#for the same rent as my apartment that looks at an actual train

[uptownhags]

Have been in California for several days on my second vacation in 12 years! This is literally the only thing in my life that has turned out as planned since 2019! It is small in the grand scheme of things, but I stg this healed me!!!!!

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[love-quinn]

—PEACE OF MIND

summary — when carmen finds out that you're putting yourself in danger to come in to your waitressing job at the bear, he admittedly gets pissed. he's not super proud of his reaction, but the two of you manage to work something out to ease his worries.

warnings — swearing, mentions of customers being assholes, the implication that if reader isn't being fed at the restaurant she doesn't eat due to money reasons, very brief mentions/implications of the possibility of reader being attacked at night

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her, reader is HEAVILY implied to be female, also there's technically no pronouns in this one but i consider this to be the same waitress reader as my last one which does have pronouns

word count — 1.9k

note — this can 10000% be read as a standalone but i do have another carmy x waitress fic here that i think takes place kinda in the same universe if you wanna check that one out?? i hope u enjoy <333

If you were somebody who wasn’t a fan of the cold, then Chicago wasn’t the city for you. It’s one of your least favourite parts of living in Illinois, having to wear four layers to bed if you don't want to freeze in your sleep. Your apartment doesn’t have proper heating because proper heating is for rich people, apparently. You barely make enough to afford rent as it is. 

You’re doing fine. You make rent and utilities, you eat lunch and dinner at the restaurant most days. You’re not swimming in gold coins by no means, but you’re fine. That’s the reason you show up early to every single shift, if you’re being honest, you’re guaranteed at least a sandwich. 

The fact that it makes you look like a dedicated employee doesn’t hurt either.

Even when you have to trek from the train platform after getting off the L. You’re not the first person punching in the code to the service entrance that afternoon, but the kitchen is free of yelling. Sydney’s at the end of the line, it’s her shift for Family, and she flashes you a smile as you shove your duffel into your locker.

It’s not raining outside but the air is so cold and damp outside, and you dab your face with a towel. The kitchen is so much warmer than outside that for a moment it’s uncomfortable. Sydney watches you out of the corner of her eye as she sautes a collection of vegetables. “Are you alright? Is it wet out there?”

You shake your head, grabbing your apron and using the mirror you hung up on the back of your door to fix your appearance. “Just cold, sorry. I’ll be fine. You get in okay?”

Sydney nods, holding out a spoon for you, hand cupped to prevent anything from landing on the floor. You don’t question it, opening your mouth and accepting the sauce while trying to minimise the contact between your mouth and the spoon as much as possible. “Fuck, that’s good. Is there sesame oil in there?”

You didn’t know a whole lot about food if you were honest, there’s a reason that you’re not a member of the kitchen staff. But Sydney’s been teaching you slowly but surely how to recognise different flavours, which ones go best together, which ones don’t.

Her eyes light up. “Yes! You like it?”

You shut your locker, moving to stand right behind her. Your chin lands on her shoulder, watching the way she rotates her medley of ingredients. You and Sydney have started becoming actual friends rather than just work friends, the two of you went out to dinner last Sunday, miraculously neither of you had to work. “Love it, need any help?”

“No, you’re all good. Go find Richie, I’m sure he needs help with whatever shit he’s doing.”

You leave her alone with a squeeze on the elbow, heading out into the dining room to find Richie. Richie isn’t out there but you do find Carmen pulling the chairs off the tables. You don’t bother talking, you and Carmen both appreciate the quiet in a workplace as loud as the restaurant. The second you put the first chair down Carmen is flinching. “You’re early,” he says, trying not to show his irritation.

He’d left the kitchen to feel productive while being alone, but he doesn’t want to yell at you. You deal with that enough. Yelling in the kitchen is natural, it’s fucking loud in there. If he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t get heard. People aren’t moving fast enough, people aren’t using proper technique, they’re running out of ingredients, things are being moved. If Carmen didn’t yell in the kitchen it would probably burn down somehow.

You deal with all that and you have to keep a smile on your face. You get yelled at for mistakes that other people make, and you never yell back. You take it all and yeah, sometimes you need to step out into the kitchen with tears in your eyes, but you cop it all and you go back out there.

You don’t need Carmy yelling at you as well.

You shrug casually, smoothing the tablecloth. “I am a slave to the public transit system.” It’s less embarrassing than admitting you’re trying to save money by eating at work whenever you can. 

Carmen stops at that. He doesn’t know why that’s surprising to him. He’s always here before you and he’s always here after you leave. He assumed he’d never seen your car in the parking lot because of that, but apparently, it’s because you don’t have one. “You took the train here?”

It’s early afternoon and people are turning their headlights on already. The closest train station is a fair walk away and it’s freezing out there. 

You nod, not taking much notice of the change in tone. “Yeah, I usually do.”

Carmen’s abandoned the table he’s dressing to turn around and look at you. It’s almost completely dark outside, it’s the middle of winter. “You walk to work?”

You look up at him. “Yeah, Carm.” You’re really hoping he’ll drop it, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on the way you avoid looking at him. 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” he doesn’t mean to snap, but the mood in the room is frozen now. “It’s like two degrees out there, why the fuck would you do that?” You regret coming out to help him. Usually, this stuff is already done by the time you show up to work, early as usual. 

You put down the last chair at the table you’re working on and brush off your apron. “It’s not like I have any other choice, Carmen,” you’re trying to keep your voice even. The dining room is empty, it’s still, and it feels much more awkward than having the conversation anywhere else would’ve felt. “I don’t really have many other options.” 

You look around the dining room and decide that leaving Carmen to finish setup isn’t an awful fate. 

“Yes, you do!” He doesn’t drop it. His fists are clenched at his side to stop him from flinging his arms up in frustration. “You have so many other options! Why did you pick the fucking stupid one?” You can handle being yelled at. It’s a part of the job. It happens to you every single day without fail. You can handle it.

That doesn’t mean that you have to take it from Carmen, though.

“Stop it,” you don’t raise your voice at him, but you’re not quiet either.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” he huffs. Once he’s started he can’t make himself stop. 

You sigh, loudly. “Yeah, I’m not asking you to, Carmen. Okay, but don’t treat me like garbage because I can’t afford a car.”

That’s the final straw in the conversation with him, and you turn to go back into the kitchen. Maybe Richie will be playing Angry Birds on his phone in the office and he’ll let you watch. Carmen’s frown deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who gives a shit that you can’t afford a car?” He dodges the table he was working on and rushes to follow you. He’s a lot less graceful than you always are with it and that’s without the tray of drinks. “Do you see that shit out there?” He stands in front of you now, pointing a heavy, tattooed arm out at the front window. “It’s fucking Chicago. You can’t be walking here in twenty fucking degrees, honey! Do you not get that? Look at you! If someone pulls a knife on you out there what the fuck are you gonna do?”

You’re frozen in front of him now. He��s throwing so much at you that you don’t know what to say. 

He’s going back to setting up now, but as he turns he blows out a breath. “Get that through your fucking head, yeah?”

That’s the part that frustrates you the most. He does this all the time, he presents you with ten different problems and no solutions. You don’t need Carmen to tell you how to live your life when you’re struggling as it is. “How else do you want me to get to work? It’s either that or you find a new fucking waitress, okay? So can we let it go? What the fuck do you want me to do about it, Carmen? ”

Carmen doesn’t want to let it go. You take the train in the fucking pouring rain and walk every night only to be yelled at by a bunch of assholes over steak. 

“I want you to not walk through Chicago in the middle of the night!” He’s exasperated. “Yesterday you left after eleven, do you know how fucking dangerous that is? Fucking… Fuck?” It comes out as a question. “Why the fuck have you been leaving me here at night to go walk home alone? What the fuck do you think I’m here for?”

You’re getting upset by the yelling, and now that he’s said everything he needs to say he can see that he’s making you visibly panicked. “I don’t know what you want from me!” You let out finally, words exhaling from your chest with force. “Just tell me what you want or stop fucking yelling at me!”

He says your name quietly, letting out a frustrated huff. “Fucking- Okay. Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair and has to bend at the waist, leaning on the table you just fixed up, head buried in his arms. He takes a quick three second breather, trying to force down the ugly bubble of anger that’s rising familiarly to the surface, ready to spill out of his mouth. “If we are at the restaurant together and it’s the middle of the night, and I have a car…” he pauses, trying to give you time to follow along after previously overwhelming you. “... and you don’t.” You blink over at him. “Why the fuck would you not ask me to drive you home?”

“Because you’re my boss?” The answer comes easily, and it almost startles him how quickly you respond. “What? Why are you asking me this?”

Carmen knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t offer the same courtesy to Marcus or Fak or god forbid Richie. Sydney or Tina? If they asked, sure. But he would never stand in front of them in the dining room to yell at them for not asking. He likes to think it’s because he knows you’re different. You don’t yell back, you don’t antagonise him, you don’t push like they do. You handle it, and you’re gentle and you’re soft and for some fucking reason the idea of anything happening to you makes him feel like he has just been mugged in the street. 

