#I think you have a timer set to make sure you get us every year honey

[triaelf9]

AHAHA aww, the critter artist hater is still out there and active! I was so worried that they'd actually gotten a real hobby and that I wasn't still living rent free in their head, but looks like they're still working SO hard to send hate even tho I've blocked them everywhere LOL

Also, sweetheart, it's "YOUR art is trash and so are you" not "you art". Maybe you could retake elementary school grammar instead of being an anon troll? Anywho, glad to see you're doing okay, XOXOXO!

Remember, you can support me on p@treon & K0-fi to see more trash art! 😘

No but seriously it's okay to feel good about yourself, you don't need to shit on other people to feel better. I hope you get the help you need ^_^

[nanaslutt]

Not even god himself

synopsis: Gojo insists day in and day out you let him fuck you raw, and one day you give in. Only when he promises to pull out before he cums, does he actually hold that promise?

contains: pwp, fem reader, established relationship, clothed cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, teasing, dacraphillia, so much dirty talk it should be illegal, unprotected sex, rough sex, reatrains, gojo is an asshole but he loves you<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Baby cmon pleasseeeee, It'll feel sooo good for both of us I promise. Don't you wanna feel me inside you with nothing between us?" Gojo cooed, peppering kisses up your legs as you sat on the couch, thighs crossed as you stared at the man on the floor who was too large to be kneeling in front of you like this.

Satoru had been asking to fuck you raw since the day you got together. The first time you slept together it was "oh noooo, I forgot to buy condoms, sorry baby, looks like we're gonna have to do it raw" followed by a not-so-smooth wink. You made him take a little trip to the convenience store that night that happened to be right across from your apartment before things went any further.

He tried to ask to fuck you raw on any special occasion too, his birthday? You bet. Your first anniversary? Absolutely. Father's Day? He wasn't even a father… The closest you let him get to fucking you raw was when you let him rub his cock on the outside of your cunt, your folds rubbing along his dick as he poked and prodded at your clit with his fat head.

He tried to sneakily press his tip against your entrance, saying he wasn't going to put it in, quickly followed by "Just the tip." You did not let him put "just the tip" in because "just the tip" didn't exist with Satoru. You knew once he got a taste of your raw pussy, not even god himself could pull him out of you, it was too risky.

You did admit the idea sounded wonderful, and it pained you to turn him down every time he asked, but you weren't on birth control, and once again, you didn't trust Gojo to pull out before he came. Hell, he kept his cock buried as deep as he could inside you while he came with a condom on, always pouting when he pulled out saying "What a waste, that could've been inside you" and effectively riling you up from those words alone.

The reason you had waited so long to get on birth control was simply because of your job. You were a jujutsu sorcerer too, and it seemed like every time you started to make the appointment to see your doctor to get on some form of birth control, work interveined. So when you finally got on birth control after over a year of dating Satoru practically cried in your arms begging you to let him fuck you raw now.

You sighed and held the big baby in your arms as you told him that the effects of birth control didn't start fully working until 2 weeks of consistently taking the pill. "So you'll let me fuck you raw in 2 weeks?" Gojo said, perking up instantly. You rubbed your head as you felt a migraine start to come on as you said, "We'll revisit this later."

Satoru had taken your words to heart. He set a timer on his phone for the same time, every single day, for two weeks--and whenever that alarm went off, he dropped whatever he was doing to find you and remind you to take your pill. He had observed the way you said you needed to take the pill consistently for 2 weeks for it to work, so he was going to take absolutely every single precaution to make sure nothing got between you, and taking that goddamn pill.

Sure he had waited over a year with no date in sight of when he was going to be able to fuck you raw, but now that he had a date, or at least a possible date, of when he could? He didn't think he would be able to handle it if you missed a day and had to start over from day 1. Satoru was a very impatient man when it came to anything involving you, this wasn't something he was going to play around with.

So two weeks later, here Gojo was, on his knees as he pouted up at you with those big blue eyes as he begged, tears in his eyes and all, for you to let him fuck you raw. "Satoru… I don't know." You replied, making him perk up. 'I don't know' wasn't no. Gojo turned up all his seducing techniques to the max, he needed to seal the deal before you were turned off by the idea.

"Just think about it baby, my hard cock inside of you…" Satoru said softly, running his long fingers up the underside of your shins sensually, "Imagine how warm It'll feel, hm? You'll be able to feel every vein on my dick, every fucking vein." You looked away in embarrassment, feeling your face grow hot. Satoru picked up on this, he was winning you over, and he had to keep going.

"I'll even pull out before I cum baby, I promise. Just a couple of thrusts, yeah? Just a couple I just need to feel you for a little bit." Satoru begged, his hands sliding under your thighs that were pressed against the cushions as he pulled you closer to the edge of the couch, pulling your legs over his shoulders. "Satoru… we both know you won't be able to stop halfway…" You said, still averting your gaze.

"For this, I can do it, baby, cmon don't you trust me? I'll give you a good few strokes, nice n deep, just how you like it." Gojo whispered, pressing kisses as he made his way up your thighs. "Then I'll pull out and put on a condom before I cum, that way I can still cum inside you, yeah? How's that sound? You wanna feel your boyfriend's hard cock inside you with no rubber?" Gojo cooed, kissing higher and higher up your thighs as he tried to win you over.

If Gojo was honest with himself, he didn't know if he was going to be able to keep his promise. He would say anything to you right now if it meant you would let him hit it raw, and he knew deep down that you knew that too, but gauging by your response and how fidgety and squirmy you got, Gojo could tell you wanted it just as bad as he did.

Gojo sealed the deal by sliding his hands under your hips and pulling your body down from the couch so your crotch was right in front of his face. "Hey, look at me." He pouted, nuzzling your inner thigh as he looked up at you. "Your boyfriend is talking to you down here~" Biting your lip between your teeth you looked down at the man between your thighs.

You kept your hands together over your chest, afraid to move. "Yeah… look at me, don't look away." Gojo cooed, keeping his all-seeing eyes on yours as he leaned forward and kissed your clothed cunt through your shorts, making you gasp in surprise. "Talk to me baby, tell me what you're thinking." He asked, giving your face one more once over before he pressed himself against your mound once more and kissed right where your clit was.

Your hands came to card through his hair as his tongue poked out between your teeth and pressed against your pussy through your shorts, the dull feeling of stimulation only frustrating you, creating an intense fire to burn strongly in your groin. "God… o-okay, okay." You finally said, your nails raking against Gojo's scalp as he mimicked how he ate you out, just over your clothes.

Gojo giggled against your clothed pussy before he pulled his face back, his arousal evident on his face with how red his cheeks were, combined with his blurry, unfocused eyes. "Okay, what baby? I need to hear you say it." Gojo said, nuzzling his head against your thigh once more as he looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

His cock was twitching rapidly against the confines of his boxers as he awaited your words. "You can fuck me raw." You said softly, wincing in embarrassment as you averted your eyes once more, continuing to caress Gojo's head. Gojo released a groan mixed with a laugh as he felt himself leak an alarming amount of pre-cum inside his boxers. "Fuck baby, you have no idea what that did to me," Gojo said, thrusting his hips forward into the air, trying to get whatever relief he could as his erection was pressed against the zipper of his jeans.

"You want it now? Hm? I know how wet you are, I could hear your pussy talking to me when I was teasing her. You wanna feel me inside you right now don't you?" Gojo spoke, slightly projecting with his words. You hadn't realized how much your breathing had picked up as Gojo had been teasing you. The need you felt between your thighs was unlike anything you've ever felt before, he was right, you needed him, and you needed him now.

Looking back at your boyfriend with a pout, you nodded, trying to press your thighs together to emphasize your need before you spoke. "I need it now Satoru. Please…" That was all he needed to hear before he was scooping you up in his arms and making a b-line for his bedroom.

The two of you kissed like it was your last night alive, moans and gasps spilling from the other's lips each time your lips separated in a loud smack. Gojo placed you down on the bed and crawled between your legs, instantly wrapping your legs around his hips as he pressed his bulge against your clothed cunt.

"You feel me?" Gojo sighed against your lips between kisses, relishing in the way your moans increased in volume each time he humped his hips against yours, pressing his hard cock into your pussy. "Yeah…" You moan back desperately, your hands tangling in his hair as you try to pull him closer to you. "All for you baby, so hard just for you." Gojo groaned, emphasizing his words by pressing his hips flush against yours and keeping them there.

The friction felt so fucking good, he was so hard it felt like his knee was pressing between your legs. You sucked on his tongue as his hands wrapped under your back that was pressed against the sheets. His lithe fingers slipped under your shirt and found the clasp of your bra with ease, undoing the metal hooks with just a couple of fingers. You sighed at the relief of the pressure from your bra hugging your upper torso.

"Let me get this off you." Gojo rushed, leaning back a bit so he could pull your shirt off with ease, practically ripping the bra from your body once he had the shirt off of you. Gojo licked his lips as he took your tits in his hand, massaging them and pressing them together as he gave himself a show. Your nippled pebbled under his touch, making Gojo's mouth water.

"So fucking pretty, they're practically begging me to suck them." Gojo sighed, his cock twitching as he felt the softness of your tits in his hands before he leaned in and took one of your hard nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the little bud. Your back arched against him as you gasped, your hands gripping his hair harder to ground yourself as he sucked on your nipple, the other hand toying with the little bud that wasn't currently in his mouth.

"Oh fuck- Satoru fuck-" You gasped, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continued thrusting his hips against yours. He moaned around your nipple, only aiding the warmth you felt between your legs. You were sure you had soaked completely through your panties by now, you felt so hot. Gojo's eyebrows furrowed as his plush lips sucked around your nipple, his soft pink tongue flicking it and rolling around it expertly, sending shockwaves straight to your clit.

Satoru popped off of your nipple with a smile, his lust-filled eyes staring down at your already disheveled form as he placed his hands by your shoulders and pushed his body up, keeping his eyes on yours as he dry humped you like he was fucking you. "You're so worked up." He moaned, his mouth slightly open as he smiled through his noises. "You that excited to feel my cock inside you? Huh?" He teased, rolling his hips in circles the way he knew drove you crazy.

Your hands fell from his hair down to his hips, you bit your lip as you pulled his hips towards yours, making him hump into you harder. "Y-you're one to talk." You shot back, tilting your head to the side against your pillow as you stared down at his hard cock, threatening to rip through his boxers and pants alike.

Gojo giggled before he responded, his head dropping down as he looked down to where the two of you were connected. A small wet patch had formed on the front of Satoru's pants from how much his cock was leaking. "I'm getting to fuck my pretty girlfriend raw, of course, I'm fucking excited." He smiled, his cerulean eyes looking back up at you.

"Satoru… stop teasing me, I n-need to feel you." You begged, moaning each time he rocked his hips into yours, your nails digging into his hips. "Tell me more baby," Gojo begged, pulling his lip between his teeth as he looked at you expectantly. You pouted at his words, he knew how embarrassed you got when he put you on the spot like this, but you were too worked up to be as shy about it as you otherwise would've been.

"Toru, give me your cock, n-need to feel you inside me with no c-condom." You begged, your hand sliding to the front of his body as your hand slid under his shirt, your fingers tracing up the indents of his defined abs as you pushed his shirt up higher and higher, exposing his toned body to your greedy eyes. Gojo groaned at your needy words and touch before he leaned back and crossed his arms over his body, gripping the end of his t-shirt as he pulled it up and over his body, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

Your hands smoothed down his chest, your nails raking over his porcelain skin as you left angry red marks in their wake. Gojo dropped his chin down to look down at you, groaning as you marked him up. He felt his cock twitch against his pants when you got to the waistline of his pants and started unbuttoning his jeans. "Take care of yourself, baby." He smiled, his hands coming down and pushing yours out of the way as he started to take off his pants. "Get outta those shorts for me." He winked.

You didn't need to be told twice. Without a second thought, you slipped your fingers under the band of your shorts and pulled them down your body, panties and all. Gojo's watchful eyes took in how your cunt connected to your pretty panties with a string of your arousal before it broke when you pulled them too far down your legs, kicking them off of your body.

You rubbed your body against the sheets, getting comfortable as you spread your legs for Gojo as he undressed himself. Gojo shook his head as he watched your teasing fingers slide down your body and reach your clit as you slowly started to rub the neglected but in small circles. "Fuck, someone's needy. Don't start the fun without me." Gojo teased, shimmying out of his pants.

His boxers were doing little to conceal the massive boner he was sporting, the pretty flushed tip poking out through the band of his boxers, the tip wet with his pre-cum. "H-hurry then." You replied, slowly slipping a finger inside your wet cunt with ease, thrusting it slowly as you stared shamelessly at his hard cock, wishing he was inside you already.

Gojo let out a long groan as he watched you finger yourself. He quickly added his boxers to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen when he fully pulled them off. His white pubes were neatly trimmed and made a perfect backdrop for his flushed red cock to really stand out. "What are you doin' huh? Why are you fingering yourself?" Gojo asked, wrapping his fingers around his hard cock to ease his arousal as he watched you add a second finger inside yourself, shamelessly getting off in front of him.

9 times out of 10, Gojo was the one to stretch you out, so he was confused about whether you were just needed or if there was another reason. His question was quickly answered when you whined out, "I don't wanna wait for you to stretch me out, n-need to feel you right now." you begged, curling your fingers inside yourself as you massaged your g-spot, scissoring and thrusting them inside yourself as you tried to open yourself up for him.

Gojo stroked himself faster as he groaned watching you, a dopey smile on his face. "Babyyy… you should never have to prep yourself." He smiled, his free hand caressing your inner thigh briefly before he slid his hands down to your entrance. You watched him carefully as he rubbed his fingers on the underside of your hole that was stuffed with your smaller fingers. Each thrust inside yourself made more and more wetness gush out of you.

"Is there room for me? Hm?" Gojo teased before he flipped his hand so it was facing the ceiling and slowly started pushing two fingers in alongside yours. Both of your jaws dropped in tandem as he fully inserted his fingers inside you, feeling how tight you felt with your fingers also stuffed inside your little cunt. "Fuck, you're so warm." Gojo cooed, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched the way your cunt stretched to accommodate his fingers.

You whined and gasped as you adjusted to the stretch--fairly quickly thanks to how wet you were. "C'mon, keep movin' ur fingers with me if you wanna do it yourself so bad." Gojo teased, stroking his cock at the same pace as his fingers inside you. You gasped when he curled his fingers with you, the added pressure of his stronger fingers pressing into you stimulating your g-spot tenfold. "T-toru, enough…" You begged when he sped up, acting like he was trying to get you to cum on his fingers.

"Not yet… I like this, it's like we're holding hands, heh." Gojo giggled, increasing the pace of his hand on his cock as he continued to fingerfuck your cunt with you. "N-no I'm gonna cum-" You warned, trying to slow your own fingers inside yourself to block Gojo from hitting your sweet spot. "So cum~," Gojo said nonchalantly, his cock twitching in interest at feeling your cum around his fingers.

You pushed his wrist away with your other hand, successfully slowing his thrusts inside you. You shook your head before looking up at him once more, your eyes making contact with his, which were already staring at you. "Wanna cum on your cock…" You said bashfully, pouting as you spoke, embarrassed by your own words.

Gojo raised his eyebrows as his jaw fell open in a small o as he stared at you incredulously. He broke out into laughter a couple of seconds after, his fingers sliding out of you at the same time. You winced at the loss, already wishing he was back inside you. "God, could you be any cuter?" Gojo asked, looking at you lovingly. He rubbed his fingers wet with your juices over the top of his cock, mixing his cum with yours.

Soon after he was leaning over you, pushing at your hip as he tried to signal you to turn over on your stomach. You quickly complied, not wanting to make either of you wait any longer. "Up," Gojo said quietly, his hand pulling your pelvis toward the ceiling. You stuck your ass up, creating a gap between your pelvis and the bed for Gojo as he stuck a pillow under your hips, creating the perfect arch for you so he would be able to hit it just right while you laid there and took it.

"Good girl." He said, leaning over you as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hand bracing himself on the side of your body. Gojo looked down at your ass laid out for him as he tapped his hard cock on your cheeks, making the fat ripple from the impact. You wiggled your ass at him, whining out his name. "Let me have a little fun pretty girl, I've waited too long for this after all." Gojo cooed, slotting his cock between your ass cheeks as he rubbed back and forth teasingly, smearing his precum on your ass.

You whined in response, irritated with the white-haired man. That should be the exact reason why he should be impatient, so why was he taking his time? You were fed up with his teasing already, you were dripping wetness down your thighs, how could he keep denying you? You bit your lip as you wrapped your arms around the pillow in front of you, rubbing your cheek against it.

