badliifechoiice2 | It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake

It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake

The Maid Cafe Meme

"In these cafés, waitresses dressed in maid costumes act as servants, and treat customers as masters (and mistresses) in a private home, rather than as café patrons."

Congratulations- for whatever strange shenanigans, you've ended up working at a maid and/or butler cafe! Whether you need the cash, are doing it for shits and giggles, or Shit Just Happened, here you are. Hope you enjoy that uniform, whether it's the simple black-and-white, cosplay, or.... cat ears.

Remember your manners! Always welcome in patron as "Masters" and "Mistresses", offer wipe towels and menus at entrance, and try to drag them into spending as much money as possible. Depending on the cafe, this could mean simply food and drinks, karaoke, massages, games of all sorts, taking a (paid) picture with a patron or... going with anime tropes by slapping them in-character?

Well, some people will pay for anything.

Alternatively, maybe you're actually a patron yourself! Visiting just to say you did? Looking for a brief power trip in your life? Is this the only place where you can do paperwork for some arcane reason? Keeping an eye out for your friend who works here? No judgment, only people in cosplay who will indulge whatever nonsense is going on.

Just remember - no touching the maids or butlers, no asking for personal information, and don't be a creepy stalker. Unless you want to get in trouble, anyway.

Fill in the top level of your comment with the character's name and canon, and put in a scenario or three for people to reply to!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In contrast, Chikusa knows exactly why he takes more offense to the tearing and dirtying of his own clothes than his blood being spilled. It's only partially because pain just doesn't seem to be something that reaches his mind and gets processed.

Control. Reminders. Connection. It's a lot of things, all mixed up into a complicated tangle. Unlike Ken, however, Chikusa purposefully works not to think of any of it. He merely shifts his hips, helping his pants down with minimal effort, and focuses on Ken. "It makes sense," he retorts, emphasizing his words with another tug of Ken's hair and ignoring how he's already half hard despite all the bickering inbetween their kissing. His fingers finish enough of Ken's shirt for him to slip his fingers beneath the already dirty cloth. His own nails will never be like Ken's, but he still drags them across his skin while flicking his thumb across one of Ken's nipples.

Everything is so physical with him. Physical and loud. There's no way to miss Ken's existence when he's around. One of his better better qualities.... sometimes.

Ken makes a low, hungry sound as Chikusa's nails and fingers encourage him to forget everything else. Nothing's better than Chikusa actively participating, actively doing, actively wanting things. Being one of the things Chikusa wants, and wants badly enough to actually do stuff, is incredibly flattering. Even without consciously reading into the message, Ken feels the importance of it - the satisfaction of it.

As soon as Chikusa's pants are down, Ken's got his cock on his hand, stroking it roughly with calloused fingers. Chikusa reacting to him is the best thing, and he's usually willing to do just about anything to get those reactions. He leans in and nuzzles Chikusa's throat before biting at it again. "Turn around, byon," he orders.

Electricity rakes through him, and even Chikusa can’t tell it’s from the way the sounds coming out of Ken’s mouth that make his heart kick or those rough fingers threatening to bring his legs out from beneath him. The reasoning doesn’t matter so much as the end result, which is him curling into Ken with his breath becoming more ragged by the moment. His fingers slide down to his ribs, nudging the shirt open more, only to twitch to a stop at the order.

“And you were complaining about doing all the work…” Still, it’s not like Chikusa will ever complain at a lack of it for himself. Maybe there’s a little bit of reluctance as he pulls his hand away, but no one can prove anything. His pale skin is already flushed a deep blotchy red, a crawl of passionate color along his throat where Ken has marked his claim and along his cheeks. Batting Ken’s hand away and nudging his legs so that he can move, Chikusa twists around. His palms press along the grit of the wall, lukewarm compared to Ken’s heat, and he glances over his shoulder at him.

“Come on…”

"Now you're the impatient one, byon." Ken seems delighted by this reversal, and not simply because it gives him something to tease Chikusa about. It takes a lot to make Chikusa impatient and demanding - and all it's taken is Ken. Nothing could be more satisfying.

