#babe would not last in customer service

[distant-screaming]

so glad babe's good at racing because this is not how you get someone to help you 😭😭

[no27-autonation-honda]

okay my one bitchy little personal post about the mess. Jesus fucking Christ why do I have to be in graduate school at the most annoying possible time.

[targaryenluvs]

we can send in ideas you say 👀 dark! Cory with a reader who’s not so inclined to behave and listen to him, being bratty, turning him away, embarrassing him in public ….. his frail ego would shatter (and who knows what he’d do to her 🫣🫣)

TEMPER TANTRUM

pairing: president!coriolanus snow x fem!bratty!reader

summary: you were the daughter of one of the richest couples of panem. everything you’ve ever wanted, handed to you. coriolanus had a short temper and you were stubborn. who knows what could happen?

warnings: arguments, bratty reader, public scenes, punishments, kinda smutty, fingering, not proof read i’m lazy

a/n: stand up and fight back to that rude bitch babe

they’d messed up your order. again.

you’d ordered three dresses, all pink and one was too small. you’d already returned it multiple times but apparently the shop owner was incompetent. did he know who you were? the first lady of panem deserved nothing but the best and this imbecile couldn’t even do his job.

you’d give him another chance you figured. “soreen!” you shouted out as you heard the pitter patter of footsteps on the floor. “yes mrs snow?” you sighed, “pull the car around please. we’re going down to the genevieve store.” she nodded before scurrying away to arrange your mode of transportation.

the car ride was smooth, much to your relief. you needed at least one thing to go right today, and the car ride helped boost your morale as you pulled up in front of the aforementioned store. “here we are mrs snow.” your driver spoke as he promptly exited the vehicle to open your door, “thank you phillip.” he tipped his cap to you before shutting your door, “i’ll be waiting ma’am.”

the store was quite large, for someone who hadn’t been there before it was quite easy to lose your way. but you knew exactly where you were headed, walking a path of determination as you reached the front desk. a young lady, clearly disengaged from her job sat filing her nails at the desk. “what do you want?” your face twisted into a disingenuous smile, this was going to be fun, you thought. you cleared your throat as you placed your handbag down with care.

“mrs y/n snow, here for adina?” the girl looked close to tears as a string of apologies fell through her lips, “let me go get him, again, i cannot express my apologies mrs snow.” you’d already turned around to sit at one of the many chairs strewn about.

adina was frantic.

he sure as hell wasn’t expecting the first lady of panem, in his store, by herself. nonetheless, he quickly nodded along to her explanation of her dilemma, the dresses, the sizes, the unresponsive customer aid line.

you’d walked out of the store were five new dresses, all free of cost. a successful day in your eyes. the whisperings were there, of how the last store clerk who’d kept you waiting went out of business. or how the cook whose meal caused you to choke had his hand cut off. mistakes were made in the process of the workers bending over backwards to produce the upmost quality service for the presidents darling wife.

who was known for her own expensive tastes.

and god help anyone who kept her waiting.

the dress was for a charity event that night. coriolanus of course didn’t want to go, but it was seen as beneficial to his own cause to be seen out and about, especially at a high profile event. whereas you on the other hand? you’d ordered three new dresses, five now, two new pairs of heels and that jewellery set you’d been eyeing up for a while.

coriolanus wanted to get through the night, that was it. the office was as stressful as ever, his secretary was out sick, so a fill-in took her place, stuttering every time he spoke to her and messed up his meetings of the day. but since marrying you, coriolanus knew nothing was ever easy with you.

you prided yourself on your unpredictability. to keep people on their toes. you loved being able to stick out from the rest, keep people guessing. and most of all, you loved being seen, admired. you were never one to be tame, coriolanus knew it. you always tested his patience and temper.

but this?

you’d worn a burgundy gown, off the shoulder, floor length and a v-cut too low for his likes. the one dress out of five he’d disapproved of. you’d disobeyed him purposefully, coriolanus hoped you’d grow out of old habits, but again they die hard.

the eyes were on you like vultures, his wife.

he’d deal with you later, just get through the night.

“and that dress! it’s certainly, something.” you didn’t know the girls name, but her face seemed familiar. “why thank you! coriolanus had picked out some others but then again what do men know about women’s fashion?” the woman’s slack jaw caused you to giggle, “well aren’t you fiery! the president has a lot on his hands with you.”

you tossed your hair behind as you took a sip from your glass, “well i’m sure if he can handle a whole country,” you leaned in before whispering, “he can try his best to handle me.” coriolanus saw red. one night, without your antics was all he’d wished for. the dress and your behaviour had sent him over the edge.

“miss.” coriolanus acknowledged the woman as he grabbed a hold of your hand, “president snow! how nice it is to see you here, and your donation! how splendid.” coriolanus’s charm seemed to switch on instantaneously, “anything for the, good cause.” coriolanus couldn’t give a flying fuck about the cause let alone remember what it was. “it’s time for us to go.”

you had an image, pristine and clear. a lovely woman, kind and respectful. at times naive but overall a caring wife. your slick words, which charmed any man or woman, your striking beauty and sweet personality.

but at your core you, like your husband. couldn’t care less, it was one of the reasons you got along so well. it was all a facade and coriolanus was the only person who knew the real you. much to his chagrin, the real you was a total bitch. a smooth talker with a pretty face who got everything she wanted. you’d never wanted to marry him in the first place, so it seemed to be your personal mission to embarrass the poor man.

“if you’re tired then head on home love. i know you need your hours of sleep, cranky without them!” you made him sound like child without his favourite toy, unable to go on until he had it again. “sweetheart, you know we go home together. now come along.” his tone was nothing like the fake warmth it mimicked, you were on thin ice. “yes i know, honey, but you’re not incapable of returning home without me now are you? i’m sure the driver remembered the directions for you.” you pinched his cheek. pinched. his. cheek.

you may as well have started praying for your soul.

so he left, alone.

you had no clue as to why you wanted to stay. it’s not as if there was someone actually worthwhile to engage in conversation with, but you just wanted to be out of the house. you had to soak up your time outside while it lasted you assumed. coriolanus wouldn’t be letting you out anytime soon, especially after what you’d said that night.

the door slammed shut as you hung up your coat next to corio’s. you took a deep breath in before exhaling. it was going to be a long night.

“did you have fun?��� corio was sat in a large, plush, arm chair, swirling a drink in his hand. you could only wonder how many he’d had in the hours by himself. “i did.” your voice was gentle, the house quiet in the dead of night. but the large mansion echoed, he would’ve heard you anyways.

“hm.” he feigned interest in your response. all he wanted was to put you in your place. “corio?” he turned to view you, whilst you walked over before situating yourself on his arm chair. but as soon as you did his glass clattered onto the side table as he rose up. “we’re going to bed.” you weren’t sure if he’d snap if you protested, your feet were aching and you found it best not to argue.

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, which is how you ended up fully exposed whilst coriolanus was fully dressed. “please.” you’d been on your back for the last, ten? twenty? “please what?” coriolanus liked to put you in your place, it was one of his favourite things to do since you forgot it so often. “touch me.” his hand slipped into your panties, fingers sliding into your already soaking hole as you clutched onto his shoulders.

he’d been teasing you for what felt like forever and you felt you were finally done with it. “close your eyes.” he whispered as his fingers slid out, eliciting a whine from your throat, but you listened, closing your eyes, wondering what he’d do.

it’d been a minute since corio spoke and you were feeling restless. on one hand you could wait for him to speak up, allow you to open your eyes. on the other, you opened them to peek at what he was doing and he dragged out your punishment.

and to your right lay your husband, asleep. “corio!” you groaned out before shoving his shoulder, “you didn’t think i was going to fuck you tonight? after the shit you pulled? you have fingers, use them.” and coriolanus fell asleep soundly to your attempts to finish off without him.

now that, would teach you a lesson.

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!Reader

(part 2) (part 3)

18+Only, mature themes, intimacy smut, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), paid sex, pet names, insecurities, reader is wearing a skirt, f & m orgasm. WC: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is a 29 year old virgin introvert in need of a confidence boost. Eddie is hired to make our first time a good one. Eddie catches some feelings that he wasn't expecting. Tummy rolls are briefly mentioned, but not in a disparaging way.

A/N: I had this idea last night about him needing the intimacy as much as reader. And then my head started running with all of his possible other clients and the debauchery they could get into together, but this one is just sweet.

Today is your 29th birthday, and your friends pooled their money together to get you the one thing you desperately wanted: to not be a virgin anymore.

You hadn’t been holding onto your virginity for any particular reason, but there had been several factors at play.  First of all, you didn’t like to leave the house much, aside from going to work and the rare meetup with friends, and so the chance of bumping into a promising sexual partner in your hallway was remote.  Secondly, you considered yourself to be fairly plain; you weren't one of the babes that men drooled over or tripped over themselves in the street for.  The crushes you’d had thus far were never reciprocated.  No one had openly pinned over you or held a boombox over their head outside your window, and on the occasion that someone did show interest, they often did not earn your affections. 

Your friends decided, and you agreed, that your first time should be with a professional, a guy who could give you the best first time that money could buy.  

Enter, Eddie Munson.

Covered in tattoos, he played in a band, and  had a reputation around town for being a favorite sexual companion for bored housewives and curious young women alike.  He was notorious for being particular about the clients he took on, though, and he didn’t just advertise in the paper—you had to be referred by a friend.  

That friend came in the form Robin Buckley, one of the baristas your friend Nellie worked with at the coffee shop.

“He’ll treat her right,” Robin assured her, jotting the number down.  “Now, I’ve never needed his services, personally, but I’ve never met an unsatisfied customer.  He makes women feel…desired.  As they should.”

So, there you were, two glasses of wine later, perched at the edge of the sofa in the lobby of the hotel where you’d been told to meet him.  Your friends knew exactly where you were, and there had been paperwork to fill out and sign—you didn’t know gigolos needed official signatures, but all the same, it stripped it down to a business transaction which is basically what it was. There were a few boxes to check off regarding things that turned you on and, conversely, triggers that he should avoid saying or doing during your time together. Did you have a praise kink or a daddy kink? Did you enjoy the use of pet names within intimacy, or was that something he should avoid? Hair pulling, choking, spitting, ass play, all of it was available for a check mark and you felt like you had the potential to compile one seriously huge fuckfest ice cream Sunday.  

He knew you were a virgin, and that you might not even know if you’d like some of the things offered, and he promised to take that into consideration to enhance your experience on the whole. 

Once he had accepted you as a client, he gave Nellie a safety list of things that would make your experience more enjoyable, and one of them had been not to drink too much, because he didn’t want you to engage in any activity you might regret.  Another one was to dress comfortably; there was no need to try and impress him—he was the one who needed to impress you.  

And impress you, he did.

He showed up earlier than expected, beard stubble grown in and a little scruffy (because you said you liked it that way), long hair tied back, button down black shirt cuffed at the elbows exposing his tattoos, and black jeans.  He also had a bouquet of yellow daffodils clutched in his fist, wrapped in cellophane.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and you watched them light up; a smile breaking the sigh that hitched in his chest.  He put the palm of his free hand over his heart as he walked toward you.

“Damn, baby, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he was beaming genuinely, as if he really meant it.  “Even better in person.”  Your friends had shown him a photo of you so that he would know what you looked like, but you had no idea which photo it was.

You didn't feel like you looked good, though, so you lowered your eyes as you got to your feet on wobbly legs, feeling frumpy and bloated, taking in the sharp reminder that he was being paid to lie to you.  You were so nervous, your palms were sweating, and the wine was churning sour in your stomach from the swarm of butterflies in there.

“Hey,” he got close enough to crook his finger under your chin and tilt your head up; his golden flecked, rye bread eyes were serious.  “You know how beautiful you are, right?”

All you could do was nod under the kind assessment of his stare, and it made a smile stretch across his lips. “That’s my girl,” he said, introducing himself properly, handing you the daffodils.

He knew that daffodils were your favorite flower, because of the paperwork you filled out, but you never expected to receive any, since they weren’t even in season.  There must’ve been a flower shop somewhere that had them, and Eddie had found it.  He offered his elbow for you to take.

There were two other people in the elevator, and he pulled you back flush against him, possessively holding you by your hips.

Eddie had a key to the room, and once he pushed the door open, you could tell he’d already been there.  The lights were all off, but for a lamp on the opposite side of the bed near the window, and two candles lit on the desk near the TV.  What you assumed was his leather jacket was the only thing hanging in the closet.  You even spotted Magnum condoms and a fresh bottle of lube on the nightstand.

“How’s the lighting, sweetheart? You want me to turn that lamp off?” 

You specified that you wanted the room to be dark, maybe just enough light to see what each other was doing, but you didn’t want him to see you in full brightness.  This whole time, you’d been too nervous to say more than one or two words.  

“Because, if I’m being honest,” he slid his hand up the side of your neck, palm warm against your skin.  “I really want to see you.”

“It’s fine,” you choked out, unable to hold eye contact with him for too long.  God, you bet he was already regretting taking you on as a client.  What a waste of a boring evening for him; but, at least he was getting paid.  

Yet, not even a flicker of his enthusiasm for you left his eyes.  He took the daffodils from you and put them on the dresser at the foot of the bed.  

When he turned back around, he cupped both hands around the sides of your throat, thumbs at your jawline.  “You can trust me baby.  If things start moving too fast, you let me know okay?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

You bit your lip and then, “a couple times. I had a boyfriend once, but it was long distance and it—”

But then Eddie’s hands slipped up to cup either side of your jaw, fingers slotting at your ears.  He nudged your nose with his, then then he kissed your top lip, parting them with his tongue.  

You closed your eyes, letting him move your head from side to side, and you couldn’t help the moan that squeaked out of your throat as arousal built between your legs.  He smiled against your mouth, nuzzling your nose.  “You’re a good kisser, baby.”

Deciding you liked it when he lied, you allowed yourself to become an active participant and slid your hands up his ribs, clutching him, pulling him closer.  He kissed you softly a few more times, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, and your hand found the courage to travel down yonder and see what was below his belt.  

