#CUSTOMIZED LAX SHORTS

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[notmyneighbor]

A New Neighbor - Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader, Francis Mosses x Nacha Mikaelys

Chapter 1

Word Count - 6.5k

Rating - Explicit

Content Warnings - cheating, pervert Francis Mosses, reader is an 18 yo highschool student and the new babysitter, fondling, masturbation

Also available on AO3

taglist - @kaislashes @unicorngirly1 @charli33-b33 @natiii727227

Things aren’t going well with Francis Mosses’ girlfriend Nacha Mikaelys.

The milkman is trying to make things work; he truly sees it that way. Their daughter Anastacha certainly wasn’t planned, but he’s not the type to shirk his duties. An unwed mother carries a certain stigma and it’s not really fair when he’s partly responsible for the situation they’re in. So they’d moved in together. Claimed they were engaged to be married, though it was clear neither of them had any intentions of tying the knot. The resentment on both sides is clear. This was never supposed to be a long term, committed relationship. They weren’t particularly compatible. Yet here they are. Friends at the best of times, but those times were coming fewer and farther between. More like roommates that tolerated each other now. Barely tolerated. Conversations strained. Tempers short. He feels like he was suffocating, trapped. He knows she feels the same way.

Nacha wants to resume her career as a chef now that Anastacha is in elementary school, and that means a babysitter will be required to make up the gap between Francis and his girlfriend’s upcoming shifts. He’s not so much a product of his time that he doesn’t believe in women working outside the home; he actually thinks it will be good for her to pursue something she enjoys. So he readily agrees to the idea, wondering whom they’re going to hire.

These are difficult times.

Trust is hard to come by, when you don’t know whether the face you’re staring at is really your neighbor or not. The doppelgänger situation wasn’t just something you heard about on the news in some distant city anymore. It was here. It was real. Just last week someone downstairs had been killed, the previous doorman guarding the entrance a little too lax in his duties.

The demand to inhabit a DDD secured residence was high no matter how derelict in their duties the individual screening at the door was, and Francis had heard through the rumor mill of the crowded building that a father and his daughter were already moving in. He was a college professor. She was an older teenager, eighteen, finishing up highschool. She might be a good option to watch Ana. He’d have to meet her and see. He’s sure Nacha will want to as well.

Today is the day the new residents are moving in, he thinks. Or was it Wednesday they were slated to take up residence? Wait, was today already Wednesday?

Francis rubs the bridge of his nose and massages his tired eyes. He’s almost done his delivery route. Not even his busiest day, the schedule almost half of what it will be tomorrow, and he already can’t wait for it to be over. He’ll stop by to introduce himself on the way home, get a feel for things. At the very least it was the proper thing to do, welcoming someone to the neighborhood. If things didn’t work out, well, they’d just have to keep looking for a babysitter.

***

Francis always takes the elevator when he returns from his shift.

The thought of climbing up three flights of stairs just doesn’t appeal to him most days. Not after so many deliveries. He supposes he should be glad so many people still lacked proper refrigeration and relied on him for fresh dairy products. Job security, they called it. He used to have to solicit customers, years ago. It was an expected part of the job. The invasion had changed all of that, though. Demand more than enough without seeking additional business. It wasn’t even about convenience anymore. People were becoming more and more afraid of leaving their homes.

A heck of a lot riskier than it used to be, visiting so many residences. You never knew who—what—was really on the other side of the door nowadays. Before, he used to complain about having to collect payment from customers that were behind. Now that task seemed paltry in comparison to the daring just delivering goods involved. Even the increased pay doesn’t quite cancel out the threat of the doppelgängers lurking around every corner.

He actually forgets to present his entry request that afternoon after fumbling his ID card out of his wallet, a battered leather billfold that’s seen better days but he can’t be bothered wasting money to replace it. Besides, it takes time to break a new one in. This one is creased and comfortable. It had lasted him this long, it would service him a little longer.

The new doorman frowns suspiciously and he hurriedly reaches for his clipboard, sliding the request free from its position tucked at the very back of his address list. He tries a smile that is not returned, the DDD’s recently hired guard perusing the offered document before squinting at something just to the left of the window. He knows he’s on the day’s expected entry list, so he’s not worried about that. But he did already arouse suspicion, neglecting to present his excuse for his departure from the apartment building. He hears the receiver of the black rotary phone lifting and his heart sinks. The doorman really isn’t buying that he was just a milkman returning home from work. A very human, normal person.

Francis tucks his clipboard back under his arm, his free hand tapping nervously against his work pants. He can hear the dial tone, the lack of a response. Of course no one was home. Still a relief, though. If the doorman had inadvertently already let a doppel in, a stranger wearing his face now taking up his residence, lying in wait, while he himself was condemned to execution by the DDD disposal team…he shudders to think of that scenario.

Without a word his identification card is slid back to him, the request filed away. It seemed silly to have to keep making them out on a daily basis, but that was the procedure. He hears the door buzzer signaling he’s free to enter the building and he sighs in relief again, nodding gratefully before ducking through.

The elevator doors slide open and the tired delivery driver steps inside the carriage and presses the button for the third floor out of habit, leaning slightly against the rear wall of the car. He’s really exhausted today, and the week is only halfway done. Maybe he should have a few customers taken off his route.

Wait. Had he pressed the third floor button? He was supposed to be going to the second, to meet the new neighbors. With a mournful sigh he thumbs the correct button and the doors close, shielding his view of the familiar stretch of navy blue doors on the floor he resides on. Every floor was similarly color coded: pistachio green for first, tangerine orange for third. He doesn’t think there’s any real significance to the chosen palette. Every apartment was furnished identically as well, everything provided with utilitarian pieces. In some respects, he thinks it makes things a lot easier. Nacha didn’t agree. She insists on adding decor and personal touches to make it feel unique, more like their own. He lets her have free reign over that department; he hardly has any decorating expertise. If it was entirely up to him, his sole decision would be to leave it just as it was when he’d moved in. Simple was best.

The elevator doors part on the correct floor this time, and he immediately sees a pile of boxes and luggage outside a door just across from the elevator. So the rumor mill had been correct. Today was the day.

Moving boxes is the last thing the tired delivery driver feels like doing just then, but it’s as good a way as any to break the ice. He raps his knuckles on the edge of the moulding, announcing his arrival. The door opens and he’s greeted by a pleasant looking middle aged man who looks very confused to be greeted by an empty handed milkman.

“I didn’t order anything…”

“Oh! No, I’m sorry. I’m not here for a delivery. I just got home from work and wanted to introduce myself. My name is Francis Mosses. I live upstairs with my girlfriend and daughter.” He offers a hand and the man shakes it. He has a strong, confident grip and an easy smile.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Need a hand with this?” He gestures towards the stack beside him.

“That’s very kind of you, but you certainly aren’t obligated to.”

“Not a problem. Moving is a big job. Is your daughter here?” He asks curiously, lifting one of the suitcases and wincing a little at the unexpected weight.

“No, she’s in school. She’s a very dedicated student. It’s fortunate we’re still close enough to where we lived before so she didn’t have to transfer to another so late in the school year. She’ll be home soon. That’s her luggage you've got there,” he adds, looking sympathetic.

“Feels like she packed everything and the kitchen sink,” Francis jokes, and the man cracks another smile. He likes him already. Hopefully the daughter would prove just as affable.

“Just set that in the living room for now. I apologize for the mess,” he says over his shoulder. “My daughter is the one for the knack with organizing things. Must have gotten it from her mother, God rest her soul. Lost her during childbirth. It’s always just been the two of us. I could never quite bring myself to move on,” he adds softly.

The third floor resident offers a sympathetic sound, waving away the man’s concerns before he heaves the heavy suitcase onto the couch. If he knows anything about women, he imagines it’s jam packed with clothing. Nacha’s outfits took up more than half of the closet in the bedroom. It’s a good thing he didn’t have a large wardrobe himself.

Francis returns to the hallway and he and the new neighbor steadily begin demolishing the pile, chatting amicably. He doesn’t envy the man the task of unpacking all of this. He isn’t even sure they’ll be room for this much stuff. The apartments were moderately sized.

“Ah, here she is! This is our neighbor from upstairs, Mr. Francis Mosses.” The introduction accompanies your entrance through the front door, the backpack hooked over one shoulder settled beside the luggage on the couch before turning your attention to the visitor.

You shake the stranger’s hand and survey the state of the interior of the new living space, looking a bit overwhelmed. “Dad, I told you to wait. I was going to help,” you say, and he can hear the good natured, long suffering patience you must have to exhibit living with the widow in your tone.

“I know, I just wanted to get a head start.”

“Just wait before you touch anything else, okay?” It sounds like the roles are reversed, with you being the mature adult and your father looking the part of the bashful child. You smile apologetically at the milkman, making for the boxes lining the kitchen counter first. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything to offer you, we still need to pick up groceries. Just seemed foolish to have even more things to carry. Worried about food spoiling, you know…” Your voice trails off as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind one ear. Well mannered. Pretty. You had a nice smile. Nice everything if Francis was being honest, but he was very firmly trying to deny his initial assessment of your appearance as you’d walked through the door wearing a school uniform, still trying to conceal how much he was admiring the shape of your figure in a plaid skirt that was maybe a touch too short, the way the button front white blouse and navy cardigan hugged your curves so neatly.

Or maybe it wasn’t too short at all. Maybe it was just the right length, he thinks, watching you bend over to pick something up your father had dropped, stubbornly ignoring your advice and diving into the contents of one of the boxes.

Jesus, Francis. Perverted much?

It had been awhile since he’d last been intimate with Nacha. A long time. So far back he can’t even remember. That part of their relationship had just fizzled after the baby, becoming a rare occurrence if they both just happened to be in the mood. More a matter of convenience and availability, certainly nothing romantic or passionate. And now here he was, lusting after a girl he didn’t even know who was barely into adulthood. Someone he’d intended on asking to watch his own child.

“I, um, don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say hi. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks for stopping by. And the assistance. Extend our greetings to your girlfriend and daughter.”

“I’ll do that.”

Did you look a little displeased when your father mentioned these two females you lived with? Or had he only imagined that scowl that was there and gone fast as a passing summer rainstorm?

“See you around,” you call after him, and the milkman cannot get on the elevator fast enough, hurriedly pressing the button to return him to the third floor.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

***

Nacha visits the new neighbors before the week ends, inviting them to dinner.

Francis hasn’t said much about his first impressions. His girlfriend certainly seemed to approve. She never invited people over.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it had just been a fluke. Just raging hormones and unsatisfied needs making him react that way.

It had been the guiltiest jerk off he’d ever had in his life after meeting you for the first time.

The only saving grace was he was home alone when he’d done it. Thankfully Nacha had been out visiting her parents with Anastacha at the time. A rare moment of peace and quiet that had instantly filled with thoughts of you. Very inappropriate thoughts.

He’d still locked himself in the bathroom, just to be on the safe side. She wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours according to the note, but still, better to be safe than sorry.

Stupid, waiting to clean the pipes this long. No wonder….fuck.

When you had bent over to retrieve whatever kitchen utensil your father had clumsily dropped…That image alone would have been enough, but his mind is already shoving that innocent movement into something much more depraved, with you bent over in front of him instead. His cock had already been flushed and leaking when he’d dragged it free of its enclosure, stroking the sensitive organ and hissing in pleasure. It was so hot. He was on fire. Those sexy lips of yours. Maybe he wants you on your knees in front of him instead, wrapping that mouth over his prick. Choking you on it. It wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact. He knows he’s larger than average, thicker and longer than many. Girls had always been surprised and appreciative. He’d love to see the look on your face the first time he exposed himself to you. He’d wondered if you had a boyfriend. How far you’ve gone. Still a virgin, maybe? Waiting for marriage like a good girl?

Fuck. He’d been throbbing. There was no way he’d been able to prolong the session. He’d fucked his hand wishing it was yours, any part of you, envisioning bathing you in a load that jets out in reality moments later, thick creamy wads spurting onto the bathroom sink. His free hand grips the counter in a white knuckled grasp and he looks at his appearance in the mirror while his hips still spasm even after he’s removed his hand from his pulsing cock. Flushed. Perspiring. The almost bruised looking smudges beneath each lower eyelid now underlining blown pupils. He should have been ashamed.

It had only made him want you more.

***

“How are you enjoying the apartment so far?”

Nacha had cooked enough food for an army, crowding the table with dish after dish. For all her flaws, Francis couldn’t deny she had true culinary talent. Baking was her passion; that’s how they had met, in fact. Delivering dairy products to the shop she’d worked at. A little flirting on both sides. And then, well…

“Still getting settled, but it’s been good so far. A much safer neighborhood than where we lived previously,” the college professor remarks, responding to the hostess’ query.

“The new doorman seems to be very strict. I feel a lot safer,” she agrees, cutting into the casserole on her plate and mulling over the bite. It was a habit for her. She always took her time eating, judging what ingredients she’d used, deciding what worked and what could be improved upon.

“Can I have some more juice, Mommy?”

“When you’ve finished what you have, yes.”

Ana quickly polishes off the contents of her glass. She’s been staring at their female visitor all throughout dinner, clearly fascinated by the older girl.

“I’ve got it,” you say, offering to refill the child’s glass. She smiles and Ana breaks into a grin that’s in that awkward transitioning stage between baby and adult teeth, a few gaps noted here and there. You were already getting along so well.

Francis had been hoping you wouldn’t. It would make things so much easier. Removing temptation. No need to ever go to the second floor again. Perhaps there would be the occasional paths crossed on the elevator, but that would be it.

He has barely spoken the entire time. He’s very pointedly not looking at you in the pretty floral button front dress you’re wearing, your hair freshly styled, skin natural and clear of makeup, just the way he likes. Nacha always wore such dark lipstick and heavy mascara, attempting to cover her freckles with powder and concealer. He wishes she wouldn’t. He’s mentioned it before, as politely as he can. But she doesn’t agree with his preference. She’s wearing it right now. The modest dress is so old it’s nearly out of style. She’s definitely not trying to impress anyone.

