#if you use dry toilet paper only

[communist-hatsunemiku]

americans like to act all superior for a bunch of people who walk around with shit-crusted assholes all the time

[foldingfittedsheets]

When deciding who to work for there is a sliding scale of employers that goes from lil mom and pop shops up to corporate monoliths. I have worked at both ends of the spectrum and I can pretty definitively say that tiny businesses are hands down the most insane employers.

The sweet spot is a place that has like 10-20 stores; that’s the best possible work environment. They’ll be polished enough to have protocols that make work structured, but not so bogged down with bureaucracy that nothing can ever get done.

This story is not from that sweet spot. This story is from my time working at Oil and Vinegar. Now, like many little franchise stores, the idea was solid. There was on tap imported olive oil and vinegar and it was really delicious. Top shelf. Unfortunately, each location was like the Wild West because owners varied wildly.

My owner was the human embodiment of Mr. Krabbs. His eyes were just constant dollar signs. Throughout my training he informed me of the price of every single piece of equipment I touched and how much it cost to replace it.

He had cameras set up to watch us, and an app on his phone to access the live feed. He’d call us to ask what we were doing when he’d just checked a camera to make sure we were being honest.

Now, the trouble was he had two locations. His location further south did amazing. It was way more centrally located and got three times the foot traffic. The one I worked in was in the snottiest mall possible in Arizona and consequently the rent was through the roof.

It was not going well for my store. We didn’t get as much traffic, so there was only so much I could do in a day. I could dust, sweep, and wait for customers. I read a lot and was frank when he called to interrogate me. I always asked for additional tasks but he never had any. What could I do to prop up a failing business?

But this man was convinced there was some Secret Reason that the store I was in was doing worse. He crunched numbers, looked at staff, and eventually hit upon the most insane possible solution.

We used too much toilet paper.

We were probably stealing toilet paper! Bleeding him dry one single ply square at a time! How dare we need to use the bathroom?! His south location used half as much toilet paper as we did, we must be thieving little monsters!!!!

Friends. The south location was populated entirely by men. My location had three people on staff who had to sit to pee. It was so blindly transparently the source of the discrepancy but this man was convinced we were making off with toilet paper to bankrupt him.

So he implemented what he believed to be an entirely reasonable response to this base treachery. We were allowed to have one roll of toilet paper. At any given time, one roll was permitted to us. This was so transparently unhinged that we protested but he insisted. If we were low on toilet paper we needed to call him to drop off a roll that he brought from his home. Smiling jovially, he assured us he lived so close by that it would be no problem!

When we needed to call him often for more he started tearing his hair out. What were we using toilet paper for?! Why wasn’t his genius plan to stop our scandalous waste working??!

Finally, the manager, the only man on staff had to pull the owner aside and be like, “Look, man, their bladders are smaller. They need to wipe every time they pee. They need to pee even more on their period. Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Yes. It was. The manager was fired unrelated reasons and denounced as a traitor. The toilet paper ration lasted until I quit and probably until the store closed six months later.

[saintrosalyn]

BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths. 

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep. 

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him. 

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room. 

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself. 

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine. 

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge. 

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift. 

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside. 

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you. 

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst. 

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate. 

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels. 

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Fright.

Fright. 

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver. 

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence. 

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him. 

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in). 

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone. 

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again. 

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong. 

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.” 

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments. 

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head. 

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall. 

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach. 

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

[dragontatoes]

I don't have a bidet installed, instead, I have a squirt bottle I keep by the toilet. There are "peri wash bottles" specifically made for this (they were designed for post-partum care, another situation where bidets are useful), but mine is just a travel toiletry bottle.

I like that it's portable for travel, doesn't require setup, easy to replace, and very inexpensive. If anyone is unsure whether they want to invest in a bidet but wants to try it out, it could be a good first step. Then you could upgrade if you want more water pressure/heat/ease of use. I honestly prefer the bottle over one installed in the seat, though.

It's Tuesday, and it's been a few weeks I think since my last Off Topic Tuesday, so I want to take the opportunity to talk about something very near and dear to my heart: the bidet.

I am an unapologetic bidet enthusiast. I strongly believe bidets to be superior over toilet paper alone.

Bidets are more eco friendly. People bring up the water usage as an environmental concern, however, bidets actually use less water than the amount of water it takes to produce toilet paper. As the article points out “It takes 37 gallons of water to make just one roll of toilet paper.” (Producing one roll of toilet paper also requires approximately 1.5 pounds of wood.) In contrast, using a bidet only consumes about one pint of water."

Also pointed out in the article: it's more hygienic because your hands are less likely to come into contact with your waste.

And also pointed out, it's (generally) gentler on the skin to use water rather than to scrape yourself repeatedly with dry paper.

And honestly, you just *feel* fresher and cleaner than when you only use toilet paper.

One thing I take issue with in this article is that it makes the sweeping generalization that "Europe uses bidets". Which, honestly, to me seems like bidets are mostly common in southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe their usage is hit or miss.

I know for a fact that Finland is the only Nordic country where bidets are widely used and common in most households. It was actually briefly living in Finland that made me a bidet convert. I still favor the Finnish style of bidet and find them to be superior to the other types, mostly because the Finnish style (a hose attached to the sink) allows more maneuverability than the kind that's built into the toilet seat (more common in east Asia) or the kind that is a separate bowl next to the toilet (more common in southern Europe).

But outside of Finland, bidet ownership and usage is scare to nearly non-existent in most of the rest of northern Europe. When I came back to Iceland I scoured every hardware and housing goods store I could find, and none of them had a bidet, so I had to order my bidet online.

So no, as a whole not all of Europe uses bidets. Mostly southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe a few places here and there, like Finland.

However, I hope that can change, and more people can see the light when it comes to bidet ownership. Everyone I know who I've talked into using and/or buying a bidet has thanked me, even if they were apprehensive at first.

If you think of bidets as gross or weird, think of this: if you got some of your waste on your arm while you were in the bathroom, would you just wipe it off with paper and call it good? Or would you actually want to wash that off properly? Why should your nether regions get inferior treatment from the rest of your body?

Or, another example taken from a text I had to read in a French class in secondary school that was supposed to open our minds about the foreign concept of using a bidet: imagine you're staying at a hotel in a foreign country, and after a long day you want to take a shower. However, there is no shower in your hotel bathroom. You walk up and down the hallway looking to see if there is a shower anywhere on your floor and you find nothing. So you go to the front desk and ask the receptionist where the shower is, to which they give you a weird look, maybe they have to suppress laugh, or maybe they look grossed out at you even suggesting you want to take a shower with water. They explain to you that there is dry paper in your bathroom, and all you need to do is wipe yourself down with the dry paper (your pits / hair / etc.), and that having a shower with water isn't considered necessary here. How would you feel?

[dehlizalah]

Phantom Touch

namgyu x f!reader

𖦹 tags: Slow burn, angst, heavy teasing, toxic relationship (ish), fwb,drugs, alcohol, situationship, descriptions of sexual activity but not really smut (yet)

𖦹 Word count: 4113

𖦹 Part three of Phantom Touch | Part one Part two

Namgyu becoming a little more softer in this one :)) We would cheer !!

You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Namgyu was probably so shitfaced that he wouldn’t have even been able to distinguish your face. You leaned into the stranger, letting him kiss your cold body. You clench your jaw, trying to snap out of it. Your hands ache. A slow pulsing burn that itches far deep into your bones, something inside of you that is crawling to get out.

It’s the kind of pain that isn’t physical—not really. It’s something else, something worse. A muscle memory of a touch you shouldn’t miss. A phantom sensation of hands that aren’t there but might as well be.

You continued to entertain the man, until you felt a vibration in your bag, which was perched next to you. “One second,” you said abruptly as the man crawled off of you. You unsteadily reach from your bag to your phone, the warmth of the strangers touch still lingering. The vibration lasted about two beeps. Sliding your phone out, your eyes flickered through the screen.

2 New Messages

You knew who it was going to be. The thought of it makes your stomach churn. For a slight moment, you hesitated to even unlock your phone, your heart clenching strongly. You opened it, pleading that it wasn’t him.

You read the message and your heart stopped.

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t expect to see you here. lol’

Namgyu: ‘You good?’

That was it? Namgyu was normally a dry texter but this.. This felt like a taunt. A tease almost. No mention of what you were doing, no possessive digs as he used to, no sly remarks about the handprints the stranger left on your thighs.

lol. The single, meaningless addition made your stomach do cartwheels. He was trying to keep it light, acting like it was some coincidence. He acted as if you both had just randomly met in the streets, glancing at each other. No, he saw you do the things that he once did with you, with a man you had never even met before.

There was no changing the fact that you let a stranger touch you all over, that wasn’t even remotely the worst part. The worst part was namgyu, who watched every single second of it. He had seen you, the way your body reacted to a stranger roam your body, the way his lips hovered over your skin.

A lump formed in your throat. A mix of emotions flooded your mind. You should be angry, you wanted to be angry. The only emotion that you could seem to focus on was that familiar ache; the one that came from years of yearing and false love.

Your hands started to sweat, coating your body in a thin layer of unease. A clammy heat pulsated through your body, your fingers clenching the screen, unable to move.

The stranger next to you gently touched your thigh “Is everything good? You seem really sketched out right now.”

“Sorry i have to-“ Without finishing your sentence, you grabbed your bag stood up, looking for the bathrooms.

You pushed through the sea of bodies, the lights flickering on beat. The music floods the club, your head throbbing as you try to swim your way out. Your hands were still trembling, gripping onto your bag, like it was the last thing keeping your grounded, two feet on the floor.

You slipped into the bathroom, locking the single toilet, desperately trying to catch your breath. Leaning against the sink, gripping the edges so hard your knuckles become red.

Get a grip.

Seriously, you needed to get your shit together.

Exhaling sharply you looked into the mirror, barely even recognizing the person reflecting from you. Smudged eyeliner, your lips were slightly parted; lipgloss barely even on.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for a paper towel, tapping the towel on your skin. No matter how many deep breaths you took, the tightness in your chest refused to leave. It wasn't just the alcohol-it was him. Always him.

You told yourself you knew better than this.

You knew that namgyu enjoyed this, seeing you get all flustered at the thought of him. He likes the sense of power he gets from it. The possession. He likes having a hold on you.

Your phone buzzed again.

Dread slowly filling you up.

You squeezed you eyes shut for a second before forcing your self to look at your phone, opening the message.

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t take you for a club girl. Well, not anymore, at least. Guess old habits die hard. lol.’

Your jaw tightened. There it was again - that lol. You were convinced that he did on purpose, throwing it in like a careless shrug. To him this was funny, it had little to no significance to him, just like you had no significance to him either.

"Old habits die hard."

What did he think he was? Some all-knowing god, watching from above, smugly amused at your attempts to move on? As if he had you all figured out, like no matter how far you tried to run, you'd always come crawling back.

Like he wasn't the one who started the habit in the first place. Like he wasn’t the one who would beg to smoke together, like he wasn’t the one who took you to the club for the first time.

It was completely and utterly infuriating.

Your fingers violently curved around the phone, fighting the urge to say something sharp, something to hurt him like he hurt you. Something to cut a deep scar in him. But no, this is exactly what you thought he wanted. He wanted you to bite, he wanted you to be the one to crack first, to prove that even after everything that happened, you would always come back.

You really did fight the urge to say something, but your fingers had a mind of their own, the alcohol slurring from your mind to your fingers.

You: ‘Didn’t know you cared. Don’t worry, you don’t have to.’

The moment you sent the text, the read receipt popped up almost instantly. Of course, he saw it right away.

You watched the three dots appear, then disappear, like he almost didn't bother responding at all. Then-

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t say i did.’

So typical. This is exactly what you imagined him to say. Dismissing you with as little effort as humanly possible.

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, the words practically clawing their way out. Fine.

If he wanted to be a dick, you could match him. After all, leaving him was all about making him feel how you felt, right? to make him suffer; even if it was a small fraction of what you felt.

You: ‘Right. You just text every random girl you've fucked in the middle of the night for fun? Damn, must be exhausting.’

Sent. Delivered. Read.

You hoped this would give you some leverage. You hoped that he would actually think for once, think about his real feelings.

And then-

Namgyu: ‘You think you're special?’

Namgyu: ‘Lmao.’

Namgyu: ‘Hate to break it to you.’

Namgyu: ‘You're not the first.’

Namgyu: ‘You're not the last.’

Namgyu: ‘Don't make this deeper than it is.’

All of the messages came in one rapid burst, leaving him little room to even breathe yet think about what he was saying. It was subtle, and maybe you were reading into it too much, but you knew what this meant: frustration. Frustration. Namgyu acts all erratic when he doesn’t get what he wants. He probably did a line of coke before texting you, hence the reckless behavior.

You let out a soft chuckle, this was funny. He acted like you were nothing to him, just another saved contact on his phone, yet here he was; blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

Should you even bother responding? Maybe you should have let him drown in his words. This was too much of an opportunity to miss. If he wanted to play the game, why don’t you?

You: ‘Funny. You act like you don't care, but you're the one blowing up my phone.’

You: ‘What's wrong? Not enough coke in the world to make me go away?’

You: ‘Must suck.’

Read.

The silence on your screen sent wavelengths, that was all you needed to know. You had finally got under his skin. You thew away the paper towel that you used to wipe yourself down, and was met with another vibration off your phone again.

Namgyu: Hope he fucks you better than i did. Shouldn’t be hard right? You looked real desperate out there.

For a slight moment, you stood still, his words impairing your vision. A slow feeling of heat crawled up your spine, clamping onto your sides.

He was pissed.

Not in the usual way, where he would act like he didn’t care, dismissing everything you had to say while he rolled his eyes, pushing his long hair back. No, this was different, it had gotten ugly really quickly.

That’s what he saw out there? He saw you as desperate?

Your fingers curled around your phone so tight your knuckles ached. It would be easy to snap back, to give him what he wanted — anger, frustration, proof that he still had a hold on you.

But no. Not this time.

You: ‘You can see from those VIP rooms, can’t you?’

You: ‘Must be nice having such a perfect view, should i send you a video?’

Read.

You unlock the bathroom, strutting into the club. You came out a different person than before. The girl that looked in the mirror, crying, gasping for air was no longer seen. Without further hesitation, you walk up to the bar, and order two shots. Anything strong.

While waiting for the shots, your phone buzzed in your bag once again. Damn.. how much of your time does he need?

Curiously, you check the notification and just as you expected, it was namgyu.

Namgyu: ‘So this is what you do when i’m not around?’

Namgyu: ‘Didn’t know you were that desperate.’

A slight chuckle came out from your mouth. Not around? How contradicting. You knew he was watching from those vip areas, it was inevitable. You hoped he saw you laugh, you hoped it stung. You swiped away from the text, deliberately ignoring it and put your phone back in your bag. Sliding off the chair, you took the two shots and started to look around.

You gaze your eyes up to the vip rooms before looking back into the corner you were sat at, the stranger still surprisingly still there. His eyes flick over to you; laced with curiosity. Kneeling down to the table, you slide the shot his way and smiled brightly.

