#steam retort machines

[seo-baicai]

Advancements in Steam Retort Machine Technology: A New Era in Food Processing

In the ever-evolving food processing industry, the steam retort machine has emerged as a crucial technology, ensuring the safety and quality of canned and packaged foods. Recent advancements in steam retort systems have brought about significant improvements in efficiency, automation, and sustainability, making them more essential than ever.

Enhanced Efficiency and Automation

Modern steam retort machines are now equipped with advanced automation features that streamline the cooking and sterilization processes. These systems utilize sophisticated sensors and control mechanisms to monitor temperature, pressure, and time, ensuring optimal processing conditions. This level of automation not only reduces labor costs but also minimizes the risk of human error, leading to consistent product quality.

Additionally, manufacturers are adopting energy-efficient designs that reduce steam consumption and overall energy usage. This shift not only lowers operational costs but also aligns with global sustainability goals, making food processing more environmentally friendly.

Improved Safety Standards

The safety of food products is paramount, and steam retort machines are at the forefront of ensuring this safety. With enhanced monitoring systems that provide real-time data, operators can quickly identify any deviations from set parameters, allowing for immediate corrective actions. This capability is critical in preventing foodborne illnesses and ensuring that products meet stringent safety regulations.

Moreover, recent innovations have introduced features such as automated sealing and pressure regulation, further enhancing the safety of the retorting process.

Versatile Applications

The versatility of steam retort machines makes them suitable for a wide range of applications beyond traditional canning. They are increasingly used for processing ready-to-eat meals, sauces, and even pet food. As consumer demand for convenient and safe food options continues to rise, steam retorts provide manufacturers with the flexibility to meet these evolving needs.

Industry Impact

The advancements in steam retort technology are expected to have a significant impact on the food processing industry. As companies strive to improve their production efficiency and product quality, the adoption of modern steam retort systems is likely to increase. This trend not only benefits manufacturers but also enhances consumer confidence in the safety and quality of processed foods.

Conclusion

The steam retort machine is undergoing a transformative phase, driven by technological advancements that enhance efficiency, safety, and versatility. As the food processing industry continues to adapt to changing consumer demands and regulatory requirements, steam retort machines will play an increasingly vital role in shaping the future of food safety and quality. Manufacturers who invest in these advanced systems will be well-positioned to meet the challenges of the modern market and deliver high-quality products to consumers worldwide.

[munson-blurbs]

Inspired by this TikTok. Thank you to @lesservillain for the idea and to @emsgoodthinkin for brainstorming with me!

Summary: Eddie jumpscares you one too many times, and so you decide to freak him out at work. But who will be more shocked: him, or you?

Warnings: fem!reader, friends-to-lovers, idiots in love, brief description of (fake) gore, joke about throwing up (doesn't actually happen), kissing as a joke (please only kiss w/ consent irl)

WC: 1.3k

It was just a joke. 

A joke that had started when Eddie had barged into your house—the man wouldn’t knock if his life depended on it—and proudly announced, “I got the job!”

The job in question was a haunted house performer at Hawkins’ annual Fall Festival. You’d both been going since you were kids, and his favorite part had always been the haunted house. 

He’d gotten word about his new job in early September. By mid-October, you’re fully sick and tired of his antics. 

“Boo!” he’d yelled as he jumped out from behind the Wheeler’s couch, making you leap out of your seat. 

“Raaahhh!” he’d growled in your ear while you were in the midst of a conversation with Robin, and once your heartbeat returned to normal, you flipped him off. 

His enthusiastic “Gotcha!” during your history quiz was the final straw. You’d yelped, actually shrieked in the middle of class, clapping a hand over your mouth as Mrs. Click glared at you. 

“I’m gonna get you back for that,” you’d hissed once you’d turned in your exam, growing more irritated when he’d just shook his head. 

“You can’t scare me,” he retorted with a smirk, leaning up against a locker. “You’ve never been able to freak me out, and you never will. Don’t even try, little girl.”

Challenge accepted. 

You spend the rest of the week wracking your brain for ideas. What is Eddie Munson afraid of? What will shock him?

The obvious answer is hiding a prized possession and making him think it was stolen or lost. You grin to yourself as you picture him frantically searching for Sweetheart; maybe you could leave a ransom note of sorts. 

But that plan has too many moving pieces, so you scrap it. You’re about to give up entirely when Robin inadvertently gives you an idea. 

“You guys coming to Steve’s party tomorrow?” she asks in between bites of her turkey sandwich. 

“I’m down,” you eagerly agree, itching to have a night out with friends. 

When Robin turns to Eddie, he shakes his head. “Gotta work,” he reminds her, wiggling his fingers to emphasize the spooky nature of his job. 

Robin rolls her eyes. “Fine, okay. Stop by after. I promise we won’t make you play spin the bottle again.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, cheeks redden, and he gets up from the lunch table without another word. 

Bingo. 

The plan is set: on Friday, before Steve’s party, you’ll pay Eddie a visit at the Fall Festival. It’ll be a visit he’ll never forget, you’re sure of that. 

Robin stands with you outside the haunted house, picking at a funnel cake with powdered sugar-coated fingers. “I’ll wait out here,” she promises, “but when you’re done, I wanna hear everything. Especially the look on his face.”

“You got it.” You shoot her a thumb’s up as you jog up to the bored-looking attendant taking tickets. 

You’re in. 

The first room just sets the tone. Eerie organ music pulses through an ancient sound system, and a fog machine creates a steam that prevents you from seeing the floor. Cobwebs hang in the corners of the ceiling, though you’re suspicious that they’re not intentional decorations. 

Eddie’s not in the next room, either; just a woman wearing a blood-spattered wedding dress, wielding a knife and clutching a plastic severed head. She’s screaming something about, “teaching him not to cheat with a bridesmaid,” and looks vaguely annoyed that you’re not quaking with terror. 

You go through three more rooms, getting increasingly irritating with the lack of Eddie in each one. He’s working tonight, so he has to be here—

Loud, stomping footsteps follow you into the dungeon-themed section of the house, and your heart skips a beat as you lay eyes on him. A distorted mask covers his face, but his unruly curls give him away despite the mad scientist costume he’s donning. He holds up a knife and creeps closer, a low growl emanating from his throat. You run until you no longer can, and he easily traps you, the cold metal gate pressing into your back. 

If you’re going to do it, now’s your chance. 

In one swift motion, you turn him so he’s backed up into the gate. A soft, confused “wha—?” leaves his lips as you lift his mask and lean in before you lose your nerve. Your lips press against his; hands on his cheeks as he accepts the way you melt into him.

Why isn’t he pulling away? Why isn’t he laughing and appreciating your prank? Why does it seem like he wants this…like he’s BEEN wanting this?

Fuck. Fuck. 

This isn’t what you were expecting. He’s kissing you back, surprised but hungry, and you’re the one who ends up breaking away. 

Before he can begin to question what’s happening, you dash out of the room. No. No, no, no. Your head spins as you attempt to process the emotions pulsing through your veins. 

It was supposed to be a way of getting him back for his unwavering desire to scare you. Show him what it’s like to be the one on the other side of the joke. Because that’s all it was; a joke. 

So why do you want to kiss him again?

Fresh air hits you like a slap in the face, and once you find Robin, you cling to her like a lifeline. 

“We have to go,” you mumble, dragging her to the exit and refusing to make eye contact. 

“Whoa, what happened?” When you refuse to answer, she sighs but doesn’t relent. “C’mon, did he, like, throw up or something?”

You shake your head. “I think he liked it.”

“Of course he did,” she says with a laugh, “the guy’s in love with you.” She nudges your hip with her own. “Toldja he would lose his shit.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Robs…when I said that I wanted him to ‘freak out,’ what did you think I meant?”

Robin crinkles her nose. “Um, that the Dingus-ette—that’s you—and her doting Dingus were finally going to admit that they have big, stupid crushes on each other?” Her expression falters when you stop in your tracks. “What did you mean?”

“I wanted,” you start, swallowing hard like a gob of peanut butter is stuck to the roof of your mouth, “I wanted to get him back for scaring me. I wanted to freak him out.”

“Mission accomplished.”

She’s no longer looking at you when she speaks, and you follow her gaze to where Eddie’s shuffling over to you. You want to beg her to stay, but she just squeezes your hand in a silent good luck. 

“Hi.” Eddie’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “Can we talk?”

You can only nod in response. His mask is atop his mess of curls, and you can see the longing in his eyes. How have you never noticed it before? How did you not notice the need within yourself?

“Actually, I’m lying. I don’t want to talk.” With that, his arms pull you into him, torsos pressed together, and he’s kissing you. It’s like a missing link in a chain you hadn’t realized was broken, and you allow your hands to drape over his shoulders. You can feel him trembling slightly as he deepens the kiss. 

“You okay?” you murmur against his lips. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he answers, ducking his head behind his curtain of hair. “Guess ‘m just a little freaked out that this is really happening.”

A smile twitches at the corners of your mouth, and you lace your fingers with his. 

“Good.”

--

[janeyseymour]

hi i love ur writings so so much i’m so sorry this idea is rushed but i hope its enough

abbot family is trying to encourage melissa to “get back out there” and meet people after everything she’s been through. she brushes them off constantly until they stage an intervention during lunch and even barb is concerned for her work wife. melissa leaves this lunch with some big feelings because little does everyone know melissa has been seeing someone this whole time. comes home to reader smoking a joint while cooking in the kitchen and reader says something along the lines of “you look like you could use this more than me” and they make a plan together to introduce reader to everyone at a 4th of july bbq

you gonna get what you ask for 🤪 Not edited in the slightest. I got places to be and people to see

Intervention

WC: ~2.35k

It’s been a year and a half since Melissa Schemmenti publicly said no to a marriage proposal. A year and a half since the fiery redhead had gone out with anyone, and she really doesn’t have any plans to start dating again- at least that’s what the Abbott crew thinks.

The truth is, the second grade teacher has been seeing you since the night she went to the casino and bar to blow off some steam after reuniting with Gary to return his things and get her stuff back.

You were at one of the slot machines when the redhead passed by you, laughing.

“What’s so funny, Red?” you asked as you looked up at her.

“You ain’t gonna win no money that way,” the woman stopped in her tracks to tell you. “C’mon. Let me show you how it’s done.”

That night, you stuck by her side as you watched her win thousands of dollars at one table alone, clearing out quite a few men.

It’s late when she finally threw in the towel. She offered to walk you out to you car, and you took her hand in your own.

“So,” you exhaled a small cloud of smoke from the cigarette the two of you were sharing. “What are you gonna do with all that money you just won, pretty lady?”

“Take you out on a date,” Melissa had replied cooly. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven?”

Neither of you looked back.

That was a year and three months ago. While your side of the family knew of your relationship with the teacher (and they absolutely adore her), her crew doesn’t have a single clue of your existence or rather large presence in Melissa’s life- despite the fact that you were now living together and your lives were intertwined.

So whenever anyone at Abbott tells Melissa that they found someone they think she might fancy, she just brushes them off.

“Janine, no offense, but if you think someone is worth dating, I would find them to be-”

“Hey,” Gregory cuts her off.

Melissa just shrugs. “My case in point. Greg, you know I love you like the black son I never had, but you’re boring as hell.”

“Ava, I am not about to go clubbing with you to pick up a man fifteen years my junior,” the redhead rolls her eyes.

“C’mon,” the principal chuckles. “They fun! They’re like energizer bunnies.”

“I barely have the energy to stand and get the remote from the other side of the room,” Melissa retorts as she opens her bottle of iced tea.

“I think you would like him!” Jacob pleads. “He saw your picture and said you were fine.”

“I am fine,” Melissa states, gesturing to her figure. “And I’m just as fine without a partner.”

It’s gotten to the point that even Barbara is concerned about her friend’s adamant denial to get herself back out there. So, the day that Melissa has recess duty, she brings it up to her coworkers.

“Now listen, I am not usually one for meddling in someone else’s love life, but don’t you think it’s concerning that Melissa flat out refuses to even attempt to put herself back out there?” the kindergarten teacher asks to the faculty room.

“Weird as hell,” Ava waltzes in, but having heard the question decides to chime in. “But aye, good for Schemmenti, realizing she don’t need no man in life.”

“I just find it odd…” Barbara taps her chin. “Melissa, while one with a tough exterior, loves love. She’s always wanted someone to spend her time with.”

“Maybe we should stage an intervention,” Jacob suggests. “To really show her that she’s good and healed from the failed proposal and to get back out there.

Gregory looks mildly impressed with that suggestion. “That might work.”

They have no idea that the entire time she’s supposed to be out monitoring the children on the blacktop, she’s smiling down at her phone like an idiot talking to you.

And when she comes home that day, she fully goes through with the things you two had texted about earlier.

The Abbott crew plans an intervention for Melissa- a banner, letters, all of it. When she comes into the staff room, smiling down at a midday text you had sent her, the rest of her colleagues are standing by the couch, looking somber.

“Fuck. Who died?” Melissa’s smile drops immediately.

“No one died, Melissa,” Barbara states.

“But we think a part of you might have,” Janine says dramatically, somberly.

“What the hell are youse talkin’ about?” thee redhead rolls her eyes. 

“Melissa, dear,” Barbara says softly, calmly. She makes her way over to her friend and takes her by the hand to guide her towards the seat they had put in the middle of the room.

One by one, they read the letters that they had all written, expressing their concern for their favorite fiery Italian teacher.

“Melissa,” the kindergarten teacher finishes up. “We all love you dearly, and while we understand that it takes some time to get over the heartache that Gary caused, this is a bit extreme. We are worried.”

“An’ I appreciate the thought and care that you guys put into this,” Melissa tells them with a sigh. “But I promise youse: I’m fine. I don’t need to get back out there.” She almost adds on that it’s because she’s happily seeing someone, and has been since three months after her split from the guy that filled the vending machine.

“Just… know that we’re all here through all of your seasons,” Jacob tells her. “The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“We do care about you,” Janine says softly, and she offers the redhead a hug. Melissa doesn’t necessarily want to embrace the shorter woman, but she goes into the arms of her colleague.

Gregory just gives her a nod that conveys his love for his coworker, to which she smirks and nods right back in his direction.

“Now, can we eat lunch?” the redhead chuckles.

As the day passes on, Melissa comes to realize just how much her coworkers care for her- their gesture, albeit absolutely ridiculous and dramatic, was heartfelt and full of love. Maybe she should just come clean about the relationship she’s in. Or she could just buy them all some Philly soft pretzels and soda instead to thank them. Yeah… that’s what she’ll do for now before she can talk to you about how the two of you want to go public about your being together.

She orders the pretzels to be delivered to the school before the day is done, and when everyone is reconvening back in the faculty room to grab their lunch bags before heading home, Melissa makes sure she’s the first one down there. She has the box on one of the tables, along with a some cans of soda. Whatever they don’t take, the redhead knows will be eaten and drank at home.

“Oi,” she calls to her friends. “Come get a pretzel and a soda as my thanks for carin’ about me so much.”

They all light up at the sight of the gesture, aside from Gregory.

“I do not like pretzels, or soda, and for that reason I will not take one,” the man says as his friends dive in. “But thank you.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “I figured you would say that. Which is why I got you a bag of peanuts and a water.”

He looks mildly impressed and takes the offered items gratefully.

Once again, they all voice their love and care for the woman that gave them a salty treat before heading out for the night. Everyone except for Barbara. She waits for Melissa to clean up and gather her things before walking out with the woman.

“That was very sweet of you,” the kindergarten teacher nudges her friend.

Melissa huffs. “Oi. Don’t knock me like that.” She readjusts her grip on the small box of pretzels before sighing. “But it was just a thank you for caring.”

“We care about you a lot more than you know,” Barbara smiles. “And just so you know… you are a Philly eleven, and I do think you should get yourself back out there. I know it can be scary to put your heart back out there, but even if it ends in heartbreak and a few smashed in headlights, I will always be here to help you pick up the pieces.”

“I know, Barb,” the redhead says softly, so out of character. “Thank you.”

“Think about it!” the older woman says as she parts and heads off in the direction of her car.

With a sigh, Melissa unlocks her car and gets everything settled before slumping into the front seat.

Coming home with a treat, she texts you.

Is it you? You reply back.

She chuckles at that. She can practically see the smirk written on your face. You’ll see.

When she pulls in, she can smell you before she sees you. You’re clearing smoking, but she can also smell the delicious dinner that you’re making. 