“Just,” he waves a hand in front of his face. He can hear Sydney calling out, probably something important knowing her. “Please, honey, promise me that you’ll let me at least drive you to the fucking train station? Okay? For my own peace of mind. How far away from the station do you live?”

You tell him and he’s immediately groaning. “No, alright. I’m driving you home.” He sounds frustrated, not mad at you, but less than pleased. You don’t take it to heart. “Now please, go back inside the kitchen and fucking eat something, you’re giving me an irregular heartbeat.”

[kxnkprxncess]

Edging myself to the thought of my Husband training me to be a perfect housewife. I cook, I clean, I bend over on command, I swallow. I had been so dumb before I met Him. I could barely cook eggs. I was awful with money- I fell for the rent scheme, paying money to live alone when I could live with a good Man for free. The apartment I lived in wasn’t even clean. I had thought having a job was more important than keeping a home. My Husband saved me, taking me in and buying me cooking classes, managing my finances, and showing me that my cluttered apartment meant a cluttered mind, a clear home meant a clear mind.

He begins showing His friends how good a wife I am. Inviting them over for the game and having me keep their laps warm while they used my tits as stress balls. When His team wins they get to fuck me to celebrate, and when His team loses they take their anger out on me.

One of His friend’s begins coming over more often. I start expecting him almost nightly when preparing dinner and soon even for dessert where I now start sucking them both of. First separately, then together.

The first time I see my Husband kiss him my jaw drops open and their cocks fall out of my mouth. My Husband slaps me across the face saying He didn’t tell me to stop. They cum at the same time and I choke on their huge loads.

My Husband has me clean up and sit down at the kitchen table. He tells me that I’m such a good wife I deserve two Men in my life. And since I’m only a woman, He needs someone in the home he can actually relate to, especially when the children come around.

This shocks me. We had been against having kids before I became a housewife, so much so my Husband had a vasectomy. Now, after learning the error of my ways, I constantly feel barren and useless. He looks to my new husband with a smile. We’re gonna make you a mama, he says. I cry with joy. Can we start now?

My Husband has me get down on my hands and knees and pull my dress up. He positions Paul behind me, fingering my baby hole to get me wet for my new husband. I’m positioned in front of a mirror and I watch Him get behind Paul. He fucks himself into Paul while Paul fucks into me. The idea of my Husband pumping a baby in me makes me wet and Paul whispers in my ear, I’m going to fuck you full of dozens of children. You’re going to be such a good mommy to me and His kids. You’re going to get so big you won’t fit in clothes and your tits will be so heavy and painful with milk he’ll stop taking you out in public. You’ll be used just for breeding and feeding our children.

He cums inside me but my Husband hadn’t finished yet so he is forced to ride out his orgasm still being fucked into me.

I become a house slave for my two husbands and they breed me daily so I will be pregnant and finally useful every chance I get.

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part two

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. wc: 3.5k tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear! i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔 i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

[cheriladycl01]

Miami Waves - Logan Sargeant x NewZealandOlympicSurfing! Reader

Plot: Miami boy wants to see if his Olympic surfing girl can keep up with the Floridian waves and you end up getting to know his colleagues more in the process

“Thank you for coming and being here with me” he smiles, his parents had been wanting to meet you for a while. You’d started dating when he first got into F2 and was put under the Williams Young Driver Programme.

“You knew I wouldn’t say no. I’ve been wanting to meet them just as much!” You exclaim. You were a little nervous to meet them, as in your mind Logan was it for you, this was the boy you wanted to marry and have a family with. And even if he didn’t feel the same way right now, that was okay. Not that you knew if he did as you’d never discussed your guys future.

But if you had, he would have told you he felt the exact same way.

Meeting his parents was so much fun, and you got to meet his older brother who teased the both of you relentlessly.

You were used to surfing in Australia and New Zealand. They were the closest to you, and there wasn’t quite any waves like their were on the Australian Coastline. That’s actually where you’d won, one of your first ever championships in surfing. Two years later and you were a Silver Medalists.

“Well my family love you. I’m pretty sure they wanted you to move in” he laughs, Logan lived at home all through his career in F2 and he still visited often as he always said how he felt like an outcast on the F1 grid.

Alex helped but he’d drifted apart from Oscar and had to watch him form a really strong bond with Lando.

He still talked to his friends from his days in Prema as well but everything but you felt so disconnected lately.

So spending those two weeks with his family and you in Miami in the beach villa you'd all rented was vital for the both of you. You felt like you'd been so busy running around, travelling the world with Logan all the time, surfboard rentals at every new place you went so you could train and sometimes travelling for your own championships.

You spent the two weeks doing the most mundane stuff, like cooking together with Logan, building sandcastles, teaching him how to paddle board before showing him the intricacies that came with surfing, which you thought considering his concentration and hand-eye coordination in an F1 car he'd be good at but he couldn't stay on the board once.

Your favourite thing was his family getting really excited to show your their favourite local restaurants in Florida.

You were currently sat on your surfboard with your legs in the water and hands on the middle part of it, watching everything in the neck high water below you.

The water's were crystal clear and you could see the little fishes swimming around playing through the sand. You were swaying a little bit where the quieter, unrideable waves were lapping over your board and sending you in random directions.

You were peacefully watching everything go by, until that peace was ruined by Logan, coming running into the water in his basketball shorts making you look over to him in shock.

"Logan?" you asked as he swam up to hold into your board, you scooted back so that he could haul himself up and sit opposite you on the board.

"Erm, so ... kind of last minute but you about to meet Oscar, Arthur and Freddie" Logan said, trying to give you his cute teddy bear smile, but all that was running through your body was shock.

It was a bit strange but you hadn't actually met his friends, you were very very busy with training for the next Olympics and another set of Championships in New Zealand when Logan was in F2, so you didn't see him in the paddock as much as you do now, and if you did you were nervous and kept to yourself.

"No, stop. I'm basically naked!" you exclaim looking down at your cleavage that wasn't well covered up by your bikini.

"Come on, lets go meet them. And get you a cover-up because I don't trust them" he laughs, placing a hand and the side of your neck before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You guys moved closer to each other to the point where you were basically sat on his lap. A wave a little to large came and toppled you both off the board making you both come up sputtering in shock.

You swim to where the water is knee deep and see three boys watching you.

"Oh" you mutter, knowing exactly who they were.

"Baby, these are my friends" he offers, grabbing your coverup and handing it to you so you could chuck it on.

"Yeah i gathered" you chuckle.

You spent the day with the boys, Oscar was the only one that could surf and you found yourself getting on with all of them, Oscar the most who became like a sort of Oceanic brother to you, being from Australia.

Arthur and Freddie were a whole other story, constantly flirting with you to try and get a rise out of Logan which you couldn't help but giggle at but always grab his hand, arm of leg in a comforting way to let him know none of it was affecting you.

"So, how are you feeling about the Paris Olympics?" Freddie asks as you were all sat around a bonfire, telling stories.

"Yeah confident, I'm excited to be able to participate in it for a second year running! Going for Gold and all that..." you grin.

"Well... we will all be there to watch you, right Logan?" Arthur grins, making you shake your head again.

y/user

Liked by logansargeant, arthur_leclerc and oscarpiastri

y/user: Missing NZ P1🇳🇿🥝 but Miami and Hubby are treating me well P2-4 🇺🇸🦅

Tagged One Person

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logansargeant: Out of all the pictures you could have used of me on the beach … 😩

-> y/user: baby, I had sunburn in all of our ones 💋

-> logansargeant: but you make such a pretty tomato 🍅

-> y/user: outside for you tonight

-> logansargeant: arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, frederickvestiofficial I’m in the dog house boys, help me out!

-> arthur_leclerc: sounds like a you problem, Y/N looking radiant as always 🌸

-> oscarpiastri: maybe you shouldn’t have called your girl a tomato? You hit those Miami waves Y/N 🏄🏼‍♀️🌊

-> frederikvestiofficial: Y/N deserves better 🫣🫶🏼

williamsracing: incredible stuff from you! 🦋💙

Instagram Story Caption:

I prefer the Miami sunsets 🌅

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[ythankucaptainmccoy]

The Cowgirl and The Aviator Ch.2

Hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Third chapter will be out as soon as possible. This may be a slow burn fic it may not be I haven't decided yet (INSERT EVIL LAUGH HERE).

Jake couldn’t stop thinking about you even after a great night's sleep. He had even turned down the hot woman who asked to show him a good time last night at the bar. Here he stood at his kitchen counter waiting for his coffee to be finished when there was a knock at his door. He walked over trying to think who could be knocking on his apartment door this early. What he isn’t expecting is for you to be standing there in basketball shorts and a baggy band shirt. “(Y/N)?”he asks, confused. 

Then it hits him like a train. Rooster is his neighbor and you had said you were staying with him. You stood there frozen looking at his shirtless body and his shorts that were way too low to be considered decent, but you weren’t complaining. He chuckled, bringing you out of your thoughts to realize you were totally eyefucking him. “I swear I had no clue you were Bradleys neighbor, but I was wondering if I could borrow some eggs. I went to make breakfast, but he’s out of eggs”, you say. 

