#not having running or clean water for weeks…

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

[oharababe]

❝ SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. ❞ part two of seven. masterlist. prev // next

MIGUEL O'HARA ── “ EXPLICIT CONTENT﹕dom/sub (reverse role), handjobs, thigh riding, top riding, unprotected sex. situationship miguel with fem reader. 2,766 words total. ✶  THE SECOND day of the week always seem to put you in a bad mood. but miguel has a way to make you forget about your day.

Tuesday has never been your favourite day.

When you return home, you feel your body ache and a glooming weight hovering above your head. Something just irks you today and all you want to do is retreat to your room until the whole day is over. At least, there are only a few hours left until Tuesday ends. Another seven hours left, to be precise. Even the thought of it seems to still dampen your mood and you wish that time would just speed up so that you can get over the Tuesday blues.

The moment you arrive home, you’re greeted with brief quietness, before hearing someone going through the cupboards in the kitchen. Although you acknowledge Miguel's home first, you don’t walk past to greet him. Instead, you go straight up to the second floor and into your room. Shutting the door behind you, you strip off your work clothes and hop into the shower. The warm water calms your skin and loosens your muscles. Yet, even when you come out clean, smelling fresh and changed into comfortable baggy loungewear, you feel dissatisfied.

You dive into the comfort of your bed, tangling yourself under the duvet that makes your muscles curl comfortably. Something vibrates under your pillow and when your hand moves under to reach for your phone — pulling it out to your sight — it lights up a received message from Miguel. He tells you that he’s planning to run some errands and asks if you would like anything.��

Your reply is polite but a little unenthusiastic. It wasn’t long after texting Miguel back when you heard a knock on your door. The barrier opens and your roommate peaks his head in by the doorway. Your eyes immediately meet Miguel’s crimson eyes. “Long day?” He asks.

You sigh and nod, pressing your lips together. “Extremely. Today is just… I don’t know, not my day.”

“Lo siento, bonita (I’m sorry, beautiful),” Miguel says. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “I had a feeling you weren’t yourself when you got back.”

“S’okay.” You shrug. “Just a few more hours until Tuesday is over.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence between the two of you. You twiddle your thumbs, unsure of what to do when you feel the bed shifted under its weight when Miguel takes it forward to sit on the bed in front of you. His thumb and index fingers reach out for your chin and gently angle your face up to meet his gaze. “Is there anything I could do to help?”

“I’ll be okay,” you shoot him a soft smile. “Maybe I’ll sleep early tonight to let the time pass.”

Miguel goes quiet when you say this. He gazes away to his right — seemingly in thought – before his eyes meet yours again. “There could be something we can do to pass the time. But only if you want to.” 

This has caught your attention. “What are you thinking of?” 

“Today may have not been a nice day for you, but we could change that.” Miguel begins. “The continuation of our challenge from yesterday.” 

Your chest tightens a little as you hitch a breath, recalling the deal made and yesterday’s events. It heats your cheeks and goosebumps runs down your back when your mind replays the way your body aches in pleasure when he thrusts deep into you. A sudden jolt of pulse travels down to your cunt as you think about the way he rubbed your clit yesterday with fervent abandon from the challenge. 

You’re now reminded that today is the second day of the week’s challenge. 

“It might help you forget about what’s upsetting you today.” Miguel continues, his tone lowers and sounds a little husky. He pauses for a moment as he gently circles on your inner wrist in a mindless pattern. “I want you to take the reins this time to make you feel empowered. Have you done whatever you want to me.” 

In that moment, your chest tightens even more with the way your heart races. This is the first time you’ve been offered something like this, and throughout your situationship with him, Miguel has always been the one to lead in the sexual activities. So his proposal has taken you by surprise and yet you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the new prospect specially made for you.  

“Really?” Your voice holds an innocence to it. “You’ll let me do whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want, nena,” Miguel smirks. “I’m yours to use as your playground.” 

You gaze away as you think, still feeling the rush of excitement and arousal. “There’s always something that I’ve been wanting to try.” You begin, pause for a dramatic effect, and then look at him with feign innocence and curiosity. “Thigh fucking?” 

Miguel raises a brow at you and a wide grin appears on his face. “You plan on torturing me with those sweet, soft thighs of yours, bonita?” 

You giggle softly, “Not torture you, per se. More like… want to know what it feels like.” 

“Mm,” Miguel hums. His hand reaches out to brush away some unkempt strands of hair out of your view. “If that’s what you want to do, then let’s do it.” 

Nodding, the two of you began to undress each other’s pants, the clothes all tossed aside at the corner of your bedroom. You quickly settle on the and laid your back on the headboard, with Miguel joining to be in front of you. He kneels on the bed and spreads your legs open, moving closer between them. He takes hold of his large cock in his hand and places his throbbing member on your bikini area, giving it playful taps that have you squirming a little and giggling. 

You slowly bring your legs together, the inner of your thighs brushing against his member softly between the thigh gaps. Then with your legs clasp together, you raise your legs up then down slowly. Soon, the motion repeats as your inner thighs drag his cock up and down in strokes. You swear you could feel his member throb between your muscles. 

“Oh, mierda, that’s it.” Miguel’s murmurs with eyes closed. “Your thighs are so soft and warm.” 

“You think so?” You ask as you proceed to move your thighs up and down, looking at him under his gaze innocently. 

Miguel smirks and lets out a breathy chortle once you’re confident stroking him with your thighs. Bring your upper legs up and down like you’re doing a seated knee crunch exercise on his cock with your upper leg muscles. With every stroke, Miguel’s member quivers and he groans. His chest is rising up and down slowly, eyes closed as his lips parted slightly whenever he breathes heavily. 

“Fuck, your thighs.” A low growl emits out of Miguel. His brows creased as he pants. “So soft and beautiful and mierda (fuck)—” He let out a breathy, almost strangled gasp as his eyes gazed down at his cock and your thighs stroked him. “Tan perfecta, hermosa (so perfect, so beautiful).” 

The praises coming out of his mouth feeds your confidence and it certainly shows it on the smile of your face. You continue to tease him and perhaps like Miguel said earlier — torturing him a little. Seeing the way the foreskin of his cock would roll up and down to the movements of your thighs in between them — hiding between the muscles and revealing itself like it was a peek-a-boo game. The head of his cock is already glistened with precum. “Something else.” He rasps. “Please.” 

“Oh? You’re telling me what to do, now?” You ask with a raised brow, your tone teasing. “Though you told me that you’re my playground to use.” 

“You’re right,” Miguel rasps with a sheepish smirk. Still using his thighs to stroke his cock, you can see the way his brows furrowed together as Miguel breathes rhythmically in an attempt for some sort of control and restraint. “Are you going to keep playing with me like this?” 

You glance up at him. The movement of your thighs going up and down slows down until it comes to a stop. His cock throbs, being buried in between the soft muscles of your upper legs. “You’re right, I should do something about it.” You declare. 

Carefully, you open up your legs, seeing the way it glistened with arousal ─ a mixture of his and yours painting your skin. You already miss the way his member feels between your thighs but you have a different idea. Leaning yourself forward close to Miguel, your right hand reaches for his cock and soon, your hand replaces your thighs to stroke him. A gentle grip on his dick as you move up and down on him. 

You hear Miguel groaning your name, sounding even more hoarse than before. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He says brusquely, though it sounds gentle. “Tú, pequeña zorra (you little vixen).” 

“Whatever do you mean?” You giggle softly. 

“Want to have your pussy around my cock.” Miguel murmurs. His head is tilted back with eyes closed, deeply groaning and his dick pulsates even more in your hand. 

The growing smile on your face doesn’t falter as you take full control of Miguel’s pleasure, watching the way he’s beginning to lose composure. You feel more confident and empowered in this situation, because you’ve always been a bit of a pillow princess and letting Miguel have his way with you. But this time, the role is reversed. 

“How do you want to have my pussy?” You ask, still stroking his cock with your hand. “Should I ride you?”

“Yes, yes por favour (please).” Miguel says, his voice sounds breathy. He groans your name once more, the muscles of his biceps tightens as his body shudders in pleasure. His member twitches in your palm. “Hermosa, nena, por favor (beautiful, baby, please).” 

