#Meal Prep for Working Professionals

[trendrecipes]

9 Easy Meal Prep Recipes for Busy People: Quick, Healthy, and Delicious

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 01

post cibum - "after a meal" - Kinktober Masterlist TF141 x f!reader Kinks > wet/messy, food play, objectification Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Your new job as a professional nyotaimori model pays all the bills and then some, but tonight, you are serving a group of soldiers who want more than just the novelty of eating fancy sushi rolls off of a naked woman. After they’ve had their fill of the nigiri and the rolls, they want you for dessert. 

“That’s fine, sir. We can do a seven o’clock tonight. Have you had a chance to choose your selections from the menu?”

You strained your ears as you listened to your maître d' consult with a customer over the phone. You were prepping in the adjoining room, going through your normal routine, but the growling, Manchester accent coming through the speaker was making it difficult to focus.  

“Yeah, give us a full spread. The works. No barriers.”

It must be a big party, you thought. The full spread option included a large array of sushi and sashimi. Asking for no barriers was quite adventurous, and you felt your skin flush with excitement. 

“Yes, sir. And would you like your artist bound or unbound?”

“Mm,” he thought for a minute, and you tried to send telepathic messages to the gruff stranger, “Let’s have ‘er tied down.”

Yes, you celebrated, already imagining the feel of the ropes crossing over the big, wooden table and pinning you to it, forcing you to stay in place all night long.

“And will you be including the sake option?”

“Yeah, sure. Johnny’s a bloody lush.”

Your heart began to race just imagining what sort of night you were in for. The sake option meant needing to shave your sensitive pussy completely bare, so you added that step to your process. Being a food model wasn’t something anyone seemed to take seriously, but you felt like a true artist, and you wanted your guests to have an unforgettable experience when they came to dine with you… on you. 

“Alright, sir, that’s –”

“And we want the additional package. I’ll pay extra. Whatever it costs. Just put it on the tab.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like A, B, or C?” 

The additional package? How did he know about that? You’d never performed for this man before – you would not have been able to forget that voice – and only your regulars knew about your secret options.

“A and B, but keep her mouth open, yeah? In case she gets hungry…”

His dark laugh made your blood burn in your veins. Your add-on package meant that he wanted to fill your holes while you lay on the table for him. Option A was for a large glass dildo in your pussy, warmed and heavy, option B was for a bulbous anal plug made of the same body-safe glass, and option C was for a rubber ball-gag in your mouth. But, he wanted to have access to you there, and that made you almost see stars when you thought about the implications. What did your mystery Manc have planned for you?

“Yes, sir. Do you know how many will be in your party tonight?”

“Four. The one with the mohawk is the birthday boy.”

“Thank you, sir. I will add that to the notes. Any allergies?”

“No.”

“And the name for the party?”

“Riley.”

“Thank you. See you later.”

When she hung up the phone, you listened to her boots clack against the marble floor as she came into your dressing room,

“Hey babes, here’s your ticket for tonight. Table of four. Bunch of soldiers. Sure you’re up for it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, not feeling as confident as you sounded, “Just make sure to keep their drinks coming. They tip more when they’re drunk.”

You winked at her and she laughed, closing the door behind her to let you finish grooming and cleansing your body. 

Each swipe of your razor was another tantalizing part of your ritual. Once you were fully shaved, you cleaned your skin with special antibacterial soap before applying neutral oils that wouldn’t affect the taste of the food. No perfume, no deodorant. Those were the standards. You weren’t allowed to talk, or to move if you were bound by the tight ropes that pinned you to the table, and you were simply there to be a beautiful platter for the immaculately-made sushi. 

At more traditional restaurants, your position was revered, and guests were forbidden from interacting with you directly. You’d worked at a number of venues that hosted nyotaimori events, all with varying levels of standards and rules, but this one paid the most. This place allowed their guests to do almost anything they wanted, and those high risk situations added to the excitement and to your bank account. However, you’d never felt safer. There were cameras, guards, and highly trained staff all over the premises, and if you ever needed to press your emergency button, you could do so. You wore your panic ring at all times, and you’d used it effectively once or twice; it worked like a dream. 

But, you had to admit, it wasn’t just the money that kept you coming back here. You liked the clients. You liked feeling their hands and mouths eating off of your warm body. You enjoyed the more adventurous customers who wanted to taste you and touch you after they were done with their food. It was exhilarating, and you loved being at their mercy. 

Just before your call time, your attendant brought you your glass dildo and anal plug from the back. They had been sanitized, and you used a little lube to insert the familiar, rigid shape into your pussy. You felt yourself already wet from anticipation, and although the glass phallus was thick and heavy, you took it with a satisfying ease. 

The anal plug was another story. You used much more lube and began to play with your hole with your fingers before you committed to pressing it through your tight rim. The pressure from the fat dildo in your cunt made it even harder to accept, but after a few deep breaths, you felt your body relax and allow the round bulb to sit inside of your ass, pushing against all of the sensitive nerve endings inside of your stretched hole. 

You washed your hands thoroughly and cleansed your skin again, just to be sure. Eventually, you finished with your prep and walked through the hallways to lay on your long black table. It was a chabudai, a short table where guests would sit on mats on the floor, and the dining room where you served was dimly lit, very minimally decorated, and had instrumental music playing softly through the speakers. You looked up into the corner and saw the camera light go from red to green. It was showtime. 

Your attendant returned to perform your shibari. You were laying on your back, and she tied your wrists to your thighs, making sure to position your thumb so that you could press your panic ring easily. Then, she began to lay the ropes over your ribs, framing your breasts, using the ties to make them stand perky and proud on your chest. Finally, she fed the bindings under the table and fastened them down. You were stuck. You could bend your knees and twist your body, but that was about it. 

“All good, ma’am?” She asked.

You nodded,

“Yes, thank you. All good.”

“Alright. I’ll tell chef.”

She left you alone, and you tried your best to focus on your breathing. The dildo was nudging a very sensitive spot inside of you, and you pulsed against it, attempting to find some relief. But, you were just making it worse. Your clenching muscles were allowing it to thrust against you, and no amount of wiggling was going to grant you any reprieve. So, you stopped. You shut off your mind as much as you could, listening to the music and imagining an infinite, empty expanse in your head. 

The door clicked open and the sushi chef came in with his two other servers. They set to work, laying slabs of salmon and octopus sashimi across your breasts in a spiral pattern, using delicate roe to dust the inner circle over your hard nipples, making it look like the pollen-covered pistil of a flower, the fish serving as your beautiful petals. 

A row of maki trailed their way down your belly and each arm. More sashimi were laid on all the places where a roll wouldn’t sit, and one of the chef’s assistants began to place thinly-sliced mango across your neck like a choker. Your legs were covered in sushi and more fruit, and finally, right in the join of your legs, you balanced a bowl with a single lotus flower inside. 

The door cracked again, and your attendant poked her head in,

“Chef, your party is here. Should we send them in?”

The chef nodded, and everyone left the room. But, this time, the silence was deafening rather than zen. Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t wait to see and hear and feel what these four guests had in store for you. 

Finally, the door opened, and you heard their jovial laughter and talking. 

“Cannae believe you got a reservation, LT! Been dyin’ to try this for the longest.”

“I know, Johnny,” you recognized that deep, Manchester accent, “Won’t shut up about it.”

Johnny finally came into view. He peered down at you with a uniquely boyish wonder, staring at your face and your body like a kid at Christmas, eager to unwrap his presents. His friends surrounded him on both sides. You guessed that the wry blond was Simon, your vocal crush. You didn’t know the other two, but they were just as nice to look at. One of them was enormous, over-muscled with a bit of a belly, and an odd beard. The other was like a professional athlete, chiseled and masculine, with big brown eyes and dark, smooth skin. 

“Sure is a pretty plate, huh, lads?” The beard spoke with a growling, gravely Scouse accent. He was a smoker, that was for sure. 

“Fittest table I’ve ever seen,” the athlete smiled, his full lips revealing sharp, blinding teeth. 

“Please, have a seat, gentlemen,” your attendant put on her best sexy customer-service voice, “First round is on the house.”

“Oh, shit,” Johnny laughed.

He and his friends ordered an absurd amount of alcohol, and then you were left alone with your party. 

“Think we can get started?” Johnny asked, “Is that alright with you, bonnie?”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as the bearded one hit him lazily on the arm with the back of his hand, 

“She isn’t supposed to speak, MacTavish. Didn’t you fuckin’ listen, or is all the blood that’s meant to be in your brain stuck in your prick?”

“Here, Captain,” the athlete called the bearded one over, “Try this.”

You felt the soft wood of your restaurant’s polished chopsticks graze the side of your breast as he lifted a slab of salmon off of your skin. 

The captain grabbed the fish with his fingers clumsily, but he slurped it down, groaning with pleasure,

“Mm, that’s not bad, Gaz.”

Johnny reached out to you, his hands steady and sure, 

“Lemme try…”

You felt his warm thumb graze over the top of your nipple, pushing some of the fresh roe onto a cut of octopus, and as he curled the fish, he let it drag over the same spot he touched, purposefully teasing you. 

Once they started, they didn’t want to stop. Their hands were roaming all over you, picking up food and feasting on what you had to offer. 

“Look here,” Gaz commented, letting his fingers swipe up the side of your ribs, gathering up dark sauce and licking it off of his knuckle. 

“Oh, tha’ looks tasty,” Johnny smiled, leaning his head down and using his tongue to lick up the rest of the flavor, taking great pains to get as close to the side of your breast as he dared. 

They were getting braver, but you could tell they still weren’t sure what they were allowed to do.

Before long, your attendant was back, ready to get more drinks and appetizers for your men, and you listened to them politely dismiss her, too focused on their task at hand: uncovering you from your delicate morsels of sushi. 

“Mm,” Simon grunted, “Not bad, hm?”

“It’s proper tasty,” the captain agreed. 

“I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying yourselves,” your attendant encouraged them, “Could I interest you in a sake presentation?”

“Wha’s tha?” Johnny asked with his mouth full, excited to know more. 

“Your artist has more than one talent, gentlemen,” she smiled coyly down at you, kneeling beside the table, carefully removing the bowl from where it was so carefully perched on your pussy. 

The whole room stood still as your smooth, oiled vulva was revealed. Your attendant leaned over you, pouring warm sake into the divot between your closed legs and your mons, filling the space with drink. She made sure the men were looking at her with rapt attention, and she bent to suck the alcohol from your body, her mouth sucking right below your clit, slurping up the delicious sake until it was almost gone. 

“Creepin’ Jesus,” Johnny said under his breath, “Can I do one, lass?”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, “Of course! You can do anything you like.”

“Anything…”

Johnny’s eyes watched as she filled the crevice between your legs again, letting the sparkling fluid pool and ripple against your skin. Then, when she was done with her pour, he bent to drink from you, putting his mouth exactly where hers had been, gulping and swallowing the sweet brew, his eyes fixed on your pretty pussy until you were empty. Then, he stole a lick, shoving his tongue between your lips to tease your clit, testing the limits of what was allowed, trying to find the boundary. 

“I’ll leave the bottle, yes?” Your attendant asked, leaving it on the table without waiting for an answer. 

“Thanks, love,” the captain smiled, watching his friend hovering over your wet quim as Johnny considered going back between your legs for seconds.  

“Go on, then, Sergeant,” Simon encouraged him, “For what I fuckin’ paid, you better enjoy it.”

That was the only permission the mohawked birthday boy needed. He sank his hot mouth down onto your pussy and began to suckle at your clit like it was part of his meal. He laved his tongue inside of your swollen lips, licking you in rhythmic, rolling thrusts. 

You tried your best to control your reactions, but there was only so much you could do to contain your pleasure. Gaz noticed when your eyes rolled back in your head, your lashes fluttering closed as you tried to breathe through the feeling. 

“Delicious, aren’t ya, babe?” 

He bent his head to your breast, feasting on the two pieces of sashimi that were left behind, using his tongue to pull them into his mouth. You could feel the warmth of his full lips on your skin as he ate from you, and every little touch was electrified by Johnny’s feast between your legs. 

As Gaz chewed on his bite, he used his thick finger to scoop up the fresh roe that remained on the peak of your nipple. Then, he bent over you, smiling like a demon, 

“Open up.”

You obeyed, and you melted into your submission. The hard, unflinching stare from those big brown eyes was enough to crush your will to dust. You felt your skin flush across your whole body as you surrendered to him, as if allowing him to control you made you even more sensitive to the touching, licking, kissing, and groping that was happening to you.

He slipped his finger past your lips, placing the roe carefully on your tongue. You felt the tiny eggs spill into your lips like beads. Just when you were about to swallow them, he grabbed your chin in his hand sharply, his face turning darkly serious,

“Hey, open, I said. There’s a good girl. Stick that pretty tongue out for me. Say ahh, pretty girl.”

You did as you were told, and to your shock, he bent his mouth over yours and spit into your throat. You could feel the bubbling drool pooling in your cheeks and sliding to the back of your tongue, but there was nothing you could do about it. His lips turned up into that same dirty smirk as he said, 

“Swallow.”

You took the roe into your mouth and swallowed it along with his saliva, the salt of the fish eggs mixing with the salt and alcoholic tinge in his spit. He must’ve been drinking at the bar before his party sat down at your table because the herbal scent of gin was unmistakable. 

He pet your cheek with the back of his hand, praising you with his touch, watching your face twist with pleasure as Johnny became almost uncontrollable between your legs. The mohawked man was sucking so hard on your clit that the slurping sounds from his mouth were filling the room. 

Gaz bent to kiss you, and you kissed him back. The softness of his lips lulled you into an even deeper sub state, and you felt like you were melting. Suddenly, he forced his tongue into your mouth and wrapped a huge palm around your jaw, holding you in place as he began to slide his slippery muscle in and out of your cheeks. It was as if he was fucking your throat with his tongue, and your mind fed you an imaginary scene of how his cock might feel in its place. 

When he pulled away, you felt Johnny stop his kisses as well, and your body writhed without your consent, desperate to feel them tasting you again. 

“This is the best fuckin’ birthday I’ve ever had,” Johnny smiled, wiping a hand across his shining mouth. 

The man who’d made the booking, Simon, sat beside his friend and pointed between your legs,

“Pour us one, Johnny.” 

“Aye. Here ya go, lads. Slàinte mhath.”

You watched as he poured sake into the divot between your legs again, but he over-indulged. He began to pour it across your belly as well, letting it pool in your belly button and settle in the dip of your sternum. 

The captain was the first to take a sip. He lapped at the pool of sake that splattered across your mons and lips like a hound, aiming to taste you more than he was the alcohol. Then, he followed Johnny’s trail, dragging his hot tongue along the swell of your tummy, aiming for the well of spirits in your belly button. He hovered over it when he found it, and as he leaned down to drink from you, you could feel the tickle of his mustache, making you squirm.

His filthy, gravelly chuckle made your blood run cold. It seemed that he enjoyed forcing your body to respond to his touch. 

“Ticklish, love?” He returned to your lower belly, letting the bristles of his beard tease you until your breathing became ragged, your lungs trying to suck in, doing your best to pull away from him and yet not being able to escape. 

Your tormentor shoved Gaz around the table so that he could tease your breast with his bearded mouth, and Gaz followed suit, both of them fighting for the puddle of sake between your breasts before suckling on your tight nipples. They had such different agendas. Where Gaz seemed to suck because he wanted to see you squirming from pleasure, the captain seemed hell-bent on keeping you from it. 

You could feel him biting into your delicate flesh with his sharp teeth, causing just enough pain to pull you out of your relaxed, pleasure-induced haze. Then, when he could see your eyes flash with just a hint of apprehension, he would retreat, rewarding your responsiveness with a long, deep suck or hungry, flat licks with his tongue, a barely-there smile twisting across his cheeks as he did. 