“This is delicious, Nacha,” the male guest remarks after she’d insisted they be on a first name basis.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s a new recipe. I might still tweak a few things in the future…” Her voice trails off thoughtfully, then she turns her attention to the young woman seated across from her. “So do you have any activities after school? Senior year is so exciting.”

“I’m on the year book committee and I take piano lessons.”

“I wish I could play a musical instrument. Just never seemed to get the hang of my mother’s piano,” Nacha murmurs wistfully. She pauses, then nudges Francis under the table. This was his cue to inquire if she’d be interesting in babysitting.

He clears his throat loudly, suddenly parched and grabbing for a drink, his hasty fingers nearly knocking the glass over. “We were wondering, if you have time, of course. Understandable if you don’t.” Another nudge, this one firm enough to leave a bruise. “If you wouldn’t be interested in babysitting for us. Nacha is going to be going back to work and there’s a slight discrepancy with our schedules…” Suddenly the words that had been so difficult to utter come spilling out like a guilty man confessing his crimes to the authorities. And oh, was he guilty. His eyes finally meet yours directly, shifting from the point he’d fixed on somewhere near your face, the striped wallpaper on the wall behind you substituted for your features. He feels his body responding immediately, a slight tightening in his trousers that makes him shyly glance away again. Damn it. Masturbating the other day hadn’t taken the edge off at all. What was it about you that made you so irresistible?

“I’m interested,” you reply, and he feels his gaze dragged forcefully back to you. No, he shouldn’t have looked. But he can’t help it. He really can’t. Magnet and iron filings. Moth and flame. The attraction is too strong.

He lets his girlfriend iron out the details like the times and days that work for everyone involved after your father readily agrees to the proposal, stating you’ve always been good with your niece who’s a similar age. A real natural at childcare. Dessert follows after you graciously help Nacha clear the table, a homemade chocolate cake and coffee for the adults, milk for Ana and you, per your request.

The milkman feels your eyes on him again. You’re lifting the glass to your lips, that creamy white substance leaving behind a stain on your upper lip that you quickly lick away, your tongue darting out and stroking over the pink arches. Francis nearly chokes on his bite of cake. It has to be deliberate, right? Or was it really completely innocent, and it was his own sick, twisted brain making it seem like the teenager was flirting with him?

It’s a relief when it’s his daughter’s bedtime and Nacha decides to show you her routine, in case you’ll be there late one night if they ever decided to go out or were otherwise occupied. A little more bonding time for you and his daughter. Your father’s already drawn him into a conversation that distracts him, lets him calm down, the bulge in his pants easing. There’s a nervous moment when you’re parting at the door, the scent of you and your close proximity suddenly threatening to reveal his perversion again, but then you’re gone and it’s just he and his girlfriend once more.

He’s surprised when she begins stroking his shoulder after retiring for the evening, a signal that hadn’t been used in ages. Even more surprising when he responds to it. You don’t resemble Nacha in any way, but maybe that’s better. In the dark, it’s easier to pretend the warm body he presses beneath his is actually yours. The chef had gained weight during the pregnancy that had mostly been shed again, some residual softness still clinging to the middle even after all this time. An idea warps this into your own belly stretched for him. Francis keeps his face tucked into the side of his girlfriend’s neck, huffing softly. You’d be tighter than this. Wetter. He knows it. Those eyes. Those lips. He’s moaning, too loud, he knows.

“Francis,” Nacha cautions. “You’ll wake Ana.”

Your lip stained in white at the dinner table. Your tongue. He wants to lick it off you. Lick every inch of you. Dump an entire bottle of chilled milk over your warm body and lap away. Fuck. Too good. The imagery is too vivid. He pulls out just before he climaxes, spilling semen over Nacha’s torso and abdomen, then flops down beside her. He has no idea if she’s still taking birth control. He’s hardly going to risk getting the mother of his child pregnant again.

There’s a sigh from the other woman. She hasn’t orgasmed. She hates cleaning cum off of her body. Francis bets you’d enjoy it. Rub it in. Encourage him to spread even more on you. He wants to make you cum. He wants you.

The mattress creaks as his partner leaves the bed to go wash up in the bathroom. His elevated pulse and respirations are gradually slowing, returning to normal. He shifts his pajama pants back into place, dragging them back over his hips.

It takes Nacha a long time to come back to bed. Maybe she’d finished herself off in the bathroom. Did you ever touch yourself?

It’s the final lewd thought he ponders before he drifts off to sleep.

***

A week passes. Nacha’s returned to work, this time at a restaurant. Not as many opportunities for creating the baked goods that had been her previous passion, but still a step in the right direction before a better opportunity presents itself.

Francis arrives home a little past four that afternoon, finding you on the floor in the living room with Anastacha. You were helping her color a picture of a rainbow, your shading much neater while the elementary student’s scribbles tended to veer outside the lines. You're both lying on your stomachs, your knees bent, ankles crossed in the air, swaying up and down a bit. A position he’d seen Ana adopt countless times. You, though…

“Daddy!” His daughter scrambles to her feet, running over to give him an enthusiastic hug.

Your eyes lift to meet his as he tousles her hair playfully. “Hi, Mr. Mosses. How was work?”

“Fine. It’s Francis,” he reminds you, although he’s not certain it’s such a good idea to encourage that informal address.

“When is mommy coming home?” The first grader tips her head back, regarding her father.

“Late. Remember I told you? You’ll be in bed before she gets home. It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

“Will she come kiss me goodnight?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can she stay? She’s helping me color.” She points to you and the crayon scrawled picture.

“I see that. It’s very nice. But she can’t stay. She has homework to do, I’m sure. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

The pout on the young child’s face softens. She’s got his eyes, there’s no denying it, but every other feature inherited is her mother’s. The button nose ceases scrunching up and she shrugs her thin shoulders in acceptance.

“Can I have a snack?”

“Not now. It’s almost dinner time,” he says gently.

Unlike Nacha, Francis hated cooking. Thankfully she’d prepared for this, leaving leftovers in the fridge to reheat for supper tonight.

The milkman watches you gather the crayons back into the box, handing the picture to Ana after you push yourself to your feet. “We’ll finish this tomorrow, okay?”

His daughter nods. You slide back into your cardigan, blocking the view he’d just had of your brassiere very visible beneath the thin material of your school blouse. Was that lace he had caught a glimpse of?

“Would you mind walking me downstairs? I’m still a little nervous being on my own.”

It seems like the most innocent of excuses, but Francis is more convinced than ever it’s anything but. He hesitates, eyeing his daughter. The entire point of hiring a sitter was so she wouldn’t be left alone. Now he was going to be doing that very thing.

“Isn’t your dad home?”

“No. He’s teaching a night course.”

The milkman’s heart sinks. Alone. You were going home to an empty apartment. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Ana, daddy’s going to walk your babysitter home, okay? I’ll just be downstairs. You know to keep the door locked until I get back. And the secret knock so you know it’s me.” It was the most innocent way to teach the child about safety. An absolute necessity with the added threat of the doppels around.

“Ok, daddy.” She’s already found her next task to occupy herself, plopped now in front of the television. Too close to the screen, as usual.

He reminds her to sit further back, then turns to you. “Ready?”

You nod and he escorts you to the door. The brief ride on the elevator is silent. It’s the middle of February, and the heat in the building isn’t that good, but he’s already perspiring. His fingers twitch nervously. You’re standing so close beside him your sleeve brushes his.

The carriage halts and the doors slide open. You’re already digging in your backpack for the key. He knows he should turn and flee, right now. Get back to Anastacha. Make dinner. Forget all about you.

Instead he hovers just behind. You push open the door, immediately toeing your shoes off, little polished dress ones with thin black laces. “You want to come in for a minute? Have a drink?”

Oh, he does. He definitely does.

Francis steps inside and closes the door behind him, securing the deadbolt. It locks with a severe cracking sound of metal being driven forcefully together. You move to the fridge, bending slightly as you survey the options, listing each one to him.

It’s over. Doomed. The most cliché thing ever. The babysitter. Really? Fourteen years his junior. Only eighteen. Still in highschool. Fuck.

“Water’s fine.” His mouth is dry, his throat parched. He actually needs the moisture. He’s already pitched a tent, immediately obvious. Impossible to ignore. Your eyes have already spotted it after you straighten, shutting the appliance door. A faint flush in your cheeks. He recognizes the way your pupils have dilated, that signal of desire making the dark centers pool and spread until there is just the thinnest bit of iris encircling each. Your chest rises rapidly, you lips parting slightly, seeking an alternative source of air. “Tell me to leave,” he says, and it’s a plea, something dredged against his will from the depths of his soul that he barely manages to utter.

“No,” you say softly.

He steps closer, crowding you against the sink. His hand reaches out, settling on the side of your neck, shrouded beneath the fragrant curtain of your hair.

“Tell me to stop.”

His chest actually hurts, his heart is pounding so fiercely.

“No,” you deny him again.

His mouth brushes yours. Velvet. Your lips are absolutely plush, pliable. Peach skin. Sweeter than, when his tongue dips inside those parted wedges to taste the ambrosia nectar within.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he pants, and it’s his most desperate urge yet; his last resolve, his last shred of decency hanging by a thread.

“Francis,” you gasp, one hand sliding down to when he needs you most. A place you shouldn’t touch. But oh, how he needs it. His body is already responding, hips grinding against that delicate hand, pushing you further into the sharp edge of the counter. He can smell the last vestiges of the lemon dish soap in the sink behind you, a brief waft of clean citrus before his mouth crushes yours, drinking you in more deeply.

I tried to resist. I didn’t force you. You want this, too.

He’s kissed a few girls in his day. Your own experience level maybe not on par. There’s a certain awkwardness. Maybe from nervousness. But you’re a fast learner. The clumsier collisions of lips and tongue now meeting more smoothly as you map his own. He doesn’t even mind the accidental knocking of teeth, the inadvertent nip of his tongue. It just heightens the experience. Everything about you is the epitome of erotic. You’re gorgeous, sexy, perfect.

He’s got a handful of one breast curving against his palm now, that soft globe palpable beneath the layers of cotton shirt and the lace bra he’d spied earlier. Certainly nothing your father had picked out for you to wear. When had you purchased the lingerie? Did it make you feel wicked? Had you blushed in front of the shopkeeper? Did you choose it just for him?

The milkman is still grinding against your body. He could cum just like this, easily. Even without your hand there, sliding and squeezing. These motions unpracticed, just like the kissing. Maybe you were a virgin after all. His own prize to defile.

He should really guide you somewhere more comfortable. Couch, bed, anything. But that would mean moving apart from you, and he doesn’t want that. He can’t bear to separate from you at this point. The hem of your plaid skirt is gathered roughly in one fist and then he slides immediately to the center, finding your panties are made of the same material as your brassiere, a matching set. They have the stiff, scratchy feel of something new. You’ve definitely just gotten these.

You’re soaked.

His previous imaginings had indeed been correct. An absurd amount of arousal fluid leaks from the entrance his probing fingers skim across after dipping beneath the waistband. You’re making the most amazing sounds. He wishes he could record them, play them on repeat when you’re not around. He collects your slick on the pads of his digits and brings them back through your pert lips to your clit. You moan, low and gutteral, into his mouth. A filthy sound. Like animals, that’s what you’re behaving like. Frenzied and desperate to fuck. Your progress on opening his fly has been interrupted, your brain clearly short circuiting at his intimate touch, the pleasure proving too much of a distraction for you.

The older man’s saturated fingers glide over your pearl, drawing neat circles, as tidy as the coloring you’d done earlier. Refined movements. He swaps out for his thumb and sends his middle finger back through the dewy folds to tease your opening again. Pressing gently. Sealed tight. You haven’t even experimented here, have you? Not even so much as a tampon has ever breached this entrance. You whimper against his ear, your tongue darting out to taste the skin. Salted, no doubt. He was sweating like a man after a marathon. Nervousness. Excitement. Arousal.

“Francis,” you groan again, and the sound of it shoots straight through to his groin. You’ve finally got his pants open, dragging his cock out of his briefs. He’s watching your face as you do it. Sees your eyes widen. It’s going to be so difficult to stretch that virgin pussy over his prick. But he’ll manage it. He’ll manage.

Not today, though. There isn’t time. He hasn’t completely forgotten his other duties, the daughter waiting upstairs. Another time he’ll bury his face between your thighs before he introduces your womb properly to his dick. For now, he has to be content with shoving your panties down and rubbing his erection over your vulva, the fat mushroom head massaging your clit before parting the pink flesh of your sex and teasing your entrance, then back again, fucking against the slickness on the outside of your body. The angle and the height difference makes it difficult and he pauses only long enough to lift you and sit you on the edge of the counter, your ass dipping dangerously close into the stainless steel basin behind you, one arm keeping you balanced while his free hand continues manipulating his cock against your drenched cunt.

The kisses are as sloppy as your nether region now, whatever adroitness you’d acquired previously now forgotten in the wake of your desire. You’re keening and shaking.

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me,” the milkman croons encouragingly.

The hand curled around his neck tightens, gathering the ends of his hair and pulling them taut as you explode, the softer noises he’d elicited earlier now howls and whines. Your head flings back and he feels his cock finally surrender, shooting the load of cum that’s been building up, painting your abdomen and your pussy and your thighs, long spurts that recklessly splatter and slide down your soft skin.

He’s actually done it. He’d fucked around with the babysitter after your first day on the job.

Francis helps you ease back off the counter. You reach for the sponge resting on the back of the sink near the faucet, then think better of it, opting for paper towels instead, dampening them slightly before wiping away the traces of his indiscretion. He refastens his pants, taking a few paper towels for himself to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Still panting slightly, still recovering. Coming down off the high of being intimate with you.

There’s guilt now, of course. Even though he technically hadn’t violated you. It wasn’t right, what he’d done to you.

But you’d wanted it, hadn’t you? He’d given you the opportunity to refuse him and you’d pulled him closer.

You’re the adult. You know better. Teenage hormones. You should have walked away.

Guilty, yes, but not nearly enough. And he can’t say he regrets it. Can’t fail to admit he’s already thinking about next time. There would surely be a next time.