What you found made your eyes fly open: not only was it huge, but it was hard.  

Eddie chuckled.  “See what you do to me?”

The one thing you had done several times was given a few blow jobs here and there, and so you were working his belt open and dropping to your knees at the same time when he stopped you, catching you at your ribs to pull you back up.

“Tonight is all about you, angel,” he assured, urging you back to drop down to take a seat on the bed.  You stared up at him while he straddled your legs and unbuttoned his shirt.  Once the defined muscles of his chest and scattered tattoos were exposed, he helped you take your shirt off, pulling it over your head, and then he knelt before you.  

You braced your hands behind you as he pushed your skirt up  your thighs, maintaining eye contact.  He caught a glimpse of the lacy underwear you had on and he lifted an approving eyebrow.  

You swallowed hard, and then he was sliding the underwear down your legs and off, kissing your knees as he went.  He came closer, arms nudging your legs wider, taking a glimpse at the glistening gift you had for him underneath.  

Eddie bit his bottom lip, making a hungry groan.  “You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?”

“I think so, um, yes?” your hips twitched forward a bit, begging.  Normally, you were too shy to let others go down on you, but you were determined to get all you could out of this night, knowing it was a rare opportunity.  

He brushed his lips along your thigh as his hands worked your skirt up higher.  You shivered when you felt the warm breath on your swollen lower lips, and then he was watching you as his tongue flicked out in a few kitten licks.  After a taste, enjoying the way you writhed, he buried his mouth, moaning, fingers clutching your thighs.

“Grab my hair, baby,” he said.  “Tell me how much you like it.”

So, you did just that.  His ponytail tie was off, so his hair was around his shoulders, and you slid your fingers in to hold on as he took you in his mouth and rolled your bundle of nerves around with breathtaking accuracy.  

He'd only intended to tease you a bit, but once he tasted you, he couldn't stop. He had his tongue buried inside as soon as he was able, feeling the tip of his cock leak at the gift of your arousal.

It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself beginning to unravel, at it was the first time another person had brought you to that peak. The tension mounted in your belly, going taunt, before it sprang loose and a fizzy warmth gushed through your nerve endings. “just…like that,” you told him.  “I think you might make me…”

You held his head as you were cumming, leg jerking, head falling back, pining his ears wth your thighs.  

He wanted you to kiss him right then and there so that you could taste your release on his mouth, and you obliged, holding his face as you did so, melting into the moment.

For the next minute, you helped each other undress, and it was all happening so organically—it felt so real—that you could almost imagine he was actually your boyfriend, or someone who at the very least, wanted to be. 

Both naked now, he held you close as you stood next to the bed, tracing a finger down the side of your face.  “Are you ready, baby?”

Truly, you’d been ready your whole adult life, and you were glad you had waited for Eddie, even if this was a paid arrangement and you’d probably never see him again.

His lips tended to your neck and your breasts while he worked the condom on, making the educated decision that you were so soaking wet, he wouldn’t need any extra lubrication.  

It was the intimacy that you’d specified wanting to feel; like he was no stranger to you and this moment was something special between two people who felt deeply about each other.  So, he came down close and gave you exactly that, putting his forehead to yours.  “I’m gonna go slow at first, okay?” He breathed.  “You tell me if it’s too much?”

“I will, baby.”

He smiled at the way you returned the use of the pet name, feeling your body open up beneath him as anxiety and doubt morphed into trust.

“Shit,” Eddie broke character for a second as the tip sank in, caught off guard at how tight you were, and he had to pull out again for a second to catch his bearings.  

It was the closeness that he loved, too---he craved it.  He’d never had a client who wanted it this way, and it was the main reason he’d taken you on.  It wasn’t the virgin aspect—surprisingly enough, he’d been a first-time experience for a good handful of his customers.  It was the opportunity to pretend he was someone’s boyfriend for the night—a role he hadn’t played in real life for far too long.  The chance to pretend that you both cared deeply for each other and no one else in the world existed.  

He sank in this time a little further than the tip, and you cursed, but then nodded for him to keep going.  “All of it, baby,” you urged, leaning into your role.

Your core was rippling around his length, aching for more.

He went half in and dipped it back and forth a few times, pausing to watch your face.  

“I’m worried that I–” he started, but then he realized he was breaking character again, and the vulnerability made him stiffen.

“What are you worried about?” You whimpered as he stretched you out a bit more.  Your legs were wide, bottoms of your feet planted on the bed.

He thrust in with a shudder, both of you gasping.  “I’m worried I might like this too much.”

Inside, there were party streamers exploding in your soul at the mutual yearning that ebbed between you.  As you gave yourself over to him, there was a feeling that he was also giving himself over to you, and it felt so real, that you rode the wave with every fiber of your being, wrapping your legs around him, kissing him deep.

The kissing and the endearing moans were about to make him cum, so he sat back, shaking his head, and hooked your knees over his elbows.  

He took you in from under hooded eyes as he made long, slow thrusts inside.  “You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart."

You were so deep in it, you actually believed him this time.

“Harder, baby,” you coaxed. 

That elicited a coy smile and an eyebrow wiggle from him.  “Oh, that's my girl,” he breathed, and then he was fucking you so hard your tits bounced, as did your belly rolls, and you could tell he was getting off at the sight.  His thumb found your nub and worked there, making you expose your throat with a whine, enjoying the wet slap of your arousal as your bodies met.

The connection and intensity between the two of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was manufactured or real, but regardless, you could feel another velvet bomb inside of you about to explode.  

His eyebrows were pinched when you found his eyes.  “I’m close, I’m close, I think I’m…”

The closest you’d ever been to knowing the sweet pull of a mounting orgasm be gore that night was from those moments alone with your vibrator, and having your hole satiated by Eddie thick cock enhanced it in a way you could’ve only imagined.

“Fuck, me too,” he grabbed your thighs with both hands and buried himself over and over.

It never happened this way.  In fact, there had been several times when he had never cum at all: he was always very content to make it about the other person.  He fully intended to wait for your second orgasm before he even tried to relieve himself, but this time it felt too good; he wanted it too fucking bad.  

Your head snapped to the side as you came, babbling his name, walls clenching around his cock in a way that sent his hips jerking, pounding against you, pretending his seed was filling you up instead of a condom.  

Eddie bit his lip as you both chased the high, and then his sweaty forehead was on yours again, long hair grazing your cheeks.  He needed to kiss you when he was done, and that was how you liked it, too.

Your friends had only been able to pay for two hours' worth of Eddie’s time, but you ended up staying for much longer than that, at his urging.  He coaxed you over to lay all of your body weight on him, and the two of you stayed like that, listening to each other breathe. You called to give them this update, and the confusion in Nellie’s voice was priceless.  

When you were both getting dressed, Eddie started buttoning his shirt while you sat down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, so, if you ever want to do this again,” he swallowed, thinking of his words while you waited, head turned to look at him.  He couldn’t meet your eyes, he just kept fumbling at a button.  “You wouldn’t have to be a client.  I mean, I wouldn’t charge you.”

Part 2

[luveline]

May I request a roan & eddie & r's first outing after the wedding and roan is so happy she tells everyone "this is my mom"?

dad!eddie x (step)mom!reader —breakfast on the family moon

The sun is high in the sky that afternoon, and every breeze smells of salt and fresh flowers. Eddie turns his head one way and sees a field of lush green grass, turns it the other and finds himself looking out over the white stone monolith of the family hotel where you’re staying. 

Roan climbs up onto the solid wooden table next to empty plates smeared with syrup and melted chocolate, vying for a last strawberry as big as her hand. “You want that one, bub?” he asks. 

“Can I have it?” 

He bites off the stem. He’s not sure if that’s disgusting, but you’ve married him now, no take-backsies, and you aren’t here to see anyhow. He spits the green into a napkin and offers the fruit to his waiting daughter. “Okay?” 

“Thank you,” she says, catching it in her teeth. “All the fruits are so yummy here.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, baby,” Eddie says. 

She shrugs, pulling her knees up. They’re red from crawling along the wooden table but unscathed, stark against the pale fabric of her dress’ skirt. 

“Look,” he says, pointing at the waiter standing near the restaurant's big patio doors, “the waiter’s gonna see you climbing all over the table and getting your spit on me.” 

Roan turns to look. Her behaviour remains unchanged. “Where’s mommy?” 

Eddie drags her backwards off of the wood and into his lap. He kisses her cheek, her forehead, hoping to imbue the intensity of what he’s feeling on to her —he’s never been this content in his life. He’s married you, and marriage is a piece of paper and all his heroes would laugh in his face but would they? Because what’s better than finding your person, and loving them, and getting to be loved back? “She’s getting another plate for you and your good appetite.” 

Roan’s been just as thrilled since the wedding. She cried a little on the plane from the changing pressure, but before and after that she’s been a vestibule of joy. She turns into his kissing to cuddle him by the neck, her arms around him and her hair tickling his throat. “Mommy said we can try surfing today.” 

“I know! Do you think you’re ready to surf? We got you that wetsuit, all we need is a boogie board.” 

“A what?” 

“It’s like a surfboard, but not so big,” he explains, stroking her curls back from her face absentminded, eyes scanning inside of the hotel restaurant for a hint of your pale dress. 

“I want a real surfboard.” 

“Mm, no, babe. You can’t carry a surfboard. It’s okay though, we’re gonna be on boogie boards too.” 

She leans back. “Can we have more breakfast?” 

“Let’s see what Y/N brings back.” 

You’re summoned by his name drop, edging toward the patio doors as you chat to one of the waiters. You’re laughing politely, attempting to point to your two Munson’s but struggling with the plates you carry, one in each hand, while drinks pressed between your arm and chest threaten to spill. The waiter takes one of your plates. 

“Aw, sugar, thank you,” you say, “it’s just there. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” the waiter says with an easy customer service smile. 

You and the waiter approach and put down the plates and cups. “Hi, baby,” you say, visibly perplexed at Roan’s huge smile. 

“This is my mom,” Roan tells the waiter. 

“And she’s just as beautiful as you are, hun. You are a lucky guy,” he directs his last comment at Eddie. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Eddie says. 

“We just got married,” you say proudly. 

“But how old are you?” the waiter asks Roan. 

She holds up five fingers, and then a sixth. 

“You were slow,” the waiter says to Eddie. 

“It’s not his fault, we’ve been engaged almost a year,” you say, “and we didn’t know one another until not even three years ago, so–”

Roan doesn’t care about the waiter’s confusion. She reaches for you where she’s sitting in Eddie’s lap, almost tipping onto the floor as she stretches as far as her arms can go. She whines until you take notice. 

“Hi,” you say, cutting yourself off to pick her up. “What, babe?” 

“I love you,” she says. 

You and Eddie laugh. The waiter makes a sound of understanding. “She looks like dad because you are the stepmom,” he says. 

“Just mom,” you say, giving her a little kiss. “She really does look like her dad though, huh? Except he’s not covered in chocolate.” 

“We can arrange that.” 

You laugh against Roan’s cheek, “I love you,” you say, just for her, “I got you a bowlful of strawberries, your skin is gonna turn pink ‘cos you’ve eaten so many. Love you.” 

Roan closes her eyes. She’s been smothered in love for a week straight and there’s no signs of it ever stopping. “I love you too. Let’s have melon.” 

“I got some.” 

Eddie nudges you back into your seat. “Alright, quick, we need to eat and sleep it off for an hour before we go surfing. Chop chop.”

“He’s so bossy,” Roan says.

“I know, baby. Don’t listen to him.” 

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[dearmura]

daydreamin'

☆ cw. reader uses she/her pronouns + is referred to as girlfriend, a teensy weensy bit of cursing, the reader is hit on by some creep at one point, not proofread

☆ pairings. non-idol! riki × fem! reader

☆ genre. fluff, strangers to lovers

☆ synopsis. summer would've proven to be monotonous, the greatest thrill being the audacity of the ice parlor's customers. that is until a new face walks in, leaving you daydreamin'

☆ a.n. enhypen exists in this au but let's pretend that riki isn't an idol for story purposes

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"one scoop of mint chocolate ice cream, one of cookies and cream, one of rasberry, and one of chocolate in a sugar cone with rainbow sprinkles, chocolate drizzles and Oreos on top. and get it right, it's for my kid" they end with a forced smile, not even bothering to say please or thank you, not that you weren't used to it. sadly, you wish you could say that was the weirdest order you've gotten but, one thing this job has taught you is that kids, and parents alike, are weirdos. nevertheless you make the salty parent's order with a feigned smile and don't bother when they snatch it from your hands, throwing you the cash and not even bothering with the change

one would think that working in an ice cream shop in the hot summer heat would be ideal

if they didn't have the job, that is

but you were in no place to complain. while scooping questionable orders for ipad kids and karen parents all summer wasn't your passion project per se, it did help bring money in, money you desperately needed to afford tickets to enhypen's tour. with your unfortunate luck last year, you couldn't afford to not see them again this year. therefore, you were left to deal with a customer service job you hated where you feigned smile all day, motivated by the motto 'enhypen's worth it'

you wish you could say you at least made a friend in the process, though, your co-workers consisted of retired old folk who were too much of overachievers to at stay home and bask in their retirement money and kids around your age who you can only assume were too popular to be in your league

mentally cursing as the rude woman walked away, you compose yourself before serving the next customer who only makes you double take. a boy around your age with a height no one other than a k-idol could bear. he spoke in a low voice you'd be lying if you said wasn't attractive

"wow, that woman seemed really rude umm...y/n" he eyed your name tag before meeting your gaze, making you furrow your brows and shake your head on instinct

"no no no it's alright, I'm used to it" you reassure him. though, your answer doesn't seem very convincing to him. he frowns

"no, no it's not, no one should be used to that, I'm sorry" he apologizes, albeit, you don't know what for but, nevertheless, you nod

"thank you, babe. I'm sorry, what can I get for you?" you mentally curse at yourself for the term of endearment that slips past your lips. though, he doesn't seem to mind

"it's alright. actually, that woman speaking to you like that rubbed me the wrong way. what would you recommend, y/n?" he asked, looking at you with expectant eyes, which only make you blush

"um, I usually like to order a chocolate and vanilla swirl with rainbow sprinkles" you giggle a little

"it's the best of both worlds I guess, no need to choose a flavor when you have both" you reason, looking up at the boy whose eyes crinkle in joy. a warm laugh comes from the boy that only warms your heart

"valid. I'll take that then, please" he ends with a smile, which you return

"coming right up!" you say too giddily, as you turn around to make his ice cream you mentally curse at yourself for being so excited for no reason. though, you don't stop yourself from swirling the ice cream a little slower than usual to ensure his cone was perfect and a little higher than you're supposed to serve them

smuthering his cone in sprinkles, you hope he actually enjoys it considering you gave him extra of everything, not that he needed to know

"here ya go. that'll be $2.50, sir" you say, carefully handing him the cone, your fingers grazing his. your ignore the quickening of your pulse at the contact

"thank you so much" he hesitates a little before he continues

"and you can call me riki by the way, sir makes me sound way too old" he jokes, handing you a $5 bill as he laughes. nodding, you take the bill, your fingers failing to touch much to your dismay. upon handing him back his two bills and quarters, he doesn't even look before immediately placing them in the tip jar. thanking you again, he turns to leave, beginning to lick a stripe off his ice cream. though, you couldn't quite catch his reaction

as the door closed behind him, you catch your smile lingering a little too long for your liking. clearing your throat, you attempt to compose yourself, eying the clock until the very last minute. wiping down the tables and cleaning the ice cream machine kept you busy until closing. you wish you could say the thought of the sweet boy didn't entertain you through those last few hours but you'd be lying. in the back of your mind, you secretly hoped he would return soon

to let you know if he liked your recommendation of course...

