#but I suppose putting it on at noon is better than not wearing it all day

[kaladinsspear]

It is supremely unfair that I have to wear sunscreen.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time. 

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms. 

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s. 

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.” 

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter. 

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack. 

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel. 

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity. 

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds. 

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats. 

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply. 

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you. 

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. 

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer. 

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks. 

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps. 

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think. 

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door. 

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips. 

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer. 

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him. 

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake. 

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?” 

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory. 

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief. 

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back. 

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far. 

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore. 

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. 

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place. 

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw. 

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths. 

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused. 

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him. 

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses. 

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you. 

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you. 

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” 

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. 

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all. 

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again. 

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms. 

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall. 

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none. 

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider. 

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch. 

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold. 

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation. 

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words. 

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you. 

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the master list.

[carmenized-onions]

Doing Too Much. | House Call

logline; Appliances can reach their breaking point, when you push them too far. Same goes for people.

[!!!] series history, this is the sixth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth

[New Thing!!] Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin' added to.

portion; 4.8k

possible allergies; eatin' meat, besides that, we're pretty good actually. did somebody say calm before the storm....?

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns, but girl is said a couple times, i believe.)

After this chapter, I'm entering my era of couch hopping as I move to a new city n start a new job. I'm really excited for the chapter after this one, so hopefully I actually get time to write it-- But that's just my lil warning if you're left rereading for like two weeks </3 But I'll def be stalking my activity/inbox so please do yap to me

Monday morning. The next morning after everything. Well, closer to noon than morning, at this point. You’re supposed to have, what, a work ethic this week? After the most insane weekend of your life? No. You’re lazing around and doing fuck all. No matter who calls. Well… Not completely no matter, but like, most people.

When you check your phone, you’ve gotten a text at 6:43 A.M. Unknown number. Ah. Carmen. You put him in as Carmy, and put his nickname as ‘Mister New York’. Listen, old nicknames Mikey ingrained in your brain die hard.

It’s a simple text, deeply un-romantic.

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

Then, four lines of four perfect categories. Flawless. Purple first, even. The hardest category. And then,

‘Morning’

Stupid. Incredibly stupid, to be enamoured, by this. You reply,

‘Good morning!’

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

And then a failed jumble of coloured squares, you get one out of four categories. What the fuck is 'dogleg' and since when has it meant taking a sharp turn? You follow that up with,

‘Fuck you.’

Aside from Carmen, you’ve actually gotten texts from a couple people. Your boss at Eden’s asking if you’re alright. What the fuck did Cicero say? Oh well. You tell him you’ve ‘been better, been worse. Will be okay by next week.’ Perfectly vague, and you still get wired your cheque and tip out. Alright, maybe Uncle J does deserve your free labour.

Speaking of, the next text on your itinerary is from Uncle J, just info for the winter nuptials of Vinnie and Mira. Oh yeah. Three-hundred guests, you remember that part. You also remember him saying it’d be an ‘easy gig’… He did not mention you’d be the only bartender. This is going to be a nightmare. Oh well. You text back that despite it being an open bar you get to put out a tip jar. He just reacts to it, ‘haha’. That sounds like a yes to you.

And then, adorably, a selfie from Syd, wearing the collar and pins you’ve gifted her, under a green sweater. Cutie. You hype her up accordingly.

Besides some texting though, Monday is relatively unbusy. No calls. No emergencies. No businesses knocking down your door for your services. You’re thankful for a break, letting the inertia set in, finally being able to relax after fix after fix after—

Tuesday comes, you get sent another perfect round of New York Time’s Connections around half past six in the morning, along with a good morning text. And again, you fuck it up. You send him your Wordle results this time, as an act of rebellion. You then ask,

‘How’s reworking the menu going?’

‘Hard to say’

‘Ask me tomorrow’

God he’s an awful texter. Horrifically dry. You know you’re down bad beyond a belief when you find that endearing. You spend Tuesday drowning and pruning your plants after depriving them for so long.

Plus working on your art piece for Carmy. You’re pulling out old film photos, a canvas, and a load of bleach—It’s like high school art class all over again— Surprise surprise, the handyman who loves to up-cycle is a mixed media artist. Who could’ve guessed?

While trimming a photo, an exterior of The Beef, a picture frame on your wall falls down behind you, you tut, turning your head to it, chastising the air. “Mikey! It’s a copy, relax! I’ve still got the original print…”

There’s every chance you’re insane— No, you’re definitely insane. But you’re allowed to be, your best friend died, you’re allowed to talk to the air as if he’s still around. Sometimes the timing of doors swinging open for you and things falling down are just too uncanny to not be a ghost.

Wednesday arrives, and again, just after 6:40, Connections results. And the Wordle, this time; plus a ‘Good Morning’. It looks like this is simply just your thing, now. Every morning, the second both of you get up, you send each other puzzles and wish a good morning. You don’t mind that. It’s nice to have a ‘thing’, with someone. With Carmen.

Part way through the day, around two o’clock, you get another text. Two, actually. From Carmen, in quick succession.

‘Are you busy?’

‘Don’t worry if you’re busy. Can call Fak’

You’re quick to reply, frankly deeply offended.

‘Are you fucking firing me????’

‘I’m gonna get ready. Text me details’

While getting dressed, you watch three dots bubble, bubble, bubble… He’s taking forever, just don’t look at it, you’ll get anxious for no reason. No jumpsuit today, you’ve got to switch it up every now and again. Navy cargo pants with the perfect number of pockets and zippers, and an orange Chicago’s Kindest shirt, tucked in. Hm. Looking in the mirror, hickey is still there. Lighter, but there. Foundation? No. You’ll sweat it off and that’ll just bring up more questions. If Syd asks you’ll just tell her you fell down the stairs… On your neck. She's not the type to confront anything remotely sexual anyways.

Speaking of Syd, before Carmen can text you back, she calls you, which is fair— Don’t leave a Carmen to communicate. You stick your phone in the crux of your neck and answer while you pack your utility belt. This feels nearly nostalgic. “What’s fucked?”

Carmen is in the background; you can hear the tail end of a sentence, grumbling. “—Don’t call—”

“My life.” She responds without missing a beat. “And also, Carmy’s stove and oven.”

“Oh.” You squint. “What the fuck happened?”

“Overuse? I actually don’t fucking know, it just stopped working. We plugged it in and out— He even reset his apartment’s breakers. I dunno what’s wrong with it. It’s probably got something to do with him putting his fuckin’ jeans in there.”

“…He what?”

You can hear him in the background, again, clearer this time, grimacing, “What are you doing to me?”

Syd does not mind him at all, continuing, “I know! He’s fucking weird!”

“He’s extremely weird.” You like him a lot. “I’ll be over soon, were you guys like, mid-cooking?”

“Yessir.”

“Christ, alright… I think I have a dual burner hot plate laying around somewhere, you want me to bring it—”

They both speak clearly this time, together, “Please.”

You’ve got a pile of things to give to them anyways, and maybe you miss Carmy’s face. Just a little.

Instead of just buzzing you in, Carmy comes down for you. When he sees you through the door window, carrying a cardboard box, he almost breaks into a full run. He’s somehow opening the door, grabbing the box from your hands, and chastising you all at the same time. “You should’ve left it in the car, I would’ve—”

You step in through the entryway and kiss his cheek, cutting him short. You can’t help yourself, it’s the first time you’ve seen him since and you feel like a giddy teen. The teenage girl in your head is no longer just in your head, she’s fully manning the station. “You’re very sweet. But it’s also not heavy.”

When he continues to be frozen, the regret starts to mount, “Is—Sorry, is that okay to do—?”

“It’s very okay to do.” He manages to reply, with haste. Nodding to himself. “It’s good.” He nods again, then marches off, expecting you to follow to the elevator. You do.

“What floor?”

“Eighth.” He sniffs; you press the button. He stands next to you, looking you up and down. He astutely observes. “Orange.”

“Yeah.” You smirk, looking back at him, “Turns out, businesses can have two colours in their designs.”

What’s a little roasting of fellow small businesses between two not just friends?

“Oh yeah?” Coy, smirking. Oh no. You’ve gotta get the teen off the controls. He tilts his vision to stare at your jacket. Ah. You opted to wear your Carhartt instead of his jean jacket.

“Didn’t wanna give Syd more questions.” She already guessed you’re a sugar baby, you don’t want to wrap Carmen in on that too. Especially since ideally in a month or two he’ll be your boss. Hm. The Bear is going to need an HR.

He hums, nodding. “We’re not telling Syd?”

“What’s there to tell?” You grin, crossing your arms. “You suddenly have free time, Bear?”

He takes a beat, thinking, then just takes a deep frustrated yet amused exhale. “I’m gonna fuckin’…” He can’t think of a threat. “…Get you.”

You snort, “You’re gonna get me?”

“Fuck you—!” “You’re gonna fuckin’ get me, Bear?”

“I—” He tries to hold a straight face, it doesn’t work. “Yeah, I am.”

“Can’t wait.” You nod, grinning, turning back to the doors. “You told me to ask how menu’s going tomorrow.”

“I did.”

“It’s tomorrow.” The door dings, opening on the eighth floor; you step out together. He switches his grip to hold the box in one arm. Alright Biceps, we don’t need to brag here...

“It’s… We’re getting there.” He grimaces. “Syd’s recipes are always… Almost perfect.”

“Ah.” You nod, you know your friend well enough to know where this is going. “And she fucks up one thing hard?”

“Mhm.”

“And when you tell her it’s okay and give her a hand she just feels worse?”

He nods. A touch surprised you’re right on the dot so quickly. “Everything ends up perfect, but I think she’s finding the edits…”

“Demoralizing.” You walk down the hall together, he nods. “I know what she needs, I’ll find an in.”

“You always do.” He hums, you walk just a touch ahead of him, unknowingly walking past his door. He pulls you back by the back of your jacket, making you stumble back into him. This seems to be this villain’s intention; as when you turn around, he’s quick to grab your chin and kiss you.

“It’s very good.” He emphasizes, again, before opening his door and acting like everything’s totally normal and fine. Since when did he turn the tables and make you the desperate one? Son of a bitch.

Ah. Actually, subtract any attraction you had in this moment— He lives like this? Books on the floor, by the window. Jeans on the dinner table, because they were in the oven. The kitchen actually looks alright— You’re almost certain that’s purely for utilitarian purposes while they’re working on the menu. This motherfucker better have a bed frame or him asking you to sleep over would be downright offensive. God, he’s wonderful. God, you’re an idiot.

You find Syd at the table, moping, head in hands. Carmen sets the box down, sitting beside her. You pat the top of her head. She silently moves one of her hands to go over yours. You nod. The silent exchange of girls who know.

“Yeah?”

She nods, grumbling. “Yeah.”

Carmen has no fucking idea what’s happening and he’s never been more intrigued by a near wordless social interaction in his entire life. What? You’re not even making eye-contact. What the fuck is happening?

You fish through the box with your free hand, grabbing a pot. You place it in front of Syd. “Look.”

She peeks through her fingers. A tiny but flourishing nursery pot of basil sits before her. You speak. “You’re gonna hyper-fixate on this basil I’m gifting you, and then you’re gonna crack back into it with the dual burner until I’m done fixing the oven.”

She nods, putting her hands in her lap, “Yes, Chef.”

You pull out a second nursery pot, setting it down for Carmen. “For you.”

“What for?”

“Basil grows like a motherfucker and it’s getting unhinged. I need to start pawning off to people that’ll make good use of it. A-K-A, chefs.” You look at Syd, pointedly, “Talented chefs.”

You hand off the heating pad— Wrapped in brown paper with a card tied to it, to Carmen. “For Nat.” You add, when he looks confused, “Can’t imagine I’ll see her sooner than you will.”

He looks even more confused, when you hand him a spray bottle full of reddish water. It’s one of the good spray bottles, too. Continuous. Carmen wouldn’t know the difference, but you do. “Rosemary. —Water, that is.”

He squints; you clarify, gesturing to your own hair. “You mentioned, losing hair, so— Thought I’d make some, with the trimmings of rosemary I had. Got ginger and cloves in it, too.���

Why have you trapped him in hell? You’ve remembered such a specific off hand from days ago and acted on it? And he can’t express the grandiose level of affection he feels right now? Are you serious? You’re the devil. You’re absolutely the devil. He just coughs out a ‘thanks’.  

“And, the pièce de résistance,” You pull out the old ass, boxed up double burner countertop stove. “A stovetop that ideally fuckin’ works. It was my single claim to fame in my college dormitory.”

Carmen’s already opening the box. Sydney smirks, curiosity peaked. “Was that legal?”

“You a fuckin’ RA?” You grin, poking her forehead. “It was not. And that’s exactly why everyone loved me— Didn’t serve them fuckin’ hot pockets.”

The configurations of Carmen’s apartment would be great for literally any occasion besides the current one. The kitchen is narrow, and so, when you pull out the stove to check the back, there’s an estimated no fucking room left for Carm and Syd, so they sit at the dinner table with your stove top. You’d think they’d look like they’re doing a cute hot pot. No. They look like two conflicted and confused twelve-year-olds working on a science project.

So do you, honestly. Wiring is definitely more your speed than plumbing, but if you’re being honest, this is the first oven you’ve worked on without your dad, and you’re having a hard time remembering everything. There’s a lot of embarrassed Googling on your phone, when you're sure they’re not looking. They can’t know you’re even slightly incompetent!

