#Success Sou | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joemama-2 · 1 month ago

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somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant.

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T.

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s.

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ.

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and things on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize.

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you.

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire.

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating.

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all.

Nope, don’t do that.

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors.

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot.

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart.

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.”

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.”

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail.

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.”

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen.

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster.

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise.

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him.

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying.

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently.

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat.

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.”

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason.

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters.

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad.

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you actually enjoying it?

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back.

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back.

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction.

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement.

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it.

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him.

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life.

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close.

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds.

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding.

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right.

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake.

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock.

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape.

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole.

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders.

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full.

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!”

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars.

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back.

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from

Mayra:

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slhow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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siancore · 4 months ago

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COMING SOON

Je Te Veux - A Richonne Crime AU

To the general public, Rick Grimes is a successful businessman and philanthropist. To those who know him, he is the ruthless head of a criminal empire. Grimes is the type of man that never needs to ask for anything, and he always gets what he wants. A mistake by a colleage has left Grimes in hot water. While visiting the law firm of his attorneys, he glimpses a beautiful new hire, Michonne Hawthorne. Will Grimes be able to remain levelheaded or will his infatuation with Michonne threaten the life and empire he has built for himself?

A/N: Something I came up with based on this conversation. Thought about it and decided on revisiting Sous Couverture-style Rick Grimes. I could've gone for sophisticated fun, but went for dark & unhinged instead lol

#richonne #richonne fanfiction au #I'm back on my unhinged rick bullshit #michonne #rick grimes

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gooondocks · 4 months ago

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no one's ever had me (not like you) — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: when buck meets his high school sweetheart at the ten-year reunion, he learns that their lives may be very different now, but the spark is still there.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: fluffy fluff. no use of y/n, i'm british so probably inaccurate depiction of high school reunions. based on the song 'so high school' by taylor swift bc i heard it and couldn't stop thinking of this idea. crappy ending bc i suck at wrapping things up. enjoy!!!

─── word count: 2.1k.

"DO YOU THINK ANYONE'S DONE US all a favour and spiked the punch yet?"

When the email appeared in his inbox a few months ago — an e-vite, of all things, complete with the kind of graphic design prowess he hasn't seen since the early 2000s — Buck had been pretty intent on ignoring it.

A hundred excuses had bubbled up in the back of his mind, because honestly, the thought of heading back to his hometown to attend a high school reunion made his skin itch. Trapping himself in a sweaty gymnasium, surrounded by dozens of almost-strangers engaged in a vanity contest of 'who's the most successful?' coupled with a shitty DJ blasting 2010's greatest hits?

It's really not what he'd call a good time.

Even if he could've talked himself into it, sharing a ZIP code with his parents for even a day or two was more than he was willing to tolerate. He'd left Hershey in his rearview almost a decade ago, and there's not a fragment of his whole being that regrets it for even a second.

Except.

Except the dates lined up with one of his rare weekends off work. Except when he looked up the flights online, just to see, he'd stumbled across a deal so cheap Buck honestly thought he was hallucinating for a moment.

Except Evan Buckley believes in signs from the universe, and when Maddie gives him that look over lunch one day, even though Buck had absolutely not mentioned the reunion to anyone, it's the final nail in the coffin for him.

He booked the tickets. He told the team he'd be out of town for the weekend, and bought a new shirt, and now he's standing in his old high school gymnasium. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, that sweat-and-hormones stink that never really goes away, and you're sidling up to him at the refreshments table, and the speakers are blaring an old Ke$ha song he hasn't heard in years.

For a moment, he's seventeen again. The sound of your voice slips over his skin like a cool breeze in the desert and suddenly it could be the night of junior prom, and the pair of you have sequestered yourselves in a shadowy corner, laughing at the committee's subpar attempt at an 'Under the Sea' theme.

Buck blinks, and he isn't seventeen, but he flashes you a wide smile anyway as you help yourself to a glass of bright red punch.

"Hi."

He says the word so quietly, he's surprised you even hear it. But there's a sparkle in your eye as you raise the cup to your lips, and he knows you heard him.

You always could.

The last day Buck ever saw you, he kissed you goodbye before you piled into your dad's old truck and drove out of sight, bound for college and big dreams and a future that didn't include him. Your lips had been damp with tears. On his loneliest nights, Buck swears he can still taste the salt on his tongue.

It's been a decade, but you still look so similar to the wide-eyed kid he fell in love with. Your hair's a little longer, perhaps; there's a scar on your chin that wasn't there before, and the dimples around your smile have deepened, but that's all. You're still you. The thought makes his chest ache a little, but it's a good pain.

He wonders if he's changed much. He wonders what you see when you look at him.

"I suspect it was the first thing Marty Brandt did when he got here," Buck adds, louder this time, and you laugh, and he wonders how he went ten years without hearing that sound. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't see your name on the RSVP list."

You shrug. "Jem bullied me into it. Emailed my boss to get the time off and everything."

Even as you try to seem annoyed, a trickle of fondness finds its way into your voice. When Buck follows your gaze to the dance floor, it's hard to miss your childhood best friend throwing shapes to an old Maroon 5 song.

"You two still talk?" He doesn't mean to sound surprised, except...

Well. Staying in touch with high school pals hadn't been a priority when he skipped town. Hard to imagine a single one of his classmates he'd want to stay in touch with. Except you.

A grin tugs at your mouth. "Worse. We work together." You tilt your head, still smiling fondly in Jem's direction. "Tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't let me."

He knows a little about that. "Or was it the other way around?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Buckley?"

He would, actually. He watches you grimace a little at the flavour of the punch when you take another sip, an adorable twist to your mouth that he once knew so well. A decade ago, the sight of your pout could've made him do anything.

"Tastes like half a bottle of vodka," you tell him, and you take another sip even though he knows you never liked vodka. Remembers playing truth or dare at a party in junior year, and how you threw up in the bushes afterwards.

Buck had held back your hair and tucked you against his side afterward, letting you snuggle into the warmth of him while you slept off the worst of your hangover.

There's a distance between you now, but it's comfortable. Buck tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and the pair of you migrate over to a shadowy corner of the gymnasium, away from the prying eyes of your former classmates.

"So," Buck says, as the DJ switches to another song, "how have you been?"

He can't help but wince half a second later. Seriously? How have you been? He's never been to a high school reunion before, but he's seen plenty of movies, and he's pretty sure he's hitting all the marks of being a fucking cliché.

To your credit, you don't laugh at him. Cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink Buck has ever seen, you manage to bite back the giggle rising in your throat.

Buck wants to sink through the floor.

"I've been okay," you tell him, swirling your glass of punch absently. The corners of your eyes crinkle a little as you smile at him. "Life, y'know?"

He does. He really fucking does. "Any partners? Kids, spouses, anyone I have to worry about punching me?"

You only mentioned Jem earlier, so it doesn't seem like you brought a date, but he isn't sure he'd love it if he found his partner cosied up in a dark corner with their high school sweetheart.

God, he hopes you didn't bring a date.

There it is, a flash of— something, there and then gone in an instant. Buck hasn't thought about high school in years. Hasn't paid any mind to the friends he left behind. Once or twice, his thoughts have flitted to you, though. The one that got away. Where you are, if you were happy.

When he landed in LA, when he finally settled into his place at the 118, he'd thought of you. He'd hoped you managed to find a place you belonged. A family that loved you like his did.

He thought this would be awkward. Running into you again. Your name hadn't been on the RSVP list, and he'd been so relieved, because what if there was some uneasy tension between you? Buck isn't sure he'd have been able to cope with that.

There aren't a lot of happy memories from his childhood. His adolescence left a lot to be desired, but— you. A bright spot in all that grey.

An uncomfortable reunion might have ruined that. Those memories are cherished, for Buck; locked up tight in his battered heart.

But it's not uncomfortable, or awkward, or uneasy. Ten years and ten seconds have slipped by like sand in an hourglass and he wonders if there's been a moment in the last decade where he felt this at ease.

You sigh at his question, quiet and fond. "There was an engagement," you say after a moment, chewing on your lower lip, "and a break-up. Two years ago, now. Amicable, but..."

"But it still feels like you lost something." Buck knows that feeling intimately. It's been a long time since Abby left him, and even though he's over her, the memory of it still stings sometimes.