You felt something brush against your leg, and Simon was using a napkin from the table to wipe the rest of the food off of your legs, not giving a shit about the hundreds of pounds worth of sushi being gathered up in the cloth. Dinner, apparently, was over. 

Your mind raced. This was far and beyond the bravest party you’d ever served before. They worked on you as a team, giving each other silent feedback, and when Simon finally bent to drink from between your legs, your mind was throbbing from the overstimulation. 

You weren’t supposed to, but you began to let long, cracking moans escape from your throat. Anything you did to hold them back was just making them worse, and your voice only seemed to spur these men to double down on their efforts. 

Simon did not eat you like Johnny did. His Scottish companion ate you out like you were the food, but the Manc was more like his captain. He wanted to see where your buttons were, and when he found them, he began to press them just like a lad playing with a shiny new toy. 

His tongue found the body of your clit and swirled around it, avoiding the searing head, swollen and sensitive to the point of discomfort. Instead, he pushed the tip of his tongue just below it, lifting it up, making the hood stretch just enough to apply its pressure. 

You bucked your hips, the sake that rested in your thighs sloshing out, ignored by your new master. He didn’t give you a smug grin like his bearded boss. In fact, you could barely tell what emotion he was feeling. It wasn’t until you met his gaze that you noticed the fire behind his eyes. 

Only then did he begin to drink from you, emptying the alcohol from your body, letting his tongue venture down into the crevice of your thighs and licking between them as if they were your cunt. He had gone deep enough to feel the edge of your dildo, and when he found it, he turned to the others, getting their attention,

“Had them do something special for Johnny. Wanna see your surprise?”

Johnny had been busy sharing a nipple with Gaz, leaving hungry little hickies across your skin. But, when Simon called him over, he seemed all too eager to return between your legs.

“Aye,” he smiled rakishly, “Gonnae spoil me, Si.”

All four men shifted to the foot of the table, their eyes wide and focused on you like hyenas with a wounded gazelle, selfish and ready for their next taste of you.

Simon took your legs and lifted them up, bending your thighs at the hip, showing the others how two fat, glass dildos were shoved deep inside of your holes. 

“Oh, bonnie…” Johnny reached forward, grabbing the dildo stuck in your pussy gently between his fingers and giving it just the slightest twist, “For me? Such a good lass, innit she?”

Simon reached down below Johnny’s hand and began to tug at the anal plug. The resistance was driving you mad. You tried to relax, but he was not waiting on you, and the pressure began to build and build until finally, your muscle relented and you felt the heavy bulb slip wetly out of your asshole, soaking in lube.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz murmured, not wasting any time, sticking a long finger into the gaping hole left behind by the plug, testing the stretch of your ass with his strong hands. 

Simon pressed it back in, forcing Gaz away, slowly fucking the heavy toy back into you, letting it sink inside of your body with a sloppy pop, pushing on it just a little harder than he needed to so that it would feel like it was thrusting inside of you. 

Then, Johnny did the same with the dildo in your swollen pussy. He didn’t pull it all the way out, choosing instead to fuck you with it, shoving it into your hole with wet, slicking sounds, marvelling at the sight. 

You were so drunk from the pleasure that you hadn’t noticed their captain sneaking around to the head of the table. He startled you, grabbing you beneath your arms and yanking you and your ropes up, strong enough to move you even though you were tied down. He had pulled you far enough that your head hung off the edge, and you found yourself staring at his black slacks, amazed at the thickness of his thighs. Then, you watched him roll down his zipper, stroking his cock until it gleamed with his precome. 

You felt his other hand supporting the back of your head, holding you at just the angle he wanted. Then, he purred his command to you,

“Let me in, pretty girl.”

You allowed your muscles to weaken, opening you mouth wide, unsure if you could pry your mouth open enough for his girth to fit inside of you. He chuckled in that same, devilish way, slapping his sticky head against your lips twice before feeding his head into your cheeks, settling at the back of your throat, letting you gag and cough around him all you wanted and doing fuck-all about it. 

Between your legs, you felt the dildo slip out of your pussy, replaced with eager fingers and a tongue. Now that you had the captain’s thick cock to block your noises, you let yourself whine against him like a gag, moaning and crying out from the overwhelming feeling of being used. 

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, lads,” he grunted, “Make her scream for me.”

Both of his hands were cradling your head as he fucked your throat, guiding his fat dick in and out of you like a piston. You breathed when you could, but it was only just enough, and you felt yourself going light-headed. 

A mouth found your nipple again, and a hand rolled itself beside your clit, making frantic circles from above. Then, below your thighs, a round prodding cockhead pressed its way into your lubricated walls, making your dildo seem like nothing more than a thick finger or two. You were being well-stretched, and your body flooded your cunt with wetness to try and ease his way, doing everything it could to make it easier for whoever it was to fit his prick into your warm body.

He rested your ankles against his neck, and your bare feet scraped the side of his head. Buzzed hair. It was the birthday boy afterall. 

“Mmmph, fuckin’ hell, bonnie. Too tight. Too goddamn tight. Fuck…”

As he pumped himself into you, his movements made free and fast by the lube and your dripping cunt, your whole body began to jerk across the table. These men weren’t just large; they were stronger than you could’ve ever imagined, and you felt like you were nothing more than a mere toy to them. 

The fingers teasing your clit were sending your mind into a panicked orgasm, and your whole body convulsed as you let yourself tumble into the swirling madness of your bliss, your eyes wrenched shut and flashes of rainbow light dancing across them as you came violently. 

Apparently, that was enough to send the captain over his edge because as you were trapped in the throes of your orgasm, he shoved himself all the way inside of you and began to pulse hot shots of his come into your belly. You were desperate for air, but there was nothing you could do. They were in control of you, and you were ashamed by how much you enjoyed being at their mercy. 

“Ohhh, Cap’n. She loves tha’, dontcha, lass?”

“Knew she would,” the captain slipped out of your throat, smiling down at you as you gasped wetly for a breath, “Filthy little slag.”

You watched as he shifted to the side of you, his thighs leaving your line of sight, being immediately replaced by a pair of dark jeans. You knew it was Gaz when his wide thumb reached down to wipe the drool and come from your lips, lovingly cleaning up after his captain’s mess. 

“Being so good for us. Still hungry, baby?”

You couldn’t answer him, but he didn’t care. He tugged his long, curved rod out of his pants and let his balls rest on your mouth. You started to suckle on one of them, taking it into your mouth and letting it roll between your lips.

“Yeah, she is. Mmff-fuck, tha’s it.”

Gaz lifted your head up with his hand to help you reach, stroking his huge shaft with the other, jerking off as you did your best to pleasure him, trying to be careful with his sensitive sack. 

Johnny’s thrusts became frantic. Simon and his captain were taking turns pouring sake across your belly and sucking it off of you, and you were dizzy from the feeling of being fucked with your heavy plug inside of you. When you began to come again, it hit you slowly, building and building in waves, making you tremble from the suffocating joy of it. 

You cried out, and your mouth was open wide in a silent oh. Gaz took the chance to feed you his cockhead, giving you something to scream around. You felt Johnny pause deep inside of you, his cock nestled as close to your womb as he could get, and he began to fill you with his come, shamelessly bending himself over you to fit his rod down to its root in your wetness. 

“Christ, bonnie! Come for me. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Hnngh…” 

He slid himself out of you, but almost immediately, someone filled your empty hole with your dildo, keeping his load sealed safe inside. 

Gaz was still jerking his cock as he rested his tip inside your mouth, and you could feel him shuddering above you, his fingers twisted and tugging at the base of your scalp. 

“Suck on me harder. Yesss,” he groaned, “Just like that… mmfgh. Good… girl…” 

You felt him throbbing, pulsing, and ready to come. Then, just when you were ready to taste him, he pulled out and painted your mouth, chin, and neck white with his seed. There was so much of it, and whatever your tongue could reach, you licked it up, sucking him clean when he let you have the tip one more time before he smeared the remnants of his dripping cream across your cheek. 

Suddenly, Gaz’s hands returned to the back of your head and lifted it up. At the same time, another man yanked your whole body back down the table, making the wood creak from the stress. Now, you could see what was happening to you. 

Simon was holding your thighs, playing with your pussy, making sure your dildo was nice and snug. Then, he removed your anal plug again, twisting it out with a steady tug. When you made a whimpering cry, he looked up at you, and you saw that same light in his gaze, a hunger unlike that of his other friends. Something uncanny and secret about his message that you failed to decode. 

He began to pry open your asshole with his fingers, exploring just past the rim. First, it was just one, but then it was two. They twisted, curling inside of you, plunging deeper and deeper and testing how pliant you were. Your plug was pretty large, so you weren’t usually concerned about a man’s cock being a challenge. But, the way he was preparing your hole made your whole body tense with anticipation, worried about what was going to happen to you. 

You watched him rest your heels on his shoulder, just like his friend had done, and his tattooed hand held your thighs as the other placed his swollen head at the rim of your asshole, teasing it, barely even touching you. 

You thought he would plunge inside, but he never did. He just kept painting little warm circles around you, pressing on the outside yet never allowing himself to slip into your ass. 

“Mngh…” You whined, twisting your hips as much as you could, begging for it. 

“What’s that? Speak up, love. Can’t hear ya.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, knowing you weren’t allowed to break your ceremonial rule but desperate just the same. He let himself smile softly down at you, planting his head at your hole and using the weight of his cock to rest it there. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me you want it. It’ll be our little secret.”

His friends were kneeling around you, spent but still groping your body, licking and kissing you lazily, enjoying watching Simon torment you.

“She doesnae wanna break the rules, Si. Good lass tha’ she is,” Johnny cooed, letting his fingers rest on either side of your clit, drawing deep ovals and watching your face twist in desperation.

“Let him hear it, love. We won’t tell,” the captain whispered in your ear, using his fingers to slide Gaz’s come from your chin into your mouth, making you taste his salty seed. He kept his fingers inside of your lips, pushing them all the way to the back of your throat, letting you suck on them, “Tha’s right. Our perfect little slut.”

Your mind went blank, and all you could focus on was the feeling of relief that would come to you if you just broke your rule…

The captain removed his hand, returning to your tits to suck on them and pinch your nipples. Then, Simon pressed forward just a little more, giving you his head before immediately taking it away, leaving you hollow.

“... please…” You whispered, your voice so shallow and small. 

“What? Cannae hear you, bonnie,” the Scot smiled, moving his hand faster between your pussy lips. 

“I think I heard something, did you?” Gaz joked, raising his eyebrows at Simon, smacking your ass cheek with the palm of his hand. 

“Say it,” Simon growled. 

His team was all smiles, but he was dead on. You locked eyes with him and said it again.

“Please.”

“Fuck,” Simon’s eyes rolled back in his head, the whites peeking through his long lashes, and he sank himself deep into your asshole in one punishing thrust. 

He was as thick as your plug, but he was so much longer, and you had never felt so stretched out in your whole life. As he began to fuck you, he wrapped his hand around the dildo in your pussy, covered in come and lube, and he fucked you in time with his own prick, making it seem like he was in both places at once. 

“You ready for more?” Simon asked you breathlessly, checking in with you. 

You nodded, fuck-drunk but just as submissive as ever. Whatever he asked for, you were ready to give it to him. 

When he saw your shallow nods, he began to fuck you at an incredible pace. Your whole body was shuddering every time he slammed himself forward, and the strength of his thrusts was making you feel like his cock was even bigger than you thought, your poor asshole stretched past the point of comfort. 

“She’s takin’ it so good, Si,” Johnny sighed, watching your face go slack as his friend railed himself into you.

You weren’t even moaning. You were barely breathing. Your mind only had one goal: making you come and come and come. 

“Spread her legs,” Simon commanded his team. 

You heard the schnick of a knife’s blade being unsheathed, and then the ropes around your ankles were sliced away. Gaz and Johnny pulled your knees up to your chest, forcing you open for him like a book. 

Johnny bent down over your pussy and spat onto your slit, smearing it with his fingers. Then, he slapped you gently a few times, increasing the pain each time his hand came down until you were literally screaming from it. But, it didn’t hurt. It just made you come even harder. The pleasure was muting the pain to an incredible degree. You wanted him to give you more, but you were too far gone to ask. 

The captain was kissing your mouth, using his hands to feed you come again, and you couldn’t even kiss him back. Your body was frozen, your muscles tight and stuck in a loop of pleasure. You were coming in cyclical waves, unsure of where one started or ended, just suspended in blissful torment, sucking in breaths when your lungs allowed you to. 

Then, Simon’s movements stuttered, and he slowed, sinking into you as deep as he could fit before pulling out in one swift movement and jerking his cock right in front of your swollen, punished pussy.

He slid the dildo out of you, leaving you feeling empty to the point of grief, and you watched as he hovered at your entrance, shooting his load into your already-filled cunt. Rope after rope of milky come seared its way into you, messy but accurate. Then, he replaced the dildo and sat back on his heels, out of breath. 

His friends let your legs back down, and they all moved away from you, leaving little kisses on your body as they retreated. 

Once they recovered, they had one more shot of sake together, and Johnny poured one into your mouth. 

“There ya go, bonnie. Job well done, aye? This birthday party willnae be topped anytime soon.”

You swallowed the shot, tasting just not the alcohol but the remnants of Gaz’s come as well when it slid down your throat in tandem. 

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” the captain said, “You don’t have to say your goodbyes yet.”

Simon peered down at you over his shoulder,

“Riverbend street, apartment six, right?”

Your eyes went wide. How did he know where you lived? 

But, before you could ask him, they let themselves out, leaving you stunned, full of their come, and thrilled about what you would find when you finally made it home tonight.

[unlversegirly]

•.¸☆ ː̗̤̣̀̈̇ː̖́ ☆¸.•˚ how to plan your week according to the planets •.¸☆ ː̗̤̣̀̈̇ː̖́ ☆¸.•˚

Monday: Moon Day ☽

If you notice you tend to feel a moody energy at the start of your work weeks; you can blame our dear friend the Moon. Monday's are ruled by the Moon, which presides over our intuition and emotions. Moon Days can bring a low or heavy energy to the day.

Things to do on Moon days:

☆ Light exercise (walking, yoga, etc)

☆ Self care

☆ Reflect on emotions/journal

☆ Meditation

☆ Prioritizing rest + quiet time

Tuesday: Mars Day ♂

Tuesday is a shift from Monday as it is ruled by Mars, the planet of action. You may feel more confident and motivated; more like you're ready to take on the world.

Things to do on Mars days:

☆ Get started on new projects you've been thinking about

☆ Get as many tasks complete from your to-do list as possible

☆ Avoid unnecessary drama/fights

☆ Get a morning workout in

Wednesday: Mercury Day ☿

As Wednesday is ruled by Mercury; the planet of communication, creativity, + curiosity, thoughts and words come more easily. It is one of the most productive days of the week.

Things to do on Mercury days:

☆ Respond to texts/answer emails

☆ Research topics

☆ Make long-term plans

☆ Apply for jobs/schedule interviews

Thursday: Jupiter Day ♃

Since Thursdays are ruled by Jupiter, the planet of abundance and expansion, you may feel more generous or optimistic.

Things to do on Jupiter Days:

☆ Take a vacation day at work

☆ Take a college class

☆ Offer to tutor others

☆ Volunteer work

Friday: Venus Day ♀

Friday's are ruled by Venus; the planet of love, romance, + indulgence. You may feel more outgoing or flirtatious on Venus days.

