#you may call this an overreaction

[sapphiel]

Yeah sure lets just draw a 15 year olds characters with big titties mhm thats fine

You're prolly the same type of person I was trying to target with this meme lol

Also I don't wanna hear anything from the likes of you when Fortnite, a game classified for teens, is allowed to get away with this:

[halorvic]

The danger is clear and present: COVID isn’t merely a respiratory illness; it’s a multi-dimensional threat impacting brain function, attacking almost all of the body’s organs, producing elevated risks of all kinds, and weakening our ability to fight off other diseases. Reinfections are thought to produce cumulative risks, and Long COVID is on the rise. Unfortunately, Long COVID is now being considered a long-term chronic illness — something many people will never fully recover from. Dr. Phillip Alvelda, a former program manager in DARPA’s Biological Technologies Office that pioneered the synthetic biology industry and the development of mRNA vaccine technology, is the founder of Medio Labs, a COVID diagnostic testing company. He has stepped forward as a strong critic of government COVID management, accusing health agencies of inadequacy and even deception. Alvelda is pushing for accountability and immediate action to tackle Long COVID and fend off future pandemics with stronger public health strategies. Contrary to public belief, he warns, COVID is not like the flu. New variants evolve much faster, making annual shots inadequate. He believes that if things continue as they are, with new COVID variants emerging and reinfections happening rapidly, the majority of Americans may eventually grapple with some form of Long COVID. Let’s repeat that: At the current rate of infection, most Americans may get Long COVID.

[...]

LP: A recent JAMA study found that US adults with Long COVID are more prone to depression and anxiety – and they’re struggling to afford treatment. Given the virus’s impact on the brain, I guess the link to mental health issues isn’t surprising. PA: There are all kinds of weird things going on that could be related to COVID’s cognitive effects. I’ll give you an example. We’ve noticed since the start of the pandemic that accidents are increasing. A report published by TRIP, a transportation research nonprofit, found that traffic fatalities in California increased by 22% from 2019 to 2022. They also found the likelihood of being killed in a traffic crash increased by 28% over that period. Other data, like studies from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, came to similar conclusions, reporting that traffic fatalities hit a 16-year high across the country in 2021. The TRIP report also looked at traffic fatalities on a national level and found that traffic fatalities increased by 19%. LP: What role might COVID play? PA: Research points to the various ways COVID attacks the brain. Some people who have been infected have suffered motor control damage, and that could be a factor in car crashes. News is beginning to emerge about other ways COVID impacts driving. For example, in Ireland, a driver’s COVID-related brain fog was linked to a crash that killed an elderly couple. Damage from COVID could be affecting people who are flying our planes, too. We’ve had pilots that had to quit because they couldn’t control the airplanes anymore. We know that medical events among U.S. military pilots were shown to have risen over 1,700% from 2019 to 2022, which the Pentagon attributes to the virus.

[...]

LP: You’ve criticized the track record of the CDC and the WHO – particularly their stubborn denial that COVID is airborne. PA: They knew the dangers of airborne transmission but refused to admit it for too long. They were warned repeatedly by scientists who studied aerosols. They instituted protections for themselves and for their kids against airborne transmission, but they didn’t tell the rest of us to do that.

[...]

LP: How would you grade Biden on how he’s handled the pandemic? PA: I’d give him an F. In some ways, he fails worse than Trump because more people have actually died from COVID on his watch than on Trump’s, though blame has to be shared with Republican governors and legislators who picked ideological fights opposing things like responsible masking, testing, vaccination, and ventilation improvements for partisan reasons. Biden’s administration has continued to promote the false idea that the vaccine is all that is needed, perpetuating the notion that the pandemic is over and you don’t need to do anything about it. Biden stopped the funding for surveillance and he stopped the funding for renewing vaccine advancement research. Trump allowed 400,000 people to die unnecessarily. The Biden administration policies have allowed more than 800,000 to 900,000 and counting.

[...]

LP: The situation with bird flu is certainly getting more concerning with the CDC confirming that a third person in the U.S. has tested positive after being exposed to infected cows. PA: Unfortunately, we’re repeating many of the same mistakes because we now know that the bird flu has made the jump to several species. The most important one now, of course, is the dairy cows. The dairy farmers have been refusing to let the government come in and inspect and test the cows. A team from Ohio State tested milk from a supermarket and found that 50% of the milk they tested was positive for bird flu viral particles.

[...]

PA: There’s a serious risk now in allowing the virus to freely evolve within the cow population. Each cow acts as a breeding ground for countless genetic mutations, potentially leading to strains capable of jumping to other species. If any of those countless genetic experiments within each cow prove successful in developing a strain transmissible to humans, we could face another pandemic – only this one could have a 58% death rate. Did you see the movie “Contagion?” It was remarkably accurate in its apocalyptic nature. And that virus only had a 20% death rate. If the bird flu makes the jump to human-to-human transition with even half of its current lethality, that would be disastrous.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

peace and love on planet earth save me.... peace and love on planet earth.... save me peace and love on planet earth....

[aroacedavestrider]

where in the world do you live where you call it a hydroslurp???? that is a WATER FOUNTAIN

original poll by @t4tfaggot

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[goxjo]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 ⋮ 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢

↪︎ bridesmaid series ∘ haikyuu mlist ∘ general mlist

In which you find no way out of the most absurd wedding tradition of all time — the garter toss

pairing. groomsman! sakusa kiyoomi x bridesmaid! reader

warnings. no pronouns, f anatomy! reader, peer pressure, biting, soft dom! sakusa, he calls you pretty a lot, he uses the pet name ‘baby’, light choking, he wears a condom but discards it later on, handjob, slight humiliation, slight corruption, deepthroating, slight gagging, fingering, cunnilingus, mentions of alcohol, edging, slight praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare!!!! I love him this is a lot I know

word count. 6.1k

an. this is one of my fav fics that I’ve ever written, speaking as an omi girlie myself ;; this is also rewritten & reposted <3

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

“Flower girls, please save the petals for when you walk down the aisle. And please, behave,” the coordinator says with hints of sweetness in his voice. He dusts off a few petals that got on his sleeves from a playful dispute between the little girls. Later, he requests for the older (and the more collected) bunch — the bridesmaids and the groomsmen — to be in their places in exactly five minutes.

You don’t really know much of the people here, save for a few bridesmaids and the bride herself, all of whom you’ve been friends with ever since high school. A few minutes ago, at the very brief orientation for the entourage, you stiffened when they announced who you’re getting paired with — a tall man with black wavy hair swept to one side, two prominent moles on the right side of his forehead, dark piercing eyes, and the rest of his face hidden behind a mask. Not that you’re complaining or anything, he just seems like he didn’t want to be there.

The coordinator darts his eyes back and forth from his clipboard onto the pairs falling in line but fixes his gaze on your partner who’s about an arm’s length away from you.

“Kiyoomi-san, please take it off just for the ceremony.”

Your partner gives his offender a sinister look, furrowing his brows before ultimately giving in — taking a deep sigh as he hooks his fingers on the loops of his mask.

Your head subconsciously draws back upon seeing his whole face, eyes fluttering, completely taken by how soft the entirety of his face looks regardless of the spiteful demeanor he gave off.

Mesmerized, you watch him slowly glance from the ground up as he folds his mask, keeping it deep in one of his pockets. As soon as your eyes locked, he cocks a brow, and the realization kicks in that you have just been caught ogling him.

Immediately, you look away, attempting to brush off your embarrassment now that you’re minutes away from walking down the aisle.

Shit. Please look away, please—

Promptly, you check to see if he’s still looking. And yes, he is, in fact, staring at you intently. He takes a few steps towards you, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

“Sorry, I was just… did you want something—”

“Hold still.”

He inches closer to you, inspecting your face, and you can feel his warm breath brushing over your cheek. He raises his hand and as soon as you feel his fingers running through your hair, you can't help but jolt backwards in response.

“I said hold still,” he commands.

Your mouth opens agape and you feel a soft pinch at the top of your head. Pretty soon he’s waving a stray petal in front of your face.

He falls back in line, letting go of the petal to drop on the red carpet, and you, on the other hand, are frozen in place, not having moved an inch from where he left you.

You realize that you may have overreacted but your heart is pumping nonetheless.

“____, Kiyoomi, you’re up next!” the coordinator announces, and snapping you out of your daze is Kiyoomi offering his arm for you to take.

…

If there’s one thing at a wedding that the guests enjoy more than the bride and groom themselves, that would be the garter toss. Roaring cheers are heard from all corners of the reception hall and phones are whipped out, taking every good angle of the bride and groom in the middle of the dance floor. Obviously, no one is missing a shot of this momentous occasion. You can even tell by the expressions of the hotel staff that they aren’t immune to the appeal of the lewd tradition.

In reality, the ordeal actually goes by quickly. But from both the viewer and the participant’s perspective, it somehow feels menacingly slow. You suppose it’s due to the thrill of having someone consent to get borderline felt up on center stage as a groomsman sticks his head under their skirt, all while crappy overused stripper music plays in the background.

You have to admit, it’s quite the craze… until you consider the possibility that it’s you who gets to do it after all. “All single women to the center of the dancefloor. Bridesmaids, no exceptions!” the host announces, pertaining to you in particular upon seeing your hesitation.

To slim those chances, you stand as far back as possible. That, and so as to not get caught up with the horde of bachelorettes aching for their turn to play wifey. Your friend, the bride, takes one good look at you lot before spotting you at the rear, locking eyes with you, smirking.

You know that devilish look. Oh, don’t you dare.

And with a good throw, the bouquet flies past the mob of hopeful brides-to-be. They attempt their hardest to reach for it but to no avail, now only able to merely follow it with their eyes. A dozen heads turn to look at your figure and reality slaps them on the face all at once, the glimmer of hope leaving their eyes hollow upon seeing the bouquet already within your grasp.

Fuck.

…

Let’s just get this over with. Holy shit, can I do this…

You squirm in your seat, fiddling with the smooth lace wrapped around the bouquet on your lap, mentally debating whether to just say you’re not up for it, but your friends will never let you hear the last of it if you decide to sit this one out.

When you hear the swarm of bachelors bark in defeat, you look for the hand that holds the garter and your eyes widen in shock when you realize who it belongs to.

Although he doesn’t appear to be as miserable as you, not even his mask could hide that it irks him to be on the receiving end of all this attention. How he even ended up being included in the roster of bachelors, you do not know.

You’re being pulled by two of your friends towards the center stage. And just when you think things couldn't possibly get worse—

“What do you say we kick things up a notch?” The DJ riles up the crowd and two seconds later, one of the guests is yelling out, “use your teeth!” Pretty soon, the entire reception hall is echoing that same request.

“USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH!”

At this point, you’re not even sure how to react anymore but it concerns you how Kiyoomi’s face just shifted from peeved to aggravated — and you couldn't tell if it’s because of you or the crowd.