He'd had to let go of Chikusa's cock when the other boy turned around, and he supposes it's just as well, because he's going to need two hands to prep him. (Dry fucking is something they've tried, once - but not even Ken had enjoyed it, and Chikusa had developed enough of a strong opinion on it that they've never done it since.) Ken's uncapped the lube and is about to spread it on his fingers when he notes that those fingers are still red with blood, and there he pauses for a moment, considering.

Whether he's conscious of the health hazards, whether he's considerate of Chikusa's more fastidious sensibilities, or whether he's possessively unwilling to put anything of someone else inside his Kakipi, it's hard to say. But either way, after a few moments' consideration, he shoves three fingers into his own mouth, sucking the blood off them.

For Ken, this is surprisingly hygenic.

“Shut up.” It’s not a particularly original or witty reply, but it serves its purpose. More revealing is the way his expression shifts, brows drawing together and his mouth twisting. It’s almost sulking in response to being called out on his own desires.

It’s a goal of his, to strive for distance and apathy, but it’s more than a little impossible for more than one reason. For one thing, when he wants something, he wants it intensely. He wants Mukuro’s attention, he wants to be useful, he wants quiet and stillness… And right now, he wants Ken. Seeing him storm away had tugged loose a fear from its carefully bolted mooring, and now all Chikusa wants is for it to be proven wrong. It’s more than a want at this point. It’s a need. He’d easily murder someone to sate it- for the feel of Ken’s calloused hands against his skin, his teeth digging into flesh, the way his voice would rumble animalistically while driving into him, all of it. His body aches worse than anything in anticipation, and Chikusa can nearly feel a core part of him ready to come undone.

That doesn’t mean he’ll reveal it, of course, or that he’ll not wrinkle his nose at what Ken does. “That’s not going to get it all off of your fingers…” And not under his nails either, probably. If only he’d had more time to prepare for this… Or at least bring hand sanitizer.

"What, you want me to go find a sink?" Ken scoffs at Chikusa, a wicked gleam in his eye that says he knows Chikusa is beyond caring - or complaining - about this the way he normally would. It's probably smugness in that fact which makes him suck more ostentatiously on his fingers as he holds Chikusa's gaze...though it's possible Ken's trying to work Chikusa up with it, too. For all that Ken is as direct as a brick to the face, and tends to have all the grace in foreplay of a dog humping someone's leg, he's not entirely ignorant in the art of seduction. It's just one of those things he knows and tends to ignore.

For all that he knows it's going to be an imperfect job no matter what he does, he actually makes sure his fingers are as clean as a tongue can get them before he continues - actually scrutinizing them as he goes, even the nails. As fucked up as they both are, as ludicrous as the situations in which they habitually find themselves...Ken has his own strange ways of showing how he cares about Chikusa, and this is one of the many weird forms it takes. Consideration, such as they know how to show each other.

It's not long before he's slicking his fingers up with lube instead of saliva, and then he's leaning up against Chikusa's back as he presses two into him, right from the start, even as he presses his face against Chikusa's neck, breathing in the scent of him. He's relatively careful, but...Ken doesn't really go slow, especially when he's worked up. And, fortunately for him, Chikusa's not usually the sort to complain.

If he were a little more honest, or at least open about it, Chikusa would admit that there’s a tentative sort of concern buried somewhere under all his forced apathy. They’ve already been hitting stumbling blocks today in their relationship too many times for him to be comfortable. There’s no way he’d tell Ken to go clean up even with the usual risks in place- what if this is the last straw? So he keeps his eyes locked onto him, focused on nothing but Ken, and lets the dips and scratches of the wall imprint into his palm.

It’s only when Ken is finally done, pressing up against him, that Chikusa breathes and lets his head fall again. His warmth is so welcome as he presses up against him. Ever since they’ve been young, Ken has felt like a miniature sun in contrast to the way his own body has never quite felt warm enough, and that alone would be enough to make him swallow thickly. Dragging a quiet little twist of sound is fingers shoving into him roughly, and Chikusa’s fingers curl against the wall. Not a name, not even a real word, just a bit of breath that makes sound almost as if by accident. Rough and quick, Ken’s fingers are exactly what’s needed to shake feeling into him everytime.