You’re pretty sure it’s just a couple damaged wires, fried from overwork— Easy fix, if you had wire. You don’t. Slightly harder fix. But soldering is your bitch really, you’re in your bag. You look stupid, wearing chunky goggles and a respirator, but you’re in your bag, baby! What’s that one saying? Skills make you hot? That’s not a saying.

But it is true. When Carmen’s able to peer into the kitchen, quickly looking over his shoulder when Syd takes a moment to write a measurement or direction down, you look stunning.  Respirator and all. You just look correct there, in the kitchen. His kitchen. So stunning he feels guilty. Do you find it annoying? Constantly fixing errors behind him? Probably. You say it’s not a lot of work, but that can’t be true.

“How’s The Bear, ‘sides menu rework?” You ask, raising your voice in the kitchen.

“S’good.” Carmen. “I’m in hell.” Syd. Not hard to tell which statue is lying, here.

Syd stutters on, “Nat’s takin’ care of baby Michaela— Which is very good and—and cool, actually.”

“But?”

“But we’re back to handling the business side entirely ourselves, for like— The next month. Maybe two? Fuck, are we doing the wedding without her?” Sydney almost burns her sauce, Carmen’s quick to move it off the burner.

He mutters, “Don’t even start to think about it. It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“Oh yeah, wedding— Have you gotten your menu yet?” You call from the kitchen, muffled by your respirator.

“Oh my god!” Sydney exclaims, and Carmen is wincing. She can’t tell you things are going wrong; doesn’t she know that? You’ll fix it, if things are wrong. You always fix it. Fix him. You’re gonna put him in your phone as Carmy Bad News. If you haven’t already. Start a support group with Tif.

Syd continues, “They’re so fucking particular and somehow also vague—Like, ‘we want salmon and chicken’ for main course— What kind of preparation? ‘Surprise us!’ Okay, how about roasted chicken—? ‘Mmmm, no, not that’. I’ve been told ‘non quello’ at least ten times in the last four days.”

No, you’re witty. Bad News Bear. Fuck, that’s definitely his name in your phone, isn’t it?

“Fuckin’ nightmare. Y’know, I’m the only fucking bartender? For like three hundred guests? Thank God they’re not asking for a custom cocktail or anything, I’d lose my shit.”

Sydney laughs, and she steps back into her flow easily, reducing the sauce without burning it, now. She looks more serene than she has in days. What? How are you doing that? What are you doing? Are you casting a spell?

“Can you even fucking imagine what their couples’ cocktail would be?”

You groan from the kitchen, laughing in return, “Not you too, Syd! Must you make me work!?”

“C’mon maestro, make a cocktail!”

“Bleh. Uh… They give long island iced tea energy, but it’s a wedding so— Like a boozier negroni?”

“That sounds fucking disgusting.”

“I didn’t say it’d be good, I said it’d be their couples’ cocktail.” You’re both giggling, like school girls. It’s like you said— You become teens, together.

Despite the fact that Syd is making an incredibly complex dish, and you’re fixing an oven—His oven— Ridiculing the other impossible tasks set out for the both of you… Despite all of that, you’re laughing.

Carmen is, what, nearly thirty? A restaurant owner, with a full crew, who attends Al-Anon, and is only now truly registering the power of an unsolvable burden being shared. Not fixed, shared. Talking. Laughing. God, this all comes so easy to you, doesn’t it?

You finish soldering, test each burner, and the oven— All working, thank God. You quietly cheer in the kitchen, removing your respirator and goggles. “We’re good here! Fixed!”

“C’mere!” Syd calls out to you, and so you do. Eagerly. She hands you a fork. Unprompted, she does the thing. You’d missed the OG, really.

“Beef Oxtail, pressed in a Foie Gras casing, seared. Basted in a King Oyster mushroom sauce. Pureed greens on the side.”

“I never know what the fuck you’re saying.”

She pushes the side of your face with the palm of her hand. “Put it in your mouth and chew.”

You want to make some sort of kink joke, but you respect the already struggling man in the room and take a bite. Hm. Hm. You put a finger over your mouth, swallowing. “...Now it might just be my unrefined palate.”

“That’s why we have you try it.” Carmen pipes in. Syd nods, following. “It’s important to know the baseline.”

“…It’s got like,” You hand the fork to Syd so she can try it, while you think. “A bit of a bitter aftertaste? Which might be the… goal?”

Syd spits it out the second it touches her mouth, she shouts your name, your actual name— A rarity. She’s so terrified that she forgets the Walk-In bit she’s been in on all week. “I just fuckin’ poisoned you— Oh my god?! Are you good? That was— Fuck! You swallowed that?!”

She grabs your face like a concerned mother, also maybe to check if you have superpowers, you’re not sure. All you know is there’s a golden opportunity to make another sex joke and you have to hold back. Life is so unfair.

Carmen takes a quick taste, also spitting it out. “I’ve got it, Chef, don’t sweat.” Immediately looking to the drafted recipe card to see where they went wrong.

Syd almost squeezes your cheeks like a stress ball but thinks better of it, letting go, groaning, beyond frustrated at this point. “You shouldn’t have to fix it— I should fuckin’ have it, at this point.”

Carmen's trying to ignore how much he relates to the sentiment. He's not the focus, right now.

“We make mistakes, Chef—” “Syd.” You snap your fingers, pointing to her, interrupting Carmen. “Can you help me grab something, from my car? It’s kinda big.”

Carmen’s quick to chime in, already going to untie his apron, “I can—”

“No!” You look at him pointedly, trying to communicate through look alone. He kind of gets it? “It’s… Girl stuff.”

Syd squints. “You need me to help you carry a big girl thing?”

“…Are you fuckin’ helping or are you gonna poke holes?”

“What are you actually dragging me out for?”

“Technically I do actually need your help grabbing something, it’s just not a girl thing. And it's also not from my car.”

“Oh?”

You walk out of Carmen’s building with his keys, and gesture out to every apartment buildings treasure trove— The spot everyone throws their furniture when they move out and don’t know what else to do with it.

“Bookshelf!” There is actually one pristine looking bookshelf, a cheap one, definitely just something from IKEA. But it’s better than the fucking floor. “I spotted it on my way in, we’re gonna bring it up for Carm.”

She groans, hating the concept of manual labour, but still walks with you and grabs one end anyways. “Why didn’t you make Carmen carry his own bookshelf?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ pep-talk.” You pick the other end of the bookshelf up. It’s thankfully not that heavy. You walk backwards so you can keep facing Syd.

“…I don’t—” “Yes the fuck you do.”

She kisses her teeth, you frown. “What’s up, Adamu?”

“It’s just fucking annoying— I keep, I keep fucking it up. I keep—Keep—”

“Doing too much.”

She gives you a look, ‘are you serious?’, type look. You continue. “You’re doing too much. You’re not cooking like you.”

“I can cook like Michelin—”

“I never said you couldn’t. Watch your step.” You interrupt, walking over a bump in the sidewalk. “You can do star level shit, Syd. But that’s a grade, not a type.”

She kind of reels, at that. You continue, “You cook great complex dishes, you always have, I’ve tried them. But now, you’re all caught up trying to prove some shit, to Carmen, to—to— Who gives stars? The tires guy?”

She laughs, almost dropping the bookshelf. “Yeah, I’m trying to impress the tires guy.”

“Fuck you.” You snort, stepping up the stairs. “What I’m trying to say is, you should make what you want to eat, not what you think you should eat.”

She nods, you stop on top of the stairs, both taking a second to breathe. “…Thanks.”

You nod back, hands on your knees for a second before standing back up, opening the lobby door. “I’ll always be your cheerleader, Syd.”

“More like coach.”

“Can you let me have one hot girl career, please?”

When you get back up to Carmen’s, he’s already grimacing. You and Syd are split apart by the bookshelf standing between you in the hall. “Fuck is this?”

“It was free and I’ll clean it!” You press your hands together pleading. “C’mon, you can even put your jeans in it!”

“Jeans on a bookshelf?”

You turn to Syd. “Better than the oven.”

“I think he’s doing that to dry them.”

“I think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t own a dresser.”

“It’s both.” Carmen clicks his tongue, single-handedly picking up the bookshelf and carrying inside. Alright, does he need to show off this much? Whatever. It’s definitely not making you feel any type of way at all.

You squint, watching him walk further in his apartment, and then to Syd. You speak at the same time. “He stays doing too much.”

As promised, you wipe down the bookshelf, making sure it’s free of grime and roadside pests. Syd and Carmy work together in the kitchen, with a now functioning oven. You load the shelf up with the books on the floor— Thankfully they’re piled into categories already, so you don’t have to bother him about that.

You’re tempted to clean his living room, but that would probably be rude, right? Don’t want him to take it as you saying he’s a slob. But they are taking a while… Alright, you’ll just throw out trash. You won’t fold blankets or pick up dishes or anything. Just trash! No big! He can’t be mad at you for that.

You pile together the garbage, then sneakily throw it out in the kitchen trash can as fast as you can, before he looks. He’ll think he’s just sleep cleaning, or something. “How’s it goin’ in here?’

Carmen pipes up, eyes focused on the dish as Syd plates it. “Good.” Syd holds the plate in one hand, and silently corrals you with the other to sit at the table. You do. She sets it down the plate before you, handing you a fork and knife.

You look up at her expectantly. She shakes her head. “Eat first, this time.”

She looks serious, so you nod, cutting into the dish. It’s different from the last one. Instead of oxtail, it’s pastry. Or at least, a puff pastry exterior. You’re pretty sure it’s Pillsbury, you remember Carmen buying that, the other day, on your excursion.

Inside it, you believe is the beef oxtail, there’s other things, too. Some sort of sauce, some greens— Oh well, no time to bask in the cross section because Syd looks like she’s about to explode. You take a bite. You nod, chewing.

Syd starts, “Searing the duck caused the bitter taste— So instead of- Of searing the outside, I coated it in the mushroom sauce, the greens— Not pureed, this time, for texture. Your basil, too. There’s a crumble of feta, for a subtle tang. And then wrapped it all together in puff pastry, and baked. It’s sort of like, a varied take on a beef welling—”

“You made a fucking gourmet hot pocket?” You swallow, wheezing. The second you say this, Sydney’s focused face beams, laughing, like she’s just pulled off the most perfect prank of all time.

Carmen was so intrigued and focused on Sydney’s explanation, that you watering it down to hot pocket and being right makes his entire system reboot. He cannot stop smiling, aghast. He's been helping Syd make a hot pocket for the past hour?

“I told you to make what you want and—” wheeze “—you make a fucking hot pocket?!” You double down, laughing with her, she’s trying to defend herself but she can’t stop wheezing in tandem.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ stand you!” You snort, covering your face with your arm. “I hate your ass, oh my God, Syd.”

“Did—” snort “What did you think?” She recovers, slowly but surely.

You shake your head, handing her the fork. “It’s sick, Syd, obviously, it’s fucking perfect… Chef.” You tack on at the end, almost forgetting. “I’m not gonna be able to have an actual hot pocket, ever again. You’ve ruined my life.”

She takes a bite for herself, nodding. She does a small cheer, pumping her fist. “Let’s fucking go.” She points her fork at you— Purely on muscle memory, and you both instantly remember the days of her testing out recipes and you pairing them on first taste. She’d point her fork to you like a microphone. It was a fun game between two nerds.

It’s a reflex response for you, even now. “Barolo. Savory, dry, red. A young one, though. Light body. Could also do an Amarone, if you’re not buried in money.”

She hands the fork off to Carmy to try it, then writes the pairings down, mumbling, amusement still in her voice. “How the fuck do you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I have some wires crossed.”

“Fire, Chef.” Carmen swallows his bite. “We cannot call it a hot pocket on the menu.”

“Then what’s the point!?”

Leaving Carmen’s place is objectively the most awkward experience— But also the funniest. You offer to wait for Syd and drive her home— You’ll need a second to pack anyways while they make their business plans.

When you do offer, of course, Carmen stutters short, almost asking you again to sleep over or at the very least stay late, but saves it, realizing himself.

Syd accepts the ride offer. You pack up and wait for her to be done. When she is, Carmen offers to carry your things down with you both, in which Syd accuses him of thinking you’re both weaklings— He does not have a defense case for this, he has to let you go. You can tell he wants to kiss you at the door, and you do too. Sadly, you’re equally down bad, but he can’t know that…

You say your goodbyes, Syd helps you load your tools and hotplate in the trunk of your car. Your phone vibrates. Text from Mister New York.

‘Look up I’m on the balcony. 8 floors.’

You look up, sure as shit, he’s out there, cigarette in mouth. Unlit. He waves, you wave back. He texts again, in rapid succession.

‘Thank you’

‘For helping Syd’

‘And the oven and the hot plate and the bookshelf (not necessary)’

‘nbd + I think it’s v necessary’ Does Carmen understand acronyms? You’re risking it, here.

‘and cleaning my trash’ Sonofabitch.

‘ah fuck. I don’t think you’re messy!!! I just wanted to help!!!’

‘I know. You’re you. Be safe.’

Oh goddammit, stupid dry texter, saying something so gah. You jump as Syd taps the roof of your car behind you, getting your attention. Watching from a far distance, Carmen laughs, though you don’t notice it.

“Are we going?”

“Yes! Sorry!” You hurriedly pocket your phone, waving one last time as you get in your car. Syd sits beside you in shotgun, her pot of basil sat safely in her lap. You drive off.

You’re half way down the road, when Syd pipes up again. “So y’all are fucking, correct?”

You almost brake check the guy behind you.

