#Best Milk Storage

[seresinhangmanjake]

About Time

Tyler Owens x Childhood Friend!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Tyler’s best friend since childhood, but a near-death experience makes him realize he feels much more for you than friendship and he shouldn’t have allowed himself to deny it for so long. 

Warnings/Notes: cursing, mild angst, mostly fluff, typos

Words: 2300

Masterlist

It was when he almost lost you that Tyler knew he was in love with you. When he was forced to play tug of war with the violent winds to keep you in his arms. When he felt your chest move against his with your shallow, rapid breaths. When he heard his name, a soft whimper from quivering lips. 

“T–Tyler…”

He tightened his grasp on your waist and mumbled, “I got you, darlin’. Just don't let go.”

At that moment, he didn't know if he could protect you, but the alternative was an unbearable thought. Living without you was unimaginable, unacceptable, so if the winds planned to take you, they would have no choice but to take him, too. Then at least you'd be going together. 

He’d always felt something for you, and he understood that he probably always would, but he'd been unwilling to give it a name more intense than a teenage crush that just happened to last well past its expiration date. And while your perpetually growing beauty and intoxicating laugh made it hard for him to tame what he continued to feel, he’d managed. 

But that fear of imminent death—more potent than ever—tapped into the depths of those feelings he’d been swallowing for more than a decade. The abuse of pelting rain and flying debris paled in comparison to the overwhelming storm breaking free from the neglected portion of his heart. 

Once disaster moved along, you looked up at him with wide, weary eyes, and he couldn’t think clearly past the repetitive chanting in his head: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, overpowering every other sense of logic and reason. He pushed strands of damp hair from your face, cupped your cheeks, then leaned down and sealed his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The first kiss. A kiss that typically has a much better outcome than what followed.

He hasn't seen you since that day. A week has come and gone and not one glimpse of your face, and now he’s more desperate for the sight than he’s ever been before. Missing you when you’re not around is far from new, but having released his feelings, the all-consuming sensation is worse. It’s harder to tolerate.

You're avoiding him, he knows it, but he supposes that can happen when someone kisses their best friend with no prior discussion of deeper feelings. It's not what he would do were the situation reversed—he'd still be all over you, kissing you back, smiling, never letting you go—but you've chosen to handle things quite differently, and in doing so, has left him no choice but to respond accordingly.

—

“Mornin’,” you hear, nearly dropping the pail of milk you’d been collecting all morning. Eyes darting to your right, you find Tyler sitting in one of the living room's quilted armchairs. Your heartbeat stutters. 

When you turn your head to the left, your mother is leaning against the kitchen countertop, her fluffy robe tied around her body and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands that she brings to her lips as she reads the newspaper splayed out beside her. 

“Mom, what is Tyler doing here?”

She glances up, swallows, and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip to catch the remnants of caramel-colored liquid. “Oh gosh, dear, he must've snuck in,” she replies, feigning ignorance. “But I’m not one for kickin’ anyone—especially not a fine, young man—off my property, so I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

With a huff, you set the pail down on the breakfast table, knowing your mother will take care of it, and shoot her a glare before making your way to the living room. Tyler stares up at you. You cross your arms and nudge your head toward the storage barn just behind the house where the two of you used to hold your late-night meetings when you were children, and later, teenagers. Many nights you spent in that barn after Tyler had snuck out of his parent’s house and chucked a pebble at your window to wake you. 

Tyler nods and follows you out the back door to the large structure that protects your privacy from the prying ears of the woman inside the house. 

“We gotta get you a new phone, darlin’,” Tyler says to your back once you're enclosed in the barn. “The one you've got doesn't seem to be receiving my calls…or texts…or elaborate voicemails.”

“Tyler…” you sigh, twisting to face him.

“You know we gotta talk about it,” he says. And he’s right, despite how the complicated element introduced into your relationship is entirely his fault and so you shouldn’t have to owe him the time of day until you're ready to give it. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” Tyler’s eyes follow the movement of your arms wrapping tighter around yourself and he swallows hard. “I walked.”

“Speed-walked,” he counters. “Borderline jogged.”

You groan, your tense shoulders sagging. “Tyler listen, I just–”

“Do you really think disappearing on me was a fair thing to do?” he interrupts. “I’m your best friend.”

Your jaw drops at the audacity. Not surprising, really; Tyler’s always had a way of wording things that gets under people’s skin, but out of the two of you, he is the last person who should be doling out the criticism. 

“Fair?” you huff. “You’re the one who–”

“I mean, what was so wrong with it?” Long fingers slide through his blond hair. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about me in that way? It hasn’t crossed your mind once? No sex dreams? Nothin’? ‘Cause I’ve been wrestlin’ with it since fuckin’ high school, but ok, sure, fine.”

“Ty–”

“And I know it was unexpected but was it really that shocking? Don’t you think we’d be good together? I think we’d–”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler, will you let me talk!” you snap, your voice carrying throughout the barn.

If you were trying to preserve your privacy, you’ve definitely failed now. Half of town probably heard you and they’re nothing short of a mile away, but at this point, Tyler has pushed you well past caring. Let them hear. Let them know what’s going on between you. They all saw him kiss you anyway.

“We nearly died,” you continue. “People around us did die.”

Tyler’s face breaks down and you instantly regret your words. You know he stuck around after you left. You know he helped everyone he could in the aftermath of disaster while you let your emotions override your system and ran home to cry to your mother over how he just rocked what was your very steady relationship.

“Look,” you sigh. “Even if I wasn’t thinking about death—and that is a massive ‘if’—I told myself a long time ago that you are my friend, just my friend.”

Tyler’s hands settle on his hips. His eyes fall to the floor and his back teeth clench. “Why?”

“Because I repeated it so many times in my head that it solidified,” you tell him, throwing your arms up. “You know why Bradley dumped me last year? And Pete a couple years before that? And Bobby back in high school?” you ask. “Because of you. They all sensed this weird…energy…from you. All of them. Do you know how many times I had to tell them they were crazy? Do you know how many times I had to tell myself that I was crazy whenever they brought it up to me and I actually considered the possibility of you feeling that way?” 

You know exactly how many. Bobby had mentioned it five times before he decided he was done; broke it off with you right before prom and scoffed when he saw that Tyler had stepped up as your date. Pete was shorter-lived; asked you about Tyler three times before he said he could see which way the wind was blowing and had no interest in getting in between anything. And Bradley held the record at seven, each time making the fight outdo the one prior before he was simply fed up with the friendship you refused to sacrifice. Three boyfriends have ditched you solely because of Tyler, and fifteen times you had to talk yourself down from the jolt of excitement you got from imagining him loving you.    

Taking a deep breath, you say, “You don’t just get to kiss me and not let me sort out my thoughts for five damn seconds.”

Tyler’s head snaps up, jaw ticking and eyes blazing. “Five seconds?” he spits. “I haven’t seen you in a week. That’s the longest we’ve gone since I graduated.”

“This isn’t just about you; how you feel; what you think; what you want.”

“Then what are you tellin’ me?” Tyler asks.

The light quiver in his voice unnerves you. Not because you aren’t used to him expressing himself to the fullest—and if he’s ever going to be vulnerable with anyone, it’s with you—but that quiver is typically the trigger for you comforting him, taking him into your arms and holding him, letting him wrap himself around you until he feels better and is ready to stop. For some reason, you never noticed how long he would stay tied to you when you gave him the chance. 

“Are you feelin’ like this is it?” he continues. “Are you wantin’ us to be done?”

And suddenly, you’re irritated again. You can’t stop the roll of your eyes. In no universe would you ever be done with Tyler Owens, and the fact that he would entertain otherwise is asinine. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, what do you expect!” he shouts. “You’re actin’ like I’m about to lose you!”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“But you're mad that I kissed you!”

“Damn it, Tyler! I am not!”       

Green eyes widen, his breaths heavy from his heaving chest. His mouth opens then closes then opens once more. “You’re—” He licks his lips as you watch him grasp for words. “Then why haven't you called me back?”

You shrug. “I don't know. We've never fought before, and I thought you'd be pissed that I walked off, which clearly you are, so…”

“That’s not true,” he says, moving to take a step closer to you before thinking better of it and staying put. “I haven’t been pissed, darlin’, just terrified. And missing you. And…wanting you.” Heat flares your cheeks, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the desperation in his. “But I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…I mean, you left and I thought…”

You shake your head. Whatever he let himself think, he was wrong.

The silence that settles over you is thicker than you're used to in his presence. You're used to laughter and jokes, sweet comments and banter. Tension zings in the space between your bodies, but it's pleasant, electrifying, invigorating. You feel the full impact of everything that was tucked underneath the stress and anxiety of barrelling through such a hard conversation. 

Tyler feels it too. His face shows it. His eyes you can only describe as heatedly glittering as he stares at you staring at him. His brows are pinched from frustration of a different kind. It's his lips, though, that reveal his thoughts better than any other feature. They're softly parted, glistening from a swipe of his tongue like he's ready to lock them to yours at any second. Like he needs to be ready just in case you give him the go-ahead so he can kiss you before you dare rescind your permission. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, words quieter than you meant for them to be, but Tyler hears you.  

His chuckle is short, half-formed, partially overtaken by the exhale of a breath. You detect a slight tease, as if you should already know the answer to that question. 

“That I wanna kiss you again,” he says. “So fuckin’ bad.”

The corners of your mouth struggle not to quirk upward. “Tyler.” He hums. “You know what it means if we do this, right?”

He nods. “We can’t go back,” he says. “But darlin’, I don’t wanna go back. I wanna keep on goin’...with you.”

“Everything will be different.”

“Not everything. We're still us, we'd just be kissin’ and touchin’ and, you know, doin’ other stuff,” he replies with a smile. “Hopefully.”

You picture Tyler standing before you as you have secretly wished you could have him for years—bare and muscled and grinning and telling you he loves you—and for the first time, you aren’t awash with guilt and shame. It feels right to think of him like this. Natural. There’s a soothing ocean of serenity flowing under the flames of desire, and it hits you that this was probably inevitable. All the pieces were there—friendship, trust, love—all there was left to do was act on it. 

“You won't change your mind?” you ask, stepping to him. 

At your question, distress takes over Tyler's face, but it melts into a grin once he notices your smirk. He closes the remaining distance between you and takes your hand, carefully interlocking your fingers. 

“No chance,” he tells you. 

“Ok,” you say, nodding. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, then I guess it’s ok if you kiss me agai–”

Your chuckle is muffled against his lips. His fingers untangle from yours and he guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck so he can cup your cheek. His free arm coils around your waist, pulling you in closer, and your body melts into his. Your brain fuzzes. You lose all awareness of your surroundings. You think you might just stay like this forever.

----

Tag List (if you wanna join)

[shopfoodstorage]

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[mallleus]

I totally see Stan with a Hispanic wife/husband/spouse. It just fits ya know?

Constantly has red lipstick somewhere on him

He brings home a pumpkin for Halloween one day and spouse turns it into a soup

“ it’s so hot, doll face, what’s on the menu?” “ Caldo de Pollo” dies a little inside, Soos appreciates the homemade food

He thought he’d be funny when he swapped their plate with his unaware they gave him a mild serving of chorizos and he had to chug a gallon of milk because they went scorched earth on their with hot sauce

Likes the homemade fruit popsicles

Uses mythology/scary stories from their country as inspiration for attractions in mystery shack “ and here we have the illusive La YA-rona” ( he tries his best but he can’t pronounce most words)

He was in a Colombian prison he speaks Spanish to an extent but learns more living with his partner

Dipper and Mabel are not immune to eating caldo de pollo on 172738949272 Fahrenheit degree weather btw

You are their Tia/Tio (y/n)

The oven is extra storage to you and he doesn’t understand why you need all those pots and pans

He got sick once and you gave him ginger ale, Vic’s vapor rub, Tylenol, the tiger blanket, and sent him to bed. (Told him the next day he got sick cuz he went to bed with his hair wet)

When mad at him you scold him in FAST PACE NATIVE SPANISH and he’s like that’s hot but also slightly intimidated because it sounds so mean

Wendy asks to learn the cuss words

You did the egg thing on Stan and it immediately turned black and there was silence for a good 5 minutes while you both stared at just how black the yolk was

Family cookout! autism be damned, Ford can work the grill

Watching tele novelas with subtitles for Stan, despite not understanding what’s being said he still cries

If you HC as reader being with Stan BEFORE the portal incident then, reader definitely calls Ford Cabron in passing (Stan’s ride or die fr) (Fords got like 12 phds, he’s gotta know a couple languages, he knows what you’re saying just not why)

If you HC being with Stan AFTER then they’re like ok whatever but I am distrustful of you (also probably married to StanFORD so you’re gonna have to divorce him to marry StanLEY. Congrats on that)

Calling Stan, mi Amor

Calling Dipper pequeño and Mabel Chiquita

I wrote this for me but if you want more let me know

Part 2 Part 3

[muffinpink02]

Coffee Shop

Summary - You get a job with Mapi, she's a big flirt, your current partner is a dick, does Mapi sway your mind? Some appearances from the Barca girls. Got a lot done but a lot more to go. This will hava a part 2 at some point.

Warning Smut 18 & rough, consensual sex/shitty partner

“That’s it, just like that. Good” She husked

“Like that?” You whispered, listening intently to the girl's instructions.

“Sí, go a bit higher.” You could see from the corner of your eye she was biting her lip. 

The Spaniard placed her tattooed hands around yours, directing your movements, you felt your breath catch slightly in your throat from her touch. 

“Just like that. You’re doing good, hold it there.” She was so close, you could smell her woody perfume. She let go of your hands, giving you range to move. 

“I can see someone’s getting more comfortable.” Mapi hummed. 

You chuckled softly, her breath tickled your neck. “I have a good teacher.”

The brunette lightly chuckled. “Okay. Now hit it hard so the air bubbles go.”

You pulled the jug of milk from the machine and did as the brunette said.

“Perfecto. Now this part is more tricky, but try and do the heart, like I showed you.”

You tilted the mug with the shot of coffee and poured the frothy milk inside. Trying your best attempt at making the artwork from the steamy milk. You both watched as the hot milk mixed with the coffee. It had started out well but began to look similar to a poo emoji. 

“Ergh. I can’t do it, Mapi.” You looked at the coffee mug, a frown now on your face. 

The Spaniard put her hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s not easy, princesa. I didn’t get it straight away. You’re getting there.” She smiled warmly at you.

“Yeah, I just want to get it right.” You looked down at the coffee mug, letting out a loud sigh. 

——————-

It had been a month since you started working at the coffee shop. On your first day you arrived ten minutes early, you entered the small cosy cafe that you had always passed on your walks, but for some reason had never entered. 

The bell rang above your head, catching your new colleagues' attention. You were greeted by the tattooed Spaniard, the very confident, very beautiful, very cocky Spaniard.

“Hola, you must be the new starter. I’m Mapi.”

Mapi was hot, with a capital H. You drank in her olive skin and tattooed covered arms as she walked toward you. You tried your best to not stare for too long. Though the Spaniard didn't try very hard, her brown eyes scanned your body as soon as you walked through the door. A cheeky smile plastered her face as she stuck her lean arm out for you to hold.

She showed you around, demonstrating the basics of the machines, where the storage cupboard was and where you could find most of the supplies you would need during your shift. She got you to clean for the day, not wanting to overwhelm you on your first day, allowing you to get used to your surroundings. 

You cleaned like she had asked, even cleaning bits that looked like they hadn’t been touched in a while. You weren't able to talk much longer as the shop got busy in its morning rush.