“Consider this… an apology.” you say softly, trying to get on the man’s good side. “For leaving you hanging” You continued.

He laughed taking the shot and signaling you to clink glasses. “Cheers!” You both say laughingly.

Whilst you and the man were having a good time, conversely, namgyu was loosing his temper. Insanely quick.

As you laugh with the stranger, you feel the weight of a gaze burning into your skin. You don't need to look up to know exactly who it belongs to.

Your phone buzzes again. You take your time, dragging your fingers along the rim of your empty glass before finally checking the message.

Namgyu: ‘Keep playing with me.’

Namgyu: ‘You really think he wants you?’

He’s starting to unravel, his raw feeling starting to show. You tilt your head, focusing up to the vip rooms, looking through the slightly steamed windows. Even with the dim lighting you can still make up a long slender figure, he looked stiff. Angry.

You smiled one more time looking up at him before focusing back on the stranger, leaning in enough to close the small gap between each other. Your draw your fingers up his arms, letting out a small giggle.

As the next song plays, you pick up your phone and start to type.

You: ‘I don’t know… He seems quite interested.. in me.’

You: ‘Maybe i’ll let him find out what you couldn’t.’

Read.

He had practically been glued to your messages, waiting for anything. He read it almost immediately again. It feel like the energy had shifted. The air feels more tighter, it’s subtle, quiet but definitely there.

You can feel namgyus eyes follow your every move, beaming into your skin like lasers. You couldn’t see his expression from up there, but you didn’t need to.

The stranger starts to catch on, he notices the shift in your moods, how you were extremely anxious before now you look like your on top of the world.

He leans forward, tilting his head trying to read your expression. “So.. i don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but before you didn’t really seem like this place was… you know.. your scene.”

You dragged your fingers around the rim of your glass, trying to resist smiling.

“That’s funny, someone just told me that.”

You felt amused. Even a random stranger could tell the difference, that meant namgyu definitely had. It would make him itch, grip onto the table in pure frustration. Exactly what you wanted.

Once again, you are met with a vibration of the phone. Do you even need to check? You already know— it’s going to be him. You try to hold the pure enjoyment you get out of this, it was euphoric. You were finally getting what you wanted.

Namgyu: ‘Stop.’

Namgyu: ‘You don't even like him. What are you trying to prove?’

Namgyu: ‘We both know you'd rather be here

—with me. So quit wasting time.’

The vulnerability was practically seeping out through these texts, of course, he couldn’t just ask for you. He had to act like you’d eventually come crawling, like you were already his. How pathetic.

You tap the glass of your drink, once again glancing at the vip section. You know he’s there, watching this mess unravel, one by one.

You softly grabbed the strangers collar, letting out a laugh, dragging your fingers on his cheeks, ruffling his hair. Namgyu loved it when you did that to him, how you twirled his hair around your fingers and brushed your soft fingertips against his face.

The stranger is saying something— laughing, but you can’t seem to focus on that. You’re focusing on tracing the exact places you once did with him, twirling his hair nice and softly, making him tingle. You keep your touch slow, calculated.

You were touching him, lovingly. But it wasn’t for the stranger, it was for him.

Namgyu.

Another buzz.

Namgyu: ‘You really think that man cares ?’

Namgyu: ‘Men only want sex, don’t be a fool’

Namgyu: ‘He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get you like i do.’

You brush your hands through your hair, then softly dragging your nails against the man’s jaw, just to be petty.

Another buzz.

Namgyu: ‘Look at him, he’s practically stiff.’

Namgyu: ‘Your weirding the poor guy out.’

Namgyu: ‘Quit the act, just come up here.’

The entitlement radiates through the phone, but behind the phone, you could practically taste his jealousy.

You smirked, letting his words marinate, no response for him. You climbed up the stranger and sat on his lap, facing toward him. The stranger held onto your waist, pulling you in as he layed a sloppy drunk kiss on your lips.

You still felt the weight of namgyus stare, pressing you down. You felt electric, this is the best dopamine rush you’ve experienced in a while; the same feeling you once felt when namgyus hands were on you, it had come back. The idea of him watching was lighting a spark in your head.

You slowly and sensually started to move your hips back and forth on the man’s lap, your mouth slightly parted with a small smirk. The strangers grip tightened, his hands lazily moving up and down your waist. Your mind is elsewhere, on him, who were stood behind the glass of those VIP rooms.

Another buzz.

You climbed off the man’s lap, wiping his spit off your lips. Glancing at your phone, you tell him you’re going to get more drinks and walk over to the bar.

As you step away, the air becomes more tense. The thrill of being watched lingers through your skin, the weight of namgyus stare pressing deeply into you.

Sliding yourself onto the chair, you order another drink, as you wait you unlock your phone.

Then you finally look.

Namgyu: ‘That was for me, wasn’t it?’

Namgyu: ‘Just say it didn’t mean anything.’

Namgyu: ‘Lie to me.’

Lie to me. Lie to me? A three word sentence, so easy to understand. But it wasn’t that, it was the intent you couldn’t quite grasp. It would be so easy for you to lie to him. The weight of his stare felt like volumes, the way he watches, it makes your chest tighten.

You can barely make up your reflection in the phone, Flushed skin, lips once again parted, slightly shaking. His presence felt like a ghost. So far away, yet so meaningful.

Your bartender slides the drink to you, but you hadn’t even noticed. You were too spaced out. You exhale, thinking about how you reply to this.

Your fingers anxiously hover over the screen, hesitating every word that you type.

Tell me to stop.

Before you hit send, a slender like shadow falls over you.

The atmosphere shifts once again, that familiar sent of cheap musky cologne mixed with cigarettes formed behind you. The hairs at the back of your head stood.

And then—

A hand.

Long slender fingers decorated with chunky silver rings tap your hand. Your breath stutters, phone slipping into your pressed together thighs.

“You’re taking too long.”

Namgyu.

His tone is different to what you once heard. The raspy voice he would holler down your ears as you cried, begging for an answer.

‘Why don’t you love me?’

The phrase you once said repeatedly echoed through your mind, the memories once shared with him, the nights you spent shouting his name.

It had only been a week or so since you last talked, so why did it feel like it had been an eternity? Why did it feel like you had glued together the missing piece, after searching for ages?

The room feels smaller, like you were trapped; The music felt distant, it muffled behind the sound of your own heartbeat, pumping out of your chest.

He kept his fingers hovering over you hands, gently; but it felt as if he hesitated, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you in or push away.

That was Namgyus whole deal. He never knew what he wanted.

One moment, he was lighting up a joint sat on your mouth, smirking as he flicked the lighter. The next moment, he sat at his desk beside his bed, acting like the history you two had shared the night before was all a myth, nothing but a piece of fiction.

You swallowed hard as he reached for the phone you had dropped, due to his presence. He grazed his fingers between your thighs, gripping the phone, unlocked.

Tell me to stop

He swiftly takes the seat next to you, tapping is fingers on the desk, holding the phone in the other.

“You wanted me to see that?” His voice became small, a little cocky but he had held back. “Or was it just for you?”

You gripped both of your thighs and held strongly, frustratedly. The aching pain of anxiety pulsated though your palms. You need to push him away, now. It’ll never happen if you don’t do it now.

His eyes are stuck to you, like he’s too afraid to blink. He was filled with such emotion, it was almost indescribable.

Yearning? Desperation? Possession?

You can’t read him, even namgyu can’t read himself, right now.

His fingers linger against your wrist, his thumb barely touching over your pulse. He feels it-how fast it's racing, how much this moment is getting to you. And he likes it.

"You should've picked a better actor."

His lips curl into something smug, but his voice betrays him-low, strained, aching.

"He touched you like he didn't know what to do with you."

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "And you think you do?"

His grip tightens. "I know I do."

His words were real, true. It was embarrassing. You urged yourself to become a better person, run away from things that hurt you, people that hurt you. But here you are, heart racing to the same man that you swore you’d never run back to.

It’s humiliating, how you fold to him every, single, time. His presence strips away every single part of resistance that you worked so hard to build.

Sure, the act earlier on was real, it was how you truely felt; this emotion now, it’s raw. A soft touch. Your heart is pounding — pulsating loudly. Not from fear, not from anger, but from something much worse. Incredibly worse.

Need.

Namgyu keeps his dark eyes upon you. His eyes were endless, like the space between stars in the dark nights sky. They held something desirable, heavy emotion, and something dangerously close to desperation.

His lips parted, as if he wanted to blurt something out, one last jab before you cave in. He hesitates, Maybe because he knows you already know the truth just as much as he does.

You’re not running away.

Not really.

Your running away from your emotion, that deep feeling of dread that lingers apon your ever morning after spending the night with him.

He lets out a soft exhale, his grip on your wrist slightly tighter — not letting go but conversely not keeping you there. You could leave whenever your heart desired. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Your heart desires what your mind doesn’t. Your body desires the opposite of your mind.

“You always run,” he says, his voice soft, delicate. The bitterness that usually graces his tongue is absent, replaced by something quieter, something real.

He brushes his warm hands against yours, the rough cool metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine. His hands feel rough in random places, calloused along the pads of his fingertips.

“You could go,” he says underneath his breath, his space like eyes flickering between yours. “You have always been able to go.”

“But you don’t want to, do you?”

The way he says it, it was far from a question. As if he had found the last peice of a puzzle. No cockiness, no small disrespectful remarks, just honesty. Pure, truthful honesty. This was unusual for him to show so much.. emotion.

You force yourself to look down into your lap, only this made it worse, it made you realise that his hand on yours was the touch you had been craving for so long. The warmth, the weight, the silent promise in the way his fingers curl around yours.

You force the lump that was once again forming in your throat, you wanted to tell him how you truely felt, the words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, desperate to climb out. Just this once, you would let yourself let go.

“It doesn’t matter what i want Namgyu. You know that.” Your voice unsteady. “It doesn’t change the way this night will end. It doesn’t change the mornings id wake up dreaming of something that we didn’t have, and what we could of had. It doesn’t change the way you change between day and night.” You inhale, sharply shaking your head as hurtful tears start to form. “So tell me, what is the point in even acknowledging what i want? It does not matter.”

Tears fell like a gushing wave, you felt frustrated. Emotional, it was indescribable.

Namgyu exhaled. For once, he didn’t look cocky or smug, like he was going to shout out some careless remark and call it day.

For once, he looks real. Sober, somehow. He had definitely done drugs, but you were blinded by it, emotions speaking for itself.

You can’t do this.

“You don’t—“

Just as namgyu starts to speak, his hands frustratedly brushing through his long hair, You step back from the chair, unlocking your hands from his. “I can’t do this right now.”

Your voice trembles, betraying all of the honest emotions flooding your brain.

You stormed out, head low, tears falling violently. You don’t even wait for his reaction, you were too scared of confirming those very real emotions. Shoving through the crowd, the pulse of the music vibrating through your shoes.

You don’t know where you’re going— you just knew you had to go, for good.

Until.

A hand grabs your wrist, firmly. You started to tense, already knowing who it was.

“Please.”

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢�� (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[worldsover]

Transcendence/Pareidolia ft. Heejin

length ✦ 10k

genres ✧ it's a lot of oral, but hey, there's plot too; friends-to-lovers!Heejin

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your fist clenches in a tight ball.

"If I die because of you, you better feed my fish."

"Die? You're being ridiculous," Heejin says.

You have a lot you could retort in that moment. Such as, "Me, the ridiculous one?" Or, "I'm being serious, I'm gonna actually die." Or, "You're actively contributing to the degradation of the meaning of language if you're claiming my suffering as ridiculous and assuming I'm participating in the honorable but currently inapplicable trope of hyperbole." All these things you can say, and you're without audible retort. This is the fourth time today Heejin's lips encircle your shaft; you were past dry by the third, because she would not let go of your cock for five minutes after your climax (because you didn't stop her).

Heejin's eyes beg, her lashes flutter, her tongue tempts, slithering, slick, and you think maybe you can spare her one more load.

Her mouth slips smoothly from the base of your cock to the head and then, pop. One big bubble of spit. She adds more, saliva foaming up on her tongue that's sticking out and toying with your tip.

"Don't die? Pwease?"

How ridiculous—or you could transcend to immortality at her behest.

All the while, she's sucking your dick in this bathroom like it's mere leisure for her. Like cigarettes to a smoker, she's blowing you like smoke, dirtying her throat, burning you up. Far past dignity now, the only thing she has between her knees and the floor is a bunch of toilet paper. The picture of addiction she paints is unfortunate and raw honesty and vivid contrast between such an elegant woman and such an inelegant solution to hunger. Despite how cavalier and practiced she is about introducing your tip to her uvula, Heejin will never give you a tidy blowjob. She salivates, every time, her tongue a wicked beast of its own, a serpent that can't lie above its love. And on the other hand, you can grumble and grouse all you want—if Heejin says your cock is going in her mouth, then…

You should've seen this coming like how you don't see yourself cumming because your eyelids are wired shut by the pretty agony of this orgasm. When you open them, her (fake, important to make the distinction) glasses are covered in streaks, her hands still twisting, tongue still licking your underside. Determination in her eyes says that every drop will be wrung out. It's possible this isn't leisure, but rather, business, and cum margins are getting lower as damnable inflation rises. She'll squeeze you dry for every last dollar of semen, no apologies to the sperm banks.

When Heejin is done, she sips on your cockhead, then a final kiss. You slump over the toilet and she pats your shoulder, laughing; it's a mean-spirited chuckle, but your dying wish is to hear that laugh one last time, so good on her for the penny of kindness she could spare like an insurance company donating to a hospital.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

"How could anyone love sucking dick that much?" Jinsol asks.

You look at Jinsol, then look at Heejin. Then, look at Haseul, and look at Heejin again. You've never gotten used to this dynamic. How much are you supposed to interject between three drunk girls talking? Are you meant to at all? The topic has already gone off-course, and there's no captain to steer the ship back when you're six bottles down.

Your eyes fall on Heejin, then Haseul.

"Oh, man," Heejin says, downing a shot. Her hand falls around her cleavage, as she feels the warmth of the alcohol envelop her and shudders, eyes closed. "Do you really want to get into this?"

Look at Jinsol and Haseul as they laugh, and you join in laughter, and you look at Heejin again; now, she's serious, rolled up her sleeves for good measure. Let's address the whole looking at Heejin thing, because it's so apparent, even to your drunk ass, that it must be apparent to the others too—you asked her out a while ago, first year of college, rejection, but you're still friends now. Then, despite that, she started getting touchier, somehow more flirtatious. Drove and drives you fucking mad. This little hangout thing at Haseul's place is a long ways away (call it half a year) from getting four oral sessions in a day, though you remember it as being a pivotal stepping stone to the routine.

Focus. You're always putting on a performance, and the actors of the nerves of your brain are having trouble getting the script from the filing cabinets. Question: is it more or less suspicious to allocate, say, three glances toward Haseul and Jinsol each to compensate?

"Sure," Haseul says, still giggling to herself. She's been doing that ever since asked the first question. "What's so wonderful about getting your jaw sore and your mouth dry?"

Heejin makes an angry noise and says through gritted teeth, "It's not about that, obviously. There's so much more to sucking dick than the…" She gestures with her arms, unable to find a word.