Gojo pulled his hips back and pushed the middle of his cock down with his thumb, angling it towards your pussy. "God, I can't believe you're finally letting me fuck you raw." He moaned, shaking his head in disbelief as he rubbed his leaky tip against your folds, catching his head on your clit and making your body jolt from the stimulation.

"I'll take it back if you don't fuck me already." You bit, wiggling your ass back against him, making his tip rub into your folds. Gojo pressed his hips against yours, teasing the entrance of your hole with his tip. "You don't mean that~" Gojo cooed, continuing to tease you, only shallowly thrusting his cock on the outside of your hole, making you think he was going to slip it in at any moment.

You turned your head on the pillow to look back at him through the corner of your eye, a look of serious need plastered on your face as you made eye contact with him. "Try me." You spat, your lip quivering with how badly you wanted him. Gojo furrowed his eyebrows and kept his eyes on yours as he slowly started pushing his cock into you, not wanting to test you right now. He had waited so long for this, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it by being too cocky.

"Oh fuck-" You moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as Gojo's cock slipped past the tight ring of your cunt, penetrating you. Gojo's jaw dropped fully open as he gasped heavily into the room, his chin dropping down so he could stare at the place where the two of you were connected. You felt the familiar burn from the stretch as Gojo slowly slid his cock inside you, inch by inch, he was going so slow you truly felt every single vein.

"Holy fuckk- ngh- you're so much warmer." Gojo moaned, feeling his balls already pulse with his release. "S-so soft too, ohmygod-" Gojo was quickly losing himself inside your pussy, his pretty eyes fluttering with how intense this felt for him. The two of you moaned in tandem when he thrust his cock inside you, giving you the last couple of inches all at once so he was now fully sheathed inside your pussy.

You whined at how hot he felt inside you, how soft the skin of his dick was, everything, you felt everything. Gojo wasn't fairing much better, his breath hitching and stuttering as he fought not to cum the second he got inside you. "Tell me I can move baby, I gotta fuck you, I'm not gonna last long like this," Gojo begged, practically crying out the words as he felt your pussy pulse and squeeze around him rapidly.

"Please, move baby ple-" Your words were cut short by Gojo thrusting needily into your cunt, loud squelches accompanied your whines and cries as you gripped the pillow you rested your head on for dear life. "Fuck- fuck you feel so good baby, can feel all of you like this." Gojo moaned, his sounds rivaling the volume of your own.

You silently cursed yourself for not doing this sooner. You sobbed and nodded in agreement against the pillow, squeezing your thighs together to bring your clit some relief as Gojo fucked into you quickly. The second his cock was fully out of you, it was back in you like it never left. Not only was his pace incredibly fast, but it was hard too, he was truly making the most out of this opportunity.

"D-dont forget t-oo pull out when you get close-" You tried to cry out as you felt yourself get pushed towards the edge already. Gojo tipped his head back as he half ignored your words. "Yeah yeah, pull out," Gojo mumbled, shrugging you off, "Give me those fucking hands baby." He growled not even a second later, his hand reaching up by your head to pull at your bicep, making your arm lay behind your back.

You pulled the other out from behind the pillow for Gojo and he quickly pressed your wrists together and locked your arms behind your wrist with his one strong hand. His fingers were so long that he enclosed both of your wrists in just the one palm. He used his other hand to pull your hips up so you were resting on your knees, face up, ass down, as he bullied his cock into your pussy.

Now that he had manipulated your body into such a harsh arch, he was fucking right into your sweet spot, you felt his cockhead ram into it every time he thrust his cock inside you, it made your moans cut off in a choked whine each time. "You're so fucking tight in this position, I can feel my cock hittin' that soft spot inside you that makes you go all dumb on me." Gojo cooed, shaking his head as he tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, not wanting to cum too fast.

Your pussy genuinely felt like a vice in this position, he was barely able to last five minutes in this position with a condom on, so he could only imagine how quickly this was gonna be over now that he was fucking you raw. Your jaw dropped in a silent scream when your high washed over you unexpectedly. In this position, Gojo's cock was rubbing all the right spots inside you, and his heavy balls were slapping right against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Gojo's eyes shot open in surprise, his hand that wasn't holding your wrists dug itself into your ass as his abs clenched with the intensity of arousal that washed over him. The feeling of you suddenly cumming on his cock caught him off guard just as much as it caught you off guard, his hips stuttering as he fucked you through your high. "Ohshitohshit- t-too tight." Gojo moaned, sucking air in through his teeth as he slowed down a bit, fighting to not paint your walls white.

You cried out Gojo's name like a mantra as your body shook and jolted with your orgasm, your pussy leaking out cum around his cock. Gojo took a deep breath in when you came down from your high, your walls loosening around him significantly and allowing him to breathe. "God baby, almost made me fill you up with that one. How did cumming on my dick feel hm? Bet you felt every inch of me rubbin' inside you." Gojo cooed, his own words working him up.

Your post-orgasm-hazed brain could only focus on Gojo admitting that he almost came inside you, realizing then that he said he promised he was only going to give you a couple of thrusts raw before he pulled out. As good as this felt, you knew he was close by his incessant babbling and his sloppy hips fucking against your ass with no rhythm.

"T-toru pull out n-now" You cried as he fucked you into overstimulation, your legs crossing as his balls continued to batter your sensitive clit. "Hm? What was that? You want me to pull out?" Gojo asked, delaying your request by playing dumb. "I don't know if that's fair though… you got t-to cum on my cock so why do I have to pull out to cum?" Gojo pouted, continuing to fuck his cock inside your pussy, your walls feeling so much softer around him now that you had cum once.

"W-what?" You choked out a confused sound at Gojo's words. That wasn't what you had agreed on, was he seriously going to cum inside you? "Sator-uuu pull out or put on a c-condom, you promised." You cried, trying to wiggle your arms out of his iron grip to no avail. Your body was so weak to the pleasure Gojo Satoru gave you, you weren't getting out of this unless he wanted you to.

"You want me to put on a condom so bad?" Gojo paused his thrusts to lean over to the bedside table, picking up one of the condoms he had placed there for later he got back into position behind you and threw the condom at you, the foil wrapper hitting you in the head softly before it fell in front of your eyes. "Open it for me." He finished, smirking at you mischievously.

You felt like crying, he was being so unfair. Realistically you knew if Gojo came inside you, you would be fine because of the birth control, but you would 100% put him on a pussyban, and a part of your rational brain knew that. Nonetheless, you tried to wiggle towards the condom, shimmying your shoulders against the sheets as you tried to jerk your hands out of Gojo's stronghold once more.

"C'mon, you're not even trying. It's like you want me to c-cum inside." Gojo teased, trying to keep his words composed but ultimately failing as he felt your pussy bring him closer and closer to the edge. "Toru d-don't, please pull outtt-" You begged, shaking your head as your body was manhandled by the large man twice your size that was teasing and bullying you while fucking your pussy raw.

Gojo tsked as he pouted at you, his cock twitching as he took in your teary, defiant face. "You didn't even try~ C'mon, try a little harder I'm about to cum you still have some time-" Gojo faux encouraged, fucking his cock into you harder. You shook your head, relaxing your arms in his hold as you allowed Gojo to do with your body what he would, you knew you stood no chance if he was adamant about cumming inside you.

"You're so fucking cute you know that? F-fucking love you so much." He giggled, his words coming out choked and breathy as your cunt milked his dick right to the edge. It was over, he was going to cum inside you and you were going to have to ban sex for a year… no two years… maybe forever. As you let Satoru yank your arms back so your body met his thrusts, readying yourself to take his load--

--he pulled his cock out at the last minute, "I'm cumming- c-cumming fuck, fuck-fuuuuuck." It took every ounce of strength in his body, but he managed for pull out. Gojo groaned as he jerked his cock rapidly, wet with your juices, over your ass. Hot ropes of his thick cum landed on the skin of your ass and thighs as he milked his cock for all it was worth, his nails digging into your wrists as he came. His eyes fluttered back in his head as his body endured one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had.

You sighed in relief, closing your teary eyes as you gasped against the pillow as Satoru smeared his cum all over your ass, rubbing his tip along your skin to make sure he gave you every last drop of his seed. He released your hands and your body fell limply against the sheets, Gojo's body chasing yours as he laid on top of you, his cum smearing all over the skin of his pelvis and abs as he embraced your body from behind.

He couldn't find himself caring about the warm stickiness of his seed rubbing along his skin much as he held your tired body in his arms, giggling as he peppered kisses along your arms and the back of your head. "Did I scare you? Heh, did you really think I was gonna cum inside you?" He asked, smiling from ear to ear as he whispered against the shell of your ear.

You felt the veins in your head bulge out in annoyance. Gojo was such a sadist, and he knew exactly how to press all of the buttons that made you want to punch him in the face. "Gojo, I swear to god, I almost killed you." You mumbled, staring at the wall in front of you in anger. Gojo giggled against your head, his arms squeezing around you tighter.

"Awww, don't use my last name, you're scary when you do that." He said, trying to roll his body over yours to get a good look at your face. He succeeded in caging his larger body over yours, forcing you to lay on your back, hands crossed over your chest as you looked up at him angrily.

Satoru smiled softly before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away. " Thank you for doing this with me~ I'm sorry if I scared you, you're just so fun to tease~" he cooed. Your expression had softened when he kissed you, but it quickly went back to that of annoyance when he said that last part. You tried to roll over on your side to escape him, but it was futile.

"I was going to put you on a pussyban y'know. Still might, haven't decided yet." You pouted, teasing him back, only your voice was dead serious, making him think your words were too. Who were you kidding, you couldn't last longer than a week without fucking Satoru, you were just as insatiable as he was.

Gojo raised his eyebrows at you shocked as he leaned in to scan your face for sarcasm. "You wouldn't." He challenged, keeping his eyes full of worry on yours. "If you don't get your cum off my ass in the next ten seconds, I might," you responded, turning your head to look up at him. You don't think you've ever seen a man scramble away from you to get a towel so fast in your life.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt3

Dick knew that Tim was sending him looks every few seconds.

How could he not? This places food names were honestly the best, if this was some kinda murder cult Dick would be so disappointed.

Glancing up over the menu at Danny, Dick smiled at the teen who had been whipping down the same cup for five minutes like some wild west bartender while trying very hard not to stare at the two vigilantes.

"Okay, I think I have made up my mind, Red you got what you wanted?" Finally meeting Tim's eyes, Dick mentally winced, Tim's eyes were doing that twitchy thing that happened sometimes...

"Yes. I am." Dick understand slightly but like...the puns weren't that bad

Out of the corner of his eye Dick saw Danny pop up, nearly slamming the mug he had been holding as he fumbled with a note pad, coming closer to the two, he did a pretty decent customer service smile as he waited.

Since Tim was having a problem with words, Dick went first.

"So, I'll have some Boo-berry Poltergeist pancakes, with two sunny side up eggs and a side of bacon?" Dick watched as Danny paused for a moment, let out a little laugh and then started to write before looking to Tim.

"I will have...Ugh, the Wraith waffles with the hunting hashbrowns on the side...please." Dick had seen Tim look less pained over being stabbed than say the wonderful puns.

"Alrighty, anything to drink before I head back and get started on your order?" Holding up a coffee jug in one hand and an orange juice jug in the other, Danny gave a slight smirk.

Perhaps it was the coffee but Tim looked a bit less pained after that.

---

As he slapped down a few pieces of bacon, Danny totally didn't use his ghost powers to bring the bowl of pancake batter over closer as he scooped a ladle full on a freshly buttered side of the flat top, making sure it set first, Danny heard a beep from the frier, heading over he paused to see French fries in there as well.

Shaking his head, he dunked them all into the oil, and moved to set the timer only to see it already clicking down, "Oh um...thank you very much." Patting the deep frier, Danny moved back to the flat top as it let out a gurgling purr.

---

Tim took all of five seconds after Danny rounded the corner into the back of the house to start whispering

"Wing, this place is mocking me. Apple apparition pie? Haunting Hashbrowns? Ethereal fucking eggs benedict." Hissing Tim shifted in his seat, "like I would get it if this place was ghost themed but it very clearly isnt! It is mocking me because I know this place doesn't exist!" Slamming a fist down on the counter, it very much thudded.

Sharing a look with Tim, Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, "Buddy...I agree there is something up with this place but...I very much think it exists? Since we are kinda sitting here."

Dragging his hand down his face with a groan Tim leaned back in his seat, "I know and it is infuriating me..." Grabbing the coffee mug Tim looked at it with a not insignificant amount of distrust before taking a swig, pausing, than taking another, much slower sip, holding the mug with both hands as he lowered it down, staring at the dark liquid with a small glare.

"Red? You okay? Is that the bad coffee look ot oh shittake mushrooms that was poisoned look?" Dick said worryingly, looking to the cup of orange juice that was in front of him with suspicion.

"N-no...I" Tim's words cut off as he took a breath, "Just...tastes just like the kind Mom used to drink, came from this little town in Chile they passed through..." staring at the cup a little longer Tim shook his head, "They closed a few years back, the farmer that made it got killed by a drug cartel that wanted him to plant coca rather than coffee, it's just that this place should very much not have this."

There was a tension between the two vigilantes, Dick moving to speak before being cut off by Danny quickly coming out from the back.

"Order up! Got two pancakes for Mr. Nightwing, side of bacon and eggs and two waffles for Mr. Red Robin with some hasbrowns!" Setting each plate down in front of said vigilante, Danny gave them both a grin.

"And a side of Phantom fries for both of you on the house!"

After refilling the little bit missing out of Tim's cup, Danny seemed to be to there one second and back in the kitchen a moment later.

---

"Phantom fries?" Danny whispered to himself as he started to clean off the griddle, a grin on his face as he did, he might of left the hero business, but oh God was it funny, he wondered if other people got the same fun out of it.

Checking out on he customers through the small window to the front, Danny felt his core thrum at the sight of the two eating, it was a different kind of thrum that he got while protecting people, this one...this one gave him a full body shudder and cleared a fog in his mind he didn't even he had.

Shaking his head, Danny tried not to let the purr building in his chest out.

---

Screw the worries that Tim had, Dick was having the time of his life.

"We can't tell the others about this place Red...Little wing would try and place it in the Alley and B might try and buy it cus holy guacamole this shit is good..." Dick had dug in after Tim's wrist mounted computer had tested the food for any known poisons which said that there weren't any, but still went and saved a few samples for further analysis at the Cave.

Dick didn't know why but the pancakes tasted like those that Alfred made the first week he had been at the manor, he had gotten upset at Brcue and hid in the attic all day, but Alfred managed to lure him down with the promise of blueberries in his pancakes.

They were perfectly fluffy, butter soaked with that little edge around it that was crunchy, the berries were tart enough to battle the maple syrup and...it was just like how Dick remembered.

Shaking his head as he finished up his food, Dick threw a look over at Tim, who was hunched over his empty plate, holding his mug of coffee closer, at Dicks questioning look the teen spoke.

"We have to leave Wing something is just...off about this place, its...they taste like when my dad used to make breakfast after coming home from a dig...has to be brain waves or mind reading or..." Tim continued to ramble on, ideas flowing out of him like a water fall.

By the time that Danny went back to check on the two, they were gone.

[biteyoubiteme]

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”

[janitorhutcherson]

Sacred Self Care (Mike Schmidt)

i'm 100% supposed to be cleaning my room up for family but i may go insane if i do not write RIGHT NOW!! so, this is something i've had in my mind for so long. i PROMISE after thanksgiving i'll give yall peeta and finnick content and get to more asks. i could not hold back on this one any longer though, so sit back, and enjoy!

summary: mike discovers self care, but what happens when his ritual becomes a little too intricate and he ends up in a silly predicament?

warnings: mentions of nudity, one or two innuendos

word count: 2,288

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Mike Schmidt did not have time to take care of himself. This was a fact that was all too noticeable. His dry curls practically begged to be lathered in moisture, or at least in something that wasn’t a bar of soap that was also used on his face and body. His nails were dirty whenever he was busiest, the only time they were well groomed being when he was prepared to be knuckles deep inside of you. His eyebags were sunken in and his facial hair grew in patches, untrimmed. Mike did not care, nor did he think wasting time on such a meticulous thing would be beneficial to him. There were better things to do than to primp himself when he could be doing something more productive, such as getting to the bottom of his brother’s disappearance… thirteen years later. When he wasn’t obsessing over every minute detail in his dream that could lead him to the solution or fathering Abby in his own backwards but still productive way, he was admiring you and your glory.