He washes his hands. He can’t go home smelling like pussy, as much as he’d love to savor the taste and scent of you longer. He should have sneaked a sample before he’d cleansed them. Now they were just soapy and citrusy.

You walk him to the door.

“I have to get back,” he says, as if you’re unaware of the situation. Apologizing for the rushed nature of it all, maybe.

“I know.” Your voice is still soft.

He seats his hand on your cheek. Steals another kiss. It’s meant to be a brief parting one, but you’re already curling a fist into his work shirt, pulling him more tightly against your body. Unbelievably, his cock is twitching again.

“Baby girl, fuck, I have to go,” he reiterates, for himself as much as for your benefit. “I’ll see you soon.”

“My dad’s going to be home tomorrow,” you caution.

“Nacha’s only doing a half shift tomorrow. She’ll be home by five. It’s my long delivery day,” he murmurs regretfully. “I probably won’t get home until six or seven. The day after that is my lighter schedule. I’ll be done by three.”

You frown thoughtfully, then your features brighten. “Pick me up after school the day after, then? I’m staying late for yearbook anyway.”

Yearbook. Yes. Because you’re a senior. In highschool. Honestly, Francis.

“That’s a date, then. I mean, it’s not really a date,” he adds hastily.

“I know.” You stretch to kiss his mouth, this one more chaste, like he’d intended on doing previously. “I’ll see you then. I’ll wait out front by the main entrance.”

“I’ll be the guy in the delivery truck with the cow on the side.”

“Got it. Except…how do I know you’re not, you know, a doppel coming to kidnap me? Didn’t you mention a secret knock earlier?”

”Yes. It goes like this.” He creates a rhythm of staccato taps on the doorframe. “And you answer with this.” A different series this time. “Try it.”

You have the sequence nailed by the second attempt. You smile and something stirs in him. Just a little something. The faintest hum of feeling. The genesis of a tiny affection. Then the milkman finds himself back on the elevator. Suddenly anxious, fumbling the keys in the lock of his apartment door after using the secret knock. He’s relieved to find Ana safe and sound, greeting him less enthusiastically this time, immediately returning to whatever television program she’d been engrossed in.

Nacha’s taped directions to the filled glass baking dish in the fridge. Temperature, time. He turns the dials on the oven.

“You were gone a long time.”

Francis nearly jumps, surprised to find his daughter beside his elbow.

“No, not really, honey. Just had a snack while I was there,” he says, hoping the casual statement will placate her.

“How come you can eat before dinner and I can’t?”

“Because you’re a little girl and you don’t have the same appetite I do. Want to help set the table? First person to finish gets to eat dessert first,” he adds with a smirk.

The little girl scrambles into action, yanking open the drawer that houses the cutlery and he sighs with relief. He’d gotten away with it, for now.

But what would happen in the future?

[meangirls-imagines]

Coachella Diaries

Description: Reader works for WWE and gets hurt during Wrestlemania, causing her to go on a months long break. She goes to Coachella Weekend 2 to support her girl.

WARNINGS: fluffy as shit, slightly suggestive at the end, reneechella (bc that's a warning itself)

Y/N stepped (as best as she could) off the plane and sighed at the California sun hitting her body. 

Her body was exhausted. Wrestlemania was the 6th and 7th, she performed both nights and unfortunately had torn a couple of ligaments in her foot. She worked through the pain and helped make Wrestlemania record breaking. She had gotten surgery on the 16th, which meant she unfortunately missed the first weekend of her girlfriend playing Coachella.

Reneè was also understandably upset, not at Y/N, but at the fact that her girlfriend had to get surgery and she couldn't be there. Luckily for Reneè, Y/N had her fellow superstars keep the blonde updated. The doctor had cleared Y/N for travel on the 18th and she landed in LAX on the morning of the 19th. 

Towa had been the one to help Y/N plan this out, picking her up from the airport. The musician smiled as Y/N hobbled towards her with her bag. "There's my favorite cripple! How's the foot?" Y/N smiled and hugged the girl. "It's definitely injured. I'll be out for a minute but honestly, I'm not mad, I need a break."

Towa laughed. "Ain't that the truth? If I have to hear Reneè freak out about every bump you take, I might've gone crazy." Y/N blushed. Reneè was always very protective of Y/N, not that her profession helped with that. The blonde loved and hated watching Y/N do her thing. Yes, Y/N looked hot but if Y/N had to take another spear from Roman Reigns or a stomp to the chest from Finn Balor, Reneè was going to commit murder. 

This new era of WWE meant the return of inter-gender wrestling, with Y/N leading the charge. She had become the inaugural WWE World Heavyweight Champion, holding it for 316 days. She had been a part of the two biggest main events of Wrestlemania history, which is where she tore the ligaments in her foot. Never the less, she persisted and opened the next night of Mania, unfortunately she lost her title but the ovation she got when she got backstage was worth it. 

She was thrilled to help Cody finish his story but also was happy that she could get a break. She saw the doctor who gave her the diagnosis and what doctor to see and she was on her way.

She had messaged Towa the night she found out and set the surprise up. 

As the two ventured out of the airport, they caught up with each other, Towa informing Y/N of her love life and what not. The two reached the SUV and began the drive from the airport to the AirBnB they were renting for the festival. During the two hour car ride, Y/N had told Towa about some backstage drama happening as the Brit ate it up.

After 2 and a half hours, they finally made it to the house. Adam had been standing outside, waiting for them as they pulled up. The man helped Y/N out of the car and gave her a hug. "There's my favorite former champ! Congrats on the run. It was a rollercoaster." Y/N smiled and hugged the man back. "Thanks Adam! It was definitely a rollercoaster! A fun one though! So, where is my girl?"

Adam laughed. "She's out in the back with everyone else, they're pregaming before we go. Are you sure you can handle going out?" Y/N nodded. "I slept on the plane ride here. Perks of using the company jet." Adam nodded as Towa met up with them, handing Y/N her bag. The trio headed inside. 

Adam and Towa headed to the back to distract everyone while Y/N slipped into the room Reneè was staying in. She took in a deep breath, breathing in the scent of Reneè. God, she missed it so much. She changed quickly, putting on the custom "Reneèchella made me gay" shirt and some shorts before getting the message from Towa to make her appearance. 

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed out to the backyard. The group all did a "cheers" before taking the shots provided for them. Y/N decided to speak up. "Do I get a shot too?" 

Everyone turned towards the new voice but no one turned quicker than Reneè. The blonde stood shocked at the sight of her girlfriend, boot and all, standing in front of her. "Holy fuck! Reneè ran to where Y/N was standing and hugged the girl tightly. Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's head. "Hey superstar. I've missed you." Everyone was aww-ing at the scene, some clapping. 

Reneè pulled away from the hug and pressed her lips to Y/N's, kissing her for the first time in weeks. The group cheered as the two kissed, causing Reneè to slip them off. After a minute, the two pulled away and Reneè began to scratch the back of Y/N's neck. "You're really here!" Y/N smiled and kissed her nose. "I am. Now I think it's time to have some fun." Reneè smiled and pulled Y/N over to her friends. 

The group was watching Chappell Roan absolutely kill it when fans began to notice the couple being all cute.

@y/nisthechamp: GUYS! I'M AT COACHELLA WATCHING THE QUEEN CHAPPELL ROAN AND RENEÈ AND Y/N ARE LITERALLY 10 FEET AWAY FROM ME AND THEY ARE SO CUTE!! Y/N IS HUGGING RENEÈ FROM BEHIND AND THEY ARE SINGING AND DANCING!!

@/reneerappslut23: guys. i just saw a video of reneè and y/n all cozy at coachella and my heart 🥺

@y/nfan123: just saw a video of reneè grinding on y/n while they were watching t-pain. don't know who i wanna be more...

@/reneefan253: guys. reneè cannot keep her hands off y/n. she's always rubbing her back or the back of her head or her shoulder. WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!

The group made their way back to the house, all breaking off to their respective rooms, sleepily exchanging good nights. Reneè and Y/N made their way to Reneè's room. The two flopped on the bed, Reneè snuggling into Y/N's side. "I'm so glad you're here. I can't wait for you to see me perform." Y/N kissed the blonde's forehead. "Me too baby."

The next day was a lot of the same, more musicians sets, more drinking, etc. Sunday came a lot faster than Y/N expected and she found herself sitting in Reneè's trailer with her, the girl getting ready for her set. Reneè was looking on her phone as her hairstylist finished up her look. Y/N decided to take a stealthy picture and post it on her insta with the caption "coachella ready", tagging Reneè. 

Comments started flooding in immediately. One that stood out to Y/N was from her not older sister Liv Morgan.

@/yaonlylivvonce: We are so excited to see her!! Drinks after?

Y/N smiled and responded to the girl. Adam poked his head in and informed Reneè she had five minutes. The blonde thanked him, took a deep breath and pulled Y/N with her to the wings of the stage. To Y/N and Reneè's surprise, Alyah was waiting for them. Reneè squealed, wrapping Alyah in a tight hug. Y/N smiled at the pair and took a picture of them hugging. Alyah pulled away and hugged Y/N too, scolding her about her injury and how she should've been more careful. 

Reneè saved Y/N by pulling her away from Alyah, wrapping her arms around Y/N's waist and burying her face in her neck. Y/N rubbed the blonde's back. "You're gonna do amazing out there Reneè. Please remember to drink water though. Don't need you passing out on stage." Reneè chuckled as she heard her intro being played. 

"Well, I guess that's me." Reneè pulled her head out of Y/N's neck, leaning up for a kiss. "I love you." Y/N smiled and pecked Reneè's lips. "I love you more. Now go kill it." And with a playful smack on the butt, Reneè went out on stage.

"Tasted the blood in my mouth, and left you there to bleed out.."

Y/N being there must have flipped a switch in Reneè because the girl was putting on a SHOW. Y/N had to keep herself from drooling watching her girlfriend do what she loved. Y/N's fav part do far had to be the Willow ass shake. For scientific reasons, of course. Y/N saw Towa getting her in-ears put in and grabbing her guitar. "Go kill it out there, Birdie." Towa winked playfully at Y/N and went out on her cue from the blonde. 

The two were soon joined by Coco Jones as they performed "Tummy Hurts". Y/N smiled at hoe happy her girl looked. Watching Reneè perform was Y/N's favorite thing to do. She loved how confident Reneè was on stage and how carefree she looked. 

After a beautiful rendition of "Snow Angel", Reneè gave her thanks to the crowd and jogged off stage. One of the crew guys poured a little bit of water on the back of Renee's neck, to cool her off, as the girl walked straight into Y/N's open arms, almost collapsing in the embrace.

"Fuck Reneè, I'm so fucking proud of you, superstar." Reneè blushed and hid her face in Y/N's neck. "I couldn't have done it without you here." Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's temple. "You did it last weekend." Reneè pulled away from Y/N's neck and smiled at her. "Yeah, but it wasn't as fun." Y/N rolled her eyes and kissed Reneè, unaware of Towa taking a picture of them. 

Everyone praised Reneè and her performance before they walked back to the area where her trailer was. Alyah spoke up. "So, what's the plan now?" Reneè smirked and looked at Y/N. "Well, Y/N and I are going to go back to the house to...catch up and we'll meet you guys later?" Towa and Alyah shared a knowing look before nodding and going to watch another set. 

Y/N looked at Reneè confused. "Catch up?" The blonde nodded. "Mhhm. I'm planning on reclaiming my favorite seat..." Y/N caught on and blushed, allowing the blonde to pull her to the car waiting for them.

Yeah, Towa and Alyah would be fine on their own for a while...

[sweatandwoe]

it's chicken.

zhongli with a cute waitress that keeps letting him have meals for free cause they get to making googly eyes at him for so long they forget to ask for money

you're too good to me @chickenparm

Warnings: Zhongli x GN!Reader, Fluff, Crushes (it's just very cute), a bit of awkward!Zhongli and awkward!reader, and Chef Mao being a bro

-

"How big is his tab?"

You blink, setting down the dishes you were bringing in. It only takes a moment to follow Mao's gaze and find who he was searching for.

Zhongli.

The handsome man from the funeral parlor, who always seemed to be short on mora.

He's facing away, strolling down the street away from Wanmin restaurant, his hair moving slightly in the wind. Both wrists are crossed over his lower back, hanging just above his hips. You look away when he glances back, almost like he knew someone was watching him. The golden eyes were far too pretty.

Slowly you glance at Mao - he's got an odd spark in his eyes and his lips are twitching. Though he's leaning casually against the counter, close to the serving window. The oven is off and now he's going lax and sated with the day coming to a close.

Your fingers twitch, moving to the sink. "It's zero."

"Zero?" There's a tone, near glee when he speaks. Though Mao is shaking his head when you sneak a glance at him, fingers drumming against the stone counter. He gives a low whistle after a moment. "You've got it that bad, huh?"

You turn on the sink, frowning. "Mao-"

"I'm not judging!" He raises both hands, moving over to sling a washcloth over his shoulder. "But he comes in once a week and never pays, you'd think he'd get the hint."

You frown. It's quite known that Zhongli had been paying for most things with money given by that Fatui leader, or putting it on his tab. He could've paid for it with that other man's money, but he always looked a little off-set when he could only give that. A little out of place, uncomfortable.

So you had simply stopped asking. Not really hoping for anything in return, you just got the benefit of being able to see and talk to him once a week. He was always kind, thoughtful and would go on for ages about all sorts of history when you asked him. And the small loss of one meal a week in your wages was well worth his company in your mind.

When Mao nudges you, you give a shrug and then hand him a bowl to dry. "I don't think he feels that way about me, and I... I just want to be his friend, if nothing else."

There's a quiet that settles between you both as you settle into the rhythm. He doesn't ask about it again that night or the next few days, but there's a spark in his eyes and a slight smirk curling on his lips. Pestering him about it brought nothing, only for him to drop the ball.

"I want you to come in late tomorrow."

You peer at him, as he locks up the restaurant and he's faced away from you. "Late?"