"Why do you like it, Heejin?" you ask. Everyone stares at you. "Sorry, nevermind."

"No, no, it's fine," Heejin says."Lemme just, how do I put this? It's like, when you're sucking dick, you feel like you're controlling the dude. You decide when he gets hard, when he gets wet, and when he cums."

"So, you're a sadist," Jinsol says.

"Sadist, my ass," Heejin retorts. "It's… empowering. Sucking dick is empowering."

Huh. The alcohol fizzles and dies in your mind, and Heejin's deep voice echoes in your head to take the place—oh, Heejin is fucking wasted, by the way. Drank as much as the other two combined, but still standing (sitting), but barely.

"Weird," Jinsol replies.

Haseul crosses her arms, facing Jinsol. "Hey, don't kink shame."

"No, no, you don't get it. There's another reason," Heejin continues, verging mad by now. Her cheeks are turning red. "Dicks taste good. Taste amazing, even. And… dicks have faces."

Haseul spits out soju. Jinsol coughs soju. You're lucky you weren't mid-drink.

"Dicks have faces?" Jinsol and Haseul say together.

"Y-yeah," Heejin says, her face flushed. "Dicks have faces. Like, if you suck on the head a bit, you can see different expressions. If you lick the underside, you can see them smile. If you swallow deep… they cry."

Your pants tighten. Somehow, you get it.

She says quietly and quickly, "Oh and also I like the taste of cum. Alright, fine, I really like the taste of cum." She gets louder. "Fine, okay, geez, I LOVE the taste of cum! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Everyone bursts out in laughter. Heejin sips angrily on soju.

"Alright, Heejin," you say. "That was quite an enlightening explanation."

"Shut up, you," she says, sternly.

You gulp.

Haseul and Jinsol go get snacks from the kitchen, leaving you and Heejin alone.

"Dicks have faces, huh," you say.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Not a chance. You know, no one made you say all that."

Heejin grumbles. You try to get closer, but she puts her hand on your thigh.

"You've got a boner," she says. "Stop."

"Wha? What do you mean?"

"Stop." Heejin stares at you with a serious face, contrasting all the redness in her cheeks.

You don't know where to start with a response.

"It's just, I don't wanna make things weird"—too late—"and obviously all this girls' talk has you riled up or whatever"—by the way, Heejin's hand is slinking higher up your pants—"and I know it's not your fault, but, we're friends, and I don't wanna ruin that."

"S-sorry."

"Good boy."

Heejin had to look in your eyes while saying that one, huh?

You clear your throat, and all efforts to tame your second brain fail. Another drink. It's agonizing, waiting for Haseul and Jinsol to return. Then, Haseul and Jinsol return. Snacks. Too little, too late. There are probably other conversations as the night goes on, but your mind is already spinning from the alcohol, spinning even further at dirty thoughts incepted by Heejin. Eventually, Haseul and Jinsol conk out, and Heejin helps you carry them to Haseul's room.

"Heejin," you say. "I can carry them myself."

"Yeah, I know. Isn't it usually Jinsol who passes out last?"

You would scoff at Heejin's remark, though with your mind elsewhere, you just nod. After you lay Jinsol and Haseul delicately on the bed, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, where you jerk off furiously. You've never tugged yourself without a video in tow or some other material to assist, and you've never felt this urge drunk, but the mere concept of Heejin sucking off your cock like she needs it is enough for you to cum. Mark this as the inevitable inciting incident: the door swings open as you pump your last shot.

You make eye contact. Heejin blinks. Cum flies.

"Uh," you say.

"Woah," she says.

You say nothing.

Heejin closes the door.

"Shit," you mutter and you've used too much toilet paper wiping down where you shot and you're fumbling and you almost trip over yourself and—goddammit, what the fuck just happened. Once you clean yourself off, you go outside.

Heejin is standing there.

"It's fine. Don't sweat it," she says.

"I… I don't know if I can. You know. If I can, like, not sweat it, fuck." You sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Look, I'm gonna take the bed in her other room, you're fine with the couch right?"

You're drifting in and out of consciousness on the couch when Heejin shakes you awake.

"Huh?" you say.

"You know, I lied."

"About what?"

"Sucking dick having faces."

You blink. You rub your eyes.

"I lied. Dicks don't have faces. Cocks have personalities."

You're too tired to say anything. You just stare at Heejin. You smell a bit more alcohol on her shirt.

"Well, no, I mean, it's true, dicks have faces. But also cocks have personalities."

You think, but no words come out.

"The difference is, um, when a cock has personality, it has preferences and stuff. Like… preference for speed, depth, and tightness. When a cock has personality, you can tell when it likes and doesn't like what you're doing."

You nod off.

"Like, I could tell you would really like if I take all of you in my mouth. You definitely look more like an intimate, slow deepthroat kind of guy, you know, instead of the facefucking, gagging thing. It's like MBTI, yeah, that's it. Your cock is definitely an I, not an E. Oh, maybe a lot of tongue action? But not in the teasing the tip for the whole time sort of thing. Or, am I wrong? What kind of blowjobs do you like? Because you have the kind of cock I wanna tease, and the kind of dick I wanna kiss and why did you waste that load on a tissue, like are you kidding…"

Your eyes are closed.

A woman's deep voice. "Right. Well. Anyways, it's pretty late, and we're both drunk. So, uh. Good night. I guess."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You wake up. Sunlight. Snack wrappers. Haseul and Jinsol nowhere to be found, or awake, rather. Heejin is next to you on the couch—no, you're hugging each other—actually, she's draped over you like a blanket, and your erection is pushing against her ass.

Heejin wakes up.

"Shit," you say, getting up. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't I tell you to... ugh, whatever."

You sit on Haseul's couch, rubbing the sleep and hangover out of your face, crust out of your eyes. You stretch, hearing creaks in your bones. Heejin sits up, looks forward.

"Last night," she starts. "I might have said some, uh, crazy things."

You snort.

Looking at you, she frowns. She doesn't seem hungover at all, not a bead of sweat on her forehead. Her hair is perfect, as are her pouty lips.

Your brow upturned, you scoff. "Like, crazy? That's one way to put…"

There's a twist in those lips now, like she's running it back in her head; now you are too.

"I mean—yeah, that's the right word, but..."

She's still staring at you, and your mind's really running in circles and sure she laid out the track herself but you could just run off it at any time.

Oh, you're following the track still? "It's, just, I'm, I'm sorry for, what I was, you know, doing. Last night."

Heejin sighs. "I told you. Stop apologizing. It's fine."

"Okay," you say.

You make an excuse to Heejin about getting home, despite wanting nothing more than to spend time with her. What's the point of hanging out when it's just going to make your crush on her worse.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

When you get home, you end up jerking off three times in a row in your own bathroom, but at least you aren't interrupted any of those times. 

A few days after the party, you've been thinking about Heejin's joke a lot more than you should.

The worst thing is that Heejin is being all chummy with you again like nothing happened. You wonder if she's doing that on purpose. Either way, you've learned that you need to distance yourself. You've been avoiding group hangouts. You haven't answered your texts in a couple days. You've avoided the pet store the both of you always visit, instead opting to support local businesses like—insert large delivery corporation here (no free advertising)—for your fish food. This goes on for a week.

The week ends when Jungeun comes to your house.

"What?" you say, lounging, staring at air bubbles floating to the top of your little aquarium.

"Don't 'what' me," Jungeun replies through the closed door. "Open up."

"No."

"Look, I'm here because Heejin is really sad, and so Haseul wanted to know why you're not talking to Heejin, and I volunteered because I could tell Heejin really wants to see you and not just talk to you."

"Jungeun, I don't know."

"Listen. I'm not leaving."

Ten minutes later, Jungeun is eating potato chips in your room.

"So… why are you avoiding her?" Jungeun asks.

"What does she want to say to me?" you ask.

Jungeun pauses. "She… told me to tell you to go see her."

You sit on your sofa next to Jungeun, grabbing chips out of the bag. They're your chips.

"She didn't tell me to tell you what exactly it is, but it's important," Jungeun continues. "But honestly, what's been up with you?"

"Nothing's been up with me. I'm the same guy."

"That sounds like someone who has not been the same guy."

You eat more chips. "And how are things going with you and Jinsol," you say.

Jungeun stops slouching. "Hey, don't try and change the subject. For the record, it's been going fine, thank you very much."

"Sounds like you're still in the friendzone."

"You're the last person I want to hear that from."

"Me, the last person? I'd assume Jinsol would be the last person you want to hear that from."

"Fine! Just stop being a dumbass, okay? Heejin really, really wants to talk to you."

You put your hands up. "Okay. You win. I'll talk to her."

"Awesome." Jungeun looks down at her phone, then looking back up, she smiles. "Oh, by the way, Yerim just texted me, she finally finished exams for the semester. What if Heejin and Yerim both come over? We can get everything out of the way, two for one deal."

You sigh. "Yeah, I guess."

She pats you on the shoulder.

You feel no less comforted.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Two for one deal, your ass. You're pacing around your bedroom. Yerim and Jungeun are playing Smash in the living room, and Heejin is… somewhere, probably. The door is shut. All the noise in the world is muffled. You don't know what to expect. Obviously, Heejin needs to talk to you; you're her friend, one of her best friends, and you've been ignoring her for the past week. You sit down. Take a deep breath.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," you say.

You sit on your bed. So does Heejin. You look away. Look down. She smells really, really good, sweet and warm. You've missed her, a lot.

"Hey," Heejin says.

So she's talking first. "Hey," you respond.

You were already loosening up your tense shoulders, but Heejin says "So, Mr. Dickface" and you laugh and you look at Heejin, casually stunning in a simple outfit, a white tee, black shorts.

"Heejin, come on. It's been a week. I swear I would've forgotten if you didn't bring it up."

She pouts.

"Okay," you say, "alright, I would have not forgotten, fine. I still can't believe you. Dicks having faces."

She laughs now.

There's a lull in the conversation. The sound of Yerim shouting and buttons mashing is barely audible. You turn to face Heejin, and she's still looking at you. Her eyes are… soft, vulnerable. She's holding herself.

"Listen," Heejin says. "I'm sorry if I've been weird these past... mmm, months? I know you're not dumb, and I guess, I've been treating you like you are."

You whisper, "I am dumb though."

"No, you're not." She scoffs. "I'm sorry, seriously. We're friends. And friends don't lead each other on and play games"—the sound of a cheer coming from outside the room, definitely Jungeun—"okay, well, they do, but friends don't keep their friends wondering."

"Wondering?"

Heejin sighs. "Let me just get this off my chest. So, yeah, I like you. A lot. Obviously, you've liked me since the beginning. Or, well, loved. When you asked me out, I was excited and nervous and confused, but I... You know me. I've got a million things going on at the same time. Dating as a possibility didn't even cross my mind."

"Yeah. I get it. I don't blame you for that. I guess if we're both laying it all out, I get it. I swear I do. It's that dynamic that always fucks up a friendship between guy and a girl, and I think it's good we got that question out of the way early. But like, I was shocked, obviously, when you started touching me so much, holding hands, sitting on my lap, hugging me." You pause and look away. "It felt good, but it also felt wrong. Like you were playing with my feelings."

Heejin reaches out and takes your hand. "I wasn’t playing with you," she says softly. “I was playing with myself"—half a giggle comes out of you, adding some levity, and she smacks your shoulder—"No, not like that. What was I saying? Right, I guess I was trying to figure out what I wanted."

"Right." Your head hangs again. "So what? I'm just a bystander? A side effect?"

"Yes."

She laughs, squeezing your hand. You pout.

"I'm kidding. You're more than that. Way more. I've learned that much by now."

Heejin takes a long pause.

You can hear breathing, neither exhalations nor inhalations matching pace. It's tense.

"You know what else I learned? Because there's something else on my mind right now. Sort of, sparking in my head, shouting. I know we're having this whole heartfelt thing and I'm sorry for ruining it, but I have to say this because you have a boner and it's springing in your pants and I might be drooling or something—fuck. I've learned that I love sucking dick. A lot. Okay?"

This is the first time you've seen Heejin get so flustered, so bothered. So are you.

She isn't looking at you, yet she continues anyway: "Well. I have to be honest. That's all hypothetical. You know, I've never actually done it. I've just thought about it. A lot. And, obviously, you know, cucumbers turn to dildos and other toys and stuff. And then I saw your dick. And now I've thought about your dick and keep thinking about it."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Yeah." Heejin starts nodding, gaining confidence. "Yeah. I'm certain now. And please, don't think you're taking advantage of me or something, because you're not. In fact, I want you to take advantage of me."

Your breath stays in your lungs.

"How about this," Heejin says, leaning in more. "Do you wanna… fuck around? Or, well, I mean, that's a crass way of putting it. Be my partner in crime. Suckbuddy. Fuckfriend. Whatever you call it. No strings attached. You want a blowjob? You'll get a blowjob. That kind of thing. Even if it's not dating or whatever, we just do what we want to do and we can figure it out later."

Your smile grows slowly. "You know what? Sounds good to me."

"That's it? I drop all that in front of you and you're just, 'sounds good to me'?"

"Okay, fine. Here. I forgive you. That good?"

"Actually, that helps." Heejin exhales, a sigh of relief. "Great."

Silence. Cleared throats. The both of you sit closer now. Her knees bump into yours, and she giggles. She holds your hand. Your eyes meet. You're holding her gaze and her body heat is emanating from her skin and you want her, badly.

"You look handsome today," Heejin whispers. "Have I told you that lately?"

"No," you say, quieter, feeling meek. "You haven't. Thank you."

Her free hand brushes strands of hair.

"Your hair, so cute," she says, happily humming.

Heejin scoots even closer as her knee nudges between your legs.

"Nothing to say? Mm… okay. I have a question."

"What is it?"

Heejin kisses you, immediately catching your lips before you can breath, a taste of chocolate-tinged lip gloss, as her tongue mingles with yours. Her hand lays over your bulge, and her leg is still bumping into your crotch. She pulls away.

"Wow. You're kissing good," she says, flustered.

"No, you're better at it. Amazing. You're amazing."

"God, you're sweet." She laughs.

Your mouths are together again. You pull her into a hug, and she squeals.

"Woah there," she says.

"Sorry. Got a little excited."

"It's fine." Heejin looks away. 

You squeeze her harder, and she squeezes you harder. You break the hug.

"Hey. How far," Heejin starts, "do you think we want to go?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, right now. In the moment. If I'm reading this right, and I think I am, you really, really want me. So how far? Are we just gonna kiss this time? Or do you wanna go a bit further? A lot further."

You freeze. "Honestly, you decide."

"You sure? Because, if I had it my way, I, um, I don't think I'll stop sucking your dick until Yerim finally wins a round and they wonder where the fuck we've been."

Your eyes are wide. "Y-you're really picturing that, aren't you? The two of them barging in while my cock is down your throat."

She does not reply.

"You are unbelievable."

"I can't help it," she says, almost whining. "You have the sort of cock I really want to play with."