But now and again you got distracted, you had found yourself staring at Mapi throughout the day. Your eyes drifted to her decorated arms as you cleared tables. You watched the way her muscles flexed when making the drink orders for the customers. Or how she stuck her tongue out in concentration as she counted the customers' change. 

The Spaniard had caught you staring plenty of times, but never said anything. She would smirk at you as if she had an idea of what you were looking at, and she would take the opportunity to ask if you were doing okay, or ask if you needed help, smirking to herself as you flustered. 

Of course you tried to make it look like you weren't staring, trying your best to look away before she caught you.  But your eyes would still end up wandering back to her not long after. 

In the quieter hours of the day you found out you had a lot of things in common. Mapi played for a local football team, she played in defence. You explained how you had played before but not since you injured your knee, but you told her you’d love to try again in the future. 

“You are more than welcome to come and try out. Or even come and watch us play.” The Spaniard smiled at you, pure joy on her face. 

“Yeah, definitely. I’d love that.” You smiled at the brunette.

By the end of the shift music started to play through the shop's speakers, Mapi asked what you wanted to listen to. Finding out you had very similar music tastes. 

She closed the shop door behind her, locking it with the keys. She turned to you. 

“Hey, you did well today. I’ll show you more of the coffee making tomorrow, in the quiet times.”

“Thank you. Yeah, that sounds good, I don’t want you to think I’m useless.” You laughed.

“I don’t think you are anything of the kind.” She looked at you with a straight face.

You felt your cheeks warm up, you chuckled gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She smiled at you.

————

It was now a month in, and you were a lot more comfortable, thanks to a certain Spaniard. It was closing time, and as usual Mapi had her music blaring over the speakers. You swept the floors while she emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight? Me and my friends are going to Club 10 if you want to join?” 

The thought of going out clubbing with Mapi was exciting, and you were a little sad that you couldn’t join, only as you had plans.

“I can’t. My girlfriend’s coming to mine for dinner. But thank you for asking. Next time though.” You smiled apologetically at her. 

“Ahh no worries, I’ll ask again.” She winked at you as she started to stack the mugs. 

Since you started working at the coffee shop, Mapi shamelessly flirted with you. She flirted with such ease it never felt serious. She would laugh after a one liner that made your cheeks go bright red, then get on with whatever task she was in the middle of doing. She never made you feel uncomfortable, it never felt gross or too much, she just liked teasing you. 

You knew the Spanish were flirty, touchy people, you had even seen her do it with customers now and again. She was clearly just a naturally flirty person.

However, it didn’t stop your heart from racing every so often, especially if she was giving you a certain look when she did decide to flirt. Or a certain cheeky smile when she was being extra touchy, you would have to take yourself to the bathroom to have a quick breather. You weren't blind, Mapi was beyond sexy, but not only was she your type on paper, she was kind, funny and genuinely seemed to care about what was going on with you. 

But, you never took your feelings further than that, you had a girlfriend, a girlfriend of nine months. Things were going good, you really liked Frankie, she was smart, successful, funny and great in bed. You had even recently said those big three words just over a month ago, she hadn’t said it back but you weren't going to push her. She would say that in her own time. 

————

You plaited up the food you had spent ages cooking, pleasantly surprised at how it came out. 

“Smells good babe, you didn’t put any spicy stuff in it did you?” Frankie asked while scrolling on her phone. 

“No, nothing too spicy. I added some seasoning, but only for flavour.”

You placed Frankie’s food in front of her. 

“Okay, cos I really can’t do spice.”

You sat down across from her and smiled. 

“I know. No spice. I promise.”

Thankfully Frankie deemed it edible enough to eat. Well, it was more the vegetables that she ate. She attempted the chicken that you had added a small amount of flavour to, she had to stop a few times for extra water.

“So when do you think you’ll get a proper job?” Frankie asked as she pushed around the food on her plate. 

You stopped your own fork before it got to your lips. 

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“Well a waitress isn’t a real job. When do you think you’ll be going back to an office job?”

“Well, I’m not a waitress, it’s a barista role and I’ve only started there and I actually really enjoy it. You know I wasn’t happy at my last job. I needed a break from all that corporate shit.” 

She gave you that look that you hated, it was a look that made you feel stupid, like you had just said the dumbest thing she had ever heard. 

“Well, you can’t do that forever. You’ll have to get back to it at some point.” She drank her water. 

You suddenly lost your appetite, you placed your fork on your plate. You felt that anxious feeling creeping on your skin. 

You had left your project manager role just over six weeks ago, you hated your last job, it had gotten way too stressful. Your manager would make you feel bad for not putting in extra work, and extra work was putting it lightly. He wanted you to do two people’s jobs, and then some. They hadn’t hired enough staff due to people leaving monthly. You wouldn’t have minded too much but they didn’t even pay you for the extra hours you did do.

The job had even started to creep into your personal life. You were too tired to meet your friends as you were working over time and too stressed to not take your mind off work during the weekends as you would get constant emails and calls from clients. 

Your manager had even called you while you were on a pre booked holiday asking you to end it early. And you did leave the holiday early, as you were half threatened that you would lose your job if you didn’t. When you needed a half day for a funeral you were denied straight away, that’s when you knew you were done with the company. 

You gave in your notice the next day and decided to have a small break, you had saved up a bit of money over the years, so financially you were fine. You just wanted to have a two or three month break, to maybe go away or just figure out a new role. Nothing like what you were doing before. 

You had only taken the coffee shop job because Frankie wouldn’t stop talking about you not having a job. It made you feel lazy and insecure, you felt like you kind of had to. So your break was cut short to two weeks. 

“Well, I’m happy there. I don’t think I’ll be looking for anything else any time soon.”

Frankie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her water.

“Whatever, it’s your life, waste it on what you want.” 

Before you could respond Frankie’s phone began to ring. “I got to take this, you can throw the rest away. It’s too spicy.”

Frankie left the room, her phone pressed to her ear. 

You cleared the table, a lump bubbled in your throat, you felt like shit. You knew Frankie meant well, but she was from a different background. She was from money. Her dad got her role in PR because he knew the owner of the company. She hadn’t worked for the role in any way. And if that didn’t work out he would more than likely get her a role in another firm, like he always did.

————

It was half three, and dead in the coffee shop. You and Mapi were having a debate on what women’s team were likely to win the euros in 2025. 

“Come on, Spain will win, we won the worlds! Why would we not win euros?” 

You loved winding her up about football, she was the only other person that loved it as much as you. 

“Hmm I don’t know. You guys got lucky in my opinion.” 

“Pshhh. You are just hurt because we are the better team.”

“It was luck, just one goal. Nothing to shout about.” You smirked.

Mapi was done with your teasing, she grabbed the jug of milk off the side and flicked the froth right at your face. By the look on her own face she had done more than she meant to, she looked slightly worried until she saw you smile.

You dramatically gasped, wiping some of the mess from your cheeks. You broke out into a playful smile and began to laugh. She smiled instantly at your reaction, laughing at her mistake.

You looked around the counter, trying to find your own weapon, you grabbed the hot chocolate ganache pot, laughing internally as Mapi’s face dropped.

“No, come on. I was kidding. I’m sorry. Please, chica.” Mapi put her arms up in defence. You stepped closer to her, clearly not caring about her protest. She then took a different approach.

“Come on, princesa.” She pleaded.

You couldn't help but feel butterflies at her nickname for you.

“You can’t waste it, you can’t put good chocolate to waste. If you do it, you’ll have to eat it off me” She stepped closer to you, a devilish smirk on her face. The smirk that made your knees buckle, and you had a feeling she knew that. 

You were never one to flirt back, you would normally roll your eyes or batter off whatever hot and heavy sentence the Spaniard would lay on you, but you decided to play her at her own game. The words came out before you could really register what you were saying. 

“Hmm. but I don’t think you could handle my tongue.” 

Mapis' face was a perfect picture of shock. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for being able to make the girl falter like you did. Before the brunette had a chance to reply the bell on the door chimed, you turned around to greet the customer 

“Frankie? Wha- what are you doing here?” 

Frankie walked towards the counter, a big smile on her face. Until she eyed up Mapi, who was probably standing too close for Frankie’s liking. 

“Well, don’t look too happy to see your girlfriend.” She emphasised the last word. 

“No I am. I just. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Frankie loved when she made you a bit helpless, you could see it on her face, you must have looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Well I was passing by, I wanted to see why you loved it here so much.” She then eyed up Mapi once more. 

“Frankie, this is Mapi. She’s trained me on everything I need to know about coffee and how to make the perfect hot chocolate.” You smiled at Mapi. “Mapi, this is Frankie, my girlfriend.”

Mapi reached her hand out for Frankie. 

“Hola, it’s nice to meet you.” The Spaniard smiled at Frankie. 

Frankie looked Mapi up and down like she didn’t want to touch her hand, but she did, and she did it quickly. You didn’t miss it, and neither did Mapi. 

Frankie laughed. “Is there really much to know? It’s coffee, not rocket science. It’s not that hard.” 

You felt your skin prickle. You hated when Frankie was like this.  

“Actually there is a bit to know about coffee and how it’s made. It can almost be a science lesson.” Mapi laughed at her own joke. 

“Mapis right. There’s a lot to it.” You looked at Frankie, almost pleading with your eyes to stop her rudeness. 

“Hmm, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Are you allowed to have that many tattoos showing while you’re working? Does it not put the customers off?”

You heard Mapi laugh under her breath. 

“I actually get a lot of compliments, especially from the ladies.” Mapi winked at Frankie, she wasn’t going to bite back. 

“Each to their own. I just wouldn’t be allowed to have any tattoos showing like that at my work.” 

You then chimed in. “You don’t even have tattoos and I don’t actually think they would care much at your work, Frankie. It’s not like you're a rocket scientist.” You joked but could tell that pissed Frankie off. 

Mapi laughed, she put her hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going to count the items in the storage cupboard chica. Was nice to meet you Frankie.” Mapi walked away, leaving you and Frankie alone. 

“That was rude. Why are you being like that?” 

“I was just joking. Listen, I came here to apologise. I was a dick the other night, I don’t want to argue.” Frankie took your hand in hers, giving you the puppy dog eyes that she always used when you argued. 

You smiled, you weren't one to stay mad. You squeezed her hand back, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. 

“Do you want to go for dinner next week? We can go to that place that you like?” Frankie asked. 

“Yes! The Spanish restaurant?” You chimed.

“Yeah, that one.” 

“I’d love that.” You clapped. 

Frankie smiled, you could tell she had more to say. 

“I also have to travel for work tomorrow. We’ve got a new client that the company wants to impress. So I’ll be gone for three nights. I won’t be able to talk to you much.” 

You felt your shoulders drop. “Really? Okay well. I guess you can’t say no. We can FaceTime at night.” You tried to be positive.

“Well, maybe, you would have to text me first. Don’t just spring a FaceTime on me, I might be out with the new clients.” She laughed. 

“Yeah that makes sense.”

“I’ll be back Thursday evening, we can go for dinner on Friday evening.” 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” You said. 

“Anyways I got to go, I’ll see you later tonight?” Frankie smiled.

“Yeah. See you tonight.” 

You leaned back in to give Frankie a quick kiss, but you suddenly felt her grab you by the T shirt, pulling you hard. You yelped as she pushed her tongue deep into your mouth. You pulled back, looking at Frankie in confusion, she never kissed you like that in public, she was always one to hate PDA. You caught her eyes, she was looking at Mapi, who wasn’t paying any attention to the pair of you. 

“What are you doing?” You wiped your mouth, slightly annoyed.

“Nothing. Just wanted to kiss you. I’ll see you later.” Frankie walked out the coffee shop, smirking to herself. 

Mapi came back up to restock the fridge. “Your girlfriend is nice.” She said it with enough sarcasm. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why she acted like that.”

“It's obvious, no?” She smirked as she stalked up to you. “You have to work with a very sexy.” She stepped closer. “Very charming.” Her arms trapped your body against the coffee bar. “Very tattooed, Spanish girl, all day.” 

The brunette had your body caged between hers and the bar. Her face was so close to yours, you could feel her breath on your lips. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming over her delicate pink lips. Your mind wondered what it would be like to have those same lips on yours, or other places. You felt your pussy spasm at the dirty thoughts flooding your brain.

She whispered.“See bonita, you can’t keep your eyes off of me.” 

Her smirk was devilish. It was like she could read your mind. You felt your cheeks blush from her comment. Her dark eyes roamed your face, it looked like she wanted to kiss you. Suddenly her body was gone. Her laugh brought you back from the daze that was Mapi. She started stocking the fridge, chuckling to herself as if she hadn't just had you hanging on to every word of hers. 

“You are like a baby rabbit, no. Squirrel? Some kind of fuzzy creature.” 

You blew out a chuckle, trying to compose yourself. But you could feel the heat between your legs. You looked over at the clock. How many hours did you have left?

—--------------

“Fuck, just like that.” You were between Frankies legs, eating her out while she pulled hard on your hair. It was the third time in a row that you had gotten her off, not that you minded but you had been horny since work. 

Not for any particular reason. 

But you had been desperate to have some release and the minute you stepped through the door you could tell Frankie needed it to. She had just about said hello when she pulled you into the bedroom, kissing you hard. Her teeth sunk in your bottom lip making you whimper against her mouth. But she only swallowed your cries. She pushed your back against the wall, you winced as you hit the foundation. 

“I need your tongue.” Was all she said before you were being pushed to your knees. She unbuckled her jeans and grabbed your head, forcing your face between her legs. She let out a gasp, her head tilted back as your tongue made connection with her clit. You didn’t mind this kind of sex, you were the more submissive one between the pair of you, and it could get rough and desperate and you knew Frankie liked being in charge. 

She grabbed the back of your head as she fucked your face against the wall. Her hips rolled into your mouth, taking complete charge of your movements. 

“Stick your tongue out.” She demanded. 

You stuck your tongue out for her. She grinded her pussy along your tongue, it was like you was her fuck toy. 

She came quickly, pushing your head against the wall as she used you to get off. After she came, she moved you onto the bed. You thought she wanted to do the same to you, but she made herself comfy on the pillows. You watched as she laid back, opening her legs and pointed between them. 

So you did as she asked, you didn't mind going again, you were a giver, you loved pleasing your partners but the wetness between your legs was ever growing. It took her a lot longer to come this time, as she had literally just came a minute before she had you on your knees again. But eventually after some time she came in your mouth, her hand holding your head down roughly. 

Once she released your hair you sat up. You were desperate for her now. It had been a while since you had sex with Frankie. You knew she was stressed from work, having new important clients on. So sex was off the cards. Well, she would be too tired to do bits to you. So you ended up like this a lot of the time, your face or hands between her legs. You moved up to kiss her, she sucked your tongue into her mouth.

“Again.” She husked out. 

“Again?” You chuckled breathlessly.

“Yeah, I need you babe. You make me feel so good.” She stroked your face lovingly.

“Okay. Are you not too sensitive?”

“No.” She kissed you again and started to push your head down.

“Okay.” You gave her a final kiss before you moved down her body, kissing her stomach on the way down. You licked slowly.

“Fuck.” She pushed your head further in between her legs, rocking herself on your tongue. Once again it took her a while to come, clearly too sensitive. You could feel your cunt throbbing, needing to be touched. 

Your jaw began to ache from how long you had been eating her out. She pulled your hair hard, your eyes closed from the pain, she sometimes didn't realise how rough she was being. You wondered if Mapi was ever this rough. You could feel your underwear becoming uncomfortably wet. Finally, you could tell she was close, she started to grip your head tight, it was painful, but before you could stop her, her hips bucked into your face. You groaned as she pushed you further into her core. It was almost hard to breathe.