The redhead makes her way into the house, deep in thought of how much her friends are looking out for her, and attempting to piece together how to approach you about the topic of coming out.

It’s odd. Your girlfriend makes her way into the kitchen and places the box of pretzels down, but she doesn’t make her way over to you the way that she usually does. Instead, she’s looking down at the food, brows furrowed and deep in thought. 

You turn the burner down to ensure that the food won’t burn or bubble over before making your way behind Melissa. You wrap the arm that isn’t holding the joint around her waist before holding it up to her lips and offering her some. Even in your somewhat inebriated state, you know something is up with her.

“You look like you could use this more than me,” you chuckle softly.

She shrugs, but does take a hit before blowing the smoke out.

“Hard day?” you ask her gently. “Need to be taken care of?”

Again, she shrugs. She doesn’t really know what to say. This is so unlike Melissa. Usually, she comes in huffing about the ridiculous antics of her boss, she bounces on her toes when she tells you the sweet things the kids had done or said, and she is more than willing to dish out the tea that was spilled in the staff lounge earlier that day.

“Mel?” you ask softly, taking a cheek in your hand and cupping it gently. You force her to look at you. “What happened today?”

She laughs softly, before full out cackling. This sudden change in mood startles you.

“Mel, babe, you’re scaring me,” you tell her. “What happened?”

She sits down and plucks the joint out of your hand. “The crew planned an intervention for me,” she tells you with a chuckle as you go back over to the stove.

You turn. “Oh?”

She nods, a playful smirk on her face.

“For?” you raise a brow. You turn your attention back to dinner. “Can I guess?”

“Sure, hun,” she laughs as she takes another drag.

  “The aggression that you email the parents with?” No. “The heeled boots hitting the linoleum tile too loudly when you’re pissed?” No. “The arson?” No. “The threats of a bare knuckle fist fight?”

“Jesus,” Melissa laughs. “When you list all of that out, I sound like a terrible person.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I love everything about you!”

“I know you do,” she chuckles. “But no. None of that.”

“Then what?”

“My love life.”

“Your love life?” you turn to look at her incredulously.

“My love life,” the redhead sighs. “They had a banner, they had letters, they had the chair in the middle of the room… everything. And for me. When I don’t even have a problem with my love life.”

“So why did you come in lookin’ all sad?”

“Not sad… just thoughtful. The things they said… it showed me how lucky I am to have coworkers that care for me as deeply as they do. So at the end of the day, I had pretzels for them to show my gratitude. And after, Barbara and I walked out together… and… how would you feel about telling people that we’re together?”

You finish stirring the food and plating it before bringing it over to the table where your girlfriend is sitting. You set the two dishes in front of her before sliding into her lap. You finish off the joint together before smiling.

“I’ve been ready,” you tell her. “I’ve just been waiting for you to be.”

“Yeah?” she asks you as she kisses your temple.

You nod before taking a bite of your dinner. Damn, between the two of you, you should open your own restaurant. “We’ve been together for over a year, living together since six months in, I don’t plan on going anywhere, and I would hope you don’t either. I think it’s time.”

“I think so too,” she says softly. “But with the end of the year comin’ up… we’re all crazy busy.”

“So we can organize something for after the school year?” you suggest. “Maybe a fourth of July barbecue?”

So that’s what the two of you do. Your girlfriend walks into school on the last day and tells her friends that she knows that don’t have anything going on for Fourth of July, and they better be at her house for a barbecue. They all look at her, clearly confused. No one- not even Barb- has been invited over to the house since Melissa and Gary broke up. Nevertheless, they don’t argue and all promise to be there.

They all come in one clump, and the faces that they make when you open the door draped around Melissa are priceless.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” she says proudly. “The reason that I have been declining all of the people you’ve suggested I date, and the reason I have not ‘put myself back out there’. I don’t gotta when I have her.”

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch

Chapter Eight:

The coffee machine gurgled in the quiet of the break room as Evelyn filled her cup, her hands carefully cradling her favorite pink mug as the steam raised in delicate swirls. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed substance wafted through the air, Evelyn was moments from savoring her first sip when Spencer made his entrance. 

He moved with an awkward grace, his lean frame wrapped in a sweater, the morning light casting a scholarly glow on his thoughtful expression. Evelyn took a moment, as she often did, to admire the earnest curiosity etched into his features. She pivoted gracefully, a playful glint in her eye, the corners crinkling in silent laughter.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she chimed. "Joining me for the most important meal of the day?"

Spencer offered a small, hesitant grin, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as if anticipating an unwelcome audience. When he turned back, finding the coast clear, his gaze couldn't help but sweep over her, a slow, involuntary trail from her eyes down to her heels and back up again.

"Did you know caffeine can actually increase cortisol levels?" Spencer inquired, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer as he warmed to the subject. "Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands and plays a critical role in regulating various bodily functions. While it's essential for survival, elevated cortisol over prolonged periods can lead to a host of issues. So, while that cup of coffee might seem like a good idea, it's worth considering the potential endocrine implications."

Evelyn closed the distance between them with a playful step, her eyes gleaming. "I love when you talk nerdy to me, Dr. Reid," she started. "But if you deprive me of my morning coffee, I won't be the only ones suffering the consequences."

Spencer's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily giving Evelyn's ass a quick, teasing tap. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a feigned expression of shock. 

"In the workplace, Dr. Reid?" Evelyn chided, her voice laced with mock scandal.

Spencer's chuckle was a soft counterpart to the florescent hum of the break room. Evelyn stood there, the light catching the subtle highlights in her hair, her smartly tailored suit accentuating her figure.

"Speaking of which, and presuming your neurons are adequately myelinated for the day, how about those ground rules?" Spencer's question came with a half-smile.

"I'm going to pretend for a second that myelinated is part of my daily vocabulary," Evelyn retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "Upstairs is all clear," she tapped her temple for emphasis before taking another step towards the genius, "but after last night, I can't say the same for downstairs."

Spencer cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as memories of the previous night flickered through his mind. "Don't start with me."

"Me? Start with you? Never," she said, her eyes dancing with humor. "But in all seriousness. This," she gestured between them, "stays between us. We can't do anything here."

She straightened up, her expression mock serious. "I'm already juggling enough with these legacy rumors. If I start adding 'sleeping with my mentor' to my resume, I'll need to write a survival guide."

Spencer's response was quick. "I can do that," he said, his eyes accusing. "As long as you behave."

"I'm always on my best behavior, sir," she declared with a sly smile, her voice trailing off as she sauntered out of the break room, "my place or yours tonight?"

Spencer's hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose, squeezing gently as if to ward off an impending headache, the universal gesture of a man both charmed and utterly undone by the woman before him.

--

The tech lab was alive with whirring machines and the subtle glow of displays. Evelyn glided into the room, her steps light and her grin spreading. 

The hum of computers and the soft glow of screens set the backdrop as Evelyn breezed into the tech lab, her steps light and her smile wide. She found Garcia, the queen of all things digital, her dominion sprawling before her in an array of flickering pixels and streaming data.

"Hey, P! Need your magic fingers to trace a number for me. And maybe sprinkle a little of that fairy dust to make the results come faster." Evelyn says with a lighthearted twinkle.

With a flourish, Garcia twirled in her chair, her clothes a riot of color that defied that room's monochrome sterility. She peered at Evelyn over the top of her pink-rimmed glasses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Sweetie, you're radiating more energy than my entire tech setup. What's got you bouncing off the walls? Extra shot of your coffee or just high on life?" Penlope questioned, her voice laced with humor as she watched Evelyn practically vibrating through the room.

"What? No, I'm not. It's just a good day, that's all," Evelyn laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.

Garcia tilted forward, a teasing glint in her gaze. "Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Miss Sunshine. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow," she pushed, "spill it. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Garcia, quit it," she giggled, brushing off the insinuation with a wave of her hand. "There's no guy. Just... work stuff, you know?"

But Garcia remained skeptical, playfully wagging a finger bedecked with a glittering ring. "Oh, come on! You've got that look. The one that says, 'I did not get my eight hours, but boy, was it worth it.'"

Laughter spilled from Evelyn, a rich sound that reverberated against the walls. "Seriously, Penelope, drop it. I'm just happy. Can't a girl have a good day without an interrogation?"

Garcia shot her a knowing glance, but she conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll let you off the hook... for now. But I've got my eye on you. Now what's this number you need traced?"

Evelyn passed a slip of paper across the table, her grin unwavering. She offered a swift thanks and retreated to the bustling bullpen. 

Evelyn's desk was a splash of color in the otherwise muted tones of the bullpen. Pink post-its fluttered like flags, each scrawled with affirmations and tiny tributes to her teammates. Amidst this cheerful chaos, Hotch stood, his hands clasped behind him as he surveyed the landscape of girlish whimsy.

At the sight, Evelyn's steps hastened, she darted forward to intercept his gaze, positioning herself squarely before him. "Hotch, sir, hi! Can I help you with something?"

Hotch met her gaze, his eyebrow lifted in mild inquiry, the shadow of a smile on his face. "I was looking for the Simmons report. You were supposed to turn in it yesterday." He tried to peer around her, amusement flickering in his eyes at the sight of her cluttered workspace. 

His eyes settled on the pen holder, an extravagant display of sparkle and faux gems. He remarked with dry wit, "Does that... fit the bureau's decor standards?"

Evelyn's smile was unapologetic as she shrugged lightly. "Mm, probably not. But it brightens up the place don't you think?" She rifled through the stack of papers, her face a canvas of sheepish charm. "About that report... I, uh, totally forgot. But it will be done, pinky promise."

She extended her pinky towards him. Hotch regarded the small gesture, his features betraying no reaction. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his stance was unwavering. "I'm not going to do that," he declared, eyes flicking to her upheld finger. "I expect the report on my desk by the end of the day."

Evelyn snapped to attention, grin never faltering. "Aye, aye, captain," she chimed cheerfully. "You'll have it before you can say 'bureaucracy'."

With a parting nod, he moved back to his office. In the corner, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss stood in a tight knot, their quiet conversation floating in the air near the water cooler. 

"There's no way," Morgan asserted, his head moving in a firm denial, his eyes reflecting staunch disbelief.

"I told you soooo," Prentiss crooned, her voice dripping in smug satisfaction.

"Huh?" Evelyn's question hung in the air as she swiveled towards the group, her eyebrow arching in a silent demand for clarity. "What are you talking about?" 

"There's an ongoing bet to see how long it'll take you to really get in trouble with Hotch," JJ confesses, her grin spreading as she looked towards the other.

Evelyn's voice rose in protest. "What? I do get in trouble!" she insisted. "Did you not just see that? Or when I went rogue on my first takedown?"

Prentiss let out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Morgan's knowingly. "Please that was 'Evie trouble.' It's like being scolded by a teddy bear."

"And what does that even mean?" Evelyn asked, her laughter rising through the room as she shook her head.

"Baby girl, your definition of trouble with Hotch is a lot different than ours," Morgan said with a playful wag of his finger. "You barely get a slap on the wrist, while we'd get the whole paddle," he teased.

"That is so not true!" Evelyn's giggle bubbled up uncontrollably, her shoulders bouncing with each note of disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head.

As if summoned by the very topic, Rossi and Reid appeared in the doorway. They caught the end of the conversation and, with impeccable timing, chimed in together, "It's true."

"If I forgot my paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'd be relegated to coffee duty for a month--minimum," Spencer said as he gave a small, resigned shrug. 

"I'll have you know, I can get into trouble," she declared, puffing up in feigned offense. "I'm always getting under Hotch's skin."

Skepticism was written all over their faces, each look a playful jab at the very ideas. "Oh, we're sure you're a regular rebel," Morgan said, his tone heavy with irony.

"Yeah, right. They day you get a real scolding is the day I'll dye my hair pink," Prentiss declared, her laughter softening the edges of her sarcasm.

"And I'll wear a feather boa to work," Rossi added, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting he found the image as ludicrous as it sounded. 

"Statistically speaking, Evelyn, the probability of you inciting Hotch's ire is remarkably low," Spencer articulated, his brows furrowing in thought. "Considering the standard deviation of workplace interactions, it's more probably likely for an asteroid to graze our atmosphere."

Evelyn rolls her eyes, taking their words as a challenge. "We'll see about that."

Noon struck, and with it, a cast of golden rays pierced through the blinds of Hotch's office, painting the surfaces with a light hue of daylight. Evelyn, her arms cradling a stack of tardy documents, sauntered into the room. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, framed her face, and her eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room.

"Special delivery!" The announcement echoed off the walls, as Evelyn, framed by the doorway, held the papers aloft like a trophy. "The prodigal paperwork returns." Her smile was a bright flash in the subdued light.

The click of the mouse ceased as Hotch's gaze lifted slowly from the computer, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Thank you, Evelyn," he uttered, each word measured. "I was beginning to think it had gone into witness protection."

The room was filled with the sound of Evelyn's giggle as she perched against the doorframe. Her smirk was a playful twist of her full, rose-tinted lips. "Oh, you know me. I like to keep things interesting. Life's too short for bureaucracy. "

Hotch's fingers moved methodically through the stack, each page turning with a crisp snap. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never strayed as he spoke. "Interesting isn't quite the Bureau's motto. We prefer efficiency."

"And yet, here I am, brightening your day with my inefficiency," she teased.

The folder landed softly on the desk as Hotch straightened, his gaze piercing as it met Evelyn's. "Evelyn, is there something else you needed?"

"Just checking on my favorite unit chief," she declared with a shrug, "making sure you're not bored under a mountain of dullness."

Hotch's eyes took on a sharper focus, an almost accusatory gaze. "I'm quite capable of digging myself out, thank you," he stated, the hint of a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

Evelyn's smirk was unwavering, a silent ally as she acknowledged his words with a graceful nod. "Of course, sir. Duty calls."

--

The bullpen thrummed with life, agents weaving through the maze of desks, papers shuffled, and phones rang, the air buzzing with the collective focus. Evelyn's presence was a silent counterpoint, a different mission in mind. Her fingers sifted across the documents in front of her. With a feigned slip of the hand, she accidentally exchanged the contents of two folders. As she handed Hotch the Thompson report, masquerading as the Henderson case, she could barely contain her amusement.

Evelyn glanced up at Hotch with feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh, did those get mixed up? That's totally on me," she said, her voice dripping with faux contrition as she sat perched on the edge of her chair.

Hotch's hand clasped around the correct folder, his gaze drifting across Evelyn's features, a wordless pause hanging in the air. It was a look that lingered just a beat too long before he finally looked away.

With a serene composure, Hotch handed back the folder, his words deliberate and clear. "Please double-check your work in the future." 

"Absolutely, won't happen again, sir," Evelyn responded.

Watching Hotch disappear behind his office door, Prentiss and JJ, couldn't help but shake their heads. "You are playing with fire."

With a playful toss of her hair, Evelyn responded, "It's what I do best." Her wink sailed across the room to the women as she swiveled back to her desk.

Later, she sent Hotch on a wild goose chase for a non-existent file. Hotch reappeared, the absence of the file evident in his empty hands and the slight crease of annoyance on his brow. His irritation was barely veiled by his professional composure and the sight stirred a warmth across her cheeks and spread through her. It was as if the air had thickened, her body responding with a clench of her thighs. 

Evelyn snapped her attention back to her task, letting out an exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening with feigned realization.

Evelyn's eyes lifted to meet Hotch's, a flutter of her lashes accentuating her apology. "Oh, my mistake. It's actually for next week's briefing. My apologies, sir."

A collective gaze tracked Hotch, the team's faces etched with a blend admiration and disbelief at the boldness. Hotch's head shook slightly as he closed the door behind him. 

With a subtle lean, Morgan caught Rossi's attention, a smirk playing on his lips. "You seeing this, Rossi?" he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of disbelief.

"Hard to miss," Rossi mused, "she's got guts, I'll give her that," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile, "but she's doing a great job of proving our point."

"Hey," Evelyn's whisper was a soft accusation, a conspiratorial murmur that barely reached between the three of them. "Just you wait, I've got more up my sleeve."

With a gentle head shake that sent his curls swaying, Spencer loomed over her desk. "At this rate," he said, looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye, "you're going to need your own section in the employee handbook."

--

The bullpen fell into an abrupt hush, the agents' heads turning as Hotch's commanding tone sliced through the idle banter. Without missing a beat, he looked eyes with Evelyn. "Gideon, my office. Now."

