#fastest home delivery

[pratimaad]

Easy Meals

[crimeronan]

if you are nice to people they will typically be nice to you. if you are mean to people they will not like you very much and also will sometimes be mean to you. this will make you sad and mad. if people are nice to you then you will feel happy and glad. when you are nice to people you will find fewer reasons to be very sad and very mad. follow for more wise life tips.

[ashokamedicines]

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[scoopy12]

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[red-archivist]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

~

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

~

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

~

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

~

Also on AO3

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Utah’s getting some of America’s best broadband

TOMORROW (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

Residents of 21 cities in Utah have access to some of the fastest, most competitively priced broadband in the country, at speeds up to 10gb/s and prices as low as $75/month. It's uncapped, and the connections are symmetrical: perfect for uploading and downloading. And it's all thanks to the government.

This broadband service is, of course, delivered via fiber optic cable. Of course it is. Fiber is vastly superior to all other forms of broadband delivery, including satellites, but also cable and DSL. Fiber caps out at 100tb/s, while cable caps out at 50gb/s – that is, fiber is 1,000 times faster:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/why-fiber-vastly-superior-cable-and-5g

Despite the obvious superiority of fiber, America has been very slow to adopt it. Our monopolistic carriers act as though pulling fiber to our homes is an impossible challenge. All those wires that currently go to your house, from power-lines to copper phone-lines, are relics of a mysterious, fallen civilization and its long-lost arts. Apparently we could no more get a new wire to your house than we could build the pyramids using only hand-tools.

In a sense, the people who say we can't pull wires anymore are right: these are relics of a lost civilization. Specifically, electrification and later, universal telephone service was accomplished through massive federal grants under the New Deal – grants that were typically made to either local governments or non-profit co-operatives who got everyone in town connected to these essential modern utilities.

Today – thanks to decades of neoliberalism and its dogmatic insistence that governments can't do anything and shouldn't try, lest they break the fragile equilibrium of the market – we have lost much of the public capacity that our grandparents took for granted. But in the isolated pockets where this capacity lives on, amazing things happen.

Since 2015, residents of Jackson County, KY – one of the poorest counties in America – have enjoyed some of the country's fastest, cheapest, most reliable broadband. The desperately poor Appalachian county is home to a rural telephone co-op, which grew out of its rural electrification co-op, and it used a combination of federal grants and local capacity to bring fiber to every home in the county, traversing dangerous mountain passes with a mule named "Ole Bub" to reach the most remote homes. The result was an immediately economic uplift for the community, and in the longer term, the county had reliable and effective broadband during the covid lockdowns:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Contrast this with places where the private sector has the only say over who gets broadband, at what speed, and at what price. America is full of broadband deserts – deserts that strand our poorest people. Even in the hearts of our largest densest cities, whole neighborhoods can't get any broadband. You won't be surprised to learn that these are the neighborhoods that were historically redlined, and that the people who live in them are Black and brown, and also live with some of the highest levels of pollution and its attendant sicknesses:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/10/flicc/#digital-divide

These places are not set up for success under the best of circumstances, and during the lockdowns, they suffered terribly. You think your kid found it hard to go to Zoom school? Imagine what life was like for kids who attended remote learning while sitting on the baking tarmac in a Taco Bell parking lot, using its free wifi:

https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2020/09/02/elem-s02.html

ISPs loathe competition. They divide up the country into exclusive territories like the Pope dividing up the "new world" and do not trouble one another by trying to sell to customers outside of "their" turf. When Frontier – one of the worst of America's terrible ISPs – went bankrupt, we got to see their books, and we learned two important facts:

The company booked one million customers who had no alternative as an asset, because they would pay more for slower broadband, and Frontier could save a fortune by skipping maintenance, and charging these customers for broadband even through multi-day outages; and

Frontier knew that it could make a billion dollars in profit over a decade by investing in fiber build-out, but it chose not to, because stock analysts will downrank any carrier that made capital investments that took more than five years to mature. Because Frontier's execs were paid primarily in stock, they chose to strand their customers with aging copper connections and to leave a billion dollars sitting on the table, so that their personal net worth didn't suffer a temporary downturn:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/04/frontiers-bankruptcy-reveals-cynical-choice-deny-profitable-fiber-millions

ISPs maintain the weirdest position: that a) only the private sector can deliver broadband effectively, but b) to do so, they'll need massive, unsupervised, no-strings-attached government handouts. For years, America went along with this improbable scheme, which is why Trump's FCC chairman Ajit Pai gave the carriers $45 billion in public funds to string slow, 19th-century-style copper lines across rural America:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/27/all-broadband-politics-are-local/

Now, this is obviously untrue, and people keep figuring out that publicly provisioned broadband is the only way for America to get the same standard of broadband connectivity that our cousins in other high-income nations enjoy. In order to thwart the public's will, the cable and telco lobbyists joined ALEC, the far-right, corporatist lobbying shop, and drafted "model legislation" banning cities and counties from providing broadband, even in places the carriers chose not to serve:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/19/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband/

Red states across America adopted these rules, and legislators sold this to their base by saying that this was just "keeping the government out of their internet" (even as every carrier relied on an exclusive, government-granted territorial charter, often with massive government subsidies).

ALEC didn't target red states exclusively because they had pliable, bribable conservative lawmakers. Red states trend rural, and rural places are the most likely sites for public fiber. Partly, that's because low-density areas are harder to make a business case for, but also because these are also the places that got electricity and telephone through New Deal co-ops, which are often still in place.

Just about the only places in America where people like their internet service are the 450+ small towns where the local government provides fiber. These places vote solidly Republican, and it was their beloved conservative lawmakers whom ALEC targeted to enact laws banning their equally beloved fiber – keep voting for Christmas, turkeys, and see where it gets you:

https://communitynets.org/content/community-network-map

But spare a little sympathy for the conservative movement here. The fact that reality has a pronounced leftist bias must be really frustrating for the ideological project of insisting that anything the market can't provide is literally impossible.

Which brings me back to Utah, a red state with a Republican governor and legislature, and a national leader in passing unconstitutional, unhinged, unworkable legislation as part of an elaborate culture war kabuki:

https://www.npr.org/2023/03/24/1165975112/utah-passes-an-age-verification-law-for-anyone-using-social-media

For more than two decades, a coalition of 21 cities in Utah have been building out municipal fiber. The consortium calls itself UTOPIA: "Utah Telecommunication Open Infrastructure Agency":

https://www.utopiafiber.com/faqs/

UTOPIA pursues a hybrid model: they run "open access" fiber and then let anyone offer service over it. This can deliver the best of both worlds: publicly provisioned, blazing-fast fiber to your home, but with service provided by your choice of competing carriers. That means that if Moms for Liberty captures you local government, you're not captive to their ideas about what sites your ISP should block.

As Karl Bode writes for Techdirt, Utahns in UTOPIA regions have their choice of 18 carriers, and competition has driven down prices and increased speeds. Want uncapped 1gb fiber? That's $75/month. Want 10gb fiber? That's $150:

https://www.techdirt.com/2024/05/15/utah-locals-are-getting-cheap-10-gbps-fiber-thanks-to-local-governments/

UTOPIA's path to glory wasn't an easy one. The dismal telco monopolists Qwest and Lumen sued to put them out of business, delaying the rollout by years:

https://www.deseret.com/2005/7/22/19903471/utopia-responds-to-qwest-lawsuit/

UTOPIA has been profitable and self-sustaining for over 15 years and shows no sign of slowing. But 17 states still ban any attempt at this.

Keeping up such an obviously bad policy requires a steady stream of distractions and lies. The "government broadband doesn't work" lie has worn thin, so we've gotten a string of new lies about wireless service, insisting that fiber is obviated by point-to-point microwave relays, or 5g, or satellite service.

There's plenty of places where these services make sense. You're not going to be able to use fiber in a moving car, so yeah, you're going to want 5g (and those 5g towers are going to need to be connected to each other with fiber). Microwave relay service can fill the gap until fiber can be brought in, and it's great for temporary sites (especially in places where it doesn't rain, because rain, clouds, leaves and other obstructions are deadly for microwave relays). Satellite can make sense for an RV or a boat or remote scientific station.

But wireless services are orders of magnitude slower than fiber. With satellite service, you share your bandwidth with an entire region or even a state. If there's only a couple of users in your satellite's footprint, you might get great service, but when your carrier adds a thousand more customers, your connection is sliced into a thousand pieces.

That's also true for everyone sharing your fiber trunk, but the difference is that your fiber trunk supports speeds that are tens of thousands of times faster than the maximum speeds we can put through freespace electromagnetic spectrum. If we need more fiber capacity, we can just fish a new strand of fiber through the conduit. And while you can increase the capacity of wireless by increasing your power and bandwidth, at a certain point you start pump so much EM into the air that birds start falling out of the sky.

Every wireless device in a region shares the same electromagnetic spectrum, and we are only issued one such spectrum per universe. Each strand of fiber, by contrast, has its own little pocket universe, containing a subset of that spectrum.

Despite all its disadvantages, satellite broadband has one distinct advantage, at least from an investor's perspective: it can be monopolized. Just as we only have one electromagnetic spectrum, we also only have one sky, and the satellite density needed to sustain a colorably fast broadband speed pushes the limit of that shared sky:

https://spacenews.com/starlink-vs-the-astronomers/

Private investors love monopoly telecoms providers, because, like pre-bankruptcy Frontier, they are too big to care. Back in 2021, Altice – the fourth-largest cable operator in America – announced that it was slashing its broadband speeds, to be "in line with other ISPs":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/27/immortan-altice/#broadband-is-a-human-right

In other words: "We've figured out that our competitors are so much worse than we are that we are deliberately degrading our service because we know you will still pay us the same for less."

This is why corporate shills and pro-monopolists prefer satellite to municipal fiber. Sure, it's orders of magnitude slower than fiber. Sure, it costs subscribers far more. Sure, it's less reliable. But boy oh boy is it profitable.

The thing is, reality has a pronounced leftist bias. No amount of market magic will conjure up new electromagnetic spectra that will allow satellite to attain parity with fiber. Physics hates Starlink.

Yeah, I'm talking about Starlink. Of course I am. Elon Musk basically claims that his business genius can triumph over physics itself.

That's not the only vast, impersonal, implacable force that Musk claims he can best with his incredible reality-distortion field. Musk also claims that he can somehow add so many cars to the road that he will end traffic – in other words, he will best geometry too:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Geometry hates Tesla, and physics hates Starlink. Reality has a leftist bias. The future is fiber, and public transit. These are both vastly preferable, more efficient, safer, more reliable and more plausible than satellite and private vehicles. Their only disadvantage is that they fail to give an easily gulled, thin-skinned compulsive liar more power over billions of people. That's a disadvantage I can live with.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/16/symmetrical-10gb-for-119/#utopia

Image: 4028mdk09 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rote_LED_Fiberglasleuchte.JPG

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

[boolger]

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.3

Female reader x Nikolai x Price✨ wc: 10.8k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

<-last chapter✨ AO3 link ✨Masterlist ✨ next chapter ->

tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

AN: once again i must thank the ever so sweet @venuskaltrip for helping and dealing with me and all my ideas. and teaching me better than any of my english teachers ever have lol<33

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Your head hurt a bit the following morning.

It was raining outside your window, dark clouds rumbling now and again, making you stay in your bed a tad longer than usual. You had the day off at least, so you could nurse yourself back to  health. Besides food, you had no urge to get out of bed, almost tempted to hide beneath your blankets all day… perhaps even build a temporary nest, to properly feel safe for a little while.

It was only because of the packages, that you got out of your bed - making a big breakfast, staying awake despite the urge to sleep the day away. You  sipped your tea, impatiently checking your phone again and again, waiting for your things to arrive.

You had paid way too much for the fastest delivery. The sooner you could feel slightly more comfortable in your home, the better.

No, you might not have been fully sober when you had ordered everything, but you had felt as if you were. As if the fear of Price’s words had truly flushed your system and made you think clearly, as you had added more things to your online basket.

Then you had messed around on some more dodgy websites, managing to find a dude that sold stronger stun guns. He hadn’t asked questions as long as you paid and you hadn’t asked questions about how he got them - but he had offered you a nice deal, when you asked if he had pepper spray as well.

All the other stuff you had ordered was legal; another lock, which was one of those fancy ones that you needed a chip to open, a baseball bat to have next to your bed, then a normal lock for the back door. Perhaps the baseball bat was a little excessive but you had dealt with creepy men for two years already - if you needed to step up, then that was what you had to do.

You distracted yourself by looking into apartment prices in the nearest big cities, taking in the prices while looking at your savings. It wouldn’t be impossible - If you could actually make yourself sell the house, you could move into one of those apartments and be able to pay rent while looking for a job.

Abandoning Mary felt wrong in every bone of your body - you knew she would survive, but it was as if you were considering leaving your last parental figure. What would she even do if you left? Probably have to hire someone new, but still — not to mention how to even explain it. Did you even want to tell her that you wanted to move, because you were once again, being harassed by a leader of a biker pack?

Of everyone in the bloody village, it just had to be you.

The sound of the bell at your front door almost made you throw the laptop to the floor and you barely managed to put it on the coffee table, before hurrying to the door.

A moment later, you had your box with locks and another one with a baseball bat. You had never played with one, only been forced to cricket a couple of times and that was a different kind of bat, but you knew the basics. Grab it, raise it and hit the other person. Couldn’t be that hard.

You spent an embarrassingly long time attempting to put in the locks, before caving in and calling Harold and Jenny. They asked questions. Of course they would, it was stupid of you to think that they wouldn’t. Jenny was extremely good at reading people, the teenage beta instantly realising that something was up, even better than her boss.

“It’s uh - just a big house. With only me in it,” the lie felt uneasy on your tongue, but you couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t want to worry the elderly omega nor the young apprentice.

“Are they bothering you?” Jenny asked while Harold was picking up some tools in the car, looking up at you with squinted eyes - watching you in a way that made your palms feel sweaty - and a slightly worried look in her eyes.

You huffed, reminding yourself that you were a strong, proud alpha and you didn’t feel bothered b y a couple of men in leather jackets trying to seem intimidating. So you straightened up, watched Harold and shook your head, another lie slipping from your lips.

“Of course not,” you answered, unable to look at the other, unable to admit to the defeat you felt, “just wanna be sure nobody touches the jewelry mom left.”

Another lie. It was dusty on your tongue, from suddenly having dragged your poor, deceased mother into your lie. There was nobody to fear in the town but the bikers. Yet Jenny let it go and shrugged, before taking the tool box from Harold as he got up the stairs again. Instantly beginning to tell Harold about how she had seen these locks online, while you retreated, watching them without intervening.

You had a lock bolt and a chain lock on the back door already. Now this in the front.

Locks weren't going to save you. Nor were stronger stun guns or pepper sprays. 

Sleep well, little Sunflower.

The locks and illegal weapons might not save you, but they would probably help you sleep a little better. 

… At least until you figured out what to do.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“Would you be able to find somebody to help you with the cafe if I left?” 

Mary stiffened, not moving for a second; then the older beta spun around, her braids flying at the movement, looking straight at you with a raised eyebrow and suspicion in her eyes.

“What have you done now?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. As if you had done something to ask, like a little naughty kid who often got into trouble. No, for once, you hadn’t done anything. Sure, you had threatened the men with a stun gun, but they were big men. Probably not that  scared of your little weapon.

“Haven’t done anything,” you defended, “jeez, Mary, you sounded like my mother just now.”

Mary softened up a little, a small chuff-like sound leaving her. You looked back down at the dirty cups, continuing to wash them. Rings of dried coffee slowly dissolved into nothing. The water felt hot against your skin, reminding you that you were very much alive; stuck in Millhaven, surrounded by beasts on motorbikes and with a secret that burned in your stomach.

“Are you thinking of moving again?”

You nodded, your back still turned to her, unable to look her in the eyes again. Afraid she would see right through you - figure out that you were hiding things from her. It was uncomfortable in a way, to tell half a lie. As if you had two wounds but only showed the one which hurt the least.

“Are you afraid Graves will come back?”

A part of you wanted to break into laughter from her question; because wasn’t it naive of Mary to believe that Phillips Graves was still alive? She had heard the shots too, the screams, the horrors that had taken over Millhaven that night  - how could she not realise that they were all dead?  Even if Phillip Graves was to rise from whatever shallow grave he had properly disappeared into, he wouldn’t scare you the same way John Price did. Graves was in fact the last thing you feared right now, if you had to be honest with her - but you weren’t… not fully, at least.

“No,” that was a part of the truth, because you were more afraid of what exactly had happened to him, but it melted into lies once more, “I’ve considered getting a degree or some sort of education.”

You hadn’t… not really. Sure, you could. It would probably be a smart enough choice, if you were to leave Millhaven, so that you could get a well paying job or something, but… but as you dared to look over your shoulder, watching Mary, you almost felt like apologising for even suggesting it.

It was as if you were being split in two; the cafe was going well, Mary wasn’t afraid of the group, she would be safe if you left her… but what if she wasn’t? The idea of abandoning her, hell, of abandoning Beatrice and her pack, Enid, Dennis, Carlos, Finn, Alma — it all gave you a bad feeling. 

For a moment, it was as if Mary looked much older than usual; as if her hands had gotten weaker and face gotten more wrinkled in the matter of seconds, her black hair looking a little more on the grey. She would grow old too… would she be alone here? Only her sister to come visit? Would The Gentle Cuppa close? You put the cups down, turning around fully, looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, like a kid aware that she had upset her mother, suddenly feeling small, with the urge to grab onto her skirt and cry into them, “I - I know that was very sudden.”

“It’s okay, Sunflower,” she answered, moving forward to cup your face gently, “I would miss you - but I will also support you.”

There was flour on her hands. Her scent was herbal, like different kinds of dried teas all blended together, with a smell of something purely Mary beneath. She let out a soft rumble, close to a purr, like a mother would do to her pup and you closed your eyes, listening to it and her breaths, trying your best not to break into tears. You wanted the truth to escape your throat, to drip from your mouth and explain to her how you had struggled; how they had been at your house, how it was escalating much quicker than it had with Graves. That Phillip Graves, with all his nastiness and evil, had seemed easier to handle than this new group - you couldn’t read them, never knew what to expect. You were losing more and more control and it scared you.

You let your forehead rest against your boss’. There wasn’t much separation between your work and personal life between you and Mary anyways. They had blurred for years. She was a parent — your parent. You had slept on her tiny couch for three days after your dad passed away. 

“I want you to be happy, my little Sunflower,” her reply was filled with love, “wherever that may take you.”

The idea of leaving her, who you had come to consider your new mother, psychically hurt. 

Leaving or staying; you felt, as if the two options were beginning to pull you apart, the reasons to either stay or leave becoming more and more intricate, less and less simple… People who you cared for were tangled in between those reasons, while The 141 crawled closer and closer in the dark, as if they were waiting for the perfect moment to attack - always nearby, unable to be scared off. 

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

When you weren’t working the next couple of days, you spent hours making lists and mental notes, trying to figure out the pros and cons of your different options. Scribbling down different notes on what to remember, what to consider, who to call. You had to call the bank if you wanted to sell the house and buy an apartment in a bigger city - you had to figure out which town you would move to, which real estate agents to contact.

You needed more fake scent-perfumes and stronger pills. Another way to protect yourself - in order to avoid accidents and in case anything was to happen, the mere possibility scared you.

The following days, it also suddenly seemed like everything was back to normal - sure, different members of the 141 would swing by the cafe and buy things, but none of them bothered you. When you walked home, you would be barked at by Mrs. Henley’s dog and see the chain smoking teenager in the window. You would turn your corner and nobody would be in front of your home; no big motorbike standing in the driveway, no John Price leaving cigar ash on your stairs.

The new locks worked without problems, the chip beeping and unlocking, beeping as it locked behind you — somehow they did make you feel more comfortable. Not to mention the baseball bat next to your bed and the pepper spray and new, stronger stun gun that arrived the next morning.

You hoped, no, you begged, to whichever god who would listen to you, that the men had gotten your hint and that the entire pack would leave you alone now.

As the week had crawled by, the weekend ending with things still staying the same, it did seem like somebody had heard those prayers of yours.

When Monday came around, you began to seem a little more optimistic; it almost seemed like things had died down to the point that the bikers’ interest in you might have died…

Well… Almost. 

Perhaps you had been a bit too optimistic about it.

It began that Monday evening, even if you didn’t truly realise it before Tuesday. Every time you walked home, somebody followed you at a distance. 

It apparently didn’t matter whether it was from the cafe in the late afternoon or at night after a drink in the pub; they always appeared before you got too far, following until you reached your smaller road with your blue house at the end. 

Everyone following you appeared to be one of the women in the gang - it seemed to be a task only the three of them had been given and they followed you dutifully, like unwanted guard dogs. Only one of them attempted to be slightly discreet with their stalking task; the two others not even seeming bothered by the fact that you knew and looked straight at them.

Whether they had specifically been told to do this because none of the men could be bothered — or because they believed you might be less uncomfortable with women following you home, you didn’t really know. In all honesty, it didn’t really matter. It could have been any of the members from the shitty biker gang, whatever gender and secondary gender they might have, and it would have made you upset.

It felt insane to you that they didn’t realise that it was the whole “stalking you as you walk home”-aspect of it that made you upset. Though you doubted that the thickheaded alpha that was John Price would understand that.

The alpha woman that had followed you the second night, had not seemed intimated in any kind of way, as you angrily demanded for her to fuck off and stop following you. She had long dark hair, pulled back into a long braid and sharp features with intense eyes - an attractive alpha, hadn’t she been following you. The small woman had merely raised an eyebrow at you, said nothing and merely waited for you to turn around again, only to continue walking behind you.

Wednesday was the third night in a row and when you growled at the second woman, a tall, muscular beta woman with short hair and familiar-looking jacket and when you demanded that she let you walk home alone, she had merely laughed out loud. Then she had said something in what you assumed to be Spanish, but as you didn’t speak the language, you didn’t know what - so you had growled loudly at her again, walking home even faster than before, ignoring her laughter as you stomped angrily the entire way.

With Thursday a new woman appeared; this evening it was a blonde, bonded omega who, just like the others, didn’t seem one bit intimidated by you. Instead she looked slightly amused, if not a little bored, as you dared to walk towards her, telling her to piss off. You weren’t sure why you tried, as it hadn’t with the others but the woman, her leather jacket almost fully covered in small metal spikes, had merely taken a drag of her cigarette and tipped her head to the side, before actually replying. ”I’m merely goin’ for a walk, Sunny. Don’t ya’ have to get home? It’s cold outside.”

You snarled at her calm words, the way she spoke to you and you considered making a scene, scream at her and draw attention from the people in the little town, for them to look out the window. 

Instead you went with the familiar choice and turned around, walking home while cussing out the entire biker gang.

At this point it was getting ridiculous. You couldn’t even walk home alone anymore, couldn’t listen to Mrs. Henley’s dog barking at you nor watch the chain-smoking teenager without being bothered by the bikers. Those simple pieces of freedom had been taken from you as well. The things you used to enjoy doing were narrowing down, day by day.