“Yeah come on in”, he says, turning towards the kitchen. His apartment has the same layout just backwards to Bradleys and a huge window that looks out over the beach. You watch his muscles ripple as he reaches in his fridge for the eggs. You're caught watching again when he turns toward you with the container. “Here you can take them. I have to go shopping today after work anyway”. 

“Um, thanks I swear I’ll pay you back”, you tell him. “It’s alright don’t worry about it there are only four eggs left anyway”, he responds. His smile is so genuine you can’t help but smile back at him. “Thanks”, you say as he walks you back to his front door. “Don’t hesitate to knock on my door if you ever need anything”, he says as you wave walking back to Roosters apartment.

He replays the events that had just happened, and how amazing you looked even in your sleep clothes. He imagined you standing at the stove cooking breakfast as you listened to soft music. He shook his head as he realized he has been thinking about you since last night at the bar. He needed to get his head straight as he would be training with Maverick and Rooster today. 

You had just made it back to Bradleys apartment as you heard the shower down the small hall running. You quickly cooked breakfast and had everything set when Bradley came into the kitchen. “You made breakfast?”, he questioned. “Yeah I figured it was the least I could do since you're letting me stay here”, you replied. “Well I’ll take it. Hey I have training today, but the beach is private up until the flags down at each end of the complex if you want to swim”, he explained.

“I was actually thinking about searching for a job”, you replied. “You know you don’t have to search right away”, he responds. “It’s alright besides it would be wrong of me not to help pay rent”, you state. Bradley watches you carefully as he decides on his next words. “Alright but make sure you take a job you like and that pays you. No low cut rate because I know how hard you work”, he said.

You nod along as he shovels food into his mouth saying something about how good it is. Once he finishes eating he says goodbye and heads out. You go take a quick shower and get ready to go job hunting. All day is spent trying to find a job, but none of them pan out or pay enough. By the time you get back to the apartment you decide to go for a swim in the ocean. You quickly get into your one piece bathing suit and head for the beach. 

You're so upset that by the time you reach the beach the waves are calming. You make your way and lay out a small beach chair and head towards the water. You go out and swim until you start getting pruney so you head towards the sand. Flopping down into the beach chair you lay out in the sun to tan. Your phone alerts that you had a message from Rooster asking how the job search went. 

You quickly typed a reply that you didn’t want to talk about it and that's when another text came through asking about the Hard Deck. Replying with “sure” you got up and made your way to the apartment with your towel and chair. As you headed up the stairs you dropped the chair as it clattered down the stairs. You turned to go get it when you heard someone call out that they would get it. 

It was Jake and butter you up and call you a biscuit. He was in his khaki uniform that fit him so well and when his biceps flexed to pick up the chair you swear you felt heat lick up your spine. “Thank you”, you finally respond. “You are very welcome”, he replied cockily. “I’m guessing training went well”, you said. “Of course it did”, he replied. “If you call Mav shooting you down each time then yeah it went perfect”, Bradley grouched coming from the apartment parking lot.

“Hey I saved your ass a couple times”, Jake huffed. “Look guys, no fighting alright. It sounds like we all had a shitty day and could use a break at the Hard Deck”, you interjected. “Sounds like a plan”, Jake said as he took in your bathing suit. Rooster knew Jake was undressing you with his eyes as you turned to walk towards his apartment. “Look man don’t even think about it”, Rooster hissed. Jake just smirked and handed Rooster the chair you had dropped.

You made it into the apartment and straight to the shower where you quickly got ready. This time pulling on your jeans and shirt walking towards the parking lot to wait on Bradley who was taking his sweet time. “You want a ride?” Jake asks, walking towards his truck. You looked at the apartment then back at Jake. He technically wasn’t a stranger and Bradley was still in the shower. “Yeah sure”, you reply. 

You quickly shot a text to Bradley that you were riding to the Hard Deck with Jake and you would see him there. When you got in the truck you noticed two things. The cowboy hat sitting in the back seat and the cowboy boots on the back floorboard. “Well definitely a cowboy”, you replied. “Well I am from Texas”, he laughed. He turned the truck on and turned the radio on to a country radio station. You sang along as you both made your way to the Hard Deck and Jake swore you were making it harder not to ask you out on a date. 

When you both arrived he held the door open for you as you made your way over to the others around the pool table. Nat looked at you then raised an eyebrow when she noticed you came with Hangman. “So where’s Rooster?”, she questions. “He was taking too long to get ready and Jake asked if I wanted a ride”, you explained. “Well that was very nice of him”, she tells you. You agreed as you went to the bar to grab a drink. 

Penny was surprised when you asked what the strongest drink she had was. “What happened today that made you want something that strong?”, she asked. “I went job hunting and it was a bust”, you informed her. “Well I know that there is a position here at the bar for waitressing”, she said. That being said you agreed and she took you back for you to fill out all the forms. Once all the terms were agreed upon she said she would text you your schedule and to enjoy the rest of your week.

You almost skipped to the pool table smiling happily, noticing Rooster had made it to the bar. “You seem happy. What happened? Get a guy's number?”, Nat asked. That sent Jake snapping to attention to look at you as Coyote looked between you and Jake when realization dawned on him. “Holy shit your crushin’ on Rooster’s friend”, Coyote says. Jake rolls his eyes and denies it as he continues to wait for your answer. 

“No, I got a job here as a waitress”, you gushed. Nat was happy for you as Jake relaxed and Coyote started laughing. “What's so funny?”, Rooster asked. “Oh nothing, just thinking about something that happened earlier”, Coyote responded. Jake was watching as you were now smiling and sipping your drink. When you smiled at him he couldn’t help it and smiled right back. “Oh man you got it so bad”, Coyote whispered. 

“No you're just seeing what you want to see”, Jake responded. You made your way over to the jukebox and looked through seeing the song you were looking for and pressed the numbers. “American Pie” by Don McLean played through the speakers as you sang walking back to the pool table. As the chorus hit Nat and some of the others sang along with you. Jake was watching as the squad accepted you so quickly. 

The rest of the night went great as you played a couple rounds of pool with the guys. Nat teamed up with you a couple times where you ended up beating the guys who took it with a grain of salt. When you all decided to leave you went to Bradleys bronco. “You don’t want to get a ride with Hangman?”, he asked haughtily. “I wouldn’t have gone with him if you had hurried up”, you replied angrily. 

The ride back was tense but you had to know. “Why do you hate him so much?”, you asked. “I don’t hate him, it's just that he sleeps around a lot. I don’t want you getting too close with him. We call him bagman because he always leaves us out to dry. I haven’t ever seen him have a steady relationship. He isn’t the type you take home to meet your parents”, he tells you. “I get what you’re trying to say but I can handle myself”, you reply. 

When Bradley parked the car you made your way to the apartment letting yourself in,and made your way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Look I’m sorry for being an ass”, Bradley stated. “I accept your apology, but I am my own person. If I make mistakes they are mine to make”, you say. He nods as you get ready for bed. Once your head hits the pillow you realize that while you were out today job searching you were going to get eggs to repay Jake. Oh well it was going to have to wait until you could get them another time.

The next morning before the sun rises you wake up in a cold sweat as you try to relax. The nightmare had felt so real, but you were miles away from home. Checking the clock you get up and put a bra on and another shirt keeping your baggy shorts on. You make your way down to the beach and walk to the edge of the water letting it lap over your feet. The water is cool and refreshing as you relax even more.

The sun starts to peek up on the horizon painting the sky such beautiful colors. That's when you spot Jake, shirtless, making his way down to the beach. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he scrolls on his ipod then starts bobbing his head to the beat coming through his earbuds. He takes off down the beach at a jog and you watch him go until you become unbalanced from your feet sinking into the sand. 

You walk a little more into the water up to mid shin letting the sounds of the ocean soothe your frayed nerves even more. You walk through the water along the beach and you don’t know how much time has passed, but you can see Jake making his way back to where he started. You caught yourself staring and you weren’t watching the water when pain wrapped itself around your ankle. You cry out in pain and kick as you realize a jellyfish has gotten wrapped around your leg.

Your thrashing must have caught Jake’s attention because as you get out of the water he is making his way to you.  “What’s going on?”, he asked. “I got stung by a jellyfish”, you inform. “Here let me help”, he says, kneeling down. He then proceeds to pick you up bridal style and walks towards the apartments. “I think I can walk”, you huff. “Best not to aggravate the site of the sting”, he says. 

He carries you as if you weigh nothing even as he climbs the stairs. He lets you open Roosters apartment then takes you straight to the bathroom. He sits you down on the counter and asks if you have any tweezers. You told him where to find them and then he helped get the remaining tentacles off and threw them away. Then he picked you up again and sat you on the side of the tub. “Now we get some hot water running to help take away the sting”, he explains as he turns on the tap.

You put your leg under the water and true to his words the sting alleviated until it was completely gone. “Thank you”, you say. “You’re welcome”, he replies with a wide smile. “So what were you doing out there so early?”, he questions. “Bad dream decided the ocean would help me relax, but seems to have only made it worse”, you laughed. He laughed with you and you had to admit his smile was so contagious.