“Ken…” One hand pulls away from the wall, reaching back to curl his long fingers along the nape of the other’s neck. It’s a way to keep him there… Make sure neither of them can leave this time.

It's only Chikusa's particular brand of paranoia that makes anything Ken does genuinely frightening when it comes to him. Hurting Chikusa, abandoning him...Ken might do it small-scale, or temporarily, when he needs to blow off steam and his emotionally stunted forms of expression offer no other way, but he'd never be serious about such things. Mukuro is the man to whom Ken willingly gives his respect and devotion, and that's incredibly significant...but Chikusa is as fundamental to Ken's ability to operate, as deep and built in a dependency, as the air in his lungs, and that's no less critical. If losing Mukuro would destroy Ken, then losing Chikusa would be like losing himself.

Ken would never leave him for good, and only someone as selectively stupid as Kakipi could ever manage to convince himself that he might.

Ken makes a sound against Chikusa's neck that's almost a purr as his other hand snakes around his hip to stroke his cock - and if it's no more rough than the fingers inside him, it's certainly not less so. This isn't consideration, although it could pass for it in a bad light; it's Ken hungering for Chikusa's reactions, his acknowledgment, and trying to pull as much of those things out of him as possible. If Chikusa needs to be reassured that Ken is there, that he won't leave, then Ken needs to be reassured that Chikusa wants him, needs him, as badly as Ken needs and wants Chikusa. And in Ken's case it's not really a matter of paranoia, so much as there being a lot of room for reasonable doubt - no one acts detached, acts as though nothing much matters to or moves them, like Chikusa.

If it’s reactions Ken wants, then he’ll get them easily like this. The sudden wrap of fingers around his cock makes Chikusa’s body jerk back against him, and his breath rattles its way out of his throat. He squeezes down against what’s inside of him already, reacting on instinct and what feels too damn good.

Something about that purr, too…. Chikusa swallows thickly, trying to smother the pants or soft noises he’s making. Not one to be left behind, he drags his nails through the nape of Ken’s neck and over soft skin and dirty hair. “If-” His voice is strained, muffling back his desire to moan and show pleasure despite all the ways his body is showing it. “If you make me come already…” He’ll be the one to leave this time. If Ken isn’t inside of him, then he doesn’t want to bother with it.

"No way, byon," Ken murmurs, even as he pushes a third finger into Chikusa. He wishes he could just start right now, but...he gets pretty rough. Any less preparation than this and Chikusa will complain, and maybe not have sex with him for awhile. That's worth a little extra effort to avoid. "Want you to come while I'm fucking you, byon."

That doesn't slow his hand on Chikusa's cock, though. And then he's biting at Chikusa's neck, with a low sound that isn't quite a growl but is getting there. The really animalistic noises will happen once he's inside Chikusa.

"Don't come early if you don't want to, byon," he mutters against Chikusa's skin. He wants - needs - to hear Chikusa like this, to feel him like this. Chikusa will just have to hold himself back a little bit.

It’s not the stretch of fingers inside of him. By all means, he knows that feeling is there- light and tingling sensation as his body stretches to accommodate another intrusion, not really pain but still something he can feel. Still, it’s not enough. It’s also not the demanding pace of his fingers stroking his cock. That doesn’t help. Don’t get him wrong. It’s still more than enough to get him hard, every rough stroke from Ken’s calloused palm throbbing throughout his whole body and making him shake.

No, it’s that almost growl, those teeth digging into his skin and sending the sound reverberating along with his pleasure. Chikusa’s nails dig tight into his palms, the whites of his bones visible even on his pale skin, and he tugs on what of Ken’s hair he has.

“Ken.” It takes everything he has to force words out. “It’s not that easy. You know it isn’t.”