The team's eyes flickered from one to another, the collective oooh sounding more like a drawn-out sigh as Evelyn got to her feet. The air seemed to still as she offered a nod, her face the picture of innocence. With a gentle tilt of her head, she responded sweetly. "Of course, sir."

Hotch stood behind his desk, the stern set of his jaw softening despite his best efforts. His words came with struggle, weighted with disappointment rather than anger. "This isn't like you, Evelyn. Misplacing evidence is a serious offense."

With eyes wide and innocent, Evelyn held her poise, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The room felt smaller as Hotch sighed, his authoritative demeanor dissolving into a softer, more approachable one. His voice lowered, tinged with an unexpected warmth. "What's going on with you today?"

"Hotch," Evelyn burst out, the playful strain in her voice belying the seriousness of her words. "I've been an absolute terror today--don't I deserve a better scolding that that? Everyone thinks you go easy on me."

Hotch's eyes sharpened, the hint of annoyance seeping through his demeanor. "So that's what this has been about? You've been testing my patience all day because of what--some office wager?"

Evelyn watched, a spark of mischief in her eyes as Hotch's composure began to fray. The fabric of his suit jacket tensed, subtly outlining the firm set of his shoulders. His jaw worked silently, a clear sign of his growing irritation, a detail she found inexplicably enthralling. 

"See, right there!" she exclaimed, her finger jabbing the air with theatrical emphasis. "That's what I'm talking about--that's the look!"

A barely perceptible quirk of his lips betrayed him. "You're unbelievable."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with sheer desperation shimmering within. "Hotch, can you please--pretty please--pretend to yell at me? I need to win this bet."

"At this point, Evelyn, I don't think I need to pretend."

She offered him a pout, her lower lip protruding just so, a silent plea.

He exhaled a deep sigh, a reluctant white flag. "Fine. Shut the door."

"Thank you, thank you!" Evelyn sang out, her mind already racing ahead. "Oh, wait, I need to look scared, right?" She whirled around, her hand hovering over the door handle as she caught the team's collective gaze, wide and expectant, peering through the blinds.

Hotch positioned himself with his back to the window, his silhouette casting a commanding shadow across the room. With a flourish, he gestured towards the scattered paperwork on his desk, his voice booming just enough to be heard through the glass.

Evelyn's lip caught between her teeth, an effort to rein in the giggles that bubbled over. Her shoulders trembled, betraying her struggle as she dipped her head, a strategic move to conceal from the curious glances beyond the glass.

"Evelyn, you're terrible at this."

"I-I know, I'm sorry," she sputtered between fits of laughter. "But I think they bought it."

"I doubt it."

"You're the best boss ever, Hotch," Evelyn beamed.

Hotch's head gave a slow shake, the barest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Too much if I cry on the way out?" she teased, feigning distress as she inched towards the door.

"Just go, Agent."

--

The day was winding down with the low hum of the office, Evelyn glided through the bullpen, her smirk as loud as the click of her heels. She tossed a bag onto Prentiss's desk, the contents clicking softly. The bag, clear and plastic, revealed the pink hair dye inside.

Evelyn leaned closer, the bag crinkling between them. "For your new look, Em," she teased with a wink. "I want to see a brand-new you by tomorrow."

Prentiss examined the dye, eyebrow raised in playful defiance. "Dream on, Evie," she chuckled. "This going in your Secret Santa gift."

Next the feather boa found its new home around Rossi's neck, courtesy of Evelyn's hands. "This is non-negotiable, Rossi," she declared. "Your suit needs a touch of pizzazz."

"But let's be real, Evie," Morgan chuckled. "You didn't really win the bet, did you?"

Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Whaaaatt?" she uttered. "I have absolutely no idea what you're implying."

"Oh, come on," Emily scoffed, "we all know what Hotch looks like when he's chewing someone out. And that, my friend, was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her act faltering under the team's knowing looks. "Oh! You know, I-I totally forgot, I have that thing I was totally supposed to do."

--

Evelyn was in her own world, surrounded by the familiar end-of-day bustle. As she slid her laptop into its case, her phone chimed--her eyes lit up, a smile curving subtly as she read the message from Spencer: My place. 8 pm.

Evelyn's gaze lifted, catching Spencer's eye across the room, a knowing look shared between them. She typed her response with haste: I'll be there. No sooner had she done so than Hotch's voice sliced through the buzz of the office. "Evelyn, my office."

She breezed in, her retort poised on her lips. "You didn't call me in here to actually yell at me, did you? Because, despite popular belief, I'm about as good with confrontation as a cat is with a bathtub. I'd probably start crying, it'd be this whole thing, and--"

"Evelyn." Hotch's voice was firm, a verbal full stop that demanded attention.

"Right. What's up?"

"Miami. Next week. A conference on behavior analysis," he began. "I want you there, presenting your research on the correlation between language patterns and criminal behavior."

"A paid trip to the beach? Count me in!" Evelyn squealed.

Hotch's reply came as a dry gust. "This is a business trip, Evelyn. Not a vacation."

She nodded, her grin undiminished. "Sorry, what? My mind's already sunbathing in Miami," she teased, twirling on her heel.

"Oh, and Evelyn?"

"Mhm?"

"The team's right," he confessed. "Don't let it go to your head."

next

taglist: @nonamevenus@aceofspades190

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Pancakes|Felix

Felix enjoyed mornings.

He enjoyed how he would wake up and feel rested and refreshed. And how the tiredness from the previous day was gone and not a burden to him anymore.

He enjoyed walking into the kitchen and watching the sun shine through the small window above the kitchen sink. He loved how it would cause sparkles to float through the air. Even though he knew it was just sun illuminated dust.

He'd enjoy turning on the stove, and grabbing ingredients to make a wonderful breakfast from the cupboard. Sure, he'd realize that you guys were running out of flour and sugar, and that he'd probably have to stop by the store on the way back from work tonight, but he loved going to the store.

He enjoyed perfectly placing every single chocolate chip into his batter and mixing it all up, undoing the meticulous work he had just done.

He enjoyed how it only took a few minutes for those pancakes to be made and how he'd smile as he placed a plate in the microwave.

He'd start the coffee machine as he washed his favorite orange mug. A mug that used to have a design on it. It had since been rubbed off since he used the mug so much since you had given it to him.

He'd watch the steam come up from the coffee mug and then remember to grab the syrup from the fridge,

He'd delicately drizzle the maple sauce on his pancakes in thin and precise lines.

He'd be tempted to drizzle on more, but then remember he had to keep his physique in tact.

Once the coffee machine was done he'd pour a mug and add just one packet of sugar and a splash of cream.

Then he'd put the syrup in the fridge and swap it out for the orange juice, which he'd pour in a crystal clear cup.

He'd grab his fork and sit down at the small kitchen table.

He'd contemplate buying a bigger table so it would be easier when the guys came over.

Or it'd be easier when he had a family with you.

Then he'd clear the thought from his mind and listen to the birds as they sung their sweet serenade to the rising sun.

He'd slowly chew on his pancakes, and look towards the doorway leading out into the hallway.

His ears would perk up when he heard footsteps walk into the bathroom, and the sink turn on.

He'd smile as he waited for you to walk into the kitchen, sleep still snug in all the features of your face.

He'd laugh as he saw your adorable (yet understandably frustrating) frizzy hair. You'd walk with your eyes half closed, almost running into the table.

He enjoyed watching you take small little shuffles that couldn't even be considered steps towards the coffee machine, and how you'd chug back almost a half of a mug of just black coffee. Then you'd pour in your cream and sugar and top the cup off with the dark drink.

Then you'd find your plate of pancakes in the microwave and warm it up for twenty seconds, Not a second more. Not a second less.

He'd watch you pour a glass of orange juice and set it on the table.

He'd smile as you'd forget to put the carton back in the fridge when you went to grab the syrup.

Then he'd smile even bigger as he watched you pour syrup without any restraint.

Then you'd leave the syrup on the counter and sit down at the table.

He'd laugh quietly as your head nodded down.

He'd tease you later for falling asleep at the table while you'd retort with the answer that you were praying before your meal.

Felix would still be finishing his pancakes while you scarfed yours down, morning energy slowly filling you up.

After you both finished, you'd wash your plates together.

You'd go for your second cup of coffee as Felix was drying them and then Felix would go for his second cup of coffee.

You'd finally be awake enough to ask him if he slept well.

He'd smile as he responded as he always did. With a kiss to your nose and a yes.

And then you'd respond how you always did, with placing a kiss on his lips. Quick and chaste.

He'd have butterflies in his stomach every single time. And the smile plastered on his face was sure to be pointed out by Han or Hyunjin.

Like it always was.

Felix would be thinking about how great that kiss was (even if it was sweet and pure) all the way until he reached work.

He'd think about how great his morning was all the way until he reached home in the evenings.

And he'd fall asleep happily knowing it would happen again tomorrow.

Felix loved mornings.

Because they had you in it.

And well...

He really did love pancakes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reminder: Enhypen requests are still open/needed. I keep getting Skz but my requests are closed for them atm. All members of Enha/OT7 are open though :) the list will be dropping once I have all requests queued because I want write what you guys want not what I want :)

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[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942 Detroit, Michigan 10 a.m. Eastern Time ---

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

wallflower 6

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: Here we go again. Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

“Please, you don’t have to,” Thor says as he places the stack of dishes beside the sink as you run the faucet and test the water with your fingers. “You’re my guest, just as your mother is.”

“I want to. It’s only polite.”

“You can leave them,” he suggests, “come and enjoy the evening with your mother. I can put on some coffee or tea–”

“Oh, I can do that,” you offer to the sink as you put the stopper in, “just tell me where everything is.”

“Honey,” he intones, “really, I don’t feel right having you and letting you do all this.”

You keep your eyes on the rising water as you add soap and bubbles foam over the surface, “I don’t feel right not doing it.”

He lets out a breath and clicks his tongue, “yes, I know.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” you shift the plates carefully into the hot water as he lingers close, adding to the heat of the steam roiling from the faucet.

“Hm,” he sounds unhappy and you squirm as you wet the sponge, “the coffee is above the toaster, tea too. Kettle just over there… if you need help, please ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you plunge your hands into the sink.

“I feel as if I should thank you,” he says as he gives a gentle brush along your back.

You say nothing and keep your attention on the dishes. You hold your breath until he leaves, his steps reluctant and dawdling. When you dare to look back, you drop your shoulders and let yourself relax. You’re thankful for the excuse to be alone.

The familiar clunk of dishes muffled under the suds keeps you distracted as your eyes wander across the granite counter. The stainless steel toaster shines, each appliance the same sparkling sheen. You set the plates in the rack, ignoring the dishwasher as you note the kettle against the wall and the little crystal dish of sugar.

It doesn’t take long to finish the washing and you dry each piece, searching the cupboards and drawers for their place. When all is away, you flip on the kettle and venture across the foyer to the living room, your mother’s manufactured laughter guiding your way.

You stop in the doorway as she stands behind Thor as he sits in a chair. She rubs his chest from behind as she bends over the back of the recliner and mutters into his hair. He grimaces at the room as she lets her hand stray further.

“Er,” you clear your throat, “would you like coffee or tea?”

Thor catches your mother’s hands and pushes them off him, “please, enough. Sorry, honey–”

“I would prefer you leave us alone,” your mother snaps as she stands, wobbling slightly as she slurs.

“Kat,” Thor retorts as he sits up, “I’d like some tea, the breakfast blend is fine, and I think your mother would do well with some coffee.”

“I haven’t finished my wine,” she pouts and she rustles his hair, pulling a few strands loose from the twisted bun.

“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t,” Thor gets up and sighs, pacing across the floor, “did you need any help with that, honey?”

“N-no,” you give a look to your mother as she glowers at you from behind Thor, “no, please, I’m fine. I’ll go… get it on.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he offers.

You spin on your heel, fleeing from the doorway. Your mother’s voice floats out behind you, “I need you,” she purrs, “I could pay for her taxi and we could–”

He grunts but you hear nothing else as you enter the haven of the kitchen. You search for the box of breakfast tea before setting up the machine. It’s slightly different than the one at home and takes you a bit of fumbling to get the filter out, but you loud it and push several buttons before it brews.

You bounce on your heels as you wait, wandering back and forth as the kettle slowly comes to a boil and the aroma of coffee fills the air. You pour the hot water over the sachets. You twine your fingers together and bite your knuckles nervously. How long until you can leave? Your mother hardly seems in a rush but you’re only getting in the way.

“Hey, honey,” Thor’s voice draws you around, startling you, “your mother’s not doing so well, I’m going to put her in a spare room. I was gonna tell you not to bother with the coffee but…”

“Oh, sorry,” you tug on your finger, almost until it pops from the socket. He notices the nervous tick but doesn’t mention it.

“No sorry needed, if you’re still up to meet Fen, you can take your tea to the living room.”

“Okay, is mom okay?”

“She’s just had a bit much,” he assures you.

You nod and turn back to the counter. You near and pull out a tea bag. His shadow looms behind you for a moment before he goes. You toss out the used sachets and go to the fridge. You add a small bit of milk to your cup and leave his on the counter as you stop the grinding coffee machine.

The front room is empty as you enter. Uncertain, you put your cup on a wooden coaster and sit on the edge of the chair next to the square end table. You clutch your hands in your lap and stare at your socks. Maybe you should go see if your mom’s alright. It’s not completely unexpected, you often find her passed out on the couch after one of her girls’ nights.

Before you can muster the courage to go check in, Thor appears, carrying his mug with him. He smiles and puts it near the recliner.

“The couch is cozy,” he suggests and gestures to the chair you sit in, “that old thing is stiff as bones.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him as you pick at a fingernail.

“Shall I fetch the old beast?” He asks playfully.

“Um, sure, if you think… it’s alright.”

“Give me a sec, honey.”

He leaves again and you let your eyes crawl around the room. Your mother’s stockings are crumpled up on the floor and her wine glass is empty. Her fourth by your count. You’re almost embarrassed until you think of how ashamed she must be of you.

You hear claws tapping on the floor and sit up, watching the door expectantly. A great grey hound bounds in as Thor chases in after him.

“--back here, you oaf, god–” he stops himself as the dog nears you, “he slipped his collar.”

Thor holds up the thick band as the dog sniffs at you eagerly, wetting your knuckles with his long snout. He’s huge, his grey fur wiry and long, his grey eyes curiously as he looks at you, his nose nearly touching yours as he raises his head. In a moment, he hops up and the chair creaks under his weight as he forces himself into your lap, draping over you as you lean back and let out a squeak of surprise.

“Fenrir, don’t crush the kitten,” Thor booms and hurries towards you.

“It’s fine,” you gulp under the weight, “he’s being friendly.”

You pet him and he wiggles, bound to fall right off of you in his excitement.

“It’s rude,” he says tersely as he waggles his finger at the defiant dog, “but he does seem to like you. He’s usually a bit more standoffish.”

Fen lifts his head and twists to lick your cheek with his large tongue, you giggle and drag your hand over his side.

“He’s funny,” you let yourself smile as the dog’s warmth calms you, “I always wanted a puppy.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor hovers cautiously, ready to rein in the hound at any moment, “I wouldn’t exactly call him a puppy.”

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 55: Hungry For Love

Watching his friends and relatives, including his ex Isra, find love, get married, and expand their families made Luigi’s plan to focus on improving himself over pursuing romance challenging.

Even sims he barely saw anymore called him up to talk about their relationships, leaving him jealous and dissatisfied with his lonely life. It made him wonder why no one was asking HIM out. Was he not good enough company for any sim to want his warm, soft presence in their life and bed?

---------------------------------------------

Even his relatives who were neither warm nor soft were doing better than him. He did his best to soothe Tess’s circuits when she called in a tizzy about Hunter’s upcoming proposal but hung up the phone with a lingering feeling of being left behind.

Luigi hoped to talk things out with his no-nonsense housemate, but even she showed up for breakfast wearing a sparkling engagement ring.

Too overcome with envy to show the proper excitement on his friend’s behalf, he stumbled through a half rant, half apology for his emotional disarray. Bonnie just sighed and let him vent, knowing her friend well enough not to take his self-absorbed reaction to her and Leroy’s engagement personally. When he ran out of steam, she assured him his “happily ever after” was out there somewhere if he just made a little effort to find it.

