#pavement structure

[srjsteel]

Why Construction Rings Matter Even in Pavement Engineering

Dowel bars in rigid pavement function as important load transfer devices that distribute weight across concrete slabs, stopping differential agreement and extending pavement lifespans. These essential additives require the right spacing and alignment, which is where construction rings emerge as valuable. Super Rings and similar construction rings provide the necessary support framework to maintain dowel bar positioning during concrete pouring, ensuring structural integrity throughout the pavement's service life.

The Critical Role in Infrastructure Longevity

The placement of dowel bars in inflexible pavement requires precision that cannot be performed through guide methods alone. When improperly hooked up, these bars fail to transfer loads efficiently, leading to untimely pavement deterioration and costly repairs. Construction rings manufactured to strict tolerances help maintain exact positioning during the critical concrete pouring phase. The correlation between properly installed dowel bars in rigid pavement and extended service life makes these seemingly small components remarkably significant.

Quality Super Rings feature corrosion-resistant materials that resist harsh conditions both during production and throughout the pavement's lifetime. This durability ensures that the dowel bars in inflexible pavement hold their positioning and functionality many years after installation, maintaining the structural integrity that highway departments and transportation authorities demand.

Engineering Benefits Beyond Basic Support

Construction rings contribute to pavement performance through multiple engineering mechanisms. Beyond simply holding dowel bars in rigid pavement, they provide proper alignment that ensures smooth load transfer across joints. This alignment minimizes the development of step faults between adjacent concrete slabs, maintaining ride quality and reducing vehicle damage.

Professional contractors recognize that Super Rings offer superior dimensional stability compared to generic alternatives. This stability translates into consistent dowel bar positioning, which proves crucial when temperature fluctuations cause concrete expansion and contraction. The predictable behavior of properly installed dowel bars in rigid pavement depends significantly on the quality of construction rings used during installation.

Economic Impact on Project Lifecycle

Initial material costs often drive purchasing decisions, but experienced engineers understand that construction rings represent a minimal percentage of total project expenses while significantly impacting long-term performance. The difference between premium Super Rings and substandard alternatives might be negligible in upfront costs but substantial in lifecycle value.

Highway departments increasingly specify performance requirements for dowel bars in rigid pavement that can only be achieved with precision-engineered construction rings. These specifications recognize that proper load transfer across joints reduces maintenance frequency and extends rehabilitation intervals, generating substantial taxpayer savings over decades of service.

Installation Considerations and Best Practices

Construction rings must be selected based on assignment-specific requirements including concrete thickness, predicted traffic loads, and environmental conditions. Heavy-duty Super Rings offer the stability needed for highways experiencing significant truck traffic, while standard construction rings might suffice for lighter applications. This selection process requires understanding how dowel bars in rigid pavement perform under varying load scenarios.

Temperature considerations during installation affect concrete behavior, making adjustable construction rings particularly valuable in extreme climates. The thermal expansion properties of concrete create forces that can displace dowel bars in rigid pavement unless properly secured with high-quality construction rings designed to resist these pressures.

Advancements in Materials and Design

Modern Super Rings incorporate innovative materials that resist construction-related impacts and vibration while maintaining dimensional stability. These advancements address historical challenges with dowel bar movement during concrete placement and vibration, enhancing the performance reliability of dowel bars in rigid pavement.

Forward-thinking pavement engineers continuously evaluate how construction rings interact with new concrete formulations and pouring techniques. This evolving relationship between materials and methodology drives incremental improvements in how construction rings support and position dowel bars in rigid pavement, resulting in more durable infrastructure with reduced maintenance requirements.

The seemingly small decision about which construction rings to specify can significantly impact pavement durability.

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[krakrava]

[dirt-goth]

Objectively it is bad the amount of debt I've accrued this year but also the number of things that have happened to me this year that, if you had to me this time last year would happen, I would have genuinely laughed in your face it seems worth it.

[kapilasteel]

How Dowel Bars Help Minimize Maintenance Costs in Long-Span Concrete Structures

The Hidden Costs of Structural Wear

Long-span concrete structures carry more than just vehicles—they carry the weight of time, traffic, and temperature. Over months and years, surface joints take the brunt of that burden. Small cracks start to appear. Edges begin to shift. And suddenly, maintenance becomes a recurring line item no one planned for. That’s the moment when the value of dowel bars, smart bar dowel systems, and high-performance steel from trusted TMT bar manufacturers comes sharply into focus.

Why Concrete Alone Isn’t Enough

Even the best concrete won’t stay level forever. Each slab in a long-span structure expands and contracts with temperature changes. Add the constant stress from heavy vehicles or equipment, and the joints between slabs begin to suffer. Without support, those joints fail faster—and so does the surface.

The Awareness Stage: Spotting the Problem

The signs often go unnoticed at first. A little joint movement here. A surface dip there. But for engineers and planners, these aren’t just cosmetic issues. They’re early indicators of costly problems ahead. Awareness is the first step: understanding that what happens beneath the surface matters just as much as what’s visible on top.

The Consideration Stage: Enter Dowel Bars

This is where decision-makers start weighing long-term solutions. Dowel bars provide a simple but powerful answer. By transferring loads evenly across joints, they reduce movement, minimize stress, and keep slabs aligned. It’s a small piece of reinforcement with a massive impact on performance and durability.

Why Bar Dowel Quality Matters

Not all dowel systems are created equal. Precision-engineered bar dowel components ensure that alignment stays true over years of use. Proper sizing, placement, and installation reduce the risk of faulting or cracking, especially in high-load zones.

The Role of TMT Bar Manufacturers in Structural Reliability

Strength starts with sourcing. Materials from experienced TMT bar manufacturers bring more than tensile power—they bring reliability. Their bars offer corrosion resistance, thermal stability, and load-handling capacity that standard materials simply can’t match. When used alongside dowel bars, they create a support system that holds up against time, weather, and usage.

The Decision-Making Phase: Thinking Long-Term

Once the long-term benefits become clear, choosing dowel bars isn’t about upfront cost—it’s about minimizing future headaches. A surface that holds its form over decades means fewer closures, less repair work, and greater operational uptime.

Less Maintenance Means More Predictability

When maintenance becomes predictable—and less frequent—it transforms how budgets are allocated. No surprise repairs. No emergency callouts. Just a well-performing surface that does what it’s supposed to do, year after year.

An Environmentally Smarter Choice

Maintenance work doesn’t just cost money. It creates waste, burns fuel, and generates emissions. Every repair avoided by using dowel bars means fewer trucks, fewer tools, and a lighter environmental footprint over the life of the structure.

Small Investment, Massive Return

Dowel bars don’t shout for attention, but they make all the difference where it counts. Combined with bar dowel precision and support from seasoned TMT bar manufacturers, they create a resilient, cost-efficient infrastructure that performs reliably over time.

In Conclusion

Strong structures don’t just happen. They’re built on smart choices—choices that include silent reinforcements like dowel bars. They may be invisible once the concrete sets, but their value is seen in every year of trouble-free performance that follows.

[malfnction-54]

used ai to remove basically the entire background lol

[youryurigoddess]

So one thing led to another, and I’ve just paid a visit to the first (that we know of) confirmed Good Omens S3 filming locations. Due to the obvious sensitivity of this material, please tag it accordingly and share only with the fans consenting to know potential spoilers.

A fellow Good Omens fan has mentioned that residents of a certain Edinburgh area had unexpected guests recently, knocking on their door and telling them they are filming in their street soon. Imagine their surprise when a polite question about the details led to the offhand answer: “IT'S ONLY GOOD OMENS”.

For those unaware, the City of Edinburgh Council has been working really hard on promoting the city for film and TV industry for a few years now (the effects of which we saw in S2), and has a set of very clear and very publicly available guidelines regarding the modus operandi here.

The Good Omens production has both large scale and a high impact on a specific location due to the crew size, amount of technology used, and requirement for crowd control in most of the exterior and interior scenes (e.g., bookshop, pub, or coffee shop windows), which is why not only the local authorities, but also residents were informed about the filming with an at least 8 days notice:

Ironically, I just had happened to have a trip here planned and a hotel booked within walking distance to the locations on the attached TM and parking plan map, so it would be a waste not to use this opportunity for the greater good of the fandom. Can’t stay long enough to see the actual crew, so unfortunately the hair photos will have to be made by someone else. Disappointing, I know. But there’s still a lot to be excited about!

According to the provided notice, the filming will happen within one working day with the required set-up planned for the day before, mostly in the afternoon hours. The attached map shows planned parking suspension and SYL dispensation on two streets close to the chosen locations, which is where the trailers and equipment vehicles will park:

Location One turns out to be, rather surprisingly, a cosy corner bookshop. The shop — one of the Edinburgh’s oldest surviving secondhand bookstores — is very small, but crammed with a wide ranging library of beautiful books to serve readers and collectors, including antiquarian true first editions and signed copies.

It’s giving Muriel’s sweet and whimsical charm, but the bits and pieces of the unpublished Good Omens sequel point out not towards Whickber Street, where the angel currently resides, but more towards a new in-universe location. Maybe one that will be opened in the future post-Second Coming, maybe one that will remind one of the characters about a home base of operations back in the heart of London’s Soho (and theirs— wait, who said that?).

Notice that the road closure includes north and south sides of the pavement visible in the last photo, so both indoor and outdoor shots could be expected:

Location Two seems a bit more complex, since it’s basically a skewed triangle consisting of one longer street and a short side street diverging from it. Conveniently for the filmmakers, the architecture here is uncharacteristic enough that it could be easily presented as British, Scottish, or even American. I’m personally a bit partial to the last option since it would make sense story- and budget-wise, especially now with the two people previously adamant on shooting the US scenes only on location there not on the production team anymore.

The contrasting structures and materials visible here easily offer background for multiple potential contexts and scenarios, so much in fact that it’s easy to imagine more than one scene being shot here for cost- and time-effective reasons. Some of the buildings along the cobbled road have the right look and feel for historical flashbacks, as you can see below. I find the two separate entrances next to each other particularly lovely:

A considerable part of the buildings in the area, however, belongs to a more modern complex that communicates a very different personality and function. With a bit of camera and post-production magic, it could transform to a wide range of settings — please let me know your thoughts and ideas if you have any!

Specific filming times and more detailed information are consciously not shared out of concern for the crew and cast members who clearly don’t want them to become public knowledge. Those of you who live in the area and might visit the set anyway, please don’t forget to make sure that your presence won’t bother them as well as other locals. And remember to keep any new photos and information contained with tags so that you won’t spoil it to the people who would rather wait for the movie itself!

[urcoolgf]

PICTURE PERFECT

pairing. bf¡drew && reader

content. fluff

summary. drew is obsessed with his new camera… && his girlfriend

drew always wanted to try new hobbies. whether it was chess, basketball (which he sucked at), baseball (which he was slightly better at), painting (which he only liked doing together), or photography—his new fixation. he had done a bunch of research on all the best cameras, types of film, and new settings to try. he was obsessed—in a cute way. you loved watching his puzzled look illuminated by his laptop screen when he was looking at new cameras to buy—his brows furrowing together trying to read all the different specs.

so, once his newest camera arrived, he wanted to take it for a test drive. drew stood up from the couch and made his way to your guys’ bedroom. it only took a few steps since your apartment was kind of small—in the cozy way—you always wanted an apartment in the city, and drew was happy to provide. once you saw this place, you fell in love with its charm and character. all drew needed to see was the way your eyes lit up, and he gave the landlord a check that day, without hesitation.