Ken huffs, although it's hard to tell if he's amused or irritated or somewhere in between. But a few moments later he pulls his fingers out of Chikusa, roughly smearing the last of the lube over himself.

He doesn't ask if Chikusa is ready, doesn't give him a warning; he doesn't need to, and he knows it. He shifts so that he's fully behind Chikusa, instead of slightly off to one side to give his hand room to work, and his now-free hand grips Chikusa's hip as he rocks himself against Chikusa's ass. It's hard to tell if it's deliberate or an accident that he doesn't push into Chikusa initially, sliding slick against his ass instead, but after a moment of re-positioning he is thrusting into him, shallow at first and then, on the very next thrust, as deep as possible.

Almost simultaneously, his teeth seek out and dig into the back of Chikusa's neck, his breath coming in hot and shallow pants against Chikusa's skin.

Anticipation jolts up his back before smoothing out into a quiet eager hum in his whole body as Ken jerks his fingers out of him. Best he can, Chikusa tries to calm his own breathing and kneads his fingers harder into the fist he’s made up against rough brick. He can feel his cock literally twitch when Ken grinds up hard and fast at his ass, but it’s not what he wants. His lips part, words on the tip of his tongue to tell him to stop messing around-

A quiet gasp as something slides into him, graduating fast into a whimper that rolls out of his mouth. If it’s the thrust that fills him up so completely or Ken’s teeth laying claim to his skin again, Chikusa can’t say. It doesn’t matter. Fingers slip and drag nails across Ken’s scalp as he presses back against him, gulping down air to calm the excited ache in him.

There's never any question of needing to ask Ken for more once he's started. No one's ever had to ask Ken to fuck them harder, or faster, or deeper. (Which isn't to say he doesn't get asked anyway.) But Ken hardly knows how to hold himself back, in a lot of things; sex is no different. Nothing but something being seriously wrong could get him to stop at this point.

It's fortunate - or perhaps a habit developed over years of fucking Chikusa in this position - that Ken's got his hand wrapped around Chikusa's cock, can make sure the force of his thrusts aren't grinding Chikusa's hips against the rough wall. (Chikusa's largely insensitive to pain, almost seems to welcome Ken causing some when they have sex, but that'd be going overboard.) It's the only mercy Chikusa receives, - though, fortunately, it's probably the only mercy he wants.

Ken rocks into him hard and fast, not just because he doesn't know how to do slow or gentle but because he knows from experience that this is what gets the most reaction out of Chikusa. Feeling Chikusa's breathing change, feeling his body shake and jerk, seeing the way his expression actually changes and his skin flush, maybe even hearing him cry out...those things set Ken's blood on fire. He bites hard at Chikusa's shoulder, hand stroking Chikusa's length rather erratically. There's nothing coordinated or measured about this. In a way, that wild unpredictability may be in Ken's favor; Chikusa's never given a chance to adapt to it, can't find a rhythm to brace himself against, can't predict what Ken's going to do next because even Ken probably doesn't know. He's forced to be every bit as much in the moment as Ken himself is.

It’s true. It does work in Ken’s favor. Just not only in keeping Chikusa off-balance, as it turns out.

Dissociating is never something he’s chosen to do. The first times it happened, it was to flee pain and needles, to find some measure of safety away from his traitorous body until the adults were gone and he could crawl into a corner away from anyone else. Those moments, his mind would seem to reconnect, and there would be all the aches and leftover pain for him to cry himself hoarse over. When the experiments actually made any headway, leaving his body unable to pick up on all the danger signs pain provided, well, it hadn’t made such events any better really. His body had only become even less his own, then. More often than not, even now, it feels like a strange is on the other side of the mirror than merely his own reflection.