Things to do on Venus Days:

☆ Spa day/night

☆ Movie night with friends

☆ Go for a first date/get dinner with a partner

☆ Enjoy a night out with friends/a partner

☆ Buy concert tickets

Saturday: Saturn Day ♄

Saturday's are ruled by Saturn; the planet of structure and discipline, so you may feel more motivated to get some of your to-do list done.

Things to do on Saturn Days:

☆ Update your weekly schedule

☆ Listen to motivational podcasts/TED talk

☆ Improve your morning routine

☆ Meal prep

☆ Grocery shop

Sunday: Sun Day ☉

Sunday's are ruled by the Sun which presides over our self expression and ego.

Things to do on Sun Days:

☆ Spend extra time with your pets

☆ Get brunch with a friend

☆ Go for a drive

☆ Read your favorite book

★ .* . ∅ ° ☆ * ･thank you for reading ★ .* . ∅ ° ☆ * ･

I am not a professional astrologer, these are suggestions based on the studies i've done so far but i am constantly studying and nowhere near a professional🫶

[kayhi808]

First Crush - 8

Your dinner & movie date was great! Dinner came out well. Bucky enjoyed it. He hadn't had a home cooked meal in a while. Bucky helps you clear the table, "I'll have to give Abby a bath & get her ready for bed, but if you want...to hang around for a bit..."

You feel his hands on your hips as he turns you around. "Yea, I think I can do that." He leans in & kisses you softly. His lips, soft but firm makes the butterflies in your belly take flight. You take his bottom lip between your teeth & tug, eliciting a soft moan from Bucky's throat.

"Mama?" Bucky jumps back, looking over his shoulder at Abby standing 3 feet away. "What doing?"

"Hey, Baby. I was on my way to get your bath started. Can you pick out your pajamas for me? You can also pick out 2 stories for tonight."

"Mama?"

"Yes."

She waddles over to hold Bucky's hand, "Can Bucky reads me a story"

You both look at Bucky. "Sure." He smiles down at her.

She claps & bounces up & down. "One story for Buckys & 2 story for yous."

"What? No, ma'am. You only get 2 stories. One for me & one for Bucky."

Abby bends over cackling, "I almost tricks yous."

"Nice try. Go find your pajamas & stories. We'll be right there." Abby skips out of the kitchen and then you're able to crack a smile. "She's only 3! By the time she's a teenager, she'll be too smart for me." Bucky drops a kiss at your temple as you pass him to get Abby's bath ready.

*****

Your evening didn't end like you would have hoped. Abby wouldn't fall asleep as long as Bucky was there. She came outside for water, monsters in her closet, monsters under the bed, to ask very important questions about Moana's Chicken if it knew how to swim in the ocean...Her interruptions were endless. Bucky left because Abby wouldn't go to sleep otherwise. Cockblocked by your own child!

You and Bucky decided that once he returns from this mission, you'd set time aside for a real date. Just the two of you. You've been so limited to lunches in your office or phone calls after Abby goes to sleep. You're dying to go on a grown-up date with Bucky.

Wednesday morning started like any other day, until an alert came in that Bucky's mission went sideways & the team suffered injuries. The med bay had to be alerted & prepped for the incoming quinjet. Bucky had been shot and one of the other agents under him was in serious condition.

It was hard for you to concentrate on work knowing Bucky was hurt. This is exactly what scared you about starting a relationship with Bucky. The fear you'll feel with every mission he leaves on. You both have kept it professional at work, but Bucky's friends know you've been seeing each other. You weren't assigned to Director Fury today, so you aren't abreast with details of the mission.

Sam drops by your office, "Hey."

Leaping up from your desk, "Sam! What happened? How is he?"

"He'll be fine. They're checking him out now. It was a through and through.

"And the other agent?"

"He's in surgery now, but it looks good." You nod, biting your bottom lip. "Want me to take you up?"

Tears fall, "I'm still working. I don't want Fury..."

Sam laughs, "Fury already knows EVERYTHING that happens here. It'll be quick. Once you see him, it'll put your mind at ease."

Wiping away your tears, "Please?" Sam nods & as you pass him, he puts his arm around your shoulder giving you a quick squeeze.

*****

You get to the med bay and Bucky is on a bed, his side patched up with a large bandage & his arm in a sling. You gasp & cover our mouth with your hands, trying to silence yourself. "Buck." It's the first time you've seen him without a shirt, you see the way his Vibranium arm in attached to him. The scars.

It's overwhelming. The abuse his poor body has taken.

"Hey, Doll." Sam nudges you towards the bed & leaves to give you both privacy.

You brush his hair off his forehead & drop a kiss on his brow before placing one on his lips. "Can I get you anything?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head clasping your hand in his, "Nope. This is good."

You know he's medicated, so you stay until he falls asleep before you leave him.

*****

You made arrangements with a neighbor to pick up Abby from daycare, so you can visit with Bucky after work.

When you get there, Natalie, Clint & Steve are there joking with him. He looks much better than this morning.

"Hey, doll! What are you still doing here?"

Lingering in the doorway, "I asked my neighbor if she could get Abby from daycare because I'd be a little late. I wanted to check on you before I left."

Clint teases, "You don't have to worry about him. He's like a cat with nine lives. Thankfully he's able to put himself in harms way to save the day, with his super serum."

"Shut up, man."

Natasha sees you flinch, "He'll be good as new. The serum does accelerate the healing process. There's nothing to worry about."

You give her a small smile, "Yea, that's good to hear."

"Y/N?" Bucky hears the strain in your voice.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. I...I wanted to know if you needed anything before I left but looks like you're well taken care of."

"Could you guys give us a minute?"

"No, I can't stay. I need to get Abby. I don't want to be an inconvenience; you know how Abby gets. We'll talk later." You quickly go to him & drop a kiss on his brow & turn to leave, giving a small wave to the others.

*****

The following morning Director Fury had you with him in meetings. When you got back to your office, you found Bucky sitting there waiting for you. "Bucky? What are you doing here? Did they release you already?" You notice the bruise and scrapes were already healed. He still had his arm in a sling though.

"You didn't answer your phone last night."

"I'm sorry. I texted you this morning. Abby was in a mood and I fell asleep early. I was real tired." Bucky just stares at you and it makes you nervous. "Did you want me to pick up lunch for you?"

He shakes his head & continues to stare at you until you finally make eye contact with him. "Talk to me, Y/N." He waits out your silence.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever's bothering you, we can talk it through. We can figure it out. At least give me a chance."

"I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning works best," getting comfortable in the chair, signaling he's not going anywhere.

"Abby's father. He was a fighter pilot with the Air Force. He had a dangerous job but he didn't die in the line of duty. It was because he was reckless. He was careless & lost control of his plane. He did that to himself."

"And you see him in me?" You see his jaw clench.

"I don't know. I know that i'm scared now. I feel more connected to you, than I did to Jason in the short time I've known you. My daughter absolutely adores you." You see a cocky smile on his face. "Those aren't good points, Bucky." Frowning at him, "Your job is dangerous and you risk your life to save others. I can't have someone else in my life who puts me & Abby second."

"And you think I'd do that?"

"I do. Clint said that because you're a Super Soldier, you take extra risks because you know you'll recover. You take a bullet for someone on the team because you know you'll survive and they will die. That's brave and heroic and I commend you on that."

"Y/N."

"But if I'm honest and selfish, if I let myself fall in love with you, where does that leave me? Abby? I don't think we have a place in your world. Your team, Mankind, will always outrank us."

"It's like you've got this all figured out."

Shaking your head, "I don't. And that's what scares me. If it was just myself I had to think about, my concerns would be different. I'd be willing to risk more." Taking a deep breath, "I'm protecting Abby the only way I know how."

"And if I promise to put you & Abby first?"

That wasn't an option you were expecting. "I don't understand."

Bucky stands and leans on your desk, "If I swear to put you and Abby first. Will you give us a chance?"

"How?"

"Let me work it out. I'm asking you to trust me? Can you do that? Can you give me time?" You silently nod as he pulls you in for a kiss. The chill of his vibranium hand on the nape of your neck giving you goosebumps. Or is it just the kiss itself?

Next chapter

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @enchantedbarnes @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22

[janeyseymour]

All To Myself

requested by @schemmentisbaby

Summary: Your little girl is getting ready to go to Abbott- not that your wife's coworkers know.

WC: ~3.6k

Melissa Schemmenti, second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary, your wife, and mother to your beautiful little girl: Grace Marie. Melissa Schemmenti, a woman who rarely talks about herself, so all that her coworkers know about her is that she’s married- and even then, she wishes they didn’t know that. It’s not that she has anything to hide or like she’s ashamed of you, but after growing up the way that she did, she’s learned that keeping her mouth shut about personal information is probably for the best. The fact that people know she’s a Schemmenti holds enough weight as it is.

Your wife has been able to keep it quiet that she has a little girl due to the fact that while she is present on Facebook, and so are you, there are very few people that she has on there. The only people that she’s so graciously allowed to friend her on that social media app are you, her family (yes, Kristen Marie included), and one Mrs. Barbara Howard. Those that are present on your social media aren’t aware of the weight that your last name now holds, having grown up just outside of Philly in the suburbs. So when you post images or updates on how your life is going, it doesn’t much matter, and Melissa doesn’t mind.

The second grade teacher has been relatively successful at keeping the personal and professional lives from mixing. That is going to change though, because Gracie is getting ready to head into kindergarten at none other than Willard R. Abbott Elementary School.

“Hun,” you sigh to your wife quietly as the two of you begin to grasp the fact that Grace is going to be attending your wife’s workplace.

“I just didn’t think it was going to be happening so soon,” Melissa mumbles. “I mean, it’s like she was born yesterday, and now she’s getting ready to enter kindergarten.”

“You’re telling me,” you chuckle. “I feel like we were hearing her heartbeat for the first time, and now we’re getting ready to send our baby to school.”

“Jesus, we’re gettin’ old.”

As it turns out, Grace is more than excited to be heading to school- she’s so excited to see the place where her mother works, and she can’t wait to be a big kid. And luck just so has it that your daughter is placed in her Aunt Barbie’s class.

“I get to be with Aunt Barbie all day?!” Grace squeals out with excitement when you tell her who her kindergarten teacher is.

You can’t help but chuckle at how precious she is. “You do, but at school she’s Mrs. Howard, yeah?”

Your little girl nods her head with enthusiasm. “When do I get to go?”

“School starts in two weeks, but Mommy goes in next week,” Melissa tells your little girl at the dinner table. “And on that Wednesday, they have a special night for kindergarteners to meet their teachers and get familiar with the school.”

“I can’t wait for school!”

“Oh, but I can,” your wife grumbles so that only you can hear her.

The day before Melissa goes back to Abbott for professional development days, she’s a bit more moody than usual. Because of this, your little girl spends most of the day with you. The redhead is stressed beyond belief trying to ensure that she has everything packed into her car to take to the school for the new year. She’s focusing on meal prepping so she can just grab things and go. Her outfit for whatever reason is stressing her out more than it usually would.

“Honey,” you mumble as she stands in your closet staring at all of her shirts. You wrap your arms around her waist and set your chin on her shoulder before kissing her neck gently. She hums as she leans into your affections.

“What has you so worked up tonight?” you prod gently. “Usually you don’t care what you wear to work.”

“I just… these are the last few days where my coworkers will see me as just Melissa, not Grace’s mother,” she admits. “Reminds me I’m gettin’ older.”

“We are getting older,” you remind her. “But that just means that we’re one step closer to retirement, to having a beautiful daughter to take care of us, more years of love under our belt.”

Your wife sighs softly and cranes her neck to look at you. “How do you always know what to say to help calm me down?”

“We’ve been married for years,” you chuckle. “Practice.”

The next morning, Grace cannot for the life of her understand why she doesn’t get to go with Melissa to her new school. She’s gotten herself dressed and ready, adorned with the backpack that is just about the size of her, and her new sparkly shoes.

“Mi amore,” your wife sighs as she kneels down to pull your daughter into a hug. “Mommy has to go do boring things at the school. Trust me when I tell you, you would rather stay with Momma and play at home for these last few days.”

“But I want you!” your little girl pouts. “I want Aunt Barbie!”

“And you’ll get me tonight,” Melissa tries to placate. “And I will talk to Aunt Barbie and see if she can come over today after work to play for a little bit, how does that sound?”

That seems to satisfy your daughter who comes bouncing over to you. She curls into your arms as your wife makes her way out the door.

At work, the redhead is happy to see her work wife, but she isn’t necessarily thrilled to be back at work for the school year.

“I saw Gracie’s name on my list for this year,” Barbara whispers to her friend when she’s certain no one else can hear.

“She’s real excited to have you as her kindergarten teacher,” Melissa chuckles softly. “She’s asking for you already. I told her I would see if you could come over after work today.”

“She’ll be sick of me by the end of this year,” the kindergarten teacher laughs.

Green eyes are rolled. “I doubt that. I’m fairly certain my kid loves you more than she loves me or Y/N.”

“You know your little girl has the most love for her mothers,” Barb smirks. “And then of course for Aunt Barbie. I’ll be there.”

“And I’m going to need every hand on deck for kindergarten orientation on Wednesday,” Ava announces. “This is the biggest class to come through Abbott since the 90s.”

“No can do,” Melissa states in front of everyone. “Have business I need to take care of, and it ain’t like you’re payin’ me.” She shoots her boss a look that dares her to challenge.

The principal quirks her lips to the side before rolling her eyes and sighing loudly. “Every hand on deck except for Red Hot.”

After the workday is done, the kindergarten and second grade teachers make their way back to your house. You and your little girl are sitting in the living room reading a book when you hear the front door open and close. All thoughts of the game are abandoned when Gracie jumps to her feet and goes to the door as fast as her little legs will take her. She launches herself at Melissa, who catches her with ease. Then she’s throwing herself at Barbara, who has just barely kneeled down to embrace her.

“How’s my baby girl?” Barbara asks as she kisses your daughter’s head.

Your little girl soaks up the attention. “Good! I want to go to school though.”

“Well, that comes next week, but I’m sure Mommy’s told you about how you’ll get to come see my classroom in a few days.” When Grace nods with excitement, Barbara continues. “And I know at home I’m Aunt Barbie, but at school I have to be Mrs. Howard. Think you can remember that for me, baby?”

“Pinky swears,” your daughter holds out her pinky with a grin.

“That’s my girl,” the kindergarten teacher smiles as she links pinkies with your little girl. “Now, what are we going to do today?”

Come Wednesday, after a long day of professional development in the morning and prepping for open house on Thursday, Melissa comes home to you and your excitable daughter.

“Mommy!” Grace goes running over to the front door, abandoning her station to help you prepare dinner.

“Mi amore,” your wife sighs happily as she lifts your daughter to her hip. “My beautiful girl.”

Grace giggles incessantly as the teacher pecks her cheeks continuously. Then your wife is making her way over to you.

“My gorgeous wife,” she whispers as she kisses you softly. “You’re the best.”

“I’m making your favorite,” you tell her quietly as you lean in to kiss her again.

Grace makes a face at your affections. “Ew, moms. Stop kissin’!”

The two of you roll your eyes in a playful manner. “You know I just love your momma so much,” Melissa laughs that low laugh that you find irresistible. She kisses you again.

“Are you ready to go see Aunt Barbie and your new school?” the redhead asks gently as she sets your daughter back down on the chair you have pulled up to the counter.

“Mrs. Howard,” Grace corrects with a toothy smile as she picks up the spoon to begin mixing the salad again.

Melissa rolls her eyes and pokes your daughter in the belly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

After dinner, your family makes their way down to Abbott. Grace clings to your hand the entire time. At the thought of going to a new school, she was excited. But now that the time is upon her, she’s nervous.