You pull Heejin back into another hug, kissing her. She pushes you onto the bed and straddles your thighs. Her body heat, her scent, her hands caressing you. This is the first time you're feeling this much of her body against your own, and it's incredible. Even better—much, much better—is when she lifts up her shirt, revealing a simple, black bra. She takes her shirt off completely, and your hands grab at her stomach. How many times have you watched her do ab workouts for an ungodly amount of time, hoping one day you could feel her six-pack for yourself? Your hands then trail up higher, until you're grabbing at her tits, still ensconced within the confines of a bra, but her breasts are heavenly, perky, waiting to be squished and bounced on your hands.

Heejin has other designs for you: she grabs both of your wrists and pins them to the bed above your head. Your pants are tenting, and she grinds against your cock. You moan.

"I love seeing you like this," Heejin says. She lowers her torso onto yours, breasts spilling out of her bra a bit. She grinds harder, and you moan again. "You're so hot, and you're all for me. God, I wanna… fuck around so much."

She backs up, dragging her crotch down your leg as she descends. When she reaches your foot, she sits and puts it between her legs.

"Shit, Heejin," you say.

She bends over to kiss your neck.

"Your foot… feels good. I'll never say that again, so don't you dare make fun of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it. You can always tell me what you like."

She's rubbing her crotch against your ankle and taking your shirt off. Her lips move down to your nipple, licking circles around it.

"Your cock… feels big," she says. She grabs at it through your pants. "I'm so fucking excited for the real thing."

You've imagined this moment so many times. You'd fantasized about being pinned to a bed, about being teased by Heejin, of course, but you didn't expect, couldn't ever picture how she'd really sound, how she'd actually feel, how it would feel to be touched, licked, kissed by her. And yet here she is, biting on your nipple, moaning herself as she uses your foot.

She lets go. "Your… chest is so nice."

"Uh, thanks."

Heejin smiles and returns to biting, but on your other nipple instead. Her next pecks and licks are on your own abs, tracing over your six pack, following the ridges and dips with her tongue. She takes your waistband in her mouth. Slowly, she pulls down. You lift your hips, and then your pants are off. Heejin drags her cheek against your cock through your underwear, eyes closed.

"Your scent… is amazing." She licks the fabric along your length, where it bulges. "Mmm, this is what I'm talking about."

Your cockhead is poking out of your waistband. She kisses it, and then sucks on it through your underwear.

"Heejin, take it… off."

She stops, eyes wide. She pulls your waistband with her mouth, and you lift your hips again. She tugs it down, your cock sprinting out.

"Oh, wow," she says.

"W-what is it?"

"Your cock… is really, really gorgeous."

You gulp. "Thanks."

Heejin takes your cockhead in her mouth. You close your eyes. She swirls her tongue around the tip. She bobs down, lips wrapped around your shaft. Then, pop. She takes your cock out of her mouth, holding it in her hand.

"Is this… okay?" she asks.

"More than okay. Really, really, really okay."

"Good." She jerks you off, her spit easing the friction.

"Shit, Heejin."

"God, I love hearing you say my name."

She moves faster, your cock slick in her palm. She alternates between fast and slow. One second, she's going quick, and the next, her hand is barely moving, and your cock is twitching in her grasp. Her thumb strokes your underside.

"I… love teasing you," Heejin says. "I love making you beg for me to go faster."

"Please, go faster, then."

"You're so cute." She goes slower. You groan.

Heejin moves her grip to your balls, stroking your underside with her thumb again. Her other hand grabs the base of your cock. Her mouth returns, sucking on your balls. She's pumping up and down.

"Fuck, Heejin, please… go faster."

"Again."

You gulp. "Please, Heejin, go faster."

"Good boy."

Her hand speeds up. Your balls are getting sucked, her tongue licking around them, and her other hand is jerking, and it's like she's milking you. Your climax is imminent. You warn her.

"You're gonna make me cum."

Heejin pops off your balls and takes your cock out of her hand. She lowers her torso.

"I've been waiting so long for this," she says.

She swallows you.

Her tongue is slathering your shaft, and she's bobbing down, and her lips are tight around you. The tip of your cock bumps into the back of her throat. Her hand is caressing your balls. Her other hand is pumping the rest of your shaft. She comes up, taking a deep breath, and her eyes are watering. You wipe the tears away. She smiles, as if she's satisfied with having gagged on your shaft, as if she believes with her heart of hearts her own doctrine, and in such resolve of her mouth returning, you can't deny it.

Maybe her jaw hurts. Maybe her throat's dry. But you sense none of it. Deeper, you hit the back of her throat again, and her lips still curl up into a smile even through more tears. She's still pumping, and her other hand is pinching her nipples. Heejin moans. Her moan vibrates your cock, and her moan vibrates her throat, and her moan vibrates her tongue, like, holy shit, you've never felt anything better. And then…

"Heejin, I'm… cumming."

She stays down. You shoot. Her eyes widen. Another shot, and her eyes are closed. Another shot, and you're groaning, and her throat is swallowing. More shots. You're pumping Heejin full of your cum, and she's pumping you empty. Heejin, relentless, keeps sucking. You try and push her off, meteors dancing in your mind, but she won't budge. She stays down, her eyes still closed.

"Heejin, wait, wait, I'm so, so sensitive."

Heejin shakes her head. With her mouth still full, she says, "Wah, want… ahll."

You collapse. Heejin keeps sucking. Your cock is twitching in her mouth, and you try backing up in your mattress until you hit the headboard. You grip the sheets. You can't stop cumming. Every suck Heejin takes is another shot down her throat, each one joined by a satisfied "mm, mm", and swallowed without hesitation. You lose track of how many shots you pump into her. Even when you stop spurting semen into her mouth, and your orgasm is subsiding, Heejin stays down. She moves her lips from the base of your cock up to your tip, and she sticks her tongue out to cushion the underside of your shaft. You're shaking. You can't stop shaking.

"Heejin," you say—no, you gasp it; you croak it out; you despair for the name, "wait."

She does just that. Wait. With your cock in her lips like a popsicle, and she's waiting for you to melt. She breathes through her nose, humming to herself. You shudder. Your cock is still sensitive.

"Please… wait."

Heejin listens. She doesn't suck, and she doesn't bob. She waits. Your orgasm is over. Your mind is fading.

Pop.

She sucks the tip. Pop. She takes your cock out of her mouth, holding it in her hand again. Her tongue sticks out and licks up your shaft, where all the leftover cum and spit and saliva has gathered.

"Ahh." Her tongue is covered in white cream. A gulp. "Ahh." Her tongue is clean.

If you need a few more breaths, unfortunately you've used up all the air already, and you're just running on whatever other fumes now. "You… are insane," you say.

She giggles. "Was it that bad?"

"No, no, no, it was… the best. And the worst. A-are you gonna do that every time?"

"Do what?"

"Never mind."

Heejin crawls on top of your body. Your cock is nestled between her thighs. She lies on top of you.

"Did you like it?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Do you wanna… keep being fuckfriends with me? Suckbuddies? While I talked all the game about blowjobs, I wouldn't mind if you gave me a little oral service once in a while too." She says quietly, like she's felt bashfulness for the first time in her life, "And, I, um, am down to do more too. A little later. Or something."

"Of course. Yeah."

You wrap your arms around her.

"Good," Heejin says.

She kisses you. Your cum is on her lips, and she's sharing the taste with you. You taste yourself. It's nothing terrible, but she did gulp your load down without stopping, so, you can't fully empathize with her enthusiasm. Still, you reciprocate, savoring Heejin instead.

You hear cheering from outside the room.

"Think Jungeun won," Heejin says.

You snort. "Should we… go out? Pretend like nothing's changed?"

"I'm sure we'll figure something out."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You and Heejin end up deciding not to hide anything, but not telling the girls either. They'd find out sooner or later, and besides, you'd both want to brag about it, eventually.

After the three of them say their goodbyes and leave your house, you head straight to your bathroom. You thought Heejin's lips fully drained you dry, but apparently not, because you shoot more loads thinking of how her throat swallowed you.

You receive a text from her.

> miss you already ;)

You smile.

> Miss you too. can't wait for next time.

Heejin sends a photo. A strand of spit falls from her lips, down to her cleavage. Your heart skips a beat.

> neither can i <3

You save the photo.

Your phone buzzes again.

> don't jack off to it though

> Too late.

You send your fingers and shaft covered in cum.

She sends a photo again, of her frowning.

> wtf!! that was my load! i'm gonna kill you!!!

You laugh and send a text with your other hand. 

> Love you.

> lol yeah yeah whatever

You send another photo of your cock.

> another pic. As my apology

> wait.... didn't you say you just jerked off

> yeah?

> and you're still hard?

You gulp.

> guess so.

> you're such a stud. come over. i'll help you with that

You can't get dressed fast enough.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You meet halfway. A park, late at night. Fastest option, you're both too horny. You and Heejin are behind a building, some sort of community center, too late to be open or for the sun to shine down on the two of you being so daring outdoors.

Heejin's lips are on your neck, bound to leave marks, but you can't find yourself caring. Her hand is massaging your balls over your shorts, her other hand is down your underwear pumping your shaft, and her thigh is grinding against your cock. She kisses you.

You grab her jaw and pull her off you. "Um, I'm sorry. I, um, I think we might wanna establish some ground rules or something."

She stares at you, wide-eyed. "Ground rules? Like, safewords and stuff?"

"Uh, I guess, yeah. I just… I don't know, it'd make me feel more comfortable if, you know, we had some boundaries."

Heejin sighs. "Fine. Fair. Makes sense, I guess. I'm not a huge fan of… talking about feelings and stuff, but, I get it."

"Right, so, um, obviously, no feelings, and, I dunno, no dating?"

"Yep. You can see other girls. I'll see other dudes. Nothing serious."

"Sure. Yeah. Okay."

Heejin continues pumping your cock. "Anything… else?"

You gulp. "Safeword, I guess. And, like, is there anything you're… not okay with?"

"Um, not sure. Never thought about it."

"Okay, well, what's a word you hate?"

"Hmm… dick."

You blink.

Heejin giggles. "Just kidding. Um, I dunno, uh, penis? Cock? Uhh… sausage."

"Sausage?"

"Yeah. Sausage."

You pause. "And if, you know, I can't speak?"

"Tap three times on me or whatever. Three for sausage. Sounds good?"

"Yep. Three for sausage."

"Great. Anything else?"

"There was one thing in particular I was thinking about. So like, one time, I nutted seven times in a day."

Her mouth starts to water. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Heejin pumps faster. "That's… amazing."

"No, but that's the thing. I gotta set limits, Heejin. Even this, third time, it's, it's a lot. Too much."

She frowns. "What, so… no multiple nut sessions?"

"Once a week. Maybe."

"Fine, fine, okay. Once a week."

"Okay, cool. Ground rules established. Sausage as the safeword. No dating, seeing other people. Three times for sausage. One nut session a week."

"Got it." Heejin resumes pumping your shaft.

"Hey, Heejin, um, what do you want me to… do, when you're blowing me?  Anything you want? Because it feels like I'm just"—she gets on her knees—"kinda doing nothing and"—she pulls your shorts and underwear down—"you're doing"—she puts your cockhead in her mouth—everything, see!"

Pop. "Yeah. I dunno. Don't worry about me. Focus on yourself."

"Wait, Heejin, but, aren't we partners in crime, fuckbuddies, whatever, I wanna, like, make you feel good too."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Dickface." She jerks your shaft, and your knees buckle. You figure you might as well sit on the concrete floor, your back slumped on the brick wall. It's a makeshift position that you'll learn to get used to. She lowers her face to your crotch, then continues, "But don't worry. Feeling your cock cum is enough to make me feel good."

Heejin licks circles around your shaft, where the precum has gathered. Her hand is pumping the rest. Your cock is already twitching.

"Besides," she continues, "if you focus on me… we'd never get anywhere."

Pop.

She swallows you.

"Heejin, shit."

Her bobbing is relentless. She's pumping your shaft and massaging your balls, and she's deepthroating your shaft. Her spit is drenching your cock, and her lips are tight, and her tongue is slathering. Heejin's bobbing up and down, and your cockhead bumps into the back of her throat. Your balls clench. You shoot.

Pop.

Heejin takes your cockhead out of her mouth. Her hand is jerking, and the first shot hits her lips. The second, she opens her mouth to catch. The third, she closes her lips. The fourth, she catches in her mouth again. The fifth, she swipes up with her tongue. The sixth, she catches. The seventh, she misses, and your cum lands on her cheek. The eighth, she misses again, and your cum lands on her chin. The ninth, Heejin opens her mouth, and your cum falls right in. She gulps. The tenth, she misses again, and your cum lands on her neck. Heejin's pumping slows.

"That… was… amazing," you say.

Pop. "Yeah."

"Fuck. I'm just saying. Next time, I'm going to get a taste of your pussy." You open your mouth. "See, my mouth's watering just thinking about it."

"Yeah?" She jerks your shaft. Another shot lands on her neck. She wipes your cum and sticks her finger in your mouth. "You're adorable. But you're right. Next time."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The two of you had ramyeon at a convenience store after, then said bye. Like friends. Just friends.

The next time is two days later, at night again. This time, you finally go to Heejin's apartment. You haven't been here in a long time, not since she moved in. It's cleaner than you remember.

"Make yourself at home," Heejin says.

You sit on her couch. She sits next to you. You kiss. Your hands are groping her breasts, and her hand is pumping your shaft. You lift her shirt, and her tits are freed from her bra. Her nipples are hard. You pinch them.

"Hey, wait, stop, stop," she says.

"Sausage?"

"N-no, I'm… fine, just, wait."

"What is it?"

"Um, so… I kinda… made a mess. Earlier."

"What… kind of mess?"

She giggles. "On my bed. You'll see."

Heejin leads you to her room.

"Holy shit," you say.

"Surprise?"

She's made a mess, alright. Sheets stained white, spots and splotches, streaks and trails, the whole nine yards. Your cock twitches, even if you're confused how one woman could make such a mess on her own.

"I was, um, thinking about sucking your cock all day yesterday. I didn't wanna touch myself, but I couldn't help it."

"I'm glad."

Heejin lies on her bed, pulling her shorts and underwear off. Her pussy is glistening. She spreads her legs.

"Come. Lick it."

"I've been waiting for this." You crawl on top of Heejin's body and put your face between her legs. You lick circles around her slit. You lick up and down her folds. "I don't exactly have toys to practice on like you... so I'm gonna need to do plenty of catching up."

"Don't worry. Practice away."

You lick circles again, and Heejin's quiet. You lick up and down, and she's quiet. You flick her clit, and Heejin's quiet. Your tongue is slathering her slit, and she's quiet.

"Wait, Heejin, is… everything okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"What is it? Is my tongue rough or something?"

She looks at you. "Oh, no, no, not at all! No, it's, um, your technique's, uh, kinda lacking."

"Ah. Yeah, see."

"Here, I'll show you."

Heejin sits up and pushes you down. She's straddling your face.

"First," she says, "spread my… my lips. Like this."

She spreads her labia.

"Then, you wanna, kinda, stick your tongue inside, like, deep."

Heejin uses her finger to spread herself wider. You stick your tongue inside her hole.

"Now… use your thumb to, like, rub my clit, and move your tongue around. Like, you're, um, writing, something, with your tongue, I guess. Inside me. Like, a, um, circle. Shit, I dunno."