“You’re wasting your time, he’s never gonna say yes to that,” one of the groomsmen with light brown hair and round eyebrows answers in your entourage partner’s stead, snatching the garter from Kiyoomi’s hand.

There’s pressure from the audience but you try your hand at reassuring the onlookers. “It’s okay, we can just pick again. Plus, I honestly don’t think he’s up for it.”

You hear him snicker. Did I say something wrong? Shifting your gaze to him, you see that he has already taken off his mask.

“Get on the chair, sweetie.”

You could feel your heart drop in your chest at his behest.

He loosens his own tie. “Let me borrow that for a sec,” he says, turning to the one who took the garment from him.

The crowd whistles. But so far, with how fast-paced the events are unfolding, that’s really the least of your concerns.

He kneels down on one knee and sneaks back a look at you before hooking a finger underneath your dress — lifting it a little and letting it hang on your knees to grant him a better view. You lower your head, trying to hide the redness of your cheeks after being slightly exposed for everyone to see.

He grabs your leg and your breath hitches at the sudden touch of his cold fingertips on your calves. He stretches the garter wide, letting you keep your shoe as he places the garment loose around your ankle. He brings your leg up higher, near his face this time, securing the ivory band between his teeth.

The rhythm of your pulse drowns out whatever music and cheers that could be heard within this very large hall. You’re on the edge of your seat, hands on either side of the chair for your own support, providing him better access for when he gets to spaces that are… tighter.

The brushing sensation of the lace tickles you as he swiftly drags the garter along your shin. He hooks a hand behind your other leg, subconsciously squeezing it when he struggles a little at your knee.

Once more, he slides a finger underneath the hems of your dress. He takes one look at you as if to ask for permission, and you nod at him — prodding him to go on. At that, he slowly lifts the chiffon garment, burying himself underneath it, and you couldn’t stop your shivers from locking your muscles in tight.

Undeniably, you feel your insides coil at his now-dangerous proximity to your private area. You feel the garter hugging your skin tighter when it reaches your upper thigh before it slaps your skin in his release, causing a bolt of heat to shoot down your center.

Abruptly, you feel a sharp sting when something sunk into the soft skin of your thigh as quickly as it left. Your eyes widen for a brief moment, making you bring a hand up to your mouth.

Did he just…

At that he gets out of your dress, standing on his feet. The groom and the bachelors applaud but he seems unaffected by them.

He extends his hand out to you, making you release what breath you didn’t realize you were holding — your eyes dead fixed on each other as he helps you out of your seat.

You’ve since tuned out any noise from the people around you, especially now that you’re distracted by the new, tingling sensation of soft lace rubbing and tickling between your thighs.

The bride comes up to you, hugging you and screaming at you, overjoyed as if whatever the fuck just happened calls for an even bigger celebration than her own wedding. You look for your partner, only to be met with his back as he heads for the exit. That becomes his cue to take his leave, nowhere to be found for the rest of the evening.

…

In the later hours, you barely speak (or rather, barely respond properly) to other people. You’re tipsy from what little amount of wine and cocktails you had drunk and so far, you only seem interested in learning about Sakusa Kiyoomi — how he’s a professional volleyball player for one of Japan’s top leagues and is without a doubt one of the best you’ll ever see in the country.

Your friends even warn you about him being too frank and too clean, but who on earth would complain about the latter? But the thing that you still can’t wrap your head around is the fact that he rarely ever shows interest in just anyone. “He must’ve really liked you, or else he never would have agreed to that,” one of his friends tells you — some words you’re trying to not get too hyped about.

The last of all the absurd wedding traditions is where the groom carries his bride to their room, and you all take that as your signal to leave as well. It’s pretty late but you still haven’t gotten over your high from earlier. And with this place being the same hotel where most guests are checked in, you silently hope to at least bump into him again, checking at every turn as you make your way to your hotel room. But again, he’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re dead set on denying your futile longing if anyone asks.

Feeling uneasy, you get out of your clothes, leaving them and your other belongings on the floor of your bathroom, and find yourself soaking in a warm bath. You’re frustrated — half due to feeling you have unfinished business and half due to the possibility that you’re romanticizing your little encounter more than you should.

The warm bath should’ve helped by now, but the knotting feeling in the pit of your stomach is only welling up inside you. Resting your head on the edge of the tub, you close your eyes, repeating the moments over and over in your head, with each account of the memory almost as potent as when you had experienced it hours ago.

Finishing up in your late-night bath, your attention is called to the sound of your phone receiving a text.

…

Text message from unknown

Today 2:00 AM

:Are you still up?

:I hope you don’t mind. I had Komori ask for your number from the bride.

Komori? You had your guess — or hopes up, more likely. But no way, it couldn’t be.

Who’s this?:

Text message from unknown

Today 2:01 AM

:It’s Kiyoomi. Can I come over?

——

Three hours. It has been nearly three hours since you last saw him.

A dim, ambient yellow emanates from the two lamps on your nightstands, one on either side of the bed, your only sources of light. You sit on the edge of your bed, restless, mindlessly tapping the heel of your foot to the floor, taking deep breaths as your anticipation wells up in your chest.

Five minutes. That was how long it took for you to come up with an answer.

You have done your part in reminding yourself that you just met the man today. You’re blatantly aware that that important bit of information holds him against your better judgment. Even so, you’re meek to dismiss the biggest warning signs over the slightest doubts that… Maybe he means well? I don’t even know what he wants. But what could he possibly want at 2 in the morning?

And as for you, well, what could you possibly want dressing up like that?

…

Twenty minutes. It had been twenty minutes since you replied to his text with your hotel room number.

Clad only in the hotel-provided bathrobe that covers you only up to your thighs, you clump the blue linen fabric in your balled fist, further exposing your thighs, unarmed with the first thing to do or say once he gets here — once he sees how you chose to present yourself.

The suspense is killing you. Your own imagination running amok causes you to put a hand in between your crossed legs. Breaths, labored. Your bottom lip, red and plump from your constant, thoughtless nibbling. And worst of all, your own velvet walls, twitching.

Maybe this is a bad idea, you realize, prompting you to get up and throw on some pants, underwear, anything. Except you’re brought to a halt when…

2:30 AM — it was what it said on the digital clock on your nightstand when you heard three full knocks coming from the other side of the door.

Your body makes an involuntary turn towards the door, striding slowly as you tighten the belt of your robe, a minor sting lacing around your stomach. You can feel blood rushing to your cheeks, heart pulsating when your hand makes contact with the cold doorknob.

After having heard no follow-up nor signal from the other side of the door, you would have believed that your senses fooled you the first time you heard knocking. Would have, if it weren’t for the tall man in a gray hoodie and black sweatpants standing in front of you. It doesn’t surprise you that even in the later hours, his pretty face is still concealed behind a mask.

“It’s you,” you say, partly as a greeting and partly to convince yourself he’s real.

His eyes trail your form from up to down, black orbs deep as night studying you torturously slow. You don’t know what it’s for but you find it safer to assume that it’s judgment coming from him, making you fiddle with your hair, looking away as you’re suddenly conscious of how you look.

“It’s me. Aren’t you gonna let me in, ___?” he inquires, tone as monotonous as ever but you don’t miss the smirk in his voice at his mention of your name. The very first time you hear your name roll off his tongue, it knocks the breath out of your lungs and sends you to a near-cardiac arrest.

You take a step back before turning your back to him, leading the way to your bedroom.

Keeping a clear head proves to be quite the task. You’re careful not to let him detect any nervousness from you but you know that to be a lost cause when the mere sound of the door closing shut behind him causes you to flinch, not to mention the hairs that prickle all over your body when he suddenly runs the back of his fingers along your spine.

You gulp, crossing your arms tight around your chest, covering yourself up a little bit as you gather the courage to even turn around.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you pick up that he’s also somewhat keeping a distance from you. Like he’s waiting for something from you, a signal perhaps? Your lips subconsciously part in your musing but you’re unable to mutter a single word.

Raising a brow at you, he asks, “you’ve got questions?” sounding more like a fact than a query.

“Well, you— uhm… you disappeared all of a sudden…” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers as you turn to face him entirely.

“And?”

Scratching the back of your neck, you reluctantly ask, “I don’t know, I guess I just— where had you gone off to? And… Why did you come over?”

The first time his eyes leave your form, he cranes his head back, hands digging into the pockets of his hoodie as he thinks of an answer. When he doesn’t say anything, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“No one’s ever gotten me to be in that kind of position,” he responds and your heart drops over your presumption of where this conversation might lead to.

“Making me go down on my knees and stick my head underneath your skirt like that,” he adds, eyes staring daggers into yours again.

“I didn’t mean for it to… if you’re asking me to apologize then—”

“I’m asking you,” he cuts you off, taking a few steps closer to you, “to be good for me like you were earlier, and then we’ll call it even.”

Your breath hitches as you subconsciously draw one hand to a fist, balling the hems of your robe, feeling a pool of heat growing in your core before you nod your head twice in agreement to his terms.

His figure towers over yours as he tilts your chin up with a finger, “Not like that, ___. I want you to say it.”

“…I’ll be good for you, Kiyoomi.”

Soon, his hands are moving to the bands of his mask but before he could tug on them, you interrupt him. “Wait—” you pause, your eyelashes fluttering, making him cock a brow in response. “Allow me?”

At that, he relaxes his stance, letting you do as you please. One side of his face is golden where the light touches, dark brown where it doesn’t. And for the third time today, you’re rewarded with his soft, captivating features that he tends to deprive others of in his aversion to dirt.

You try to brush off the thought but it’s so hard to dismiss the fact that he’s so good looking. You know you’re never going to get enough of him.

He pulls you in slowly, ridiculously big arms wrapping around you, his touch embedded with a bit of care in contrast to his daggers for words. He presses your tits and stomach flat against his taut stomach as he holds you by the small of your back.

The feeling of need for your mouth to be occupied grows but you wait for him patiently. Even now, his eyes study you, looking as if he has something to say.

“Fuck it,” he cusses after what seemed like a debate in his head. “You’re so pretty.”

If you thought his features looked soft, his lips definitely felt much softer. His kisses are heavy with need, betraying what composure he let on earlier.

You roam your hands across his biceps that feel hard to the touch, hands finding solace on his broad shoulders, melting into his hold as you find the taste of his mouth finer, and far more intoxicating, than the liquors you indulged in today.

He trails a hand lower to grab your ass, unintentionally pulling on the skirt of your robe. You moan into the kiss upon the brush of a cold breeze past your slightly exposed bottom. 

He’s the first to pull away and you whine at the abrupt separation.

“Lie down.” He runs his fingers through his locks while he tries to catch his breath, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, his signature bass deeper than usual. Before you could submit to his request, he places a soft, wet kiss on your cheek, surprising you by pulling on the strings of your robe.

“Kiyoomi!” you whine in your shock, hands automatically crossing over your exposed chest but he pays no mind to it. Instead, he begins to trail kisses from the crook of your neck up to your jaw.