Sure, you had hated Graves and the Shadow’s presence in Millhaven, but by now you already hated John Price and the 141 even more. Being able to walk home alone shouldn’t be impossible without being bothered. You just wanted to enjoy the sounds of Millhaven as the little town went to supper or to bed - you wanted the freedom to be able to walk home, without fear scratching its way into your bones.

Next day, it was the blonde omega once more; it was Friday, Enid had celebrated her birthday, so you had drunk a bit more than usual. Two pints, four shots and a fancy drink that Enid hadn’t liked and with the alcohol warming your body, you tried to ignore your stalker while walking home. Humming, unable to walk in a straight line, but in a better mood than usual.

You were certain the woman was there though; you could hear her familiar heavy boots, her huffing and puffing of the cigarette - and the wind blew her scent in your direction. Bonded, female omega. It couldn’t be any other. You flipped her off over your shoulder and her soft laughter confirmed that she was in fact there, watching you walk.

This entire week, with your changing, annoying guard dogs behind you, you had tensed up whenever you had turned from the main road to the smaller one where you lived; feared that there would be motorbikes in your driveway, that they would stand in front of your house, waiting.

Every time you had been worried while turning the corner. Would they be there again to bother you, their eyes watching you, sniffing the air and taunting you? Or would you once again be lucky and able to get inside without any of them in the way? 

But as they hadn’t been there all week, your drunk mind had assumed tonight would be the same. That you would be able to waltz inside, lock everything up, eat some leftovers and fall asleep with the baseball bat in your hand. That the only harassment of the day was the chain-smoking woman a couple of steps behind you.

A deep sigh escaped you when you turned the corner and looked towards your blue house at the end of the road, continuing to walk, swaying slightly from side to side due to the alcohol. If they were gonna be here every time you got slightly drunk, you really needed to cut down.

For once there were only two of them.

They stood right in front of your blue home, like predators waiting for a prey to return to its nest. Their bloody bikes taking up space in your driveway. You sincerely hoped that a gust of the wind would make their vehicles tip over; maybe break one of the small rear way mirrors or even better, scratch the paint.

Of course John Price was one of the pair, sitting on the small staircase to the front door as usual; smoking his cigar, blocking your way inside.

By now you were tired of people you didn’t like or know, being in front of your house - the alcohol was still making you feel warm, curling along your ribs and making your head feel heavy. It seemed to swallow up most of your fear, so you let your growing frustration take over, confidence seeping into it.

You didn’t need to be close to know who the other was - the Russian, Nikolai or whatever you were supposed to call him - and while he was smoking a cigar as well, he was standing up at least. Similarly he was also staring at you, as  you walked towards the house. They seemed like well fitting mates in that way, you supposed.

Yet, it seemed to be the hunger in their similar way of looking at you, which made you uncomfortable; like they wanted to sink their teeth into your skin and rip your meat from your bones — feast on your organs, blood dripping from their chins and swallow up the fear it created. But you just stared back at them, not backing down or looking away, even as they tried to look intimidating. You stomped towards them, only stopping a few metres from them. Finally, it was like your little bubble of anger popped.

“Stop makin’ your bloody minions follow me every day, you twats!” You snarled angrily, words slightly slurred, trying to make yourself look a little bigger as you growled.

The two alphas smiled — almost grinned — as if entertained by your demand and it made you want to scream; it was such a simple but effective way of acting superior towards you, taunting you and your inner omega.

It was the Russian one who was first to speak.

”Milaya,” he almost cooed, taking a few steps towards you, the lit cigar between two of his thick, tattooed fingers with the many rings, the last bits of smoke escaping his mouth,  “we’re only making you get home safe.”

Home safe — home safe? 

You let out a loud sound of annoyance, disbelief at his words and you were unable to help yourself from growling once more, one of your hands sliding into the pocket of your jacket. 

”The only dangerous thing in this town is your fuckin’ group of wankers!,” you hissed, “So get them to stop!”

Your anger seemed to do nothing but amuse the big alphas and god, you wanted so badly to plant your first in the Russian’s face - then in Price’s. Nikolai laughed, before taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your direction before saying something in Russian, which made Price laugh too.

Their actions made you feel small and harmless, made you feel stupid for even attempting to go against them - trying to seem aggressive and dangerous which they barely acknowledged.

Control was slipping from your sweaty fingers, even as you desperately attempted to cling to it, sink your dull claws into it.

Nikolai walked a little closer; you stood your ground, the alcohol making you slightly lightheaded. Of course it would be tonight, when you weren’t even fully sober, that the two of them would come at you. Fucking bastards. 

You just wanted to be able to go to the pub without them being here when you returned home.

”Listen, you knotheads,” you snapped, baring your teeth for a second, to show you weren’t backing down, glad they couldn’t see your hidden ones, “You can’t rent the garage, I’ll never fucking let ya - so you might as well just drop it. Find somewhere else!”

The low chuckle that escaped Price made your eyes flicker over to him as he still sat on the stairs, tipping his head to the side a little.

“Oh, how that’s peculiar,” John Price mused, watching you with a glint in his eyes, tattooed fingers grabbing the cigar after taking another drag, “because you’ve sure  been looking at a lot of nearby real estate agents online this last week - bunch of apartments in London and Manchester, too. Funny for you to look at, if you’re not leavin’ and will never let us have this house, innit?”

In truth, you almost pissed your pants from the shock - it was mere luck that you didn’t.

Sitting like that, the big alpha pretended to not seem like a threat; slightly hunched over, relaxed stance and almost looking like a father enjoying a smoke in peace - but in reality, he seemed like a demon who had crawled up from the sewers, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Any sense of control that you might have had a brief minute ago was gone, together with any confidence. His words filled your lungs with fright, forced horror into your bloodstream; unable to breathe, to speak, to snap back at him. Defending yourself against something so intense, almost felt meaningless - you swayed, telling yourself it was from the alcohol, but you knew it might also be from what he actually told you.

They had been watching you, not only physically, but somehow they had gotten your access to your online history as well. Unknowingly, it seemed like most of your privacy had been ripped from your hands — you were unprepared for this, for this kind of stalking, this kind of dark, strange behaviour, with a big pack that didn’t respect your boundaries. Graves had been nothing compared to this and it was like all of your hopes and dreams of being left alone by these men had been torn and ruined without your knowledge.

Your voice trembled, all courage suddenly gone from your body.

“Please leave me alone.” It was the first time that you let yourself be this vulnerable in front of them and even if you immediately regretted it, you felt unable to do anything else. Hardly able to keep on your legs, to keep your cool and not just scream and bolt.

To your horror but perhaps not surprise, John Price smiled over your begging words, a rumble appearing from deep inside his chest. The driveway began to smell from the pheromones escaping the two men, their pleased not to mention lustful, scents overwhelming.

It was like the ground beneath you had been ripped away and you felt helpless, desperate to grasp at any sense of control, attempting to escape the situation which seemed to spiral in such a short time.

You had almost forgotten the presence of Nikolai, too shocked by Price admitting to the pack having stalked your online movements - he walked closer but instead of walking close towards you, he began to circle you; like a beastly creature, considering how to kill its victim in the best way and it made you grip your stun gun a little harder than before, almost pulling it out. 

It felt like the weapon, feeble as it was, would be your only means of safety right now - though you doubted it would save you for long.

”Let go of that, Milaya,” Nikolai’s voice was dark, calm, his stench of alpha growing stronger, as he continued to circle you, “you don’t know what to do with it anyways.”

Degrading you once more, reminded you that you were backed into a corner - and for some reason, some bloody reason, you found yourself following the alpha’s command, following the deep timbre, the power — your grip loosening a little around the stun gun. It was as if your body followed the order even if your mind didn’t agree, because maybe, just maybe, he was right - you had never tried it, barely knew how to use it, did you? You felt it fall to the bottom of your pocket again, your hand slowly pulling back. You were unable to look over your shoulder at him, unable to look at Price, the shame overwhelming you as Nikolai let out a pleased hum, whispering a few Russian words.

”You’ve always had a spot for soft, weak women, eh, Captain?” Nikolai crooned, his voice suddenly appearing behind you, much closer to you than before, while Price laughed again. Humiliation. Price was grinning like a dangerous beast and the description of you rushed through your mind again and again. Soft - weak - you did as an alpha commanded, just because of the tone of his voice. The stream of self hating thoughts were broken as Nikolai was even closer than before, having moved silently, his big arm slipping around your stomach, pulling you back into his body, as close as he could, his face fully pushed into your neck. So close to your scent gland, sniffing at you like a pervert. The other hand sliding to hold onto your hip, cigar between two fingers.

”Smellin’ so synthetic, milaya, like —“

Before even considering what you were doing, you moved; all but ripping your stun gun from your pocket, flipping the little safety switch with a quick motion before pressing it against the exposed part of his tattooed neck, close to his jaw.

With a surprised shout the Russian alpha let go of you, staggering back a couple of steps, clearly in pain, though he didn’t collapse, merely having dropped the cigar — you were quick to turn fully around and stare at him, growling as he began to snarl at you. Keeping your small weapon raised towards him.

John fucking Price did nothing to help his mate, instead he was howling with laughter from his spot on the stairs. It felt as if the sound of him laughing this loudly was echoing through the little street, going straight into your mind, blurring together with your fear and adrenaline. 

While Price was clearly entertained, the Russian in front of you was clearly enraged instead - even though Nikolai was badly lit by the streetlights, you could see enough of him to know he was far, far from happy. His bared teeth shone, tongue out, exposing his silver tongue piercing, every breath accompanied by a deep growling sound. His shoulders were slightly raised, his large hands balled into fists, his body tense and clearly ready to attack again, if allowed. There was a vague, barely there,  stench of burned flesh in the air.

You felt pride over having been successful, showing the men that you weren’t weak, weren’t afraid to defend yourself. You swayed a little, perhaps from the intensity of the situation, not feeling much more alcohol in your body. You had gained some sort of power with the stun gun, some protection, even if it was an electric and short lived kind of protection, but it was better than nothing. Your hand was gripping the device so tightly that you almost feared it would break.

“You know, Sunny,” Price casually said, apparently done with laughing and you dared to look over at him as he rose from the stairs, taking a few steps towards you in a relaxed manner, “a couple of locks aren’t gonna keep us out, heh.”

He took another drag of his cigar, not looking away from you — Nikolai’s rumble making you fear the Russian attacking once more, keeping the stun gun raised like a knife towards him. You were almost considering getting the pepper spray out of your other pocket.

You felt unsure about which of them to look at - if one would attack you if another distracted you, your mind swimming even if you had burned through most of the alcohol by now.

Logically you knew that Price was right; the locks at your doors, the pepper spray in your pocket, the baseball bat next to your bed and the stun gun in your hand would not keep the pack away in the long run. But the idea of giving up, of not even attempting, felt like going against everything you had been raised to do.

Their pack, bigger than any you had seen before, would be no match against only you, not to mention the fact that the two men in your driveway were actual alphas. Just like you had attempted to be ever since you were a teenager, in order to escape men just like them.

Price let out a “tsk tsk” at you, as if you were a disobedient child, as if you were beneath him in the hierarchy of the pack you weren’t a part of, an alpha ready to remind a misbehaving pack member of their place. He walked a little closer, taking yet another drag of his cigar, clearly not fearing you.

Would any of your neighbours be watching you, you wondered - would any of them do anything? Or would they leave you to your own demise, retreat from watching you in the window, unable to watch your destiny?

”Soft, dangerous alpha,” the much older alpha demeaningly crooned at you, smiling once more as you snarled at him, Price’s words hitting harder than you wanted to ever admit, “unlucky for you, we really like your pretty lil’ house…”

”Too fucking bad!” You snapped, “it—“

”But we also really like you,” he cut in, making you stare at him - he stepped closer and it was as if you forgot everything about the stun gun, enthralled by his presence;  as he looked down at you, the almost amused expression on his face suddenly turned darker, colder - like a switch had been flipped, making him look even more frightening than before, “Nik ‘nd I find you quite cute.”

Cute? Alphas weren’t described as cute, they weren’t supposed to be that. It was a stereotypical dig at you, implying you were bad at your secondary gender, unable to live up to what was expected of you by society.

”I- I’m not—“

”Oh, I’m sure you’re not, pet,” he replied easily, taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your face just a moment later, almost making you cough “But we will convince you - maybe ya’ wanna be courted like a lil’ proper alpha, eh?”

”No,” you replied instantly, ignoring the stinking smell of smoke that entered your nostrils, “I don’t want to be courted at all!”

You stepped back, slightly to the side, only to be reminded of Nikolai as he rumbled at you once more, his eyes still dark, tongue slowly wetting his lips. As if getting ready to pounce.

”Hmm,” John hummed, not following you as you retreated, only to casually ask, “perhaps courted as an omega then?”

The question, no, the mere word omega, took you so off guard that you stumbled backwards, Nikolai catching you with a purr, delighted with your fear - the stench of lust overwhelming you. Forgetting everything about the stun gun in your hand, you bolted.

They let you, but it didn’t matter if they had followed or not, not with the amount of terror in your body. You slammed the door close after you, hearing the locks before you sprinted further into your house. Your home.

It took ages before you felt able to breathe.

You could barely sleep that night; you weren’t even in your parents’ bed, but beneath it, hiding in the dusty darkness with a blanket and a big kitchen knife in your hand.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The lies seemed to spill even easier from your lips than usual, the actual truth stuck in your throat, burning inside it. You were becoming a bigger and bigger liar with every untrue statement that seeped out from between your teeth, despite when you tried holding them back. They had started like the usual ones, thin and white lies, but they grew bigger and bolder - you were digging your grave bigger and bigger. Because you’re fine… yeah, you’re fine, everything is good, you’re just a little busy.

“I’ve just been considering studying something else.” “No, I’m not more worried than usual, why are you asking, Carlos?” “It’s all good Mary, don’t worry about it.” “O-m-g, Bea, stop asking, you muppet, it's really nothing.” “Enid, I think I would have noticed if someone was following me home, that’s a ridiculous idea.” “Nah, I don’t need a lift home, but thank you, luv.”

Lies, lies and even more lies.

They had left you alone for a couple of days - the male members, that was. The three women didn’t, following you home like guard dogs, pretending it was normal behaviour. You stopped yelling at them, even though it still pissed you off every time you saw them. It made you wonder if they were just as tired of it as you — surely they had better, if not more interesting, things to do.

You add even more locks. On the windows too, ignoring the biker that stood at the corner to the main road, watching you do so. You played with the thought of putting up security cameras or getting an alarm system.

Mary seemed to be onto you - you were sure. It felt like the paranoia of being figured out by either party was gnawing its way, deeper and deeper into your bones. She was worried, but you lied, again and again. Mary was far from stupid however - you knew she was gathering up anything you let slip, even if she played along with your lies about moving away to study. It was becoming less and less about the mere idea of studying - and more a desperate escape.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Lewis had raised his bushy eyebrows when you had ordered sparkling water with lemon instead of your usual pint - but he hadn’t commented on it, just nodding along, humming like he always did before talking about the weather as if it was the most interesting thing in Millhaven. As if people should visit just to see the darkening, candy floss looking clouds at this time of the year. 

No, you just needed to cut down on alcohol. No particular reason, of course.

Beatrice was sitting next to you, trying to beat you in the card game. One of her pack mates had joined for once and Luna beat the two of you constantly, your pride in your card game ability taking one hit after another.

“Are you sure you’re not having problems with them?” Luna was in the bathroom, when Beatrice asked, the ginger woman looking worried. You had already told her - and the others - that you didn’t have any, but you knew they could put two and two together. Something was up - it was hard to deny that you were being followed home on the daily, since the bikers weren’t even trying to be discreet anymore.

”Who?” Playing dumb like a child wouldn’t help you much since Beatrice was a teacher and the look you got from her just confirmed it.

“You know who,” she replied, giving you a little kick beneath the table, “My ladies are worrying. Seen more of them follow you.”

”Do you kick your students too?”

”Stop changing the subject, Sunny.”

Finally you shrugged.

”They want to rent my house - or well, specifically the garage,” your voice wasn’t that loud and you were looking at the badly cut piece of lime in your sparkling water. Lime. You had ordered lemon, but Lewis had just shrugged and said they needed the lemons for the fish and chips, “Don’t fancy letting them, so they’re trying to intimidate me, I guess.”

“Sunflower,” she whispered almost in horror and damn, she barely called you by your full nickname, “why didn’t you say anything??”

Once again you shrugged and once again your friend stared at you, like you refused to tell her the secret of life.

”I don't find them scary,” You falsely admitted, as if you weren’t speaking with a hushed voice so that none of the members in the pub would hear you, “It’s stupid, I’m not gonna let myself be pressured even if they follow me like desperate puppies.”

Beatrice didn’t say anything. The soundtrack of the pub around you swallowed up any of your thoughts for a moment as you wondered how the fuck you came to this point. When you can’t even tell Beatrice the entire truth.

The door to the bathroom opened and Luna made her way towards the two of you again.

”Please - if you need help, just let us know, yeah?” Bea finally asked before Luna joined you. You have to keep yourself from blurting out that there wasn’t anything to do about it anyways. What are you, even with Bea’s pack behind you, supposed to do with a full on motorbike pack that most likely killed the former pack. You just nodded and asked Luna if she was ready to get beat in the next round of cards.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

You knew it was impossible for you to hide your little day trip - you, leaving your house on your day off? With how little privacy you seemed to have left, it would have been more baffling to you if they hadn’t discovered you by the bus.

What you hadn’t expected was for one of them to stop next to you, pulling off the helmet, grinning at you like he had won the lottery by seeing you. You recognised the Scot from one of the unwanted visits in your driveway, but the grim reaper wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

”Where ‘re ye going, hen?” He asked, not even bothering to hide how he watched you with a hungry, nasty look in his eyes. Stupid haircut, tattoos that were probably Gaelic inspired or something - the amount of piercings in his face made you wonder if he could even walk through a metal detector without having to remove every single one.

”None of your business.”

”Naw, lass, dinnae be like that,” he actually pouted, like a kicked puppy, before offering you a helmet from his lap, “want a lift?”

You stared at the helmet. Black, with their logo in the back. You had never ridden on a motorbike and in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

”No thanks.”

”Ach, hen, we both ken that I’m just gonna tail the bus the entire way,” he said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say, wagging his pierced eyebrows, “C’mon, it’ll be fun - you dinnae have to wait for yer bus then.”

You stared at him for a moment, before checking your watch. It seemed like the bus was late and you wondered if the universe was trying to punish you.

“No.”

“I’ll buy ye lunch, bonnie,” the beta continued, apparently not giving up, “anything ye want - I’m Soap by tah way - I’ll let ye use mah card for shopping too an—“

”Fine,” you finally snapped, stealing the stupid helmet out of his hand, “but if you crash that bloody thing I’ll break your neck!”

The pure look of glee on this Soap’s face reminded you of a teenage boy managing to ask a girl out for tea. Hadn’t he most likely been a dangerous piece of shit, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. At least he wasn’t Price or Nikolai - then you would rather have walked.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The few instructions he had given you didn’t save you from the terror rushing through your body as he drove. Your breakfast felt as if it was sitting up in your throat, attempting to escape, life flashing by as you were unable to even keep your eyes open. You didn’t even need to look to know that he was driving waaaay past the speed limit.

Fucking twat.

It was embarrassing how you clung to him, how your fingers dug into his leather jacket, convinced you would fall off at the next turn if you didn’t hold on.

You didn’t fall off, but you did curse him to the moon and back. As you finally reached the bigger town and stopped, you didn’t comment on the closed off small garage they seemed to have here. No tools to work on their bikes, but it clearly wasn’t the first time they were here.

As you walked towards downtown, you tried your best to ignore him but he just wouldn’t shut up. He wasn’t Nikolai or Price, but he still stood out - or perhaps it was you who stood out against him. You were dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with a hoodie over, a sunflower embroidered on your chest. It was one of your favorite hoodies and usually you could enjoy it on your own, but he seemed interested in it as well, blabbering on about your nickname.

When you reached a familiar spot, close to an alleyway that you recognised - you made a quick choice.

”Thank you for the lift,” you said as abruptly stopped walking, watching the beta stop a few steps later, walking back to you like a guard dog who didn’t want to lose you, “you can leave now.”

The big man looked at you, even tipping his head to the side. There was a big scar over his temple, tattoos curling around it, as if the wound had tried to swallow up the illustrations. Then, after a moment of silence, he grinned again.

”Ye’re welcome, pet,” he answered, moving to sling his arm around your shoulder, “And dinnae worry, Sunny bunny, I’m nae busy today.”

Sunny bunny. Graves’ face flashed before your eyes, blood dripping from the cut on his cheek, grinning like a maniac as he cooed out the awful nickname. Sunny bunny. 

Sunny bunny.

You instantly wanted to throw up all over him or plant a fist in his face. You didn’t, instead you followed your backup plan in case he refused to let you go - hand shooting into your pocket, grabbing the black plastic, flicking the switch on it.

You had tried it once before and been successful, sure, but it was not something you felt confident in doing. With a swift motion you pushed the handheld device against his skin, prongs pressing against it; the stun gun crackled against his neck as you did so, barely audible over his yelp - Soap seemed so caught off guard, that his grip on your shoulder loosened and then you were off. 

The sound that left him, a yelp, no perhaps closer to a pathetic scream like he was an actual puppy, had been music to your ears - if you hadn’t been so busy running off, you might have enjoyed it a lot more.

You didn’t see any reason to stay behind to see if anyone would help you, so instead you disappeared into the maze of the dirty alleyways in between the many buildings.

Not that you were much of a runner, but you knew your way around these streets, had gotten run around plenty of times between buildings and backyards, in order to find someone who would sell you illegal pills. Besides, you knew where the larger crowds were in this town, which was perfect to blend into.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Several unknown numbers had attempted to call you not long after, but you ignored every single one of them, turning your phone off as texts began to appear as well.

You merely wandered around, buying unnecessary things for an entire hour, your pulse so high that it almost hurt. You didn’t really need sunglasses, but now you had some cheap ones on your face, hoodie tied around your waist as you sat in a cafe,  applying nail polish as you saw him wander past almost two hours later, not noticing you — animatedly talking into his phone.

Perfect, so he had been serious about this - they didn’t even want you to do something as simple as let you go shopping on your own. Sure, you had plans of getting illegal drugs, but they were a literal criminal gang, so it didn’t seem like an excuse to cut off more of your privacy. 

Somehow the tea tasted even worse when you couldn’t see him anymore. Briefly, very briefly, you considered just leaving everything behind - get on another bus, perhaps a train, abandon everything at home. But the mere idea disappeared together with the tea as you drank the last of it, knowing it was nothing but a childish daydream. You couldn’t abandon everything like that, not without any explanation to Bea, Mary, Enid, Carlos — everyone.

You forced your claws out, the dull things appearing beneath your normal, now painted blue, nails. Perhaps you should sharpen them again. 

You were thankful that your father had taken the choice when you represented, no matter how ambivalent you sometimes felt about hiding your secondary gender now; as if he had known that you being a young, pretty omega would bring you nothing but trouble in a town with a biker gang. He had been right, Graves had lusted after you even though you were an ‘alpha’ - the idea of how he would have acted if you were an omega? … you didn’t like the thought. 