You rub her clit. Heejin moans. You lick circles inside her hole.

"And, uh, yeah, that's… about it. Oh, and, move your, your finger and thumb. Not at the same time. And I'll grab your hair and move you around and I guess just tell you what to do. And then you can figure it out after that, right?"

"Yeah. Got it."

Heejin lies back down. You spread her lips. You stick your tongue inside her hole. You rub her clit. You lick circles inside her hole.

"A little lower. And, and, like, lick, not circles, but, a, like, a line. But not a straight line. An, um, I dunno, a diagonal one. But not a diagonal one. A, uh, a curve, but not a curve. Um."

You lick lower. You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You lick a curve, but not a curve.

"There. Yeah. That's… good. Keep going."

You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You lick a curve, but not a curve. Heejin moans. Your tongue is still licking, and she moans, and her hand is on top of your head.

"Use your, your thumb, and, and, like, stick your index finger inside. Like, curl your finger and, and, find my, my, um, g-spot."

You rub her clit. You stick your index finger inside. You curl your finger. Heejin moans. Your tongue is licking diagonally, but not a diagonal. Your index finger is curling, searching, and you find her g-spot, a soft patch inside her walls. Your tongue is licking curves, but not a curve. Heejin moans again.

"Add… another finger."

You stick your middle finger inside.

"Curve both, both your, your fingers. Both fingers."

You curl both your fingers.

"And, and, like, twist. But not twist. Rotate. But not rotate. Uh, fuck, um, shit, I dunno, uh, fuck, whatever, just, um, fuck, uh, wait."

You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You curl both fingers. You rotate, but not rotate. While you're going through advanced mathematics under a tutor under a slightly lust-drunk stupor, you're starting to understand both sides more. On the one hand, your mouth is indeed going dry, and your jaw is starting to hurt. On the other hand, you're drooling. Whatever taste Heejin's pussy has is starting to get really addicting, enough for your cock to stay hard the entire time, enough for you to ignore the fatigue.

"Add… another finger."

You stick your ring finger inside, which immediately earns a moan from Heejin. Your tongue is licking curves, but not a curve. Your fingers are curled, rotated, twisted, whatever. Heejin moans again. You're rubbing her clit.

"Fuck, more, more. Rub my, my, rub my clit faster. Fuck, lick faster."

You speed up. You curl your fingers. You rotate them. You twist them. Heejin moans again. Her hand is tight on top of your head. Her body is trembling. You move your free hand and press it onto her stomach to keep her still. Your three fingers are thrusting in and out of Heejin's pussy, and her hips are buckling. Her walls are clenching. She moans, a final time.

Heejin lets go. You lick. Your fingers are thrusting. Your thumb is rubbing her clit. Heejin shudders. More gushes of cum coat your tongue and fingers. She's going to drown you. You understand how she made that mess. Your three fingers are pistoning in and out of Heejin's pussy as her climax subsides. More gushes. More. Less. Some.

"Wait," she says. "Hold… hold it. My spot."

You stop rotating, twisting, and whatever-ing. Her walls are fluttering. Your three fingers are still. Her girl cum is trickling out of her hole.

You take your face off Heejin's crotch.

"Holy… fucking shit," she says.

"Wild ride?"

"That was… amazing."

You flex your fingers. "Yeah. Didn't know you could squirt like that."

"Neither did… I."

Heejin props herself up. You stick your three cum-soaked fingers in her mouth. She sucks. She moans. You stick them deeper down her throat, and her lips are wrapping. Her eyes are closing.

"Thanks for… teaching me," you say.

Pop. "Mmm. Of course."

Your three fingers return to her pussy. You pump, and her girl cum is slicking your fingers. Heejin lies back down. Your three fingers are pistoning again. She moans.

"Wait, wait, sausage, sausage!"

You stop. "Shit, sorry."

"It's fine, it's fine. Just, sensitive."

"Got it."

Heejin giggles. "Sorry. Sometimes… I squirt a lot. Um. Overstimulated."

"Well, at least you know how I feel."

"Wait, was that a sausage moment, because I feel so bad and—"

You interrupt Heejin with a kiss. "No, it's fine. In fact, it was really fucking hot, and besides, I already told you about how much I can cum. Oh yeah, by the way—" another kiss, because there is no such thing as too many with Heejin "—I kinda wanna see the toys you were talking about."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If that's… cool."

She smiles. "Sure. Lemme, lemme clean up first."

"Alright."

Heejin cleans her bed with tissues, and you help her wipe up. Then, you head to her closet. She opens it, and… holy shit. There's an assortment of vibrators and dildos and g-spot stimulators and other contraptions and tools, almost an entire shelf dedicated to sex toys.

"This is… incredible," you say.

"Hey, um, by the way, could you, um, close your eyes?" she asks. "I, um, dunno, it'd… feel less embarrassing."

"Sure."

You close your eyes.

"And, like, turn around."

You turn around.

"Okay, okay, so, um, these ones"—you hear plastic tapping against plastic—"are just the vibrators. These ones"—plastic tapping again—"are the dildos. And then… um, these ones are for g-spots, and, and then there's more for anal, and then… um, I dunno, basically, um, the rest is stuff I've gotten on impulse because it looked fun."

You snort. "Impulse, huh?"

"Shut up. Um… open your eyes."

You turn back around. Heejin's holding a Hitachi wand.

"Okay, so, like, this, this is probably my favorite. Wand. Magic wand. And then"—she puts it back and holds a simple, white vibrator—"this is the, um, the next one." She puts it back and holds a curved, purple toy—"then this. Um… this is, this is the biggest"—she puts it back and holds a monster of a dildo—"um, and then, this is the smallest." She points to a cute, pink bullet vibe.

So many questions flood your mind, but the only thing you can blurt out is, "Impulse purchases, huh?"

Heejin shoves you. "Shut up! Um… and then, this"—black anal beads—"and, um, this"—clear, pink butt plug—"are for anal. Obviously. And then, um, basically, I've, um, experimented. A lot."

"Experimented, huh?"

She shoves you again. "Stop… saying huh!"

You wrap Heejin in a hug. "I'll say huh as much as I want."

"Whatever. Um… anything you wanna… try?"

You gulp. "C-could I watch you use them?"

Heejin steps away. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you're comfortable. Like, right now. Or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

Heejin sighs. "You… absolute pervert."

"You're the one with"—you point to her shelf—"all that."

"Fine, fine. Um, sure. Which… do you wanna see me use?"

You gulp again. "So, um. You said you practiced sucking dick on one of them right? Imagined it was me?"

She rubs her thighs together. "Y-yeah."

"Which… was it?"

Heejin reaches for one. She holds a flesh-colored dildo, about the length and girth of your own cock.

"This one," she says.

"Then, that one, please."

She nods. "Okay… sit on the bed. Get comfy."

Heejin puts the dildo on her bed and closes the closet door. She undresses completely, tossing her clothes to the side. Your cock is tenting. She returns, picks the dildo, and then she lies on her bed next to you.

"So… you, you just wanna watch me use this? Suck on it and stuff?"

You nod. "Yeah. Please."

Heejin bends her legs and spreads her thighs. Your cock twitches. Her free hand rubs her slit. She's spreading her lips.

"Shit, Heejin, you're so hot."

"Thanks… pervert."

She sticks the dildo inside her hole, and you love watching how her pussy stretches for it. Especially knowing your cock will be doing the same soon. That image makes you harder, enough for you to pull down your pants and start jerking.

"Heejin, would, would you… talk? Your voice is so pretty."

Heejin blushes. "Thank you. What do you want me to say?"

"Just, like, anything. Tell me… what you're imagining. What you're feeling.. Your fantasies."

Heejin gulps. "Um, o-okay."

Her free hand is rubbing circles around her clit. The dildo is slowly pumping in and out of her hole.

"Sometimes, um," she starts, "sometimes I imagine… it's you. Inside me. Your cock. And, um, usually, we're, we're doing missionary, and, um, your hands are on my tits. Pinching my nipples. Wait, come here. Pinch my nipples."

You follow her command, sitting closer to her so you can grab a nipple with one hand while your other jerks faster. Heejin moans. You jerk faster.

"Oh, god, mmm. If I could keep your gorgeous fucking dick in my mouth all day I would. I'd suck it every second. God, I'd, I'd wake up to it. I'd go to sleep sucking on it. Hnnh. Your hands… are making me feel really good. Or we could cuddle and watch a movie, and the whole time you'd be... fuck, you'd be slowly sliding your cock in and out of my asshole. Mmnh. God, and, maybe we'd have friends over, and you'd fuck me from behind, and no one would know. Shit, especially when we're at Yerim's, you could take me to her really nice bathroom and rail me in her really nice shower. Mmm."

The dildo speeds up, and her clit rubbing is speeding up. Your jerking is speeding up too.

"Or we'd go out to eat, and, fuck, you'd finger me under the table, and then, and then you'd order dessert, and instead of eating the real thing, you'd feed me your cock, and I'd cream myself. God, shit, your hands. Mmfh. Or, or, sometimes I imagine, we're on the couch, and Jungeun and Jinsol and Haseul are hanging out, and they're just chatting away, and I'm sucking your dick, or you're fingering me, or I'm warming your cock in my pussy, and no one would know. Shit. Or they do know, and they pretend like I'm not even there on my knees sucking you off. Fuck."

You're about to cum. "Shit, Heejin, keep going, I'm so, so, so, so close."

"Nngh. And I'd even—wait, d-don't waste that cum yet." She takes the dildo out and moves closer to you. "Feed me. Put it in my mouth."

You do. Heejin's jerking the rest of your shaft, and your tip is in her lips, and she's pumping, and her spit is slathering. You groan, and she moans, and a shot fires into her throat. Her jerking doesn't stop. Another shot, and your mind is fading. Another.

Pop. She's gasping for air, trying not to spill the load as she speaks. "Ahh, waih, feed me, hah, some cum, wifh your hand."

You take your cock out of her mouth, masturbating some cum onto your palm. Once your climax eventually subsides, you offer your hand to Heejin, and she makes eye contact as she slurps up your seed and licks every joint of your fingers.

After she has every drop she can get in her mouth, she looks up, gargles, and then gulps. "Thank you for the meal."

You sigh. "Jesus, you're crazy."

"Only for you."

You kiss. "I'm honored."

"Um, by the way, can I finish?"

"Yeah, of course."

Heejin lies back down and picks the dildo. Her free hand is rubbing her clit again, and the dildo is pumping in and out of her hole.

"Hold on," you say. "Could I… use the wand on you?"

She stops. "Really?"

"Yeah. Unless it's sausage time."

Heejin giggles. "No, no, it's fine, just, um, lemme… get comfy again." She gets on all fours, and you move to a squat, holding the wand in one hand and the dildo in the other. "And, um, don't turn it on the highest setting. Not yet."

"Got it."

You stick the dildo inside Heejin's pussy and move the wand to her clit. You turn the wand on, and the sound of buzzing fills her room, followed by a moan from Heejin.

"Tell me more fantasies," you say.

She tries her best to give you everything she's thinking about, from bending her over the kitchen counter to tying her up and edging her, from fucking her mouth blindfolded to having a whole day where you fuck her whenever you want, free-use style. You're glad that she trusts you enough to share her kinks. You're looking forward to experiencing them someday.

Her dirty talking devolves into incomprehensible moans, and her doggystyle position is faltering, her face in the mattress. You stick the dildo deeper, and you turn the wand to a higher setting. She screams.

"Shit, sausage, sausage!"

You immediately stop everything. Heejin's trembling.

"Oh, god," she says.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just, too much."

"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's fine, just, sensitive. But you owe me."

"What do you mean?"

"Turn the wand off and give me the dildo. I'm going to cum with your cock in my mouth because that's where it belongs."

You comply, handing her the dildo and turning the wand off. Then, Heejin lies back down on the bed. You're uncertain about where to go, until she grabs your ass, pulling you to mount on top of her chest.

"There we go."

You look back and see Heejin starting to dildo-fuck herself again, and before you can look at Heejin's face again, she's already captured your cockhead in her lips.

"Oh, fuck," you say.

She moans. You jerk off the rest of your shaft, and she's moaning hungrily around you. Heejin's free hand massages your balls, and she pistons the dildo at a hearty pace, a loud, sloppy pace. As if she were imitating what your cock would sound like, if it were pounding her hole. Having painted a million pictures in your mind, and having heard her talk about so many fantasies, your mind can't help but fill in the blanks. The biggest blank is her throat.

"Heejin," you say.

Pop. "Mmm. Yeah?"

"Could I… choke you with my cock?"

She giggles. "Go for it, stud. Shoot it straight down. I don't care. It'll make me cum harder. I wanna feel my throat bruise."

You gulp. "A-are you sure?"

"Mmm. Totally. I'm gonna keep fucking myself and sucking you off and if I tap three times on you, then it's sausage time, and you stop choking me. Deal?"

"Deal."

Heejin takes your cockhead back in her mouth and moans. Her free hand goes back to your balls, and you place both your hands on the sides of her head. Slowly, carefully, you force her lips to travel past your tip, and to reach halfway down your shaft. Her cheeks are concave and your palms can feel her slobbering. Once she reaches your base, her eyes are watering. She looks up at you, her dildo fucking faster, her lips tight. You pull on Heejin's hair to move her head up. She moans. Her whole body is trembling again. You slam her head back down.

"Heejin, I'm"—she moans—"about to"—she gags, a broken vibration around your cock, and she moans—"cum!"

Her gagging, however, only urges you more to fuck her throat with your cock. Heejin gags again, and her throat walls are clenching, and a whole bunch of spit comes out, drenching your balls. The last thing you feel before your mind fades is her final whine, lost to the whole of her universe. Your spasms return, your hips shake, and this time, you see her whole body tense up—finally you and Heejin cum together, with her dildo ramming her hole and your cock ramming her throat. She's squealing and squeaking while taking your cock down to her base again, her gagging more persistent. After all her fantasies, the real thing is so much hotter than your imagination, and your brain starts painting new pictures on instinct.

Pop.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit," she says.

Your cock twitches out spurts of your seed, coating her face. Her dildo has disappeared from her pussy.

"I'm, I'm sorry, about, um, being… a bit too rough," you say.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks. "Do you have, do you have any idea how fucking hard I came? God, and the cum you're firing in my throat, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your cum is what gives life purpose."

You grin. "I'm glad you think that way. My cum was only alive because of your pretty little mouth, though."

Heejin licks up every streak and spurt.

You lie back down on her bed next to her. "Hey, uh, you… still owe me though."

"True," she says. "What do you want? Another oral service tomorrow?"

"Can't tomorrow. It's already one in the morning."

"Ah, fuck. Morning."

"It's fine." Your voice is meek. "Let's not do anything. For a while."

"What?"

"This is fun. And I'm sure we could come up with a million ways to jerk each other off with our hands and mouths and words. But, you were thinking it too, right? When you had that, that dildo inside of you. Fucking you. I mean, I don't, I really don't wanna pressure you, but I thought it'd be fun. You know. If we just held off of anything, sex, cumming, masturbating, all of that, and we just… wait. How about until your birthday?"