“It’ll all be okay, Gracie girl,” Melissa promises. “You know Mommy wouldn’t work here or let you go here if it wasn’t a good place to be.”

That seems to settle your daughter’s nerves just slightly, but she still remains close to you.

You and Grace walk in and head right to the little check in, knowing immediately where to go. Barbara just smiles and checks off your daughter’s name before greeting your wife who is trailing a few paces behind.

“Melissa!” you hear the boisterous voice of the principal of the school. “You said you wasn’t coming!”

Your wife just rolls her eyes and shrugs. “What can I say?”

The incoming class of kindergarteners are ushered into the gym for a quick presentation of teachers that they might come across throughout the school year. Of course, Barbara is up on the stage with all of the kindergarten teachers, but so is your wife and the rest of her work crew, as well as some other staff members that she rarely mentions.

Once that’s over with, they begin to move the children down to the classrooms that they’ll be spending most of their time in for the year. Grace takes your hand gently and guides you towards the correct line.

Abbott is a special school, you can see that just by walking through the halls. It’s filled with artwork from students, there are several plaques with various award titles on them, the teachers who are helping to guide students around are warm. Aside from the odd lingering smell, you can understand why Melissa works here and has worked here for years. 

Your wife lingers in the room under the guise of just helping out her work wife- it makes sense to the rest of the staff that she would go with Barbara. Grace finds her desk with ease, knowing all of the letters in her name. She squeals with happiness when she sees the few little goodies that Mrs. Howard left on the students’ desks.

“Momma,” your little girl tugs on your shirt. “Sit with me?”

You oblige her request with a smile, settling in her chair before pulling her on top of you. Grace brightens and gives your wife a thumbs up before beginning to color the princess page Barbara had placed there. You can’t help but press a soft kiss to your girl’s temple before looking up at your wife with a smile. She’s absolutely precious. Melissa tries to hide the fact that she was sneaking a picture of the two of you, but it’s no use. Her cheeks tint just slightly red before shrugging her shoulders with a bashful smile.

The rest of your daughter’s class settles in and is allowed to color for a few moments while Barbara and Melissa chat with parents- no doubt answering questions that will surely be answered within the next few minutes.

Your wife’s boss makes her way into the classroom, and she eyes the redhead warily before teasing her. “I shoulda known you’d find your way into Barb’s classroom.”

“Well, she is-”

“I don’ care,” Ava states. She turns to scan the room, and her eyes immediately land on you. She winks.

You have to fight to roll your eyes. It’s funny that she chose you to focus in on, but it will be even funnier when she realizes that she just hit on her shadiest teacher’s wife.

Before the principal can say anything too out of line, Barbara claps her hands together and begins her spiel about herself as a teacher, the classroom that the students will be in, and the school itself.

Grace seems more than content to sit in your lap and color quietly while Melissa nods along to the things that her work wife is saying. She knows it all already, but it’s nice hearing what will be expected of your little girl while she’s in Barb’s classroom.

“And now, while the parents are filling out the paperwork necessary for the beginning of the school year, I figured I might take the students on a walking tour of the areas in the school that they’ll be in,” the kindergarten teacher explains with a clap of her hands. “So, we’re going to practice lining up and walking in the hallways like big kindergarteners.”

She manages to line up the entire class quietly before walking them out the door with Melissa. You sigh and begin to quietly fill out the paperwork for your little girl. It’s a while before you hear footsteps come back into the room, just as you’re getting ready to write down Melissa’s name under the second guardian spot. When you look up, you expect to see Barbara, your wife, and the students in tow. Instead, it’s Ava again, and she’s looking directly at you- you can practically feel her eyes on you.

“Does anybody have any questions about Abbott?” the principal asks.

A few hands go up, but she blatantly ignores them. She points to you. “What about you, angel face?”

Your brow goes up. “I think I’m all good, but thank you.”

“Surely you can’t know everything there is to know about this school,” Ava frowns. “You have to have at least one question.”

“Not that I can think of,” you tell her. If you do think of a question, you doubt she’ll know the answer to it anyway.

“Is that little girl of yours your first one to go through Abbott?”

You nod. “But I know all about this school.”

“Oh?” Ava smirks. “You did your research?”

Instead of telling her that your wife is Melissa, you just nod. Sure, you had done your research and asked your wife about the building, but you know the ins and outs of this school- the things that go on behind the scenes. 

You think that’s the end of the conversation and start to write “Mrs.”, but she makes her way further into the room, and she stands over you sitting at a student desk.

“Where’s the wife?” Ava asks you as she leans against the desk. She drapes a gentle hand over your wrist. “Because I know someone as fine as you has one.”

You look up to her with a smirk before beginning to write down Melissa’s name.

Almost comically, the principal gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. She stands straight up. “You ain’t telling me Melissa is your wife, are you?!”

With impeccable timing, Melissa walks back into the classroom with Barbara and the kindergarteners. 

“I am,” is all your wife states as she folds her arms over her chest and stares down her boss. “Why? You got something to-”

“Bye, y’all,” Ava runs out of the classroom as quickly as she had come in.

Barbara just looks to you with the silent question of if the principal was flirting with you, and you nod subtly.

Your wife sees red for a split second before she makes her way over to you with your daughter and wraps her arm around the top of your shoulders.

“Idiot,” Melissa grumbles as she plants a kiss to the top of your head. “Flirting with my wife like that.”

You reach up a hand and lay yours gently over hers. “She didn’t know because you didn’t tell her.”

“‘Cause she has no business knowin’ about my personal life,” your wife mutters.

“She will now,” you remind her. “Grace is goin’ here now, and you know that Ava’s gonna open her mouth about it the first chance she gets.”

“Which will be once everyone is out of the school, and we somehow get corralled into helping break everything,” Melissa rolls her eyes.

It’s a bit of time before Ava makes the announcement that all families should head out of the building to allow the teachers to get home for the night. But when you think that Melissa is going to try to book it out of there as quickly as possible, she begins to help her work wife straighten up her classroom.

You know that the two of them are quite close, but it is something else to see them working together in silence. It’s like how you and Melissa work- in sync, with ease, naturally.

And then the rest of the group begins to come in, asking questions before they even fully enter the room to see you and your little girl sitting quietly on the carpet reading a book together. Okay, you’re reading, but Grace is touching each word as you read.

You pause your reading as the boisterous group comes in. Their eyes immediately go to you, and they halt their questioning.

“I’m sorry,” a shorter woman, who you can only assume is Janine, speaks quietly. “I didn’t realize you still had a student in the room.”

“They’re fine,” Melissa cuts in before anyone else can say anything. “They’re with me.”

Gregory furrows his brow. “Why would they-”

“Melissa Schemmenti, when the hell was you goin’ to tell us you have a daughter that was going to come to Abbott?!” the principal yells as she struts in. “And that your wife was fine as-” She cuts herself off at the challenging look green eyes give her.

“They’re with me because that’s my wife and my daughter,” the redhead points to the two of you. “Gracie, come say hi to Mommy’s friends.”

Your little girl jumps out of your lap and runs over to your wife, who lifts her onto her hip with ease. “I’m Gracie, and I’m five!” she holds out an entire hand for emphasis. Her smile is enough to melt their hearts.

“Oh, Mel Mel, she’s so cute,” Jacob grins as he high fives your daughter.

“Mi amore,” Melissa jerks her head for you to come over.

“Y/N,” you smile that charming smile of yours as you wrap an arm around the Melissa. “Mrs. Schemmenti, if you will.”

“How the hell didn’t we know about this now?” Mr. Johnson wrinkles his nose. “That’s a load of bull… trash.”

Emerald eyes are rolled. “Because the boss don’t look at the rosters to know who’s comin’ in.”

“I did!”

“Did you?” Janine narrows her eyes as she looks to the principal. 

Ava looks offended. “So what if I did or did not? Overseeing an entire school is hard! It ain’t my fault Melissa never told us she had a daughter!”

“You didn’t tell them about me?” Grace frowns, and she looks a bit wounded by that knowledge.

“Mommy just wanted you all to herself,” your wife promises as she dots a few kisses along your daughter’s hairline.

That seems to placate your daughter, who snuggles right back up to the redhead before yawning. “Aunt Barbie is my teacher.”

“She is,” you chuckle as you smooth down a few of her wild locks. “But at school she’s Mrs. Howard, remember?”

“Mrs. Howard is my teacher,” your little girl yawns out.

“I think it’s about time we head home,” Melissa chuckles softly. She looks to you. “Are you about ready t’head out?”

You nod and grab your purse from where Grace will be sitting next Monday. “Well, it was really nice to finally meet you all,” you chuckle out. “I know she’s in good hands here at Abbott.”

The group seems to have more questions for the redhead that is quickly escorting you out, but she ignores them and ushers you out.

Just as you’re leaving, Ava shouts down the hallway, “Girl, don’t think we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout how youse are milfs tomorrow!”

There’s a loud chorus of “Ava!” that can be heard right after. You have to hide the smile. You’re already well aware that your wife is hot.

“Momma?” Grace looks to you with curious eyes.

“Yeah baby?” you ask.

“What’s a milf?”

“Ava is dead tomorrow,” your wife grumbles.

“You love your boss, and your coworkers,” you remind her.

Melissa sighs heavily. “They’re freakin’ lucky.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[obae-me]

Dumb Injuries- Pt 2

This may or may not be based off of real events that may or may not have happened a few days ago... Only I was on my own with no sweet demons, just my panic, a bloody sock, and a bunch of tissues. I bet it's going to leave a scar...

Warning: Blood, glass, injury. Note: I am not a medical professional, so do not use this as advice on what to do in a situation like this.

--

A gleeful little hum came from your mouth as you walked about in the kitchen. Today was your day to make dinner. And while sometimes you loathed these days, expecting nothing but needy demons practically clinging to you as you cooked and begging for a taste as if they were all Gluttony, today was different. Today everyone was giving you the proper space to work on your own. The peace was much needed. You’d felt like you’d been running around non-stop going from room to room, reading message after message, fulfilling your duties with hardly a chance to rest.

You loved these people, but boy did they run you dry sometimes.

However, despite your exhaustion and perhaps slight irritation, dinner was still being made with much love. You figured, perhaps, if the meal was fulfilling, they’d all be calm the rest of the evening.

Even from here you could hear them bickering.

Something had been up with all of them all week. They were picking fights with each other constantly. Or, should you say, more than usual. If that was somehow even remotely possible. In fact, they very nearly destroyed the kitchen a handful of days ago. Someone had eaten Satan’s special cat-shaped cake he was saving for himself after a day of testing. So, naturally, he went ballistic. He assumed it was Beel, but Gluttony- for once- swore it wasn’t him. After being blamed too many times, he got frustrated. Lucifer of course had to get involved. And let’s just say he wasn’t in a very good mood that day. Luckily, no appliances were harmed, but you recall how long it had taken them all to clean it up. And now they were all still on edge as the culprit had still yet to come out with their crimes.

With an audible sigh, you shook your head. Demons will be demons as some of them so often liked to say. Moving away from the stove and towards the table in the middle of the room, you reached out for the cutting board of vegetables you’d prepped earlier.

Pain. You gasped loudly, hurting your throat in the process. You stumbled, completely dropping the items that had been in your hand. They struck the ground with several noisy clangs. As you grasped for balance with support from the table, you clenched your teeth. The nerves in your body sparked, starting from the bottom of one of your feet and all the way up your back. Even if you wanted to swear, you were so stunned, you couldn’t. You leaned harder against the furniture, curling your leg up and raising your foot to spot an inch long piece of glass sticking out of your heel. While the adrenaline was still pumping through your body, you reached forward and plucked it out. It didn’t seem to have much blood on it. Shaking hands wrapped the little shard in a small wad of paper towels before it was chucked in the garbage.

Apparently, whoever had been in charge of cleaning the mess after the fight from a few days ago missed a spot… Of course you had to be the one to find it… Limping, keeping your injured foot on the tip of your toes, you headed towards the door to the kitchen. Thank Diavolo that your room was nearby. Hopefully you could make it there and patch yourself up before—

The door swung inwards, just a few inches away from smacking you in the face. You staggered back a bit. Mammon nearly barreled into you, grasping at your shoulder’s and steadying you to keep you from falling over. “You alright?! I mean… what did ya do this time, huh?” He blushed a little at his worried blurt before glancing by you and seeing the mess of scattered vegetables on the floor.

A heavy sigh from a second voice rang out behind Mammon. Your heart nearly stopped for a moment. Lucifer glared at you with narrowed eyes. “You couldn’t have waited another few weeks before making another mess of the kitchen?”

Well, at least so far, neither of them had noticed… You lowered your hurt foot a little flatter, keeping your heel just barely hovering over the ground. “I-I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’ll get it cleaned up, don’t worry about it.”

The eldest, while usually appreciating those who fixed their own messes, was not satisfied with that answer. Exhaustion filled his eyes as he brushed past you and further into the room. “You can work on cleaning up your mess while I finish dinner. If we are even a few minutes late serving the food, Beel might go on another rampage.”

You nodded, gulping down a painful lump in your throat as your heel began to sting and throb. “Okay. I just have to grab something from my room real quick.” Lucifer just hummed at you, already pulling out replacements for everything you’d dropped. You looked up at Mammon, who was staring at you suspiciously, remaining unusually quiet. Walking as steady as you could, you squeaked past him and out into the hallway. Your hand pressed against the wall for support, fingernails almost digging into the wallpaper as you worked hard to remain quiet and upright.

Thank goodness your room was right next door…

All the sudden, the hallway flipped. Your head felt light and your chest squeezed as the floor was no longer right under you. You slipped, completely thrown off balance. You held our your arms, ready to catch the floor, but instead caught someone’s shoulders.

“I got ya…” Mammon sighed as he seemed to reach you just in time.

You leaned into him for a moment, trying to calm your wild heart. Then you straightened yourself, pulling away and looking down to see what you had slipped on.

A bloody streak covered the hard ground. Wide eyes looked down in shock, both Mammon’s and yours. You turned to look over your shoulder. Drops of blood made a pretty dotted trail all the way down the hall, stretching from your feet to—

“Lucifer…” You spoke as your gaze met his own. He no longer seemed exhausted, but now stunned, standing just outside the kitchen door.

“What the hell happened?!” Mammon shouted, his voice projecting far down the hall.

Oh great...

Like curious little mice, the Dining Hall opened as several demon heads poked out of the doorway, eager to see who was getting in trouble. You noticed Beel sniff the air and turn pale, muttering a single word to the rest of them that had all of them scurrying down the hall.

Either panicked or jealous, you were suddenly swept up into Mammon’s arms and absconded away. The House was a series of blurred colors before a door slammed open, nearly breaking in half. Mammon used one arm to sweep several items on the bathroom counter onto the floor before setting you on the empty space by the sink. You curled your leg and raised your foot again. Blood coated nearly your entire foot, steadily gushing and dripping onto the floor.

A hand ran through his own white hair as he nearly looked ready to pass out on your behalf. “L-Let’s wash it off…” Mammon whispered, his voice shaking as he turned on the sink and held his hand underneath the stream till it felt warm.

The other brothers were starting to flood into the room now, varying levels of shock, awe, and worry coating their faces. However, they were starting to learn about proper care, and how to not have a complete meltdown anytime you got hurt. But there was still a bit of a scene, the demons pushing each other aside and crawling over the others to get closer to you, reeling at the sight and smell of your blood.

Mammon cleaned your foot off, but frowned as it crimson continued to spread across your skin. Levi rushed over and placed a little Ruri-Chan bandaid across the injured spot. It bled through the bandage and started dripping again within a few seconds…

Now they were all starting to panic.