He turns, wiping his hands over his thighs and tucking the key away. "Yeah, I want you here for the dinner rush, I'll pay you the same don't worry about it. Xiangling wants to help with waitressing tomorrow, and you know I can't deny her anything."

That was a lie. Not the denial part, he always spoiled his only child, but Xiangling wanting to help wait tables instead of cooking was a lie. She'd always help out at the restaurant, but her father had always trained her to be more on the culinary side of things.

Still, you don't argue in case maybe he did want some father-daughter time. Xiangling wasn't always in Liyue anymore and she had come home two weeks ago. And besides you were getting paid for it.

Your skin just wouldn't stop prickling with anxiety that he had something planned.

The reason became clear when you show up on the day, only to find Xiangling wearing an apron, already helping customers at the main table and counter while Mao is busy serving up food. It's not too busy, surprisingly. But what is a surprise is a small table you can set up in the back alley, looking over the river.

And at who was sitting at it.

You glance at Mao, who peers at you through the serving window with a wide grin. His eyes crinkle when you begin to sputter.

"I am not going-"

"Oh, yes you are. Your duties tonight are to go have fun. You've earned it." He shoos you when you try to move to the kitchen, to the point of closing the door and calling for Xiangling. "Customer for the back table!"

And she appears with her father's smirk on her face and spear in hand - and you can't really say no now. Marched over to the table, where you can see him. He's staring off into the river, both hands on the table, eyes slightly wide. There was a glaze lily between both hands and he looked far more tense than you had ever seen him.

When you approach, he stands so quickly that his legs hit the table and he's using his geo vision to stabilize it before everything on top wobbles into the river."I'm sorry-"

"It's okay-"

You both pause, staring at one another. Xiangling makes a sound that is quickly silenced, but you're sure it was almost a giggle. She's rushing off to deal with the other customers.

And then you're both left alone.

Zhongli still has both hands on the table, leaning over slightly from where he was standing. After a moment, he takes the glaze lily in hand and gives it a fond look, before turning his gaze on you. "I brought this for you."

"You didn't have to." The words slip from your mouth, but you're moving to accept the gift. Your cheeks are warm, and your palms are sweaty against the stem. "It's beautiful."

His lips part, but he glances away and closes his mouth. Whatever he wanted to say, it makes his cheeks go slightly pink. He moves to untuck your chair, and you sit. Once he joins you, you both settle into the most awkward silence you've encountered on any date before.

Date? Was this even a date?

The silence stretches on, and you're almost certain Mao had told Xiangling to not take your drink orders until you were talking. You slowly set the glaze lily in your lap, not wanting to damage the soft flower. Then you glance at him, not looking at you, his fingers drumming slightly against the table. The pink on his cheeks was still there. He almost seemed anxious but that was because he probably wanted to leave. You don't dare to think of what Mao had said to the poor man.

"Zhongli," he glances up at his name and you pause. His eyes were the shame shade of Mora coins, including the slight shine to them. "I don't know what Mao said to you but, you don't have to be here if you don't want to be."

His fingers settle, and then his shoulders sag a bit. "I'm not here because Chef Mao forced my hand."

You blink, and your own cheeks get a little warm. "Oh."

"He was the one to suggest it," he does admit, folding his fingers together. "I realize, while I had been studying history I had forgotten an important aspect to take in."

"What would that be?"

"Culture." He shifts, and his cheeks go a little darker. "Courting, specifically on how to start to engage in it."

Oh.

Oh.

Your body relaxes, a smile twitching on your lips. "You wanted to ask me out?"

"Yes. But I had no clue how to, I've never courted someone before." He admits with ease. His smile is small, and the crow's feet growing under his eyes stand out a little more from it. "Not many have been interested in seeing me romantically. I'm not used to it." One hand reaches across the table. "But I am interested in you."

Your fingers settle across his own, watching as he lets out a small breath at the touch. "That's good to know. Because I am interested." You pause. "In you, I mean."

"I understand." But the same way you find his awkwardness in this endearing, he seems to feel the same way with you. It's easy then to fall into your familiar rhythm, though he asks more questions about you now, leaning in to catch your every word and asking questions. He makes you snort once and he smiles widely at the noise.

Mao watches you both from the back window, before glancing at his daughter. "How long has it been since you sat them?"

She smiles, eyes twinkling. "An hour."

His face splits into a wide grin. "Knew it. You can go ask them for their drinks now." He smiles to himself watching his daughter skip outside, to get the order. Once she's gone, he lets out a breath, eyeing them out the window.

They had better make her the flower girl when they got married. Of course, Mao would be the best man, because he'd have to guide Zhongli through it. But he wouldn't mind.

Seeing his two lonely friends smiling tenderly at one another, eyes full of joy, is far worth the cost of two meals and some of his time.

[holyfruitsnax]

For Old Time's sake

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Foul language, Violence, Fallout show stuff, Never proof read, Sexual Themes, 18+ darlin', SMUT especially if I'm making more of this (I so want to)

I sat watching the dusty hustle and bustle of Philly, the place I'd come to find odd comfort in a new land of terror and waste. It wasn't much better, between the drugs and violence, but I'd come to learn that even the tiniest bit better up here meant everything. "Holy Shit. I swear if I had a nickel for every time one of you ol'sardine-fucking dipshits waltzed into my store I-" My eyes glanced up hearing Ma June pipe up to a customer, her glazed blue eyes falling to mine. She cleared her throat "I just thought the lot of Y'all was dead!" She slapped the counter with a wrinkled hand and a laugh. "Um- Ma'am there's this woman I'm looking for...A raider?" The clear sound of the thin woman's voice carried over to my leaned position. Blue and Yellow suit making my fists clench and unclench by my sides as she kept talking. "Goes by the name Moldaver?" Her words made June freeze, shooing Barv away while I pushed off the wall. "You know her then?" Large brown eyes shifted towards me as my footsteps sounded against old chipped floorboards.

"Everyone knows that name up here....Believe me when I say, go home. Whatever you're looking for out of that woman...Forget it" My lips pulled thin at the girls shocked expression. "She broke into my vault! She- She took my dad I have to-" Her eyes widened more hearing June curse the vaults as I stepped closer "Forget it." I bit, turning on my heel. Just as the girl went to thank me for whatever reason, a dog barking caught everyone's attention, god- a real dog? I didn't even think regular one's still existed. "You again?" An older gentleman with glasses peered at the girl just out front of June's shop. They spoke a little longer, the man listing things about her vault. I was just as confused as her when his eyes shifted to mine like he was trying to read who's face could be behind the fabric that covered my lower face and the back of my head. Unless he already knew...Insecure hands dug at the vault suit collar hid under the coat I wore making sure it's colors remained hidden. "Play nice kid." June whispered to me while walking out to the pair. "You Wilzig?" She placed a hand on her hip looking at the old man.

"Wilzig..." A low gravel voice rang through the dusty air, a dark silhouette forming in front of me. "You wouldn't happen to be a doctor would ya?" The shadow crept closer until he emerged from the dust. "Cause I happen to be looking for one." His tone lax as his yellowed teeth set together. "You know your kind ain't welcome here." Ma June growled pulling out her gun making me slowly reach for my own. The man- ghoul's appearance left me in a daze. Sure, in the short time I'd been up here I witness and heard all sorts of odd things, I knew ghouls existed I'd just never seen one in person before. The man lacked a nose, his skin scorched and scared yet his eyes held the same as mine. Though his seemed to lack compassion as he stated his next line. "Well, Maybe not...But Ima make myself welcome." He skimmed over the the group narrowing his eyes. The next events happened so quick, I was glad I hadn't been the ghoul's first target or else I'd have been left dead where I once stood. Luckily the girl from the vault stumbled into me out of fear when the ghoul blasted off the scientists foot, knocking us both over.

Shots rang throughout Philly, the dust making it difficult to tell where until a cloud of red flashed into the air. How could this one man be capable of so much in such short time? "Hey! Stay down!" I yelled towards the girl trying to sneak her back into the store with me. I found myself launched back into the building instead, my eyes followed a metal suited man who had rescued the naive vault dweller. Now left in a vast hole in the wall the two of us stood watching the ghoul move closer to Wilzig. "Now, I acknowledge that I am unfamiliar with your circumstances...As a vault dweller we-" The girl gulped stepping forward. "Not this shit." I mumbled following suit, the ghouls stark eyes trained on us as she spoke. Quickly I tugged the pistol from her side and fired a round at him, voiced flickering off into silence as Vaultie stared at me bewildered. "Well-" The ghoul chuckled plucking the vial from his body "Now that is a tiny drop, in a very large bucket of drugs." He tossed the vial aside and cocked his gun. Fuck. The next thing I knew the very large, and maybe very stupid metal man chose to fight the ghoul instead, leaving June to pull everyone back inside.

"BARV!" June shouted "NEED A FOOT!" she looped her arm around Wilzig with me to help him sit. "Was that a knight?." Brown eyes beamed at me making me roll my own and shrug, damn this girl. "Oh god that's-" Vaultie gaped at his shredded ankle, I did as well in silence as the metal foot chomped up his calf with a crunch. I squeezed my eyes shut ignoring their voices, trying to find a place without his screaming until he piped up. "They can take me!" His weak voice making me raise a brow "Take you? I-" At the mention of Moldaver the girl had already seemed to sign us up for whatever fucked up path these people were on. "She'll do good with you. You could teach her!" June spoke up nudging me, Vaultie's expression like a child begging their parent for a puppy as she stared at me. "I- Ah Alright FINE." I grunted helping Wilzig back up, June and Barv helping us escape out the back entrance. "Just stop fuckin' starin' at me with those." I gestured in a circle around Vaultie's large expectant eyes. "Okie Dokie!" She smiled walking off ahead of Wilzig and myself.

"M'sorry about your dog." I mumbled watching my feet sink a little into the sandy terrain. "Yes- I. She was a good dog. Thank you." Wilzig nodded, eyes searching me like they had before. "What vault are you from?" His voice stayed low, gaze shifting to the girl ahead of us. "I'm not- I don't." I shook my head making the man give a pained chuckle. "From my experience normal surface dwellers don't apologize, they just don't. In fact a normal surface dweller wouldn't have helped her, they'd have taken me as bounty for themselves....but that is just my two cents." His hands gestured ahead and then to my frame. We walked in uncomfortable silence, well I did, he seemed fine aside form the whole metal foot thing. "How do you know all that...stuff? About her Vault?" I let my arm loop around the older man again when he seemed to struggle, a hand popping up to his mouth in a yawn, followed by a gulp. "Everyone has their secrets Miss Y/LN...Just try and do good with what you know." He wheezed out, body folding over making me hoist him back up. "How d'you-" His hand grasped metal, sliding himself down to the ground "Here will be fine...I'm not going to make it." His voice weaker than before. "Come on! We can do this! I don't know you, or how you know all these weird detailed things...but we are getting across this wasteland! Together!" The Vaultie's smile widened to her eyes in triumph at her own speech, yet she'd been met with raised brows and a cough. "No you don't understand...I've taken a Cyanide pill....Most humane product Vault-Tec made..." He shook his head in content. "What?" My own voice matching Vaultie's. "People are going to come after you two, you'll need to move quickly.....You can change the world Miss MacLean. All you need is my head..." He held out a sawing tool making you swallow thickly, realizing what he was insinuating. MacLean? My mind spun and the next thing I knew he was mumbling something about Banana flavored, then he was dead.

"FUCK!" I shouted into the vast radioactive desert I'd found myself in. "My name...How did he know my name?" The MacLean girl turned to me wide eyed. "How'm I supposed to know that?...Old bastard-" I grunted kicking his leg "What did I say out the eyes damn it!" My tone softening at MacLean's small frown. "Sorry...I- I didn't mean that...really." I let out a puff of air watching MacLean drop to her knees. "It's okay, It's nice actually. I've recently learned that most people up here DO mean it when they say hurtful things....And then usually they try to kill me!" She threw her hands up in defeat. "I just thought I found my way in! You know? Like I really might find my dad. Now I'm never going to find him." MacLean whimpered making me sigh and move closer. "Y/N...My name is Y/N." My mouth pulled to one side as she stared up at me. "Lucy, Lucy MacLean." Her frown lightened just a tad while I pulled the saw up into my grasp. "Let me ask you something Lucy...You ever cut off a man's head before?" I watched Lucy's shoulders go stiff, head shaking. "Yeah, me neither." I grunted, pulling on the saws staring cord making Lucy jump at the loud rattling noise.

A few hours passed with Lucy and I found ourselves, well to put it plainly. FUCKED. "What do you mean you don't have it?" I seethed watching Lucy pat the ground around her. "Well, you see. There was a- a deer!" She cried waving her arms. "A deer?" I mumbled raising a brow. "YES! I wanted to feed it, so I grabbed some grass, I leaned in! Oh so cute! The next thing I know some giant pink thing steals the head!" She let her pats turn into punches of frustration. "Pink thing? You mean to tell me?-" My voice halted in the back of my throat at the sound of spurs and dog pants, before I could register Lucy's shocked expression the sound of a gun leaver pulling back into cocked position sounded beside my ear. Footsteps thudded around me leaving me face to face with the ghoul from before, his gun pointed directly in my face. His eyes met my own and just like the scientist before he seemed to be trying to pick me apart, except we were the same. All he had to work with were eyes, the rest of my face remained covered. His head tilted to one side, brows knitting in slight recognition. That soon went away as he shoved me to the side and aimed his gun at Lucy "Where is it?" He growled, gun moving between the two of us. "I-I lost it!" Lucy's voice wavered, eyes shifting from me to the ghoul. His fingers moved to adjust the cowboy hat atop his head, a dark chuckle sounding from his throat "Gulper got it huh?".