“hey baby,” drew said calmly, moving to hover over you while you laid on your bed. he had encased you with his arms on either side of you, palms against the bed and his face was getting progressively closer to yours.

“hey, what’s up?,” you replied quietly with a soft smile and laugh that made his heart melt instantly.

“wanna go out. get food, walk around, whatever. put on somethin’ pretty for me, mkay?,” he said, signature smirk adorning his structured face.

“mkay,” you had a curious look on your face, but chose not to ask any questions. you were happy just spending time with him—no matter what you did. he gave you a quick peck before hoisting himself off the bed and walking out of the room.

per his request, you got up from bed, picking out a cute little ‘day-out’ outfit that was good for anything he had planned. after fixing your curls a little, and putting on some light makeup you walked out into the living space, giving drew a little show as you strutted out theatrically.

“how do i look? and yes, you’re allowed to say amazing,” you said as drew looked up from his phone to see you standing there looking absolutely ethereal. he stood up from the couch to walk over to you.

“like a goddess, baby,” he said as he placed his hands on your hips, and pulled you closer. the way he looked right into your eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“ooo even better. yeah, i like that,” you said, pushing your lips out and squinting like you were impressed, before he leaned in to capture your lips. he didn’t waste any time pushing his tongue past your lips, and you gladly accepted him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull yourself even closer. his grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you flush to him, deepening the kiss.

drew pulled back with a hazy look on his face, like kissing you just cleared his mind.

“mm, ‘s much as i would love to keep doing this, we got places to be, sweetheart,” he said with a lazy smile, releasing his hold on your hips and reaching for your favorite purse, “your bag m’lady,” he said holding it out to you on his fingers.

“oh thank you, sir,” you laughed, grabbing it from him, and placing it on your shoulder. the two of you left your apartment, making your way down the stairs, and into the city.

“sooo what’re we doing?,” you asked, hands secured behind your back as you walked side by side down the pavement.

“jus’ exploring y’know…,” drew responded, looking around for a good spot to test his camera.

“you got a new camera didn’t you, baby?,” you smiled mischievously, knowing what was about to happen in this ‘outing’.

“uh yeah i got a new camera,” he laughed, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

—

as the two of you sat at a table outside your favorite little ‘hole-in-the-wall’ restaurant, eating your lunch, drew didn’t hesitate to tell you all about his new camera. unfortunately, even with his current obsession, you had no idea what any of it meant. it didn’t matter though—you were happy just to sit and listen to him talk, and he was even happier to be heard. but, eventually all the tech talk became too much and you had both long since finished your food. he had to be stopped. you reached out onto the table to hold his hands in yours.

“baby, baby… i love you, and you know i love hearing you talk, but can you please just work your magic, and take some pictures,” you said with a hopeful smile that drew, of course, couldn’t say no to. he lifted himself out of his chair and grabbed your hand.

“‘course baby, c’mon let’s go. i found a cool spot when we were walking earlier,” he said happily, pulling you up from your seat.

“okay, okay! i’m coming!,” you laughed as your boyfriend dragged you behind him.

—

“you know my favorite thing about this new hobby?,” drew asked with a cheeky smile.

“what?,” you asked, walking away from him, into the spot where he told you to stand.

“having an excuse for my beautiful girlfriend to model for me whenever i want,” he said, lifting the camera up to point the lens at you. you just smiled and shook your head at his response.

you were currently just standing in the middle of some road that cars weren’t permitted on. you weren’t sure what drew found so appealing about this specific spot, but you weren’t the visionary here.

“what now?,” you stood there, awkwardly, awaiting his instructions.

“what now… you say that like you’ve never done this before. don’t be humble babe, y’know what to do,” he said with a smirk, your laughter filled his ears and he swore he fell in love with you more and more every day. you were literally his dream girl, and he knew he would never find someone like you. your wide eyes, and big, beautiful smile. the way you could make him laugh until he was crying, and the way you got him like no one else did.

he was gonna marry you—one day—he just knew it. he had to at this point because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t physically be able to go another day without you.

“my beautiful muse,” he whispered to himself, one eye closed while he peaked into the viewfinder and clicked the shutter button again.

you continued doing random poses until you ran out of ideas. drew didn’t mind though, he had gotten plenty of new pictures to add to his collection. he was a photographer, but it seemed the only thing he photographed… was you.

you in the city, you in bed, you with your coffee in the morning, you on the subway, you eating, you doing just about anything. his collection was growing, and he loved it.

—

you both walked around some more until your feet got tired, and drew got too excited to develop these pictures so, you headed home. by the time you got back to the front door of your apartment building, the sun was setting—and you had just had the most perfect day.

once you both walked through the apartment door, the first thing you did was change, and the first thing drew did was get the film out of his camera. he was so excited to see how these turned out—that was the great thing about you, you made any picture look good. he turned on the lamp beside the couch, because he knew you didn’t like the big light overhead the living space. you eventually joined him on the couch after changing into a t-shirt and some tiny lounge shorts, head resting on his shoulder as he looked at the now processed pictures.

“look how good they turned out, baby. straight outta a magazine. that’s my girl,” he kissed the top of your head while you just smiled. you turned up to face him, to watch his eyes wander over the images of you in high contrast with the perfect lighting. you had to admit they looked amazing. not because you were in them, but because your wonderful boyfriend had taken them, and he clearly knew his way around a camera because they looked professional.

he pulled out a large photo album that you didn’t even know he had, and flipped it open to the first unoccupied page, which was at least half way through the book.

“what is this?,” you looked up at him and asked with a curious smile on your face.

“my photos,” he said before you took the album out of his hands, and began flipping through it—they were all of you.

“why are they all me?,” you asked.

“because photography is about photographing what inspires you, and you inspire me,” drew responded softly, putting his arm around you.

“aw, drew! that’s so sweet. are you kidding?! these are amazing,” you said, flipping through some more pages.

“yeah? you like ‘em?,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand, like he was actually nervous you wouldn’t like them.

“like them? i love them! you’re so talented baby,” you drifted off, admiring the quality of the photos.

“well it’s easy to get a good photo when you’re the focal point… you’re my muse,” drew looked at you, pupils blown, and the golden cast of the lamp on his face. you didn’t think he could be any more perfect.

“you’re my muse,” you responded softly with a warm smile on your face.

oh yeah, he was gonna marry you.

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© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

[just-aake]

Criminal Temptation Part 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha went undercover to dismantle a crime empire—getting close was just part of the job. Years later, the one she betrayed is out of prison, and now Natasha must decide what’s more dangerous—the woman rising through the criminal world, or the love she thought she buried years ago.

Warnings: slight violence, suggestive themes, light fluff

Words: 4171

The thump of bass fades as Natasha steps out of the club, leaving behind a blur of neon, perfumes, and heat. The heavy door slams shut behind her, muffling the pulse of music into a distant throb. 

The cold hits immediately, sharp but not unfamiliar. Russia’s winter is worse than where she is now. Still, it slices through the false warmth she’d borrowed from the crowd inside.

Natasha exhales into her hands, breath curling like smoke in the night air, and pulls her leather jacket tighter. It’s well-worn but hers—actually hers—not issued or borrowed. 

A rare luxury for someone like her.

New York’s skyline looms in front of her like a question she hasn’t figured out how to answer yet.

She came here to breathe, to forget the rules written into her blood. But freedom is quieter than she expected, and the silence leaves too much room for doubt. 

SHIELD had offered her a lifeline—structure, purpose—but sometimes it feels like a cage disguised as a choice.

What if this isn’t it either?

Her shoulders tense as the wind slinks down her collar. She squints up the street, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time until a loud voice cuts through the hum of the city. 

“Leave me alone!”

The club door slams open and then closes again.

Natasha’s body stills, trained instinct waking as she turns her head slightly to the commotion. A man and a woman are now arguing near a sleek black car just a few feet away. 

The tone isn’t drunken bickering—it’s edged and tense. 

Natasha narrows her eyes as she observes the two from the corner of her eyes.

“Look, it’s getting late,” the man says, gesturing toward the open car door. “Just get in.”

The woman doesn’t budge. Her arms are crossed, chin lifted in open defiance.

“I’m not going with you. What part of that don’t you understand?”

The man’s mask of patience cracks. He mutters something low and harsh under his breath, then reaches for the woman’s arm. 

Natasha is already moving.

Her hand snaps out, fingers clamping around his wrist before he can touch you. 

“She said no.”

Her voice is quiet, but the threat laced beneath it is unmistakable. She shifts subtly, positioning herself just enough to cut between you and the man.

But you don’t shrink behind her like she expects.

Instead, you step in beside her. One hand glides to rest at the small of her back, fingers brushing the leather of her jacket with unshaken calm.

That catches her attention. The angle of her jaw shifts in suspicion.

But before she can examine you further, the man sneers at her. 

“Mind your own business—ah!” 

He cries out in pain when Natasha twists his wrist, sharp and controlled. It’s not enough to break anything, but it’ll bruise. Her face doesn’t flinch as she meets his eyes.

“This is my business now.”

She turns slightly toward you, ready to tell you to go, to let her handle this.

But you’re already moving. You pivot smoothly, heel turning just enough before your elbow drives neatly into his ribs. 

He doubles over, the wind knocked from him in one clean hit. Before he can recover, you step in, hooking your leg behind his and sweeping him down with practiced elegance. 

He crashes to the pavement, groaning.

Natasha blinks.

She wasn’t expecting that. The lines she’d drawn—civilian, protector—blur instantly. 

Maybe you didn’t need saving. Maybe she got involved too soon.

Then your hand grabs hers.

“Come on!” you urge, already pulling her forward. 

There’s no time to ask questions. Not with the club door slamming open and multiple additional shouts echoing faintly behind you. 

Natasha’s instinct kicks in a beat after her mind. Her fingers tighten around yours as she matches your pace, then overtakes it, naturally slipping into the lead.

Together, you dart down an alley, weaving through shadows and empty side streets. She crosses the road without looking, moving like muscle memory is all she needs.

The adrenaline hasn’t worn off by the time she finally slows, stopping in front of a sleek black motorcycle parked neatly at the curb. 

Your hand slips from hers, and Natasha instantly feels the loss of your warm touch against her skin. 

You’re breathless, grinning as your fingers trail along the leather seat with an almost curious awe.

“This yours?” you ask, glancing up at her.

Natasha nods, pride flickering in her expression. It’s quiet. Earnest. This isn’t just a vehicle—it’s hers. One of the first things in her life she’s chosen. Not earned through obedience or mission reports. 

Just hers.

You hum softly, your gaze shifting into something unreadable even for Natasha, as you reach into your pocket.

The soft jingle of metal makes her spine stiffen.

She narrows her eyes as you dangle a familiar set of keys in the air. 

Her hand darts to her jacket pocket. Empty. Her glare sharpens as she realizes what happened. 