People-watching while your nails were drying could only entertain for so long. You needed to buy things - that was why you had gone to town after all. After making sure that the Scottish beta wasn’t anywhere nearby, you went along with your plans of the day.

A specific shampoo that you really liked — you should treat yourself with all the shit going on in your life right now — scent patches and pheromones blockers from the pharmacy, a new mascara and nail oil. You felt tense the entire time but somehow you managed to avoid Soap while shopping, flinching at everyone nearby with a hint of a Scottish accent.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The plastic bag in your lap felt heavy; not from the actual weight, but from the problems the content carried which you had to confront once the bus would stop. Somehow you had managed to avoid the beta ever since tasing him and you doubted he would just let that go - you had seen him looking for you after all. If you were lucky, he would merely scold you or something like that.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Normally it would have taken a one-hour trip with the bus to get home, but you had taken a different one to avoid meeting Soap, which drove to another small town, from which you had taken yet another one - it had almost been two hours when you finally got off. Your body felt stiff and you couldn’t help a yawn escaping you as you got out, in the different end of the town than usual, but it didn’t really matter. You were mostly relieved by the lack of bikers by the bus stop.  

As you stood there, illuminated by the streetlight, you considered not even heading home. You could go to Mary, you knew she would let you in without hesitation, even if she didn’t know the entire situation - you had slept on her couch before, covered by one of her knitted blankets and woken up to freshly baked bread. Otherwise you could go to Beatrice and her pack; they would let you in, no questions asked - at least at first, the interrogation would start later - and you would sleep in their little guest room, with the lavender smelling duvet.

You had to go home. You knew that, but that didn’t mean you wanted to. You couldn’t stay away forever, they would be there tomorrow if you didn’t come home today. You hesitated for a moment before pulling your phone from your pocket. It had been turned off all day and you wondered if they could have tracked you if it hadn’t - was that even possible? Or were you just being paranoid again?

As the screen lit up and you unlocked it, notifications from unanswered calls and texts instantly overwhelmed you. Bloody hell. They had tried to call you 22 times - or at least, four different phone numbers you didn’t know had, but you doubted it could all be scammers. There 32 text messages - you ignored every single one from an unknown number, only opening one from Mary who asked if you could work tomorrow.

You shot her a confirmation while you began to walk home, for once not followed by a biker - no, you were actually walking alone for once. You avoided most of the streetlights, staying as much in the dark as possible.

Since you came from the opposite direction, you couldn’t walk past your usual spots and you wondered if the teenager was smoking again today. If Mrs. Henley’s dog had gone to bed, if people were still at the pub or the shops.

But you had to turn around the corner eventually, even if it was from the opposite side. Despite hoping, almost praying for the driveway to be empty, for nobody to stand in front of your blue house, well, that wasn’t the case.

They instantly spotted you. Of course they did.

For once you weren’t drunk, merely sober and frightful. Turning around or just walking by to go stay at Mary’s or Beatrice’s was still tempting, however, you knew they would simply follow you. Besides, your feet hurt and all you wanted was some food and sleep. Sealing your fate, you walked towards them, attempting to keep yourself composed. As if you weren’t fearing having to deal with them after what had happened today.

Soap was not one of the three men, which surprised you. You had expected for him to be there, arms crossed and demanding an apology since you got a lift and then ditched him… after tasing him.

Despite it not being the case, you felt like your footsteps echoed through the street. You wondered if making a scene would help you, if screaming and drawing attention to you and to them being in your driveway, would keep the bikers from doing anything wild.

Probably not. 

You recognised Nikolai, the bear of a man was leant against one of the garage doors, arms crossed, only slightly visible because of the street light - John Price was at your stairs again, smoking one of the usual cigars. It made you wonder if that was everything he did - order his pack around, smoke cigars and bother people. 

The last guy, more lit up. watched you with an almost curious look. Like he wasn’t believing that you were the one they were waiting for.

He had short hair, a beard with a mustache that stood out the most - the street light made his prosthetic leg glint a little, but it was his scent and the change of the look in his eyes that caught most of your attention. A gust of wind forced their scents into your face, the different smells so intense that it almost made you nauseous for a moment. The nausea seemed to be a pattern whenever they were around you, your mind darkly supplied.

Lust. Anger. The scent that Nikolai and Price seemed to share - and then a scent that had taken you two seconds to recognise. It was the scent from one of the female members who had followed you home - the alpha woman with the long braid, if you weren’t wrong. It seemed like the entire pack had mates within it.

The beta stranger stared at you with an angry look that was different from the dark ones from the two alphas. While there seemed to be seeping lust into the two older men’s stares, there was seemingly nothing but rage in his stare - like a wolf, having focused fully on its prey, waiting for the sign to attack from its members.

You stopped a few steps further away than usual, one hand holding onto your bag like it was a precious treasure - in many ways it was. You wanted to hit yourself for not thinking about putting your illegal pills in your jacket, instead of letting them stay in the bag. Easy to spot if one rummaged around a little.

Your other hand slid into the jacket pocket - tensing a little at the lack of a stun gun. It was in the other pocket - instead there was the cool metal of the pepper spray bottle pressing against your skin. It was better than nothing.

You hadn’t said anything, the seconds had passed and you had merely waited, as you knew they would say something sooner rather than later - something nasty or something to make you upset. 

… and you weren’t wrong.

”It’s a pretty car in your garage.”

Nikolai’s voice was like a dark timbre from behind the stranger, his hand knocking against the garage door twice - and you saw red. You knew exactly what car - your dad’s car, YOUR car.

You knew the alpha said it to upset you, knew they wanted a reaction out of you and despite this, you still gave it to them; you growled deeply, deeper than you had before - as if it came from your chest, from your childhood self that was still protective over the unfixed car hidden beneath plastic and blankets. Your claws forced themselves out without your consent, as if you were getting ready to attack them, one against three.

“Easy, kitten.” Price suggested from the stairs, but you didn’t stop your growling immediately, especially not with that nickname - it died down slowly, like you were proving a point to not follow his orders like his small minions. But the man just looked at you, eyes dark but with a growing smile on his face.

“What things did you buy today then, Sunflower?” You felt all three men’s stares at you, as Price asked and you tightened the grip around the plastic bag - and around the pepper spray in your pocket, “- must have been somethin’ special, since you didn’t want a lift home from Soap.”

You huffed from amusement, the memory of Soap letting out a not quite masculine scream was still fresh in your mind - the youngest of the men, the beta closest to you, growled lowly at you. Apparently he didn’t find the situation amusing like you did.

“I’m quite capable of shopping on my own,” you finally replied, looking back at Price, squinting slightly at the leather clad alpha, unable to keep your voice from raising, “just like I’m capable of going places on my own. So stop makin’ all your little biker idiots stalk me - and don’t go snooping in my fucking garage!”

You were bordering on screaming, the deep boned anger and exhaustion of their constant harassment almost spilling over - the pure frustration over even having to tell people to give you some personal space felt surreal to you.

The wind got more intense for a second, making the trees and bushes in the gardens around you noisily sway  - the wind curled between the houses along the road, almost sounding like it was breathing hard too; swallowing up the silence that followed your little outbreak.

It was Price who broke the silence first by, once again, laughing - only this time, the two others joined him.

Their condescending reaction made your toes curl; you felt small. 

“What are you gonna do, tiny Sunflower?” Nikolai asked, mockery clear in his voice, as he tipped his head up a little, grinning at you, mostly swallowed by the dark, “Little taser of yours cannot keep us away forever, no?”

You were horrified by the mere fact that you knew he was right. Your already limited options of what to do were becoming less and less. You doubted calling the police right now would help, just like you doubted that your neighbours would all run out with kitchen knives and garden rakes if you screamed. No, you truly should have sold them the house the first time they even seemed interested in renting it, and gotten your ass out of Millhaven.

You didn’t feel like a strong alpha right now - and no matter how humiliating it was, you almost stammered out the words ‘just take the bloody house and let me go’. But then the front door to your blue house opened.

It didn’t take more than two seconds to recognise the woman standing in your front door. You didn’t know her name, but you didn’t even need to, her leather jacket and familiar scent instantly made you know who she was. The only one of the 141 women to ever speak directly to you.

One thing was her following you home, blatantly walking a couple of steps behind you - another thing was her breaking into your house. The many locks, one more fancy than the other, had clearly not kept them out. She was slightly illuminated by the light from your hallway, like a villain revealing herself.

“Get out of my fuck—“ The words got stuck in your throat. She hadn’t even bothered to look at you, merely looked down at Price who was sitting on the stairs; holding up a bottle that you knew too well.

 

A bottle of false alpha scent.

Price killed his cigar against your staircase, no doubt leaving a mark on the three, a pleased grin on his face, as the woman gave him the bottle. He merely raised it to his nose and took a quick sniff before he looked straight over at you; his grin turned from amusement to wickedness, like a feral alpha getting the scent of an unmated omega — which, sadly, wasn’t far from the truth.

You took a step back, the beta easily following, watching you like a hawk. The bag in your hand was shaking.

”You are no alpha,” it was more of a statement than a question from Nikolai, who pushed himself away from the garage door, taking a few steps towards you as well, “Beta or omega then - but I think you are small, confused omega, milaya.”

Run. Run. Run.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Like a disappointed parent, John Price shook his head as he rose, leaving the bottle of fake scent on the stairs, tipping his head to the side, “Such a mess - but don’t worry Sunflower, we will help you out.”

Run. Run. Run. 

You panicked, words tumbling out of your mouth while your inner omega was screaming at you. 

“You can rent the house - hell, buy it!” You rushed out, “you won’t even ha- i'll sell it for cheap!”

You weren’t stupid; it wasn’t an offer they were giving you, not with how they have been bothering you for weeks, not with how they stared at you, how the horny alpha pheromones began to fill the air around you. The bag slid from your hand, hitting the asphalt with a thunk but none of you reacted.

Run. Run. Run.

You carefully popped the lid of the pepper spray inside your pocket.

Nikolai said something in Russian, his laughter almost swallowing the words up before he was done.

“You ca-can just take the house,” you managed to stammer. Your stomach hurt - legs shook, as you tried to keep yourself up, the three men all staring at you. 

It was as if there was something beneath your ribcage, a fear that vigorously grew so much you were sure you would combust; all of the scents, the hunger, the lust, the anger, it was all too much - the clouds dark above you, a soft rumble heard from the sky above. As if the weather was trying to warn you too.

You ran your finger along the tip of the spray, making sure you knew which way the spray would come from, so you wouldn't hit yourself.

Run. Run. Run.

”Cute of you to think that the house is the only thing we want now,” Price mused, before raising a hand towards your front door, the woman having disappeared, “Why don’t we go inside, pet? Nikolai and I have some questions.”

Every chance of talking your way out of this seemed abandoned.

”Alex,” Nikolai’s voice wasn’t loud but the loyal beta in front of you took a step towards you, raising his hand to grab onto you.

Your grip on the metal almost slipped, as you ripped the weapon from your pocket; while you had used the stun gun twice by now, you hadn’t tried the pepper spray before, but you solely relied on your instincts and from the scenes you had seen in movies.

Alex screamed as you sprayed him directly in the face, barely any distance between the two of you - but you didn’t stay around to gloat, a second barely passed and then you were off.

Run. Run. Run.

They might have been here for some weeks and gotten to know the basic outlay of Millhaven; but you had lived here your entire life, learned all the routes through people's gardens when you were a kid and stole apples, or when you had sneaked home as a teenager after staying out too late. You knew Millhaven like the back of your hand, even in the darkness - there was a thunderous rumble from the clouds above you, as you darted in between Mrs. Barnaby’s and the Carter pack’s houses and disappeared into the dark alleyway.

Run.

[araybiaa]

many people are noticing the treatment of heather collins / tracy ifeachor from hbo max’s new show ‘the pitt’

1. let me preface by saying although there’s no official confirmation its unfortunately looking more likely that her character has been written off of the show and here’s why: noah revealed that this week’s previous episode (11) was tracy’s last day of filming — which is strange because there’s 4 more episodes of the season left. you can say “oh she’s not there because she’s at home resting!” but from some of bts pictures that the cast posted patrick’s character landgon comes back to help. (he’s in pictures with characters we haven’t seen yet so this confirms it.) so you’re telling me they can call him back to help knowing that they’re understaffed but not collins?

2. she’s not in any promo. after every episode the cast does interviews, specifically whenever a character has a pivotal moment. isa (santos) gave a several interviews throughout the season, but most importantly about her character’s beef with langdon. patrick (langdon) gave a few interviews about the robby/langdon scene and his character, supriya gave an interview about the mass shooting that’s coming up, katherine (dana) talked about her character’s assault and taylor (king) gave an interview about episode 11’s delivery scene. if you recall, episode 7 was a huge moment for collins when she had the miscarriage in the bathroom and episode 11 also gave us backstory about her and robby’s relationship but also about her recent troubles with having a baby. tracy did not have one single interview about these pivotal moments for her character. noah (although yes he’s the executive producer) gave interviews about these moments for her but it’s still strange because the other actors were given solo moments to talk about it themselves. why would they give taylor an interview about a backstory episode for collins? there’s a lot of depth to collins — probably more than anyone else on the show aside from robby and we don’t have one interview hearing tracy’s thoughts about anything.

she’s the female lead of the show but isa has done more interviews than tracy. (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

3.

there’s been speculation about her being written since the beginning, but an extra on set said this on reddit — saying that it wasn’t about tracy being a diva / being difficult like some people believed. (even if that were the case she should still be allowed to give interviews because her character had several important moments throughout the season but they’re not being talked about by her.)

4. other people have noticed this too. (here’s a thread about it) someone saw a post earlier that said tracy was “unavailable” to do interviews. but as we know they released half of the season to the press early. so she wasn’t available? they couldn’t have done an onset interview? zoom? there’s ways to make it work but they purposely chose not to interview her. you’re telling me second lead of the show is unavailable to do interviews?

5. the producers /writers gave a little insight about season 2 and gave us information about langdon but not collins. they were both sent home. why was he the only one mentioned?

6. collins’ storyline seems like a wrap up to her character. although she said she wouldn’t try for another baby, with them sending her home they could easily have her renege on the decision and try for another kid and make up some excuse as to why she wouldn’t be at the hospital anymore.

let me finish by saying i love(d) the show. this was the fastest i’ve ever connected to a show. i tuned in every thurs and live tweeted so much. (if you’ve seen my blog you know how much i’ve obsessed with the show.) but i can’t ignore how she’s being treated / ignored. if tracy willingly chose to leave the show then that’s another story. but even then why is she being excluded from the promo? she should’ve been able to give at least two interviews seeing as though her character had to big moments over these past 11 episodes. hopefully, they tell us officially by the end of the season what’s happening with her character. i genuinely hope that i’m wrong, but it’s hard to ignore this pattern of why she’s being excluded like this. again nothing has been confirmed; this is just a post acknowledging the exclusion of tracy’s character and me voicing my concerns!

[glassjoeandgreattigersssimp]

Punch Out!! Boxers as minimum wage fast food workers! 🍔🍟

Because I recently got a job (and got fired) as a crew member at 'four cousins' (iykyk) and I must cope.

Context: The restaurant serves burgers, fries, and milkshakes primarily.

Little Mac 🥊 🟢

- Newbie

- He's actually pretty sweet but quiet most of the time

- Works the register and cleans tables, sometimes helps with food prep: definitely a rising star

- Doc makes sure that he's paid well and fair

- Tries not to interact much with chatty or rude customers

Glass Joe 🇫🇷 🥖

- The newbie that isn't as good.

- His main positions are janitor, register, and washing equipment. One time, he was on the milkshake station and broke the mixing machine.

- Paid the least out of everyone, below the minimum legal wage

- Barely knows what he's doing... gets conflicting advice from all his co-workers

- Cries during his breaks or when he's cleaning the bathrooms

- Got locked in the walk-in fridge... twice.

- Also got his head hit by the walk-in door, thanks to Soda not paying attention.

Von Kaiser 🇩🇪 🔩

- Also a newbie (sorta, he's worked for a few weeks)

- Does register, deals with the most rude customers out of anyone. Sometimes, he does the grill if Hondo is prepping food

- Was brought to tears once by a guy who threw a tantrum over the fact that the burgers can not be cooked any way else except well done.

- His primary skill is food management; he's great at keeping all the food fresh and up to date. Has a knack for labeling

- Would much rather hide away in the back of the house than interact with customers

Disco Kid 🇺🇲 🪩

- Novice, he's been working here for a month

- Deliveries food to the customers whether it be the tables, or the pick-up area.

- Quite joyous, despite the low-pay. He's super friendly, even to rude customers.

- Is extremely friendly with kids; he started bringing little toys to work just to give to children with their meals, despite the manager advising him not to

- His playlist is played over the dining room

- Helped train Joe, was much more friendly to him than the other co-workers

- The only one not complaining about sore legs (literally HOW? no one knows)

King Hippo 🏝 🦛

- Dishes... he's always washing something. All day. Everyday.

- Even if he's one of the stronger employees, he doesn't help much with handling and storing food in the walk-in.

- If you're lucky, you'll see him take out the trash

- When no one else is with him, he'll tape clean equipment to his body and pretend it's armor. It's the only fun he ever gets.

- Takes the biggest lunch breaks... he ates a lot, and it takes a long time

- Has the easiest day-to-day job out of everyone

- Damn, this is the most I've ever written for King Hippo

Piston Hondo 🇯🇵🍣

- Has worked here for about a year

- One of the main cooks, jumps between the grill, fries, toppings, and milkshake stations

- Works from before opening to after closing, has the most hours out of everyone

- Refuses to miss work, unless the manager tells him to stay home

- Would rather die than to interact with customers

- Forgets to take breaks (boo!! Not healthy :[ )

- Keeps all the cooking stations clean when the other cooks forget to clean them

Bear Hugger 🇨🇦 🐻

- Another cook, he's been here around the same time as when Hondo came

- Also takes big lunch breaks, but people complain about him eating in the lobby

- Sad he can't take his squirrel into work bc of safety reasons

- Instead of wasting unused food by throwing it out, he gives it to the animal (the fresh stuff, not the frozen processed stuff)

- Loudest talker in the kitchen, his voice overpowers the music

- Draws smiley faces in the burgers with ketchup and mustard instead of doing it the right way.

- Grills buns if someone else is doing the grill

- Trying to keep everyone from crying or exploding in fuming anger

Great Tiger 🇮🇳🐅

- The designated, self-appointed home-delivery man. He also does food prep

- Has worked here for 1.5 years

- The fastest worker on the crew.... thanks to his clones, ofc

- Has to remind Hondo to take breaks

- Does whatever tasks Joe forgets to do... and has to clock-in for Joe whenever he forgets to do that

- Speedy service but is a sloppy cook... somehow burnt a milkshake on the grill for a customer who ordered fries and nothing else

- Dozes off a lot due to the work... sometimes it feels like he's in his own little world

- Is the first to clock out when his shift is done. Bro wants out lol

Don Flamenco 🇪🇸 🥀

- Has worked for a year

- Works at the register, the milkshake station, and food prep. Hates prepping meat

- His mood is very flip-floppy, but at his worst, he has the 2nd worse attitude of the crew

- Too diva for his job

- Complains and starts fights with customers that are rude to him

- Got his toupee snatched during a fight... while another patron recorded the altercation.

- Somedays he's all like "omg thank youuu Disco Kid te amo <3" and then other days he's like "SHUT THE FUCK UP JOE, FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF"

- Sits on the tables when taking orders, even though he's not supposed to. Surprisingly, no one has complained...

- Carmen takes his tips when he's done with work, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew

Aran Ryan 🇮🇪 😈

- Used to work there for weeks before getting fired

- Worked a little bit of everything, but was great at washing potatoes and cooking fries

- Had the worst attitude out of everyone

- Fought with everyone... the customers, the manager, and the rest of the crew.

- NEVER let this man work the register... unless a Karen is in the lobby lmao

- Purposely burns food is the customer looks at him funny

- One time, he stole Don's toupee and placed it in a sandwich before serving it to the customers. He got the whole restaurant shut down that day.

- Shocker, the manager fired him...

Soda Popinski 🇷🇺 🍾

- Has worked there the longest

- Works in food prep, but can work the kitchen or the register if the restaurant is short-staffed

- Accidentally assaulted Joe with the walk-in door while talking with Macho Man

- Sometimes, he scares customers with his height whenever he works the register or serves food

- Maintains the soda machine and never let's ANYONE else touch it

- He loves that soda machine a lot; so much so that he'll get the staff drinks before they could use the machine

- Besties with Macho Man

- Tries his best to keep the peace between the staff, especially whenever Macho Man decides to annoy others

Bald Bull 🇹🇷 🐂

- Used to work, but he quit his job on day one

- Yeah just one day of being on the register got him to quit xp

- I don't blame him lol

- Is actually competent at cooking, but he was managed poorly

- Has so much support for minimum wage workers though, and is currently a union supporter.

Super Macho Man 🇺🇸🌊

- The one that doesn't try

- Too busy taking selfies to do anything else

- Laughed and tweeted about Joe getting smacked with the walk-in door

- Complains about his job and his coworkers all the time on social media

- Besties with Soda, even if Soda often annoys him about getting work done

- Somehow gets paid well and gets a lot of breaks

- Has been working for about a year

Mr. Sandman 💤 🟢

- The manager (Mr. Dream is the owner)

- Is just sick and tired of his crew fooling around

- Extremely intimidating towards customers... his glare is enough to shut up even the most persistent entitled customer

- The owner barely pays him

- The only one who isn't cruel to the newbie employees.

I need to start including Little Mac more often xp

[rebeliz7]

The Transporter

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Count: 2262

… 

You were screwed. 

You had two rules, two unbreakable rules. Two rules that have allowed you to survive for as long as you have in your line of work. 

The first one was to never ask any unnecessary questions. Your job was simple. You transported packages, no matter what it was, no matter how far you had to go or how long it’d take you to get it to its destination. 

You’ve gained quite a reputation because of that first rule, and you were never short on job offers because of it. People valued your work policy, because they valued their privacy.  

You were, what the kids would call these days, a delivery person and that was the essence of what you did, only you mobilized very expensive and more often than not dangerous packages.

Your clients--were not good people, but that was not your problem. Of course you suspected it but to be quite honest, you never expected to be caught by the Avengers on your way back home after a well done job. 

Long story short, they did catch you and they dropped you in a dark cell for months, and that was alright, you weren’t afraid because you didn’t know anything besides the addresses where you dropped off your packages. 

You knew nothing about the packages you delivered, you never peaked and the only question that always interested you when a new job came along was, where do I take it?

“You ready to talk?” The Captain asks from across the table, and you grin at her. They’ve been doing this everyday for the last couple of months. 

Each morning you’re taken to an interrogation room, where a new avenger is always waiting for you.

“What do you want to talk about today, love?” You ask her, and she pins you down with a hard stare. 

This one lacks patience, but after months of answering the same questions with the truth and nothing but the truth, you do try to spice things up a bit every once and awhile. If only to keep yourself sharp. 