“Fuck, suck it. Suck it. Yes, just like that. Such a slut” She gripped at your head, not letting you move an inch as you sucked on her clit. 

Her legs started to shake. You felt her wetness start to enter your mouth. Her thighs clamped your head. She kept you how she wanted you, her hips grinding into your face. You swallowed her juices. As she let out a groan. You tried to move your head away to breathe but she pulled you back.

“I didn't say stop, keep going” 

Your lips wrapped back around her clit. 

“Do it gently. Swallow.” She gripped your neck.

You stayed there like she demanded. Finally she let go.

“So good.” She husked out. 

You lied next to her, catching your breath. “Yeah?” 

She sat up, groaning from the pleasure. “Yeah. I needed that. I'm going to get in the shower.”

“Oh?”

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just.. I thought we could carry on? I wa- I really want you Frankie.” You smiled, hoping she would get the hint.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay. It’s just that, it's been a while since you kind of touched me like that. I just miss you.”

She rolled her eyes already annoyed. “I’m tired.”

“No, I get that. I just wanted t-,” 

“God, can’t you just give me a break. I don’t want to. Don’t try to make me feel bad because I’m tired.” 

This was the third time you had mentioned it. Frankie hadn’t touched you in 6 weeks. You tried to ask her what was wrong. If there was a reason she didn't want to touch you, if it was something she needed to talk about, but everytime she just brushed it off and blamed work. 

You already couldn't be asked to argue. You would just take care of yourself. Again.

“Okay.” You looked away, not able to look at your girlfriend, worried she would see your pain.

“Ergh. I’m going to mine. Thanks for ruining a good moment.” 

“No, Frankie don’t.” You begged. 

“No. You’ve pissed me off.” She quickly put her clothes on and left. Slamming the door behind her.

You flinched from the slam. You felt the tears prick at your eyes. Then the hot tears ran down your cheeks. You felt numb. Frankie had been arguing with you more and more lately. Snapping at you for small things, arguing over nothing. And now she wasn't touching you. You felt ugly, unwanted. 

You definitely didn’t feel horny anymore. You took yourself to the bathroom and had a long hot shower, you had your dinner and scrolled through Netflix to watch a movie. It had become a routine at this point, doing this alone after an argument with Frankie. Half way through you got a text, you ignored the giddy feeling you felt when you saw it was from her. You looked at your phone to see Mapi’s name on your screen, you couldn't stop the stupid smile that appeared on your face. 

It was a picture of her cat dressed up in a cowboy hat. She told you about the purchase she had got for her pet. You didn't believe her, but here it was picture proof. You replied.

Mapi - Picture sent

You - she doesn't look too impressed. 

Mapi - ignore her, she always looks that way. She loves it 

You laughed, shaking your head at the Spaniards' antics. Another text came through.

Mapi - I'm going to the ‘Blue Cherry' tomorrow, wanna come?

You bit your lip in thought. You had no plans tomorrow. Frankie was away, and if it was anything like her trip before you didnt get to speak to her once. So, yeah why not. It had been ages since you had a night out.

You - Yes! I’ll be there 🎉

That stupid goofy smile grew on your face once more. Mapi always had a way of making you smile, or feel special, even something as simple as wanting you to go out with her and her friends. You found yourself looking over her instagram page, again. You smiled as you looked over the now familiar pictures. You scrolled down to the very familiar picture of Mapi sitting on a rock in her bikini. The girl's body was unreal. You felt a little bad that you lingard on the photo, learing at your friend. But you had been so worked up from earlier, your body was basically on the edge of exploding.

Your mind drifted to your memories of today. You could still feel the weight of Mapi’s body pressing against your own. You could see the curve of her pink lips smirking at you, the way she always did when she was messing with you. Her lips had become a common thought in your mind, you had wondered how her lips would feel on your own, or how her tongue would feel if it were to trace down your stomach. Followed by gentle kisses.

And suddenly that hornyness returned. 

Your hand slowly descended down your stomach, your fingertips traced small lines on your exposed skin, just teasing yourself with the thought. Recently you had been doing this more and more.

You slipped your hand down your pj shorts. You weren't shocked at just how wet you already were. You tried to put it down to you pleasuring Frankie, but you knew deep down it wasn't because of that, not right now.

You dipped your finger past your lips and just below your clit, finding your essence already dripping. You gathered the juices on your finger tips and brought it straight to your clit. You let out a small hiss. You were past sensitive. It almost hurt to touch yourself, you weren't sure if it was mental strain or physical. 

You bit your lip at feeling the pleasure of finally having some friction on your bundle of nerves, circling your clit just the way you liked. You couldn't stop the images of today flashing through your mind, you could see Mapi in front of you, you could feel the shape of her body pressing against yours, your fingers picked up the pace. 

You could see her brown eyes looking at you, her lips smirking at you. Your imagination got the better of you when you pictured Mapis' hand in place of your own, touching you, pressing your clit lightly. Her smirk became wider as she felt you becoming wetter. 

“You want me, don’t you?” You imagined her voice.

You nodded. Even an imaginary Mapi knew you wanted her. Your hips started to grind into your own hand. You imagined her fingers touching you, her eyes watching you. You then imagined the girl in front of you, in your home, pulling your pjs shorts down, her brown eyes staring between your legs, licking her lips.

You started to get rougher with your touches, needing Mapi more and more. You imagined her tattooed hand reaching between your thighs, stroking your skin, teasing you as she got closer to your core. You imagined her gentle touch as she finally got to your clit, rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You like it, princesa?” Her imaginary voice asked.

You nodded. You could feel your orgasm rising. Mapi invaded your mind, her freckles, her smile, her laugh, the way she smelt, the way she talked, the way her eyes watched you when she thought you weren't looking. She filled your mind with everything that was her, your legs began to shake as her imaginary fingers brought you closer to your orgasm. 

You imagined her lips tracing your neck, sucking gently on your skin. You gasped as you felt your climax start to take over. Your legs began to shake, your back arched off the sofa as you imagined Mapi kissing you while you came. Your hips bucked into your hand at the aftershocks of your orgasm, your breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. 

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, guilt took over for Frankie and Mapi. But before you could think anymore about it a text came through, you looked at your phone to see Mapi replying to your text.

Mapi - Finally!

You let out a loud sigh as your head dropped back on the sofa.

[rodolfoparras]

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Cw: 18+, age gap, office sex, semi public sex, public sex, riding bjobs

Summary: in which Price is your dad’s best friend

Thinking about Price being best friend with your father, a man who runs an empire and expects you to take over one day.

However you want the complete opposite, on top of that you despise him.

When your father first introduced you to Price you hadn’t planned to fuck him, but the older man was kind, sweet and charming, on top of that he was very attractive.

So when your dad’s away on a business trip you’ll fuck Price in your dad’s office, sitting in his office chair while having Price perched on your lap as he works himself up and down your cock, making sure to bend him over the desk and fuck him all over your father’s paper work even going as far as taking him up against one of the walls til that stupid portrait that your father has of himself falls down onto the floor and shatters into the pieces

And Price? He fucking loves it, takes your cock with a smile on his face as you fuck him on your dads desk,milking you for all your worth as he sucks you off in your father’s office chair, feels himself get even more riled up when the sharp picture frames dig into his back while you take him up against the wall.

Because truth is Price hates your dad as much as you do. He’s just putting up with him for the sake of business connections.

So if someone young and attractive like you wants to fuck him who is he to deny it?

He’ll gladly take your hand in his to grope his own dick while the three of you are sitting in a meeting,

He’ll happily go for a quickie before he is to meet your dad for dinner, sneaking away to storage rooms to fuck, maybe even letting you take him in the broken elevator, then quickly getting himself together with your cum in his ass as he goes to have dinner with your dad

Price will even throughly enjoy sitting in your father’s office no matter if it’s to sit through a scolding or a boring conversation, because in his mind he’d just be thinking about every spot you fucked in.

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 3}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: With the overnight patrol behind you, it's now time for your annual leave from the roster altogether. But Joel doesn't know that and you're hesitant to tell him, feeling like it would be the best for you two to get some distance. But as with all things involving the man, it was hard to keep the distance.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, slight angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, two (2} instances of joel miller gently touching reader, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, talk of pregnancy, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, sexual content, masturbation (f and m), yearning, protective joel, tommy is a scheming lil brother and we love him for it, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: i'm not really back in wake of some bad comments and confrontational haters, but love y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A knock on your door the next morning caught you bundled up and out in the backyard, the sound echoing throughout your empty house. It was small: a simple one with a larger than average kitchen, a living room, one bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, and a laundry / mudroom with a deep utility sink and a few cabinets of storage. It’s where you kept the tools for the garden, where you washed and prepped everything you managed to grow before moving it into the kitchen space. But you were on the modest back porch, a cup of steaming coffee cooling in the early morning air as you looked out at the trees that took up a good chunk of the large area.

Dragging your eyes from the one that looked like it was about at the end of its life, a large crack running down through the trunk, you heeded the knock at the early hour. Knowing it could only be one of four people.

“Was worried I woke you for a moment, you sleep okay?” Maria greeted you as she waddled past you and moved into the kitchen. She spied the other cups worth of contents in the coffee maker and sighed in longing. The scent of it heavy in the air, mixed with cinnamon you were apt to put in with the grounds before brewing. But her sigh turned into a delighted hum as she shifted her attention to the cooling pan atop the stove and moved closer to inspect the baked goods settled on it.

“Probably not much better than you, momma. How you feelin’?” You slid a plate to her as she began to pick pieces off from one of the flaky breakfast hand pies you had made. She placed the one she had begun eating along with another before following you to the large table that ran through the middle of the room. Setting it down and pulling out the chair for her, you helped her to lower into it. With a caressing touch to her swollen belly, permission given from her months ago, you began to set up a kettle for some tea.

“Big.” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste of the filling. Crumbs of the flaky crust sticking to the front of her shirt, jacket having been shrugged off. “Olive, these are fantastic. Is there anything in here I shouldn’t be eating?”

“I wouldn’t have let ya get your hands on it if that were the case. Just bacon and onion jam, eggs, a little bit of milk, and a whole bunch of thyme. Nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too bad, my ass. You should totally make these for the mess hall on your next shift.”

Another knock on the front door stole the words from your mouth and you looked to the woman who all of a sudden had great interest in picking the crumbs from where they had fallen.

“Maria, what is this?”

“Can’t I call on a fellow morning bird without ulterior motives?”

“You could, but you didn’t this time around. I don’t get many visitors so I wonder who you- Oh! Good mor-morning, Joel.” Surprise overtook you as you were suddenly face to face with the man over the threshold of your front door. He was bundled up as well, though his hair was wet, slicked back and shining in the early morning sun peeking over the mountains.

“I just figured we could all chat about the Teton route.” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. But it didn’t break the stare you could feel as Joel’s eyes took in the apron you had thrown on earlier.

“Mornin’.” He rumbled, a hand reaching out from within his jacket pocket to swipe at your cheek. His touch burned, but you were frozen in place at such a forward action so early in the day. Lips parting as you tried to pull in a breath but you were sure all you managed to do was huff out what air was already in your lungs. “You got a lil flour or somethin’.”

“O-oh, um, thank you.” His hand lingered, the back of his knuckle dragged down your cheek and then the finger curled around the neckline, tugging slightly. Nerves sparkling as you felt the warmth from his hand so close to your neck, you could only swallow as his eyes finally met yours with a playful grin displaying that damned, endearing dimple normally hidden in his scruff.

“Never seen you so homey before, it’s a good look on you.” His voice was tipped low, just for you and you felt your stomach lurch.  When you didn’t say anything, just continued to stand there caught like a fly in his trap, he chuckled and asked if you were going to let him inside. It was then you realized he had inched closer, crowding you in the doorway, with his hand still around the strap of fabric over your neck.

“Oh! Of cour-course, I’m so sorry. It must be the early hour taking my manners.” But you knew he wouldn’t believe that for a second, he knew you were a morning person. Something you had revealed to him on patrol. Just like he had revealed to you that he took any opportunity to sleep in, apt to hit snooze an embarrassing about of times if the sound even reached him. You had both laughed at the polarizing tendencies, ribbing each other about it throughout the day. It had been a good one, free of the underlying…tension of whatever had shifted when you had pressed your lips to his injuries. Something you would take back if it meant cutting the undercurrent of whatever had befallen your interactions.

“There’s, um, breakfast hand pies and one last serving of coffee,” You spoke as you turned your back on him and went to retrieve your own mug from the porch.

After the shuffle of greetings, of ushering Joel to take a seat at the table. You plated up two of the hand pies and poured the last of the coffee for him, setting it down in front of him with a small smile before fetching the whistling kettle and preparing a cup of tea for Maria who was already a bite into her second pastry.

“Now, the horse you two lost.”

Joel made a surprised sound, mouth biting into one of the pastries on his plate.

“It was my fault.” You rushed out before Joel could even respond around his mouthful. His eyes flicked to you across the table where you had finally taken a seat, watching as you willingly took the blame for the unfortunate event. “I wasn’t quick enough taking down the Infected that were coming at us. Two of them had set their sights on her, with all the noise she was making while another went after Joel on the ground.”

“And there was no use of anything other than the shotgun?”

“That’s correct.”

“Joel, do you agree with her synopsis?”

“Yes. She acted fast, but there was no way Kiana was gonna make it back, she had been freaking out the second they came outta the tree line, most likely would’ve run off.”

“She always was easy to spook, that’s why she was designated as your horse, calmed her down and got her to focus.” It made sense, Joel was a very level headed person, capable of gently focusing someone should their minds or attention wander.

“I wish every incident discussion was this lovely. No arguing, good food, people who don’t want to go around in circles. You two are truly one of the best pairs we have on the roster.” Maria stirred in a bit more honey into her tea, taking a sip as she looked you both over.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from you as you dug into your own pastry, unaware of them sharing a look.

“This is amazing,” Joel offered, reaching for the kitchen towel folded atop the table to clean his hands off. “You should make these your next shift at the mess hall.”

“I just told her that, imagine the buzz they would cause.”

“They’re not all that special.” You muttered, shoulders rising as you felt rather put on the spot.

“This filling, these onions? It had to have taken a lot of concentration to reduce them down so soft but not mushy. Take the credit where it’s due.” Joel hummed his agreement as he reached for his mug.

“You’re off patrol this week and next, to do your annual thing.” Tommy announced as he sat beside you, his tray thudding against the top of the table, laden down with food from this mornings offerings.

“I can still patrol and get what I have to done.” You didn’t look up from the notebook you were writing in, trying to map out the way you were going to turn the harvest of the olive trees in your backyard into. If you were being honest, patrol twice a week wasn’t so bad with the added allure of Joel Miller. But it would be hard to juggle it paired with the time of year. Every autumn you took out your dirtiest, most ratty pair of overalls and got to work picking the fruit from the trees. Taking your time to sort them, wash them, turn them into oil and pickle some of the others. It was just you, hands aching at the end of the day from spending it all at your kitchen table with various tools. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The kitchen was your happy place. Even after the end of the world. Or maybe in spite of it.

But this year, you didn’t want to miss out on patrol, normally taking the two weeks off to sort everything out and give all your attention to the gift of fruiting trees. Even if…you felt like it would be good for you to get some space from the man you felt in every other thought. The past two weeks had yielded quiet patrols, just the passing of a thermos between hands. You were sure you had overstepped a line by pressing your lips to his face, lost in the moment of adrenaline and want after those Infected had tried to turn you both.