"PLEASE!" Lucy shouted as soon as the ghoul reeled her out of the radiated river again. I sat quietly to the side, restrained by a lasso he'd throw around my form quickly. It's comical really. "Alright...Alright...Let's give you a break then." His voice teasing as he hoisted Lucy off the contraption he'd used to toss her into the water over and over. "Sir I need the head to find my dad." she let the ghoul drop her to the ground next to me. "So I've fuckin' heard...the last eight times you've said it." The ghoul hissed, eyes skimming over my form making me go taut. "C'mere darlin'....I don't bite." He grinned grabbing the end of the rope he'd tied me up with, pulling me closer with easy tugs. "You can't-" I felt myself thud against the ghouls chest, seeing the scars on his face closer now as he gave me a unamused look. "You Shouldn't do this!" I tried to fight against him to no avail. "If you're a good girl. N'you listen t'me real good." His deep set eyes tracking back to the water then to me. "This'll all be done much faster, alright?" He laughed at his own words as he hung me up like he had Lucy, all that was left to do is brace for impact.

I coughed and sputtered as the ghoul raised and dropped me in and out of the water over, and over. Barely being given enough time to catch a breath, the fabric around my head began to unravel. "Look at'cha all wet and squirmin' beggin' for mercy!" The ghoul clasped his hands around his makeshift reel. "Fuck you." I grunted out, knees buckling under the extra weight of my wet clothes, and something else. A heat rose to my face at the ghouls suggestive words. "Remember what I said about being. A good. Girl. for me?" Pauses placed between his words in time with his boots that stepped around the dock ready to release me again. I felt the wet fabric finally fall from my face and into the murky water below, leaving me staring at my own reflection. The ghoul readied his hands, and beside my better judgement I looked back at him over my shoulder. "Go to Hell!" I scoffed, watching his eyes blow wide, mouth going slack as hands tried to stop the reel before I was plunged back into cold waters. "There's...There's no- It's not possible." The ghoul began to reel me in with a fast pace making Lucy glance between him and where I thrashed just beneath the waters surface. The rope went tight and my muffled scream could be heard by them both. "Shit-a Help me!" He hollered at Lucy letting her free as he found something to pull me out with, gulper in tow. Lucy gripped my shoulders trying to heave me out of the beasts mouth. She'd grabbed the ghoul's bag smashing the gulper in the face with it while he slid under my body, hips sitting just below mine. One gloved hand gripped my hip, the other squeezed itself around my inner thigh as his feet dug against the wooden dock. "Let her go damnit!" He gritted his stained teeth pulling my body flush against his. Instead of death, my mind raced with thoughts of before. Before Gulpers, before ghouls, before this shit hole I found myself in. A man. It's odd they felt so similar, or maybe I just haven't been this close to a man in some time. I swear he feels familiar.

"Hey, darlin' you still with me?" The ghoul snapped his fingers in front of my face pulling me out of my daze. The gulper was gone, Lucy sat at the waters edge in near tears next to the dog. "You...tried to kill...me." I huffed watching his face closely. Despite how he's been before, his face remained shocked, in fact he looked at me as if he'd seen a ghost. "Sorry, 'bout that." His voice came out in a low whisper as he pulled me to my feet. "Oh! Goodness I'm so sorry darlin' why I wasn't payin' attention to where I was goin'-" Cooper apologized reaching his hands out for my own, relaxing when he herd a giggle bubble from my throat. "It's quite alright Mr. Howard- I was actually looking for you." I smiled letting his large hands envelope mine in a gentle grasp, as if he were afraid to break me. "Mmmm, And uh, To what do I owe the pleasure of knocking over a sweet doll such as yourself." He grinned to one side keeping hold of me, my face warming at the contact. "Y/N, my name is Y/N Y/L/N...I'm the new hair and makeup lady, sometimes costumes as well but y'know." I shrugged small under Cooper's gaze, god I've never even met the man and all I want him to do is eat me alive. "I see, well, if you can make this mug look as good as yours then I think we'll be just fine." He teased, releasing one hand, the other stayed in his. "Oh please, 'mug'...You wouldn't know ugly if it slapped you in the face." I covered a laugh with my free hand. Meeting his whiskey gaze again I felt myself swallow thickly at his stunned expression, day one and I'd already over stepped. "I- I'm sorry what I-" Cooper's thumb brushed across my knuckles making me inhale lightly. "Listen I-" Cooper glanced over his shoulder hearing his name called. "I don't mean to leave high and dry sweetheart, but duty calls...I uh, I'll see you around." He flicked his sheriffs badge for good measure, giving me a wink before turning on his heels. "Sorry?" I frowned removing my hands from the ghouls, his eyes following my fingers, his own twitching in front of him watching wishfully.

"What did you say your name was darlin'?" The ghoul's brow furrowed. "I didn't." The dog next to Lucy whining when I patted her shoulder. "C'mon Lucy." I tugged the vault dweller to her feet, moving to walk away, stopping to look at the crushed leather bag on the ground. The ghoul's eyes followed my gaze, freezing when he spotted his belonging smashed. I tried to hurry Lucy along as the ghoul's eyes shifted back to normal, broken glass clinking against the ground as he shouted after us. "Where the fuck you think y'all's goin'?" he drawled swishing a lasso in the air snatching Lucy from my side. Oh Shit. "Y/N!" Lucy shouted making the ghoul stop tying her tighter so he could raise his eyes to mine, a glint catching behind them again. "I really do hate to do this." He huffed "But you are bein' so damn difficult baby." He swung a rope my direction, pulling me tight against his tattered clothes again. His voice sounded so familiar. Low moans sounded against Cooper's trailer walls, paired with soft sucking sounds. "Thaaaat's it baby, just like that." His voice came out hushed and airy, hands tangled behind my head as it bobbed up and down. "Ah- best, best I've ever had. Oh Y/N..." My gaze moved up to look at Cooper through thick lashes, his plump bottom lip tugged tight between pearly white teeth as he hummed praise down to me.

"Don't call me that." I pushed my shoulder against the ghoul's bringing him out of some daydream, watching his adam's apple bob quickly, licking dry lips. "Get goin'." He turned me around, shoving Lucy and I ahead of him. The desert heat doesn't feel so bad when you've been dunked in an irradiated river, however watching the ghoul sip water had Lucy and I staring with open mouths. "Suppose Y'all want some?" He grunted watching us nod feverishly, instead of sharing like I'd hoped he opted to tilt his head back letting the last bits of water from his canteen drop from his mouth down his chin and neck, even turning it over the ground letting anything else left go to waste. I watched droplets roll over his scorched lips and chin, a few dipping past the collar of his old duster coat. His eyes bore into mine making me avert my gaze as his tongue darted out to catch the droplets I'd been watching. I'd been caught. "Thinkin; about lickin' em off yourself hmm baby?" He gestured for us to keep walking making Lucy's already disgusted frown worsen with a groan. "Stop calling me that." I hissed out letting my feet carry myself ahead once more. "Why? I've been callin' you that for years? Hmm, Oh nowww we're feelin' sassy, havin' ourselves a little brat fit." The ghoul grumbled below his breath kicking a few stones out of the way. "Oh, so now we're talking shit behind backs huh, What did you say?" I huffed over my shoulder making Lucy's brows raise at my boldness towards our abductor. "Nuthin'." His tone mimicked a scolded child as his gaze stayed against the sand. "Whatever."

The ghoul crouched next to a small container of water. "Water, water everywhere. Not a drop to drink." He chuckled as Dogmeat lapped at a nearby puddle. "If you're gonna survive up here, you'll have to drink." He motioned towards the container then to myself and Lucy. Lucy's pip boy going crazy as she leaned down to drink from it, hands eagerly dipping into the dirty water. I stood to the side, head turned in defiance as the ghoul gestured towards the container again. "I said drink." He commanded through bared teeth, seething even more when I only cast him a glance. "Fuckin' brat." He snarled, canteen dipping into the water, bubbling a few time until it was full. "You're gonna learn to listen to me sweetheart, you'll learn or I'll make you." The ghoul's voice came out in a grunt as he gripped my jaw with his gloves, the old leather rough around the seams. "Open." He tapped a finger to my lips holding his canteen ready to pour. I shook my head in defiance again making the ghoul's eyes go dark. A leather clad finger pushed its way between my lips, a surprised noise escaping me, much to the ghoul's joy. His lips parted taking a few gulps from his canteen while his thumb sat against my lower teeth, pointer finger painfully pressed against the roof of my mouth. That's when it happened. The ghoul leaned in holding me still as he released the water held in his mouth into my own making me gargle in protest. "Swallow." His voice rang again making me shudder in his grip. The fire re-igniting within his eyes as I finally caved, swallowing the water. "Good." He poured more water into his own mouth, this time leaning down so his rough lips gently ghosted against mine before spitting into my mouth again. "Good girl." he hummed pleased, fingers moving from my mouth so his hand could pat my jaw shut. "Now...s'getting dark, let's get y'all someplace safe enough to build a fire. Wouldn't wanna lose you smoothies to the cold." His hand tugged my wet coat for emphasis, and with that we headed along. Eyes still boring into the back of my frame as we went. Here we fucking go.

My first bit of Cooper Howard ishh babyyyy. I hope you liked it! And you can bet your SWEET ASS I'm writing more. I love him so much.

[eunjidrabbles]

hi <3 i wanna request a jennie imagine fluff where y/n is stressed over work and jennie is comforting her

Holiday blues

(Merry Christmas and Happy holidays 😘 xoxo hope y'all enjoy. This is a little shorter than usual because I was hopping back and forth between fics. Edit: this is the last time i do the scheduling thing i don’t know what im doing with it. Back to manually posting I go)

Warnings: Retail work, capitalism (ew 😔), be nice to workers, especially during holiday seasons

Word count: About 1.1k

-

You love your job. You tell that to yourself every other day. It's not the easiest or nicest of jobs out there but you loved it. It kept a roof over your head, meals on your plate, there shouldn’t be much to not like about. Yet as you trudge down the dim corridor and slowed to a stop outside your apartment, you felt your shoulders sag when you tiredly raised a hand to punch in the access code. Even the lack of response from one of the keys failed to pull anything more than a sigh from you.

Holidays were meant to be the happiest periods as it would mean being together with family and friends, and the ones you love the most. Yet your job was sort of a noble one. Holidays were the periods where you had to work the hardest due to the influx of last minute shoppers. The store you worked in remained opened through the holidays for those in need of a forgotten gift. As rough as it was facing impatient and anxious customers, you could only do your best to help. 

Stepping in to see your home lit up surprised you slightly but your fight or flight instincts were numb from all the work you did. Continuing on in, you turned your head to see a familiar figure sitting on the kitchen counter, eyes wide when they land on yours. Watching her set aside the mug in her hands, she slid her way along the wooden flooring to you, eyes filled with concern as she pulled you closer. Observing that you weren’t responsive to her touch, she glanced towards the clock with a slight grimace before gently guiding you to sit on the sofa. Once she had you seated, she rushed into the kitchen once again. Feeling yourself curl inwards, you realized that you were shivering, probably from exhaustion. The look on your girlfriend’s face made more sense to you then.

“Jagi?”

Hearing your pet name being called, it took you a second to register and turn your head. Your girlfriend was standing by the sofa, both hands occupied with a mug each. A random thought crossed your head on how domestic the situation was, seeing her in an oversized shirt that covered her shorts and mid-thigh stockings as she pouted down at your lack of a reply.

Giving her a lopsided grin, you reached your hand up in an attempt to pull her down for a kiss only for a warm mug to be placed in your hold. Carefully bringing it down to your level, you stared at the fluffy white sweets floating atop the warm brown liquid. Only then did Jennie make her way around to sit beside you and sip at her own mug, humming slightly in pleasure. Slowly bringing your own mug towards your lips, the steam brought warmth to your cheeks, and sipping it spread the sweetness across your tongue and brought life back into your cold body. It was then did you feel your body truly go lax as the memories of the day run through your mind, how hectic everything was, how rude the customers were, and how it was only the start of the holiday week and that meant that you had a long week to go before you could truly rest.

Before you know it, tears were already rolling down your cheeks and along with it came the exhaustion and stress of knowing that the week will only remain the same, if not worse as the holidays approach. Cupping the warm mug in your hands, you tried to ground yourself, reminding yourself that these rough times only happen a few times a year and that it was going to be alright. Repeating those words in your head until you felt hands cup your own, you opened your eyes to see your girlfriend trying to relax your grip on the mug to take it away from you. Releasing it shakily, she placed the mug on the nearby coffee table and came back to hold both your hands in hers as she shifted closer to you.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a rough time for you.”

Allowing for yourself to slowly fall into her arms as she pulled you closer, you then let out a choked sob. You knew you were the safest with Jennie, and she would always be by you to support your wishes. The both of you have talked about the working situation a couple times and even argued at the start. She has a much more stable and higher-earning job than you did but you didn’t want to freeload off of her wealth. You told her that all you needed was for her to support you by being there, and she never failed to do so. It wasn’t easy but you worked your way up into a managerial position, yet the troubles and stress never stopped piling up. There were times that you wanted to give up, but went against the thought after remembering that you worked so hard for so long to get to where you were. So you choose to find your solace in your girlfriend, the one you know you can come home to every night. 

There weren’t many words that needed to be shared whenever you two were together. It was hard to explain, but having Jennie around felt like a puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place; like she was meant to be by you, to be with you as different of universes as you two belonged in.

Yet as you slowly sat back up with tear stains smeared all over your face and eyes probably red and swelling from the crying, you watched as Jennie still looked at you as if you were the last star in the night sky while she tries to help you clean up. As her eyes met yours once again, her hands paused in their motions to gently cup your cheek, and you leaned into her touch.

“I know you are strong, baby. I know you can get through this, and I’ll be right by you whenever you need for me to.”

Nodding in agreement, you shifted to straddle her and wrapped your arms around her, face buried in the crook of her neck as hers made their way around your waist. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you reopened them to look out the window, just in time to see the first sights of snowfall from the night skies. Soft and white, just like the little marshmallows that floated atop the mug of hot chocolate she made. Just like the warmth of comfort she provides.

[ktempestbradford]

UPDATE: He's home and tweeting.

UPDATE: Ekpeki is on his way back to Nigeria.

This tweet says that he was denied entry to the US and was sent back yesterday. I don't think he's yet in Nigeria, which is why no one has heard from him so far.