"What?! That's like, twenty days away."

"Exactly, once in a while we could do other stuff. Wouldn't it be fun to just get edged every day until then, waiting, anticipating, and when we finally do fuck, it'll be the best sex of our lives, the perfect present. I mean, you got yourself off plenty of times already. I bet you could go without a nut for a while."

"Oh, no. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"And vice versa, I guess."

Heejin grumbles. "Fuck. Fine. Deal. But no matter how much I tempt you, no matter how much you tempt me, we're not going to cum. We're gonna edge each other. No matter how hard I suck. No matter how hard you thrust."

"Deal."

You shake hands.

"Um, by the way," she says.

"What?"

"You, um, you're a pervert."

You sigh. "I know."

"But you're, um, you're a pretty nice guy. And smart. And hot. Okay, that's enough for your ego, goddammit."

"Keep going, you're gonna make me cum."

Heejin grins. "Oh, that's all it'll take, huh?"

You kiss.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You wake up on Saturday morning, having stayed the night at Heejin's place. The two of you have a breakfast of leftover ramyun, and you say goodbye at the door.

"Wait," she says. "Hold on. I forgot something."

You turn around. "What?"

Heejin kisses you. "Bye."

You return the kiss. "Bye."

You go home, and on Sunday, you wake up to a text from Heejin.

> morning. :)

You smile.

> Good morning.

You send her a picture of your cock, already hard in the morning. She sends a photo of her own pussy, spread open with her fingers. It's scintillating, dewy. Your cock twitches.

> morning wood?

> Yep.

> you know how bad i wanna suck that dick right now

> Yeah. I'm thinking about fucking your throat.

> godddddddd i love it when you say that shit

> Do you think you're gonna nut today?

> probably not. if i can't even last a weekend without cumming, i srsly need to reexamine my life

> lol. true. well, good luck.

> you too

You send a photo of your cock, with a drop of cum at your tip. It only took a token effort of stimulation to get a bead of pre-cum.

> wait were you fapping just now

> Yeah. Just a bit

> godddddd youre so bad

> Don't worry. I don't plan on cumming until it's inside you on your birthday :)

> fuck you

> I thought we were gonna save that for your birthday too :(

> shut up

You smile. 

> I miss you.

> me too

> Next week. We can meet up. See how we're feeling about this whole thing. Maybe get dinner or something.

> like a date?

> Well, no dating. Obviously. Ground rules and all.

> "k fine. sounds good

> See you then <3

> yeah yeah whatever <3

You laugh. This is going to be fun.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Happy birthday to the best girl! Once again, this falls under my time-honored tradition of incomplete-but-complete-enough stories to post for some deadline, so I'm not bothering with crossposting (okay fine I am just too lazy).

[fireater]

note/tags - suicide but not jimmy.. just his mom, slight gore mention, some smut?, dry humping, jimmy is like early 20s in this.. start to a fic i couldn’t bother to finish, bad writing..

Jimmy’s mom is all over the walls. It’s like someone has set off a fucking party popper. She didn’t even have the decency to get him a banner.

Welcome home Jim! Congrats on getting bailed out! I knew you could do it!

Not even that. Not a single slice of cake. Not even a candle or a party hat or a gift box or a fucking hug. Whatever people get on their birthdays.

Jimmy stands there, jaw tight, unblinking as he looks over the mess she has made of herself, the house, and his life. She’s smoked all her cigs, drained every bottle, snorted anything fine enough to suck up through a straw, and he knows Mom, she’d never leave a needle behind. So the only thing she leaves in his name is this mess and this awful smell.

He toes at what is left of her, her legs bent awkwardly at the knee like a mistreated Barbie doll. Her face is this gaping hole that looks something like her bloody cunt the day she pushed him out. For a second he wishes that it would open up like the maw of a beast and swallow him whole, take him back to where he came from, and then he goes back to feeling nothing much.

It’s no biggie. Jimmy never liked her much. She liked Curly more than she liked him, but everyone likes Curly more than him. He’s a sole-crushed peach splattered on the sidewalk, picking up grit and dirt, and Curly is a fucking prized watermelon or a silver spoon, a real nice spoon, the fancy kind you only get out for guests—He’d come and use his polished edge to scoop Jimmy right up, shape him into something nice, clean him off and serve him for dessert.

Curly bailed him out. He drove Jimmy home in his nice new car, it smelt good and had his initials on the number plate. He did this all because he needs Jimmy to feel good. So he can go and tell anyone that’ll listen about his piss-poor junkie best friend. How he put him back on his feet. Curly is modern day fucking Christ and Jimmy is a crippled leper.

By his mother’s open hand is his father’s handgun. She’s named Mia after the chick in Pulp Fiction. Jimmy picks her up, gives her a once over, and tucks her in his back pocket for a rainy day. He goes to take a piss because he’s been busting for one ever since Curly picked him up, but the throbbing urgency numbed when he saw his fragments of mom’s skull dotting the carpet like milk teeth.

Jimmy takes his piss and then he notices mom didn’t even leave a single sheet of toilet paper behind. He shakes himself dry, returns to the couch where she lays limp, thinks of blowing off her tits and then decides she isn’t worth another bullet. Jimmy turns the gun to himself. He wonders if mom put it to the right side of her head or the left. Probably in her stupid whore mouth. She would let anyone in there.

“You’re joining the party, huh?” You’re standing in the doorway of his trailer, lukewarm and unsmiling, snapping your gum like this is no big deal. You’ve always been that way. Unaffected. Jimmy pulls the trigger and Mia jams. She’s an old girl. He forgives her. He just wanted to see you cry.

Jimmy doesn’t really think you would cry, but he likes the thought of it. You would look so fucking ugly when you cry.

“I found her earlier, heard the shot and came to check.” You’re wearing short shorts so short the inside of your pockets hang out past the cuffs. “But I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“Fuck you,” Jimmy says, arm dangling by his side. Mia clatters to the ground when his fingers lose grip.

“That’s not very nice,” you tell him evenly, sidestepping clumps of clotted blood to get to him.

Jimmy flops down beside his mom’s faceless body. She talked too much so the silence is kind of nice. He spreads his legs and you drape yourself over him, pressing your tits to his chest and sucking his tongue into your warm mouth.

“I didn’t forget your present.” You’re rolling your hips into his, the old couch creaks with the weight of all two and a half of you. His mom topples sideways onto his shoulder and Jimmy shoves her dead weight back the other way. Blood smears the arm of his shirt where she fell, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Oh, yeah?” Jimmy bites your neck, he feels the pulse of your hot cunt through those tiny shorts.

“Course I didn’t, saved the date and everything.”

He half expects you to dig into your bra and pull out a baggie of something, but you just offer him a half smile, giving a sideways glance to the stinking corpse.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Got a little bit of an angst prompt but...

After witnessing something go wrong on a mission, Hotch has Reader do a mental wellness check. At first, Reader says he's fine and all that, but the team still convinces him to do it. It goes well, he answers questions (he's honest about his answers. For example, he's not afraid to die because it's just a new chapter to a book). He ends up talking about "these weird anxiety attack things. Like they're sudden and I know what triggers them but I don't know what they are."

In short, the wellness check turns out to reveal that Reader has c-ptsd panic attacks triggered by mostly loud noises, yelling, abandonment. This makes reader break into tears when he's told this because he feels like he finally understands what is "wrong" with him. This surprises the team because no one expects the sunshine guy to have anything related to ptsd

(Maybe a little cuddle party on the plane between reader, Derek, and Spencer? Can be romo or bromo)

Hiya, sorry it's taken yonks for me to write this

Warnings: panic attack, dissociation, blood, gun, mentions of death, hints (obvious hints) to child abuse.

You felt her blood splatter on your face, as your eyes snapped shut with the familiar bang of a gun. You hear the victim fall to the floor but you had squeezed your eyes shut at the sound. Another shot goes off and you force your eyes open as you see the unsub drop to the floor.

You're silent on the way back, blood on your face forgotten as you follow the team back to the SUVs. When you're back, you follow the team up to the bullpen when You jump when a hand is placed on your shoulder, your head snapped up. You looked up, seeing Morgan. It's the look on his face that reminds you that you're covered in blood.

"(Y/N)-"

"I'm fine. I just- I need to wash my face." You said, disregarding anything Morgan had to say, making a beeline to the toilets. Naturally, he followed.

"Talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing." You say, giving him a lopsided smile, face now blood-free and dripping wet. You grab a couple of paper towels, drying your face off. "Everything's fine, don't worry."

The team gave you a few days of peace (minus the worried looks). And by a few days, it was two, so a couple of days, really. They led you in with a false sense of security - a cup of coffee. You should have known they had an ulterior motive.

"Guys, I'm fine, really." You sigh, giving them a small smile.

"Just do it anyway," JJ says. "Even if you are fine, there's no harm in it."

"Do it for us," Garcia bats her eyelashes at you and you immediately cave. God damnit, how is she so persuasive?

And so, a few days later, you were sat in a psychologist's office. It was quite a nice office, actually. And they let you sit on the couch (that's how you know you must have looked like an anxious mess).

"Yeah, I'm fine." You say, giving a small nod. "The only thing is sometimes I get these weird anxiety things?"

"What do you mean?" She leans forward slightly.

"Like they're just these sudden bouts of anxiety," You give a small shrug.

"Can you describe it for me?"

"Er, yeah, sure. It's just like I'm trapped in my head. Like I just shutdown. I don't really know how to explain it," You give a small, nervous laugh. "It's just like I'm stuck in my head and I can't form a thought but my mind is racing, and I feel like I can't breathe."

She nods in understanding, "And how do you feel when that happens?"

"Scared."

"Why?"

"Because its like I'm trapped. And it's just this sinking feeling," You said, swallowing slightly. "And- and it's like I can speak, but I can't. Like the words get built up in my throat and I know what I want to say, I just, can't bring myself to speak."

"And... what can spark these off?"

"Um, I'm not really sure? Like if someone takes a certain tone, I guess? I don't know, it just makes me feel like a little kid and it makes me panic,"

She nods for a moment, jotting that down.

The appointment passes fairly quickly and you find yourself opening up to her as each minute ticks by. When the hour's up, she puts her notebook and pen down gently.

"I think it would be beneficial if we met weekly." She says, with a small smile. "Just to help you work through this anxiety, give you some coping mechanisms."

"Oh God, this isn't one of those things where you say to have a cup of tea or something, is it?"

She gives a laugh, "No, no, nothing like that."

"Good. I might have walked out otherwise." You give her a small smile, letting her know you were only half joking.

When the appointment was over, she let you have a few minutes alone in the room to gather yourself. It took you a few moments, you even tried out the square breathing technique she taught you. You straightened yourself out before standing up and leaving the room.

You go straight to your desk, keeping your head slightly ducked. You just really didn't fancy the socialising right now. You absolutely loved your team, but you'd rather just let yourself try to destress before the questions began.

"Are you alright?" Hotch asks, eyebrows furrowed as he approached you. He had waited a few minutes before he approached.

"Ye-" The word falls flat on your tongue and instead you just pause, trying to find the word. Why couldn't you find the word?

Hotch, sensing this, steers you gently into the unattended office to the right.

"I don't know." Is all you manage. "I don't think so." Hotch watches in concern as you blink. "No. No, I don't think so. Probably not. I don't think I am."

Hotch watches you for a moment before quietly sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what's going on?" You bite the inside of your cheeks before you gently shake your head. "No? Okay, that's okay. Did you want me to just sit here with you?"

You give a gentle nod, trying desperately to focus on breathing. It takes a while for you to calm down, but eventually, your heart starts to slow to a regular pace.

"You want to talk about it?" You shake your head and Hotch gives you an understanding look. "Okay, if you change your mind, I'm here."

"Thank you."

No one brings it up again. Until one morning on a case, you're on edge already, tossing and turning all night but unsure as to why you couldn't sleep. You're at the latest crime scene, it's the third body that's turned up since you've been there and the team are running on very little sleep.

A car door slams and it feels like it jolts through your body, matched with the yelling you can hear, you just freeze, breath catching in the back of your throat. Your father's voice echoes through your mind as he and your mother scream back and forth, the door slamming and the yelling becoming slightly more distant.

"(Y/N)?" Your eyes flick up to Morgan.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You answer quietly, giving him your very best attempt at a reassuring smile. You turn your attention back in front of you, watching a father grab his son's wrist, tugging him back. You know it's nothing, you had just watched the boy go to step out into the road. It's just a worried father stopping his son from getting hurt, but the skin on your wrist burns nonetheless. Your lungs are quick to follow.

Morgan's in front of you, trying to guide your breathing. It's rugged and you feel like you're dying. Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest, hands trembling. And yet, despite all of these feelings in your body, you've checked out. You no longer feel real, none of this feels real.

You can't feel your calves. Are you supposed to feel your calves? Can you normally feel your calves? What about your back? And your forearms, you can't feel your forearms. That's weird right? Surely you could normally feel your forearms.

"Hey, hey, talk to me." Morgan says gently.

"I can't feel my forearms. Or my calves." You say, you swallow slightly, "I'm supposed to feel them, right?"

"Okay, let's sit you down, okay?" Morgan gently guides you to a bench and you sit. "It sounds like you're dissociating, so we're just going to take a seat for a minute, alright?"

"Okay."

The case was solved not long after that, and you all piled back onto the jet. You had dibsed the couch and halfway through, Morgan approached you.

"Scoot over."

"Why?"

"So I can tie my shoelaces- why do you think?" He gave you a grin, sitting down next to you. "Come here."

You looked around, everyone else was asleep. You gave a small, mental shrug before leaning against the taller man.

"Thanks for earlier." You smiled. "Sorry I freaked out a bit."

"You don't have to thank me. And you didn't freak out."

"I did freak out." You corrected, "I was panicking because I couldn't feel my calves."

"Okay, yeah, maybe you freaked out a little." He chuckled quietly, "But you don't have to apologise for that."

[paxaz535]

Brothers Best Friend

♡pairing ♡

paige x black!oc

chapter vi

series here

—————

The pool room was filled with music, laughter and enjoyment. Daveli was currently playing chicken fight with Makayla, Paige, Emma, Carol and Azzi. Eli was on Paige, Azzi on Carol and Makayla on Emma. “Bro, Paige do not drop me.” Eli spoke as she looked down at the blonde. Paige laughed, grabbing onto the younger girls thighs. “I won’t.. just make sure they don’t push you off me or we both going down.”

Jaida was the person to tell us to start. “Alright, yall ready?” Makayla, Eli and Azzi nod. “Go!” Emma and Makayla were the first ones to attack, Makayla had both hands out to push both Eli and Azzi. Luckily, Daveli grabbed her hand and began to push her. Azzi also pushed her, making the two girls fall in the water.

“Uh oh.. looks like Makayla and Emma are out!”Jaida commented as she laughed. “Yo! That was two against one!” Makayla spoke when she came back up from the water. “You attacked us first, kay.” Daveli said as she blew Makayla a kiss. The girl just flipped her off, her and emma swimming towards Jaida.