You nod. "Yeah. One minute you're going to marry someone, and then you're not. Doesn't really matter why not, in the end. Still hurt a little. Not anymore."

"No?"

You smile at him. "No."

Buck isn't sure how much time passes, how long you both remain huddled in that dark corner as the world continues to move around you. The DJ keeps churning out a series of early-2000s hits that he's fairly sure is just one of those throwback Spotify playlists, and you both make jokes when the Class President gets on stage to give a cheesy speech, and he tells you all about the ill-advised escapades of his early-twenties.

Crashing his bike, dropping out of college. He glosses over the unsavoury parts of his youth, but the way your eyes soften, he knows he isn't fooling you. He never could, not when it mattered. Stories about Peru have you in stitches, and a particularly messy tale about his time as a ranch hand makes you laugh so hard, half a glass of punch ends up your nose.

He missed that. Making you laugh.

Warmth unfurls in his chest when he looks at you. It's the kind of familiarity people associate with coming home, except it was dread he felt stepping off the plane, and uncomfortable memories prickled at him as he drove through the streets of his hometown.

You? You've always been that for him. Warm. Safe. Home.

"You've heard all about my wild twenties. What about you?" he wonders, as the pair of you drift back to the refreshments table, seeking snacks that don't taste like cardboard.

(Buck manages to find a bowl of chips that aren't completely stale, so he'll call that a success.)

"Oh, the usual," you shrug as you refill your glass. "Finished college, got a job and an apartment and a cat and a fiancé. Lost the fiancé, got another cat." You take a moment to flash him your lock screen, a picture of two calico cats curled up on your couch. "Think I traded up there, huh? Anyway, got a new job and moved out West about a year ago."

"Oh, really? Where'd you go?"

"California, actually. I'm in the History department at Berkeley."

He blinks at you once, twice. Something inside his chest goes zing. "I'm in LA!"

"Well maybe I'll have to come down and play tourist for you sometime."

There's a coy tilt to your mouth that he's seen before, and something pleasant skitters down his spine. Your cheeks turn even rosier, and Buck suspects the spiked punch is only partly responsible.

"Maybe you will," he says.

His number hasn't changed since he left Pennsylvania, and maybe that's another sign, too. The shitty music starts to wind down, and his old classmates start to stagger out into the parking lot, and when you kiss his cheek and promise to get in touch, he wonders if there's such a thing as second chances.

It isn't the same. He isn't seventeen and you're different people now. This isn't making out under the bleachers at a football game or skipping class to take a ride on his motorcycle. You're adults now, all grown up with a whole host of other problems, and it isn't the same. It isn't.

Except.

The next day, Buck's phone buzzes right before he boards the flight to Los Angeles. The number isn't familiar, but when he opens the message, he cannot fight the grin that creeps onto his face.

Hope you get home safe. I'd hate to have to find a new tour guide x

It's not the same, because he isn't in high school anymore and neither are you. But as he switches his phone to flight mode and tucks it back into his pocket, a giddy feeling sweeping through his chest, he can't help thinking that maybe this could be better.

#evan buckley x reader #evan 'buck' buckley x reader #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley imagine #evan 'buck' buckley imagine #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 imagine #9-1-1 fanfic #* faye's work.

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deathblacksmoke · 3 days ago

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love is a gentle thing | n.s. fic

pairing: noah sebastian x reader (gender neutral)

summary: after going to haunted house with the boys, noah and reader spend the eve of his birthday cuddled up at home.

cw: brief descriptions of a haunted house, mentions of anxiety, 30 year old movie spoilers, lots of fluff

word count: 1.3K

author's note: happy birthday, sweet noah 🩷✨ for the first of the noah requests, @lma1986 requested the bad omens boys and crew doing a haunted house walkthrough followed by some fluffy things at home. hope i did this one justice, my love <3

taglist sign-up | title from "velvet ring" by big thief

In an unexpected turn of events, you’ve managed to drag Noah here. He had agreed after little more than a mention of wanting to do something fun for his birthday while everyone was in town. Though his concession had been reluctant, you were met with the soft smile that’s always told you he isn’t too put out by it.

As you stand in line, he’s tense beside you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but you trace a finger along the back of his hand to comfort him anyway. His face spreads into a smile before Ruffilo stretches up on the other side of him and throws an arm around his shoulders. Noah melts into his friend, Nick doing the work to soothe him the rest of the way. You feel so grateful that you can have all of Noah’s favorite people together like this. You knew his actual birthday would be a hard sell, that he’ll want to spend the day holed up inside and you’ll happily join him, but you love that he’s allowing himself to form happy birthday memories, too.

This is much more your scene than it is his, but as the line moves forward, you can feel your nerves kicking up. The website’s promise — Scariest Haunt in the City! — had been a draw when you and Matt were planning. Now, though, your anxiety has spiked. You loop your pinky through Noah’s, needing the little bit of reassurance you find in his touch. He looks down at you before he links your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. Still slightly restricted by Nick’s arm around him, he swings your clasped hands gently between you, a mostly-successful attempt at slowing your racing heartbeat.

Upon entry, you’re greeted with a narrow hallway, darkness, dust, and a vague smell of rot. Each creak of the floorboards causes you to jump, your hand tightening more and more around Noah’s until you’re sure you’ll cut off his circulation. The room of mirrors makes you uneasy, especially as you see shadows darting around behind you, unaccompanied by any sound. The anticipation is the worst part of it, never knowing when someone will pop out of a dark corner to grab you. You whip your head around at a distant noise and Folio laughs at you, claps you on the shoulder.

“You’ve got to lighten up,” he tells you, making you roll your eyes. “They’re not allowed to touch you.”

You don’t correct him. After a few minutes pass you get to watch, amused, as one of the scare actors that had been waiting gives Folio a little push. It’s nothing more than a small shove, but it’s enough to spook him. He shrieks and takes off running, squealing a what the fuck?! as he bolts for the exit. At least the rest of you were wise enough to actually read the consent forms you’d signed.

Noah doesn’t let go of your hand as you exit the house, a reassuring weight in his grasp. You chance a glimpse up at him and find him wide-smiled with sparkling eyes, throwing his head back as he laughs with his friends.

You feel warm all over, so pleased that you were able to get him out of the house today, that he was able to have a good time. There had been a vague worry that he would hate this, but you had kept your hopes up and all of your anxieties hidden. They’re washed away at the sight of his pretty grin, as genuine as you’ve ever seen it.

“A friend of mine’s band has a show in North Hollywood tonight if anyone wants to go,” Davis interjects. The tiredness is starting to seep into your bones, home sounding more and more alluring, but it does sound fun. Just as you’re about to look to Noah and count yourselves in, he squeezes your hand twice: your agreed-upon signal that he wants to head home. You don’t blame him; it has been a long day. You knock your shoulder gently into his.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, but you guys go have fun!” you offer. A disappointment flashes across their faces, something that warms your heart as you shuffle a little closer to Noah. “Noah drove us.”

You’re pleased to be his excuse any day. They’re softer on you than they are on him, anyway.

As you’re saying your goodbyes, you notice the lightness in Noah’s shoulders that wasn’t there this morning, his characteristic hunch nowhere to be seen. He holds the hugs a little longer than normal, the smile never leaving his face, and you feel so happy. You’re grateful for everyone for helping to make this a good day for him.

He fixes you with his dazzling smile as you walk back to his car, and his joy seeps into you, too.

“Are you happy?” you ask him, knowing his answer but wanting to hear him say it anyway.

“It was a good day,” he replies, his grin spreading somehow wider.

The moment is interrupted by Folio jumping out from behind Noah’s car for one final scare. You let him believe it worked, that you didn’t notice him missing during goodbyes or see his shoe peeking out from behind Noah’s back tire. You give your best attempt at a jump and shocked gasp, and it seems to satisfy him. Noah just pulls him into a hug.

“Thanks for coming, man,” he says, and Folio gives him a clap on the back.

“Come on, Folio, we’re leaving!” you hear Jolly shout. He gives you a final hug before he takes off running back to the group.

“He acts like I didn’t see him running over here the moment the rest of us left the house,” Noah says as he opens the door for you, and you laugh along with him.

You end the evening cozy on the couch, with a coffee table littered in take out containers and a movie you’ve seen a dozen times before.

As Billy confesses his plot to Sidney, Noah slumps, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing.

Your brow furrows in concern momentarily, but he has a look of complete calm on his face.