“We need to stop the bleeding!” Asmo shouted!

“Oh, do we?!” Belphie huffed sarcastically.

Satan pushed his way forward. “We need to add some pressure to stem it.”

Lucifer pulled out a first aid kit from… somewhere. You were starting to swear they had one in every room now… The eldest handed out specific items from the kit. Mammon continued to clean off the dripping blood. Asmo pressed a small folded cloth over your heel. Belphie started wrapping a cloth bandage around the injured spot. Beel gently pressed his hand down over the bottom of your foot to add some pressure.

“A-Are you okay? Does it…hurt?” Levi stammered from behind his other brothers.

You responded a little sheepishly. “It stings a bit, but… I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Probably the adrenaline,” Satan sighed, bending down to pick up the items off the floor that Mammon had thrown down in a frenzy.

“What in the world happened, hon?” Asmo wondered, coming over to pet your head in a bit of comfort.

Biting your lip a bit, you took a breath. “Stepped on glass…”

A very gentle flick struck the back of your head. “Do you remember that little conversation we had where I told you to be wary of the kitchen floors?” Lucifer shook his head at you, his furrowed brows laced with worry, and perhaps a bit of guilt if you were reading his expression properly.

“I… thought it was fine.”

Pride opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Mammon instead. “You gotta be more careful!”

Beel rubbed his thumb over your foot before removing his hand. “I don’t think it’s bleeding through anymore.” Taking a peek, he appeared right. You didn’t see anymore blood seeping through the bandages.

His twin looked over at you. “So, you’re okay now, right?”

“I think so.” A little squeak came out of your mouth as you were suddenly picked up again. Satan hardly said a word as he took you out of the bathroom.

“Hey! No fair!”

“Satan!”

Wrath ignored them all as he walked on. “Don’t worry about dinner tonight. We’ll take care of it. You stay off your feet.”

It didn’t quite sound like a suggestion…more like a command.

Well…it sounded quite like you wouldn’t be walking anywhere on your own this week…

[bitchesgetriches]

Hypothetically if someone wanted to include their ability to schedule appointments, organize events and transportation, and meal plan and prep for their family on their resume how would they word that

We LOOOOOOVE the "how do I reframe unpaid labor on my resume" question. This is like Bitch bait.

Ok, so this sounds like you are an Organizational Specialist, or a Personal Assistant to a Head of Household, or an Organizational Consultant to a busy professional. List of responsibilities should include event planning, nutritional development, essential transportation, scheduling and booking, and administrative management.

Pick the corporate buzzwords that most fit with the job you're applying for, stare them directly in the eyes, and know that your unpaid labor for your family is VALUABLE WORK EXPERIENCE.

Here's more advice:

How to Frame Volunteering on Your Resume When You’ve Never Had a Job 

If this helped you out... tip us!

[missfrustration]

very professional nights (sanji x f!reader) 18+

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, smut. oral sex, pussy eating, top sanji, vaginal fingering, praise kink, "good girl," boss/employee relationship, teasing, power imbalance, edgeplay, desk sex, office sex, no use of y/n

A/n: this story inspired me to become a fanfiction writer. also on my ao3. enjoy!

word count: 4.9k

Your crew was assigned to serve meals to a hundred marines at the end of last night. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you collapsed into bed after cleaning up the aftermath. You dismissed the others for the night so they could wake up on time for the morning shift, leaving you to stay longer.

Thus, you woke up late for your morning shift. You scrambled to get ready for the next twelve hours of prep work.

Just as you were about to pass out from exhaustion peeling carrots for the 4th time today during your shift, you jolted when you felt something jab into your back. 

“What do you-” You were cut off by the presence of the tall, suited figure behind you. 

Sanji, the co-head chef in the Baratie, was second to the head. Rebellious as he was towards Zeff, no one on the whole boat could deny his god-like skills in the kitchen. 

You have a bad feeling about this. 

“Miss, what’s your excuse for coming to work so late? I was notified of your tardiness.” He spoke sternly, cigarette in mouth.

You stood up straight and put your peeler down, “I’m sorry, it was a busy night for my crew and me yesterday with all the orders we made. Zeff decided to have my group handle those marines at the last minute, and I had to stay up late to close.”

Sanji looked at you while he took a long drag of his cigarette. Thank God he didn’t blow it at you, but you still smelled the earthy smoke from where you were standing. 

“While I understand the circumstances of last night, that isn’t a good excuse to come to work an hour late. Especially in those clothes.” He peered down.

Clothes? Oh, shit-

You looked down to see yourself in plain clothes from last night, not in your standard uniform. You didn’t even notice when you put on your apron for the day. You cursed yourself for not being attentive enough this morning, as well as those damned marines for being the cause of it all.

On top of that, you aren’t even wearing a bra! That’s the only piece of clothing you took off last night before you passed out. As if it couldn’t get worse, your apron doesn’t fully cover your chest area. The t-shirt wasn’t a v-cut, but someone looking straight at you could see your braless chest peeking out the sides of the apron if they glanced. 

You look back up to face Sanji. “I’m so sorry, Sanj-I mean, sir. I can go to my room and change if I need to.”

His face was stern, but you didn’t miss the glance he gave at your chest. It made your face flush red with embarrassment. You would give anything to dissolve out of the boat and sink to the bottom of the sea floor right now. 

“You’re already here. Although your behavior is unacceptable, it’d be a waste of time to leave on the job now…”

He did the glance again but kept the assertive glare. Something about his expression and what he just said made it off. Maybe he was holding back on firing you right on the spot to save you from the embarrassment of doing it in front of the others? 

“Of course, sir.” You say, looking down at his shoes and playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Just change as soon as you finish today. Wash the dishes before you leave, too. For now, that will be your punishment. As much as I hate serving ricotta for the seventh time this hour, we must be awake to get the job done.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I apologize for the trouble.”

His face softened slightly at your apology, but he still persevered. As you turned around to return to your station’s duties, he got your attention again.

“Also. Miss, please come to my office for remedial chores tonight. Fix today’s act, and make it eight tonight sharp. Do not be late this time.”

Before you could turn around and agree, he was already making his way out, a trail of smoke following him. You stood there for a moment. Remedial work? You know it can be dished out to rookies who mess up, but never by Sanji. It’s typically another co-head or even Zeff himself. 

Were you going to get kicked off the staff?

-

It was a half hour before you had to head to Sanji’s office, and you found your feet pacing circles in your room. You didn’t know what to think. Were you about to do just remedial work, or was Sanji ready to kick you off the Baratie? 

When you checked the clock, it was almost time to go. You hastily dressed in plain clothes, adjusted your hair, and hopped out the door in a few minutes. With only a few paces to the top floor of the Baratie, you reached the wing of the superiors’ dorms and stopped at the room with the plaque Sanji .

You reach for the handle. When you touch it, you see it swing back and look up. On the other side is Sanji, looking down at you with a dead cigarette in his mouth, leaning against the doorframe. You are startled by the sudden meeting of your eyes and quickly look away. You frantically think of something to say as you struggle to think of anything coherent. 

“Good evening, Miss. You’re on time.” He smiles. You see the cigarette flick up and down when he talks. 

“Hello, sir.”

You noticed his tie loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, showing his broad clavicle and upper chest peeking out.

He takes a step towards you. Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand into both of his, lowers his head, and kisses it slowly. He gently raises his head again as he places your hand back at your side.

“Please, come in.” He opens the door the rest of the way, standing on the opposite side of the door frame as you walk in. 

You nervously step in as your eyes enter the spacious office before you. He leads you to the desk area in front of windows the size of saucers. Indeed, his suite was a damn luxury. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that preferred a classy room.

As he slowly walked you to his desk, he pulled up a nice, polished wooden chair and placed it opposite the desk. As you walked up, he pulled the chair out for you to sit and motioned you forward. His hand lightly brushed your back as you walked closer. 

“Sit down, please, darling.” He said warmly.

For some reason, the combination of the slight contact and gentle words of Sanji made you blush a little. You felt your ears turn hot as you sat.

He slowly pushed your chair up to the desk and walked out of the room through a door tucked in the corner. 

You anxiously shift in your chair, looking down at the glossy finish of the mahogany desk by the time he comes out.

He held out an unusually large stack of papers.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking with me.

“Here is your remedial work to complete tonight. I want them completed by the time you leave. You will complete them whether it takes one hour or three.”

You take a moment to take in the situation. He hands you the stack as he stands over you, peering down with the cigarette still in his mouth. You glance over the first paper at the top of the pile. It’s… an application? You see the picture of a lady a few years older than you with her personal information and work experiences handwritten on the page.

You look back at him, slightly confused, brushing your facial features. 

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do exactly?”

“These are our second-quarter applicants for the year. You will review their credentials and determine whether they are fit to work at the Baratie. If they pass your standards, mark the top corner with an ‘O’, or mark them with an ‘X’ if not. As you know, we are cutthroat with our newcomers, so please decide on the best. I trust your judgment with the applications you reject and will review the accepted ones with the others tomorrow.”

The situation presented to you was almost comical. Almost. However, you didn’t want to complain to your superior for fear that he would fire you at any moment like you thought would happen.

So you start.

You examine the first applicant. You read over her credentials, experiences, and interests. She was a promising candidate. Alright, that deserves a pass. You grab the pen, writing an O across the paper. You put it to the side and dived into more applicants.

  X, O, X, X…. 

After a few minutes, you started to fall into a steady routine: X , X, X, O. The pen you used was a smooth ballpoint that beautifully executed your pen strokes. It was very satisfying, and the noise it made was lovely. 

As you listen to your pen making its marks, you hear Sanji’s pen, too. You look up to see him also doing paperwork, casting spells of cursive on the pages. His sleeves are rolled back, and a slight peak of his soft forearm muscles shows. As your eyes travel up his arm, you take in his expression. His soft golden hair falls over one eye as he looks at his papers with the other. His pale face is calm, with parted, soft lips. You admire him as he eyes the pages, and on top of it, his curled brow slightly furrows with every new page. He’s so…-

-Oh God. A blush quickly erupts as your eyes dart back to your papers. You barely glanced at this applicant before writing an X . Oops. Sorry about that, bro. You take a slight exhale and focus on your forms. 

X, X, O, X. 

You feel good about the speed you’ve been going with. You’re sure that it’ll take you under an hour to get through it, give or take a few applicants that might take a little more review. With every new applicant, you feel somewhat relieved that this will be all the punishment you’ll get. Being fired was about the worst-case scenario, and the possibility of it now diminished with the stroke of each mark. 

That’s when you hear Sanji’s pen stop. You pause slowly. Without raising your head, you see his hand still holding the pen. His veins peak out as he taps the pen on the table. His forefinger methodically lifts into the air and swiftly taps the pen up and down. You slowly raise your head by traveling up his arms, enthralled by the picture you’ve painted in your daydreams. 

Sanji’s staring straight at you when you look at him. 

“Caught you.”

You freeze, instantly getting flustered after meeting his eyes. You quickly focus on your assignments, pretending you’ve been doing your paperwork again. He breaks the silence after a few moments.

“What were you doing, darling?”

“I- What? I was uh…” You blink, desperately trying to rack up any excuse in your head, only drawing blanks. You look intently at your papers, blurring the words and meshing them together in your head. You hear Sanji drop his pen and look up.

Sanji closes his eyes and sighs. He slowly rises from his desk, walks over to your side, and bends forward to peer down right over you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Eyes on your paper, my dear.” He says, putting a hand on your head and tilting it back down.

“Yes, sir.”

You snatched your pen, shakily marking the first page and moving to the next with feigned composure.

You can barely concentrate with Sanji’s full attention on you. You gulp and keep going. You feel his stoic gaze increase with every ‘X’ and ‘O’ you write down. He leans in closer to you as he examines your applicant choices. Your pace is relatively slow at this point, as your heart races with each increasing minute of his actions.

Sanji has always made you less anxious than your other superiors due to the similarity in age, but this was different. You arch your back slightly at the thought of his increasingly intense gaze.

Before your heart can settle again, his hands land on your chair. The familiar creek of your chair rubs against the floorboards and creeps into the air. You feel the chair give way under you. You grow confused and turn to look at him.

“Keep still. Eyes on your paper, remember?” He softly orders. His face is kind, with raised brows brushing his features. It sends shivers down your spine, and you refrain from talking. You do as you’re told, barely grasping the pen between your fingers. 

The chair is slowly pulled out from under you. You gingerly raise your lower half once you can no longer sit comfortably. Your upper chest now lightly rests on the edge of the desk, and your arms firmly planted beside your paper. From this angle, you feel exposed as your ass slowly perks up. There is no way Sanji hasn’t noticed this. 

There is also no way he hasn’t noticed the amount of work you aren’t doing anymore. 

That’s much more implied as he gives a deep exhale that travels to the nape of your neck. The sensation makes you further perk up your ass as your mind blanks from the proximity. 

The silence is bone-chilling when Sanji pauses. You see from the corner of your eye as he leans back and brushes his hair back with his fingers. 

Your knees are locked, further sticking your ass up in the air. Your feet are widened more than shoulder-width apart, fully spreading you. You would fix it, but you’re too nervous to move out of fear that Sanji would disapprove. Why would he not approve? Rational thought wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. 

Sanji’s hand touches the bottom of your thigh, putting you in another tailspin. You try to stop yourself from saying anything, but it’s too late.

“Haahh, hey…” 

You both freeze.

You were just shy of moaning to him. His hand has stopped midway to the length of your thigh, and you shiver in fright. No doubt Sanji knows you’re considering more than just work now. 

“Are you uncomfortable with this?” He whispers, slowly raising his hand so his finger barely brushes against your thigh. 

You barely know how to respond. So much is running through your mind that concentration on the assignment was thrown out the window. What does he mean by this ? It would be easier to answer if you even know what this is. You slowly try to peer at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to find some answer behind his eyes, when your stomach drops.

He’s biting his lip. 

Oh. So that’s what we’re doing . 

Your heart skips a beat, and your core begins to tighten. Honestly, what a pretty sight for both of you. Still, you’re rightfully confused about this entire situation. You feel dizziness down to your core and can barely get a word out.

But you don’t want him to stop. 

“No, I don’t think so.” You raspily confess. Your humility was hard to hide, as a deep blush formed around your face. 

“Okay, let me know if you are, and I can stop.” He gently encourages you. His touch returns now, traveling from your outer thigh to the roundest part of your ass. You shiver at the touch. 

Sanji leans down to meet the tip of your ear. “Care to tell me why you dressed like that today? I’d like to know.” The sensation of his breath on the back of your ear caused your back to arch more, leaning your ass into his touch. 

Should you answer honestly? It was a decent reason, you thought.

“I spent the night making those orders. I hadn’t realized I showed up this morning dressed that way until you mentioned it, sir.” You say. It indeed was the truth.

“Such indecency. It would help to teach you a lesson, would it not?” He leans forward and whispers into your ear. ”Would that stick better than paperwork?”

Delicious want fills your core, encouraging you to comply with his demands. You try hard not to shift and rub your legs together, but the need to be touched is so severe.

“I think so, sir. I want to see where this goes.”

“Good girl.” He coos. Immediately, you feel a firm slap against your ass, releasing a sudden gasp from your lips. He lovingly rubs the affected area immediately after to soothe the sting. 

“Stay still. Please, don't move your hips.” Sanji says. He leans behind you, reaching both arms around to tug at your jeans button. He sighs in relief as you hear the button come undone.

You feel the jeans around your waist shift as the hands behind you pull them down. The skin around your lower half slowly chills as the cotton jeans depart your side. 

Only your panties remain when the jeans pool around the bottom of your legs. It wasn't that long before your underwear joined your jeans, where Sanji now gets a perfect view of your wet pussy.