✧

the next sale will begin in:

34 days 9 hours 0 minutes and 5 seconds

as if checking every hour would suddenly make them appear, you couldn't help but stalk the ticketmaster page, desperately waiting for seating charts, vip packages, or just prices in general to drop. with your entire happiness this summer being determined by whether or not you were going to enhypen's concert, you couldn't help but be utterly paranoid

with a heavy sigh, you peel your eyes away from your phone, dragging your feet slightly as you add the ingredients into the ice cream machine. as if the stress of ticketing and insensitive customers had not been enough, you'd been assigned the opening shift, a time you thought was ungodly to buy ice cream, but, you couldn't complain. overtime did mean more money in your pocket, so you opted to keep your complaints to yourself

as the day continued, you couldn't deny that the boy was on your mind again. even amongst tamer regulars, he was the one person you genuinely wanted to see

"um excuse me. I don't know why it's so hard for you to get it through your thick skull, but I ordered my ice cream in a waffle cone, not sugar cone" a woman spat out, shoving the cone in your hands before you could begin to unpack that statement

"I'm sorry ma'am but you ordered your ice cream on a sugar cone so I made it that way" you tried to reason, knowing damn well that she specified sugar, not waffle

"well the customer is always right! so quit the sass and do your j-"

"ma'am, I know this is none of my business but this young woman said she made your order to the 't,' so would you please have some human decency, admit your sorry, and leave her alone, please" the voice you'd been waiting yearning for all day rang out, interrupting the bitter words that came from the woman's mouth. looking up, your eyes meet his, which only give you a look of reassurance. completely stunned by his actions, the woman finds herself at a loss of words, grumbling as she stormed out of the parlor like a child throwing a tantrum

giggling as the door jingled behind her, he stepped forward, now directly parallel to you across the counter

"you never seem to catch a break, now do you?" he almost laughs, still amused at the woman's childlike nature. trying to keep your composure, you only shrug with a smile

"thank you, again. for caring I mean. you didn't have to do that" you insist, unable to meet his eyes, a little nervous being around someone you deemed way too out of your league. he only frowns

"y/n, this is only my second time meeting you but I swear if someone tries to disrespect you again, I will defend you towards the ends of the earth. who else is gonna recommend me ice cream flavors?" he ends with a teasing smile, which you only scoff at, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach at the implications of the beginning of his statement

his smile grows, a contagious expression which only reflects back to you

"speaking of ice cream recommendations, that was quite possibly the best ice cream I've ever had. when I got home, I couldn't stop thinking about coming back here. please share some more of your ice cream secrets, oh wise one" he teases, making you giggle. you ignore how your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him thinking about you like you had him

no

it wasn't like that

right?

you tap your chin comically as you think. the whole time, he bears an expectant look on his face, giving you his full, undivided attention, making you a little nervous if you do say so yourself

"you fancy me as a cookie dough kind of guy" you joke, playing along, making him smirk

"is that so?" he gives you an amused look. you don't miss the way his eyes rake you before returning to yours

"I'll take your word. I'll have that then, please" he smiles, sitting down on a stool in front of the counter, still parallel to you, watching as you make the treat

"so, if you don't mind me asking, what brought you here? there must be a reason why you wanna stay here even after all these fussy customers" he asks curiously, eyes never leaving you. as you scoop a few spoons of the cookie dough, you smile to yourself

"just trying to save up for a concert that's all" you tell the truth, opting to not elaborate, guessing he wouldn't care to ask anyways. your answer seems to pique his interest as he rests his chin in his hand, eyeing you with a curious look

"ooo what artist?" he questions, much to your surprise. you decide to tease the boy a bit, feeling oddly comfortable with him already though you just met him the previous day

"you sure do ask a lot of questions don't you? definitely cookie dough" you don't miss how he smiles to himself at your comment. he lifts his arms in defense with a warm smile

"got me there. now who are you seeing?" he continues. at this point you hand him his ice cream, making sure to add rainbow sprinkles on top. though he didn't ask for them, you did so nonetheless considering how he seemed to enjoy them the previous day. your guess seemed to be correct as his eyes lit up immediately

"oh thank you" *gasp* "how'd you know I love sprinkles" he takes a spoonful of the treat, humming in delight as his eyes shut, his head thrown back dramatically

"you're a genius, y/n, I swear" he says through mouthfuls of ice cream, making you laugh

"thank you, and, to answer your question, I'm seeing enhypen. have you h-" he immediately lets out a gasp, almost choking on his spoonful. bracing his chest, he swallows his bite before looking at you with wide eyes

"you like enhypen?" he speaks in a hoarse voice which you only guess is from the coldness he quickly swallowed. you nod questionably, still confused as to why he had such a visceral reaction. he throws his head back in disbelief before craning his neck back to face you, leaning forward over the counter, resting his chin in his hand once more

"I literally religiously listen to their music it's not even funny" he jokes, taking another spoonful of ice cream

"what can I say? only hot people love enha" you state, not even processing your words until they come out of your mouth. eyes widening, you immediately regret it after seeing him look up from his ice cream with a teasing smile

"so are you implying I'm hot?" he teases, cocking his head to the side as he raises his eyebrows, making you freeze, scrambling to come up with some witty response to save yourself

"well I was implying I was hot actually but I guess you're included in there too" you state, masking your nervousness with feigned confidence. he bursts into a fit of laughter, throwing his head back and clapping his hands, a habit you found way too cute for your liking. calming down, he wipes away the tears that formed in his eyes, giving you an approving nod

"touche, touche"

high from your sudden boost of confidence, you continue playing along, matching his energy

"so then you're implying I'm hot. touche, am I right?" you say with a look way too innocent for your intentions. giving him your best does eyes in an attempt to amuse the boy. you could see his act falter a bit as he scoffs taken aback by your words, low-key finding it really attractive

"if the shoe fits" he states simply, as if his words weren't going to replay in your mind the rest of the day and keep you up at night pondering their intentions. taking one last spoonful of his ice cream, he walks toward the counter to pay, immediately putting his change in the tip jar just as he did the previous day. before leaving, he didn't forget to bid you a goodbye, promising to come by the next day to see you

a jake stan you presume

✧

the next sale will begin in:

12 days 6 hours 0 minutes and 2 seconds

though the shop had it's flaws, one thing about it you adored was the days off. with every employee being part time, the manager decided to just give everyone a day off every week to meet the hour requirements for part timers. having a day to yourself to escape the antarctic temperatures and even colder people was essential

normally, you would have stayed home and basked in your ability to sleep in. though, you ultimately decided against it when finding out the local pool was open. now you weren't a fan of public pools, infested with children who fail to control their bladders. but, with your oddly good luck, you arrive at a time earlier than most head for a swim, ensuring the pool all to yourself

slipping your towel off your skin, you gently make your way into the water, hissing at the cold temperature. sighing in relief as your muscles seemed to relax, you bask in the sunlight. bracing yourself with your arms off the edge of the pool, you sway your feet up and down, almost like a mermaid. you laugh to yourself. suddenly getting an idea, you slide yourself into the water fully, gripping onto the edge of the pool with just your hands. dipping your hair in the water, you wip back singing "part of your world~" as water splashes all around you dramatically

as you look up, your smile slowly drops as a heavy blush takes over your face

"hey, princess" that same voice you found yourself replaying in your mind rang out just above you. he gives you a smile but you only widen your eyes at the name, making him suddenly go into a frenzy

"no no no, I didn't mean it in like a player, f-boy way. like princess as in princess ariel. and you were just ariel so I-" you only giggle at his panicked stage, finding him increasingly adorable by the minute

"are you gonna keep rambling or are you gonna join me?" you tease, suddenly getting confidence boost. you immediately pat yourself on the back when you see a blush take over his face. you pretend not to notice. he shyly slips his way into the pool beside you, albeit a few feet adjacent to you, only amusing you more

"don't worry, riki. I don't bite on fridays" you slip your sunglasses down your nose, giving him a teasing look which he only returns with a shy smile. for a few minutes, you two sat in silence like that. it was then when it finally occurred to you that your conversations never went beyond the shop. desperately trying to think up a conversation, he thankfully starts

"I really like ariel" he finally speaks up, meeting your gaze with an unsure look. you smile warmly at his comment. he continues

"my older sister, konon, had this bright red hair when we were little. I always told her she looked like ariel" he laughs at the memory, almost making you feel like you were there too

"I guess she kind of became my favorite Disney princess 'cause she reminded me of her. you know how younger siblings kinda idolize their big sisters at that age. and my little sister, sola." he smiles to himself "gosh she's a character"

"you and your sisters must be close" you say, orienting yourself to face him, giving him your full, undivided attention. he pretends not to be flustered by the sudden attention, nodding with a smile

"what brings you here by the way? I WAS planning on having the pool all to myself so you at least owe me an explanation" you joke. he hesitates a little before responding, refusing to meet your gaze

"well, I was gonna get ice cream butsawyouweren'tthere so I decided to come here to cool off" he mutters his words in the middle but you understand nevertheless. with a smile, you lightly push his side a little. you don't miss the way he tenses at the contact

"it's not like scooping ice cream is a skill. you could've gone in even if I wasn't there" you tease, seeing him smile to himself a little at your words

"I dunno, it's not the same without you there" he finally meets your gaze as he speaks. you panic a little at his confession

"ya! you ruined ice cream for me. now I can't have it without you" he complains dramatically, making you giggle. you don't notice his smile forming at your happy state

"well I'm sorry I let you down today. how about we have some now, my treat" you offer, seeing the glimmer in his eyes at your invitation. you can practically see the cogs turning in his head as he contemplates the right response. deciding to tease him further, you gradually climb the steps to get out of the water

"I'm not getting any younger~" he is immediately snapped out of his thoughts at your words. without thinking, he gently grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks

"it's a date" he gives you an unsure look, biting his lip a little in anticipation. you try to keep your composure but the look on his face was too priceless. giggling like a teenage girl, you shake his hand away playfully

"don't get ahead of yourself now" you tease, flashing him a smile as you run off playfully. searching for you things, you rummage through your bag in search of your towel. mentally cursing at yourself, you realize you had forgotten it at home. pouting at the implications of you walking around town all wet, you sigh

emerging from the water himself, riki quickly takes notice of your frustrated state. searching for his towel, he wordlessly approaches your wet figure

"may I?" holding the towel just before it made contact with your back, he gives you a warm smile. giving him a shy nod, you quietly thank him, not missing the way he tries not to touch you out of respect as he helps drape it around you

"let's go, yeah?" waiting for you, you stop dead in your tracks at his actions. inhaling, you didn't miss the boy's scent hitting your nose, soothing you. in a weird way, you felt a gravitation towards the boy you couldn't quite explain. felt so safe with him though you'd only met him not long ago. shaking your thoughts, you hold the towel around yourself, nodding a shy thank you before following him

upon reaching the ice cream parlor, he insisted you choose for him, requesting you "surprise" him. with a playful roll of your eyes, you order for the both of you, reaching for your wallet to pay only for him to hand his own bill to the woman behind the counter, much to your surprise. with a smile, he insists its his treat as an apology for interrupting your pool day

making sure to hand you your ice cream first, you thank him before you begin to walk. about to leave himself, the employee stops him before you notice

"your girlfriend is beautiful by the way, you're a very lucky guy" the old woman gives him a smile as she hands over the soft serve. blushing to himself a little, he returns her smile

"I know"

"riki!" you call after him after noticing he wasn't next to you. beckoning him over, he takes one last glance at the woman before running to catch up to you. smiling as he slowly reached you, your eyes catch an arcade down the street. both giving each other a challenging look, you wordlessly agree to head there

✧

"but you already bought me ice cream. that's not fair" you complain with a pout, refusing to let riki pay for your tokens. trying to stop him from inserting his bill only proved to be fruitless, using your height against you. raising it above his head, he smirks as he sees you struggle. fingers gripping onto his shirt as leverage, you use the other to futility reach for the bill. he masks his blush with a smile, pretending as if he wasn't internally screaming at your touch

"come on! you're holding up the line! just let your boyfriend pay already" a bystander stresses, causing a blush to come over both of you. suddenly aware of your proximity, you let go of the boy, stepping away as you let him slip the money into the machine. collecting the tokens, you two walk away together, trying desperately to hold your laughter but mutually breaking after only a few steps of silence

with a gasp, he immediately pulls you to two basketball machines adjacent to each other off to the right of the arcade. giddily inserting the tokens into their respect slots, you shoot him a smirk