“Mm,” you purr when he hits a sweet spot on your neck, making him attack that same spot repeatedly and oh so tenderly. Your head cranes back to grant him more access to your neck, your own body betraying your resistance earlier.

Your legs feel like jello at this point with every ounce of defiance leaving your body from how good he peppers your skin with his kisses. Kiyoomi knows what you want, and makes sure you know what he wants. 

He kisses the lobe of your ear once, hot breath fanning your ear as he whispers, “You don’t need to hide from me. And weren’t you the one who promised to be good for me?” He kisses your temple. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your robe drop to the floor, doing as you’re told. His eyes explore your body, exposed skin burning underneath his half-lidded gaze. Kiyoomi’s cold fingertips caress your side, calluses leaving a faint trail where he touches. You look away in embarrassment but his hand is quick to capture your jaw, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks.

“Eyes on me.” His hand wraps loosely around your neck, thumb stroking your throat, making you swallow a lump of saliva in your submission. Next, he reaches for your breast, placing your nipple in between two fingers as he fondles your tit.

There’s a certain tenderness with the way he handles you. A softness in his touch, in stark contrast to his rough demeanor. Big man that knows just how delicate you are compared to him, like you’re something that needs to be treated with utmost care, that if he’s not careful enough, he just might break you.

“Lie down.” Eyes still fixed on his, you lie down and he mirrors you, towering over you as you prop your elbows on the bed, your knees drawn together, pressing against his stomach. 

“Whenever you’re rea–hha!” You let out a gasp when he pulls you by your thighs closer to the edge of the bed, granting him easy access to your entrance. He gets down on his knees, face dangerously close to your cunt. “Keep still, I want to try something.”

“What are you—”

Kiyoomi parts your knees abruptly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Kiyoomi, please,” you whine, he looks at you briefly before turning back to your cunt. He releases a breathy grunt upon seeing your pussy so wet and puffy, clenching before him. Warm breath wafts across your folds before he takes a whiff. “Lavender, huh? Were you preparing?”

Your knees attempt to contract upon his inquiry, but he pins your legs down on both sides.

“This is embarrassing, Kiyoomi.”

“Omi. And I’m sure it is. Who would have guessed that sweet, harmless ___ would lie down in bed, spread wide open for me?” he teases, running his thumb along your slippery slit, making you bite down on your lower lip, eyes rolling back when he starts to rub slow circles on your clit. “Sweet ___, drenched in your own juices, when I haven’t even gotten to half of what I plan to do to you.”

“Ff-fuuuck,” your moans drag out, betraying your own words. “O-omi–mm,” you coo, humming when he inserts two fingers inside you easily, slowly fucking your hole. Your hips buck in a poor attempt to ride his hand, arching when he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Hm?” he asks before slowly swiping his tongue side to side, alternating between sucking and playing with your clit, and he realizes just how vocal you can get with your purring now filling the room.

“Ha—Omi, I need—hm,” your words are coming out incoherent with how good Kiyoomi’s tongue feels on your clit, but it’s not quite enough. “Fuuuck, fuck me, Omi, please, fuck,” you whisper and it feels like a prayer on your lips, starting to feel your orgasm building up. But right when your hole begins to spasm, Kiyoomi pulls his tongue back, fucking you with a third digit, and you wince at the slight tear.

“What is it, ___?” seeing the smirk plastered on his face causes your entire face to burn up, and at this point, you realize that he’s insistent on making you last out.

“I want to see you too, please.”

…

As if Kiyoomi eating you out isn’t enough to push you over the edge, watching him strip out of his clothes is a whole experience in itself. He’s built as you would expect a professional athlete, but seeing all of him, bare, in the flesh sends your core throbbing in excitement. And though the thought of him being big shouldn’t come as a surprise, you’re forced to inhale air through gritted teeth upon seeing what he packs beneath his trousers — long, girthy, and veiny — fully erect with the tip glinting with precum. Oh he’s big, alright.

His curls drop to his forehead when he looks down, rolling a condom over his hard shaft. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’ve been practically eye-fucking him. “It’s rude to stare, pretty (nickname),” he says with sarcasm hinted in his voice. Even after seeing each other naked, after letting him taste you, you still feel the need to look away, flustered from just his words.

He aligns himself at your entrance, laughing through his nose at your adorable flushed state. He tilts your chin to look at him, your blown-out irises meeting his black ones. “I told you to look at me, didn’t I?”

“I-I am. Please, Omi.”

He crouches down to your level, muscles crunching and contracting with every movement, hands propping beside you, trapping you as he captures your lips gingerly. Your stomach locks in tight with the light slap of his dick on top of it. Your fingers instinctively wrap around it making him grunt into the deepening kiss. He bucks into your hand, hard cock slippery from the condom but he suddenly pulls out with dissatisfaction all over his face.

“Fuck it. I want to feel all of you,” he says as he impatiently discards the condom. Not a second later, he recaptures your mouth and your hand forms a ring once again around his dick. His cock feels warmer to the touch, slick with his own precum. Kiyoomi clearly finds it better this way, humming into the kiss as he lets you pump his dick.

Next thing you know, he’s on his feet, him in all his 6 '4 might, towering over you. You sit up and you find your face levelled with his cock. Through thick lashes you look up at him, jerking his shaft wet as you prop your free hand on his hip.

He welcomes that look on you. If he isn’t, he wouldn’t be sweeping your hair behind your ear. The corner of his lip upturns as if he wishes to entertain the thought you just had.

You really just want to please him.

Eyes looking up at him, you slide the expanse of your tongue up and down across his shaft, mirroring how he ate you out earlier, tip of your tongue flicking at his foreskin.

“Hm,” he huffs out, head craning back, cussing and grunting from how good your tongue feels.

“I want to make you feel good, Omi,” you say, with a glint of bashfulness in your voice.

With steady breaths, you try to take as much of him as you can, but you’re only able to take in not even half of his cock when you feel a slight gag behind your throat. You take a deep breath through your nose to control your reflex. “Fuuuck,” Kiyoomi groans, cock feeling tight around your throat and to say your own pussy is drenched is an understatement. You know just how much you’ve been making a mess as you grind on the sheets. 

With tears beginning to prickle your eyes, you bob your head, hand pumping his dick as an extension of your mouth. Kiyoomi’s hand caresses the side of your face while you fill yourself up with his cock. His abs begin to flex even harder in front of you in an attempt to prevent himself from fucking your throat. He knows you just wouldn’t be able to take it.

The second he feels his cock throb he pulls out of you.

“Stop,” he says it more to himself really, unwilling to finish in your mouth. “Sorry, we made a little mess.” He uses his thumb to wipe off the mix of precum and drool that dripped to the side of your face. His expression, both stoic and yet oh, so endearing. You suppose it’s part of his allure, him coming off ominous even as he peppers you with tenderness.

“You really are lovely, ___, and I’m going to cum in you, not your mouth,” he tells you so matter-of-factly, to which you can only nod in obedience.

He pushes you by your chest gently, making you lie down and wrap your legs around his waist. And without warning, he thrusts all of his cock inside you, making you scream both in pleasure and pain, your own wetness allowing him to slide into you with ease but it doesn’t help with the stretch. It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. And his pace is unforgiving, orienting you with the stamina of a professional athlete.

“O-omi,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as you clutch onto his biceps. His length leaves your walls almost as soon as he pounds balls deep into you. Moments later, your pain turns purely into pleasure, finding yourself smiling in your own euphoric high the more he thrusts into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“If only you could see how pretty you look when you’re being so good to me, taking my cock like that.” He rests his forehead on top of yours, his dark eyes hooded and boring into you, planting soft and sloppy kisses in between sentences.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop–” Your brain is rewired by his cock with every roll of his hips. Every new detail of him is a new engraving in your memory, and every memory of him is an experience – from the sight of his soft curls beginning to stick slick to his forehead, the feeling of his biceps contracting beneath your palms, the clashing sounds of your moans against his grunts and shallow breathing, to every wet slap of his hips on your cunt.

You can’t get enough of him. The obscene thought of fucking a man you had just met and know so little of should have scared you. But it is, without a doubt, bringing you over the edge, making your walls knot at the very fact.

You start to feel tears well up in your eyes when he hooks your legs around his arms, and you become a teary-eyed, whining mess at the ample friction on both your clit and your g-spot.

“You’re even prettier when folded, fuck.” His mouth is on yours once again, tongue so familiar with your own at this point. He props himself up higher as he wantonly jerks his hips to brush over your clit. “Cum for me, baby.”

“Omi!” arching into him, you crane your head back as you let out a high-pitched cry of his name, your walls fluttering as you come undone around his cock, nails burying crescents into his skin, and you swear you hear Kiyoomi utter a curse under his breath.

And he doesn’t stop fucking you. He keeps a steady rhythm, coaxing the buildup of your second orgasm seconds after your first.

“I-I want to make you feel good too, Omi, please,” you chirp, utterly intent on committing to your promise.

“You do feel good, baby.” You try with all your might to answer but your walls are too busy coiling as he fucks you through your second high. “You don’t know how good your tight pussy feels around my cock.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards, and albeit only slightly, the sight of it is a high in itself.

Before you know it, he’s able to prop himself up with one hand on a side plank, roughly rubbing circles on your clit with his fingers, and you’re losing your mind over how he keeps hitting your g-spot while he teases your sensitive bud. Your erratic heartbeat all but fills your chest when you notice his pace has gotten uneven, his breath, shaky.

“Omi, I’m-I’m—” He takes one full thrust in you, releasing the loudest groan he’s had tonight. His cock twitches inside of you, stuffing you full of his hot cum, preventing you from finishing your sentence when you reach your own high at the same time as his. His propelled hand doesn’t falter even when he’s on the brink of collapse from his own orgasm, and you can tell he’s avoiding crushing you with his form.

He pants, slowly pulling out of you, and flops as he rests his head on top of your stomach, the both of you taking a second to catch your breaths.

He plants a kiss on your stomach before he leaves you briefly, heading towards the bathroom. You close your eyes for a bit, devoid of strength to worry about him leaving you. You jolt up when you suddenly feel a towel on your cunt.

“Hold still,” he tells you for the second or third time today, finding him cleaning up the cum that’s beginning to drip out of your pussy. And at this point, you’ve lost count of the number of times he has taken you by surprise.

Once done, he makes his way back to the bathroom to dispose of the used towel properly, making you chuckle at how even when he’s exhausted to the brim, his own tendencies never leave him.

Finally, he sits down and takes the space beside you. Still catching his breath with his back slightly hunched, he stares forward at nothing.

You, on the other hand, know better by now than to probe him, and so you wait for him to speak his mind.

“No lie. I really thought you were the prettiest earlier,” he confesses all of a sudden and you almost feel your eyes popping out of their sockets. “Still do.”

“What… happens now?” Truth be told, you really didn’t want to bring it up, but the question has since welled up in your stomach even before he fucked all rhyme and reason out of your brain.