---------------------------------------------

Luigi couldn’t deny Bonnie’s wisdom about leaving out the welcome mat for love, but before he signed up for Meet and Mingle, he got another call.

At last! His teammate Jade, who had been so adamant that their fling was a “one time thing”, was actually interested in him! He wished he knew what had changed her mind, but he was far too excited to worry about that, agreeing to meet right after class at the old arcade in Cooperdale.

---------------------------------------------

He started things off by leading her over to one of the bubble machines scattered throughout the venue, flirtatiously joking that they simply had to sample the “Jade Dragon” flavor in honor of Jade’s fiercely competitive spirit.

The bubbles loosened their lips and relaxed them both. Jade maybe relaxed a little too much, flippantly complaining that her husband, Brice, could never be bothered to do anything fun like this anymore… she only seemed to realize she’d said it aloud when she saw Luigi’s dumbfounded look.

Another married sim?! Luigi supposed it didn’t have to be a deal breaker, as long as he didn’t wind up in a weird open relationship with a distant cousin.

---------------------------------------------

When Luigi inquired about the details of Jade’s committed relationship, she admitted that her husband would “kill her and the other guy” if he found out that she was seeing someone else, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt anyone!

She knew Luigi could keep a secret; he’d never breathed a word about their shower escapade after all. Brice was such a “stick in the mud”, she deserved to have a little fun and Luigi certainly seemed to know how to show a girl a good time!

---------------------------------------------

Mind blown, Luigi retorted that his discretion wasn’t an open invitation to pull him into drama he knew nothing about. Was this why Jade had told him their little fling after the game was a “one time thing”? At her guilty look he suddenly felt cheap and used, bitterly embarrassed by his earlier hopes.

Before he did something he knew he’d regret Luigi stood, grinding out “go home to your husband” before turning and storming out the door. He didn’t know why it seemed married sims had a “thing” for him, but he’d clearly have to vet his dates more thoroughly moving forward!

---------------------------------------------

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[melmedarda]

MARCH. O2

The shadows of Piltover stretch into the rolling grays of Zaun, and Mel descends on their billowing train. The gloom reaches the alleyways of the Machine Herald, and all is still in the way of a grave. Despite this, the city has not been bled of color despite the oppressive Gray that cloaked it. The neon lights of the Lanes welcome her with blinding colors, but the streets themselves are empty, a carved out carcass of a city. They must know a member of the pantheon descends, must feel the weight of her power in the diseased air.

Jayce had been against her stepping foot outside of Piltover. That was their domain, after all, all marble stone and golden lit beneath the sun. There he could keep her safe. The Undercity was a beast of its own, with Viktor acting as its head now that Silco was dead. The way they had parted sat on the broad expanse of Jayce's shoulders like an unyielding burden, haunted in in ways she was sure he thought no one else could see. But Mel saw, and she did not forget.

She finds him in his workshop, or more he allows her to find him. She does not doubt his ability to melt into the belly of Zaun and simply disappear. This is his domain after all. His golden eyes ensnare her through the gloaming, unblinking. There Viktor sits, holding court among the awkward metal bodies of his inventions. The smile he fixes her with is more metal than man.

"Herald", Mel says by way of greeting, crossing the threshold into his throne room. The edge of her breathing mask bites into the flesh of her cheeks. She does not lower her gaze.

The ghost of his humanity speaks from behind his mask. "Jayce has sent you here, has he? Too good to descend to the Undercity himself? Still hiding behind you, is he?" He is taunting her, the heavy accent of his turning strange by the breathing machine embedded in him.

"You will excuse my sudden visit, won't you?" Mel replies, glancing idly about as she steps further into the room. The machines fix their eyes upon her, a single point and target. On her skin, her armor burns bright, as golden as his eyes, though there is no sunlight to be found in this void of a room.

"Jayce has more important things to address, but I am here to retrieve Ms. Young," she informs him, even as a bellow of steam exhales on the far side of the room. The hulking shadow does not move, by Mel's armor itches beneath her skin. "You remember she is to return to the University, yes? She's been granted the position as Head assist on the Hex project, but she has not responded to the missives the University has sent."

Mel cannot see his face face but she can see the flash of his eyes, the only whisper of a soul visible from behind that jarring mask. "Ms. Young belongs here. She is a child of Zaun." Viktor retorts ardently, the intonation of his voice grating on her ears.

"She is a woman of Piltover. Allow her the choice to seize the opportunity you shed for your own delusions, Viktor. You are not her god, neither are you her lover or her king," Mel replies, her tone equally as harsh. "Jayce says you were the last to see her, yet it has been six months, Viktor, six months and you have not returned her to her rightful place? Perhaps the Enforcers might escort her back to the surface." The latter statement sounds close to a threat even in her own ears.

"No Enforcers are to step foot within Zaun. You know this well, Medarda." Viktor grits out. She is very well aware of this; it remains a thorn in the side of the Council and drives a further divide between the Upper and Undercities. But this is what Silco had died for, was it not? The Independent Nation of Zaun. A cruel joke of fate for him to die at the hands of the progress he had strived for, the change he had dreamed of.

"Yes, I am aware, which is why I am here," Mel gives him a small smile. “Without Enforcers, as I am sure you can see.” Taunting.

"Your presence in the Underworld can be considered a threat, even an act of war." He rises as he says this, the augmented limbs of his legs hissing as they unfold beneath him. In the corner, the great shadow hums.

"I am not here for war, Viktor. You know this." Mel sighs in exasperation. Viktor is not a fool that he would interpret her visit as such. She feels as though he is grasping for some strange light, a shifting shadow. There has been enough war, here. Mel does not long for more. He must know this.

"The last time a Council member deigned to descend to the Undercity, lives were lost. A child died," he hisses, golden eyes narrowing behind his mask. There is more hostility in his gaze than she has ever witnessed. "Pardon me if I do not consider your visit to be of a friendly nature."

Mel does not open her mouth in reply. She can understand him, perhaps more than he knows. She will not argue that. “And Ms. Young? She is the reason I have descended. You must return her.”

“Like a thief,” he hisses, taking as step towards her.

“Hardly so, darling,” Mel draws, eyes and hands drifting to an odd little tool on the worktable next to where she stood. The eyes watch her still. “All of Zaun knew when I arrived here.”

“You are no god, here,” Viktor spits. “Do not touch what does not belong to you.”

“And you are no god either,” Mel shrugs, placing the tool back onto the table. “I have done what you have asked. Now, return Ms. Young to me.”

The hulking shadow crouching at the edges of the room opens its eyes to look at her, now more a figure than an apparition. Heat builds on the surface of her skin beneath its gaze.

Viktor stalks towards her now —for he does not walk, this being more machine than man— his eyes unblinking as the shadowy giant moves to stand at the wall behind the chair he had been seated in.

“Ms. Young will not be joining the Piltover scientists. She is being reborn, remade, just as I am.” Viktor’s voice is low as he utters this, but there is something in his voice that Mel cannot place. It does not sit rightly in her ears, and the sense that something is not right pervades her.

“Is that by her choice?” Mel inquires, raising a disbelieving brow.

“Many of us do not have a choice in what happens to us nor what lot in life we are given, Councilor,” he responds coldly, shouldering past her. Her eyes follow him even as something sickly sweet and cloying is trapped within her mask. “Walk with me.” She spears a momentary glance back at the room, now a gutted clutter of a lab now that Viktor is no longer in the center of it, and follows him out.

Zaun turns its great green eye upon them as Viktor walks her through the city. The weight of its eye is crushing, and Mel thinks faintly of her mother. The lights of Zaun play harshly against the planes of Viktor’s mask. Beneath hues of neon, he looks fearsome and yet more sickly than the man in the gloom. He seems like an entity made from the city, or perhaps, he was the manifestation of it, the incarnation of sharp edges and harsh, glowing things.

His voice is low, almost mournful as he speaks. “Sky is gone.” There is nothing but the sound of their boots against the cobbled streets, but Mel cranes her head to hear him clearly. “There is no Sky Young here, and she will not be returning.”

The gravity with which he says this settles into the Mel, his words forming roots in her mind. “I see,” is all she says, even as her mind is turning his words over and over and over, dissecting them. Sky will continue to be an open wound between them.

“No, Councilor. I’m not sure that you do.” Around them, the Boundary markets stretch into Southern Piltover, and at the border, he comes to an abrupt halt. “I trust you know how to find your way back, just as you found yourself down here without aid.”

“Yes, I do,” Mel nods, lips pursed as she dips her head. In the distance, Zaun rouses again, the din of an unrelenting city in celebration of her departure wafting up to her ears. Mel turns away. The City of Iron and Glass winks at her back as the spires of Piltover beckon her home.

[leagheas]

Is that...

No, it can't be...

"Lana?!"

Larcei pushes through the crowd of bustling students and orbital staff until she she can tap the shoulder of her dearest friend. She'd never forget her face, nor that head of hair like clouds in sunset, nor those hands that healed so many. When the blood greased the gears of the machine that struck back against an empire, healers made all the difference in maintaining steam.

She can't thank this girl enough, for the things she and her family have done for her.

"It is!" she quips, finally cocking her head round to meet the other's gaze, "Been a while, hasn't it?"

The raven-haired needs no introduction; the sound of her voice is doubtlessly enough. An Isaachian never forgets, and very rarely is their presence one that slips the mind. She's sure she would be recognized, and starlit words fly from her grin, "It's good to see you at the academy. Maybe this means I won't have to lick my wounds anymore!"

An old joke for an old friend. Larcei's grin stretches from ear to ear with its delivery, and her eyes squint shut to convey her excitement.

"Let's catch up after class, though; I'm sure there's a lot we both can talk about."

On her way to class, Lana hears a voice that sounds so sweetly familiar shout her name. She turns towards it, heart hopeful but before she's even managed a 180 degree turn there's a tap of her shoulder, swiftly followed by Larcei's starry eyes dancing with joy.

Lana lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding in and it quickly gives way to bright, cheerful laughter. It really had been a while, and who else but Larcei needed no introduction.

"Oh my, it really has been a long time! You're a sight for sore eyes," Lana smiles gently, letting her own brown eyes crinkle and crease with sheer glee. "It's good to see you, dear Larcei. I'm glad you're well."

Lana opens her arms wide, offering Larcei a warm and comforting embrace. They'd grown up so closely they may as well be sisters, despite Larcei's hair and eyes being the colour of the inky night sky. An uncharacteristic bark of laughter slips past her lips as she shakes her head fondly at her dearest friend,

"No more licking wounds, that's my job," Lana retorts, sticking her tongue out. A silly, childish joke but one that reminded both young women of home. "Promise we'll catch up after class? I'll bring tea and sweets, so don't stand me up." They separate, going their own ways when Lana turns on her heel to call after Larcei.

"It really is wonderful to see you here. It's nice to know I have such a precious friend here so far from home."

[mapleleavesart]

Oh You’re Warm Blooded? Great, Welcome to Being My Personal Heat Pack

Mikey x Yokai OC (Mei)

Word Count: 2258

Content warnings: fluff, a freezing cold-blooded turtle, kissing, fluff, cuddling, Mikey's hands get placed over/around Mei's stomach/waist cause he feels like a corpse, concerns about mental health/ implied depression, do any of these really need to be warned about? Probably not but imma state it anyways

Was going outside in the dead of winter a bad idea? Yeah, probably. The four turtle brothers only ever went out for snow days in the first few weeks of cold, snowy weather, just enough to get a taste before holing up inside and brumating for the worst of NYC’s winter. Even when they did leave, all of them had several jackets on. And they were only out for a few hours at a time, lest they start slowing down and go into brumation early. Did they have to huddle together under the heat lamp for hours afterwards to recover? Yep. Did Mikey tell anyone he was leaving?

… Well, he told Pops and Draxum he was going out (they were sharing a pot of tea; nobody else was to be seen). They told him to put on an extra jacket, stay safe, don’t be too long or go too far, etc. Parental fretting. You know how it is.

 Did Mikey leave the lair anyways, simply because he wanted to see his most favorite person ever?

Also yeah.

The Hidden City didn’t get snow. Natural snow, that is. Sometimes the witches from Witch Town cast weather spells to mimic the surface’s weather, or for certain festivities. Not today, thankfully. That didn’t make the underground cavern any less cold though. 

Mikey shivered. His right hand was tucked into his coat pocket while the other held steaming-hot cocoa, he had a beanie on his head, and nearly every piece of winter clothing he had in his closet on. His breath lingered in the air like he was a fog machine

But Mei was enjoying herself, so he wouldn’t say anything.

“Ooh~ sparkly.” Speak of.

Mikey stopped to look at the store window the Qilin was looking through. Many pieces of jewelry were on display, all beautiful in their own ways. Kinda like people. “Something catch your eye?” He asked.

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have stopped and gone ‘ooh, sparkly!’” Mei retorted with an eyeroll and small snort . Her lavender scales glinted in the cold light. It was mesmerizing. He forced his gaze away and back to the display. 

“Anything worth taking a closer look at?” He asked. Sure, girls typically loved jewelry and sometimes impulse-bought pretty things, but Mei was pretty good at thinking things through.

Mei gave a small hum. “No. They’re pretty to look at, but I don’t need any more,” she decided. She turned from the shop window and continued walking. Mikey followed. Mei took a sip of her drink- hot cider of some kind. Her muted orange turtleneck sweater hung off her frame, loose and thick and soft-looking and probably very huggable. Thick, beige pants that most certainly were fleece-lined were plaid-striped with various shades of coffee with various amounts of creamer. The pastel colors made her teal eyes really pop.  “So, conversations,” Mei started, knocking him out of his thoughts of ‘i’m cold but she’s beautiful i don't want to leave but i’m freezing down here, holy shell-’

“Mhmm?”

“How are you doing? Mentally, I mean,” she added as an afterthought.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Mikey answered, giving her a small smile.

“You sure?” She tilted her head at him, voice and eyes softening. “You’ve been awfully quiet today. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m not majoring in psychology without good reason,”

Oh. Had she really noticed his quietness? Was it that obvious?

“Oh, I’m not- no, I mean-” Mikey took a deep breath to calm his flustered heart. He focused on the soft clip-clop of Mei’s hooves. “Yes. I know you’re here for me if I need to talk. No, it’s not that. I’m good, really, it’s just…” Mikey shrugged, “...cold.”

“Cold,” Mei repeated. She looked around the street. Most Yokai were still inside, but a few were out and about, hurrying from one destination to another. “Not… sad, bored, upset, or exhausted?”

Mikey hummed his agreement, taking another sip of his sweet hot chocolate. “And it has nothing to do with you, I swear,” he added oh-so-helpfully.

Her head tilted the other way. He spared a glance at her. How was she not cold? The tips of her ears looked paler than normal. Her eyes flicked up and down his body. Her scaled eyebrows furrowed. “But you’re dressed up in, like, ten more layers than I am. How are that cold? How’s that work?”

The question wasn’t demeaning or rude, just genuine and curious and worried  and without harm.

Mikey turned his face up towards where the sky was supposed to be. “Cold blood," he shrugged. "You know how it is."

Mei stopped again. This time to stare at him like he grew a second head. "No, I don't," she blinked. Then held a hand up, palm forward, "wait, backtrack, you're cold blooded?" 

Mikey also stopped and also stared. The realization smacked him in the face. "You're not!?"

"You are?!"

"I'm a reptile, of course I'm cold blooded! How are you not?"

"Most Yokai are warm blooded! I never would have asked you to come out in the cold if I had known!" She made her cup float and reached for him. "Show me your hands,"

Mikey obliged, taking his hand out of his pocket and resting it on one of hers. She lifted it closer to her snout and turned it supination- palm up.

“Spirits, your fingers are almost blue! Why didn’t you say anything?” Mei demanded in an oddly motherly tone, wrapping her own hands around his. Her hands were so warm… no wonder she wasn’t as cold as he was.

“You were enjoying yourself… I didn’t want to ruin it!”

“You could’ve said something!” She shot back, tone now creeping toward concern. “This is very worrying! We can go shopping some other time, we could’ve stayed inside! I don’t want you to just- I don’t know, drop to the floor in brumation like you’re dead or something,” she rubbed his hand as if trying to get his blood flowing again. Because that would help.