 “How do you fuckin’ do that!?”

the opening is dedicated to my dear friend and i who have sent our wordle results to each other everyday for the past like year and a half.

Things of note, one - people usually skip the shit up top-- I made a spotify playlist! Listen if you like, I'm not your dad.

Two, I know this is a self insert right, i know what I set myself up for-- Do you know the hell i am in as a syd x carmy girl writing scenes with both of them and it NOT being them? What have I done, to myself? The only coping mechanism I have is imagining in this universe Syd is a lesbian. And that is helping.

The hot pocket recipe-- Who fucking knows, if that would taste good? I think it would? In theory? I fucked with a dish from Daniel NYC, to make it into a bit. Would it work? ....Beef wellingtons do, I can't see why this can't???? Idk man.

Rosemary water w cloves and ginger does fucking work btw. I am part of the so stressed out i lost my hair brigade. Also basil does grow like a motherfucker.

We're seein' a little bit of that tenseness that comes with being in an 'almost relationship' both of them feel like they've got something they can fuck up now. Poor birds. They'll be okay. Probably.

I'm really excited for the next chapter, I don't wanna give shit away, but it's gonna be,,,,,, different. I haven't seen anyone try this kinda formatting on tumblr before, and I'm excited to see what you think. Between my moving and how complex the choreography of it is gonna be, it's gonna be a much longer minute between this chapter and the next, I fear. But listen, you already knew your ass was gettin' spoiled with a chapter every two days. Hehe.

As always, please come yap to me in the replies/inbox/dms/reblogs. I love to hear thoughts!! It sustains me, baby!!

Next Part

[heartfullofleeches]

ITS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY🎉🎉🎉🎉 I was wondering how my favorites would wish me a happy birthday, Tobi, the cafe, host, static, the supernatural harem and the fast food, if that’s too many you can shorten it but I really wanted to have some of my favorite characters from my favorite writer congratulate me on my special day! BTW I’m the one who sent the Prince leash ask, I don’t know if you got it but I accidentally did it anonymously

(The Cafe was a bit too much for me to get this out to you the same day, but I hope you like this regardless! On the bright side, I did get your Prince ask and am working on that too. Happy birthday, chief!)

Tobi:

Has never had a birthday himself, but they know what they are and their significance to humans other regular people. Tobi's the kind of guy to surprise you with presents year round, but as your birthday rolls around they keep items you've had your eye on in their back pocket to gift you on your big day.

Its too embarrassing for them to give you in person, but Tobi creates a collage of all their favorite pictures of you to put up somewhere in your bedroom. Tobi loves baking and cooking so a homemade breakfast, dinner, and your treat of choice would be on the top of their list of surprises for you.

Host:

"Looks like it's a special someone's birthday- Those only come around once a year, you know? If - that's how you want it, anyway."

That time already? Time is a tricky thing for Host to wrap his head around. He could've sworn the last one was just yesterday. It hardly matters. Everyday could be your birthday- Contenstants come and go, but you'll always be his star.

That would, of course, wear the novelty of it all thin. Host is more than happy saving the pinnacle of his gratitude for you as his co-host for that one day. That day's contestants better be too if they want to leave with all the parts they came with intact.

Which is his funny way of saying they won't get any cake.

Static:

"Happy birthday to you.... Happy birthday to you...."

Hunts for every variety of birthday song they can find to serenade you with the second daylight bleeds into your room. Static's disappears predating your birthday can swiftly be explained by the trinkets they bring you, majority centered around the shows and movies you've watched together it knows you adore most.

They'd attempt to rope you into another movie night with you in full control of the remote since it's their favorite way to bond with you - and it's optimal cuddle time.

Supernatural Harem:

"Baron, must you make everything a challenge?"

"Piss off! I left enough room for you two to put your names on the cake.... Maddox more importantly than you, but still."

"We appreciate the consideration, but... Where are we supposed to write "happy birthday"?"

Nothing like waking up on your big day to your Demon husband roommate swearing today will be the day he slaughters your Angel husband roommate. Luckily, your Grim Reaper spouse roommate has the expertise to ķeep you soothed until things cool over long enough for all of them to prepare breakfast for you.

Baron stalks you around to shower you with mandatory birthday kisses- only to get pouty when he's done before noon and continues well past the age you're turning. You'll be older than all three of them by the time he's through.

Maddox, as usual, fills their journal with sketches of you to unveil at the end of the day. Their art skills is the only thing they're proud of in themselves and monetary possessions don't hit quite the mark they're trying to reach when it comes to presents they like to give. If you're a gamer/a fan of stuffed animals they'll pick up a couple so they can use them when you're away and they miss you.

The first birthday you celebrate with Alasdair has to be one to remember. He's watched you from the sidelines for years and now it's finally his chance to do what he's always wanted. It may be a tad selfish of him in hindsight, but he'll pull you aside the day before or after to enjoy a relaxing evening with just the two of you.

Fast Food:

"Code C! I repeat, Coqde C - The clown is loose!"

Birthday? Well you can't expect to have a celebration without the designated party planner, can you? As everyone closes up the restaurant early to commemorate your big day, Twister hoovers over the crew to insure everything goes swimming. The Janitor follows behind it with their trusty spray bottle to keep the clown in check - its the only excuse they have not to give their present to you by hand because they're too embarrassed.

The bathroom Succubus would insist on you opening her gifts to you first - if a certain goat wouldn't pout over it all day as a result. The ballpit hands shower you with all the shiny items lost in their depths. The Storyteller reads you the tale of someone who's birthday happens to fall on the same day - where nothing bad occurs and the universe smiles kindly in their favor.

The ice cream machine ghost whispers in the ears of customers they'd better wish you a happy birthday or be prepared to have dairy filled nightmares

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I think my back is ok now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday comes too quickly. You don’t sleep the night before. It’s more than just Lee and your mother arguing that keeps you awake. The anxiety of your meeting bears down on you like an open maw, ready to devour you.

You don’t expect it to go well. You’re not even sure why you’re doing it. 

That one thought repeats over and over. You don’t have to. You can cancel. You can make another excuse and stay a loser. That’s easy. Maybe that’s why it’s so scary. Because new things are hard. 

You languish in bed as the time ticks by. You got to get up and get moving. Soon, you’ll do something. Soon. 

You roil in the trepidation. Each move, each little thing, is a gargantuan task. You sneak out to wash your face and make yourself as presentable as you can. You waited too long. You have five minutes to put something on that isn’t wrinkled and stale. 

You put on a black sweatshirt, hoping the little balls of lint aren’t visible. Maybe you can get away with just turning the microphone on. You open the computer and shift in the chair. One minute. 

You find the email and scroll down to the link. You hover over it and stare. Noon on the dot. Your hand falters and you click the Zoom meeting. It opens in the browser and your breath traps in your chest.  

The little box in the corner is black as you leave the red line through the camera icon as the mic catches the rustle of your shirt. There’s a man on screen. He sits before an office backdrop but you can’t tell if its digitally generated or real. His blond hair is combed back and he sports a thick beard and glasses. He wears a wool sweater over a collared shirt and stares down the camera. 

“Hello,” he speaks, “anyone there?” 

You clear your throat and croak, nearly choking on your own spit.  

“Here,” you manage to squeak. 

“Ah, hello there, may I ask you turn your camera on?” His voice is low and lilted, almost smoky in a way. 

You hesitate and scratch your neck, letting your fingers wander up to your scalp. The itch spread, making sitting still unbearable. You wince as you hear someone in the kitchen, the fridge door closes heavily and a dish clinks on the counter. 

“Hello?” The voice comes again. 

You panic and hit the keyboard. You steady your hand and tap the camera, shying away as you slouch in your chair. The dim glow of your bedside lamp leaves you in shadow. Still, you feel exposed. 

“Better,” he says but with little enthusiasm, “well, I suppose we best get to the meat of things,” he adjusts his posture. 

“Okay,” you murmur and cross your arms, looking evasively at the wall. 

“Good to finally meet. I’m Professor Smith,” he introduces himself and calls you by name. 

“You too,” you utter out of courtesy. This is torture to you. 

“Now, you’ve done very well on your completed work,” his eyes scan as he looks at the screen before him, "you’ve shown improvement up until a few weeks ago. You do have a lot of potential to be successful here--” 

You nod and hunch down further. You just feel worse. You’re a lazy slob. You didn’t finish your work just like you never finish the laundry or cleaning your room. 

“Irene!” Lee’s voice booms on the other side of the wall and you wince, looking over your shoulder then back to the computer. You huddle closer, hoping he didn’t hear that. Your mother’s drone responds to the holler. 

“Perhaps it is the format? We could explore another option for your remaining assignments. I can accommodate where necessar--” 

“Fuck off!” Lee shouts and a loud bang hits the hallway wall. You gulp and your lips part. 

“Lee, please, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t--” 

“Should’ve known better than to trust a whore!” Lee barks. 

You cover your face and shrink down. No! Not now. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks and you separate your fingers, looking through them. You drop your hands and nod. 

“Sorry--” 

Another loud thump, this time against your door and your mother sobs loudly as she slides down the other side. You stammer and your lip trembles as you stare mortified at the lens in the frame of the laptop. This is awful. 

“What is happen--” 

You wiggle your fingers on the touchpad and hit End Call. You retract and wrap your arms around your head, folding over your lap as you rock. How humiliating. You can’t believe that happened. Well, you can. It’s what always happens. 

Your mother and Lee continue to argue, their fight just outside your door. You shake your head as you stay curled over. You don’t know why she does this. These men come around, call her names, knock her around, and she lets them come right back. 

A tinkling noise comes from the speaker. Professor Smith is calling you. You decline the call. An email chimes in at the corner. It’s from him as well. You see the preview, a response to his last email. 

‘Please respond or I will call authorities to confirm your saf....’ 

You click on the notification to expand the full message. You sigh and don’t bother reading the rest as you hit reply. 

‘Everything is fine. I will take the fail. Thank you.’ 

Another call comes in. Just leave me alone! You hit the red button again and delete his last email. And he calls again. Ugh. What does he care. You’re sure he has lots of students to worry about. Another email and another call. Back and forth until you accidentally hit the wrong key. 

He appears again, closer to the lens as his forehead lines, “hello, hey, hey,” he sits back, holding up a hand as you scramble, panicking as you fidget and try to figure out what to do, “don’t hang up, alright? Don’t, or I will be obligated to call the police.” 

As he commands you, your mother and Lee continue their sparring in the hall, voices raised though not as clear from the front room. You sniff and rub your cheek, soothing yourself as you bring up your other hand to chew on your sleeve. 

“Are you in danger?” He asked pointedly. You shake your head. “What is all that then?” 

He’s quiet and you are enveloped again in the chaos outside your room. You shrug and tilt your head to one side. You look down. 

“My mom...” 

He sighs, “look, I wouldn’t have taken the time to call if I didn’t think you could do this. Perhaps, this was the wrong avenue. So, is it possible we meet somewhere neutral. In person?” 

You shudder and sit up as much as you can, wringing your hands, “I... I... don’t drive.” 

“That’s alright, is there a library near you, yeah? I can find my way.” 

You frown and flick your lip under your teeth several times. You see yourself in the little box. You look scary as your eyes are pools of shadows. 

“Uh...” you pull your hands apart and open a new tab, happy to have your image off the screen. You type into the search. You think there’s a library close by. “Yes, um, there is...” 

“Send me the location. We’ll reschedule. When are you available? Thursday? I’m afraid tomorrow I’m booked up.” 

You switch back to the video call. You feel tears tightening your throat and ready to spring. You shake your head and paste the URL of the library branch into the chat. His eyes flit down to read it. 

“Thursday,” you repeat but it’s not as much a question as you mean. 

“Thursday is good. Can we do earlier? Ten?” He asks. 

You don’t know. You’re not used to making decisions. You don’t get asked for your preference ever. 

“Sure,” you answer, just wanting to end the call and hide in bed. 

“Alright, I’ll pencil you in,” he says, “shall I stay on the call until that...” he pauses as Lee continues to bluster, “subsides?” 

“No,” you shake your head. 

He stares at you, his forehead lined with disapproval. Why does he care so much? He doesn’t know you. 

“Are you certain?” He intones. 

You nod, “I have to go.” 

You end the call and shut the computer. Your stomach is a jumble and you’re jittering with adrenaline. All your life, you’ve hidden behind these walls; you’ve hidden all that goes on there. To have someone witness it is worse than the yelling and hitting itself. 

You ignore the chirp from the laptop and throw yourself into bed. Thursday. So, another torturous purgatory begins, waiting to face the professor and your incompetence once more. 

📓

Thursday comes too quickly. 

You sit in your room and convince yourself to go. It was easier when it was just a computer screen, though even that was difficult. Only for you because you’re so messed up. Because you can’t do anything. 

What else can you do? The whole night you were awake thinking about how you would tell your mother. If you flunk out, you default on the student loan and you’re even deeper in the pit. The true consequences of your laziness are clearer now and you can’t let your sloth bury you again. If you do, you may as well give up on everything. Even life itself. 

So, you have no choice. You’re being given a last chance. Again. You’d feel even worse for not taking it than you would for failing at it. 

You pull on a hoodie and grab your house key and your knapsack with your computer and notebook tucked inside. That’s all you really have. No phone, no wallet. Just the bare minimum.  

You shuffle to the door, standing just inside as you muster your courage. You check your digital watch, an old Casio you’ve had for years. The numbers are dim and hard to read in the dark. You have to get going. 