“I wanna try something else,” he utters, “something where I get to wake up next to you in the morning.” And you realize you were worried for nothing.

Smiling to yourself, you respond, “I’d like that.”

[sincerelyneo]

golden hour | l.mk

“i’ve got a really big problem…”

💿now playing: golden hour by mark

❯ summary: Mark’s got a really big problem; you. The pretty neighbour that shares a bedroom wall with him. You’re a night owl and you’re so loud and are you…listening to his music whilst masturbating…? Fuck now he’s hard. Guess he’s got two really big problems.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: neighbours, smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, masturbation, mark’s a loser for the plot, very explicit details of sexual fantasies, reader uses she/her pronouns and female gendered terms, literally just mark being horny whilst reader gets off to his song.

Mark needs to move out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the old run-down building his apartment is located in having no working elevator. If you’d have told him two years ago when he signed his dream music contract with a real record label that he’d be climbing six flights of stairs after a long week of work he’d have called you a liar. But that’s what happens when people aren’t listening to your music. 

Maybe he's overreacting; the building isn’t that terrible. It has its perks—like the pretty view. And it’s usually quiet—well, it was until his lively new neighbor moved in. Mark might have thought of you as a perk when he first saw you, considering you’re exactly his type, so fucking beautiful. But you’re also so fucking loud.

You always seem to have something going on—plans, hobbies, parties, meetings, friends. Mark knows because the walls between you and him are thin, and you’re never quiet, never still. At first, he thought it was kind of cute, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he’s been so distracted by how attracted he is to you, he’s been letting your noisy lifestyle slide.

It’s not like he wants to knock on your door and ask you to keep it down; he’s too worried you’d think he’s some kind of loser. Even at twenty-five, he still craves female validation like he’s a high schooler—so he’s been putting up with the sleepless nights. Another reason why he needs to move asap. 

The lack of sleep, combined with the endless stairs, has left Mark drained this past month. He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge as he reaches the top step. He may be a tad out of breath and a little sweaty but he’s got the weekend off and that’s all he can think about. But unlike you, Mark’s life is boring. The most exciting thing about his weekend is the idea of not having to climb his complex’s stairs until Monday. 

Meh. He could dwell on the mundane schedule of his life for hours but he gets distracted. Distracted by his pretty little nightmare neighbour. 

You're all dressed up in a tight gold dress that clings to every inch of your body. Your hair falls down your back as you lock your door, tucking the keys into the tiny clutch hanging from your shoulder.

That’s when you notice him too.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. 

Mark returns it, his chest swelling. There's no denying you’re a beautiful girl. And although he’s overheard your phone calls about parties through the thin walls, and the hum of your hair dryer as you get ready for nights out, he’s never actually seen you in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He’s never been given the opportunity to see you so dolled up, to notice the little love handles he can all of a sudden imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“Hi Y/N…you look nice!” He compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his own keys. 

Nice? 

The word replays in his mind. He’s spent endless nights thinking about how beautiful you are and now he’s finally got to feed his craving of seeing you in tight clothes but the only word he can muster up is nice? Oh he hates himself. 

But then he sees you blush at the comment, and he loves the way you purse your lips, trying to hide a shy smile. A part of him is annoyed that you’re blushing over something so simple—he thinks every man should be showering you with compliments, and you should expect more than nice. Still, there’s something about the way you squirm from his words that has his cock throbbing.

He wonders if it’s because you’re attracted to him too. It’s not completely out of the question. You know who he is, of course you do. You see each other in passing a lot but you’ve also spoken on the day you moved in. Mark remembers it like it was yesterday. 

He could hear you panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs before he came out to help. You didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in your apartment setting boxes down.

That’s when you turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “oh wow, aren’t you the dude that sang ‘Golden Hour’?”

Mark started blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. He’d never encountered a fan in person before, he had a small community online, but his music hadn’t exactly been taking off like he planned. So you can imagine his surprise when his new (extremely attractive) neighbour knew one of his songs. 

“Thank you,” your soft voice breaks him from his memory, and moves his focus. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” you sigh. 

He wants to hear all about your long week, wants to be the one to make it better—maybe convince you to skip the girls’ night and spend it with him instead. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even let the thought linger for more than a moment before he’s nervously tapping his key against his thumb.

“Well have fun, and be safe,” he settles on tenderly. 

You nod with a small smile, giving a gentle wave before turning to leave. He watches you until you’ve rounded the corner, only then unlocking his door and kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

Mark grabs a bottle of beer from the kitchen, kicking the fridge door closed behind him. His entire apartment is dark and it reminds him of the loneliness he’s been feeling for the last six months. Mark never really thought about love and relationships before he met you. Sure, he likes to fool around as much as the next person, but he’s always been fine with being on his own. But you remind him of the lonely. 

He’s never longed for love and friendships but a secret part of him craves a woman by his side… craves the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for you to be cuddled into his side as you watch a movie. Wonders if you’d laugh at certain parts and crane your neck up to pepper tender kisses to his soft lips. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of you from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he moves from the couch to take a shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about you on your knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of you. He refuses to be that kind of guy. He’s not that kind of guy. So he gets out the shower and does the only thing he likes doing — music. 

Mark tries out new melodies on his guitar, humming broken lyrics and soft tunes he’ll be sure to show his producer on Monday. After a while he catches sight of the clock on the wall and it’s already a little past midnight. After locking his doors he’s crawling into bed and ready to sleep; but then he hears something. 

A soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. 

Mark’s fully aware the two of you share the same wall for your beds, rooms mirroring each other, but he’s never heard this kind of sweet giggle fall from your lips so late at night. He tries not to let the sound affect him, but there’s only one reason why a girl like you could be giggling at this hour after a night out. 

You’ve brought someone home? But Mark can’t hear a man’s voice, not even the slightest grunt or groan of male muttering. He can only hear soft giggling slipping from his favourite pair of lips.

And then he hears a robotic voice announcing that the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear your fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to you getting off, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

“Give me my A course, ice is so big like a glacier” 

You’re giggling again and he can hear your body fall against the sheets of the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall his is. It creaks under your weight, and Mark feels the wall tremble slightly as your bed frame knocks against his wall.

He’s tried so hard not to be that guy, but his hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he takes off his boxers, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

He hears your soft whimpers, can hear you hum in appreciation even over the buzzing of your vibrator and the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the fact that he can hear you getting off and moaning out, or that you’re listening to him while trying to cum. 

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how you must be, how you’d look completely whilst naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Mark imagines himself on top of you, kissing your perky tits he loves to think about and wrapping his lips around your swollen nipples. His mind feels like it can taste you on his tongue, can feel your dainty fingers tugging at his hair as he laps you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp loud enough for him to hear.  

It makes him imagine your eyes rolling back when he finally fucks himself inside your tight little cunt, he visions the look of ecstasy on your face when your jaw would become completely slack and your body quivers for him. He knows you’d feel him deep in your stomach. He knows he’d be so big for you. 

“Fuck,” he slips out in a desperate pant.

He’s completely breathless, tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it all wet for you. He knows you’re so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall, and that he’d rather be sinking into your wet pussy but his spit would have to do. 

He throws his head back in his pillow, eyes shut tight, allowing his mind to work over time. 

“Fuck, Mark… I need it.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. You’re crying out for more, for him, begging for it deeper, harder, and he finds himself fucking into his fist just as desperately. Like his soft palm is your silky pussy.

Mark can’t focus on anything other than your sweet fucking cries that sound otherwordly against his song. It makes him think about how much he’d love to record your moans, use them in his next song. But then he’d never be able to release it — because they’re his to hear. 

It’s when the bridge starts that you really let yourself go, filthy fucking moans, the speed of the vibrator increasing, and God he wishes he could watch you right now. See you trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard. 

He can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. The muscles in his arm are burning but he fucks his cock harder, imaging what it’d be like to feel his balls slap against your ass as he pounds into you.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and filthy, every single fantasy he’s tried locking away to not be that guy now flooding his mind because you’re that girl. 

That girl that’s using his music to cum. That girl that wants to hear his voice as she gets off. That girl who’s doing it with no shame, no guilt. That girl that’s using him. 

The thought takes Mark’s mind to sinful places. “Take it,” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He imagines you begging for his cum, taking it like the good fucking girl you are.

“Ugh, fuuckk I’m cumming!” Mark cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears your screams follow.

Your bed is creaking louder than before and he knows your thighs have got to be trembling as you cum around your vibrator. Mark’s hand and thighs are covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through his blotched vision, he imagines seeing you kneeling between his thighs and licking it up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and you aren’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear  breathless little pants. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. But there’s nothing — only complete and utter silence.

Mark doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can’t. He’s kept awake with the guilt of listening to his pretty neighbour. Or is it with the thrill of knowing it was his voice that got you off that's making him so restless? 

[bluesunsdusk]

--// In reference to this.

Why yes this does mean I love imagining some situations where Set and Iggy put aside their differences for a little to understand each other more with good faith interactions and interests sharing after a slew of disagreements. The change in both their approaches perhaps encouraged by her interaction with Tracer after a while. You know, as unlikely as it is.

Yeah, I imagined Set chewing her out once over her attitude towards omnic music, but they were a little but worried right after, thinking they might have been too harsh about it. Being socially awkward, they didn't know quite how to navigate this. Both of them are flawed individuals in this regard and I guess it makes an interesting dynamic.

Could work with any omnic, really, but you know. Heck, even humans, maybe. Set learning to be gentle just because they care and not to conform is good content. ))

[pathetic-gamer]

me, an hour ago: "fuck, the stove is on! what do we do?" [immediately does all the wrong things]

PSA: What NOT to do when you smell gas

In this situation, we got home to a smell of gas throughout the house and discovered our gas stove was on without a flame. it was only a tiny stream, and everything turned out fine, but here's a brief list of everything we did wrong:

NOTE: this is for if you smell significant amounts of gas, not a blanket list for all possible gas situations. (If you aren't aware, the methane**/natural gas used in houses smells vaguely like sulfer, or rotten eggs - this is an additive, since it has no natural smell. It's a very recognizable smell, once you've smelled it once. It's not the same smell as gasoline.)

1. If your stove has an electrical/spark ignition, do NOT turn it off.

Spark ignitions often spark when turning on *and* off. Spark + Gas = Boom. Boom is bad. Avoid boom.

Instead, turn off the gas at the source, i.e. the physical valve at the meter. There may be a smaller valve near the stove. If you don't know where the shutoff is, the fire department will find it.

2. Do NOT turn on (or off) vents or fans.

In fact, don't flip any electrical switches - that includes lights, plugging in or unplugging appliances, etc. These cause sparks. Spark + Gas = Boom.

Also, don't start your car. obviously.

3. Do NOT open windows

counterintuitive, I know. This is mostly because you want to prioritize your exit, but it's also to keep the fumes from spreading outside, where you should be waiting for the ~professionals~ to come handle it.