You flash her a grin, infuriatingly calm. 

“You really should keep better track of your things.” 

She steps toward you instinctively. The air around her crackles, half-warning, half-challenge.

But you just tilt your head and take a step back, holding the keys out of reach with a taunting ease.

“Mind giving me a ride, stranger?”

She should be annoyed. Honestly, she should just take the keys from your hand and leave from what is clearly trouble.

But instead, Natasha pauses.

The chill of the night presses in again. So does everything she has been feeling—the uncertainty, the doubt, the ache of not knowing if she’s made the right choice, by joining SHIELD, by trying to be someone else.

And here you are. Grinning at her like a dare.

Offering her another decision to make.

She huffs a laugh—quiet, surprised, almost disbelieving. And maybe, in that moment, it’s the clearest she’s felt all night. 

Natasha reaches for the keys again.

This time, you let her take them.

“Get on,” she says.

And for once, Natasha doesn’t need to know where she’s going. Only that, for now, she’s not going alone.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She was right.

You were trouble.

After the two of you sped off into the night, Natasha didn’t ask where to go. She just drove.

Your arms had slipped easily around her waist, your chin resting comfortably on her shoulder, so natural that nothing about your touch felt uncomfortable. There was a relaxed confidence in your hold, like the chaos you left behind didn’t bother you in the slightest.

​​The city stretched around you, lights glittering like a thousand open windows into lives that made more sense than hers. Cars drifted past in flashes of red and gold. Music spilled from passing stores and venues. 

Even this late, New York refused to sleep.

She weaved through it all, carving her path through the noise.

Then your voice, low, warm, and far too close, broke through the wind and into her ear.

“Stop near that park up ahead for me, would you?”

Another suggestion disguised as an option. She caught the subtle tilt in your tone, the way you made things sound like it was her choice.

And yet...she still chose to turn off the road.

Now, she leans back against the railing of the bridge that cuts through the heart of the park, arms crossed, watching as you balance along the narrow ledge that runs beside it. Water sparkles below, black and still, reflecting the city lights.

You walk the edge like it’s nothing. Like a fall wouldn’t mean a thing. Arms behind your back, gaze light, steps easy.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Natasha tenses slightly. The question is not threatening. It’s casual more than anything. Still, instinctively, she considers brushing it off with a lie. 

But then again, she didn’t come to this city just to start another life built on falsehoods.

“Just moved here,” she responds evenly, not a lie but also not the complete truth.

You stop, pivoting on the thin concrete strip with effortless grace. That grin of yours appears again, sharp and knowing.

“Russian, right? Your accent’s subtle, but I can still hear it.”

Her eyes narrow. Not many people notice that. Not unless they’re listening closely.

Too closely.

But you don’t back off. You keep walking the ledge, turning your attention to the stars she can barely see above the haze of city light.

“What brings someone like you to a place like this?” you ask, tilting your head slightly at her. “And sticking your head out for a complete stranger? Trying to be some hero?”

Natsha doesn’t answer this time. Silence wraps around her like a second skin. 

You’re too observant, too casual with truths that cut a little too close. It’s not your charm that unnerves her—it’s the fact that she can’t get a clean read on you.

You don’t press at her silence. You just keep walking, and somehow, she finds herself moving after you, drawn forward by something she’s not sure she understands.

“Let me guess,” you say. “Looking for a fresh start?”

That lands too accurately.

Her step falters. 

You don’t even look back. You just keep talking, your voice calm and sure, like you’re reciting a story you already know the ending to.

“Life didn’t go the way you thought it would. So now you’re here, hoping maybe this place will help you figure out who the hell you’re supposed to be.”

Natasha stops.

And you do, too.

You turn around slowly, meeting her gaze across the short distance. Your head tilts.

“Am I close?”

Her jaw clenches, but she says nothing.

Your smile curls again—quiet, not smug. Like you already know the truth.

You drop into a seat on the ledge, your legs dangling over the water below. The wind toys with your hair as your eyes drift to the skyline.

Natasha studies your profile.

The way your posture is loose, but your eyes are full of ghosts. Something about you doesn’t match the ease in your smile.

Before she realizes she’s speaking, the question slips from her lips.

“What about you?”

You turn to her, the shadows in your gaze vanishing instantly behind your grin.

“Me? I’ve been here all my life. Family’s rooted here. Generations deep. Not much reason to leave.”

There’s a softness to the way you say it. 

But underneath, she hears it—the heaviness. The quiet resignation.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay.” 

The words are out before she can stop herself.

Your smile shifts—tilting wry and bittersweet. You wave her closer.

And without thinking, she steps forward.

Your hand lifts, hovering near her face. 

Then your fingers gently brush a lock of hair behind her ear as your eyes search hers, and Natasha freezes at the way you look at her, like you can see her entire soul with just a simple gaze.

“You’re the one who should go,” you murmur. 

She frowns, confusion flashing across her face.

You shift over the ledge and stand, and the space between you evaporates. Your bodies nearly brush, your breath ghosting against her skin.

Your hands come up, cradling her cheeks now with the lightest touch, and her heart kicks hard against her ribs.

“Contrary to what people say,” you whisper, “this city isn’t built for new beginnings.”

“Why’s that?” Natasha asks, but her voice is softer now.

You lean in, your lips nearly touching hers.

“Too many temptations.”

And then you kiss her.

Natasha freezes for a heartbeat, caught in the gravity of your touch. 

But then—inevitably—she responds. Her hand slips around your waist, her mouth pressing back against yours with slow, consuming heat.

The kiss deepens as you part your lips for her.

Natasha leans further into you like she can’t get enough of your touch. 

Her breath catches as your fingers trace the line of her jaw, your other hand curling around the back of her neck as she presses you to the ledge, your mouths moving in perfect, fevered sync. 

But then—

You smile against her lips, a slow curve that draws Natasha’s suspicion immediately before you suddenly pull the both of you backward.

The world flips. 

Her gasp is swallowed by the rush of air and adrenaline, and then cold crashes over her like a slap.

The lake envelops you both, icy and breath-stealing.

She breaks the surface in a flash, sputtering, turning in the water in search of you, hair slicked against her cheek as she glares murderously in your direction when she finds you nearby. 

You’re already laughing, wading through the chill with a grin that could melt glaciers. 

“What the hell was that for?” she snaps.

You shake your head, water dripping from your lashes. 

“You looked like you needed to cool off.”

Natasha stares at you—utterly soaked, half-livid, half-stunned—and then, despite herself, her lips twitch.

It’s infuriating.

You’re infuriating.

And it only makes her want you more. 

You’re both still damp and breathless when the two of you stumble through the door of her apartment.

Her temporary home, courtesy of SHIELD, is impersonal and minimalistic in every detail. A bed, a couch, a kitchen stripped of personality. 

But right now, it’s all she needs to have you.

You barely get the door closed before she pushes you against it, her mouth crashing into yours again with wild, wet urgency. Her fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, and you’re tugging at the zipper of her jacket, laughter mingling with the soft drag of mouths and gasps.

Boots thud against the floor. Socks abandoned. Shirts peeled off with impatient tugs. The slap of fabric hits the ground in quick succession as you trail backward down the hall, bumping into walls and doors, breathless and ravenous.

By the time you hit the bedroom, her damp tank top is somewhere on the floor and your jeans are half undone. 

You push her back onto the bed and crawl atop her, straddling her hips with soaked denim clinging to your skin, your hair dripping trails along her collarbone.

Natasha looks up at you, chest rising and falling, eyes darker than the sky outside. Her hands grip your thighs like she can’t decide whether to pull you closer or flip you beneath her.

But then your hands find her face, cupping her jaw as you lean down.

Your voice lowers into a whisper that brushes her lips again like a warning wrapped in want.

“I told you,” you murmur, “too many temptations.”

Your mouth claims hers again.

This time slower, deeper.

Natasha melts into it. She knows she should think about this more carefully, but she doesn’t, not because she’s careless, but because something in her wants to choose, choose this. 

Just for a night. 

Just long enough to forget who she was. 

To forget who she’s supposed to be.

And with you—unpredictable, wild, impossible—you make her feel like she can.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The sound of the front door slamming open rips Natasha from sleep.

Her eyes snap open, instincts kicking in before full consciousness. In one fluid motion, she rolls off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. She reaches under the bed frame and pulls the hidden pistol from its holster just as the bedroom door bursts open.

A gun is already aimed at her.

Natasha’s own weapon comes up instantly, sights locking onto the intruder. 

Both women freeze—each assessing the other in a heartbeat.

The woman across from her is statuesque and lethal. Jet-black hair pulled into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail. Sharp features. Her lean build is wrapped in dark tactical wear. Her stance is textbook—controlled and efficient. Professional and deadly.

“Where is she?” the woman demands coldly, voice like ice.

Her eyes flick briefly across the room, noting the bed, the rumpled sheets, and Natasha’s lack of proper clothing. 

But her focus remains unshaken, locked squarely on Natasha with military discipline.

“Who the hell are you?” Natasha shoots back, steady, despite the way her heart drums against her ribs.

The woman’s expression doesn’t shift.

But then the bathroom door opens.

Both women’s attention pivot, eyes tracking the movement.

You step out, casual as anything, still towel-drying your hair. 

You’re dressed in her clothes, Natasha realizes—one of her oversized T-shirts hanging off one shoulder and a pair of shorts that fit just a little too well. 

You pause at the sight of two guns drawn but don’t flinch.

Instead, your voice cuts clean through the tension.

“Vivienne. Stand down.”

The black-haired woman—Vivienne—doesn’t move. Her grip on the gun doesn’t shift, her posture tense with controlled fury. Her gaze flickers to you, then back to Natasha.

You sigh, stepping forward, slow and deliberate, until you’re between them.

Right in the line of fire.

“I said,” you repeat, firmer now, “stand down.”

Natasha’s grip falters slightly at you standing before her gun, but she doesn’t lower her weapon yet. She watches the other armed woman for her choice of action to your command.

Vivienne’s jaw ticks. Her eyes slide between you and Natasha again, and this time she really looks. 

Her expression darkens as she registers your state of dress, the mussed sheets behind you, the intimacy written all over the room like fingerprints.

She knows. She doesn’t say it. But she knows.

The silence stretches thin, tight like wire.

Then, finally, Vivienne lowers her weapon. Slowly. With visible restraint.

She holsters it with a practiced motion, but the tension doesn’t leave her frame. It’s etched into every line of her body. Her eyes never leave Natasha.

You nod, calm but commanding. 

“Wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Vivienne stares for a beat longer, a final flick of icy disdain aimed Natasha’s way—silent judgment and thinly veiled resentment—and then she turns without a word and disappears through the doorway.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Only then does Natasha lower her gun, though she doesn’t relax.

Her breath leaves her in a slow exhale. She doesn’t look away from you when you turn back to her.

“You want to explain what that was?”

You pause for a second like you’re considering it. Then shake your head softly. 

“No.”

You walk to her slowly, barefoot and still damp, the shirt hanging off your frame as your eyes find hers.

“I told you,” you say, voice quieter now. “This city’s not made for clean slates.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything.