You emerge and go down to the kitchen to sneak a sip of water before you go. Your room is always so dry at night. You drain a glass and rinse it out, leaving it beside the sink. As you turn around, you hear your mother’s bedroom door and the slap of her slippers as she slinks in. 

“Ah, honey,” she smiles dopily. You can smell liquor from there. She might even still be drunk as her hangovers usually keep her abed. “There you are! Oh, gosh, are you going somewhere?” 

“Mm, library,” you answer, “for school.” 

“Oh, smart girl,” she slurs. You try to smile but it’s shaky and weak. Your mom tries, you know that, so you can’t hate her. “Can you stop by the shop on your way? I got a twenty. Wouldn’t mind some vodka.” 

You pick at a fingernail, “mom, I don’t... I don’t like buying that stuff.” 

“Mm, I know, but I...” she sways on her feet and belches into her fist, “never mind. I’ll just ask Lee when he comes by.” 

“He’s coming?” You ask warily. 

“Sure, sure,” she turns and staggers to the fridge, “he must be missing me by now.” 

She bends, leaning on the door as she opens it, and peruses the mostly empty shelves. You leave her and go down the hall. You grab your shoes and slip them on, once more stopping at the threshold. Keep going. You made it this far. 

You let yourself out and lock the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the first level and continue out onto the street. You keep to the edge of the pavement as you weave around other pedestrians that pass. 

Your lips move as you recite the directions to yourself. You were sure to memorise the route as best as you could. You get turned around but right yourself and make it to the corner when you can see the grey brick of the library. 

You wait at the light before you cross and your heart begins to race the closer you get. Oh no, you don’t know if you can do this. You want to just run away. What if he sees you and changes his mind? I mean, look at you. You’re not some perky coed, you’re... you. 

You stare up at the facade and the large letters over the entrance. You take the first step, then the next. You focus on that. Right foot, left foot. Little things, one at a time. You can do this. You have to. 

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 3

Shit! I can't believe I forgot to post this this morning! I don't know where my head was, honestly.

I'm reaching a point where I'm running out of plot so I don't think this story is going to be longer than 10 chapters max. A lot of the second half of the movie takes place over months as the main character gets ready to marry the rich bachelor, only for her to find out that her husband signed the divorce papers and she forgot ON HER WEDDING DAY (as in she was informed on her wedding day that she forgot). Which really won't work for this story.

So yeah, I suspect to be finished with this story sooner rather than later.

Eddie does have to do a lot of grovelling but he unfortunately gets worse before he gets better. He's really REALLY dumb in this, okay?

Part 1 Part 2

****

Eddie watched Steve walk away and he gently put the brownie back into the box.

Fuck.

His stomach churned as he swallowed down the bite in his mouth. He had forgotten so much about the man he once swore to love until the end of his days. But he remembered that look of absolute betrayal before the mask dropped.

So Eddie did what he was good at when times got tough, he ran. He was supposed to have been trying to convince Steve to come with him, but he had fucked it up so badly there was no coming back from that.

The worst part is that there had been a few times in the last decade where Eddie could have healed what was between them, that he could have reached out and gotten back in touch. But Eddie had ran each time.

He wouldn’t say each time ended in a rushed marriage, but two of them definitely did.

Eddie would think about reaching out only to hear about how well Steve was doing from Dustin or Max and how happy he was and Eddie would run out a marry the first guy who would fuck him.

The other times he would think about contacting Steve and some small trouble (or not so small in the case of his band breaking up) would crop up and he be scrambling to keep his head above water.

Steve was thriving here in Hawkins and wasn’t that just a kick to the head. He had a little bakery that was doing well, Robin was here, and if all the times the kids called Eddie were any indication, Steve was still on speaking terms with all of them.

He needed a fucking drink. He didn’t care that it was only a little after noon, he needed to turn off his brain. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bakery.

“I thought I recognized the van,” a warm voice said. “Were you gonna tell me you were in town?”

Eddie looked around before he spotted his Uncle Wayne, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Wayne!” he cried and threw his arms around his neck.

Wayne hugged him back. “It’s good to see you kid.”

“Of course I was going to tell you I was in town,” Eddie scoffed. “I was just trying to take care of something first.”

Wayne looked behind him at the bakery and raised an eyebrow. “You coming back to make an honest man out him or are you setting to break his heart?”

“Why are you on his side?” Eddie whined. “Yes, I said some pretty stupid shit, but he wasn’t blameless in all the fuckery that went down.”

Wayne’s expression softened. “I know.” He put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk about why you’re in town.”

“Mmk,” Eddie said weakly, letting Wayne lead him down the street to the nearby diner.

****

Steve was hyperventilating. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole in the world and he still looked like sex on legs.

That funny little lopping walk he did when he wanted to move fast but didn’t want to run.

The long hair in waves around his face. His lean body stuffed into the tightest pair of jeans Steve had ever seen and he used to wear tight jeans for fuck’s sake. The god damn eyeliner on his big doe eyes.

And peaking out of the leather jacket were even more tattoos. Which it made sense considering he was some hot shot tattoo artist up in Seattle. But still! It wasn’t fair that the man who broke his heart wasn’t fat and balding at thirty. Nooooo...he had to come back to blue his balls as well as break his heart.

“Do I need to break his balls?” Robin asked coming back from the freezer. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Not at Steve specifically, but glared at the situation in general.

Steve gave a kind of hiccuping laugh and his lungs filled with the air he desperately needed.

“No,” he said with a broken smile. “I handled it. I’m just going to send it to Hal to make sure he’s not trying to take me to the cleaners or some other bullshit.”

Robin nodded. Hal Peterson was their business attorney, but he’d know enough to make sure Steve wasn’t being shafted by the whole ordeal.

“So what’s got you around the twist?” she asked.

“He looks hotter now than he did before he left,” Steve whined. “He’s supposed to balding and fat and falling apart at the seams. But no...he’s leaner, still with those long ridiculous curls, and better put together than I was.” He waved a hand at himself. His hair was greasy from standing around a hot oven, his hands and apron were covered in flour, he had frosting on his nose.

Robin came over and gave him a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and he let out a little sob.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she murmured. “Are you going to be okay?”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “Probably not until he blows out of town again.”

Robin kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go out to the Hideout tonight. The shop will be fine. We handled today, we can handle tomorrow, too.”

Steve let out a shuddering sigh and nodded into her stomach.

“Good,” she stepped back and cupped his cheeks. “I know this sucks but you are the strongest, most capable person I’ve ever met. A weaker man would crumble under all this, but that person is not you. You understand me?”

He let out another shuddering sigh. “Thanks, Robs. I needed that.”

“I know you did, dingus,” she said fondly. “So lets knock today out of the ballpark, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

****

“I was hoping,” Eddie was telling Wayne, “that I could roll into town, get him to sign the divorce papers, and spend the rest of the week with you. But no, he’s being a stubborn ass.”

Wayne snorted. “You always did aim too high.”

“I thought he’d want to be rid of me,” Eddie huffed. “I’ve done nothing but run around all over this god forsaken country just to put some distance between me and him. I’ve hurt him in every possible way. I thought he was just wanting closure you know, calling me into town like he did.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “He called you into to town?”

Eddie nodded and placed his chin on his hands on the table. “I was a bit of an ass about it because I didn’t explain things to Chrissy, but yeah. He told me that if I wanted to divorce him so bad, I’d have to come back to Hawkins and do the job proper.”

The waitress came set Wayne’s food down and Eddie sat up so she could do the same for him.

Wayne waited until she was gone before he turned back to Eddie. “When you told me you were marrying Chrissy, I was more than a little surprised.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I know. I have my reasons, I just can’t tell you yet. But I promise it’s for a good reason.”

“He’s done really well for himself here,” Wayne said softly.

“And I haven’t?” Eddie spat out a tad too bitterly.

Wayne scowled. “Did I say you hadn’t, boy?” he snapped.

Eddie’s head reared back from the shock of his normally mild mannered uncle to snap at him. He shook his head, his lip beginning to quiver.

“I’m on your side,” Wayne said, to Eddie’s scoff. “I know I keep hyping up Steve, but I remember what you two were like when things were good, son. You were incandescent. But I look at you now and that sparkle has gone. I want to be happy for you, but first you’ve got to show me that you’re happy for yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m happy?” Eddie asked in confusion. “I have my own tattoo shop, I’m going to marry a great girl, and I’m still friends with most of the members of my band. What’s not to be happy about?”

Wayne shrugged. “You tell me.”

Eddie frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

Wayne dug his thumbs into his belt and licked his top lip nice and slow. Eddie ignored him and just stabbed at his food.

“Kiddo,” Wayne said, shaking his head, “you’re still in love with that boy even with these ten years gone.” His chin jutted up to point to Eddie’s food.

Eddie froze with his fork half way to his mouth and then looked down at his plate. It took him a full minute to realize what Wayne was talking about.

“Oh.”

He had ordered the breakfast platter. It had hash browns, scrambled eggs, ham, bacon, and sausage with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. But Eddie didn’t like hash browns or sausage. He would give them to Steve who did.

He thought about the little box that was sat next to him on the bench and the brownie Steve had concocted for him so long ago.

Eddie swallowed thickly, his stomach turning sour as he stared at the hash browns and sausage he was never going to eat.

“Eat up,” Wayne said with a soft smile. “You don’t want it to go to waste.” He scooped up the hash browns and put them on his plate and then stabbed both sausage.

He dipped the first sausage into his over easy eggs, ignoring Eddie’s turmoil. At least for the moment.

Eddie brought the fork all the way to his mouth and chewed, not really tasting it.

He ate through most of the food that way, until it came to the pancakes. He moaned happily.

“Seattle just doesn’t make pancakes the way Benny does,” he said softly.

Wayne’s smile was no less tender this time, but infinitely more fond. “You could always come back to Hawkins. You can set up a tattoo shop anywhere, so why not here?”

Eddie shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to Steve. Divorce his ass and then move back into town with Chrissy in tow, shoving it in his face that I moved on.”

“I can see that,” Wayne murmured. “I just miss my boy is all and would love to see you more often than I get.”

Eddie took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know you do. And I would like you to meet Chrissy before the wedding.”

“I’d like that too.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @blackpanzy

9- @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras @swimmingbirdrunningrock

10- @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites @mac-attack19

[justourimaginations]

A Welcome Diversion (Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader)

This is PART 1, if you want the steamy part of the story visit PART 2. They can both be read independently from one another.

PART 1

Summary: You run into Colter at a fundraiser and help him find evidence he's looking for. You have met once before and things turned steamy last time.

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, kissing, guns, mentions of sex

2.2k words

------------------------

Your eyes searched the room for an excuse to escape the conversation with your former professor who hadn’t gotten more interesting in the past years and was rather just speaking even slower now. Every conversation with this man felt like a lecture, and in addition to his wandering eyes around your tight fitted dress, it was not a pleasant way to spend the evening.

Since you were an alumnus and a successful author you were invited to a lot of events at your former university. One of your old friends who was now a professor made sure to put your name on the guest list every time. But you weren’t one to complain about free drinks and food and an excuse to dress up.

“Oh, excuse me Professor, I just saw someone I haven’t seen in ages” you smiled at him apologetically. “I’m sure we will talk more later.” You took your leave before the man could reply and headed towards the bar and the man who had his back towards you.

“Colter Shaw” you said with a smirk, making the man turn around a little confused. Noone was supposed to know him here.

“Y/N?” Colter didn’t expect to see you again so soon. The last time he had seen you which was also the first time you had met, was a couple hundred miles away. You had helped him with a case because you knew some details about a woman who had disappeared. The end of the job had resulted in the two of you hooking up at your hotel room. He had to suppress a smile while thinking of that night.

“You clean up nicely” you complimented him, eying his black-tie look. He looked damn handsome. You also couldn’t help but remember how his hands roamed all over your body the last time you had seen him.

“Well, you’re one to talk, you look stunning” his gaze wandered over your body. Having him look at you like this was so much better than your professor. You were wearing a black evening dress with a slit and a modest neckline. Your hair was gathered in a bun at the back of your neck. Your make up was stronger than usual.

Colter cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here” he said and took a sip from his beer.

“I could say the same” you replied with raised brows.

Colter moved a little closer to you. You could smell his cologne. “I’m looking for a student, she went missing three days ago and I’m pretty sure her professor has her locked up somewhere” he told you in a hushed tone.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because they had an affair and she threatened to tell” he explained, taking another sip of his beer as if they were talking about the weather.

“Which professor?”

“Cameron Rodney, he teaches History” Colter said. “I thought he would be here, and I could follow him to wherever he keeps her.”

“I think I know where his office is” you thought aloud.

“Well, shoot” Colter said eagerly.

“If anything, I’ll show you, you won’t find it without me, took me weeks to find my way through this place.”

“Y/N…” he started but you interrupted him. He didn’t want to put you in danger, like the last time you helped him with a job.

“No point in arguing Colter” you stated and took the bottle from his hands, put it on the counter and lead him away from the crowd. He sighed and followed you into the hall, unable to not glance at your ass.

“You know you didn’t tell me what you were doing here” he said as he caught up with you.

“I was invited. I studied here and a friend of mine works here now, so he makes sure I get invited to the events with free booze and food” you smiled. Colter nodded amused. You took a few turns and walked down another corridor.

“This should be it” you said pointing to a door. A sign on the door confirmed what you said. Colter rattled the doorknob; it was locked of course. He took a few steps back.