You chuckle softly, seeing how Miguel has succumbed into a whimpering mess. A different sight but nevertheless a beautiful one. You’ve always known Miguel to be confident, intimidating, and somewhat snarky. But in the moment and right in front you, he is neither of those. He is yours to toy with and as he said before—he’s your playground to be used for the night. 

“What did I tell you about telling me what to do?” You lightly scold Miguel. And yet, your hand slowly comes to a stop and lets him go. Getting up onto your knees, you gently nudge Miguel to lean back a little. When he does so, you carefully crawl onto him, settling yourself on his lap. His hands instantly go to hold onto your waist. The two of you stare at each other, eyes gazing over each other’s expression and facial features. 

“You ready?” Your voice is soft when you ask, hand reaching down to hold his cock and aligns it upwards between your legs. 

“Yes,” Miguel whispers. His eyes darken in lust, the grip on your hips is strong, as if he’s trying to imprint his fingers into your skin. Almost holding back your breath, you mentally prepare to embrace yourself, remembering to take it nice and slow. 

Steady, you lower yourself down onto Miguel, the head of his cock breaches in slowly until the two of you are groaning and moaning. Your walls warmly welcome the intrusion, wrapping around his cock in a vice grip till you could feel the tip of its head brushing inside your womb. “Fuck, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You rest your forehead on Miguel’s when the shudder of pleasure overwhelms you. Breathing softly as you hold onto him, mind clouded in lust and sheepishness. When a thought inadvertently enters your mind, the notion is forgotten when you feel his hands guiding you close to him by the waist. 

“You’re doing so well,” Miguel says softly, his lips almost brushing yours. 

His words made your heart leap and you exhaled out a soft sigh that you didn't realise was hold back. “I want you to get comfortable.” 

“I already am.” The corner of Miguel’s mouth curves up in a grin. His hands cup your rear cheeks and he lifts you up easily off the bed to switch positions. Miguel sits at the edge of the bed and his gaze focuses on you, his hands going onto your hips as you proudly sit on his lap. 

You begin to roll your hips as you sit on his lap, with his cock settled buried inside you; its girth hits your vaginal walls, his pelvis rubbing your clit and you swear you could feel his cockhead hitting your cervix. The muscles of Miguel’s thighs flex a little underneath your weight and he heaves heavily when your cunt grips onto his dick whenever you roll yourself onto him. “That’s it,” he groans. “Grinding on my cock so well.” 

With your hands placed behind on his muscular thighs as you steady yourself in this whole new position, you angle your hips and begin to bounce on him. It starts off gently at first for you to adjust into the feeling and idea of taking charge. But then, the pace picks up moments later as you begin to feel comfortable. The wanton swiftness of Miguel’s cock hitting your G-spot relentlessly. You’re unsure who’s controlling the movements — whether it's your own rhythm or his hand on your hips guiding you to lift up and then down onto his length. But it doesn’t matter who did what because being on top of Miguel O’Hara feels like the sweetest and well-deserved victory for yourself. 

The bedroom is filled with the sounds of wet skin slapping with mixed arousal, your breathy gasp and his throaty groans. It doesn’t take long until you feel the knot in your stomach tightens, making you drive your hips up and down on Miguel faster. You hear him shudder a breath, his hands grab on your buttcheeks. “Oh fuck, hermosa—” 

A throaty groan from Miguel and strangled cry from you fills in the bedroom. Your cunt tightens around his cock and it throbs just in time for Miguel to spill his cum inside of you. Your clit pulsates from the pleasure, the two of you gasping and groaning from the euphoric sensation of cumming at the same time. 

“Díos,” Miguel murmurs breathlessly. His lips brush on the valley of your chest as he catches his breath. Your eyes are closed, regaining your breath as well. “That was… wow.” Miguel adds. He chuckles softly. “Didn’t know you have a wild side of you.” 

“I…” Your voice trails. A sheepish smile curves up the corners of your lips. “Was that too much?” 

Miguel laughs then shakes his hand. His hands squeeze your hips. “If anything, it was the best.” 

Your arms circle around his neck as you press yourself chest to chest on him. The climax settles down, leaving the room quiet. Neither of you pull away despite overly warm and a little sweaty the two of you are, and you prefer the way you’re both not separating from each other yet. 

"Hey," Miguel's soft tone catches your attention. "I have been meaning to ask. Why is Tuesday your least favourite day? Is it a personal thing?"

His question surprises you because you didn’t think he or anyone in your life would notice that the second day of the week is your least favourite day. You stay silent, figuring out how to put your explanation in words. “In all my life, Tuesday seems to be the day where I’m out of luck and rough days seem to happen that would hinder my mood. A bad grade at school when I was younger. Or I found out that one of the co-workers I hate at work made a complaint about me for something insignificant. Even when… my mum passed away a few years ago, it was on a Tuesday too.”

Things fall peacefully quiet in your bedroom as the two of you sit together on the sheets. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Miguel says apologetically. The pad of his thumb brushes on your inner wrist and you don't pull your hand away. Instead, let his warmth comfort you. 

“Well, I hope that I’ve made your Tuesday a little better for you,” Miguel adds softly. Still caressing where your pulse and arteries are pumping under your skin.

Your eyes gaze at him and a smile appears on your face. You couldn’t help but agree because he did make your day a little brighter than the other Tuesdays you experienced in the past.

THANK YOU FOR READING! DONATIONS OR GIFTS ARE WELCOME. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED FOR FUTURE UPDATES.

[flavored-soda]

BuckTommy/Kinley/Tevan Headcanons because the brainrot is real

Rating: Explicit (18+ minors dni)

One thing I gotta get out of the way is that Buck was a sex addict at one point. He’s not a newbie to the BDSM/kink scene and he’s certainly not a virgin. He may not know every little thing about gay sex but he’s not clueless.

Ok, so now that that's out of the way:

Buck bottoms majority of the time. Their first time, Tommy bottomed, and while it was great and amazing, once he tried it for the first time, he found he preferred it over topping.

Tommy has a major Daddy kink. He brought it up ONE TIME, once, and Buck has not forgotten. He waits for the perfect opportunities to use and abuse the kink in his favor.

Which brings to my next point: Buck is a brat.

One of Buck's favorite things about sex before Tommy was getting to eat his partner's out. He loved having his mouth on them and being able to reduce them to squirming messes with only his mouth. It's no different now that he's with Tommy. He loves sucking him off. He even ate out Tommy one time and he found it to be a religious experience.

Toys on toys on toys on toys. Buck has always been one experimental and kinky motherfucker. That didn't change with Tommy.

Tommy is a soft dom all the way. He can be mean but he has to be in the right headspace and often takes some planning on both their parts.

When Tommy is mean, he is mean. He'll never admit it, but he's a little bit of a sadist, and watching his boyfriend squirm and shake from dry orgasm after dry orgasm or being edged for hours really does it for him.

Buck loves himself some impact play. The flogger that Tommy surprised him with one night is his favorite. He finds himself begging for Tommy to use it on him almost every scene.

They end up having more vanilla-love-making sessions than anything. Sometimes, they can weeks to a month without their schedules truly lining up to spend time together probably, so they cherish when they can. The intimacy of just being in each other's space, being able to be so close with the other and holding each other means more to them than any kind of hot and kinky scene.

Aftercare (because it is very very important people!!!):

It depends on the type of scene what aftercare each of them need: Tommy usually always needs cuddles. He likes being the big spoon and running his hands over Buck's body, placing soft kisses where he can. He's checking his handiwork while also checking to making sure the younger is okay. If he can't have cuddles, he'll settle for holding hands, he just needs to be touching Buck in some way.

Buck is typically always down for cuddles and kisses, especially after particularly rough scenes. Praise and words of affirmation are another big thing on his aftercare list and Tommy is always happy to provide.

There are times when both men need something different. Sometimes, Tommy, who is normally the talkative one, goes silent and needs that silence. When he gets like this, Buck will usually pull the older man on top of his chest, letting Tommy's head rest right over his heart as he combs his fingers through the older's hair. He'll give him a kiss or two every once and a while until they fall asleep.

After particularly hardcore scenes, Buck will need a minute or two to come back to earth (especially when he first starting subbing for Tommy.) During this time, Tommy cleans him up, gets him water, maybe a snack, and lays next to him, running his hands through the younger's hair and down his cheek. When Buck comes back to himself, it can be a lot. Often times he needs lots of praise and reassurance and skin to skin contact. But there are times that Buck needs one of his boyfriend's hoodies, a movie or show in the background, and the most contact being one of Tommy's hands on his thigh or around his shoulders. He'll always fall asleep with the hoodie on only to wake up later, complain about how hot it is, and press his newly naked torso to his boyfriend's.