While Mike may not have been someone for self-care, you most definitely were. You were constantly looking up new ways to better yourself, new hair masks to try and new ways to make your skin as smooth as butter. The water bill also certainly showed your love for self-care. Some nights, you’d prance into the bedroom after an intricate shower, throwing your leg up on the bed as you demanded for Mike’s rough hands to feel, every centimeter of hair gone, the smell of cocoa butter sifting in the air. He was amused when he’d walk in to you sitting on the couch, some new green goop slathered on your face, or some strange piece of paper stuck to your nose. On occasion, you’d convince Mike to join you and Abby, his desperation to spend more quality time with the two of you trumping his disdain for fifteen minutes of clay on his face. He’d peel away at chunks as they flaked into his lap, you and Abby giggling every few seconds as the pile would grow amusingly larger before Mike would give up, running to the bathroom to scrub his face clean before the timer went off.

He wasn’t sure when it clicked. Perhaps it was when Abby told him he’d looked rough lately (he attempted to take this with a grain of salt, as she was his little sister, scolding her and telling her that was not very nice) or perhaps it was when one morning after work, he’d noticed new wrinkles covering his forehead and increasingly pale skin with purple dips underneath his eyes. One day, he found himself in the shampoo aisle at Target. It started with something simple. He bought real shampoo and conditioner, specifically designed for curly dry hair. He enjoyed the scent it radiated as he lathered it through his locks in the warm shower, the aftermath amazing. He’d never seen his hair so fluffy as it dried, his once brittle strands now feeling smooth as he ran his fingertips through it. Then, there was skincare. Somehow, he ended up getting a free sample in the mail from one of those makeup subscription companies you subscribed to, the company accidentally sending you a made-for-men miniature face wash and eye cream set. You eagerly tossed it his way with a giggle, assuming he tossed it in the trash the moment he got it. Instead, that very night, Mike added it to his shower along with his brand-new hair products, patting the eye cream underneath his eyes once he got out. The next morning, the once deep reddish purple was now only tinted a light color. Before he knew it, underneath the cabinet tucked away in a corner were different hair oils, beard creams, moisturizers, and lotions. He’d gotten into different kinds of cologne, opting for scented deodorants as well.

Mike had to admit, he enjoyed this new routine of his. As it progressed, it became almost ritualistic. He’d get home from work at exactly 6:15, about 45 minutes before you’d wake up. He would hop into the shower, taking in the feeling of his fingertips massaging his scalp, his body feeling the tension flooding down as the water from the shower flooded down the drain. Then, the aromatic smell of musky body wash would fill his nose, cleansing his senses of the smell of ancient dusts from working at the pizzeria. He’d step out of the shower, his skin tinted pink from the hot water, his face freshly washed. He’d apply lotion, shape his beard and add his creams, he’d even gotten into grooming his nails every night, ensuring they were crisply clean and applying a protective clear coat on top.

He couldn’t quite figure out why he was so embarrassed by his ritual. Perhaps it was the way it made him feel less masculine, knowing damn well deep down that it didn’t make him any less of a man and it was just his years’ worth of built-up toxic masculinity that you were so desperately trying to get him to break down. Maybe it was the way he was splurging on things he simply didn’t feel he needed until now, until it suddenly felt like a necessity, something he’d go insane without. Most of all and the most likely of all the scenarios, it was admitting that he was wrong, that something you and Abby had so desperately attempted to beg him to get into was exactly what the two of you had explained to him. It was majestic and comforting. At least 45 minutes a day were dedicated to him and only himself, his whole body feeling renewed each time he stepped out of the shower. He felt rebirthed, imagining this was what religious people felt when they were deemed ‘saved’ at confessional. Even with that being said, he couldn’t let you and Abby in on his little ritual. No, he couldn’t possibly admit to it. It wasn’t because he wanted to hide something from you two but instead because his embarrassment seeped deep down into his skull every time he thought about revealing it. Instead, he would slowly creep himself into bed, wrapping his arms around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pretending to sleepily open his eyes as your alarm went off.

You’d suspected he was hiding something, and you were worried. The new signature scents, the freshly groomed look, the way he seemed to care more about his clothing and the wrinkles that were shown. Your first thought was that there was somebody else, someone he had needed to impress, much like he once felt the need to impress you every time he was around you, suppressing his comfortable and more Mike-like fashion choices. In the mornings, you’d sense the lack of his presence after hearing the door creak open, feeling the bed dip right before your alarm went off, sirens ringing in your head each time as if to warn you something wasn’t right. You would spend some nights he was away at work after Abby was in bed evaluating who it could possibly be. There was Vanessa, the blonde police officer who would make occasional appearances in conversation. There was the waitress at the diner who’d taken a liking to Mike, but you weren’t sure who else it could be. Of course, women ogled over Mike all the time in public. There was something about a man with a slightly off putting aura and messy tussled hair. But regardless, you had always trusted him, and besides, Mike didn’t really talk to many people as is.

It wasn’t until Mike added in a peel off face mask into the mix that the jig was up. One week, he’d managed to get the entire week off, ensuring the pizzeria was boarded closed and begging Vanessa to keep an eye on things. You’d felt slightly better having him around more and at normal hours. He was very much still head over heels for you, following you around like a lost puppy, the two of you showering together, cooking together, and of course, having as much ‘alone time’ as you could possibly fit in when Abby was asleep or away at a friends. Even with that, in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were passed out on the couch after a movie night and it was late. Mike had crept away from the living room, tucking your sleeping body under a blanket, slipping into the shower. He followed his typical ritual, something he’d had to put off for a while in fear of getting caught, still unsure of what made him so anxious. After his shower, he applied his peel off mask, attempting to avoid his facial hair, but without thinking, he’d applied a layer over his entire chin. What would soon become a panic inducing issue in a short sum of ten minutes hadn’t occurred to him quite yet.

As the timer on his phone went off, he began slowly peeling the mask off, starting at his forehead before he froze, realizing more of his face was covered than usual. He brushed it off, continuing to peel before he noticed that not only was the thin, purple layer coming off, but multiple specks of hair were attached as well. Oh fuck, he thought to himself, unsure of how to proceed. No, he couldn’t just rip it off. He was attached to his facial hair. It made his baby face look mature and manly. No, of course it didn’t occur to him to just add water, simply wiping it away. There was only one option, and that was to waltz into the living room with his bright purple face and to wake you up, puppy dog eyes pleading for you to help him with his predicament.

You stirred away as you felt a hand shake your shoulder, your eyes widening as you sat up with a confused expression.

“Well, hello there,” you croaked out, your voice laced with gravel from exhaustion. He looked at you with embarrassment laced over his face, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Help, please. I…” he trailed off, gesturing his hands towards his face. “I just need it off,” he grumbled lowly, his fingertips holding the piece holding his facial hair tenderly, ensuring he didn’t rip anything else off.

You couldn’t help but let out a loud giggle, amused by the man standing in front of you. You grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom. You both sat on the ledge of the tub as you tenderly wiped his face clean with a warm washcloth, his reddened cheeks from both the mask being on too long and the embarrassment becoming more apparent by the second.

“Facial hair is saved,” you said triumphantly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I do have to ask though, why the sudden liking to all of this? And why not just.. tell me?” you hummed curiously, shaking your head.

“I just.. I don’t know. I think I didn’t want to admit I was wrong or that I was spending so much money on such worthless stuff. It started out so small and then became so big, I just couldn’t,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I am really sorry for keeping it from you,” he hummed before he went into a further explanation, explaining the way it made him feel.

You let out a sigh of relief along with a content giggle, shaking your head. “I knew something was up, but I wasn’t sure what,” you said, cocking an eyebrow as you placed a hand on his knee, your cheeks now warming up.

“What, did you think I was getting all fancy schmancy for another girl?” he teased, bumping his elbow against your shoulder. Your eyes widened as your mouth opened and closed as you went to say something, his expression dropping into something more serious.

“Oh my god, Y/N, honey, no, I’d never,” he said, placing his warm hand on your exposed shoulder. “Baby, no,” he chuckled, happy he could reassure you but somewhat upset that you had to sit through that alone. “No, I love you very much, I promise you, there is no other woman... just, your silly grumpy man being too embarrassed to admit I like girly things,” he teased, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your lips. The kiss was all you needed for electrical sparks to be sent through your body, your brain buzzing as the anxious thoughts began to disappear.

For the rest of the night, Mike walked you through his entire routine, both for fun and for transparency. You two joked back and forth, you occasionally poking at him, telling him he should become an influencer. Afterwards, you both did a face mask together, this time ensuring the product did not cover his chin.

Yes, you and Mike most definitely had your own things to work on, but at the end of the day, you were happiest with him. Your heart felt warm. He had finally found a way to take care of himself, a way to feel more content in his own skin, and even though he had an odd way of going about it, you were pleased, happy he was also finally willing to share this with you. From now on, Mike would wait for his routine in the mornings until you woke up, instead crawling into bed and cradling you in his arms, thinking about how lucky he was to have such a sweet, loving, and accepting partner like you to share his life with, even if it was just skincare and Vaseline kisses.

[nonotnolan]

Just Another Sunday

"Eric, what the hell happened to you?" He looked up from his phone with a confused look on his face, as if he hadn't suddenly transformed into a stacked muscle God. I couldn't help but start to hyperventilate a bit. Weird stuff had been happening all over town this week, but until now the three of us had been spared.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, pausing for a few moments before shifting back over to his phone.

"Like hell you don't!" I yelled, stomping across the Joey's kitchen to yell directly in his face. His casual body posture confirmed that I was still dealing with Eric, at least-- my self-survival instincts were telling me that yelling at a man this large was an easy way to get the shit kicked out of me. Joey, Eric, and I had been easy targets for bullies our whole lives. Or at least, we had been until whatever the hell just happened to Eric. "Something weird is going on! You suddenly gained 6 inches, two shades of skin tan, and god only knows how many pounds of muscle. Did you really not notice that happening?"

He laughed, ruffling the top of my head before speaking. "What do you mean I gained all this? C'mon, Bro. I've looked like this for years, you know that." His wide grin deflated a bit as I glared at him, unblinking. "Bro, you're freaking me out. I've always looked like this. Look, here's my camera roll. This is us just last week. Remember?"

Now it was my turn to be confused. Our friend Joey took this photo for us... only it was the two of us clutching our pudgy stomachs and making fun of everyone outside enjoying the last weekend of swimsuit weather. Now here was Eric, every bit as shirtless and as sexy as the people that we had been mocking.

"Seriously, Bro, you're freaking me out a little." Eric pressed the back of his palm against my forehead. "Seems like you might be running a fever or something. I think you'd better stay home and get some rest. I'll ask Master Joey if you can share my bed in his servant's quarters."

Hang on... Master Joey? Something about that didn't sound right. I tried to figure out why that phrase sounded so peculiar, but I was finding it a bit hard to concentrate on anything. It almost felt like a headache, but in a forgetful sort of way. "Hang on... why would I share your bed?" I asked him. "We both have beds in Master Joey's quarters. Something weird is going on. Pull up that photo again, would you?"

We looked at the photo of me and Eric enjoying the Hot Tub one last time before swimsuit season was over. Master Joey loved taking photos of his servants and their masculinity-- all of our phones had tons of photos like this in our camera roll. Why had I been freaking out earlier?

"Sorry, Eric, I'm not sure what's wrong with me," I said, rubbing my hand over my head. Feeling the buzzed stubble always helped calm me down. Well, that and working out at the gym, but that wasn't really an option right now.

"Don't sweat it, Bro," he said, thumping me on the back. "I'm sure you'll feel better tomorrow. Anyway, it's time for our evening progress pic for Master Joey." Eric set up the timer on his phone while I peeled back my tank top. Master Joey loved getting pictures of our hot bodies each night, and we loved knowing that our master would masturbate himself to sleep at the thought of us.

A thought crossed my mind. "Hey Eric... is there any reason we don't let Master Joey have sex with us every night?

He laughed, thumping me on the back a few more times. "You know, it's funny... I was just thinking the same thing. Having Master Joey's cock up my ass actually sounds pretty nice. Should we make that our new evening ritual?"

"I think we should," I said, nodding in agreement. What was the point in having such a plump and meaty ass if no one was going to use it? And anyway, it was the least we could do for the man who allowed us to serve under him. Weird stuff has been happening all over town this week. It's a relief to know that Master Joey will always keep us safe.

[helenabuu32]

Finally thought of some more headcannon ideas! So here’s my hc’s for who in the Bucci Squad is good at cooking!

Bucci Squad cooking + bonus cooking for their S/O or crush!

Bucciarati:

Of course mother can cook

For real though, he’s one of the best cooks in the group.

I can imagine a young Bruno learning how to cook with his mother, and after she decided to leave it was something he kept up and just kept getting better at

Could also see him going out of his way to cook food for homeless or elderly people around the city just because he loves helping others so much.

He loves cooking for the rest of the squad and likes to have nights where everyone gets together and he can just make a bunch of different dishes and have a great time with his friends. He always make sure that everyone has at least one of their favourite dishes on the table, even if it means spending the entire day in the kitchen

When he has a crush or is in a relationship, he loves cooking for them and secretly learning their favourite dishes so he can surprise them with a romantic dinner. Candles, red roses, fancy wine and music, the whole classic dinner date thing.

Excellent cook, but not as good at baking. Still good though.

Mista:

This man burns water

He’s so bad. He tried to help Bucciarati once when everyone was supposed to come over and Bucciarati had to hide himself gagging. He then tried his best to fix the dish while Mista got distracted so he didn’t have to throw it out and make him feel bad…

…because of this, Mista thinks he’s a great cook.

Even when he makes something bad, he’ll try it and think it’s fine…I imagine he’s like Joey from Friends and will literally just eat anything

He cannot bake either, at all. Even if someone hands him one of those tubes of the pillsbury premade dough things that you literally just have to place on a pan, he will burn them

The first time he tried to cook for his s/o or crush he set the oven on fire

Proceeded to serve the meal after spraying everything with a fire extinguisher

They ended up ordering take out that night, but s/o or crush says next time they’ll help him because they can see how hard he was trying :)

Narancia:

Okay he’s still pretty bad but surprisingly not as bad as Mista

He’s not great with measurements and following instructions because he doesn’t read, so he kinda learned over the years what works and what doesn’t

He still often gets distracted or will put his headphones on and miss the timer, so he often overcooks or burns things…but every once in a while he actually comes up with something edible

He likes trying to help Bucciarati in the kitchen but gets frustrated easily and is known to just be like “fuck this” and go off and listen to music somewhere

He actually tries to bake for his s/o / crush the first time and the cookies look really good!

Until they take a bite and they realize he accidentally used salt instead of sugar…s/o / crush laughs it off and they make another batch together that actually turn out pretty good :)

Will leave the kitchen a mess for days after he’s done if nobody makes/helps him clean up

Abbacchio:

Boy can COOK

He actually might be better than Bucciarati…

But he doesn’t do it for everyone that often because he doesn’t like drawing the attention to himself. When he helps Bruno in the kitchen, everyone just kinda assumes that Bruno did most of the work. He doesn’t really mind as long as he knows deep down that people are enjoying what he made, he doesn’t care about being praised for it.

If the others try to help in the kitchen he gets annoyed and just starts drinking wine.

Will eventually get so fed up that he goes to the dining room table and continues to sip his wine while he listens to all the chaos going on in the kitchen so he doesn’t lose his shit at everyone (mostly Mista and Narancia)

When he first cooks for his s/o or crush he actually tries to pretend that Bruno made it or that he got takeout from a fancy restaurant “this isn’t even a date, shut up and eat.”

Obviously s/o crush can tell he made it. He forgot to clean up around the stove because he was actually panicking about them coming over. S/o/crush won’t out him but won’t stop going on about how DELICIOUS the food is…

…He lied, he loves the praise.

Fugo:

He’s actually a pretty decent cook!

He’s good at following instructions, so he’s naturally just good at following recipes. What idiot couldn’t follow a book….

…Oh. Yeah he’s not allowed in the kitchen when Narancia is there because once he got so angry at him that he broke a wine glass over his head.

When Narancia (and Mista tbh) aren’t there though, he really enjoys helping Bruno in the kitchen. He’s not on the same level as him or Abbacchio, but at least everything he makes ends up tasting good.

I feel like he would be even better at baking actually, because I find baking tends to use a lot more numbers and measuring out ingredients to exact numbers. It’s like science and Fugo loves that.