“Now for the last part some hydrocortisone cream”, he states. He rummages around for a few minutes until he finds the cream. He bends back down patting his thigh for you to put your foot there. He applies the cream when you hear Bradley ask, “What the hells going on here”. “I got stung by a jellyfish and Jake was helping me”, you explain. He doesn’t seem to buy it until you show him the area that you got stung. Bradley shook his head then walked to the kitchen. “How about I take you out for lunch?”, Jake suddenly asked.

“I don’t know”, you said, looking back towards the door. “Just lunch, it's not a date or anything”, he explains. “Alright fine what do you have in mind?”, you ask. “There’s this place on the beach that has great burgers. I’ll drive and pick you up in an hour”, he tells you. Once you agree he sees himself out as Bradley stands in the kitchen. When you turn to him he just shakes his head and starts making a sandwich. 

You get dressed in some jeans and a tank top since the weather was calling for a warm day. You're pulling on your boots when there’s a knock on the door and no surprise Jake is on the other side. He’s in jeans, white shirt and the cowboy boots and cowboy hat you had seen in his truck. He looks like a cowgirls wet dream and you mentally kick yourself for agreeing to going to lunch. 

He opens the door to his truck and you get in smiling when he closes the door for you. The way that you have heard some of the Daggers talk about him and Rooster, this doesn’t seem like the Hangman you were told about. “Thanks for helping me with the jellyfish sting. How did you know what to do?”, you inquired. “You're welcome. I got stung a couple days after being stationed here, and an elderly woman in the apartment across the way told me what to do”, he explained.

“Well thank goodness she told you the jellyfish sting treatment secret”, you said. “Treatment secret?”, he chuckled. “Don’t make fun of me”, you joked. After a fifteen minute drive he was pulling into a parking space. It wasn’t very large, but it was very busy as Jake waved to the owner. “This is the best spot in the house”, he tells you. He pulls out a chair for you as you thank him. “It’s very cozy”, you say. 

A woman comes over to take your drink orders and from the look on her face she doesn’t seem happy to see you. “Can I take your drink order?”, she asks, more to Jake than to you. You both order sweet tea and look at the menu. “The BBQ burger is the best burger they have here”, he told you. “I’ll take your word for it”, you say. The waitress comes back with the teas and places them on the table. “Are you ready to order?”, she questions. “I know what I want”, you tell Jake and he agrees ordering the BBQ burger. 

“And what will you be having?”, she sighs. “I’ll have the same”, you reply, trying to be polite even though this woman has been nothing but rude since she asked your drink order. She walks off to put your orders in as Jake takes a sip of tea. “How did you find this place?”, you questioned. “Had a day to burn after training one day and I was driving around when I saw it. Decided to try it and been coming here ever since”, he explains. 

“I heard that Penny gave you a waitressing job at the Hard Deck”, he says. “Yeah I was hoping for a farm job, but they didn’t want to pay very well and the Hard Deck is closer to the apartment”, you explained. “Well at least I’ll be able to see you more often”, he smiles. “Yeah I bet you get tired of me within a week”, you joke. “Nah, don't think that’ll happen”, he replies. You feel your face heat up at his words.

You both continue your conversation until your food arrives. When you bite into the burger you moan at how good it tastes. Jake is shifting in his seat slightly as you tell him he was right about how good the burger was. He would never admit it and even though he hasn’t known you that long he enjoys watching you try new things. The way your face lights up with that crooked little grin and how your eyes twinkle. 

The waitress comes by with the checks and puts them down on the table. You go to grab your receipt when Jake's hand shoots out and snags it. “The check wasn’t supposed to be separate”, Jake said to the waitress. “Well it is today”, she huffs. “What's your problem”, you say before you can stop yourself. “Excuse me?”, she asks. “Ever since you came to take our drink orders you have been rude. You act like I don’t even exist at this table and you didn’t even come to ask if it was one check or two”, you explain.

Jake seemed to be getting uncomfortable as you explained. She turned to Jake, “You never paid for my food when you took me out”. Now it all made sense as the dots connected. “We only went out that one time and I told you it wasn’t going to work out”, Jake said. “Whatever, I'll put it on one check so you can pay for your whore”, she snapped. Jake looked mortified as she turned and walked away with the checks. 

“I’m so sorry if I knew she was here I wouldn’t have brought you here. She got upset when I wouldn’t sleep with her after our date. I know you probably don’t trust a word I’m saying, but I really am sorry”, he explained. You didn’t say a word as the waitress brought the check back as Jake seemed to be deflating the longer the waitress stood there waiting for the money. She took the money and stormed off as you reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I believe you”, you told him.

When the waitress came back you looked her straight in the eye. “You know you call me a whore, but when you get upset that a man won’t sleep with ya on a first date that is a whore move. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t sleep with ya because I’m sure you probably would have given him some disease. You’re the type of girl that gives other women a bad name and yes I called you a girl because you obviously aren’t mature enough to be a woman. Stay away from Jake”, you tell her.

Jake’s jaw dropped a little at your words and when the waitress fled with tears in her eyes he couldn’t help but smile at you. “What?”, you asked. “That is the first time I have ever had a woman stand up for me like that”, he says. It breaks your heart a little to hear that, but you grab Jake's hand and walk back to the truck. When you arrive back at the apartments he walks you to the door as you thank him for lunch. “Maybe next time I can take you somewhere for lunch”, you tell him. 

“I might be available for something like that”, he replies. Once he says goodbye you go sit on the couch when two texts come in. One from Penny saying you can start Monday and another from an unknown number. The text from the unknown number just has a picture. When you open it, it's a picture of your brother's house with his kids playing out in the front yard and the caption on it reads ‘YOU MAY BE SAFE BUT THE REST OF YOUR FAMILY ISN’T’.

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos. 

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends. 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them? 

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

-

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes. 

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder. 

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance. 

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples. 

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to. 

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome. 

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta. 

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough. 

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before. 

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic. 

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise. 

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles. 

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier. 

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication. 

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar. 

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak. 

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again. 

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me. 

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin. 

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured. 

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose. 

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember. 

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs,  “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters. 

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

[haeryna]

i feel like reader (especially after being called princess and the two working together to tear down her walls) would be in a dilemma— like a few things came out of them abandoning her but one being just this indescribable feeling of rage and hurt

so upon being in their hold and touch and suguru endearingly calling for her to hear them out, part of her wants to fold SO bad but the other part of her wants to stay unreasonable and not hear them out because it’s just so much easier to be angry at them and paint them as the villains in her life, if she does accept their apology she knows that feeling won’t go away— she’d have to come to terms with how bitter of a person she really was (i mean rightfully so, they did screw her over)

also bless u and ur writing— i don’t see many poly! satosugu x reader stories with a plot that has me biting my finger in absolute investment LMAO love uuuuuu 🫶🏾✨

ANON THANK YOU you perfectly summed it up !! i wanted to write a story where there was a difficult decision that had to be made, with several catalysts involving how everything went down. (splitting this so that it doesn't invade people's feeds with a wall of text LOL)

satoru's "coming out" to his parents: mine were so homophobic that i didn't come to terms with my own sexuality for a long, long time, so i empathized with the sheer panic and trauma that gave him. you don't make rational decisions when your parents are beating the shit out of you, and you also don't make rational decisions when you're 16 years old.

suguru choosing to leave reader behind: they could only withdraw so much money with the limits satoru's parents had placed on his bank account. they had to have enough to eat, to rent an apartment, to actually get away. they had to choose a place far enough so that satoru's parents wouldn't follow, which brings me to

retaliation: there's a unique kind of fear, when you're unsure if someone is hunting you down. there's a kind of terror in realizing they can track you. it's why they got rid of their phones, and immediately upon signing to the same company, received heavily protected ones. only people who had their number could reach them, or even respond.

"they could have said something:" again, they were panicked, satoru had just been beaten by his literal parents, and they were trying to flee as fast as possible. in the moment, they could not have and would not have been able to do that. as alluded to before, they did not live a comfortable life in asia. the beginning was rough as they scraped by. it wasn't until satoru began auditioning that things started looking up for them, and if you're into the kpop scene, you know how brutal training is. suguru ultimately spent all his time caring for satoru and working on the side until he also made it big.

"and what about after?:" honestly sometimes, when you know you fuck up, but you feel like you can't do anything about it anymore? that was them. and you can be upset with it all you want, but it had gotten to the point where they genuinely thought you would never be a part of their lives again. yet the chasm in their chest grew larger and larger, until they realized they couldn't continue on unless they know they at least tried.

that's not to say reader isn't in a predicament as well, like you mentioned nonnie. leaving hurts, and abandonment is worse, so it would be far easier to paint them as the bad guys. it doesn't matter what their intentions were. to reader, they left her alone, and now they're suddenly back for unknown reasons? reader is also not the most stable of mind right now (real); she's working two jobs on top of taking care of her sick parents. for the past five years, she's had to be the one taking care of herself. now satosugu need to prove that they WANT to be the ones taking care of her. i've been in this situation before, as the left party (who eventually ended up forgiving the leaver), so i hope that will help to incorporate realism into the situation.

and i'm glad you like the plot/understood the nuance of the situation! i'm grateful to you and your ask anon, thank you for allowing me to go in depth into the situation <33 i love you too!