“You do realize that you’re never getting out of here if you don’t give us something, right?” She asks, and you lean back to rest against the back of the chair. 

“What do you want to know?” You ask her, if only to keep the conversation flowing. Every answer that you could have provided, you already have and they must know it too. 

“Who hired you to pick up the suitcase from the airport?”

Oh, the infamous suitcase! 

You knew that job was way too easy to be a good thing. It took you an hour to get it done. Easiest and fastest two million you’ve ever made. 

“I got a text. I told them my fee. I got a deposit and I asked where I needed to take the suitcase. I dropped the suitcase, and that was it.” You recite the same thing that you always recite, and she glares harder.

“You didn’t ask who was hiring you? Or why did they need the suitcase at that building?”

“Rule number one: Don’t ask questions that don’t concern me.” You tell her and her glare intensifies, if that’s even possible. 

“You know that doesn’t erase the fact that you’re an accomplice in a terrorist attack, right?”

That damned suitcase.

“I offer a service. I deliver packages. That’s all I do. Would you call the pizza guy that delivered in the same building before me an accomplice too?”

Her fists glow with dangerous intensity then, and in the blink of an eye you find yourself being pushed against the wall after she hits you with a blast. 

…

You wake up in your cell hours later with a massive headache and every inch of your body hurting, so you quickly close your eyes again. 

You refuse to fully wake up when you’re in this much pain.

…

The next morning you’re awoken by the sound of your door being opened, and you sit up slowly. Your hand flies to your side as a stabbing pain makes you wince when you move, and you curse under your breath. 

They’ve never laid a finger on you before, and you wonder if they’re finally about to try to beat the answers out of you, not that you have any.  

“You pissed off the Captain.” A guard shakes his head, a mocking grin on his face as he looks at you. “Aren’t you tired? Just give them what they want.”

“Are you supposed to be talking to me?” You ask him, and he shrugs his shoulders before handing you a fresh towel and a change of clothes. 

“Shower. You’re in for a new session in twenty.”

He leaves and with a lot of trouble, you do as he says.

…

The moment you enter the interrogation room you feel like you might pass out again, which reminds you of your second rule. 

Rule number two: Never fall for someone involved in the deliveries. This rule applies, of course, to the Avengers who apprehended you too. 

“You okay?” Wanda Maximoff asks, as an involuntary groan leaves your lips when you sit down. 

You kind of like it when she’s the one in charge of your interrogation for the day, but today you feel like dying and not fully up to appreciate her company.  

“Of course.” You smile, as you press your hand against your bruised ribs and you struggle to find a comfortable position to sit in. God, you feel like you’re not getting enough air into your lungs. 

“What did Carol do?” She asks you with a frown on her forehead, and you try to smile again. 

She’s attractive even when she’s frowning, which is totally unfair and completely distracting. 

“Broke a few laws, I’m sure.” You can’t breathe properly and you swallow, if only to try to mask the pain you’re currently in. 

“Does anything feel broken? Were you taken to medical?” She asks, as she stands up and you close your eyes. 

“I don’t know.” You answer and when you try to move, the pain that envelops you is so massive that you become dizzy where you sit. 

“Not even a painkiller.” You hear her murmur, before you stop fighting against so much pain and tiredness. 

You fall to the ground, the hit making the pain you were already feeling a hundred times worse. 

Wanda raises her voice and while she rushes to your side, you surrender to the darkness.   

… 

The next time you wake up, you do it in a slightier more comfortable bed than the one in your cell. 

“I didn’t even touch her!” You hear the unmistakable voice of Carol Danvers yell, and you’re tempted to huff, but you know that would only make you cry out in pain. No, she didn’t need to touch you to almost break you. 

“Her ribs are bruised. She passed out because of excruciating pain!” Wanda exclaims back, and you finally open your eyes. 

You’re in the medical-bay and your eyes immediately fall on Wanda’s furious little face. Still attractive, that one. 

“She’s a criminal,” Carol argues and you watch as Wanda’s fists begin to glow red with the midst of her powers. 

“She’s a human being and you crossed a line.” Wanda tells her, and you’re caught staring at her face again. 

She looks positively pissed, and you’re pretty sure that you’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than she is. 

“I agree,” Steve Rogers says as he walks inside the room as well. “Did you notice she’s awake?” He asks, his eyes trained on you. 

“Hey, hi.” You smile and Wanda rushes to your side, or you think that she does. 

God! You feel so woozy and nothing really hurts, and you think that maybe you’re a little bit high on painkillers. Just maybe. 

“How you feeling?” Wanda asks you and you look at her, and you can’t help but---but feel. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur and her eyes widen. “Really, you are.”

She blushes and her eyes show nothing but panic as she looks at Steve, who is smiling goofily before letting out a breath. 

“Painkillers?” He asks, and Wanda nods. 

“Maybe something to help her sleep?” Wanda asks the doctor in the room, and when a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips, you smile back. 

So beautiful. 

…

You wake up with a start and a sharpening pain on your side. You’re in a much different room than the last one. You’re not in your cell, and you’re not in the medical bay either. 

No, this is a much nicer room with a big fluffy bed and a huge flat screen hanging on the wall. 

You’re about to stand up when someone knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” you confusedly call out and the door opens slowly to reveal Wanda on the other side. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” She asks and you nod, still confused. “You should be laying down. Minimal physical effort. Doctor’s orders.”

You nod, now feeling a little suspicious but you take her advice and lay down again. At least you can breathe a bit better now, and the pain isn’t as blinding as it was the last time you woke up. 

“Care to explain?” You ask, as you struggle to grab the blanket. 

“Here, let me.” She takes the blanket, and pulls it over your body before sitting down on the edge of the mattress, close to your legs. 

She’s wearing an oversized light blue sweater that makes her look all kinds of comfy and you’re caught staring at her. 

God! She really is the most adorable superhero ever. The most attractive one too. 

“What Carol did was wrong,” she says and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“I was being an ass. I shouldn’t have provoked her like that. ”

“She crossed a line. We don’t hit people in our interrogation rooms. We don’t torture prisoners. That’s not what we stand for.”

“I’ve been telling you guys the truth from the beginning. I know nothing about the packages I delivered. My lack of interest in the content of those packages is what kept me in business for so long in the first place.”

“I know,” she says it so casually that you instantly become suspicious. “We don’t make it a habit of reading people’s minds either. That being said, I did read yours yesterday when you were unconscious.”

You chuckle nervously, and immediately wince at the slight pain that it shoots through you with the action. If she was in your head---then she knows you’ve been crushing on her for a while now. 

“I only did it because an idea occurred to us and we needed to be sure that you were telling the truth, before we did anything.”

“They call you the Scarlet Witch, y’know?” You tell her, and she grins at you. 

You’re distracted, your mind is still trying to process the fact that she read your mind and she probably knows every single thing about you, and your attraction towards her.

“I know,” she softly says and your eyes stray towards her lips. God! It’s so unfair how attractive she is and how easily she can distract you with just  her face.   

“Natasha has been studying your profile,” she continues. “You do more than just deliver.”

“Natasha Romanoff?” You ask with a start, and she nods. “She’s been studying my profile?” 

Natasha Romanoff is a legend, to put it simply, but she never interrogated you. Not once.  

You’ve admired her since forever, and every single fighting stance that you’ve mastered, you’ve done it because you spent the majority of your free time studying footage of her fights caught on camera. 

“She’s impressed,” Wanda tells you. “She believes that you have potential, and so do I.”

Sometimes trouble follows you and the packages, that’s why you’re always prepared, that’s why you know how to stand you own in a fight. 

“Are you offering me a job?” You ask her jokingly but she doesn’t laugh, instead she gives you a look that leaves you breathless. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“I was a prisoner yesterday.” You remind her and she nods, an open and stupidly alluring grin tugging at her lips. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve been in your head, remember?” She tells you, and you feel your cheeks heating up with a blush. 

“That’s a total violation, y’know?”

“It is and I’m sorry for doing it.” She apologizes, and you frown. 

She’s good. Too good. 

“So you know about my deep desire to quit the delivering world, and join the side of good?”

“I do.” She nods, perhaps amused. 

“And you also know that I’ve been crushing on you since the day we met?”

“About that,” she apologetically starts and you panic. 

“What?”

“You were really high on painkillers, and you might have exposed yourself about that in front of the Captains.”

“What?” You panic and when you rush to move, the pain shooting through you forces you to lay down again. 

“Easy,” she tells you kindly. “For now you just have to focus on getting better. Carol will drop by to apologize. For the record, she was not having a good day that day.”

“Neither were my ribs,” you tell her and she laughs. 

“There will be a meeting when you can leave this bed. A new life awaits you.”

“About the crushing thing?” You ask when she stands up to leave, and the smile she sends your way makes you smile in a daze, because she’s just so beautiful. 

“We can talk about that too when you’re feeling better.”

You’re still smiling after she’s gone. You only had two rules to do your job, and the first one might have ended up saving you from a lifetime in prison, but the second one? You never stood a chance against the second one. 

… 

Feedback is much appreciated. 

[cat-mermaid]

I was already ahead of the "don't use the AI stuff it'll make your brain deflate" conversation before people were even talking about what we now refer to as "AI"

over a decade ago I knew I was never gonna rely on car GPS back when it came out. Why? because I watched my own boomer family members, ones who i'd grown up being driven around my home town and across the country for vacations, lose the fucking ability to navigate their own fucking towns without that damn phone GPS

in as little as 4 years

then after that i've had to watch in not so quiet dismay/contempt as one of my close friends has completely given themselves over to the will of their phone gps. Multiple times their phone has disregarded instructions to guide us to a location via a certain route, in favor of whatever is "fastest" and usually that means the wrongest

my friend, whom i truly do like and care for, has turned off their brain completely and will always defer to that damn phone, even when we're somewhere i know like the back of my fucking hand and i fucking know this is the wrong way:

"this isn't the way to the airport"

"well maybe this is a short cut"

"no this is taking us straight to the fairgrounds, right behind them"

"well maybe theres a way through"

"theres not because theres a whole (fancy big nature place) behind them, theres no road going through there, and also this is the opposite direction"

and then they just keep going (fuck around) untill they find out and then great we're late for the flight big time and they only thing they can say for themselves if "well it should just work!"

and its been years of this and it still happens. This person used to be a professional delivery person, they used to be able to navigate without a damn phone over 10 years ago >:/

the most egregious example was last month tho: we'd driven two hours out to this place we'd never been, and part of the drive involved going over a huge, long ass bridge that goes over a huuuge body of water that has no other ways over it other than the bridge

so on the way back, we approach the bridge, its right there in front of us. Right fucking there. Suddenly my friend swerves to the left and we start driving along the side of the water

"why did you turn, the bridge was right there?!?!"

"because the phone said to"

"but this is the wrong way! theres no other way to go (direction of home) unless we drive around this whole thing which could take hours!"

"I'm sure the phone found a different route thats better, maybe theres traffic up ahead and thats why it told me to turn"

smash cut to the road terminating because it turns out that this left turn was the start of new construction for a new road. There is no more road past a certain point, there never was any road to begin with. Its just forest and construction equipment right in front of us

so basically

ME:

THEM:

and i've resigned myself to this being the way things are with this person

remember friends, the way these driving apps work is they look and see how many cars are on the route ahead of you (by detecting how many smart phones are on the road ahead) and if theres a certain amount it'll just send you down any fucking random ass road that has less of them

because of this nonsense from friends and family, i have been poisoned against this "get advice from app" trend forever

[wrxangel]

Bunta Fujiwara with University Student Reader who has a crush on him

a/n: Fun fact, bunta is my first Initial D crush💀 he's literally my goat omggg

cw: Age gap (reader is an adult)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

Ever since you got involved in the street racing scene, your life had been a whirlwind of late-night drifts, engine roars, and the thrill of competition. University life felt dull in comparison, and it was through your friendship with Ryosuke Takahashi, leader of the RedSuns, that you were introduced to Gunma’s mountain passes. Ryosuke quickly recognized your passion for cars, especially Subarus, and you soon became an integral part of his circle, even if you weren’t a racer yourself.

It wasn’t long before you met Takumi Fujiwara, Ryosuke’s quiet, skilled protégé. Takumi was different from the other racers—low-key, almost disinterested in the hype, yet undeniably talented. You hit it off quickly, bonding over cars and racing. Though Takumi didn’t attend university, you spent more time with him and the other locals than with your university peers.

One day, after a late-night practice run with Project D, you ended up at the Fujiwara Tofu Shop, Takumi’s home. It was your first time there, and you hadn’t expected much from a small tofu shop in the middle of nowhere. But the moment you stepped inside, you were met with the scent of freshly made tofu and the sight of Takumi’s father, Bunta Fujiwara.

Bunta was a man who exuded a quiet intensity that was hard to ignore. With his gruff demeanor, cigarette always perched between his lips, and sharp eyes that seemed to see right through you, Bunta left an immediate impression. But what really caught your attention was the Subaru Impreza parked outside—a GC8 Coupe, to be exact.

You had always had a thing for Subarus, especially the Impreza. Seeing Bunta’s Impreza, knowing it belonged to someone like him, only fueled your attraction.

From that day on, you found every excuse to visit the tofu shop. At first, you told yourself it was to talk to Takumi about racing or to just hang out. But you knew the real reason was Bunta.

Every time you saw him, you found yourself drawn to his calm, almost indifferent attitude, his deep knowledge of cars, and the mysterious aura that surrounded him. You admired the way he carried himself, his unspoken confidence, and his incredible history as a racer. And, of course, the fact that he drove a Subaru Impreza didn’t hurt either.

Your repeated visits didn’t go unnoticed. Takumi began to wonder why you were suddenly so interested in hanging around the shop. “You’ve been coming around a lot lately,” he mentioned one day. “I thought you didn’t like tofu that much.”

You laughed, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, it’s not about the tofu. I just like hanging out with you guys.”

Takumi shrugged, accepting your answer without further questioning. But it was when Yuichi Tachibana, the owner of the gas station and an old friend of Bunta’s, began reminiscing about the old days that your interest was piqued even further.

“Takumi’s dad used to be the fastest downhill racer on Akina,” Yuichi said with a nostalgic smile. “Back in the day, no one could beat him. Even now, I don’t think there’s anyone who could match his skill.”

The thought of Bunta being the undisputed champion of Akina only made you more fascinated with him. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see him race, to witness that level of skill firsthand.

After that conversation, your determination to get closer to Bunta only grew. You started spending even more time at the shop, asking Takumi about his dad, trying to learn more about Bunta’s racing history. You even offered to help with the tofu deliveries, hoping it would give you more opportunities to interact with Bunta.

Takumi, oblivious as ever, didn’t suspect a thing. But the truth was, you weren’t just interested in Bunta’s history—you were interested in him. The more you learned, the more you admired him, and the more your feelings grew. It was strange, falling for someone so much older, someone who wasn’t even a racer anymore. But there was something about Bunta Fujiwara that you couldn’t resist.

Days turned into weeks, and your visits to the Fujiwara Tofu Shop became almost a daily routine. Each time you saw him, your heart would race a little faster. You admired the way he moved, the quiet strength in his demeanor, and the subtle way he would light a cigarette with such practiced ease. He didn’t say much, but when he did, his words carried weight. And when he looked at you with those sharp, perceptive eyes, it felt like he could see right through you.

One evening, after another long day of racing talk and delivery runs, you found yourself lingering at the tofu shop long after Takumi had gone to bed. Bunta was in his usual spot, leaning against the counter with a cigarette between his lips, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

“You’re here again,” he remarked, his voice low and gruff. “You must really like tofu.”

You smiled, trying to keep your nerves in check. “It’s not the tofu that keeps me coming back.”

Bunta raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but not showing it overtly. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. This was it—the moment you’d been thinking about for weeks, maybe even months. You had never been the type to back down from a challenge, and confessing your feelings to Bunta Fujiwara was the biggest challenge of all.

“I think… I think it’s you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I keep coming back because I want to see you. Because I like being around you, even if you don’t say much. There’s just… something about you, Bunta, that I can’t get out of my head.”

Bunta’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. He took a long drag from his cigarette before letting out a slow breath, the smoke curling around his face.

“You realize how much older I am than you, right?” he said, his tone serious. “I’m not some young guy. I’m old enough to be your father.”

You nodded, fully aware of the age gap. “I know. But that doesn’t change how I feel. I’ve never met anyone like you before, Bunta. You’re… different. And I don’t care about the age difference. I just know that I want to be with you.”

For a moment, Bunta didn’t respond. He just looked at you, as if weighing your words, trying to decide whether you were serious or if this was just some fleeting crush. The silence stretched on, making you more nervous by the second, but you refused to back down. You had come this far, and you weren’t about to give up now.

Finally, Bunta sighed, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

You managed a small smile. “I guess I am. But I know what I want.”

Bunta shook his head slightly, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. You’ve been hanging around here a lot more than a normal friend would.”

You bit your lip, trying to read his expression. “So… what do you think? About us?”

Bunta was silent for a moment longer, his gaze drifting away from you as if he was lost in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more contemplative.

“You’re young, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he said. “I’ve lived mine. I don’t want to hold you back, and I sure as hell don’t want you to regret getting involved with an old man like me.”

“But I won’t regret it,” you insisted, stepping closer to him. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Bunta. I know what I’m getting into. And I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be with you.”

Bunta looked at you again, his gaze searching, as if trying to find any sign of doubt in your eyes. But when he didn’t find any, he let out another sigh, this time with a hint of resignation.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he asked.

You nodded, your determination unwavering. “Yes. I am.”

For a long moment, Bunta didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you with those deep, piercing eyes. And then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “If you’re that determined, I won’t push you away. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A smile broke out across your face, relief and happiness flooding through you. You couldn’t believe it—Bunta was actually giving you a chance.

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice filled with emotion. “Thank you, Bunta. I… I really care about you.”

Bunta gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his usual stoic expression returning. “Just remember what I said. I’m not an easy guy to be with.”

You laughed softly, the tension finally melting away. “I think I can handle it.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, big fan of your content!

I was wondering if you had any tips on how to fill in time between chapters.

Like how do I make scenes that aren’t really relevant but keep the reader interested. Im struggling on getting to make scenes that don’t revolve around the main conflict and are like little scenes that have little meaning.

Thanks!

Scenes Need to Be Relevant

how do I make scenes that aren’t really relevant but keep the reader interested.

You don't.

Every scene in your story needs to be there for a reason. Filler scenes don't belong in good fiction and are the fastest way to make sure no one enjoys reading your story.

Have a look at these posts:

Avoid Filler at All Cost Guide: Filling in the Story Between Known Events How to Move a Story Forward

Ultimately, what you're looking go do is find moments between the major plot points where you can advance the story in some way... where characters can react to the previous plot point and be moved into place for the next one. In these moments, you can certainly have a low key "life moment," such as chatting around the campfire or walking home from school, where you can do some character development, setting/world building, backstory or information delivery, exploration of theme, or examination of character thought and feeling. These scenes can often feel like they're not tied to the main conflict, but they are, because without that character development, setting/world building, delivery of backstory or other information, examination of character thought and feeling, or exploration of theme, you couldn't move the story forward to the next plot point. So, these scenes matter.

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[orivaa-kun]

ride for me | chapter 3: go

ch. 1 | ch. 2

chapter word count: 16.3k warnings: mature (18+), drinking, drug use, smut, fluff, angst, feels pairings: Gojo Satoru x Fem OC, Geto Suguru x Fem OC, Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Fem OC series summary: Lena Okamoto was emotionally estranged from her father—the CEO of Okamoto Group, a Tokyo-based, multi billion-dollar sports car manufacturing company—after her mother died due to a longterm, post-pregnancy related illness when she was a kid. Amidst her father’s misdirected blame for this, now 27, Lena is finally back in the city. She’s introverted and troubled by her past with her father and step-family, but hardworking and anxious to prove herself to everyone: that she can create the best cars for the Okamoto brand and the fastest engines for their Formula 1 cars. Satoru Gojo is the face of Gojo Industries—the corporation that practically owns Tokyo with its advanced tech that can be found all over the city. Unlike Lena in many ways, the confident and extroverted man leads a completely different, unblemished life—having basically had a spoiled upbringing, and the only trying aspect of his life being the sheer amount of his company responsibilities, obligations, and public appearances. When the two meet, both of their lives change completely. Will they be able to juggle their relationship, trying professional careers, family dynamics, and public image all at once? Sacrifices will have to be made.

It had to be around noon when I woke up from the nap I’d immediately taken after returning to my other home—I could tell from the way the light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling length picture windows alongside the back wall of it. I still occasionally had to reorient myself whenever I woke up in this room, especially as I’d just finished remodeling this side of the house weeks ago, but today I immediately knew exactly where I was upon waking—my mom’s old home in Yamanashi. The sun had pleasantly warmed up my cream-colored duvet and sheets, and much unlike most days, the piercing chime of my phone alarm hadn’t abruptly shaken me awake. It was nice. Maybe Yuko was right about taking more time off... 

I reached under one of my pillows and fished for my phone on the edge of my bed, flipping it over to reveal the actual time—11:48am. Close enough. I sorted through my email for a bit, checking on my shipping notifications for the house and discovering that the wood fire pizza oven was going to be delivered early this afternoon. It was a good thing I’d planned to spend the day here. 

 After responding to messages and aimlessly scrolling though my phone, I finally slipped out of bed, adjusting the white, teddy sleepwear tube top and long pants that had moved around a bit during my sleep. I was about to make my way to the kitchen, but the sound of the doorbell jolted me instead. I reached for my matching robe nearby, quickly fastening the sash around my waist before approaching the front door. The guys delivering the pizza oven were here already?

I opened the door to a tall man with red-dyed hair and wearing an all-black uniform with a tablet in his hand. His hair was tucked into a black cap, and I glanced behind him to see another man in the same uniform beginning to get out of a large truck, “Good morning.” I offered the red-haired man a polite smile.

“Hi. Are you Ms. Lena Okamoto?” He lifted his tablet, seemingly pulling up some sort of page on it.

“Yes. You two are here to deliver the pizza oven, right?”

“Pizza oven…? The man lifted a brow in confusion, “Um, no. We’re here to deliver the painting. Can you sign here, please?” He extended the tablet and attached pen to me.

My brows furrowed together, “Painting? I didn’t buy a painting…”

“It’s a gift from, uh,” The man checked the tablet again, seemingly surprised by the name he saw, “Satoru Gojo?? Shit, you know Satoru Gojo?!” He seemed surprised by the information, like he hadn’t checked the delivery information until now.

“Oh…” I blinked a few times and rubbed my temple, still waking up, “Right.” He did say there’d be a gift waiting for me when I woke up, “Yes, thank you.” A painting?

“Whoa, that’s awesome. Well, where would you like us to put it? It’s pretty heavy.” The red-haired man turned back to glance to the other man in uniform, who unlatched the back hatch of the truck to reveal a long, rectangular box wrapped with white, heavy-duty paper. It looked pretty big, almost as big as… No way. There was no way it could be that painting.

“Oh shit…” I muttered under my breath, in disbelief.

“What was that?” The man asked.

“Oh! Nothing, sorry, um…” I pushed the front door open wider, “Is there any way you two can bring it into my office in here?”