The first time his S/o or crush tastes his cooking or baking, it’s actually because he brought it “for the squad”. He’s too embarrassed to admit that he just wanted to see if they’d enjoy what he made. He gets all flustered when they tell him how good it is and leaves the room. But then starts bringing stuff almost every week for them to try.

Giorno:

I feel like he’s on the same level or a little better than Fugo…

He always had to kinda take care of himself, so naturally he learned to cook for himself as well

Unlike Fugo, he doesn’t go by the book as much. He just picked up from restaurants and over time learned what worked together

He does also enjoy baking sometimes because he has a bit of a sweet tooth, but just basic things like cookies, brownies, etc.

He doesn’t really help Bucciarati in the kitchen because Abbacchio just glares at him the whole time. Leone hates that he’s actually okay at cooking. Can this kid just be bad at something wtf.

If Abbacchio does get fed up and goes off to sulk somewhere, he doesn’t mind stepping in to help out though

When cooking for an s/o or crush, he has a similar approach to Bucciarati. He likes to make it romantic but in a more light-hearted way? Like he prefers more upbeat music, maybe even sitting on the couch and watching a movie instead of at a table. He will always make sure to sprout a beautiful bouquet of their favourite flowers to be on display nearby, though.

Trish:

Trish just doesn’t really like cooking

She doesn’t like how sweaty the kitchen can get, and hates how onions make her cry. Her mascara is expensive!

Just sits back and lets the boys take care of everything when Bucciarati has the squad over for dinner. Cooking is already stressful enough without 3 fistfights breaking out…

Although she doesn’t like cooking, she wouldn’t be terrible at it if she were in a situation where she had to.

She does on the other hand enjoy baking though!

She always loved baking with her mom growing up. Her favourite thing to make is cupcakes because it’s so much fun to decorate them with colourful icing and cute sprinkles when they’re done!

The first time her s/o or crush tries her baking, they’re just hanging out and she all of the sudden gets the idea to make frosted brownies. She has a lot of fun seeing the different approach they take to decorating them. They start to have weekly baking dates where they try something new every time, and sometimes brings the boys leftovers :)

Yaaaay another one done! I really do love making these. My asks are open so if you enjoyed reading this and would like to see my hcs for a particular situation, go ahead and let me know! I’m also always looking for more moots to talk about JJBA and other stuff with 💖

[lowkeyremi]

His birthday k. bokuto

Remi's note: Happy birthday to my favorite owl, ily (also i wrote the sky-diving thing based on my own experience)

CW: established relationship, fluff, kinda rushed

"WOOHOO!" He screams, and you startle awake.

"W-what? Ko baby what's up?" You ask sleepily. You open your eyes, they're bleary and you're trying to comprehend what's going on right now.

"Honey get up! It's my birthday! Let's go celebrate!!" Bokuto spouts all at once. You'd think after a certain age people wouldn't care too much about their birthdays. Your husband proves you wrong because he is twenty-eight, and still excited like a two year old going to chuck-e-cheese for their birthday.

"Slow your roll, I still need to get up. I also need caffeine." You mumble. Those golden eyes watch as you sit up and blink slowly to adjust to the morning.

"Don't worry, sweetness! I already made you some (coffee or tea)!" He exclaims with a cup in his hand. How did that get there? You could have sworn that wasn't in his hand a few seconds ago.

When he hands you the mug you take a nice long sip with a loud exhale at the end. "Thanks, Ko."

"Mhm, what're you feeling today? I have a couple outfits picked out for ya!" He points to the dress where sure enough, there are three or four outfits laid out.

"Where are we going? You seem to wanna get a move on." The one thing that you never understood was why Bokuto wanted to spoil you on his birthday. He always takes you places and buys you stuff. He says 'seeing you happy makes me happy, and that's all I want for my birthday.'

Every year he tells you not to get him anything besides your love. Which is cheesy. You got him something.

This actually took a long time to plan because you had to think of something he wouldn't expect. Kuroo played a role in your surprise gift.

"Yeah I do. We're driving two hours today. The sooner we get there the better." You look at him in disbelief.

"Kotaro Bokuto." You say sternly.

"I promise this time it's gonna be something I wanna do." That's what he's said in the past and it was never true.

----

He watched you go through you're daily routine, smiling at every little thing. He was over excited about helping you with little things like slipping your shoes on or setting the timer so your makeup could dry.

You guys where ready to go around nine am. Bokuto stopped by his favorite restaurant to get breakfast to go for the ride.

"These burritos never fail!!" He exaggerates with a loud moan as he takes another huge bite.

"You are a piece of work." You sigh with a smile taking a bite out of your own burrito.

Throughout the ride Bokuto plays songs you used to listen to when he first met you. He purposely sung off key just to piss you off make you laugh.

He wanted to play road-trip games but you had to remind him countless times that he was DRIVING so he can't play road-trip games.

------

You really had no clue where he'd brought you. The place looked empty based on the amount of cars present in the parking lot. Before you can even process it, he opens your car door, "Come on honey, don't wanna be late."

Your hands are intertwined and he guides you into a small white building.

"I brought you to an indoor sky-diving place because I'm too scared to actually sky-dive, yet." He explains, a grin crosses your face when he mentions real sky-diving.

"Let's do it then!" You say excitedly.

Bokuto checks you two in for your reservation. The instructor takes you two back to a little room to teach you the basics of indoor sky-diving. She says it's similar to outdoor sky-diving. She shows you the three hand signals you'll need to know so the operate can know how you're feeling.

Once you two have grasped the concept so she brings you to the sky-diving area. Bokuto goes first, he looks so cute and funny swinging his legs all around in the glass cylinder trying to remember what the woman had taught him.

"Baby look! I'm flying!" He yells trying to flap like a bird, which messes up his flow and causes him to bump into the glass wall. Your giggle goes unnoticed as he exists the glass when the air stops flowing.

"Mrs. Bokuto, you're up!" The operator yells. After checking your helmet once more you're stepping into the cylinder.

Over all the experience was quite fun and you got some good pictures of your husband being silly.

-----

When you arrived home, you put your hand over Bokuto's eyes in order to keep him from looking.

You motion to Kuroo who is already in you're house looking at you waiting for the signal.

"Okay Ko, open them up!" He opens his eyes and you remove your hand. Standing round your kitchen table is Tsukki, Kuroo, Akaashi, Kenma, Atsumu, Hinata, and surprisingly Sakusa.

"Happy birthday!!" They all say in unison.

"I wanted you to celebrate with your friends, so outside I set up the net so you guys can play a few rounds of volleyball." You say meekly with a huge smile plastered on your face.

"Babyyyyyy." Bokuto drags out with a smile.

"Thank you so much! Come on guys! Let's go play some volleyball before it gets super late!" Bokuto kisses you. When he detaches his lips from you, he grabs your arm and drags you out to come play volleyball with all his friends.

[clovers-little-starlings]

Baby Steps: Drinking Water!

This is the first installment in a series of posts I'd like to do expanding on some of the things I've talked about here (which- blew up by the way??? thank you all so much??? <3) and here!

Long intro/backstory to this post series below!!

I often tend to immediately tense up at the thought of handling a big upcoming project or tackling something I've procrastinated on or neglected to do, even adding things to my daily routine like brushing my teeth or wearing my retainer- even drinking water, since I've spent a majority of my time in my room just sitting, over the past few years.

I know I have different little posts 'n' such that talk about these things already, but I want to expand on things and get a little more in-depth on advice and things that have worked for me and helped me out!

This series is separate from everything else, though I'll probably list more things in other "regression activity lists" or scenes- You might see some of the same content in multiple posts, is what I'm trying to say- but I do that because different things work for different people, and I know regression in particular isn't all sunshine and rainbows for everyone. I want to try to appeal to a wider audience and learn more from the community, be a bigger part of the community so I can help people out, because that's something I enjoy.

My regression in particular is voluntary and solely for stress-relief, so to me, I kinda feel like I only know surface-level things about it, although I've been doing my research.

There may not be that much to it anyhow, I just-

I just wanna help people as best I can, I think. ^^; Which is why I'm so intent on interaction and explaining that I don't know everything but that I want to learn, so that I can help y'all out.

Anyway!!

★ This will probably be a repeat bullet point in this series, but if you have a device that can set alarms, maybe a timer of some sort- any kind of time-keeping device that dings in certain intervals, I'd recommend using it.

Alarms on your phone, timers, any little reminders you can make to help you with the things you struggle with, if you're like me and stuck sitting a lot or don't do much during the day (or are the complete opposite and do so much during the day) that you tend to neglect taking care of yourself.

★ Fill up or grab a water bottle whenever you start your day or are about to do something, and keep it with you! This way if you do end up thirsty, you don't have to stop what you're doing and worry about getting water, you'll already have it on you!

When it gets empty, that's what you've got your reminders for! Maybe every half hour or so to check how much water you've got and if you need to refill, or maybe make something as a reminder once the bottle's empty to refill, just so you've still got water and don't have to go back and forth to fill up a cup so often.

★ You could also put ice or fruit in your water! Different shapes or sizes, and whatever fruit (or veggie? I've heard cucumbers taste good!) you want if that sounds yummy! I like my water with lemon sometimes. -w-

I'm not recommending any sort of flavoring or those Cirkul water bottles with the flavor pods because I'm not sure how healthy or reliable they are, or how much sugar they have, stuff like that. If anyone has any info on those sorts of things they use and would recommend, please feel free to share!

Edit: Check the notes, we've got insight! Thank you to everyone for their input!! :3

★ You can customize your water bottle, sippy, bottle, bowl (for the pets!) with whatever you want! Maybe stickers, maybe a straw, you could get one with your favorite characters on it- make it fit and customizable so it works for you, have fun decorating it and make it something appealing to the eye so it might get you to take a sip!

If you have any other tips, feel free to share! ^w^

Know that I'll always be here for you if you need me, and I'm very proud of you for trying!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

[the-winter-spider]

The View Between Villages: Part Two

Word Count: 3.6k

Pairings: Bucky x reader, TASM! x reader

Masterlist

Part One

—-

The Accords - 2016

“You can’t honestly be thinking of signing this, Y/N?” Steve’s voice was sharp, frustration lacing every word as he paced back and forth, holding up the Sokovia Accords like it was a death sentence.

You sighed, leaning against the table, arms crossed. “What’s so bad about wanting to keep this”—you gestured to the room full of Avengers—“together? We’ve always fought together, Steve. If we’re going to keep fighting, I think the best way is to stay united, and we can figure a way out.”

“One hand on the wheel,” Natasha chimed in, nodding in agreement. Her smile was faint but supportive.

Steve ignored her, his focus solely on you. “Y/N, if we sign these, we’re signing ourselves over to people like Hydra—the ones that took Bucky.”

Your eyes narrowed, anger flaring up at the mention of his name. “How dare you bring Bucky into this?” You pointed at Steve, your voice trembling with restrained fury. “This has nothing to do with him!”

Steve dropped the Accords on the table with a thud. “This has everything to do with him. He wouldn’t want you to sign this, Y/N! I don’t want you to sign this. We’re all we have left!” His tone softened as he saw you flinch, his eyes pleading now. “Which is why we’ve got to stay together.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Tony’s voice cut in, dripping with sarcasm. “Give me a break, Cap.” He set his drink down, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “If Y/N wants to sign, let her sign.” He walked over to you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “At least one of you old timers seems to have a solid head on your shoulders.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, the tension in the room thickening by the second. “Governments are run by people with agendas, and agendas change. You know that, Y/N. Today, they might be our allies, but what about tomorrow?”

You looked between the two men who meant the most to you, torn between the idealism Steve had always represented and the pragmatism Tony was pushing for. “I get that, Steve. I do. But we can’t just ignore what happened in Sokovia. We can’t keep going like we’re above the law.”

“And we can’t chain ourselves to a system that might turn on us the second we disagree,” Steve countered, his voice edged with desperation. “Y/N, think about it—think about how many times we’ve had to go against orders because we knew it was the right thing to do. This isn’t just about us, it’s about the people we’re protecting.”

“Protecting them doesn’t mean running rogue whenever it suits us,” you shot back, frustration mounting. “If we don’t have some kind of oversight, how are we any different from the threats we’re supposed to be stopping?”

Tony nodded approvingly, but Steve looked at you like you’d just struck him. “So, you’re just going to sign away our freedom? This isn’t what he would want for you. ”

“Don’t you dare make this about Bucky!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and full of the pain you’d been holding back for so long. “This isn’t about him, Steve. It’s about all of us, about making sure we don’t lose anyone else.”

Steve’s face softened, his blue eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something that looked almost like betrayal. “I thought you, of all people, would understand what’s at stake.”

“I do,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on you. “But I can’t keep fighting if it means we become the very thing we’re trying to stop.”

The room was silent, the air thick with unspoken tension. You could feel Tony’s hand on your shoulder, a silent reminder that you weren’t alone in this. But as you looked at Steve, the man who had been your rock for so many years, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you was fracturing—something that might never be whole again.

Steve shook his head slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice just as soft. “But it’s mine to make.”

Steve didn’t say another word as he turned and walked out of the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing like a finality that settled deep in your bones.

You stood there, staring at the door long after he was gone, wondering if there would ever be a way to mend what had just been broken.

But for now, all you could do was try to hold onto what little you had left. And hope that somehow, some way, you hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

Present

“Are you sure this is it? It’s like in the middle of nowhere,” the cab driver said, his voice tinged with doubt as he peered into the darkness ahead.

You nodded, already pulling cash out of your pocket. “Yeah, this is it.”

“I can take you further if you want,” he offered, though his tone suggested he’d rather not.

Handing him a $100 bill, you shook your head. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Superheroes,” he muttered under his breath, the word heavy with something between admiration and exasperation, before he drove off, the tail lights disappearing into the night.

You stood there, watching as the lights faded, leaving you in near-total darkness. The gravel road crunched under your shoes as you started walking forward, each step echoing the isolation that had become your constant companion.

Nature had always been your refuge, long before you discovered what you were capable of. Out here, there was no judgment, just the quiet hum of the world breathing around you. It was where you could escape, where you could pretend—if only for a moment—that the weight of your past wasn’t dragging you down.

Your grandmother used to tell you that you were destined for great things, that the sun would shine upon you one day, no matter how dark things got. But now, as you trudged through the woods, all you could see were clouds. No sunlight, just memories, endlessly replaying, taunting you with what could have been.

The Accords. That was where it all started to unravel. If you hadn’t signed them, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t have pulled away, maybe Steve wouldn’t have left, maybe you wouldn’t feel so crushingly alone.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill creeping into your bones. Why were you so anxious? It was just Peter—sweet, young Peter Parker. But it had been nearly a year since you’d last seen him, since Tony’s funeral, and you hadn’t reached out once. You’d let him face everything alone, just like you were doing.

Tony had asked so little of you in his final letter. Just one thing, really: to watch over Peter. He’d handed over the reins, entrusted you with something precious, and you’d failed him. But here you were now, finally on your way to help. Surely that had to count for something, right?

Except… Tony hadn’t known that Steve would leave, or that Bucky would take half of you with him, leaving the rest of you abandoned on the side of the road like some kind of excess baggage.

Your thoughts were loud, spiraling in your mind like a storm, but nothing was louder than the rustling you suddenly heard from the bushes.

You froze, senses sharp. “Who’s there?” You lifted your hand, letting it illuminate the darkness with a soft, eerie glow. “I’m not going to ask again.”

With your other hand, you willed the trees to sway to the left, revealing a pair of glowing eyes staring back at you. “Is that a threat?” a low, menacing voice growled just before a massive lizard-like creature charged at you. Its claw sliced across your side before you had time to fully react.

“What the—” you screamed, instinctively using the air around you to whip into a vortex, lifting the creature off the ground and hurling it far away. You could hear its furious roars fading into the distance as the wind carried it away.

You collapsed onto the ground, clutching your bleeding side, gasping for breath. Staring up at the stars, you muttered to yourself, “Was that my punishment for not checking up on Pete?”

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, making the bushes to your right sway, revealing a faint light in the distance.

The safe house.

You grunted as you pushed yourself up, every movement sending waves of pain through your side. “Definitely my punishment,” you mumbled, limping toward the house, hoping that whatever was waiting for you inside wasn’t going to be worse than what you’d just encountered.

But knowing your luck, you weren’t holding your breath.

—

The Peters

“We could ask for more help.”

“We have three Spider-Mans. What more help could we use?”

Ned shrugged. “Other Avengers. There are still some left with cool powers.”