His eyes were heavy on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but searching for what you didn’t have the faintest clue. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to bring it up and let you down gently. Tell you that he hadn’t appreciated your affections that way. Whatever went on behind that handsome, rugged face you hadn’t a clue.

“We both know that’s a mighty lie,” He stuffed an overfull spoon of grits into his mouth, humming around it as he pointed the utensil at you. “Didn’t you say this would be the last year for one of them?”

Sighing, you set the pencil you had been writing with down. Trading it for the cup of coffee in front of you.

“Unfortunately, the trunk spilt when we had those winds come through in February. I’m surprised it bloomed any fruit to be honest.”

“It’s a fighter, like it’s caretaker.”

“Oh hush, tryna flatter me.”

“Don’t you know it.” He winked, cheeky smile growing wider underneath his mustache as his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder. You were about to turn to see what had him so delighted when a pair of hands placed a tray right next to you. The burly form of Joel huffed as he settled into the seat beside you.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, placing plate of toast in front of you, his hand momentarily brushing against yours before he dug into his own food. You felt heat bloom up your neck and across your cheeks as Tommy feigned a cough to cover up a snicker. Joel leveled an unimpressed stare at the man, an eyebrow cocked and a warning in his eyes. You pretended not to see it, busy slathering a piece of the gifted toast with some butter left out on the tables for the breakfast service.

“Good mornin’, brother.” Tommy lilted, face lit up with something you were hesitant of. Scheming, the man was scheming, up to absolutely no good. And you had a hunch it involved not only you but the man beside you. Taking a bite of the toast, you noticed the way his face twitched before he started whatever he was up to. “How are you today?”

“Fuck off, Tommy.” The older man didn’t even look up from his plate, knowing from years of experience that his brother was aiming a mischievous look his way. “I gotta list a mile long of stuff to do this week and next, don’t have time for whatever else you’ve taken on.”

“That’s a shame,” He took another heaping bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he looked between you both, taking in the way neither of you were willing to look at the other. “Sorry, Olive. Looks like you’ve gotta fell that tree on your own.”

“That’s okay. I’m a big girl, did it the year before last and I’ll do it again this time around.” You downed the last two gulps of your coffee. Gathering up your notebook, you shoved out of your chair and stood, preparing to walk away. But he scrambled, quick on his feet and determined. Joel glanced at you, a parting nod the only indication from him.

“Well, seeing as you’ll be off patrol the next two weeks, that should give you enough time to take care of it.”

“Tommy!” You whirled around on your heel, eyes wide. You hadn’t wanted Joel find out this way, from his trouble making little brother with you right beside him.

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Joel turned with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth. Forgotten in wake of the sudden news. He looked taken off guard, shock coloring his features as he looked to you for answers.

“Didn’t she tell you, brother?” Tommy set his own fork down, tray nearly empty now. “Olive always takes this time of year off to tend to the trees. Harvest and make that lovely oil you see everywhere around town.”

“That’s yours?” His eyes danced around the mess hall, taking in the incriminating glass jars atop every other table. The light green contents revealing the literal fruits of your labor. The hours you would spend hunched over your own kitchen table working away on ensuring everything was perfect. He looked down to the warm plate of food in front of him, the roasted potato hash and scrambled eggs. “You’re the reason the town has cooking oil?”

“Yes, it is.” Feeling pleasure flutter at his impressed tone, you knew your voice had taken on a breathy quality. If Tommy’s growing grin was any indication, his teeth sparkling as he watched the two of you across from him. Joel had turned completely in his chair to face you, while you had pivoted your body in his direction. Both of you undoubtedly drawn to each other even in the most casual of ways.

“What are you gonna do with the wood? Didn’t you burn it and mix the ashes into the soil last time?”

“Yes, I did.” You gripped the notebook tight, fingers aching from the pressure. “It helped to reduce the acidity of the soil and ward off slugs from targeting the blooms once spring came around.”

“Well, uh, I can come by and lend a hand. If you needed it, but I don’t want to intrude if you’ve got it all under control.” Joel ran a wide palm over the back of his head, fingers brushing through the curls as he offered his help in a round about way. Something you suspected Tommy had anticipated. It took you a second to process his words, remembering the feel of his hair tangled around your own fingers. It had been soft despite a days’ worth of travel and an overnight stint atop a dusty mattress. You wondered how he cared for it, what it looked like slicked back fresh from the shower, water dripping from the ends of it and-

“Oh, that’s okay!” You shuffled on your feet, shaking the rather intrusive thoughts and not wanting to burden the man with another task. “You just said you’ve got a lot to do, don’t want to add to it.”

“I could shuffle a few things around, clear up an afternoon to come help ya out.” He insisted, something smoldering in his dark eyes. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he regarded you carefully, as if he had noticed the lingering gaze on his movement. He shifted to pull that damned little note pad of his own from his back pocket and flipped it open. Looking over the long list penciled on the page.

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You don’t have to do that, Joel.” You waved your own notebook at him, hoping he realized you kind of wanted the space from him. Kind of needed it, actually. To get the image of his softened face out of your head and the ability to look at him without feeling a jolt of desire strike through your body. Space would probably be good, would allow you to reign everything in and be better equipped to ride alongside him once again. The lines had begun to blur and they needed to be defined.

“It’s no problem, I can-“

“It’s really okay, I can handle it. But uh- th-thanks for the offer.” You scurried away before he could add your name to the list among his other tasks. “More important stuff to tend to than a me-measly tree.”

“I really don’t’-“

“I’ve got it.” You called over your shoulder, leaving the two men to their breakfast.

The second you were walking through the door, Joel rounded on the younger man. The shit-eating smirk was securely in place among his brother’s features across the table. Irking Joel further.

“Shut up.”

“Oh brother, you got it bad.”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“C’mon, she could really use the help. It’s just her.”

“No one offers to pitch in? The other women with personal gardens all help each other out.”

“It’s the age gap. Olive’s about a decade or so younger than them.”

Joel contemplated his brother’s words, thinking back on the thinly veiled disdain Marsha had voiced to him the last time he had been tending to the woman’s home. He knew you were younger, but he hadn’t anticipated it causing any problems with the rest of the settlements occupants just how it wasn’t the cause of any between you and him. At least, not any real problems. Age was just a number nowadays, if you were alive, you were alive. If you weren’t well, you weren’t. Friendships and connections blooming between people regardless of age and backgrounds in abundance as people clung to what they could in order to survive.

“Does anybody ever…talk about her to you?”

Shifting from annoying little brother to something more serious, Tommy looked over his brother as he chewed the bite he had just taken.

“What do you mean?”

“Marsha seemed to insinuate that Olive is common topic of discussion.”

“Marsha doesn’t like Olive. Never has.” Tommy scowled, stabbing at a chunk of potato rather harshly.

“Does it have to do with the patrol you won’t tell me about?”

“…yeah.” Tommy was suddenly very interested in the rest of his food, ignoring the look he could feel Joel pinning him with from across the table.

“Tommy.”

“Her old patrol partner was someone she showed up with, when we first brought her here. He and Marsha’s daughter got on quickly, were engaged within a year and planning on havin’ a kid or two.”

Joel was silent as he picked at his food. Marsha’s daughter, Millie, didn’t have any kids or a husband that he knew of. The two women sharing a home close to his.

“They blame her for what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“Joel, you’ve gotta ask your girl that. It’s not my place to give details.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“But you want her to be, c’mon, I can see it plain as day.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“I think she likes you back. But it’s hard to tell since she doesn’t get a lot of interaction around town aside from when she’s trading or cookin’.”

“She don’t like me like that. We’re just…friendly.”

It wasn’t friendly the way Joel took advantage of any reason to touch you. From soothing minor injuries, to brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you something, to brushing things you tended to smear along your cheek. Just to hear the hitch of your breath and to witness the way your eyes widened. It wasn’t friendly the way you were the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of when he woke up. It wasn’t friendly the way his gaze lingered on you while out on patrol or when he caught sight of you around town.

It wasn’t friendly the way he spent hours in his workspace sketching out designs and carving into wood in the hopes that you would enjoy what he was creating.

It wasn’t friendly the way he didn’t engage with you for worry of making you nervous, like he noticed he had begun to do. Stuttering every other word around him and others in a habit he couldn’t figure out was his fault or something you were just prone to do. It wasn’t friendly how he wanted to see if it was just him that caused it, wanted to see how quickly words would fail you completely if he were to focus his attention on you in a more than friendly way…

But his brother didn’t know anything about that.

Never one to miss out on the chance for a slow morning, you allowed yourself to wake up naturally.

The sun was just beginning its descent from the highest point in the sky, peeking in through the drawn blinds of your bedroom.

Your body was warm underneath the covers, sleep making your mind take the sensation and let it influence your dreams.

A large body hovered over you, looming like the mountains around the settlement. Protective, a sight to behold at any time of day, as steady as the day turns to night. But the body was so much closer, pressing your back down into the mattress, making your head spin with the heady feel of it.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heart beating hard as pleasure coursed through your veins, brought to life by the feeling of fingers smoothing over your skin. Trailing down over your belly button and through course hair to find your slick folds. Delving between them, parting them, caressing over your fluttering core and then in, producing an obscene sound as they filled you up. Another set of fingers gentle nudging that little bundle of nerves to light your body up even further, heat encompassing you, suffocating you as they quickened their pace.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was harsh in your ears, roaring loud and with a jolt, you realized it wasn’t your heart. It was the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

Eyes flying open, the phantom sensations of being pinned down, of thick fingers caressing the most intimate parts of your body, of the rasped-out nickname in a voice that wasn’t real were ripped from you. You were alone in your bed, your hands the only ones bringing you pleasure.

“Olive?” The faint call of that deep voice your mind had tried to convince you was whispering sweet nothings in your ear was down the hall and on the other side of your front door.

What was Joel Miller doing calling on you in the middle of the day, effectively splashing a bucket of cold water over you as you realized you had been fantasizing about him as you touched yourself.

Embarrassment and guilt squashed the pleasure that had been consuming you, lingering tingles making it hard to clear the fog of your sleep hazed mind. Throwing on the robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door, you took a deep breath to steady yourself before approaching the door he knocked on again.

He must’ve been preparing to walk off when you swung your door open, his back to you and a hand on rubbing on the back of his neck. He turned back at the sound, eyes taking in the disheveled form you were sure you made in your doorway. It was the afternoon, and here you were in a robe and hardly anything else, being pulled from your bed.

“Oh, hey- you were sleeping.” His eyes quickly averted, a hand waving at you as a blush crept up along the apples of his cheeks. You wondered what had him so flustered, his hands clenching and unclenching just below the sleeves of his jacket.

“I should’ve been up already, it’s okay.” You said quietly, taking in the bulk of him on your small stoop. It was a little disorienting, mind imagining him and now being faced with him so close. “D-did you need-“

“Was coming by to see if you needed any help with taking down that tree Tommy mentioned.”

You fell silent at the way he cut you off, his words low like your own, as if he was frustrated.

“Cause if you did all you had to do was ask.”

“I-I didn’t want to add to your list, that little notepad is always so full of-“

“I offered too and you said no. But you’re not even doing what you took the time off for.”

“Excuse me?” You leaned back from him, worry and your own annoyance flaring. Just because you took one morning to yourself didn’t mean you were shirking your responsibilities. His words hitting too close to the wound that everyone else’s had dug close to your heart.

“You take the time off every year, which you didn’t tell me about. Tommy blurted it out to get some sort of satisfaction out of your miscommunication and you’re not even taking care of the trees.”

“Joel-“

“You know what, just, never mind. I’m heading around back to take care of it for you. Go back to bed.”

And then he was stomping down the steps and rounding the side of your house. The gate creaking open to signal his entrance to your backyard.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled as you shut the front door and moved back to the bedroom. Dressing in a ratty pair of jeans and a long-stained t-shirt in a rush. Putting up your hair as you walked into the back room to retrieve the axe he would need for the work he took it upon himself to do.

It was hard not to stare, your eyes glued to the man as he expertly wielded the axe and chopped down the damaged olive tree. He had shrugged off his flannel after trimming it of the few branches that stretched from the trunk, leaving him in just the t-shirt he donned underneath. A crisp white that displayed the sweat on the small of his back and between his broad shoulders. A crisp white that displayed the bulge of his biceps as he worked. A crisp white that fell just over his waist and billowed up to catch on the spiral top of his notepad peeking out from his back pocket. A crip white that now displayed his rather toned backside to you free from obstruction…

Shaking your head, you continued to pick the fruit from the others. There were three rows of about ten trees, the one you were worried about in the middle of it all. Your movements made you feel like you were slowly circling around him, honing in on the man taking out whatever frustrations he had on the plant. Until everything was gathered, and you retired back inside as the sun beat down what little warmth it still had this late in the season.

The fruit was already washed in the utility sink, resting in strainers set over ratty towels to dry atop the long table in the middle of the room. A record played in the living room, soft guitar and brass filling the space.

Sighing, you poured yourself a few fingers of whisky and then a few into a second glass as you heard the thud of the axe being set against the wall in the back room and steps heading your way.

“Joel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.” You offered one of the glasses to him, taking in the way he swiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his arm.

“I know…I’m-I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I’m sorry too.” His fingers brushed yours as he took the peace offering. But he didn’t drink until you lifted your own glass and clinked it to his. “Just…wanted there to be a reason why you weren’t by my side for a little bit.”

Stepping forward to run a hand down from his shoulder to elbow in a comforting move, you motioned him to follow you.

Through the hours of the afternoon and into the evening, you explained the difference between the colors of the fruit. The flavor profiles of each, of how you always sorted even portions of the harvest out for oil, for pickling, for the raw fruit to be shared with the town. You walked him through the process of turning a small batch into a paste, straining it over and over again to produce the oil. Two pairs of hands slick with it as he helped you after he had asked how you managed to do it.

He had asked of your knowledge, prompting you to admit that it was all learned since arriving here and being assigned to the house with the trees in the backyard. That it hadn’t been something you carried with you beforehand. You asked after his woodworking, how it had turned into crafting small figurines.

And he answered much the same as you. Learned skills to help deal with and adapt to the slower way of life Jackson allowed you both to lead.

“You left one on the table.” His voice was right behind you, having followed you into the backroom. You turned to look at him over your shoulder before going back to placing the jars in your hand into a battered plastic crate. One was for the pickled and general olives, while another was for the oil you would make once the distraction of Joel Miller was gone from your kitchen. The only evidence of such from today’s activities in his hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you.”

“I couldn’t, you need it for trade. Everythin’ helps.”

“I insist, it’ll be good to have in your kitchen.”

“It’s just gonna sit there on the counter beside the stove.”

“Well, take it. Just in case.” You whispered. Noticing how close he had gotten in an attempt to hand the jar to you. He was close enough to smell the way the olive leaves had permeated his clothing. The perfume of the freshly chopped wood stained his skin in a heady way. You felt the counter dig into your hips, having unconsciously backed into it beside the deep sink.

“In case of what, sweetheart?” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, tongue peeking between his lips as he took in the way you had a smudge of dirt under your eye in the warm light of your kitchen bleeding into the backroom. His gaze snapped to his hand as you bravely tangled your fingers with his own. Feeling your lips curl into a playful smile, you leaned up and whispered into his ear. 

“The food critic decides to play personal chef.”

Oh, he liked that. If the widening of his pupils was any indication, the way his breath caught in his throat and he swallowed as he pulled back a little to look over your face.

He leaned in to press a cautious kiss to your cheek, knowing there was no bruise or cut to disguise his move as anything other than the blatant want for it. The soft scratch of his mustache lighting you up.

