later. In the meantime, please keep supporting me on this platform by liking, commenting, and following!”

Killer squeezed the last of the filling over the lady fingers and started smoothing the surface. His finger curled under the table to press Kid’s call button. The redhead came through the door as Killer finished dusting a layer of cocoa powder over the dessert.

“Excellent timing! Now normally you’d want to let this sit in the fridge for an hour to let the flavors sort of sit there and blend together for a nice balance. Tiramisu is great at any time of the day,” Killer cut a square from the glass pan and slid it over on a small plate with a fork. Killer turned to put the pan in the fridge for later.

Kid was grinning into the camera, “’Sup everyone. Hope you enjoyed my buddy’s lesson today. In addition to potential book deals, KillerCook may soon be offering private cooking lessons over Vimeo, just you and him for up to an hour discussing…cooking or whatever,” his grin turned sly.

Killer choked in the fridge.

“All details to be forthcoming!” Kid finished with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

Then with precise and exaggerated motions, Kid began a slow descent to pick up his plate and fork. His own gym shirt strained over his broad chest, muscles rippling underneath as he moved. Holding his plate in the air, arms flexing tightly as he used his prosthetic to lift the fork to his mouth, he winked at the camera before taking a bite.

As soon as he closed his mouth, a very thin line of dark liquid dribbled from between his lips. Kid’s eyes opened in shocked as he chewed.

“Whoa, that’s juicy!”

The pinging on the phone was going wild again. Killer quickly stood next to Kid before the knucklehead dared to answer a single message.

“What else?”

“Mmm shit Kill this is fucking great. The coffee and liqueur have that nice, bitter kick to the sweetness of the cream. The filling itself is fluffy but thick and flavorful. The balance between bitter and sweet is perfect man.”

“A perfect balance between bitter and sweet, what more can you ask for? With that in mind, we’ll be taking the Tiramisu I made first thing this morning to our friend. Tune in next time when I make a fun comfort food that’s also perfect for a sports ball pregame and/or tailgate – Philly Cheesesteak Dip. It’s easy to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

Before Killer could turn the camera off, Wire and Heat burst through the kitchen doors. Heat opened the fridge to grab the insulated travel pack that contained the pre-made tiramisu, hoisting it over his head in triumph.

The 4 men stared into the camera while waving goodbye.

“See ya soon Quincy!”

“QUINCCAAAYY!!”

“You better be resting and not doing shit!!”

“Hope you like it, Quincy!”

End Livestream.

“Really, a fucking private Vimeo class?” Killer whipped his baking gear off and tossed the dirty dishes in the sink.

The three other men began howling with laughter.

“AYE! You shoulda seen the comments dude! You can really capitalize on this, whole frontier’s unexplored,” Kid explained through his tears of laughter.

Killer clicked his tongue, “Nooooooo, you’re not going to live vicariously through me because your OnlyFans account got shut down again.”

Bonus: The comment section

GaybellineNY347: In theory, if one wanted to send you money in exchange for…photos of you with your finished desserts, how much would you charge? Not that the photos you post aren’t tasteful😳 They can be tastier with…you…in them👉👈 KillerCook: Uh well, I kind of want to keep the focus on my food…good to know though😳

VoidEssence: Who was the tall glass of water?👅💦 Scream_Maim_Fire: His name is out of your area code.

ShootingMyShot_89: Sooooo the vimeo deets???????????? PunkNeverDied69: I said FORTHCOMING! It’s COMING on the FORTH!

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

#eustass captain kid #one piece killer #massacre soldier killer #kid pirates #heat one piece #wire one piece #killercook #raven's reading nook #op fanfic #op kid pirates #kid pirate nakama #killer one piece #swampstew #eustass kid #op killer #kamazo the manslayer #swampstew stories #firstmatesimp #tiktok #modern AU #eustasscaptainkid #one piece kid #ao3 writer #ao3fic #wattpad author