When the aftercare continues into the morning, whoever wakes up first either cooks breakfast or orders food (it's usually Tommy waking up first, years out of the military and he still can't break some of the habits.) The day is usually a lazy one, spent in little to no clothes or only each other's clothes. The farthest they'll go is lazy makeout sessions. Except for that one time that Buck had ever so desperately begged to give Tommy a blowjob, only to nearly fall asleep with Tommy's cock in his mouth, his head resting against the older man's thigh. Needless to say, cockwarming become a regular thing after that.

Bonus:

Tommy has been out of practice for a long while, at least a couple of years. He was just as nervous their first time as Buck was.

Buck still is recovering from his Buck 1.0 days. It's something that Tommy notices and helps him through by getting Buck into sex therapy (with a therapist who isn't going to take advantage of him) and will come to sessions when asked.

feel free to come scream at me in my asks about these :D

[ataraxiaspainting]

The Grand Design.

Yan Arlecchino x F Reader.

Synopsis: Spring is soon to arrive in Fontaine, thawing out the waters and making the land greener. After weeks of being held within the walls of Hotel Bouffes d'ete, The Knave has promised you that you may go to the Florence Festival together as a reward for your good behavior. Though you are now here, you soon are reminded of how Arlecchino’s definition of a reward is quite different from yours. Still, it is best to remain on her good side. The man you two are following should have known that well too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, spoilers for Arlecchino's story quest, and minor character death/violence.

Word Count: 4.1k.

*~*~*~*

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Brutus (Instrumental) by The Buttress

I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE by Måneskin

Bernadette by IAMX

Who Is She ? by I Monster

Bang Bang Bang Bang - Remastered 2021 by Sohodolls

Deutschland by Rammstein

Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Beautiful Is Boring by BONES UK

Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer

Swimming Pool by Marie Madeleine

*~*~*~*

“Something wicked this way comes, and as I set to face it, I'm unsure, should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?” – The Buttress, Brutus

*~*~*~*

The room that The Knave put you in when you first arrived here never fails to seem smaller than it is. Your designated bed is placed in the middle of the wall farthest from the locked doors. There is a large window on each side made of up pink and white stained glass, but no matter how much you attempt to punch them, they never shatter. The floor has carpet on top of it, just soft enough for your bare feet to feel comfortable.

Arlecchino never lets you out of your room even for meals, and thus had a wooden table installed in front of the right window. There are two chairs too; one for you and one for whomever is put up to the task of watching you while you eat. Only to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients, she said after you gained enough courage to ask. I don’t want you to get ill. You had attempted to skip meals before, but as soon as the children who had cleaned up your plates and trash after every meal had found out, “Father” was soon notified. She was not completely furious, but she was most definitely not pleased. She scolded you for what felt like hours. All you are doing is lowering your strength… surely you’ll understand eventually.

You don’t throw away your food anymore, after she was the one that oversaw you eating every day for around three weeks, her eyes seemingly staring into your soul.

At first, you ate your food because you wanted the children in charge of watching you to not suffer punishments if they were not up to the task.

But after having enough conversations with Arlecchino, your motivations changed. Once an agent of the House of the Hearth used the vacant room beside your own to sneak out and run away. From the sounds you heard from the other side of the wall, it seems they were found out immediately. Arlecchino didn’t seem distraught when she visited you a few minutes later. Her appearance was not unusual, but from the crashing noises, you knew that the agent must have tried to fight The Knave herself.

They were not successful, that much was clear. Arlecchino hadn’t even broken a sweat, while they were fighting for their life.

There was a gift for you in one of her hands. A small black box with a red ribbon. You soon connected the dots. The escapee had the worst luck. Arlecchino was already on her way to your room, and just so happened to witness them opening the unlocked window. They didn’t scream though, despite all the other loud sounds of throwing vases and such, which also showed Arlecchino finished off her target quicker than they could beg for mercy or help.

Here at the House of the Hearth, everyone is responsible for their own actions. Loyalty shall not go unrewarded. Obedience shall not go unsupported. But… Foolishness shall not be without a hefty price to pay. Lies shall not be without precious items being taken as due compensation.

So, now your top priority is to be on your best behavior solely for yourself.

Every child here looks up to you. They have treated you as such ever since you woke up behind locked doors. But they also ensure that Arlecchino’s lessons are as drilled into your skull as her lessons are drilled into theirs. They ensure that you remain compliant.

All in all, they have taught you more about the House of the Hearth than “Father” ever could. The children scold you whenever you don’t follow the House’s long list of rules as if they are your caretakers. In a way perhaps they are, in Arlecchino’s point of view, but you would never admit to that. They reward you whenever you remember to water the few plants they had placed beside your bedroom window and cheer whenever you greet their savior with a bow and a good afternoon, Madam. They take away the few books Arlecchino has given you whenever you refuse to eat and yell at you whenever you refuse to even look at her.

Why are you so ungrateful?

We only want what’s best for you!

Do you wish to break Father’s heart?

So you don’t disobey them anymore. You had realized that they were not disciplining you to have The Knave not be mad at them. No. If only it were that simple. They discipline you because they want you to be a part of their family. That is why the younger ones slip drawings of you underneath your doors. That is why the older ones joke around with you during mealtimes.

You don’t throw out any drawings given to you.

You attempt to laugh at unfunny jokes. To get access to more freedoms, you must be on your best behavior.

You have to get the children’s blessings to even be considered good enough to step into the House’s flower garden.

It has a glass ceiling with all sorts of carved plant designs on top. Rainbow Roses. Romaritime Flowers. Lumidouce Bells. Lakelight Lilies. There is a path right down the middle to see each of them in all their glory. At the end of it, there is a small tree just big enough to shadow one or two sitting people. That place has become your sacred spot. You read and even take naps there, when your unbendable schedule allows it.

That place is also where Arlecchino first proposed an award for behaving well for the children.

Lyney tells me you are adjusting well. You noticed that her tone was the smallest bit higher, but you didn’t pay attention to the way the corners of her mouth pointed upwards just slightly.

You didn’t answer her, instead nodding your head.

I trust his judgment, and therefore you can choose a reward from the two I have selected for us.

As soon as she says the first option, your hearing gives out. Your mind is focused on it and it alone. The Florence Festival. An opportunity to finally sweep your hands on blades of grass and feel the wind flow into and out of your hair. It’s paradise, plain and simple.

*~*~*~*

The small circular table’s wood is light in color, and its iron framework leaves little to be desired. The chairs possess a similar appearance due to the use of the same materials, but the top rounded rail has a fake red rose attached. It was likely formed from melted ore that was poured into molds instead of being carved by hand, but you don’t dare ask about it to the one sitting across from you, sipping her hot beverage and looking at the flower fields in the distance.

You don’t want to see anyone get in trouble for your pickiness. 

Right?

You observe in silence as a single petal drops from the vase of flowers between your two dishes, almost as if the universe is conspiring to vex Arlecchino much at the expense of the fates of those who cross her.

You are unsure as to whether or not you count.

The food on your side compared to the food on her side could not be more different; rainbow macarons and a latte and steak tartare and a cup of black tea. But they still have a common similarity despite their appearance and ingredients; they are outrageously overpriced.

The main dishes you can understand. After all, they are this cafe’s specialties along with the top two bestsellers. But the drinks are another matter entirely. You cannot possibly comprehend in what world would a cup of tea with no sugar or cream amount to ten thousand hundred Mora and that being a reasonable price. The same thing with your latte, but you figure that the added sugar and cream had understandably raised the price. 

Though twenty thousand Mora for something that took less than ten minutes to prepare when you lived by yourself is evil. Some guilt stirs within you when you think about the total amount of Mora Arlecchino has spent on you thus far on this little outing. You two have not even made it to the Florence Festival’s famous entrance arch yet. In addition, surely there will be other things she will get you, either by your request or by hers.

The Knave raises her hand like a corpse arising from its slumber.

“From what my information sources have told me, this… ‘Florence Festival’ is about the arrival of spring. It sounds rather wholesome, in my opinion… and it sounds like something the children would like to partake in, next time.” She looks down at your still full plate. “Is the cuisine not up to your expectations? We can go somewhere else if you would like.”