Your breath fanned out across his face, skin prickling along his body at the warmth of it bouncing back to you. A small huff the only noise coming from you. His eyes flicked up to capture yours, and you felt your heart lurch. He was so handsome, his lips looked so plush and pink this close. There was no way he could’ve missed the way you had glanced down at them, how you were thinking of feeling them pressed to your skin in other places, of the way you pulled your own bottom one between your teeth at the thought.

He leaned in, sharing breath with you, his nose brushing against yours before-

The needle of the record player scratching across vinyl startled you both, jolting in response to the harsh noise breaking the bubble of tension surrounding you both. Your hands had flown up to grip his shoulders tight while his arms had wrapped around your back and pulled you to him. Heart thundering for a completely different reason now, you cast your eyes over his shoulder toward to the record player.

With nervous laughter you stepped away from the man and set about lifting it from the still spinning record. His eyes are on you as you replace the record with another, setting it up to play and then turning back around to him. Your heart still thumping in your chest as you watch him hold tight to the jar in his hand and dip his head to you in a departing bow.

He made sure it was well into the evening before enlisting Tommy’s help. The forlorn way you had looked at the pieces of the tree once it was no longer standing proud among the others had stirred an idea in his mind. He was going to take the thickest part of the trunk, because he wasn’t stealing it away. No. He was going to return it to you once he had cut it into slabs and let it dry. He was going to return it to you in the form of a cutting board, crafted from the beloved trees in your care and in honor of the namesake you’d adapted.

But it had to be perfect. He would practice on other planks and cuts of wood until he was able to craft one that would be good enough for you. Setting his mind and heart on the endeavor.

Once he was back home with the trunk set in room set up as his workspace, stepping out of the shower and collapsing into the bed, he let a lazy smile overtake him.

He may be tired, exhausted beyond his limits. But he wouldn’t have traded his afternoon with you for all the restful sleep in the world.

He couldn’t get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his mind. The gentle pressure of them grazing over his injuries, the gentle pressure against the patch in his beard he had never been fond of until that moment.

“Fuck,” He groaned out, palm tight around his aching cock. He had woken up thinking of your lips on more of his body, trailing over his skin in sucking kisses, tongue laving at every inch. He had been leaking and hard, his hand around himself before he had even come to complete consciousness.

The very real image of you stood in your doorway clad in nothing but your robe, the way the swell of your breasts was visible with the way you must’ve thrown it on to answer his knocking. The way your eyes were cloudy, slowly clearing and your face slightly flushed, as if you had just been- he groaned deep from within his chest. It had looked like you had just been deep in the throes of pleasure, body overwhelmed with it and torn away by his calling on you. Hair mused and breath a little too quick, he wondered what you sounded like. Would you whimper softly or moan out loudly, would you be shy and cover your face with your arms or would you scramble for any purchase as it raced through your body, swelling up to consume you.

He pumped his hand slowly now, reveling in the feeling stirring low in his gut. The strikes of pleasure moving through him as he recalled the way you had felt against him as you both rode back on your horse.

The way your hip had felt in his hands as he had tried to steady himself. His mind taking the thought and running with it, the imagining the way he would grip you from behind. You down on your hands and knees, legs parted to make room for him to fit between them, thrust against you as deep as he could, your keening-

He choked on his own breath as the sheer force of his release hit him, sudden and overwhelming. Spurts of pearlescent cum coating his hand and dripping over his knuckles.

Euphoria filling him up with satisfaction, his body humming with it until the guilt slammed into him.

He just fucked his fist to the thought of you. His patrol partner. His…friend. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind even if his life depended on it.

Catching his breath, he looked out the window across from his bed. Stars glittering at him through the curtains as if they know all the dirty things that had just run through his mind, sharing in his secrets.

The only small blessing of his complete lack of self-control and oversight is that he doesn’t have to ride alongside you today on patrol.

“I’ve got the first batch of the season,” You announced as you walked through the doors of the small makeshift market. It was right along the main street, a few fronts down from the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison.

“Oh, lovely!” The man at the back counter praised, clearing a space atop it for you to put down the delivery.

“Marsha.” You nodded toward her in greeting, uncomfortable with the way her eyes had followed you through the few aisles after letting the man go over the contents of the crate. Another nod to her daughter, standing right beside her with a small wicker basket full of root vegetables. “I’ve got a jar in there for you, with the garlic you managed to salvage from the garden.”

She didn’t say anything, looking for all the world like her voice had been stolen from her. A small nudge from her daughter jostled her and she seemed to find it.

“Thank you, Olive. That was…very sweet of you to think of me.”

“Of course, anything to be of help.”

“Yes, of course.” She repeated your words, trailing off as she noticed a figure across the street. Her eyes tracked their movement but when you turned to see what had caught her attention there was no one there. Suddenly she was speaking your actual name and it roused your nerves to life. “You…do so much for the town, I just wanted you to know that we all appreciate the time you take each year to handle the harvest.”

“O-oh, well, um, thank you, Marsha. That’s very k-kind of you to say.”

“Momma,” Millie whispered, taking ahold of the older woman’s arm. Something in her voice you couldn’t quite get a read on. Taking that as your queue to cut off the rather awkward interaction, you waved at them and began to head back up to the counter to collect the items you had requested in exchange for the crate of jars. Your ears were strained, trying to catch the hushed words the women shared behind your back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I realized how…unfairly we speak about her. Someone convinced me to apologize to her.”

“She doesn’t deserve apologies, she’s the reason-“

“Millie, we need to work on moving past that. It’s been five years now. We can all live alongside each other with the understanding of what happened.”

“No, momma, you may be ready to forgive her but I’m not. She got my Aiden and I’m not going to let her drag down Joel too.”

“He was the one who told me to be nicer to her, just trying to appease the lovely man.”

Any good feelings of a successful harvest and two weeks of working countless hours to jar, pickle, and transform the fruit from your trees vanished. The awkward yet positive sentiment from one of your more…complicated social connections going down with it at Millie’s angered words. You tried to muster up a smile for the man at the counter, taking the crate back from him with the trade items but you weren’t sure if you were able to. Not turning to look at the women, you exited the shop and made your way straight back home despite the list of errands in your pocket.

Of course Joel had caught wind of the way people spoke of you.

Heard it from Marsha herself, the source of all your troubles despite having done everything in your power to counteract the bad you had brought down on the town with your incompetence. He had put his own reputation at stake by sticking up for you and you only hoped it didn’t affect the way he was received. He was so important to the town, achieving far more than you in what he provided and brought in his skill set.

You didn’t want him to feel even a fraction of what you did as you navigated life here in the settlement. The pitying looks cast your way, the whispered words of what people felt entitled enough to voice, the way you seemed to only be good for one thing and it was the crop in the backyard of the house you had been assigned by pure circumstance.

The crate thudded atop the table where you thrust it harshly, frustration controlling your movements as you moved through the small house back to your room. Shucking off and resisting the urge to hurl your boots toward the closet you sighed as you felt tears prickle your eyes. They rolled hot down your cheeks as you curled up in the covers and gave up on what was supposed to be a good day.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

taglist: @merz-8 @morning-star-joy @joelsgreys @orcasoul @sawymredfox @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag @pascalpvnk @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @idontknowyou-12345 @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @fluff-lover @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom@communism-bitches @formulafun @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

[sil3ntfr34k]

Postal dude 2 boyfriend headcanons

• Mans is RANCID but you still love him <33

• Even with how sassy and sarcastic as he is, he still has a soft spot for you. Isn't very good as showing it, but he does little things here and there to show his love for you

• Y'all probably met during one of his errands his wife made him run, bumping into each other in line while he was getting milk. He was very surprised that someone is actually talking to him and not cussing him out. Y'all chatted it up before you had to pay for your items and leave, leaving him alone once again

• He would be lying if he said he didn't follow you home like some creep to find out where you live so he could 'check-in' on you periodically

• After a handful of conversations and hang outs, he can't seem to stop thinking about you. Even while still married to his current wife, he'd still fantasize about being married to you instead

• He eventually does divorce his bitch wife so he can have a life with you. This doesn't bother the bitch anyway since she was already cheating on him with Mike J,,,

• Once you two start dating you get to see a softer, more gentle side of Dude. Where he was once a crass and inconsiderate, he has become more understanding and loving. He's surprisingly clingy!

• Before you moved in with Dude (or he moves in with you, whatever you like best) he would always hang out at your place anyway. Hell, he'd even bring over Champ just so he could have both his favorite things with him at the same time.

• (Champ is literally his son he gave birth to, no one can tell him otherwise. Sure Dude can be a little mean to Champ, but what parent doesn't get annoyed of their kids now and then??)

• If Dude moved in with you, then Champ gets upgraded to a house dog and no longer has to rough it outside since his bitch ex-wife didn't like pets. Also Dude still has his trailer and all, but it's more of a 'back-up house' or storage.

• No matter if he moved in with you or you moved in with him. he lets you decorate however you'd like. he's pretty adaptable to most environments since he moved around to a lot of different places growing up. Of course he's still messy and smells, but he tries JUST A LIL harder for you

• "Sorry babe, but my crack comes first."

• Please be understanding of this. He's been through a lot and it helps with a lot of his problems. From his chronic pains throughout his body to his schizophrenic episodes, being unsober helps him relax

• Dude is really nervous about telling you about his schizophrenia. His ex-wife always made his episodes worse by yelling at him that he's crazy or something, so he dreads having to tell you. What if you don't understand? What if you get weirded-out and leave him?? What if you start to see him as a burden?? Oh god what is he supposed to do if you want him to leave?????

• Underneath his cocky and confident facade, he's actually incredibly insecure and scared. Even just the tiniest bit of rejection or negative action from you is like this roman empire. He had stopped caring about what his ex-wife thought of him long before the divorce so nothing she did or said really affected him. But you. Your too special to him. He hangs off your every word

• Dates with him are very,,, intimate? Not in the way you might think of, more of in a 'It's just us' way. He's not exactly a people person so he doesn't want to even see other people while on a date with you

• He probably lands on something like a dinner and a show at home or playing some video games while eating all the junk food in the world together. To be fair, there's not exactly a 'nice' area in Paradise, so most couples just stay inside for things like this anyway.

• No matter what y'all end up doing, you better believe you have his undivided attention. All you got do is say the magic word ("now") and he will give it to you on a silver platter

• Even with how good of a boyfriend he seems to be, Dude is NOT Mr. Perfect. Dude has his bad habits and red-flags too.

• During heated arguments Dude can and will throw something at you, might even threaten to kill you tbh. Watch ur step bc that gun is always loaded with the safety off. Doesn't help he's trigger happy too,,,

• Dude also needs his alone time. Yesyesyes he loves you dearly, but the man still needs his space. Isn't afraid to say something like "Hey I gotta go do something, be back babe" and proceed to just lay in bed for 3 hours (Postal Dude bedrotting)

• It's very hard to get Postal Dude to open up about ANYTHING. Like, after being together for 5 years AND being engaged, your barely learning about his strange and very illegal family tree. Come to think of it, you never even knew he had parents. Yea you know he has to have a mom and dad, but you don't know if they're any good or still in his life.

• During a manic/depressive/crack-endued/schizophrenic episode, he makes it very hard for you to be there for him. He doesn't mean to do this, but it's not like can help it. To you, he's just acting-out, but to him, everyone is trying to hurt him and he's not safe anywhere. Suddenly it's like he's a totally different person, constantly running away from you and hiding. Honestly it might be best for you to just wait it out, maybe offer him some comforting words but still stay away.

• Overall, Postal Dude is a bumbling idiot who just wants to feel accepted by someone

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 49: Alexander's Task

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tw: mind control, hypnotic induction, branding, possessiveness, drunkenness

September 1925

The walk home from the ballet had been somber, to say the least. Oliver had started off the night so excited, and he knew Alexander had, too, anticipating a lovely night out. But now Oliver was terrified, and his master was simmering in fury in a way that Oliver hadn't seen from him before.

"Not at you, Oliver," he said when pressed. "I'm not angry with you. You followed my instructions; you couldn't have done any better. No, it's my sire I'm furious at."

Oliver nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Is he actually going to drink from me, sir?"

Unsurprisingly, this made Alexander's fury deepen. He took a long time before answering. "My hands are tied. Certain arrangements have to be made."

"What does that mean, sir?"

"...Leave me. I'm in no state to -- we'll discuss it next evening."

And Oliver had no choice but to comply with his master's wishes, as the waves that usually drew him closer to Alexander were now pushing him away. 

Alexander stormed off to his quarters the moment they arrived at home, and Oliver didn't dare follow. Instead, he did his best to comfort himself with a mug of warm milk and a supper of buttered bread. Afterwards, he retired to his own chambers early, curled up in his soft warm bed but unable to rest, flipping listlessly through books, unable to focus on any words and looking only at the illustration plates.

It was as if he could still feel the ancient vampire's unnatural grip on his body. He didn't want that vampire to visit, and despite all of his conditioning, he certainly didn't want him drinking his blood.

His blood was his master's alone -- and that thought certainly was the conditioning, stronger in his mind than any of his own convictions.

It was well past morning when he finally sank into a restless sleep, tossing and turning and waking up halfway from nightmares. By the time he fully awoke, it was already evening again, his room dark and foreboding, reminding him of his fears. Alexander's sire was arriving tomorrow evening. 

He had to talk to his master. He had to know what to do, how to behave, to avoid being harmed. But when Oliver emerged from his room, flickering gas lamp in hand, his master was nowhere to be found. Oliver checked every corner of the library, the music room, the parlor, a dozen disorienting spare rooms filled with more books and storage crates and bits of random furniture. Either Alexander had left the manor or he was still confined to his room. 

Even Oliver's need wasn't enough to overcome his fear of knocking on the door. One of the few rules of the manor was that Alexander's room was off-limits without permission, and the last thing he wanted was for his master to be angry at him when he so desperately needed his protection. All he could really do was wait, and worry, and take a long hot bath in the hopes that it would ease his worries, and inevitably end up worrying in the hot bath.

If only he didn't have to worry about any of this! If only he could simply be Alexander's thrall, spending his days in the library and providing his master with blood. He was meant to be loyal to Alexander, the perfect thrall, wasn't he? When he closed his eyes and imagined, he could almost hear the song calling to him.

His master needed his help, and Oliver wanted so badly to be helpful.

He toweled off from the shower, making sure to apply lotion to his face and neck, just as they'd done in the auction house. Back in his bedroom, he rifled through the wardrobe to look for something suitable, finally settling on a tasteful red frock. After all, if he couldn't solve his master's problems, he could at least try to cheer him up.

Suitably dressed, he had emerged from his bedroom and was gathering up the courage to go knock on Alexander's bedroom door when he heard a commotion in the foyer and rushed to see.

"Ugh, just drag me to the library and leave me to die," said Alexander, precariously wrapped around Miss Lily, who was dragging him into the manor with a long-suffering look on her face.

"I'll take you to the library, but I'm not going to leave you until you've done what you need to do," she said.

"Screw that. Screw all of it. Screw my goddamn sire and his goddamn rules. Sick and tired of him touching my thralls." It was obvious now that his master was drunk, as he grasped onto Miss Lily for dear life. "He was touching Oliver, my Oliver. He's gonna drink from my Oliver. Put his goddamn fangs in my thrall!"

Oliver's heart clenched at the way his master was talking about him. It was strange, to be wanted, to be possessed, but not at all unwelcome. It gave a strange sort of pleasure to Oliver that his master didn't want anyone else to drink from him.

"Welcome home, sir," said Oliver, emerging into the foyer, doing his best to look like a proper thrall. "Is there... um. Is there anything I can help with...?"