"watch and learn pretty boy" you tease, knowing VERY well you were all bark and no bite. you can see his tongue poking at the side of his cheek, amused

"we'll see about that, babe" he challenges, his voice dropping an octave in a tone too attractive than you'd like to admit

as if on cue, the clock starts and basketballs roll down the ramp. your eyes widen at the boys lightening reflexes, immediately grabbing a ball. taking a gulp, you swiftly pick up a ball yourself, shooting and (thankfully) succeeding much to your surprise

with new found motivation to beat the boy, you keeping shooting, glancing over at his score every so often as you waited for balls to roll down. as if feeling your eyes on him, the boy turns his head, throwing you a wink

"this one's for you, y/n" he says in a voice you assume was supposed to sound flirty. rolling your eyes, you watch as he dramatically dribbles the ball, flicking his wrist as he throws it only to completely miss the net. a wide-eyed look comes over his face, absolutely crushing his ego. you can't help but burst out laughing, doubling over as you brace yourself against the boy

soon enough, the buzzer goes off with you two only making a couple of shots, not that you cared. eyeing the scoreboards, you smirk. turning to the boy, you bat your eyelashes mockingly at him, rubbing your win in his face. with a smile, he accepts defeat, satisfied enough by seeing you have a good time. with a giggle, he watches you flaunt the tickets you won

with a gasp, you tap the boy excitedly, pointing toward a claw machine just a few games down. you (of course) take the opportunity to tease him

"if you get me something from there, maybe we can all forget about that excuse for a shot back there" you cock your head, giving him a challenging look. he hates the way your attitude worked wonders on his mind. how it makes it much harder to resist looking at your lips. how it turns his mind into putty and makes him eager enough for your attention to instantly take you up on the offer. though he would've done it anyway if it meant your happiness

"which one do you want?" he asks, scanning the plushies for himself, mentally playing a guessing game of which you would choose. as soon as you laid eyes on the machine, you knew exactly which one you wanted. with a smile, you happily pointed to a little duck plushie. he gives you a questioning look but inserts the tokens nonetheless

being places in be middle of two games, the claw machine had only the facet facing you visible. combined with his tall frame, you found it hard to watch. with a pout, you searched for a way to observe him play, eyes lighting up when you see an opening just in front of the boy

slipping just under the boy's arms, you feel him freeze a little before resting his chin on your forehead, continuing to jut the switch "strategically." the same feeling took over yourself. you were nothing to him but why did it feel right to be this close to him? why did you feel so safe at this proximity and crave more than just the contact of his chin on your head?

your thoughts are interrupted by him pulling away, much to your dismay, shouting in celebration at his win as he happily danced around like a child. swiftly grabbing the duck plushie from the slot, he handed it to you with a smile, which you only returned

"okay, okay, I'll forget about that lame shot. thank you riki" you smile, eyes lingering a little too long as they meet his. giving you a playful nudge, you giggle as you watch him feign annoyance. hugging your duck plushie, you hold it up next to his face, using your other hand to caress your chin in a pondering manner

"hmm there's definitely a resemblance" you tease, looking up at the boy who only gives you an unamused look. you giggle as he pouts a bit, further proving your point

"you're too cute" you say with a laugh, only further annoying him

"not cute" he mumbles under his breath, crossing his arms like a child, earning a chuckle from you

"if you insist my little duckie" your voice raises in a teasing manner toward the end, already sensing his annoyance growing

he was too easy

"oh you're gonna get it" he threatens with a scoff too attractive for the situation

"not if you can't catch me~" you tease, running off before he could realize it, searching for a hiding spot amongst the neon lights and laughing crowds, face lighting up at a perfect spot just behind the basketball machines. being on a slant, you'd be under the upper portion of the game, giving you enough space to hide without being too claustrophobic

you almost laugh at how childish you were being but he didn't seem to care, eagerly searching for you through the crowds. with the spot in sight, you try to slip your way through the many people huddled around the arcade machines, running as fast as you could. your tunnel vision didn't seem to take notice of a quite everything in front of you, though. you immediately stop in your tracks at a figure in front of you just before you ram into them

"hey hey what's the rush pretty girl?" a boy around your age stood before you, a smug look on his face. your breath quickened a bit. for some odd reason, you couldn't help but feel disgusted at his words. like they were wrong to hear. like you were betraying riki in a way but letting the boy very obviously flirt with you. flashing him a fake smile, you try to slip through the crowds to lose him but he persists, taking hold of your arm with a vice grip

"let me go!" tears start to well in your eyes in fear, no one seeming to notice. scanning the crowds of people for the boy seemed futile

"relax, babe. we can talk this over somewhere else, yeah?" he smirks, starting to drag you toward the door. hot tears roll down your eyes as you try shaking his grip away

"hey! she told you to let her go" a familiar voice appears. with a hopeful look, you lock eyes with riki whose face bares a petrified expression. you can see the pain in his eyes as he feigns a confident look

"and who are you?" the stranger asks bitterly. you see him hesitate before he speaks, giving you a look beforehand, almost an 'im sorry'

"she's my girlfriend, so if she told you to let her go, then let her the fuck go" his voice shakes, his anger not masking his fear entirely, but you suppose the boy doesn't notice, immediately letting go of your arm, lifting his arms defensively before walking out the door

as your eyes finally meets riki's, his gaze softens, enveloping you into a tight hug. hit with the gravity of the situation if he weren't there, you cling to him, letting your tears dampen his shirt as he holds your head, massaging your scalp

"I'm so sorry I let you out of my sight, angel. I promise it'll never happen again" his voice was soft, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as his arms never left your side. you ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the name, too focused on his warm hold seemingly washing your worries away. cupping your cheek, he looks into your eyes with a soft smile as he rubs soothing circles onto your skin as he gently wipes a tear away

"how about I take you home" he whispers, looking down into your eyes as he towered over your figure. nodding wordlessly, you let him lead you towards the door, hand still around your waist, too afraid to let you go. you knew by now he was a man of boundaries, one of respect. but he couldn't bring himself to leave your side. placing a hand over his on your waist gave him the reassurance he needed that he had your consent

in that moment, you realize he never corrected himself when he addressed you as his girlfriend

you didn't seem to mind

walking through the streets as he led you home, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. the fact that a bystander would probably mistaken you two for a couple and you wouldn't correct them. you couldn't help but shake the thought that you could get used to it

upon reaching your door, you could see the hesitation in his movements, slowly dropping his hand from your waist. he scans you before speaking, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear

"are you sure you're okay, y/n" his voice softens as he searches into your eyes for any sign of discomfort

"never been better" you smile, slipping your hands around his neck, embracing him as an expression of your gratitude "thank you." you close your eyes as you squeeze him tighter, knowing he would never truly know how grateful you were for him through words alone

"my pleasure" he watches intently as you pull away, pulling your keys out to unlock your door. as your back faces him, he can't shake the one thought he had on his mind, couldn't let you slip away from him once more. with a gentle grip on your wrist, he pulls you back into his arms. hands coming up to cup your cheeks, he tilts his head, lips colliding with yours

for a second, the world stopped, the only thing running through your mind being the sweet taste of vanilla on the boy's lips. as the reality hits you, you follow his movements, tangling your fingers through the boy's soft locks. you feel a hot tear roll down your cheek, feeling utterly complete at the contact you've been craving for too long. as if this very moment answered all of the burdening questions and doubts that previously ran through your mind

and just like that, it got stripped away from you

he pulls away abruptly, eyes shifting frantically as his hands came up to his hair, pulling at the strands you once touched. you can hear his breath quicken as he speaks

"fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn't mean to do that. I didn't even ask for your consent. you were just hit on by some creep and this is what I do. God, I'm such a horrible person" you hear his voice shake as he paces back and forth

"please don't hate me" he locks eyes with you. only then do you see the streaks of tears rolling down his cheeks and the bloodshot nature of his eyes

"oh, ki, I could never hate you" tears begin to well in your own eyes. you attempt to approach the boy, cupping his cheeks in reassurance. he only feels disgusted with himself at your actions, feeling as if he manipulated you to feel that way. knowing you would never feel the same as he did you, he mutters an 'im sorry' before leaving

in that moment, it was as if every foot away from the boy was another one you'd never get back. you wish you could blame someone, something, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were part to blame. like sand, you let the boy slip right through your hold. only the remnants of what used to be remained, leaving you completely empty

✧

the next sale will begin in:

8 days 18 hours 9 minutes and 26 seconds

"one scoop of mint chocolate ice cream, one of cookies and cream, one of rasberry, and one of chocolate in a sugar cone with rainbow sprinkles, chocolate drizzles and Oreos on top. and get it right, it's for my kid" they end with a forced smile, not even bothering to say please or thank you, not that you cared. every day felt like an endless loop, a time without meaning ever since the boy left you that day. how much you wished to see his puma eyes and tall figure walk through those glass doors. how you wish you could've hugged him tighter that day, then maybe he would still be here with you

forcing a smile became increasingly difficult. anybody could see you were at your breaking point. as the days passed and the voicemails accumulated, it felt as if you deserved to be ghosted, deserved the rude treatment, only pulling yourself through the day by pure muscle memory

eyes flickering to the clock, you began to lose hope that the boy would ever walk through those doors again. taking your last order, you greet the family goodbye with a feigned smile before you heave the heavy mop onto the tile floor emotionlessly. hearing the bell at the door ringing, you take in a sharp breath

"sorry we're closed" you force out, not even feeling like feigning a peppy voice. hearing a pair of shoes shuffling closer, you clench your jaw, ready to break at any point. looking up, your eyes meet the ones that have kept you up on sleepless nights, haunted your thoughts

wordlessly, you run to the boy, not even bothering to stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks. immediately doing what you dreamt of doing these past nights, you tiptoe to reach the boy, cupping his cheeks softly and letting his lips meet yours. your breath hitches and you taste the saltiness of your tears as you feel the boy's soft lips you missed dangerously. letting his forehead meet yours, you whisper painfully

"please don't leave again. please, ki" you breath out, interlocking your fingers in his hair as you did that day

"I promise, angel. I promise. I'm so sorry for being such a coward" you only shush the boy, relishing in the warmth you missed oh so much. you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when his hands find purchase on your waist. you can't help but think the fit was too perfect for it not mean to be

"angel" he whispers sweetly into your ear, making your breath hitch. you only hum in response, not wanting release your hold on him just yet

"will you be mine?" he caressed your cheek softly as he whispers. you only giggle through tears

"only if you come see enha with me" you smile, leaning into the touch. wiping the tears from his cheeks, he chuckles

"you got yourself a deal"

fin

author's note: I hope you can tell I love angst but only to a certain extent cuz this one lasted a grand total of 5 seconds😍

also this is my first longer fic so pls let me know what you think!!! I would really appreciate it<3

@hachimarii 🤭🤭

[dmercer91]

ebug's sister, dm91

part one / part two / part three / part four /

i accidentally deleted this with ctrl z THREE TIMES i was going to have a mental breakdown

blakefriarr_

liked by dawson1417, edwards.73, and 5,612 others

blakefriarr_: my brother's an ebug, episode four!

i thought my last post was missing something, and i decided it was eyebrows looking horrified at something in front of him, so that’s back. see slide four

from the top, though, slide one is rowdy and merc sitting on the bench. nothing special other than dawson very closely inspecting the blade of his stick

then we have daws in the sin bin repenting for his crimes. they give them little juice boxes like school children!! go to timeout and have your lil drink, it’ll make you less prone to felonies <3. he’s even matching with the zebra, cute!

fifth and not finally, we have dawson, again, looking all cute n shit, to balance things out, obviously, cause this post didn’t have enough of him already.

actually finally, we have me and jj (we’re about to express a light to moderate amount of emotion, babes. viewer direction is advised)

jj let me literally cry on his shoulder last night, and this morning he brought me (i drove, but that’s besides the point cause he initiated it) on an impromptu shopping spree!! some old hag looking bitch at work screamed at me for something that was entirely out of my control and made me cry about seventeen minutes into my eight hour shift yesterday, and twin mode was very activated in him.

he even bought us those dazzling glasses and posed for my photo, AND he stood outside the dressing rooms while i tried clothes on and gave me very crucial information on wether or not i should buy things (one nod for yes, a look of complete disgust for meh, and a dumbass smile for ‘this looks great but i refuse to say it even though we are biologically the same and look almost identical’)

thank you, slightly older brother, for being there for me and listening to me complain about my often overwhelming and underpaid job <3 i love you like 96% of the time

view 691 comments..

jj.friar31: you're welcome, slightly younger sister <3 i love you like 97% of the time

→ blakefriarr_: aww that's like a lot of the time

jj.friar31: every time you whip out hockey vocab like stick blade i am painfully reminded of the year i didn't try out for rep and we played on the same team

→ blakefriarr_: why are you acting like stick blade is extravagant hockey lingo

→ jj.friar31: mom calls it the bendy part

dougieham: i'm scared to ask.. you played hockey??

→ blakefriarr_: i was an enforcer.

→ jj.friar31: she's not kidding.

rutgermcgroarty: slay

adamfantilli: slay

nicohischier: the face was cause i saw jj in the stands and i know you're his ride. also, don't call me 'eyebrows' ever again

→ blakefriarr_: well what else am i supposed to call you

→ nicohischier: nico????

→ blakefriarr_: why would i ever call you nico that is completely absurd

seamuscasey26: slay

dawson1417: i feel appropriately appreciated every time jj is the ebug cause i get ample screen time in these glorious things

→ blakefriarr_: what is the inappropriate amount of appreciation

→ dawson1417: this, usually. but for you there is no inappropriate amount, appreciate me as much as you want

→ drayanewman: AYO

dawson1417: also, you got yelled at?

→ blakefriarr_: customer service core

→ dawson1417: text me :(

→ jj.friar31: you have his NUMBER!?!?!?!!?!?