Your hand reaches up, brushing a strand of red hair from her face with a surprising tenderness. Then you lean in and press a soft kiss to her mouth—chaste and final.

“I hope you’ll make the right choice.”

You pull away before she can say a word, leaving only the scent of her own shirt on your skin and the ghost of that parting kiss as you step out the door.

Natasha stares after you, lips parted slightly. She is still gripping her gun like she hasn’t fully decided if she should follow or forget you.

There’s something dangerous about you. Reckless. Elusive.

But she can’t deny the way you’ve gotten under her skin.

What kind of person are you really?

The ring of her phone cuts through the silence.

She tears her gaze away from the door and fumbles for the device on the nightstand.

“Barton,” she answers, voice still edged from the adrenaline.

“Where are you?” Clint’s voice filters through, calm but puzzled. “Briefing started fifteen minutes ago.”

Natasha glances at the clock and swears under her breath.

“I’ll be there soon.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits rigid in the glass-walled conference room at SHIELD headquarters, posture straight, eyes forward, but the reprimand from across the table pierces straight through her composure.

“You’ve got some guts, Romanoff.”

Director Fury’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, calm but heavy with disappointment. 

Agents passing by outside slow just slightly, casting curious glances through the transparent walls at the newly turned agent earning a lecture from the director of SHIELD himself. 

“It’s your second week. Second.” Fury’s eye narrows. “You think you can show up whenever it suits you? You think that’s how you prove you belong here?”

Natasha says nothing. She doesn’t flinch. But her silence is tight, clenched in her jaw and the slight twitch of her fingers resting on the table.

Seated beside her, Clint leans forward with a half-sigh, trying to diffuse the tension with a flicker of charm.

“Come on, Fury—cut her some slack. She’s still adjusting. And plus, you weren’t exactly here at the top of the hour either.”

Fury’s gaze snaps to him, unimpressed.

“That’s Director Fury,” he says flatly. “And unless you’ve got something helpful to add, I highly suggest you don’t speak right now, Barton.”

Clint lifts both hands, backpedaling with a wry grin. 

“Just offering context.”

Before the moment spirals further, Natasha finally speaks, her voice firm and low.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

Fury studies her—long enough to make her wonder if he believes her—then finally straightens, rolling his good eye with a huff.

“It better not. Not if you want to stay here.”

With that, he gestures to the far end of the room.

“Agent Hill. From the top.”

Maria Hill steps forward smoothly, placing folders before Natasha and Clint as she begins the briefing.

“These are the files for your next mission. There’s a shipment coming in—”

The conference room door bursts open with a loud slam.

“You.”

The single word ricochets through the glass like a bullet. Natasha’s eyes flick up sharply, immediately recognizing the man storming into the room.

It’s him—the aggressive one from outside the club. The one you’d refused to go with.

Except now, he’s wearing a SHIELD uniform.

“Agent Grant,” Fury says slowly, brows lifting. “You’re not scheduled for this meeting. Step outside and wait your turn.”

Grant doesn’t move. His eyes are locked on Natasha, brimming with restrained fury.

“You don’t get it, sir,” he growls, stepping closer. “This woman ruined everything. I invested months of setup in this op, and she blew it all to hell in one night.”

Clint’s posture stiffens beside her. He starts to move, but Natasha subtly reaches out under the table, brushing her fingers against his arm to stop him. Her gaze remains cool and even as she regards Grant.

“Explain,” Fury commands flatly.

Grant drags his eyes off Natasha, jaw tightening.

“I’d just been assigned with the target. Working as her bodyguard. I was this close to learning more about the family’s operations. Then she—” he gestures angrily toward Natasha “—intervened last night. She took the girl, and I got fired for losing track of her.”

Fury turns to her now. “Is that true?”

Natasha folds her arms. 

“I didn’t know she was being watched by SHIELD. It looked like she was being harassed. I stepped in.”

“And you left with her?”

Natasha nods once. 

Fury’s tone sharpens. 

“What did you two do after that?”

“We went for a ride. Talked.”

“That’s it?”

Natasha hesitates, her mind briefly flashing with the memory of you under her before turning away and mumbling under her breath.

“Among other things.”

Fury’s expression doesn’t change, but his eye drops to the faint purplish mark peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

A bruise just barely visible against her skin.

“You slept with our target,” he states flatly.

It’s not a question, so Natasha doesn’t dignify it with a response. She simply stares back.

Fury turns sharply toward Hill.

“Pull the file on Grant’s operation.”

“Sir—” Grant protests, already catching on to where this is going.

Fury ignores him as Hill taps at her tablet, sending the information to the room’s display. It flashes on the screen behind her—surveillance shots, field notes, timelines. And you.

Natasha’s eyes land on one of the many images and stay there.

You’re leaning against a railing, hair tousled by the wind, half-smiling like you know something no one else does. The candid ease of the photo of you disarms her, and Natasha forgets, for a second, that anyone else is in the room.

“Months,” Fury mutters as he scrolls through the report. “Months of effort. Asset placement. Surveillance. Of just trying to get someone close enough to her. And you…”

He glances back at Natasha.

“You did it in one night.”

Natasha’s jaw sets, and a flicker of unease tightens the corners of her mouth at his implication. Still, she meets his gaze without blinking.

“That wasn’t the point.”

“It is now,” Fury counters. 

He tosses the physical file onto the table. It lands with a dull thud, opening to papers and photos spilling in front of her.

“Congratulations, Agent Romanoff,” Fury says coolly. “You’ve just been assigned your first official solo undercover op.”

Natasha’s brow furrows, caught off guard. 

“Wait—what?”

Fury nods toward the file.

Natasha glances down. Your photo stares back at her again. She reads the line beneath it, heart skipping once.

Target: Y/n Manfredi.

Daughter of Silvio “Sivermane” Manfredi, the current head of the Manfredi Family and leading contender to take control of the Maggia crime syndicate.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n : new series release even though I probably shouldn’t 😅 but this has been sitting in the drafts for so long that I just need to get it out so I don’t have to keep thinking about it.

This one’s connected to Chasing Shadows which is technically considered to be the prequel. And I just want to give a heads up about the series, it’s gonna be a little complicated because the story’s going to weave between two timelines, jumping between the past and the present. If it ever gets confusing, I'll add some sort of indication or label in the future.

Thanks again for reading!

[adhdwannabewriter]

Different sentence structures and the vibes they can achieve

1. Short, choppy sentences

Excellent for creating tension, urgency, or drama because they speed up the pacing and convey intense emotion.

She said no. I didn’t listen. I should have.

2. Long, flowing sentences

These are great for descriptions, adding detail, and explanations. They can create an intellectual or reflective vibe—or even a dreamy one. You can also use them to evoke a sense of being overwhelmed. They slow the pacing, add complexity, and help build tension. But once you're in the thick of a tense moment, it's often better to switch back to short sentences to keep the energy up.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting a golden sheen across the cracked pavement, she stood there, unsure of what she was waiting for—only that something, anything, had to change.

3. Fragmented sentences

These give off a casual, stylized, and emotional tone. They're perfect for internal monologue and mimicking the way we actually think or speak.

Not the way I planned. Not even close. But here we are.

4. Repetitive structure

They add drama, rhythm, and emotional intensity. It's a powerful stylistic tool that can drive a point home.

She wanted peace. She wanted quiet. She wanted to forget.

5. Inverted or unusual word order

If you're aiming for a formal, archaic, or poetic tone, this structure will get you there.

Gone was the light from his eyes.

6. Interruptions (em dashes or parentheses)

If you're going for a conversational, conflicted, or stream-of-consciousness vibe—even something humorous if used right—interruptions are your friend. They mimic how we speak and think in real time.

I was going to tell her—God, I really was—but I couldn’t.

7. Questions

Questions are fantastic for showing uncertainty, anxiety, or inner conflict. They can also give off a philosophical tone and invite reflection from both the character and the reader.

What if I never make it out? What if this is it?

[wheretearswander]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ≡ : 𐔌 gojo satoru × top!male!reader . . . 𓆩𖥔𓆪

╭ 경고 : : 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ╮ . . . 「 18+ 」 . ⓘ music for a certain feeling . lengthy exposition . more monologue than actual smut. sex . p in v . hustler!gojo . boypussy!gojo . prostitution . safe sex . marathon sex . squirting . service top!reader . cunnilingus . aftercare . pillowtalk . ooc!gojo . feminisation . overstimulation . possible angst . ending open to your interpretation / imagination . . . 3.3k words

「 𖥔 」 . 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 the clock strikes twelve, everyone's masks come off.

Most would already be slumbering upon their soft mattresses, or lying down on measly sunken ones, and perhaps even just stained, flimsy cardboard. But ultimately, it's the time where you can truly relinquish yourself to your deepest, truest self.

And best of all? No witnesses.

At least . . . no one of significance.

Neon signs softly fading in and out, worn out over time & effort; buildings barely standing on their last two legs, broken down by carlessness and shame. But nothing compares to the weary souls who litter the pavement in nothing but the thinnest of fabrics and the thickest of maquillage — all of them fighting for survival in the inky black of night, with nothing but a fleeting hope and a definite uncertainty that they could ever go back to a structure whose state they could call home.

But how would that be possible when you work on the streets for a living?

On the rare occasion that entry into a house, an apartment or some other complex is on the itinerary — spontaneous or not — it still isn't home.

And it never will be.

Night after night, client after client, climax after climax, the sky no longer distinguishes itself from the bright blue sky of the dawn from the star-spotted darkness that is nighttime. Rather it presents itself a murky shade of grey.

Some days, a little blue comes through — and only then could GOJO SATORU tell what time of day it might have been.

That is, if his head wasn't buried in the mattress of his temporary residence where he would wait out the day until his so-called shift starts by the hope of slumber; in the heat of a rocking car forced around by fervid friction.

Or now.

"Harder!" Satoru cried out, his fingers digging into the comforter of his current client with his eyes rolled threateningly to the back of his skull, only his sclera obvious, complimented dauntingly with the red of his optics' arteries.

His plump, rosy lips blown out with ragged strings of moans that he himself could not begin to comprehend within his state of bliss.

"God- yes, princess." you moaned out, quickening your pace, making sure to hit that spot that makes him see stars with every thrust.

Even while slobbering into the thick duvet; his tongue lolling out of his swollen, kiss-bitten lips — he still had a job to do: please the customer, get fucked & get paid.

His rates were simple: ¥750* for oral, ¥1000* for half-and-half, anal costs extra.

He was by no means a professional, but just like many in this profession, he was desperate.

Though his skill being put into question always had the answer come easy:

"Fuck-," you came into the condom, the rubber slightly sliding off your base to make space for the copious amount of release your system had to emit from the sheer excitement.

Gojo's pussy is top. of the. line.

In ragged breaths, you slowly pulled out of his entrance — ignoring the whine the white-haired man exhaled — and dragged the offending piece of latex off, resulting in a light shiver & a shaky exhale.

While satoru tried to gather his breath, you tied the condom off & threw it toward the direction of the rubbish bin where multiple condoms laid in a similar state: tied-off & filled.

When you turned your attention back to the fucked-out Satoru, your shaft only continued to harden. Even with the multiple orgasms, you had yet to truly experience relief and to Satoru, this was as bad as it was good.