"Oh, now, isn't that just precious," Miss Lily cooed, while Alexander looked as though he were about to pass out.

"Look at him, Lily," he said with a tone of pleading. "He's so loyal, so goddamned perfect. I don't want to hurt him. How can I..."

Oliver's eyes widened. "How can you what, sir?"

"Don't you worry about it, dear," Miss Lily cooed at him, and Oliver could feel his mind soften. "Don't you worry about a thing. Why don't you go make yourself comfortable in the library? Your master will be joining you shortly after I give him a little pep talk."

"Yes, sir," he said. The calm he had managed to carve out for himself had evaporated. What was his master going to do? Was he simply referring to allowing his sire to feed on Oliver? He fussed with his dress -- a garment he still wasn't at all used to -- as he settled onto a couch and waited.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before Miss Lily arrived, carrying an old white tin. She was followed by Alexander, who looked forlorn as he sat down next to Oliver on the couch. Oliver could smell the alcohol on him, and his master wobbled slightly as he regarded Oliver.

"Can't you do it?" he said to Miss Lily in a tone that was nearly a whine.

"You know you have to be the one to do it."

"He won't know."

"He will and you know it."

"I helped you with Miriam."

"And I'll help you with Oliver, but you still need to be the one to do it."

"Do what, sirs?" said Oliver with growing fear. "What are you going to do?"

"You trust your master, don't you?" Miss Lily had settled in on the other side of him, and brushed back his hair to speak in his ear. "You want to be a good and obedient thrall for him, don't you, dear?"

"I trust my master," said Oliver automatically, Miss Lily's voice and her choice of words sinking him into a helpless daze. "I want to be obedient..."

His master leaned over and began to hum in his other ear, a song which washed over his mind and soothed away his fears. "You're my loyal and obedient thrall, aren't you? And you trust me." 

"Yes, Master. Completely loyal and obedient."

"You love being obedient," Miss Lily coaxed. "Obedience is pleasure. You wish to serve."

With Miss Lily's voice and Alexander's song hypnotizing him so thoroughly, he almost felt like he was back in the soft leather chair in the auction house, his sleeping mind open and pliable and oh so very obedient. "I wish to serve," he said. "I -- I just want to help you, Master. I want to be your loyal and obedient thrall."

Alexander's hum was pleased, making Oliver feel so relaxed and so good. "And so you are, Oliver. You're just perfect. I couldn't be more delighted with you."

"Thank you, Master," said Oliver, floating in the bliss of praise.

"You're just so... you're too perfect. That's why I can't bear the thought of my sire drinking from you." His master was leaning his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"I understand, sir. My blood should only be for you."

"Only for me, yes, that's right," said Alexander fiercely. "Only for me."

"But you must obey Alexander's sire as well," said Miss Lily in his other ear. A tone of warning, but Oliver wasn't sure it was for him.

"...Yes," said Alexander after a long hesitation. "You must obey him, and allow him to drink your blood, even if... Just for now, Oliver, just for now. You can do that for me, can't you? You can obey him, because you are loyal to me."

"Yes, sir, I can obey."

"Obedience is pleasure," whispered Miss Lily. "You only desire to serve."

"I only desire to serve, sir."

"Lex, you need to --"

"I know," said Alexander, and his song changed subtly. Instead of inducing obedience, Oliver felt his mind being shifted, further entranced, his thoughts becoming foggy and far away. It was like falling asleep with his eyes wide open. "You're safe, Oliver. You're safe with me."

"Safe... Master..." he slurred, his head growing heavy and coming to rest on his master's shoulder. 

Alexander was rubbing his back gently. "I need to do something now. It's important, and unavoidable. You are going to lose awareness as it happens, and when you wake, you will feel no pain."

"What..." He wanted to ask, but his mind was slipping under the waves of his master's song, the song that was now urging him into sleep.

"Shut your eyes, Oliver," said Miss Lily. "Become unaware of everything around you except for our voices. You won't feel a thing."

"Nothing but our voices and a deep, dreamless sleep," said Alexander. "Rest, now, Oliver. You're so obedient, so loyal, so good. You can rest. You can be still, so very still, as you sink into a place where you will feel no pain."

Oliver's vision blurred as his eyes began to close, leaning back against the couch as his master ran his hand through his hair. He was surrounded by song - obey, relax, go to sleep, feel no pain - and everything else was fading away until he was floating, floating in the deepest abyss of the ocean, where there was nothing but darkness and the rush of cool water and his Master's beautiful siren song.

He could obey. He could give himself over to his Master, body, mind, and soul. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Oliver wasn't sure how long he floated there in contented bliss. Time had lost all meaning, all of his senses dulled and drowsy. Finally, as if a hand was reaching down from the surface of the water, his Master spoke once more. "You can wake now, Oliver. You'll feel no pain and no distress as you wake."

His eyes opened, and he was back in the library, still feeling strangely disconnected from his body. His Master looked grim, but surely it wasn't because of him. He was a good thrall, and he had obeyed. 

His shoulders felt cool, and it took him a moment to realize that his dress was gone, neatly folded up and sitting on a nearby table. His chest was bared, and there was a bandage just below his collarbone. His head fogged again, and he felt numb, almost as if he weren't allowed to perceive all of this.

"Don't worry about that, Oliver," said Alexander, grasping his chin and drawing his gaze up. "You were just perfect."

"Thank you, sir." 

Alexander collapsed onto the couch beside him, as though he'd been through some great ordeal. "There, Lily, it's done. Now can you leave me to die a second time?"

Oliver couldn't help but reach out to him. "Sir, if there's anything I can do... any way I can serve you..."

"You've done everything you were supposed to do," said Miss Lily. "And no one's leaving you to die, Lex. You need to sleep it off. Oliver, you can put him to bed, can't you, dear?"

"Put him to bed, sir?"

"Yes, as you do each night, no doubt."

Oliver looked at Miss Lily, alarmed. "I'm -- I'm not allowed in the bedroom without permission, sir --"

Miss Lily raised an eyebrow. "Really, Lex?"

"I don't need a thrall warming my bed. Hot water bottles and steam heat suffice," said Alexander with a groan. "And I didn't want to get attached."

"...And how is that working out for you?"

Alexander groaned again. "My head is killing me, Lil, spare me the lecture."

"You're hopeless, you know that?" said Miss Lily. "Come on, Oliver. I'll hoist him up and you accompany me. Your master needs your help."

"Of course, sir, right away."

Miss Lily picked up Alexander as though it were nothing, carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom with Oliver following at her heels. She expertly navigated the cluttered floor in the dark, freezing cold room even as Oliver tripped over discarded laundry. She pulled his shoes off and tossed them aside, pushing Alexander onto the bed and draping the messy covers over him, as he curled up like a sleeping child.

"Go on now, Oliver."

"Me, sir? What should I do?"

"Vampires are cold all the time, in case you haven't noticed. He needs to sleep, and your warmth will help him rest."

Oliver's throat tightened with the thought of crawling into his master's bed, and he couldn't tell if it was fear or anticipation. He looked to Alexander for confirmation of what Miss Lily had said. "Sir... you want me to..."

"God damn it, Lily," he swore. "Just for tonight, yes." A low hum emanated from the mound at the center of the bed, one which drew Oliver near. He felt himself stepping forward, climbing onto the bed, and in a flash, he was sucked under the covers and surrounded by the strong arms of a cold vampire. "You're so warm. It's been ages since I've had a thrall in my bed." He yawned into Oliver's ear as his arms tightened.

"I knew that'd help," said Lily smugly. "Well, I'll be taking my leave. Good luck with our sire." She walked out, shutting the door.

Oliver, meanwhile, stared out into the gloom, his heart thumping. The bed was soft and smelled of floral soap and winter winds, and his master was gripping him so tightly it was almost uncomfortable. "Will this help you sleep, sir?"

"Hmph?"

"Um, will this help you sleep, sir?"

His deep voice was groggy, sounding half-asleep already. "'m never warm. Hard to stay awake when it's so warm." He sighed. "You're a good thrall. I hope you know that."

"Thank you, sir," he said, feeling warm himself from the praise.

"Almost the best thrall."

"...Almost, sir?"

"You should go to sleep, too."

"I can try, sir."

His master's voice hummed a sweet lullaby into his ear, and Oliver was immediately hypnotized once more. The fact that his master sounded so drowsy as he sang only made Oliver succumb to its spell faster. He was so tired, so sleepy, and his master was pleased with him too, inviting him to rest...

He was helping his master, finally. It was so nice to be here.

"You're mine, Oliver," said the voice in his ear. "My thrall, my perfect thrall."

"Yours, sir," Oliver agreed as he drifted off.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next time, Alexander takes matters into his own hands.

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[heliosthegriffin]

"So, who's the most dangerous member of team JNPR?" Yang asked the table unprompted, the rest of her team looking up from their food.

"Hmm, Pyrrha." Weiss said with little thought. "Perfect form, incredible strength and reflexes, she is definitely their ace in the hole."

"Really?" Yang held her stomach. "Nora's stronger, and her energy she brings to a fight is something else,"

Blake was silent in thought for a moment. "The question isn't who's strongest, or skilled, though. Pyrrha is their best fighter, but Nora is the physically strongest, but remember, the element of surprise and intelligence are just as deciding a factor in a fight. Ren's not as good a fighter, or as strong, but his mobility and aura control mixed with his ruthlessness, I think make him more dangerous."

"Elaborate." Weiss stated.

"Well, Nora is strong and energetic, but she's always going to come at you head on, so it's easy to counter her, if you don't fight her on her terms. Pyrrha better about that, but she's very civil, so she's not going to fight you outside of arena, unless you start it. Ren though? I can see him slitting someone's throat."

The rest of the table stared at her blankly.

"Nah, it's Jaune." Ruby said after a beat, drinking some milk.

"What?" Weiss said flatly. "You must be kidding. He's by far the least skilled, weakest, and most disgra-"

"Ok that's enough, princess." Yang cut her off. "But, she's got a point, Ruby."

Ruby shrugged. "Yeah, that's true, but-" She took a drink of milk. "What's Jaune's fighting style?"

Weiss huffed. "Simple, it's nothing, he doesn't have one."

"Yeah, it's kind of random style."

Blake thought for a moment, seeing a flash of triumph in Ruby's eyes. "Oh, that's your point."

Ruby gave finger guns at the cat-girl. "Exactly! You asked who's the most dangerous! It's Jaune, because, how you going to fight someone who doesn't know what he's going to do next?"

"What?" Yang and Weiss asked simultaneously.

Blake nodded along. "She's got a point, how are you going to react to someone who doesn't know what even he's going to do next?"

"Plus, have you ever been hit by him?" Ruby added, with no one stepping up to the plate. "His skill and style might not be great, but his strength is incredible, and his durability, endurance, and staying power are unmatched if you ask me."

"She's right, you know." A new voice interjected, all of team RWBY turning to face the sudden newcomer.

"Ren? Since when did you get here?" Yang asked.

"Since the beginning," He said simply, sipping from a juice box. "But, it's definitely, Jaune." His eyes became distant and foggy. "Always has been."

"Uh, you ok, buddy?" Yang putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ren went back to normal. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, the look of trauma on your face, just kind of,-"

"Don't ever get locked in a food-pantry with Jaune, there's no telling what he'll do, because even he doesn't know."

"How did that even occur?" Weiss asked. "Why were you two even-"

"Nora."

"Oh."

"Well, it's not like we ever have to worry about that."

====

"Jaune Arc, you're under arrest for suspicion of forgery to enter Beacon !" Harriet Bree stormed over to the blonde as he was stocking a shelf inside one of Beacons's storage closets. With a sound of confusion and a hand of tomato soup, he turned and let go, screaming.

Harriet, moving at full speed, had no chance to stop, as she knocked away the can of soup, only for another to fall at her feet, as Jaune dropped armfuls of soup to the ground. Harriet, going at full momentum, crushed the metal can underfoot, spraying it all over herself.

"Ah! Gross!" She wailed, still charging forward, only to step on another can and slip, flying up into the air and knock Jaune over. Jaune groaned as she knocked into him, recovering quick she mounted his chest, ready to knock him out.

Jaune reaching wildly, grabbed a shaker of pepper, slamming it into her face. Harriet felt her eyes water and nose sting, as she recoiled back, letting Jaune push her off of him, running for the door, Harriet behind him.

Flailing wildly, Jaune grabbed a broom, swinging it wildly around with knocking rows of preserved goods off the shelves and onto the floor, Harriet taking a wrong step trying to dodge the flailing, stepping into a puddle of oil from a broken bottle, sliding forward, right into Jaune's wild strikes.

Harriet felt her head ring and vision swim, then another swing connected, knocking her back and into a row of shelves. She went straight through it, and the shelves falling straight onto her with a groan, the sound of clanging metal and falling supplies consuming the room, as Jaune fled out the door, turning off the lights and locking the door behind him.

---

AN: Felt like writing some goofiness.

[spider-jaysart]

Supersons headcanons:

Since Damian's a vegetarian and is much more used to eating healthier stuff, he is much more vulnerable to getting stomach aches after eating junk food and too many sweets

Jon's favorite color is yellow

Damian sometimes wears non lens glasses for the aesthetic when going out in civilian form

Jon once won a roller skating competition and earned a golden medal as a reward. He keeps it hanged up on his wall in his bedroom near his desk

Damian was one time interviewed by Buzzfeed in one of their "The puppy interview" type of videos (the series where celebrities get to play with a bunch of puppies while answering questions the whole time). He was in such a happy and smiley mood during the entire video due to being surrounded by all of the small little pups around him and getting to play with them. He even named each puppy in his head while answering all of the interviewers questions and also tried to adopt them all at the end once the video was finally over (Bruce said no though because It's too many puppies to actually handle and take care of at the same time). This video is known as one of his most popular ones because it shows an unusual joyous side of him to fans and viewers

Jon is the type that's quick to download any kind of app games that look fun to him and now he just has so many of them on his phone because of it, that it's beginning to run out of storage space at this point

Damian will always "borrow" Jon's clothes but never returns them back to him

Jon loves pop tarts. His two favorite flavors are cherry and blueberry. He got Damian to obsess over them too after letting him try one of them during a sleepover at his house. Damian's favorite poptarts are brown sugar cinnamon and the s'mores one

Damian hates Oreos and any Cookies n' creme flavored food while Jon is the one that actually loves them

Damian has beef with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles after losing a skate boarding race to them one time with Jon (a refrence to another headcanon of mines that's in a separate post)

Jon and Damian both cosplayed as Ashley and Leon from the Resident evil 4 remake one time for fun while going to a video game convention (Jon was dressed as Ashley while Damian was dressed as Leon)

Jon adores Damian's young little Nephew and Niece Mar'i and Jake and loves it whenever Dick is visiting with Kory and them at the Manor, because that's when he gets to see them both again all the time

Jon had one time gotten some chocolate milk spilled all over his shirt because of some new bullies who had done it to him during lunch time. Jon was very upset about it because it was his most favorite shirt that was just ruined, especially because of the worst fact that it was also currently picture day at his school, so he was gonna have to be forced to take his photo looking like this. Fortunately for him though, Damian had soon found him sitting down outside before photo time, as the young half Kryptonian was just in a distressed mood. After explaining everything to his best friend about what had happened to him earlier, Damian immediately got an idea and used his artistic skills to fix the problem by grabbing one of his black pens out of his backpack and drawing on top of the stains on Jon's shirt with it to make it look like it had actually belonged there. Once he was finally done, Jon's shirt looked surprisingly even better than before, with all of the line art that Damian had drew on it looking like an artistic peice of a pirate ship on the sea, making the chocolate stains look like the splashes of the seas water on the shirt. Jon happily thanked his best friend and gave him a tight hug in response, quickly running to go get his school photo taken soon after letting go of him. And while Jon was now busy doing that, Damian meanwhile went to go find the bullies that were messing with Jon to give them a little payback for what they had done to his best friend earlier and everything else that Jon had told him about. After that day, the bullies never bothered Jon again, which was kind of a surprise to him, especially with how unusually fearful they would always seem to be whenever interacting with him now. He has no idea why they currently act this way with him, but he doesn't mind it so much and is happier about it being this way instead anyways, since they leave him alone now (Another thing that had also surprised him was the fact that all three of the bullies had matching black eyes in their picture day photo in the school's yearbook as well. And after getting the chance to show them to Damian while in confusion about it, his best friend just shrugs his shoulders and says he wonders what it could've possibly been that had happened to them in response, while also seeming very "clueless" about it as well)

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 2

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.1K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar

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Three days passed with the same and the schedule between the both of you remains the same. The black cat - you should really start to come out with a name for it - will only come out from the sofa when you feed it, never allowing you to pet it and only starting to eat when you turn away. But you started to get worried. Its fur was matted in blood and you were afraid that it had sustained severe injuries. You wanted to give it a bath to see how bad the injuries were but it was extremely on edge. 