You hear Sanji whisper your name, coming off his tongue like it’s a name of majesty.

“Your body is beautiful… like a goddess.” He lays silk compliments on your figure. Bringing his fingertips to touch your face with grace before trailing them down the dips and curves of your body. He brushes panties down the curvature of your ass. It drops down gracefully, and his immediate reaction pans to your slit. 

“Ah. Aphrodite herself fights to have features as blessed as yours.” Sanji sings, leisurely rubbing his fingers up and down your pussy.

From his touch, your pants are intertwined with moans as your voice regains its courage. You feel the outpouring of wetness from your pussy collect on his hands. 

Sanji must be encouraged by the chorus from your lips. He starts to prepare his meal.

“To make you sound like this, to feel like this, is an honor for me. I want to see how much I can please you. Tonight, allow me to indulge in a woman like you.”

Once you can agree, you shamelessly moan at the entry he makes when the pressure of his fingers breaks past your slit. Your back arches from Sanji’s touch. 

He’s pressed flush to your back, letting his fingers sink deep into you as his face appears above your shoulder. His body nears as his hand caresses your cheek. Your head gives in as it is slowly turned towards him. 

You look at him like it’s the first time you’ve laid eyes on him. You see an entirely new face looking at you; one flushed with pure ecstasy from the pleasures you have bestowed him. His face leans into you.

“Let me see those pretty lips, love.” 

The kiss is near divine as you croon your neck to meet his face. Your moans are absorbed into his mouth as you languidly caress his tongue with yours. One hand is firmly against your jaw to leverage it. The other begins to pump into you steadily. 

It's not until he touches an incredibly delicious spot that you freeze entirely. His fingers curled firmly against your g-spot that loves attention. You can’t kiss back anymore as Sanji relentlessly attacks that spot you’ve wanted him to. The sensations of pleasure hit you like a tsunami as your mouth freezes from dancing with Sanji’s.

He pumps his fingers into you slowly, coaxing a whine from you at the sensation. One that fills his open mouth connected so closely to yours.

Sanji’s face pulls from yours.

His hand follows suit as his fingers leave you. A whine of frustration comes out, but you aren’t unsatisfied for long. 

Sanji's lips glide from yours as he stares into your eyes, putting his hands up to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I‘ll taste my craft now, darling.” He says, never breaking eye contact as he laps up your juices. He groans at the taste. You swear you saw his eyes roll back.

“How are you so sweet on my tongue?” Sanji grabs your chin to look into your eyes, searching in your hues to detect the answer. He thumbs your skin so delicately, pleading for some sort of explanation.

“You… you don’t mean that.” 

“No, my dear. Please know I’m going crazy for you.” Sanji whispered. “You think I would lie to you when you’re like this?”

“No… I don’t think so, but…” 

“Let me show you what I mean, then.”

Sanji leans into you, gently pecking the tips of your ears, then kissing down the length of your neck. He caresses and hugs your body as his lips slowly travel, each kiss gradually delving closer to the throbs you need satiated. 

Sanji handles you like a flower, so gently that you do not wilt but just enough to savor your essence.

“Your back is so beautiful.” He runs his fingers down the divot your spine makes. “Your shoulders are perfect,” Sanji brushes the skin atop your clavicle. ”Your face is heavenly, and…”

He faces your pussy, which he can describe as nothing but…

“Oh, how gorgeous you are, madam. More so than all the seas combined.”

His mouth dives into you.

Graciously, Sanji laps up the dripping wetness coming from your hole. His chilled tongue feels like ice against your magma core, hot to the touch–a seeping slick.

If that didn’t show his desperation enough, the fingernails that grasp onto your hips, rolling them back and forth, do. How he needily presses his tongue to your flower defines a prince finding his long-lost lover. The sloppy slaps of his tongue pillaging you as he rolls your clit between his lips are nothing shy of holy. Your praises come out of you like he were a deity.

Oh, he’s indulging himself, all right. The way he pressed his face to you had his nose scrunched up on your slit, firmly pressing into you as he slurped up his meal.

Your hips start to buck when his arms hug against your thighs, gripping onto them to help him leech onto you. 

Your mouth is cotton from all the panting. You feel irritation in your throat from the dryness that can’t be quenched.

“God, I- haah.” You wish to say more, but words lose you with every swell of pleasure.

He comes up from your plight at your words, panting hard to catch his breath.

“I wish I could savor your taste as long as…For a lifetime, madam…” A sweet exhale escapes from him.

He leans back into your delicate flower, smushing his finger pads against that swollen clit.

The rubs are slow and sensual. It seems that the more you groan and sigh in pleasure, the more he rewards you in pace and intensity. His acute eye for your tone since being touched tells him exactly what your body feels. He senses the rise and fall of your voice when he starts building up the pressure onto that small nub. 

It trains him to move into you the way you need right now. There’s no other way to please you than with his expert hands. His expertise can mold ingredients into masterful delicacies that latch onto your signals now. It’s cooking al dente , using every clue that ingredients give you to exact a recipe. To finish its course and bring it to completion. 

“Oh, beautiful. Like that.” 

His soothing words glide to your ears loud enough for you to hear. His volume is no more than the gentle rocks of the desk you lean on. You know it’s to mask his voice between the walls of his quarters, yet you cannot return the same favor. Your voice is loud and devilish and will no doubt be questioned by Sanji in the morning by the Baratie crew, but you know he won’t deflect why.

Sanji already knows how well you’re telling them the whole story, right now. He doesn’t need to elaborate on a plot that will be known by others once morning comes, yet he works on you knowing it won’t be a perfect story without proper buildup.

Your legs shake from his precise flicks and presses as he coaxes you further. From your mouth exits the voice of a siren but with the beauty of a mermaid swimming toward her pearly gates. To let you go without the grandest finale he could provide was a punishment no better than one a devil could give. Sanji was no devil to do such a thing, but he loved to make moments last. To savor and tenderize the course is what he does best.

His breath dissolves onto your pussy when he praises you. Quick hands switch to his mouth, and fingers divert to the spot above, protruding your pussy lips once again. This switch would’ve been undistinguishable to you if the solo work of his fingers hadn’t converged into a duo with the mouth. Nothing could’ve denied his incredible voice on your clit.

“What a princess, using a voice like that for me.”

You can't fight back the urge to voice another moan, unable to articulate any coherent words to say anything back. You needlessly jerk your hips into him, so desperate to feel more. It’s embarrassing how just his hands and mouth can undo so much of your dignity. 

“P-please, sir. Go faster.” Words slip out of you so quickly you almost miss it. The delirium from the stimulation makes your whole body act without a mind of its own. You stifle yourself, feeling flushed when he pauses.

“Darling, you don’t need to call me that anymore.” He says, “Just say my name.”

“Okay, okay…” 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“You have something you need to say.” 

You jerk your hips into him, trying to get more friction, but you know better than to disobey your superior. 

“Sanji… hah.” You whine, giving in to the cook's wishes.

“Good girl. One more time, please.” He sighs like your voice was the only relief he needed. 

Then Sanji curls his fingers. He curls them hard. You feel it massage your skin with force to poke through your stomach.

“Sanji! Sanji-fuck.”

“Yes, that’s it…”

You spit out his name vigorously when his pumps match your wishes. Your voice is an octave higher now, to Sanji’s delight. He conjures an angelical pitch from you that you can’t conceal. 

“So needy.” He coos. “A madam like you doesn’t need manners when you look as good as this.”

Sanji’s words caress your body and weaken your hold on rationality. 

You writhe in pleasure, instantly slinging your hand to grasp onto the grip he has on your hips.

“Since you’ve been so good to me, I’ll give you what you want. In return, please serenade me more.”

His two fingers relentlessly curled into his hooked fingers, now with his thumb resting on your clit. He thrusts his hand with force, using his fingers to stimulate both spots. They squelch together in a delicious harmony.

Your arms are now ironclad to the desk, threatening to tip it over with your weight collapsed onto it. Your feet threaten to hover off the floor, constantly quivering and jolting. Your chest heaves into the wood as you whimper. 

“Please, please.” You chant over and over again that begging has no more meaning. You couldn’t even put your finger on what exactly you were begging for. Sanji’s arm bursts through your rationality as a waterfall breaks into the lake below it.

Sanji’s mouth adorns your back, kissing and sucking down it like he knows exactly where each sensitive spot lies. It feels even more sensitive from each pump.

The rocking of your hips mesh into the thumb onto your clit perfectly. Even with Sanji’s speed, he can get his hand so steady. So expertly .

“Louder.” Sanji huffs.

You don’t need to think about it. The feelings come to you when he twists his thrusts to circle your clit and that mushy rivet in your pussy.

You can't keep going like this without folding.

And you don’t have to. The pressure tips over without your control. You don’t need to think when you involuntarily scream from your climax. One arm stays planted on the desk as the other latches onto Sanji’s hair. He sucks a hickey onto your nape when you restrict your hand around a golden patch of hair.

Sanji hums in delight as he rides out your high— groans like a ravaged animal enjoying its feast. Especially when he sees cream drip out of you.

“How exquisite.”

A look of pure famish decorates his face when you see him admire the gift in his hand. There’s no denying what those eyes crave the most. It was an insatiable hunger, one that only you could fulfill. 

He laps his tongue up and down his fingers to taste every drop of your cum. His groans are unabashed as he revels in the taste. 

All you can do is quiver and listen to his words.

And with a man like Sanji, you have no choice but to believe him.

“A meal could never satiate me the way you have.”

Hopefully, this was only the appetizer. 

[wufflesvetinari]

ok i'm going to write a ted lasso episode. whumpy but in the way canon can be whumpy. ready? here we go

it's early season 4. ted is back, with henry flying in soon to stay in richmond for a year. ted's set up his bedroom, stocked the apartment with Nerds (henry's favorite candy and a bit harder to find in the uk), even bought a goshdarn ps5. this is going to be great!

meanwhile, jamie has an extremely difficult session with dr. sharon where he ends up unexpectedly unpacking amsterdam for the first time. she did NOT know this was coming when he started telling her the plot of major motion picture the fault in our stars and she did NOT lead him into it as gracefully as she would have liked. you can tell that she's trying to end the session in a less raw place but it is NOT working because she lets him sob about stroopwafel for too long (in an attempt to end on positive memories with his mum) before realizing it's not about the fucking stroopwafel

when the hour is up he bolts out of there despite her best efforts. she drops her rock-solid professional neutrality, presses her forehead into her hands, and says "maybe fucked that one"

but you know what? jamie is handling it. he wakes up the next day, cleans all the snotty tissues off his bed, and comes up with a PLAN.

see, the thing is, he was WAY more stable when he was a prick. and he's practiced so hard NOT being a prick, so...it's overtraining, innit? he forgot to rest his emotion muscles so now he's raw everywhere and cries too much in therapy and wants to fucking scream all the time. so the obvious solution is to take a rest day from having emotions. easy!

and you know what makes it super easy to not have emotions? being a massive prick! it's fine. it's for his health!

MEANWHILE, ted wakes up to news that a storm's grounded henry's flight on a layover. and that something went wonky with his ticket so the airline couldn't immediately find his reservation/rebook him, which was super scary for henry bc the flight didn't have someone attending him the way they were supposed to. and as much as he wants to be with his dad it's already stressful to be leaving the US for a year

so everything's gone wrong, and he called ted like four times but ted slept through it. so by the time they connect henry's super stressed and kind of. yells at his dad for the first time.

so that's a bad start to the day! ted is so disoriented he brings the shopping bag of Nerds to work instead of his lunch

jamie shows up to the locker room having pasted his s1 body language onto his s3 self. he had meant to keep to himself today, but unfortunately his prick persona is an ENTIRE persona, and it doesn't super feel like a choice when he starts making snide comments and sneering at everyone. it feels a bit like one of those horror movies where you can't take the creepy devil mask off, EXCEPT IT DOESN'T, because feelings are absolutely not happening right now, which is! great! fine!

everyone is disturbed (except for ted who's caught in phone tree purgatory with british airways, sorting nerds by color on his desk). jamie insults colin's new threads, implies isaac can't handle the captaincy, turns down a high five from dani with a roll of his eyes, says hi to sam.......actually, he talks to sam completely normally. everyone makes vigorous questioning gestures at sam behind jamie's back. sam shrugs

it gets worse on the field, where the mood is already tense and darkens further when jamie refuses to help richard up after a tackle. beard and nate accuse roy of having given jamie the prick signal by accident somehow. roy denies it but starts second-guessing himself under scrutiny, trying to dissect whether jamie had interpreted the extra paprika he'd put in the curry when meal-prepping for jamie this week as a fucking. secret signal or something.

meanwhile ted is offering his life to british airways. indentured servitude. anything. he would take back 1776 on behalf of his people if he could. he is constantly on the verge of a panic attack and that REALLY bothers him, because it feels like all his progress is going up in smoke over henry hanging up on him

higgins finds him alone in his office gently thumping his head against the desk. "you know, you're such a great dad," ted tells him. "you've built a beautiful family. there's no...gnarly intergenerational emotional knots, no conflict in the House of Higgins. how do you do it?"

higgins blinks at him. "ted, dana knocked terry's tooth out last month. lindsay is a priest."

"well hey now, that's not inherently--"

"no, but it does suggest the presence of some interesting intergenerational emotional knots."

ted blinks up at him. higgins smiles; takes a seat. he says, "fathers and sons."

back outside, roy's starting to lose it. he's becoming honestly scared for jamie, but every time he tries to start a conversation jamie fucking...twists it into a fight, and roy fucking FALLS FOR IT like an IDIOT even though he knows better. because he's gotten out of practice dealing with Prick Jamie and also because jamie knows all of his weak spots now. it's freaking him the fuck out

and jamie is also starting to scream in his own head a little bit. like yeah he'd actively decided on Rest Day, but now he isn't sure how to stop doing Rest Day, and everybody is looking at him weird and that makes it worse, doesn't it, because his stupid lizard brain says he's under attack.

the prick persona is protective, so he keeps on pricking. ignores dr. sharon's phone call. ignores keeley's suspiciously-timed text about getting mimosas. ignores nate trying to give him a helpful-mean speech on the sidelines. ignores--well, no, he slaps sam on the back like usual.

can't be a dick to sam. it's sam, like.

roy mimes furious questions at sam, who's accepted this day for what it is and shrugs harder

ted's out on the sidelines by now, but he's still on the phone. he finally gets henry's ticket sorted, and calls him back in the airport. henry's in tears apologizing for yelling, but ted is just happy he's okay!! and he's going to be with him in london soon!! and...maybe ted didn't handle that perfectly, but it doesn't have to be some grand referendum on ted's parenting ability or his mental health. it's just a missed flight. slow progress is still progress. he's ok. they're both ok

practice ends. jamie slinks back into the locker room with everyone else. he changes into his street clothes lazily, dismissing any attempt to talk to him (ignores jan, ignores zoreaux, ignores roy, says "bye sam" - roy yells "fuck!" around the corner)

the locker room's almost empty. ted calls, "jamie, could you just stop by my office for one sec?"

jamie braces himself. ted fucking lasso is the last thing he needs. ted's the final boss of Rest Day. ted's going to say something that makes him feel fucking terrible about his behavior, and he's not even going to be able to apologize because he's fucking stuck like this, isn't he? like a car stuck in reverse. all he can do is go further back into prickdom: bluster his way through until ted gets fed up and sends him home.

he slams the door closed behind him. "so you got any pearls of wisdom for me, coach? some yoda shit? because i'm getting pretty tired of you pretending to be my fucking dad when we both know--"

"just wanted to give you these," ted says calmly, tossing him a ziploc bag. it's full of yellow Nerds. several little boxes' worth.