Pros? He could charge more & continue to experience the mind-numbing ecstasy that has come to define his existence.

Cons? He didn't know how much more he could take.

His thighs quiver as they try to hold his trembling self up. His face buried into the sheets. Sheets stained with several bodily fluids, all of which only spurred you on even more.

Every little whimper of his told a myriad of stories in the same breath:

I want more.

I can't take anymore.

It feels so good it hurts . . .

I'm so tired . . .

I NEED more.

And you could pick up on the thoughts — or rather, the need — behind those hazed eyes; once a vibrant sky blue dulled by life, fatigue, and burdened, but now clouded over with a raging storm of lust, need, desperation, tinged with torment and gleaming with fervour.

There was no question that you were the best client he had the pleasure of servicing in all his years on the street. You were chivalrous, gentle, giving, and attentive. Every little need catered to, sexual or not. Everytime he'd shiver just a little too much, you'd stop and check on him, holding him tight.

But the best part was just one thing: a safeword.

Prior to the hookup, you'd asked him for one. A simple question & to most it wouldn't matter.

But with all the years of his working, surviving; a piece of his humanity slowly chipped off, bit by bit. Even if he willingly came into this twisted game, it was not by the heart's desire. It was from the lack of choice. And it is common knowledge that such things are loveless; no intimacy, no care, just one night of raucous & reckless passion followed by a life of shame.

Just like many, he felt worthless. Undeserving. No longer human. He was simply there.

Yet as soon as you asked him for said safeword, a flicker of hope twinkled in his eyes, the dull blue brightening just a moment to their original hue.

But.

Sex work is sex work.

You are neither the first nor the last he would ever have. And that was fact. This was likely a one-off, and the chances of it ever happening again are subzero.

Your gentle disposition allowed him to feel. To enjoy. He cursed himself in his mind, attempting to ground him back to the harsh reality that came with his line of work.

10 times out of 10 his clients would care only about their own pleasure. Rightfully so. He was getting paid for this. But it didn't lessen the numbness. He'd always look away from his customers, lifelessly looking at the ceiling or some other place, as long as it wasn't the person's face.

Every lewd act he'd do out of duty, not care.

Exaggerated moans, fake compliments, complete untruths: the porno package. It was all a sham. Just a well-rehearse programme done over & refined by experience and time.

He felt nothing.

So your tender allure got him perhaps a little too open and a little too trusting. Especially since all that kindness was a complete one-eighty to your sudden intrustion back into him.

Satoru lurched forward, gripping the sheets tighter, a harsh scream ripping out of his sore throat, rising in pitch with every buck of your hips slapping against his rotund backside.

He could feel that you had put yet another rubber on your shaft, the material rubbing against his swollen, gummy walls.

Nonetheless, even with the trying presence of said prophylactic*, it did not diminish the euphoria you allowed him to experience; with how well you stretched his worn pussy out, digging into all the right spots, making him mold himself around your girth.

And even despite the roughness, he had yet to utter the safeword. Just the thought of it comforted him that he simply ignored the pain that came from the overwhelming pleasure, choosing to drown further into the passion; the intimacy he's long craved from all the nights he had to endure just to see the next day.

The dichotomy further warped his mind. He enjoyed your initial benignity but this rough side of you broke him. He couldn't tell whether you were truly a good person or a wolf in sheep's clothing. But either way, he liked it.

And that thought caused him to climax to both your surprises, gushing out like a waterfall so violently that his body pushed your cock out & further soaked your sheets.

He gasped, closing his thighs & his hips bucked as if they had a mind of their own, his walls fluttering & squeezing around nothing. Each clench sent a fresh wave of pleasure running down his spine & additionally fuzzing his already fucked-out mind. He couldn't come down from this high.

"Hey, hey," you shushed him sweetly. "It's okay, princess, you're okay," you held him from behind, littering kisses on the back of his neck.

None of which aided his overhelmed state but the sincerity behind your actions calmed his mind a tad bit, so slowly but surely, his breathing stabilised, the shaking reducing significantly.

"What was that?" he gasped out, fingers clenching & unclenching the sheets.

"What do you mean, princess?" you asked in a hushed tone to avoid alarming him, massaging his hips to further soothe him from his frenzied state.

"That," he shivered.

You trailed your gaze down to the sizeable stain under him then back into his eyes, "Have you never done that before?"

He shook his head.

You slowly pushed his hips to fully lie on the bed & rolled him onto his back then caressed his cheek, "Did you like it?"

With a slight fluster, he nodded, pursing his lips.

A chuckle left your lips, a sweet smile stretching on your lips, "That's good," you pecked his forehead. "That's what matters."

His heart skipped a bear or two, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

Every time he tried to put his guard back up, you somehow make them crumble back down on their own. And everytime you somehow manage to do it successfully and effortlessly.

"Why don't we stop here for now, hm?" you pecked his lips. "I think you've had enough excitement for today."

After that, you laid down on your side, pulling him into you, allowing him respite & safety in your arms.

This cuddling position made him feel even more vulnerable, but part of him needed it. And you knew for certain he did.

"So how much did all that amount to?"

"¥900* . . ." he managed to breathe out, the haze still fogging his mind.

"Any additional charges for aftercare?" you chuckled, massaging the red of his body: his derriere, the back of his thighs & the deep handprints on his hips.

He whimpered at the feeling, relaxing deeper into your hold. "Mm, no. If anything I should be paying you for it." he attempted to joke even in his incapacitated state, and you found humour in both his efforts and in his serene acceptance of being in your arms.

"Maybe I should," you turn his face to you & kiss him. "How much do you think I should charge?"

He pulled away from the kiss and gazed into your eyes, tracing each fine detail carefully.

"¥4000 minimum." he stated, earnest with every syllable. "Just for a kiss."

"That seems steep, princess. Especially for a kiss." you continued to litter his face with kisses, paying special attention to his plump, pink lips. "You're greatly overestimating me."

He only snuggled deeper into you, "You'd be worth every yen . . ." he mumbled breathily, sinking deeper into the intimacy of the moment.

You stroked his hair, inclined to comfort him. "Quite the compliment, darling." The statement rolled off your tongue with ease, "you are too." You kissed him again, letting him lead the kiss as he'd like it.

"Do you want to take a shower maybe? I wouldn't mind." Satoru perked up at this, confused by such a generous offer. He'd have jumped at the opportunity had his legs not felt like jello. So instead, he shook his head & sighed, "I'm good."

You nodded. But as you started to pull away, he clung onto you tighter and whispered, "Don't go . . ."

There was only one goal in your mind: to clean the man up. Your intentions were to locate a rag then come back to wash him down; but his need for comfort pulled you back into his arms, holding him tighter in return.

"Okay, princess."

He nodded into your chest.

"But mind if I do something?"

He looked up at you, curious, but not wanting to exert any more effort, so he settled for nodding & lightly loosening his hold on you.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you pecked his forehead and continued to leave kisses down his face, further down to his soft neck, down his supple chest, more kisses tracing the lines of his musculature on his torso.

As you went lower, his once calm state started to subside, reverting back to his needy headspace that was all sorts good as it is bad. Nevertheless, his body was well worn out; so he could not react as much as before.

And as soon as you licked a broad stripe up his folds, he shivered against his will, his hand instincitvely coming down to hold your hair.

"I thought you said-," he let out a shaky exhale, his folds quivering against your lips.

"I know, princess, I know." you placed a gentle peck on his throbbing clit. "But we still need to clean you up regardless." you then places his legs over your shoulder. "Is that alright?"

The white-haired man couldn't bring himself to look into your eyes, but still he nodded, tangling his fingers in your hair.

And so you continued your actions, being sure to remain gentle & avoid spurring him further, leaving little kitten licks on his clit; kissing the bud instead of the usual sucking; not pushing your tongue fully into him, only scooping out the remaining essence that had yet to pour out of him.

"You always taste this good, doll?" you spoke into his cunt, the vibrations engorging his clit even more, and you can feel it throb against your nose.

His fingers reflexively tightened on your hair and he let out a shaky whimper, "M-mhm . . ."

"You eat healthy, huh?" taking your time, your tongue tracing circles onto his clit before sucking on it, feeling his essence drool out of him and onto your chin.

"I tr-try- ah~!"

"What do you mean, princess?" your lips consumed his quivering golds with a certain fervour that one would consider borderline inhumane with how focused you seemed to be on bringing him to cloud nine.

"I try to . . ." he sighed out. "if I can afford it . . ."

"That right?" He nodded, clenching around your tongue in an attempt to prevent his juices from continuously leaking out — but to no avail as the action only made him more aware of your presence, the expertise of your lips, the heaviness of your tongue, the way the muscle glid so seamlessly within his pulsing walls & hit every good spot his pussy had.

You nodded in return. "Well, you still taste amazing." Your licks sped up & deepened as you felt his hips starting to grind onto your face. "The perfect amount of sweet & salty." you deliberately pressed your tongue deeply onto him, dragging it up slowly but surely, ending with a flick of his clit with the tip of your tongue.

His back arched off the bed, a loud moan resonating within your room, a light stream spurting out of him & directly onto your mouth which you swallowed in an instant without stopping your infuriatingly arousing ministrations onto his pulsating cunt; all pink, puffed-up, and pouring.

"Gonna cum?" you teased his clit, flitting the tip of your tongue side-to-side rapidly then latching back on to suck & nibble on it, allowing you to feel each pulsation, his essence coating your chin in a thick layer of arousal.

"Mhm . . . yes- mmh~ yes~!"

"Go ahead, princess. You deserve it," your thumb pressed onto his clit, his hips bucking involuntarily. "You've been such a good girl." You dive back into his glistening folds, eating him out with such vigour he swore the heavens fell from above & fell right onto him, his world blurring into a mere vision of what he'd assume were stars.

"Fuck!" he screamed, squirting another vicious jetstream of clear liquid, spraying onto your face and darkening the previous stain on the bed that had started to dry up, now even darker shade that the first.

Yet you swallowed it all with ease & a particular gentleness that kept him gushing onto your tongue. Even if it did weaken at times, he'd spurt bit by bit, lasting for far longer than good for either of you.

To him, it felt like forever. His thighs shaking around your head, his breaths mixing with moans & whispers as if his body couldn't choose how to process the situation.

To you, it felt too short. You wanted more, needed, even. But you knew he couldn't take anymore or else he'd be left to drag himself off your bed to the streets, and even then you doubted his arms could carry his weight.

So with that you pulled away from his addictive entrance, a line of drool connecting his shame and your soaked lips, panting lightly & licking your lips clean. Then you hovered over him & kissed him softly to coax the poor man out of the headspace he did not realise he was in.

At first, he was unresponsive, likely still lost in the sensations. But after a while, you felt him respond. That made you exhale against his lips in relief, still kissing him until you were sure that he was fully present & back grounded in reality.

The whole of his squirting orgasm had lasted minutes, which explained his loss of thought & awareness — other than the already present overstimulation before it.

"You're going to have to stay the night, princess." You kissed his forehead, caressing his cheek. "Do you have any appointments tomorrow?"

He could only gather tidbits of your words, but still, he shook his head & weakly pulled you down to lay over him, desperate for contact & comfort — which you reciprocated eagrely, aiding him in his riding out of his high.