“Hey, hey, you’re not going to kick the door in” you said your hand on his chest to hold him back. Colter rolled his eyes.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Do you not know how to pick a lock in your line of work?”

“I do, but I don’t have any tools with me” he shrugged.

“Good thing, you have me” you smiled and pulled out two bobby pins from your updo, releasing a few strands of hair. “Will this work?”

Colter took them and started picking the lock, it took a few minutes but eventually it clicked, and the door opened. You followed him inside and silently closed it behind you. He pulled out a flashlight and started looking around.

“What exactly are we looking for?” you asked using your phone as a flashlight.

“Anything that might tell us where he is keeping her” Colter told you going through folders on a sideboard. Minutes passed as the two of you kept searching the office for hints.

“You know…”

“Sshh, someone’s coming” Colter whispered, putting a finger to his lips, so you would keep quiet. He looked around the room to find a place to hide the both of you. Your heart began beating faster. The steps in the hallway grew closer. Colter cursed at the lack of hiding spots in the room, but you had a better idea.

“Okay, come here” you commanded, seating yourself on the desk and pulling him in between your legs before loosening his tie.

“What are you…” he started but you stopped him by pulling his face to yours. It was like the air was kicked out of his lungs when you pressed your lips on his. His hands instinctively found their way to your thighs on either side of him, while your own hand was cupping his cheek, and the other one was pulling him close at his neck, buried in his hair. The door to the office opened, and the light turned on.

“Hey, this is a private office, get out of here” a security guy said shaking his head at the two of you. You pulled away from Colter in a hurry, got up and adjusted your dress. Colter cleared his throat and turned around.

“We’re really sorry” he said huskily and took your hand to lead you out of the room, your face flushed and with a smile on your lips. As soon as you stepped out of the building and headed towards Colter’s car, he looked at you, smirking.

“Good idea” he pursed his lips.

“Thank you” you winked at him. “I’d say this was a success.”

“We didn’t really find any evidence” Colter frowned.

“Check your pocket” you simply said with a proud smile. Colter pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smirked when he saw what it was.

“So that was what your hand was doing there, I thought you were going for something else.”

“I still might.” You gave Colter a playful look and headed for the passenger side door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Colter asked his brows drawn together.

“You didn’t think I would just find the location for you and then not come check it out, did you?” you asked in disbelief.

“Well, don’t you have to get back inside?”

“And do what? Let myself be gawked at by my former professor for a little longer?” you scoffed.

“I don’t want you to get hurt” his expression turned soft.

“Don’t worry, I can handle it, I have last time” you smiled, opening the door. Colter sighed, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“No, last time, you got one over the head” he scoffed and started the car. You rolled your eyes at him.

A few minutes passed. His phone lit up with an incoming call: Bobby.

“Hey Bobby, talk to me” Colter answered the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey C, so I can’t find anything connecting our guy to these offices he is renting according to that receipt” Bobby sighed.

“He’s probably paying cash for it, no point in having a secret office if anyone can track you there” you suspected.

“Who’s this?” Bobby asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N” you introduced yourself.

“Y/N is helping me out” Colter added.

“Hang on, Y/L/N as in the author of…” Bobby concluded.

“Yup” you interrupted him.

“That’s awesome, any chance you can send me a signed copy of your latest book, I couldn’t get my hands on it yet” Bobby asked.

“Sure, I…”, Colter interrupted you, “Listen guys, I hate to break up this wholesome fan moment, but we do actually have a missing girl to find.”

“Sorry C, I don’t have anything for you, not even his phone was at the building.”

“Okay, thanks B, I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“I’ll have Colter send you my number” you hurried to say before Colter could hang up.

You arrived at the building complex a few minutes later.

You followed Colter quietly, which was a task in itself since you were wearing heels. You made it up to the office. The door was locked, and Colter shot you a questioning glance, you nodded in approval. He kicked it open and entered his gun raised. The room was empty.

“Sh*t” he cursed and ran his hand through his hair.

“It doesn’t make sense” you said looking around the room. It was basically empty except for a desk, chair and cupboard. You walked to the cupboard and rattled the handle, it was locked. You looked at Colter and saw you were both thinking the same thing. There was something in there he didn’t want to be found. Colter walked over to you and with a strong pull the lock ripped. The cupboard didn’t have a back panel, instead it was placed to cover a door to a storage room. On the ground was a bag.

“This doesn’t look like it belongs to Professor Rodney” you stated the obvious. You exchanged glances with Colter.

“Call 911” he said, and you fished out your phone stepping a few steps away from him. He kicked in the door and shone his flashlight inside. A girl was cowering in the corner looking up in panic. You could hear Colter say softly “It’s okay, your father hired me to find you, I’m here to take you home.” Your heart fluttered at how caring his voice was and watched him help the girl out of the closet and over to the chair. You gave the police your location and what had happened and hung up, heading over to the student.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, you’ll be okay” you tried comforting her with a smile. She looked absolutely exhausted but nodded. Colter sighed and watched you, taking his phone out. You could see that he was frustrated that you hadn’t found the professor responsible.

“Colter!” you called out. It was only a split second in which you saw a metallic reflection behind him and with instincts you didn’t know you had pushed him aside, both of you tumbling to the ground. A bang followed by a shattering noise and a scream echoed through the empty room. Colter recovered quickly and took a single shot himself. He hit the shooter in his right shoulder making him drop his gun and stumble backwards. Colter got up quickly, kicking the gun away and planting himself in front of you and the girl.

“Don’t even think about moving” Colter growled at the professor, then glancing down to you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice immediately softer.

“Yeah” you said getting up and walking over to the girl taking her hand.

You waited until the police came and cuffed Rodney and lead the girl outside. You followed them outside and to Colter’s car.

“What were you thinking?” Colter called out.

“Excuse me?” you retorted turning around to him in disbelief.

“Throwing yourself in front of a bullet? Are you f*cking crazy?” Colter replied still agitated.

“Oh, I’m sorry, here I was thinking I just saved your life” you threw your hands up in defence.

“You could have caught a bullet.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t. Starting to regret not letting you catch one though.” You scoffed. Colter sighed his jaw clenched. You tilted your head anticipating his response with raised brows. He bit his lip.

“Thank you” he finally replied, taking a step closer to you.

“Was that so hard?” you smiled, the anger leaving your face. You couldn’t have stayed mad at him anyways.

“I'll take you back to your car” he said and opened the passenger door for you. You nodded and climbed in.

He wasn’t used to someone risking their life for his, it was usually the other way around. He threw glances at you the whole drive over to the university where your car was parked. He pulled up next to it.

“So, this is goodbye?” you asked Colter trying to read his face.

“Well, um… I want to see Jessie home” he replied.

“And collect your reward?”

“It’s not about that.”

“Right” you nodded, not ready to say goodbye to him.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure Jessie gets home and then meet you at your place in an hour” he suggested, a cocky sparkle in his eyes.

“Oh, no” you laughed, causing a look of confusion on Colters face, his smile fading. “I’m staying with my parents so, no. But… send me the location of your trailer and I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

Colter scratched his beard and nodded, the smile returning to his lips. “Deal.”

[bullet-prooflove]

The Randomiser Prompt List

Please check the updated character list on my pinned post to see who I am writing for before submitting a prompt!

Also read the rules and do not forget to put the entire prompt into your ask!

Bourbon soaked messages

Everything was based on a lie

I know that you hate her but it was never her fault, not really.

No more talk, you’re mine

I had no idea you had feelings for me

No matter how far apart we are, I’ll always find you

You’re the reason I’m here

You can do better than him

Dancing by lamplight

I should have taken you with me

Drunk voice mail revealing feelings

Don’t pretend like you care

Drunk fighting.

If you’re having problems I’m here to listen.

Turning up bloody on the door step

Meeting you was the best moment of my life.

I didn’t know what you were going through.

Nobody gets to hurt you and walk away.

Accidental dial so a conversation is overheard

You are not a liability.

Love is the one thing that money can’t buy.

I’m going to spend my last days loving you.

I’ve lost her, she isn’t coming back

You told me you’ve been fighting all your life, well fight for us.

It’s time to say the things he truly feels.

Under the neon lights

Honey, won’t you let me put that ring on your finger

You don’t have to hide your sadness

He’s the bad boy of law enforcement

Darling you deserve more than just these roses

Raining on Sunday

Blood stains and shattered glass

Have you told anyone else?

Oh honey, you’ve done some bad shit haven’t you?

My life was fine before you turned up

He broke into my home

You destroyed my world.

Noone has ever given me something so important

Such a tough façade, you’re just a fragile little girl underneath

You’re out of your fucking mind

Fuck, you’re on something aren’t you?

Baby we need to get you to a hospital.

Attending an event with someone who is not the object of affection

Just not right now ok?

Escape attempt

I’ve tried being subtle but it doesn’t work.

He took us to the woods…Well you know what happened next.

I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere.

You have to move on.

That’s just a rumour

I never thought I’d see you in handcuffs

Attending a wedding

It’s what you do when you love someone right?

Look, I owe you an apology

I can’t fucking breathe

I thought I’d lost you…

You’re gonna get us arrested.

Blood stained teeth

You were wearing that dress, you know the one

You’re an angry little thing aren’t you

A relationship that exists only in the dark.

I don’t want to talk, for now just kiss me, take me to bed

Spitting blood.

Rough voice, pretty words

It was supposed to be yours but then…you needed some time

[simp999]

A New Home Ch. 3

Splatoon Manga Various x Skilled! Isekai'd Reader

Wc: 1k

Back to the start! Previous Next

You slowly open your eyes and wipe the drool off your face. You wince when you look around, realizing how bright it is. You must have crashed pretty hard last night. You stretch your arms, feeling a nice stretch in your back. But the bliss doesn’t last long when the pain comes right back. Sleeping on a bench isn’t very comfortable. 

Hey, wait, you fell asleep on a bench? Your eyes finally adjust to the scenery and yup, you’re still in Inkopolis Plaza. Well, it seems that you still have everything in your bag and your weapon is untouched, so it seems like a good time to go perform some very unfair gameplay. 

The results of these games are no different than your past ones, with you only learning more about how people battle. It’s about noon when you decide to take a break and get some inkling-friendly water offered for players at Inkopolis Tower. Thank cod for that. 

You wonder if the next events from the Splatoon manga take place the day after Goggles loses that battle with the team Rider explicitly told him not to lose, or a couple of days after. You don’t have much time to think before situating yourself in a more discrete spot after noticing the one and only idiotic blue team. You pretend to play on your phone and you attempt to discern what part of the manga you’re at so far. Rider comes into frame and that’s when Goggles’ screaming starts. 

‘Oh, Rider just found out that team Blue lost the second round. Ouch. Guess that means Army’s up next then, I should go get good seats.' You make your way over to Inkopolis Tower. 'What stage was he on again? Oh yeah, Flounder Heights.’ 

You weren’t the first to make it to Army’s match, noticing some die-hard fans already on the sidelines. You spotted somebody wearing a special forces beret. 

‘Huh, guess even the weakest of the S4 is quite strong. Of course they all have a bunch of fans. Much deserved, being some of the strongest there is.’

You take your seat and put your backpack between your legs and your weapon on the seat beside you while taking out your off-brand manual. You’ve even named it that, right there on the front with big bold letters, even though it’s basically just a sketchbook.

Just a couple more minutes before the battle begins and Rider walks into the stands. 

‘Alright, not a big deal, I’m just some rando. He doesn’t know me. Nope.’

He sits beside you, opposite side from your weapon. Suppose it was sort of unfortunate that the best seat left was the one right beside you because the other good ones were all taken.

‘Should I move? Nah, that would be kinda weird. He might think he’s smelly or something. Should I say hi? Only if he says something first.’

You try your best to calm yourself down because once again, you’re in the Splatoon manga and that’s pretty damn cool. With your pencil in hand, the Squid Sisters announce the players and the stage. You quickly notice that Team Orange is much better as well as more efficient when it comes to inking. They swiftly make their way to the center while skillfully inking every pathway there.

‘The manga doesn’t quite capture how well they move as a singular unit. Not to mention how well they work together, knowing exactly which battle plan to use for each scenario without saying a word to each other.’

‘Pure skill alone might not be able to take care of even the weakest of the S4. If they can manage to have the advantage over every scenario, they’re virtually unstoppable unless you can manage to outrange them or something. Goggles completely had the right idea when it came to bringing in a completely unrelated variable. How could I possibly beat Army if paired against him?’

Not that you actually planned on battling him at any point in time, but it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to come across one of those die-hard Army fans who battle just like him. Though, it would probably be much easier to just out-skill them. But it’s better to be at least semi-prepared for any scenario. 

‘Man, I’m kinda starting to act like Army now, huh? How ironic.’

You continue to write information down on Army and his team, flipping to the next page because one wasn’t enough.

‘It’s much easier to analyze your opponent’s playstyle and moves rather than adapt your own to be unpredictable. It’s just about impossible to be completely unpredictable. Everybody has little things that they absentmindedly do during battle. Whether it be the way they may like to jump and flick their charger before taking a shot, or maybe they prefer dodge-rolling to their right side instead of their left.’

‘Maybe the best way to go about battling him is to out-skill him? If my team and I can manage to make solid plays before Army can discern them and decide on the best way to fight back, then we should be fine, right?’

Though, you are disappointed with the way the Splatoon manga introduced the S4’s skill. They really are much stronger up close. You can tell how much time and effort really went into Team Orange’s training. You also found it interesting how even before Goggles had attacked Army with his Inkzooka, He sensed Goggles’ presence behind him. He knew he was about to get flanked from behind. That’s something you can only get from years of experience. Either from getting pinpoint accuracy by hearing the sound of footsteps or clothes rustling, or just having some sort of sixth sense.