“What’s up, honey?” you ask him. He tilts his head just so, peering up at you with his pretty brown eyes. You can’t keep yourself from running a hand through his hair, giving it a little tug and straightening it again.

“Thank you for today,” he responds. Your body warms all the way through. “I know I can get weird on my birthday. Thank you for making it special for me.”

You don’t tell him that the only thing you’ve ever wanted is to see him happy, but you think he knows.

“Of course,” you offer, without a second thought. You press a kiss to his forehead and his smile makes your heart thud. “I wanted you to make nice memories with your friends.”

“And you.” he adds. And me, you agree, nodding as you run a finger along the nape of his neck, down over the exposed bit of his shoulder.

He sprawls over your lap like a big dog who doesn’t quite know his size. You maneuver him, and yourself, so you’re both lying down with him flush to your chest.

You press a kiss to the flower tattooed at the nape of his neck, your new favorite spot to pepper with affections. His hand rests over where yours is lying on his tummy, his fingers linking with your own.

“I only ever want to see you happy,” you decide to tell him anyway, because he deserves to hear it. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing kisses to your knuckles, expressing his gratitude better than his words ever could.

tags <3

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @ladyveronikawrites @sitkowski

@somebodyels3 @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @cookiesupplier @spicywhenspeaking

@lma1986 @abiomens @agravemisstake @cncohshit @xserenax-13

@dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @iknownothingpeople @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp

@alwaysfightforwhoyouare @theanarchymuse95 @flowery-mess

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian rpf #bad omens fic #bad omens rpf #dividers: saradika #deathblacksmoke works

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l-amoremio · 16 days ago

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F*DA-SE GUARDAR SEGREDO. Estou expondo o segredo para manifestar instantaneamente.

Post original: @iamtheproofson (no twitter)

AVISO: esse post não tem a intenção de promover os serviço do autor, mas sim de trazer sua perspectiva em relação a manifestação. Por esse motivo, frases que remetem a isso serão grafadas em "azul". Há muitos pontos relevantes e por isso traduzi o post, mas sintam-se livres para visitar o perfil do autor caso desejarem. O link do post original estará nos comentários.

Frequentemente me perguntam "por que parece que sua manifestação está demorando uma eternidade?"

Você fez tudo. Você está afirmando, visualizando, agindo como se (já fosse verdade), mas ainda assim, nada parece mudar. É frustante!

Não é que sua manifestação seja lenta. É sua percepção do tempo que é o problema.

Eu sei que parece bom demais pra ser verdade, mas me escute. O tempo não é algo linear e imutável que você precisa esperar. Você trata isso como uma linha reta, onde as coisas precisam se desenrolar em um processo passo a passo.

Seus desejos não estão muito distantes. Eles já existem. Você está apenas removendo a separação entre você e seu desejo.

Você está esperando que seu desejo apareça, ao invés de perceber que ele já está aqui. Toda vez que você verifica "Já chegou?", você reforça a ausência dele. Você está focando na lacuna entre onde você está e onde você quer estar.

Imagine uma música que já existe. A música não muda, mas a parte da música que você está experimentando, sim. Você pode pular pra frente, retroceder ou reproduzir qualquer parte. A manifestação é assim, você pode mudar para qualquer parte da "música" da sua vida, dependendo de onde seu foco está.

Antes de continuar, quero dizer que sou a prova viva disso. Se você me segue, já me viu manifestando em segundos. Se você rolar pelo meu perfil, verá que a maioria de meus tweets são success stories minhas ou de meus clientes. Você está ouvindo a pessoa certa.

Não estou apenas falando sobre ideias filosóficas, a mecânica quântica prova isso.

Pense no "efeito observador". O mero ato de observar algo muda seu comportamento. Sua atenção altera a realidade.

Quando você se concentra em seu desejo como já feito, você influencia o campo quântico ao seu redor. A realidade começa a mudar para refletir essa certeza.

CIRCUNSTÂNCIAS. NÃO. SÃO. REAIS.

Lembra quando você era criança e ficava obcecado por algo que queria? Talvez fosse um brinquedo, ou ir a algum lugar que você sonhou. Você sabia que iria conseguir eventualmente, e não passou o dia todo imaginando se isso aconteceria. Você simplesmente sabia e aconteceu.

É aqui que as pessoas ficam presas: elas olham para a realidade atual e deixam que isso dite o que elas acreditam ser possível. Elas veem sua conta bancária, relacionamentos, emprego e deixam que isso reforce a ideia de que o que elas querem ainda não está aqui.

Você está fazendo isso ao contrário.

Você não espera por provas, seus pensamentos são a causa, e o mundo externo é o efeito. Mude seu estado interno, e o mundo externo segue.

Sua vida é como um espelho. Se você franze a testa para o espelho, o reflexo franze a testa de volta. Você não espera que o reflexo sorria primeiro, não é? Você tem que mudar sua expressão para o espelho mudar. O mesmo vale para sua realidade externa.

Você foi condicionado a acreditar que o tempo é algo que precisamos "trabalhar". Mas no campo quântico, tudo existe simultaneamente, passado, presente e futuro. Você pode acessar a versão futura de si mesmo agora mesmo mudando seus pensamentos.

É por isso que pessoas como eu ou meus clientes podem manifestar da noite pro dia, enquanto outros levam meses ou anos. Nós simplesmente removemos a separação. Nós dobramos a realidade. Nós colapsamos o Tempo.

Como você colapsa o tempo?

Você para de perseguir seus desejos. Em vez disso, você pensa e vive como se já tivesse manifestado o que queria. Ou, criando uma suposição de que a manifestação não leva tempo.

A maioria das pessoas está em constante modo "fazendo", trabalhando duro para chegar ao próximo passo, esperando por validação externa de que sua manifestação está a caminho. Mas manifestação não é sobre esforço ou ação. É sobre ja tê-la!

O que fazer quando você sente a dúvida surgindo?

A dúvida é natural. Mas é um sinal de que você está fora de (odeio essa palavra, mas) "alinhamento" com seu desejo. Quando você se pegar se sentindo inseguro ou frustrado, pare. Lembre-se que a dúvida é apenas um reflexo da sua antiga mentalidade. Não é a realidade. Mude seu foco de volta para o que você quer, pois isso é a verdade.

A manifestação é instantânea. No momento em que você muda seu estado interno, o campo quântico se reorganiza para refleti-lo.

A razão pela qual parece haver um atraso é por causa da resistência que você tem, seja por dúvida, impaciência ou foco na falta. Mas se você simplesmente colocar sua atenção no pensamento que sugere que você já o tem, mais rápido o mundo físico o alcançará.

Você pode ter ouvido pessoas dizerem coisas como "isso vai acontecer quando for a hora certa" ou "tudo acontece no tempo divino". Mas e se isso for apenas desculpa para ficar preso? O tempo divino é apenas uma história que as pessoas contam a si mesmas quando não entendem que são elas que detém o poder.

Muitas pessoas procuram sinais para assegurá-las de que sua manifestação está chegando. Mas esperar por sinais é apenas outra maneira de reforçar a ideia de que você não tem o que quer. Pare de procurar evidências de que isso está chegando, e comece a criar evidências. Comece a aparecer em sua vida como se sua manifestação já fosse parte de sua realidade.

Sua realidade desejada não está no futuro, ela está disponível para você agora. No segundo em que você parar de vê-la como algo distante, mais rápido ela se manifestará. Você só precisa se permitir entrar nela.

#loa #loa blog #loa tumblr #loassumption #lei da suposição #loabr

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pommunist · 7 months ago

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French news media Le monde has published an article on the QSMP situation.

Headline can be translated as « Minecraft : in the shadow of the stars of QSMP, volunteers under pressure are trying to see their rights be recognised »

For reference, « Le Monde » is the number one biggest newspaper in France.

I can’t share the entire article publicly as you have to pay to access its entirety. However, to summarise, it’s mostly about everything the admins revealed so far : how they weren’t paid much or at all for their work, the intimidation and pressure they faced, the abusive NDAs, the lack of communication, their sudden dismissal…

However, it also mentions that the union and the ex admins (at least the french ones) still haven’t heard back from Qstudios. The article also mentions that Le Monde’s journalists tried to reach out to Quackity, without success.