4. DO take all people and pets outside.

Do this very first!! (one thing we actually did right - go us!)

This is obviously because you don't want to go boom, but you also don't want to suffocate. Gas is poison!

NOTE: the gas from your stove is probably methane (natural gas); carbon monoxide is what you get when methane burns, which is why your kitchen needs to be well-ventilated and the stove shouldn't be left burning for long periods of time, but the natural gas itself is *also* potentially deadly. Carbon monoxide detectors dont detect natural gas, so that's what the odorous additive is for.

Inhaling natural gas causes nausea, headaches, dizziness, and makes you just generally woozy, and eventually causes you to lose consciousness and potentially suffocate, just like carbon monoxide does. We don't want that.

5. DO call the fire department/emergency line

They'll check for other leaks, shut gas off if needed, then test for air quality and eventually clear your house for reentry. It takes like 1-2 hours for the gas to dissipate, generally.

Yay, you survived! Congrats!!

NOTE: if you find the stove has been left on with a flame, or it's on with no flame but you don't smell gas, then you should be safe to just open windows and turn on vents and fans to air it out.

idk, this was actually pretty scary, especially when we realized how much of our immediate response was wrong and could have turned a dangerous situation into a real disaster.

tl;dr: If you smell gas when you shouldn't be smelling gas, just get all the people and animals outside, shut off the gas line, and call the fire department or gas company. don't fuck around with gas. you're not overreacting, you're taking the proper safety measures.

**CORRECTED FROM ORIGINAL VERSION. Original said propane, but it's very much not propane, it's methane. too much Hank Hill on the brain, clearly.

[dixons-sunshine]

A/n: Based on this post by @louifaith. An actual fic for this is in the works, but here’s this in the meantime!

Imagine calling Daryl Dixon your husband for the first time.

It was the apocalypse, meaning that having an official wedding was damn near impossible. The best one could get to a real wedding was wearing your least ruined clothes and having someone like Gabriel officiate it. However, Daryl didn’t want a big affair, so nothing ever happened—you were simply known as Daryl’s partner, and that was alright by you. Whatever made him comfortable, you were happy with.

However, when Carol started calling Ezekiel her husband, even though they never made it “official” official, due to Carol not wanting to make it a big deal, it started to change your mind about things. You and Daryl had been together for a long time. How would he react to you calling him your husband? Would he freak out? Would he correct you? Would he be mad? You didn’t know, and you thought you’d find out.

It was a random night when you let it slip. It was one of those rare occasions when there wasn’t any runs to go on, there wasn’t anybody to save, and you could just enjoy a quiet night with the man you loved. You had whipped up something quick and may or may not have swiped a bottle of wine from the pantry, and you and Daryl had just been having a playful argument over a glass of the delicious liquid when you called him your husband.

“Ya ain’t gon’ win this one, Sweetheart,” he had told you, smiling over the glass of wine he was taking a sip from. “Jus’ agree with me. It’ll be easier than arguin’.”

You had playfully rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Yeah, yeah. Happy husband, happy life, right?”

Daryl had stopped, looked at you, scoffed and took another sip from his wine in an attempt to hide his smile. “Pretty sure that ain’t how the sayin’ goes.”

He didn’t freak out. He didn’t overreact. He didn’t correct you. You took that as an amazing sign. You smiled at him and shrugged. “No? I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

You continued calling him your husband after that, and Daryl didn’t correct you. That’s how people started referring to Daryl as your husband, and you his wife. And if Daryl found you a ring a couple of weeks after that and nonchalantly slipped it onto your finger one night while cuddling, it definitely wasn’t supposed to be a big thing.

“Thought we might as well make it official,” Daryl replied nonchalantly with a shrug.

And if you found Daryl a ring as well, he wouldn’t be against wearing it. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, or the archer would be a blushing mess.

[retiredteabag]

I believe Nanami has always been a gentleman.

Due to the climate that exists, it can be hard to assume the best of people, knowing this, its not impossible to understand that in your time being a classmate of the man, you had previously been led you to figure the opposite of Nanami Kento.

Of course, you simply could not avoid the blatant roll of eyes when Nanami would bend down to retrieve a fallen pencil for his female classmate. Or when he would place an intentional hand on firm objects to protect from the possibility of future harm. And it would be remiss to not add that you had seen the men in your shared classes sigh anytime Nanami would defend a predominantly feminist sentiment in classroom discussions.

By no fault of your own, you had started to believe the masses that would perpetuate the rumor of his “white knight" status.

This assumption that Nanami was simply trying to get into a girls pants. By being kind and gentle with them, and by being a patient, learned, listener.

This idea all came to a front one day while you were on the train ride home.

Overfilled and uncomfortable, you had never felt so unsafe on your commute home than you had in that moment.

Call it hyper vigilance, but you had the intuition to locate a problem before it occurred. And even before the man, now plastered to your side, had weaseled his way into your proximity, you could smell the poor intentions from a mile away.

Fear sprung through you as you felt his body press against your own, you had a million thoughts flood your brain.

Should you shout at him? Make a scene? Would he accuse you of overreacting? Or perhaps you should simply try to move… but where to? You felt so terribly trapped that you couldn’t withhold the gasp that left you at the sudden ripping loss of his unwanted touch.

A commanding voice, unafraid of accusation, rang through the train car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

You recognized the tall blond man immediately. He was in your ethics and rhetoric classes, and was notorious for being a real gentleman.

The typical assumption was, that this was for his own personal gain.

And, of course, being nice and being kind are not the same. He, to your knowledge, was being nice, instead of the latter.

Back to the moment at hand though, Nanami’s grasp never faltered on the perpetrators wrist, in fact, your classmate seemed to tighten his fist.

“I said. What the hell. Do you think. You’re doing.”

Real anger resounded from his tone. And every negative emotion from the situation seemed to echo in your brain.

Time passed slowly, all too slowly, and yet, before you could really understand the situation, you had ushered yourself onto your platform after your transport had come to a stop. And somehow, your classmate was staring down at you, asking if you were alright.

“I’m fine.” You force out.

You shouldn’t have to feel grateful nothing worse happened, you shouldn’t feel glad you weren’t physically harmed.

“I’m sorry. This must have been awful…” Nanami runs a hand through his hair and in that moment, all of your vitriol forces itself onto him as he finishes, “May I walk you home?”

Fury at his character, at this act, at everything that had happened today boiled the words out of your mouth, “Oh, for heaven sake, I’m not going to fuck you.”

“W-what?”

To his credit, he looks properly appalled. Stepping a wide margin away from you.

“I’m-I’m sorry, no.” He stutters, clears his throat, “that’s not what I- of course not-“

And he looks genuine in his fear at the thought.

“Right.” You sigh, “Well, thanks for all that, but I need to get home.”

He seems to wage a war within himself, to offer to bring you home, or to leave this be.

After a moment of consideration, he decides on the latter of the options. Solely because he knows now that you must not think of him as a trustworthy or safe individual. And rather than angry at this thought, he is sad. Worried about your past, and determined to be a safe option for you.

“Please get home safe.” And later you will wonder how he remembered you when recalling how he spoke out your name before saying, “I really am sorry, about all of this.”

You had walked home that night jumpy and cold.

—

It wouldn’t take but a week for you to begin questioning his intentions again after you watch your classmate deliver bagged lunches for the homeless outside of campus when he thought nobody was around.

When you had witnessed his genuine argument with another “one of the bros” after disagreeing with them in class.

And when you saw him offer to tutor any and all classmates that felt they might need a little help.

And while you were analyzing his motives, he started to develop his understanding of where you were coming from- eventually deciding that his goal would be to prove to you that he never had any ill will, and instead, cares for you as a human. Not for what you could offer him.

You don’t know yet, but he always has been a gentleman.

[dreamsteddie]

Once Steve and Eddie come out to the broader world, Eddie's floodgates open, and before interviewers can even think to ask about his "long-term partner and love of my life" Eddie starts gabbing about Steve almost as soon as a microphone is put near his face.

At first, Eddie refuses any and all requests to be on talk shows or long-form interviews. Steve himself has no desire to be interviewed ever, and Eddie wants the media hype to die down before he makes any big appearances off the stage. He knows that if he does the conversation will be a glorified investigation into his private life no holds bared.

So Eddie takes the occasional question after a show or on the red carpet but always dominates the conversation and finishes quickly. He's always dropping little tidbits about Steve, even if it's just talking about whether or not he was able to make the show or how handsome he looks in their matching outfits today.

Once the hype dies down and the media vultures aim their beaks at another celebrity, Eddie agrees to do a couple of talk shows with the rest of the band.

Everything is normal. The focus is on their next leg of the tour and the music video they released last week that went viral. Right up until the last three or so minutes when the interviewer asks, kindly, how his boyfriend Stevie is doing.

Stevie.

As in Eddie's Stevie.

The name only Eddie and Robin have ever called him. The name that used to make Steve flush so pretty when they first started drifting together. The name that still makes Steve give him one of those pleased little smiles that make his heart pitter-patter in his chest years later.

Eddie's hackles are immediately raised at the audacity of this stranger to talk about his boyfriend so familiarly. His shoulders rise, eyes narrowing ready to say something scathing when the rest of the band notices and steps in. Jeff drops a not-so-friendly hand on Eddie's shoulder while Freak steps in to very loudly tell a funny story about the last time Steve joined them on the road. Emphasizing "Steve" a little too much as he does.

When Eddie finally gets to stalk off stage he's let himself get worked into a tizzy. Logically, it's not a big deal but Eddie has always been territorial when it came to Steve and has been even more on edge since they came out. The idea of anyone outside of their family acting like they know them, know him, just because he's married to Rockstar Eddie Munson and shows up in the occasional gossip rag makes him so fucking mad.

As soon as he's backstage he's dialing Steve's number, impatiently running one hand through his hair as the phone rings and rings. As soon as he hears the beginning of Steve's standard WASPy "Hello, this is the Harrington-Buckley residence, Steve speaking" greeting Eddie launches into a long rant about "the audacity of media vultures."

Steve doesn't say a word the entire time, just letting Eddie vent out his frustrations. At the end, Steve lets the silence linger for a little bit before speaking.

"Hey babe?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I don't know how to tell you this but you've been referring to me exclusively as 'Stevie' since we came out. I'm pretty sure when we made the announcement you said 'This is my Stevie. He's been my partner for six years.'"

".....what?"

"In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what you said because Robin replaced all my nametags at work with ones that said 'My Stevie' because she has the sense of humor of a middle schooler."

"God fucking damn it!"

They hang up not long after. When Eddie looks up for the first time since he dialed Steve's number he's met with the rest of the band and their personal crew all wearing various faces of exasperation.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he rocks on the balls of his feet and says "Sooooooo...I may have overreacted."

----

The next day, despite Eddie's hopes that his outburst wasn't that noticeable, his clearly irate face is the subject of every magazine and gossip rag at the grocery store.

Robin frames her favorite one and gives it to Eddie for his birthday.