Just like earlier, you massaged his hips, hoping to sate his remaining desires; kissing his lips to keep him from floating back to seventh heaven and remaining there.

You rolled beside him, which he quickly latched onto you, unwilling to part from the only thing that gave him a sense of comfort.

You smiled & stroked his hair, kissing the top of his head.

"Goodnight, princess," you left a lingering kiss onto his forehead. And though neither of you were clean, clothed, or warm, the enjoyment & satisfaction allowed you to sleep within each other's embrace, ignoring the cold prickling at your skins due to the lack of proper coverage and from the stain still present on your sheets.

Perhaps the world was unfair. Cruel even.

Souls venture into the darkness for many reasons; secret to everyone, known only to some — other than themselves.

This world is full of temptation, demons, the worst of the worst.

Perhaps this was hell.

But Satoru failed to care.

Not when he felt like nothing could touch him while he was in your arms.

Still, this would have to end at some point. Probably before you woke up, but definitely the next day.

He didn't do love. He couldn't. What person would love someone as defiled & worthless as he?

So, soon enough, he'd return back to the streets; back to flagging down customers, back to the usual regime of detached, uncaring sex where he'd get fucked then paid, hoping to not get a black eye or some other ailment from the clients' carelessness.

Soon enough his humanity would fully deplete, leaving him a soulless & mindless husk, a toy, an object for pleasure.

Nothing more.

And soon enough, you'd fade away from his mind.

ⓘ NOTES . . .

¥ : yen ( japanese currency )

¥750 : in place of $5 ( American ) : ¥726.13, appox. $5.16

¥1000 : in place of $8 ( American ) : ¥1165.72, approx. $6.89

¥900 : $6.18 ( American )

prophylactic : a condom

⸝⸝ . ⊂ COCYTUS ⊃

© ── 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 . any use: reposting, stealing, plagiarising, copying, etc. is STRICTLY PROHIBITED. translations and reposts must be given my explicit permission.

[srjsteel]

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Invest in satisfactory. Choose superior dowel bar solutions. Build infrastructure that stands the test of time.

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i grew up into something good

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♡ a/n —  for my childhood friends to lovers series! ( please note: i read back through the manga and scoured the internet and couldn't find definite ages on kaiser's past- so i may have got it wrong !)

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — michael kaiser x reader, fem! reader, TW! mentions of abuse ( both kaiser and reader ), SPOILERS! for kaiser's past, nickname 'liebe' used once, goes from ages 8 to 19, slight angst?, slight fluff, childhood friends to lovers

♡ synopsis — you were michael kaiser's god given solace, but were you enough to make him stay?

Snowflakes swirled in the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, the cold gnawing at your exposed skin like a starving animal.

The bruises on your arms and legs throbbed, but they weren’t new. Pain had become as familiar to you as breathing, as inevitable as the cycle of being dragged down and getting back up again.

You walked through the slush-covered pavement barefoot, having been thrown out before you could grab your shoes. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your too-thin sweater, trying to keep the warmth in, but it was no use.

The winter night bit into your bones, and your body trembled from more than just the cold.

And then you saw him.

A boy, barely eight years old, sitting alone on the rusted swings of the abandoned park down the street.

His lip was split, a bruise already darkening along his cheekbone, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of a jacket too thin to fight off the winter wind.

His breath came in short, shallow puffs, and even from a distance, you could see the glint of unshed tears in his bright blue eyes.

For a long moment, you just stood there, watching. Because you knew.

You knew what he felt. The sting of rejection, the loneliness that pressed against your ribs like a crushing weight.

The pain of being born into a world that decided you were unwanted before you even had a chance to prove otherwise.

And somehow, he knew too.

“…Hey.” His voice cracked from the cold as you stepped closer, his head tilting slightly. His eyes flickered over your bruises, the red marks on your skin, the way you hugged yourself like you were trying to disappear.

Without a word, you sat on the swing next to him. The chains creaked under your weight, a sharp sound in the silence.

He didn’t ask where you came from. You didn’t ask why he was here.

You simply existed together. Two broken children, sitting in the dead of winter, finding warmth in each other’s presence.

That was the first night you met Michael Kaiser.

And from that night on, you were never apart.

At thirteen, the weight of your shared existence became heavier.

You had each other—that was all that mattered. In a world that had discarded you, the two of you had carved out a place where you could just be. Where the bruises didn’t matter, where the cruel words faded into nothing.

But the world was relentless.

You still had to go to school, while Kaiser roamed the streets, making money however he could, playing soccer like his life depended on it—because, in some ways, it did.

He lived without structure, without rules, without an escape plan. His future was a black void, stretching endlessly in every direction, and you were the only light in it.

“Why don’t you just quit?” he asked one afternoon, sitting on the rooftop of an old apartment building where you sometimes hid out together. A soccer ball sat beside him, spinning idly under his fingers. “School’s a waste of time, anyway.”

“I want to go to university, Micha.”

Something about the certainty in your voice made him pause. You had never sounded like that before—so sure, so determined.

He scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “More school? For what?”

You peeled off your blazer, revealing fresh bruises underneath.

He was the only one you ever let see them.

“I want to be a doctor,” you said simply. “To help people when they’re hurt.”

For the first time in his life, Kaiser felt small.

Because you believed in something. Because you had a dream. And as ridiculous as it was, as impossible as it seemed, he wanted to believe in something too.

It was in that moment that Michael Kaiser realized he loved you.

At fourteen, he kissed you for the first time.

It was his birthday.

To his father, it was just another year spent stuck with a child he never wanted.

To Kaiser, it was another step closer to getting away. One more year survived. One more year closer to freedom—or death. He hadn’t decided which yet.

To you, though, it was the day Michael Kaiser was born into this world. And for that, you were thankful.

You found him at the park, the same place where you had first met, holding a single bread roll with a candle stabbed into it.

You had stolen the candle—and maybe the lighter too—but that didn’t matter.

“What’s that for?” Kaiser asked, amused, as you plopped down next to him.

“I couldn’t find any cake,” you admitted sheepishly. “But you have to make a wish on your birthday. That’s how it works.”

Rolling his eyes, he blew out the candle, and you beamed.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked, voice full of childlike wonder.

Kaiser didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his breath warm against your lips, and kissed you.

It was soft, hesitant, uncertain. The first good thing he had ever been given in his life.

“What was the wish?” you whispered when he pulled away.

He looked at you, eyes burning with something you didn’t yet understand.

“That,” he murmured. “You. For you to be with me forever.”

At fifteen, he left.

Ray Dark came into his life like a promise, like a lifeline, like the devil disguised as salvation. He was everything Kaiser had ever wanted—a ticket out, a future worth something.

“This man is going to change my life,” Kaiser told you, voice filled with something close to hope.

You weren’t dating. Not really. But you had kissed each other more times than you could count, fallen asleep tangled together, breathed the same air as if it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And now, he was leaving.

“What about…” The words died in your throat.

What about me? you wanted to beg for an answer.

“What about what?” he pressed, tilting his head closer.

What about us? your heart screamed.

You swallowed hard. “Never mind.”

He sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Liebe, don’t cry,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ll be back. I’d never leave you.”

He kissed you then—deeper, more meaningful than ever before. And the next morning, he was gone.

You waited. You waited for years.

At nineteen, you saw him again.

Not in person. On a television screen, in the common area of your dorm.

His hair was different—shorter, the ends dyed electric blue. A tattoo curled around his skin like a brand, like a reminder of who he had become.

He wasn’t the boy you knew anymore. He was Michael Kaiser, the star of Bastard München.

You stood frozen, staring, as the commentator sang his praises. The people around you cheered.

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you even realized they had started.

I’ll be back. I’d never leave you.

But he had.

And maybe you couldn’t even blame him.

Because Michael Kaiser had made it out. And he had left you behind in order to save himself.

And somehow, even after all these years—after all the promises and all the distance—you still weren’t sure whether that was something you could ever forgive.

do i dislike kaiser? sort of. is he still one of my favorite characters to write for? hell yeah.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[ariestrxsh]

shy!sub!chris x exbabysitter!reader

˚₊ · »-♡→ content warning: smut, mommy kink, age gap (Chris is 22 & reader is 28), praise, masturbation, handjob, hair pulling, innocence corruption

This fic was inspired/requested by this ask. 🤍

˚₊ · »-♡→ summary: chris runs into his old childhood babysitter, and their innocent reunion takes a turn when the two can't deny the sexual tension between them.

If the age gap or the fact that the reader used to babysit Chris bothers you, then don't read this fic !

dividers by @/bernardsbendystraws

Baby Sitter

chapters: | 1 |

"No way! Chris Sturniolo?" Your familiar voice broke Chris' attention away from his phone, his blue eyes first scanning over your red heels, your black tights, and then the grey dress suit you were wearing paired with a long, open black peacoat.

He was leaned up against the side of an old brick building with one hand in his hoodie pocket to keep it warm, waiting for the bus home. "Oh, my god! Hi!" He exclaimed, his face lighting up when he recognized you.

"You're so big!" You declared, pulling him into a hug and ruffling his messy, brown hair. The warmth of his embrace brought you some solace from the nearly freezing temperature of this brisk, winter afternoon.

Chris caught a hint of the floral perfume you'd been wearing for the past decade, and the memories of when you were both kids came flooding back to him.

"You must've been this tall the last time I saw you," you told him, holding your hand out and gesturing about three feet from the ground.

"Oh, come on. I haven't been that short since I was eight years old. You babysat me up until I was almost twelve," Chris chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes.

You glanced him over one more time. Chris had always been a cute kid, but now he was a handsome man. You scanned over his slightly muscular build, his sharp jawline, and the bit of stubble he had coming in on his face from not shaving the past few days.

"Can't believe that was ten years ago. You look good," you complimented him. "So do you," he replied, his voice textured with a hint of lust as his gaze danced over your breasts and your long legs.

"You taking the bus?" You asked him, motioning towards the bus schedule. "Yeah, but my bus won't be here for another half hour," he shrugged, looking around at the traffic building up. "Maybe longer," he faintly added.

"I could take you home," you warmly smiled at him, tilting your head to the side. "Really?" He wondered, surprised by your kind gesture.

"Of course. Still live in the same house? I think I still remember how to get there," you responded, crossing one lapel of your coat over the other, folding your arms, and raising your shoulders to your ears to fend off the cold.

"No, actually. I moved into my own apartment last year. It's probably pretty far out of the way if I'm being honest. I don't want to waste your time," Chris nervously chewed on his lip, staring down at his black converse.

"Don't be silly, Chris. I don't have anywhere to be," you reached out and gently squeezed his arm, reassuring him that your offer was genuine. "My car's over in that parking garage over there," you motioned towards the large structure across the street.

"Okay, sure. Thank you," Chris said, pulling his hood over his head as the chilly wind started to pick up. You stuffed your hands into your coat pockets, and the two of you started slowly meandering over in that direction, your heels click-clacking against the pavement, and Chris' sneakers pitter-pattering next to you.

"So, you're all grown up now. Got your own place, got your own job.." you smiled over at him. "Yeah, I do. I have my own car, too, but it's in the shop right now," he sighed.