[svltzmans]

waves - r.b.

surfer!reader x lifeguard!robin

robin moves as far away from hawkins as she can - to california. to afford her rent she picks up a lifeguard gig at the local beach, and meets someone she could have only dreamed about in hawkins.

warnings: implied smut, injury, (almost) drowning, unproofread writing Lol

a/n: HI GAY PEOPLE OMG!!! i truly was not expecting so many people to see my last post and all of your likes made my day omg <3 i've been on vacation and thinking about this robin au for days so i knew i had to write it. i hope you like it <3 my request box is always open if you have any ideas of something you want to see me write!!

robin wasn't quite sure what the breaking point was that forced her out of hawkins, but considering her trauma related to the starcourt mall (and the events that followed) and the constant homophobia, she wasn't surprised.

california seemed ideal. everyone there looked eccentric and cool. robin was hopeful that she would be able to make new friends, even though she had promised steve she would stay in touch.

she packed everything she had into the trunk of her old convertible and drove across the country, feeling terrified to be leaving everything she knew, while simultaneously feeling a sense of freedom that nothing could damper.

she had managed to afford a one-bedroom apartment off the coast that she spent all of her savings on, although it was completely worth it. she was free. like, really free.

despite her sense of freedom, robin needed a job. her savings from scoops ahoy and family video could only get her so far, leading her to start applying everywhere she could find. record shops, libraries, cafés. anywhere that had a bright "we're hiring!" sign in the window.

but no luck.

robin was feeling exasperated trying to find a job. the stress was getting to her quite a bit, and the thought of having to move back home came to mind.

she had the same coping mechanism ever since she was in middle school, and nothing had changed with her big move.

"fuck it," she thought. "i'm going on a walk."

she threw on her converse and a light hoodie (it got cool at night, she remembered), and stepped outside the apartment.

as dusk fell over california, robin's walk led her to the most beautiful beach she had ever seen, albeit one of the only ones. she was from indiana, after all.

the waves were crashing quietly yet so loudly at the same time, and robin found herself mesmerized by the sound.

she scanned the beach, realizing she was one of the few individuals left. a young couple and their dog and an older gentleman walking by himself were the only other inhabitants of the beach at that hour.

she quickly forgot about her solitude when her eyes landed on a "lifeguards wanted" sign hanging on the back of one of the many lifeguard chairs.

bingo.

lifeguard training was much easier than robin had anticipated. she found out through her week long excursion that she was a much better swimmer than she'd imagined, and that it seemed like the town she was living in would hire just about anyone as a lifeguard. it was truly lucky.

admittedly, she was nervous. she didn't know if she'd actually be capable of saving someone's life in any capacity. at the same time, however, she was ready to try.

the first several days of being a lifeguard went off without a hitch, albeit a bit of boredom. it wasn't exactly the most fun job, getting nasty sunburns and staring off into the ocean while listening to screaming little kids.

that was, until, she noticed a young woman running towards the water with a surfboard, her salty waves blowing in the wind.

"holy shit," robin thought.

robin was absolutely fixated. she couldn't keep her eyes off the mysterious surfer, watching in awe as she caught countless waves and rode them back to the surface of the sand.

robin took note of the way the surfer's bodysuit hugged her curves in all the right places. she had to keep herself from drooling and focus on the fact that she had to potentially keep a beach full of people alive.

but every day, the surfer was there. the same time every afternoon with her surfboard. robin couldn't avoid her. so she stared, and stared, and stared...

robin quickly started looking forward to heading to work, knowing she would get to see the hottest girl she had ever seen, in a skin-tight body suit, no less.

although many days came and went without robin having to make any saves, she knew she would eventually have to put her training to use, and she was right.

the beach was practically completely empty, with the local news warning of the roughness of the tide and the danger of swimming in the ocean.

nonetheless, the mysterious surfer was still effortlessly catching each wave as she did every day.

robin watched closely, seeing the ways the surfer climbed up onto her board and balanced herself so perfectly.

she had never wanted to learn to surf so badly.

while robin continued to gawk, she noticed that the surfer was losing her footing as the waves got rougher. she struggled to get back onto her board and stand up without wiping out.

robin knew in her heart that this was bad. really bad.

as she continued to watch, she witnessed the wavy haired surfer get hit with a wave, knocking her below the surface of the water. her board emerged, floating without the beautiful girl on top of it.

without thinking, robin sprung into action. grabbing her gear, she dove headfirst into the ocean and swam as fast as humanly possible. she was pumped full of enough adrenaline to not feel tired, despite this being the most intense workout of her life.

reaching the spot the young woman had fallen, robin finally sees her emerge from underneath the water, struggling to catch her breath. robin instinctively grabs her and lifts her up, holding her high above the surface.

"hey, hey, it's okay. i got you. you're safe," robin coos, watching as the surfer's face starts to gain color again.

the surfer coughs, trying to regain her strength.

"well, that fuckin' hurt," the surfer mutters, letting out a dry laugh. her accent is so undoubtedly californian.

"holy shit. i'm glad you're okay. you had me scared there," robin utters, suddenly becoming very nervous with the beautiful sight in front of her.

"isn't it, like, your job to see this stuff happen?"

"well, yeah, but it never has actually happened before."

"so i'm your first save, huh?"

"i guess you could say that, although you kinda saved yourself."

the still unknown surfer laughs quietly.

"i'm y/n."

"robin. we should probably get out of this water now."

"yeah, i think so. although i can't believe it calmed down enough for us to swim after i almost died."

the pair both chuckle at that.

robin and y/n finally swim to shore, robin quickly grabbing a towel and throwing it to y/n, who is still shivering.

in a moment of bravery, robin decides to try to get closer to y/n's freezing frame.

"do you want to go back to my apartment to warm up? it's like, a block from here," she asks, taking in y/n's face up close. it's covered in freckles and a light tan from the sun.

"that would be great, actually," y/n responds. "i think i might have hypothermia."

"okay, let's not be dramatic here," robin laughs, beckoning the girl to follow her.

as the two women enter the apartment, y/n sighs with relief, feeling the warm air of robin's new home.

"it's so nice in here," she compliments.

robin simply smiles, taking in the sight in front of her. y/n's wet hair is thrown into a bun, and her cheeks are newly rosy after being blue for quite some time after being in the water.

"let's get you something warm to wear, okay? i don't want you to actually get hypothermia," robin flirts.

"yeah, that would suck a lot," y/n responds, gently chuckling at robin's jest.

robin leads y/n to her bedroom where she lends her some warm clothes to change into. she begins to leave the room, but as she does, y/n rips off her bodysuit, revealing a matching pink bra and underwear set.

robin knows she shouldn't stare, but she can't help herself. she's in a trance, staring at y/n from the doorway.

before she can leave, y/n turns around.

"like what you see, huh robbie?"

did she just... call her robbie?

completely in shock, robin just nods. she can't manage to respond verbally.

y/n doesn't feel cold anymore. her body is full of heat now that she had caught the lifeguard watching her change.

she approaches robin, her hands quickly finding her waist and pulling her closer.

before either of them know it, their lips are clashing, and they collapse on the bed.

"you saving my life today was pretty cool," y/n mutters. "but you being so fucking hot is a huge bonus."

a/n: should i do a part 2 to this this was so fun to write

[octuscle]

I need to take a work trip to Germany, Leipzig to be precise. Should be a nice change from my NYC life.

I guess, your suitcase won't make it to Frankfurt... Then I guess I have to organize a replacement. Damn Airlines!

The only thing I can offer you so spontaneously is an old army backpack from GDR stocks, covered with graffiti tags, stickers and patches. Pretty heavy... And maybe not necessarily suitable for your classic suit… So, take your rucksckand head to the airport train station. Your train to Leipzig will depart in 20 minutes.

Shit, Frankfurt airport is bigger then expected. When you arrive, you thaught, that you missed your train. But luckily, the train is delayed by 15 minutes. Enough time, to relaxe. And for a smoke. You search the side pockets of the backpack. No cigarettes. But tobacco, cigarette paper. And weed. Shit, that could have ended badly at customs...

Ahh, smoking this feels great. I really needed to decompress a bit after this whole travel shitshow. Don't take offense, but a middelaged man in a conservative suit and a classic haircut smoking weed with an army backpack on the platform of the airport station looks a bit special... You have to admit that, too, when you see your reflection in the window panes of the high-speed train rushing in.

No one had told you that you had better have made a seat reservation. The train is packed. Getting a seat is out of the question. With a little luck, you will still get a seat in the dining car. You order a beer (what else in Germany) and check the contents of your backpack. On top of it lies a hat. It looks funny, you put it on. Otherwise, the backpack is not necessarily neatly packed. Everything is stuffed in more like this. There's a MacBook... You open it. And of course you know the password. Feels perfectly normal to open it. As normal as your pierced earlobes feel.

It is a low-coding platform open to any Big Data AI application. You scroll through the application. Sure, the prototype of an app for digitizing queues in doctors' offices. You open the library of useer stories and start developing the app further. A few hours ago, you had no idea about software development.

