#also i work retail

[green5quirrel]

What if we're all the comic relief?

please don't forget to check in on the 'comic relief' friend in the friend group. even though they always seem to have a quip or goof on the ready, they might be going through something and it can be hard to tell. always remind your silly friends how much they mean to you 💗

[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[psych0ruinz]

im so bad at being threatened because im always scared for my life and feel like people people are trying to kill me. thats just my default state. so when people threaten violence im just like "okie :3" because like yeah of course you want me dead. my brain just assumed that.

[dailymanners]

When entering any place of business, such as a store or restaurant, if a staff member greets you, then acknowledge them and greet them back.

Although for many jobs it's a required part of their job to greet you, especially retail workers, receptionists, and restaurant workers to name a few, that doesn't make it feel any less dehumanizing to say "Hello!" to another human being only for them to ignore you. Acknowledging staff members and greeting them back is important for acknowledging their humanity, they are, after all, a human being, and not an automated machine.

This is also important when going to check out at a store. If you approach the cash register, and the cashier greets you, you should acknowledge them and greet them back. Cashiers already have to deal with being dehumanized enough. The least you can do is help humanize them by acknowledging them when they greet you and speak to you.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Ended up getting caught with customers and staying two hours late at work. The other coworker was with two folks when I was finally finishing up. A third guest walked in and I made sure to be like, “That’s all you.”

He looked mutinous and said, “I’m already doubled!”

“I’m off,” I said emphatically and he got super sulky. Like, my man, I am not here for a ten hour shift.

[solarpunkani]

I wish ‘talks too much about gardening and milkweed but not in an eloquent way and has blogs but not in an eloquent way’ was a job I could be paid money for

Job hunting sucks ass thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[dear-ao3]

as holiday season begins in the retail world here is your yearly reminder that if you order something with expedited or overnight shipping ESPECIALLY during black friday weekend 1. i personally hate you and you are making my life difficult and 2. there is a good chance you will not get it in time for the love of god just pick standard

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[gothiethefairy]

apparently some ppl are a little bit upset that ryoko kui said in a modern world, laios would work in minimum-wage retail

but, it does lowkey make sense, if you count for the fact he dropped out of school and later, the army. and if we take into consideration that he's autistic too, he won't find any good jobs so retail is his only option.

i mean, he could be a manager tho. he is a pretty good leader.

but i'll imagine, with the right people pushing him, he takes night classes to at least get a degree. hell, maybe he makes extra cash on the side by doing furry commissions.

but if you imagined him going to school to become a vet or he has a youtube channel or whatever, you can still keep imagining that lol

it's not the end of the world if the author said one thing against the other, you know.

[traegorn]

Ended up blocking whereserpentswalk after I woke up to a post comparing me to mid 2010s Atheists because I was "obessed with evidence"

Which, y'know, when you're arguing about a concrete, provable thing is a WILD thing to say. I could have said the sky was blue, and they would have told me I was wrong.

[graciousdragon]

OH MY FUCKING GOD

I JUST WENT TO MY LOCAL HOT TOPIC THAT I'VE BEEN GOING TO FOR LIKE. 5 OR 6 YEARS NOW RIGHT??

I GOT SOME MCR STUFF BECAUSE. OF COURSE. IF YOU'VE SEEN MY RECENT POSTING HABITS YOU KNOW. THE BRAINROT IS REAL

I WAS TALKING WITH THE CASHIER ABOUT THEM BECAUSE HE WAS ALSO A FAN AND HE FUCKING SAYS "you wanna know a fun fact? this is the hot topic the lead singer used to work at! :D"

FUCKING WHAT

GERARD WAY USED TO WORK AT MY LOCAL FUCKING HOT TOPIC?!?

AND AFTER I LEFT I LOOKED IT UP TO MAKE SURE HE WASN'T FUCKING WITH ME AND YEAH. HE WAS RIGHT. WHAT THE FUCK

SORRY FOR THE ALL CAPS THIS IS LIKE. WORLD-SHATTERING INFORMATION TO ME AND HE JUST DROPPED THAT SHIT SO CASUALLY WHAT THE HELL BRO. I NEEDED TO SCREAM ABOUT THIS SOMEWHERE

[drop--pop--candy]

any regular ao3 author is more of a tortured poet than t swift is send post

[queeriboh]

Merry Christmas with the Kaibas 🎄🌟

[666writingcafe]

Level One

Dedicated to @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf and @thunderlightning351

Content Warning: referencing human sacrifice, slightly(?) unhinged Barbatos

"Hello, MC." Barbatos' sudden appearance at my side causes me to curse. I know he has the ability to teleport anywhere he wants to, but a little warning would have been nice.