Less than 30 minutes later, I was staring blankly at the wall of my study, jaw practically on the floor as the two art installers mounted the exact Nakamura painting the from me and Satoru’s date yesterday at the art gallery—the modern piece that depicted a calm or storming ocean, depending on how one looked at it. I didn’t even want to think about what a painting like this would be worth… Yes, I did. I’d have to remember to call Yuko about it later. She was an art enthusiast, herself, and would definitely be able to estimate its price point. Was this supposed to be normal for rich boys like Satoru? Did he go around handing out expensive gifts to girls after every first date we went on?!

I slipped my phone out of my robe pocket, immediately beginning to text Satoru.

Though it was a shocking first date gift, the painting was something I wanted… I just thought it was something that would take me a few years to save up for—not one day of dating Satoru Gojo. But who knows if the painting would’ve still been on the market by then… Maybe I should just take the gift? It’s not like Satoru would miss the money, anyways. My heart was about to jump out of my chest. This piece alone was probably worth more than all nine of my sports cars combined!

I took a deep exhale and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to calm myself about the situation. I needed to tell Shoko and Yuko about this, like immediately.

~ 

The next morning, I didn’t wake up from my alarm but instead much earlier, before dawn at 4am, to the sound of my phone buzzing repeatedly. I grumbled and pouted, irritated from whoever or whatever was determined to wake me up so damn early. When I flipped my phone over, I discovered the hundreds of notifications—mostly from Instagram. My eyes went from narrowed to wide as I scrolled through, and I immediately sat up, turning on my bedside lamp before reading just a few of the thousand-plus comments that had been posted on a number of my recent posts. 

“don’t take pics with my man!!! 😤🤬” 

“There’s no way satoru gojo’s with a girl who’s barely even Japanese lol” 

“r u dating gojo????” 

“She looks like a uniqlo diversity model 🤣🤣🤣” 

“OMG I found her page!!” 

“back off he’s mineeee” 

“slut” 

The last comment sank heavily in my chest. Was this because I was dating Satoru?? I rapidly scrolled to the top of my page, rubbing my eyes in disbelief at the number of followers I saw. Just a few days ago it had to be around 409K... now it was... 893K?! Overnight?!! How did people find out about us in the first place? 

I exited the app, navigating my search engine. I began to type in my name, and immediately the first autocomplete read, “...and Satoru Gojo picture at docks.” I paused and sighed, roughly running a hand through my curls before reluctantly tapping the ‘search’ icon. And there it was, all over the image search results—Satoru and I pictured mid-kiss in front of the Tokyo Bay Yacht Club entrance. I fucking knew I’d heard the sound of a camera that morning. To top it off, my hair even looked kind of messy from the wind down by the docks. Satoru looked perfect, of course, and was in a full tailored suit compared to my slightly wrinkled, high waisted jeans and long coat that I’d worn the day before. 

After scrolling through a few of the image result photos, I realized that there was not one, but three photos circulating of us—one with Gojo kissing my fingers, one with him kissing my forehead, and one of us kissing each other. It was such an intimate moment... The comments were one thing, but the fact that some random paparazzi had intruded on this sweet moment between Satoru and I, it was off-putting, to say the least. I still remembered the feeling of the brisk wind on my cheeks, the way the cold morning air burned my nose red, and how Satoru’s lips had warmed me up. It was a private moment—one I wished had stayed as such. 

I navigated back to Instagram, tapping a completely different photo on my profile that had nothing to do with this paparazzi fiasco at all. It was one of the stills from my GQ shoot and article from a few months ago—a simple picture of me sitting on the track at sunset beside an older Okamoto model, dressed in a tight-fitting, full black and red leather (and more fashionable than functional) racing suit. What had once been ten or so comments from car fans and my friends was now over a hundred spam-like comments from people who were clearly obsessive fans of Satoru. 

“Is she like a tomboy or something?” 

“ur not even gojo’s type” 

“idk she’s kinda cute!” 

“Oof looks like Gojo is in his hafu phase 🥴 don’t worry GojoGirlies it’ll be over soon 🤣” 

“all of you are just hating b/c she’s tan smh” 

“Why is she even dressed like that if she really makes cars? Seems fake” 

“it’s from a GQ shoot, not a car factory u idiot.” 

“smash” 

I navigated to the search bar, half-typing in the name of a popular Tokyo gossip and entertainment news account—@thesorceryroom. Of course, when I tapped the profile, I saw that there were already four different posts on me and Satoru. What the hell did they even have to go on about us? All we did was kiss!  

Without a second thought, I immediately pulled up Satoru’s contact and hit the call icon, bringing my phone to my ear and biting my lip stressfully as I impatiently waited for him to pick up. It wasn’t until I heard his voice upon answering that it fully dawned on me how early in the morning it was, “Hey, Lena. You’re up early.” Satou noted, voice far from groggy or sleep-ridden... Was he already awake? 

“Oh! Uh, hey... Sorry, Satoru, did I wake you?” I suddenly felt way more nervous. 

“Nah, I’ve been up for a bit working. How about you, though? Everything okay?” He questioned, clearly curious to why I’d called him at 4am. 

“Um...” I trailed off, voice a bit uneasy, “Sorry for calling this early, it’s just my phone’s been blowing up so I woke up, and then I just had to call you when I saw what’s happening online...” I rambled, beginning to slide out of bed and pace around my bedroom. 

“What’s happening online?” Satoru asked, sounding completely clueless. 

“Uh, the pictures? There’s pictures floating around the internet of us kissing in front of the yacht club yesterday morning...” I explained. He didn’t know?  

“Oh, there are? Huh.” Satoru didn’t sound phased by this information at all. 

“And it’s blowing up online! There’s like, thousands of people stalking my page and dropping random comments on my old posts about it. Just random shit about us, and there’s some wacky shit directed to me, specifically!” I rubbed the back of my neck anxiously as I paced. 

“Damn, I didn’t expect this would happen this soon...” 

“You expected it??” I couldn’t help but raise my voice a little bit. Would’ve been nice to get a little heads up... 

“Well, yes and no. To be honest, I don’t usually date so publicly. The last time I did, many years ago, stuff like this happened all the time.” 

“Couldn’t you at least have warned me or something beforehand...?” I’m sure my tone sounded a little frustrated. I was trying to keep my composure about the situation and hear Satoru out, but it didn’t really seem like he empathized with what I was going through at all... 

“Sorry, Lena, it was the furthest thing from my mind.” Satoru’s tone sounded sincere, but I still felt thrown off from this whole situation, “But, don’t think about that, babe. Just ignore them.” 

I turned my face a bit at his response—as if it was that simple to let go of the countless things people were saying about you, “Satoru, it’s not that easy... I mean, have you seen all the shit people are saying about me? There’s gotta be damn near a thousand comments!” 

“Oh, I haven’t been on social media since high school. My publicist handles my accounts. I learned pretty early that shit really starts to mess with your head if you’re on it for too long.” Satoru sounded a bit aloof, even over the phone, like he was talking to an interviewer and not the girl he was dating. 

I was confused, “Okay, but I don’t have a publicist, or an assistant. I handle my own accounts.” I was starting to get irritated now, “I didn’t have the luxury of having one—especially when I was fresh out of high school and my dad no longer legally had to support me. I had to scrape to market myself, find jobs on my own and work my way up in the car manufacturing industry... It wasn’t until recently that I was able to afford to streamline some of the work I do, and social media’s never been an issue for me, well, not until now.” 

There was a short pause, and then I heard Satoru take a breath before speaking, “Wait—I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that my mind’s kinda split this morning with this project I’ve been... Never mind that. I apologize. I should’ve mentioned that something like this might happen, and taken the steps to get ahead of it.” He exhaled, “How’s this; why don’t we meet for lunch today to talk some more? I can even come to you, if you don’t have much time.” 

I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my nerves; Satoru’s apology had helped cool me off some, “Okay. Yeah, lunch would be good.” I finally stopped pacing, moving my hand that wasn’t holding my phone to my forehead to swoop my hair back, “There’s some things we should talk about, I guess.” I trapped the corner of my lower lip between my teeth at the sort of uncomfortable air around our current conversation. There were definitely some things I wanted to ask him, at the very least. Like why was Satoru suddenly so okay with dating publicly after meeting me? 

“Alright, then.” Satoru said conclusively. 

There was a long silence that followed, neither of us sure of what to say next. But the obvious thought remained. We shouldn’t’ve had to deal with all this after only one freaking date. 

“Look, Lena, I really like you. And I don’t wanna fuck this up. Let’s talk and get this situation cleared up so we can go back to having fun and getting to know one another, ‘kay?” 

“Okay.” I finally managed a small smile, taking another deep breath. 

“As far as social media—maybe mute the apps for today. I’ll get a social strategist from my team to look into the situation and see how we can go about protecting your accounts.” 

I began to protest, “Oh you don’t have to do that—” 

“I insist.” Satoru cut in, “As long as you’re dating me, you shouldn’t have to worry about handling these things by yourself. You shouldn’t have to worry at all, about anything, really.” 

And there he was, the sweet Satoru whose words and actions made me blush and my heart flutter... I sat down on the end of my bed, nudging my toes into the soft, plush rug beneath my feet, “...Okay.” I finally agreed, a small smile on my face. 

“Now, get some rest, Lena. Sorry that all of this disturbed your sleep.” 

“It’s fine.” There was a part of me that wished I could fall back asleep in Satoru’s arms, like I had last night, “You should get some sleep, too!” 

“It’s alright, I’ve got some work to do for this project this morning. Plus, I don’t need to sleep much, anyways.” 

“If you say so.” Though I wasn’t nearly as straight-forward as Satoru when it came to expressing feelings, I wanted to make him feel wanted, too. My smile grew into a warm smirk before I spoke again, “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you at lunch...” I aimlessly fiddled with the duvet on my bed. 

“Yeah?” I heard Satoru’s tone soften considerably, his smile practically audible through the way he’d asked the word alone, “I’m glad to hear it. I’m always excited to see you.” Just like that, he one-upped me so effortlessly. 

I giggled to his words and the sexual implications of them, seeing as I’d already had a few run-ins with Satoru’s hard-on. 

“Hey...! Get your mind outta the gutter. I meant that in a nice, respectable way.” Satoru said matter-of-factly. 

I laughed and teased back, “You said it first!” 

“Well, maybe not just respectable...” Satoru trailed off, but then suddenly tore himself from his own line of thought, “Alright, that’s it. Goodbye, Lena, before you get me worked up.” 

“Night, Satoru.” My laugh lowered back into a giggle. 

“Goodnight, beautiful.” 

~ 

Since the internet had woken me up before sunrise, I’d decided to head into Okamoto’s HQ early as well, and was grateful for the bit of peace and quiet the near-empty building provided—outside of the occasional custodian staff member who would simply greet me.

But now closer to 9am, the more my production and mechanic team members entered the office, the more of them asked me about the Satoru situation. How the hell had everyone found out so fast, anyways? Was there a city-wide alert or something?? Okay, I was exaggerating in my thoughts, but this attention was still ridiculous. You’d think I was running for fucking prime minister.

I was currently tucked behind the desktop computer monitors in my office, following up on emails from the carbon fiber manufacturing group in Kyoto to ask them questions about the material specifics and safety. I suddenly saw Jin walk by the glass door in his racing mechanics suit—probably headed to the vehicle production building.

“Morning, Lena.” He opened the door and poked his head into my office, an amused look on his face.

“Hey, Jin.” I kept focused on and typed away on my keyboard, still a little overwhelmed from this whole dating rumor situation.

“You’re dating Satoru Gojo?” Jin’s amused look grew into an intrigued smirk. This was at least the seventh time I’d gotten the question in the last hour.

“Oh my god, not you, too…” I paused in my typing to drop my face into my hands, releasing a sigh.

“And you didn’t tell me??” He grinned, obviously interested in the gossip.

“One date! We only went on one date, okay…?!” I sat back up to exclaim, exasperated.

Jin raised his hands, “Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard! Wait, was that why you were almost late to the test drive a few days ago?”

“No!” I quickly replied, then actually thought aloud for a moment, “Well, not really…”

“Ooo, Lena…!” Jin teased me, grade-school style, “You better be careful hanging around big shot rich boys like that.” He chuckled, beginning to walk away from my office door, “Then again, it might just be good PR for Okamoto Group!”

I groaned dramatically and dropped my forehead onto the flat of my desk, “Ugh, leave me alone!”

“See you at the production status meeting later!”

I sighed for what felt like the millionth time this morning, suddenly feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. I reluctantly retrieved it from my mechanic suit pocket, eyes widening to the Instagram direct message notification on my screen.

Francesco De Luca… my ex, and the Lamborghini Chief Designer I’d met almost five years ago at a F1 race on England’s Knockhill track. It was back when I was on the Ferrari team, still working my way up the mechanics and design ranks and making a name for myself in the industry.

I hadn’t heard from him in two years, not since the day he’d broken up with me when I told him I was returning to Tokyo. He’d let anger take over him after I told him the news, and had brushed off our two and a half years together like it was nothing. Needless to say, I was heartbroken for months; but I eventually had to move on and took it as my sign to start over at home in Tokyo. No dating, no boyfriends, no nothing—just work. I was turned off and frightened by the idea of dating, in fact. Well, until Satoru had randomly dropped himself into my life, that was.

Why was he DMing me on Instagram? I opened the message.

Though I’d finally managed to get over him a year ago, his message still made my stomach sink. What. The. Fuck. What the hell was wrong with men?! Why did they always love to pop up, as soon as you moved on to someone new??!? There was no questioning it. He’d definitely heard the news online about me and Satoru. I wanted to curse him out—for this bullshit, and for everything he’d done to me. For never answering any of my calls, for abandoning me when I was so anxious about returning home, even though I was excited for the big, new position at my family’s company. For brushing me off and erasing me from his life like we hadn’t been together for nearly three years. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!!!

I didn’t even realize I hadn’t blocked him on my socials. I typed back my brief reply before hitting the block button, somehow managing to hold back all the fire and anger I was more than ready to hurl his way.

~ 

Now 12:01pm, I strode into the restaurant just a few blocks down from the Okamoto headquarters—a steakhouse named Gyushi that normally was buzzing with business professionals from the surrounding buildings at this time. I now wore a taupe blazer that had pronounced shoulder pads and accentuated my shape, and a matching miniskirt with black sheer tights underneath. My curls were fastened up in a high braided ponytail, and my small black stilettos lightly clacked against the black and white marble floor when I walked in. It was then I realized that the restaurant was completely empty. Shit—were they closed today? Then why was the door open? 

A shorter man in uniform approached me just then, “Ms. Okamoto?” 

“Yes.” 

“Welcome to Gyushi. Mr. Gojo is already here. Allow me to escort you to your table.” 

“Oh, thank you.” I nodded, curving up the corners of my lips in a polite smile. 

I looked around the western style steakhouse as I followed the man through the front and towards the back; I’d never seen it this empty before... Were they remodeling? We made our way through the spacious restaurant, and eventually I spotted the head of white hair at a plush booth in the center of the back area—an area of the place which I’d never seen, let alone eaten in. Normally I could only grab a seat at the bar in the front for lunch; and trying to book a reservation for dinner? Forget about it. 

The man in uniform bowed his head once we arrived at the booth, “A waiter will come by shortly to get your drink order, and anything else you’d like to start with. Please enjoy.” 

“Thank you.” I matched the man’s small bow, then turned my attention to Satoru who was already standing up, “Hey, you.” My smile grew when my eyes met his. I looked him over once, appreciating the tailored fit of his navy blue and thin white striped suit as I approached him. 

“Hey, Lena, you look great.” Satoru’s eyes traced over my body as well, smirking. He opened his arms, and I joined him in a tight hug, watching him bend down to plant his usual, quick peck on my cheek. Satoru kept his arms locked around my waist but backed up his head a bit to get a better look at me, “You doing okay?” His thumbs rubbed over the fabric at my lower back. 

“I mean, crazy morning but yeah, I’m managing.” I said a bit dramatically yet truthfully, smiling up at Satoru. 

Satoru grumbled low and playfully, eyes moving up from my lips to meet my gaze again, “Hm, I’d rather you were relaxing.” 

I giggled lightly, “It’s fine.” I made a bold move, for me, and stretched up to press a small kiss to Satoru’s cheek. 

Satoru’s eyes softened and he responded by bending down and pressing his lips to mine in a long kiss. He always seemed to one-up me when it came to sweet gestures—even in this romantic way, he was competitive and could never just let me win. 

We sat down in the booth after we pulled apart, and my eyes flickered to the menu before me on the table. I’d only ever seen the short list of lunch specials, not the full menu. 

“You been here before?” Satoru asked, picking up his menu opposite me and skimming through it. 

“Yeah, for lunch. Crazy, it’s usually packed to the brim around this time of day...” I trailed off, looking around the wide-open dining area, “I wonder why it’s empty.” 

Satoru gently placed his menu back down and met my gaze with his own, “The place is ours for the next hour.” He clarified, “I wanted to make sure we could talk privately without anyone butting in—especially with all the media buzz around us this morning.” He said so simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Oh...!” I said, eyes slightly widened in surprise. He reserved the entire steakhouse for us?? With only a few hours' notice?! I was just really starting to see the breadth of the Gojo family’s influence. I mean I’d been trying to get a dinner reservation here for the past two years with no luck! 

Satoru quirked a brow, curious to the expression on my face, “Is that alright?” 

I quickly nodded over and over, still a little shocked, “Oh, yes, of course!” Act cool, Lena. I settled back into the comfy leather booth, picking up my tall menu card to hide my blushing. My eyes scanned through the long list of starters and entrees with no prices. 

“You want anything to start?” Satoru asked and I slid my menu down, so my eyes peeked over the top. 

“Um, I don’t know, everything looks so good.” I finally placed my menu back down on the table when my cheeks no longer felt as warm, biting the inside of my lip. 

“I’m pretty hungry.” Satoru noted, “If I got the chilled grand plateau for two, would you share it with me?” 

My eyes spotted the appetizer on the menu; it was a chilled platter with lobster tails, grilled clams, shrimp cocktail and oysters on the half shell. I gulped at the sound of it all. Seafood was my favorite food, “Yeah, that looks delicious. I’d have some.” I said calmly, trying to hide my excitement. 

“What do you like to drink here?” Satoru continued to scan his menu, flipping it over to check out the cocktails. 

“Well, I usually don’t since I’ve only come for lunch and typically have to go back to work after, but the highball spritzer mocktail is yummy.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Just as Satoru spoke, a waitress with short black hair approached our booth. 

“Hi, I’m Mai. I’ll be your server for today.” Her face looked strangely familiar... Almost like Maki Zenin, the young F1 driver who’d shown quite some promise over the past year, “Can I start you with anything?” She turned to Satoru first. 

“We’ll start with the grand plateau, and two highball spritzers. Thank you.” 

The girl nodded once and started to move back towards the kitchen. 

Gojo turned his attention back to me, “So, how are you really doing, since this morning? Any updates?” 

“Uh, well, nothing too crazy since I muted the apps—just a few friends and people I work with texting, calling, and asking me about it.” I rubbed my hands together, then neatly interlocked my fingers on the table in front of me. My ex, too. I thought, but Satoru didn’t need to know all that. 

Satoru hummed, half-frowning, “I’m sorry this happened like this. I should’ve known better.” He shook his head to himself, “I guess it’d been so long since I’d dated, let alone publicly, I wasn’t even thinking about that.” 

“It’s ok—it's not like you’re the one who posted the pictures everywhere. When is the last time you dated?” I asked, curious. 

Satoru crossed his arms over his chest, thoughtfully, “Like, seriously tried to pursue someone? Maybe... three years ago?” 

“Wow, that is a long time.” My eyes widened to Satoru’s revelation. It was longer than me. If that was true, then I could definitely understand him forgetting about his obsessive fanbase and the nature of celebrity gossip in Tokyo. 

“It’s not like I haven’t done other things in the meantime, but yeah, the last time I seriously dated someone was years ago.” 

“Why’s that? And what do you mean by other things?” I asked, clueless. I picked up the glass of water closest to me and began to take a sip. 

Satoru shrugged, “Just no time, really. Or, maybe unconsciously I was too focused on work and didn’t want to make time for it. And by ‘other things’ I mean casual sex.” 

I nearly choked on my water but cleared my throat instead, taking a quick sip from my glass before setting it back down. Of course he was sexually active. Of course that was what he meant by ‘other things,’ “Oh... right.” I nodded. 

Satoru watched me with intrigue, the corners of his mouth just barely curving upwards, “What about you? When’s the last time you dated?” 

“Two years ago. It was before I moved back here.” I explained, playing with the stem of my water glass. 

Satoru cocked his head to one side, arms still crossed, “Relationship?” I nodded in response to his question. He swiftly asked another, “Did you love him?” 

I blinked a few times to the intimate nature of the question, a bit thrown off guard, “Uh, yeah. I don't think he did, though…” I said honestly, “Did you... love the last person you dated?” I looked back up at Satoru. 

He simply shook his head, “It was someone my parents wanted for me, so it didn’t work out.” 

I nodded, unable to help biting my lip at the silence that followed the last of Satoru’s words. I finally spoke up, remembering what I wanted to say, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” Satoru said, unfolding his thick arms and gently resting them on the table. 

“Why are you okay with dating me publicly, but not the other girls you dated in the past?” I wanted to know his reasoning. Why was he okay with being seen with me, and why was he initially incognizant of how people and the media would react? 

Satoru leaned over the table, extending his hand to me. In response, I reached forward to place my hand in his. He really was the touchy type—I wouldn’t be surprised if his top love language was physical touch. Well, nearly every man’s top love language was. Was Satoru touchy, or was I just unused to all of this? Some part of me had a feeling it was mostly the latter. We were dating, after all; the only difference was, he was used to more intimate touching, while I hadn’t done it in two years. 

Satoru smiled at me admiringly as he spoke, “Lena, you’re smart... beautiful... kind... and you care about your work, just as much as I care about my own. I’m okay with dating you publicly, because you’re the woman I want to be seen with. No offense to the others I’ve dated and been unsure about, and I know things are still fresh and new between us, but I know that much—that I haven’t met anyone like you before.” Satoru paused, “Sorry I didn’t say all of this before, but I don’t think I even consciously knew how I felt until I really thought about it this morning. It’s only been four days since we met, after all.” He grinned. 

“Yeah,” I exhaled, smile growing, “it feels like it’s been much longer.” I admitted, propping my free arm up on the table to rest my chin in my palm. I slid my hand up to cover my mouth and cheeks, already blushing again. 

“Glad I’m not alone.” Satoru mirrored my expression, blue eyes softening as he gazed over me. His fingers began to gently knead at mine, “You shouldn’t hide your face so much, you know.” He added, and his voice sounded completely different, like there was no one else in this restaurant but us. 

I allowed my hand that was covering my lips and cheeks to slip back down to the white tablecloth, bashfully revealing my face once more. Just then, or waitress returned with our drinks. We let go of each other’s hands, giving the girl room to place our mocktails on the table, “Two highball spritzers... And your appetizer will be out soon.” She nodded once and departed again. 