It's 9:00 p.m. when you look out the window. Gotha train station. Wherever that may be. You are looking at your reflection. Let's see what the others think of the fact that you have let the beard grow out...

The train is half empty by now. You have not even noticed how it has emptied. It's still a good hour to Leipzig. You close the computer. That's it for today. You order another beer and the vegan curry. Actually, you're also in desperate need of a joint. But of course you can't smoke anywhere on this train.

But you take tobacco, weed, cigarette paper and your cigarette case, which you inherited from your grandfather. And while you're waiting for the food, you roll a few joints on reserve. It will be after 11:00 p.m. by the time you arrive at your shared apartment. But you assume that you will sit together until 01:00 or 02:00. Your roommates are all rather night owls....

You don't notice that you're wearing high-laced DocMarten's boots instead of welted penny loafers as you step off the train. You also don't notice that your hair has grown considerably longer and falls tousled under your hat into your forehead... You pause for a moment as you see the tattoos on the back of your hand as you light up a joint to tide you over until the bus leaves. And after asking the bus driver for a ticket to Connewitz, you wonder if you actually just spoke German with quite an American accent.

The elevator in your house is of course defective again. Old building from 1873, last renovated in 1980 or so. That was long before the fall of the Wall in the GDR. But the rent is cheap. And the atmosphere is energetic and creative. When you met Kevin, Lukas and Emma at university five years ago, you were immediately on the same wavelength. Even though you didn't speak a word of German back then. You would never have thought that a semester as an exchange student would turn into a lasting collaboration. The fact that you found an apartment together where you could work on your startup at the same time was a real stroke of luck.

Upstairs in the apartment, Kevin already opens the door for you. As if he had been waiting for you.

„Sieht heute gut aus”, you say with your strange American accent.

Kevin hugs you and answers „Dude, it's good to have you back! We have missed you! Tell me, do you have new tattoos? Looks hot! And did you bring weed from Amsterdam? Our dealer is on vacation... Shitty situation!“

“Of course, i’d never leave you without”, I say, opening up the cigarette case and offering you one of the hand-rolled contents.

Kevin grins. „What do you say we smoke the first one not at the kitchen table but on your bed? I missed you, stud!“

“I’m so tired after this trip, so the bed sounds just right.”

There is nothing left of your suit right now. Yes, you are still from NYC. But you weren't a lawyer then. You studied computer science. And that was a long time ago. Now you are a Leipziger by heart

You both lie on the bed. You take a deep drag. And blow the smoke into Kevin’s mouth with a deep French kiss. The bulge in your skinny jeans looks painful. “Oh man, Kevin, I need some relief!” you growl.

It doesn't take long and we both have the tank tops off. You discover Kevins new nipple piercings. And can't stop playing with them. And Kevins bulge starts to hurt too.

“Man, let me provide some relief”, he says. And open your jeans. Your boner jumps out of your boxers like a jack-in-the-box.

Those new piercings… You just can’t help yourself… You’ve gotta feel them in my mouth! “Are they sensitive? Does it still hurt?” Kevin starts breathing more heavily. “What are you waiting for you prude Yank! They've been waiting for you for two weeks now!” You take a deep drag and blow the smoke over Kevins chest, which you caress with your tongue. Kevin moans “Fuck! You're doing so well! Sure it hurts. It's supposed to. You make me so fucking horny with your tongue! I love your tunnels on the earlobes!. I can not stop playing with them with my tongue.”

Dude, your dick is producing precum like a broken faucet. Kevin starts to massage it into your dick! You take one last drag from the joint, push the butt into the ashtray and blow the smoke over Kevins boner.

While Kevin rubs your hard dick, You begin licking his uncut cock. Damn man, these uncut European cocks will never not surprise you! Oh man, you love how it feels on your tongue.

Kevin doesn't stop breathing heavily, but still has to grin. “Fuck, admit it, you certainly didn't just talk about user interfaces with Milan and Sem in Amsterdam. You did practice your tongue game. Fuck, you know how to bring someone to ecstasy with the tip of your tongue!”

Oh man, Kevins precum just takes so good. You can’t get enough of it. Kevin reads your thoughts. “I want to lick your precum too. Let's make a 69! I need to suck your powerful circumcised cock.”

Yes, please!, you think in ecstasy. You just love how his balls feel in my mouth. And Kevin has fun to. You must have been sweating like a dog on the trip. Your balls are salty, your cock is deliciously cheesy. “Fuck, I can not tell you how I missed you.” Kevin moans.

He always feels so good, just keep going please, you think. His cock is so hard. His precum is spectacular. It’s like you’re in sync — in and out, in and out, in and out. “Fuck, your balls are so huge”, Kevin grunts. “I didn't jerk off all the time you ve been away. My balls are bursting”.

You both are perfectly synchron. Like one organism. “Please cum at the exact moment that I also cum. I want to make this old house shake.”, you think.You can’t wait to make you explode. Kevins moans “I can't take it much longer. Fuck, you are a master with your tongue. Fuck... Oh yeah... Yes! Fuuuuuuuck!”

Oh god! That was heavy. You both really try. But that was too much. Boy, what a load you both shot! Kevins cum is so thick! So potent! You ’ve got my whole mouth full, not able to swallow everything at once. You both exchange a deep French kiss. The cum runs from the corners of your mouths down our cheeks and necks. Kevin licks the cum traces from your skin. And you his. One last kiss, you pull up our pants again. And go to the kitchen with a joint. Lukas and Emma grin. The whole house could listen to you having sex.

“Incredible, as always, Kevin” You tell him, as you pass him the joint. And as if nothing had happened, you ask Emma if she has any new user stories for your app.

[chikkou]

ok i was waiting until my laptop got here to finally tell all the bullshit thats happened in the last like. 5 months lol. cause its a lot to type

im gonna put it all under the cut so no one has to read if they dont want. its a LONG fucking story.

tl;dr:

ok so for basic background, for the last two years or so, i was living with a roommate in connecticut. the roommate was my (now former) best friend since middle school. in july of this year his behavior totally shifted, and he started picking fights with me out of nowhere, told our high school friends a bunch of straight up lies abt me to make me look like a horrible roommate & person, and just generally became a two-faced dickhead. in the end, it turned out to all be excuses to justify his decision to move out (unofficially, name was still on the lease) so that he could live with his boyfriends and not pay any bills. at the time i was really devastated by this bc i felt totally betrayed by this person i had been close to since i was 12/13, but frankly after everything else that happened i barely fucking think about it now LMAO. this is set dressing more than anything else

so anyway, i had been living alone since about august, that was the last time i saw him in person. i wasnt handling the situation well because i had spoken to my high school friend and found out the extent to which hed tried to paint me as a slovenly, horrible roommate, to the point of telling actual lies about really dumb stuff (which didnt work btw - my friends, god bless them, were more concerned about my mental health than anything and thought i was going down a depression spiral, which my former friend told them he was helping me through. they believed me right away once we finally did talk). all that is to say, i was going kind of crazy lol, and i decided to go back home in october just for a short while, to recharge my batteries and all.

i was gone for a couple of weeks, not very long. i felt MUCH better after being with my family & friends in person, as i felt pretty isolated from everyone (my hometown is in new york, i was only 2 hours away by train but scheduling times to visit was sort of a hassle, so i only did it once every couple months). my grandfather and mom dropped me off at my apartment in early november, we were very lighthearted and discussing my next steps, since my shithead friend had been behind on rent more than 5 times (i always paid my half on time) and i was facing eviction because of it. we get to my apartment, i go to open the door, and it wont open. not that its locked, it just straight up WONT open. my grandpa tried to ram the door with his shoulder, and nothing. hes a strong ass dude, and this door wouldnt budge for anything.

my mom managed to get the kitchen window open and climb in that way, and it took both her and my grandpa pulling/pushing at the same time to force the door open. i wont even dress this up: there was mold. fucking. everywhere. on the floor, on the walls, all over everything i owned. i have pictures (had to take them for insurance) and im not even going to show them because they are beyond fucking disgusting. everything i owned was soaked in water and mold, and i do literally mean EVERYTHING. it was very warm in there too, like the temperature of a swamp. i was in a haze after that. i just remember sobbing, like genuinely heartbroken sobbing, as i wandered around looking at everything that was ruined. my mom & grandpa had to go and get maintenance because i was just utterly useless, and they were equally horrified & said they'd never seen anything like it.

i managed to save some items that were irreplaceable (journals, notebooks, etc) and whatever clothes werent utterly soaked in mold. all of my cookware, my books, my laptop & desktop (i cried the hardest when i saw the desktop) - it was all ruined. we found out later that the water boiler in my apartment had a catastrophic failure while i was gone, which caused it to constantly send water back through the pipes, empty, and refill itself. my bedroom was directly above the boiler downstairs, so it got the most significant amount of damage. all told, i lost like 95% of the things i owned. it is possible that i could have saved more, but the amount of mold in that apartment made it a genuine safety hazard for me to even be in there, so i had very limited time to grab what i could. the cruelest irony of all that? my shithead ex-friend's room, which was on the other side of the hallway, was pretty much untouched. he lost absolutely nothing lol.