Azzi and Eli looked at each other, both smiling. Paige decided to move first, automatically making Daveli attack. Azzi screamed as she and the 18 year old fought. “Damn, y’all strong as fuck!” Jayden yelled as he and everyone else watched, making a few of them laugh. The twins were currently sitting across from Nai and Mia but close to where Jaida was. They couldn’t help but peep the looks they were giving Daveli.

“You see that too, right?” Connie asked as she looked at her sibling. Caniya looked over and nodded her head. “It’s kind of giving hating, right?” Connie nodded, “Right.” They knew to keep their eye on the two, already knowing about how Nai and Daveli fought a few months back.

At the end Daveli and Paige ended up winning, the two cheering in the water. “Yea yea, yall got lucky.” Carol spoke as they all gathered in one spot of the pool. Eli laughed and shook her head, “whateverrrrr, yall hatin.” Carol just let out a giggle, she thought Daveli was a very funny person and was starting to genuinely like her. “I gotta pee, i’ll be back.” Daveli spoke as she left the pool.

She checked her phone while drying off. she had a lot of notifications but decided to ignore them. It was already almost seven, time really does go by when you having fun. She dried off as much as she could and went down the hall to the bathroom.

The girl then began to remember how Paige was grabbing on her. She looked down at her thighs, cheesing in the process. She could still feel the older girl’s hands on them, making her slightly tingle. She’d do anything to have paige touch her again.. maybe even do something more.

As she began to grab toilet paper, she saw a spider on the door. She screeched, daveli hated spiders with a passion. It was so close to her too. She hurried to wipe herself and got up slowly, trying not to trigger the insect. She grabbed another piece of tissue and quickly smashed the spider. She screeched in disgust and threw it in the toilet, flushing it with her slide.

“Ugh.” She left out of the stall and quickly washed her hands, her mind going back to the blonde. She walked out the restroom with a smile on her face, making her way towards the pool again. She didn’t look up until she heard laughter. What she saw made her smile drop, completely. Paige was sitting on the edge of the pool with only her legs in, while Mia was in the water between her legs.

The two were looking at each other laughing. They looked in loved which is crazy because they only met today. She could also see David and Jaida dap each other up, making her heart drop to her ass. The scene brought her back to when she saw paige with another girl at the age of 14 and 13.

————————

13 year old Daveli was currently at the water park with her mom, david and paige. The three kids got separated due to paige running off somewhere and david spotted a few friends, leaving Eli by herself. She spotted her mom, running up to her.

“Ma, you seen paige?” She asked, angelica was lying in a lounge chair, reading a book. She looked up to see her daughter, a small apologetic smile on her face. “I’m not quite sure, honey. you can try over there.” She pointed towards the pool area of the waterpark. Daveli just nodded, thanking the woman and walking towards where she was directed.

She looked around, not spotting her.. until she did. and she was with someone else. a girl daveli never seen before. why was paige with someone else? why wasn’t she with david? the 13 year old was curious on who that girl was.

“p!” Paige turned and her face lit up, she looked back at the girl and got up, and jogged towards the younger girl. “hey, eli.” Daveli smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hey.. who’s that girl?” Daveli couldn’t help herself but she didn’t care either.

The young girl could see the blonde’s face get red, trying to hide a smile. “Oh, that’s reese. I met her a few weeks ago.” Eli just nodded, paige looked like she wanted to say more. “I… I think i might like her.” Eli heart dropped. Paige liking someone else wasn’t something Eli was fond of. it just made her upset, because she liked paige first.

“really?” eli tried to be supportive, paige just nodded. “you can’t tell anyone, though.” paige quickly looked at her, her finger pointed at the 13 year old. Daveli was hurt but nodded, looking back over at reese. “she’s pretty.” Eli spoke. and she was.

Eli could give her that, reese was gorgeous. she had wavy hair with glasses, even from where she was standing, she could tell that reese’s eyes were green. the sun made them pop. paige was looking at her too, a faint smile on her face. “she is, isn’t she?” Eli looked over at paige. ‘why can’t you look at me like that?’ She thought. Paige then looked over at Eli and sighed, “okay. I better get back, she has to leave soon. Remember, don’t tell anyone. it’s our little secret.” she spoke as she walked away, still facing daveli. Daveli did a sealed lip motion, forcing a smile.

Paige chuckled and turned around, quickly walking towards reese. Daveli let out a sad sigh, standing there a few moments before turning around. she felt her eyes watering, just thinking about paige was hurting her. she was slightly slumped, walking towards her mom. Angelica automatically noticed her daughter’s mood change, closing her book. “What’s wrong, eli?”

Daveli just shook her head and sat on the lounge chair next to her. “I don’t feel like playing anymore.” Angelica knew her daughter was in a bad mood but she didn’t want to push her either. She knew her daughter didn’t like speaking when she was upset so she’d just ask her later.

——————-

that moment happened a month ago and today Daveli found out that the two officially started dating. She saw a story paige posted. The two girls were in paige’s bathroom, hugging each other. it was captioned

‘my pretty girl💕’ and daveli just turned her phone off. She should be happy for her but she couldn’t bring herself to be happy. Not when the girl she liked was took by someone else.

She grabbed her pillow and pushed it against her face. She screamed, her emotions getting to her. She started to silently cry and it slowly turned into sobs. Why did paige have this much of effect on her? Why is she crying over her brother’s best friend?

the girl didn’t really leave her room that whole day, only to use the restroom. Angelica tried to get her to come out because at one point paige came over with reese, the two, david and a few people david invited were chilling in the backyard.

“Sweetie? come on, come say hey to everyone.” Angelica spoke softly against the door. Paige stood at the end of the steps, waiting to see if she’d come out or not. “Daveli?” Angelica called again. Eli cleared her throat, “I’m not really feeling well, apologize to everyone for me.” you could tell that the girl was crying, her voice was usually bright and happy.

Angelica’s heart hurt for the young girl, she turned around and shook her head at paige. Paige just sighed and nodded, going back to her girlfriend. Reese smiled when she saw Paige come back outside. “Hey, is she coming out?” She sweetly asked.

Paige just shook her head, “I don’t think she’s feeling well. David, has eli been in her room all day?” David looked over to his best friend. “Yea but who cares? she probably got her period or something.” Paige just rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the 15 year old boy. Reese looked at paige, “I hope she gets better.” Paige nodded, agreeing with her. The blonde looked at her girlfriend and smiled, going in for a kiss.

Before she could see their lips connect, she quickly closed her curtains. Eli watched the whole thing unfold, secretly flipping off David in the process. Seeing paige like this really took a toll on eli but she couldn’t do anything about it. and that’s killing her.

——————————

“Daveli!” The girl slightly jumped, she noticed everyone looking at her. “Girl, is you okay?” Connie asked as she and Ciniya were now by Makayla, Azzi, Carol, and Emma. Eli just nodded, a smile trying to hide the embarrassment by everyone’s eyes on her. “I had saw a spider in the bathroom..” Which was true.. but that wasn’t what made her space out.

She looked over at Paige and Mia to see the two girls looking at her. She quickly looked away and got into the pool, going by Makayla. Makayla looked at her best friend. “Eli. is it because of them?” Eli looked back over to them, paige was fully in the water and had her arm around Mia. Mia was giggling at the blonde.

“Hell yea, it is. look at them and look at her face!” Ciniya teased as she leaned against the edge of the pool. Connie quickly looked at her sister. Ciniya put her hands up in surrender then looked at Eli, “Love you, girl.” Eli just faintly smiled looking back at the two. A few of David friends left to get settled in and comfortable for when the food arrived.

“I leave for 2 seconds and she’s already under her.” Daveli spoke as she began to grow irritated at this Mia girl. Eli felt like she was throwing shade a little bit, due to the fact that, that’s Nia’s friend. Emma noticed the girl’s mug and swam to be in front of her, blocking her view. “No. We’re not doing this.” Eli looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “Wha-“ Emma held her hand up. Eli was taken a back, “It’s literally your birthday, mija. You need to block them out, fuck them!” Eli just sighed, emma was right.

she literally just turnt into a young adult, why was she focusing on the two? “Yea girl, after this we finna eat and party some more. It’s all about you right now.” Azzi spoke as she looked at the girl. Daveli looked at her friends, a smile on her face. “Y’all right. Fuck ‘em.” Daveli then remembered she had to leave early to get everything situated.

“Yo! David, what time is it?” Eli voice could be heard throughout the pool room. “It just turned 8!” Eli nodded, looking at her friends again. “Okay, I gotta get going so this food can be ready. Does anyone wanna come with me?” She began to leave out the pool, quickly grabbing her dry towel.

“Actually, yes. my fingers are starting to prune.” Makayla spoke, she then looked over at Emma. “you coming?” Emma shook her head, “Im gonna stay with these 4. they’re funny.” Makayla just nodded, waving at everyone before she and Daveli took off.

“I’m surprised Nai ain’t try shit, you know she usually do.” Makayla spoke as they got onto the elevator. Daveli laughed, “yea she knows better. and to be honest, i really don’t feel like whopping ass today.” Makayla chuckled, shaking her head. “Her little friend tho.. i don’t know. I feel like she up to something.” Daveli looked over at her.

“Like what?” Makayla sighed, looking back. “I just got a feeling she bad news. just look out for her, just in case she does try something.” Daveli just nodded, she was still confused but she knew to study Mia more.

——————

After taking a nice, hot shower, Daveli got a call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Daveli?”

“This is she.”

“Okay, I’m outside with the food, you might need some help.”

“Okay, we’re on our way.”

Makayla grabbed her slippers and followed Daveli out the door. She knocked on David’s room and Jayden was there to open it. “What’s up, yall?” Daveli smiled, “hey, could you come help us with the food? it’s here.” Jayden nodded his head, “oh yea, for sure.” He grabbed his slides and the three of them made it downstairs.

As they were coming down, Azzi, Carol, the twins, Emma, Jaida, Paige, Mia, and Nai were going up. “Where y’all going?” Emma asked. Daveli looked towards the door to see a lady get out of her blue car. “To get the food.” Paige quickly spoke up, “I can help-“ Eli just shook her head.

“It’s fine, p. you’re wet and probably uncomfortable. go shower.” She nodded her head towards Makayla and Jayden, beckoning them to follow her. “I call first!” Emma spoke as she quickly got into the elevator. “Well, me and Nai are gonna go in David’s room.” Mia spoke as she stood by paige. The twins just looked at each other, going back to their phones. Paige looked down at the girl and quickly looked at Jaida. Jaida just shook her head, going back to talking to emma.

uh oh

mia might be causing problems

we’ll see

taglist @melpthatsme @prettygirl-gabi @rebecca-woso @starfulani @avvwritesstufff @evry1luvzzae @hearts4morgancheli + more if wanted

[dilfartist]

Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

[somewherebetweendisorder]