The union’s representative also says that they’ve organised and are organising meetings between lawyers and ex admins, shall some admins eventually want to start a legal procedure in front of the Prud’hommes court of law (the court specialised in labour law in France). Theyre saying that the goal would be to impose a dialogue with Qstudios and try to obtain financial compensation for the admins free labour.

Link to the article :

#qadmins situation #qsmp admins situation

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ciaomarie · 7 months ago

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Rewatching season 1 and finished ep.6 today. I'm BLOWN away that from where we are in episode 6 that by the end of episode 8, Carmy wants Sydney to be his CDC and right-hand girl.

So, here's a recap. in Ep. 6 Sydney is zealously trying to convince Carmy to let her add a new dish to the menu and the to-go menu. Despite him repeatedly asking her to discuss it later, Syd keeps going, and he has to go into boss mode, basically telling her that her prior employers described her as talented but impatient and VERY GREEN. He promises to consider her suggestions, but he also wants to enjoy the relative peace they've finally established at The Beef.

Then later she presents him with the dish, this time considerately asking him if it's a good time to try it. He does calling it tremendous, but the sauce is a little tight. It's also not perfect and it's not there yet...Her face is cracked, but she soldiers on. Later he apologizes if he was " being sh***** earlier (he wasn't imo). Sydney answers, "It's all good" and he asks, "Yeah?" and she confirms they're good. Baby boy doesn't go around apologizing to even Natalie unless she confronts him.

Anyways...episode 7 is the to-go debacle, Sydney quitting in the middle of it, and then returning at the end of episode 8. This is when Carmy decides that this impatient and VERY GREEN young woman will be the CDC of his restaurant, The Bear, the dream he wanted to share with Mikey.

Yes, Sydney helped a lot with getting The Beef running more smoothly, but this is his dream since forever and his $$ on the line. Why not keep her as the sous when he has access to an elite culinary network? Someone might be willing to take a risk now that he's opening The Bear. Heck, he could even use ZipRecruiter. Either Chris Storer & Co. are writing a fairy-tale where a successful, award-winning, Michelin-retaining male chef will put all his trust in a significantly less experienced, stubborn female chef he's known for maybe a 3-6 months tops OR this man is at least subconsciously down bad for Sydney.

Like if this stays platonic, this is the most Disney-fied unrealistic platonic partnership I've ever seen. We love these characters for how real and flawed they are, but that decision is hard to swallow unless there's something complicated underneath.

#sydcarmy #the bear #yeah platonic is more realistic for sure #sydney x carmy #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #syd adamu #sydney adamu #be for real #the bear fx

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jellomphetamine · 3 months ago

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ogata's turn to die (sprite under the cut)

decided to replay yttd and finish everything thats out and im sooo in love with the game... waiting for the next chapter now. i can't stop thinking of how gk characters would act if they were put in a death game, i feel like it's kind of fitting? whoever wins gets all the gold. gonna be mulling over this au in my head forever lmao. ogata would probably be the sou-like figure with very complicated behavior. but in short he'd try to leech of off the groups success and would use people for his advantage :) i really want to draw usami in this style too but its so unrealistic he would just kill everyone immediately haha

#golden kamuy #your turn to die #yttd #kimi ga shine #ogata hyakunosuke #fanart #crossover #asirpa #just a hint of her #this was very fun to draw!#i'll probably go back to drawing my modern usao stuff or fleshing out the band au though #unless... yall would like to see more gk x yttd...

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icaberries · 10 months ago

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Just Sibling Things - Vinsmoke Edition (side of ZeffSora and ZoSan)

Just some headcanons in a Modern AU where the Vinsmokes are a regular family trying to live together under one roof. Most of these are drawn from my experience as the eldest sister with three younger siblings lol

Some important notes:

Judge and Sora are divorced, and Sora won custody over the kids. Later on, Sanji would work part time at the Baratie and introduce Sora to Zeff, and the two of them fall in love. Zeff becomes their new dad :3

All the kids sans Yonji are working. They wanted to give their mom a good life so she wouldn't have to work a day in her life. Here are my headcanon jobs for them:

Reiju works as a chemist with a specialization in poison. Ichiji is upper management in some tech company and Niji works as a sort of electrical engineer for them. Sanji is still a sous chef at the Baratie. Yonji is bouncing between part time hustles, he's still figuring himself out.

On to the headcanons!

Sanji is the early bird of the family and often cooks breakfast for the rest of them. Ichiji is the chronic workaholic night owl. They scare each other from time to time, when Sanji is going downstairs to cook, and Ichiji is heading up to sleep. Sanji worries about Ichiji a lot, so Ichiji allows himself to be fussed over and fed breakfast before sleeping.

Reiju is known as the pretty, levelheaded sister compared to her hotheaded brothers. She prefers avoiding conflict while her brothers often start them. The only exception is when her brothers are put in any danger. One time, she came to pick up Niji from the bar and found him on the losing end of a bar fight. Reiju picked up a chair and started swinging. Nobody hurts her little brothers 😤

Sanji bakes his brothers a cake for practice, but instead of eating it right away, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji fight about splitting it evenly three ways. Ichiji busts out a ruler to slice the cake perfectly in three, but Niji wants to rock paper scissors, and Yonji wants to fistfight over it. In the end, Sanji slices it for them perfectly and receives zero complaints.

But then he serves drinks. "yonji has more juice than me" "oh for fuck's sake"

Yonji is the type of brother who'd barge into your room, stand at your door, and stare at you before suddenly bodyslamming you on your bed. Reiju is the frequent victim. It gets worse when he picks up judo and decides to use the rest of them as training dummies. Sanji is the only one who's figured out how to counter him, but even then Yonji can pick him up cleanly.

Sanji is Zeff's favorite child. Don't tell the others.

One time, Niji dropped by the Baratie for lunch and kept bothering Sanji. He ended up accidentally smacking Sanji too hard, and Sanji started crying. Niji panicked and begged Sanji to shut up. "I'll let you hit me back! Just shut up!" He resorted to bribery too, but it's too late. Zeff heard Sanji crying and is on a warpath.

Speaking of parents on a warpath, Reiju has never been more terrified of Sora than when she accidentally said 'shit' and a toddler!Ichiji repeated what she said.

They generally don't give a shit about each other's romantic lives until Sanji started dating Zoro, and suddenly they have very strong opinions over Sanji's standards in men. (Zeff and Ichiji bond over their mutual dislike of Zoro and they can be seen glaring daggers at him whenever he visits Sanji.)

If they ask nicely, Reiju is always more than willing to spoil her little brothers. They often have to pay her back in favors, though (minus Sanji, who is her secret favorites).

Yonji often feels insecure about his career compared to his successful sublings, but they’re all very supportive of him. A traditional 9-5 isn't suited for their baby brother, and they’re not going to force him into it.

Ichiji is very protective of his sister and baby brothers. He used to stand in front of them to shield them from Judge when things got bad. He doesn't do it as often nowadays since they left, but sometimes Sanji would unconsciously grab Ichiji's hand when he's nervous, and Ichiji would just squeeze Sanji's hand.

They work very well together! It's mostly seen during Mothers Day and Father's Day. Sanji cooks breakfast in bed, Niji makes coffee, Reiju buys flowers, Ichiji, and Yonji plan a day out for the family.

The quadruplet's have two birthday parties. One that's celebrated with their respective friend groups, and one with the family at the Baratie. Zeff has perfected the art of combining four preferences into one menu. (Also, Sanji has to be held back from helping cook his own birthday meal.)

Sometimes, when Ichiji's insomnia is bad, the rest of the siblings take the next day off and just stay up with him. They just talk and eat snacks, waiting for Ichiji's eyes to droop so Yonji can carry him to bed.

#one piece #vinsmoke siblings #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke reiju #vinsmoke sora #red leg zeff #my posts #roronoa zoro #zosan #sanzo

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rz-jocelyn · 3 months ago

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[NEWS] Jakkotai: Live and Archive Streams have been Announced for Both the Final Tokyo Performances of the "Jakkotai" Stage

To watch a preview of the stage, please refer to this link: HERE

CAST

Sato Ryuji as Rinzo

Nichika Akutsu as Mizuno Heima

Hashimoto Shohei as Surume

Koyanagi Shin as Uemon

Hirose Tomoki as Himeji

Ranma Yuu as Tekona

Takeru Funaki (NORD) as Uranami

Takeno Ruri as Takeha

Imata Taira as Ogata Tadamasa

Kobayashi Ikuma as Nagafukumaru

Matsumoto Naoya as Kotetsu

Moridai as Gomadara

Nakamura Seijirou as Hiiro

Teruma as Tademaru Genan

Tamaki Yuki as Tatara

NOTE:

[1] Ryuji and Hashimoto Shohei has worked together in the Movie Theatre "Success Sou" and "Rokunin Yoreba Chonaikai".