You shake your head, and pick up the pink macaron in an attempt for Arlecchino to not call over a rather unfortunate waiter. “No, no… It’s fine. I promise… Peruere.”

You spoke her true name with a softness akin to a dove’s plucked feathers. She does not smile, but instead leans over and grabs the red macaron off your plate. You do not stop her. Her teeth sink into it right up to the center where the raspberry jam is. The filling leaks out onto her lips, but soon blends in as they share a similarly saccharine hue.

“It is unkind to lie to me.”

Between her fingers, the macaron is crushed to near dust within a single motion. Arlecchino does not scowl, but there is a small frown on her face. A tsk sound. Disappointment.

“They’re… rather stale, aren’t they [First]?”

“I shall call over the foolish owner of this establishment, and then we shall go see the rest of this festival.”

You pray not for the owner, but for you. Arlecchino's vigilant gaze is constantly fixed on you, making selfishness seem like a mere reflex.

*~*~*~*

“I must admit I have other plans relating to this festival.” Arlecchino sighs, slowly her walking speed until she comes to a stop.

You copy her movements like you are her reflection, but unlike what she sees in pools of blood, you don’t speak when she does.

She puts one of her clawed hands near her chin as she continues. “Consider it to be an immovable obstacle, if that is how you wish to see it. But I still need your help regardless.”

You suppress all feelings of wanting something else than taking orders day in and day out, not wanting your metaphorical leash to be pulled. Arlecchino looks to her right, past the stalls of event sellers, and to the back of a young man.

“If it also makes you feel better, you shall be rewarded for assisting me.” She offers. “After our task is done, I shall buy you anything and everything you want here. The cafe was just a little sample of all the wonders I can give you if you earn them.”

Your focus is not on her words but on the stalls. It is unintentional, she knows that. But she has never been one to tolerate disrespect from anyone, and so she snaps her fingers to bring your gaze back to her. You look up at her like you are one of her apostles. She has attained your attention, your fear, and your eyes once more, all without harming a single Crystalfly. Who knows how long this will last before you regress back to old habits? She hopes for your sake, that the day you divert from her love is the day this world falls down. Even then, she will catch up to you no matter how many people she has to bury, or even if she has to bury herself.

You two will never be apart, because she won’t let anyone do so, even if it was the Tsaritsa herself.

“Yes, Arlecchino?” 

Your voice is not nearly as trembling as it used to be, but to her, that is a great thing. It means that you have the strength to carry yourself properly, but you still depend on following the rules to not be scolded. Newer children who did not ask to be in the Fatui have acted similarly once she has given them a stern talking to. Their heads are tilted upwards, and they have their one hand on their chests. The other is always behind their back with two of their fingers crossed. While you possess the former, you do not possess the latter anymore. Arlecchino is proud of you, for that. You must have learned plenty from the children. While she is not your father, she is still the head of the House of the Hearth, and all other body parts follow suit. 

Like the spider she so loved growing up though, if the head is cut off in any way, the legs will still be able to flourish. She learned that from observing specifically jumping spiders. When a much larger spider came, it bit off her chosen jumping spider’s head and left the rest of the corpse. The legs scurried away. 

The legs still lived their life even without the head in place. The children will follow suit eventually, once Arlecchino eventually perishes. Though you will follow her. She expects nothing less. Thus, she already has preparations for what is to come on that fateful day.

It will be painless though. She guarantees that.

“Follow him,” She orders. “Befriend him, if you would like. Just please don’t get too attached, now.”

*~*~*~*

When you’re off to do your task, Arlecchino reminisces of better times. She sighs, sits down on one of the nearby benches, crosses one leg over the other, and looks down at her black hands. The same ones that hold others that are brimming with purity. Though she has never touched your hands, she can tell they are warm and soft, and everything else hers are not, from how much hand lotion you use each week and how often you manicure your nails. She doesn’t want to ask you, but the reason for this is unknown to her. Is she afraid of rejection? No. That cannot be it. 

You wouldn’t dare reject her, after all, that you learned never to do at Hotel Bouffes d'ete. Lyney and Lynette were your main teachers if she remembers properly. Though, now that she thinks about it, Foltz must have had some lessons for you as well. He is not a cruel boy to those who have earned Arlecchino’s trust, but at the same time, he has no mercy for those who break Father’s rules. Lynette must have stopped him on multiple counts every time you acted out of line.

Foltz is too impulsive, while Lynette is frankly too calculating.

That is why she chose Lyney to teach you most of the ropes she set out.

Lyney is good at that sort of thing.

He has the power to get everyone to listen to his beck and call with a simple smile and a few words. She also trusted he would help you feel more comfortable, as Lyney always gives gifts and speaks more gently to newcomers. With his help, Arlecchino knows very specific things about you, details that outsider Fatui spies would never be able to grasp. Whether or not you told him those things is insignificant. Lyney may not be as observant as Lynette, but he still has a knack for seeing finer habits and actions. Arlecchino also knows though that because of the twins’ bleeding hearts, they often bury anything Foltz will tell on before he sees them. After all, Foltz still has yet to grasp certain aspects of your body language and speech patterns because he doesn’t see you as often as he wants to, but Lyney and Lynette know much more because they spend the most time with you.

She doesn't mind it at all, because they treat you like family. That is all Arlecchino wants when it comes to you, to make you see their way and for everyone to get along.

…

If only the faces of the Hearth stayed the same, that they only grew and never lessened. It disappoints her, whenever she has to deal with people that are ordered to be erased.

But even after they are erased by her, sometimes the dead come back in surprising ways. Like the man you are following. It pains her, somewhere deep down. She knows that it is for the best of the House, but emotions cannot be suppressed forever.

She almost weeps when she thinks of a familiar face but closes her eyes before tears can fall.

“Pierre Snezhevich,” she says. “You had the chance to be reborn, took it… and now, for what? This time you are destined to die for good, I’m afraid.”

She takes the bundle of dried daffodils from her pocket and lays them beside her.

*~*~*~*

“I… daffodils are my favorite flower.”

The man takes but a few steps closer as he says those words, smiling. But the moment you attempt to bridge the gap yourself, he stops and looks around. His pointer finger adjusted his glasses as he looked more in peril than happy. The other hand drops the bundle of daffodils near his feet, and you see them both retreat into his leather jacket’s pockets.

You don’t move any closer, afraid that you may scare him off with any sort of movement. You don’t move any closer, afraid of scaring him away and invoking Arlecchino’s wrath. If you fail this mission, who knows how long it will take before you’re allowed to go outside again?

You simply wait in place with your hands in front of you, and attempt to give him the most comforting smile you can muster. But your acting skills are still subpar when compared to The Knave and her children. So because of that, the man doesn’t move from his position either, scowling.

“Need something?” He asks, making it glaringly obvious he doesn't trust you in the slightest. “If you have something to say… say it already. Please.”

“Uh… I just complimented the bouquet in your hand. I… don’t really have anything else to say in particular, I just wanted to strike up a conversation.”

The man looks past you, and you don’t hear a verbal response. 

Instead what you hear is the clattering of high heels touching the path’s bricks.

“Ah, dearest, here you are.”

A familiar clawed hand rests just above your collarbone, the arm just above the opposing shoulder. You don’t speak and only watch as the man’s expression delves little by little into complete terror. His eyes widen and his knees crumble. 

“Eric Draftler… What a surprise. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.” 

“You… two know each other? I was just asking about the daffodils,” You play into the lie, this little image Arlecchino told you to sketch with hardly any directions on whatever to do. The wind leads the daffodil petals on the ground into the air, and soon some of them are gone. Only the leaves remain. “This… is my fiancée. Arlecchino.” 

“Didn’t I just tell you we know each other?”

“Yes but still,” You don’t look into her eyes, instead staring at Eric’s shadow from across the path. For you know what is lurking within their depths, somewhere deep down in there. Disappointment, and a scolding waiting to happen. You can practically hear it now, her voice edging on anger with no ounce of any other emotion in her tone. “I just wanted him to remember if he… forgot. That’s all.”

Gradually, as you both proceed, Eric begins to move further and further away from you, walking backward. Eventually, you manage to guide him to a less crowded section of the festival, almost as if you pushed him there.