“Sorry,” Mikey apologized. “But I didn’t want you to feel bad for accommodating me. I want to spend time with you. I wanted to make you happy, ‘cause when you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Mei let out a little whimper-like noise, or perhaps it was a coo? “Mikey…” her expression couldn’t land on an emotion. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when Mikey shivered again, and she stopped herself. “Here, let’s get out of the middle of the walkway.” Mei didn’t let go of his hand and dragged him over to a nearby bench. Her cider followed her in the air. She sat down, her long tail curled to outline the spot next to her, and tugged him down next to her.

Mikey of course obeyed, because who was he to deny her?

Mei wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Her tail plopped itself into his lap, a comforting, heavy weight. Mikey could feel a tug on his mug- his previously only source of heat- as Mei’s magic pulled it out of his hand. It watched it go up to hover alongside hers. “You’d better not mix those up, hot cocoa is sacred,”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Should I ask Shangti to come pick us up? I’m sure he won’t mind taking us - well, you - back to the manor. Or I could carry you back. Or levitate us back-”

“Shangti have a car or s’mthing?”

“... a what?”

“Carrying it is then.”

~~~

Ten minutes later and they were drifting down from the air. The Tian Manor stood below them, seated on a cliff overlooking the rest of the Hidden City. He’d never been inside before- at least, outside of the times where he snuck onto Mei’s bedroom balcony just to see her, back when they were still a secret.

The building itself was almost 100 feet tall with three floors and ionic columns made of white marble marching up the sides. The walls were made of dark green stone- malachite, if he remembered from Mei’s history ramble- with a marble-like swirl pattern within it. They went through the front doors, through a mud room, and entered a huge foyer. They went under the landing of the two giant staircases circling the foyer.

“You have such a pretty house…” Mikey murmured, his voice muffled from his nose being tucked into his jacket and pressed against Mei’s front from the way he was being princess-carried.

“Glad you think so. Hopefully you’ll be ‘round here more often from now on. You know, when you decide against freezing to death.”

“Oh, please, it’s not that cold. At worst my heart stops beating for a while and I go comatose for a few days.”

He was promptly dropped onto a couch. “Sorry. What?”

“Box turtle thing,” Mikey exclaimed, making himself comfortable against the armrest. Mei disappeared from his sight, presumably to find some blankets or something. Their cups still floated in the air.

The mutant took the chance to examine whatever room he was in. The couch faced something that looked like it might be the Yokai version of a TV. Closer to him was a coffee table a shade lighter than the dark red-brown leather of the couch. Underneath the screen was a fireplace. Over to his left was something akin to a pool table.

“Game room?” He guessed.

“Hm? Oh, I suppose you could call it that. We call it the den,” Mei replied, popping back into sight with a bundle of rich, emerald green throw blankets. She helped him wrap himself up comfortably until it felt like he couldn’t move. Then she helped him free his arms so he could drink his now-room-temperature chocolate.

Mei, the solution to all of his problems today, crouched down by the fireplace and cast a small fireball spell. The hearth bursted into dancing yellow flames. His cocoa was once again torn from his grip and went to hover by the fire to reheat it. 

Mei sat down next to his blanket burrito and took his hands. “You feel like a corpse,” she noted.

“Happens to the best of us,” he replied with a small smile. She gave him a look before scooting closer. She took his hands and pressed them against her sides, under her sweater and against her scaly skin. Her elbows tucked against his hands to keep them in place.

Mikey’s eyes widened. Holy shell she was so warm. Is this what warm blooded creatures felt like all the time?!

He felt Mei’s muscles stiffen. He glanced up at her face to see it scrunched up, probably in effort not to recoil from his undoubtedly cold hands. He was pretty sure he was making a weird face too.

“What, never touched a corpse before?” Mikey tried to joke. It was Mei’s turn to shiver. Mikey was pretty sure he was blushing, if that was even possible.

“Miguel,” the yokai scolded. “Enough with the death jokes. They’re not funny.”

To you, he thought. Out loud, he apologized. “Sorry. Leo must be rubbing off on me.”

Mei huffed. Mikey shifted how his hands were positioned. It could've been ten seconds or a minute or an hour before he managed to compose himself enough to mumble, "your scales are soft,"

"... Thanks."

Mei didn't meet his gaze, but her cheeks were darker than they were supposed to be.

"What, I can't compliment my gorgeous girlfriend?"

Mei's face darkened further. It was adorable. "You warm yet?" She asked to avoid the question.

"Hm… mostly. My lips are still a little cold," he started, blinking up at her innocently, "care to help me with that?"

Oh, if only he could record the look she gave him. It made him want to giggle like they were fifteen all over again. So he did. And in the process of that, he pulled Mei by her waist so the Yokai flopped into him with a strangled yelp of surprise.

"ACK- Mikey!" She complained, wiggling against his hold. But alas, he was a building-thrower and the most Mei worked out was when she practiced her archery. Within a second Mikey had one arm wrapped firmly around her torso, pressing her against him now. Mei quickly gave up and lay limp against his plastron. Her tail flopped around clumsily behind her.

Mikey pulled out his most charming grin. "Can I get my daily dose of kisses now, my love?"

All of Mei's muscles melted with her annoyance. Her face and gaze softened into something adoring. Her hands moved to rest against Mikey's chest. Mikey moved his hand to rest against her warm cheek in turn. 

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, if I must." 

Then she leaned forward and pressed a gentle, warm, long kiss on his lips. It left his green skin tingling. "You're such a dork." All of the love in the world was stored in her voice. Mikey could feel his tail beginning to wag from its confines.

"Yeah. But I'm your dork, aren't I?"

"Yeah," she pecked his lips again.

And so they stayed like that, cuddling and trading sweet kisses, until the two fell asleep, until the sun reached its peak, and until a dark teal Qilin adjusted their blankets and answered the texts blowing up Michaelangelo's phone. They stayed like that as Shangti reassured the little box turtle's worried family that he was okay, that the Titans would take care of him, and that the two would return as soon as they awoke.

And so, they stayed.

[advwithgeneral1855]

The General Locomotive with his Friend the Texas and his love Turtledove

I was built in 1855. I worked hauling freight and passengers from Atlanta to Chattanooga. We were the first engines the WARR and Northern Georgia knew. We were fabulous machines. Flying down rails through open pastures and towns, blowing smoke haughtily and pounding the rails with all our might. People would come from miles away to hear our shrill whistle and listen to our song. "Look at me. Look at me. Must be fast. Must be fast. Come along. Come along. Must be fast." Rushing through the beautiful Georgian country-side was a thrill. I loved watching birds and butterflies. Sometimes a jack-rabbit or a coyote would race me down the track. The beautiful fields and blooming flowers made an engine glad to be alive. As we would steam down. the track we would see cows, donkeys, mules pulling carts and horses pulling carriages. We would look at those creatures and scoff. "Useless creatures. We can pull far heavier loads faster. Your days are numbered." Unlike many of the younger engines, we replaced horses and mules not older and out of date locomotives. Often our arrogance would manifest whe. passing through a town or stopping at a station. We would see a beast of burden and wheesh steam at them often startling them. Sometimes they would run away and hurt the humans who cared for them. I remember once I scared a horse pulling a wagon so bad he ran into a smiths shop. The fire from the forge spread to the hay in the stable and burned down a house. the guilt and remorse I felt was incredible. I realized that I would never act so foolishly again. Any further hard feelings I could harbor would be eternally squelched on August 11, 1856. A wagon of cotton bales had caught a wheel on the track outside big shanty. It was a blind curve and by the time I rounded the bend it was too late. Uhhh.. I still shudder to think of the accident and the fate of that poor animal. I need not divulge gory details, but I then gained my first understanding of life and mortality. I arrived at Moons Station a much wiser engine.

Yonah was sitting in the siding for me to pass. He quickly picked up on my mood and asked what happened. He was very sympathetic and kind, even though we always argued over who was stronger and faster. He told me to talk to Florida, that Florida had a similar accident before. I told Yonah that I couldn't because I had been so vile to him and the other engines. To my great surprise he retorted, "Tis all in good jest, my young friend. All in jest. Florida and I bantered much the same when we built this line. Just speak to him." That night when I reached Chattanooga, there was Florida. "Why the long face there General? After all, you're only 2 hours late. I thought you were the fastest and more reliable than us antique kettles." I said nothing, just sat looking at my cow catcher. Florida stopped smirking and gave me the most deep, cutting, terrifying stare. He looked deep in my smoke box door and down my tubes- he saw into my soul you could say. His expression softened a little. We spoke no more for a few minutes. The late night passenger and mail train was being loaded. Florida broke the silence in his booming grandfather voice. "Something happened to you today, didn't it?" I said nothing, just looked down. "My dear engine, you have me starting to worry," he insisted. "Yonah said you'd understand, that I should talk to you," I mustered. "Talk to me about what?" Florida asked. "He said you had an accident like mine, with a horse," I explained. He let out a slow wheesh and only said "oh." We sat there a few more minutes. "They're almost done loading," Florida began. "But I want to say that, 'Yes', I have. It was when we were building the tunnel. There were a lot of workman, wagons, horses, mules, equipment, tools, and things." He paused dramatically. "During the blasting, I dropped off some rails and ties and was dragging back some of the rock and soil when the workers set off a charge of dynamite. One of the horses was scared and charged towards the rails. The engineer was helping us back onto the gondolas and when the blast went off he looked away. My driver misunderstood the signal and opened the throttle. My driver saw the blast and some rocks falling and accidently opened the throttle all the way. That poor horse had charged between my flatbed and the gondolas. It was a few seconds before they stopped me and then realized what happened to that poor horse."

As Florida became quiet I gasped in horror and disbelief. I saw his eyes narrow and his boiler became cold. I started to ask him more about the horse when he spoke. "Much worse happened on the railway building the line, but the guilt I carry stays with me. They say that what happened wasn't my fault, and it was all in the name of progress, but those experiences still leave scars in my firebox. Maybe that why I've always been such a contentious old goat to young yungins." He looked at me softly. "Well," I spoke. "I'm sorry I've been an arrogant boastful brat." He grinned and laughed. "You should have heard me when I was a new engine!" he exclaimed. "Or... maybe its best you don't. Embarrassing stories those." I smiled. My boiler had never felt so warm and my fire never burned as bright as it did that night. Florida set off with his train and I settled down to rest up for the morning

[chibidarkness1111]

He watched as the bus doors squealed open.

"My friend is a legit Resonant you know!" A girl had bragged. "That motorcycle belongs to her!"

"Yeah. Bullshit." Her boyfriend retorted.

In front of the high school, each student departed the bus like sleep-deprived sardines, all donned in their pastel purple and dark blue uniforms. Some almost tripped over the cracks in the pavement while others nearly hauled their weighted backpacks into the ground with them. The early morning sun made each of their breaths visible in the chill, every yawn and mumbled curse to the world left their lips in a hum of disgruntled bemoaning, only to evaporate like their hopes that today might be a good day at school.

The cacophony of gossip and motorcycle sightings died down as the kids walked on to their most hated place. In less than a minute School Bus #13 was just as empty as it had been when the key was inserted into its ignition, leaving the doors to enclose the uniformed Driver and the purr of the engine inside.

However, perhaps 'growl' would be the more apt description.

Compared to the kids, Thirteen always started the day in the worst mood.

Reclining in the seat on instinct, the Driver sighed in relief at his Mechanism's compliance on the first morning route, lifting his hat just enough to run a gloved hand through his hair, he pulled at the dark circles around his eyes. "...See? That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Thirteen shot exhaust through its tailpipes as a rumble of utter obstinacy nearly shook the 20-something from his seat. Good thing Management heeded his words enough to install better seat belts into this thing. That's a 'no' if he's ever heard one.

The Driver sighed for the fifth time that morning. "Listen, I get it. Summer break was nice and all but trust me, productivity is the key to happiness. You just gotta let yourself get back into the swing of-"

The engine flared in defiance at the Driver's pre-packaged platitudes. The heat was enough to send his positive facade out the window like one of those bratty Private School kids had finished some snack food they know they aren't allowed to have on the bus.

"Okay, smartass! Chill!" He ordered, knocking at the steering wheel as if it would do something. "Fuck. Who the hell thought it'd be a good idea to Mechanize a school bus to hate children?!" Slumping in defeat he waited for the steam to settle, and the wheels started turning by themselves. "...And why did I have to get stuck with it?"

The Driver could still see the memories of when he'd been designated as such, as clearly as the Central Lake's sparkling waters. With mankind's technological advances and academic achievements only growing throughout the years, the day of his graduation from Hydrangea Lake Community College, and the long-awaited Mecha-Resonance Ceremony thereafter would be a moment he would never forget.

Everyone with a pulse also has a Soul, the proof had been undeniable for centuries before he was born, and with this knowledge comes the impact in which fully developed Souls interact with the Soulless, like machines. All of the History books he could remember passages from depict a time in which machines were mindless and purely man-operated, back when a toaster would only toast bread if a person was there to physically pull the lever. But even now such times felt so behind him that they might as be fictional.

Everyone with a pulse will inevitably give the Soulless machines a part of their Soul, and therefore a pulse of their own. To which it becomes Mechanized. That toaster you use every day will always be happy to toast your bread for you if you take good care of it. If not then prepare for a charcoal block at best and a potential house fire at absolute worst.

But even that scenario is ridiculous to him and shakes his head to be rid of it.

Inanimate machines will stay that way without a human to build a strong enough bond with, without a purpose to work toward. No one likes their toaster enough to give it a Soul.

Heading off down the intersection leading to the neighborhood where the first round of Forevergreen Private School kids live, the Driver can't help but be envious of people who are no longer in his life.

His best friend dreamt of becoming a Fighter Pilot when they were little and was overjoyed when the Mecha-Resonance Ceremony came. He discovered that the Mechanism whose given Soul most aligned with his own ideals, hopes, fears, and insecurities, was none other than the Fighter-Type Combat Bird: "Peregrine Falcon". The very same Combat Bird that seized victory over the Empire of Smoke and Steel in the Independent Skies War all those centuries ago. All those past Pilots had cultivated "Peregrine Falcon's" Soul to accept only those whose Souls could qualify as future heroes of freedom and justice... what an honor it must've been to Resonate with such a powerful Mechanism.

"I could've been the proud person to have Resonated with a sport's car. Why did I get stuck with a school bus that hates kids...?" He groaned to himself, not unlike how Thirteen growled at him only half an hour ago.

Granted, the Driver did have to admit that he was never one to get along with children either. Hell, if he were blunt he might've confessed to halfway wishing that Thirteen really would careen off of the bridge with himself and all these contemptible little shits inside of it, letting them all crash and burn in what would only be known in the news as a "tragic De-Resonant Accident" as opposed to anything intentional and consensual (between the Driver and his Mechanism at least).

But it was the sound of Thirteen's ear-splitting horn that snapped his darkening mind back to reality. This bus never did like it when his mindset started spiraling, especially on company time.

What a killjoy...

Lights were all he could see as Thirteen retaliated by turning the corner into the Southeastern boulevard hard enough to bash his skull against the wall. Blinking didn't seem to fix it until the pain dulled enough to have mercy on him.

"Bitchass!! I was joking-!"

Thirteen's doors opened on their own with that signature creak, letting the newest round of upper-middle-class pretty boys aboard and shutting his complaints up instantly. Time to be a professional. Forcing a smile he once again saw how the teens' forest green uniforms matched the surrounding treeline a little too well. He could've sworn one of them appeared from thin air until he passed by, more invested in his phone than where his feet were going.

Almost bumping into the Driver, his pale face came alight with embarrassment before he sheepishly scrambled back to Thirteen's last row of seats to join his... friends?... brothers? He'd taken note of their names and counted them as passengers hundreds of times now and never cared to know who they were to each other... only that this one was particularly clumsy. How many times had that boy done this by now?

A person's Soul is only considered fully developed when their brain stops developing as adults. So just then when he flailed to keep from hitting the dashboard, on that boy's phone screen, was he looking up sightings on that lone Mechanized motorcycle too? Was that damn bike just a popular thing with the kids? It could've been his Dad's lost Mechanism right? The Driver had seen a similar motorcycle in the area after all. Or was that recent news story about teenage Resonants actually...?

The bus' low grumble of irritation indicated that it was time to stop wondering.

"...tch! Fine. No escapism allowed."

Productivity and all that horseshit...

Mecha setting where deviant science has been used to create great and terrible beast-machines which can only be tamed by specially gifted pilots who forge psychic bonds with their machines, except for some thinly justified reason this is how all motor vehicles in this setting work. In the notional anime that takes place in this setting, the lead character is a pilot whose bonded beast-machine is, like, a bus.

[merakistar]

Petro-Canada Approved Flanges in UAE

Meraki Star Metals Oil & Gas Equipment Trading L.L.C. offers a wide selection of Inconel 601 Flanges, which are renowned for their exceptional properties like corrosion resistance, ease of installation, and fine finishing. Inconel 601 Slip-On Raised Spines (UNS N06601) are regularly utilized in brilliant cylinders, strand tempering cylinders, and steam superheater tube upholds, among different applications. Customers choose Inconel 601 Flanges because of their outstanding mechanical strength and resistance to aqueous corrosion.