Original Post

SFF Community, some of you may be aware of the situation regarding author and editor Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki. If not, the short version is that he flew into LAX on Thursday to attend the NAACP Image Awards Friday and has not been heard from since landing.

Obviously, people are concerned about this. Ekpeki is Nigerian, here on a famously fraught to acquire visa, and US CBP (Customs and Border Patrol) doesn't have the best reputation for treating brown people like humans.

CPB took his phone and that's probably why no one has been able to communicate with him. And some friends of his claim they contacted CPB and got confirmation he was detained by them, but no updates since. I've seen lots of people calling for action and contacting US electeds.

I don't think that will work. Unlike when Ekpeki got the visa, putting pressure on Congressbeings isn't likely to have an affect here because it may be that he technically broke the rules or at least ended up on the wrong side of not very well spelled out rules.

The "best" scenario is that CPB sent him back to Nigeria, though why he's been out of communication so long is a mystery to me. (If anyone has insight, please share.) Here's what may have happened, pieced together with what I'm seeing on Twitter.

Ekpeki initially got his visa to attend WorldCon in September. The B1/B2 visa is for business purposes and tourism and is valid for 2 years(?) but it doesn't mean you can stay in the US for those whole two years. It means you can come in and out for that time.

When you enter, you get a stamp telling you the date you must leave by, though you can leave before then. And as this article explains, sometimes the entry stamper will default to 6 months, as that's the longest, or specify a shorter timeframe.

After WorldCon, Ekpeki wanted to stay in the US to attend World Fantasy a few months after. Not a problem. At the time he indicated that he planned to stay the full 6 months, go back to Nigeria, then come back for ICFA. The timing of all this likely changed when he got the Image Award nomination.

Regardless, he went back to Nigeria for a week, I believe (this is fuzzy and my sources aren't good, so I welcome corrections) before coming back to the US. And this is where I think he made a mistake. Again I point to the article I linked above.

Twitter user DuertoD pointed out something called Visa Carouseling, where a person leaves the US for a short time to then come back and get another 6 month stamp. It's apparently not really allowed to do that. (He goes into a bit more detail here.)

The thing I don't know is whether this is stated anywhere in the documentation. As in, do they say you have to be gone for a certain period before coming back explicitly? Or is it one of those fuzzy things that are up to whoever is working the desk you get to that day?

At any rate, DuertoD also pointed out that Ekpeki said publicly he intended to stay the whole 6 months and also that he had to buy a return ticket he "wouldn’t need", meaning that when he entered the US the first time the US thought he was leaving on a certain date, yet he didn't.

I do not know the details of when that return flight was supposed to have been. From what I gather talking to folks, open-ended stays on this visa are not to the US gov't's liking.

Complicating this whole thing is that a group of trolls have been stalking and harassing Ekpeki for a while now and I know they were aware of him going out then coming back into the country. It's entirely possible they maliciously reported him.

It's entirely possible that CBP wouldn't have noticed or cared on a normal day, but did once they'd been alerted. Also entirely possible they wouldn't have cared if they'd been alerted if Ekpeki wasn't Black, or Nigerian. There's a whole constellation of annoying possibilities.

The reason I said that I don't think getting Congressbeings involved will help is that, in the end, CBP may be entirely within the law to have detained him over concerns of Visa Carouseling. And his rights, such as they are, are very limited from what I understand.

I've heard that there are some efforts by a lawyer to help out, and that may be why Ekpeki isn't already tweeting that he's been sent back to Nigeria (which would be a "best" case at this point… cuz being in CBP custody as a Black person is cause for concern).

In this case, it may end up being a sad but not tragic outcome for Ekpeki. Others who've been flagged for this have been barred from the US for a time, and maybe that will be the case for him.

Thinking to the future, I'd like to see SFF community entities do some work around this whole US visa process and how we can help writers and editors from marginalized groups and countries navigate this better. For now, I hope we find out soon that Oghenechovwe is okay.

If I have any of the details or legal stuff wrong, please let me know! I want to spread good information and will update this post accordingly.

ALSO NOTE: The trolls I mentioned have been all up in the twitter replies and may come here as well. Do Not Engage With Them. They find harassing and provoking people fun and exciting. Block or ignore.

[bokettochild]

I find myself in a conundrum

I've been working at a clothing store for over a year now. I was hired as part time but tend to work somewhat full time hours (roughly 35-40 hour weeks). I'm getting paid just short of $12 an hour and most of the work I do is very physical. There's a lot of folding clothes but I also work a lot with our shipment team.

When new stock arrives I count the boxes, wait for the manager to sign off on the delivery, and then it's my job to move all 200+ boxes from the delivery zone to the unpacking zone sorting them by department as I go. I then help to open the boxes either starting day of arrival or at 6 am the next day. I frequently help with moving large fixtures in the store, cleaning, and processing outgoing orders, as well as the standard upkeep of the store and working register. In short, I've picked up how to do anything that isn't a manager's duties.

But I'm barely saving anything for school.

My last job was for almost $11 an hour, and I would sit in a kid's jewelry store all day waiting for customers to come in. I still worked with reorganizing the store (often alone), processing incoming stock (receiving/unpacking/placing) and I still kept the store in order and cleaned, as well as piercing ears on weekends (It was a Claire's so yeah) and while the pay was a dollar shorter, I spent a good portion of my time at work writing fics because it was so darn slow! And I had manager approval to do that!

Thing is, they're hiring again at my old job, and offering $14 an hour to do the same job I used to do. Management has changed, so I don't know if it's as lax as when I worked there, and they're only looking for part time workers, but I'm technically part time now.

My issue is that I actually enjoy most of my work currently, and my coworkers and boss are all really great! The only issue is the pay, otherwise I wouldn't want to leave. But, I have bills to pay and keep having to dip into my college savings, so I really do need another job. The circumstances at Claire's weren't great, but we were also between managers and I hear it's really improved (from the current staff). It still has downsides, of course, but up-selling and piercing is less stress inducing then having to get credit cards every day in order to maintain standing (which I fail at). Talking down panicking kids is easier than de-escalating an Karen, and often involves the parent's help. It was generally a pretty chill job before, and I'm genuinely considering going back, as long as I can assure that I can get at least 30 hours a week. Besides that, I know they never open till 10 and they close by 7, so I wouldn't have any really early hours, I know how they operate, and I have previous experience so I might be able to land the job with ease (not that I didn't the first time).

I don't know!

On one hand, I have great co-workers and managers, I enjoy most of what I do and I'm assured plenty of hours on most weeks, so I'm averaging at least $1,000 a month. On the other hand, working the same number of hours at my old work place would bring me $1,200 instead, on average, and make things less tight (I could afford health insurance!). The issue is though that I won't be assured the great managers or co-workers I have, or a minimum of hours.

I think I might send in an application all the same though, get an interview, and see where things lay over there and what it would look like if I did, even if I didn't decide I wanted the job. It'd certainly be less physically intensive! Which is great because my knees keep giving out on me these days.

Honestly though, I hate uncertainties and having to change things, but this is a needed change. I need a new job, the only question is, is this really the best I could do?

[thetoaddaddy]

@super-kame-love ❤️ for a wedding thing

I’m thinking summer wedding. Which means outside venue! Probably Aina’s farm since its scenic and has a fair share of pretty places to get hitched.

Probably somewhere close to the house. With one of those big outside entertaining tents without the sides. While that does sound real simple those tents can be set up to be very pretty. With string lights that are a mix of plain and something like a paper lantern assortment for lighting. Wedding colours of forest green, white, and wood tones to accent the area

Something more natural in terms of decoration. Like table runners of woven twigs and candles in simple glass jars. An assortment of more unassuming but still very pretty and meaningful flowers. Things like honeysuckle, tulips, and daisies.

Attire wise if we’re thinking of keeping the more traditional style but keep the more laid back style of them both as a couple I propose: The more modern simple white and red kimono with small colourful flowers embroidered along the the sleeves, neck and chest area in a sorta concentrated at the hems then scatter farther apart as it goes into the fabric. Jiraiya I imagine wearing something that more compliments the theme of the wedding over the overly formal attire of ur average groom. Dark green and white, but worn more trim and proper. Wedding party can be more modern as it usually is(dresses and suits), beige and white so to not blend into the nature around them. Guest dress code can be kinda lax, I imagine something more fruity. Flowers in the hair and anything that doesn’t match the wedding party.

Something calm and slow for the aisle walk. Like harps or a guitar, a gentle melody to walk down to. Custom vows. Jiraiya probably won’t get through his without getting choked up. In short it would be all the things he never really says to her but is always feeling. A sentimental man under a facade of taking what she does for granted.

Reception a bit more out towards the fields. Can crank the tunes and get rowdy. First dance to something more unplugged and minimal. Like the acoustic version of I like me better. Or something like that.

Instead of the big shared wedding party table it’s just them at their own table. No real open mics or toasts. Just a nice celebration. Lasts pretty long.

[squidbiology]

Are inkfish considered prudish, culturally speaking?

Somewhat, yes.

Because they developed clothing extremely early on in their cultural development (both through need and desire- soft, sensitive skin and love for aesthetics), clothing became a social norm very, very early. It became uncommon for Inklings to be without them, and after a few hundred years, it moved from being 'strange' to 'taboo'.

Many other species simply don't need clothes (they have stronger skin, scales, etc; internal genitalia; or slime coats tat are irritated by clothing), and only began wearing them relatively recently as more of an aesthetic statement. Though many species will wear clothes, it's common and acceptable for them to go nude.

This is not the case with inkfish. Exposed chests are considered a bit raunchy in certain contexts, or only done in private or with friends. Not wearing pants is strictly taboo and only generally done in extreme private.

However, as per usual, dome octolings are an unusual case. Due to most of the population being infertile (whoopsie babies are seen as a blessing, and are next to impossible) and how their culture is set up, their societal customs surrounding sex and nudity are much more lax. Many dome octolings are much more comfortable showing skin than surface-raised inkfish, and even some of the more reserved and shy ones I've met are perfectly fine wandering around with crop tops and short skirts, or even being completely naked around roommates or acquaintances.

[firstdegreefangirl]

If Only In My Dreams

Theme: Day 10 - Travel @12daysofchristmas

Fandom/Character(s): Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie)

Word Count: 1221

Ao3 link here!

Four things happen at once.

One: Tim comes back from an airport kiosk with two cups of overpriced coffee in his hand. He passes one of them to Lucy, who smiles up at him, and leans back against the window railing next to their carryon bags. She rests her head against one of his calves.

Two: The speaker above them crackles to life and spits out some garbled announcement from the woman standing at the gate counter. At least, he thinks it’s from her; she’s holding a radio.

Three: Tim burns his mouth on his first sip of over-roasted coffee. Six bucks a cup, and they burned it. Figures.

Four: His phone and Lucy’s vibrate at the same time.

Four things happen at once, which means that Tim is trying to comprehend them all at once, which in turn means that he doesn’t make sense of any of them.

The first thing he registers completely is the sudden chill on his shin where Lucy has sat up abruptly.

“Tim,” she says, panic edging into her voice. “Did you hear what they said? Was it about this flight alert? I think we got canceled.”

She passes her phone to him, standing up as he squints at the screen.

We’re sorry! Flight 272/Dec 23 LAX to CYS is canceled due to heavy snowfall in the destination city. Please see customer service for assistance/rebooking. We apologize for the inconvenience.

He’s reading the message for the third time when the speaker comes on again. This time, he closes his eyes and listens carefully to the tinny voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that heavy snowfall has closed the Cheyenne, Wyoming airport. All travelers booked on flight 272 for service to Cheyenne, please see the customer service desk for assistance. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Shit,” he whispers.

“No kidding.” When Tim opens his eyes, Lucy is wringing her hands together and pacing in short circles. He stops her, catching her hands in his.

“Hey, it’s OK. We’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out? They canceled our flight, Tim! You saw the website; there’s nothing else until after Christmas! The whole point of this was to spend Christmas together, just the two of us!”

She’s right: they’d spent close to a month trying to balance half a dozen holiday plans. Her parents, his sister, Angela, John, Jackson’s parents, a weekend at the retirement community where his mother lives, the list had gone on.

There was no easy answer, no plan that made everybody happy. In the end, they’d been frustrated and overwhelmed, sitting on opposite sides of Tim’s kitchen table when Lucy had looked up and asked who ever said we had to spend Christmas with anyone at all? What if we just take the holidays to ourselves, make the rounds when we get back?

It had been appealing right off the bat – no juggling, no hurry, an extended holiday season for everyone, with more days to celebrate. So they’d found a direct flight to southern Wyoming, and Tim had booked a private cabin outside city limits. That only sweetened the pot: six days, alone with Lucy, in a secluded, rural cabin.

The first real vacation they’d take together.

There are tears shining in Lucy’s eyes now, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lighting of the terminal. Tim pulls her into his chest, rubbing one hand up and down her back in wide, sweeping circles while she collects herself.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

For a moment, it feels like Lucy has accepted the reassurance. Her shoulders aren’t shaking anymore, and he can't hear her sniffles. When she leans back far enough to look him in the eye, it doesn’t look like she’s crying.

But then her eyes go wide and she sucks in a sharp breath. In any other circumstances, that expression would mean something totally different, but she starts rattling off questions before his body can react.

“Tim, what are we going to do? Do we go home now? We can’t spend Christmas in LAX. You hate the airport.” He resists the urge to laugh – that's the only reason they can’t spend seven and a half days sitting in crappy vinyl chairs and sharing three electrical outlets with 700 people? “If we go home, we have to pick someone to spend the holidays with. And what about the cabin? Can we get a refund? We took time off work for this. We—” He cuts her off.

“Hey, Lucy.” Tim lets go of her hands, bringing his own up to cradle her face gently. He draws his thumbs along her cheekbones, wiping away the stray tears. “Sweetheart. It’s going to be OK. Alright? We’ll figure it all out.” He sounds like a broken record, he’s sure, but it’s the best he can do right now. He doesn’t have the answers, doesn’t want to lie to her about that, but this is far from the worst thing they’ve endured together.

They’ll figure it out. It’s the one thing he knows for sure.