“Tell me, why did you kill Ginelle?”

Arlecchino’s voice is no longer friendly, and her grasp on your neck area is tighter. But you still don’t dare to ask her to stop, because that will make your injuries far worse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fatui scum.” Eric hisses, his arms now covering his stomach as he turns paler. “I have never met you.”

Arlecchino lets go of you, crossing her arms as she gets closer. “Oh really?”

“Not in person at least!” Eric says, almost yelling. “You-”

As Arlecchino puts a finger to her lips though, Eric’s voice gets quieter.

The clattering of high heels also gets quieter as she gets the closest she can be to Eric without giving up the illusion of common courtesy. She shakes her head and looks down on him. Arlecchino never tolerates anything other than murmuring voices, gentle singing, or absolute silence. 

It’s something you have come to know quite well. This rule has no exceptions.

“Now, now, Mister Draftler.” She leans just slightly. But her head is still held high. “I just wanted a conversation. I promise you that this conflict can result in no physical fighting if you just listen to what I have to say.”

Eric does not move back anymore. While his mind is most likely forwarding the flight response, his body is stuck at a standstill. It’s a stance you have grown to know well when Arlecchino approaches someone; them being an enemy, a friend, or otherwise is of no significance to her. All she wants is control, and to appear above everyone else.

Whether to guide, defend, or crush depends on your perspective more than hers. She has the power to make dreams come true but often chooses to conjure nightmares instead. They teach better lessons that way in her opinion, regardless of whether they are the last lesson they will ever learn or one of the first in a long line of those to come. 

“You’re simply overreacting, I’m afraid.” A tsking sound emerges from her throat as she continues to look down into the eyes of her already-defeated foe. “I do not wish to detain you and bring you to Snezhnaya for further questioning. My dear [First] will be all alone with no one to care for her quite like I do if I have to go all the way to the Zapolyarny Palace to oversee your trial and due punishment. I am sure you don’t want that either, yes?”

Eric does not respond, putting his hands back in his pockets.

“You know your past life, don’t you?” Arlecchino asks, no, states. “You most likely don’t remember anything but key fragments, but that is more than enough to justify giving you the death sentence. When you attempted to sneak out via that room next to [First]’s, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You repay me by killing your own sister?” 

While Arlecchino does not tolerate loud noises from other people, she has nothing against raising her own voice. So, she does just that.

“How dare you.” She steps just a bit closer, having her arms crossed once again. “You were my child once, Pierre. But no longer.” Arlecchino puts a hand out towards Eric and squeezes. The man begins to choke, clawing at his throat. 

You put your hands over your eyes, and wait until it is over.

…

You’re not sure how long it takes for Eric to die.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes, you think. But time dragged on as you attempted to blur out the sounds of Eric’s gasps and scratching.

From the little bit you allowed yourself to see, you could have sworn Arlecchino was smiling.

“You didn’t do the best job, I’m afraid.” You hear The Knave say, and realize she is talking to you.

“I’m sorry.”

She sighs then, you think. The clattering of her high heels gets louder as she approaches you. Then a thump.

“It’s alright. You still managed to get the target distracted while I did the rest. In addition, this was not a terrible outcome for your first mission.” Arlecchino puts a hand on your head, and you uncover your eyes, looking up at her. “Be proud, [First].”

Her nails don’t poke into your scalp like you feared they would. You’re grateful for that.

“Well, a deal is a deal, yes? Let us enjoy this festival while it lasts.” She turns around to look at the body behind you two. “Oh, and don’t worry about that. It’ll stay here to teach a lesson to fools.”

You weren’t worried about that in the first place.

You’re worried about what will happen to you when your plans of escaping are executed.

“Is something the matter?”

You attempt to smile, but if anything you look exhausted. “No. I’m just… happy.”

“I’m glad.”

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #20 lost and found.

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: 3.3k (texts under the passage <3)

masterlist ▸ 019 anywhere you go. ▸ 021 we're so back. (coming soon!)

Minghao wasn’t sure his tactic to get y/n alone was going to work, but it was his only sure chance to try. All night up in his hotel room he thought of different things to say to her, questions that had been brewing in his mind for the past two weeks since her failure of a birthday party and her somewhat of a disappearance. 

Wonwoo was still sleeping in the bed adjacent to his, he knew he’d have to be up early to get a chance to watch Joshua exit y/n’s home so he woke up before the sun and tiptoed into the bathroom trying not to wake his friend who might try to talk him out of his plan. 

The bathroom light woke his tired body up even more. Was it silly to even try to look good for her? What if Wonwoo was telling the truth? Y/n maybe really did ask to not see them and only trusted her true feelings with his friend over him. 

Something about Wonwoo even sticking his neck out so Minghao could go talk to her in private was enough of a clue that he was lying to her. 

Minghao grabbed the keys from Wonwoo’s car, temporarily abandoning his four friends at the motel. After all, he knew they would understand. He drove down the clean old streets of y/n's hometown and smiled, imagining her when she was younger walking around, grabbing ice cream, doing her school shopping, someday maybe he’d get the chance to experience it with her, but today wasn’t that day. 

Pulling up to the corner, behind another black car he checked the time on his phone and waited nearly a block away from her big front door until he saw Joshua pull out of her driveway. 

After sitting in the car for what felt like a decade, Minghao caught a glimpse of Josh running around the side of the house to his car and starting the engine. For some reason he didn’t pull out of the driveway immediately which made the pit in Hao’s stomach fall deeper. Was he waiting for y/n? Was his plan going to fail him? 

But, the universe worked in his favor as Joshua pulled out of the driveway all by his lonesome and headed the opposite way down the block. When his car was finally out of sight, Minghao stepped outside into the fresh air and walked up the front walkway to her house. 

Unsure if he should knock or ring the doorbell to insure she heard that someone was waiting on the front porch, he saw y/n through the large glass window and stared for a moment at the back of her head. 

Taking a deep breath in he decided on a light knock, waiting patiently for her to come answer the door. 

“Josh, Seriously you have a key why are you kno-” 

As the door split open to reveal the girl he hadn’t seen in too long, she gasped and stood to look at him with a blank face. 

“Oh.” 

“That’s all you can say?” 

“I’m not really sure what to say, why are you here?” 

“I didn’t believe anything Wonwoo had told me yesterday, can we talk?” 

“Uh, yeah. Come in.” 

Minghao stepped through the door into y/n’s world and followed her through the house to the kitchen. 

“Want any coffee, matcha, water, alcohol?” 

 “Waters good.” 

Grabbing two glasses one for water and one for a glass of wine y/n felt like she so desperately needed to ease her stress, she sat down across from him at the table. Her eyes puffy, her face dull and dry, almost like she hadn’t been sleeping and probably crying. 

“So?” 

“Well first of all, it’s good to see you. I don’t really know how to start off asking you anything, but I guess I really need to know why you lied about writing the letter?” 

“Oh. Well I didn-” 

“Y/n come on. We both know you didn’t write it. I can read Wonwoo like a book, he was insisting a little too much that you didn’t want to see us. I won’t entertain it for even a second.” 

“Damn, Wonwoo. Well, the night of the party after Mingyu left his office to go and help Minnie, uh, Mimi came in after the lights went out and she threatened me. She gave me the letter to sign and told me to block you guys and go somewhere else.” 

“Threatened you how?” 

“Just that if she didn’t force me out, she would never get what she wanted.” 

“Which is?” 

“She didn’t say. She just handed me car keys and a zip drive.” 

“Did you look to see what was on it?” 

“No. I don’t care.” 

“But, it could be something good.” 

“It might be and it also might be nothing, but I want to be done with her. I want no stress. I was so happy before she came back into my life again and for a moment I thought she really wanted to move passed whatever fucking issue she has with me and be friends. I really just don't understand the issue.” 

“She’s jealous.” 

“But, why? She’s successful, her parents have money, she’s not unfortunate looking at all. She has nothing to be jealous of me for.” 

“Joshua? Mingyu? Minnie? The list goes on and on, she never could make friends who liked her more than they liked you.” 

“They did like her. I thought once she got with Joshua it was over the first time, then all hell broke loose. It’s like whenever she’s around everything in my life that was starting to be good goes to shit.” 

“You have to stop letting her get away with it.” 

“I just don’t want to deal with it anymore, Hao I’m so fucking tired.” 