"what" jamie says

"i know you only like the yellow ones. needed something to do with my hands, so i sorted some out for you. we won't tell roy, ok? a little extra sugar never killed nobody. except i guess for diabetics, but, well--"

jamie stares at his bag of nerds. he stares harder. he bursts into tears and sinks onto the office floor.

after a beat, ted sits down there with him, waiting for him to get the words together--he babbles something about dr. sharon, and how bad today's been, and about how he really didn't mean to be awful and he thought he was over all this already--both over amsterdam and over treating his friends like this (ted has no idea what "amsterdam" means here but he nods sympathetically)

and he tells jamie about henry, and about how badly he panicked today, and about how progress isn't linear. and it's nice. and jamie gets a hug and puts himself together well enough to run out and catch up with the team for drinks

the rest of the coaches creep back into the office.

"how the fuck did you do that?" roy demands. he is texting jamie as he speaks. he will make him a big, bespoke breakfast tomorrow after their run and glower about it. he will fail to put any of these feelings into words. "how did you--fucking--manually override prick mode?"

nate's eyes are a little shiny for reasons that are NOT projection. "yeah, ted. i mean, things haven't always been smooth with you and jamie, but it's like you've...learned, over time, just what to say. i really do admire that about you."

"oh, well," ted says from the floor. he nods absently to himself, pushing his tongue around the inside of his cheek.

beard leans back in his chair. "you had no idea any of this was happening. you have no clue what we're talking about"

"nope,” ted says. "no, sir, i do not. just thought the kid would like some nerds"

"FUCK" roy says

[st0rmyskies]

SETTING: HSH/LMTCOY VERSE.

CIRCUMSTANCES: NOT IN CRISIS/BASELINE.

QUESTION: WHAT ARE THEIR PERSONAL HYGIENE PRACTICES? AND WHICH PAIR OF LINKS HAVE THE MOST INCONGRUENT STANDARDS.

Have you truly prepared yourself for these answers, friend?

The general rule is that each of the boys has the sense to shower after a good workout or getting gross in some other way, no matter what their daily hygiene routine is otherwise. Under the cut because I had a TON to say about this apparently. I never even knew.

Time - He's a morning shower guy. He needs it to wake up and, since he likes to run or work out in the mornings, it makes for efficient timing. Plus let's be real, he's not getting the volume in those bangs unless he applies it in the morning, every morning. He prefers to be clean-shaven, making that therefore a daily duty. He used to use a combination shampoo and conditioner before Warriors got to him, and even if his hair is softer now he sure as hell isn't going to admit that to anyone. If he has a particularly eventful day at work, he'll have an evening shower as soon as he gets home, too--very hot and very, very thorough, followed by an aspirin nightcap.

Twilight - He's such a night-showerer. I attribute it to being raised on a farm. He gets up, he gets shit done, in fact he's getting shit done the whole day long so that by the time he's through Twi is ready for a hearty meal, some time to shoot the shit with his friends, and a hot shower before bed. He's not too fussed about making sure his stubble is shaved down every day, although for an event or something he's sure to be clean-shaven. Doesn't believe in conditioner. Twi's toxic trait is using the same towel for a week or more.

Wild - Showers occur daily, although at random times of the day. Maybe it's right after breakfast. Maybe he has to prep something for dinner, so he hops in sometime in the afternoon. Shaving occurs when he feels like it, although his facial fuzz is pretty sparse so it never matters much. His real barrier to entry is the length of his hair and the time it takes to dry it. Thus, hair washing is a once- to twice-weekly event at most. You know he uses Mane n' Tail shampoo, and he swears by conditioner, mainly because it helps him comb through all the tangles. He doesn't dry his hair, just plops it on top of his head in a towel or braids it damp to keep it out of his way. You always know it was a wash day because there's a six to eight-inch ring of dampness outside of the shower curtain. Hope none of the other boys were keeping a dry towel in there for any reason.

Champion - Showers after every work-out, so at least once but often twice a day, morning and afternoon. His showers are thorough but short: quick shave once a day every day, shampoo, soap up, rinse all at once. He's in an out of the shower in six minutes flat. He washes his hair EVERY time and towels it dry (RIP those split ends). Fastidious but utilitarian, Champion isn't one for conditioner or aftershave. He also didn't start using antiperspirant until he was in the Guard and saw that everyone else used it.

Warriors - There are two types of showers for this man. The first is the daily affair, usually taken as soon as he wakes up. He starts by warming the water while brushing his teeth (recharging electric toothbrush only) and inspecting his brows, then washing his face with a gentle cleanser containing salicylic acid (the only boy on the list so far who does), followed by a thorough shampoo and conditioning (this is the longest part of the routine). While the conditioner sets he takes a moment to inspect his nails and attend to any cuticle mishaps, then there's a rich lathering of shaving foam applied to his face, his underarms, maybe his legs if he needs it that day. (Before you ask: the hardwood floors get addressed by a trusted professional, licensed and bonded). He has a natural sponge for washing and exfoliation. Once all that's done, he has specific microfiber twist-towels for his hair (I hc he has natural waves or loose curls) and his towels are white and washed in unscented detergent. The rest of his routine has to be attended to in his room; he's already been in the bathroom well over the prescribed 20 minutes per shower, according to Legend. His other type of shower is the Spa Night affair, and that's more of a bath situation.

Sky - Ohhh Sky darling. I love him so, and his hygiene practices are adequate, but somewhat questionable in my book. He's a morning showerer, definitely needs that wake-up rinse, and the bathroom is his stop immediately after chugging orange juice at the fridge each morning. (Yes, right out of the carton. Yes, his name's on it.) He's an electric razor guy because it's quick. He always gets in the shower before the water is warm enough because he's impatient in the mornings, and he subsequently gets burned when it gets too hot and has to stand outside the spray doing that quick-reach-for-the-handles-and-shrink-back thing until it's cool enough to resume. My biggest hangup is that he uses a combination shampoo-conditioner-body wash product. Because it's quick. His hair is fluffy because it's probably dry as shit. The other thing about Sky is that he never EVER remembers to lock the bathroom door, so whenever he's in the shower it's a free-for-all if anyone else wants to come in and brush their teeth or whatever.

Legend - In the beginning, when he was living with Hyrule in that first apartment, Legend wasn't a daily showerer. He was pretty fucking depressed, so it ended up being every third or fourth day, at least until he came around to realizing "Hey, this kills some time." He's another random-time-of-day showerer, and sometimes it's an overnight affair if he's out working late with Ravio (like, 2-4am). He'll use cheap drugstore shampoo and body wash, and on occasion will shamelessly use some of War's expensive bullshit conditioner for a special occasion. One of the few boys to use a hair dryer regularly. His toxic trait is putting his hat back on before his hair is completely dry, making the hair at the top of his head kind of stringy and limp most times.

Hyrule - Listen. Med school makes you a very versatile showerer. Hyrule has literally no preference for taking a morning or an evening shower anymore. Whenever he's awake enough and has enough time to spare is when he does it. He functions best with nighttime showers because it gives him ample time in the mornings to have his coffee and a slow wake-up. Rulie's hair is naturally curly, so his haircare routine is different from most. He actually doesn't use shampoo at all. He conditions every day, sometimes two rounds if he makes his little scalp scrub with brown sugar. He does a quick blind shower-shave and prefers a loofah. His toxic trait used to be towel-drying his hair until Warriors made him swear to never do it again. Now he wisely lets it air dry.

Four - Mister Nevernude showers before dinner since his work can get him fairly messy. At the very least, soldering leaves an awful smell in your hair. He's another user of cheap drugstore shampoo, he's not fond of conditioner, and is a bar-of-soap kind of guy. He used to take lightning-fast showers in the beginning until he really settled in to the house, and now he's in there for a more reasonable 10 minutes or so. He goes in fully clothed, he comes out fully clothed. Like Twilight, he unfortunately uses the same towel all week. He only has one, really, and just throws it in the laundry together with the rest of his clothing.

Wind - He is, unfortunately, not a daily showerer. He might go every other or even every third day, depending. That's only if he's shut in his room for a day or three, though. There's enough Axe body spray to make up for those days, at least in his mind. If he's going out, he has the sense to wash. He prefers coconut-scented products, uses a combination shampoo/conditioner product, and rarely remembers to replenish his body wash at the store so commonly chooses from some of his roommate's. He doesn't shave religiously but his facial fuzz is still fine and blonde, so it's not the worst.

[wing-ed-thing]

Konoha 12 Domestic/Spousal Headcanons

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Boruto Doesn't Exist, No Mentions of Children/Adoption

Completed versions of these headcanons will be linked on the character's name.

𓆃 Choji

THE BEST COOK ON THIS LIST NO ONE CAN COMPARE

Loves bonding over cooking and baking— whatever you like! If there's anything you're ever craving, Choji is taking to the kitchen to make you a gourmet meal as good as any professional chef!

Prime rib, lamb, tartare, croissants, macarons, soups! It doesn't matter your allergies or preferences, Choji can and will make you any food your heart desires.

Offers excellent cuddles. 11/10 squishy and soft.

Is very understanding, a fantastic listener, and naturally positive.

Never lets the romance l die, and after a hard day at work, will feed you ice cream while you rant about your day.

𓆃 Hinata

Traditional wife who has always wanted to be a traditional wife since she was a kid.

Content with cooking, doing laundry, and other domestic work.

Although, because of the society and the way she was brought up, she might feel insecure transitioning out of shinobi life.

While being made to feel weak isn't something Hinata is a stranger to, she is sensitive to comments from others about her domestic life.

Be sure to give her lot of reassurance and validate her work around the house.

𓆃 Ino

Also wanted to be a wife growing up, but the stay-at-home life is clearly not for her.

She'll try it for a period of time after your wedding or union, but she's far too restless for cooking and cleaning.

You supposed that she thought it would be relaxing and aesthetic, but if anything, she's getting frustrated and throwing the potato across the kitchen as soon as it slips out of her hand.

Ino will eventually find important work to do, come home to complain about it over dinner, and buy you something nice in a half-brag about how much more money she's making.

This is, of course, not to say she's bad at housework or doesn't do her share. She's perfectly good at domestic work and does the bulk of it, but the moment you expect it from her is the moment she stops.

𓆃 Kiba

A slob who, if allowed, will live in heaps of trash.

For the bulk of his 20s, he'll be super unsure of the whole settling down thing. You could make a whole bingo chart out of the cliche bachelor lines he spouts.

I'm not really a marriage kinda guy. I don't wanna tie myself down to a ball and chain. I just wanna meet people. I'm looking for someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously. Nah, I'm not looking for a relationship.

That is... until one day he wakes up and desperately wants a family of his own. To an extreme extent. Like his expectations are absolutely insane.

As a husband, you'll need to reevaluate those and have a nice long chat because at the beginning of your relationship he will certainly not be pulling his weight.

𓆃 Lee

Sweet, clingy, loving and sincere man.

Ah, you are the sun, the moon, and the world to Lee. He is constantly thinking of or doing the sweetest possible thing he possibly could for you at any given hour of the day.

Is his execution great? You'd give it a 50/50. Does he ever take a break? NO.

Whether it's breakfast in bed or going on a grocery run to get it off your plate, you're sure to have to put out one fire and learn how to use 20 carrots in your meal prep for the week.

He really tries his best, he just gets a little excited.

𓆃 Naruto

Another slob, although well intended.

Naruto never had a formal family growing up, and so he has little ideas of what's expected.

Much of his idea of what a partnership should be comes from media or stupid things that Shikamaru probably told him on the playground growing up, so you'll have to work together as a team to set expectations.

A lot of what he does for you is in his language (you have to learn that him making you both ramen cups is indeed a romantic gesture for him), but he loves exploring things that you like!

Naruto explores your likes and hobbies in a very genuine and non-performative way. Sharing things you enjoy together will be the foundation of your relationship.

𓆃 Neji

You'll spend your first year of marriage focused heavily on strict boundaries, expectations, and other couples work.

The way Neji was brought up completely fractured his sense of family. Not to mention, no matter what you're like Neji will certainly have to fight with his family in a silent battle over clan politics.

Because even though the Hyuga clan has stopped certain practices, doesn't mean that everyone in the clan is in mutual agreement or share similar attitudes with each other.

This will be a marriage built on structure and meaningful confrontation. Neji is determined to break the cycles of his family to make a healthy life with you.

𓆃 Sakura

Wasn't sure if she'd end up with a partner. She really wanted it, but with everything that happened in her life, she had her doubts.

Most definitely too hard on herself. Sakura pushes herself to almost fall over you to ensure you're pleased. Whether it's housework or cooking, there's a part of her that feels the need to prove her work ethic.

It's the small things with Sakura. Even after a long day at work, she'll still bring you your favorite home for dinner, even if the place is out of the way. She'll stay up an hour later to spend time with you even if she has an early morning.

𓆃 Sasuke

An ironic mix between Naruto and Sakura.

As a kid, Sasuke 100% wanted to be a husband when he grew up. 100% wanted to have a spouse to provide for and had similar dreams that some kids often do when they think about families.

But after the Uchiha Tragedy, much of Sasuke's outlook about his future has been skewed. Any relationship will start off as rather unstable and you can almost count on Sasuke being emotionally distant

It's about how the two of you work through his baggage and his willingness to be vulnerable.

𓆃 Shikamaru

Surprisingly well-adjusted?

He knows how to do basic life skills. Pulls his weight and sometimes even does your tasks. Shikamaru is generally clean and organized.

Where's the problem? He's terrified of commitment.

Most of the relationships in the Nara clan seem to consist of passive Nara men with verbose spouses who have no issue bossing their partners around.

But at the same time, Shikamaru doesn't mind this dynamic. He wants to laze, but he's also almost seemingly afraid of dynamics that allow him to laze.

He'll be just fine around the house, just a bit dramatic if you ever ask him to do anything. He'll get over it.

𓆃 Shino

Great husband and great family to marry into.

Just overall very balanced, if not quiet. The Aburame clan is close, but respectful of each other. You'll never have to deal with nagging in-laws because Shibi has already taken you in as one of his own.

Enjoy fresh meals of produce expertly tended to from the garden.

While Shino has his more talkative side when it comes to people he's close to, he's still quiet by nature. Don't expect that to change just because you've gotten married.

The obvious con is the massive amount of insects that will constantly be around you. You're not allowed to trap them or kill them.

You will have to get used to bugs crawling on you.

𓆃 Tenten

You're always doing something crazy.

You don't think any of the other Konoha 12 ever expected that Tenten would have the most exciting marriage, but look at her now.

You're always innovating, making new things for her business, and taking spontaneous trips to check out crafting techniques.

Anything and everything you set your mind to, you support each other in. There are ten million projects scattered around your home.

You roll up to get-togethers (when they seldom happen), being the most traveled and bringing the most unique gifts.

No one knows what you're going to be up to next.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I apparently had a lot more opinions on all of these characters than I expected. When I make multi-character posts, I like to keep each section sort of short, so if you are interested in more in-depth hcs, tap the underlined name or visit my blog for more.

Sakura, Lee, Choji, Tenten and Sasuke are done at the current moment.

[winters-echoed]

I have a HC that Stan knows how to cook and I'm not talking basic easy to make meals either. That man knows how to make complicated recipes that would make a professional chef weep in frustration. He just doesn't make them because they're complicated and have lots of prep work to be done

BUT

Whenever Ford is really ill. I mean to the point that he's not getting out of bed or forcing himself to work through the sickness till the point Stan has to step in and strap him to the bed. Just lethargic as hell, Stan will go above and beyond to make a buffet of food he knows his brother would like. Even making nutritional meals that would fill Ford's belly and get some subsistence in him.