→ blakefriarr_: shhhhhh you're sleep typing go back to bed

dylanduke25: slay

jackhughes: did you just call me rowdy

→ blakefriarr_: it can read

→ jackhughes: how did you find that classified information

→ blakefriarr_: there's a groupchat.

→ jj.friar31: you have MULTIPLE of their phone numbers?!?!?!?!

→ blakefriarr_: i thought i told you to go back to sleep what are you still doing here

→ trevorzegras: can i be part of this groupchat you speak of

→ blakefriarr_: ariana what are you doing here

→ blakefriarr_: but also yeah i'll get quinner to add you

mackie.samo: slay

ryangraves27: your camera is on dawson

→ blakefriarr_: whatever this was (a question? a statement? an observation? a complaint? all of the above? fucked if i know) i hated it

→ blakefriarr_: please use at least a question mark, a period, something, ANYTHING, gravy i'll give you your own post. do you want jj? you can have jj this is like an ad for him tbh great emotional support entity

→ dawson1417: gravy i will pay you actual american dollars to ensure you do not get your own post before i do

→ blakefriarr_: that is really sweet, daws, but i cannot go on like this please

markestapa: slay

edwards.73: slay

→ blakefriarr_: ok i've had enough @/lhughes_06 WHAT have you done

→ lhughes_06: i have no idea what you're talking about

→ blakefriarr_: i am living in your bones.

→ lhughes_06: ... i'm not even really sure how i can reply to that

luca.fantilli: slay?

→ blakefriarr_: @/lhughes_06 sleep with both eyes open. one is not enough.

→ lhughes_06: you said i was dumber than quinn which is just entirely incorrect

→ blakefriarr_: that was more than TWO WEEKS AGO??? have you been plotting this since my birthday?? and this is all you could come up with??

→ lhughes_06: i was aiming for confusion

blakefriarr_: update: groupchat participant that will remain anonymous has sent me the video of luke calling hockey a business. i'm laughing so hard that i can't even threaten the university children

→ lhughes_06: QUINN??

→ _quinnhughes: i plead the fifth

view more comments..

[specialinterestshows]

Go on a short road trip to meet up with your girlfriend in this particularly long chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Suspicious/unpleasant strangers (can be interpreted as racism, depending on the reader), dirty talk, social/crowd anxiety, parasocial media

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 63 of ?): The Best Planned Lays

“Heading out now! Should get there after the show ends. Love you!”

After hitting “send”, you switched over from the texts between you and Rhea to the ones between you and Marisol. The two of you had been messaging almost constantly since the smoke session at your apartment; she had left you with a parting kiss that had been difficult to get off your mind.

“Going to be driving for a while. You can still send messages, I just won’t see them for a couple hours.”

Rhea’s text reached you right after you hit send on Mari’s:

“Love you, babe - see you soon”

It ended with her usual black heart, making you bite your lip and smile. You’d been looking forward to tonight all week.

Checking that you had everything you needed one last time, you set your phone inside your bag before looking through your CDs and popping in your favorite.

The first hour of your trek flew by - you hummed and sang along to the music, sipping water when you had the cruise control on. Every now and then, you would remember what awaited you and couldn’t help but get excited at the thought.

After your journey reached an hour and a half’s time, the water caught up with you and you began looking for a rest stop - casually at first, then more urgently.

“I’llbuysomethinginaminutesorry!” you call across the diner whose lot you parked in, dashing past the tables toward the “customers only” sign above the restroom door.

“You better!” an exhausted voice shouts back from the register as you quickly shuffle into the bathroom.

“So what’ll it be?”

The voice startled you as you walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, almost running into the woman from the register. She looked you over warily, eyes resting on your bag for more than a second.

“Your order,” she clarified, widening her stance as if she expected you to run.

“Let me take a look at what you have,” you tell her, slowly walking over to the counter as you took out your wallet to show her you did, in fact, intend on paying for something.

This seemed to satisfy her, but did nothing to brighten her mood as she walked behind the counter.

“Hmmm…” you looked through the glass at the ready-made goods, spotting an appetizer you could easily devour before continuing your drive, “Can I get a serving of that?”

“For here or to go?” she asked, unenthusiastically reciting the line as the plate your order sat on was taken from the shelf.

“To go, please.”

As nice as the diner seemed - quiet, with only a few other customers - you knew eating in the parking lot would get you back on the road faster. The service wasn’t exactly enticing you to eat in either.

“Figures,” she mumbled - no doubt going off-script - before boxing your food and putting it into a bag along with plastic silverware and some napkins.

“That’s your total,” the woman pointed to the numbers on the display that faced you, not making eye contact even when you handed her the payment.

“No refunds,” she said, her hand resting where the receipt was printing before tearing it and handing you your copy and the order. Then, flatly, “Have a nice day.”

“You too!” you called back as you skipped back out to the parking lot, food in hand. Your cheeriness had as much to do with being closer to your destination as it did with being free from that grueling social interaction.

As soon as you slung your bag back into the car, something fell out. Setting your food down on the seat and picking your phone up off the ground, you notice Marisol had sent you two messages.

“Stay safe, belleza” made you grin, but the text that followed it took a moment to process:

“Want to spend the night at mine next week? All night”

Your face warmed at the pink heart that ended the text and you scrambled, almost dropping your phone again in your hurry to reply:

“You know I do!”

Feeling giddy as you cleared your seat, you sat down and opened your bag of food, leaving the car door open as you began your meal. Changing text conversations, you tap “Mami,” type out your message, and look it over before sending it:

“Hey babe, taking a snack break before hitting the road again. Just wanted to let you know that next week I’m going to be staying the night with a woman I met at the bar. See you soon!”

It wasn’t long before you finished your hurried meal and continued your drive.

This second stretch seemed longer - your anticipation, the fact that there wasn’t a trace of sunlight left, or both were likely to blame. Focusing on the road ahead, illuminated by your headlights, you idly thought about how your night with Rhea and Dom might go. At least, your thoughts were idle when they began - soon you had to think of something else as you began to shift in your seat, your body responding all too readily.

When you finally pull into the parking lot of the venue, you turn into the nearest open spot to take another look at the instructions Rhea sent you - it was difficult to find the doors to the right part of the building without them.

Somehow, you didn’t expect to open your phone to so many messages: Marisol and two of your friends, but no reply from your girlfriend to your news.

You looked at the text from Marisol first:

“Can’t wait to take my time with you”

A blush warmed your cheeks as you smiled, remembering the charming way she winked when you saw the winking face in the message.

Deciding your friends could wait, you pulled up the instructions to find where you were supposed to pick up Rhea and Dominik.

Meandering around the large parking lot, you finally found it - crowded by fans being kept a few feet away from the exit by two security guards.

Some of the people in the small crowd had signs and all of them seemed to be pointing their phones at the doors in anticipation.

Taking a closer look, you realize most of the signs have the words hastily scrawled onto the poster board.

“Rhea Ripley’s future girlfriend” read one.

“This is my bisexuality!” another stated.

You hadn’t realized just how many queer fans your girlfriend had.

Parking in a nearby space, you pull out your phone again, messaging Rhea:

“I’m here!”

As you waited for a response, you moved on to your friends’ messages:

“Congrats on going public!” the first one said. Even without context, you felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach.

Rather than reply, you checked your other friend’s message in the hopes that it might shed some light:

“Have you seen this?” they asked, providing a link after the text.

You followed the link, heart pounding.

“Rhea Ripley Interview” the title read, followed by today’s date.

“Cathy Kelley here,” the video opened on a smiling brunette holding a microphone, her name appearing at the bottom of the screen, “reporting on tonight’s events with the Judgment Day’s eradicator, Rhea Ripley.”

The camera panned out a bit to reveal your girlfriend standing next to the WWE correspondent, powerful as ever, her name also appearing onscreen.

“It’s an honor to be interviewing the most dominant woman in the WWE,” Cathy continued as Rhea pulled her phone out of her pocket, glancing at the screen, “Now, how did you feel about the way Jey Uso spoke to you tonight? Implying you’re the leader of the Judgment Day? Flirting with you in front of your… Latino heat?”

You watched a complex wave of emotions pass over Rhea’s face as she scanned her phone before pushing it back in her pocket, donning a familiar smirk, and pulling the microphone that was pointed at her closer.

“Seeing as Dom and I have an open relationship, the flirting isn’t really a problem,” she told the camera, “In fact, I have a girlfriend as well.”

We never talked about this, you thought, heart racing as you hit pause to glance down at the number of views; already over a thousand, despite being posted only an hour ago. All those people, fans around the world - all of them knew Rhea Ripley had a girlfriend. They would be curious.

The thought of that many people crowding around made you feel sick to your stomach.

The phone buzzed in your hand, a message from Rhea telling you she would be out in a minute.

Looking over at the mass of fans by the doors, you made yourself come to terms with the fact that picking your girlfriend up from work wasn’t going to be as easy as you had hoped. You crossed your fingers for a moment as you did your best to keep your breathing steady, gathering the strength to pull up to the curb.

[end part sixty-three of ?]

Part 64: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/743266675618627584/absolute-smokeshow-part-64-of-love-sex

-

Tag List (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @nobilitando , @riverina69

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

So my inbox currently contains over 1,600 messages. I am getting Very Overwhelmed, apologies to everyone who is waiting for me to get back to them.

Something I have spotted, though, is that far too many of these have a common theme. Of the top thirty currently sitting at the top of my inbox, 19 are questions about haircare and the CGM. Of those, 12 are exactly the same question - namely, "Is co-washing just washing with conditioner instead of shampoo?" - which I have answered multiple times in multiple different posts, all of which are in my "Hair" tag (the answer is yes, please stop asking).

The other 7 are different hair questions - but, all but one is something I have answered before, in most cases more than once. Again, in my "Hair" tag.

Babes. Loves. Silly rabbits.

I did not sign up to be customer support for CGM.

Listen; I love you all! And I don't mind people asking me novel questions, even, within reason (although I am about to come to that)! But it is not my job to provide this information, and it is absolutely not my job, obligation, responsibility or anything else to keep writing out the SAME INFORMATION again and again and again. It is certainly absolutely not my pleasure to do so, either. I have explained how the method works now. I have explained the sorts of things to avoid. I have recommended CG friendly products. I have tagged all of this.

If you're going to ask me about this stuff, for the love of all that's holy, would you PLEASE look through my damn hair tag first and save me the increasingly stressful task of opening my inbox and seeing another five variants of the exact same already-answered question in a single day. I am not here to provide you a service. I'm here to do you a favour - PLEASE do me one, and check you aren't very literally wasting my time first. As I say, I am more than happy to answer novel questions on this! I'm also happy to clarify if I've worded something in a confusing way! But identical process questions for the seventeenth time in a week is starting to feel disrespectful.

But, I have to also say:

I am just Some Guy on the internet. I am not a professional. I have joked that I am not a Hairxpert, and you've all gone "Lol, yeah, not a Hairxpert, we get it - anyway, what products in America are good? What's your advice for <hair type you don't have?> If I live in an area with hard water (unlike you), what should I do?"

I am Not A Professional.

If you need specialist advice, YOU NEED TO GO AND FIND A SUPPORT GROUP. Buy the handbook, like I did! Go and find one of the hundreds of CGM websites that are free to use! Find a sub-Reddit! These will be full of people who actually are professionals, and will be able to answer these questions. I cannot tell you how best to adapt the method I use for type 4 curls, because I don't have those; you need a professional, or a support group with people who have type 4 curls. I cannot tell you the best styling and drying techniques for pixie cut curls, because my hair is down to my ass; you need a professional, or a support group of curly people with pixie cuts. I cannot tell you the best products to use on a remote island nation I have never even visited; you need a professional, or at the very least, a neighbour.

In fact, as an addendum to that last one, I have now been asked by six different people on separate occasions what my advice is for them because they live on "an island" and can't get the products I use and also can't get Amazon, and... guys!!!? How could I possibly answer that??? You haven't even told me which island, for one, but for quite another, if I'm not a hair expert, I'm certainly not an International Shipping To Remote Islands expert!!! What do you want from me?? I'm just some guy. Who uses a method. I can tell you the basics of it (which I have, extensively), and I can tell you what I personally do (which I have, extensively), and that's it. I have zero expertise beyond that. Anything else is information I would have to try and get from a support group of other people to report back, at which point, you bloody do it. I am not CGM customer support.

To reiterate - I truly, honestly, don't mind getting novel questions that I haven't already answered, or clarifying things that might be confusing; to be honest, it's not like I even massively mind someone going "I live in a desert, how could I combat dryness?". But if you ask me, a Welsh woman, a question like that, you're going to have to accept that my advice is, at best, going to be guesswork or second/third-hand information I once saw someone else mention online somewhere that I have now mostly forgotten if I ever truly saw it at all. Because I do not live in a desert, and I am not a professional.

ALSO A NON-HAIR POINT

I said at the start of this post that 19 of the top thirty messages in my inbox right now are hair questions. Five, though, follow a different pattern.

I imagine this is part of my follower count still exploding (I gained another three thousand of you since August, to give an idea; where the fuck are you all coming from?!? Really like grilled cheese adventures, huh), but I've started getting A LOT of messages from people who blatantly want to use me as a billboard to get their message out. Sometimes a serious message about a vital global issue, sometimes a relatively trivial one about a piece of media they want people to see, and anything in between.

I sympathise. I do understand. But I am not a billboard.

Apart from anything else, I just don't have the time to go fact checking and researching everything to make sure I'm being a Good Billboard, and it would be incredibly irresponsible of me to avoid that step and just blindly go "Sure, yeah, signal boost" and hit publish. If you send me one of these, I am unlikely to do anything with it, I'm sorry. It might put something on my radar, and make me more likely to pay attention when I see the issue being posted organically - when the Iranian protests began someone sent me a message asking me to reblog a particular user's post about it (not their own, it was a separate user). I didn't post that ask, but I did go and manually check the user in question's blog, found a good infographic post there about the protests, and I was able to reblog that. That was fine. But even then, if I hadn't had the time to do that (my life is very busy), that ask would have been buried.