[2] He has also worked with Koyanagi Shin, Nakamura Seijirou, Teruma and Tamaki Yuki in the "Live Spectacle NARUTO".

[3] Ryuji also played Kashuu Kiyomitsu while Shin-san played Kondo Isami in the "Musical Touken Ranbu ~Bakumatsu Tenrouden~ 2020".

[4] He and Seijirou-san also worked together on "Castor & Pollux", the stage play that Ryuji wrote and directed.

STREAMING DATES AND TIMES

12.00 (Japan time) on August 25, 2024

Archive Period: Until 23.59 (Japan time) on August 31, 2024

Bonus: Special footage (all cast post-performance comment video and making footage)

17.00 (Japan time) on August 25, 2024

Archive Period: Until 23.59 (Japan time) on August 31, 2024

STREAMING LINKS AND INFORMATION

To purchase the streams, please refer to this link: HERE

NOTE: The live and archive streams should be available for international streaming.

"JAKKOTAI" STAGE GOODS

The goods for the "Jakkotai" stage are currently available online. For more information on how to purchase the goods, please refer to this link: HERE

"JAKKOTAI" MOVIE

The "Jakkotai" movie is currently available for streaming online. For more information on how to watch the movie, please refer to this link: HERE

Source: ( x )

#Jakkotai #Live Spectacle NARUTO #Narusute #Musical Touken Ranbu #Toumyu #Castor & Pollux #Rokumachi #Rokunin Yoreba Chonaikai #Success Sou

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yuly · 2 years ago

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↬ To Be Loved and To Be in Love ↫

Aaron Hotchner x chef female reader

Summary: You drop by the BAU to bring the team a homemade lunch while Beth returns from Beijing to visit Hotch

Warnings: none, angst and fluff, Beth and Hailey are mentioned.

WC: 2K

Pic credit: Pinterest

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Five months ago, your dear neighbour David Rossi asked for a favour, he was having his friends over and wanted your help to cook for them. Dave is not known for sharing his kitchen, but this is something you and him did regularly. Living next door to a pro chef with a successful catering business was a win for Dave. You obliged, with more than a few ideas in mind to try out.

He invites you to stay, you decline, not wanting to intrude and be the odd one out. But Rossi is a man with a plan, he invites them earlier than previously stated, effectively forcing you to meet the team he speaks so fondly of.

You’re a person who often needs at least a couple of interactions to accurately recall a face. This evening was no different. You fell into easy conversation with the team, they were interested to get to know you, listening eagerly about your work as a chef, a welcomed distraction from their own line of work. You indulge them graciously, careful not to press them about the details of their own work in return.

One person in the group does not contribute much. Dave enthusiastically introduces him to you as, “Aaron, the boss man,” he was quiet, face mostly unreadable but outrageously handsome. The few times he does speak, you nearly melt at his soft yet dominating voice. He is a man of few words, that much is clear. He smirks a handful of times throughout the evening. You were dying to get a better look at his beautiful face, but too intimidated to ogle at the older man. At the end of the night when everyone said their goodbyes, he came up to you on the balcony, thanking you for the delicious meal. His tone while speaking to you was different, good different. It was softer, more gentle, he was warm and kind, the epitome of a gentleman. He had called you beautiful before he knew what he was doing and began to fluster, tripping over his words as a soft blush graced his cheeks. That did you in, seeing the ‘boss man’ get all blushy and shy, and for you no less. You exchanged numbers that night and went home with a clear image of his face imprinted on your mind.

The two of you have been inseparable since. He loves everything last thing about you. Your aura, the way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way your eyes twinkle when you’re trying to concentrate, the small adjustments you’ve made in the kitchen to allow for Jack, your self appointed sous chef, to maneuver safely.

And you love everything last thing about him. His beautiful face, his kind gestures, his ability to know exactly what to say to comfort you, his pure heart, his eagerness to learn everything about you, the love he has for his son.

You learned that his two love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. He craves your touch, always reaching out to hold onto you in any way he can. It brings him a sense of comfort he can’t quite find elsewhere. And your words mean more to him than you’ll ever know. The words of encouragement you offer him every morning, whenever you stop to tell him how proud of him you are, when you make it a point to verbalize your appreciation for the things he does for you. It’s hard to miss the effect this has on him. It blankets him with a sense of warmth and belonging, making his heart skip a beat. It makes him smile, a real smile and not a sly grin. Your words make him feel loved, wanted, heard, and appreciated. Your love slowly brings the colour back to Aaron’s life.

Acts of service are your love language. You often take some time out of your day to bring the team something to eat. You can't help yourself, you’ve grown fond of them. Truth be told, you're putty in their hands. It was a surprise each time, southern style banana pudding that Spencer literally went bananas over, mango salsa chicken tacos with homemade fries that made Garcia shed a tear, afghan rice and beef kebabs skewered to perfection that had even Strauss drooling. They were blown away every time. Derek and Emily were quick to accuse Dave of purposely hiding you from them all this time. Hotch laughed at that.

Today, you made beef gyros with homemade tzatziki that you were very proud of. You even brought a complementary raspberry lemonade. Feeling content, you walk into the BAU excited for their reviews.

“Our saving grace, and she comes bearing gifts!” Garcia squeaks excitedly, rushing to help you with the containers. Spencer launches into a speech about the value and history of food sharing in various cultures around the globe, eliciting a loud groan from Derek.

You shake your head at them and laugh, turning to ask Emily where Aaron was when you notice her smile start to fade. You follow her gaze to a brunette that hops out of the elevator.

“Hello! How is everybody doing?” she chirps, quickly joining the rest of you. The team looks surprised to see her, muttering pleasantries and stealing awkward glances at one another. You feel lost, something is up and you are the odd one out.

She could be Emily’s girl, but she’s barely acknowledging her, and besides, I swear Em likes blondes….

“I don't think we’ve met! Hi, I’m Beth!” she gushes, extending her hand. You politely introduce yourself, “Very nice to meet you agent Y/N!” you don't have time to correct her as her next words strike something in you.

“How's Aaron? I came to say hi, God it's been so long, is he in his office?” her bubbly tone and never fading smile were starting to get on your nerves by now.

Woah hold on, Aaron? Who is this and how is she on a first name basis with him? And why have I not heard of her?

You stand still, lost in thought as someone responds and she all but skips over to his office.

“Hey, are you ok?” JJ sits you down, Emily close behind. The two of them fill you in on this Beth character. She’s his ex, they had broken up about a year ago when she took a job in Beijing.

That hurt, you tried not to let it, but it hurt. His ex who you never knew about. His ex who he only broke up with out of necessity. The one that got away…

“Listen, honestly Y/N, I wouldn't worry about it too much, she was his first anything after Hailey and he loves you. I mean, the man worships the ground you walk on, you have nothing to worry about,” Emily sounds sure of herself, you don’t share that sentiment. JJ hands you a water bottle that you graciously accept as you excuse yourself, gyros and lemonade long forgotten.

You ignore Aaron’s calls for the rest of the day, burying yourself in your work and falling down a rabbit hole of self doubt. You are not all the way present as your assistant goes over the details for an upcoming catering event in New York. Your thoughts are all consuming. If Beth didn’t have to move away, he would’ve never broken up with her, that much was clear. They broke up out of necessity, and you suspected that Aaron had encouraged her to go forth and pursue her dreams. He did it out of love, so surely he still has some feelings for her. You convince yourself that you’ve been nothing but a placeholder all this time. That hurt like hell. You’ve never been one to compete with another woman for a man to pick you, so you would make it easy for him.

A few hours later, Aaron shows up to your workplace, clearly flustered. He looks out of place in his ultra-formal black suit and tie, a stark contrast to the soft pastel coloured walls and the lilac flowers that welcome him at the front desk. A frown is etched onto his face as he searches for you, “Y/N, hi, I’ve been trying to reach you all day angel, are you ok?” you look up at him with a blank expression, the endearing pet name does nothing for you at that moment.