Mukuro and Ken drag him back. They force him to stay connected, if not for his body’s sake than through his body. For whatever reason, simple touch keeps him where he needs to be: a rewarding stroke of his cheek from Mukuro’s hand, Ken’s warmth invading his space, his body curled around both of them. He has a strange worry that if he impresses too much of himself on them, then the effect won’t be as strong anymore.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s just one of many paranoid worries. Either way, he can’t deny this: Ken’s body practically burning his with how hot it runs, a rough palm jerking him off in a different stroke or angle or speed everytime, the force of his thrusts threatening to make him crumble, and his teeth in his skin demanding that he not run from this. As if Chikusa ever could. He’s too overcome to do that even if he wanted to, and that’s the last thing he wants right now. Brick scratches at his palm as Ken rails him against it, and his throat is sandpaper rough from the way he gasps in air. He can only stay silent for so long, however. Ken thrusts, and something inside him sets off stars behind Chikusa’s eyes. A warbling moan rattles out of him, and he doesn’t even hear it, his body squeezing down on Ken’s cock with everything it has while his legs shake.

Ken growls in breathless satisfaction at the sound from Chikusa, and it only makes him redouble his efforts. They'll both be sore later, they always are, but it's always so worth it. Ken thinks so, anyway, and obviously Chikusa agrees because he likes this, he lets Ken keep doing it. That's always a little point of pride, for Ken. He's no Mukuro, but Chikusa likes him enough to have sex with him anyway.

It doesn't occur to him that this logic works in reverse, but then it doesn't occur to him that Chikusa would ever need evidence of how Ken feels about him. Granted, it's been a long time since Ken was emotionally straightforward when it comes to softer emotions like caring about people, but Chikusa always calls him out on things like that, so obviously Chikusa must know.

Ken's more ferocity than stamina, focuses on the intensity of the experience both because that's what naturally appeals to him and because it gets the most powerful reactions from Chikusa. So when Chikusa gets even tighter around him than he already was, that's already the beginning of the end. Ken's teeth find the back of Chikusa's neck and he bites as he keeps thrusting, teeth digging in harder and harder until, by the time his hips slam him deep into Chikusa one last time as his orgasm hits, he's tasting blood on his tongue. He's not aware of the sound he makes when he climaxes, but it's utterly feral. If he wasn't preoccupied with biting Chikusa, it'd probably be a roar.

He's too quivery and disoriented in the aftermath to be aware, at first, if Chikusa came with him or not; his hand offers a few more rough strokes to his cock, just in case.

Getting lost in physical sensation is one thing. Getting lost in the ferocity of Ken is practically something else altogether. Bit by bit, thrust after thrust, the pleasure and heat consumes Chikusa. The effect is that he’s blissfully blank of any feeling except that which Ken is dragging him through, different then his usual apathy, and soon enough Chikusa stops trying to hold back altogether. Each thrust earns a heavy pant, and Ken’s teeth more strangled cries. There’s not even any concern that they might found out by how loud he’s being, only a rapid descent into feeling and lust. Being filled up is strangely euphoric, a heat that won’t leave him for at least a short while and remind him of all of this. But it’s not enough, not quite, to pull Chikusa over the edge himself.

That’s Ken hand, jerking and grinding at his cock, and soon he’s orgasming with a groan as his release splatters against the wall. He shakes through it, only to go limp as he finishes with shaking breaths. If not for Ken’s hold on him, it’s like he’d be slumping against the wall and going to his knees.

“Ken…”

Ken's nuzzling at the back of Chikusa's neck, tongue dragging roughly over the bite mark he left there - more or less lapping up the blood. It's hard to tell if he enjoys the taste of the blood, or if he enjoys the taste of Chikusa's blood specifically, or if there's some deeper, more primal meaning to it that even he couldn't put into words. Or whether it's just feral first aid. With Ken, it could be anything.

He's making a low, contented sound in his throat. With anyone else, it'd be a hum. With Ken, it feels more like a purr. He's barely holding them up, his weight heavy on Chikusa's back; conveniently, though, that puts enough pressure on Chikusa's arms, bracing him against the wall, that hopefully Chikusa's arms will lock and keep them both steady.

Ken's always at his happiest - his most stable, his most sated, his most calm - after sex. It's hard to know, of course, if that has as much to do with the physical act as it has to do with who he's with, considering that the only people he has sex with are the two who mean the most to him in the world.