'Maybe I could train to be quieter? Yeah, that sounds good.'

You didn’t want to wait to leave the stands, so you walked out of inkopolis tower, phone in hand before the battle ended. The app you downloaded back in the real world seems to work here too. It shows your rank, the stages, and most of your stats. The level isn’t included, but that’s alright. 

Next part

Apr.6.23

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 29

I pull the brush through my wet tangled hair, watching as Florence moves around the kitchen in nothing but my t-shirt, her hair just as wet as mine from our shower. I set the brush down and walk behind her, pulling her back into my front. Our equally bare legs brush together as I wrap my arms around her waist and press a kiss to her neck, prompting her to giggle and turn her head to meet my lips in a kiss.

She fully turns around in my arms and deepens the kiss, slipping her tongue between my lips and pushing me against the kitchen counter, stealing my breath. I don't care how many times we've done this in the past twenty-four hours, it has yet to get old.

The apartment door swings open and Florence jumps backward away from me. Ash raises an eyebrow at us, telling Syd to go put her bag down in her room.

"Really?" she snickers. "We left at 10 yesterday morning. It's now noon and you're still fucking on the nearest surface. Lesbians, I swear."

"Flo is bi," I correct.

"You know what I mean. Sooo...how was it?" she asks with a shit-eating grin.

"Fuck off," I groan. I meet Florence's eyes and our faces burn in matching shades of scarlet.

Syd comes running into the kitchen, stopping to analyze Florence and I's outfits. "Why aren't you wearing pants? Is it no-pants day? Can I take off my pants?"

"Uh, no, we were just...doing laundry. So we took off our pants to wash them...We'll go get dressed," Florence stutters through an excuse.

She leads the way into my bedroom and I close the door behind us, leaning back against it. I immediately laugh at her poor excuse of a lie.

"Shut up," she whines, smacking my shoulder. "What did you want me to say?"

"She's five. You could've just said it was no-pants day."

"Fair point."

We get dressed in comfortable silence. "Are we...are we going to tell her about us?"

I mull over my words before answering. "We will eventually, I promise. I just want to make sure that this is set in stone before we tell her. I don't want to set her up for heartbreak, you know? Especially with...her condition."

"I know. There's no rush, darling, I promise. I love Syd, and that's not going to change. I only want what's best for her. And you."

I grab her hand and gently tug her closer, kissing her softly and slowly. The kiss doesn't last long because we're smiling too hard. We stand in one another's embrace, basking in the moment of easy happiness.

A piece of paper slides under the bedroom door and I break the hug to pick it up.

I read it and snort. "It's a note from Ash. It says 'You guys better not be fucking in there because I want food.'"

"Oh, god," Florence laughs adorably. I smile at her, watching the way her eyes crinkle with that raspy laugh of hers. "What?" she asks, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing, I just...you're really amazing, you know that? I wouldn't trade what we have for the world."

"Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself, I suppose."

"Shut up," I laugh, tossing the note in the trash can next to my bed.

"I'm just kidding. I've never been happier than I am with you, love."

I smile uncontrollably, blushing hard as I look anywhere but at her. Did this woman just call me love? "Cool," I say, my voice a bit too high to be natural.

"You're a dork," she snorts.

"Oh, but I heard chicks dig that."

She pauses, looking at me quizzically for a moment. "Was that a Natasha reference?"

I laugh and shrug, opening the bedroom door and walking into the kitchen to feed the vultures.

~

Ash stays at the apartment all afternoon and into the night, so we decide to have a movie marathon. Of course, two and a half movies later, Syd and Florence are sound asleep cuddling on the other end of the couch. Florence has an arm wrapped around Syd's small body. The satanist's head is resting on Flo's stomach, her face hidden by a beanie. I can't believe how good Flo is with her. How much they love each other.

"You really like her, don't you?" Ash says quietly from beside me. I look away from Florence to meet Ash's soft gaze, finding that she's already looking at me.

"Yeah, I do," I smile.

"I'm happy for you, Y/N. Just be careful, okay? I know you only love her for her, but she is a celebrity. That's a lot to deal with, especially with a kid."

"I know that, but I've thought this through. I want this. I want her." I pause, blushing. "And I never said I love her."

"You didn't have to. I know you better than anyone, Y/N. Just promise me you won't let her break your heart? Because I really don't wanna have to kill Florence Pugh."

"I promise." We seal it by interlocking our pinkies, laughing at how childish the action is. This, right here. The girl of my dreams, my best friend, and the child I would give up everything to protect. This is all I need. Now and forever.

~

I wake up around three in the morning when my phone dings with a text message. I stretch my arm out to grab it off the coffee table, trying not to disturb Ash who is asleep on my shoulder.

I unlock the display and open the message from the unknown number. My heart lurches in my chest. A picture. No, two. Not just pictures. A picture of my apartment building from the street below, and a picture of my apartment door from the hallway.

Another message comes through, though this time it isn't a picture.

Unknown: Found you. See you soon.

Five words. Just those five simple words are enough to make me forget how to breathe. Not because I have some random stalker. No, I can't breathe because I know exactly who sent these messages. And it's my worst fucking nightmare.

Found you.

~

I don't ever want you to leave me, my darling You and me were meant to be together, my darling And if I cannot have you, no one can, you're my darling 'Cause I possess your soul, your mind, your heart, and your body

[sk8termikey]

Chapter 14 of 21 Questions

better interface on wattpad + fanfic updated till chap 27

ATLANTA VERSUS TOUR DATE

The day had finally come: Lily and Alex were meeting the Sturniolo Triplets. Although it hadn't been long since they both started watching their videos together, they had been happily expecting this day for the past few weeks and in only a few hours, they would see them. Their flight would take less than two hours which meant that the girls would arrive on time to start queuing. Given that they were going to attend the Meet & Greet with the triplets before the show, they were supposed to arrive around noon which was perfect for them: their plane was landing at ten o'clock, it would take them an hour to go to their hotel from the airport and the venue was easy to go to by walking.

Although they had woken up at half past five, the two girls couldn't feel tired as the excitement was filling their brains. They were currently packing their clothes while dancing to songs from their collaborative playlist that was playing upstairs.

"Alex," Lily called from her room. "Which team colour are you gonna wear?"

"I mean, as a Chris girl I should wear orange but in case I feel a last minute decision, I packed all three colours".

"That's actually smart, thanks. I'm gonna do the same". Lily replied as she added an orange tank top and a purple sweater to the blue shirt that was already in her suitcase.

Luckily for the girls, they were only leaving for a couple of days which meant that they didn't have too much luggage with them, except for the "just in case" clothes that were mandatory for every trip – what if one of the girls suddenly was on her period or peed on herself everyday? As they finished packing, they didn't have anything else to do and decided to directly head to the airport so they could take their time through security and maybe have a small breakfast.

~~~

Atlanta, here they were. The sun was out and the excitement was high as Lily and Alex were leaving the airport to look for a taxi that would take them to their hotel where they would get ready for the show.

Once they arrived at the hotel, the girls checked in and went to their shared room to change.

As Lily was scrolling through Instagram, she stumbled upon Nick's Instagram story and let out a gasp. Alex peeked her head through the bathroom door and asked what was happening.

"I hadn't seen Nick's story," Lily started while rummaging through her suitcase. "He said to pull up to the Atlanta show in purple so now I wanna wear purple for him!"

As she found the purple sweater that she had packed earlier this morning, a smile grew on Lily’s face. This was truly one of her favourite articles of clothing and she wasn't regretting at all to have brought it with her. To confirm her loyalty to Nick’s team, Lily even asked Alex to try and draw some bats with her purple eyeliner.

Alex had decided on her favourite triplet’s team: Chris’s. She put on an orange crop top with a black heart on it and hoped to draw his attention with a deer themed headband she had found at the airport. To not exclude Matt by not having his colour on, Lily and Alex chose to wear blue jeans in order to express their support for him as well.

When they deemed themselves ready, the two Sturniolo Triplets fans left their hotel room and started getting to the venue which was luckily close by walking. When they arrived, they noticed that not many people were here until they realised that they were actually looking at the VIP queue and not the regular one. Indeed, the people who only had general admission tickets wished to come early to still get the best view possible even though they would be at the back of the venue.

Lily and Alex smiled at a few girls they passed and joined the end of the vip queue where they belonged, thanks to Alex’s brother who had managed to secure “Diamond Package” tickets. This meant that the two girls were going to meet the triplets before the show, get to “small talk” with them, take a group picture and finally see them again after the show in the backstages. They were forever thankful for this experience and knew to find the best birthday present for Alex’s brother when it would be his time to get older.

~~~

People were finally getting into the venue as it was time for the small talks to begin. Alex and Lily didn’t care to have been amongst the last ones to have arrived – only a handful of fans were behind them – as they were not in a rush to meet the triplets. It would still happen nonetheless so they simply used their waiting time to relax and be the least nervous possible. Although usually very emotional, Lily and Alex were surprised with the way they were handling the situation when they entered the venue and could see the triplets from afar. Turns out that their mind was just not accepting that it was real which therefore tricked their brain into thinking that it was a normal hangout with absolutely not famous people they admired.

When it was the girls’ turn to go meet the triplets, Lily let Alex go first just to see the excited smile on her face as her best friend walked up to Chris. The youngest triplet welcomed Alex with a hug and asked how she was doing. Lily exchanged a quick glance with Alex and watched them talk before the two took pictures together and it was time for Lily to take Alex’s place who then walked to Chris.

“Hi, how are you?” Chris asked as Lily came up to him.

“Heyy, I am feeling great! How is your day?” Lily replied as Chris pulled her into a hug.

“Great as well, your friend was funny,” Chris laughed. “She was close to freaking out but saw you being all smiley at her and immediately calmed down.”

“She’s so cute,” Lily said as she quickly looked at Alex who was talking to Matt. “Girl is meeting her fave and she’s caring about me.”

“Glad to know I'm at least one of yours’ favourite”, Chris joked as he had noticed Alex's orange outfit and complimented her on it

During their quick chat, Chris signed a photocard before taking pictures with Lily. She thanked him before saying goodbye and moving to Matt’s table.

“Hey,” Lily said with a sudden soft voice as she was kind of intimidated by Matt.

“Hi there, how are you?” Matt asked with a soothing voice to make her comfortable, which worked.

“It feels surreal to meet you guys but such a great experience so far, are you good as well?”

“Yeah I am too.”

Lily didn't know why she ever thought Matt would be the hardest to talk to as he was actually the kindest human being. She thought about how calm he was and was impressed with the way he was able to do all of those shows despite his anxiety.

“Sorry my friend and I are not fully clothed in blue but we wore blue jeans to show appreciation and support for the sharks!” Lily explained as she put her hand on Matt's shoulder.

As Matt quickly looked at it, Lily thought she had done something wrong and removed her hand when Matt had only been surprised by how outgoing the girl was. It was refreshing to see someone close to his age – he assumed – that was acting like she was friends with all of them.

“You're good, don't worry.” Matt reassured Lily with a genuine smile. “Pictures?”

Lily nodded and Matt thus took their pictures after signing the photocard like Chris had done. They then said goodbye and it was now time for Lily to meet the last triplet as Alex went on the side to wait for her.

“Helloo! How are you doing?” Nick joyfully asked.

“Hi, I’m awesome! How are you?” Lily was reciprocating the same energy which Nick looked happy about.

“Great as well.” Nick pulled Lily into a hug before double checking her makeup. “I. Absolutely. Love. The. Bats.”

“Thank you! My best friend, whom you just met, drew them for me. I had to show everyone who I’m rooting for. And I love you guys’ outfits by the way, I didn’t tell the others but you’re all showing your colours today.”

Nick thanked her for noticing and complimented her again on her makeup while he signed the photocards. Nick then offered to take pictures to which Lily agreed.

“We both do photography but I trust you so much more to take a decent selfie.”

“No problem, don’t worry I got you,” Nick replied with a smile as he took multiple selfies and 0.5x pictures of him and Lily.

“Thank you so much. I’ll see you later, bye!” Lily waved at Nick before joining Alex who was waiting for her a few metres away.

The two girls directly hugged and fangirled about how nice the triplets were, as well as how easy it had been to talk to them – despite the stress felt from the security hurrying them to move.

“Girl, I managed to record you and Nick!” Alex excitedly said. “So cute, you guys seemed to vibe a lot.”

“Yeah, he is such a mood. Love that guy so much.”

They kept talking about their first VIP experience as they moved towards the line that would allow them to take group pictures with the triplets when the small talks were over.

While waiting, Lily and Alex got to meet another pair of best friends a bit younger which led them to immediately wanting to adopt the two middle schoolers. The line was starting to move when the four girls were exchanging about their favourite videos. They didn't see the time passing by as it was almost time for the two duos to have their picture taken.

“Which pose do we wanna do?” Lily asked Alex.

Because the girls had two tickets allowing them to take pictures, they had decided to both be in each instead of having their own solo picture with the triplets after asking if it was possible.

“Hmm, we can do one with hearts and then let them do whatever they want for the second?” Alex suggested an idea which Lily agreed on.