“You have to deal with it. I know it’s eating away at you, but if you let it continue, you let her take over your life. I know you would never forgive yourself for that. Plus, you have some dumbass friends helping you and one smart one. Seokmin, Jun, Vernon, and Wonwoo need you, your the glue. They’ve been so sad thinking you just left for no reason other than you didn’t want to see them anymore.” 

“And you?” 

“Yeah. Of course. Why do you think I'm here convincing you to come back and be with us? I’d even offer to get on my hands and knees and beg but I don’t want it to come to that.” 

“I mean you could.” 

Minghao laughed at y/n’s small bit of sarcasm coming back to her, when he heard someone opening the front door, thinking it was Joshua he got up to leave when y/n stopped him and got up herself. 

“Dad? Where do you think you’re going, I said if you need something to let me know.” 

“Ah, honey. Just wanted to sit in the sun for a few minutes, and didn't want to bother you and your friend.” 

y/n looked over at Minghao, putting her finger up to gesture one minute, wrapped her arm around her fathers and led him towards the back of their house. 

Minghao just smiled back, watching her walk away out the patio door, helping her dad with his cane as she opened the door up and sat him in a chair under the sun. 

Before she came back in he studied how well she took care of him, placing a pillow behind his back slowly and comfortably, pointing at a tree to show him a bird, and a gesture which made Minghao think she was asking him a question. 

When she came back in she headed straight to the fridge and grabbed three cans of beer, walking back to Minghao cuddling with her dog on her childhood couch. 

“Come on.” 

“What?” 

“You’re going to have a beer with my dad, come on. His request. Bring Lucy with you.” 

She smiled gesturing to her small dog sitting on Minghaos lap, he gracefully picked her up, getting nervous to meet the man y/n had amazing things to tell him before. 

“Don’t be scared, kiddo. I don’t bite.” 

“Nice to meet you sir, I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Minghao opened a can of beer, placing it in the older man’s slightly shaking fingers, making sure he had his grip just right before opening the two following cans. 

“So, you’re the boy my daughter told me about huh? The artist.” 

“Talking to your dad about me, y/n? Wow.” 

“Na, once or twice.” 

“She doesn’t shut up about you, you might out rank Seokmin.” 

“Dad no-“ 

“No, let the gentleman talk, y/n. I want to hear it.” 

Y/n just shook her head, sitting back in her chair, blushing slightly. 

“Nothing but good things of course, I kept begging her to bring you over. But, she never did. Keep bringing that Joshua instead. He was never my favorite kid, nice, but a little bit of a follower.” 

“Well I'm glad she finally let us meet even though she didn’t have much of a choice.” 

“Me too. I heard you used to be a little bit of an artist yourself, in the kitchen.” 

“Oh, definitely. Those were my glory days, now all I have to show for it is a little bit of a messed up leg and some grease burns, but the memories of it is all that matters. My restaurant is going well even without me, maybe it hurts my pride slightly as a perfectionist, but my wife knows her way around a kitchen better than me at this point.” 

“Ah, so y/n’s mom took over for you when you left?” 

“She always was in the kitchen with me, sous chef, that’s how we met. Many, many years ago. I was pretty new in the restaurant industry, we met at a cooking class. Been going strong ever since.” 

Minghao smiled watching y/n hear her father relive his life with such pride. He knew how much her parents meant to her, but now he understood why she loved to be loved, it was what she was used to, what she needed. He was the same. 

“A shame I didn’t get to meet her then.” 

“Well, she’ll be home-“ y/n’s father looked down at his watch, “An hour probably, you can stay for dinner if you like. Maybe y/n can show you how we are in the kitchen.” 

“I don’t think he can stay, dad. His friends are waiting for him at the hotel.” 

“Nonsense, call them a car, I’ll give you money.” 

“But-“ 

“Y/n, no. I insist. I have lots to talk to my new friend Minghao about. Get them here.” 

Minghao pulled his phone out, texting Wonwoo to get ready to come over to your house with the rest of the guys. Saying sorry he took so long to let him know how it was going. 

“Alright, sir. I let them know and called them over.” 

“Sir? I’m far too young for that, call me Wynn.” 

Y/n stood up from the table, excusing herself to go and take a shower, giving a slight look to her dad, almost begging for him not to embarrass her before waltzing inside followed by her small curly haired dog. 

Minghao sat and listened to many stories about her parents' lives, everything that went down with y/n before he had met her, he almost felt her father let him in even further to her life than she had on her own. 

A woman Minghao had assumed was y/n’s mom, considering her good looks and similar bone structure walked onto the patio, beaming a smile at her husband and coming over to kiss his cheek, took one look at Minghao and he already knew she was aware of who he was. Which was a confident point to him, y/n really did talk to her parents about him. Maybe he’d probe her later about the types of things she may have said. 

“Who’s this striking young man, honey? Where’d you find him?” 

“Well, he came over pleading to me to buy some candy for his fundraiser, and figured I’d give him some beers in exchange for candy.” 

“Ah, smart.” 

Y/n’s mom came over to Minghao as he stood out of his chair to greet her with a hand outstretched as she pulled on it and gave him a big hug. 

“I’m only kidding, I know who you are. I’m sure my husband told you our silly daughter doesn’t shut up about you.” 

“Good things?” 

“Oh, of course. Don’t tell her I told you this but, I think she may have a bit of a crush. I see why.” 

Minghao blushed, still holding onto her moms hand. 

“She must have forgotten to tell me how beautiful you are, I see where she gets it from.” 

“Oh, wow. A charmer. I love that. You’re staying for dinner?” 

“Yes, if that’s okay.” 

“I insist, if my husband hasn’t already. What would you like?” 

“Y/n actually made me that chicken recipe of yours… if it’s not too hard.” 

“Oh, she definitely likes you. Not hard at all.” 

“Honey, y/n has some more friends coming. How many did you say, Minghao?” 

“Four more. If that’s okay?” 

“The more the merrier. I’ll go get started. Where is that girl anyway?” 

“Shower.” 

“Okay, don’t hesitate to make yourself at home. I’ll go get started, gentlemen.” 

Y/n sat on the floor of her shower, letting the hot water rush down her skin. Wanting to feel it burning into her as she contemplated how dumb she’s been. 

She felt awful for letting her friends think she didn’t like them, that she was doing horrible things to make them hate the girl who was actually doing them to her. 

Was she excited to see her friends? Of course. But, she knew it came with a bunch of unanswered questions they couldn’t get to until later considering she never told her parents the new chapter in the Mimi saga, they already hated her for the past, but they would hate her more for this recent fuck up. 

She was looking down at her wrinkling hands as the door opened to the bathroom, a cold rush of air hitting her skin under the warm water. 

“Honey? Everything okay?” 

“Oh. Hi, mom. I’m good, just shaving.” 

“Alright, sweetie. When you’re finished would you mind helping me in the kitchen? If not, that's alright.” 

“Of course. I’ll be down in a second.” 

“Alright.” 

Seconds after her mom shut the door, y/n shut the hot water off, basking in her last moments of solitude and got ready to head back downstairs. 

As she was walking around the corner of the staircase, she heard a familiar voice at the door, Seokmin. 

Her best friend. The one person she felt the most guilty not talking to. 

Her mom was basically yelling with joy seeing him and Jun walk into her house again, as well as greeting two more new faces with her infectious cheerful nature. 

She told her to grab the cooler of drinks from the kitchen and head outside to meet her husband and Minghao. 

Y/n wasn’t sure how to make her entrance. 

As she reached the kitchen, her mom just gave her a small smile as she was cutting into the various fresh veggies from her garden, nodding her head to the door, forcing her to go greet them. 

She took a deep breath in, taking a sip of her moms wine sitting on her marble countertop and headed outside. 

“Y/n!!” 

All four of her friends greeted her loudly, the two of them who’ve known her the longest nearly having tears welling up in their eyes. 

“Hi. You guys look so nice? I’m in pajamas. What the hell.” 

“Go change, come on. We were telling your dad we’re having a small birthday party for you tonight.” 

“Jun, you don’t have to-“ 

“Shut up, yes we do. Now go. Minghao help her, she will need it.” 

“Guys no.” 

“Go, go, go.” 

“But my mom-“ 

“Honey, mom will be fine. Go on.” 

“Okay.” 