“Yeah …" She trails off, like she doesn’t quite believe him.

“We will. I promise, OK? Maybe it won’t be Wyoming, but we’ll come up with something. I don’t care where I spend Christmas, as long as you’re there too.” Tim tips his face down to rest their foreheads together. Lucy sniffles.

“You say that until you’ve spent it with my parents.”

“OK, so your parents’ is out. We can work with that.” He stands back upright. “What are you the most worried about?”

“Um …" Lucy takes a deep breath, looking around as if she’s going to find the answer right there in the airport walkway. “Checked bags, cabin rental, and … and I really don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to stay here if we don’t even have a flight.”

“Easy enough.” He rubs her arm soothingly. “I’m sure they’ve got a plan for the baggage. We’ll find out what it is. I’ll call the cabin people; they usually have some weather cancellation thing. What if we found a flight somewhere else?”

“I … I don’t know … where would we go?” She bites her lip, and Tim reaches down to squeeze her fingers.

“We don’t have to. It was just an idea, if you don’t like it, we’ll do something else.”

“I just … I don’t know.”

“That’s OK. Let’s not worry about a last-minute flight. We could drive somewhere.” But Lucy doesn’t look excited about that either. “How about this: we’ll figure out the bags, I’ll find us a room at a hotel for the week. Not too far away, but nobody has to know we’re still in town. We have the cabin through the 29th. I’ll ask them about rebooking if things open up in a few days. Even if they don’t, we’ll be together. Just us, yeah? Wasn’t that the whole point of Wyoming?”

“Yeah …" She sniffles again but looks a little cheerier than she had two minutes ago.

“Yeah, it was.”

“How do you just … solve everything? Thank you. For … solving it.”

“Anytime.” He smiles at her, pretty sure she’s talking about more than just their Christmas vacation. He knows he is, at least. “I mean it, Lucy. All I need is you, and it’ll be a Merry Christmas.”

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Can I have some more prompts of Sansby with a side of disposal?

I’d definitely like to do more with that ship, it’s one of my favorites.

When G.rillby suggested that he close up the bar early so he and S.ans can enjoy their night together, this wasn't exactly what he meant. Another thick belch shakes the building and makes the glasses behind the bar rattle. A stuffed, blue gut is pressed up against the bar counter, groaning and churning loudly over the muffled voices of the various men inside. S.ans lets out a soft groan, laying against his engorged gut with a nearly drunken expression. "Think that was the last of 'em," the skeleton says, giving his gut a few pats. It wasn't the first time Sans had eaten some of G.rillby's customers--when there's a straggler or two while he's closing, S.ans tends to 'help them out' by devouring them. It'd been fine when it was just the stray customer, but the bar had still been rather lively when S.ans started snacking. The blue magic of his made it so no one could escape his drooling jaws, and now all those patrons are a squirming mass of meat sitting heavily in his stomach. G.rillby's flams flicker with mild annoyance as he cleans up the mess made by all those panicking patrons--broken glasses and spilled drinks, knocked over food, and plenty of disturbed furniture. By the time he's even finished getting everything back in its place, it's nearly at the normal closing time anyway. G.rillby nudges S.ans awake with his broom, doing his best to give the skeleton an annoyed expression, but he just gets a lax smile in return. The skeleton had spent the hours cleaning sleeping off his meal, and his stomach had significantly reduced in size. Still too large to fit under his shirt, but there's hardly anything left in there by now--anyone who saw him would just assume he had a bit too much bar food instead of all the bar patrons. "'Bout ready?" S.ans asks, lazily getting to his feet. When G.rillby crosses his arms, S.ans chuckles and gets himself on top of the bar so he's level with the fire elemental. "Aw, don't be like that, G.rillbz. Y'know I was only tryin' to help. Besides...you like it~" He pulls his boyfriend in closer and gives him a kiss, making the tips of G.rillby's flames turn blue. S.ans was right, G.rillby did like it. Otherwise, he would have tossed the skeleton out of his bar the first night he devoured someone. When S.ans breaks the kiss, his stomach lets out a harsh rumble. "Feels like it's time I kicked those guys out for good, huh? Don't worry...we might not've gotten out early tonight, but I know how to let us stay in tomorrow." Dropping his shorts, S.ans squats down on the bar and grunts. G.rillby's entire face begins to turn blue with heat as he watches the skeleton begin pushing out massive logs of shit. Each one is densely packed, scraps of clothes and some remaining bones all that's left of G.rillby's customers. The first log hits the ground behind the bar with a wet thud and the rest build up on top of it, steadily forming a rather large pile. S.ans lets out a deep, pleased groan as he shits for an audience. He knows G.rillby could have stopped him at any time, but his boyfriend just watched as he turns the bar into a toilet. By the time he's done, S.ans's pile is just barely peeking up over the counter, and he yanks his shorts up over his ass with a chuckle. "There. Gonna be a while before that smell comes out, so now we have plenty of time." He clamors down from the counter and takes G.rillby's hand, walking out of the bar with a casual grin. He'll help G.rillby clean that up later...maybe.

"There we go. Last bite." S.ans pushes down on the twitching foot sticking out of G.rillby's mouth, sending the last of the fire elemental's meal down the hatch. He shivers a bit when he feels G.rillby lick his fingers and he pulls his hand away. "Ah, careful, I'm not on the menu." He chuckles and relaxes, resting his head on his arms. G.rillby lets out a thick belch, smoke wafting from his jaws as his stomach rumbles like a volcano. Even since they started dating, S.ans's favorite activity has been hand-feeding food to G.rillby. It has started as just fries and burgers and other food he could get his hands on, but at some point, it had evolved into live meals. G.rillby can't quite remember when he made the leap from normal food to living, but it hardly mattered now. He's too deep into this to ever get back out. His stomach is pressed against the table they're seated at, his prey already melting down inside. It never took his body long to process food--the immense heat alone tends to melt most things down. It's why he didn't eat much, at least before this. He's found lately that his thicker body and wobbling stomach isn't going anyway any time soon. Already, he's getting a bit heavier, his prey melting down and pumping away, adding to his heft. His vest is straining against his gut, already having been two sizes larger than what G.rillby normally wears just to try and accommodate his ever-growing stomach. Evidently, S.ans had taken that as a challenge, and 'date night' had become a little game instead. "That's the fifth one, right?" S.ans asks. "You're doing good, G.rillbz. Let's just do one more." S.ans's eye flashes and he moves his hand. Someone in the restaurant yelps as they're lifted up--G.rillby has already churned down two waiters, a couple, and one of the chefs. Now he has another waiter being brought over. He hardly thinks about it, just opens his maw as the food comes in, not listening to the way it screams and begs him as S.ans uses magic to shovel it headfirst into his jaws. He doesn't need to gulp, even, letting S.ans work on sending another soul down his gullet. He steals another lick of S.ans's hand when it passes his lips while shoving the last of the meal down. G.rillby knows that S.ans lkes it. His stomach rumbles loudly, the waiter already melting down. It swells out as the meal is pumped away and...there's a Ping! as a button flies off and hits a wall. Then a few more, and G.rillby's stomach surges out with a wet slosh, shoving the table back as it crashes into it. He lets out a long, deep belch, shooting a small flame from his jaws. He basks in the wonderful feeling until his gut groans. He tries to get up, and it takes some effort, but doing so makes his dress pants rip right down the middle. In a haze of gluttony, G.illby decides 'good enough' and pushes. Steaming shit immediately slides out of his fattened ass, piling up onto the booth he'd just wiggled free from. It feels good to let loose like this, he decides, his flames flickering softly in delight as he unloads the weight from his bowels right then and there. S.ans is blushing darkly as he watches his boyfriend finally, fully give into his gluttonous desires by dumping all his prey out on the spot. When G.rillby is done, the seat is overflowing with steaming crap, and S.ans has to be careful as he scoots out of his seat to take G.rillby's hand. The fire elemental's stomach rumbles harshly as they walk out of the restaurant and S.ans grins a bit wider. "Let's go find you some dessert, huh? This place is dead anyway."

"No, please, sto--" G.rillby's jaws close over the screaming face and a gulp sends him down the hatch. He lets out a sigh, rubbing gently over his stomach as it fills up with its latest treat. S.ans isn't much farther behind, slurping down an arm that's desperately grasping at the air for something to anchor onto. The best it can do is S.ans's tongue as it passes his teeth and sinks down the hatch, letting the skeleton's blue gut fill up with a final slosh. "Mm..." S.ans licks his lips and pats his stomach a few times. "See, G.rillbz? Toldja humans are tasty." While he's snacked on a few of them before, G.rillby had been a bit more hesitant to try. Nothing S.ans couldn't fix by promising his boyfriend some attention if he does it. They'd gotten a pair of guys to join them in the back of G.rillby's bar and, from there, it was easy to pack them away. S.ans presses his gut to G.rillby's and lets out a heavy belch. "They're a bit tougher to digest than monsters but...nnf...it's worth it." G.rillby couldn't help but agree. Normally, his stomach melts monsters down quickly. But even after swallowing up the last of the human, he can still feel his meal kicking around inside of him and it's a wonderful sensation. G.rillby lets out a belch of his own, patting the top of his stomach again as the human thrashes inside. The two would relax back there, with S.ans taking extra care to rub over G.rillby's stomach while it worked. Despit being a bit tougher to digest, the fire elemental's gut still had its meal reduced to sludge in half the time it took for S.ans's to work. It at least gave the skeleton something to relax again while he let his belly do its job. "Just think," S.ans says as he rubs along his softening, gurgling belly. "Humans come by here all the time. How many could we eat before they even start to notice, huh?" G.rillby's stomach rumbles noisily at the mention of eating more and S.ans chuckles. "I knew you'd agree. But we gotta deal with these two first. Speaking of..." S.ans pushes down on his stomach, working out a small fart that makes him snort. "Looks like I'm about done. C'mon." Toilets were a bit dangerous for G.rillby, but luckily, S.ans made sure there was a large bucket in the back room just for this occasion. The two of them squat over it, backs pressed together as they get to work. The humans slide out of both men with little issue, steadily filling up the bucket with a brown mass of waste. S.ans can't help but enjoy how warm G.illby makes it while taking his dump. With two humans, the monsters end up filling the bucket to the brim, a skull sticking out just barely at the top from what S.ans contributed. With a wave of his hand, S.ans lifts the bucket up with his magic. "I'll get these two settled out back. You let me know if there's anymore tasty humans you want to snack on before we close." S.ans disappears from sight and G.rillby goes back to the bar, trying to soothe his stomach as it growls. There's so many humans around, none of them even realizing that two of their own were just digested alive. G.rillby is already excited for more.

[beaversatemygrandma]

Work has been interesting. Lots of pros and cons to this place.

Pros:

Rather chill, nice coworkers, cool managers, the customers behave rather well, there's rarely more than even 20 people who really go through the whole course at the park a day. And if there's lightning within 25 miles for more than 30 minutes, we close. (It's FL. Hurricane season. Every damn day btw.) The dress code is lax, only requiring the uniform shirt and khaki pants (texture btw, shorts or long pants okay and they have to be khaki brown, sage green or black) and lace up shoes. Hell, it's a place where you don't even have to worry about tattoos. Great medical benefits. Yearly $1+ raises.

Cons:

Everybody opens. Everybody closes. You stay here from 7:45am to 5pm (if weather allows.) So far, it's been 7:45-3. Not too bad. Though. I'm waking up at 5am. (fuck me ig) My feet are killing me bc we're not allowed to sit. The floors are hard as fuck natural wood. $13/hr. Medical benefits after 60 days. If it's dead and we're not closing for weather and every cleaning thing is done, allegedly another manager will make you go and work in the park. (HOT. SWAMPY. CLEANING A LITERAL ZOO.) The person who i think i would be chaotic best work buds with works outside of the office I'm in and is a super talkative and kinda distracting (but tbh really neat) person when inside. (Side note: gonna see if i can become outside of work friends. he's cool. Tries so hard to talk pokemon or shitty food work to relate to me. It works.)

Honestly, not a bad job. Once i get paid, I'm going to scrounge around for a good pair of work boots so i don't even have to feel those hard ass floors. And probably more pants so I don't have to switch between a pair of shorts and a pair of long pants. Maybe more compression socks too if my test of them tomorrow goes well. The test will be socks+boots then socks+sneakers. Then when pay goes through. New boots. Test those out. And maybe new memory foam good quality sneakers. I need new shoes. It's been years.

[necros-writing-stuff]

thick eden cum = higher sperm count

breeding kink go brrrr

I haven't said it on here, but I've already planned out the 4 kids my PC Kody and Eden are going to have :) If you were around when I did the younger AU, how about Next Gen Edenspawn?

Axel, Phobos and Deimos (twins boys), and Bella.

Axel takes after Eden the most, got raised by an Eden who was still a bad person. Hates town as an adult, wants to get a wife the same way his dad did. Via kidnapping. Eden named him, too. Has his own cabin a few clearings over, but spends a lot of time with his parents. Extremely emotionally constipated, no matter how much Kody tried to counteract Eden's harsher parenting style. He is slightly bitter towards his siblings that they got a nicer Eden than he did - and that he had to become an adult very quickly - but he will not allow anyone to say anything bad about his father at all. Spends his free time drinking/hunting with Eden or cooking with Kody. Otherwise, very into wood-carving. Born January 4th. Currently 27 in the AU.

Physical appearance:

6ft2, Eden's dark hair and facial structure, Kody's blue eyes (and her ears, which he finds weird that people mention). Has like no body hair and can't grow facial hair well, which pisses him off to no end. Same body build as Eden (stocky muscle). Dresses in plaids, plain shirts, cargo pants or clothes made from animal products. Covered in scars after a bad mental health period where he just went out hunting with 0 respect for his own health and had a bad run-in with the wolf pack.