"Is it gonna be expensive to fix?" You wondered aloud. "A little, but on the bright side, I'm saving money on gas walking and taking the bus to work," Chris shrugged, the corner of his lip turning up in a weak smile.

"What are you doing for work?" You asked, glancing both ways before crossing the street. "Landscaping, construction, some basic handy-man work," he answered you.

"Is that how you got these?" You flirtatiously squeezed his bicep. He scoffed and laughed, his heartbeat quickening as your touch lingered.

"What do you do for work?" He asked, flipping the question around on you and taking the attention off of himself. "See that little window right there? I work at that law firm," you told him, pointing up at the tall building a couple blocks away.

"No way! You're a lawyer?" He assumed, lifting his eyebrows. "No, just a paralegal," you responded, laughing. Chris didn't really understand the difference.

He thought about making a comment about you being dressed way too hot to be a lawyer, but he bit his tongue, worried that it might come out wrong.

"Hey, you're not in a rush to get home, are you?" You stopped, turning to him. "No. No hurry," Chris replied, shrugging his shoulders and secretly hoping to spend more time with you.

"There's a coffee shop about a block away. How about we go grab a drink and get out of the cold for a bit?" You suggested, the chill of the air biting at the tip of your nose. "That sounds nice," Chris nodded, following your lead.

"So, how's your mom doing?" You wondered, peering over at Chris. "She's doing well. She misses you. You were her favorite babysitter, you know. She'd always call you first when she needed someone to watch me," Chris admitted.

"Good. That means you didn't tell her I let you watch scary movies with me and stay up way past your bedtime," you joked. "Nope. Still haven't told her to this day," Chris responded, winking in your direction.

"Good boy," you said, ruffling his hair again. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and his face turned a bit red with embarrassment.

You didn't mean for that moment to create so much sexual tension between the two of you, but your eyes met for just a second, both of you conveying a look of desire. You both glanced away just as quickly, letting the moment pass.

You cleared your throat before speaking again. "So your mom. She still working at the hospital?" You wondered, rubbing your hands together to keep them warm before nestling them back into your big coat pockets. "Yeah, still working long hours," he replied.

You lead Chris down an alley tucked between two tall buildings where you were temporarily safe from the windchill. Chris ran his fingertips along the cold brick as he turned the corner, the rough surface leaving him with both a strange and satisfying sensation.

A comfortable silence lingered between you as you meandered down the path, not wanting to fill each other in too quickly on your lives to keep the visit from being cut short.

The sounds of the city moved around you, traffic bustling and people clamoring about. The city was like that, everyone always onto the next thing. It seemed like you and Chris were the only ones dragging out your steps, trying to pass the time instead of racing it.

You turned another corner, leading Chris back out into the strong winds as you pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear in an attempt to keep it from blowing wildy in your face.

Straight ahead tucked between an antique shop and a record store was the coffeehouse you frequented. You and Chris, once again, glanced both ways before crossing the street.

Despite the frigid air, Chris' palms had grown sweaty from his nervous energy. He felt like a little kid again in the presence of his pretty babysitter, who he'd always had a raging crush on, hoping you thought he was cool, or at the very least, not uncool.

He subtly wiped the perspiration off on the front of his jeans before reaching for the door with a shaky hand, holding it for you, and nodding for you to go through it.

The two of you shuffled into the warm, cozy lobby of the café, so warm that the first thing you did was remove your coat and sling it over your arm, prompting Chris' eyes to drop to the bit of exposed cleavage that peeked out over your neckline.

The ambience was just right, smooth jazz playing softly in the background, warm overhead lighting, and the hiss of milk being steamed to perfection. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet flavors wafted through the welcoming atmosphere.

Chris got a peppermint mocha, and you ordered a cortado, which Chris insisted on paying for, and you didn't put up a fight.

He'd always been sweet like that, even when you two were just kids. He was always holding doors open for you and waiting to eat his dinner until you'd taken your place at the table.

He was always considerate and gentleman-like, a product of his personality and his mother's good morals.

The two of you found a place to sit near the back next to a big window, and while the two of you were reminiscing on old memories, the server brought the two of you your drinks.

You thanked him, but when Chris' eyes landed on your coffee, his smile fell. "Hey, want me to go bring this back? I think they brought you the wrong thing," Chris offered.

"No, this is what I ordered!" You assured him. He stared inquisitively at your measly 4 oz drink, wondering what the appeal was.

"It's really good, Chris. I promise," you responded, reading his expression. "I'd ask for a taste, but I'd finish it off in one sip," he joked. You rolled your eyes, but you laughed along.

"So, are you still with Kyle?" He wondered aloud, staring down at your hands that were cupping your drink, searching for a wedding band or engagement ring.

"No," you told him, your hands retreating and falling into your lap. "He wasted my time, really. We were together for nine years and in the midst of our three-year-long engagement, he cheated on me," you scoffed.

"I knew I never liked that guy," Chris muttered, clenching his jaw. "I know you didn't. You'd always try to sit between us on the couch and interrupt us right when we were about to kiss," you recalled, the corner of your lip morphing into a faint smile.

It was hard for you to deny the little crush Chris had on you when he was a young boy, but sitting in front of him now in this coffee shop, admiring the way his features had aged like fine wine, you wondered if the tables had turned.

Chris bit back a smirk as he recalled a few times that he had "woken up" from a nightmare, pulling your attention away with your shitty boyfriend at the time so that you'd have to come to his rescue and comfort him. Kyle had even accused him of faking before.

"Kid always has a bad dream every time we're about to do it," he'd snarked at you once, pulling you back onto his lap, which caused a verbal disagreement to break out between the two of you.

"Kyle! You asshole! He's eleven! He's not thinking like that," You had whisper-yelled in response, pushing him away and following Chris to his bedroom to lull him back to sleep.

Chris had overheard the conversation from down the hall, but even now, over ten years later, he couldn't admit to you that most of the time, he was faking his nightmares.

No one had had the talk with Chris at this point, but he had a vague idea of what it meant when Kyle would stay the night, and he felt an incredible amount of jealousy when he would.

"How about you, Chris? You dating anyone? I bet the girls can't stay away from you," You flattered him, putting your drink to your lips and taking a sip.

He blushed and shook his head after drinking from his own coffee. "I've actually never had a serious girlfriend. Can't seem to get past the talking stage with girls," Chris nervously said, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, well, there's nothing wrong with that, Chris," you reassured him, pitifully running your thumb across the back of his hand. You meant for the gesture to be reassuring, but Chris found it condescending. He jerked his hand back.

"You think I'm a loser, don't you?" Chris huffed, peering out of the café window. "Chris. Look at me. Of course, I don't think that," you responded, studying his facial expressions.

"Of course, you do think that. I'm a twenty-two-year-old who's never.." Chris began to say, but he cut himself off, fearing he'd already said too much.

"Oh! You've never..?" You asked, your voice started to trail off. He didn't answer you, but his face turned a deep red.

"Chris, there's nothing wrong with that. I just assumed.. I just thought.. I'm just surprised. That's all," you managed to get out, foolishly stumbling over your words and wondering how someone you'd known for so long and who was so much younger than you was making you as nervous as you were.

"Why are you surprised?" He asked, your assumption taking him aback. "You're just so hot," you accidentally blurted out, astounding yourself with how forward your comment was.

"You think so?" He asked, his eyebrows flicking up in shock. He blushed a little harder, but his previously embarrassed expression morphed into something softer.

"I mean, you're conventionally attractive. You're a total gentleman. You just need a little confidence, and you'd be unstoppable," you stroked his ego, taking a sip of your coffee.

"You think I'm hot?" He wondered, still stuck on your compliment, his lips curling into a flattered smile. "Don't make me say it again," you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

Chris narrowed his gaze at you while he took a sip of his peppermint mocha. "What else do you think of me?" He inquired, locking eyes with you.

"I think any woman would be lucky to be your first," you replied, reaching out and stroking the back of his hand again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he relished in the soothing feeling of your thumb brushing against his knuckles.

"Any woman? Even you?" He suggested, surprising himself with the brief moment of confidence he found himself swept up in. The silence that followed his question was heavy, and the tension between the two of you was thick.

You wet your lips, studying his handsome facial features, but before you could answer, one of the coffee shop employees floated over to your table. They offered to take your empty cortado glass out of the way to which you pulled back your hand, nodded, and thanked them.

"I should take you home," you declared, softly smiling in Chris' direction. "Okay," Chris affirmed, taking his peppermint mocha to-go.

The two of you left the coffeeshop, putting back on all your layers before setting back out into the winter weather.

You made your way out the door, the whistling wind whirring past you as you wandered back to your car. You and Chris walked silently through the city streets and through the cobblestone alleys between the buildings that towered over Boston.

Your mind churned, worrying that you'd made the reunion awkward and quietly kicking yourself for your word choice in the coffeehouse.

"Here we are," you announced once the two you had reached the parking garage. You reached into your purse, retrieved your keys, and unlocked your car.

Chris turned to you with wide eyes, and his jaw dropped when he realized the black Mercedes was yours.

"Damn. When did you get rich?" He questioned you, opening the passenger side door and running his fingers along the dark red interior.

"I wouldn't say I'm rich," you scoffed, humbly shrugging before opening the driver's side door.

"I should've had you pay for my coffee," the blue-eyed boy joked, admiring the sleek look of your car and setting his drink in your cup holder. "Next time I will," you smiled at him as your engine roared to life.

You turned on your heater, and each of you shed a layer as the car started to warm up. "Alright, Chris. What's the address to your apartment complex?"

He read it off to you while you put it in your GPS. You carefully backed out of your parking spot and navigated your way onto the main road towards his place.

"So, I mean, it's been eleven years. What else has been going on in your life besides dumping Kyle and getting rich?" Chris playfully inquired.

"A lot, actually. After high school, I took a year off. Then when I went back to school and got my bachelor's degree in law. I worked at a few places as a secretary before finally finding this job about three years ago shortly after Kyle and I broke it off, and I've been making good money ever since," you told him.

"I even bought my first house last year by myself," you added, trying not to sound too cocky but unable to hide how proud you were.

"That's amazing. I love a strong, independent woman," Chris smirked, sipping on his coffee, his gaze lingering on you as you focused on the road ahead.

"How about you, Chris? What have you been up to since I last saw you?" You returned the question.

You spent the rest of the car ride catching up with Chris, getting to know him all over again. It was surprising and comforting how many things about him hadn't changed - his sweet and shy demeanor, his mannerisms, and his laugh.

The parts of him that did change, you liked - his matured features and his deep, sexy voice.

While the two of you were chatting and approaching an intersection, someone ran a red light, causing you to slam down on the brake pedal. Chris spilled his drink, sending coffee dripping down the front of his white t-shirt.

"Shit," he muttered. "Are you okay?" You asked, your heart racing while you tried to catch your breath. You pulled off onto the shoulder of the road to collect yourself.

"I'm fine. I just feel like an idiot for spilling in your car," Chris sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling his shirt off over his head.

"It's not your fault, Chris. It doesn't.. it doesn't even look like you got it anywhere besides.." You managed to get out as you motioned towards his shirt that was no longer on his body.