I imagine Ford to be someone that won't drink or eat when he's sick, so Stan will bring the food to their bedroom, coddle Ford into a blanket cocoon and spoon feed him until Ford can't take anymore.

[goodluckclove]

Stop Calling Yourself an Aspiring Author: A Proposition

So this post is dedicated to @dreambigdreamz, who asked me a question about when you can stop calling yourself an aspiring author. I had to wait until I could go to sleep to properly answer, because this is going to be a long one, probably. I'm actually doing this before I get to work for the day, because if I could get one goddamned person to stop labeling themselves like this I will feel success for at least three days.

It's a question for new writers - the difference between a writer and an author. If you Google the difference it appears there are two camps:

Writer and author are synonyms

You are only an author if you publish your work/write as a career

This is odd to me already. It's odd and it's immediately gatekeep-y, and it's so fucking surreal that ours is the only artistic field that has this strange distinction. For most other outlets there's still a separation between hobbyist and professional, but that's considered optional as far as I've seen.

Someone who paints or does digital art isn't likely to call themselves a hobbyist artist, even if they aren't doing it as their main source of income. They're just an artist.

If someone practices the piano but isn't actively in a performing band or symphony, they probably don't call themselves an aspiring pianist. They're already doing it. They're a pianist.

I briefly considered cook versus chef, but in that context cook doesn't necessarily mean amateur. There are line cooks and prep cooks and fry cooks and sauté cooks who work professionally. I have the qualifications of a prep or line cook, but I'm currently only cooking meals at home. So does that mean I'm an aspiring cook? That's weird. That doesn't sound right.

So by this point it should be clear that I find it deeply reductive to say that you can only call yourself an author if you've professionally published a work of writing. Maybe that was the case, like, a hundred years ago? Even then, though, one of the definitions of author is a verb describing the act of writing something. You could author a scientific paper. You could author a poem.

It's 2002. The scope of what it means to publish is infinitely vaster than it was in the days of Virginia Woolf or Ernest Hemingway. You could traditionally publish your novel - that's still an option. But you could also indie-publish. Or self-publish. Or produce your own zines or chapbooks and distribute them online. Or send our newsletters on platforms like Substack. Or serialize through websites like Wattpad, Tapas, Itch.io, Patreon, AO3, or even tumblr.

I never called myself an author, but my reasons have nothing to do with whether or not I've been published. I prefer writer, as it has a more versatile feel that tracks whether I'm working on a novel or a poem or a play. But that's beside the point.

Personally, I'm in the first camp. Writer and author are essentially synonymous, only in my eyes an author is someone who writes fiction or nonfiction prose. That's it. Have you done that? Cool. Good job no longer being "aspiring".

If you have the words aspiring author in your life somewhere, there's a good chance you're actively gatekeeping yourself from feeling good enough to do your own thing. Why not replace it with something like the following?

future bestseller

soon-to-be published

new author/writer

growing author/writer

developing author/writer

practicing author/writer

author/writer in training

just author/writer

If someone does the whole "you're a writer? what have you published?" welcome to the conversation that all writers have to tolerate at some point. People are dumb. People typically don't know our industry and how it functions, and that's fine. Just smile and nod and shrug your way out of the conversation.

Yes, there's infighting within writers who should very much be spending less time arguing who gets to wear the nametag and who doesn't. Those people are lame dipshits who should shut the fuck up and get back to writing. If you have a passion for writing, be it fanfic or scripts or short stories or novels, you are my peer and colleague. I might not like the structure or content of your writing - which is fine, by the way - but I would never even say that you aren't a writer holy shit.

I don't care if you use every genre and trope that I find trite and excessive. If you genuinely care about the stories you tell and you still present yourself as an aspiring author, you have a duty to take yourself more seriously than that.

You are a writer. You are an author. This should not be a question.

We need to move past this and start asking ourselves the real questions that come after you answer "Am I an author". Am I a safe author? Am I an advocate and an ally? Am I a supportive member of the community? Am I still learning? Am I a capable author? Am I adaptable? Am I resourceful? Am I determined?

I'm running out of steam here. I need the writers here, especially the younger writers, to move past this stage of their creative careers as quickly as fucking possible. I was there too. I get it. And I'm telling you it's time to soak the label of aspiring so as to loosen the adhesive, gently peel it off, and throw it in the trash forever. Don't even keep it for sentimental reasons to look back on later.

Toss it. Burn it. Eat it. It is not helping you.

Okay that's all. You should close this now and write three hundred words of whatever the fuck you want. I love you.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Cultivate Self-Discipline

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind 

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable. 

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress 

Take Temptations Out Of Sight 

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals 

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind 

Decisiveness drives discipline. You need to clarify and define your goals. State them clearly with their authentic purpose in mind. If you seduce this end goal into your life, what desire are you truly fulfilling? Ex. If you want to lose 10 pounds: Is it to feel healthier? Look better in a bikini? Fit into a certain pair of jeans? No matter how superficial, identify the genuine reason why you want to achieve a certain goal. Whatever reason elicits a visceral and emotional reaction. Sometimes, especially during a busy work day, your reason could be as simple as wanting to lessen your anxiety and ease into a more relaxed state. Any purpose that resonates. Once you have an emotional response tied to a goal, it becomes infinitely easier to motivate yourself to take small steps towards achieving it. Where energy goes, energy flow. Simon Sinek goes more in-depth with this concept in Start With Why.

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Think of performing self-discipline rituals as confidence-building exercises. This action helps you trust yourself, establishes a sense of integrity, and builds self-confidence. For example, if you stick to your meal and workout plan for 5 days a week, you build trust in knowing you're more powerful than your cravings and are capable of taking good care of your body. If you complete a project on schedule (personal or professional), you prove to yourself that you’re efficient, build confidence in your ability to finish tasks you start, and self-affirm that you follow through on your ideas. Finishing that book this month reflects confirms that you value yourself enough to expand your mind, learn, and expand your knowledge base. Eventually, through enough consistent repetition, these rituals into unconscious habits that you do effortlessly in daily life. 

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress 

You can’t manage what you don’t measure – your finances, calorie and step counts, workouts, productivity, etc. Tracking data related to your habits – such as your spending habits, eating or workout patterns, writing word count, and task completion – on a given day or week – allows you to understand and analyze your current behavior. What habit cues, environmental or other situational factors are keeping you from sticking to the current task at hand? Do you leave your running shoes stuffed in the back of the closet? Junk food in the house? Work from bed or with your phone by your side? Are you avoiding certain emotions? Does this data change when you’re stressed or tired?  

Awareness is the first step towards redirected action. Analyze these data points to see your pitfalls and strategize how to help yourself. 

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Set yourself up to win. Get the phone away from your workspace, remove any junk food or soda from the house, delete apps, or silence notifications from people who distract you from your goals. Self-discipline becomes significantly easier when you have to take additional steps to indulge in your vices. Replace these temptations with helpful cues to help you build healthier habits that lead to self-discipline. Give yourself visual cues to move you toward your goals. Keep a journal with a pen next to your bed. Leave your workout clothes and shoes out near your bed. Write a quick to-do list right before finishing work for the following day, so it’s easier to jump into the first task right away the next morning. Cut up some produce or do a 30-60 minute meal prep once a week to eat more healthful meals. Find ways to make it easier to stay on track than give in to temptation. 

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals 

Self-discipline shouldn’t feel like deprivation – of certain foods, pastimes, or activities you enjoy. Buy cute workout clothes you feel confident in. Create the most dance-worthy playlist. Make it a priority to buy your favorite fruits and vegetables every week. Rotate a selection of your favorite healthy meals. Leave your sunscreen out – front and center – on your bathroom counter. Find a big, beautiful water bottle to keep on your desk. Purchase aesthetic notebooks, pens, planners, journals, and other office organization items. To make self-discipline feel like second nature, you need to marry indulgences and your desire to meet your goals. Discover the habits that work for you and find small ways to make these tasks more enjoyable. 

Go easy on yourself. Build one habit at a time. Self-discipline is like a muscle. It requires time to build and grows in increments. Try to stay on track and more focused than yesterday. Your only competition is your former self. Find pleasure in the process. Focus on the immediate task in front of you while also keeping your future self in mind. 

[shesluxuriousx]

🌟 6-Month Glow-Up Challenge 💗

Month 1: Self-Care & Wellness

Physical Health: Start a new workout routine or enhance your current one. Aim for at least 30 minutes of exercise, 3-5 times a week, and incorporate a daily goal of 10,000 steps.

Mental Health: Begin a daily meditation or journaling practice. Set aside 10 minutes each day for mindfulness.

Skincare: Establish a skincare routine tailored to your skin type. Cleanse, tone, and moisturize daily.

Month 2: Personal Style & Grooming

Wardrobe Refresh: Evaluate your wardrobe and add a few key pieces that make you feel confident. Experiment with new styles or colors.

Hair Care: Try a new haircut or hair color. Maintain regular trims and hair treatments.

Grooming: Establish a grooming routine that includes regular nail care, eyebrow shaping, and other personal grooming habits.

Month 3: Learning & Growth

Skill Development: Take up a new hobby or skill, whether it’s cooking, painting, or learning a new language.

Reading: Read a book related to personal growth or a topic you're passionate about. Aim for at least one book this month.

Courses: Enroll in an online course or workshop that interests you.

Month 4: Social & Professional Development

Networking: Connect with new people in your field or area of interest. Attend networking events or join professional groups.

Career Goals: Set clear, achievable career goals. Update your resume or LinkedIn profile and work on a project that showcases your skills.

Social Life: Strengthen relationships with friends and family. Plan a gathering or reach out to someone you’ve lost touch with.

Month 5: Nutrition & Fitness

Healthy Eating: Incorporate more fruits, vegetables, and whole grains into your diet. Try meal prepping or cooking new, healthy recipes.

Hydration: Aim to drink at least 8 glasses of water a day. Keep track with a water bottle or app.

Fitness Challenge: Set a specific fitness goal, like running a certain distance or achieving a new personal best. Continue aiming for 10,000 steps daily.

Month 6: Reflection & Celebration

Self-Reflection: Review your progress and reflect on how you’ve grown over the past 5 months. Write down your achievements and any areas for improvement.

Celebrate: Treat yourself to something special. It could be a spa day, a new outfit, or a fun activity you enjoy.

Future Goals: Set new goals for the next 6 months based on your experiences and growth.

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Dreamcatcher

The Professionals masterlist || In The Woods Somewhere masterlist || Professional//Victim masterlist Not a lot of content warnings on this one. Just someone makes gross sexual comments.

Tommy made sure there were no trainees around before he approached Fletcher. They were sitting by the window with a book and a drink.

“Would it be alright… if I, um… slept in your room again?” Tommy asked.

“Why?” 

Fletcher’s tone had a flat sort of quality Tommy was becoming familiar with. It wasn’t monotone, but it portrayed an unimpressed lack of interest that gave it an almost challenging quality, forcing the other speaker to explain and prove themselves worthy of Fletcher’s attention. 

Tommy deflated a little. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he asked. Maybe a blunt no, maybe mockery. An easy yes would be a surprise, but it didn’t seem so impossible as to prevent him from trying. 

“You have the dreamcatcher,” he answered.

Fletcher had been raising their drink to their lips, and it paused for a beat on its journey up. They took a sip, contemplated, and asked, “Do you think it works?”

“Well…” Tommy had only slept beneath it once, but he hadn’t woken up with his heart pounding in a cold sweat. “Do you? It’s in your room.”

Fletcher took another sip, then set their drink down, looking out the window.

“It’s supposed to catch the nightmares before they get into your dreams. And then they’re destroyed when the sun comes up,” Fletcher said. They looked back at Tommy. “Unfortunately, I think the call is coming from inside the house on this one. But, more to the point - you really want to sleep in the same bed as me?”

Tommy nodded, picking at his nails nervously.

Fletcher tapped their thumb against the open page of their book. “Okay.”

Tommy lit up. “Really?”

Fletcher shrugged. “It’s fine, as long as you… aren’t weird about it.”

Tommy nodded enthusiastically, even though he wasn’t quite sure what Fletcher counted as acting “weird.”

It became a more common occurrence. 

Tommy tried not to push it, and would space it out with enough nights sleeping in his own bed. But although it was better than his basement room, it always felt cold and lonely. To have the warmth and contact of another person, even someone as dangerous and volatile as Fletcher, offered enough comfort to ease him to sleep.

Plus, frankly, Fletcher had a more comfortable bed.

Fletcher would never admit that they liked the arrangement. They had to act, every time, like they were thinking it over and then agreeing to allow it.

It started out the same. Fletcher would lay on one side, facing away from Tommy. Tommy would wait on his side, and after what he hoped was enough of a delay - although the wait got a little shorter every time - he would scoot over until some part of him was brushing up against Fletcher. 

Fletcher would wake up at some point during the night, always a restless sleeper. They would turn and wrap their arm around Tommy, holding him close, and fall back asleep.

Fletcher would wake up first, disentangle themself, get out of bed, and then wake Tommy up to kick him out of their room.

In their mind, they were getting away with it; that Tommy never knew how Fletcher would hold him in the night. 

It was probably naive to think that he never woke up and noticed. But when you’re half-asleep and comfortable, those things don’t really seem to matter.

And if Tommy did know, he was wise enough never to let on. And that would have to do. 

~

Fletcher was meal prepping in the kitchen when one of the trainees approached them. His surname was Williams, but people called him Billy. He had a douchey, jock, fratboy vibe that probably would’ve led Fletcher to get into a fistfight with him in their young punk years. Very, “my daddy was in the military and I inherited the violence and the self-aggrandizement but not the discipline.” But, Fletcher was a mature adult now, or whatever, and they weren’t going to stoop to petty fights with their students. It’s not like this line of business attracted many socially well-adjusted individuals. 

They did, however, call him Willy sometimes, because they could tell it annoyed him.

Billy leaned against the counter casually, folding his arms across his chest.

“That Tommy’s pretty cute,” he said.

“Mm? Got a little crush going, Billy?” Fletcher said without looking up.

“More like a boner.”

Fletcher wrinkled their nose. “Okay. TMI. You just hit puberty or something?”

“He any good in the sack?”

“Why the fuck would I know that?”

“C’mon,” Williams snickered. “I know how much time he spends in your room at night. I’m not stupid.”

“Debatable.”

“Can anyone take him for a spin, or are you keeping him all to yourself?” Williams asked.

Fletcher didn’t answer right away, continuing to focus on their food prep.

“You know, it’s wise to know what you’re talking about before you talk at all,” they said.

Williams paused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not fucking him, and neither are you.” They turned to face Williams. “And I don’t like that you think you know what goes on with me. You don’t know shit. You’re making bold fucking claims, and that’s the kind of shit that gets you in trouble.”

“Well, what else could you be doing?”

“I could explain.” Fletcher turned back to their work.

Williams waited. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to explain?”

��Why the fuck should I?” Fletcher said. “I don’t care about you enough.”

He scoffed. “Then I’m going to keep on believing what I said.”

“Sure,” Fletcher shrugged. “Cling to information I told you was wrong. No flaws in that plan. We love purposeful ignorance. Stay stupid - gangs need dumb grunts to do the shit work.”

Williams pushed off from the counter with a scoff. “Fuck you,” he muttered, beginning to stomp off.

Fletcher dropped their knife on the cutting board. 

“Hey, Williams.”

He stopped and looked back. Fletcher gestured him over. 

Once he was close enough, Fletcher punched him in the nose. He groaned in surprise and pain, clutching his face.

“Fuck you,” Fletcher said back. They returned to their work. 

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr