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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 6 months

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two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

#wormblr #parahumans #worm spoilers #riley davis #riley grace davis #bonesaw #nsft #amy dallon #panacea #MY BELOVED GIRL. IS BACK #our writing #dr riley davis mde

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seananmcguire · 10 months

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That Xiran Jay Zhao video about the amount of time it takes to get paid by the publisher, a couple of time she says "that's just the way it is." Are there actual, legitimate business reasons for holding off paying someone 6 or 8 or more months what they've earned for their book? Or is it the publisher basically going "We'll pay you when we pay you. What are you gonna do about it?" because they're essentially the one in charge?

And is it the same for all authors? Or is there an unofficial "tier" system based on your name? Are they telling people like Stephen King or James Patterson or Neil Gaiman "you'll see your money in 8 months" or are they more likely to be getting monthly checks just because of who they are?

There are some legitimate business reasons, yes.

Okay, so let's look at the way a book is sold to a publisher. I'm going to use very round numbers, because I don't want to do a lot of math right now. So say I sell a book for $15,000 under the traditional three installment contract--signing, delivery/acceptance, and publication. What this means is I sign the contract, I get a $5,000 check! Yay! I will also get checks when the book is turned in and accepted, emphasis because it means I can't just give them a word jumble and claim I turned the book in, and then again when the book comes out. We're ignoring side situations like "book is never turned in" and "book is never published."

But wait! My agent gets 15% off the top of each of those checks, which isn't a whole lot at $5,000--$750--but means I'm receiving effectively a $4,250 check, and then waiting maybe a year for the next one.

In the US, 1/3rd of that check goes automatically to taxes, and I cannot math that very well, but it's about $1,416. So I'm left with $2,834 as my payment for the year. This is why most authors will have day jobs.

This structure makes sense. They pay you to call dibs on your book: they pay you when the dibs pan out: they pay you when they can start making money. Now, recently, some publishers have started going to a four stage advance payment, and I can't see any real justification for that. Maybe someone will give me one. I'd be fascinated to know what it is.

So here's the thing: until the book is out, there is no more money. You've been paid for the book, but it's not making money for the publisher yet, and so of course you're not getting more money. It used to be the expectation that your advance would pay your bills while you wrote the next book; that is clearly no longer the case. I live in Seattle. A single check from a three-stage advance isn't paying my mortgage for a month. But.

Once the book is out, it can start making money, and that's when things get complicated. Say a bookstore places an order for 10 copies of AWESOME NEW BESTSELLER. Yay! That should be ten sales, and ten units of whatever your royalty is, right? Only these are physical items, and bookstores can return them, so your publisher marks it down as "ten sales, five reserve against returns," meaning you're only getting credit for five sales until the return window (usually a year) runs out. Where it gets a little hinky is when the bookstore sells all ten and orders ten more, and the publisher still has it marked as "five (now ten) reserve against returns." Basically, you're only getting credit for half your sales until that reserve window closes.

Sadly, thanks to certain retailer policies, this has been grandfathered into applying to electronic sales as well.

TL,DR: The delay in royalty payments is to give bookstores time to sell the books, and mean that your publisher doesn't pay you for a hundred sales, only to ask for the money from fifty to be given back when books are returned. This could happen faster in the modern world, but that would involve publishers paying us faster, and they like to keep the money in their hands as long as possible.

To the best of my knowledge, no one is A Big Enough Author that they can demand their money now, right now. And this is why trad publishing continues to self-select for the wealthy and the young.

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saetoru · 1 year

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。THE SAME — GOJO SATORU.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, recent chapter spoilers, just gojo coming home and reuniting with you :(

when gojo comes home, everything is still the same.

that picture on the wall that’s too high for you to reach is still crooked, no matter how many times you’ve asked him to fix it. the pile of shoes you keep by the door is still there for him to step over, no matter how many times you swear you’ll clean it up. that blanket on the couch is still draped messily over the cushions, no matter how many times you both agree it should be folded. and that bowl of candy on the coffee table is still filled to the brim, no matter how many times you claim you won’t keep buying sweets if he finishes them too fast.

everything is still the same, like you’ve left it all there waiting for him, hoping he’ll come home. and just like always, the way you run up to him and greet him by the door is also still the same—even though right now, your eyes are a lot more teary than usual.

“oh,” you breathe, “oh, satoru,” you say gently, like saying his name too loud will make him disappear. he pushes his blindfold up to his forehead, meeting your eyes as he’s opening his arms for you to fall into. if his eyes are a little misty too, you choose not to mention it, and he’s grateful.

“i’m home, sweetheart,” he grins, plastering that easy grin on his face. “miss me? you didn’t replace me already, did you?”

your face is buried into his chest before he can finish speaking, tackling him into a tight hug. gojo wraps his arms around you tightly, grounds himself with the weight of your arms as you clutch his shirt. you still feel the same too, still feel like that familiar warmth in his arms that feels like holding the sun, that feels like he can get too close without burning.

it’s not hard to see that you’ve missed him.

it’s been nineteen days without gojo satoru. four hundred and fifty six hours. twenty seven thousand three hundred and sixty minutes. it’s a long, agonizing period of time—one that makes you realize how accustomed you are to gojo’s presence—even when he’s not always beside you.

you’ve missed his whiny voicemails to pick up his calls in the mornings as you try to get ready. you’ve missed the bathroom mirror he manages to get completely wet when he washes his face after shaving. you’ve missed the socks he always keeps laying around the bedroom floor. you’ve missed the coffee mug he leaves for you to wash before he leaves for the day. you’ve missed the empty gallon of milk he puts back into the fridge instead of throwing away.

it’s lonely, you realize, when there are no voicemails to delete, no mirrors to wipe, no socks to pick up, no mugs to wash, no milk cartons to throw away.

you’ve missed gojo—even in the ways you swore you never would, in the ways that are imperfect, but not hard to love.

“no one can replace you,” you say teasingly through sniffles, pretending you haven’t stained his shirt with a wet spot, “you’re the only person who could be this big of a headache.”

“i’m the only person who could be this handsome too,” he insists, squeezing you tighter.

“don’t know about that one.”

“c’mon, just look at me,” he whines, squeezing your hips with his hands. you’ve missed them, missed the way you fit in between them, missed the way they find your body for a touch, even if it’s quick. “i’m the cutest.”

you pull away enough to cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead to his as you scan over his face. you could count every lash, stare at every curve, relearn every inch of skin if you could. now that he’s here, you can.

“i’m looking,” you breathe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he closes his eyes at the feel of your lips, at the sear of your love melting through the skin and into his bones.

“like what you see?” he hums, making you chuckle as you nod.

“i suppose,” you murmur. “did you come back to me in one piece?”

“just who do you think i am,” he pouts, “course i did.”

“got all your fingers?” you raise a brow.

he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as he hums.

“all ten,” he confirms.

“both kidneys?”

“fully functioning,” he nods, making you grin.

“you seem to have both of your lanky old legs,” you chuckle, making him gasp a dramatic hey! “got all your toes?”

“you’ll have to pay me to see those,” he wriggles his brows, making you scoff as you swat at his shoulder.

and you’ve missed him like this too—in his laughter you feel through his chest, in his dramatic pout when you playfully smack his arm, in his finger he points to his cheeks for a kiss to feel better.

something tells you he’s missed you too, if the way he keeps his arms tight around you means anything.

because what is a god without his creations? and what is gojo satoru without the gentle love he’s built with you, created carefully between rough hands and the worn out knuckles? he holds you like you’re the answer to his prayers, like he’d kneel before you if you asked him to, like he’d rebuild the gates of heaven before your feet if it meant keeping you here in his arms for a bit longer.

gojo satoru is home. nineteen long days later, he’s home. he’s back in your apartment, the one with that crooked photo and pile of shoes at the front door, the one with the blanket on the couch to hold you under as he eats the candy you keep just for him on the coffee table.

he’s home, and he thinks he’ll never spend another night without you again.

“i missed you,” you say through a watery voice. he hums, wipes your tears with delicate thumbs that trace the lingering ache away.

“yeah? how about now, still miss me now?”

he smiles when you nod, kissing between your brows and swaying your body gently.

“always miss you,” you say with a teary pout. “don’t do that again.”

“i missed you too, sweetheart. don’t worry.”

“i love you,” you say, tasting the words on your tongue after so long.

and he lets his head fall to your shoulder as he hears them, lets out a shaky breath at the way they sound when you say them like that. like you missed him. like you need him. like you can’t lose him. like he’s all you have left. like he’s your past, present, future, and everything beyond that. like he’s yours in this life and the last, and always the one that comes next.

“love you too, sweetheart,” he says against your ear, kissing your skin gently, “i’m home.”

i love him painfully

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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niqhtlord01 · 9 months

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Humans are weird: Minecraft

Alien: What is the point of this game? Human: It doesn’t have one; you can do whatever you want. Alien: Can I burn this world and leave nothing but ash? Human: Disturbingly specific but go ahead.

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

Alien: How do I get wood? Human: Punch some trees. Alien: ……….. Alien: Punch some trees. Human: Yup. Alien: Are you mocking me? Human: What? Alien: Do you think I’m some sort of joke? Alien: An object of ridicule for your amusement!? Human: Okay, before you over react let me just show you. Alien: *Starts reaching for sword when they see the human literally start punching trees for wood* Alien: Oh. *Puts sword away* My apologies. -------------

Human: Why aren’t you playing? Alien: There is a monster in my home. Human: Is it an ender man? Alien: No. Human: Skeleton? Alien: No. Human: Creeper? Alien: Nope. Human: ………… Human: Zombie? Alien: Thwarp no. Human: *Takes controller and goes inside the house* What could it possibly be- *Sees creature* Human: That is a pig. Alien: It is the stuff of nightmares. Human: What the hell is scary about a pig? Alien: Look into its eyes. Alien: It has no soul; no remorse. ----------------

Alien: What are you making? Human: A doomsday device. Alien: Are you allowed to build that on a public server? Alien: Surely the admins would seek to stop you. Human: They can’t stop it if they can’t find it. Alien: What did you build? Human: I placed a claim block, fifty blocks down, and started a cow farm. Alien: That doesn’t sound so bad. Human: There are currently five hundred cows in a four block pen. Human: I have seen the amount of lag it generates drive men to madness. Alien: You are the worst of your species. ---------------

Alien: How goes it? Human: I’ve created a massive creeper farm. Alien: Dear gods why?!?! Human: I want to see what happens when one of them is hit by lightning. Alien: Why? Human: I heard that it turns them into a super creeper. Alien: Why would you want to make the sentient explosive even deadlier? Human: To leave as a surprise for that griefer who blew up my chicken farm last week. Alien: Ah. ----------------

Alien: What are you building today? Human: A nether portal Alien: Is that the purple doorway thing in front of you? Human: Yup. Alien: What does it do? Human: It’s a portal to this world’s version of hell. Alien: WHAT?! Alien: Is that not dangerous? Human: I mean, I want glow stone for my city; and the only place to get glow stone is in the nether. Alien: I weep for this world that has you as its caretaker. ---------------

Alien: Why is all the sand from my beach gone? Human: Needed it. Alien: For what? Human: Copious amounts of TNT. Alien: Do I even want to know why? Human: Remember that village that I defended only for the golem to attack me? Alien: Yeah. Human: Good. Human: Because that memory of yours is all that is left of it. -----------

*stumbling down extensive mine network to find human friend deep underground.* Alien: You ever coming topside again? Alien: I just found these things called “Pandas” and they are adorable. Human: Not until I find a diamond. Alien: Oh gods, here we go again. Human: There’s only fucking copper down here! Human: What the hell can I even use for copper!?! Alien: I think you can make lightning rods out of them. Human: Oh yeah, sure, lightning rods. Human: I’m sure those will be useful SIXTY BLOCKS UNDERGROUND!!!! ------------

Human: What’s this? Alien: I’ve created an elaborate rail system that will allow me to transfer the citizens of one village to another village to make it a super village! Human: Isn’t that considered kidnapping and human trafficking? Alien: ……….. -------------

Alien: I have created these five iron golems to protect my home. Alien: Nothing shall destroy it while I am away! *Alien leaves into mines* *Returns after an hour of mining to find the entire home destroyed by creepers* Alien: What the flarp! Alien: Where are my go- *Turns to see all five golems distracted by some flowers* -------------

Alien: Something just occurred to me. Human: What’s that? Alien: If you can use the portal to this nether, why can’t things down there use it to escape? Human: Pfft. Human: That’s impossible. Alien: Is it? Human: *Dramatic pause before sprinting over to portal with alien behind him* *Both arrive to find legion of pigmen pouring out from the portal* Alien: Congratulations, you created the end times. Alien: I hope that glow stone was worth it. Human: *draws sword* It really was.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #funny #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #minecraft

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sanguineterrain · 8 months

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Feel like I’m so basic but Jason Todd with a crush and him having zero social skills and just being super clumsy despite being highly competent when he’s in the field. Crush is like real sweet and kind maybe a service worker ✨

anon u are so true and real for this bc jason is definitely an unsocialized cat when he has a crush 💓

jason todd x gn!reader. shyish/anxious jason with a big fat crush. baker reader. annoying customer. the duality of jason todd. 1.6k words.

also i fully believe that silently leaving huge tips as a way to flirt is like. a wayne trait. 100% that family does that bc of bruce.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

Business has been slow.

It's not like you expect your cafe to be packed to the rafters all day long, but you've had a grand total of four customers today. One of them only came in to ask where Starbucks was.

Frankly, you're not sure the cafe can afford to stay afloat for much longer. Gotham isn't known to preserve small businesses, and the conglomerates (cough, Wayne Enterprises) are taking over the world anyway.

So today is a reading day. You might even close early.

You're at a table in the back, so absorbed in Poirot's sleuthing that you don't hear the door open. It isn't until you turn the page and look up that you see your resident lurker waiting quietly at the display case. You flinch so hard that you spill iced tea on your jeans.

"Shit," you murmur, grabbing a wad of napkins and patting yourself dry.

Jason (as is written on his coffee cup) looks up from the pastries, teal eyes wide. You smile briefly at him. For such a big guy, his footsteps are astonishingly soft.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, voice rough like he doesn't speak much.

"Yeah, fine. You just startled me—I didn't hear you come in. Were you waiting long? Sorry about that."

"Oh. No, I wasn't. Sorry." He shifts weight between his feet. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book. I didn't, uh, want to disturb you."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about that! It's literally my job to be here," you say, though you can't help but melt over how freaking sweet that is.

Jason visits you a minimum of twice a week. He's been coming for a couple of weeks. You know a whole three things about him: he's a university student, he pretty much only dresses in red or black, and he's unfairly cute.

At first, you were reasonably wary of him because it's Gotham, and he's so damn quiet. It's a little scary. You thought maybe he was an undercover spy casing the joint. Now you know he's just awkward.

"Slow day?" he asks.

"Slow year, more like. How are you? How was your exam?"

He blinks. "Exam?"

"Didn't you have an American lit exam last week?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Wow. Yes, I did. It was okay. Got an A."

"That's great! I knew you'd ace it."

His cheeks turn pink. Okay, you actually know four things about him: he blushes a lot.

You go to start the coffee machine. "Do you think you'll—"

"I-I have to go."

You watch, stunned, as he hurries out the door. That's when you notice the fifty dollar bill in your tip jar.

You don't know if you should bring up yesterday. Jason's back; that probably means everything's fine, right? You're not sure if you said something wrong, though. You've gone over the interaction a hundred times since and you can't figure out why he's so skittish around you.

"Hi. Hibiscus tea, please," he says, stoic as always.

You prepare his order, yesterday's interaction still fresh in your head. You should say something, shouldn't you? Or...

"Sorry about yesterday," Jason blurts, so fast you almost miss it. "Running out, I mean. I was, uh—I forgot something."

Well. Looks like he's going to bring it up for you.

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! If I said something wrong..."

Jason shakes his head fervently. "No, God no. You're perfect."

Your eyebrows shoot up. He turns red this time.

"I mean—not perf—well, you're amazing, don't get me wrong! Except, like, what is perfect, y'know? My brother has gotten into the habit of calling everything perfection like some kind of sitcom character. Alfred will make pie, and Dick'll go, "Alfie, that was perfection." And I feel like it's such an exaggeration—"

Jason's mouth snaps closed. He rubs his forehead.

"Um, I actually have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It gets really, stupidly bad. Sorry."

You're trying hard not to giggle. You want to smother him in frosting and take a bite.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you say.

"I'm really not," he says with a sigh.

"Not true. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

You go into the kitchen and return with your latest experiment: matcha cream puffs.

"Do you mind trying these for me? You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Jason's shoulders hunch. "Are you sure you want my opinion?"

"Of course I'm sure," you say happily. "I trust you."

"You trust me," he repeats quietly.

"Yup!"

Jason takes a puff and bites. He starts to nod.

"It's really good. You're really—all your creations are—yeah. It's good."

You squint. "No notes? Really?"

"They're perfection, as my brother would say."

Fuck, you like him so much.

"Have another one," you say, pushing the tray towards him.

"I shouldn't—"

"Wait! I'll pack you some!" you interrupt, flitting back to the kitchen to get a Tupperware.

Jason helplessly accepts the container of puffs you shove into his hands.

"Let me pay-" he tries to say, but you shake your head.

"Nope! I won't accept payment for these. Not from my favorite customer."

"Your favorite?"

"My favorite," you confirm, grinning.

"Oh." His ears turn pink as he walks to the door, cream puffs in hand. "Uh, right. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Jason? Don't you want your tea?"

"Shit. Yeah." He returns to the counter and takes his drink. This he insists on paying for, so you let him, because you do have rent to pay, after all.

"So nice to see you!" you add, because the stiffness in his gait is kind of throwing you off.

He just nods, slipping out the door as quietly as he came.

Today, Jason's in a red workout tank. You have to make the conscious effort to not ogle his arms.

"Hey, Jason!" you say cheerily.

"Hi," he says softly.

"The usual?" you ask, and he looks up in surprise.

"You know my order?"

You gently roll your eyes. "Of course I know your order, silly. Favorite customer, remember?"

"Oh." He looks away, brow furrowed. Then he turns to you and his expression smooths over. "Yes, please. Thanks."

"Sure. Give me one second? I just have to finish decorating some sugar cookies."

"Take your time," Jason says, then goes to skulk by the window.

The door is suddenly swung harder than necessary, thumping the glass.

"Hey!"

You look up from the cookies. A man in a suit is waving his phone impatiently.

"I ordered a dozen muffins. Where are they, huh?" he demands.

"Oh, right! Well, you called ten minutes ago, so they won't be ready till six, sir. Can I get you something while you wait?"

He scoffs and stomps to the counter. You almost back down, but you don't; that's exactly what these bullies want.

"This is exactly why no one eats at dinky cafes like yours. You can't even do this!" he fumes, shoving a finger in your face.

"Sir, like I said, the muffins are baking..."

"I know the city's health inspector personally," the man spits viciously. "One call, and I can—"

"Say one more word."

You blink as Jason is suddenly between you and the customer, stood at his full height. He's all muscle and broad shoulders, looming over the guy. You peek around him.

"What the fuck, man?" the angry customer squawks. "Move!"

"No, you move," Jason says, tone lethal. "Sit quietly at a table and wait for your muffins to bake. Then you can thank the nice baker for waiting on your sorry ass and you're not gonna come back. They have far more patience for entitled fucks than I do."

"Fuck you," the man spits.

Jason calmly closes the distance between them and whispers in his ear, hand like a vice around the jerk's shoulder. You watch as he turns pale, eyes growing wider.

"Sound good?" Jason asks pleasantly, all teeth. The man gapes at him.

Wow. Yeah. This is really doing something for you.

The oven dings. You go to retrieve the muffins, packing them as quickly as possible. You give him the box and the man nods.

"Thanks," he mumbles, then scurries out of the store.

Jason turns to you, and it's like looking at a completely different person.

"You okay?" he asks, posture stiff like he's still prepared for a fight.

You nod, a little dazed.

"Yeah. Wow. Jason, I... you didn't have to do that. I mean, thank you for doing it, but..."

"Hey, that guy was a jackass. And if you have trouble with him or anyone else, call me, okay?"

This side of him stuns you. If you didn't know better, you'd think he had this exchange regularly.

"Call you?" you ask, smiling. "How will I call you if I don't have your number?"

He freezes, eyes wide. "Oh. Uh. Um..."

You lean over, elbows on your counter. He watches you. You cup your hand around your mouth, pretending to divulge a secret.

"This is where you, the cute guy who frequents my struggling cafe, gives me your number."

"You think I'm cute?" he asks.

"Devastatingly so," you say, grinning.

He's quiet for a long moment. Your smile starts to dim.

"Did I read this wrong?" you ask. "If I came off too strong..."

"No!" he says a little too loud. Jason winces. "Sorry. No. I... you're... fuck, I'm not good at this. I don't even really drink tea or coffee, to be honest. I just come in to see you."

"You do?"

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Shit. That's creepy, isn't it?"

You laugh and he visibly softens.

"No, Jason," you say warmly. "It's sweet."

"So can I still ask you on a proper date? Not coffee."

You grin. "That would be perfection."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #batman fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #coffee shop au #bakery au #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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lovelybee666 · 3 months

Text

WHAT THE SMILING CRITTERS LIKE TO DO IN THEIR FREE TIME WITH THEIR S/O

DOGDAY

• Strangely, it was the one that was the most difficult for me to do, but I feel like he could play with you.

"I bet you 5 waffles you don't catch me!"

Dogday was escaping from his S/O while smiling happily, Shortly after, he rested on a tree and felt a hand touch his back.

"AH! S/O HOW DID YOU FIND ME? I SWORE I HAD HIDDEN WELL!"

Spoiler: you found him because you could see his tail moving from side to side

CATNAP

• He looks at you, you look at him, you look at each other intensely and... you two sleep ✨

• Ok so, I could imagine the two of you at Catnap's house sitting on a couch watching the others playing and you two fall asleep.

You two were both in complete silence sitting on the couch in Catnap's house while watching Dogday, Hoppy and Kickin play hide and seek, As they watched they were both slowly consumed by sleep and were in a position of you resting on his shoulder and him resting on your head (if you are taller than Catnap then is the same but he is resting on your shoulder and you on his head)

KICKINCHIKEN

• ok I'm having a hard time thinking of something for Kickin but maybe he could play soccer while trying to get your attention.

"S/O, look at this! Look look!"

Kickin tried to throw the ball into the sky to get it on his head and let the ball bounce off his head bounced but he threw it too hard and ended up making his head hurt.

"OW THAT HURT— DON'T LOOK, DON'T LOOK!!!"

BOBBY BEARHUG

• Bobby hugs you while showering you with praise.

"Muak muak I love you for everything you are and everything you will be in the future!"

Bobby gave you small kisses on your cheeks while hugging you

"I love you so much so SO MUCH!!"

HOPPY HOPSCOTCH

• You two start running around, trying to jump as high as you can or play tag.

"Come on S/O, we must jump higher to reach the moon!"

Hoppy said, jumping with you while you seemed to be about to collapse, they had been jumping non-stop for almost an hour and it was already starting to affect you

"After we reach the moon, we'll eat ice cream! How does that sound?"

CRAFTYCORN

• the two of you draw things you see around the place.

"Huh what are you painting, darling?"

Craftycorn turned around to see your painting of what appeared to be a butterfly on a flower

"My oh my, it looks so pretty but...you missed painting these edges...!"

PICKYPIGGY

• You two go out on a picnic to eat while talking

"And after that I told him to pick on someone his size and it turned out we were the same size!"

Picky said with her mouth full of bitten apple pieces.

"So we fought and I won, oh I forgot to tell you that it also turned out that he was the leader of the kindergarten mafia—"

BUBBA BUBAPHANT

• Maybe at home or in the yard studying, why? Because you two we're bored

"So what is two hundred ninety-four divided by one hundred fifty-two?"