“Thank you.” I smiled at her, while Satoru still kept his eyes on me. I wondered what he was thinking about? From the look in his eyes, it wasn’t anything family friendly. I took a sip of my mocktail, and Satoru did the same. 

“This is pretty good.” He noted, looking down at the glass, “Almost tastes like soda. Oh—” He seemed to remember something, “there’s a publicist I want you to meet; she’s a social media expert, too. Name’s Nobara Kugisaki. We briefly chatted earlier, but it seems like the situation on your social accounts is something she can easily fix by deleting and limiting comments from people you aren’t following. She had some more recommendations, too. If you want, I could give her your info...” 

“Yeah, that’s... probably a good idea.” I fidgeted with my fingers for a moment, “That would be great. Thanks, Satoru.” 

“You’re the Style VP of one of the biggest luxury sports car companies in the country, let alone world—you should have a publicist. Geez, I can’t imagine all the work you’ve had to do on your own these past few years.” Satoru smiled, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, sifting through media opps on my own has taken a lot more time since I got my role, almost feels like a job on its own, sometimes.” 

“That’s because it is.” Satoru pulled out his phone and began to tap around before typing something, “I’m sending her your number. She should give you a call later today so you can connect on next steps.” 

“Thanks, Satoru, for doing all this...” I smiled over at him, and he looked up from his phone to wink at me. 

 “Of course, babe. It’s the least I can do.” He paused, continuing to type out a message before seemingly hitting send and locking his phone again, “Now, with that settled... We still on for our date this weekend?” Satoru grinned. 

I rolled my eyes playfully, “Oh my god, you and this date!” I smiled and shook my head, “Yes, we’re still on.” 

Satoru silently cheered to himself, then responded, “Anything you’re in the mood for?” 

“Well, I did just get this outdoor pizza oven at my place in Yamanashi... Wanna come over and test it out? Plus, I’d really like to look at my new Nakamura painting there some more...” I trailed off, alluding to the piece he’d bought me on our first date; even though its insane cost of 521 million yen was nothing to Satoru, it meant a lot to me. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much.” Satoru smiled sincerely, before taking another sip of his mocktail, “Would rather you were looking at me though.” He winked before taking another sip. 

I rolled my eyes, dropping my face into my hands dramatically, “You and these cheesy fucking lines... Stop it!” I laughed. 

~ 

Later that week, on Friday night to be specific, I made sure to take off work exactly at six so I could grab a few things from the grocery store before heading to grandpa’s place: apple cider, cinnamon sticks, and barrel-aged whisky—the three main components of his favorite fall time cocktail. After a day of reviewing the new Okamoto model’s safety checks with the legal team at work, I’d changed out of my usual business clothes and into a comfy, myrtle green, silk midi skirt and a slightly lighter mock neck sweater. 

When I arrived at grandpa’s, I pulled into the short driveway. Even with all of his wealth, not only as the past CEO of Okamoto group but as a retired F1 driver himself, grandpa was never one to live grandly. He enjoyed simplicity, saving money, fine-tuning his cars in the garage, and enjoying the retired life in his tight-knit neighborhood’s community. I parked my sky blue, 1968 Lamborghini Miura S and hopped out with my tote bag of cocktail supplies slung over my shoulder, fishing for my key to grandpa’s place as I shut the heavy car door behind me. 

“Grandpa, I’m home!” I called from the entryway when I opened his front door, quirking a brow upwards when I didn’t hear a reply, “Grandpa...?” Maybe he was in the garage? I walked down the hall and towards the kitchen, breathing a little sigh of relief when I heard the familiar metal clink of a tire rim coming from the room just behind it. I dropped my bags on the countertop and headed towards the stream of warm light pouring out from the open door to the garage. It was a big, open space—perhaps larger than the rest of the house combined. It was a ten-car garage with all the tools, gear, and vintage tech a car nerd could dream of. I spotted him in a small folding chair beside the front passenger tire, fastening a lug nut onto it. I furrowed my brows in concern, “Grandpa...! You’re not supposed to be bending like that!” I put my hands on my hips, disapprovingly. 

“Hey, Lena-chan—perfect timing!” He stood from his seated and bent position next to the tire, a long, metal lug nut wrench in his hand, “Help your old man out, would you?” 

I pouted as I approached my grandfather, but hugged him tight, regardless, “Hi, grandpa. You should’ve waited for me to get here! The doctor told you not to strain your back, you know.” I reminded him, offering him an accusatory point before retrieving the wrench from his hand. He was a few inches shorter than me with short gray hair and a small beer belly, and he currently wore an old, slightly oily mechanic’s jumpsuit. I hiked my skirt up a little, and moved the chair away from the old, cherry-colored 1971 Okamoto H7 model as I didn’t need it. I knelt on one knee and tightly fastened the remaining lug nut before checking and tightening the ones on the other tires, “Did you fasten all of these by yourself??” 

“I’m fine, Lena-chan. Your grandpa’s not that old!” The man laughed heartily, and the way his deep dimples and wrinkles curved up into a full-face smile made my heart warm. No matter where I found myself, if I was away from home then I was always missing him. 

I pointed the long end of the wrench in my grandpa’s direction, “If you don’t take it easy, I’m gonna change the locks to your garage!” My pout grew. 

Grandpa raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay! I promise to take it easy. Now, more importantly, did you bring the goodies?” He clasped his hands together with a grin. 

“Mhm, all the ingredients for our special cider!” I nodded, putting the wrench back in its place on a nearby worktable. I wiped my hands off with a rag that rested on the corner of it. 

"Let’s get to it, then!” 

A little later, we sat on the couch in front of the western style fireplace with mugs of spiked apple cider in our hands. Remote in his free hand, Grandpa flipped through the various movie channels on the TV that was mounted up above the fire. He passed through various movie channels but paused when I rested my head on his shoulder, tired and already feeling the alcohol settle throughout my body. I realized that I hadn’t drank in a while, and that I was exhausted—even after a half-week of work, “Grandpa? Can I stay here for the night?” I nudged his shoulder with my cheek. 

Grandpa put the remote down on his lap and wrapped his arm around me, eyes currently fixed on an old western movie that played on the large screen before us, “Of course you can stay. It’s your home.” He stroked my hair with his hand, and I put my mug down on the coffee table before us to wrap my arms around him comfortably. 

Before I’d gone to boarding school for high school, Grandpa’s place had become a real home to me since I was a kid. I’d found myself in constant fights with my dad and stepfamily growing up, so much so that grandpa decided to take me in. Grandpa had been there when my nightmares were at their worst, too, always there to scoop me up into his arms and soothe me back to sleep after the painful memories of losing my mom and of my father’s fits of anger tormented me. Grandpa was the closest thing I had to a dad. In fact, after legally being my guardian for some time, teaching me everything he knew, and caring for me when no one else would, he truly was. 

Grandpa put his mug down on the table next to mine and picked up the remote again, continuing to scroll through the channels until he passed a local celebrity news channel—the image of Satoru and I kissing plastered all over the big screen. I jumped upright and made a noise of surprise at the image on the local channel, jaw dropping to the sight of a celebrity news reporter talking about the situation. 

“-the steamy picture seems to have been taken in front of the Tokyo Bay Yacht Club, and features Okamoto Group Chief Designer and VP of Style, Lena Okamoto, mid-kiss with Satoru Gojo. Gojo fans all over the internet have buzzing about these photos, primarily wondering if this is Tokyo's most eligible bachelor’s new girlfriend. What do you think? Tweet us your thoughts at—” 

“Agh!!” I reached over and clicked the channel button in grandpa’s hand, quickly flipping it to some variety TV show on the one following. 

I looked over at grandpa, then threw my face into my hands, embarrassed. Even without looking, I could feel his direct eyes on me. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke up, “You think I haven’t heard about you and the Gojo kid?” He asked simply. 

I sat up again, dropping my hands to my lap and returning my gaze to grandpa, “You... you know about this?” 

“It’s all everyone’s been talking to me about.” Grandpa scoffed out a quick laugh, “You wouldn’t believe the people who’ve called to ask me about that in the past few days...” He trailed off. 

“People have been asking you about it??” I suddenly felt anxious. 

“Just some old connections, and friends from Okamoto Group.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “You think ‘cause I’m old I don’t keep up with the latest news? You two are quite the talk of the city right now.” 

I groaned and leaned back into the sofa, allowing my head to roll back on it so that I was looking up at the ceiling, “This is crazy...!” 

“I was just wondering when you were going to tell me about this. You used to always talk to me about your boyfriends and such.” He half-frowned, seemingly disappointed about being left out of the loop—except I’d never intended him to be. Things were just too new with Satoru! 

I straightened up once more, looking at grandpa, “That’s because he’s not even my boyfriend! We’ve only been on one date! Of course, I would’ve told you if it was serious.” 

Grandpa retrieved his mug from the table, “Well, you already know what I have to say about it. I don’t care who the guy is; if he hurts you, then I have to kill him.” He simply shrugged before taking a long swig of spiked cider. 

I rolled my eyes and laughed once, “Oh my god, grandpa... Please be serious.” 

“What do you mean? I’m completely serious.” Grandpa blinked, having said the words without emotion. 

Grandpa simply stared at me, and I, back at him. Then, we abruptly busted out laughing. 

He placed his hand on my shoulder as our laughing died down, “But Lena-chan, I know how you can get about these sorts of things. I know you’re an introverted person, and this situation with the Gojo kid is probably a shock for you, but you can’t let these people get to you. People will always want something or someone to gossip about. It’s up to you to live your life confidently without any reservations. The best thing you can do in these kinds of situations, situations where it seems like everyone has something to say, is to be successful—to be your very best self.” 

I nodded to grandpa’s words, staring aimlessly into the space before me after he finished talking to think for a moment. Then I turned back to him, “But what about the board? What if all this news impacts my job?” 

“Something this small?” Grandpa crossed his arms again and shook his head, “It won’t. If anything, all this talk about you is good for the business. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw a spike in vehicle sales soon. Trust me, people much higher in leadership have given our family company far worse press.” 

I knew exactly who he was talking about. Toji. Though Toji was undefeated in his business endeavors whenever he actually was working, his issues were the situations he found himself in after working hours, “That’s true.” I agreed, reaching over to retrieve my cup once more to take a sip. 

“So, when am I going to meet Satoru Gojo?” 

“Grandpa!” 

“What?? I just want to give him a stern talking-to.” 

I shook my head, laughing softly, “Don’t try to scare him off yet, we’ve only had one date! I’ll bring him over and introduce him only when we’re serious... If things become serious, that is.” 

“If he can’t take the heat then he’s no good for you anyways.” Grandpa shrugged, “But seriously, Lena-chan, as long as he treats you like the princess you are, then he’s alright with me.” He nodded with finality, then cleared his throat, “But if he hurts you, I’ll kill him.” 

“Grandpa!” I guffawed. 

~ 

 The following night I found myself diligently organizing pizza ingredients into small bowls on my long kitchen island, my homemade pizza dough already portioned out, proofed, and stretched over two personal sized pizza pans for Satoru and me. I kept the toppings fairly simple: marinara, fresh mozzarella, basil, tomatoes, prosciutto, chicken, caramelized onions, and grated parmesan. I’d popped a bottle of dry red sangiovese for myself, and even managed to find a sweet, non-alcoholic red for Satoru from a specialty bar in Yamanashi.

I’d checked the entire house at least four times by now, making sure that there were a few scented candles lit around the wide living room and kitchen area, and that the old record player was lowly buzzing and crackling with jazz music from my Italian grandma’s favorite—the Live John Coltrane Newport ’63 album. Everything was in its place, or, as much as it could be, seeing as the renovations on the back deck were still a work in progress. I took a long sip of sangiovese to calm my nerves, swirling the remaining liquid around in my wine glass after and biting my bottom lip. I couldn’t help but be a bit nervous. I hadn’t organized a date in years, let alone invited a man to my place in Yamanashi before. Maybe, in that way, I was a lot like Satoru when it came to his favorite boat. But it was a cozy date at my house, and my period had ended a few days ago, now, so… What if we ended up having se—

The sound of the doorbell jolted me from my thoughts, and I put my glass down on the countertop before making my way toward the front entrance in a maxi, light sepia lounge dress and long taupe cardigan that were both soft to the touch. I smoothed out the material one last time before opening the door with a smile, “Hi.”

“Hey, Lena.” Satoru leaned coolly against the entryway with his arm propped up above him, wearing a brown, knitted crewneck sweater with a simple white t-shirt underneath, and loose-fitting, dark brown, and pleated corduroy trousers with black tabi boots. He had a huge and carefully arranged bouquet of white orchids in his hand that he extended to me, “These are for you. They say orchids are good for new homes, and I thought that since you’re renovating the place…”

“Oh my god, thank you, Satoru! I love white flowers.” My smile grew as he passed me the bouquet and I took a deep inhale, “Come in!”

I embraced Satoru in a hug after he slipped off his boots in the genkan area by the door, stretching up on my tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He hugged me and pecked my cheek back in return, pausing to appreciate the fabric of my lounge dress after doing so, “Oh, this is nice… I like it.” Satoru rubbed up and down my back and sides with an intrigued hum and I giggled to his exploring hands.

“Thank you. You look handsome, too.” I smiled sweetly, and we finally broke apart, “You want a little tour before we make pizzas?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, let me put these in some water first.” I walked back toward the kitchen, fetching the pair of green stem trimmers out of a drawer in the kitchen island, and a large ceramic vase from a cabinet underneath the sink. I set all of the supplies on the table and turned back to Satoru to find him sitting down on one of the highchairs on the opposite side of island counter, “Want something to drink? There’s…” I picked up the unopened specialty bottle I’d gotten for Satoru to jog my memory, “a non-alc, sweet red wine, if you wanna try some.”

“Thanks, babe, you didn’t have to get a special bottle for me. But yeah, I’d love some.”

“I’m part Italian, you know. My mom and grandma would turn in their graves if I served you pizza without any wine.” I opened the twist cap and poured out a small serving into the bulbous, wide rimmed glass that matched mine, sliding it across the granite counter for Satoru to try, “Let me know what you think.”

Satoru poked his nose into the opening of the glass to take a light sniff, then took a small sip and paused before quickly downing the rest of the bit of liquid. He set the glass back down, “Damn, that’s good… Tastes like juice!”

“I’m glad you like it.” I smiled, before pouring him a more generous serving. I moved on to the orchids after, filling the vase with a little water then beginning to trim each of the thick ends of the flowers’ stems.

“How was your day so far?” Satoru asked before taking another sip of his drink.

“Pretty good, just was getting the house ready for this.” I clipped the end of a stem at the end of my words.

“All day?” Satoru rose a brow.

“Mhm, there’s been a lot of construction here over the past few months, so there was a lot of dust and stuff to clean up.”

“You don’t have to do all that for me.” Satoru said with a slightly contradicting, pleased smirk.

“Satoru, I’m not bringing you or anyone into a dirty house—which was why I was so caught off guard by the painting you sent me earlier this week. I mean, thankfully my study’s been in good condition, but still…” I shook my head, thinking of the crazy price point on that first date gift yet again, “But I love it, so thank you.” I said the last part with an endearing tone.

“You’re very welcome, Lena.” Satoru matched my tone but with a much lower voice.

“What about you? How was your day?” I continued snapping away at the ends of the flowers, curling my mouth a bit as I struggled with one particular stem that felt hard as steel.

“It was good, did a little work then—” Satoru was cut off when I finally trimmed the end of one of the orchids; the piece of stem immediately went flying in the air and hit him square in the forehead, “Ow.”

Though it had been a complete accident, I couldn’t help the deep, honest laugh that followed when I saw the small red mark on Satoru’s head. I even pointed in his direction as I guffawed.

Satoru stood to his feet, beginning to grin, “Oh you think that’s funny?” He started to approach me, walking around the kitchen island, “You think that’s funny, Lena?” Satoru easily grabbed and lifted me up, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck to gently nibble at my skin there, “Attacking people with flower stems??”

“No…!” I giggled out with a big smile, nearly out of breath from laughing so much, “I didn’t mean to…!” I playfully fought back, wriggling around in Satoru’s grasp.

“You’ll pay for that!” Satoru lifted my hips up so that I sat on the counter closest to the wall, continuing to nibble at my neck and earlobe as he prodded and tickled me with his fingers.

I jerked around in Satoru’s hands, “Stop…! Haha, I can’t breathe!” I laughed out, but stopped when I noticed that Satoru had suddenly froze, his hands resting on my butt, “What’s—” I started, but Satoru jumped in.

Satoru backed his head up enough to look me in my eyes, “You’re not wearing any underwear…” It was definitely a statement, but Satoru had said the words more like a question. Then it dawned on me: The fabric of my lounge dress was thin; he could probably easily feel my bare skin just beneath it…

My entire face burned bright red to Satoru’s words. I wasn’t. But who could blame me? I’d been at the house all day and had honestly forgotten!

Satoru pressed his forehead to mine, voice turning deep and velvety, “You always walk around like that…?”

“N-No!” I stuttered out, embarrassed, yet intoxicated by the way Satoru spoke.

“Or is it just for me?” Satoru cooed shameless and confidently, lips now ghosting over my ear. It was like he knew he was driving me crazy. He began to kiss my neck just below, gently licking and sucking there as soft moans fled my sighing mouth.

Somehow, against my own physical desires, I managed to tap Satoru’s shoulder for him to stop, “T-Tour…! The tour!” I gasped out. I spoke again when I caught my breath, “Let me show you the house.” I tucked my curls behind my ear, still blushing profusely. I shifted my legs as well, feeling a familiar, wetness between them when I moved.

Satoru broke away, now looking into my eyes with his piercing blue, and very visibly turned on as his breathing had grown slightly deeper, “Sure. Yeah, let’s see the place.” He nodded a bit mindlessly, still sort of regaining his composure.

I hopped off the counter and took Satoru’s hand, leading him to the next room, “Come with me.” I smirked, looking over my shoulder at him.

About an hour or so later, Satoru and I had ended the house tour in my study; with me admiring the Nakamura painting with my glass of wine in hand, and Satoru at my desk checking out my car design sketch book. We’d paused for a quick pizza break as well, and while I’d decided on marinara, mozzarella, prosciutto, parmesan and basil for my toppings, Satoru had fished the barbeque sauce out of my fridge to create a barbecue chicken pizza with mozzarella and caramelized onions on top—a choice I’d initially refused to try at first, especially as a pizza purist, but ended up taking a bite of anyways. The new pizza oven on the back patio must’ve had magic in it, because every pizza that that we put in it came out absolutely delicious.

“These are fucking amazing.” Satoru noted, before flipping a page in my sketchbook, “How the hell do you even think up this kinda stuff?” He looked up from the desk at me.

I shrugged, then took another sip of sangiovese.

Satoru put down the sketch pad, then stood up to approach a glass-lined bookcase filled with black binders, each labeled with different car model names. They weren’t all Okamoto cars, either. There were a number of Porsche, Lamborghini, Ferrari, Maserati, Mercedes, BMW, Corvette, Bugatti, Toyota, and Alfa Romeo ones as well, and they all totaled to about 75 binders, “What’s all this?” Satoru asked, picking up the 2022 Ferrari F8 Tributa binder with white lining and flipping through it.

“Those are some of my favorite car models, organized by make and in order by my personal most to least favorites. Each binder has full engine and body mechanics mockups, notes, and news clippings; and the black binders with white lining are ones I’ve worked on. I strode a little close to Satoru, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the laminated pages. A few of the pages were even scrapbook-style, featuring cute mementos like article clippings from F1 races and ‘eureka’ moment-esque physics equations my team and I had scribbled down on pub napkins after hours. After all the pages with engine and car images, the last page in this binder featured a polaroid picture of me and my old mechanics production team at Ferrari, signed with everyone’s names and farewell messages written all over the page in Italian. In the black and white image, we were all beside the Autodromo Nazionale Monza track, and the team had snapped a picture of us all mid-laugh as they tossed me into the air above them.

Satoru chuckled at the sight of the picture of me laughing in my greasy racing mechanic suit, then turned to me with an admiring smile, “Lena, you’re amazing… You put all of these binders together yourself?”

I nodded shyly, as this sort of car model scrapbooking had become a personal passion and nerdy obsession of mine. Though I’d only started making the binders ten years ago, my goal was at least to have 500 of them by the time I was old and retired. I wanted enough black binders to fill an entire wall—not just a bookcase.

Satoru closed the binder and put it back, slowly turning to fully face me. His affectionate smile remained on his lips, and he reached out to gently retrieve the glass of wine in my hand before safely placing it on the desk beside us. He then pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms before raising one of his hands to stroke my cheek. I rested my hands on Satoru’s white t-shirt, his brown sweater now long tossed aside to the corner of the room as he’d accidentally gotten some barbecue sauce on it earlier. I felt his chest muscles ripple beneath his shirt when he slid his hand down my back, eyes peering directly down into mine as his fingers brushed over my cheek.

Satoru looked at me in a way that was so sweet, calm, and unflinching, making me realize I didn’t believe I’d ever been looked at so intimately in my life. And he was so handsome, with his messily styled yet neatly trimmed white locks of hair, piercing azure gaze, toned body, spotless skin, and chiseled jaw. He opened his mouth to speak, “You’re the smartest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

I tilted my head backwards to chuckle, “Oh, stop.” I was flattered but shook my head in disbelief.

“No, seriously, Lena…” Satoru tilted my had back down so that I was looking up at him once more, “I’ve never met a woman as passionate about something as you are. That passion for something you love… It looks so beautiful on you.” Satoru stroked his thumb over my cheek, and I felt my face redden at his words. They were the kind that pulled on my heartstrings.

I stretched up a little more, closing the space between us more as I closed my eyes, and Satoru dipped his head down to press his lips to mine, sharply inhaling through his nose as he immediately deepened our kiss into a wildly passionate one. I reciprocated his energy, beginning to feel just as impatient. Even though it was only our second official date, I felt I’d ignored my desires to touch and be touched by Satoru so many times that I’d lost count.

I wrapped my arms around Satoru’s neck, pulling him into me even further. Our kiss turned far more heated when Satoru slid his tongue into my mouth, both of his hands now slipping up and down the curves of my lightly covered waist. The fabric shifted up under his touch, and the combination of his hand movements with his kissing started to make my head spin. I took the opportunity to push my hands up underneath his shirt, appreciating the solid muscles of his chest and abdomen.

Satoru huffed out a short chuckle between open-mouthed kisses, tongue swirling around mine, “That’s not fair…” He teased lowly, sliding the hands that had been on my waist down to my ass before tightly squeezing my cheeks there.

I moaned into his mouth and felt desire pool in my abdomen. I wanted to be out of this dress already. It was too damn long and warm. Satoru planted kisses down my face to my chin, neck, then finally my shoulder, prodding his hot tongue over the skin there every so often. I had the feeling he was starting to learn that I really liked being kissed there. Maybe it was the way light moans squeezed their way up and out my throat every time his mouth was there.

With Satoru’s squeezing hands and skilled lips moving all over me, I began to pant to the lust that was taking over me. Somehow, I mustered up the strength to tell him for the first time what I really wanted, “Satoru, c-can we… move to my bedroom?”