Phobos is the older twin, Deimos is the younger. Phobos idolises Bailey. Deimos idolises Landry. They were older teens (like 19) when they start hanging out in town - also they're banned from most establishments for being little shits. Kody named them. Phobos is gay, but hasn't told anyone yet. Deimos is a man whore. They're both living above Landry's Bar, as he wants to pass it on to them, but they visit home often. They also bother Robin a lot, mostly asking if she'd like them to teach rude customers a lesson. She always laughs and tells them no. They were both mostly allowed to run amok because Kody beat it into Eden's head that he was far too harsh on Axel (true) and so he went almost full lax and oops now there's two tiny terrors. Deimos is a music snob. Phobos does a lot of charcoal sketches. Born October 11th. Currently 22 in the AU.

Appearances:

Brown hair, lightens up a lot in the summer. Brown eyes. Both 5ft8, slimmer builds, Kody's facial structure but Eden's eyes. Deimos has his septum and tongue pierced and tends to go for 80s punk inspired looks, while Phobos dresses more in slacks and sweaters. Phobos also has a nasty scar up his back from almost getting kebab-ed by a boar when he was 13. Phobos keeps his hair shorter and well-groomed, while Deimos keeps his long, often bleaches it blonde. It's kinda fried.

Bella is the youngest. Bella is short for Belladonna - aka, Wolf's Bane. She was tiny when she was born, but Eden gave her the name because she'd be a force to reckon with when she got older, he swore. She follows Axel around all of the time, lives in his cabin with him (they share most of the work equally), but still has curiosity towards town. Eden and Axel would spar a lot when she was a toddler, and they'd fake-fight her to make her laugh. The twins used to try and get her in trouble with pranks they'd pull, but Eden could never be mad at his golden child. The most emotionally available out of them all, but also deals with a tonne of anxiety. Got the bookworm gene. Also dances with her ma a lot, especially if Deimos brings his guitar over to play for them. Born August 23rd. Currently 19 in the AU.

Appearance:

5ft7, Kody's nose, Eden's bone structure and eyes. Eden's colouring, too. You know how Axel is mad he has no body hair? Bella is self conscious because she has more than other girls (or rather, the ones she saw at the pub last time she went to visit the twins). Also has the classical stocky build. She is proud that she is so strong. Dresses basically exactly the same as Axel, but has a few dresses that she wears on occasion to feel pretty.

And how are Eden and Kody doing? Grand! Eden is in his 60s now, but still as active as ever (shut up about his back, it doesn't hurt). Hair has gone white. Kody is in her 40s. They're still extremely intimate with one another - hence why the kids decided to move several clearings over/into town. Just gross to see your parents all over each other all of the time. Eden's mellowed out a lot, but still has his old habits. Still tries to scare-monger about town (not that the twins listened to him like ever). They still fall into classical roles about the cabin. It might not work for everyone, but it works for them. Kody isn't as submissive as she used to be and scolds Eden a lot when he slips back into old behaviours. But at the end of the day, they do what they've always done. Sit in front of the fire and read their favourite books to one another while looking at each other in complete adoration.

[paradoxinabottle]

I thought up a short story that i'm going to use for a custom GTA san andreas mission, so i decided to share it here!

PARKING LOT GUY

Scene 1:

Once upon a time, at parking lot in San fierro.

Mr. Incompetente: "Alright, Mr. Voiture, this is the first day for both of us.

I'll be starting our new business, and you'll work the parking lot."

Guy Voiture: "It's an honor, man, but are you sure you can do business stuff?

I mean...

Being woken up by you at 3 in the morning...

and doing your taxes on the shitter...

while having the worst stomachache of my life...

is not exactly an experience i'd like to repeat."

Incompetente: "Oh, no no no. Don't worry about that at all.

I've studied business management, you see.

After we become rich, you'll look back on those hard days with pride."

Guy: "Well I only feel constipated about it now, so please be successful."

Incompetente: "I will, my dear friend, I will..."

Incompetente leaves to do his business.

Guy: "Alright, time to park some fucking cars, baby."

Scene 2:

A car approaches the parking lot. The man inside the car calls to the garagekeeper.

Man: "Hey, could you park my car at the top floor, please?"

Guy: "Your car likes a nice view, eh? Sure."

*OBJECTIVE: Park the car on the top floor of the parking lot.*

Guy parks the car on the top floor.

Guy: "Alright, job well done."

Guy walks away from the car and suddenly hears the *voooooo* noise coming from the sky.

Guy looks straight up and sees an object he can't identify.

Guy: "what the fuck is that?"

Suddenly the parked car starts getting pulled into the air towards the object.

Guy: "WHAT the FUCK?"

The car is gone, the object flies away. Guy realizes at that moment it was a UFO.

Guy: "Well, the authorities aren't exactly gonna accept 'Fuckin aliens' as testimony.

I gotta find a replacement. like, right now."

*OBJECTIVE: Go find a car of the same model and color.*

Guy finds a car identical the one he parked.

Guy: "Can't let those alien shitheads ruin my job."

The car's owner returns. Guy takes the car out and gives him the keys.

Man: "Thanks for the service mate, I'll be telling my friends about this lot!"

The man drives away.

Guy: "...I wonder if he'll ever realize that this is not his car."

Scene 3:

A hippie looking minivan approaches the parking lot. a drug junkie stumbles out of the automobile.

Junkie: "hey maaan... keep my car in... equilibriummmmm..."

Guy: "Lay off the drugs man, I'll park your car, you go sober up."

the junkie says "daaaamn... i love nice people.. woahhh..." and walks away.

Guy gets in the car and says "What the fuck is that smell? is that... weed?"

Guy becomes immediately stoned.

Guy: "what the.. fuuuuuuuck??? i see stars and shit... waaaaaa?"

Guy starts seeing strange things inside the parking lot. he's having an acid trip.

He does his best to get the car to the parking spot, avoiding the hallucinations in his way.

Guy gets out of the minivan. he falls on the ground and becomes completely sober again.

Guy: "Holy shit man... I'm never touching that shit ever again."

Guy goes back to his post, the junkie comes back.

Guy: "Oh god, i have to get the car out again..."

Junkie: "hey man... could you bring my van?"

Guy: "wha? oh. uh. sorry i suddenly have really bad diarrhea, please get it out yourself!"

Guy hands the junkie the key to the minivan and tries to pretend like he can't hold it in anymore.

Junkie: "Hey man wait!"

Guy stops for a moment.

Junkie: "...I don't know how to drive."

Guy: "..."

Junkie: "..."

Guy: "......."

Junkie: "......."

Guy: "...Are you fucking serious?"

Junkie: "...just bring the car out of the car place, man. please."

Guy: "...god give me patience. and laxatives too."

Guy gets in the minivan and goes through the same stoned ordeal.

When he gets out of the garage, he exits the minivan, barely on his feet.

Junkie: "thanks man, you're a reaaally nice guy"

Guy, half stoned: "reaaally nice guy? no, man, i'm just guyyy... guy voitureee.."

Guy regains his soberness and asks the junkie "How are you gonna drive now? you just said you couldn't drive."

Junkie: "Who cares mannnn? it's not your responsibility anymore. see yaaa, nice guy vuatoooor.."

The junkie drives away and immediately hits another car. He drives away and the police chase after him.

Guy: "Well, it's not my responsibility anymore."

Scene 4:

Guy sees something he's never seen in person before. It's an actual tank!

the tank stops at the garage, a soldier comes out.

Soldier: "Hey, park this on the first floor please."

Guy: "...HUH?! and why are you so sure i can drive a tank?"

Soldier: "Hey man, it's easy, it's no different from a normal car."

Guy: "If you don't mind me asking, why are you parking your tank here?"

Soldier: "we're preparing an ambush, a russian jet is going to come by here, and we need to shoot it down."

Guy: "...I'm gonna have to get fucking used to this, aren't I?"

Guy gets in the tank and drives it to the specified spot.

Soldier: "Thanks man. Is there a bathroom around here?"

Guy: "Yeah, It's over there."

The soldier goes to the bathroom. Guy goes back to his post.

Guy hears a very strong jet engine sound in the distance. he looks up.

Guy: "...What the fuck?"

A hydra jet plane stops above the parking lot, it lands in front of the entrance.

A russian looking soldier steps out. "Greetings comrade!"

Guy is flabbergasted.

Russian: "I need your help, I'm trying to hide from some american soldiers.

Could you park my jet in the 2nd floor? so it can be hidden from above."

Guy: "I work a parking lot, comrade... i don't know to pilot a jet."

Russian: "Oh! don't worry at all, it's just like driving a normal car."

Guy: "...hopefully i don't need to vomit, the bathroom is occupied."

Guy gets in the plane and shoves it inbetween the floors.

Russian: "Thank you comrade! If you don't mind me asking, is there a bathroom around here?"

Guy: "Yeah, it's on the first floor."

The russian soldier goes to the bathroom.

Guy realizes what he's done and audibly goes "Oh... shit."

He watches over the bathroom in worry of what might happen.

suddenly, he hears the american soldier gasp, and the russian soldier swears in russian.

they get into a huge fist fight and take it outside.

Guy: "...I don't think the phrase 'Shit happens' can explain this situation..."

Scene 5:

Mr incompetente gets back from work and approaches Guy.

Incompetente: "So, how was your first day at work, mr. Voiture?"

Guy: "You owe me explanations, salary, and laxatives."

Incompetente: "Ah, you're right. However, I'm kinda short on budget right now."

Guy: "Short on budget? Haven't you been running the business? we're supposed to be rich now!"

Incompetente: "I'm afraid we've gone bankrupt."

Guy: "..."

Incompetente: "It is rather unfortunate."

Guy: "......."

Incompetente: "we'll need to make amends, for we are in a bit of a pickle."

guy: "..........."

Incompetente: "Is something the matter?"

Guy: "It's been 30 minutes, Bill."

Incompetente: "...Why are you calling me by my first name now?"

Guy: "THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES! you should take this time to guiness, because you'd get the world record for fastest and most effective bankruptcy ever.

In this god forsaken half-hour, i had to deal with drug junkies, intercontinental warfare, and ALIENS!

And you were just taking a shit for 30 minutes and suddenly decided 'Hmm, we are not doing well financially.'

I know your name is french for incompetent, but i didn't think it was THIS accurate!"

Incompetente: "I couldn't help it, mr voiture, I had terrible diarrhea."

Guy: "So you WERE taking a shit?!"

Incompetente: "That does not matter anymore, i have more plans for business"

Guy: "You actually fucking do?!"

Incompetente: "A restaurant business. Very high class."

Guy: "...Actually, what even WAS the business you were doing a few minutes ago?"

incompetente: "it's the 'Business' business"

Guy: "..."

Incompetente: "..."

Guy: "...Plumbing?"

Incompetente: "Correct."

Guy: "so you were managing a plumbing company?"

Incompetente: "No, I was taking a more... 'Hands-on' appraoch"

Guy: "You were being a PLUMBER? in this fancy-ass fucking suit?!"

Incompetente: "Watch your language, mr voiture."

Guy: "And were you taking a shit during the job?"

Incompetente: "It's not like i can control that, mr voiture."

Guy: "Hold the fuck on, why did i even need to manage this parking lot?"

Incompetente: "Stop asking unnecessary questions, mr voiture."

Guy: "...I'm retiring, i can't take this anymore"

Incompetente: "Wait, hold on, Guy!"

Guy: "...What?"

Incompetente: "I can't do this without you, my friend, I have to admit that you're more reliable that I am."

Guy: "...."

Incompetente: "I'm sure we'll do better next time. We just have to cooperate."

Guy: "...Bill?"

Incompetente: "We're childhood friends, right?"

Guy: "...Right, and I'll do my best to help you too."

Incompetente: "really?"

Guy: "On one condition."

Incompetente: "What is it?"

....

....

....

"Keep a seperate budget for laxatives."

THE END

[teddyoverthinks]

a society in which grief is associated with accidents

Today I’m thinking about this excerpt.

“How do you grieve your dead?” Thorin asked at length, curious. It was not a subject they had ever discussed. Since making his home in Erebor Bilbo had followed Dwarven customs in such things, for he was considered as good as a Dwarf by everybody under the Mountain, and Bilbo strived to be worthy of such regard.

“We usually don’t,” said Bilbo, and he could feel Thorin’s surprise in the sudden laxness of his arms. Then Bilbo explained – as he would explain to no other, for Thorin alone knew some of the secrets that all Hobbits kept closely guarded. They did not grieve, he explained, because death was simply a return to the earth that nurtured them, and as long as a Hobbit was placed in the ground, they were never truly gone. The earth gave, and the earth took; it was a cycle of growth and death that was as natural as breathing. What need was there for grief in that?

But accidental deaths, he told Thorin, were lives cut short before that cycle could complete. There was the boy, too – young Frodo Baggins, left alone, and Bilbo’s heart ached for him.

—Branches, xxSparksxx

This fic depicts Bilbo’s reaction to the deaths of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck, Frodo’s parents. Bilbo is upset by it, of course. It was a tragedy, even to Bilbo, who has at this point seen a great deal of death in and after the Battle of Five Armies. (For context, in this fic he has not seen the deaths of any of the heirs of Durin). 

Bilbo still doesn’t really know how to deal with grief. Like most of us, his best method seems to be letting himself feel it and accepting support until he’s well enough to do something with his feelings. I think in this fic he reaches out to Frodo. 

But what I’m really stuck on is the idea of a society in which grief is associated with accidents. I’ve seen the occasional truly untragic death, in which the loved ones of the person gone are sad to see them go but are fully glad that it happened the way and time that it did. But these deaths are the rarity. Most deaths I grieve, even for a moment when I hear about a stranger, are so complex. There are so many more options than a peaceful death in old age and an accident. 

Today, I’m grieving deaths that were on purpose. Deaths that are a result of individual and systemic violence. Deaths that come from a cultural lack of empathy that comes from a capitalist society which does not provide for it. I’m grieving dialysis patients and trans kids and victims of the police.

Right now I’m sitting with the anger and letting myself feel it. I don’t have a Thorin to hug, but reading this brought me some comfort. I’m venting a bit, right here. That’s also a step. And later I’m going to take action—I’m going to exercise my right to vote for the first time. 

But I’m also fantasizing about a society which voting won’t bring quite yet. One where people almost forget about violence. And I’m going to find hope that we can get there.