Anyway, I don't want to discourage asks in my inbox generally, nor is this me yelling at anyone or telling anyone off. But with the hair thing in particular, I cannot go on like this pls take pity T_T

[schrodingerspsycho]

There IS a Book Club - Oneshot

Pairing - Van Palmer x Reader

Warnings - Angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Word Count - 1.8k

Summary - You're subscribed to a horror novel book club service, and Van finds your newest book upsetting.

Author's Note - You can imagine that this is part of the same timeline as I Just Want You To Be Happy, but this is an independent story.

Help Palestine by clicking this link!🇵🇸

The day started like any other day. You and Van had breakfast together and opened the store, Maddy came in looking for another queer movie and getting another one of Van’s lectures, and you explained what a VHS tape was to no less than three teenagers who really should have at least known about them. And then Van got the mail.

“Bills, bills, an invite to another one of Mrs. Hammond’s dinner parties we won’t be attending-”

“Hey-”

“And a new book,” Van said, waving the package for you to see.

“Oh, great! I’ve been waiting for that,” you smiled.

“You want me to open it for you?”

“Yeah, just put it on my nightstand. Thanks, babe.”

Van nodded and carried the mail up to the apartment.

You carried on with restocking the tapes and helped a customer find the movie they were looking for. It took Van a bit longer than it should have to drop off the mail, but you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until she came back down.

“So I was thinking I could pick us up some sandwiches from the deli for lunch, does that sound good to you?” you asked, but Van didn’t answer. She was staring ahead, her eyes glossy and distant. “Van? Are you okay, babe?”

“What? Yeah, no, I’m… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” you put a hand on her shoulder, your eyes full of concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did something happen?”

“Nope.” She gave you an unconvincing smile. “I’m good, babe. Really. And sandwiches sound great.”

“Okay,” you sighed, kissing her cheek. You knew you wouldn’t get anything else out of her. But you kept an eye on her as you continued stocking the tapes. You could always tell when something was off with Van, and something was definitely off.

Van smiled to herself as she walked up the stairs. You had complained about the last book being too short on multiple occasions, so she was glad you now had a new one to read. And while she wasn’t into horror novels, she loved hearing you recount the terrifying twists and turns of the latest chapter you had read before going to sleep. It was adorable how excited you got about stuff like this; it was honestly what made her realize she was in love with you. You had been gushing about the new book like you did every month, and something in her heart just clicked. Now she loved your Horror Hungry Book Club subscription almost as much as you did.

She wondered what kind of novel you would get this time as she decided which envelopes to trash. You had been hoping for a good mystery, and she knew you loved stories with cryptids and haunted houses. Then she went into the bedroom and tore the package open with her teeth, sliding the book out onto the sheets. But before she could move it to your nightstand she caught a glimpse of the cover.

The artwork depicted the remnants of a plane crashed in the middle of a dark forest, with a wolf standing in front of it. Its eyes were drawn to look as if they were glaring menacingly at her, and Van had to resist the urge to throw the book across the room. She turned it over slowly to read the description and was confronted with a very detailed illustration of a deer skull with bloody antlers on the back cover. Van gulped audibly as she read the blurb.

Kayla’s life was finally looking up until her plane crashed in the middle of a large forest in Montana. She and the other passengers must work together to survive in the wilderness, but they soon discover that they might not be alone. As time goes on, food, hope, and sanity grow scarce. She and the other passengers are haunted by demons from their past and present, and what was supposed to be a relaxing trip to L.A. becomes the ultimate test to see how far she’s willing to go to survive- and how much she really wants to.

Van quickly set the book down and stepped back. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. She dashed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, busying herself with getting a glass of water. There was no way she was letting a book do this to her. It wasn’t her life. She might not have talked to any of the others in over a decade, but she knew none of them would talk. They had an agreement. This was just fiction, nothing more. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. There was no need to get worked up.

Van took a deep breath and headed back downstairs, doing her best to act like everything was fine. You clocked her uneasiness immediately, and she silently cursed you for being so observant. But you didn’t push, and her thoughts of the book faded as the day went on. She almost got away with it.

Almost.

Finally, you and Van were alone in your room. You had finished the workday, gone out to dinner, and watched a movie together, the whole time aching to ask Van what had happened. You hated seeing her in distress, and although she was good at hiding it, you could tell that whatever it was was still weighing on her mind. But you knew Van well enough to know that there was a waiting period before she was ready to talk about her feelings. So you decided to start your new book while you waited. The title was Call of Oblivion, and you knew it was the problem the moment you picked it up.

“Van?” you said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Is this what made you so upset earlier?”

She turned to you slowly, her eyes wide and her face slightly pale. She looked so scared and ashamed, and the sight broke your heart. “What? No.”

“Are you sure? Because I noticed that there are some… similarities.”

Van looked away. “Okay, yeah. Maybe it did feel a little… familiar.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You dropped the book and went to stand at her side, but she still refused to look at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” she chuckled unconvincingly.

“I wish you would’ve told me,” you sighed. “I just want to help you with things like this. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Van murmured, burying her head in your shoulder. You hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered, rubbing her back. “I won’t read it if you don’t want me to.”

“What? No, I’m not going to stop you from reading your book.”

“I don’t care about the book. I care about you. If it upsets you, I won’t read it.”

“I can handle some scary pictures on the cover,” she said sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant. I know you don’t want me to know about what happened. And this might be fiction, but it could be similar to what you went through. If the thought of me reading something like this scares you, or if you think it’ll be too similar, then I won’t read it. I promised you I would never pry about that stuff, and I meant it. Even in a way as indirect as this.”

“But that’s exactly why I want you to read it.”

“What?”

“I hate keeping secrets from you,” Van said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t stand that there is this huge part of my life that I can’t share with you. I mean, I would never want you to know- god, I don’t know what I would do if you found out- but it kills me that I can’t share everything with you. But I know I can’t. And if this book has any insight into what I went through out there, however unrelated… then I want you to read it. It might be the only way for you to get some idea of what happened. Then maybe I won’t have to hide so much anymore.”

“Oh, Van,” you breathed, pulling her into another hug. “I had no idea you felt that way. Of course, I’ll read it. But you know I don’t care about that stuff, right? You can tell me as much or as little as you want.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know.” She pressed herself against you, and you could feel her wiping her eyes on your shirt.

“Thank you for telling me this,” you said softly as you pulled away a few moments later. Van smiled.

“Yeah, can you just not read it in bed? That fucking deer is- it’s really gross.”

“The what?”

“On the back.”

You picked up the book and turned it over, careful to block it from Van’s view. “Whoa, you’re right. That thing is gnarly,” you grimaced. Van chuckled.

“Told you.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be keeping that away from the bedroom,” you said, shutting it in your bedside drawer and walking back over to Van.

“Good,” she smiled, grabbing your shirt gently and tugging you in for a kiss. You pulled each other onto the bed, and soon you had all but forgotten about the book.

Over the next couple of weeks, you conveniently only read the book when Van was out of the room. She wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to do that, but truth be told she appreciated it. And you never talked about it, instead choosing to gush about the newest vintage toy you’d found and whether you wanted to display it in the store or keep it in the apartment. Thoughts of the book stayed in the back of Van’s mind, but she couldn’t fully forget about it.

Then one day as she was bringing in the groceries, she saw you stagger out of the bedroom with sorrow in your eyes. But before she could say anything you wrapped your arms around her tightly and buried your face in her neck.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, hugging you, her voice full of concern.

“Nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head slightly.

“You finished the book, didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you insisted, pulling away just enough to look her in the eye. “All that matters is that I love you. No matter what. Nothing could ever change that.”

Van felt tears begin to well up in her eyes and you held her to your chest, placing feather-light kisses along her scars. She closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned into your embrace. And for the first time in her life, Van felt truly safe. “I love you too.”

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 3

You've been, frankly, having a shit day. Your boyfriend (whom you don't even like that much) breaking up with you was your final straw. Then two very attractive young men and their service dog walk into your life and can't seem to leave. bit of a rushed chapter- not as finely tuned as i would like it to be. the reader kinda took me by the ear and wrote this chapter themselves, lol ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

Lately, I've Been Crying Like A Tall Child

You have, frankly, been having a pretty shit day. Firstly you had three difficult patients back to back with varying degrees of Bitching Mothers™️ that insisted on you throwing safety to the wind for a small payout. You heard a lot of:

“No, can we skip that vaccine? I heard from my nail girl that they have red dye 40 in them,” one had said, her springy six-year-old doodling with the crayons and colouring books provided. You feel your jaw tick as you put on your best customer service smile.

“No ma’am, we can’t because the diphtheria vaccine is meant to help her. She’s at risk right now of getting it. She could die, ma'am.” You say. She frowned, a little convinced, but still stubborn.

“I don’t know if I want red dye in her bloodstream-“

“There’s no red dye 40 in any vaccine she'll ever get.” You grit out. “Ma’am.” She sighed as if she was being forced, but she nodded her head anyway.

“Well, I’m trusting you here.” She said, dramatically sighing.

Another was upset you had given her son a purple band-aid after his vaccine. The last openly talked about her tween daughter’s problems- ‘blightin’ useless, she is, scored dead last in her class- surely there’s something you can do to her, lovie?’- she had said while the said tween sat, mortified, on the table after you had told her through gritted teeth that that wasn’t related at all to your job.

After all of that, you were done with your job. Like, ‘I’m going to punch my next patient kind of done’.

You make it through the last bits of your shift with no more rude and/or stupid patients and without assaulting anyone. You make it to your car before texting the one person you trusted to not overwhelm you in your fragile state ; your friend from uni, Emma.

                                                                                                                        Today 2:28 PM

                                                                                                                   - can we hang? please? abt to commit second degree murder

     - always, babes 😘

     - St. James’ Park

                                                                                                                                                       -   give me an hour

And that’s how you found yourself in a strawberry festival with Em, laughing at her as she tried to throw strawberry-shaped bean bags into strawberry-shaped corn holes while wearing a strawberry-shaped hat that was frankly ridiculous. Actually, this entire thing was ridiculous . Perfectly so because you could barely remember why you had been murderous earlier.

When you’ve both got strawberry scones and are walking to your next destination- a strawberry jewellery stall, at her insistence- two very hot, very large men with a dog pass by you. One of them is wearing a black surgical mask that does nothing to hide how pretty his deep brown eyes are, framed with pale blond eyelashes that almost blend into his porcelain-pale skin that’s marred by multiple scars. The other one, who was shorter than the blond but still tall in his own right, had bright blue eyes, a friendly smile and short, spiky brown hair cut in a mohawk. The German shepherd trotting along with them has a harness that reads ‘SERVICE DOG - DO NOT DISTURB’. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Em whispering in your ear:

“Hunks galore.”

“More like a one-way ticket to pound town.” You whisper back. Em smacks your arm and then you cackle together because the two hunks are surprisingly very fast walkers and have already left you in the dust.

Maybe an hour later, Em gets a text from her girlfriend.

“My maiden!” Em exclaims as she looks down at her phone while chatting with you about nothing over strawberry tea cakes.  “Her car broke down!” Em says. “Oh, I’m sorry babe, I’ve gotta dash. I’ll see you later, mmkay?” She kisses your cheek and then she’s off.

Thinking of Em’s girlfriend reminds you of your significantly worse love life. You have a boyfriend right now, but it isn’t like you’re head over heels or anything. He’s nice but a little boring- admittedly, you’ve dated worse. Maybe that’s why you’ve stayed for half a year.

You decide to wander around the fair for a little longer, needing some extra cheer to make it through the work week and you more or less get pulled into getting your hand read by an elderly woman in a strawberry dress unwittingly. She’s small, definitely shorter than you, but her eyes are wise and her smile is knowing.

“Come, sit,” she frets, pulling out a wooden chair for you. So you do. Then she demands you give her your hands. So you do. She puts on reading glasses while she hunches over your outstretched palm, peering down at the fine lines. She makes a contemplative noise before tracing a wrinkle. “Misery soon,” she observes. “Oh, dear, within the hour.” She stares down some more. “It’ll be repaid tenfold with good karma, don’t worry your pretty heart.” Her face brightens. “Oh-ho, companionship! Soon! Oh- my, very good friends.” She says, gaping for a moment at your hand. “Hmm. Maybe some bumps on the road but that’s to be expected. It’ll be worth it, dear.” She pats your hand with one of her old, withered ones, slipping a strawberry bonbon into your hold with a wink. “Now shoo!” 

You leave feeling a little confused. Just an old lady with a complex, you rationalise. And just as you’re finishing up making your last rounds, passing by stalls, your phone rings with a text. So you pull over and read the text from your boyfriend.

                                                                                                                             Today 6:52 PM

     -  hey

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - hi babe

     - i need 2 tell u smth

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - okay?

     - i wanna break up

     - idk i feel like things hv gotten stale

     - u dont mind right

     -u can come get ur stuff 

So surely it’s no surprise to anyone when you turn into an alleyway, slump against a concrete wall and start ugly crying while staring down at your phone. While admittedly you weren’t that upset about being broken up with, you were upset about so suddenly moving out. Going out onto the housing market, so soon and so late in the day, no less, was sending you down a panic-induced spiral.

Then there is a large, comforting weight on your lap, like someone had covered you with a weighted blanket. You open your eyes a little, tears still falling, and you see a German shepherd on your lap, nudging your elbow with its muzzle. Then you see the service dog harness and remember the dog as the one that had been side by side with the hunks that passed you and Em. You gawk for a moment before determinedly trying to stop your tears; if the dog is here, surely the very hot, otherworldly hot owners are nearby. You’d hate for them to see you snivelling.

You focus on the big, fluffy body on you and, damn, whatever the hell the dog’s doing is working because you no longer feel like the world is ending. You just need a new apartment. Worse has happened.

Once you take some deep breaths, you immediately see one of the hunks standing there. Just… watching. You panic, because you can’t fully read his expression from under his mask, and surely he must be mad that his service dog had pounced on you. You try to convince the dog to move but it’s having none of it.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” The hunk says (he’s hotter up close). He’s gruff and big and truth be told he does not seem like the kind of person you wouldn't want to argue with, so you stay quiet. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?”

