Okuyasu Appreciation Zone

redraw of this pic v

Oh wow, some anonymous artist did guest art for this prompt! I wonder who it could be... everyone say thank you to them for donating two tender and beautiful pieces of housewife yaoi, they've done a tremendous service O7

Like usual, Shinobu ruins her evening at Tomoko’s before it begins. She has a new pair of kitten heels, cherry red, and the vague hope that they could be her new work shoes, but they’re not broken in and pinch terribly by the end of the day.

Her lack of sensible footwear makes them almost half an hour late to the Higashikata’s house, Hayato trailing ahead as his mother limps behind, willing herself to ignore the pain of each step. She wishes she had changed into sandals, or sneakers, even if they would have looked ridiculous next to her silky blouse and sensible, knee-length skirt.

Tomoko insists that it’s fine, but the table is already set, the central pot of zosui cold and congealing. Dinner is accompanied by the low hum of the microwave as everyone takes turns trying to revive their meal. Josuke, too impatient to wait, bolts his food cold and is gone, taking Hayato with him and leaving the adults to clean up.

That’s typical for the boys, but tonight Tomoko takes one look at Shinobu hobbling to the sink with a stack of plates and sends her away, too. It feels like taking advantage. It feels terrible.

“You want a cup of tea, baby?” Tomoko calls from the kitchen, interrupting Shinobu’s sulk. The faucet squeaks to a stop.

“Sure, but I can get it-”

“No, you stay there. I’m already up, it’s no trouble.”

Maybe Shinobu is way overthinking things, but she can’t help it. Every invitation for coffee, every phone call or letter in the mail, every time Tomoko hugs her and tells her to come back soon feels like a minor miracle, some fantastic alignment of the stars and planets. If she can’t correct the balance, offer something of herself in return, how is that possibly fair?

And yet… here she is, a steaming cup of green tea in her hands. There Tomoko is, thumping down next to her with a heavy sigh. She looks tired, but that’s all. No anger. No resentment.

“Long day?” Shinobu ventures.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Something nice about Tomoko is that she always has a story ready. It’s usually something mundane- a funny thing one of her students did, an argument she got into with the drugstore clerk- but occasionally something truly bizarre surfaces, usually involving Josuke. The Higashikatas attract weird like magnets and metal filings. Today the subject is her coworker’s hunky new aid, a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who can’t be older than twenty-five. Normal workplace gossip.

What little Shinobu has learned of Tomoko’s dating history paints a daring, provocative picture: the mysterious older American who impregnated her as a college student, a number of risky flings in hotels or work breakrooms, a man she was seriously considering marrying at one point, except for the fact that Josuke hated his guts. At some unspecified time, she worked for an elderly woman, delivering groceries and tidying her shoebox apartment. The woman offered a huge sum to Tomoko for her to stay and warm the bed one night, saying how lonely she was, how late and dark it had gotten. Tomoko turned her down, trudging home through snow and icy rain, only for the old woman to call the next day asking her to pick up a quart of milk like nothing had happened.

They’re not that far apart in age, but their vast gap in experience makes Shinobu feel awkward and stunted, a child playing at adulthood. She often thinks that she might never close that gap. The men at her office are mostly middle-aged and comfortably settled, with wives and children and mortgages. Even if she wanted to date (and she doesn’t), it would be slim pickings.

It’s not like anyone would go for her, anyways, not the way she is now. She’s too needy, too insecure. It clings to her like a bad smell. Shinobu sets her empty teacup down, feeling atrociously guilty. She couldn’t boil her own water, take her own teabag out of the wrapper?

“You know, I wasn’t saying you couldn’t do it, earlier,” Tomoko says, as if she can read Shinobu’s mind. “I was asking if I could do it for you.”

“I… oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tomoko shifts a little closer, coming up off the arm of the couch. “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet today.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just my stupid work shoes. They’re too tight.”

Another nice thing about Tomoko: she asks for forgiveness before permission. Shinobu is sitting with her legs tucked under her, but Tomoko gradually coaxes them into her lap, casual as you please, and starts to rub hard circles into the balls of her stockinged feet.

The conversation continues, light and insubstantial, but Shinobu can’t seem to focus.

I was asking if I could do it for you. But why does she want to do it in the first place?

“Is that any better?” Tomoko eventually asks. “I’m not much of a masseuse.”

“No, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” When’s the last time anyone touched her like this? A year ago? More? What has she done to be treated with such care?

“Tomoko,” Shinobu says, “are you sure it’s not- I don’t want you to feel like you have to have Hayato and me over all the time. You’ve done so much for us, more than you need to-”

“And what? You think I feel sorry for you?”

How can she not? Tomoko has a beautiful house, a good son, a decent-paying job. She’s confident and grounded; she doesn’t base her self-worth on the opinions of a man who left her behind without so much as a goodbye note.

“I mean, I do,” Tomoko says, and Shinobu feels a little pang in her chest. “But shit, doesn’t everyone have a hard time sometimes? You’re doing your best, all by yourself. Why can’t I make life a little easier?”

“Because- because-” she sputters, and the realization is like turning on a light. Because Kosaku never did. Because Kosaku never would. Because I’m the one who has to do everything myself, always, forever.

“Oh, hey,” Tomoko says, her face softening. “It’s no big deal, really. Don’t cry, alright?”

Shinobu kisses her instead.

She thinks, what the hell am I doing?

Tomoko sets one hand on Shinobu’s waist, the other on her back.

She thinks, I’m so selfish.

Tomoko pulls herself forward, into Shinobu’s lap. She feels the warm heavy weight of Tomoko’s bare thigh, the sharp tug of teeth at her lip. It’s like being set on fire.

She thinks, I want to crawl inside of you and never come back out again.

“Stay over tonight,” Tomoko says, when they stop. There’s a smear of Shinobu’s lipstick at the corner of her mouth.

“Does that mean you want me to buy milk tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“The story about the old woman?”

“Oh, that. I made it up. I was trying to see if you were…” She shakes her head. “It was stupid.”

“I thought it was sweet. You’re a friend to lonely women everywhere.”

“No way, never. I only care about one lonely woman, right here,” Tomoko says, kissing her again, and Shinobu’s heart soars.

Show me that there's something I could go back for Show me that there's love worth fighting for! Give me a good reason to believe at all Running 'round in limbo, running 'round it all

Smfh this whole part wld have been done in like 5 episodes if it was up to her

(not inherent ship art but i do think yukako is in the comphet trenches)

harmless sociopaths

dumb suggestion but can you do one of them just sleeping together or something... I’m a sucker for domestic josuyasu 💔 or maybe okuyasu bandaging josuke up since he can’t “heal” him idk