You excuse yourself, allowing him to follow you into a small room for privacy, the two of you sit across from each other. A small coffee table sits between you.

“I know you came by the office today,” he begins softly, “I heard that you ran into Beth, I’ll explain everything sweetheart, but please know that I love you, you mean everything to me Y/N.” You let him hold your hand but stay silent.

“Please say something, please talk to me Y/N,” he pleads, eagerly trying to reach your eyes. “You go first” you croak, your voice giving you away. He sighs, his heart feels heavy, he’s afraid what this conversation might lead to, what it could mean for your relationship.

“Beth and I dated for a little over a year, she was my first relationship after being married. I was alone for a long time, even in my marriage. I didn’t expect to meet a woman, to take her out on dates, all of it was foreign to me, the last time I had done anything remotely similar, Jack wasn’t born,” he pauses, taking in a deep breath. Your eyes finally meet his and you see each other’s pain, you will yourself to hold it in, to hear him out.

“Our relationship was unexpected but nice. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but I decided to give happiness a chance, for my own sake and for Jack. After a while, it felt easy, and comfortable.”

In that moment, you desperately want to reach out and hold him. Despite everything, you're proud of him for choosing happiness.

“When she got the job in Beijing, I was sad to see her go but ending it was not a difficult decision. I was not willing to uproot my life and my son for her dreams. I just wasn’t ready to compromise on that level for what we had. And she understood, she wasn’t willing to compromise her dreams for what we had either. And that was ok.”

He gives you a wobbly smile, soft brown eyes trained on yours as he continues, his hands never leaving yours.

“Sometimes people come into your life only for a season and that's ok. She came in today asking if we could rekindle things, I said no because I’ve found my forever person,” he looks up at you with teary eyes now, clinging onto your hands, silently begging you to accept him, to stay.

You let out the breath you've been holding in since he walked in, shoulders finally relaxing. Out of everything he had to say, the most important thing to you was that he did not try to discredit her or their relationship in an effort to defend himself. Instead, he was honest with you and allowed himself to be vulnerable in the moment. It makes a world of a difference to you. You respect him for it.

You pull him into a deep embrace, it's your response to him pouring his heart out. It's a warm, tight hug, one that screams relief.

You pull away to stare up at him, “I’ve found my forever person too.” You sit there for a while, foreheads touching, arms around each other. It feels nice. He apologizes for not telling you about her, but you’re past that. You know him, it always works best when you allow him to share at his own pace. You understand him, you accept him, and he loves you for it.

Being with Aaron has shown you the beauty of being in love, and how equally beautiful it is to be loved.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

I really hope you enjoyed!! Your support & feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months ago

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Tears In His Ferrari - 11

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2,Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10, Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky then found himself inundated with tags from numerous people: “#SaveBuckyFromY/N”, “KateBucky4ever”, and more.

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the online scrutiny, especially since he hadn’t even established a relationship with Kate, Bucky realized the weight of social media speculation.

"Bucky-" as Y/N began to speak, Bucky sensed the tension building within her. Before she could ask him anything, her phone rang, interrupting their conversation.

Reacting swiftly, Bucky urged, “Wait, don’t pick up the phone.”

However, it was too late.

“Hello?” Y/N answered, her expression turning serious as she engaged in the call.

Moments later, she visibly struggled to maintain her balance and leaned heavily against the nearby table. Reacting instinctively, Bucky hurried to her side, offering his support.

Guiding her to sit down, Bucky observed a vulnerability in Y/N that he hadn’t witnessed before, despite their months of companionship.

Letting out a weary sigh, Y/N confessed, “This thing still chases me wherever I go.”

Concern etched across his features, Bucky inquired softly, “Is it true?”

Y/N met his gaze and nodded solemnly. “Do you want to know why I disliked you the first time we met?”

Bucky attempted to lighten the mood with a jest, “You did? I didn’t notice.”

Y/N smiled stiffly, her expression betraying a mix of emotions. “You reminded me of my old self. Selfish and childish.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion. The Y/N he knew appeared aloof, but beneath her exterior, she always extended a helping hand whenever someone needed it.

“You?” Bucky exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

Y/N nodded, her gaze distant as she recounted her past. “I used to despise farm life. So, I ran away to the city.”

“No way,” Bucky responded, struggling to reconcile this revelation with the Y/N he knew.

“I took on any job I could find to survive,” Y/N continued. “Eventually, I landed a position in a small restaurant. The owner took me under his wing and taught me everything I know. After a year, he recommended me for a chef position on a cruise ship.”

“That’s where you met Paul?” Bucky interjected, connecting the dots.

Y/N nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. “We were the youngest chefs on board, constantly underestimated by our senior colleagues. But we worked tirelessly to prove ourselves.”

Her smile faded as she delved deeper into her story. “Who would have thought that Paul was actually the son of the ship’s owner?”

Bucky nodded in understanding. Kate came from a wealthy family, and while he knew her mother, he was unaware of her father’s identity.

“Paul asked me to join him in opening a restaurant,” Y/N continued, her voice tinged with reminiscence. “I became his sous-chef.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as he processed Y/N’s words. “Starlight restaurant?”

Y/N simply nodded in confirmation.

“Wow,” Bucky remarked, impressed. “It’s notoriously difficult to secure a reservation there.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, her eyes clouded with memories. “The restaurant was successful, but I grew exhausted and burned out,” she explained. “I couldn’t handle it, especially with Paul’s gambling addiction.”

The restaurant had flourished financially, but much of the income had been drained to cover Paul’s debts, leaving Y/N drained and depressed.

“So, I quit and returned to working on cruise ships,” she continued a tinge of regret in her voice. But even that decision proved a mistake, as she became increasingly depleted and devoid of the passion for cooking that once drove her.

Then came the fateful night of the accident. Paul, inebriated and reckless, had implored Y/N to drive him home. Despite her protests and her inability to operate the sports car, Paul had insisted.

The car veered off course, crashing into a tree. While Paul had sustained injuries, they hadn’t affected his culinary skills. It soon became apparent that the accident had been staged—a ploy for Paul to evade responsibility and declare bankruptcy for the restaurant.

Disgusted by Paul’s deceit, Y/N had returned home—a place she had once fled in search of escape. But upon her return, she realized just how much she had missed it. It was then that she resolved to stay and make amends as a dutiful daughter.

Bucky listened attentively, a mix of empathy and understanding in his gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured her sincerely.

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a blend of surprise and gratitude. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear those words. I never expected to hear them from you.”

“Hey…” Bucky’s soft and comforting voice offered solace amid Y/N’s turmoil.

As their faces drew closer, a palpable tension crackled in the air, igniting a silent conversation between them. Y/N’s heart raced in anticipation, her mind swirling with the possibility of what might transpire between them. Is this really happening? she wondered, her breath catching in her throat as she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.

But just as their lips hovered tantalizingly close, the spell was abruptly shattered by the intrusion of Samantha’s voice.

“Baby, are you okay?”

Startled, Bucky and Y/N quickly recoiled, putting a respectful distance between them as Samantha entered the room. The moment was lost, replaced by a wave of awkwardness that washed over them both.

Samantha’s eyes flickered over the scene, a discerning glint in her gaze. She approached her daughter, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “Don’t worry, baby,” she assured Y/N, her voice laced with unwavering resolve. “Mom will handle this. Nothing this skinny person said is true.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in confusion and apprehension. “What are you going to do?” she inquired, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she awaited her mother’s response.

******

Kate, thoroughly enjoying her followers' flattering tweets and comments, lounged back in her chair with a satisfied smirk. "Hehehe."

Meanwhile, her assistant, feeling a bit groggy, couldn’t seem to sit still.

"Stop fidgeting," Kate commanded, her tone impatient as she continued scrolling through her phone.

"But she didn’t do anything wrong," her assistant pointed out, a hint of sympathy in their voice.

Rolling her eyes dismissively, Kate waved off the comment. She was too engrossed in the online attention to entertain any doubts or second thoughts.

However, her focus was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She glanced at the caller ID and saw it was her estranged brother, Paul.

Kate's trembling fingers hesitated before accepting the call, her long, manicured nails glinting in the dim light as she whispered a tentative "Hi."

The voice on the other end was cold and devoid of any warmth one might expect from siblings. "Keep my name out of this," Paul commanded, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kate watched as the call abruptly ended. It was a brief exchange, leaving her feeling pale and unsettled.