so immediately, i had to leave the state. i moved back to ny with my family. my mother - who had a stroke last year following a diagnosis of an exceedingly rare neurological disorder, AND had two separate brain surgeries to improve her quality of life - was in the process of getting evicted. the landlord didnt give a fuck about any of my moms situation, not her being disabled, not her being widowed, not her having 3 kids under the age of 18 to care for - he just wanted her out so he could increase the cost of rent on our house. at the same time as all this was going on, i got saddled with a $600 electric bill (likely caused by the water heater's malfunction), which neither insurance nor the apartment would pay, so it came out of my pocket. in addition, i found out in december that i was also getting laid off.

we had nowhere to go and couldnt afford to live anywhere in the tri-state area. we had no choice but to move somewhere much cheaper, and since my mom already had a friend living in a mid-atlantic state, we chose to move there. the eviction went through in january and we had less than 2 weeks to pack all our shit, find a place to live, and get the fuck out. needless to say, we were not successful lol.

we stayed in my grandparents 1 bedroom apartment for about a week, then all of us drove down together to stay with my moms friend in her 3 bedroom apartment (she has 5 kids, 3 of whom live in the apartment). my moms apartment, which was supposed to have been ready by january 31st, still had people actively living there. the property manager kept promising us it would be next week for the entire month of february, to the point that my mom got fed up and chose to rent a small house instead. the reality of being essentially homeless for that time was beyond horrifying, and having anywhere between 8-10 people in that house (my cousin also moved with us, but he stayed in a hotel for the first week) was more taxing than i can express.

but things have gotten a lot better since then. i also found a cute little house to rent just up the road from my moms, and its very cheap for its size. i still havent found a job yet, but thanks to what was essentially the liquidation of everything i owned, ill be ok for a couple months more. im slowly but surely repurchasing all the things i lost and trying to acclimate to the new environment. things are still not totally stable right now, but they are slowing down, and at this point thats all i can really ask for lol.

so yeah. if u were wondering why i suddenly stopped posting after literal years of posting every day, thats why LMAO

[onboardsorasora]

Not sure if I like it, but this not about me😅 so here we are Tennis AU;

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4!

Daniel collapsed onto his back, star fishing on the court in the shade. His white shorts rode up to show off his pulsing sweaty thighs. His leg hairs were pressed down and slick. His tattoos glistened.

He'd been running drills for too long, if you asked Micheal (don't), he'd say it wasn't long enough. They'd been at it all day, running through their program steadily.

His phone went off in his duffle.

"Is that the power rangers theme?" Micheal paused and raised a brow.

"Kim Possible actually, rude." Daniel pointed his racquet limply in Michael's general direction.

"They're the same tone." Blake called out, chin tucked to his chest, typing away on his phone in the shade. "Doesn't explain why you've gone back to it though."

"It's Max's tone." Daniel was grinning, all teeth. "When my phone's like off silent anyway."

"We allow you on one extracurricular and you come back with a boyfriend." Michael teased throwing a tennis ball at him.

"hey!" Daniel cried out and shifted his hips, turning onto his side to avoid it. Micheal threw another and Daniel lifted the racquet to lob it away with a cheer.

The phone went off again and Daniel scrambled up to get it but was blocked by a new barrage from Michael. He ran off laughingly in the opposite direction to 'safety'.

"Nope." Micheal popped the p with his lips, a cheeky grin present. "We're not done yet, you can check your sexts after."

Daniel whined, pouting his lips and batting his eyes at his trainer.

"Save the pretty eyes for Max, now on mark let's go asshole."

"you can send him a pic of your legs after." Blake looked up quickly with a smirk before going back to his phone.

Daniel grumbled but prepared himself for work anyway. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could see what Max sent him.

They'd been texting since the night of the beach party. They had spent the rest of the afternoon together, chatting away at a table mostly in their own world.

Max had introduced him to a few people on his team and a couple other drivers who had passed through. It was a great time getting to know Max the man outside of the paddock and around people he felt comfortable with. He was very funny, he made Daniel laugh breathlessly the whole afternoon. They bantered relentlessly, creating and extending jokes about everything.

That was two days ago, Max had escorted him back to the flat he and his team were renting and they exchanged numbers. Daniel kissed him at the door and ducked into the apartment quickly to hide his blush. Not the suavest move, but Max made his brain stop working.

Since then, they've been texting when Daniel wasn't getting his ass kicked by his best friend slash trainer. Max appreciated his training camp and he tried to avoid texting during the day knowing Daniel was busy and needed to focus.

They had dinner plans tonight, so realistically the texts could have been confirming their date or rain checking.

That thought stopped him suddenly and he missed an easy volley.

"Focus DR!" Micheal called, calmly sending over another ball. Daniel shook his head physically to dislodge the thought. He'd think of it all after.

They went on until he was gasping for breath, only stopping after Daniel declared a strike, demanded a union and then plopped himself bodily beside Blake who grimaced. He barely dodged the impending wet hug.

Daniel grasped for his phone, swiping away all the calendar notifications and social media messages to find the one he wanted. He was single minded, completely ignoring the freeze pop electrolyte drink that Michael chucked at him. It bounced off of his sweaty face.

He opened the text thread from Max;

Max V 🥵

Are we still on for 8?

Oops, sorry. Tell Michael not to be mean.

"Max says not to be mean to me Mikey, he's a world champ, you should listen to him." Daniel called out, grinning in delight. Micheal snorted a laugh. Daniel texted back

8 is still good for me. Mike's being evil as always. I swear he gets off on suffering😢

Daniel tore open the freeze pop with his teeth and sucked greedily at the cold drink. His phone went off again in his hands.

Max V 🥵

Poor thing. I'll have to take care of you then, I'll pick you up at 7:30.

Daniel tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought of Max taking care of him.

Gonna show me a good time? 👀

Max V 🥵

Do you want to sleep over?

Daniel barely managed to keep from choking, the empty freeze pop plastic feel out of his mouth. He looked around swiftly and shifted in his seat, suddenly full of energy. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest now, a thrumming in his veins that wasn't there before.

He tilted his phone away from Blake's potential gaze, completely regretting sitting so close now. He bit his lip, unable to pinch his grin.

I'd love to.

[atranswomansdiary]

Day 1

It happened in the worst possible moment...

Today's June 5th, 2020. It’s a Friday and I once again had trouble getting out to bed to go to work.

I’ve suspected for a while that I’m very depressed, for the umpteenth time. I had a painful breakup almost a year ago and, after that, I rebounced rather quickly because of many reasons, one of the most important being that I started a new job, perhaps for the first time in my life, under my conditions. In short: (sort of) a full salary plus benefits in exchange for working only 4 hours a day, from Monday to Friday. 20 hours a week. 80 hours a month.

In spite of this great situation (unique, in many senses) I've been having issues waking up and getting to work on time. Although I had the opportunity to take a company transfer and avoid any commute hassles (fee included), I almost never got there in time. And even though the company offices were only half an hour or so away, even on public transportation, I was still getting there late almost everyday—sometimes by a lot. I was also failing to show up to work a couple of days a month.

I was deadly afraid of losing this incredibly comfortable job in the first few months. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have enough money to make rent with my freelance stuff, so I’d have to return to live with my parents, in a house that literally has no space for me anymore.

I asked A.P. (he/him) to help me. After some back and forth, he prescibed me an “introductory” antidepressant and some mild sleeping pills, but it has been 9 months or so since then and my mood has improved a little (it’s true), but I’m still struggling with going to the office five days a week, let alone getting there on time.

Even more so once the pandemic broke out.

It’s been a couple of months now since the world basically went to shit and, although I’ve pushed and struggled and pleaded to be allowed to work from home—doing the same job I do at the office, but without having to struggle to get out of my apartment every single fucking day—my boss has been adamant that I still need to go at least some days to the office every week. According to him, it’s for my own good, to “protect my reputation in the eyes of my coworkers”. Picture my eyes rolling so hard that I can actually see my brain.

So: today’s Friday. As everybody else in the world, I didn’t feel any desire to go to the office, even less so given the current situation. I once again cursed my boss and took enough time to finally get up from bed that I left the small apartment I rent already late.

As with any time I go to the office (the company transfer is no longer an option, so I have to commute), Cheap Trick’s hit Ghost Town sounds in my head; the city looks deserted and abandoned. The few who are forced to leave their homes, as I am, move and act like specters, shadows of once-people—as do I, to be honest. We move slowly and fearfully through the streets, unwillingly risking our lives because, well, that’s the fucked up world we live in.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

I’d love to think that I’m just like everybody. Or, in reality, that everybody else feels just like I do.

I went out, almost running, and I already had a major decision to make: subway or bus. The bus is slow and unreliable, but there’s definitely less people in it and, what’s best, I get to sit down and read or just listen to music through the whole commute, mostly undisturbed. The subway, on the other hand, is fast and runs on a tight schedule but is a) filled with people and b) it gets me close to the office, but not exactly there. I have to walk around 15 minutes from the subway station to the office proper, through alleways and streets that are mostly deserted at this early hour and, what’s worse, have a reputation of being dangerous at any time of day.