“Baby, you can have whatever you want.” Satoru abruptly reached down to grab the backs of my thighs, pulling me up into his arms. I made a sound of surprise but smirked, quickly wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders to regain some balance. Satoru easily walked us out of my study, down the hall, and into my bedroom, kissing me all the while. And instead of tossing me onto the bed and ripping his clothes off like I was typically used to, Satoru sat me down on the bed, sitting right beside me and joining our lips once more before tipping us back onto the bed.

Satoru hovered into the space above me, holding his weight in his forearms on either side of my head as he kissed me hungrily. He broke away after a moment, resting back on his knees in the space before me on the bed so that he could watch my every movement. His hands found my bare ankles and he raised them just a bit, slowly opening up my legs so that the fabric of my lounge dress slid up my smooth thighs, “So pretty…” Satoru’s eyes and attention then fully fixed themselves on the space between my legs, licking his lips and only looking back up into my eyes to ask me something, “Can I touch you…?” He asked, voice turning deep and sultry as he slid one of his hands up my inner thigh.

“Yes, please.” I begged in a small voice with a quick nod.

Gojo’s left hand continued to slowly slip up my inner thigh until he finally reached my pussy, long fingers finding the small nub of flesh before rubbing with an intensity I wasn’t expecting. I jerked on the bed a little, brows pushing together with a small wince. But Satoru immediately adjusted his pressure, easing up into small, gentle circles around my clit. My body quickly eased in response, and I sighed, beginning to feel the pleasure from his movements.

“You’re really sensitive, huh, Lena?” Satoru said lowly, voice pure velvet, “And wet…” He noted, settling himself down on the bed at my left side. He rested on his side as he rubbed me, watching my every expression and movement as I laid on my back. I looked down at his thick, toned arm between my legs, fingers rubbing, circling, and gently pinching my clit in a practiced sort-of-way that made my breath catch in my throat.

“Look at me, baby.” Satoru asked and I immediately complied, turning my head to look at him beside me, “How long have you been this wet? There’s no way you’re this drenched after a few minutes of kissing...” Satoru paused in his circling to retrieve his and from between my legs, showing me his wet fingers in the dim light of my bedroom, “See? Look…” He turned his hand around and slowly parted his index and middle fingers, a lewd string of my juices appearing and on full display.

I blushed and turned my eyes back to Satoru’s face, nearly whimpering my answer I was so turned on, “Since… you kissed me on the counter…” I panted out, honestly.

“Oh, beautiful… That was over an hour ago.” Satoru returned his hand to the spot between my legs, continuing to rub me gently, just how I liked, “You’ve wanted to be touched for that long?”

I nodded shyly.

“Say it.” Satoru’s attention lowered to my neck, and he slid my long curls away to kiss it. I moaned at the combination of his lips and fingers on my body.

“I’ve wanted you to touch me for so long…!” I nearly cried out, still only speaking just above a whisper.

“Fuck, Lena…” Satoru cursed, burying his face into the pillow beside my head, before turning to speak again, “I’m trying my fucking hardest to take things slow with you…” He pressed his lips to my ear to say the next part, “But every part of me craves you.” Satoru’s fingers continued to rub gentle circles around my clit and I moaned, rocking my hips up into his hand. He chuckled to this, teasingly pulling his hand back to leave me wanting. His hand slid up my thigh instead, pushing up the fabric even further, “Let’s get this off.”

I aided Satoru in removing my lounge dress, lifting my hips and pulling the fabric up and over my head. I do my best to push my long black curls away from my face that had been frazzled by taking off my clothes, only then realizing I was completely bare as the dress had a built-in bra. I watched Satoru slowly look my entire body over, before he mouthed the word ‘fuck.’

I suddenly felt a bit shy, as I was the only one naked while Satoru was still fully clothed, “Um, what about you?” I asked, looking up at him.

Satoru stroked my cheek, then allowed his hand to slide down my neck and chest, “Patience, Lena…” He cooed and leaned in to kiss my lips, down my neck, and to my chest—already grabbing handfuls of my breasts and taking turns licking and sucking each of my nipples.

“Mmh…!” I moaned abruptly to the new sensation, mind starting to spin from all the attention Satoru was paying to my body.

“God, you’re fucking perfect…” Satoru paused to look me up and down again, then his gaze lifted and directly met mine, “You got any toys here, babe?” He continued to hold my chest, thumbs circling over my hardened nipples.

I blinked to the question. A man had never asked me that before, “Uh, yeah. Just one… Why?”

Satoru immediately slipped off the bed and stood up, “Where?”

“Um, bottom drawer.” I tilted my head in the direction of the bedside dresser to my right, swallowing a bit nervously as I was unsure of what Satoru would do next.

Satoru dropped into a squat and opened the drawer, retrieving the only item that was in it—a clit sucking and stimulating device. He grinned when he grabbed the handle and brandished it at me, “You keep it this close, huh?”

I shrugged silently, cheeks still red.

Satoru returned to his spot right next to me on the bed, lying on his side once more before offering me the toy, “Show me how you do it.” He smirked.

I took the toy’s handle into my hand, then glanced up to meet Satoru’s eyes, “By myself?” I questioned, “But I want you to touch me…” I batted my eyelashes up at him, pleading.

“We have all night for that.” He stroked my cheek, brushing a curl away from my face, “Don’t worry, beautiful, I’ll give you everything you want.”

I held the white button on the toy with my index and it softly buzzed to life. I turned its head downwards, closing my eyes as I placed the small silicone opening on my clit. I sighed in relief from the stimulation—though it wasn’t exactly what I wanted in this moment, it was something. I pressed the button again, increasing the toy’s vibration just slightly.

Though I had my eyes closed, I was sure that Satoru was watching me intently. His lips pressed to my ear and his tongue lapped over the shell of it, lewdly dipping in before sucking my earlobe, “Tell me what you’re thinking about, baby.” He breathed out, and his low voice made me twitch with excitement.

I propped my legs up on the bed, giving myself and the toy more access to my pussy. I furrowed my brows, mind going foggy at the pleasure I was receiving, “I don’t know…” I trailed off; though the last time I’d touched myself yesterday morning, it was the thought of Satoru’s hands that had sent me over the edge. He didn’t need to know that.

“Yes, you do.” Satoru nearly growled into my ear, “What, are you embarrassed? You can tell me…” He kissed just under my ear, then hotly lapped and sucked the skin at the crook of my neck. At this point, he was definitely going to leave a mark there.

I swallowed down the saliva that was pooling in my mouth, “Y-Your hands.” I admitted, blinking my eyes open to gaze at Satoru.

“Oh, these?” Satoru rose his brows and sat up so he could rub his hands over my legs and up my abdomen, all the way to my chest, “What about them?” He repeated his hand motions again, slowly stroking from my legs up to my breasts, “What do you think about them doing to you?”

I could feel my heart beat thickly in my chest. I bit my lip and remained silent, not really wanting to tell him about my licentious thoughts and desires. I was beginning to get lost in pleasure from the toy’s stimulation, anyhow.

Satoru paused in his rubbing and awaited my answer, then realized I wasn’t going to speak. In response, he swiftly reached down to retrieve the toy from between my legs and out of my grasp, “Now, that’s not fair,” Satoru started, half-frowning but only teasingly, “I’m part of your fantasies, but don’t even get to know how?”

I groaned out a whimper and shifted my hips on the bed, now that the source of my pleasure was gone. I pouted, already giving in, “Fine…!” I whined, speaking in a small voice, “I think about your hands… wrapping around my neck, and choking me.” I admitted and tucked my arms at my sides, unsure of what to do with them.

Satoru looked amused, like he wasn’t expecting me to say that. A wicked grin spread across his face, “Shit, babe. I thought you were gonna say something sweet like me holding you, or something…” He leaned close to me, gently placing his free hand around my neck. It was big and warm, and I could feel his thumb and index just barely press into the sides of it, “You’ve got a dirty mind, don’t you, Lena?” Satoru sighed out a single laugh, then returned the toy to the spot between my legs, causing me to jump a little when the silicone opening directly collided with my clit.

“Ah!” A moan fled from my lips, and my brows pushed together in a straight line when Satoru simultaneously pressed a little harder on the sides of my neck with his fingers. I felt wildly turned on all of a sudden; if this continued on, it wouldn’t be long before I came.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive. This is only the second setting on this thing…” Satoru eyed the toy in his hand curiously, then tapped the button, slightly increasing its vibration on the next setting.

My hips jerked upwards, and I began to moan repeatedly, feeling the pleasure start to radiate all over my body, “Satoru…” I warned, “M’gonna cum…!”

“Hm, enough of this.” Satoru pulled the toy away from between my legs and clicked around on the buttons until finally turning it off. He tossed it on the other end of the bed somewhere and let go of my neck as well.

“No!” I softly cried out, “Please…” I begged, upset at having been denied my orgasm.

“Please what?” Satoru asked for clarification, far calmer and more collected than I was presently.

“Please let me cum!” I said desperately, my pleading eyes looking up at Satoru who was hovering over me.

“I’ll let you cum as many times as you want, beautiful…” Satoru kissed between my breasts, slowly pecking his way down my abdomen, “You just have to be patient.” He said in between kisses, “I promise you’ll love it. Now, can I taste you?” Satoru asked, eyes staring up at mine as he moved to trail kisses up the inside of my thigh. He lowered himself flat on the bed before me, thick arms already propping my bent legs over his shoulders.

“Please!”

“Mm… Good girl. Begging so nicely…” Those two words made my head spin. Satoru finally descended his lips to between my legs, starting with a long lick up the glistening folds of my pussy—his eyes on me the entire time. I shuddered and gasped to his licking, my right hand moving to grip the white locks of hair at the back of his head. He paused to speak briefly, gently rubbing my clit with the pads of his fingers while he talked, “You taste so good, Lena. Knew this pussy would be perfect.”

I moaned when his mouth returned to my pussy, especially when he continued on to gently suck and tug on my labia with his lips. The slurping noises he made as he shamelessly ate me out were driving me mad, and my hips jerked around to all the strong sensations and pleasure he was giving me. I settled down a bit when Satoru returned to focusing and licking up, down, and around my pussy lips and clit; a pathetic and desperate moan fleeing my panting mouth when he found a particularly pleasing spot right next to my clit—my favorite spot… How the hell had he found that so fast?? Satoru’s gaze lifted back up to my face at my reaction, and he continued to lick, flick, and prod his tongue there at a steady pace.

I watched as Satoru devoured me and gripped his hair tighter at the sudden uptick in pleasure I was experiencing. I nodded my head quickly, “Yes! Ahh, right, there…!” My legs bent even tighter over Satoru’s shoulders, pulling him close to me while rocking my hips up into his mouth.

Satoru didn’t respond with words, but I watched the corners of his mouth curve up into a smirk as he licked me, “Mhm…” He hummed, picking up the pace even more and shifting one of his arms to press his middle finger to my wet entrance. Satoru slowly pushed his finger into my pussy, working the long digit in and out of me while he continued to lick my clit.

I didn’t need to warn him this time. The loud desperation on my face and in my helpless moans were enough to signal to Satoru that I was going to cum, and hard, at that. But I cried his name, regardless, “Satoru!” My mind went blank just after, and the noise that escaped my throat was hardly human. I grunted and clenched hard around Satoru’s finger and my eyes briefly rolled back, hips jerking and spasming with every wave of the intense orgasm that took over me. Though Satoru didn’t back away and held my hips down with his arm, licking me through every second of my climax.

I was left a panting mess beneath him when he was finished with me, my legs shaking and trembling when his mouth and hand parted with my pussy. I looked up to catch my wetness all over Satoru’s lips and chin, nearly dripping down to his t-shirt from the abundance of it. He wiped his chin and grinned. I needed to be close to him again. I was grateful when he lowered himself down over me, his lips taking mine in a deep, lewd kiss. I tasted myself on his tongue and hummed into his mouth, slowly coming down from my mind-altering orgasm.

“Better?” Satoru asked between kisses, smirking.

I quickly nodded over and over, “Yeah…” I sighed, still a little out of breath, “Much better.” The toy was nothing in comparison to Satoru’s mouth.

“See? You just gotta trust me… You’re so cute.” Satoru grinned, showering me in light kisses.

“Satoru?”

“Yes, babe?”

“Do you have a condom?”

Satoru looked surprised by my words, yet again, and quirked a brow upwards, his smile just slightly growing, “Yeah, I always keep one in my wallet. Why do you ask?” He feigned cluelessness, just trying to get me to utter my desires aloud once more.

“I want you.” I said in a soft voice, trailing my hand down his chest and to his abdomen, “I want you to feel good, too.”

“What do you want of me? Be specific, Lena… Communication is important.” He cooed deeply into my ear, his tone flirty and enticing.

“I… I want your dick inside of me…!” My face reddened bashfully as I admitted what I wanted.

Satoru chuckled and sat back for a moment, amused, “You just came and already want more, beautiful? I mean it’s fine by me, but, just curious… How many rounds do you typically like?”

I blinked a few times, still dazed, “I don’t know, I haven’t had sex in a few years.”

Satoru looked the most shocked I’d ever seen him, eyes blown wide and jaw practically on the floor, “A few years??!?! How long is a few years??!!”

“Like, two?”

“Shit, Lena. How the hell do you manage that?” Satoru asked the clearly rhetorical question just above a whisper, shaking his head to himself and already reaching for his wallet in the back of his trousers. He opened one of the pockets and retrieved a large foil packet before passing it to me, “Hold that for me, please.”

Satoru stood to his feet beside the bed, quickly making work of his shirt by pulling it over his head, then undoing his belt before sliding it, his pants, and his underwear down and off his legs in one go. Now freed from the confines of his pants, Satoru’s dick sprang to life, and nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing the size of it—not even having already seen his bulge a few times now. He was massive. At least 24cm or 9.5in long, girthy, cut, and completely shaved other than the light trail of white hair below his navel. I blinked, wide-eyed and mouth agape as he rejoined me on the bed, slipping the condom from my seemingly frozen fingers, I was so still with shock, “Uhh… wow, um… You’re huge.”

Satoru exhaled a short chuckle and leaned close to me while he broke open the packet, pecking my lips before speaking, “Don’t worry babe, it’ll fit.” He assured me. But would it, really?! I couldn’t help but wonder, “It’ll be a tight fit, but it will, and I’ll make you feel amazing. You just have to trust me, okay?” Satoru glanced down to roll the condom down the thick length of his dick, slowly spitting down onto himself to make it extra slick. He leaned in again, holding his weight on one arm beside my waist, and using his other hand to guide his dick to my pussy. I felt him, impossibly thick and heavy, press and prod against my entrance, “You trust me, babe?” Satoru spoke lowly into my ear, tone husky and heavy with lust.

“Yes…” I sighed lightly, beginning to feel slightly nervous. Satoru hadn’t given me a reason not to trust him.

“Then relax for me.” Satoru’s voice nearly made me dizzy, it was so hot. My pelvic floor muscles clenched in response. I took a deep breath, trying to release the tension in my body. Just as I relaxed some, I felt Satoru push in a little. I released a high-pitched moan in response and Satoru mumbled praises into my ear, “That’s good, Lena, now relax your hips for me…” He talked me through every inch of him, and now that the tip was in, his hand that had guided his dick slid around my side to sweetly rub and knead my hip, “Come on, baby, open up for me.” Satoru murmured the words into my ear, nearly whispering.

“Oh, fuck… You’re too fucking big…” I whined at Satoru’s size, doing my best to relax though his dick was stretching me unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It didn’t help that I’d been out of practice for two years. The next time I exhaled, his length pushed in some more, and I reflexively pulsed around his dick, a groan falling from my lips.

“Yes.” Satoru praised, “That’s it—you’re doing so well, baby.” He slowly pushed into me even more and I moaned again, unable to help but briefly clench around him again. Satoru buried his face in the pillow beside me with a long groan, “Fuck… You feel fucking insane, Lena…” His lips returned to my ear, tone absolutely wanton, “You know you keep squeezing me like crazy? You want me that much? Let me give you what you need then, beautiful.” His dirty talk was going to drive me insane.

Satoru slowly thrusted in a little more, and I sighed in relief, assuming that was the last bit of him.

“Just a little bit more, okay?”

“M-More?!” I gasped, in disbelief. I rolled my head back on the pillow and moaned helplessly to the surprising yet pleasant fullness in my abdomen. Though Satoru was huge, he’d gone so slow enough that I’d hardly felt any discomfort. He hotly licked up the length of my exposed neck before joining our mouths in a messy kiss. He pushed the rest of the way in, and we broke our kiss with moans as we were finally skin to skin. I’d never been stretched and filled to capacity like this—it was making my mind fuzzy.

Satoru moved his hand from my hip to my knee, lifting the underside of it to prop over his shoulder. My hips rose slightly from this new position, and I felt Satoru’s dick press and nudge against my cervix because of it. I whimpered and shuddered to this, and Satoru backed up enough to gaze gown at me, eyes examining my expression in a protective sort-of-way, “You okay?”

“Yes,” I started, brows knit tightly, “just, slow, please…” I moaned lightly and allowed my eyes to flutter shut for a moment, “Shit, you’re deep.”

Satoru rolled his hips against mine and I opened my eyes again, a smirk spread across his face, “Yeah, think I’m the deepest I can go.” He teased cockily, feeling his tip press against my cervix, “But I told you it would fit, didn’t I?”

“Shut up.” I huffed out, managing a quick laugh. Satoru joined in with a chuckle of his own, and I immediately felt the tension and anxiety release from my body.

Satoru rested his forehead against mine, “Only if you make me, babe.” He challenged, retreating his hips before pumping into me again. I gasped to the feeling, unable to help my loud moaning and groaning with every one of his thrusts that followed. Though slow in speed, they had a good amount of force behind them, and the delicious friction of Satoru slipping his cock almost completely out before fully pumping back into me was starting to make a familiar, hot pressure build in my abdomen. Satoru continued to tease with his dirty talk as he peered down at me, “I think I have a better chance of making you scream my name. What do you think?”

“Ah—” I made a quick sound of surprise when Satoru mixed in a few shallow thrusts with his long ones, and my back arched on the bed, his dick perfectly prodding against the bundle of nerves deep inside of me, “Satoru…!” I cried, reaching down with one hand to grasp and attempt to pull his hips into mine.

“Yes, Lena?” Satoru said coolly with a knowing smile. He seemed so perfectly calm and in control, compared to my messy, lust-filled mind.

“Please!” I gripped and pulled his hip in tighter.

“Please what? Remember what I said earlier, about communication?” Satoru continued to stroke into me over and over as he spoke; I was honestly beginning to lose my mind.

“Communication is important…” I somehow managed with a cry, though it felt like my brain was melting every time Satoru hit my spot.

“That’s right. Now, what would you like me to do, baby?” Satoru cooed.

“Please, fuck me d-deep…!” I begged, still trying my best to pull Satoru’s hips closer into mine. I wanted more. More of that sweet friction he was giving me with every deep thrust. The way his dick stretched, pushed, pulled, and prodded the most sensitive parts of me; I wanted to be consumed by him and those sensations he was giving me.

“Like this?” Satoru abruptly picked up his slow pace into a quicker one, ceasing his long thrusts and fucking me instead with shorter, deep thrusts, all perfectly aimed at my a-spot. Instead of pulling out all the way with each pump, he remained deep inside, and the repeated stimulation to the area just beneath my cervix made me want to cry, it felt so fucking good. Satoru sat upright to watch me moan helplessly beneath him as I was completely pleasure-struck. He held the back of my left leg for leverage as he fucked into me, my breasts jumping from the force of each thrust. Satoru grabbed one and squeezed hard, his eyes visibly starting to grow cloudy with lust, “I thought you said I was too big… Now you want me deep?” He released my leg and instead wrapped his hand around my neck, perfectly squeezing the sides of my neck so that his grip was tight, but I could still breathe, “What’s the truth, Lena?” He was so sweet yet cruel at the same time—giving me exactly what I wanted physically yet repeatedly making me say exactly what was on my mind, even when I was too embarrassed or turned on to answer properly.

I cried out pathetically beneath Satoru, clenching tightly around his dick when he choked me, “Please, please don’t s-stop I need this…!” My words were slurred and hardly discernable, I was so drunk with pleasure. I could feel a familiar pressure building up in the pit of my stomach, and knew I was close.

“I know, baby, I know.” Satoru’s eyes looked dark, like he was beginning to lose himself in pleasure just as much as I was. He used his hand that was not around my neck to roughly comb away the white strands of hair from his face, forehead beading with sweat. He then reached down and started to rub my clit with the pads of his fingers as he perfectly fucked into me, over and over, “Why don’t you fucking cum for me?” Clearly worked up with lust as I was, Satoru spat the question between clenched teeth, more like a demand.

Something low in my abdomen twisted with excitement when Satoru spoke to me like that; and I knew that some sick part of me wanted him to be even more cruel to me. Right then, I wanted desperately for him to treat me however he wanted. I groaned messily to the triple attack on my body—Satoru harshly fucking into me, choking me, and gently rubbing my clit all at the same time. My pleasure rapidly increased from the additional sensations he gave me, and my eyes went wide with shock at the extremely intense orgasm that was quickly building up in my body. It was almost scary, “S-Satoru, g-gonna cum… really hard…!” I warned in an uneven voice, my hips involuntarily squirming around to free myself from the pleasure that was too much, and too strong. I even unconsciously clawed my nails at his lower back. But Satoru’s hand around my neck kept me locked square on his dick, that was now driving into me at an even faster pace.

Satoru bent close to me, looking directly into my eyes, “Mm-mnh… Don’t run, baby. You don’t get to run from this. You have to take it, Lena. Now do what I ask and fucking cum.”

I came with a scream at Satoru’s command, feeling tears well up in my eyes at the intense explosion of pleasure that continued in waves as he fucked me through it. My body convulsed harshly with each strong pulse of my pussy, one… two… three… four times; and on the fifth, my hips jerked so hard that I jumped out of Satoru’s grasp and on my side next to him on the bed. I panted heavily, trying to regain my sanity after an orgasm that strong. It was so much, so insanely strong, and so good that I felt the tears finally fall from my eyes.

Satoru followed me to where I’d jumped on side of the bed and chuckled; wiping one of my tears then kissing my cheek, neck, and shoulder, “You’re just a big crybaby, huh?” He said softly, kissing my cheek again, “You okay? That felt like a big one…”

I quickly nodded, wiping the remainder of my tears, “Shit, I’m always fucking crying on our dates, aren’t I?” I sniffled, turning to look up at Satoru after I caught my breath, “Yeah, I’m okay, just had the biggest orgasm of my life—no big deal.” I laughed once.

Satoru smiled, reaching up to stroke my cheek before pressing his lips to mine, “Glad I could be a part of that.” He hummed and closed his eyes, dipping his head down to rest his forehead on mine again. In our current position—with me on my side and Satoru hovering over me—I could feel his condom-covered dick twitch against my ass cheek, “Mind if I finish, baby? I’m really close… Or do you need a break?”

“Oh! No, I don’t mind!” I shook my head and lifted my leg, practically handing it to Satoru as he took it in his grasp and positioned himself at my entrance, “I want you to cum, too.” I said sweetly, grabbing his free hand and interlocking our fingers.