Bubba was teaching his S/O math even though his S/O had an expression of agony and suffering.

"...are you going to respond or...?"

I love writing about this little group💕💕

#poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #smiling critters x reader #smiling critters #kickinchiken #kickinchiken x reader #dogday #dogday x reader #Catnap #catnap x reader #craftycorn #craftycorn x reader #bobby bearhug x reader #bobby bearhug #pickypiggy x reader #pickypiggy #bubba bubbaphant x reader #bubba bubbaphant

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bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months

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at your mercy ft. roronoa zoro!

warning: includes NO PLOT ONLY PORN!!! zoro being mean, orgasm control and denial, squirting, use of toys, overstimulation, pet names (baby, good girl) and other miscellaneous horny shit. enjoy your meal 💗

zoro:

♡ at the edge of the bed stood a green-haired, cocky bastard with a cocky fucking grin on his face. atleast that's what you would have seen had you been able to open your eyes. "zo- fuck" your voice trembled, eyes clenched shut, "stop plea-se. please." ♡ the instructions were clear. count backwards from hundred and hold of your orgasm till you do. all meanwhile your boyfriend clutches the dildo harder, pushing it inside your weeping hole, bruising your cervix with each drawled out drag and rubbing blissfully against your gummy walls. ♡ it was fun the first time. or even the second time when he asked you to count from fifty-five. but it was the third time and- ♡ "zo- zoro pleas-e i can't" the vibrator struck up it's rhythmic motion against your clit, striking up the bundle of nerves as your boyfriend peered down at you. sweat clung uncomfortably onto you like second skin. hair damp and pressed against the back of your throat. all meanwhile his eyes bore figures onto your naked, supple skin. "awh, how fucking pathetic. are you too tired? weren't you talking shit about how long you can go?" "please please ple-ase fUCK" "i said count." "zo-" your pussy clenched unforgiving against the silicone, body faltering under the toy on your puffy, overstimulated clit, "ple- please fucK pl-ease. i can't i can't plea-" his fingers halted. his strong hand grabbed ahold of your jaw, digging harshly against your face fat, "are you too fucked out to understand? i said count." a low laugh escaped him, hands still holding your face firm, "or i'd stop right now. you want that? you want me to leave you half-fucked and stupid?" ♡ "no, no ple- ro' fuck" mustering whatever energy you had, you nodded frantically. "good fucking girl" his thumb rubbed over the spot he had held onto tightly, "now count." "thi-rty seven, thirty six... thirty fiv-five" ♡ "seve-seven, eig-, six.." as if sensing another approaching orgasm, zoro increased the level of vibration. the new set of sensation ran wild against your clit, sending you into overdrive. "zo-ZORO" back arching off the mattress, towards him. "keep going, just a little more." his lips engulfed your nipple, sucking on it lowly as he alternated the pace of the dildo. "hol-y fucking shit." your mouth felt far too dry, eyes leaking with unresolved tears and throat parched and aching from senseless moans and screams. he hummed against your nipple, as if silently commanding you to keep going. "fu-fuck okay." you inhaled sharply. and then, in one breath, "five, four, three, two, one- im gonna cum. fuck, fuck, fuck- im cummin' FUCK, 'ZO" ♡ he pulled out the dildo the same time he let go of your tit. he smirked down at you as you pussy gushed and clenched around nothing, a clear stream gushing out and painting him with your stickly sweet residue. his fingers swiftly turned off the vibrating device, watching in awe as you clenched around nothing. your pussy throbbing, thighs quivering, painted by the aftershocks and afterglow. ♡ you were a sight to devour. eyes clenched shut, lips crimson and parted, fingers caught up weakly against the bedsheets. ♡ he crawled upwards, caging you underneath his defined body. his calloused fingers caressed the damp skin on your jaw and neck, running over the marks he gave before he started his little game. his lips pasted a chaste kiss to your temple and he could taste the salty aftertaste on your skin. "hey" he mumbled, turning you around such that you could lay comfortable against his broad chest. "mhm" you mumbled, cozying up into him "you look like a mess" he whispered, pushing aside the stray strands that fell sweepingly over your pretty face. sleepy, you whispered back, "damn, i wonder why that is." a light chuckle rang through the humid air. pasting another kiss to your head, he asked, "too much?" "no, course not" "another round then? repay me maybe." "fuck no. go to sleep."

a/n: im back 😎😎. anyways more shit cumming soon (heheheh). sorry if this sucked, haven't written in literally forever.

#one piece #opla #roronoa zoro #op #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x reader smut #zoro fanfic #zoro fic #zoro imagine #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #the monster trio smut

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stevieschrodinger · 22 days

Text

Part One Two Three Four

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

The front door is locked.

Eddie is almost winded, hobbling all this way on his sore feet. There’s a neat little screen on the wall that, briefly, woke up and flickered an angry red when Eddie had tried the door handle. Like that wasn’t hugely unsettling.