[melzula]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Zuko go on a run for supplies .Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Zuko gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Zuko later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

a/n: ty for requesting and hope you enjoy anon !

summary: zuko apologizes and receives something in return

What was meant to be a simple trip into town for supplies had quickly turned into a disaster, and Zuko believed it was your recklessness to blame.

You’d been too preoccupied in admiring a local merchant’s vast collection of sea shells to notice the Fire Nation soldier creeping up behind you, and if not for Zuko shoving you out of the way to take on the man himself you surely would have been burnt alive. Your failure to stay aware of your surroundings and lackadaisical attitude had almost gotten you killed, and the Prince made sure to point this out to you afterward.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” He scolds you after dragging you out of the marketplace by the arm and back towards camp.

“I was looking at shells, actually, before you so rudely interrupted,” you correct with an impatient roll of your eyes, but the act only seems to annoy him further.

“This isn’t a game, y/n! We didn’t come here to mess around, we came to quickly get more food and go, and we couldn’t even do that because you were too busy looking at stupid shells to notice your surroundings! You could have been hurt or worse!”

“Relax, ‘your highness,’” you dismiss him defensively, harshly yanking your arm away from his grasp. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead. I’m fine. You need to stop overreacting and leave me alone!”

Zuko watches with a scowl as you stomp away from him and towards your tent, ignoring the quizzical looks your friends send your way as you shut the flaps closed.

“What’s her problem?” Toph asks with a raised brow from her spot beside the campfire.

“What did you do?” Katara snaps at the boy with an accusatory glare.

“I didn’t do anything!” Zuko exclaims defensively. “As a matter of fact, I just saved her life and now she’s mad at me!”

“Saved her life? What happened out there?” Aang questions with a worried frown. “Was anyone hurt?”

“A Fire Nation soldier snuck up on her while she was distracted and was about to strike before I pushed y/n out of the way and fought him myself.”

“So… what you’re saying is you guys didn’t get any food?” Sokka notes dejectedly only to receive a scolding smack upside the head from his sister.

“If you saved her life, then why is she so upset?”

“I may have been a bit harsh with her after,” Zuko admits reluctantly, awkwardly grasping at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to snap at her, but I was just frustrated that she wasn’t taking her own safety seriously.”

“Look, that’s just how y/n is sometimes. She’s too trusting of her surroundings sometimes, but you have to gently remind her to be careful,” Sokka explains to his friend. “Maybe if you hadn’t yelled at her she would have taken you seriously.”

“Just give her some time to cool off and apologize later,” Katara advises the fire bender. “She just needs her space.”

Frustrated, Zuko lets out a long sigh before ultimately relenting. Katara is right. He just needs to give you some space to process before bothering you again.

By nightfall the moon has risen in the sky and the rest of your group has called it a day, retreating to their tents to sleep and rest for whatever tomorrow may bring. You still haven’t set foot out of yours since Zuko yelled at you, and the Prince has spent the better half of his day groveling outside waiting for you to emerge. He’s beginning to grow impatient, but he’s also extremely worried. You missed dinner, and no one has been able to get you to come out.

Deciding enough is enough, Zuko takes it upon himself to barge into your tent and check on you. Better you be mad at him for invading your space without permission than for something to be wrong with you without anyone knowing.

When he enters your tent the last thing he expects to find is your figure curled up in your sleeping bag crying. Your body trembles under the blankets and your quiet sniffles are the only sound in the space. If you notice his presence you don’t acknowledge it, and Zuko hesitates before carefully sitting himself beside you.

“Y/n?” He calls out softly, gently pulling the covers back to get a look at your face. Water marks line across your cheeks from tears that had managed to dry off your skin, and it takes you a moment to finally meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for making you mad,” you whisper meekly, voice cracking with effort after hours of minimal use.

“No, you don’t have to apologize. I should be apologizing for how I acted,” he assures you sincerely, carefully wiping away your remaining tears. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just worried about your safety- I’m not sure what I would have done if something bad had happened to you.”

“You really mean that?” You sniffle, looking up at him with doubt clear in your eyes.

“Of course I do. I know it probably didn’t seem that way when I was yelling at you, but I’ve come to care a lot for you, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“I didn’t know…” you murmur quietly as you carefully sit up from your sleeping bag to reach eye level with the Prince. “I always figured you just saw me as some annoying girl you had to babysit.”

“Well, maybe at first,” he admits with a sheepish chuckle only to immediately stop when he catches your unamused glare, “but now I look forward to being sent to the market with you. I enjoy your company even if it means having to be more vigilant of our surroundings on your behalf. Can you just promise me that next time you’ll be a little more careful?”

“I promise,” you nod earnestly and, much to Zuko’s surprise, pull him in for a tight hug. He stiffens at first, unsure how to react to the close contact, but eventually he’s able to allow himself a chance to enjoy your warmth and reciprocate your embrace.

Only you could have the grumpy Prince wrapped so tightly around your finger.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

[chosok-amo]

MACARONS .ᐟ

suguru g. satoru g. you're almost nine months pregnant and craving for macarons that suguru brought for you, you've been waiting for a long time to eat them, but that seems impossible if you have a sweet tooth for another husband.

as you descended the stairs with hopeful anticipation, thoughts of the sweet macarons suguru had painstakingly waited in line to dance in your mind. each step was a reminder of your heavy, pregnancy-laden body, your back aching and feet protesting with each movement. the promise of those delicate treats provided a rare moment of solace in an otherwise physically taxing day.

entering the kitchen, your heart sank as you noticed the empty space where the box of macarons should have been. a rush of emotions flooded over you—frustration, disappointment, and exhaustion all mingled together.

“satoru!” you called out, your voice carrying a mixture of accusatory anger and hurt. deep down, you knew exactly who had likely devoured the macarons, given satoru's notorious sweet tooth.

your call immediately brought satoru to the kitchen, his steps echoing loudly with a certain sense of guilt to it. he knew exactly what you were talking about, especially with that certain tone you used to call him.

he leaned by the wall, a few feet away from you, shoving his hands inside his pockets. “yes, my lovely wife?” he said with a cheeky smile, playing dumb with full knowledge of what he has done. tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to hold back your emotions. “you ate them, didn’t you?” you accused, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and frustration.

satoru's smile turned into a smirk as he saw the tears forming in your eyes, as sadistic as it may be, he found it incredibly cute of you whenever you cried, especially if he's the reason behind it.

he slowly strut towards you, taking a step every few seconds, his hands still inside his pockets. “i have no idea what you're talking about, my love,” he said, trying to feign innocence while standing right in front of you, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to express the depth of your disappointment. “satoru, do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to those? my back hurts, my feet hurt, and it's so hard for me to even walk, and now... now this,” you choked out between sobs.

satoru's playful attitude faded slightly as he saw the tears streaming down your face. while he enjoyed teasing you and provoking your anger, seeing you upset like this tugged at his heartstrings a little.

he let out a sigh, reaching out and gently wiping away your tears with his fingers. “i'm sorry, bunny. i couldn't resist the temptation, they were just so good.”

he moved his hands to your waist, gently pulling you closer to him, his voice softening as he spoke. “i didn't think it would upset you this much.” before he chuckled and pinched your chin, tilting your face to look up at him. “you're overreacting a little bit, aren't you? it's just a box of macarons,” he teased, a playful smirk still plastered on his face as he takes a few steps back.

your frown became visible and deeper each second you looked at satoru's expressions like he was not feeling guilty for making you cry but instead making fun of you for it. “it's not just a box of macarons, suguru got it for me and he waited a long time in line for it,” your voice starts to rise.

he continued to smirk as he watched tears flow down your face, his grip on your chin tightening slightly as you raised your voice, clearly getting annoyed, which only amused him more.

“yes, yes, i know.” he said, feigning sympathy, his tone mocking. “and all that effort was wasted because i finished them.” he continued to taunt you, reveling in your distress.

suguru, hearing the commotion, hurried into the kitchen, his expression concerned as he assessed the situation. “what's going on?” he quickly walks close to you and wraps his arm around your waist to wipe your tears away you turned to him, tears flowing freely now. “he ate the macarons, suguru. the ones you waited in line for,” your finger pointing at satoru.

suguru's concerned expression quickly turned into a scowl as he heard your words. he turned towards satoru, a mixture of disappointment and irritation etched on his face. disbelief as he looked from you to satoru, then back at you again. he knew his best friend had a sweet tooth, but eating something that was specifically picked for you during times like this? it was too much even for his standards.

he let out a sigh, rubbing your back comfortingly as he addressed gojo. “satoru, what were you thinking? you know how excited she was for those macarons.” he then turned his attention back to you, gently wiping away your tears. “don't cry, love. it's just pastries, i can get you another box, hm?”

“no, I don't want another one, it's gonna take a long time for you to get me one and I want to eat it now!” you cry harder as you bury your face in suguru's chest, holding tight to his clothes like a kid.

suguru's expression softened as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest, gently rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. he shot a disapproving glare at satoru, silently silently scolding him for making you cry so much over something as small as a box of sweets.

“there, there, it's alright,” he cooed, gently stroking your hair. “i understand you're upset, but let's calm down, alright? there's no need to cry over this. I'll get you anything you want, okay baby?”

satoru snickered at your display of emotionality, finding it entertaining how worked up you were over the macarons. satoru watched from the side, a smirk still playing on his face. he found the sight of you holding onto suguru like a kid absolutely adorable. “look at you, throwing a tantrum over a box of pastries. so cute.” he walk closer, “my, my, you're more emotional than usual, aren't you?” he teased lightly, his fingers gently running through your hair.

fast enough to startle him, you turn your head to satoru the moment you hear the last word he throws at you. “i hate you! you're always like this and only thinking about yourself!” your beautiful pink lips spat a fire, a dagger straight to satoru's heart.

you smack his hand away from you before leaving the kitchen to your bedroom, still crying. seeing you walk away like a wake-up call for satoru. doesn't matter how mad you are at him you never use the words and seeing you like that makes him realize that he's making a great mistake, a fatal one might be.

his smirk faded from his face in an instant as soon as those words left your lips. he stood there, stunned by your sudden outburst, his arm frozen outstretched in the air, where it had been just seconds ago.

as you smacked his hand away and stormed off to your bedroom, satoru stood there frozen in place, the reality of his mistake sinking in. the sound of each step punctuating the weight of your words still ringing in his ears. he could see the pain he caused you, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. he felt a pang of guilt and shame creeping up inside of him.

suguru watched you walk away, a mixture of shock and disappointment on his face. he shot a glare at satoru, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. “nice going, satoru. you really messed up this time,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. suguru knows you never mean any of those words but satoru might not.

he exchanged a glance with suguru, who had a slight frown on his face. satoru sighed heavily, breaking the silence. "i messed up, didn't i?" he muttered, his playful demeanor replaced by genuine guilt. suguru's brows furrowed in disappointment as he looked at satoru, before he spoke up.