I moaned when Satoru pushed back in, filling me completely in one swift thrust. His forehead remained against mine as he pumped into me over and over, movements growing more and more erratic and unfocused by the second. I heard Satoru’s breathing become ragged and uneven, the sweat from his forehead trickling onto mine as he squeezed my hand. It was satisfying, being able to feel him unravel and lose himself in pleasure as I had, “Fuck… You know you get even tighter after you cum, babe?” Satoru straightened up a bit, enough for him to drive his hips even harder into mine, and enough for me to see his face better. He stroked in and out of me continuously, until I saw his jaw clench considerably, suddenly ceasing with a particularly hard thrust and a loud grunt. Satoru bared his teeth and groaned when he came, tilting his head back for a second, then offering me a few shallow thrusts and looking down at himself buried in my pussy, “Shit, Lena… You’re fucking unreal.” He glanced up into my eyes at the last of his words, then dramatically collapsed onto the bed beside me on his back.

I giggled at Satoru’s dramatics, turning on my other side to face him, “You okay?” I playfully returned his question from earlier.

“Yeah, the best.” Satoru exhaled, wiping his forehead before turning to look at me. He leaned over to peck my lips once… twice, then slowly slid the condom off his dick before slipping off the bed and standing. He tied a knot on the end of the condom and tossed it into the wastebin in the corner of my bedroom. And I appreciated this view of the man walking around naked my room in his full glory, insanely cut and toned all over. The view of his round, muscular butt when he bent over to retrieve and throw away the condom’s foil wrapper was particularly cute. Satoru turned towards me again as I comfortably slipped under my duvet, “You want some water?” He asked.

“Yeah, um, see that white pull-out cabinet under the vanity?” I pointed to it on the opposite side of the bedroom, “There’s a mini fridge in there with glasses and a water dispenser.”

“Well, that’s fucking genius; I was about to go back to the kitchen.” Satoru admitted, instead making a beeline for the mini fridge and filling up a tall glass of water. He returned to the bed and carefully passed me the glass as he slipped under the covers with me.

“Thank you.” I took a number of long sips, nearly drinking half the glass in one go. I passed the glass back to Satoru and he took a short swig before reaching back to rest it on the bedside dresser next to him.

“Of course.”

We gazed at each other for a moment, and I suddenly got up and reoriented myself so that I was straddling Satoru under the covers, a pleased and giddy grin on my face. I rested my hands on Satoru’s chest and felt him gently grasp and knead my hips with his thumbs in response.

“What’s gotten into you?” Satoru cracked a smile, curious to my sudden excitement.

I was just feeling playful. I bent close to Satoru’s ear, “You.” I whispered, “You got into me.” I started with a kiss to his cheek, then kissed down his neck, then to his chest…

“Mm…” Satoru hummed affirmatively, “It was really fun, huh?”

I sat up again and nodded with a smile, next pressing my mouth to Satoru’s in a brief yet passionate kiss. He spoke up again when I broke it.

“You wanna go again?” Satoru challenged with a raised brow.

I flipped my long curls behind my shoulder and tucked a loose strand behind my ear, sure that my hair was a complete mess now, but I was quite unbothered at this point, “Yes.” I nodded, and our lips came together once again—immediately diving into a series of quick, excited, and heated kisses, until Satoru suddenly broke away.

“Shit.” He let go of one of my hips and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What?” I asked, a little concerned.

Satoru met my gaze once more, “I don’t have any more condoms.”

“Oh.” I bit my lower lip in realization and blinked down at Satoru laying beneath me.

“You on birth control or anything? If so, I could show you my negative test results if you wa—”

“I’m not.” I interrupted. I hadn’t been since I broke up with my ex… Work had picked up so quickly since I’d moved back to Tokyo two years ago, I hadn’t even thought about it. Well, not until now.

“Fuck.”

We simply stared at each other in silence, the unspoken, next natural question on both of our minds hanging heavy in the air: Should we just do it anyways?

[plzignr]

We do not use are fleets for warefare, Part I

We do not use our fleets for warfare. There is no point in wasting precious fuel to move crew and habitats where they risk being destroyed. We have left our solar system, we have theorized ways of traveling faster than light, but it relies on the existence of exotic matter, or white holes, we have yet to find any evidence of their existence. Many have given up hope that faster than light travel is a possibility. There are a select few that have left on large colony ships to colonize the nearest star system with a habitable world. It is 4 light years away, even with our fastest ships powered with our antimatter drives, it will still be a minimum of four years time from thier perspective for them to land and four more years merely to tell us so. Due to time dilation it will be near a century from our perspective. Those who saw the vessel launch will almost assuredly wither and die before our species knows if it made it safely. We know the vastness of space, we know the insurmountable nature of time, and we know the brevity of our species lifetimes, we know we will never conquer space so we would never try, but to explore it? How could we not. Our nature, our curiosity compels us to. To know what lies beyond is driven into a being on a genetic level. It drives us to explore further, investigate deeper.Fortunately for us, we did not find you in your home solar system. We would have assuredly perished. Unfortunately for you, you found us in ours. We were not an inherently peaceful species. We know warfare well. It plagued our past, and threatens our future. It does mean that for you, here, in our own solar system. We are well prepared. We see your fleets on scanners, the delay time is 4 minutes from the nearest probe that detects large stellar objects.We see the odd shapes of your ships, it's construction so alien. We see familiar radiation signatures in their sub-space maneuvering thrusters, and we see radiation we had long hoped we wouldn't see manufactured ever again. We recognize them as war ships. What we don't recognize is how you appeared. To us it seemed you apparated out of the void itself.The conclusion is a foregone one: You must have some method of traveling faster than light that is not known to us. We want it.The initial silence from what seems to be a dead solar system perhaps surprises your crew. You know there is life in this sector. You know there is a space fairing species here. Why then has there been nothing from them? No questions to your captains, no query as to the purpose of your feet. Stranger still, the silent buzzing of a space fairing species has quieted.From experience your admiral knows that it is more difficult for solar systems to interact internally. Shorter wave bands of energy to not interfere with the signals as they beam back and forth across the cold emptiness of space. But even they are disturbed by just how dark it has been.It has been 8 minutes. 8 minutes of total silence since your armada has arrived.Then a signal, conventional in its delivery, long wave radio band. It had been many years since anyone in your Amanda had seen such a method implemented, your equivalent of what we would know as a commissary attenuates your receivers to the signal. Thankfully you have universal translators onboard, another technology we have not managed to develop. The signal is quiet but clear."If you can understand this message, leave one ship in orbit around the nearest planet orbiting are star relative to your position. Then flee. You will not survive."The crews in your armadas laugh in unison at what they perceive as a ridiculous command. They've scanned our ships they've seen they are designed for exploration not warfare. There are no battlements attached to them, they're are no destroyers or command ships, there are no railguns attached to them, nothing to defend them from the heavy bullets of plasma you can fire at short range, nor the sustained laser pulses you can fire on them. It is as if they are totally defenseless.

[awkwardgtace]

Valentine's Surprises

This story was 100% inspired by an anon who sent in an ask when I wanted ideas. Gonna answer that with a link to this.

Kyrie and Melody have the first Valentine's together since he became a guardian. Kyrie's a bit in his own head over it.

Valentine's Surprises

Kyrie had barely been able to sit still all day. He was off for the weekend, Valentine’s weekend. He’d spent weeks calling every flower store in the city for the perfect gift, roses. Not just any roses, but black and blue roses. Rare enough normally, but at the size of normal humans they were almost a dream. He found a place that could get them though, and the smile he’d see on Melody’s face made the calls worth it.

The sound of a door opening had Kyrie on his feet. Byssal was back so he could leave. Go get the flowers, go home, give Melody her gift, and start their weekend. In his excitement he didn’t think about how small the hallway was or the fact Byssal would be walking inside. He ran right in to the shorter man. Byssal fell back with a grunt and Kyrie snapped out of his focus.

“Byss, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking, are you alright?” Kyrie crouched and held out a hand to Byssal. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a mistake like that. Back then he thought Byss would never forgive him… see him as a monster. It wouldn’t be hard, Byssal was a lot shorter than him. A different class than Kyrie and the minimum height for it.

“I’m fine,” Byssal grunted as he grabbed Kyrie’s hand. Kyrie hefted him up easily.

“Good, good.” 

They stood in silence for a bit. Byssal stared up at him. It left Kyrie with a feeling he did make some mistake.

“So I’m walking out for you to leave or am I going inside first?” Byss sighed. Kyrie’s eyes went wide as he stumbled back. He didn’t realize they were still in the hall. He opened his mouth, but a sharp glare stopped him as Byss finally walked by. “If you waste any more time apologizing, that flower shop might close.”

Kyrie smiled and turned back to leave. He didn’t miss the chuckle from behind him though.

Out in the fresh air he calmed down. All he had to do was get to the store then head home, maybe pick something else up she’d like on the way. Despite everything on his mind, Kyrie focused his eyes on the ground. He kept a careful eye on where each step would land, he’d never come close to stepping on anyone. It didn’t matter that there were protections in place, he wouldn’t test them.

The slow steps didn’t keep him from reaching the flower shop for long. He stood at the guardian sized door with a grimace. Every building was built to fit the biggest colossus class in history, but that didn’t mean all the doors were. He let out a reserved sigh as he pushed open the door. It was an uncomfortable way he had to bend to walk inside, but he was the one that broke the norm. The only colossus to pass 320 in a long time…

“Welcome to Petal to the Metal; freshest flowers, fastest delivery, how can I help you?” a titan class guardian said as Kyrie stood up straight in the building. They were taller than Byssal, but still a lot shorter than him. Barely breaking 200 feet tall. 

“Hi,” he waved as he stepped forward. The store clerk stared up at him and he saw the moment his face dropped. The same reaction everyone had. The reaction Melody didn’t have, even the first time she saw the new him. “I’m picking up an order of black and blue roses. Smallest size.”

“Oh… you were that order. One second.” 

The clerk walked away. Kyrie looked around the shop. Flowers he could hold surrounded him. A little while after he’d met Melody they had gone to a flower shop like this. She pushed for them to go in that day. He couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to, she was so determined. When they walked in she stared straight up. Away from the flowers she could hold to the ones only a colossus could. Her eyes shone brighter than anything. She didn’t need to say it for him to tell what caught her attention…

“Sir,” the clerk pulled him from his memories. He had a person in his hand now. Kyrie stepped closer, squinting a bit to see the black box in the hands that felt impossibly small.

“You ordered the black and blue roses right?” the normal human clerk spoke as he stepped forward on the hand. Kyrie nodded. “Right well, we don’t have a box to fit your hands so this is the best we can do. Be careful carrying it, we aren’t responsible for crushed flowers. It’s part of why we usually deliver them.”

Kyrie held his hand close to the normal sized human. His fingertips stopped just before touching the small man. It still felt strange like this. Even more so when the small black box, one that was half the size of the man that placed it, was set on his fingers. No not fingers, on a single fingertip. He couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand back from the clerks.

“Sir, is there a problem?” the guardian clerk asked. He stepped away from Kyrie, as if they were in danger. He held back a sigh over it and just tried to smile.

“No, this is perfect, thank you,” Kyrie said. He pulled the hand he’d offered back and carefully slipped the flowers onto his other palm. There was no chance he’d let anything happen to them. He turned slowly, walking out with more care than he’d shown all day.

Kyrie pulled his hand close to his chest as he bent to leave the store. It was getting dark, but the trip home would be short. If he trusted himself he’d run home, but a second of distraction could crush the perfect gift. He was tempted to take the medicine to be her size. To see the shine she’d have in her amazing brown eyes.

As he walked he left streets filled with all sizes… all smaller than him. Slowly he reached the guardian housing. Step by step he passed ones for each size until he reached the ones for his own class. For colossus. Even then he had a while to go. The only place he felt a little like he used to. Even more when he knew he’d see Melody soon.

Once the house came into sight he stopped. He brought the hand holding the flowers up to his eyes and slowly uncurled his fingers. After a deep breath of relief he curled his fingers over the flowers again. He kept each step as soft as possible to try and surprise her. There was something different today though. A package outside the door he used.

Kyrie stepped up to the door, bending to grab the package with his free hand. It was light, but he didn’t remember ordering anything. It took a bit to find the label, it was a lot smaller than he expected and addressed to Melody. Finding her name made his heart fall a little. Every year she baked for him. It made sense she didn’t this year with his size now… He forced the darker thoughts out of his mind and opened the door, using the hand he kept the package in.

Once inside he didn’t stop walking until he could see the wall that connected to a house Melody’s size. He paused, Melody had most of the medicine on her side. A little was kept in his room. Just for emergencies. He could take it… go back to what they were. Have a night, a day, where for a while they were the same again.

There was more to it though. He could see the way she smiled when she saw the flowers. Have something she baked. Hold her. Feel cold and warm all at once. Her soft hair would be something he could play with…

Just as he raised his foot to head towards his room, to the medicine, he heard Melody scream. All thoughts disappeared as he ran forward. He crashed to his stomach near the door her size. The package was forgotten as he left it next to him to push open the door. To see her.

It took longer than he wanted for the room to look anything other than blurry. It all looked normal. Normal and empty of Melody. There was a large pile of what looked like leather in the center of the room. He started to panic, he felt a strange rumble in his chest as his fear grew. 

The leather pile moved. His eye locked on it. The rumble grew more intense. Like a growl, something he didn’t know he could do. The leather pile moved again. He had to open the door, but that would mean he stopped looking. If he stopped something could come out. Something that could hurt Melody. Something that already could have.

“Kyrie!” Melody’s voice came from the pile that kept moving. She sounded nervous. “That’s you right? Go away, I'm fine!”

“It’s me,” he mumbled. The growl he had started to die. His anxiety didn’t. Not until he saw Melody’s face pop out of the pile of leather, her hair was a mess. That reminded him of just what he was planning to do before all of this. The glare he could make out from her reminded him why she’d kill him if he did. Why he loved her so much too. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine!” He watched her try to stand up, she yelped as she fell back this time. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little. “Rude!”

“You look stuck. You really don’t need help?”

“No, nope. I’m good.” He watched her manage to stand, only to trip trying to get out.  He laughed at her again. “Ugh… fuck!”

“It sure looks like you don’t need help.” Curses came from Melody after he spoke. It wasn’t possible to stop his laugh from leaking through. Silence sat between them. She tried to get out of the mess a few more times. He managed to contain his laughter for those ones.

“...Can you help me?”

“Just a second, I’ll need to open my door.”

“Thank you…”

Kyrie pushed himself to his knees and slid back. He pulled the door open before lying on his stomach again. He waited a few seconds, taking in the whole scene. Most of the furniture was moved to the sides. The bundle of leather rested on top of some band he couldn’t see well. A few curses from Melody pushed him to reach in.

Reaching for her was surreal. It wasn’t often he had to stick his hand into a house. Even with the space Melody had made his hand didn’t fit well. He had to push the couch and coffee table away. He wanted to just grab her, but for her safety he grabbed as much of the leather pile as he could. Once it was up he saw bits fall, finally realizing the pile was bracelet straps. Ones for the smallest guardian class.

Kyrie pulled Melody out with his hand as steady as possible. She’d been better about heights, but he didn’t want to scare her while she was trapped. Once she was right beneath his face he opened his hand. The pile wasn’t as much of a pile in his palm. All he could do was watch as Melody pushed them off her. He wasn’t sure how to help her without hurting. He was too big to help.

“Can you help a bit?” she asked. He actually jumped, she trusted him so much. “If you at least hold them up I should be able to slip out.”

“Yeah, sorry I was just thinking,” he said. Kyrie brought his other hand closer, it was still a tight fist. Without thinking he opened his fist above her head. The now crushed black box fell right on top of Melody. 

He’d completely forgotten about the flowers. Now, next to her, he truly understood how small they were. How easily he could hurt her. If he wasn’t paying attention he could even miss that she was there. It was awful, he was a monster. A danger. He should force himself to adjust to the medicine at home. The officials said he could grow to be used to it. That would be better than-

“...you knew…” Melody’s voice broke him from his spiral. “I never said it, how did you know?”

He met her eyes. Shining, bright, and she had a smile on her face. The dark cloud in his mind ebbed a bit. He could see the broken stems, parts of petals fallen in the box. Melody was still happy. She still looked at him the same.

“That day, at the flower shop back when…” he whispered.

“Back when we’d only been dating a little while.” The awe in her voice managed to push more of the dark cloud away. It grew again as her body started to shake.

“I’m sorry, I was so careful and then-”

“Then I was an idiot and you panicked?” She laughed, the smile hadn’t faltered. Tears slipped from her eyes. “I can’t believe you noticed. That you even remembered. This is amazing… How did you even get them this small? It’s nearly impossible still.”

“I called around.” 

“Well keep the number for the one that had these. I want to get them again after they wilt.”

“But they’re-”

“They’re perfect. Maybe I’ll dry them out. Preserve them…”

“How are you always able to do that?” His voice was small. She was still trapped in the mess she’d screamed over. He started to pull at the bracelet straps. Melody basically just let him take care of it while she hugged the flowers.

“Do what?” When there were almost no straps left on her he pinched her between two fingers. He lifted her off his palm and set her on the ground. After that he crossed his arms, rested his head on them, and watched her.

“Make it seem like, even when I do something awful, it doesn’t matter.”

“Because you haven’t done anything awful? I don’t have to make it seem like you didn’t.”

“I ruined the flowers.”

“How?” she pulled one out. The long stem was broken half way down. Petals had fallen, but for the most part it still looked like a blue rose. She pulled out a black rose which had more missing petals and even less stem. A part of him wished he couldn’t see the details so he could believe her. “The stems I’d break to put them in water? The petals that are going to fall as it wilts anyway? They still look beautiful and smell amazing.”

Kyrie reached forward and wrapped his fingers around her. She leaned into them. Always kind and able to talk him out of his own dark thoughts. He still might take the medicine, see his memories correctly again. Suddenly Melody jumped up and out of his hold. 

“Oh, I should get your gift,” she smiled at him. He narrowed his eyes, suspicious now. Melody looked at the flowers for a minute before looking up at him again. “Actually, that band on the ground near where I was, can you grab it?”

Kyrie tilted his head in curiosity. Melody kept her eyes on him, a smile appearing as soon as he moved. He kept his eyes on her, blindly reaching for the band. Eventually he managed to wrap his fingers around the leather band he ignored before. He pulled it close and set it down in front of her. Melody kept that smile. Even as she gently placed her flowers on the ground beside her.

“This is special,” Melody started. She knelt next to one end of the band and waved for Kyrie to reach forward. He did as she wanted. “See here, this is more of the part to unwrap pretty much. This, right here.”

Melody lifted what looked like a pull tab. Kyrie carefully pinched it. He pushed himself to lean on his elbows and held the other end of the band down. Melody stepped back, he waited until she nodded. Then he pulled. At first it didn’t move, but the first thing he saw once it did had tears in his eyes.

A picture they took back when they first met. Melody was blushing, hiding her face, but Kyrie was smiling widely at the camera. The two together, the same size. He kept pulling at the band. More pictures.

One where she was sitting in front of him while they played a game. Teaching him how to play.

Another where the two had fallen asleep next to each other on a couch.

Arguing over a board game, he could remember the way she turned on her brother when the flash went off.

The ones from a photobooth after a horror movie event they went to. He had been terrified the whole night, but she just smiled at the ‘interesting’ scares. He could still see the fear on his own face, but she didn’t judge him. Just tried to comfort him.

A picture her friends took when he’d given her a new statue for her collection. Her favorite game character of the week. She turned bright red, convinced he didn’t know she collected them. 

The day they moved in together. She thought she looked awful, hair in a messy bun and old clothes. Her brother took the picture when Kyrie snuck up on her.

The next gave him a pause. It was one of the nights she opened up to him. He was asleep next to her after a long talk about trust and the future. She had taken a selfie of the two of them. That alone was shocking, but this picture had Melody kissing his cheek. He never saw this one before.

Then one he could never forget. He wanted to take her to a fancy place. The dress she wore had been stunning. Black, thigh length with off the shoulder sleeves. Her hair had been curled. He was standing there like an idiot. Jaw on the floor, just before he pulled her into a tight hug. She shoved him away after he said he wasn’t sure he could share how beautiful she looked.

At the end was probably the most painful. The day she left. The last time they were together and were the same. He had his chin on her head and arms wrapped around her. He would never forget the promise he made. That they’d be the same when she got back, that it was a good choice. It was good she’d left, but not for the reasons he meant back then. He had time to learn how to be near others, time to learn how not to hurt Melody.

“Kyrie?” Melody’s voice was a whisper. She sounded scared, worried, maybe even nervous. Things that didn’t match her. He tore his gaze from the pictures to see her. She had picked up the flowers, hugged them close. Like a security blanket. “Is it too much? You were talking about how your memories aren’t how they should be. I thought, with this, you could remember…”

Kyrie’s mouth moved, but there were no words to come out. She was stunned by his gift, but this… this was more than he could have dreamt of. He moved to look at the pictures again. The last one specifically. Maybe things hadn’t changed, maybe only he had. He was the one scared, the one that was ready to run. Melody didn’t act that way.

“I’m sorry, I guess I should have just stuck with baking something. It’s supposed to be a bracelet, but they didn’t have straps your size. I ordered one, but it didn’t get here. Place said it was delivered, but I couldn’t find it. You can just throw it out or whatever, it’s fine.”

Kyrie looked at her just in time to see the habits he’d always watched closely. Arms hugged tighter to herself. Hair in front of her face. He still had no words, so he moved. He pushed himself up to sit on his knees. Then he grabbed the package he forgot about earlier. He could feel her eyes on him.

Kyrie ripped open the package; a band like the mess she was trapped in sat inside. He pulled it out and picked up the band of pictures. He wrapped it around his left wrist, but struggled to tie it together. He set his hand down next to her, one edge of the strap stuck out near her.

“Can you help?” he croaked out. His voice was broken. Melody looked up at him with awe before doing as he asked.

“I… I actually picked this band out on purpose,” she said. “It has some ways to make it easier for me to help tie it.”

It only took a few seconds for Melody to make use of those ways. The string-like band was tight against his skin. Not too tight, that didn’t seem like something she could do. Once she was done he brought his other hand around to pull her off the ground. To help him the flowers were safely on the ground, but he still kept his excited movements slow.

Melody yelped, but there was no sign of her fear of heights. She trusted him. She’d worked hard to handle times like this. Kyrie brought his hand to a stop in front of his face. Melody had wide eyes, but her cheeks were red. She didn’t always blush this easily. He tilted his hand to have Melody flat against his fingers. Then he kissed her.

As always she was a cold feeling against his skin. Electricity shot through him when her small lips pressed against him. Almost too quickly the cold became a warmth he could never live without. When he pulled away Melody’s hair was a mess, but she was smiling.

“I love you,” he said. Loud enough he knew the words would rumble in her chest. One of the things this change of his made possible. One thing he could do for her that no one else could do the same way.

“I love you, too,” Melody smiled. The smile he’d been imagining could never live up to the real thing.