Peter 2 and Peter 3 exchanged confused looks. “Avengers?” Peter 2 asked.

Peter 1’s eyes widened in shock. “Neither of you have the Avengers?” He pointed between them. “Thor? Captain America? Iron Man?”

Peter 3 shook his head. “Are they a band? Those are some awesome names.”

Peter shook his head vigorously. “No, they’re Earth’s mightiest heroes! I can’t believe you don’t have them.”

The older Peter stepped forward. “Will they help us? The more the merrier.”

Ned cleared his throat. “Well, lots of them are, uh, dead after Thanos, or off-world, retired, or gone rogue,” he paused. “But I know there are three for sure who could help!”

The youngest Peter frowned. “H-how do you know that?”

Ned shrugged. “I accidentally tapped into one of your phone calls with Happy.”

“We’ll deal with that later, but I could ask Y/n. I don’t know if she’ll answer, though. She’s been distant since Mr. Stark—”

“Drama in the superhero world?” Ned asked eagerly, crossing his arms.

“What about the other two?” Peter 3 asked, ignoring Ned.

“I’m not, um, close with them. I kicked their asses one time in a fight, and well, I just don’t think that would go over very well.”

Peter reached into his pocket, grabbing his phone and staring at your number. He hesitated, unsure if he should bring you into this mess—a mess that wouldn’t have happened if he had come to you first.

“Hey, Pete, you don’t have to do this,” MJ said, placing her hand on his.

He gave her a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.” He pressed your number, and after a few rings, you answered. “Y/n, I-I need your help. I—” He got up and left the room.

“So, Avengers,” the older Peter tried to ease the silence.

“Yeah, what kind of powers does Y/n have? Is she super strong, fast, or is she magic too?” Peter 3 asked excitedly.

“Oh, she has the coolest powers!” Ned said, eyes wide with excitement. “She controls everything.”

“Everything?” Peters said in unison.

“Yeah, like the elements. She can manipulate everything that has matter, I think. Honestly, I’m not really sure—that’s just what I’ve seen online,” Ned shrugged casually.

“That’s impressive,” the eldest Peter said in awe.

“How does one get powers like that? Did she get knocked over by the wind or something?” Peter 3 quipped.

“Uh, no. It’s actually super sad and complicated. They have her story in the Smithsonian. Peter knows it better than me. He wouldn’t stop bugging her for months about it. I think she was chosen by the Earth or nature—like the Earth incubated her in the ‘40s after Captain America died, then she just showed up out of nowhere—”

Peter re-entered the room, cutting Ned off. He kept his phone in his hand, eyes lingering on it. He knew all eyes were on him, waiting for an answer. “She’s on her way.”

“That’s great! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She’s like my third favourite Avenger. Well, I guess she’s first now—”

“Ned,” MJ cut him off, glaring at him.

“Oh, sorry, dude.”

Peter 1 waved it off. “Just don’t bring up the Avengers, okay? Especially Captain America and Sergeant Barnes. Please.” He glanced around, receiving nods from everyone, even though two of them didn’t know who those names referred to. He knew Steve leaving was hard on you, something Happy had told him about why you needed space. But he had also read online that the Falcon and Winter Soldier were doing missions together without you. So, he knew something more was going on.

He sighed, rubbing his face, hoping that with your help, some of the weight on his shoulders would lift.

“You know you can talk to us, right? I mean, at the end of all this, we won’t even be here in this universe anymore, and we don’t even know any of these people, so we’re not biased towards anyone,” Peter 3 offered a kind smile.

Peter considered it before speaking. “It’s just… there’s no one left. Before, it was so amazing—the Avengers were such a good team. I mean, from my experience, and I was only close with Mr. Stark and Y/n, but from the stories they told me, it was just the best. And now, it’s all gone. Everyone’s, well, gone.” He paused, sitting down on the couch next to MJ. “There’s only a handful of us left, and we’re divided again. Not that we were even a team to start with. I feel this weight on my shoulders, like I have these huge shoes to fill. I know everyone has their own things to deal with, and Y/n has a lot going on, but I should have called her sooner. It’s just a mess. Everything is a mess.” He looked up at everyone. “I have to fix it.”

Before anyone could respond, there was a knock at the door. Peter jumped up, heading for the door. “That must be her.”

“That was fast,” Peter 3 said, looking at the others.

“They’re called superheroes for a reason,” Ned laughed.

Peter took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing you, clutching your side. “Hi, Pete,” you said, offering a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

His gaze fell to your side. “W-what happened? You’re bleeding.” He quickly ushered you inside.

“You weren’t kidding.” You let out a shaky laugh, scanning the room. As you entered, eight pairs of eyes were fixed on you.

“Are you okay?” An older gentleman in a suit stood up.

“Yeah, there’s just a giant lizard running around, and I wasn’t paying attention—distracted,” you gestured to your head. “It’s fine, really. I just need the first aid kit over there.” You pointed toward the bathroom.

The tallest Spider-Man ran to retrieve the kit. As you took your arm away from your side, you unzipped your jacket, revealing a white shirt stained red.

“Why weren’t you wearing your suit, Y/n?” Your Peter’s voice was slightly raised. “Mr. Stark said—”

“Do you wear yours everywhere you go?” You cut him off with a slight shove. “And I do have it.” You raised your arm, showing the bracelet on your left wrist. “I just didn’t have time to activate it because I was caught off guard by a giant lizard.” You took off your white top, revealing your black sports bra underneath. “Oh wow, he got me good.” Two large gashes, a few inches long, marred your side.

The middle Peter, who was frantically going through the kit, looked up. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been there,” he said, pointing at your wound. “It sucks. Can I—?”

You nodded as he began disinfecting the wound. “So this is quite a mess, huh?”

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I know. I’m so—”

You raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t apologize, Pete. People make mistakes. Things happen. It’s okay.” You took a shaky breath as he prepared to stitch you up.

“How can you say that? This is all my fault.”

“We all make mistakes, but we fix them or try our best to. That’s what matters.”

“Mr. Stark would have been so mad at me.”

“Yeah, he would have been.” Peter’s eyes suddenly shifted away. You reached out and grasped his hand. “But he made so many mistakes too, Pete. Please stop being so hard on yourself. Nobody’s perfect.”

“An Avenger should be, I need to do better.”

You smiled softly. “The Avengers were far from perfect. They were probably the most imperfect group of heroes ever.” Peter 3 finished bandaging your side and gave you a slight nod.

“Thank you,” you said, offering the best smile you could. Even Peter didn’t need to know you like your Peter did to see how it didn’t reach your eyes.

He felt flustered for the first time in a long time as your ocean eyes met his. He scratched the back of his head. “It’s not a problem, really. He is my villain and all.” His heart ached as you turned back to your Peter.

“So, are you going to fill me in? I have no idea what’s going on and why there are two other versions of you standing in a safe house I swore I’d never come back to.”

Peter’s mouth opened, looking around as he pointed at the ground. “This is the…?” He trailed off, knowing if his thoughts were true, he wouldn’t need to finish.

You nodded. Before you could respond, another voice piped up.

“Wait, you don’t know what’s going on? You haven’t seen the news, but you’re an Ave—”

“Ned,” Peter’s and MJ’s voices interjected.

Peter’s eyes returned to you, and you could see the sincerity in them. “It’s fine, Pete. Uh, no, I haven’t seen the news. I’ve been out of the loop for a while.” You could feel your heart rate rising as it began to rain outside. All eyes were on you as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Three people in this room could surely hear how your heart rate sped up, and one for sure knew the rain outside wasn’t a coincidence.

Peter seemed to be battling internally. He reached out and squeezed your hand before turning to his friends. “Can I, uh, talk to you two outside?”

“Us?” MJ pointed between herself and Ned.

Peter nodded and walked toward the front door.

“But it’s raining,” Ned protested.

Peter’s eyes returned to you. “Not for long.”

Reluctantly, MJ and Ned got up. You closed your eyes, feeling out of control of your powers. You had been better than this before, but were you really?

You couldn’t recall a good memory to calm yourself because they were all tainted.

As Peter opened the door to let MJ and Ned out, the rain began to ease. You were left alone with the two Peters, the room quiet except for the sound of the rain dripping outside.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

You could feel the tension in the room, like a tangible thing pressing down on you. The weight of it made your chest tight, and you struggled to keep your breathing steady. As you stood there, bleeding and barely holding it together, the reality of what you’d walked into began to sink in. You were out of the loop, out of sync with everything and everyone, and now you had to help save a world that wasn’t even yours.

Peter 3, the one who had patched you up, spoke first. “So, you’re an Avenger, huh? That’s… pretty cool. I mean, that’s so cool, Im use to being the only ‘superhero’ but seeing more in real life? Kind of surreal.”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, it’s something, alright.” You glanced at Peter 2, who was observing you with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. He had a presence that was calming, a kindness that reminded you of Steve.

Peter 2 nodded toward the door where your Peter had just left. “He looks up to you a lot, you know. I can tell he’s been through a lot recently. Losing people, especially people who mean the world to you, it changes you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push down the rising emotions. “Yeah, it does.”

There was a pause, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Peter 3 shifted awkwardly, clearly wanting to ask something but unsure how to phrase it. “So, uh, what’s your story? How’d you end up here?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Long story short? I was in the wrong place at the right time—or maybe the right place at the wrong time. I don’t even know anymore. I was… chosen, I guess. By nature, by the Earth, to protect it. But it’s more complicated than that. A lot more complicated.”

Peter 2 frowned, concern etched on his face. “Chosen? Like… fate or something?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, suddenly feeling exposed. You weren’t used to talking about your powers, let alone your past. But something about these two, their genuine curiosity and the fact that they were literally from different universes, made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could open up a little.

Peter 3 leaned forward, his eyes wide with fascination. “That’s… incredible. I mean, you can control the elements? That’s like, god-level power.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It sounds cooler than it is. It’s a lot of responsibility. And sometimes, it’s more of a curse than a gift.”

Peter 2’s expression softened. “I get that. Having great power… it’s not always a blessing. It can be a burden.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. “Exactly.”

The three of you stood there, a quiet understanding passing between you. The world outside was on the brink of chaos, and the path ahead was anything but clear. But in that moment, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t facing it alone.

And for now, that was enough.

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: Three (part one) ✦

John “Bucky” Egan x OC Gale “Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. ⚠️ Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mention of death, suicidal ideations, drunkenness. ⭐️ Taglist: @alanadetigy

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

I visited Gale’s grave every day for a month straight. I guess wishfully thinking that he would rise from the grave like Lazarus – taking me back in his arms and whispering that it was only a dream. The winter haze was starting to turn warmer – a clear sign that spring was on the horizon. Springtime was Gale’s favorite – just sitting on the porch – plowing the garden that he swore would turn out 50 pounders. I could still see him sitting atop the tractor he was so proud of – buying it from an old timer at the local auction for ten dollars and a gold pocket watch.

He was able to work one full season in that garden before he went off to join the war effort. He promised that as soon as he returned, he would have me out there helping, learning the tricks and trades of being a farmer’s wife. We both knew deep down that would never happen – my hands never meeting the touch of dirt in my 22 years of life. I wanted it to happen though. I wanted to break out of the debutante shell – learn to be self-sufficient and not have to rely on my husband to do everything. Gale was the one that was gonna show me the new world I craved – the new world I needed to survive.  

“Figured I’d find you here.”

I rolled my eyes as John made his way over to where I sat, his presence being one that I could live without. Even after the little incident of me throwing his belongings off the deck, he still stuck around. He had set up house in the dilapidated barn that Gale planned to fix up. If it was anyone other than John Egan, I would have insisted they stay in the comfort of the house, but he deserved the cold rain to fall on him during the night.

He took a seat on the grass next to me, his hand touching the mound of dirt that was still settling on Gale’s grave. His throat clearing as his emotions began to get the best of him.

“Your mother called – wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.” My gaze steadied on the plaque in front of me. “Told her that you were out here.”

“I don’t need you talking to my mother for me.”

An exasperated sigh slipped past his lips as the air around us became tense, “You know I’m just trying to help, right?” His eyes setting on my side profile as my eyes stayed glued on Gale’s grave. “If it wasn’t me here –“He paused for a moment. “You’d be in a world of hurt.”

“You wouldn’t have to be here if you were there for Gale when he and the other men jumped over that wall like you told him to do, Major.” Our eyes connecting. “I’d have my husband at my side, but instead I have you.” I hastily removed myself from the ground. “And I have my husband buried six feet in the ground where he’ll stay forever, but I should be so flattered to have the Major John Egan to make sure I’m not in a world of hurt.”

“Carolina-“ He started to speak as he stood.

I raised my hand to stop him, “No-“My tone stern. “I don’t want to hear another word from your sorry mouth, John.” Tears starting to dwell in my eyes. “You can go to the pits of hell and rot for eternity for all I care.”

My feet started to move across the growing grass – signs of life at every turn – except the one I longed for. I was in my own world of hatred that I didn’t even hear John’s heavy footsteps behind me, my body being jerked into his as his fingers wrapped tightly around my arms.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I fought against his touch. “You’re the one who should’ve died! That bullet was meant for your head – not Gale’s.” My voice screeched with anger and agony.

John's grip tightened momentarily before he released me, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own anguish. "You think I don't know that?” his voice raw and broken. "Do you think I don't live with that every single day?"

I turned away, wiping the tears that had begun to stream down my face. "Knowing it and feeling it are two different things, John. I can't just forgive and forget. Not when my life has been torn apart."

He took a step back, giving me space, his hands falling limply to his sides. "Carolina, I can't change what happened. I can't bring Gale back. But I can be here for you, whether you want me to be or not. I owe him that much."

I scoffed, my heart a storm of emotions. "You owe him more than that. You owe him your life."

For a moment, silence hung between us, heavy and suffocating. The world around us continued to move, indifferent to our pain. I wanted to scream, to make it stop, to rewind time and change everything. But I couldn't. All I had was this reality, this grief, and the man who stood before me, a painful reminder of what I had lost.

“You ruined my life, John. You ruined the life that I was supposed to have with Gale – all the promises and dreams we had. “ I paused. “All that’s gone and now I have nothing to live for.”

“Killing yourself won’t bring him back.” His tone straight forward. “Killing yourself would be the selfish option. Trust me, I’ve thought about it too, but I know Gale wouldn’t want that.”  

My breath hitched as his words cut through the haze of my grief. "Selfish?" I echoed, incredulous. "You think I haven't thought about what Gale would want? He was my husband, John. My everything. I know him better than anyone, and I know he wouldn't want me to be this miserable, but I can't help it. Every day is a struggle just to breathe."

John's face softened; his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. "I know, Carolina. I know it's hard. But giving up won't honor his memory. Living, even when it hurts, is the only way to keep his spirit alive."

Tears streamed down my face, and I felt a deep, aching void where my heart used to be. "It's not fair," I whispered, my voice breaking. "We had plans. We were going to start a family, travel the world, grow old together. How am I supposed to do any of that without him?"

He took a cautious step closer, his presence a tentative offer of support. "You don't have to do it alone. There are people who care about you, who want to help you through this. I know I'm the last person you want to hear that from, but it's true."

I shook my head, frustration and despair warring within me. "You don't understand. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of what I've lost. Of what you took from me."

John's expression tightened with pain, but he didn't back down. "I understand more than you think. I lost a brother that day. Not just a comrade, but someone I cared about deeply. And yes, I was responsible for the mission, but I never wanted this outcome. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You never wanted to hurt me?" I scoffed, a bitter edge to my voice. "You're the one who pressured Gale to go with you to England – writing him letters and painting a picture of how exciting the missions were." Each word dripped with resentment as I laid bare the betrayal that had festered in my heart.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, the memories of happier times with Gale now tainted by the presence of the Major. "I wish Gale had never met you at that training facility," I continued, my tone laced with regret and anger. "I wish you had never come into our lives, John Egan."

The air fell silent, the weight of my words lingering between us. John's gaze flickered, a shadow of guilt passing over his features before he attempted to muster a response. But no words came, the truth of my accusations hanging heavy in the space between us, a rift that seemed impossible to bridge…

“Okay ladies, so I was thinking that the theme this year be focused around new beginnings. Something pure and wholesome,” Victoria announced, her voice carrying a sense of authority that demanded attention.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the other women seated around the table nodded in agreement. The debutant ball, an annual event that had become a symbol of prestige and philanthropy in the community, was a significant undertaking that required meticulous planning and flawless execution.

Sitting beside me, my mother beamed with pride, her hand resting gently on my leg as if to anchor me in my seat. “Oh Victoria, I think that is a fabulous idea,” she chimed in, her enthusiasm palpable.