You sighed. Your work shift starts in over an hour and you still need to travel down. You left your room and prepared a big bowl of food and water, placing it at the edge of the sofa. 

“I’m going to go work now, kitty. Don’t eat everything for lunch. Keep some for dinner. I’ll be back before midnight.” You waited to see or hear any response from it but, nothing. You didn’t know what to expect - honestly. 

Your keys clanged against each other as you opened the gate and wore your shoes. “Bye, kitty!” You called out one last time as you hastily locked the gates. 

08 33.

You were going to be so, so late. “Damn it.” You looked at your watch. “Never mind.”

You were going to be late, might as well be late. Right? You ran down the block and unlocked your car. Normally your car sits in the parking lot as you prefer the public transport. However, you can’t afford to be late today. There were important events held today and you need to supply them with the necessities before and during the events. 

You drove as fast as the speed limit allows and managed to reach the shop just in time - spare a minute. 

“Y/N! Good, you’re here.” Your boss exclaimed. “You put everything down first and help pack the cart.”

“With the boxes?” You pointed to the cardboard boxes that were strewn across the floor. He nodded. “Which ones?” You started opening every box to peek inside. “And this cart is for which event?”

Your boss helped you carry the correct boxes to wrap, saying, “This one is for the company event. I think it’s called Furman or something.”

You nodded. “I have no idea what that is.” The both of you burst out laughing. “Normal, eh?” 

The both of you worked together in sync and the things were wrapped, packed, and ready to go. 

“What time does the driver come?” You asked as you sat down on the nearest chair. It was only 10 00 and you were already tired. 

Your boss looked up from his phone and said, “In five minutes. Peng just texted and said he will be reaching soon.” You nodded, getting up from the seats. 

The whole day went by as usual - aching arms, spilling coffee and milk, carrying boxes, serving nasty customers, the list goes on. But today, you were more than happy to go home for a whole new reason. You packed up faster than usual and cleaned up like a speeding train, all to go home earlier to see your cat. 

Well, he wasn’t exactly your cat to say.

What the hell do I call him?

Bringing your bag out of the storage room, you turned to ask your boss, “What is a nice name for a male cat but not generic?” 

“That’s a rather random question?” He looked up from behind the cashier. 

“Come on, please? I wanna go home already.” You whined. “I just need some ideas.”

He scratched his chin. “Did you get a cat?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… Maybe Cookies? Or you can try… What is its fur colour?”

“Erm, black?” Your reply was as if it was a question.

“Blackie? Stormy? Burnt?” He shrugged.

“Hmm, alright thanks.” You scurried out of the shop. “Gotta go, bye!”

You ran for the car park at the back of the building where the store was located and quickly got in. Turning on the engine, you thanked the gods that the roads were fairly empty today, allowing you to reach home earlier than usual. You parked in the multi-story car park where it is sheltered and decided to head over to the nearest supermarket to get some food. 

You headed over to the cat food section, picking out a bag of new kibbles and can food. Then, you gravitated over to the vegetables and meat, chicken, and beef. Maybe some seasoning and a tad bit too many crackers. 

You paid for the groceries and headed up to your block, struggling to grab your keys as you reached your level. You opened your door and ran to the kitchen, putting everything down before rushing back to close the gates. You turned on the lights and started to pack everything into their respective places on the shelves. 

Heading over to the bowls that you have left out for kitty, you spotted that there were only a few kibbles he didn’t finish. You tossed those out and gave them a good wash, placing them on the rack to dry overnight. 

You turned off the lights and cautiously headed to your room, hoping that all the noise you made had not yet woken the sleeping cat under your sofa. But when you stepped into your room, oh, you were so wrong. 

Kitty was indeed asleep but not under the sofa. It hissed at the sudden attack of light that you switched on, scurrying to your pillow’s snout first. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t know you were there. I thought you were sleeping under the sofa.” You dimmed the lights and headed to the closet, walking over to your bathroom from the connection point there. 

Yoongi could hear the water running down the shower room from where he was laying on your bed. He was just about to fall back asleep when you picked him up, making him hiss at the sudden contact. Trying to pry your hands away by lightly scratching you didn’t seem to phase you at all. 

Where are you taking me? PUT ME DOWN! I SAID, PUT ME D - 

“If you want to sleep in my bed, you are going to take a bath first.” You announced, bringing him to the bathtub which you have already filled up with water. 

NO, NO, NO. I DON’T WANT TO BATHE! I WANT TO SLEEP!

You slowly placed him down into the water and he hissed, not wanting to be washed. He sloshed around in the water, attempting to get out but your grip on him was too tight. 

“Come on, kitty. I’ll leave you alone later if you are willing to let me bathe you now.”

Fine. 

So Yoongi floated there, let you wash him up, blow dry his fur, coo over how soft his fur now is, and check his injuries. When he had gotten enough attention, he jumped off the countertop of the basin and trotted back to the pillows with a meow. Letting you close enough was already pushing his instincts, he wanted to rest now and that was exactly what he was going to do. 

Yoongi heard you sigh from the washroom and started to clean things up. He didn’t last too long with the warm pillows and your scent, lulling him into the darkness. 

A few more weeks went by and the schedule essentially stayed the same. Nothing really changed. 

Nothing really changed. 

Food schedules may not have changed but your cat sure did. Kitty, you decided to call it, started to be more comfortable with you after that day you bathed him. His injuries didn’t seem too bad, just a few scratches here and there but have mostly healed over the past few days. You realised that it was indeed a he and that his fur - oh, it was the softest thing you have ever touched. It was even nicer than the fluffy rugs you have lying on the floor of your house. 

Sometimes, you even wake up with him snuggled in between your arms. 

What a character this cat has.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly until a few days ago when you realised that your cat wasn’t eating as much as he used to. He ran fevers, occasionally spasming, and always whined for your attention every time you were near. Hell, you think that he probably vomited while you weren’t around too! You decided to take a leave today to see exactly what was wrong with your cat. 

So the moment that you woke up, you prepared to leave for the veterinarian. Your cat, however, did not seem at all fond of the idea. It mewled and clung onto your sofa when you tried to bring it out of the house. 

“Come on!” You struggled. “Come on, kitty, seriously! You have been sick for god knows how long and I’m not going to let you keep going like that!” You huffed. “Come…On! Let’s go already. The faster you finish, the faster we can come home.”

When you finally managed to get him out of the door, he meowed the whole way to the vet, almost ripping apart the towel that you had wrapped him in. You heaved a sigh of relief when you reached and got him into the clinic, heading right to the registration counter. 

“Hello, what are you here for?” 

“Erm, my cat has been having fevers and spasming recently. I would like to have him checked out.” You said, eyes darting around the place, seeing many different animals and feeling real… Out of place. You only fed the stray cats downstairs your blocks but never really had a pet by yourself. 

“Have you seen any doctors or come before?”

You shook your head. “No, we haven’t.”

The receptionist nodded. “How long has this been going on?”

You tried to think back to the earlier times when you started to suspect that your cat was sick. “Erm, about a few - maybe around four - days ago?”

“Alright.” The receptionist typed something into her computer and took out a ticket. “You can head over to the seat and wait for your queue number. It will show up on the screen when it is being called.”

You thanked her and went to take a seat. 

A3009, You read on the ticket. 

“That’s still a long way from ours, kitty. It’s only A286 right now. Hang in there.” You told him as he started to gag after a while. You ran your hands down his back in an attempt to calm him down. 

He started to shift around in your hold and you started to panic. “Erm,” You looked up, trying to ask for help just as he puked, vomit splattering off the floor and onto your shoes. People jumped back and pets got startled. The receptionists and nurses came out, trying to diffuse the commotion and clean the mess. 

You stood there trying to calm your cat down to no avail. “Gods, I’m so sorry -”

“It’s fine.” A nurse said. “I think this is more serious than you may have thought. Go to room five and knock. The doctor there will let you in. The receptionist has already informed her that you would be going first.”

You nodded and rushed to the room on as steady feet as possible, hoping that your quick movements would not trigger him again. 

ROOM 5: DR. PARK JI-HYUN

You knocked and went in, hastily greeting the doctor before explaining what was going on. “I really have no idea and I didn’t know how bad it was. I thought it would have gone away after a while.”

Dr Park conducted some tests and checked his lungs. As the results came back, the frown on his doctor’s brows was not making him feel any better. All the sources online stated that stray cats have a much stronger immune system to counter diseases than domestic cats do, so you decided to try for a few days. 

“I think it isn’t quite the problem of what your cat has eaten or what disease it has contracted.” Dr Park said. She scribbled something on the papers and moved to the screens, calling somebody to arrange for some sort of transportation. 

When she came back, she looked you dead in the eyes and frowned. Sighing, she said, “Goodness, how do I phrase this?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Your cat isn’t a cat. It is a hybrid.” 

[lets-try-some-writing]

I had the most dumb yet sensible thought when it comes to your Pretender AU. Megatron discovering ways to deal with Optimus accidentally through human media. Particularly horror media like The Thing, Among Us, Bloodborne, Alien, SCP and such.

A thing that Soundwave would stumble upon by accident before realizing this could come in handy and share with it the other Decepticons. It's kinda ironic in a way. Organics having what could be the key to handling this entire mess through their entertainment based media.

Plus they probably look to YouTube for channels like Roanoke Gaming who discusses the various intricacies like mythology, biology and such on media creatures such as Xenomorphs.

Oh goodness this is FUNNY.

Previous part here.

This is kinda crack so honestly its up in the ether plot relevance wise.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The Pretenders tried to flee Cybertron as soon as they deemed the planet unsuitable. Megatron wanted to scoff when he caught wind of the Pretend Prime and his entourage fleeing the sector. He had every intention of ruling Cybertron and left more than enough soldiers behind to tend to the planet in his absence, but he simply could not allow the Pretenders to go. If they got any ground anywhere, they would spread and be back.

The Pretender Prime had long since proven to be capable of holding a grudge, and Megatron was in no mood to shove the issue under the rug until it came back to bite him. As such, he collected his inner circle, Jazz included, and boarded the Nemesis. He set course for the planet the Pretenders were headed toward with grim determination, and upon landing, he almost wanted to scream due to the sheer amount of organic everything. It reminded him of the Pretenders and he despised being on the ground.

Thus, while his subordinates did everything in their power to root out the Pretenders wherever they were rooted on the planet of Earth, Megatron delved into the human datanet with Soundwave at his side. Jazz joined them on occasion, and through this shared effort, they discovered possible methods to combat their foes that they never would have expected. The ideas were... a tad outlandish. But having tried just about everything else under the sun to kill their enemies, the Decepticons were willing to make an attempt to follow the potential solutions provided.

Having watched "Earnest Scared Stupid" one time, the Vehicons attempted to deal with the Pretenders through the use of milk. It was a one time effort, and the Pretenders were more dumbfounded than actually upset at the milk that was tossed all over them. Seeing as they didn't melt into goo, the Vehicons ran screaming.

Jazz made a valiant attempt to use voodoo magic a handful of times, which ended up resulting in a small storage closet being filled to the brim with collections of dolls stuffed with needles. He also tried a few banishing rituals just for the kick of it. And surprisingly, after one of his attempts which involved an offering the some demon Jazz never bothered to remember, Arcee ended up stepping into a hole and breaking her leg. Since then Jazz has occasionally repeated the ritual just to see if anything else happens.

Starscream saw several movies and decided that water might be a possible way to combat the Pretenders. Being the most reliable flier, he took to the air and decided that Arcee would be the best target. He picked her up, and making sure to wear gloves so as to not actually touch her, he threw her into the nearest body of water and waited above. Arcee for her part flailed and got out with a hiss of indignation, her plating flaring and her extra limbs extending so that she could shake off the liquid. The most Starscream got for his efforts was a dirty look, but his work was applauded when he returned to the Nemesis. Touching a Pretender was always a dangerous risk to take.

Megatron opted for a slightly more... violent solution. He had attempted chemical warfare, bombing, outright attacks, poison, and even manufactured diseases to fight back against his foes. None of his efforts so much as gave him a reasonable weakness to use against them. While young, Pretenders were easy to kill. But after that all he really had to target was their familial connections. There were no physical defects to attack or use against them. They adapted, and as much as he was loath to admit it, they were disgustingly superior when it came to most physical activities. They were resistant to just about everything too. So really there were only two options in his mind.

The Pretenders operated similarly to organics. And according to what he saw, two things that killed organics most often were freezing cold and fire. Thus, his vehicons were given flamethrowers for a time and when the opportunity arose, Optimus was thrown into the arctic for observation. The vehicons for their part managed to make the Pretenders scatter, but fire did nothing against them that it didn't do for a normal Cybertronian. The freezing on the other hand? Freezing could kill a bot, at least in a moist environment. But against the odds, as soon as Optimus found he couldn't escape on his own, the Prime dug a hole into the ground and curled up into a ball, his frame stilling. For a moment Megatron thought he might have won, but then as soon as the other Pretenders came to get him, they dragged the Prime out and back to their base. Within a week he was up and moving again.

The monsters could hibernate it seemed. And that terrified Megatron more than he cared to admit.

The Decepticons only true success came when Soundwave decided to attempt using sound to their advantage. The Pretenders were incredibly sensitive, their optics, audials, and olfactory systems all primed for hunting. Seeing "The Quiet Place", Soundwave noted the similarities between the Pretenders and the Angels and opted to make an attempt at using the same attack against their foes. To the surprise of everyone, he...

Succeeded.

When Soundwave played music on just the right frequency on the battlefield, the Pretenders began to scream. Their frames shifted, their disguises falling away and simultaneously being forced back into place. Unable to control their frames fully, they could only thrash and fight like wild animals as their senses were assaulted from all sides. It was not enough to kill them, but the weakness was swiftly acknowledged and abused.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Another step closer to victory.

[ramayantika]

Shaam aur Shyam

Krishna’s sakhis have now grown up to become mothers. Vishakha, Kamini, Madhura and other women are now doting mothers to young boys and girls. She has seen how they feed sweet butter and milk to their naughty children, how they lovingly braid their daughters’ hair and scold them when they perform mischief.

The little ones often run to Yashoda’s large cottage, for that is where they find the best butter and cream. The large pillars of Nanda’s house serve as a hiding spot for the children of Vrindavana to play even after Krishna’s departure.