Despite being siblings, Kate and Paul had grown apart over the years, their relationship strained by their parent's divorce and Paul's withdrawal from social interactions following the accident.

As Kate tried to process the call, she was startled by a commotion from her rented house. Peeking cautiously through the curtains, she saw a sight that sent shockwaves through her. Quickly retreating from the window, she cowered in the safety of the shadows, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

"Get the car keys," she ordered her assistant, her voice tinged with urgency.

"What's going on?" her assistant pressed, confusion evident in their tone.

"Stop asking! Just do it!" Kate snapped, her patience wearing thin.

With a resigned sigh, her assistant rolled their eyes but complied with her request.

Peeking anxiously from behind the curtain, Kate's heart sank at the sight that greeted her. A crowd had gathered outside, wielding fiery torches and brandishing pitchforks.

It resembled a scene from a medieval village, and Kate couldn't shake the feeling that she was the target of their ire.

Voices clamored outside, demanding her presence. "Come out, come out! Where is the person who just slandered my daughter's name?" one voice shouted.

"Right. Come out and talk," another added, the tone laced with hostility.

Kate trembled with fear, her mind racing with panic.

"You want to go now?" her assistant asked, their concern palpable.

"Now!" Kate insisted, her voice quivering with anxiety.

As she hurriedly exited town, Kate swore to herself that she would never return. The events of that night had left her shaken to the core, and she had no intention of ever crossing paths with Bucky or anyone else from the town again.

********

Kate's message sat unread in Bucky's inbox, a stark reminder of her betrayal. He felt a pang of guilt as he reflected on how things had unfolded.

If he had been firmer in asking Kate to leave, Y/N wouldn't have been subjected to such humiliation.

Despite the turmoil, Bucky resolved to carry on with his daily routine. Tending to the crops and livestock provided a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of recent events.

During lunchtime, he decided to visit Toby and his grandparents. As he arrived at the farmhouse, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to encounter.

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channieskies · 1 year ago

Text

EAT [LEE KNOW]

Pairing: Chef|Lee Know + AFAB|Reader

Genre: Smut, Drabble

Synopsis: After a successful cooking class, you book another night with the brilliant and handsome man that taught the class. Only to find out you booked the wrong Chef Lee.

A.N: Please reblog or leave a like or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. This was barely proofread, please disregard the mistakes.

Word Count: 3,000 + [~13 minute reading time]

Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. NSFW warnings are under the cut.

Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

Warnings⚠️: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. Unprotected sex [please wrap it before you tap it. This is fiction, and I control the narrative. Real life is scary, so please be safe], creampie, oral (male and female receiving), anal play, food play (please let me know if I missed any)

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Being single sucked. Especially when it comes to eating meals. That being said, single and lazy just didn't mix well. You dreaded making meals for yourself, but your pockets told you needed to. So when your friend invited you to a cooking class with the world-renowned chef Lee, you were ecstatic. The class lasted about three hours from start to finish. There was wine and food, and chef Felix was one of the most beautiful men you'd ever laid eyes on. Well, at least in your opinion, he was. Your Saturday night was almost complete. Almost. Being single really, really sucked.

By the time you left, you were tipsy, full of good food, and a little wet from your interactions with the sexy deep voiced chef. He had such a pretty smile and beautiful freckles littering his face like stars. You were completely taken by him. The rest of your weekend seemed to fly by without a hitch. So, by Monday morning, you were ready to sign up for a private lesson with the chef. Your friend told you the company she went through for the lessons and the rest was history.

The next week seemed to creep by. It usually does when you are excited for something. By the time Friday came along, you couldn't wait to get out of work and get home, practically speeding on your way there. You got ready for your lesson, took a shower, and put on a date night outfit that you had stored away since you learned long ago that the dating pool was trash. You waited patiently for eight to roll around so you could see chef Felix again.

When the buzzer rang to let you know someone wanted to come up, you quickly rushed over and rang them up. You rubbed your nervous hands on your skirt as you waited for your bell to ring. When it finally did, you inhaled a quick breath before opening the door. With a wide smile on your face, you spoke, “Hi I'm Y/n-- wait- you aren't Felix.” The smile quickly slid off your face as you examined the young man in front of you.

He had soft brown hair, downturned pouty lips that resmbled a cat, and very hard to miss bunny teeth that you noticed as he smiled. He was taller than you , though you wouldn't say he was a giant, nowhere near it, really. He had on a gray sweater with cute little geometric patterns all over it and dark denim jeans. He had a large canvas bag full of groceries in one hand while the other gripped what seemed like an apron.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” He flashed you a mischievous smirk. You could tell something more was behind it. “I’m the head chef, Minho. Chef Lee Minho. Felix is my sous chef. He took over classes while I was away in France on business. I can't promise to offer the same experience since we are two totally different chefs, with different styles. But I promise to make it worth your while.” How could you say no to that? His dazzling smile was very convincing, and it's a part of the reason you let him in. you stepped back and widened the door a little more for him to come in.

“You have a beautiful home.” Minho complimented as he took a look around your downtown apartment. It had a rustic and industrial charm to it with its exposed brick and high ceilings. It was a nice apartment, especially considering you had gotten it for dirt cheap.

“Uh.. thanks.” You clapped your hands to draw his attention away from your bare walls - your apartment desperately needed decor. But you didn't have the time to do all of that. “Shall we get to cooking?” you asked and pointed to your nearly spotless kitchen. He followed you to it and put down his bag. You both washed your hands first, and he helped you with an apron that came free of charge when you purchased a class. Once you were prepped and ready, you got started.

It started off slow. He explained the menu and told you a little about his background. He was from Korea but studied in Japan before traveling to different Asian countries to learn different cuisines. He moved back to Korea and started training under Chef Baek Jong-won, one of the most renowned chefs in Korea. Then he became head chef at one of the oldest restaurants in Seoul before opening his own restaurant that now sits at one Michelin star. “So how about we start with green curry, then stir fried glass noodles with vegetables for an entree, and coconut custard filled donuts with a frosted pineapple drizzle for dessert?”

You honestly thought all that sounded a little complicated for someone who admitted to being lazy when it came to cooking, but it also all sounded incredibly delicious. “Sounds delicious.”

He was surprisingly easy to work with. He explained why he did the things he did and helped to customize them for everyday life. He stood to the side of you, his body touching your side ever so lightly as he guided your hand. You could feel his breath on your as he concentrated on the task at hand. You tried to swallow the thoughts that plagued your mind, like how good he smelled or how nice his hand felt on top of yours. your mind even dove as deep as your imagining his pretty face between your legs.

You let out a shaky moan as your mind slowly delved deeper into the abyss. “Are you okay?” He pulled away slightly to look over your face from the side.

“Y-yeah, it just smells so good.” He smiled and let out a sigh of relief, thinking that maybe he had made you uncomfortable by being too close. To make the atmosphere a little lighter, he asked if he could play a little music in the background. You agreed, hoping the music would help you take your mind off things. He synced his phone with your Bluetooth speakers, and Club boynnd's “naturally” softly started to flow from them.

He moved back to your side and reached for the spoon, his hand landing on top of yours once again. “Want to taste?” His voice sounded so smooth as he asked. Of course, you nodded, absentmindedly pressing your thighs together. He let you taste the chocolate you'd melted. He smeared the warm chocolate across your bottom lip, and your tongue almost instantly darted out to taste it. Your eyes met as you took your bottom lip into your mouth. You tasted the slightly sweet yet bitterly sticky substance on your tongue.

“It's delicious, chef.” It was like your eyes were locked in a battle, waiting to see who would cave for the other, first.

“May I taste it too?” You nodded, unsure of what move he was going to make. With the same spoon, he dipped it back into the chocolate, smearing it on your lips once again. He searched your eyes for affirmation, and you nodded.

It was like a switch went off. The next thing you knew, you were sitting on the counter, trapped between his strong veiny arms. His lips were on your, savoring the remnants of chocolate that resided on your lips. Your arms rested on his shoulders as your fingers found refuge in his soft hair.

Your tasks had soon been forgotten about as you passionately made out in your kitchen. The song switched to Kelela’s “Blue Light”, but neither of you could hear a thing at the moment. He pulled back and took your hand in his. He isolated your index finger, making it stand alone. He dipped that finger into the chocolate and put it into his mouth. He took it on, sucking every last bit off your finger. “Delicious.”