Y/n let Minghao back up the same staircase she had just come down, he took in the walls full of family photos and young pictures of y/n as she led him to the pastel blue colored walls of her childhood room. Full of posters and moments of her life. 

“The closet is slim pickings here and don’t mind the bedsheets, butterflies were super cool okay.” 

“Butterflies are still cool.” 

“Sorry we didn’t get to finish talking before and for my parents, they love company.” 

“No. They’re amazing. I see where you get it from.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Can I ask an innocent question?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Is this the room that, you know.” 

“Mimi filmed me in? Yes.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“Don’t worry. So, my closet is obviously here. Overflowing. Uh, yeah, have at it, Hao.” 

“Also can I just say right here right now, your dad is fucking cool.” 

“Really? He’s not embarrassing you?” 

“No. He’s fun.” 

Y/n just laughed, sitting crossed legged on the edge of her twin sized bed. Waving him along to do his work. 

“What about… maybe this?” 

Minghao pulled out a long sleeved black dress, something y/n only bought to have in case the boy she thought she would love forever asked her on a date. It’s never been worn even though it’s been in her closet for years. She almost hesitated and said no, but the butterflies in her stomach watching Minghao pull it from the closet changed her mind. 

“Okay.” 

She got up and grabbed it from his hands, staring at it admirably as he watched her eyes light up. 

“Cover your eyes, please.” 

“Sorry. Okay.” 

Minghao didn’t even question her, he took his hands over his eyes as he closed them and listened to the signs as she was getting undressed. He never looked, even though he’s seen her less than clothed before. 

She tapped his forehead to let him know she was done, giggling as he jumped a little not knowing their proximity. 

He opened his eyes, staring at her. Unaware his jaw had dropped to the floor as he looked at her up and down, pulling his hands from his face and running them down the sleeves covering her arms. 

“Wow. That’s so..” 

“So? Bad? Good? What?” 

“Beautiful, yeah good obviously. It’s nice. Why have you never worn it?” 

“Oh, I was saving it for something special.” 

“Ah.” 

Minghaos hands still rested on her arms, staring into her eyes. Feeling the urge to kiss her, but didn’t know how to move. 

She just looked back at him, smiling, almost wondering why he wasn’t making a move, before a knock came onto her latched door. 

“Guys? Dinners are almost ready, come on.” 

They broke apart at the knock, leaving the lingering tension in the air around them. 

“Have we really been up here that long? Your dad will hate me.” 

“No, they know I would never do any funny business. Probably just assumed we were busy talking or something.” 

“Okay? Good.” 

“Can we finish this later?” 

“Y/n are you flirting with me?” 

“I think so?” 

“Good enough for me.” 

As they ate dinner, drank, and laughed y/n realized what she had been missing. 

Her friends, no matter the situation, were always here for her. 

The decorations, the flowers, the small cake they had picked up on their way over was all an effort to prove to her they would always have her back. 

When they all finally snuggled up into bed, her last thought was she would do anything to have it back, without all the complications. 

note: hi, omg? I have been so busy, but like literally am finally able to be here and post my last (2?/3?) chapters of this wild ride. sorry it took me like... forever?? but pls enjoy. I missed u, sorry it's sort of short also?and chaotic? yes. am I just apologizing.. uh, yes, but ok anyway, lolol? also my friend surprised me w/ txt tickets for my upcoming b-day so uh... cunty. ily ily. (also did not edit excuse me ok lol, bye)

taglist:@sun-daddy-yoriichi@hipsdofangirl@kissesfrmwonwoo@minhui896@wonwooz1@porridgesblog@jasssy051@soonyoungblr@saucegirlreads@musingsofananxiouspotato@young-adult-summer@punkhazardlaw@bibs-world@the-swageyama-tobiyolo@wonuulvr@woozixo@k-drama-adict@90s-belladonna@blaycke@dnylwoo@to-mi-yo, @nonononranghaee

[heluvschibi]

The Apocalypse: Intro...

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⚠️blood, mentions of su!c!de, jump scare? Cussing, mini panic attack(s)? (I think that's all, tell me if there is more.)

📄Please note that this is my first time writing anything zombie, horror, thriller, or apocalypse related.

👤I think the intro is pretty good. If you like it, please repost or like it. I kinda got writers block in the middle...sry

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Des:Living in my small apartment when the apocalypse started is not ideal, now I'm running low on food and water a necessary need for a living human... I have to leave...

words:1.2k

Y/n's POV

Chirp chirp chirp...

I woke up to the sound of birds, it almost felt normal until I actually opened my eyes, old newspapers and tape blocking the window, my room a complete mess. I stood up and stretched before walking to the mirror that had a crack on the top left. And as expected I don't look very presentable; my hair was tied in a ponytail with loose hairs here and there. I was wearing my favorite grey sweatpants and my black hoodie. I just decided to re do my ponytail before walking out to the shared kitchen and living room, this place was so clean. So clean to the point where if you even swiped your finger on the top of any surface, there would be no dust. But now my once clean-living space is now a mess, a show of neglect of how my life has been since the apocalypse started.

I strolled into the kitchen and opened up the upper cabinet to the left of my fridge: 1 packet of ramen, 1 cookie that was in a zip lock baggie, and 1 can of tomato soup...

I decided for my breakfast a tasty bowl of ramen, surprisingly after 2 months the gas wasn't turned off, but it's only a matter of time until... Click, click, click...

"Fire?" I turned the knob on the gas stove again, click, click, click...

"What the fuck-!" I covered my mouth. Stupid, stupid! Did I really forget that there are hungry zombies probably just chilling, waiting right now outside of my door?

I walked to the door and looked into the peep hole, I only saw the apartment a crossed from mines, the door closed with blood on the door, floors, and by the wall. I silently walked away, when a bang and a growling was heard, I jumped back falling on my butt, I let out a squeal and the banging continued, I started to sob silent, the door shaking from the impact of the zombie on the other side, I hurried and stood up wiping my tear and rushing to the door leaning all my weight on it...

6 minutes later...

The banging finally stopped, only low groaning and growls were heard, I slid to the floor shaking, I pulled my legs up to my face and hid them.

I wasn't made for this...

My stomach started to hurt before a weird grr noise, I stood up and rubbed my stomach with a frown.

I continue what I was doing before the situations just 6 minuets ago, I walked to the small coffee table and squatted down, pulling on one of the drawers when I found a box of matches. There was only 10 left, I took one of the red tipped matches out of the box and walked to the stove to light it.

I got one of the bottled waters from the closet and carefully poured the water into the small pot to let it boil.

I turned around and walked to the big window plastered with newspapers and tape, I peeled back on of the newspapers and peered through. I live on the 4th floor of this apartment unit. I peered down at the parking lot below, just two months ago these cars were all clean, parked perfectly. But now some cars had broken windows, blood smeared on some parts of the cars, or car doors open slightly. As zombies roaming around aimlessly, I noticed one of the zombies. An old man, he lived next to me, Mr. Kim.

I remember the first week here in Korea Mr. Kim and his wife made me so much food to the point my fridge was overflowing. I had to practically beg them to stop sending food, that my poor fridge couldn't hold all the food they were sending at one time. When they stopped sending food they started talking to me about their grandson Kim Seung Min and how he's single...I never met him myself, but they showed me pictures of him, I was flattered that they think I wanted to marry someone, flattered that they think I'm worth of marrying their grandson. I smiled remembering the happy times. Before this outbreak, disease, Z-B232, whatever you want to call it spread. Mr. Kim's screams and pleas of help still stuck in my head, playing on loop like a broken record, I covered my mouth and started crying. I could've done something...I should've done something, yet...I didn't I was curled up in a ball on my bed crying, praying that this would all stop, that this was all just a nightmare...

sss...

I turned around and the water was boiling over.

"Crap!" I whispered yelled, rushing through the living room to get to the kitchen stove and turned the nob to off.

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After cooking and eating the ramen, I stood up and took the dirty pot into the sink, tried to at least the sink is somewhat overflowing with dirty dishes, I let out a sigh.

"Why did the water have to stop working..."

I dragged my feet to the closet and peered down at where the water was supposed to be, but it wasn't there...

Oh no, did I use the last water...on RAMEN!?

I stood there looking down at the empty spot where the waters were supposed to be...

"No, no, no..." I stumbled back covering my face. "No..."

"I can't survive without water...I'll end up dying. How long is it...3 days without water, 21 days without food?"