Time

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: just fluff

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY, REPOST, OR USE MY WORK IN ANY WAY

~~~

Something nudges your cheek, attempting to draw you from the realm of sleep. You groan, swatting it away, startled by the fleshy thud, the burst of quiet laughter right next to your ear.

"Jasonnnn," you whine, scooting away from his hot breath and peeling your eyes open just enough to take in the red numbers on the alarm clock. "It's seven o'clock, Jason Peter Todd! Why am I awake?"

"I was lonely." His voice is quiet, barely more than a grating whisper, his morning voice thick, his words spoken simply. You roll over so you can face him, huffing at how ridiculous he is but with no real frustration. It's Jason, he's pretty, too pretty to be upset with. His eyes are still blurry with sleep, only half open and vaguely focused on you, hair wild and frizzy from rubbing on his pillow all night, he looks younger like the trouble and years have fallen away.

The blistery light filtering into the room is too bright, making you squint just a little as you take in Jason's face in the soft glow. Your foot brushes his, causing you both to smile, legs tangling together beneath the plush duvet. This moment is one of your favorites. A new day outside your window, but inside it's just you and him, twisted together like one person in his bed, lazy and happy. You're always slow to rise on days like these, sappy, lethargic like the world is stuck in molasses, sweet and unhurried.

"Let's stay in bed all day," you suggest, knowing your boyfriend won't disagree. He's leaning in to kiss you in response, chapped lips tipped up into a barely there smile, eyes full of mirth at the idea, borderline giddy.

"After," you stop him with a finger pressed firmly to his lips, your own lips parting when he kisses the soft pad of your finger, tenderly but full of passion, like he wants you to know something. Something he doesn't have to say. "After you brush your teeth."

Jason rolls his eyes but immediately throws the blankets off in a dramatic flurry of movement, earning a laugh from you. You watch for just a moment as he walks away, appreciating the muscles contracting across his back. Broad shoulders.

"Wait! I'm coming too!" you call to his retreating back, scrambling to get out of bed, instantly missing the warmth and comfort. Tripping into the bathroom just behind him, you plow into his back, rubbing your forehead as you grumble under your breath.

"What the hell, dude?"

"Stay back, babe. There's a big spider."

You squeeze under his arm, trying to find the spider in question. There on the cream-colored tile, a tiny little dark spot against the bright floor is a spider no bigger than your pinky tail. Really, it's smaller than that, but for Jason's benefit, you try to see it as large. Try and fail.

"Jason."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry." He's reaching for a square of toilet paper as he speaks, tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration like this is truly some great feat of bravery for him.

"Jason."

Your hand on his arm stops him, looking over his shoulder at you, big blue eyes questioning. "He's tiny. Leave him alone."

He whips around to fully face you, incredulous, mouth agape. "Leave it? Those things are deadly!"

"I think we can manage. C'mon, we're just supposed to be brushing our teeth, not disrupting the peace. You can kill the spider if it leaves the bathroom. Deal?"

He sighs heavily, long-suffering, casting a distrustful look over his shoulder at the offensive creature who hasn't moved since you entered the bathroom. Hell, it may already be dead. "Fine."

Happy you won the non-argument you hand him his toothbrush, holding yours out as he squeezes a small ball of toothpaste onto the bristles. Wetting your brush beneath a trickle of water you wince as Jason shoves his into his mouth dry.

He grins at your curled lip, tapping his finger off your nose.

"Do you wash your hands without water too?" you tease, eyebrows raised as though no matter what he answers you'll take it as a yes.

"Saves water, baby. I'm eco-friendly."

You shake your head, bumping his hip with your own, smiling softly to yourself as you watch his face in the mirror. His features are expressive, fingers on his unoccupied hand tapping out a catchy beat against the laminate. Your eyes trace the scars littering his face and neck, a careful path down his exposed chest, all of them familiar.

Somehow you both manage to slide closer, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, as near to one another as you can be. He glances down at you, lifting his hand to wipe a stray glob of foamy toothpaste from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

The affectionate gesture short circuits your brain, sending your emotions into a hormonal frenzy, desperate for Jason, all of him, needing him all to yourself.

As soon as both toothbrushes clink in the glass cup you store them in, bristles slightly damp, bumping into each other before stilling in the cup, Jason is pulling you in, large hands on your hips, eyes serious, lips seeking yours. The instant his mouth is on yours you can't remember why you stalled, why you didn't demand a kiss as soon as your eyes opened this morning. Soft lips, hot tongue, enough spit to illicit a loud moan that Jason swallows without hesitation. Your fingers are pulling on the ends of his hair, pleading with him for more, earning a happy groan.

Hot fingers against your skin have you shivering in pleasure, hands circling his neck, fingers scraping over muscle and bone, leaving pink lines in their wake. His hands are cupping your butt, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you don't resist, squeezing your thighs. The shudder that crawls up his spine is worth it.

When he finally pulls away, a shit-eating grin on his face, you're breathless and dizzy, looking up at him with lovesick eyes.

"Come along, Y/N. Your day in bed awaits."

You slide down his chest, lingering, sneaking another kiss before you take a small step back. With a sweeping gesture, he lets you step past him, the worn carpet beneath your bare feet a familiar path back to his room. He closes the door behind you with a soft click, a soft expression on his face as you crawl beneath the covers, curling into a ball.

"You comin' or what?"

He nods, pulling his curtains closed to shroud the room in as much darkness as possible, wanting to keep your bubble intact, needing to have you alone today.

"We should get a dog," he blurts, eyes widening with an edge of panic the second the words leave his mouth, waiting with bated breath for your reaction. His lips are struggling to form words, an apology, an explanation, some slew of unnecessary syllables.

"We should," you agree, voice soft, reassuring, watching as he visibly sags with relief, tension bleeding into the air around him before dissipating. "A Corgi maybe? Or a French Bulldog," you continue, easily losing yourself in the idea of having a puppy with Jason.

That would be the pinnacle of your life. Coming home from work to Jason cooking dinner to surprise you, feeding harmless scraps to a puppy who waddles over to you the moment you step into the room, trailed by your boyfriend tugging you into a kiss. The idea had never before crossed your mind, but now it seems impossible that you survived without the mental image, the pleasant domesticity of it all turning you to mush in Jason's bed.

"I want a big dog," his voice breaks through your reverie, an argument, but you're much too docile in this state to care.

"A big dog? Yeah, okay. That's fine. A German Shepherd? Or a Doberman?"

Jason hums, finally slipping into bed next to you, body curling around yours. "Yeah, maybe one of those. I don't really know."

"We've got time to figure it out, Jase."

He smiles down at you, eyes bright with something you can't quite describe, happy and relaxed, just enjoying one another's presence.

You've got time.

[rottenpumpkin13]

How would AGSZC react if they had to spend one week working at a retail job?

Sephiroth: His disdain for humanity is palpable. His tone is dry and clipped. His patience as thin as the thread holding his sanity together. He hates stocking shelves but does it anyway because it's less annoying than dealing with people. Every time a customer asks him to check the back for an item, Sephiroth goes back there and screams into a cupboard. He spends an hour staring into space in the break room, quietly contemplating how much effort it would take to burn the store down without leaving evidence.

Customer: "The milk was cheaper yesterday." Sephiroth: "And I was happier yesterday when I wasn't having this conversation. Unfortunately, both the milk and I are subject to the relentless march of time. The difference is the milk gets to expire quicker to escape this mortal coil."

Angeal: He's the employee everyone loves. His smile is warm, he's patient, and he genuinely seems to enjoy helping people. He's unnervingly good at handling difficult customers. A woman demanding a refund for a clearly worn pair of shoes leaves apologizing and feeling better about herself. He even offers advice to customers about practical purchases, and sneaks free samples of store-brand snacks to them.

Genesis: At first he's all smiles, ready to help and to chat up customers, ready to be completely in his element by helping them pick out items. This doesn't happen. It takes exactly one customer interaction to ruin him.

Customer: "Does this Banora White juice come in another flavor? I'm not a fan of apples." Genesis: :) *this is how Angeal has to pry a Banora White juice can from Genesis' handsbefore he uses it to hack open the customer's skull*

By hour two, he's locked in the break room, rocking back and forth, muttering Loveless passages like dark incantations. By hour three, he's rearranged all the clearance signs to spell out "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." By hour four, he quits dramatically, throwing his name tag on the floor and as he storms out, all for the crowd he assumes is watching. "Thus concludes the chapter of my servitude. Retail is a blight upon the soul."

Zack: He's a golden retriever in human form. He's energetic, enthusiastic, and genuinely excited to help customers. He's everywhere at once; helping customers, restocking shelves, cracking jokes over the intercom, but has bad habit of oversharing. A customer asks for shoe recommendations, and he ends up telling them about the curious case of Gongaga's mass foot fungus of '92. His only flaw is that he's too helpful.

Customer: "I need directions to the bathroom." Zack, with a map: "Here's the fastest route, alternate routes in case of congestion, my personal rankings of every bathroom in the store AND the key to the cupboard where we keep the good toilet paper." Customer: "But I—" Zack: "So how are your bowels?" Customer:

Cloud: Does not want to be here. At all. He's awkward, quiet, and avoids eye contact with customers like his life depends on it. He spends most of his shift trying to stay out of sight, reorganizing shelves in the most remote corners of the store. He clocks out exactly on time because he refuses to give anyone a second more of his life. When he does interact with customers, it's something like:

Customer, pointing at the register: "Are you open?" Cloud: "No, I just stand here for the ambiance." Customer: "You just lost a customer!" Cloud: "You just gained some free time to reflect on your life choices."

[seat-safety-switch]

My local thrift store is great. Or at least it used to be, before the seas dried up and the shipping freighters from China stopped coming. Now, we have to pick through our own unwanted debris for every single molecule of natural resource. Competition at the Goodwill is fierce, in other words.

Nobody knows how Europe ended up out of all this, because the fibre-optic cables snapped. All the light fell onto the dry ocean floor and that was it. Broke the whole damn internet, or at least the wine-drinking parts. Value Village ran out of CDs of 1990s Danish pop music within the first month, and then people started freaking the fuck out. Worse than when they ran out of cheese a day later.

Sure, we could re-start industrialization here. We could make in our own backyard the things people need, like buses, bricks, and toilet paper. Our government seems convinced that things will just get better on its own, though. Which is easy for them to say, sitting rich on the country's strategic reserve of old DVD sets of CSI. Doing things is simply a lot of work, and just not how we prefer to conduct ourselves these days.

So, yeah, things are bad. Scavenging things from the thrifts and putting them up on eBay for a massive profit used to be something you'd do as a side gig, so you could afford rent. Now it's the only job. It's not all bad news. The GDP is still doing great, because someone figured out that the banks can just sell each other the same old Super Nintendo cartridge at 17% more per year, back and forth. They just had to lay us off so we'd stop telling them it doesn't work that way. After two winters of fighting folks every time a tattered backpack shows up on Donations Thursday, I don't even remember what a watermelon looks like.

Hold on. Be right back. Someone just dropped a chair at the loading dock. It's missing three legs, but it's made of wood. Real Goddamn wood. I could make another, slightly smaller, chair out of this. Where else would we get that from? Trees?

[shiggysimp69]

Public Restrooms

Warning: Implied non-con, Reader gets followed.

——————————————————————

You never liked public restrooms. They were filthy, claustrophobic, and always smelled like body odor. There was something inherently nerve wracking to be engaging in something so private next to complete strangers. You only hated one thing more than using public bathrooms, and that was using them at night.

Gnats fluttered around the bright street lights as you tightened your multicolored scarf around your neck.

“It's colder than it was yesterday…” You thought, blowing on your frostbitten hands. Work had ended an hour ago, however, you decided to stay longer for a little overtime. But now your bladder was practically bursting and you needed to make your way to the nearest restroom before things got ugly. You looked around, the shop was all closed up and your home was a whole bus ride away.

“Maybe there'll be one on the way?”

Snow crunched beneath your feet as you made your way to the bus stop. The air smelled of frost and gasoline. Winter came with a vengeance this year, covering almost everything with a fresh coat of glittery white snow. It would be nice to have a car at a time like this but with your rent already sky high, it would be virtually implausible. You approached the stop, blowing on your hands once more as you scanned the area. You couldn't see any stores still open at this hour. In a perfect world, someone would make an exception and let you in just to pee. But it was not a perfect world. You looked to your left and there was a bench with a roof to keep out the snow or rain; but there was also a person there, sitting. You didn't wanna bother the man, especially if he was homeless, however, it was becoming more and more difficult to hold yourself. You were tempted to just go in a bush at this point. Walking over to the man, you waved at him.

“Excuse me.”

He looked up at you, his messy hair falling over his face. You would be lying if you said he didn't give you a weird vibe. He sat hunched over, dressed in all black, with sharp red eyes. You almost peed right then and there.

“S-Sorry to bother you but do you know anywhere I can use the restroom?” You asked, swallowing your fear. He stared at you for a while, and you swear he was undressing you with his eyes. His tongue swiped his bottom lip. That's when you realized just how dry and chapped they were. Actually, the man's whole face looked a little dehydrated…

“Down the street to the left.”

You blinked.

“There's a park and the bathrooms should still be open…” He spoke again.

“Oh, right! Thank you.”

You laughed a bit to clear the nervousness in your voice. He looked away and you took that as the end of your conversation, turning around and heading for the park. As you walked you felt his gaze on you once more. It made you shiver, his eyes colder than any winter. But you kept going, he was probably just some homeless guy that you'd never see again after tonight. Right… Just some bitter homeless person.

To your surprise, the man was right. You half figured you'd get led around in circles listening to someone who clearly wasn't mentally sound. But there it was. You hoped that you'd be able to go inside somewhere to pee. Like a restaurant or convenience store. It just felt safer that way, and it was more than likely cleaner than the restroom you just stepped into. It reeked of feces and hot piss, and questionable stains and toilet paper seemed to be everywhere. This was one of the many reasons why you absolutely hated public bathrooms. You could catch a disease sitting on some of these toilets. However, beggars can't be choosers and you were about to bust.

The creaking of the bathroom door caught your attention as you looked for a clean stall. Great. Now it was worse. Doing your private business next to a stranger was embarrassing and you avoided it at all costs. You sighed.

“It's whatever, just hurry up and pick a stall.” You thought, pushing open another door. Heavy footsteps approached you but you didn't turn to face them. It wasn't until they stopped that you looked over. Your eyes were met with deep crimson ones. It was him, the man from the bus stop. You took a cautionary step back.

“Y-You can't be in here.” You spoke, trying to convince yourself that he was just confused and didn't know that this was the women's restroom. He didn't respond, eyes still locked on yours. He sat with a hunch before but now he towered over you. At least a five inch difference between the two of you. For some reason he looked more cognitive than when you first saw him. Something about the look in his eyes told you that he definitely wasn't confused and that he knew exactly what he was doing. Suddenly, you felt warm in thirty degree weather. Fear heating you up and making you sweat bullets. Your heart sank as he took a step closer. You shook your head, a silent “no” escaping your lips.

“What's wrong…?”

Your eyes widened, shocked to hear his voice.

“A cute little thing like you stumbles across my path and you think I'm just supposed to let you go?”

His voice was smooth yet raspy, and it definitely wasn't something you'd ever forget. He stepped forward again and you backed up, straight into a wall. You looked behind you and in that moment he closed the gap between the two of you. He chuckled as he gazed upon your face. Horror. Absolute terror was written all over it. With tears filling your eyes and dampening your full lashes. You were beautiful.

“little one… You are nothing but a sheep waiting to be herded. Now you're gonna sit here like a good little lamb and let me fuck that sweet pussy of yours until we're both spent and my balls are completely dry.”

Without warning, hot liquid ran down your legs leaving a dark spot right at your crotch. He looked down at the area and smirked.

“How adorable. I guess you have no choice but to take them off now…”

——————————————————————

Writing requests are open!

[watermelonlovershigh]

The Potty Incident /blurb/

AN: i thought this was a cute concept and wrote it out. if you think anything about this is inappropriate, grow up. this is just an example of a fatherly duty and nothing more. i really hope you enjoy. thank you for reading. xoxo

This story contains: child almost having an accident in their pants, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - any harry era - Rosie (daughter) age 3 }

word count- 764

While at the grocery store with just his daughter Rosie, she suddenly tells her daddy she has to potty and that leads to Harry running across the store with her to take her to the bathroom so no accidents occur.

Harry decided to take your three year old daughter Rosie to the grocery store with him while you took a nap. You were feeling drained from being six months pregnant with your second baby and Harry insisted you took a nap while they're out of the house.

Everything was going fine until Rosie whined from the cart Harry was pushing her around in that she had to potty. See the thing was, she was at that age where she's pretty much potty trained but on occasion will still have an accident. Usually it's when she can't make it to a toilet fast enough or sometimes when she's asleep.

You and Harry are very understanding when she does have accidents because potty training can be a tough thing to teach and learn. But you do try to avoid accidents as much as possible. So when Rosie tells her daddy she has to potty as he's picking up some bananas in the produce section of the store, his fight or flight clicks in. The one he uses for times like this or when she says she feels like she's gonna be sick, and does the only thing he can think to do in the moment.

"Shit," Harry whispers to himself, "alright, alright. Come 'ere." He drops the bananas in the basket and lifts little Rosie up from the cart seat. Once she's in his arms, Harry leaves his cart in the middle of the aisle and proceeds to jog to the back of the store where he knows the bathrooms to be. "It's gonna be alright. Hold it for a minute more, okay baby."

"But daddy," Rosie whines, clutching around Harry's neck while he basically runs through the store with her, "gotta potty really bad." Luckily not even ten seconds later they are met with a wall of bathrooms and Harry thanks god they have a family bathroom. He hates when he's out in public alone with his daughter and has to decide how he's going to take her to the bathroom when the only options are the men's room and the women's room.

Because he'll be damned if he takes his sweet baby girl into the men's room and she sees something she doesn't need to see at her innocent age. Or get cursed out by middle aged white ladies when they see him, a grown 6ft man with tattoos in the women's room. Even when he clearly has a child with him. So gender neutral / family restrooms are ideal for situations like this one.

Harry rushes into the one toilet bathroom and locks the door. Then he quickly sets Rosie down to the floor and helps her lift her dress and panties down before setting her on the toilet seat. He wishes he had time to wipe the seat off before hand but time wasn't an option for them at the moment. Just as she goes potty, he sighs in relief that they made it in time with no accidents occurring.

Still slightly out of breath from running across the store, he balls up some toilet paper and hands it to his daughter saying, "Okay, make sure you wipe really well. Just like mummy taught you." And that she does. She takes the toilet paper and wipes just like you had taught her when teaching her to use the potty on her own.

Rosie looks up at her father when she's finished and mutters, "All dones." Harry lifts her off the public toilet seat and helps pull her underwear back up and her dress back down. Then he flushes the toilet and carries the three year old to the sink to help her wash her hands. Once her small hands are all clean and dry, he lifts Rosie back up in his arms and proceeds to carry her back over to where he left his cart in hopes no one took it.

Thankfully the shopping cart was where he left it and Harry helps his daughter back in the basket seat to continue there shopping journey. As they wrap up grocery shopping and stand in the check out line, Rosie looks up from where she's sat in the cart and says, "Thank you daddy for helping me go potty so I didn't have an accident." with her tiny but round lips puckered as if asking for a kiss.

Harry leans down to except the generous kiss his daughter was giving and replies, "'Course, baby. And thank you for telling daddy that you had to go potty so you didn't have an accident. Love you so much. Now lets get home to mummy."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

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