For the second time today, Lily and Alex hugged the Sturniolo triplets. Lily took this opportunity to give them the friendship bracelets she had made a few days prior as she wasn't sure whether she could have given them during the small talk – she had seen that most people gave their gifts during the group picture time and preferred to do the same. As they thanked her, the brothers asked how the girls wanted to pose. Given the colours that they were wearing, it felt obvious that Chris would be on Alex's side while Nick would be on Lily’s and they asked Matt to be in the middle. They all did hearts with their hands and Alex then told Nick, Matt and Chris to choose for the other picture. They all simply decided to smile and Lily held up a peace sign as her signature move which made Alex smile at how her friend could never take multiple pictures without making a peace sign in at least one of them.

The girls then thanked the triplets and they all told each other to enjoy the show. They left the photography area and were guided to the pit so that they could wait until the show started.

Dads. People's dads were currently on stage with Nick, Matt and Chris. It felt hilarious in the moment as no one had been expecting the triplets to switch up who they were bringing with them on stage. It had only been young fans until that point and seeing three grown adults enjoying the games was wonderful in Lily’s eyes. The girls had a pretty good view due to their VIP tickets and Lily could see Alex’s smile stretching to her eyes, which made Lily even happier to be able to share this moment with her.

Although Matt had won the popular vote and the painting game thanks to his teammate Mark, Chris took the lead during the Trivia game and was ready to win his nth basketball game. Then, as it was time for the last game of the show – Jenga, Chris was on the verge of victory and it got confirmed when Matt, once again, knocked down the tower. As the show was over, there was a round of applause for the triplets’ teammates and the coronation of the winner started. Each team received a medal and took pictures before Chris eventually got crowned for the fifth time since the tour had begun.