Your eyes dropped to his chest, his arms, and to his stomach. He caught you staring and smirked in your direction. You immediately pulled your eyes off him and placed them back onto the road in front of you, clearing your throat.

"Sorry about that," you said, half-apologizing for making him spill and half-apologizing for ogling him like a creep. "Don't be sorry," he paused. "About anything."

His eyes lingered on you, biting down on his bottom lip. He wondered if you wanted him as badly as he wanted you.

You turned down a few unfamiliar streets, following the GPS directions into the complex where Chris lived.

"Take this road all the way down, and you can park at any of those unmarked spaces on the left," he instructed you. You pulled into a spot and threw the gear shifter into park.

"Well, here we are!" You exclaimed, glancing over at Chris, your eyes dancing over his stature one more time. "Thank you so much for the ride. It really means a lot. So much better than taking the bus," Chris remarked, smiling at you.

"Hey, if you want, I can wash your shirt for you. I'm pretty good at getting stains out," you suggested, extending your hand and offering to take his shirt.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you," Chris responded, handing it off to you and getting ready to get out of the car.

"Hey, wait! Before you go, let's exchange numbers. You know, that way I can return this once it's washed," you proposed. Chris agreed, trying not to sound too eager and reaching for his phone that was tucked into his pocket.

You swapped contact information with him, told him to call anytime, and ruffled his hair again.

"Hey. Do you wanna come inside? I can give you a tour," Chris offered, not wanting to say goodbye to you just yet.

"Sure," you nodded, cutting the engine and following Chris up the stairs to his place.

You couldn't keep your eyes off the muscles in his back. He placed his key into the lock, turning it until he heard a faint click. He pushed open the door and motioned for you to enter first.

It was a typical twenty-something-year-old man's apartment - clothes strewn on the floor, a few dishes stacked in the sink, and a couch in the living room pointed at a TV.

He had stacks of video games, naughty magazines, and a few empty soda cans scattered on his coffee table. His place was a little unorganized, but it wasn't filthy.

"Sorry about the mess," Chris apologized, scurrying over to the dirty magazines and stuffing them under his sofa cushion when he thought you weren't paying attention.

"Uh, I'll show you my room," he mumbled, leading the way to his bedroom door. His sheets were thrown lazily onto his twin-sized bed, and he didn't have much else in his room besides a wooden nightstand.

"If you need to use the bathroom, it's right there," Chris motioned towards the door across the hall. You followed him back out towards the front door.

"And the kitchen," he motioned towards the small room with the fridge in it. "I know it's not much," Chris shrugged.

"But it's your first place by yourself, and that's a big deal. I'm really proud of you!" You warmly smiled, pulling him into another hug.

Your fingerstips glided across his shirtless back, and blood immediately rushed to his dick.

"Thanks! It's relatively cheap, too," Chris remarked, pulling away and making over towards the couch in the living room.

He plopped down onto the furniture and pulled a throw pillow onto his lap, hoping he was being discrete. He wasn't.

You took a seat on his couch beside him, shifting uncomfortably about on his lumpy cushion. You decided to mess with him a bit.

"C'mon, don't look at those," he nervously whined as you reached under the sofa cushion, retrieving a few dirty magazines. Your lips curled into a devious smile as you flipped through one.

"You might be a virgin, but you're not that innocent, are you?" You cooed.

He buried his face in his hands while you sifted through the images of naked girls, half-expecting you to start making fun of him or tell him how disgusting he was for getting off to such content.

When you didn't, he peeked back up at you. You looked more intrigued than anything. You crossed your legs and squeezed them together as you imagined him rubbing one out while his dreamy, blue eyes struggled to focus on the page.

"Why don't you show me what you do with them?" You cooed. "Wh-what do you mean?" He timidly asked.

"Don't play dumb, pretty boy," you leaned in, whispering into his ear, gently planting a kiss on the side of his neck. "You know exactly what I mean. Show me."

His eyes fluttered closed, and his jaw fell open as he processed your request. "Uh huh," he nodded, his heart beating in his ears as his shaky, sweaty hand reached for the button on his pants.

"Say, yes, mommy," you sensually whispered against his flesh that was radiating heat. "Yes, mommy," he articulated, putting a lustful emphasis on the final word.

With your tongue licking a stripe up his neck, you heard the soft zip of his jeans being undone. You felt him start pumping away his length. You suckled gently on his skin.

"Ahh," a faint gasp snuck past his lips, his breath shallowing. You pulled away to catch a glimpse of what was between his legs.

"Wow," you purred, zeroing in on his swollen, mushroom-shaped head. Another pretty moan unfurled from his pink, parted lips while he caressed his sensitive tip.

"Look at that," you gasped, admiring the way precum started drooling from his slit while he played with it. "Good boy," you quietly praised him while his slender fingers were wrapped around his length, stroking it up and down at a quickening pace.

"I just know you fuck hard," you sinfully purred into his ear, his grip around his cock growing tighter. He threw his head back, giving you better access as you went back to suckling on his neck.

"Mommy, I need you," Chris relayed in a strangled moan, desperation seeping into his tone. "What do you need, Chris? Use your words, pretty boy," you cooed. A smirk played into the corner of his mouth as he listened to your praise.

"Show me what it's like to be touched by a woman," he quietly requested. "Where do you want me to touch you, baby? Right here?" You teased, gently tapping his tip with the end of your pointer finger.

"Yes, mommy. Right there," he eagerly affirmed. You gently caressed the back of the head, tracing his veins with your fingertips. You tightened your grip, replacing his own hand with yours.

He let go, letting you take the reigns as a needy whine drifted to your ears. "Yes, mommy," he replied.

You tilted his chin to face you, and you leaned in, locking your lips with his, his faint whimpers vibrating against your mouth.

He couldn't believe he was kissing you, his childhood babysitter, the woman he'd been fantasizing about for over a decade. He still wasn't convinced that this wasn't some sort of vivid dream or intense reverie.

You had one hand tangled in his hair and the other, gripping his length and pumping it at a steady pace. His hard cock involuntarily throbbed in your grasp.

"Look at me, baby," you whispered after you pulled away from the kiss, but only by a few inches. "Is it everything you wanted it to be, pretty boy?" You wondered, holding his gaze with your nose gently brushing against his while you tugged on his messy locks.

"Yes, mommy," he answered, his features and his voice saturated in lust. You looked into his pretty blue eyes while you stroked him faster and faster, feeling his cock twitch at the sensation.

He was so eager to be played with by you that he could barely contain himself.

You watched the muscles in his face tighten, his eyebrows knitting together and his eyes squeezing shut. He shuddered under your touch.

He clutched the couch cushion beneath him with both hands, curling his fingers and his toes as you brought him to climax.

A slew of guttural moans filled the room as he finished, his load squirting from his tip and painting his chest and his stomach, a bit of cum pooling into his belly button.

The warm, white substance dripped down onto your hand as you brought your movements to a standstill.

You released his soft, brown hair from your tight grasp, and he sank into the soft sofa. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he tried to regulate his breathing. He had never felt that much pleasure before.

Embarrassment flooded his system when he realized it took all of about four minutes for him to cum.

"I'm sorry I finished so fast," he mumbled breathlessly as he giggled and hid his face in his hands, reverting back to his shy nature.

"Don't be sorry, baby. About anything. You were such a good boy for me. Next time I'll show you how to last longer."

˚₊ · »-♡→ part two here

[kapilasteel]

Role Of TMT Saria and Dowel Bars in Modern Pavement Construction

It takes more than merely pouring concrete to create long-lasting, sturdy pavements. The strategic use of premium materials, especially those provided by reliable TMT Saria manufacturers, and the accurate installation of dowel bars form the foundation of outstanding pavement construction. The lifetime and structural integrity of the pavement are greatly dependent on this cooperative interaction.

Understanding the Foundation: TMT Saria in Pavement Projects

TMT Saria, produced by specialized TMT Saria manufacturers, forms the critical reinforcement structure within concrete pavements. These steel bars provide essential tensile strength, preventing crack formation and ensuring uniform load distribution across the pavement surface. The quality of TMT Saria directly influences pavement durability, making manufacturer selection a pivotal decision in construction planning.

The binding wire used to secure TMT Saria must meet specific strength requirements. High-grade binding wire ensures reinforcement components remain firmly in place during concrete pouring, preventing displacement that could compromise structural integrity. Quality binding wire also resists corrosion, maintaining its grip strength throughout the pavement's lifetime.

Dowel Bars: The Load Transfer Champions

Dowel bars serve as vital load transfer devices between concrete pavement slabs. These smooth steel bars facilitate proper load distribution, preventing differential movement between adjacent slabs and ensuring smooth transitions at joints. When combined with properly installed TMT Saria, dowel bars create a robust system that significantly extends pavement life and reduces maintenance requirements.

Quality Considerations in Material Selection

Selecting materials from a reliable TMT Saria manufacturer impacts several crucial aspects of pavement performance:

Structural Integrity

Premium TMT Saria exhibits consistent mechanical properties

Higher yield strength ensures better crack resistance

Uniform chemical composition guarantees predictable performance

Durability Factors

Superior coating on dowel bars prevents corrosion

High-quality binding wire maintains reinforcement positioning

Well-manufactured TMT Saria resists environmental degradation

Cost-Effectiveness

Premium materials reduce long-term maintenance expenses

Quality dowel bars minimize joint deterioration

Professional-grade binding wire ensures reliable reinforcement fixing

Real-World Applications and Benefits

Modern infrastructure projects demonstrate the advantages of using premium materials. Highway pavements constructed with high-grade TMT Saria and precisely installed dowel bars show significantly reduced maintenance requirements and extended service life. Airport runways, which face extreme load conditions, particularly benefit from this optimal material combination.

The Science Behind the Synergy

The interaction between TMT Saria and dowel bars creates a comprehensive reinforcement system. While TMT Saria provides overall structural strength, dowel bars manage load transfer at critical joint locations. This partnership prevents common pavement issues such as:

Corner cracking

Slab displacement

Joint deterioration

Surface spalling

Installation Best Practices

Proper installation maximizes the benefits of quality materials. Precise spacing of dowel bars, coupled with correctly positioned TMT Saria, ensures optimal load distribution. Professional-grade binding wire secures reinforcement components, maintaining their designed positions during concrete placement.

Long-Term Performance Benefits

Pavements constructed using materials from reputable TMT Saria manufacturers, coupled with quality dowel bars, demonstrate superior performance metrics:

Extended service life

Reduced maintenance frequency

Better ride quality

Enhanced structural stability

Improved load-bearing capacity

Making the Right Choice

Selecting construction materials requires careful consideration of manufacturer credentials, product specifications, and quality certifications. Leading TMT Saria manufacturers invest in rigorous quality control processes, ensuring consistent product performance. When combined with properly specified dowel bars and binding wire, these materials create pavements that stand the test of time.

Taking Action for Quality Construction

For construction professionals planning pavement projects, partnering with established TMT Saria manufacturers represents a crucial first step toward project success. Evaluate potential suppliers based on their track record, quality control measures, and product specifications. Remember that initial material quality determines long-term pavement performance, making careful supplier selection essential for project success.