Weld Neck Raised Flanges made of Inconel 601 are formed using all the usual methods. For most extreme oxidation opposition, Inconel 601 Visually impaired Ribs ought to be welded utilizing matching piece 601 amalgam GTAW wire. Even in extreme thermal cycling conditions, Inconel 601 Socket Weld Flanges develop a strongly adherent oxide scale that resists spalling. Thermal processing equipment like muffles, retorts, radiant tubes, flame shields, flare tips, woven wire conveyor belts, electrical resistance heating elements, and burner nozzles all make use of Inconel 601 Ring Type Joint Flanges.

Inconel 601 Blind Flanges are also used extensively in the power generation, aerospace, and pollution control industries, particularly in jet engine igniters. Inconel 601 Long Weld Neck Spines offer incredible assurance against carburization and are likewise impervious to carbon nitriding conditions. Inconel 601 Nipo Flanges have excellent creep rupture strength and metallurgical stability, making them highly resistant to carburization. These Inconel 601 Lap Joint Spines are likewise accessible in different sizes and shapes to meet assorted client needs.

Specification Format of Inconel 601 Blind Flange

Standards: GOST Flange, JISB2220, BS1560–3.1, API7S-15, API7S-43, API605, EN1092, BS, BS4504, BS 10, EN-1092, DIN, ANSI, ASME, DIN, MSS S44, ISO70051, ANSI/ASME B16.5, ASME/ANSI B16.5/16.36/16.47A/16.47B, B16.47 Series A & B, B16.48, EN

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[chimielie]

kissing da homies (inarizaki) (seijoh 4) (nekoma)

honestly, no one bats an eye at it. there are all sorts of weird pre-game rituals out there— giving your teammates a kiss for good luck is fairly simple.

you start with the first years, who stand as tall as they can and stare stoically into the distance while you press your lips to your fingers and your fingers to their chest, right over their heart.

you’re better friends with the second years, so you kiss them directly. one for ginjima, who still blushes faintly and rubs at his cheek after you’ve moved on. one for kosaku, who doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. one for atsumu.

“thanks,” the setter says, kissing your cheek back. you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile so as to preserve the somber mood. your efforts are wasted a second later when his twin opens his mouth.

“you can’t do that! you’re gonna screw up the good luck, dammit,” complains osamu.

“you’re just jealous ‘cause you didn’t think of it first,” retorts atsumu. “it’s probably extra good luck. no one’s ever kissed y/n before.”

“that’s not true,” you interject.

“for the game, i meant,” atsumu screws up his face. “hey, which scrub’s been kissin’ you?”

“shut up so i can get mine,” scowls osamu. his expression melts away when you kiss him, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

“you shut up—” you leave the twins to their bickering while you start on the third years.

one for akagi, who grins at you and holds up a hand for a high five. aran is polite as always, leaning forward slightly to give you easier access to his cheek. omimi is stretching still, so you bend over and give him a sort of sideways-upside-down kiss.

kita is last, so you kiss him softly on the cheek and then step forward impulsively, wrapping your arms around him. after a frozen second, the captain relaxes into your touch (as much as kita can, anyway), tucking his face into your neck and keeping his hands respectfully on your waist.

“good luck,” you whisper into his ear. “you’ve got the muscle memory, remember? you’ve already won this.” you feel his nod rather than see it. he sighs rather shudderingly into you, and you recall someone comparing him to a robot; he certainly brings to mind a machine exhaling steam and smoke right now.

when you step back, you can feel the eyes of everyone else on the both of you.

"that's not fair," complains atsumu, always first to dig himself into a verbal hole. "what, is kita-san kissin' you after practice? is that why he gets special treatment?"

"he gets special treatment because he's the captain," you say, sticking your nose in the air. "and 'cause he's the best. don't forget it."

there are mumbles of disagreement among everyone else, but no one brave enough to actually insult kita to his face. not that they would believe it— they're just a bunch of teenage boys who have suddenly turned a superstition into a competition.

a latecomer disrupts the disruption.

"sorry," pants suna, leaning his hands on his bony knees, clearly out of breath. "my sister hid my jersey and the spare, too."

"no worries," says kita kindly. "i always pack ahead of time."

suna snaps up straight and nods, his eyes far away as though he's jotting the third year's words down in his brain.

"you're missing the kissing," says osamu, then snickers at his own rhyme.

"am i?" says suna, more innocently than suna has ever said anything. you roll your eyes and sidle up to him, his posture now returned to its usual unhealthy slouch. "what's the—"

you kiss him hard. he shuts up immediately, reaction time alarmingly fast as he leans into you, tilting his head and placing one large hand on your lower back. he runs hot, and you can feel it all over, a pleasant warmth making you dizzy. you bite his lower lip as you pull back, grinning, then make a show of wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand.

"why?" says ginjima, sounding confused, upset, and angry. "why would you make me look at that?"

"no one made you look," suna points out.

"we really don't need the memories," aran says wonderingly, staring up at the sky. he might be having a religious epiphany.

the rest of the team is in various states of shock. you're pretty sure a few of them are trying to work out a way to reach suna's level, since he's clearly won the contest and all.

"i don't think that was enough luck," he says, looking down at himself dubiously, poking his own arm for emphasis. "do you have any more to spare?"

[sukirichi]

Breakfast for Choso with ingredients #17 and 34 with #2 sugar? Wine is optional.

EASY 

— Nothing is ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d push through hell and back.

meal order: breakfast + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + biting, scratching, choso eating reader out, sex on the beach

warnings: mature content, unedited fic, choso is mean and harsh when he’s angry

notes: thank you so much for this anon! I really enjoyed writing this and this totally made my day. I hope you like it!

word count: 10k+ LOL CHOSO BRAIN ROT

check out the fanart @tigressnej-chan made, it s so beautiful HURRR

Your day was absolutely ruined. Dark, deep bags covered your under eyes as you stormed through the convenience store downstairs your apartment, body clad in an oversized hoodie and socks visible through slippers, hair greasy and lips chapped. You’re aware you look like a mess, but did you care?

Absolutely not, especially when you haven’t been sleeping well the moment you moved into this cursed apartment because of a certain fucker.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That specific fucker – the cause of your ruin and the devil who prevented you from living a good life – waltzed inside the store, the small bell chiming to signal his presence. You scoffed at his confident, suave walk, further irritated because he just had to be insanely attractive – in an alternative, laid-back kind of way.

He wasn’t even your type; you preferred more refined men who wore pressed suits and leather shoes, but you had to admit this man was insanely attractive.

With deep, sunken eyes, a dark tattoo across the bridge of his nose and dark hair twisted into twin ponytails, large, muscular body covered in a black sweatshirt and a red scarf – he looked very much like a former member of a gang who retired because their barbaric ways wasn’t his thing. It was an odd theory, and you sat there at the corner of the store, glaring at the man who tiredly pressed the coffee maker machine for a dark roast.

As if feeling eyes on him, his lazy eyes slid over to yours, and almost automatically, one corner of his lips tilted up in humor. This fucker knew how much he annoyed you, and he only further pushed your buttons by walking over to you, the steam of his coffee nearly blocking your gaze.

“Good morning,” he greeted sarcastically, well aware that it definitely not a good morning for you.

“Have fun last night, neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, you won’t even bother denying it?”

“I see no point in it,” he invited himself by sitting next to you, long legs crossed over his muscular thigh. You found yourself staring at how he seemed so firm even in loose sweatpants, averting your gaze and staring at your soggy ramen noodle cup instead.  “And you’re not trying to hide the fact you’re listening, either.”

“I wasn’t listening!” you slammed your fist down the table – he didn’t even flinch, only continuing to sip his coffee as if you weren’t burning in anger beside him – as you hissed, “The walls are too damn thin and you’re so fucking loud.”

“No, I wasn’t. She was loud, though.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. He really was shameless. You already knew this man didn’t have enough shame in his body, but you didn’t think he’d have absolutely nothing.

Upon witnessing your stupefied state, he reached over to knock at your skull. “Still there, princess?” you cringed at his nickname for you; you didn’t even know this guy’s name, for pete’s sake! “Or are you still too bothered by the fact I got some good fucking last night?”

You flicked his arm away from you, nearly seething in your seat. “God, you’re insufferable. I should move out.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best too,” he nodded to himself as he stared at his now empty coffee cup. Had it been that long already? Apparently, it was, because your noodles turned cold and your neighbor was already leaving your seat, dipping for a mocking bow. “Have a nice day, neighbor. Don’t think of my cock too much,” he teased, even going as far as winking until your jaw dropped.

You watched as he threw the paper cup in the proper bin, a little surprised he was decent enough to do mundane tasks like that. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget your neighbor was also a decent human being, but whatever.

You absolutely, utterly hated him, and you kept mumbling to yourself of the different ways you’d get your revenge on him as he walked out the door, his annoyingly gorgeous ass in view. “Yeah, right,” you scowled to yourself, “As if I can get that image out my mind now.”

He would not be an easy feat.

Despite your constant pleas for him to at least be silent during the weekdays to give you enough peace of mind to study for the finals, he didn’t stop. Hours just after the sun sets, you’d hear giggles and sloppy kisses on the hallway.

No matter how much you pressed your hands into your ears and set your music on full volume to block out the noise, you could always hear them.

Your neighbor was undeniably a fuckboy. 

Every night, he’d have a different girl dangling in his arms. You knew, because the voices squealing his name while he fucked them right next door were always different. Some days, it was deep and throaty, and on other days it’d be high-pitched and nearly scraping at your ears. They all said the same thing though, such as fuck, right there, you feel so good or harder, harder, please, I’m so close!

To say you were traumatized was an understatement. You never wanted to hear such things again, but alas, your neighbor apparently couldn’t give a single shit because he was fucking someone again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the person he brought home this time around just had to have the most fucking annoying voice ever. Or maybe it sounded like the others, but you were in the middle of memorizing veins and brain chemicals in alphabetical harder when you heard the headboard of his bed slam against your wall, the sound hard and loud enough you dropped your book in surprise.

They didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going harder until nothing but his low sexy groans and his partner’s screaming – that was right, she was fucking screaming – like she was having her insides rearranged.

You didn’t doubt the possibility that maybe she really was. Your neighbor was such a huge, attractive guy, after all, it would make sense he was capable of such. Before you knew it, you could no longer understand the words in your textbook. You kept rereading the same line over and over again, but nothing registered into your mind. You were so close to screaming at them to stop and shut the fuck up because it was three in the morning and they were still going at it, but you weren’t that mean.

Yes, you hated him, but you weren’t going to blue ball someone or make sex awkward. Sex with your ex was always awkward, so you knew how painful it was to live with that memory. No matter how much you hated your neighbor, you wouldn’t go that far.

So you trudged all the way up to the building’s public balcony, bringing a blanket with you to survive the chilly bite of the night.

You used your phone’s flashlight to read all over the textbooks, keeping your little note cards organized and color coded beside you. Finally, you could make sense of things a little bit more, and you chugged at your Red Bull to keep you awake. Time passed by so fast whenever you were lost with your nose stuck in a book, and your attention was only ripped away when the balcony door swung open, revealing your neighbor with messed up hair and bruised lips.

He looked totally fucked out.

“Oh, fuck, no – what are you doing here?”

“This balcony is for all tenants,” your neighbor barely blinked as he walked closer to you, but instead of joining you on the table, he leaned against the railings and stared into the night sky. He seemed so placid, a little approachable despite his intimidating face even, and for a moment, you were studying his sharp, masculine features before he turned your way with a passive face. “Last time I checked, I’m a tenant, therefore I have the rights to be here.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted childishly, pulling your books closer to you as if he wanted to steal it. He only raised a brow at your actions, the large muscles of his arms bulging up from where he stood.

It felt so hard to not salivate at the sight, but for the sake of your pride, you had to push those thoughts down and remind yourself why you hated him so much. “I evoke your rights. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re awfully harsh to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my neighbor who brings girls in his home every night and I can never get a wink of sleep because all I can hear is them moaning and the sound of balls slapping!”

“Vulgar,” he smirked, and he had no business looking so attractive with that arrogant smirk on his face that it took all energy you had in you to not whack him with your book.

“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

You stood up with a scowl, nearly shoving the book right in his chest. “Bro, I’m this close to slapping this book right in your pretty face. You see how thick this is? I’m not kidding, this will hurt. Listen, I’ve got a final exam and a suture practice this weekend. All I’m asking for is just a few hours of sleep – that’s all. I just don’t get why you always seem to be balls deep in someone at every god forsaken hour; I can’t focus on my work when the noises are so distracting. At this point, I remember their begging more than I’m familiar with nerves. I need to study, okay? I really want to graduate.”

He fell silent at your sudden rant, then, he tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“After everything I said, that’s all you remember?”

“It’s kind of hard to listen to every word when I’m distracted by your eyes.”

His comment caught you off-guard, and your eyes widened, arm coming up to hide your face that soon began to felt warm. He only chuckled at your reaction, the sound deep and throaty that it went right straight into the pools of your belly. “My eyes – what are you talking about? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re so creepy!”

“Hmm,” he snickered, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What, no one tells you you’re creepy?”

“No, people always say I’m handsome,” he said it with such a straight face that you gave him an are you serious look, and he raised one shoulder to shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not attracted to me, to be honest.”

“Wow,” you drawled out, shaking your head with a laugh as you plopped down back to your seat in defeat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? First, I get a really horny man as my next door neighbor who keeps me up at night with his shenanigans, and now he’s got the audacity to ask me why I’m not attracted to him?”

“I mean,” he scrunched his nose cutely, a huge contrast to his domineering stature. “Why aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I give up. I’m just gonna crash at my friends tonight,” you mumbled to yourself while gathering your things, leaving your neighbor all by himself. As you reached the door, you called out to him one more time, “Oh, and by the way, you reek of pussy. Go shower or something.”

“So how’s your exams going?”

“They’re fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, slicing through the fish a lot harsher than you intended. The knife scraped against the plate and you winced at the sound, ignoring your father’s loud munching. “Not too much of a big deal. My professors are nice and my classmates are nice too. I’m fitting in really well and I think I’ll even come out on top of my class this time if it weren’t for that stupid little bastard…” your last words ended up as a whisper, eyes glazing to the side as you glared at nothing in particular.

“Stupid little what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you waved your hand in the air, “Someone’s just distracting me from my studies, is all.”

At the mention of someone distracting your usually composed and unbothered self, your father straightened up in his seat, a large smile on his face that made him look younger than he really was. “Is it a guy? Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

“Ugh, dad, really, you’re the only father who’s so eager for his daughter to have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be more proud that, I don’t know, I’m pretty and smart? I don’t need a boyfriend or anything.”

Your father nodded, “True, you don’t need them, but trust me when I say life is going to get pretty lonely when you grow old and you’re all by yourself. It’s still better – and life is a lot happier – when you’ve got a stable supporting and loving figure in your life.”

“I have you for that.”

“And you always will,” he patted your hand gently across the table, “But a parent won’t always be there for their child, and if you’re still not prepared for the future or ready to stand on your own two feet, then that means I didn’t do a great job at raising you; that means I’ve failed as a parent. Tell me, have I failed? Have I raised my wonderful daughter to be so repulsed by the idea of love that she’s willingly closing her doors and locking herself away in isolation?”

“No…”

“I didn’t think so,” he grinned to himself, and you watched with a frown as his eyes crinkled in happiness. Your father was such the complete opposite of you; he was always so loving and open to everyone, while you were mopey and afraid of attachment.

“Don’t be too afraid to love, child. It’s one of the most wonderful things in this world – it’s a blessing – the absolute core of our being. Why do we exist if not to love?”

“Not everyone is a romantic like you, dad,” you sighed, “Plus…how is it so easy for you to finally find someone after Mom died? Isn’t she your soul mate?” you questioned, putting your fork and knife down as you looked your father in the eye. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married again.”

“It’s already been years since she passed away, Y/N. And yes, she is my soul mate, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone again. Our hearts aren’t limited like that, and your mother wouldn’t want me to keep mourning her when she’s resting in peace,” he gestured to the both of you after swallowing his food, “She would’ve wanted the both of us to be happy.”

At the mention of your passed mother, your shoulders deflated, and your eyes watered at the thought of her kind smile. You wished you could see that again.

“I miss her…”

“I know, child, I know,” your father smiled encouragingly, “I also know the reason you’re so afraid to love is because you’re scared they’ll end up leaving you too, like how your mom just slipped past our fingers like that, but it’s only her body that withered. She’s still with us, right in our hearts and in our memories.”