He found he just didn’t have it in him to try it again. Where would he go, anyway? Just getting to the gate would take him hours, and he doesn’t have any fucking shoes; he’s still wearing the white nightdress and nothing else.

Eddie eyes the curve of the sweeping staircase. No. No way. He’d have to go up it backward and on his butt to even make it, one slow step at a time. Steve said he’d got Eddie a room ready but...no.

No.

There’s probably fifty fucking rooms up there anyway, what with the size of the place; Eddie wouldn’t stand a chance, and he definitely doesn’t feel right snooping around like that. The back of his neck prickles at just the thought of doing something like that.

He needs the bathroom though. Too much bread, too much dairy. The milkshake, the creamy pasta. Eddie’s not one hundred percent sure if he’s going to vomit or just straight up shit himself, but there’s something uncomfortable happening. The stabbing, trapped wind type feelings occasionally taking Eddie’s breath away, they’re so sharp.

Okay. Logically this place is so fancy, there has to be a downstairs bathroom; which there is, Eddie finds it on the second try, after fully ten minutes of slow, painful shuffling.

It turns out to be a horrendously explosive shit, which Eddie is kind of glad about because being sick is the worst, and he feels much better after a traumatic twenty minutes in one of the fanciest bathrooms he’s ever seen.

Eddie tries his best to hunt around the lounge, but the TV and sound system are so sleek and stylish, Eddie can’t see an obvious way to control either. He’s frightened to touch the books in case they’re like, collectors items, or something. He sighs wistfully at them anyway; he hasn't been allowed to read a book in years. Well behaved Omega most certainly don't read. They might start...having aspirations and thinking for themselves and stuff like that, so it was absolutely not permitted at the ranch.

His feet are throbbing, but he didn’t think to ask for painkillers. There’s nothing for him to do but sit on the couch and feel sorry for himself.

He tells himself this is better than the ranch. It’s better. He’s safe here. He’s going to see Wayne again. Hagan’s probably been arrested already; everyone else has been rescued too. Well at least, Eddie hopes so. All of that being a lie at this point...why would Steve go to so much effort to fabricate a lie like that?

It’s a slippery slope, that thought, so Eddie tries not to entertain it. He’s spoken to Hopper himself; seen his FBI card. It has to be true, surely? Everyone is okay, Eddie tells himself on repeat.

Everyone has been rescued.

Eddie just has to...endure. He can do that.

He’s been doing it for years.

The couch is too soft to sleep on. The beds in the dorm had mattresses so thin they might as well have been a folded over blanket, so Eddie has gotten used to the creaky noises and sleeping on something almost completely solid, no give at all in the wooden slats of the bed frames.

It’s quiet here. No movement, no breathing, no whispered conversations between Omega or the footsteps of guards on patrol. Nothing.

It’s been dark for a while when Eddie realizes he’s getting cold; the thermostat, or however this place works, must have turned over to it’s night time setting.

Eddie finds blankets in the big fancy Ottoman. The room feels...too big. Too big and empty. All that fancy glass reflecting the room and making it look twice as big. He feels defenseless, open. It’s not a nice feeling.

The silence is oppressive.

Eddie shifts the Ottoman, it takes a huge effort to push, the thing is heavy, but he manages to butt it right up into the corner of the ‘L’ shaped couch. Eddie lays one blanket out on the rug, snugged right up in the small space he’s made for himself between the Ottoman and the couch, Eddie nests in the protected little triangle of space. One blanket to lie on, the warmer one pulled over top of him. He does take one cushion off the couch, for his head.

He’s warmer, and feels safer, here. It still takes him hours to fall into an unsettled and fitful sleep.

Eddie didn’t reach any kind of deep sleep; he knows he didn’t. He knows because he’s blinking, alert and awake from the noises he can hear. The front door, keys being put down, footsteps.

Foot steps on the stairs.

And Eddie didn’t experience any of the confusion that comes with being woken from decent sleep. No. He’s awake, fully alert, and he knows exactly where he is and what’s happening.

He hears those same footsteps come back down the stairs, “Eddie?”

“Here,” Eddie forces himself up, bracing his arms on the couch, knees both clicking after being curled up tight for so long.

Steve looks like shit. He definitely hasn’t slept. But then, neither has Eddie, not really, and considering Eddie’s now eaten two meals and slept a night wearing a practically see through white nightdress, there’s no way he looks any better himself; he’s got to be grubby.

Steve also looks aghast, “Eddie, I’m so sorry. I got...distracted. That’s not an excuse for just...leaving. Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Eddie nods, there doesn’t really need to be an explanation.

“Shit. Shit, okay. Okay, lets...you hungry? I’m starving. I know we ordered you clothes, but I should have given you something better than-” Steve sighs, a sharp sound, before rubbing at his forehead for a second. “Right, breakfast first? Anything you want? Pretty sure I have the stuff for cheese omelettes? And I know I’ve got sausage and bacon.”

Eddie can’t help but wince at the thought of yesterdays fecal catastrophe. It must show, Steve frowning at him from under his floppy preppy hair, “all the rich food it, uhm, gave me a tummy ache? So...just some scrambled eggs would be really, really great.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, probably rethinking yesterday, “yeah, yeah okay, scrambled eggs,” and he heads off into the kitchen, Eddie forcing himself to limp weakly along behind.

Steve does make a mean plate of scrambled eggs, and it really does hit the spot. Eddie dodges the coffee, having a glass of OJ instead. “Okay, so lets...lets figure what to priorities here. Shower, you can borrow some of my clothes, and I’ll check your feet, does that sound okay?”

“Yeah...but you, you look real tired Steve, I mean it can wait-”

“No, no it’s fine. I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you’re okay, plus...you look kind of tired there yourself...which isn’t surprising considering I abandoned you and forced you to spend the night on the floor-”

“Steve.”

“I...sorry. Again. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve ripped pretty much everything Hagan owned right out from under him. Or at least I will have, by lunch time today.”

And yeah...to be fair. Eddie does feel better. It’s cold comfort, but Eddie can be small and spiteful and bitter with the best of them so...yeah. Imagining Hagan sat in a cell somewhere, knowing his empire is being dismantled brick by brick. Yeah. Why not? Eddie can enjoy that for a minute. “Yeah, that’s...really good to hear.”

“Good.” They smile at each other for a long few seconds. And then Eddie yawns. And Steve yawns. And it sets off a horrible cycle of them yawning at each other across the table.

“Okay, lets get you sorted out.”

Eddie braces himself for the limp to the stairs, which he manages, shuffling gamely along with Steve hovering. For the split second Eddie allows himself to stop concentrating and actually look up at Steve...he sees Steve watching his move very intently, but also guilty as fuck.

The stairs are another matter. Having all of his weight on one foot while he lifts the other is...horrible. Stepping up is even worse, so much so that Eddie flinches from it the first time and nearly falls off the first step.

Steve steadies him.

On the second wobble, along with a pained hiss, Eddie finds himself just being...scooped up. Just straight up lifted, and he flails for a second before what’s just happened catches up to him, and his flailing ends with his arms locked around Steve’s neck.

Eddie will forever deny the panicked ‘yip’ noise that had come out of him.

Steve heard it though, and Steve’s grinning from inches away as he, very effortlessly, carries Eddie up the stairs.

Which, first of all, what a bastard, and second of all Eddie will not think about how fucking hot it is that Steve can throw him around if he wants to.

Steve has laid out a bunch of towels ready, and a change of clothes; just sleep pants and a tee shirt, a pair of boxers, but it looks like absolute heaven to Eddie. So does the whole of the bathroom, if he’s being honest. Even though this is a guest room and guest bath– which blows Eddie’s mind all on it’s own, he’s pretty sure that with a bit of inventive interior design, a family of four could live comfortably in this space.

So yeah, Eddie is able to sit safe and sound on a ledge in the bath and hose himself down. It’s not a proper shower, but Eddie doesn’t want to stand for that really, especially not with how it would soak his scabs, so this is perfect for now.

He finally feels clean after, which is a huge improvement.

Once he’s dressed, resting on a thick and fluffy towel Steve had considerately left on the toilet seat, he waits. Steve had been for his own shower real quick, once Eddie was settled safely, and he comes back toting a first aid kit in a green bag with a white cross on the side.

Steve takes a towel to cushion his knees, again not seeming worried about kneeling in front of an Omega, which is a nice change of pace.

“Oh,” Eddie says, at the same second Steve freezes in place, “the thing I could smell…” Steve has showered, and he couldn’t have reapplied blockers. Steve’s scent is only vague in the house downstairs, just a nice background scent; Alpha and comfort and home and safe...but now it’s hitting Eddie full in the face. Eddie sways forward mindlessly, trying to get closer to the source, Steve reaching out to steady him by the shoulder.

Eddie almost feels like he’s blinking awake, and Steve is right there. Like, two inches away, licking his lips and looking at Eddie with eyes so blown they’re almost back, “yeah,” Steve swallows thickly, and then visibly jumps when his phone rings. He looks startled by the noise, “sorry. Sorry I should- yeah, what is it, Henderson?”

And Steve leaves the room. Eddie feels kind of foggy, but also all kind of wonderful. Steve’s scent is...it’s good. It’s real nice. It’s...probably perfect. Smells like home and safe and mate and all that good shit Eddie had secretly dreamed about in the darkness of the dorm room at the ranch, trying to keep himself sane.

Eddie can hear Steve talking, “yeah, multiple accounts. Yeah, I know, but there wasn’t enough in there so I cleared out...no, no, you think Eddie only cost a quarter mil?” Steve laughs, “yeah, it was quite a bit more, yeah.” Steve sighs, “shut up, Henderson. Oh my god, no I did not get a receipt.”

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