"you've outdone yourself this time, you idiot."

he had always known his playful teasing could sometimes push the boundaries, but this was different. seeing the look of anger and hurt on your face. hearing those harsh words leaving your pink lips stung more than he had ever thought possible. your beautiful pink lips, once so kind and nurturing, unleashed a fire fueled by frustration and sadness.

“fuck, what did I do?—” he whispered, both hands on his white lock, gripping them a handful. he looks to suguru, wishing for a solution, hoping that maybe suddenly suguru has a time machine and he can undo the things. “what should I do?” he asks the raven.

“i don't know satoru, how about not eating the macarons which is by the way you know how long she's been waiting to eat those and make fun of her,” suguru covered in sarcasm answered.

suguru's words were sharp, laced with a hint of irritation and disappointment. he couldn't hold back the sarcasm in his voice as he replied to satoru's question, making it clear that he was upset with his behavior.

“well, perhaps if you had a bit more restraint, you wouldn't be in this situation,” suguru continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “you know how much she was looking forward to those pastries, and yet you chose to act like a child, eating them without a second thought. now look at the mess you've caused.”

satoru let out a frustrated sigh as suguru's response hit him like a ton of bricks, the sarcasm in his tone making him feel even more guilty than he already did. he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in his expression.

“i know, i know, i messed up. i should have just left those damn macarons alone,” he said through gritted teeth. “i just didn't think she'd react like... like that.” he looked back at the hallway leading to your bedroom, his heart sank seeing your tear-stained face in his mind.

“what did you expect, satoru? she's pregnant, emotional, and carrying a child which takes a toll on her body. she's going through a lot, and you're behaving like you're still a child,” suguru sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at his stupid husband, sitting at the dining chair with head on both hands. “go apologies, she needs more than just empty words.”

satoru brings his head up from his palm, looking at suguru like he's about to cry, eyes red and his blue pupils shaking. “baby, she must not want to see me right now, what should I do?” satoru holds his husband's hand while the other is stuck to his forehead.

suguru's gaze softened, seeing the vulnerability in satoru's eyes. the usual playful facade was gone, replaced by a mixture of guilt and uncertainty. suguru could tell that he was genuinely regretful.

suguru squeezed satoru's hand, feeling the tremble in his grip. he could see the despair in his voice and the fear of losing the connection they shared.

“listen, satoru,” he said gently, guiding satoru to sit on the couch. he took a seat next to him, their hands still clasped together. “she just needs time to calm down. give her a little space, but don't wait too long. show her that you understand what you did wrong and how much you regret it.”

“can you go to her first? you can calm her down, I'll be waiting at the door until she's ready to see me,” hopefully satoru trying to convince suguru. the man chuckled softly, seeing the pleading look in his lover's eyes. he knew how much he missed your presence and wanted to make amends so he nodded in agreement.

“alright, I'll go talk to her first. remember, don't wait too long, alright?” suguru got up from the couch and made his way to your bedroom with satoru following from behind, still holding onto the man's hand until they both stopped in your shared bedroom with them. suguru softly knocked on the door and could be heard faintly by you inside the bedroom.

“honey, it's me, can I come in?”

you looked up from where you were lying on the bed, your tear-streaked face a testament to the flood of emotions coursing through you. hearing suguru's voice at the door, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

“come in,“ you called out, your voice slightly hoarse and wobble from crying. suguru slowly opened the door and stepped inside the bedroom, his eyes immediately found you lying on the bed.

his heart ached to see you in such a state, tears staining your cheeks and your eyes red and puffy. he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, his gaze filled with concern.

“how are you feeling, love?”

your initial resistance lessened as you felt suguru's gentle touch, his hand cupping your cheeks and caressing away your tears. his voice, soft and filled with care as he whispered, “come here, baby,” made you want to melt into his embrace.

you complied, moving closer to him and burying your face into his chest, seeking comfort in his familiar scent and warmth. you let yourself be pulled into his embrace, your head resting on his chest as he held you close, leaning against the bed rest. his touch was tender and reassuring, his fingers running through your hair in a soothing gesture.

tears welled up in your eyes again, your body shaking as you began to cry softly once more. “i just wanted the damn macarons,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

suguru cannot help but chuckle at your adorableness, smiling to himself, “i know baby, I know. I'll get them for you, as much as you want, satoru will buy you the store if you want to, but stop crying okay? it's not good for you, your head is gonna hurt, hm?”

suguru's chuckle made you feel a mix of annoyance and affection. you knew he was right, but the frustration was still bubbling up inside you.

you sniffled and wiped away your tears, trying to compose yourself a bit. “i just... i just wanted those damn macarons. i'm tired, and everything hurts, and i just wanted something sweet to eat. is that too much to ask for?”

suguru shook his head, “no baby, of course not, it's just that satoru—”

you didn't give suguru to finish his sentence before you cut him off, “he's laughing at me suguru, for fuck sake. he laughs like he doesn't care and makes fun of me like my needs don't matter—”

your shared bedroom door brushes open and satoru walks in, fast enough for you not to give him the proper reaction as he suddenly sits in front of you, both hands holding yours tightly, holding for his dear life.

satoru's eyes flickered between you and suguru, his heart clenching tightly at the sight of your red, tearful face. he could hear every word you had just said, the pain and frustration in your voice hitting him like a punch to the gut.

he gently grabbed your hands, his own shaking slightly as he gazed at you with a mix of guilt, remorse, and pleading in his eyes. “baby, please listen to me..” he began, his voice unsteady.

you looked up at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying. you could hear the sincere tone in his voice, the desperation and regret obvious. you didn't pull your hands away from his, but you didn't speak either.

suguru, seeing the tension in the room, sat quietly beside you, his gaze darting between you and satoru. his large hand softly caressing your waist. the air in the room was thick with anticipation, and all eyes were on satoru to continue.

your gaze met his, your eyes still watery from the tears but also carrying a hint of anger. you listened, but your expression remained stern, showing that you weren't ready to forgive him just yet.

satoru's grip on your hands tightened a little, his thumbs rubbing small, comforting circles on the backs of your hands. he could see the pain in your eyes, and it only made him feel worse.

“i know i messed up,” he began, his voice wavering.

“i should have never touched those macarons. i was being selfish, and it hurt you.” satoru looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with remorse. “you matter to me. your needs and wants are more important to me than anything else, especially a damn box of macaroons.”

he pauses for a moment, his grip loosening slightly in your hands. “i made a mistake, and i'm sorry. i should have thought of you, not just myself. i should have been more considerate and understanding.”

satoru's gaze softened, his eyes locked on yours as he spoke. “your needs matter more to me than anything. you're my wife, my love, and you're carrying our child. I should have prioritized you over a box of macarons, no matter how much i like them.”

he paused for a moment, his hands holding onto yours tightly. “should have never laughed at you or made you cry. i was acting like a stupid child, and you don't deserve that” satoru's eyes were full of remorse, every word he spoke tinged with guilt. he knew he had messed up, and he wanted nothing more than to fix it.

you listened to his words, feeling a mix of pain and relief in your heart. your anger was slowly fading, replaced by a strange tenderness for him.

satoru could see in your eyes that you were starting to soften, your expression becoming less guarded. he took it as a sign to continue pouring his heart out.

“i'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered. “i was stupid, and selfish, and i should have been more understanding. you deserve better than that. please forgive me.”

your resolve started to waver, the anger slowly being replaced by a mix of forgiveness and love. looking into his pleading eyes, your heart skipped a beat.

“you were a jerk,” you mumbled, your voice still holding a hint of annoyance. “and you made me cry, and you didn't care about my feelings.”

satoru looked at you with hope in his eyes, desperately trying to hold onto your hands, afraid that you'll slip away from him. “i know, i know. i was such a jerk, i'm sorry baby.”

you looked at him, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. hearing his sincere apologies and the pleading look in his eyes stirred up emotions within you.

you didn’t want to admit it, but you loved him, and seeing him so distraught and remorseful tugged at your heartstrings. a part of you just wanted to forgive him and be in his arms, but the hurt and frustration were still present.

you took a ragged breath, your voice quavering. “how can i trust that you won't do something like this again?”

satoru's expression became serious, his eyes filled with determination. “baby, i swear on everything i hold dear. i will never underestimate your needs again. your comfort, happiness, and wellbeing are my top priority from now on.”

he raised your knuckles to his lips, gently pressing a kiss against them as he looked at you with a desperate plea. “give me another chance, please. i will make up for it. I promise.”

your heart skipped a beat as his lips touched your knuckles, the softness of his touch making you melt a little. your resolve was weakening, and you could feel your anger melting away.

you looked at him, a mixture of resignation and love in your eyes. “I've been craving those macarons all day,” you said softly, a hint of pleading in your voice.

satoru's eyes lit up, a glimmer of hope flickering in his gaze. “anything for you, love. I'll get you all the macarons you want.” a small smile tugged at the corners of youe lips. seeing him so determined and sincere was making it difficult to hold onto your anger. you let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your body easing a bit.

“promise?“ you asked, your tone almost teasing.

a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as satoru eagerly nodded, excitement in his eyes at the prospect of pleasing you. “yes, I promise, baby. I'll get you the most delicious macarons you've ever tasted. I'll order them from the best bakery in town.”

he gave your hands a gentle squeeze, his expression soft and sincere. “anything you want, just say it, and I'll make it happen.” he gave your hands another kiss. seeing how sorry he was, the guilt started eating you alive, the weight of the words you said to him before starting to eat you.

“i'm sorry for saying that I hate you, I didn't mean any of that, I just—” satoru shushed you gently, his arms holding you tighter against him. “no, baby, don't apologize. i understand why you said it, and you were completely justified.”

he pressed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his voice filled with remorse. “I shouldn't have teased you like that, especially after you've been dealing with pregnancy hormones and cravings all day. you had every right to be upset with me.”

“yeah right, baby, you should smack the shit out of him,“ he added playfully, gently pinching your cheeks. “do you want me to use my rainbow dragon on him? I could totally do that.”

suguru's playful suggestion managed to coax a small chuckle out of you, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your lips. you glanced at him, shaking your head slightly. “no, no, suguru, that won't be necessary. as tempting as that sounds, I'd rather not see any more dragon destruction for now.”

satoru rolled his eyes and shot a mock glare at Suguru. despite his attempt at seriousness, a small smile betrayed his true feelings. “thanks for the support, suguru,” he said sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. suguru shrugged, grinning. “hey, someone has to keep you in line, satoru. If it takes a rainbow dragon, then so be it.”

“oh, please,” satoru retorted, crossing his arms.

“Like you've never made a mistake. remember the time you—” suguru cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. “we’re not talking about me. this is about you eating the macarons. focus, Satoru.” satoru huffed, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“I think you just enjoy seeing me in trouble.”

suguru smirked, leaning back. “maybe I do. but only because it's so easy to get you riled up.”