For a while- a few minutes at least- Chikusa stays where he is. The human body truly can be amazing sometimes, his joints sticking together and not buckling as he relies on them to keep him from a faceplant. In this alley, who knows what’s on the ground here. Well, besides his semen, and maybe a few drops of his blood. That’s a given.

Post-orgasm is probably one of the most pleasant sensations he ever gets to experience. It knocks out all thoughts in his head, erases any concerns with a wave of pleasure. Ken is warm, he’s pleasantly full, and going to sleep sounds like the perfect idea.

Except for the situation.

And that he’s sweaty.

And, the longer that time passes, the more he becomes aware of how sticky and disgusting his ass feels.

Chikusa stirs out of his daze. “Ken. Get off.”

"Don't wanna, byon." Ken's always sulky when everyday life intrudes upon his post-coital haze; he knows that now things will go back to normal, with a mostly unresponsive Chikusa and maybe even a bath. He wants this to just keep going. It never does, though.

For all his unwillingness, though, he finally starts supporting his own weight again, pulling himself away from - and out of - Chikusa. He scrubs the hand he'd jerked Chikusa off with absently against his pants as he tucks himself back into them with the other.

Between this kind of thing and the blood, laundry for the Kokuyo gang must be a hell of a time.

Laundry is the worst, and Chikusa is constantly suffering.

It’s not even a problem he can save for the future, either. Reaching down to pull up his pants, Chikusa glances over his shoulder at the disastrous state Ken is in. Getting rid of all that blood… He can just imagine how much of a pain it’s going to be. Sighing, he rubs at the back of his neck to see if he’s still bleeding.

“...We need to take a bath…” Or, maybe more accurately, he mostly just wants to take one.

"Do we have to?" Ken's voice is even whinier now, although Chikusa may note that the actual resistance behind this complaint is weak. There are times when Ken knows he's dirty enough that it's going to cause actual problems, or complaints from Mukuro, and - while he's no happier about bathing - he grudgingly accepts it as necessary. He knows he's about at that point now, and he's not going to fight Chikusa too hard.

Especially since he just got sex. Sex always makes him more manageable.

"We going home, Kakipi?" This is said with much less whine and much more curiosity. If they're done for the day, they can go home and see Mukuro. And Ken can probably curl up on Chikusa and go to sleep. Ken's restlessly energetic as a general rule, but a long day ~~and a sex session~~ does tire him out by the end of it.

“Yes.” After making sure he’s suitable enough by his standards, Chikusa shifts into his usual slouch. What’s different this time, however, is the way he loosely takes the cuff of Ken’s sleeve between his fingers as he starts to move. It’s the closest to hand holding he’ll ever get. “But tomorrow we’re going to the baths.”
There’s no way he’s letting them stay filthy for long, after all.

A few seconds after he’s said that, however, he glances at Ken from the corner of his eye. “...Would you really go to find a prostitute?”

Ken is utterly contented by this, and he follows Chikusa - catching up with him to match his stride, in fact - easily and without complaint. He doesn't openly acknowledge Chikusa's hand on his sleeve, but he holds his arm in such a way as to carefully avoid jostling it out of Chikusa's grip.

At Chikusa's question, he glances at him. "Kakipi's better, byon," he states, as though he's ever compared. Although, one supposes, perhaps there's a buried compliment in the fact that Ken hasn't compared, yet he still says this as a simple statement of fact. Then he cocks his head. "Would you be mad if I did?"

“...Yeah.” Chikusa’s fingers rub at the fabric he has pinched between them. “Mukuro-sama and I should be all you need.”

That’s why he does things like blowjobs without caring if he particularly enjoys them or not. Even though he’s well aware that it’s impossible, he wants to be everything he can for them. He wants to be a partner, a tool, a lover who can do whatever is necessary to make them content and never leave him. If Ken can just go off and pay someone to do something that Chikusa could do but didn’t…

Admittedly, that doesn't consider Chrome's place in things... but Chikusa is still sometimes unsure of that himself.

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