The way he looked at you as he said it made your womanhood ache with need. He pulled you down off the counter, turning you around, fingers moving up your back, signaling for you to bend over. He moved back briefly to turn off the burners on the stove. The last thing he wanted to do was burn down your kitchen. He was back behind you in no time, his pelvis pressing against your ass as he leaned forward. “I just wanted to let you know that I enjoy eating just as much as I enjoy cooking.” He let out a short, humorous, puff of air.

With that said, he pressed his lips to your slightly exposed neck, nipping that skin and leaving tiny marks. First, it was the apron, the strings untied, the fabric falling right to the floor. His fingers trailed under your shirt, pushing the fabric up. He wanted it off, and you took the hint, pulling the clothing up and off, tossing it on the floor. He trailed kisses down your back, letting his agile fingers work on removing your bra. The straps fell, but with your arms on the counter, the bra partially stayed in place. Next was your skirt, which he didn't bother unzipping.

He rolled your tight skirt down under your ass, relishing in the sight and his recent accomplishment. He licked his lips, his hands rolling over your skin. He tugged your panties and your skirt all the way down and crouched down behind your. “Wow..” You looked back to see what he was doing, only to feel his warm hand spreading your cheeks. “Fuck… I can't wait to taste you.” And that he did. He leaned in and bit your ass softly, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough to mark your gasp at his actions. His tongue traced the indents his teeth left before you pressed a chaste kiss to it. His breath was hot on your entrance as he moved his attention to your waiting pussy. “I guess someone is a little turned on.”

You chuckled lightly at his accusation. “Says the one who was all in my personal bubble. It's hard not to feel something when a man as sexy as yourself is that close.” You admitted not knowing what had come over your. Nothing was said on his end as he dug into his meal. He dipped his tongue into your entrance just to pull it back, a trail of your wetness following the pink muscle. He wanted to just taste your first. His tongue slipped back in his mouth, and he grunted.

“You taste amazing.” He went back for a second helping trailing his tongue from your clit all the way to your asshole and back again. you lived alone, there was no need for you to conceal the way he was making you feel. Your voice bounced off the open walls of your kitchen and living area, mingling with the music. He pulled away just before you came, much to your disappointment.

“Maybe I should make things a little sweeter. Turn around for me.” You almost questioned what he meant by that only to remember this was a kitchen, and he was a chef. This was his playground. He stood to his feet and grabbed the spoon for the chocolate, raking a hefty amount into it and smearing it over your breast and down your stomach.

Next came the cinnamon sugar that he carefully sprinkled over it. He stood back, admiring his work before nodding at the final project. “Now all that's left to do is eat.” He smirked as he moved closer, his body trapping you against the counter again. He left kisses from your mouth to your chest, where he started to lick the chocolate, cinnamon-sugar from your skin. He sucked on your nipples making sure not a bit of the sugary concoction was left.

He nibbled and licked his way down your stomach until he was face to face with your womanhood. He lifted your leg and put it over his shoulder before his face was back between your legs, helping you to reach the orgasm you missed out on before. Your fingers were tangled in his brown hair, tugging on the tresses hard as you came. Your legs shook and almost gave out, but thanks to his grip on your thigh and the counter, you stayed in place. “I could eat out every day with you.” He said as he pulled away, his mouth a glistening mess from his meal. He put your leg down and guided you down to the floor where he was.

He moved in for a sloppy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He pulled away to discard his apron and his almost suffocatingly hot sweater. You were presently surprised by how well built he was. With his apparent affinity for sweets and the handsome yet cat-like face he sported, you didn't expect him to look like that at all under all that clothing. Even the scar on his stomach was something to be admired. He noticed you staring, so he lifted your chin with his index finger. “Enjoying the view?” You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded. you were thirsty and would willingly admit it.

“Let's not stare too long, I still have things I want to do to you.” Your heart was racing from his words. “Would you like a taste before I start the next course?” He tilted his head down and looked at you through his damp bangs. It was hot in the kitchen even with the burners off.

You pretended to think about it, already knowing your answer. “I'd love to taste,” he grabbed the bowl from the counter while still on his knees.

“Have at it.'' You weren't a skilled chef, but you are good with your mouth. Before you even touched the chocolate, you made sure his pants and boxers were discarded.

It was your turn to be in awe once again. How were you this blessed to have a man ready to fuck you, who not only had a gifted tongue but a gorgeous cock as well? You wasted no time. The angry veins and the fact that his member was at attention for you made you even more eager to have him in your mouth. You dipped your fingers in the chocolate and painted a few stripes on the shaft of his cock before licking it off and taking him into your mouth. His hand rested on the patch of hair right above your neck as he gently guided your head up and down his length.

You were amazing. It took every bit of him not to cum in your mouth. Your hands worked on his balls for added pleasure, your tongue twisted around the tip every time you pulled back. His eyes were rolled back, it was his turn to groan along with the music. You pulled away, a hand twisting around the shaft of his member. “Cum for me.” you stuck out your tongue, rubbing the underside of his tip over your wet muscle. His eyes closed, his hand gripping the back of your head as he released into your mouth. you let the liquid dripped from your tongue and down your chin. You only managed to get a little of it down.

“Fuck..” He was spent but his stamina was no joke at all. Plus he was enjoying how sexy you looked under the overhead potlights. your skin glistened with sweat and he could smell your sex as he still had spots of your wetness on his face. “How does it taste?” Your tongue darted out to lick up the mess on your chin and he used his thumb to rake up what was left. You sucked on his thumb, letting it go with a pop.

“I need to be inside you now. Like, right now.” He stood and helped you up. He bent you over the counter once more. To him, you were so fucking sexy it wasn't hard for him to get hard again, seeing that he was already semi-erect. He fluffed himself, his eyes transfixed on the view of your ass and glistening pussy on display. You were bent over just waiting for him to completely devour you.

That alone was enough to get himself hard again. Lifting one leg and letting it rest on the surface. He slid in your wet entrance, your walls wrapping around his member, squeezing it. He gripped your ass cheeks as he slowly started to pound into you, not even concerned if you adjusted to him or not. His member slid in and out of your creamy wetness as you screamed his name over and over. You loved how he filled you up. You couldn't get enough of how good he felt.

Sweat beads rolled down his cheeks. It felt like a sauna in the kitchen, even if it was an open space. But that didn't deter him at all. He had a goal in mind. He wanted to see his cum drip from your cunt. Just the thought causes his member to twitch inside of you. One hand wrapped around your throat as the of his thumb readied to slide into your asshole. He let spit drip from his mouth and used it as a lubricant. He rubbed his thumb over the hole before sliding it in and bending it as he fucked your. You choked out a moan.

So, that was the kind of man he was? Your eyes rolled back as he pulled his thumb out to slide it right back in. You knew you wanted to fuck Chef Lee, you just weren't expecting it to be a completely different one from the other night. But you weren't complaining. The gorgeous man who was currently drilling you into oblivion was perfectly fine to you.

His fingers tapped on your throat, “Cum for me, Y/n. Cum on this dick so I can cum inside of you.” You let out a euphoric sigh, your hand gripping at his wrist. your walls convulsed, squeezing and hugging his cock as you came for him like he asked. He grunted feeling just how tight you had gotten. His thumb slipped in a little more as his pace picked up. your leg shook, his pace sending you straight towards the edge of your third orgasm.

He snapped his hips into you a few more times before his seed glazed your walls as if they were the dessert he described earlier in the evening. He pushed in before pulling back. He pulled his thumb out of your ass, watching it slowly go back to its original tight ‘o’. He spread your cheeks and looked at the white substance that peeked out of your hole. Satisfied with his work, he took a seat on the floor as you slid to your knees, still gripping the counter. His cum slid out your cunt due to the awkward position you were sitting in, which caused him to chuckle.

“Looks like we have a mess to clean up.” He said speaking of the disaster zone your kitchen had become. There was chocolate on your rugs and smeared on the cabinets and cum and spit on the floor in multiple spots from your messy blowjob and his cream pie. There was a buzzing noise as your little robot vacuum made its way into the kitchen for its scheduled cleaning. There was silence between you both as you watched it work before they burst out laughing. This was a cooking lesson neither of you would forget.

_______________________________________________

A.N: Please leave a like or comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.

_______________________________________________

[Rewrites, Reposts, and Translations are Prohibited]

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