I stifled a sigh, accustomed to my mother's unwavering ambition for me to shine at the debutant ball. Ever since I was a young girl, she had envisioned me as the belle of the ball, clad in a perfect white gown, with hair styled to perfection, and a date handpicked from the cream of society.

As I glanced around the room at the other debutantes and their eager mothers, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Many of the young men who had once vied for the chance to escort a debutante to the ball were now mere shadows of their former selves. Some were confined to wheelchairs, their once-vibrant spirits dimmed by tragedy, while others had met untimely ends, their promising futures cut short.

As the planning for the debutant ball continued, I couldn't help but notice the sea of young faces around me, each brimming with anticipation and excitement. Most of the girls who had signed up to participate seemed to view the ball as the pinnacle of their young lives, a chance to be the center of attention and bask in the admiration of others.

However, my own perspective had been irrevocably altered by recent events. The tragic loss of my husband had shattered my illusions of a fairy-tale existence, leaving me adrift in a world that now seemed hollow and insincere.

When Victoria turned to me, her voice cutting through the silence, I felt the weight of everyone's eyes on me. The women around the table, who had initially regarded me with pity and sympathy, now looked at me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Do you have any suggestions, Carolina?" Victoria's question hung in the air, waiting for a response.

I hesitated, unsure of how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain. The words felt stuck in my throat, a jumble of conflicting emotions and unspoken truths that I couldn't bring myself to articulate.

"No," I finally managed to say, the word coming out more curtly than I had intended. Victoria shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the tension in the room palpable as the other women exchanged uneasy glances.

As Victoria smoothly transitioned to discussing details with the other women in the room, a sense of relief washed over me, grateful to be momentarily spared from the spotlight. I observed with detached interest as their faces animated with enthusiasm, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of excitement and anticipation.

A pang of disconnection tugged at my heart as I contrasted their genuine enthusiasm with the emptiness I felt inside. The prospect of being paraded around like a prized possession at the debutant ball held no allure for me, a stark reminder of the superficiality and pretense that permeated this world of opulence and privilege.

"Darling, you're bringing everyone's mood down," my mother's gentle voice whispered in my ear, breaking through my reverie. I turned to meet her gaze, seeing a mixture of concern and expectation in her eyes.

"This is a joyous occasion. Will you please try to smile or look somewhat happy to be here?" she implored, her hand reaching out to touch mine in a gesture of reassurance.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, the muscles in my face aching from the effort. “Happy?” My voice tinged with bitterness, causing her to frown in disapproval.

She straightened in her chair, the delicate China teacup clutched in her hands as she met my gaze with a mixture of concern and determination. "Carolina, it's been almost two months," she began, her tone gentle but resolute. My head snapped in her direction, a flicker of defiance igniting within me as I anticipated the direction of her words.

"It's time to get on with the grief and start living your life again – be the old Carolina Clevens – the happy girl we all knew and loved," she urged, her words laced with expectation and a hint of impatience.

The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy shroud, pressing down on me with a force that was almost suffocating. The idea of returning to the person I used to be, of donning the mask of cheerfulness and ease that I had worn before my world was shattered, felt like an impossible task.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mother," I blurted out, my body turning towards her in haste. The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I didn't realize that grieving over my dead husband was only allowed for a certain time, and then it was time to act like he's not at the bottom of a hole turned into worm food." The ladies seated at our table glanced over with curiosity, their whispered conversations coming to a sudden halt.

My mother's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed my words. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could feel the weight of her unspoken disapproval. But I couldn't hold back the flood of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface since my husband's passing.

"I guess when daddy dies, you'll get a day or two to grieve, and then I'll let you know when it's time to go back to your self-centered self," I continued, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and a lifetime of unspoken grievances.

The tension in the room was palpable as the gazes of the guests shifted between my mother and me. I could feel their eyes boring into me, their expressions a mix of surprise and discomfort at the sudden outburst. My mother's attempt at a smile seemed strained, a fragile façade barely concealing the turmoil beneath the surface.

“Fuck this.” I stumbled away from the table, my heart pounding in my chest. The room seemed to blur around me as I made my way towards the door, my mother's voice calling out my name like a distant echo in the chaos of my thoughts.

As the pricking feeling of tears threatened to overflow, I clenched my jaw, refusing to let them fall. I was tired of crying, tired of the pain that seemed to follow me wherever I went. With each step I took on the quiet street, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, the cool night air soothing my frayed nerves.

I slowed my pace, wanting to blend into the shadows, not wanting any more attention drawn to me. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the pavement, guiding my way as I navigated the unfamiliar paths. I didn't know where I was going, but one thing was clear – I didn't want my mother to find me.

I managed to dip into a hole in the wall bar – the patrons looking a bit shocked when I stepped through the doors. I wasn’t really a drinker – only partaking once in a blue moon – nothing to hard of course. I hesitantly took a seat at the bar, my white gloves causing those at the bar to look at me as if I was lost. I quickly removed the garments, stuffing them into my purse.

The older bartender gave me a reassuring smile as he placed a small napkin in front of me. “What can I get ya, miss?”

I hesitated, my mind racing as I tried to decide. Looking around, I noticed most of the patrons were nursing glasses filled with a rich, amber liquid. I pointed to one of the glasses at the end of the bar. “I’ll have whatever that is.”

The bartender followed my gaze and nodded, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "Whiskey it is," he said, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf. As he poured the drink, I took in my surroundings, the low murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinks of glasses and the faint strains of a jukebox in the corner.

He placed the glass in front of me with a gentle thud. "Here you go. Enjoy," he said, giving me an encouraging nod.

I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass, feeling the slight chill against my skin. Bringing it to my lips, I inhaled the strong, smoky aroma before taking a small sip. The liquid burned slightly as it went down, causing me to start coughing.

The bartender watched me for a moment, then leaned in slightly. "First time with whiskey?" he asked, his tone friendly and curious.

I nodded, setting the glass back on the bar. "Yeah, something like that."

He chuckled softly. "Well, it's an acquired taste for some, but it grows on you. Rough day?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. "You could say that."

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Well, you're in good company. This place has seen its share of weary souls. If you need anything, just holler."

I offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

As he moved on to attend to another customer, I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the warmth and the quiet ambiance of the bar start to work their magic. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a hint of relaxation begin to creep in…

“And then she starts saying that I need to stop crying over my dead husband—” I paused, taking a sloppy drink. “Who says something like that, especially to your goddamn daughter?” My words slurred together, the numerous glasses of whiskey casting a heavy fog over my mind.

The bartender, who had been listening patiently as he wiped down the counter, gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that, miss. Some people just don't understand grief," he said gently, his voice a steady anchor in my storm of emotions.

“And then I got his friend, his co-pilot, the man responsible for sending Gale to his death, staying at my fucking house. Living out of the barn because I’m not gonna let that son of a bitch into my house—” My face twisted as the brown liquid burned its way down my throat. “And to think I liked that man—thought he was a good influence on my husband. John Egan is nothing but a snake in the grass. If he were to drop dead tonight, I wouldn’t even bury his body—I’d just let the buzzards pick away at him until his bones are dust.”

The bartender's eyes widened slightly, but he maintained his calm demeanor. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and soothing. "That's a lot to carry, miss.”

I slammed the glass down on the counter, the sound echoing through the bar. "You have no idea. Every time I see him, it's like a knife twisting in my gut. Gale trusted him and look where that got him."

The bartender stayed silent for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Now don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but it sounds like your husband’s friend was only doing what he thought was best."

I felt my eyes narrow as his words moved around my hazy brain, trying to find purchase. "What are you saying?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Just hear me out. This John guy didn’t know that those Nazi pricks would shoot at your husband. You can’t place the blame on him. I’m sure the poor bastard is already blaming himself."

I stared at him, the anger bubbling up mixed with confusion and sorrow. "You think I should forgive him? After everything?"

The bartender shook his head slowly. "That’s a choose you’re gonna have to make on your own, sweetheart.

Instead of accepting his words like an adult, the whiskey took over instead. "Typical man," I muttered, the raspberries of disdain blowing from my lips. "Just like a man to take up for another man."

I downed what was left of my drink in one swift motion, the alcohol numbing the edges of my frayed emotions. The room seemed to spin around me as I clumsily pushed myself off the barstool, my movements unsteady and erratic.

"You don’t know anything!" I shouted, my voice rising above the din of the bar. "You're all a bunch of drunkards with no hope or future." The words spilled out of me like a torrent, fueled by a cocktail of frustration, bitterness, and a tinge of self-loathing.

Those that were left in the bar looked at me with empty eyes – not shocked by my appearance or attitude. Their gazes seemed to bore into me, indifferent to my outburst amidst the usual chaos of the night. "Gale Cleven was the best man that God ever created!" I proclaimed, my voice piercing through the haze of smoke and chatter, higher than the music playing in the background.

"Better than you," I declared, my finger pointing accusingly in the patrons' directions. "And you. And you too!" Each word was a dagger, fueled by a mix of defiance and desperation, cutting through the thick air of the bar like a blade.

The slamming of the front door snapped me out of my little tantrum as all eyes in the bar shifted towards the man who caused the ruckus. He stood there at the entrance, a lone figure in the dimly lit room, clad in his worn leather bomber jacket. His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets, his stance exuding a quiet confidence that demanded attention. The sudden hush that fell over the bar was almost palpable, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

"For fuck’s sake," I muttered under my breath, a heavy sigh slipping through my lips as I raked my hand through my messy curls.

I watched through hooded eyes as John stepped up to the bar. Our gazes met in a brief but charged moment, a silent exchange passing between us like a current.

As he ordered himself a glass of whiskey, the tension that surrounded just us seemed to thicken, palpable to those around us. The bartender, a silent observer to the unfolding drama, looked back and forth between us, piecing together that this was the man I had been rambling about just moments ago.

[libraford]

Photo studio is on my mind because this is when school starts gearing up again.

Yes, I was a little argumentative because when instructions are given to me in a confusing or inconsistent manner, I push back. Because it is often that my memory is my worst enemy, so when I am in the habit of writing things down and double checking my notes to make sure- it is somewhat crazy-making to be told that both my memory and my guiding resources are incorrect.

But I also got push-back: not only when I asked for accommodations for my memory problems, but when I suggested that I could make my own accommodations where none were available to me.

"If you think that I require more guidance, then I think it's not a bad idea to have me come in with the beginners to brush up on training week" was met with "No returning photographers ever come back for training- it's just not done." "But things change every season, and we'll be having a whole new system soon- I don't want to be working with outdated info." "Nothing has changed in the ten years I've been here!" "They changed the starting light settings just last year." "No, that was before you worked here." "Obviously it was not."

"You need to be better about taking criticism. You always seem to fight back during reviews." "I find some of the critique and training suggestions to be lacking in tact." "I will tell the supervisor to provide more concise criticism." "Tactful...I asked for tact."

"Some of the photographers are unhappy about their pay rate and I think a cost of living increase might encourage people to stay." "You're the highest paid non-salary in the company- why are you asking for a raise?" "...I was asking it on their behalf." "Well, they can ask me themselves." "They felt more comfortable asking me." "Why wouldn't they ask me themselves?" "You see how this conversation is going so far."

"If your problem isn't about the quality of the photos but the fact that I go too fast, then maybe I should have a minute timer to make sure I'm giving them the full 60 seconds." "No, do not put yourself on a timer." "Why not?" "You should know how to use the full minute properly by now and shouldn't need a timer." "I have time-blindness. Youre saying I can't self-advocate?" "That's not what I said." "Then how can I make sure we're going at the proper pace without a cue to help me know how much time has passed?" "You should know how long a minute is by now."

"If I could just do candids, I think I'd be happy." "Well, we can't have a person who just does candids, that position doesn't exist." "The district I subbed for last spring has a candids person." "Well, they're not supposed to." (And then I threaten to quit.) "What if we took you put of schools and had you just do candids?"

So it's like... yeah, I argue. Because I'm making reasonable requests, that would help me be more compliant, and am being told that they can't be made... or having words get put in my mouth.

That and the comments about my appearance. That I wear inappropriate clothes (the uniform is cut for a different body type than mine.) Sometimes people can see my belly button. People commenting on my body. Parents who never even SEE me commenting that my 'bare midriff' is inappropriate for a school setting. People claiming that I smell bad (a comment usually given to fat people, as if I haven't smelled sweat, urine, or menstrual smell coming from school employees and students.)

All of this is just emotional outgassing. The candids position will have me in minimal contact with the company. I get my assignment, I go to assignment, I do assignment, I upload work to the cloud. If she gives me equipment, it's fucking over.

[ollie-supports]

Can I have some transmadd tips :3 one of our alters is questioning if that’s them and he wants help

- ❗️potentially triggering content under more❗️

- do you have other tips you think could help? a reply with them would be appreciated! if you would rather your tips stay anonymous, you can message me with them and i'll reply with it myself!

- did i accidentally say something triggering/disrespectful? please tell me so i can fix it! i am not perfect so i will make mistakes, but i am trying my best!

hello there, of course!! just do one thing for me, alright? make sure the antis dont get to ya! theyre very uninformed, its no good to stress over them!

first off, most madd daydreams are complex and even follow a sort of storyline! your daydreams do not have to be in chronological order, but they do tend to be in the same sort of "universe." i have about 5 different universes! you can have much more, of course. i usually use the same "cast" of characters in them too, such as my father figure in all of them and my other friends being in some universes and some not! so, i would suggest taking some time to plan out your universes! give yourself some time to think of the main scenario, and for me whatever happens next just happens! if you have trouble with that, though, take some time to think of a plot as well!

secondly, my daydreams will just begin out of nowhere, immediately sucking me into those universes. if you have trouble with this, i would suggest an interval timer with long intervals between it! or maybe setting alarms at random-ish times? whatever works for you!

third of all, an important thing to mention is that maladaptive daydreams can last hours. this is not every time, my shortest is about 10 minutes and it usually ends before the hours up! if you can't maintain a daydream that long yet, then i would suggest slowly building up to longer daydreams! increase it by 1-10 minute/s every time, using whatever works best for you to do so! once youve built up your sort of "endurance," vary the time of your daydream! if you have trouble with this, i would use a random number generator and a timer!

most importantly, stay safe!!! without proper care, these universes can become stressful to leave. make sure to find happiness in this universe and make sure you accept that your daydream universes are coping mechanisms!

best of luck to you and your alter!! it may take some time to get it how you want, but i believe in you!! much love! (/p, plantonic!) 🌸

❗️CHILD NEGLECT MENTION❗️

also, madd is usually (not always, so this isnt required!) a trauma response. in order to cope with how horrific the real world can be, beings with madd will hide in their fantasy worlds! if you have traumas you believe could be comforted via any scenario, then that would be a great universe idea! (for example, i was a victim of child neglect my whole life, so in one of my universes my father figure adopted me from my current irl household when i was 3 years old! the daydreams consist of him raising me!)

[sloth-babied]

Love Will Find a Way

Sam Obisanya x reader

Summary: After a year of trying to get over Sam Obisanya, Colin insists you attend a speed dating event with him. 

And would you look at that, Sam’s here too. 

Contains: Drinking, light angst, and fluff. No use of y/n.

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: The fact that there aren't a numerous amount of fics about Sam is actually a crime so I had to step in.

Enjoy!

“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life,” Colin reads the pink chalk-written words on a wooden A-frame sign in front of the restaurant. He turns to you, pursing his lip while nodding as if he were impressed. 

You simply smile and nod, indulging your friend who suggested you come here with him.

You observe the room once you two enter—the quintessential red and pink balloons at every corner of the room, including pink lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Red and pink decor are set all around the place with a banner hanging maliciously over the seating area:

FOR SINGLES READY FOR LOVE

You sigh before you continue to look around. There’s a lot of older people here; people in their mid-forties and up. Makes sense. Those around your age usually rely on dating apps, but there are a few exceptions which, you guess, is a relief. 

You’re able to identify two other young people and realize one of them is Isaac. And the other is…oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.

You grab Colin’s bicep, hoping to reroute your plans. “You know what, actually I think I change my mind—”

“Wait, is that Isaac and Sam?” He notices, raising his damn hand excitedly. “Isaac! Sam!” Colin places his fists on his hips, shaking his head. “Who knew they’d be here?”

You give him a hardened stare before offering the other two footballers a disingenuous smile as they walk your way, drinks in hand.

Naturally your eyes drift to Sam and you can’t resist admiring his outfit for the night. A black turtleneck and brown khakis.

This is going to be a long night.

“Wild seein’ you here, innit?” Isaac says.

Colin nods fervently. “Yeah, weird coincidence.”

Sam gestures his drink in your direction. “What brings you here?

Oh, god, he’s talking to you.

You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Colin was nice enough to invite me,” you tell him, though ‘nice’ is not the word you would honestly use. ‘Cruel’ sounds more accurate, but you digress.

Sam smiles thoughtfully, though he can’t say he doesn’t feel as awkward as you. “I’m sure you’ll find a match. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

You ignore Isaac and Colin glancing at each other, gripping the strap of your tote bag just a tad bit tighter. “And to you, also,” you shoot him a finger-gun with your free hand. “ As well. Too.”

You’re insufferable, but Sam chortles anyway, thank goodness for that.

“Finally got Sam off Bantr.” Isaac pats Sam’s back.

Sam shakes his head. “I deleted my account a long time ago.”

And you know why. It’s hard to think about Sam’s relationship with Rebecca without feeling a little jealous…okay, a lot.

Sam sips his punch. “Isaac suggested I come here, so here I am.”

Ding, ding, ding!

You all turn your heads to a woman holding a call bell in her hand. “The event begins in five minutes!”

And so the night begins.

Each date feels prolonged despite being on a three-minute timer. Many people who are much older than you discuss topics beyond your time or too early in your longevity to experience. And when you meet people around your age, well, let's say a severe lack of chemistry is the only thing that comes into mind.

Admittedly, you debated pregaming before Colin picked you up. You decided against it until you saw Sam here, therefore during the five-minute break, you mumble, "Eh, what the hell?" to yourself before sneaking off to the bar, ordering a shot of tequila before you and Sam meet.

Liquid courage.

Sam greets you with a pursed smile, waving his questionnaire card (cutely) and taking a seat in front of you. "Hi."

“Hey.” You smile back a bit more enthused than usual. Less nervous. More loose.

“So how are your dates going?” Sam wiggles his eyebrows.

You lean forward closer to him, balancing a pen between two fingers. “Hmm. Oh, see that guy over there?”

Sam’s head stealthily turns to the man you point at—slick back gray hair with a salt and pepper beard. 

“Apparently, he owns 0.5% of West Ham.” 

Sam looks back at you, leaning closer. “Dealbreaker?”

You nod exaggeratedly, leaning away. “Very much so, Sam. You know I’m ride-or-die for Richmond.”

He pats his chest, smiling playfully. “I’m flattered.”

From two different areas of the room, Colin and Isaac are seated with their respective dates. Colin and Issac narrow their eyes on you and Sam, shushing their poor dates whenever they attempt to speak.

When you feel your neck practically burning, you swivel your stool, catching them do a questionable job at pretending they weren’t just hyper-focused on you and Sam.

Colin mouths fake words to his very confused date who will certainly write him off later. Isaac looks upward, chin on his palm, eyes squinted, and mouth parted as if he were in deep thought.

“Okay…” You murmur to yourself before facing Sam again. “How about you, huh? Meet anyone you fancy yet?”

He offers a sigh, tilting his head towards his previous date. “See that woman over there?”

You discreetly look to the left and see an elderly woman speaking with her date, a man fortunately around her age. They seem to be hitting it off.

Sam shakes his head, feigning a disappointed sigh. “I thought we had something.”

“Another older white woman stolen from you, man. You gonna take that?” You tilt your upper body towards the perhaps soon-to-be couple before sipping your ice water.

Sam’s shoulders bounce, chuckling. He turns to them. “Yes, I am.”

You also turn, feeling envious from the sight. You observe the woman’s incredibly pink face and the subtle red on the olive-skinned man’s cheeks. Mutually smitten.

You and Sam face each other in unison, both of your hands below the table as you lean your torsos against the round table. Sam’s hands clasp beneath the surface while yours continue to fiddle with your pen.

Colin hides behind his questionnaire paper below his eyes—espionage still at work—and Isaac ignores his date once again, enthralled by your date as if it were a movie. 

If only there were popcorn, he thinks.

Sam says your name, but you’re stuck in his trance, buzzed and hypnotized. His voice swims around the atmosphere he tends to unintentionally create whenever you speak to him.

Then you remember what occurred a year ago; you remember the reason why you slightly furthered yourself from him in hopes of moving on. Frankly, it didn’t work very well.

Isaac’s brows furrow even deeper than usual, and he looks over at Colin who shrugs at him, sharing the same concern as you back away from Sam. You sober your deluded mind with another drink of water, reminding yourself that Sam is just…Sam. He’s naturally kind, charming, and genuine. He gets along with everyone. You’re not special.

You hold your questionnaire out, smiling tightly. “What am I doing? We’re supposed to be asking each other questions. Uh, okay, let’s see.” You scan your sheet. “What’s your dream career?” You ask hastily. You awkwardly laugh at yourself. “That’s a stupid question.”

Sam repeats your name, but you’re too lost rambling about the stupid questions in your hand.

“Where are you from originally?” You cower behind the paper. “Know that, too. Uhm, okay, let’s see. Oh! Here, if you were an animal, what would you be—”

Sam says your name louder and places his hand on yours, lowering the paper from your face.

“A goldfish. If I were an animal, I’d be a goldfish,” he answers.

You peer down at your hands. “The ten-second memory thing Coach Lasso told you about.”

He slowly pulls his hand off yours, but it sits close by. He nods. “Exactly. There are certain things I want to forget; things I cannot change. But there are things that I can change.”

Things he can change? Where is he going with this?

He continues. “Last year when you asked me—”

Ding, ding, ding, you both hear, jumping at the sound of the call bell. Chairs scrape the red-checkered floor and the sound of shoes patter all around you. Time to go.

“See ya, Sam,” you hurry to your next date who just so happens to be the captain of the Richmond football team. “Isaac, hey.”

He simply shakes his head. 

Four more rounds pass until the host of the speed dating event gives out the last announcement.

“Alright, everyone! Whoever you scored most with is your match. Say ‘hi’ to your potential partner! And give yourselves a round of applause for putting yourself out there tonight!”

Two pairs of hands clap with her, hands belonging to Colin and Isaac. You refrain from rolling your eyes at them when the bartender approaches you.

“What can I get you?”

“Uh, a Jack and Coke please.” You face her before turning around again.

You observe Sam speaking with one of the organizers of the event. The organizer reluctantly hands Sam his score sheet with a confused expression on her face. He nearly catches you staring until you turn back to the counter.

“One Jack and Coke.” The bartender sets down your drink, but not without noticing you eyeing Sam. She smirks, wiping down a glass cup with a cloth that was previously on her shoulder. (Classic bartender move.) “Obisanya your match?”

You study the small sheet in your hand, analyzing the scores and the contact information of someone already on your phone.

“Oi! How the hell did you match with me?” You hear Isaac stomp behind you. 

You smile mischievously, gesturing your head toward him. 

The bartender nods, pouting her lower lip before finding another customer, and you use the counter to spin yourself around to your distressed friend.

“Maybe we’re soulmates,” you suggest facetiously, lifting your drink towards him.

Truth is, you might have taken a peek at his questionnaire sheet when he kept exchanging looks with Colin. His disappointment earlier combined with Colin’s invasive questions about your date with Sam after you got through all your sessions helped piece things together.

Plus, Colin’s insistence that you come to this event in the first place. 

“Get in line.” He stands with his arms crossed next to Issac.

Isaac sits and harshly waves his sheet. “Why copy my sheet when your real match is-”

Colin clears his throat, poking his elbow against Isaac’s arms.

“Somewhere in this room,” Isaac finishes.

The only one in this room who piqued your interest was Sam. Towards the end, there were potential candidates. However, neither was Sam Obisanya.

You scoff, sipping your drink. “Nice save, Lindsey Lohan. I’ve seen Parent Trap enough times to know what’s going on here.”

You wonder why they’d want to pull something like this, especially after you told them that Sam turned you down. Pestering Sam to go on a stupid date with you is not something you would ever do, nor something a normal person should do, period.

God, you hope Sam doesn’t think you did this on purpose.

Isaac continues to eye you disapprovingly before his gazes shifts upwards to a new presence behind you, this presence being none other than Sam leaning his side against the counter. And now you’re sitting between him and the other two sneaky bastards.

“Sam! Who’d you match with?” Colin reaches in front of you and snatches Sam’s score sheet. He frowns. “No one?”

Isaac yanks the sheet from Colin’s hand. “What? How’s that even possible?”

Sam plucks his sheet back from Isaac, stuffing it in his back pocket. “If it’s alright with you two, I’d like to discuss something with them.” He looks down at you. “Alone.”

Your cheeks burn up, easily. Is it the whiskey? Is it Sam? Either way, you’re taking another sip. 

Isaac gets up immediately, rapidly nodding alongside Colin, saying, “Yeah, ‘course, bruv,” before the two footballers leave, whispering to each other. 

You place your drink down and fold your arms on the counter as Sam sits beside you. 

His sweet smile doesn’t cease. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you respond sheepishly. You take a third sip before speaking again. “So no one, huh?”

Sam shakes his head. “Thought I maybe had a chance with her,” he jokes.

You find the elderly lady from earlier matched with the elderly man. He leans on his cane with one hand and his other hand snakes around his date’s arm, hooking it with his. 

Maybe speed dates work after all. 

“Who’d you match with?” He asks curiously. You hand him your sheet. “Isaac? How did that happen? Wasn’t he just glaring at you the whole date?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” You laugh, placing the paper back on counter.

Wait a second. Sam was watching you?

You try not to look too much into it.

He reaches for his earlobe, lightly tugging at it. “There was something I wanted to tell you before our date ended.”

Oh, god. Is he going to admit how uncomfortable you make him? Is he ending your friendship right now? Yeah, you added some distance between the two of you, but in your defense, you had no intentions of actually ending your relationship.

He speaks a little louder. “Last year, you told me you liked me. Romantically.”

Fuck, you despise the recap.

“And I told you I didn’t feel the same way.”

You clasp your hand around your glass, however Sam stops you, hand on yours.

“Let me finish. Please.”

You dubiously comply, releasing your hand from the cup and nod, letting him continue with whatever gut-wrenching news is going to wreck you for the next few months.

Your head faces his direction, but you stare off at nothing in particular.

He continues. “I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t feel the same way. But as time passed, the more we got to know each other and the more things in my love life started to unravel, I started to fall in love.”

You furrow your brows, meeting your eyes with his. 

“With you,” he adds. “And I understand if you don’t feel the same way anymore. But I just…wanted to tell you how I felt.”

What the hell is happening? This is a prank, right? 

You take a look behind you, wondering if perhaps there was someone beside or behind you who he was confessing his feelings to instead.

Nope, just you. You’re barely tipsy, so there’s no way you’re misunderstanding him. 

You remain quiet, not quite sure what to say. The expression on your face worries him and he calls your name.

You softly shake your head. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” 

Now it’s Sam’s turn to internally freak out. He glances at your drink, wondering if he could ask for a gulp.

“Uh…” Sam tugs at his earlobe again and chuckles nervously. “I like you?”

Maybe two sips, he thinks. Three? No, no, that’s irresponsible, he decides.

“Can I have a glass of water please?” He raises his palm at the bartender, politely ordering to fill the silence.

You grab his wrist and lower his hand on the counter, sliding your hand over his, adding, “Make that two,” to his order, because there is absolutely no way you’re getting drunk after what he just told you.

Sam looks away from the bartender and he takes notice of your hands. His ears warm up.

“Definitely wanna be sober for this,” you tell him quietly, and the edges of his lips curve upward. Hesitantly, he entwines his fingers through yours like they belong there.

“Two waters.” The bartender drops off your drinks, glancing at your hands. She raises her brows before leaving you alone.

Sam uncombs his fingers from yours, getting up from his chair. He moves closer to you and spins you by the backrest of your chair, so your body faces him. Then he cups your face. “I don’t know if they allow PDA here, but may I kiss you?”

You gently hold on to his wrists. “They host speed dates every week. I’m sure one kiss is fine.”

He giggles, moving his face closer to yours, murmuring, “One kiss?”

You flicker your gaze between his eyes and mouth. “Or two.” You shrug. “But yes. You may.”

Sam licks his lips before sinking them into yours, and his eyes and yours instinctively shut. You inhale deeply through your nose, breathing in the person you didn’t know would expect to eventually reciprocate your feelings.

His lips are so soft, pillowy against your own. He massages his lips on yours, enveloping himself deeper against you by tilting his head. You feel lightheaded—a delightful combination of his kissing skills and the faded work of the alcohol you ingested earlier. 

Your daydreams do not serve the real thing.

You’re the first to pull away, catching your breath. “Seriously though, how didn’t you match with anybody?”

Sam smiles proudly and pecks your lips. “I asked one of the event-coordinators not to score my sheet. Told her I changed my mind.”

You stand, removing his hands from your face without letting go. “Good.”

From a distance, Colin and Isaac sit at a table, gazing at the other couple like before.

Isaac holds his plastic cup out, smirking. “Too easy, man.”

Colin clinks his cup against Isaac’s. “Too easy.”

[theangrybooknook]

Convenience Store Woman

Do you ever pick up a book, expecting story XYZ, only to end up flipping through the pages, saying loudly "What the fuck?!" to yourself?

That was my experience with Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata.

Synopsis: Keiko is 36 years old and has worked at the same convenience store as a part-timer for 18 years. It is where she feels home, where she thrives, where she knows what to do. This is where she has set patterns to follow, giving her safety. Everyone else around her cannot understand why on earth she would not look for a "proper job" or, since she is a woman allegedly past her prime, look into getting married. Is there something wrong with Keiko? Or is there something wrong with the rest of the world?

Reading Murata's novel as someone who has lived in Japan for a bit is a wild experience. The setting is mainly a convenience store, of which there are THOUSANDS all across Japan, by several chains and some individual ones. My personal favourite is 7-Eleven. And Seicomart, because it is exclusive to Hokkaido and has the best Hokkaido milk pastries on this planet. Keiko works in one that remains unnamed, but it is her personal heaven. She knows what to do, how to react, how to speak. The typical konbini speech is her personal stradivarius. So far, so good, right?

Right.

Keiko, who is also the narrator of the book, is a woman with problems. Said problems are not what she would describe as a problem - it is her surroundings, her friends and family, who describe her behaviour as a problem and "not normal". When Keiko tells us about her childhood and how her parents and sister struggled with her, e.g. how she hit a classmate with a shovel to make him "stop" something, she does not understand how this behaviour might be problematic. When she pulls down her crying teacher's skirt to expose her underwear, copying what she has seen on TV, she does not understand why this behaviour is inappropriate. Unsure of how to talk and behave, she learns to mimic the speech and gestures of her peers, putting on individual "masks". It is how she behaves at home, how she behaves at the store, and even around her friends.

I think I was about five pages into the novel when I said to myself: "Yep, ma girl Keiko is autistic."

The word is never explicitly used in the novel, but her behaviour and her description of her own thought process definitely gives reason to assume that Keiko is on the autism spectrum. She seems to mask it incredibly well: her colleagues adore her as the most hardworking store worker they have ever met, her managers know they can rely on her, and her friends seem to accept her with her oddities as they come. Her family is mainly worried: when will Keiko finally become normal? Her only ally in her family seems to be her sister, who offers her "human" explanations she can use for situations when she is asked about her dead-end job. After all, why should she not work there? What is there to complain or worry about?

In Japan, a convenience store is mainly staffed by part-timers who have a part-time job for good reason: they are housewives, trying to earn a small side living. Students, foreigners, elderly who are a little bored from sitting at home. It is badly paid. Then why on earth, one cannot help but ask, would a woman with a university degree choose to work in what is deemed a dead-end job?

It is the question Keiko has to answer almost every single day. Something must be wrong with her, the world concludes, if she works in a job like that. Keiko gives the same answer to everyone: "I am not very strong." Her physical condition does not allow much more. The excuse is usually accepted, but not by everyone. And why is she not married? Surely, she must be desperate at this point, going on forty and with no man in sight!

Keiko cares not for it, and therein lies the great scandal.

As a new co-worker starts at the konbini, Keiko comes to face a reality entirely foreign to her. Shihara, a man roughly her age and seemingly little confidence, declares loudly that all people working at konbinis are losers and that he is there to look for a wife only anyway. When he is fired for stalking a female customer, Keiko runs into him outside the store a while later, and finds herself in a heated conversation with him. It is in moments like these where it becomes clear that Keiko, despite masking a lot, is perfectly capable of holding conversations without masking in the first place. Shihara tells her of his theory that human society has not changed since the Stone Age, and that men ought to hunt and women ought to bear children - and that he has been fucked over by a cruel society in which women allegedly only ever aim for the attractive, muscular men, and leave the "good ones" like him, to the side. He hates that he is, as he puts it, always pressured into having a perfect job, a wife and children, whilst not being allowed to do any of it, because he is far too brilliant to have a simple job, and no woman wants him because he has no money.

Dear reader, it was at this point where I loudly exclaimed "What the fuck?!" and almost threw the book across the room. I had not expected to find fully-fledged incel rhetoric in this book.

The glorious turn, however, is Keiko's reaction to it. She plays along at first and allows him to live with her in her tiny apartment, keeping him "in the bathroom" and giving him food when it is "feeding time". Her reason for doing so and for playing along is not that Shihara has convinced her of his ways: in fact, she is merely curious to see how her surroundings will react to the knowledge that she is living with a man - after all, that must mean something! The reactions of her friends and family are immense: despite not knowing him, they are so incredibly happy for Keiko that they finally declare her "normal". When her sister comes to visit and is appalled at the state she finds Keiko and Shihara in, only to be told the lie that Shihara had been cheating on Keiko, her sister is relieved - after all, better a cheating man than no man. It is a disgusting mindset that made me shake my head several times.

Convincing Keiko to go through with his plan - marrying, him living off her money that she will from now on earn in a "proper" job, but no sex because clearly, Keiko is "below his standards" - Keiko quits her job at the convenience store. Everyone there is happy for her - after all, there is nothing greater in a woman's life than to get married. Even if it is Shihara, the man they all found incredibly creepy and disgusting. "It does not matter who it is, really, when you are a woman" - such is the way Keiko's friends argue, as long as you end up married and thus, respectable and normal. But on her way to her job interview, they stop at another convenience store, and Keiko realises that this is where she belongs. When Shihara explodes on her and insults her as not being human, she agrees: "I am a convenience store worker."

And she would not have it any other way.

I am not sure what the moral of the story is - if there is one at all. But what Sayaka Murata has created is a masterful, poignant tale of the role of women in society. I am not even sure if it is limited to Japanese society. A woman's worth is bound to her usefulness, specifically to the usefulness of her womb. If it is not used, she is worthless to the "village". I believe we have all heard this sort of talk before. In the novel, Shihara screams it into our faces, whilst not realising that he is failing not because of his looks or lack of a job, but for his uselessness for the people around him. Everyone else is at fault, but he never is - after all, he is a man with intelligence, and should be thus a catch for the ladies. They, however, reject him. And thus, they are pure evil to him.

Keiko can follow the arguments the people around her make: she knows that it is typical for women her age to be married with children, or to have a well-paying job instead. She knows that her otherness is why she is singled out and excluded. But she does not understand the reasoning behind it, and for that alone, the reader has to love her. Her naiveté about it exposes the arguments of her friends and family as what they are: insecurity about things they do not know or understand.

As someone who is on the autism spectrum herself, and asexual, I felt that deep in my bones.

In the end, Keiko triumphs nevertheless: for she recreates her own system that has served her so perfectly well. She returns to a life as a convenience store woman, and has no need for Shihara anymore. In her system, he is of no use.

The only person she needs is herself.

[steddiejudas]

Don't Blame Steve

TW: Smut whoops

“Hands!”

“Yes, Chef!” Steve yells, running as fast as he dares to the sous without being reprimanded for creating a hazard. The saucier he had been stationed with shoots him a warning glare, and he knows after this rush he’ll have his ass handed to him on one of the maitre d’s silver platters for abandoning his position, but he’s been given explicit instructions. When the sous calls, he is to run, not walk. He can take the wrath of a measly saucier if it means his chef de cuisine won’t be involved in this particular dispute. 

The man is horrifying, a dark void that pulls everyone in with his initial charisma, only to snap in an instant and leave you feeling like an empty shell of your former self. He runs his kitchen with an iron fist. Hopper himself would cower in Timothy’s presence. Not even swinging a bat into the flowering maw of a demogorgon could hold up to the terror he instills. The sous, though better, is no walk in the park either. She seems like a sweet woman at first, Rosie, but if her call for help goes unheeded there’s no telling what she may use as a weapon. Steve thought, based on this fact alone, that they may even get along the first time he saw her throw a metal spoon across the kitchen in a fit of rage, but this idea was quickly thrown out the window when he narrowly avoided an egg timer hitting him in the head with enough force he very well may have been on the receiving end of another concussion. And at the hands of a 54 year old woman no less. 

Steve comes skidding to a halt at Rosie’s side, close enough to smell the bourbon leaking from her pores and he desperately hopes she’s just horribly hungover. The last time she showed up drunk he went home with burns burgeoning on third degree. Why Timothy never picks up on this, or chooses to ignore it, he doesn’t understand — considering he once came in and was immediately reprimanded for his untied shoelace. 

“I need you on mise. Running low on shallots and cilantro for garnish.”

Steve tries not to roll his eyes, but well, he’s never been the best at keeping a handle on his facial expressions, and Rosie must pick up on some slight twitch in his expression or the exasperated sigh in his “yes, chef.”

“What? Do you think you have better things to be doing? We’re in the weeds and I’m running low on fucking garnishes. Maybe if you were half decent at staging I would have had everything I needed before we were getting fucked in the ass.”

“No, chef. I’m sorry, I’m on it.”

“Good. I don’t miss twice, kid.”

Steve spends the rest of the evening rush by Rosie’s side, dicing in silence like a well-trained dog. He almost misses the call for closing, overstimulated and exhausted both physically and emotionally. All through his closing duties, he’s berated by Sam, the saucier he abandoned firing dishes on his own. He almost doesn’t think he’ll make it through the night, but like always, he does, and drives home on autopilot, hardly registering the traffic as he listens to one of Eddie’s heavy metal tapes to release some of the tension thrumming in his veins. Since culinary school, he’s developed more of a taste for Eddie’s music, finding comfort in the thrumming baselines and heavy drums that make his teeth rattle with how loud it blares through the speakers.

He trudges up the stairs to their apartment, his every muscle alighting in pain. His head is pounding, and he tries to remember the last time he drank water, but days are starting to blur together and he’s not sure he even has today. Still, none of that can stop the smile that erupts over Steve’s features when he sees Eddie waiting for him with dinner set out on the table, despite it being 10 o'clock at night. 

“Hey baby. Rough day?” And Steve just melts into the way Eddie can read him in an instant, falling into his arms with a heavy sigh. He nods silently and inhales Eddie’s scent. He’s just showered and he smells like sandalwood, Steve’s favorite scent. It reminds him of the fact that Eddie changed the bodywash he uses when he discovered that tidbit of information. Eddie isn’t even a particularly huge fan of sandalwood. He doesn’t hate it or anything, it just wasn’t really on his radar until Steve said something, and now he may even love it for the way it makes Steve nestle into his neck and take in deep breaths, sighing at the way it mingles on his skin.

Eddie is no chef and Steve knows that. He doesn’t expect perfection — in fact, after nearly 11 hours of perfection, he prefers a little chaos and junk food. Eddie always delivers, plating up a simple turkey sandwich and potato chips with a vase of flowers and candlelight. 

“I love you,” Steve sighs, settling into his seat which Eddie pushes in for him, leaving a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I love you too. And I saved you plenty of hot water for a bath when you’re done.”

Steve tucks into his sandwich, eating like he’s been starving in a desert for months. Eddie watches with pure adoration on his face, eating much slower and stopping Steve every couple bites to remind him to drink the ice water he put out. After the first half (Eddie cut his sandwich into triangles. However juvenile, Steve has always found it easier to eat them this way and Eddie finds it adorable), Steve is ready to talk. He regails the evening and the vicious humbling he received after closing in as much detail as he can muster, but frankly the day starts to slip away as soon as he gets home. Maybe it’s the repeated trauma, but his brain has a way of compartmentalizing in a matter of hours. There’s just one complaint that never seems to go away.

“And I’m not even getting paid for any of this!”

Eddie gave up asking if working in kitchens was really worth it after the first week. Steve’s answer was always the same. Despite the mental and physical toll, his goals remained clear. He was going to get through this stupid stage and get a real job in a kitchen until he could save up enough money to one day open his own place dedicated to all the recipes that made him fall in love with cooking in the first place, everything the kids loved when he experimented in the kitchen for them.

Eddie has to drag Steve out of his seat to the bathroom when they finish. Steve’s body aches so bad he could fall asleep at the table. It wouldn’t be the first time and Eddie isn’t letting that happen again, lest he be charged with Steve’s complaints of sore everything in the morning. He draws the bath and puts in epsom salt for the pain and lavender scented bubble bath because it eases the knot in Steve’s mind that has his shoulders permanently pressed to his ears. He helps Steve over the ledge of the tub and gently lowers him into the steaming water. It’s the perfect temperature, nearly scalding just the way Steve likes so he can enjoy the water’s warm embrace as long as possible. They remain quiet as Eddie massages Steve’s legs, working the knots out of his calves and running his thumbs up and down the arches of his feet. Steve lets out an occasional contented sigh, relishing in the fact that Eddie enjoys pampering him just as much as he needs it after a day like today. 

The few unpredictable strands of Eddie’s hair that can never be contained by a bun, no matter how neat, are starting to form loose ringlets. Steve reaches out to wind one around his fingers, moves his hand to his boyfriend’s steam warmed cheeks, and draws him in for a delightfully slow kiss. Eddie’s hands travel up Steve’s legs to his thighs, raising them slightly from the porcelain of the tub so he can run his fingers over his taught hamstrings like the frets of his guitar. He plays Steve nearly as well, no, better, and Steve sings his praises into Eddie’s lips.

“Feeling better?” Eddie asks, his forehead pressed to Steve’s, their breath intermingling in heavy puffs between them. 

“Much.” Steve replies. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation of Eddie’s fingers all over him. His firm, deliberate strokes graze higher up Steve’s thighs, ghosting between his legs and Steve chokes back a whimper. The bubbles hide the way he’s been steadily growing harder, but Eddie’s hands reveal all. He’s not always in the mood after work, but the princess treatment, as Eddie likes to call it, makes his heart swell… amongst other things.

Steve tries to stand, but the bath is still warm and Eddie’s hands hold him in place. “Just relax. Let me take care of you sweetheart.”

“I want to touch you,” Steve whines. 

“You will, but we can take it slow tonight, right?”

And Steve’s mind is foggy, sure, a combination of the long hours and Eddie’s expert touch, but he doesn’t think he’s that foggy until the words just kind of slip out of him. “Yes, chef,” he moans. 

A hand flies up to clasp over his mouth and his eyes go wide. Eddie is silent, watching like a hawk, his hand still and gripping onto Steve’s thigh in a vice grip. “I– I don’t… I’m so sorry. That just came out. Fuck.”

“Woah woah, hold on there big boy. It’s okay. Look, you don’t have to, I know you had a long day, but maybe just… say it again?”

“Y-yes chef.” Steve tries it out, wondering if it will feel foreign in his mouth, but it doesn’t. It feels natural, like an extension of himself, bearing himself raw to Eddie in a rare way he never has before. He wants to feel Eddie prodding at this part of him, taking him apart piece by piece like he has to every other aspect of his soul until now.

“Jesus christ. How does anyone get anything done in that kitchen with you around?”

“You say that every day.”

“Yeah, but now I mean it. You’re walking around all night saying ‘yes chef’ like an adorable little slut. I wouldn’t be able to think straight.” Eddie splashes Steve with the velocity at which he moves his hand to his dick, gripping tight enough to make Steve moan. His head falls back against the tub, the ends of his hair grazing the bubbly warm water. The contrast of cold porcelain against hot skin makes him realize just how hard his whole body must be flushing, damp from the water and sweat mixing on his skin. His hands find the sides of the tub and hold on for dear life as Eddie’s hand pumps and twists up the length of his shaft. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, staring, taking in every expression and breathy noise he releases. 

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me.”

“That’s right. Good boy.”

Eddie’s hand speeds up, sloshing water up all around Steve’s chest. Heat pools in his stomach and Steve feels his balls draw up, nearing the edge in record time from the praise.

“Wait,” he says, dropping a hand down to still Eddie’s wrist.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, stopping instantly, concern lacing his voice. 

“‘M okay. I don’t want to cum yet. Want to fuck you.”

Eddie hums. “I thought I was taking care of you?”

“You can take care of me while I fuck you. Ride me into the mattress.”

“Fuck, Stevie. Let’s go.” Eddie helps Steve out of the tub, drying him just enough that he’s not dripping into the carpet. Steve’s skin is red hot, the heat bubbling over into Eddie’s chest as they collide in a sloppy kiss, hardly breaking apart as they stumble to the bedroom. 

Eddie pushes Steve down onto the bed and hovers over him, admiring. He’s hard and aching, leaking against his stomach and he pulls Eddie into him, crashing their lips back together so hard their teeth clack against one another. Eddie is still fully dressed and that just won’t do. Steve’s hands roam Eddie’s body, feeling and squeezing until he reaches the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Eddie has new tattoos all over his chest, including Steve’s bat, and he loves to kiss over it, sucking bruises into the outline until it’s puffy and sticking out, raised against his milky white skin. Eddie undoes his belt hastily, pulling his pants and underwear off his hips until they fall to the ground with a clank of his belt buckle against the floor. 

“Lay back, I want you inside me.”

Steve groans. “You need to prep?”

“What do you think I do all day when you’re gone baby?”

Steve reaches around between Eddie's cheeks and sure enough he’s loose and pliant, ready to take Steve’s considerable girth. Steve twitches pathetically, precum spurting out of his tip all over the happy trail leading down to his pubes, thinking about Eddie laid out in their bed playing with himself, moaning wildly alone while he waits for Steve to trudge up the stairs to their little apartment with no promise he’ll even be fucked at all. 

“You ready for me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes chef.”

“Shit you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I may have some idea.” Steve smirks, his eyes tracing over Eddie’s frame to his throbbing erection.

“Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” Eddie straddles Steve’s hips and grabs his cock, lining himself up to sink down                       in one swift movement. 

The room is filled with the sound of their moans, their scents mingling together in a heady musk. Eddie’s hands find themselves on Steve’s chest, squeezing his pecks, a juxtaposition of soft skin and hard muscles sprinkled with thick hair. He bounces up and down at a ruthless pace, grinding his hips down with a little twist each time he sinks to the hilt. Steve falls apart under him, his face burying in the pillow beneath him, catching the cries and spit that pool on his tongue. He wants to plant his feet, drive his hips up and pound back relentlessly, drag more of those wanton moans from Eddie’s throat, but he’s so exhausted, the pleasure only adding to the led in his bones, so he lets Eddie take what he needs, let’s him dedicate his heart to Steve’s pleasure. He’s going to come already after being driven to the edge not five minutes earlier, but he needs to stave it off, hold back until he can be painted with Eddie’s cum. 

But Eddie knows him all too well. Knows every sound, knows the meaning of every pleasured grimace on his face. “Don’t wait for me honey. I want to make you feel good.”

“Can I…”

“Cum inside me baby. Want to feel you fall apart while I milk it out of you.”

Those words are all he needs, coming in thick ropes that paint Eddie’s walls. Steve is sensitive, crying out Eddie’s name as he keeps riding the last of Steve’s hard on, chasing his own pleasure. 

“Come on, Chef.” Steve wraps a hand around Eddie’s dick, stroking him hard and fast. “Need to see you cum on the fly, please.”

“Fuckkkk,” Eddie moans as he cums all over Steve’s chest. He falls boneless into Steve’s open arms. Steve wraps his arms around his neck and rubs a gentle hand up and down his back, kissing the hair matted with sweat against his forehead. 

“We need another bath.” Steve giggles.

“I’ll get a wash cloth. We can shower in the morning,” Eddie sighs, squeezing Steve back and letting his affection pour out in droves. He lifts himself off of Steve and feels his spend leaking out and making a mess. “But maybe we sleep on the couch tonight? I’m not changing the sheets.”

Eddie scurries off to the bathroom so he doesn’t drip all over the carpet and returns a couple minutes later to towel Steve off. He picks Steve up, throwing him over his shoulder to carry him to the living room, neither of them being bothered to even put on boxers. Eddie puts on a movie and they drift to sleep in each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and shared body heat so they can both fit on the small couch. The next morning they shower together as promised before Steve has to leave for the restaurant. All day, with every call of ‘Yes, chef!’ he can’t help but think of Eddie and smile to himself. He doesn’t think working in a kitchen will ever be the same again.