"Apologies, MC," he continues. "I was simply following my instructions. Did you have a nice time with your parents?"

"Y-yeah, I did," I respond, still a little spooked. "We went out to eat at a Chinese buffet."

"That sounds lovely." He wraps an arm around me and guides me to the couch, remaining glued at my side as we sit down. This isn't the first time we've sat next to each other, but he's never been quite this close before.

And then I take a proper look at him. I'm not dealing with Barbatos the butler, but rather the Barbatos that accompanied me to the Severa concert. The one that I told Asmo I found incredibly attractive in great detail.

The Avatar of Lust is playing dirty right from the start.

Barbatos' lips are moving, but I'm not registering a single word he's saying. The parts of my brain that aren't obsessing over his natural scent are short-circuiting due to him being so close to me. One hand rests on my thigh while the other one plays with my hair and gently brushes up and down my arm. It all makes me rather jittery. I'm surprised I'm able to remain still. I want to simultaneously bolt out of the room and--

"You're not listening to me." Barbatos' harsh tone forces me to pay attention.

"I'm sorry. I'm finding it incredibly hard to concentrate." My explanation makes him smirk.

"Am I making you nervous, MC?" I can only manage a nod. "Good. Now you know how I felt when the roles were reversed."

"That's not fair!" I exclaim, remembering the exact moment he's referencing. "You told me to seduce you!"

"And you did, much to Diavolo's joy. He wouldn't stop teasing me about it for weeks." He repositions himself so that he's able to lean in closer to me.

"Once upon a time, you would have been given as an offering." His voice is low and menacing. "Not to the gods, like so many people believed, but to us. We're able to be entertained by sacrificial lambs for a long time. Inevitably, though, they become dull and boring. It's not their fault; it's simply the result of being exposed to sin over long periods of time.

"But your soul is different, MC. Due to the angel blood that flows through your veins, it maintains its brightness despite it constantly being surrounded by sin. Some might even say it feeds off it, making it that much stronger. If it weren't for Diavolo's mission, we'd have so much fun with you." His smile is that of a predator. I should be shitting my pants right about now. That would be the appropriate reaction to having a demon look at me like I'm his next meal.

Instead, I wait with bated breath for his next move. Barbatos tilts his head to the side.

"Of course, that doesn't scare you." he asks. "You find the idea rather arousing, don't you?"

It's messed up, I know. I shouldn't be turned on by any of this, and yet...

"I told myself long ago that I would only use my powers to help Diavolo, but you've made me reconsider that decision many times." He's pretty much on top on me at this point, holding me in place with his body weight.

"Why?" I whisper. He brings his mouth right up to my ear.

"Because the idea of messing with time in order to play with you is incredibly tempting." He kisses the base of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

Do not succumb to temptation.

I grab his shoulders and squeeze them as hard as I can, making him pause on his trail down my neck and look up at me.

"I can't," I tell him, despite my body screaming at him to continue.

"Are you sure?" I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing myself to answer,

"Yes." I feel him get off me. Seconds later, he grabs my hand.

"It's okay, MC. You can open your eyes." Doing so makes him smile softly. "The first stage of your test is complete."

"Did I pass?"

"See for yourself." Looking down at the ring I slipped on earlier, I notice a mark that I'm pretty sure wasn't there before.

"From my understanding, a tally will appear for every stage you complete successfully," Barbatos explains.

"That makes sense." He walks out of the room, returning moments later with a note in his hand.

"When you are ready, this contains information about the next stage," he tells me, handing me the note. "Of course, you're allowed to take as much time as you need to recenter yourself. I can make you some tea if you'd like." I shake my head.

"I know this might sound crazy given what we just did, but would you mind holding me?" He chuckles.

"Not at all." He stretches out on the opposite end of the couch, and I snuggle up to him. He begins stroking my hair. After a few moments of calm, I gather up the courage to ask,

"Did you mean what you said about time, or was that part of the act?"

"I wasn't acting," he answers. "I merely displayed emotions that I normally keep suppressed. Everything I told you is one hundred percent true."

[softpine]

she's looking especially sacrificial lamb today 🥩

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’m covering another mattress store today. It’s set in a busy shopping center and the doors open constantly. When people walk too close by, the doors open.

We have a sandwich board sign to advertise our sale and I’m trying to strategically place it in a way that people have to go around it so they don’t activate the door.

Thus far, no luck. People still just walk by the door and open it.