Today is just like any other day. Yashoda has tended to the cows, looked after the grains in the storage and the butter and cream inside the kitchen, which shall be sold the next day.

It is evening. She hears the distant sound of jingling bells. There is an ache in her back because of old age. Though she has helpers but she still prefers doing tasks on her own. Placing her fist on the aching spot, she raises a pot full of white butter and holds it by her hips and hand, her eyes distantly looking at the dusty roads and the green forests of Vrindavana.

One of the helpers carries the butter-laden pot from Yashoda and makes his way to the storage room. His eyes drift towards Yashoda’s face and there is a pitiful smile on his lips before leaving Yashoda to her thoughts.

A fragrant breeze blows by and she can hear the jingling bells nearby. The young mothers of Vrindavana have begun walking outside their houses, their eyes waiting to catch a glimpse of their young cowherds who were gone since daybreak.

Yashoda’s heart thuds. She walks near the window and stares at the distance. Slowly, she sees groups of children with herds of cows emerging from the dense forest. The boys are whistling at the young calves. Some gently pat the soft skin of the cows and lead their way inside the village. The naughtier boys who still haven’t experienced exhaustion go around wrestling with their friends or pranking some poor lads, their enthusiastic laughter drawing a fond smile over Yashoda’s lips.

The boys finally reach their mothers. Some reprimand their boys for wrestling with their finds and getting scratches over their skin. One of them is feeding a delicious looking laddoo. A little girl hugs her brother’s leg.

So many children, so much of love, but there is no sign of her Kanhaiya.

Kanhaiya is now Dwarkadheesh Sri Krishna, married, a kingmaker, and a great politician. Yashoda does keep tabs on her Shyam’s whereabouts though her darling son hasn’t sent any letters after leaving the soil of Vrindavana behind.

The evening sun spreads a warm glow over the quiet and sublime village. Everybody does miss their Krishna, Shyam and Kanhaiya. They no longer talk about him much, just to avoid the pain of separation gnawing at their heart every day, but his friends did make sure that their children will know of their great friend, their Kanha who has made them so proud of the man he has become today.

But what of the mother’s heart? He may be a God to the world, but is her little Krishna for Yashoda. Shyam who would run inside the house after coming from the forests, leaving behind muddy footprints no longer prances around. Kanhaiya no longer plays pranks on the poor innocent milkmaids of Vraja. There is no one to steal butter from, nor there is Murlidhar to play melodious tunes that bring a divine serenity to the soul.

Krishna, her little one, her heart now lives to the western coast of Aryavarta, very far from the land of simple cowherds and milkmaids, away from the sweet innocence of childhood and his mother.

Yashoda’s arms stretch to the air as if her darling would come home rushing to embrace her.

And just like every day in all these years, cold air brushes her arms and warm memories of her sun flit by.

-- XXX --

Sorry for the low quality fic, but i haven't written anything nice for a while. There was a lot of drama in college, hostel and life and couple that with academics and dance practice

This may not punch enough in the guy :(

Taglist: @swayamev @jukti-torko-golpo @navaratna @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @rhysaka @krishna-priyatama @krishakamal @krsnaradhika @kaal-naagin @ramcharantitties @houseofbreadpakoda @aesthetic-aryavartik

[xaeethebaee]

Random NSFW TR Headcanons Part Two

MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

As the title suggests, this is part two of the random sexual headcanons for the Tokyo Revengers characters.

Warnings! Mentions of anal, a very STRONG implication of emotional incest, some interesting kinks, and implied masochism.

A/n: Reminder, they're all ADULTS here.

Let's start this off with a list of guys who are all brat tamers! DRAKEN, SMILEY, Wakasa, Izana, and Rindou!

Chifuyu fucked a girl in the storage room of his pet store. It happened multiple times throughout one day actually. (Mans got some stamina!)

Hakkai once slapped his girlfriend so hard that he cried while she had an orgasm.

Draken is the KING at making girls squirt. It may have something to do with his big dick energy.

Speaking of BDE (Big Dick Energy), shout out to Rindou Haitani and Hakkai Shiba.

Ran, SOUTH, Hanma, and Shion have all let themselves be pegged at least once. Surprisingly, Hanma did not enjoy it.

Mitsuya admitted that Baji was the best man he fucked. (more like he got fucked by Baji.)

Peh-yan is a choker.

Taiju definitely has a daddy kink

Meanwhile, Takemichi has a mommy kink

Mikey once got hard from watching a video of a girl painting her toenails. He was just trying to help Emma with her pedicure. Needless to say, she won't be asking for his help anymore.

Sanzu walked in on his sister Senju fucking another girl. He was so aroused that he couldn't help but watch from the shadows.

Speaking of Sanzu, he is surprisingly gentle in bed.

Shinichiro Sano never realized he had a lactation kink until he saw a porn video of a woman's breasts leaking milk. That ultimately spurred on a subsequent breeding kink.

Mucho is WAY too silent when in bed. He just stares blankly even though he is enjoying the experience. (please beg him to make some noise)

Baji will share his girl toy with Mitsuya and maybe Chifuyu, but he will NEVER share his girlfriend with Chifuyu. (Interesting.)

Just ask nicely and these guys will HAPPILY eat your pussy: MITSUYA, DRAKEN, BENKEI, SHINICHIRO, HANMA, Hakkai, Angry, Akkun, Peh-yan, Wakasa, Mocchi, Kazutora, Inupi, Suzuki, Mucho, Kakucho, and Shion.

Let's focus on the Kawata twins for a bit. Angry once walked in on Smiley eating a girl out from behind. What did he do? He joined in.

Similar to his brother, Angry is very experienced as well although, he does not sleep around like Smiley.

Speaking of Smiley, he is one sadistic fuck. He will edge his girl until she is balling her eyes out and even then he may not let her cum. Though, the moment when he does let her cum, he makes sure it is an amazing orgasm, so he's not FULLY evil.

Fun fact, sex with Baji ain't always great. Sometimes, he'll randomly stop and pull out for no apparent reason. (He is an unpredictable guy after all.)

Guys who will be absolutely RUTHLESS with backshots are BAJI, HANMA, SMILEY, TAIJU, SOUTH, Izana, Mikey, Takeomi, Kisaki, and Draken.

Make Angry angry enough and he'll go feral. The same goes for Shion, Mocchi, and Izana.

Inupi does not like to be teased. He'd much rather sex be straightforward.

Chifuyu loves anal a lot. If he's not fucking his girlfriend's ass, he will definitely stick his finger in there. Additionally, he will always give her a rim job.

Hanma's favorite roleplay is when he pretends to be a psycho killer. Once he catches his victim, he fucks her dumb.

While we're on the subject of Hanma's fantasies, he definitely thought about having a threesome with Draken and a random girl. In his mind, he wants to see who could give her the best pleasure. (I'm literally writing this fanfic right now. Lol.)

Let's end this part with guys who love a nice ass: WAKASA, RINDOU, KISAKI, SANZU, SOUTH, CHIFUYU, Draken, Mitsuya, Peh, Inupi, Angry, Taiju, Kokonoi, Shion, Mocchi, Takeomi, Naoto, and Kakucho

A/n: Have any more requests for headcanons, let me know. Also, don't be afraid to comment. I don't bite.

[hiveworks]

Convention Guide: Basic Tabling Gear

September 2023

Whether you’re an artist alley newbie or you’ve been doing the convention circuit for years, putting together your table essentials is a crucial part of selling your wares at events and ensuring your weekend goes smoothly. In this guide, we’re covering the basics of setting up your first ever table.

This list is a non comprehensive assessment of things a tabler might need and should be used as a simple starting point. The four main categories we will cover are:

The Display

Behind the Table

Money

Quality of Life Suggestions

—🐝—

1. The Display

a) Tablecloth

Starting from the base layer, we’ve got tablecloths– an easy way to add some color and personality to your table. Your tablecloth doesn’t even have to be an actual tablecloth! You can use a length of fabric cut from a bolt at your local craft store. Convention tables tend to be 6’ long, so when selecting your fabric, look for measurements longer than 72” (183cm).

Play with color and texture to find something that fits the theme of your work on display. Patterns can be fun, but might distract from your inventory or signage if the colors/design are too bold and busy. Tip: your cloth may get messy from food behind the scenes or dust/dirt if you do outdoor events. Get something that’s easy to wash in your machine!

b) Display supports

Most artists these days use cube organizers that break apart into flat panels and connector joints. They are easy to store when not in use, easy to transport in a suitcase or tote, and you can change the shape depending on your table set up and inventory. Tip: constructing your display to include shelves that face you behind the table helps organize your backstock during the show.

These cubes aren’t your only option. Some people use milk crates, picture frames, wooden boxes, custom built shelves, etc. Consider what works best for you, your aesthetic, and your storage/transportation needs. When in doubt, you can always lay your goods flat on the table.

c) Signage

Having clear signage on your items to denote price helps people feel more comfortable purchasing from your table. Your price markers don’t have to be fancy. Prices written neatly on pieces of paper and paperclipped to your books or taped up next to your stickers is a simple and effective strategy. Some people print out a price list or use a sign board. It’s totally up to you!

Include a sign with your name somewhere in your display, including your social media handle if it is different from your artist name. This will help fans of your work more easily recognize you. Tip: use a QR code prominently displayed on your table that links to your portfolio, linktree, etc.

d) Banner/backdrop

Look out behind you! Whether it’s a banner, a backdrop, or something else, the space behind your seat can be put to use. While it is relatively easy to print custom banners at most print shops, many tablers cite this as an unnecessary expense, especially for first time artist alley participants. If you’d like to hang a collage of your work behind you, look for photography backdrop tripods, which can collapse and fold up neatly. The behind-the-table space is shared with other artists, and it can get cramped. Be mindful of your needs when deciding how to do a backdrop. Some artists opt to exclude a backdrop and just use their cubes to arch over them.

Optional: Decorate your table! Flowers, string lights, plushies, etc. can all bring a special one of a kind experience to your set up.

2. Behind The Table

a) Inventory

Now that we’re behind the table, let’s talk about what’s going on back here. Starting with inventory. If you’re absolutely unsure how much to bring, a good starting number is about 10 of each item. If you sell out, congratulations! You’ll know what to bring more of next time, or you’ll know you should raise your prices. For storing inventory during transportation to the con and while at the show, you might consider simple boxes, an accordion folder, or a portfolio case, depending on what kind of items you’re bringing. Reminder: if you’re using display cubes, structuring them to give you shelves on your side of the table will help you keep things organized.

b) Suitcase/storage tote

Under your feet will be your suitcase/tote box, and perhaps a dolly, if you used one to wheel your boxes into the building. It is recommended that your suitcase/tote has a lock on it, as you’ll be leaving inventory overnight. Hopefully no matter what you use, it has wheels of some kind. All this gear gets heavy. If you are not using a wheeled device, make sure to check your pack’s weight as you assemble your supplies. You will have to carry it from the parking garage or bus stop through the convention center, and back out again at the end of the show.

c) Cover cloth

What else is in that box? Your cover cloth. This one is optional, but some artists like having a lightweight cloth to cover their table when the day is done. Something like a vinyl picnic tablecloth works perfectly. The cover cloth helps prevent anyone from accidentally knocking your things over or having things go missing.

d) Business cards

On your side of the table, you ought to have plenty of back up business cards. You’ll have some of these out on the table for passersby to pick up, but this item is the number one thing you’re going to hand out the most of. It’s always better to have too many rather than too few. For a single three day convention, you might need 200+ cards. Make sure your website/online shop is easy to find on your cards. Cute business cards go a long way to making your table memorable long after the con has ended.

Bonus supplies: Here’s a short list of things you might need throughout the weekend to touch up your display. Keep them in a bag and bring them with you every time you table!

Masking and clear tape

Spare paper for impromptu signage

Sharpies and pens

Zip ties

Scissors

3. Money

a) Card reader

The most commonly used card reader is Square, but there are alternatives. Research their fees and prices to determine what fits your needs. You’ll want to get a hold of a card reader and set up your account well in advance of your show. Card readers require wifi/data to work and will only work in your country of business, so take that into consideration when packing for your show. Most convention halls have wifi (sometimes at a cost), but if your show is outdoors you might be relying on data.

b) Cash/change

Cash is king! Make sure to bring enough cash/change for your show. About $25-50 in small bills is usually enough if you’re also accepting card. At the end of the day, consider tucking your big bills away in a secure location in your hotel room. If something were to happen to your bag, you’ll appreciate not having your entire weekend’s earnings in it!

c) Fanny pack

Keeping your cash attached to you at all times is smart. People often use fanny packs or cross body bags to manage their money.

4. Quality of Life

a) Backup battery

Since you may be using your phone to complete transactions, or maybe you’re drawing on your iPad with time to kill, you’ll want to bring a back up battery. Most tables don’t have access to electricity, so having a battery and charging cables is a good idea.

b) Hand sanitizer & masks

One hand sani pump out front and one behind the table. You’ll be handling money, shaking hands with strangers, and touching surfaces that thousands of people have been touching all day. As long as there have been conventions, there have been con plagues. You don’t want to get knocked out with a cold (or worse) so masking is great!

c) Table buddy

If you’re able to, bring a friend to help you table. Cons will often give tablers 2 passes (one for you and one for a friend). They can help you grab coffee or lunch, get change, package a big purchase, cover you for bathroom breaks, etc. Table buddies are truly the unsung heroes of artist alley.

d) No table buddy? No problem.

Check in with con staff and volunteers. Many comic cons will have a green room for artists to take a snack break and decompress, and con staff will help guide you there. Some conventions also enlist volunteers to help sit your table while you’re away. They’ll make sure your table stays in order, direct people to your business cards, and inform curious patrons when to expect you back.

e) Fun stuff!

There will be plenty of downtime. Con hours are long and often slow in the mornings. Bring something to keep you occupied, but not too engrossed, so you can easily pull away to greet customers and fans. Fidget toys, a puzzle book, knitting or crochet project are all great ideas.

f) Get Comfy, Eat Well, Stay Hydrated

Going from your quiet desk to the high octane energy of artist alley can be a shock to the system. Some items to help reduce the fatigue are: noise canceling headphones during downtime and breaks, sunglasses to combat the fluorescent lights and rest your eyes, slippers or comfy shoes for under the table, and layers of clothing. Convention halls can fluctuate temperatures wildly. With lots of AC during the summer, sweaty crowds, and the flow of traffic to your table, you’ll be working up a sweat fulfilling transactions one second then freezing after sitting still for a minute.

Most importantly, have a small cooler with snacks and drinks. You may not get a break, but it’s important to stay hydrated and energized.

—🐝—

The next time you're at a convention, take note of displays that inspire you. #ArtistAlley and #ConTable tags on Instagram or TikTok can connect you with creators sharing their setups. Your table design is an opportunity to be creative and express yourself, while also learning along the way what works for you. Most tables, however, are built up over several convention seasons of trial and error, so while it’s good to take note of others' displays as a source of inspiration, try to keep your first table relatively simple. The more you table, the more you’ll be able to identify your needs for you and your merchandise.

We’ll close out this blog post with one final suggestion. Big, multi-day conventions can be fun, but they can also be expensive. Your tabling supplies and inventory aside, if you’re doing a show away from home, you’ll contend with table fees (often $250-450 USD), hotel, transportation, meals, etc. And not every convention is a good fit for your wares! Small, local events and art festivals are a great, low stakes, relatively cheap (or free) way to start tabling. Check your area for zine fests, queer makers markets, and craft fairs.

Sound off if there’s anything we missed! Good luck on your tabling adventures.