“You really do sound like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s because I am,” your father laughed with a slap to his knees. When his phone buzzed for his alarm, he quickly dabbed a towel on his lips, standing up to excuse himself. “Now, this lunch was lovely and I dearly missed you, but I need to go back to work. We doctors just never get a break. This is a life you have to prepare for if you want to follow my footsteps.”

“I won’t follow your footsteps – I’ll surpass you.”

“I’ll be waiting for that to happen then,” he announced proudly; pride bursting in his chest at how determined his daughter was. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You squinted at the mischievous look in his eyes, wary of what your cunning father had in mind this time.

“You won’t outsmart me. You better bring a boyfriend or at least introduce someone to me on the wedding – or else I’m pulling you out of the university hospital.”

“Wha – Dad, that’s not fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, child, you’ll learn soon.”

“Oh, I just hate men!”

You really did hate men.

Your final exam was tomorrow already and you’d lost count of the coffee and Red Bull you’ve inhaled today, all so you could study one last time for the test, but no, something – or rather someone – just had to get in your way.

“I’ve had enough,” you announced before slamming your door open; not hesitating as your fists came banging down on your neighbor’s door. “Hey! Keep it the fuck down – someone’s trying to study here! Seriously, man, is it really that hard for you to keep it in your pants for one night? This is what, the sixth woman you’ve had around the past four days? Don’t you get tired? Because I sure as hell am very tired of you!”

The moans and the sounds of bed creaking stopped. For a moment, you almost smirked to yourself when they fell silent.

If only you knew it would be that easy to shut them up, you would’ve done so long ago. You were about to turn back into your room when his door swung open, and you were met by his sweaty and muscular chest heaving up and down – either in anger or from his previous activities – you couldn’t tell.

Your throat felt dry as you peered at him under your lashes, almost afraid of the way he loomed over you. Thank goodness he found the time to wear pants, though, because had he been baby naked, you would’ve run for the hills already.

His dark eyes cut through yours as he seethed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m the one who wants to ask you that,” you were surprised to find your voice despite the way your pussy actually ached just by the sight of his chiseled body, but when you did, you forced yourself to stand up taller, refusing to back down from his gaze. “It’s literally three in the morning and you’re about to fuck a hole through my wall!”

“I thought you said you’d be crashing at your friends. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to have your permission to come back home. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up, good sir. And for your information, unlike you, I actually don’t like bothering the people around me so I came home. Now would you please kick her out and shut the fuck up for once?”

“Babe, are you coming back here or what?”

Red acrylic nails wound from his body out of nowhere, and your mouth fell open as you watched the naked woman press kisses on the blades of his shoulder. You were conflicted, torn between feeling jealous that she got to touch him like that because damn was he fine, but you also felt appalled your neighbor would be this type of person.

“Babe?” you repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

Stepping away from your neighbor’s tempting pecs, you waved to the stunning woman behind him. “Hi, I’m his neighbor, I don’t mean to be a cock block or anything but I’ve been a witness to his fuckboy ways for months now. If you think you’re special to him, I assure you, you’re not. Yesterday he was just banging two girls until the sunrise. If you’re really as sane as I hope you are, I suggest you skedaddle before this man feeds you with more lies. You’re not special, hun, he’s just going to fuck everything that walks on two legs.”

“Is that true?”

“Nadia, you know how this works—”

“I was literally just on the phone with you last night!” the woman named Nadia pushed him away, but because he was bigger, he didn’t budge. Nadia turned to you, her lipstick smudged and a suspicious white stain on the edge of her lips. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look down her head, and you and your neighbor both watched as she got dressed and left, hands up in the air. “Thank you for this. I should’ve known better than to waste time and money on him.”

You snickered as Nadia pressed on the elevator buttons, a scowl sent his way. Turning to him with pride swelling up in your chest, you smirked, “How does it feel—”

“Happy now?” he growled, his eyes so dark and slit into tiny cuts you took a step back, your heart pumping frantically for different reasons. You never thought he’d be this bothered for not being able to bust a nut. “Satisfied now, Y/N? Do you even realize what you’ve just done?”

“Uhm, yes,” you scoffed, matching his tone. “I just saved that poor girl’s life. Who else knows what you would’ve done and said to her. We don’t deserve to be looked down on and treated like this, you know.”

“Neither did I. I’m just doing my job.”

“Job? You don’t even have a job! You don’t even go to university for fuck’s sake – your apartment is rundown and smells like sour cunt and feet! Maybe you should even thank me because I’m trying to give you ideas on better things to do!”

“Yeah, and be like you?” he snapped, tugging at the strings of your hoodie until you fell a step forward. “Dressed in loose shirts to hide the fact you’ve got no tits and your ass is flatter than your back? Lying to her neighbor that she’ll crash somewhere but ends up waddling back home anyway because she’s always cooped up in her apartment studying to prove that she’s not as worthless as she is and that she doesn’t have a life or friends to begin with?” tears pooled at your eyes at his words, and you knew it hurt because it was true, but did he really have to say it that way?

However, his anger got the best of him, and he didn’t stop there. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to skip meals and lose sleep studying for something I don’t care about because I don’t know anything else other than following daddy’s footsteps so he’d notice me more than his new bride. I’m happy with my life.”

“How did—”

“Like you said, the walls are thin. You’re not exactly so quiet to yourself, neighbor. It’s kind of pathetic you talk to the walls when you think I’m asleep because you’ve got no one else to talk to.”

Hands balled into fists at your side, you stood on your tiptoes to spit the words out. “You’re a terrible human being,” no matter how much you tried to exert dominance over him, your lips still quivered as you fought back the urge to cry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re the one who needs to go fuck yourself and get laid,” he didn’t let you have another word as he slammed the door in your face, but you still heard him through the door anyway. “Uptight bitch.”

You were wrong.

Your neighbor wasn’t just difficult – he was completely impossible.

[Dad:] Don’t forget your date!

[You:] Dad…don’t push it.

[Dad:] I find it hard to believe my beautiful daughter can’t have one. Go out there and make some friends, Y/N, I know you isolate yourself too much. It doesn’t even have to be a boyfriend. You could date a girl for all I care. I just don’t want you to be too bored at the wedding. Bring a friend.

[You:] Fine, fine, okay.

[Dad:] But a boyfriend would still be better. Your old man isn’t getting any younger and I want grandkids in the future.

[You:] Dad!

[Dad:] love ya kid !

And so it was the turn of your events that had you groaning in your swiveling chair, the grip on your phone so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up breaking it. As if your week couldn’t get any more horrible with your neighbor’s hurtful words still living at the back of your mind, your father hadn’t stopped talking about you to his co-workers and his equally crazy mother that your grandmother didn’t waste time in calling you.

You loved your nan, you really did, but more often than not, she was much more of a pain in the ass than your father was. The old woman was ruthless, shooting you question by question on why her pretty granddaughter was still single, then came the demeaning comments of how you “weren’t living life to the fullest.”

Frustration eating away at you, you let out a silent scream.

The escort site blinked back at you mockingly, temptingly, as if to remind you that your problems could easily be solved with just a click. You chastised yourself for always having the need to solve problems fast and as easily as you could, because before you even realized what you were doing, your heart started beating a mile a minute as the other line kept ringing.

You ended up lying to your grandmother that yes, nan, I have a boyfriend, can I study for my exams now please, to which the pressing woman responded with, oh, finally! well, I won’t bother you anymore. study well, my dear, I can’t wait to see him!

Just thinking about how she would react if you came alone at your father’s wedding had you breaking out in a sweat, and you chewed at your nails while waiting for the site to pick up.

You were truly desperate now, so much so that you were actually calling a rental boy site.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Kamo Escorts! I’m Ijichi, here to assist you. What can I help you with?”

You held back a really painful cringe, biting the insides of your cheek as you got your heart to calm down. “Uhm, yeah…so this is like my first time c-calling a site like this and I don’t know what to do but…yeah.”

“I see, we get new callers too. Would you like a guide?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great thank you.”

“Kamo Escorts is all about, well, as you can see on our webpage – we have men and even women you can hire to escort you on special events. We mostly cater to clients who only need a pretty face to dangle off their arm for social company or even care, or whatever reasons the client may have and the relationship is purely business and professional, but in some cases, the escorts may have sex with the client too under the condition they are paid more.”

The gasp that left your lips was barely stifled, and you furrowed your brows at the implication. “Wh-what, so that’s like a real thing? Isn’t this…?”

Ijichi chuckled from the other line, almost as if he’d been asked this question many times before. “In a way, it is, which is why Kamo Escorts is commercially advertised for purely social company only. You may, however, negotiate with your escort if you would like more services, but we do require that you keep our escorts’ dignity and not look down on them. The service we provide may not be your typical honorable one, but we are dedicated and equally eager to be of service to this society. Should we find that you’re dehumanizing or harassing our escort, we won’t hesitate to…take some action,” the light warning of his tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and Ijichi took note of your hesitant silence. “Would you still like to proceed?”

“Ye-yeah, I didn’t want the sex anyway.”

“Very well, then. What event are we looking for?”

“It’s for a relative’s wedding,” you supplied, “I need a date.”

“Any preference in escorts? Male, female, tall, short, sociable or introverted?”

Your eyes widened, your back flattening against your chair. “Oh, wow, so this is like a Build-A-Bear, okay, wait,” you chewed your nails again, racking up on your mind on who or what exactly you liked. “My ideal guy is…someone tall, and has pretty broad shoulders…I think I prefer a more introverted one too because people with too much energy sort of drains me…and someone caring and attentive, yes. Handsome too – but if that’s too much to ask for then—”

“It’s okay, Miss. I assure you all our escorts are definitely blessed in the gene department.”

At his confidence, you scrunched your nose and made yourself small on your chair. “Okay, but now that you say it, if he’s too handsome then I’m going to look like a potato next to him.”

“We’ll find someone compatible for you; we always never fail to please our clients. We’ll be able to match you with a more suitable escort if you’re more descriptive with what you want.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, “Oh, and I like guys with long hair too, but really, anything is fine. I just want someone to effortlessly pretend they’re enamored after just one date and that they’re very glad to be there with me on the wedding. It’s even better if they’re introverted but can communicate well and isn’t shy at all. My relatives are kind of…freaky.”

Freaky couldn’t even begin to describe the chaos of your relatives.

In fact, had you not been paying for this service, you would’ve almost felt bad for the guy. He had no idea what he had coming for him – but then again, neither did you.

“I think we’ve got just the perfect guy for you,” Ijichi answered after a beat, “May I ask when is this event and how long you’d like to book the escort service for?”

“The event is in two weeks. I don’t need to meet him before the wedding because I’m very busy with exams, so I hope this guy can just act really well. As for the duration…I think just one day is enough. After the wedding, I’m coming right back home.”

“Convenient then,” he mused to himself, and you heard slight clicking from his side. “Let’s see…someone introverted and able to communicate well…definitely not Satoru, and his entirely booked by sugar mommies too…” Ijichi whispered to himself, followed by a slight humorous snort. “One last question: would you like someone older, younger, or the same age as you?”

“I’m in uni – I’d be more comfortable if they were closer to my age.”

“Oh, perfect, his schedule is oddly open for the whole month. Wonder what happened, he’s barely had free slots before…” the man was speaking to himself again, and you sat there pouting, even more dumbfounded at how this whole process worked.

Ijichi talked about this escort service and guided you so easily you almost couldn’t believe that it was as…simple as that. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but deep down in your mind, you were waiting for something fishy or weird to happen.

“I found someone for you. He’s one of our best escorts and I believe he’ll be great for this event. However, due to privacy issues, the disclosure of contacts and personal information can only happen once the escort agrees to this service. We’ll shortly get back to you if he’s up for the job. If not, I’ll find you another one quickly; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“It’s our pleasure. Thank you for contacting Kamo Escorts – we hope to see you again!”

Once the call ended, you fell back on your bed with a sigh. Your neighbor wasn’t around the whole day, leaving you in peace and silence, and you took advantage of the rare quietness by pulling out a book. Hours passed, and you were nearly finished with half the textbook, fingers slightly numb from practicing sutures over and over again when your phone lit up with a text.

It came from an unknown number, but the words were loud and clear. Hey, this is Choso, I’ll be your escort for the wedding. Please text me here for the details and what else you expect from my service. I’m only a text and call away, please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.

You blinked at your phone, unsure of how to process the whole thing.

So it was official now – you rented an escort and you had a date for the event. Quite frankly, you were kind of expecting that escorts would be a lot more…flirtatious or even eager to please, but this Choso guy sounded too formal for you to picture yourself having this stranger be a good company for your event. Ijichi sounded so sure though that you no longer questioned it; smiling instead now that you’ve finally solved one of your problems.

Life felt a lot easier.

At around four in the morning, you were too worn out to keep going. Your exam was in the afternoon so you still had plenty of time to sleep, your stomach grumbled, prompting you to leave your unit to get some snacks.

Keys in hand and feet cold in your socks, you locked your door, halting in your steps when you saw your neighbor. Different from his usual comfortable clothing, he was dressed in a formal white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his large, masculine hands coming up to loosen his tie. He wasn’t aware of your presence, almost blindly walking to his door and sighing. You didn’t miss the fact his shoulders were slumped, and he looked absolutely worn out.

For a moment, you actually felt worried, until you remembered what he said to you.

“What, no pussy to fuck tonight?”

He froze in front of his door for a moment, slightly tilting back to see your aggravated stance. Upon seeing it was just you, he shook his head and turned back to unlock his door. “No thanks to you.”

“Aw, did I ruin your reputation?” you mocked sarcastically, “I’m surprised people aren’t smart enough to pick up the smell of women’s perfume on you already. Seriously, are people that desperate for touch?” It was ironic; you’d never admit it, but you weren’t any better than them. You were equally desperate to be touched despite your aversion to romantic relationships, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s normal when you’re someone people are naturally attracted to. Not that you’d get it, of course, because it’s clear you don’t get some.”

“At least my apartment doesn’t smell like pussy.”

“At least I don’t masturbate every night then pass out after one weak orgasm.”

Your cheeks burned at his offhanded comment, and even with his back turned to you, you could see the slight smile tugging at his cheeks. He must’ve felt so cocky, thinking that he’d defeated you, so you blurted out the most intelligent thing possible: “How dare you!” while grabbing onto his shoulders to make him face you. “Look me in the eye and take that back!”

“Whatever you’re planning,” he crooned, head tilted to the side and making strands of his bangs fall over his eyes. He looked absolutely handsome under the flickering lights of the hallway in that moment, and you hated how you weren’t able to take your hands off of his strong shoulders, his masculine and spicy perfume clouding your mind. “It’s not going to work. Surprise surprise, but you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Your eyes burned with fire, the nerves in your body so closing to popping. He infuriated you so much. “And you’re not as sexy as you believe you are!”

“Oh, yeah?” The positions are suddenly switched as he cornered you beside his doorframe, both of his arms planted beside your head. Because he was taller, he had to lean down to look you in the eye, his warm, minty breath brushing over your lips. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers raking over the wall in a silent attempt to flee. Upon seeing your pursed lips, he laughed.

“Then why are you so shaky? Do I make you nervous?” his head dipped down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say…you only pretend to hate me, but you actually wish it was you I’m fucking every night, don’t you? Tell me…do you touch yourself when you hear me eating someone out?”

“I-I’m not—”

Before you could combust under his gaze, he pulled himself away from you, a satisfied smirk on his face at your flustered state. He chuckled lowly, keys spinning on his thick finger. “I was just teasing you, princess. No need to get so worked up.”

“I never want you near me again!”

He raised both brows as if to challenge you, and you knew from the glint in his eyes he was up to no good. “Princess, you jumped on me first.”

“I didn’t!” You shouted, immediately slapping your palm over your lips after realizing people were sleeping. He snickered at your reactions, and you pushed past him back to your unit, suddenly losing the appetite to get your precious snacks. “God, I hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Difficult. Unbelievable. Complicated. Idiotic. Nothing was ever easy with him.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” your father scolded from his chair, his body barely moving as the stylists fixed his hair and makeup, but his eyes glared at you from the mirror. “You’re a lot more nervous than I am, and it’s my wedding.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Your father sighed to himself, standing up after they were done with him. He checked his appearance in the mirror for a while, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was still a little surreal that he was going to get married again, to a woman half his age of all people, but he was happy, and his bride seemed to really love him too, so you no longer questioned your father’s decisions. He was an adult, anyway, he could make his own decisions.