Why live if we're all going to die someday, and I'm going to die in my dirty apartment, by thirst and starvation...

My eyes started to fill with tears, "Stop, stop crying!" I covered my face, wiping my tears.

I cranked my head and looked up at the ceiling fan, in the middle of the living room.

"Should I..." I mumbled out, turning my head back to the closet, a red rope. "It's the last resort...right?"

I reached put out a hand to reach the red rope and stopped.

"No... I'm not going to end myself like this..." I stood up.

"Don't get all depressed on me now Y/n, I need you for this journey..." I spoke. to myself.

I'm going to live through this outbreak... But my first priority on the list... Supplies...

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"Okay, this is it."

Flashlight, batteries, first aid, pocketknife, rope, black sharpie, can of soup, and the cookie.

I walked to my bedroom, going through everything, I looked through my closet, knowing something has to be in here, like the baseball bat my dad gave me for my 10th birthday, or the golf club one of my co-workers gave me.

And I found the golf club, score for Y/n!

I grabbed one of my blankets and folded it.

I zipped up the thick jacket I was wearing and changed my grey sweatpants to jeans. I put on my shoes and put both straps of the backpack over my shoulder before walking to the door, I looked out the peep hole, to make sure I'm clear, my golf club in hand.

I opened the door a little and peered out, looking left and right. I walked fully out of my apartment, a scared and thrilling chill went down my spine, I'm now not protected by the steel locked door or my walls anymore...

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??? POV

"Guy's me and Jeongin are going out, listen to Minho while I'm gone..."-Chris.

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I was so scared to post this...

Please don't be bad 🙏🏽😭

Have a good day/afternoon/night! -Chibi

[cchickki]

don’t think i’m mentally prepared for another hurricane after going through last year’s

[inkskinned]

love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.

[scribefindegil]

hedonistically uses a real fork to eat my ramen cup

[abimee]

i gotta stop following up every single sincere moment of althaea love with a joke about how shes also a little weird to amaurotinr standards but its really funny to me. but in all sincerity for althaeas birthday hades and hythlo learn how to make a cake step by step instead of conceptualizing one because althaea was raised by two cthonic horns researches so they also got really into doing things in ''unorthodox ways'', like making an omelette by cooking an egg over a fire and such. and they spend hours trying to do it and then haphazardly carry the cake all the way across amaurot to althaeas apartment in a little tin and have to dodge people asking about it because if hades ever utters that hes doing something nice for someone he may turn into dust and blow away so hes hauling ass to get there already. and he acts above it but when its all said and done and althaea gets her cake and learns they made it by hand and she claps and screams and tells hades that she loves it before she even takes a bite he does get a warm feeling in his chest. like the grinch

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[scientia-rex]

As a doctor, do you have any hygiene tips you think most people could use hearing? Like things people seem to neglect or do wrong that pop up and cause problems? Thanks!

EARS. Earwax is genetically determined. Some people get dry, scant earwax and others get wet, copious earwax. The biggest mistake I see is relying on Q-tips. Every time you stimulate the inside of your ear canal it makes your ears go “oh shit, there’s a threat! I better make more protective wax!” and next thing you know you’ve managed to jam a bunch of wax you told you ears to make back up against your ear drums and you can’t hear as well. Don’t rely on Q-tips. When you’re in the shower, let warm water run in, mush it around by pushing on your tragus (the cartilage flap in front of the canal), and let it drain. Repeat. Blot dry your ears with the edge of a towel or a Kleenex or something afterwards. If you tend to get really stubborn wax, use Debrox drops once or twice a week.

And vaginas. They’re mucus membranes once you get past the labia majora! You wouldn’t soap the inside of your mouth, don’t soap your vagina! It’s a self cleaning oven and if it smells weird GO SEE A MEDICAL PROVIDER because over the counter shit probably isn’t the right answer.

Dandruff isn’t because your scalp is dry. It’s because of a microorganism called malassezia furfur. It eats scalp oils. Dandruff shampoos mostly work pretty well.

Those are the three I can think of off the top of my head. Never use Irish Spring soap! It’s so heavily fragranced it’s a contact dermatitis waiting to happen! I once had a guy develop full body itching and I was JOKING when I said “what, did you just switch to Irish Spring?” and from then until he died he was convinced I was a witch because I was RIGHT.

[troglobite]

aldkjfalsd

paying more than mortgage costs for an airbnb house that

was not even remotely cleaned upon arrival (MULTIPLE sticky handprints on every surface in the kitchen, dirt IN THE REFRIGERATOR, muddy footprints, carpets & rugs so filthy that we HAVE to wear our slippers & give up on mopping the floors because they get dirty IMMEDIATELY, hair [human and pet, head and pube] on all the sheets and in every corner that has never seen a broom or vacuum, unidentifiable liquids and stains on every door [bedroom and bathroom] and the sheets & comforters)

was clearly not built to code bc it's worse than a 40s house but was built in the 70s (the stairs are definitely not to code and walking through the house quickly is like walking on the deck of a boat out at sea)

was advertised w central air but that was a lie and it only has tiny wall heaters in most rooms and 1 space air conditioner in 1 room

has a window that is so poorly fitted that the worlds largest creatures can come through it and give me a panic attack and nightmares for a week or more, and we had to physically tape it up ourselves

has a fridge that needs a water filter

has multiple smoke & CO alarms that are malfunctioning and/or need batteries

advertised lots of closet space but upon hanging 7 shirts on the ramshackle, not to code, pathetically cobbled together "hanger" in the only closet that won't leave the clothes dragging on the floor, collapsed completely and was unusable (unsurprisingly given the WOOD ITSELF WAS WARPED FROM THE WEIGHT OF *PILLOWS*)

has an UNBEARABLE mold and mildew stench IN THE MAIN BEDROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR and what looks like a MOLD STAIN ON THE CEILING which is BENEATH THE UPSTAIRS SHOWER

has no batteries, lightbulbs, screwdrivers, garbage bags, or anything else remotely useful in the house for us to use (the vacuum is old as fuck, dusty, busted, and has hair EVERYWHERE, and the broom is literally duct taped together)

the upstairs bathroom toilet is like an escape room or physical/gymnastics challenge to get in and out of

one of the single-room wall heaters is literally BROKEN--turning it all the way down means it cranks and stays on forever, turning it all the way up temporarily turns it off, and it only stays off consistently if set at some middle temperature, but even then it'll still turn on unbidden--and there is no on/off switch

the furniture is nigh unsittable bc it is so cobbled together and uncomfortable

the chairs are basically unusable from how small and uncomfortable they are

the mattress are MISERABLE bc they have the world's FIRMEST MEMORY FOAM on ALL of them

THERE ARE NO CURTAINS ON ANY OF THE FUCKING WINDOWS AND ONLY THREE OF THE WINDOWS HAVE BLINDS. ONLY THREE!!!! THERE ARE ELEVEN OTHER WINDOWS IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!

everything outside is overgrown and in need of maintenance and care and is therefore unusable (there are just random dogtoys in places--inside AND outside)

there's just a used candle. sitting behind the tv.

the tv is TRASH and the volume is the WORST i've ever heard. we've trying fixing it REPEATEDLY. it ALSO is impossible to consistently get HDMI to connect to it/my laptop. i have to unplug and replug it multiple times.

the laundry room REEKS OF MOLD/MILDEW. it's also more of a closet. we have to have the fan on 24/7.

you cannot open the blinds on the 3 windows that have them. they removed the pulleys that allowed you to do that because "it was a pain/difficult to lower them back down" so they just REMOVED THAT OPTION.

the "guide book" for the home is CLEARLY outdated because it HAS THE WRONG INFORMATION FOR HOW TO GET IN THE HOUSE AND UNLOCK/LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR.

and we've only been here since last weds.

i'm wearing an n95 mask sitting in this bedroom because with my HEPA filter going, the room's wall heater turned off (bc that shit looks rank), and febreze odor eliminator sprayed REPEATEDLY in here after dousing the room in lysol upon arrival, the smell of mold is hurting my fucking lungs.

i literally want to strangle the ppl who think this home is in ANY WAY remotely fucking livable--and also, REMOTELY WORTH THE HELLISH AMOUNT OF MONEY WE HAD TO SPEND ON IT.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[deep-sea-horror]

zionists are so fucking stupid its unbelievable.