As Nick was concluding today’s show, Matt threw his shoes into the crowd which made all the fans cheer. Finally, Chris asked for everyone to call out Tril’s name. Tril – also known as YSB Tril or Trilly – was the triplet’s friend and a singer who had been invited to do a small concert at the end of some of the shows as he was living on the East coast. While Alex knew a couple of his songs, Lily had no idea that he was going to be here today but the two girls enjoyed it as the atmosphere was incredible.

~~~

Both the show and concert were over, but it wasn’t time for Alex and Lily to go back to their hotel room as they had backstage access and were currently being guided there where they would see the triplets for the third time today.

“That shit feels kinda sketchy for real”, Alex started. “But after everything we’ve experienced today I don’t care like– we could be kidnapped or murdered, I can die happy.”

“Damn bro, I wish I could say the same but we only lived twenty years so I hope we get a bit more”, Lily objected while laughing.

They were now waiting in line to go talk to the triplets and realised that they were the last ones, which made them hope that they could maybe get more time as no one would be waiting behind them. When there were only a handful of fans left in the room, Lily and Alex were called to start a conversation with any of the brothers. While Alex directly went to Chris to congratulate him on his victory, Lily decided to go see Nick as she saw that Matt was still talking to two girls.

“Nick heyy! How’s it going since earlier?”

“Bats girl hi! Awesome and you?” Nick was absolutely digging Lily’s energy.

“Quite sad purple team didn’t win but I got to meet you guys so that’s enough for me. And I got your merch so I’ll remember this forever!” Lily unfolded the purple shirt to show it to Nick.

“Great choice, I obviously approve,” Nick nodded as he took the shirt to sign it. “Are you still in need of a photographer?”

“Oh my god yes, a hundred percent still trusting your skills.” Lily laughed as she gave her phone to Nick so that he could take pictures.

“Thank you so much,” Lily said as she got her phone back and hugged Nick. “I hope you enjoy the last shows and that you win at least one more time!”

“Let’s hope so yeah, byye!”

The two new best friends waved at each other as Lily went to take Alex’s place with Chris while the blonde walked towards Matt.

“Hi again!”

“Hey, have you realised now that you should have chosen the same team as your friend?” Chris teased as he pointed to his crown.

“Hmm,” Lily feigned to think. “Maybe but I have faith in Nick, he gotta come back.”

“Fair enough but I won’t give up easily.”

Lily felt really happy that Nick and Chris were able to remember fans they had met earlier and that they were still as outgoing as they were before the show even though they must feel really tired. As Nick did, Chris took pictures of him and Lily before she thanked him.

“If you win tour, I’ll name a dessert for you at my café”. Lily said as she extended her hand to Chris.

“Bet”, the youngest triplet agreed as he dapped Lily up and hugged her quickly. “Gotta taste like orange, remember?”

Lily nodded and laughed as she bidded Chris goodbye before going to where Matt was standing.

“Hi Matt!”

“Hey, everything good?”

“Yeah, how about you? Still the most popular I saw?”

“Always, I guess it’s easier for people to dress in blue.” Matt reasoned as most people did own more blue – it being a primary colour – compared to purple or orange.

“I promise next time I’ll come in a full blue outfit!”

“You’re coming to see us again? Which show?” Matt asked as he felt comfortable talking to the girl.

“Well… I don’t know yet but I’ll try to get tickets for at least another show because I need to enjoy another one with my friend!”

It was true, Lily now wanted to find tickets for one of the Florida shows she had failed two months ago with her friends. She was thinking that the dates being so close now meant that she might have more chance at getting resale tickets, which always happened right before concerts for instance.

“Good luck then, and I hope to actually see you supporting me if you guys do come back. Also, don’t hesitate to bring other gifts.” Matt playfully said.

“Oh yeah, did you see the one we brought?”

“Yes and it looks incredible to be honest, can’t wait to get it from the box when we leave”.

Matt was being a hundred percent genuine as he thought of the picture he had seen on Alex’s phone. She had made a painting depicting the triplets as Pokemon trainers, each with a pokemon of their team colour next to them. Matt had a Piplup, Nick had a Sableye and Chris had a Buizel at his side. Lily was amazed with Alex’s talent and had always found her artstyle breathtaking, whether she was painting abstract things, landscapes or people.

“I hope the others like it as well, she was so happy to paint this for you!” Lily was Alex’s first fan since the blonde became interested in art towards the end of middle school.

“Well it was nice to see you again”, Matt started saying goodbye as he was going to take Lily’s last pictures of the day. After he did so, he and Lily hugged for the third time today. “Get home safe and have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too Matt.”

As Lily and Alex had indeed been the last fans in the backstage area, the three brothers guided them back to the exit before saying a definite goodbye and thanking them for coming.

“Wow,” Alex started as she and Lily were outside the venue. “I don’t know how to describe today.”

“Magical, unreal, amazing?” Lily rhetorically asked. “I’ll never forget that day.”

Alex agreed and the girls began to walk back to their hotel. When they arrived in their room, they ordered food and Alex went to shower while Lily immediately grabbed her computer. The brunette had grabbed her camera so that her friend would think she was going to look at the pictures she had taken today, but Lily actually wanted to look for resale tickets so that they could go to another show.

After twenty minutes, Lily had managed to find someone who had been reposted on Instagram by sturnioloteam and was wanting to sell two Silver tickets for the Orlando show as she couldn’t go anymore. Lily had just sent a message to the person and closed her computer as Alex was done showering, meaning that Lily could go while waiting to get a reply.

When she got out of the bathroom, Lily was surprised at how quick she had received an answer and was delighted to see that it was positive. The girl, although living in Orlando, was not able to go see the Triplets as she got sick with her sister who was supposed to go with her. She was selling the tickets for almost half of the original price as she just wanted someone to enjoy the show instead. Lily immediately replied that she was buying the tickets and the two girls agreed on the sale.

It was happening: Lily and Alex would go see the triplets for a second time in Orlando. However, only one of them would be aware as Lily decided that she was going to surprise her best friend with a secret road trip in three days – it was enough time to prepare everything. In the meantime, Lily would obviously still try to find tickets for maybe one of the two other shows in Florida as they wouldn’t be that far from home in any case – at least they were in their state.

“By the way, please send me your pics from today when you’re done editing them.” Alex interrupted Lily’s daydreaming. “I know your cam is a thousand times better than my phone.”

“Of course babe, we can look through them together so that I can edit your favourites in priority.”

This was thus how they spent their evening: admiring Lily’s pictures of the show and eating the most delicious fries they ever had. Now, only a few more days remained before the girls would live almost the same day once again and this time, a pleasant twist would be added to the Versus Tour experience.

Thank you for reading. Votes and comments are always appreciated if you like this story :) The story is co-written w @/little_grapejuice on wattpad

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | La Piscine (Deray, 1969)

This review contains spoilers.

I decided to put this on as I'd spent a good amount of time today in the heat and needed to cool off and this seemed like appropriate viewing given the climate, and as Jane Birkin had passed away today and it seemed like an appropriate way to remember her. On the first note, it was perhaps less hot in the movie than it was outside today where I am, as the characters are sometimes seen wearing sweaters or suits that don't look to be summer-weight. But I cannot hold climate change against a movie that's over fifty years old, and more importantly, the movie evokes an atmosphere of warm weather, where the heat is less than a matter of climate than a state of mind and perhaps eroticism. There is not too much outright nudity in the movie, but a lot of exposed flesh, coloured by a nice tan and on well toned bodies, and maybe your mind goes to certain places that are not entirely wholesome. Much of the movie plays at a simmer, but you frame that bronzed skin against the bright turquoise water, and there are times when the movie threatens to dissolve the barriers between the two. I understand there's been some controversy around the colour grading of certain restorations, but whatever choices were made here don't entirely hurt the movie's effect.

On the second point, Birkin is good in the movie, nicely empathetic and, as a result of her youth, innocent in ways that the adults around her are not. (When the characters sit and watch a silent comedy on TV, she is the only one who seems to be enjoying it.) Romy Schneider is empathetic as well, but a little less guileless and oblivious to what's going on in the other characters' heads. Alain Delon is not so empathetic, and I'm reminded of Roger Ebert's description of him as "an actor so improbably handsome that his best strategy for dealing with his looks was to use a poker face." More so than the other actors, Delon plays things close to his chest, and gets a lot of the slight cracks in that poker face, the wiping of forehead, the raising of the brow, the unusually uncertain stare, the microexpressions. All three are extremely attractive and as I alluded to above, the movie gets a lot of mileage from ogling them. (Birkin's character helpfully notes that she's eighteen years old, making this technically less skeevy than some of those Eric Rohmer movies which are so wise in the ways of love.) As a wise man once said, "Why do you go to movies? To see unhot people? We go to movies who are better looking than we are."

You take those characters and you frame them against Maurice Ronet, who doesn't seem to like any of them very much, and who none of the other characters seem to like very much either, even the ones who are supposed to love him, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out where things might go. Like Purple Noon, this is another movie where Alain Delon kills Maurice Ronet in the summer where the movie stacks the deck against Ronet by defining him as the sole uggo in a cast full of hot people. I don't mean to sound mean, but Ronet plays overt ugliness as a character trait, basically begging for somebody to knock him off for the entire time he's onscreen. Delon's actions here are more a spur of the moment thing, in response to a provocation by Ronet, although he needlessly overcomplicates things with his attempted coverup. But this is not a thriller, and the pulse is never raised all that high, and is instead a tale of mostly hot people, some of whom do bad things, which might not be better than ugly people doing noble things but is definitely better than ugly people doing terrible things. So sit back, crank up the A/C, sip on a nice cold beverage and soak in the sight of the tanned flesh and the turquoise water.

[got-no-skill]

OK, y'know what, no, I was just going to leave this be and not reblog it, but you had to say, "population density," which does. not. fucking. matter. in regards to the broader point that we should build more.

The biggest reason I am screaming at anyone who will listen to invest in our rail network is climate change. Rail transportation is so much better for the environment than planes or cars, because

It uses several orders of magnitude less fuel than cars or planes to carry the same amount, and

It can be powered by electricity, from wires above or the rails below, and electricity can be derived from renewable (or at least carbon neutral) sources, and even in situations where they are not, it is far easier to regulate a few thousand smokestacks than several million tailpipes.

Speaking of things trains do better than road vehicles, semi-trucks are responsible for the vast majority of wear and tear on the road network (thank you, square-cube law), and if we invested in our rail network, not even necessarily the passenger rail network, just rail at all, we could divert some traffic from roads to rails and dramatically decrease the amount of funding needed to maintain them (and some more toothed regulations regarding the size and weight of vehicles on US highways might help, but that's another rant.)

The other thing population density ignores is the real reason we don't have more rail: we don't control the network.

Here's that map of the US rail network again, this time color-coded for ownership:

Granted this is from 2006 and thus a bit out of date, but it illustrates the problem: the US has nearly 140,000 miles of rail, but Amtrak uses only 21,400 miles of it and controls (owns and/or operates) 755 miles.

The reason for this is multi-layered and all of them are bullshit. First, unlike in other countries where rail service is treated as a public good that doesn't have to make a profit, because it's America and public anything is for evil gay communist socialists, Amtrak is structured like a for-profit company that the government props up because it has never turned a profit because public goods are inherently things that are necessary and good but cannot be done profitably in a private context. This means that Amtrak will just cut lines to small communities because they aren't profitable, which are often the best way in or out of a lot of these places.

Another part of this discussion goes back to how the rail network is owned by freight rail companies: ostensibly these companies are supposed to give Amtrak priority, but there's no enforcement mechanism when they don't comply, so they just don't. Moreover, even if the Class Is were run by altruistic people who gave a wet fart about Amtrak and passenger rail in the US, the way they're operating trains makes this impossible at times. Google Precision Scheduled Railroading and click on any of the hundreds of articles from reputable publications about this issue. For the lazy, I'll give you a run-down of a work day in the life of a railroader in the US: you're called up at some random time, could be noon, could be 3:24 AM, and told to report to work in two hours. You show up to a train already on the tracks, and sit in it for eight hours doing nothing because you're waiting on a different train to pass and both trains are so unfathomably long that they occupy each other's right-of-way and have to somehow navigate around/through each other. Then a company car comes to pick you up and drops off the next group of hopeless workers who might get to do something on their shift. Repeat at least six days a week, probably seven when they call you on your day off. And Amtrak is just sitting there, masturbating unable to do anything because their right-of-way is blocked by both of those trains, too.

If that description gave you the idea that freight railroads in the US are ghoulish corporate entities that put profit above literally everything else, you're correct! This is the secret third reason Amtrak's service is so limited relative to our rail network size: our rail network is "maintained" by companies who are interested in spending the barest possible minimum amount on maintenence of right-of-way or rolling stock (see this video for some sterling examples:

So a lot of our rail network is just straight-up unsafe to use.

Getting back to why we should build more, we aren't asking for Europe- or China-style service, we just want service! We don't need 300 KPH service from Kokomo to Cucamonga, but being able to get between Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit, and St. Louis in a reasonable amount of time shouldn't be unreasonable.

If my half-awake ranting hasn't alienated you and you're interested in the real reasons our rail system is broken, I strongly encourage you to watch Alan Fisher's videos on our rail network; I've linked his channel below:

Passenger trains in US vs Europe (image is making the rounds among U.S. transit advocates today)

[rebelyelling]

More things ive heard as a bartender at a dive bar

——

P1: Goats are similar to sheep

P2: goats are similar to sheep *to me* do you hear this nonsense?

P1: like a goat in sheeps clothing

——

P1: what if i turn my shirt inside out, put on some boody shorts and called myself the bartender

Me: if you do that, ill buy your first drink

Other bartender: ill buy your second one

P2: ill buy your whole tab after that

P1: No!

——

Owner: what if i bring the speedos by

P: wait, speedos? Can i have one?

O: theyre ‘merica theme

P: even better

——

P: girl, you need some deoderant. You stink

Me: i wasnt supposed to work today. Im in my pjs, youre lucky i wore a bra, im in birkenstocks!

P: oh. Well youre hair smells good

——

P1: if i bring in a blender can i get a smoothie?

Me: sure if you bring your own blender

P2: byob nice

P1: will it only be for my use?

Me: yeah

——

P: oh im annoying today

——

P1: i was called a helicopter today

P2: well you are pretty choppy

——

P: i’ll take a corona

Me: one corona, would you like a lime?

P: nevermind i’ll take a coors light with lime and salt

Me: a coors light?

P: yeah i didnt like how you said corona

Me: *laughing* sorry i cant roll my r’s correctly

——

Me: i have a grapefruit high noon for you

P: i hate grapefruit

Me: no, this ones your favorite

P: i dont think so [other bartender] said it was my least favorite

Me: take the damn grapefruit

*later*

P: you were right. Grapefruit was my favorite

Me: i know you [patron name]

——

P1: thanks [my nickname]

P2: *to me* people call you that? Cause i started that!

*context my nickname is a common one for my full name like Robert-Bob common*

Me: she knew me before i was me

P1: i knew here when she was this high

——

Other bartender: did you lose a nail?

Me: yeah why?

OB: cause i picked up a coffin shapped nail and youre the only one with coffin

——

Owner: i almost broke a nail in the walk-in

Me: if you moved the beer boxes theyre is a graveyard of my nails

——

P: i feel like hot mess express just rolled in. But i was here first!

——

Me: i need a tall man, one taller than me at least

P1: *stands* im the perfect man for the job

Me: good follow me

P2: hey! Keep your hands off my daughter!

P1: flips p2 off and slams the walk-in door closed

P2: *opens door* no funny business

Me: well if you didnt drink all the keystone i wouldnt need his help

——

P: remember the time i told you you stunk?

Me: when i was in my pjs and didnt even have underwear on?

P: you wernt wearing underwear?!

Me: what part of wasnt supposed to be working are you not getting

——

Me: apparently we are out of soda water

Owner: what? We have CO2 right?

Me: yep

O: then what?

Me: my water tipper just told me that she was told we were out of soda water. I told her that was impossible unless we were out of CO2

O: oh my god

——

O: can you get me a soda?

Me: not with you yelling at me like that

O: man that [nickname of hers] is a bitch

——

P: im a grown up, with a grown up job now

——

P: i came in when you wernt working and the bartender ided me

Me: cool

P: except i didnt have my id and i really wanted to say that i knew the owner but it wasnt you so id seem like an ass if i had done that

Me: would have been funny though “i’m [owner]’s gun guy. Call [me] she knows who i am]

P: knowing you, you’d tell them you didnt know me

Me: absolutely i would have

——

P1: whats the best tip youve gotten?

Me: pancakes

P2: pancakes?

Me: yeah had a guy doordash me a whole pancake spread

P1: that sounds awesome

Me: it was

——

P: told the girl outside that it would grow hair on her chest

Me: huh?

P: oh, i gave my drink to the new girl

Me: [name]?

P: no the new girl, whats her name [name]? Anyway i gave my drink to her told her it would grow hair on her chest and to keep the cherries in it. She dumped the cherries out. Toodles

——

*patron walks in i hold up two fingers. She holds up two fingers*

P1: man sign language goes hard in this bar

P2: she knows what i want

——

Many many more to come

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: can't stop, won't stop. Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

“Boris, I need that big breakfast,” you call through the window.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cook gristles back as he clinks a plate onto the metal, “you don't wait.”

“It's been twenty minutes,” you rebuff as you take the hot dish and veer around Monica at the counter.

You come around and carry it over to the only customer at a table. The officer came in looking underslept and worse for wear. A bruise is faded to yellow under his eyes and his stubble is just shorter than an actual beard.

“Here you are, honey,” you put on your customer service voice, “more coffee?”

“Yeah,” he puts his phone face down and unwraps the cutlery.

You go to the machine and grab a pot. You return and fill his cup as he jabs at the scrambled eggs.

“There ya go, honey, anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, stop calling me honey,” he snarls.

“Oh, sorry… sir.”

You back away and retreat back to the counter, offering more top ups as you burn with embarrassment. You suppose you can come on strong when you're looking for tips. Besides, you can't blame him for being grumpy. He seems to have a good reason for it.

You put on a fresh pot as you replace the urn on the burner. You dip behind the counter as Monica brings Vi her tea and egg whites. The old lady is one of the mainstays of the place.

“So,” Monica turns her back to the customers and lowers her voice, “how's Will?”

“I think he's liking college… must be having fun since I never hear from him,” you shrug, “only asks when he can come get his laundry done.”

“Typical, I'm not looking forward to Brandon being that age.”

“Yes, enjoy them while they're young and sweet,” you cluck.

“Waitress!” The cop booms from his table.

“Chipper guy,” Monica mutters under her breath as you turn on your heel.

You go back to the table. You notice the wrinkles in his uniform, the buttons aren't lined up properly either. He has his hand on his forehead. He leans over his plate as his shoulders tense and you see his boy racking.

Oh god, no! You've seen this before. Will would get like this when he brought home the flu.

“Oh no, just…”

You put your hand on his back and urge him over the plate as he pukes. You smell the alcohol then. You rub between his shoulder blades as he retches, not bringing up much more than the few bites he took.

“I'll get ya something,” you pull the towel from your apron and offer him that.

You try not to wrinkle your nose as you pick up his plate and carry it behind the counter. You dump it in the bin as Monica lets out a blech. You agree but you don't want to bring too much attention to the situation.

You go into the kitchen and wash your hands. You find a bucket and bring it out to the cop. He's bent over the table, head on his arms.

“Hon– sir,” you put the bucket on the table, “you want some water?”

He doesn't react. You go and get water for him, setting it by his elbow. He breathes heavily but doesn't move.

“You gonna be sick again?”

“No,” he grumbles, “I'm fine.”

You open your mouth but think better of it. You almost wonder if he's actually a cop. Maybe you should call the real ones.

You leave him and go to hide behind the counter. You have enough to worry about between tuition and your mortgage.

“Guy's a mess,” Monica whispers.

“Just a bit,” you agree.

“It's not even noon…”

“Shhhh, he's having a rough one,” you say, “he'll go eventually.”

“As long as he pays his bill,” she tuts.

“Yeah, let's hope,” you frown and peek over your shoulder. So much for a decent tip.

🍽

The cop leaves about an hour after he got there. You forget quickly with the lunch rush. You spend your last few hours running yourself ragged.

You exchange your apron for your coat and leave through the side door. As you come into the alley, you notice the cruiser parked beside the dumpsters. You sidle by, stopping as you see the figure strewn over the back seat.

It's the same cop that was in the diner. You're content to keep going but your shoe hits a shape that jingles. You look down, a set of keys that can be for nothing other than the car in front of you. Those doors only open from the outside… wow. You won't call the guy a disaster, you can't exactly say you're any better.

You bend and pick up the keys. You unlock the door and open it, the edge hitting the dumpster. You don't know what to do so you just grab the cops ankle and shake his leg.

“Sir,” you raise your voice.

He throws his arm off his head and props himself up on his elbow, “what?”

“Um, you dropped these,” you place the keys by his shoe. “Sorry.”

He grunts but doesn't respond. You back up, leaving the door open. He slowly slides to the edge of the seat and hands his legs out of the car, bracing the door as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Was sleepin’ good,” he growls.

“I… I was just checking on you… are you okay?”

“Does it matter?” He pulls himself up, snatching up the keys and slamming the back door. “Doing just fucking fine.”

“Alright, I wasn't…” you show your palms defensively, “have a good day officer.”

“Thanks, waitress,” he scoffs.

You bite down on his tone. It's not the first time you've been spoken to like that. In your line of work, it's all too common, and as you get more years under you, it's just how it is.

You turn and head towards the street. The engine rolls over behind you and as you near the end, you hear the tires crunching on pebbles. You barely manage to move out of the way as the officer steers into the street. You just stand back and watch him veer off. As bad as your day might be, his seems worse.

[werewolf-morgue]

Dear Diary,

Morning

I didn’t really sleep last night. I just HAD to finish the thing I was working on, and by the time I was done it was 8 am. I opened the window and the blinds today. For both me and my cat. I think she knew we both could use the sunlight and fresh air. It was sunny out and you could see how blue the sky was! The warmth of the sun felt nice on my face and hands and toes. Maybe I’ll go out onto the balcony and drink some tea, maybe even read that book a friend lent me. But for right now I’m going to cuddle my snuggle buddy and get a nap in, hopefully.

Noon

I did not end up getting a nap in unfortunately lol. My roommate sort of hurt my feelings after I found out she was talking to her friend about how she’s the breadwinner, which is true and I’m so thankful she’s been kind enough to help me with rent and groceries and I’m so glad she has a well paying job to do her hobbies on top of helping me out! But she kind of worded it like I wasn’t trying to get jobs when I absolutely have been. I’ve been walking about two miles since my car is completely broken down to the places I can apply to. Plus I’ve been doing all the chores around the house with little help from her. Every time I ask she gets very upset and it’s hard to ask for help as is. It’s just upsetting to feel unappreciated I suppose. I guess I don’t really have all the information and I’m going to try to look at it in a positive light! Luckily I have therapy in a few hours so I’ll be able to express my feelings on it.

Night

Alright so we started the session and beforehand I was frantically deep cleaning my entire apartment and was super dissociated. I had my first meltdown in YEARS and it was very overwhelming, to say the least. But we realized if I’m focusing on a certain body part (which was my feet) we could bring myself back. I realized I was very uncomfortable with the socks I was wearing so I went and grabbed my emergency comfy pair and put them on. It really helped me feel so much better and we proceeded with the session. At this point I was also running on no food for about 20 hours, no sleep, and it was close to my shower time so I was feeling not so great overall (reminder to eat even when you really don’t feel like you have to or don’t want to, I know it’s hard but your body needs energy to run). We realized that I was planning on talking about my recent SA and it was completely understandable for me to frantically clean my apartment beforehand as I had associated my surroundings with how I felt during the attack. It was understandable that I wasn’t sleeping or eating because nothing felt “just right” as my body was in fight or flight all day. My brain didn’t feel safe as I was going to be recounting severe trauma from the attack. We did some grounding and comforting techniques to calm myself down and by the end of the session I was down from a 10/10 discomfort level to a 2/10! Now I’m going to eat some dinner, shower, and probably crash for the night. I’m very glad we managed to turn this from an undesirable situation to one I could handle :)

To recap what I found to help me:

Be prepared to have big emotions when you’re talking about your trauma. It’s ok to feel overwhelmed, you didn’t like what was happening to you and it affected you in a lot of ways. Know that you will probably shed some tears and possibly be on high alert all day.

Grounding techniques. Feel the textures on your skin, is it good or bad? If it’s bad, go change it! No reason to be more uncomfy when you’re already dissociated. Changing my socks really helped me calm down as I was focused on how much better these ones felt rather than the ones I had on, plus I was distracted with having to put on a new pair of socks. Yoga also really helps with this as it makes you to focus on how you’re feeling and your breathing.

Understand that when things don’t “feel right” enough for you to take care of your basic needs it probably means that you are overstimulated, uncomfortable, or maybe triggered. Try to calm yourself with grounding techniques, there’s many more out there that you can try!

If you are trying to clean frantically, stop and think of what could be causing it. Do I feel dirty? Is the area I’m in comfortable for me? Is there anything that I’m anxious about?

Stay safe and I love you all. I hope these tips can help some of you as they have for me!