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

You stiffened at the question. Not wanting your sharp-eyed father to pick up on the smallest cues, you lied through your teeth despite not having any idea on who or what kind of person the escort was.

Other than discussing details of how you two supposedly met, conversations had been crisp and short. You were lucky that the escort seemed to be nice and smart enough to not always ask you to explain everything, and he was crisp and curt in his texts too. No flirty or suggestive messages, not even a single emoji. He seemed a little stiff, and while you worried if you could fake chemistry with someone who seemed like a wall, you were also assured by the fact he wasn’t some creep.

“Nice. He’s sweet. You’ll like him.”

“And when did you meet him?”

“Dad, do I have to tell this story all over again?” you groaned, “We met after exams, he goes to a different uni and he studies law—”

“Law. Impressive.”

“Of course you’re impressed,” you rolled your eyes. Coming from a family of doctors and engineers, your father, and pretty much everyone else in the family, also expected that you’d date someone who was equally intelligent and had enough connections in different industries at least. It just so happened you were really lucky your escort also really did study law for a bit before he became an escort; a detail you never got enough explanation for. “He’ll be here anytime soon. Just you wait.”

In reality, you were the one who couldn’t wait.

You were excited and nervous at the same time to see this mysterious escort, and you were in the middle of talking to your father and his bride when someone called you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around with a bright grin. That must be him! You clasped at the hems of your dress so you could meet this mysterious, rigid man properly, but the moment your eyes met his equally startled gaze, you choked on your own breath. “Y-you—”

Choso stood before you; handsome as ever in his suit and tie, his iconic twin tails still there. How ever would your father believe you now that he was a lawyer, especially with his messy hair and face tattoo? You loved it and found it sexy on him, no denying that, but your father was a little bit more traditional. But that aside, it was Choso?!

His professionalism arose and he regained his composure quicker than you did, the smile on his face so natural and alluring even you almost fell for it.

Choso wrapped an arm around your waist before kissing you on the cheek, and the skin felt extremely hot under his lips. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, because Choso was pressed flush against you, and he looked at you with stars shining in his eyes you didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Maybe a fucked up mix of both.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad,” he explained with a small smile on his lips, and he looked so handsome and smelled so good in that moment you were left gaping at him as he bowed to your father, arm politely extended. “You must be Y/N’s father. It’s very nice to meet you sir. I’m her boyfriend, Choso.”

To your surprise, your father eagerly shook his hand with the brightest grin he’d worn the whole night before he faced you with a laugh. “No way,” he beamed, gesturing to Choso. “He’s your boyfriend? You managed to snag this fine man?”

“Dad!” your ears burned with embarrassment. Choso only laughed; making you painfully aware of his large, warm hand resting at the small of your back.

“I heard you’re a lawyer, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded in approval, the two exchanging over words about what his plans were for the future and how his studies were going. You stood there with a pounding heart, fearful that Choso could fuck up any moment, but he was so effortless and easy going. Had you not been the one paying him, you would’ve been fooled too.

So this was the life of an escort.

“So how much did my daughter pay you?”

“Dad, I didn’t—”

“I mean, there’s no way she actually charmed you with her non-existent social skills. My daughter here can’t even talk to someone and look them in the eye, much less ask someone out, so how did this happen?”

Choso laughed at your father’s lighthearted comment, saving the day for what seemed like the hundredth time already. “I approached her first, sir. We were both eating in this small diner and it was cramped, so we shared tables and started conversation,” Suddenly, his grip tightened on you as he pulled you closer, your ear now resting above the lulling and steady beating of his heart. How was he so calm?

He lightly squeezed your hip and it had you freezing under his touch, stiffening even more when he looked down at you so adoringly. “Guess it went downhill from there.” God, you had no idea who this man was.

“Really? What did you guys talk about?”

Choso opened his mouth to speak, but it was there, that damned glint on those dark eyes again that you clutched at his bicep. He may be damn good at this job, but knowing Choso, he was enjoying this way too much.

Anything you couldn’t predict or control properly was a huge no in your game, and you pulled Choso away before he could say something downright humiliating.

“Dad, just go focus on your wedding. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, okay?” You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inward cringe upon your words, the feeling only worsening when Choso fought back a laugh masked with a cough. Before your father could say anything else, you dragged Choso rather harshly, but he didn’t mind; he followed you obediently. “Come with me. I need to talk to you,” You didn’t stop until you were both alone in a desolated corner, and finally, you hissed at him. “What are you doing here?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing – but it turns out you’re my client.”

“Client? So you really are my escort?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So those women…”

“All my clients,” he confirmed your thoughts. “I assure you they knew what they were getting into. In fact, they were the ones who asked for that special service that caused you to lose your sleep every night. That woman the other day was just pissed because she booked me for three days, but I lied that I was available until the duration she wanted when I wasn’t.”

“You mean you were still working an escort for somebody else?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“It’s more money,” Choso stared down at his hands before his eyes flitted back up to yours, his face unreadable. “I’m saving up so I can move somewhere else. Our apartment isn’t exactly the most ideal considering my profession. I need to find someplace quieter with thicker walls this time,” he smiled, “That way, I’ll no longer bother my sweet neighbor,” your lips felt dry at his words, your tongue darting out to lick at them while Choso scrutinized you under his gaze.

“I have to admit though – you asking for escort service is the last thing I’d ever imagine you doing. Not that I’m complaining since it’s still money in my pocket, but you’re not the most pleasing company to be with.”

“Oh, you bet, Choso. Had I known you were going to be my escort, I would’ve declined long ago,” you groaned, your head dropping in your hands. “What was Ijichi thinking when he said I would be compatible with you?”

“You’re not,” he stated, “But I am compatible with you – as I am with pretty much everyone else. I’m one of the best escorts, and soon you’ll see why.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by then, but it seemed Choso was quite eager to show his skills off when he dragged you back inside the reception event. The whole time, you couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else other than Choso. It still felt hard to believe that the whole time, he really was doing his job, and upon seeing how easily he had people believing you two were an item despite you just standing silently beside him, you felt guilty that you disrupted his “work” like that.

Guilt gnawed at you as Choso made everyone laugh, and soon your relatives were cooing, praising you and congratulating you that you were “happy” now.

Back then, you always looked down on him and even called him a mere fuckboy, but Choso was so much more than that. He was intelligent; his past as a lawyer proved that, and whatever happened that caused him to work in this industry kept lingering in your mind.

There was no denying it now.

You respected this man – admired him even.

“And now it’s time to join the newly married couple on the dance floor! Come on, people, bring your dates up here for a twirl!”

You remained planted in your seat, too comfortable with Choso’s jacket draped around your bare shoulders. You’d lost count of how many times your head ducked down for the lack of sleep, and as much as you loved your dad, you wanted nothing more than to go home and rest.

Choso offered his hand to yours, a teasing smile on his face. He wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he looked so utterly ridiculous that you couldn’t believe the boring man you were texting was the same infuriating yet undeniably attractive bastard who was your neighbor was the same fun. The world is very small, it seemed, and you weren’t sure whether you were brave enough to venture these strange places and feelings.

“Uh-uh. No. I’m not dancing.”

“Two left feet?”

“No, I’m wearing heels. My feet hurts.”

“Then take it off.”

“And get my feet dirty?” you scoffed. As if to prove your point, you snuggled deeper into his jacket that smelled heavenly like him, closing your eyes as you pretended to sleep. “Sitting here isn’t so bad. Plus, look at them, all staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. It’s revolting,” you shuddered.

Through the sickeningly romantic music playing in the background, Choso fell silent. You cracked an eye open, frowning when Choso studied each of your features carefully. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem to hate the idea of love.”

“Because it’s pointless.”

Choso narrowed his eyes at your answer, brows bunching up at the way your shoulders squared to keep yourself away. Then, he stood up and sighed, offering his hand to you once more.

“I won’t really ask you to explain why, because frankly, I don’t care,” you stared at his large palms for a few seconds. There must be a ghost possessing your body because you looped your fingers through his and allowed him to guide you on the dance floor despite your mind’s protests, and soon, Choso’s eyes were all over you. “But if you don’t want your money to go down the drain and you really want to convince everyone, I suggest you forget about that mindset for just a few more hours,” his voice dropped down to a low whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes turned solemn, his hand on your waist gentle. “Dance with me. Let’s show them how madly in love we are with each other.”

“We met just last week, remember?”

“Love at first sight, princess,” Choso kissed your forehead, sending your heart thumping and running to another dimension. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind, and your hands travelled from his strong arms to his broad shoulders instinctively. “Take your heels off. You can step on my feet and I’ll dance for us both. Just put your arms around my neck – yes just like that,” he nodded with a smile when your fingertips nervously played with his hair, and Choso began to dance you both in time with the music. “Are you good?”

“I don’t like this lack of space between us.”

Choso smirked, “Why, do I get you all hot and bothered?”

“Jesus, Choso, you can’t be serious for a minute, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to be serious when you’re so flustered and adorable right now,” you pulled at his hair in response, but of course, he wasn’t really hurt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, but you refused, keeping your gaze planted on your bare feet on top of his again. “Hey. I said look at me,” he tilted your chin up until you’re forced to be like prey under his gaze, his breath tickling the bow of your lips. “I am your escort for tonight – and I humbly ask that you do your part as my client so I can perform my job well. I need you to look into my eyes and pretend you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you suddenly admitted, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, softly this time, and his hands ran down tenderly to your hips to pull you closer to him. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

You couldn’t remember who leaned in first. The only thing you remembered was that the music faded in the background when you kissed him – or maybe he kissed you – fuck, you didn’t really remember. Eventually, the kiss grew too heated, his hands squeezing your waist while you moan at the taste of chocolate and wine on his expert tongue.

Choso easily read your mind and swooped you away from the crowd, the both of you stumbling until you made it out to the venue and onto the beach.

The salty air kissed your skin while Choso carried you bridal style, arms looped around his neck while he kept moving his lips above yours. He was laughing through the kiss with how messy and eager you were, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to unbutton it. Choso set you both down on the darker, isolated part of the beach where nothing but the sound of waves lapping against one another could be heard with your breathless pants and his chuckles.

You were lying on his jacket, dress bunched up to your chest while your legs were spread wide open for him. “Ch-Choso,” you choked out when his tongue ran flat across your slick folds, his hands keeping your hips pinned down to the sand. “I-I, please.”

“I got you, princess,” was all he said before he completely dived into your heat, his sharp nose brushing into your cunt.

It didn’t take long until you were spasming in his hold, legs closing around his head. Choso groaned into your pussy, a finger working its way inside your sopping cunt while he licks and slurps your arousal like it was fucking water. Now you understood why those girls always lost their mind – Choso was a fucking expert when it came to worshipping pussy.

Choso pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but he was kind, eager to please you that he immediately replaced it with his tongue.

You cried out when you felt his tongue entering your hole, one thumb pulling the hood of your lips up to reveal your sensitive pearl. Choso rubbed your clit fervently, his other hand reaching up to squeeze and tug at your breasts while he drank your juices dripping down his tongue as if you would be his last meal – and he honestly wished you were, because you tasted like heaven on him and he wanted more.

Once he felt you clamping down on his tongue so tightly he struggled to retrieve his warm muscle back, he helped you reach your high by pinching your clit. You moaned out his name, the sound sending blood straight down his cock, and he groaned into your pussy the moment you grinded on his face as you relaxed from your orgasm.

Choso didn’t give you the chance to recover from your orgasm, pulling you up to his lap before he’s kissing you again. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his tongue, his face and cheeks sweet from your arousal and cum.

You should be ashamed, but you couldn’t find a single bone in your body that felt shy right now. Choso was right – there was no point in being shameful when it came to your pleasure.

The kiss was sloppy, more tongue than lips and teeth clashing onto another. Choso grinded you on his hardened erection in search of your heat that would bring him relief, but he slowed down and pulled away from you, a string of saliva connected from your lips. He wanted you – wanted to fuck you so badly – so he searched your eyes for the answer when you aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Is this okay? Are you sure with this?”

“Yeah,” you gritted your teeth when his tip entered your tight cunt, your walls sucking him in greedily already. Choso’s head dropped down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking down to your shoulder. You slowly sat down on his thick length, but then froze before he could bottom out. “Wait, no, I’m broke! I can’t pay for your extra services!”

“It’s free for you, princess,” he rasped out, “Now sit on my lap so I can feel you around me already.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Through the pleasure that had his abs rippling, Choso managed a laugh. “You might want to get used to it.”

“Why would I?” you breathed out, eyes shutting tight once he fully slid into you. He allowed you to get used to the sudden stretch; it had been too long since you’ve been touched this way that you were impossibly tight around him right now. Your chest rose and fall with each faltering breath, your nails running down his back when Choso gave a deep, experimental thrust that immediately hits your sweet spot.

You moaned, cheek resting on his shoulder as Choso set the pace, squeezing your ass as he bounced you up and down his cock. “You’re gone after this. Once this contract is over, you’re moving away and I won’t get to see you anymore. I-I won’t lose sleep anymore after hearing you fuck all those women and gosh, I hate you so much, you know that?”

“I hated you too,” he groaned through your skin, “Or at least, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Hurt? I would never hurt you,” Really, you praised yourself for still being able to form coherent sentences even after Choso kept fucking into you.

“I’m an escort, princess, I’m everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time,” he explained almost angrily, and his lips zealously sucked love bites to the sensitive flesh of your neck, “Even if you won’t hurt me, we’re bound to crash and burn at some point. This is why we’re not allowed to get attached to anyone,” his lips brushed over her collarbone, his canines dragging along to make red marks. “Why we’re not allowed to fall,” he squeezed her breast in the palm of his hand, twisting the peaked nipple until you whined, hips bucking deeper into his cock. “Why we’re not allowed to love.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always liked you,” he laughed through the pleasure, holding your hips down so he could drive his cock deeper into you. Yes, he was selfish, yes, he was frustrated – and his feelings burst through the way Choso powered into you. You fell limp in his arms and he easily caught you like he always did, his eyes blown wide as he stared right into your eyes, his dick still pummeling through your gummy walls.

Choso inhaled sharply when you clenched down on him, an elongated moan spilling past your lips. “I liked you the moment you moved in and you fell flat on your face before you could greet me.”

“Shut up, don’t remind me of that!” you raked your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and Choso concealed the pain with light chuckle, the pain only prompting him to absolutely use you. “You’re seriously bringing it up now when you’re – ah, fuck – b-buried in me?”

Choso tugged at one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, the sudden change of angle had you pressing down deeper into him. It felt like you were sinking closer and closer to his cock, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you’re crying out in his arms, scratches evident on his back.

“For now,” he breathed out, “I want to at least be selfish enough to want you now, just for now if fate won’t still allow it.”

“W-we can try,” you said in your lust-filled gaze, lips crashing down messily to his while you bounced on him, your hips slamming down at the same to meet his thrusts. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can try, right?” You cupped his face, surprised with the sudden vulnerability from his hooded eyes, looking so innocent and beautiful as if he wasn’t painting your insides white.

“Okay,” he nodded, brows pinching together. And that was all the both of you needed before Choso sank his fangs down the column of your neck to hold on his low groans; your head thrown back as you both drown in the pleasure of being with one another.

In the blink of an eye, all tenderness is Choso’s touches replaced by the hunger in his eyes and the power of his lust-filled thrusts. You were a moaning mess by the time your hips sit flat on his pelvic bone and his balls brush on your ass from how deep he was hitting you, and you felt his teeth nibble at the side of your breasts again as he warned, “But for now, I’m not going to go easy on you – not when I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve been so hard for you these all time.”

And you allowed him. Because nothing was ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d try pushing through hell and back.