The hunk merely grunts. “Are you okay?” He asks, and perhaps you’re being persuaded by his sheer mass and your new-found single status, but you swear his voice has softened a little, to not spook you more.

“Oh, um. Yeah.” You say, internally wincing at your overuse of ‘oh’.

The hunk stares down at you for a long while. Did you do something wrong? Shit. Maybe he does really mind. You shift underneath his dog awkwardly and feel the urge to explain yourself.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly. It’s not an entire lie- yeah, you were half-convinced you had a ‘thing’ from Em’s insistence that ‘you’re not okay, babe!’ multiple times over. You can’t help the guilt of telling a lie when you weren’t diagnosed with anything, however.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Again. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” He sounds dry, but… insistent. Somehow. It leaves you with no way to squeeze out a lie. His pretty eyes stare two dead holes into yours, and you’re sure you’re gonna get vaporized, Terminator style. Unease creeps into your gut.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say weakly, forcing out your best smile. You’re proud that you don’t grimace instead. He just keeps on staring at you, showing no inclination of answering. Then, just as you’re about to force the dog off, the other hunk- an Amazon gladiator, holy hells- walks in, excitement in his eyes.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ He says, but then he notices you and his expression goes into something you can’t read.

“Well, hello, there.” He says. You surely must look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hello,” you squeak out, because not one but two superhumanly hot men are paying you attention. You gently push the dog off of you, mumbling a ‘bye’ before you scurry away and straight to your car. You don’t look back.

——

The next morning, you’ve just packed up your every belonging from your ex-boyfriend’s flat- he didn’t even bother to help- and rented out a storage cube, packed in everything single-handedly, and then got the best sleep of your life in a hotel. You had woken up and then gone to a coffee shop because your entire day would be filled with hunting down an affordable place to rent. You had Em help you fill out a few applications while you were driving from the ex’s flat to the storage cube to the flat and then storage again .

You’re reading through an email one of the landlords of one of the nicer apartments sent you this morning as you walk inside, give the barista your order and pay. Your reading quickly becomes scanning- you got the place!- for payments to make, forms to fill, people to contact, etc. But you’re stoked! This new apartment is better than the ex’s, and the one you had before him, so you really can’t help yourself from smiling like a dork.

“Seems like ye’ve got a love-hate relationship wif’ that thing.” A masculine and not too unfamiliar voice says from your right.

You startle, almost ready to throw hands, and then remember that the voice is familiar. You stare at him- shit, it’s the Amazon from yesterday. Everything had been so chaotic you had forgotten about that embarrassing encounter with the hunks, but you had no such luck. It’s fine. He doesn’t seem too disgusted with you. 

“Oh! No, um. I got broken up with yesterday.” You say, reading his expression to see if there’s any hatred there , that you accidentally made his service dog sniff you out and take him away from his boyfriend. “Had to move out and find a new place on short notice.”

“And ye got the place?” He says, pretty blue eyes soft and inviting. It’s like he cares.

“Yes. It’s really lovely . Rent’s maybe a bit much but I’m sure I can budget it… It’s such a great stroke of luck that I’ve found it under 24 hours.” Ouch. Overshare. You cringe inwardly.

The Amazon nods.

“O’ course. ‘M glad fer ye.” Hot and nice. If he wasn’t a taken man….

“Thank you.” You say, smiling shyly. He smiles- big and bright and genuine.

“Och, no need tae thank me.”

Your brow furrows and you’re about to explain how your thanks are very much deserved- you should be thanking him for breathing the same air as you, much less hold a conversation with you- and then the barista calls out a poor butchering of your name and you leave because you’ve got some new-apartment paperwork to do.

It’s only halfway through scanning PDFs that you realise you hadn’t even gotten his number.

——

You’re going grocery shopping because it’s been three days and you’re frankly getting sick of takeout. You had written a list and you were considering if you needed apples when, for the second time this week, a masculine voice shocks you out of your train of thought.

“Well, lookit tha’!” The Amazon exclaims (you haven’t even gotten his name). You look up from your pondering. He smiles the way he had at the cafe; big and bright, and he claps your shoulder with his big hand.

“How’s the new flat?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s better than the photos,” you say. Just thinking about how pretty the flat was during your tour yesterday was enough to make you smile again.

“‘M glad, bonnie.” He says.

“Bonnie?” You ask, confused. Did he think that was your name?

“Don’t worry about it! How about this weather?” The Amazon says loudly , making you blink.

You chat with Johnny in the produce section about whatever comes to mind, and then at some point the Amazon- Johnny, as he introduces himself- shifts your focus from the groceries and he ushers you to a new cafe right next to the grocery store. You buy your drink and find a booth and you spend at least two hours talking with Johnny. At some point, you had to leave because you truly did have other things to do, no matter how nice the conversation was.

——

The next day, you’ve gotten your keys and are moving your boxes into your new flat. The neighbours seem quiet, you think, as you heft a box of plates into the apartment.

It’s been about half an hour before you get all the boxes inside and start fiddling with some deadbolts you’d bought on Amazon, just in case.

"Need help?" A voice asks, materialising behind you and spooking the living hell out of you. You then recognize him as the blond hunk- Johnny’s boyfriend, Simon. He’s staring- waiting for an answer, shit.

"No, I'm okay. Um, thank you, though." You say, still feeling remnant fear from his sudden appearance.

"Did you just move in?" He asks. Blunt, you think. The dog from earlier is there, too, tail wagging.

“Yes.” You hesitate- no way you have enough luck in this world to bag a beautiful apartment and beautiful neighbours. You decide you just have to know. “Do you… live here?” You ask.

Simon grunts. “We’re the flat over.”

“Oh!” You smile. “Well. Thank you for offering to help, neighbour.” You say, cringing a little- 'neighbour'? really?- but you put on a smile that must coax a smile from Simon from underneath his face mask. Then he says bye and you’re quick to reciprocate while the dog trots over to butt its head against your leg, and then they go into the flat over, just like Simon said.

——

The next morning, Johnny and Simon, your new, beautiful neighbours, are at your door at ten. Thankfully, it’s your day off, otherwise, they’d be knocking in an empty apartment.

When you open your door after the second knock, Johnny is standing in front of Simon outside your front door, holding a platter full of blueberry muffins and a still-tired Simon hovering behind him- almost protectively, you think. You probably don’t look the best as your plans today were to rot in bed.

“Hello, you two.” You say, trying to subtly fix your appearance while smiling .

“Hi! Ae made ye muffins. Tae help settle ‘ta the new flat.” Johnny says proudly.

“Wow, thank you. You didn’t have to. Here, come inside- I’m sorry, it’s a mess,” you apologise, inwardly panicking. After you’d gotten all the boxes in, you hadn’t even considered unpacking anything but the essentials yet. And you’d gone digging for certain things, leaving a few boxes open with stuff falling out.

“You got here last night?” Simon asks gruffly while you direct Johnny to set the muffins on your kitchen island.

“Can I make you some tea?” You ask, scrambling for your manners- God, it’d been a while since you last had new people over. You start looking for your kettle.

They start a conversation with you about the weather as you look for mugs and tea bags.

“Sorry, no sugar. Or creamer.” You apologise, making up for it with more tea than normal in their mugs.

Then you talk about leasing dates, the landlord, the best parking areas, the cheapest takeouts, and things to do around.

They manage to get you in their apartment once you become immersed in the conversation enough, just picking back up where you left off on their rather comfy couch. Johnny is more talkative than Simon is, but that’s not to say that Simon is a hulking statue (though that’d be hot, too). He grunts when appropriate, asks you questions, rags on Johnny and seems genuinely interested in the comings and goings of your life.

By the time you leave, it’s half past five and you have a full feeling from companionship. —— You come to realise that Simon and Johnny are the sort of friends you can rely on. You were putting your brand new bed frame up when you realised you didn't have a single screwdriver, so you had tucked your tail and asked the boys if they had one- and to your surprise (and delight) Simon came right over with a toolbox and made the entire frame without being asked to. He even put the mattress atop your new frame. He was just about to fix the hinges on your door before you had to stop him and make him lunch before he remade the entire flat. "Really, you didn't have to do that, Simon," you fret while putting a sandwich together for him while he stares at you, toolbox sitting on the kitchen island. "Sure I did." He says. It's like in their mind they've made up that they have to take care of you- like earlier this week. You'd just gotten home from work and decided to get groceries while you were out and about- you needed milk, anyways. But between the shopping bags and your work bag, your arms were a little overloaded. You didn't want to go through two trips, either, which resulted in you holding five bags and fumbling around for your keys. It was inevitable, really, that your work bag would slip and fall.  You had groaned and just began to bend your knees before you here an 'och, le'me!' from behind you. Johnny is there, taking your work bag and then three of the remaining bags from your arms. "Johnny, it's-" "Nae, I dinnae hear it. Open your door, bonnie." He seems intent on calling you that, too. Even though he knows your name. You'll have to ask about it soon. You just sigh and unlock your door before putting one of the grocery bags down, Johnny following suit.  "Thank you." "Nae sweat o' ma back." He says with a boyish grin before leaving and closing the door behind you. The attention is nice, really. It feels good to be so close to some people you could trust.

[dreamersville]

FATGUM head cannons

an? i wrote this so long ago i just wanna clear my drafts out😭😭 soo sorry if its bad but you could always send me a request 💜.

- because hes my fav and i love him so much i just wanna tackle his 7 foot ass and love him for the rest of his life... ANYWAYSSSSS 

- this man is known by name (and sometimes order) by every restuarnt in a 10 mile radius of his agency. and i knwo your probably like “he a pro hero ofc they know his name” no. his given name and the first time it happen he was shocked 

- sings in the shower, off key, loud and proud, just straight butchering all and every song in his playlist. 

- his home is custom bulit to him. everything is like 2 feet taller than it would be for somebosy in averge height. somebody (me) said it reminds them of jack and the bean stalk and he doubled over laughing

- kiri and tamaki come over to watch cooking show because one he wouldnt be able to fit as comfortably at their dorms, and two because he got a big ass tv and watching on his tv is so much better, and he got snacks out the ass.  im talking pantry overflowing, with everything. tama used to the system but kiri swears he could get lost in it

- im sorry but, he can only cook stroke inducing food. which makes sense for quirk and what not but dont eat it unless you trying to put yourself in an early in a early grave. smothered everything, if its baked, best believe it was fired first. cheesy everythinggggg like omg, i still love him tho

- his favorite food shows be the baking shows, especially Cupcake Wars. he gets up-fucking-set if his favortite contestant loses or gets kicked off before the finalem hes gonna be talking about it for the rest of the week about how unfair it was and the judges didnt know what they were talking about because how could they not win. 

- relationships hcs or what not

- ahhhhhhh love language is most definitely acts of service and quality time. he livesss for when he got a second to just hold you, or be in your presence. it just so calming to him, the acts of service parts is bringing you food to try. ooo when he went on a mission outside of Esuha City he sends you a selfie with  e v e r y new food/ drink he tries on his mission. so expect a lot of of pictures and sometimes videos from him

- top tier cuddles in that giantic ass bed. and he has a weighted blanket with a big ass fan AND black out curtains ????? need i say more

- drags you down into his baking show addiction, but yall always tend to go for the rivals. so yall make bets on who’s gonna last longer. right now you’re winning 7 - 6 

- but you watch Extreme Cake Makers and write down recpies you wanna try and little things the contestant did so you could test it out. so you have notes deicted to ths and you sometimes go back and rewatch episodes to catch small stuff that you missed. he lovess when you get like this all nerdy and focused, it soo cute ugh. 

- likes to take you through the city at night because its look pretty at night when its lit up. you take a lot of pictures of bridges and in front of different signs and stuff

- omg, if you just so happen to walk past the shower whiles he in there singing his heart out, he’s gonna stop singing and say “take it away babe”. 

- a sucker for your southern nicknames. all the sugar, sweetness, bubs/bubba, honey. say anyyy of these and this man is at your feetready to do anything and everything just to hear you call him that again

- baby be feening for thanksgiving and christmas to come around. first time he was on a long mission, was gone for a week and came back on thanksgiving eve to see that you were cooking up a feast, he was so happy he cried.

ik the ending seems kind meh .. but then again this been sitting in my drafts

[quiet-compassion]

OFMD Fluffvember Day 8: Sunset

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51585355

By the time he heads outside, Stede’s ready to drop. He can’t remember ever being this tired in his life, which, contrary to what one might assume, is saying a lot. The grueling labor and long hours that have gone into taking their property from “technically a house” to “functional inn” have been exhausting. 

But it’s also been wonderful. He and Ed. Ed and him. Amidst all the hard work they’ve been having so much fun. They laugh a lot and pitch each other crazy ideas. They talk, not just about the silly things but the big things too. It’s just the two of them and that means they can just be. Be entirely, genuinely themselves.

…Up until last night when their first-ever guest had shown up. Stede supposes he shouldn’t have been so surprised. They’re innkeepers after all. This is what all the hard work has been for. And they’ve been putting out the “Vacancy” sign for a fortnight now. 

But.

Damn it all if his first response when a man had walked through their front door, bag in hand, inquiring after a room hadn’t been one of supreme annoyance at having their little haven intruded upon. Of course, he’d immediately recalibrated, putting on his cheery “customer service” voice and welcoming the man, Charles apparently, to their establishment.

They’ve been going all out, he and Ed, trying to ensure that their guest had the best possible stay. Now, supper done and dusted, he’s anxious for a taste of his usual routine and makes his way past the porch and onto the beach to enjoy the sunset. After a minute or two he hears the front door open and shut followed by the tell-tale sound of Ed’s footsteps as his partner comes to join him for their evening ritual. 

Ed sits down next to him in the sand, instinctually throwing an arm around Stede’s shoulders as he does so. “This might sound weird,” he says, foregoing any greeting or preamble, “but I get the sense Charles isn’t enjoying his stay.”