“yeah, well, not all of us can be perfect like you, Mr. dragon summoner,” satoru shot back, though his tone was light. suguru chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I never claimed to be perfect. Just better at avoiding macaron-related disasters.”

“ha! keep telling yourself that,” atoru replied, rolling his eyes again.

you watched their banter, a genuine smile forming on your face as their playful bickering helped ease the tension. “alright, boys, enough,” you said, your voice regaining a hint of lightness. “no more fighting. how about we focus on making things better?”

satoru nodded, his expression softening as he looked at you. “agreed. I'll start with that foot massage.”

“and I'll make sure he does it right,” suguru added with a wink, hugging your body to give your cheek a kiss, little bit too aggressive, earning another eye roll from satoru.

satoru positioned himself at the foot of the bed, gently taking your foot into his hands. his touch was tender and soothing, a stark contrast to his usual bold actions. he started massaging your foot gently, his fingers rubbing in small circles.

suguru, never one to stay silent for long, continued his playful banter, trying to keep the atmosphere light-hearted. “make sure you get the arches, satoru. pregnant feet need extra care, you know.” a smirk on his face as he watched satoru's attempt at making amends. “he's been practicing, you know,” he teased, causing satoru to roll his eyes once more.

satoru's fingers worked their magic, gently kneading and massaging your feet. He knew just how sore and tired they were from carrying you during your pregnancy. He focused on each sore spot, his touch firm and soothing.

meanwhile, suguru couldn't resist chiming in (again) with some light-hearted comments, poking fun at satoru occasionally. “watch your grip, satoru. no need to turn her feet into pancakes,” his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched satoru perform his husbandly duties.

“you're a quick learner,” he quipped at satoru, who shot him a playful glare in response. he leaned over to satoru, a smug grin on his face. “make sure you don't miss a spot, lover boy. her feet need extra attention, considering the little one she's growing in there.”

satoru glanced up at suguru, a mock glare in his eyes. “oh, shut up. I know what I'm doing.”

[loulovingho]

gimme buck and tommy meeting during a call and getting the chance to squeeze in a lil bantering and a goodbye smooch. i need it like i need air

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

Buck turned around at the familiar voice, eyebrows furrowed in confusion even as the smile grew on his face. “Wha- I thought you were in the chopper?”

Tommy shook his head. “Parker's up there today. I may have asked if I could work ground ops when I heard the 118 was responding to the call too.”

It was a pretty intense fire that started on the roof of an apartment complex. With the wind, and the closeness of nearby buildings, there was worry it would spread fast if not quickly contained.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly. The building had been cleared and the fire was out. The crews from each department were now working on getting all their gear back in order so they could leave.

A blush rose on Buck's cheeks. “And why would you do that?”

“Oh, you know,” Tommy took a step closer to Buck, “I haven't seen Howie in a few weeks so I thought I'd catch u-”

Buck reached out and gave Tommy a playful push before he could finish the sentence. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Tommy laughed, face scrunching up tight. God, Buck loved that face.

“I wanted to see you, Evan,” he admitted. “It's been almost two weeks of opposite schedules. I'm about to file a report accusing the LAFD of being homophobic for keeping us apart.”

“I'd sign my name to it,” Buck agreed.

“So, not an overreaction?”

Buck moved even closer to Tommy. “If anything we should be doing more.”

Tommy's eyes moved to Buck's lips. “Anything specific in mind?”

“Guys, I'm seriously so close to throwing up,” Chimney interrupted, carrying the ax back to the truck. “Get a room.”

“In fifteen hours we will be in a room!” Buck yelled out to him, then quietly added for only Tommy to hear, “And we will not be leaving the room for forty-eight hours.”

Tommy smirked. “What if we get hungry?”

“Our lube is edible.”

“You know, Athena and I have made out between a firetruck or two,” Bobby mentioned as he passed by, patting Buck on the shoulder. “We leave in five.”

Years ago, Bobby would have been trying to steer Buck away from inappropriate workplace behavior, and maybe he still should be, but Buck had spent his last couple shifts becoming increasingly pouty. Plus, Tommy wasn't a one night- or, better yet, a one shift- stand. They were coming up on eight months together and apparently still couldn't get enough of each other.

Tommy would have laughed at the shocked look on Evan's face, but the go ahead from Bobby was all that he needed to be grabbing Evan's hand and leading him to a space between a fire truck and an ambulance. Tommy pushed him against the ambulance, brought his hands to Buck's waist, and practically smashed their lips together. Buck moaned, happily surprised as Tommy's tongue licked into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Tommy's shoulders, bringing him closer.

“Where were you?” Buck asked when they pulled apart for air.

“West stairwell. You?” Tommy kissed him again before he could give an answer.

“East, mmm, east stairwell,” he gasped, Tommy working his way down Buck's jaw to his neck. “God, Tommy. We just m- missed each other.”

“Hmm,” Tommy hummed against the top of his collarbone, the vibrations giving Buck chills. He had never even felt Tommy undo his turnout jacket for better access. “Seems like we did that for quite a few years.”

Tommy knew how Buck felt about all their missed connections. He'd spent so much time going over all the events throughout the years where they could have or should have met, or almost did meet. While Buck did get bummed that they didn't know each other all those years ago, the fact that they finally did meet at what seemed to be the perfect time for them both was one of his biggest turn ons.

He reached up and got ahold of Tommy's face, bringing him back to his lips. “I love you... so much,” he mumbled out between kisses.

“I love... you more.”

“Amazing what you can see when you've got a bird's eye view,” a voice rang out over the radio. Tommy pulled back from their kiss, and they both looked up at the chopper hovering above them, giving a wave. “Parker will never let me hear the end of this,” Tommy laughed out.

Buck rolled his eyes playfully, then pressed the button on his radio. “I'm sure it's beautiful. I hope you took pictures.”

A few seconds passed before Parker got back on the radio. “Oh, don't you worry about that,” he said, laughter evident in his voice. The helicopter began to move away from above them. “Pilot Parker heading back to Harbor Station.”

Buck was starting to lean back in when the radio came to life again.

“Captain Nash to Buckley, we're heading out in one minute. I repeat, heading out in one minute.”

“Got it, Cap,” Buck answered. “On my way.”

Tommy sighed, gazing deeply into Evan's eyes. “I'll see you soon, okay? Be safe.”

“Fifteen hours?”

Tommy ran his hands up and down Evan's waist, pressing a final kiss to his lips before they had to part ways. “Fifteen hours.”

[pastryfication]

Heyy I loved your cochlear implant story! I was hoping you could do something similar where reader has really bad eyesight if she's not got her glasses on? It's a big fear of mine bc I can hardly recognize different faces without my glasses 😊🤞

the thick lenses help you navigate a world that would otherwise be a blur of shapes and colors, and you rely on them more than anything, so you’ve always been very careful with your glasses. that’s why, when you hear the sound of them hitting the floor and that awful crack that follows, your heart sinks.

you stare down at the bathroom floor, but it’s just a hazy blur of light and shadows. the outlines of your broken glasses are barely visible, and the realization that you can’t see them clearly makes your chest tighten with fear. you sink to your knees, fumbling to pick up the pieces, but your hands are shaking so badly that you can’t even grasp them.

“no, no, no…” you whisper, your voice trembling as panic starts to build. you know how dependent you are on your glasses, how lost you feel without them, and now you’re faced with that terrifying reality.

“oscar!” you call out, your voice cracking with desperation. you feel a wave of helplessness crash over you, the room spinning as you struggle to keep your breathing under control.

oscar’s footsteps echo in the hallway, and within seconds, he’s at your side, his expression shifting from concern to alarm when he sees you on the floor, your hands clutching at the broken glasses. “hey, what happened?” he asks, his voice full of worry as he kneels down beside you.

“they broke,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “i don’t have a spare… i can’t… i can’t see anything, oscar.” the words come out in a rush, your panic spiking as you try to explain just how bad it is, how everything around you is just a terrifying blur. “i don’t know what to do. what if something happens, and i can’t—”

oscar cuts you off with a comforting hand on your shoulder, and immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice fighting hard to stay steady and calm, though you can hear the underlying worry. “i’m here. you’re going to be okay. i’ll help you.”

you clutch onto his shirt, your knuckles white with the force of your grip. you’re trying to breathe, but the fear is overwhelming, making it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you can’t see, that you’re completely vulnerable. “i’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just feel so helpless.”

oscar tightens his hold on you, his hand gently stroking your hair in a comforting rhythm. “i know,” he says softly. “but i’m not going to let anything happen to you. we’ll get through this together, okay? we’ll get you new glasses as quickly as possible.”

you nod, but the panic is still there, making your heart race and your thoughts spiral. “but how… how can i do anything without my glasses? i can’t see, i can’t…” your words are choked off by a sob, and you press your face against oscar’s chest, trying to hide how scared you really are. it may be an overreaction, you’re well aware of that, but the thought of being completely dependent on someone else, the thought of not being able to do anything, is making your heart beat faster, feeling like it’s pushing hardly against your rib cage in an attempt to get out.

“hey, it’s alright,” oscar says gently, pulling back just enough to be able to study your expression. “you’re not alone in this. i’m going to guide you through the whole day, and we’re going to take it one step at a time. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ll be your eyes until we get new glasses, okay?”

you nod again, feeling a small flicker of relief at his words, though the fear still lingers. “okay,” you whisper, leaning into his touch as he cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have started to fall.

“let’s start with breakfast,” oscar suggests, his voice gentle as he helps you up from the floor. “i’ll guide you, and we’ll take it slow.”

your grip on his arm is tight as he leads you out of the bathroom, every step feeling uncertain without being able to see anything.

oscar’s presence is a lifeline, his calm, steady voice reassuring you as he carefully guides you through the apartment. “there’s a step here,” he says softly, pausing to make sure you’re steady before continuing. “and here’s the table—i’ve got you.”

he helps you into a chair, then places a plate in front of you, gently guiding your hand to it. “scrambled eggs,” he says with a smile in his voice. “your favorite.”

you manage a small smile, though your hands are still shaking slightly as you reach for the fork. oscar doesn’t leave your side, watching closely to make sure you’re okay, his presence a constant source of comfort.

the rest of the day is a blur of anxiety and dependence, but oscar is there for every moment, helping you navigate the world that has suddenly become so much more daunting. whether it’s walking you around the apartment or helping you find your way to the couch, he’s right there, his hand steady on yours, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your panic.

at one point, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “you’re doing great,” he murmurs into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. “i know it’s scary, but you’re handling it so well.”

“i don’t feel like i’m handling it well,” you admit, your voice small as you cling to him, your fear still simmering just beneath the surface.

“you are,” oscar insists, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “you’re being so strong, and i’m really proud of you. just remember, you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here, always.”

you nod, burying your face in his chest again, taking comfort in his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. you’re still scared, still feeling vulnerable and lost without your glasses, but with oscar holding you, guiding you, you know you’ll make it through the day. he’s your anchor, your calm in the storm, and you know that as long as he’s with you, you’ll always be okay.