Stede frowns. “What? Really? What makes you say that?”

Ed shrugs. “Just a vibe, I guess. Like, for starters, I invited him out to come watch the sunset and he said no.”

“Did you tell him how good the view was?” Stede asks, turning to look back over his shoulder at the inn. “Did you mention that it would be extra colorful tonight after the storm?”

“Course I did!” Ed nods emphatically. “It didn’t sway him. Said he just wanted to lie down for a bit.”

Stede snaps his head back around to Ed, eyes wide in disbelief. “Lie down? But, surely he’s not turning in for the night! We haven’t had storytime yet!”

Ed grimaces. “I know, mate. I think he’s passing on storytime too.”

“But I was in such good form last night! I pulled out all the stops to be sure to impress him on his first night here. It must have been half a dozen voices I was juggling!”

“It was bloody impressive, babe. Maybe your best storytime ever,” Ed assures him, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “That bit where the witch revealed she’d been the queen all along? What a twist!”

Stede gives a nod of agreement, “High drama for sure.” Shoulders slumping in disappointment he asks, “Doesn’t he even want to know how it ends?”

“Ungrateful guy, if you ask me,” Ed sighs. “Doesn’t appreciate storytime, misses the sunset, didn’t finish the cake I made for dessert.”

“It really was a fine cake, Edward. Lots of icing.”

“I know. Plus I added loads of extra sugar, so you know it was gonna be good.”

They fall into silence for a while, watching the sky burn with color before slowly beginning to darken into night. Eventually, Stede shoots a quick glance at Ed’s face from the corner of his eye.

“You know, it felt weird today. Having him here.”

Ed gives an inquisitive sound which Stede understands to mean go on.

“I mean that’s the goal obviously, to have guests at our inn. But, I’ve gotten used to it being just us. I like it being just us. I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to be around someone else. Someone I’m not fully comfortable with.” Stede lets out a little sigh. “I feel a bit like I’ve been performing all day.”

Ed blows out a big breath. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Plus, I hated not being able to joke around like we usually do. We had to be all professional and shit,” he grumbles.

Stede lets out a sympathetic hum. There’s another beat of silence until Stede smiles coyly. “It was strange not being able to kiss you.”

Ed snorts out a laugh and leans his head onto Stede’s shoulder. “Babe, you can kiss me anytime you want.”

“Not in front of the guests,” he pouts.

“Guest.” Ed corrects teasingly. “Well, would you look at that? There’s no guests around right now.”

Stede looks down at Ed with a smile before leaning in to give him a kiss. When they pull back from each other Stede returns Ed’s head to its resting place on his shoulder, hand lightly combing through his silvery hair. 

“Are we cut out to be innkeepers, do you think? If we resent the people who show up at the inn?” he ponders.

“Maybe we’re a new kind of innkeeper,” Ed suggests. “I mean, you turned piracy on its head with your steady wages and safe space ship. Stands to reason that with our combined lunacy we could revolutionize the hospitality industry.”

Stede chuckles at that. “Seriously though, Ed.”

Ed sighs. “Seriously, this is our first go. It’s bound to take a little practice. Maybe we get better. But. If not…then we close up shop. Take the vacancy sign down. Leave the extra rooms until the crew comes to visit. If we want, it can just be us.”

The moon’s high in the sky now, the sunset long since passed. They sit quietly together for a little longer, basking in its glow. 

“Well, I suppose we ought to turn in then,” Stede whispers reluctant to shatter the stillness of the moment. “Since there’s no storytime.”

“Oh fuck that!” Ed exclaims. “If Charles is too stupid to appreciate storytime, that’s his loss. I want to know what happens to the prince!”

Stede smiles, getting to his feet and grabbing Ed’s hand to pull him up too. “Of course, of course. It was quite a cliffhanger last night, wasn’t it?”

They walk hand in hand the short way back to the house. The front room is warm and glowing as the fireplace burns bright. Their guest is, sure enough, nowhere to be seen.

“You know what I think? You should do the voices extra loud tonight. Let Charlie hear what he’s missing and maybe then he’ll come join us.”

Stede shakes his head calmly, crossing the room to pick up the book from the table he’d left it on before plopping himself down on the couch next to Ed. “That’s alright, darling. As you say, it’s his loss. Besides, I’m perfectly happy with just the two of us.”

[nobecausecheese]

Janaya

MY GIRLIES!! wild and some possibly out-there headcannons ahead :) I don't think anything fully aligns with cannon but it's my little brain and it does what it wants to

LONG POST! VERY LONG POST!

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - til death do they part

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - fell for each other fairly quickly :)

How was their first kiss? - steamy but they were both debating if it was worth it or not. They didn't get officially together for a while after that. (first kiss after the final battle of season 3 while they patch each other's wounds up)

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Janai. Amaya would worry too much about violating Sunfire traditions and customs when it comes to their relationship

Who is the best man/men? - Gren for Amaya and Kazi for Janai

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Despite what everyone assumed, Rayla! Amaya asks her and Rayla gets super happy :) (Ezran is the flower kid, Bait is the ring bearer, Callum is in charge of post-wedding fireworks) (gren cried too much though)

Who did the most planning? - Amaya :) you know full well girlie wants her wife to be as unstressed as possible

Who stressed the most? - Janai stressed the most outwardly, but Amaya was secretly the most stressed. She didn't let it show, staying strong for her wifey :) But she's a hot mess inside, trying to make sure everything is perfect and fit for her queen :)

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. (they're literally the queens)

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Karim was on the guest list, but then he fucked around a little too hard and now he's to be shot on sight. Amaya will PERSONALLY deal with him.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Most of their partners have assumed they'd be tops (yadayada big scary lesbians) but they're actually switches. Janai prefers to bottom because she feels so safe and secure with Amaya, and Amaya loves to take care of her. But she loves to be the bottom too because Janai NEVER treats her like she's a burden or a hinderance and won't do anything without asking numerous times for consent. (she has a list of things Amaya does/doesn't like. She's kept it since she captured Amaya)

Who is the one to instigate things? - Amaya is 100% a horny bastard and we love that for her.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now (or at least they would be if running everything didn't come first)

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off (the first few times. They're very careful with each other)| 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head (depends on the day ofc but dear god Janai is secretly a freak and Amaya loves that for her)

How long do they normally last? - Babes they can go all night if they feel like it

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms- It's actually a competition. They're very competitive. If Amaya "wins", Janai has to eat breakfast with her in the morning (culturally, breakfast isn't super big but Janai indulges her wife with at least a peice of fruit every day now) And if Janai "wins", Amaya has to allow herself to be pampered at the hands of Janai or her handmaidens. (Amaya HATES letting herself rest or relax unless she's forced and Janai's love language is acts of service and gifts lol)

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. It's simultaneous. VERY VERY gentle with each other, but the Sun herself blushes at what she hears

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. they love physical affection. Snuggling is mandatory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - if they can conceive though magic, one. Janai would carry, as she would believe it her duty as queen to carry the heir. Amaya would do most of the early childcare though, to allow Janai to reclaim her strength and her queenly duties :)

How many children will they adopt? - They formally adopt Callum and Ezran after their wedding, not forcing them to live with them or anything but to solidify the unity between their kingdoms and to ensure Callum and Ezran can always have motherly figures. (Amaya basically adopted them after Sarai's death and loves them like her own, they just make it official.) They also, while informally, adopt Soren. He isn't technically their son, but he's much younger than either of them and never really had stable parents, so they assume that role :) He accidentally called Janai "mom" once and she cried to Amaya about it for hours because she was so grateful he looked up to her.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Again, Amaya does most of the early childcare, so her. But she's a firm believer in early potty-training because she dealt with Callum and Ezran when they were little and no way in hell she's doing that again

Who is the stricter parent? - Amaya seems scary, but she's such a caring mom. Janai tries to enforce rules, but doesn't believe in punishments, just corrective behavior. Both of them have the mental development of kiddo in mind, and they collaborate on everything :) the worst punishments for their daughter are NEVER more than a reprimand and some very thoughtful discussion.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Big bro Soren! Once kiddo's old enough to do school, Mum is back to being full-time Queen, and Mom is back to being the head General! So Soren babysits and teaches them how to properly do dangerous shit, and stops them from doing anything that will seriously hurt her

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Amaya would actually chuck somebody out the window if her kid doesn't eat all 3 meals, so either SHE does it, or she instructs a handmaiden to do so (if her and Janai can't make it home on very rare occasions)

Who is the more loved parent? - Both have pros and cons :) Amaya is the "fun one" and she loves to joke around, but Janai is the queen of pep-talks and really well-needed hugs. (janai is a better hugger, but only ever hugs her family so everybody assumes amaya's the more physically affectionate)

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?- ... Soren. Amaya would get frustrated ith not being able to properly read lips froma a distance / not having an interpretor, and Janai can't sit through those meetings without getting pissed that her kid isn't getting the accommodations she needs. Soren's used to doing PTA stuff because he (secretly) volunteered at the school to get out of his house as a kid (viren is a shitty dad)

Who cried the most at graduation? - Amaya would UGLY CRY at anybody's graduation, especially her kid's or nephews' or Soren's. Janai would be proud, and make sure the kid knows this, while Amaya just fuckin sobs

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Janai's the queen, so she'd get them out of trouble but make them do community service and help with whatever they did. Unless it was completely justified, in which case, she'd be a proud mum. Amaya would commit a crime for her kids, so. She'd be the one in trouble. Getting her kids out of trouble. And Janai would just sigh and let her go because that's her wife right there.

Cooking: 

Who does the most cooking? - The handmaidens, Janai never really learned because she was busy and always had somebody to do it for her, and Amaya can't cook for shit. She'll eat just about anything from her army days, so she doesn't care to make it taste good. And no way Janai will allow her wife to eat terrible food. Plus the Sunfire elves use more spices and have different cultural ways to eat it than members of Katolis, so she shows her traditional Sunfire cuisine and Amaya goes NUTS because it tastes so good :) Amaya can make a mean sandwich though

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Janai. She's used to being catered to, and has specific things she likes and doesn't. And Amaya would eat a stick of butter covered in dirt if it was what she got served

Who does the grocery shopping? - Handmaidens shop for all the dinner/formal meal food, because they do the cooking, but Amaya shops for fresh produce for snacks and informal meals, and goes to the baker's once or twice a week for fresh bread :) she actually secretly loves domestic errands

How often do they bake desserts? - Amaya loves sweets, so she usually gets a few pastries when she's at the baker's. And if her nephews are home, it's jelly tarts every day

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Both love a good chunk of meat. Janai doesn't eat some due to cultural reasons, but isn't a huge fan of vegetables. Amaya likes the textures in salads and vegetables in general. She's a happy girl if she has any food though

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Janai is the hopeless romantic in the relationship, so she goes all-out for anniversaries. Sunfire elves don't traditionally celebrate those, but her years with Amaya are precious and will eventually draw to a close. (elves live much longer than humans usually. janai tries not to think about that though)

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Amaya is more likely to suggest going out for food, she wants to try as much traditional food as she can, and EVERY family's way to make it. She loves learning about her wife's culture. But for dates, Janai is more likely to invite Amaya anywhere.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - Amaya would burn the food (or leave it totally raw), but Janai would get frustrated and could accidentally go into heat-being mode

Chores: 

Who cleans the room? - Amaya HATES cleaning, but she spent years in the military and so it stays in tip-top shape. Janai usually just gets the handmaids to do it though.

Who is really against chores? - Janai doesn't like chores if she's by herself, but loves to help her wife with them. Amaya loves doing domestic tasks (except for cleaning. That can go fuck itself) (she does it anyway)

Who cleans up after the pets? - Handmaidens clean up after Embertail and Aegis, and Amaya cleans up after the kids usually. Soren tries to do his part with a little stray cat that he brought home though

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Amaya would do it in a pinch, but would also HATE doing it

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Amaya. She's never fully sure if the Sunfire elves accept her as Queen Regent, and worries about making everything perfect for her nephews.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Amaya. Janai doesn't clean. Amaya is also more likely to lose cash though

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Amaya loves feeling clean. Janai takes long baths only if she's really tired or taking one with Amaya.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Janai loves spending time with the pets, and Amaya loves going for walks, so they do that together

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - EVERY SINGLE HOLIDAY. Amaya goes all-out for all of them, Sunfire aand Katolis holidays alike.

What are their goals for the relationship? - No goals. They don't need them. They're the only people they can NOT have goals with. And that's the best they could ever have

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Amaya hates mornings with a passion, but wakes at 5am sharp every day (military habit). Janai wakes when her body wants to, but never after 7am. Unless she's sick. Amaya is the most likely to STAY in bed, though, if she doesn't have any reason to leave, she'll just lay there and enjoy the fact that she's alive.

Who plays the most pranks? - Amaya is a little shit. We all know this. Janai almost never sees it coming. She tries to pull pranks sometimes but Amaya always sees them coming.

that's all!! :) hope you enjoyed if you read this far!

[elsababedoll]

Elsa Babe celebrates February, with dragons flourishing and auspicious energy filling the door! In this wonderful moment of bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new, Elsa would like to wish you all good luck in the Year of the Dragon and all the best! We also bring a new surprise promotion~! Don't miss out on giving everyone benefits! Event time: 2024.02.01-2024.02.29

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During the event, purchase TPE dolls and immediately enjoy a 15% discount. In addition, a beautiful gift pack is giving for free! The gift pack includes: ★ A beautiful wig. ★ An exquisite outfit. ★ Two pairs of designer eyes. ★ A doll stand.

After placing the order, an anime figure male masturbator of your choice will be given for free!

For Silicone bodies, realistic body painting will be an option. For TPE bodies, the body painting will be different according to the order versions, there is a regular version and an upgraded version. Regular version: Contains regular light and shade painting on the body, it doesn't have the articulated fingers. Upgraded version: Realistic body painting includes light and shade surface painting, blood vessel painting, skin texture painting, it also has the articulated fingers. In addition, now all the silicone bodies of different heights can also choose the realistic painting as an option.