Taking everything into consideration—and more on a whim than anything else, really—I chose the subway.

The journey was short and uneventful. I got out of the train station and I don’t remember what music was playing on my ears, but I do remember being tired and bored. Then, a remnant image of last night’s dream hit me, the one that I privately blame for being late this morning.

I don’t usually remember my dreams. When they’re emotionally charged I sometimes wake up with what I call “emotional waste”, the afterimage of the intense feelings that I experienced onirically but, apart from that, I just don’t remember many concrete details about them. Mostly sensations and blurry images, that’s all.

Last night I once again dreamed that I was a woman.

It was a throwback to the time when I was still in a relationship with perhaps the greatest partner I’ve ever had: L.M. (she/her). In the dream we were living together in the tiny apartment that was our love nest, laughing and talking about something I can’t recall. We were just standing there, having a nice conversation and loving each other deeply, as we did. But, in this dream, I was a woman.

As far as I’m aware, L.M. never had any experience with or interest in any women in their life. That’s kind of a new thing for me, since most of my previous (or posterior) partners had an “attraction for women’s phase” in their lives (their words, not mine) or were decidedly bisexual. So this dream is all kinds of impossible and, still, the joy of being a woman comes back with such strength—even just being the recollection of a half-forgotten oniric experience—that I openly smile for the first time in the day.

I change the music to an energetic track and start walking with something resembling the happiness or joy of doing so with a purpose. My heart aches a little bit: if only! I have this weird feeling—I’ve been conscious of it for a while now—that I would’ve been much happier if I had been born a woman. That maybe I wouldn’t be such a failure at 34 if, when my parents made me, my dad’s contribution to the whole affair had been an “X” instead of a “Y”. But, alas! It didn’t.

It’s too late for me.

Plus, I’ve never had any homosexual experiences or even any hint of erotic attraction towards men. Men are controversial figures in my life; I have few male friends and most of them are cis heterosexuals. I consider myself one as well. Cis and heterosexual.

I follow a number of trans women YouTubers, it’s true, and I consider myself an ally of the feminist cause (4th wave and intersectional, thank you very much!). I’ve read Beauvoir, Cisneros, and Butler. Woolf, Plath, Pizarnik, and Storni are among my favorite writers. Le Guin and Rice are my (seelie and unseelie) queens.

I’ve never felt as much of a “man”, except during that weird period in my life a couple of years ago when I tried to become a “manly man” after reading too many of Howard’s Conan stories one after the other while being extremely lonely and suicidal (as one does, of course). I’ve actually thought about tattooing a quote from those stories in my body. The quote reads,

"I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."

My only problem is with the “slay” part. I don’t think I could ever kill any human being. I have a hard time eating meat and I try to save spiders and other abhorred creatures whenever I can. I love Death—especially Sandman's version of her—but I don’t think I could deal in such violence.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s already too late.

I was crossing one of the streets and then an idea flashed through my mind. It’s OK: it is late. No one’s arguing that. I’ll never do anything about it. But, but… Is there any problem if I imagined a different reality? If I, excuse the mundane use of the word, fantasized with a world in which I was born a woman? No one would ever know about it. It’d be my little secret.

And then, it happened.

I was walking down these dangerous and deserted streets, the same I’ve traveled many times during the past year, but this time, it was different. I was immensely, indescribably, ridiculously happy. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt each step, I breathed in the chill morning air, and I was content. Yes, like the Conan quote above. I felt like myself, if only for those infinitely long in the memory—but painfully brief in reality—ten to fifteen minutes. During that time, I was me. I was a woman.

I was complete.

I got to work and reality crushed me. My name—the one I was given at birth—slapped me in the face as a friendly guard at the company’s door gave me a warm welcome.

The sensation faded away during the morning. Little by little, it disappeared completely… Or so I thought. It was fantasy and imagination, that’s all. I consider myself to be pretty good at those. But it was just that: a fancy, a whim, as concrete and real and solid as a fragment of a dream can be. Maybe one day I’ll remember what it was to be truly happy, thanks to no reason or excuse greater than just imagining what it would be like to be born in a body with a different sex and a whole lot of different expectations and experiences than my own.

But that is in a future I can’t even imagine and this was today.

Until then, with love,

ZZ

[bakawitch]

Since my last one already got answered, I wanna know about close&open instead, if you let me :p

No worries, this is the one I'm actually focusing on writing the most at the moment

So this is a very gemshippy fic, sprinkled with some puzzle and fadeshipping on the side. (Surprise, surprise, I ship that, too.)

So the plot for this is basically Yugi asks Ryou for help to commune with Atem, but the spell gets interrupted and does something completely else. Namely, opening a gateway to the darkness and dumping a bunch of evil spirits tainted by the millennium ring on Domino, including our favourite thief, our favourite relapsed murder gremlin and our favourite body hijacker. Only problem is that they're all basically yokai now and are all given way too much power for unstable spirits.

The fic mostly follows Ryou and Bakura after they end up living in the same apartment again. Bakura somehow actually ends up finding an honest job at a convenience store at a train station (hence the title) and starts paying actual rent. They work through their issues, have fun little ghost adventures, and fight the spirits of random historical figures that all owned the Ring at some point. And yeah, they also end up in the same bed.

Also, Bakura ends up kind of getting adopted by a father figure into a familiar community.

I started drawing this thing from a scene in the fic, but I ended up hating because of many reasons (mainly that I made Bakura look to neat, thanks brain autopilot)

(Fun fact, Miho is the only one who speaks like that in the whole fic, she's the only one who uses honorific for some reason, I decided would be funny when I was sleep deprived)

Now behold! The only thing I have saved on my phone for this fic! An unedited dialogue between Ryou and Bakura:

"What's this?"

"Money."

"I- I see that. I meant what it is for."

"Rent. Didn't you read the envelope?"

"I did, but," "Why?"

"You said you'd prefer money over the souls of the innocent."

"Where did you get it from?"

"From work? I got paid yesterday."

"You did."

"Yes."

"Is that it, or did you want something else?"

"I'm not taking this."

"Why not?"

"You stole it, right? Payday just means an exceptionally good day for thieves, doesn't it?"

"I did not steal anything."

"Well, I don't -"

"Don't believe me?"

"You told me to find work, so I did."

"You told me to pay rent with money, so I did."

"What else do you want from me?"

[idealspawn]

ive been away from tumblr for such a long time, afraid it would trigger me. ive been doing so well:) i moved to another city. back to where i lived for a year, a year prior to this one. i was able to join a programme that enables me to study in this university again for a year as like an exchange student(?)-ish thing. it feels amazing. ive reconnected with two(three-ish?) extremely dear people to me and ive found my love for knowledge again. my apartment is so nice too. i live near a train station but i can barely hear anything, and if i do, the sounds are actually comforting. i used to dislike trains, they made me anxious but starting this summer i grew to love them and now i regularly even prefer them. i live on the top floor so my ceiling and walls are slanted but it brings me such comfort, my room in my parents' house also has it like that. i have a second floor, well half of it. there is a built-in ladder staircase. it feels extremely comforting. ive had to fix, and still have to fix, many things here bc its a relatively cheap apartment but im fine with that. it actually makes me feel more at home when i can work on the apartment and make it my own. it feels more like home when everything isnt perfect either. the washing machine was disgustingly dirty and the air ventilation thing above the stove is also so fucking nasty but ill deal w it.. not my first time renting an apartment...... .. .. . the emotional aspects of this place are way more important. ive adopted plants too this time around. and a lot more intentionally, ive made in-depth sheets on how to properly care for them. i speak to them and kiss them every day. i know i will buy at leasr one more plant. so far i have an aloe vera plant, alocasia zebrina(MY DEAREST but also the most needy), a chinese money plant and an ivy. i want another ivy but a diff one. right now i have the one called wonder, it looks very friendly, very round. i didnt intend to get this one but they got my order wrong but i didnt have the heart to exchange it so i will just keep it and buy the other ivy as a friend to it. i am so fond of the one that has, i cant seem to find its proper name, but the one that has extremely slim and elongated and really sharp star-like leaves. i figured maybe the two contrasting ivy plants would even look better together than just one. so maybe the wrong order was a blessing in disguise. im using plants to learn unconditional love and acceptance because my family definitely didnt provide me with that skill.. :d.. did the same with my childhood cat, thats why she was so extremely dear to me. when noone else in my family loved me unconditionally, she did:). ive been really motivated to study and read a lot of my own extracurricular stuff too. ive gone to really interesting tours and public programmes about nature and culture and society. ive actually enjoyed being on my own and had the balls to show up to places alone, i used to never be able to do that. i always had to have someone with me but its really limiting as many people around me right now have colliding interests. im also so insanely proud of myself for speaking up in a seminar!!!!!! u have no idea. NO IDEA how hard that has been for me. to realize my insight has value and should take up time and space in a seminar. ive always come so close to speaking but then my heart has raced out of my chest and then the moment passed. but this time i actually spoke up, i took the initiative and i didnt only speak abt the strict topic that our seminar text provided for that time but i brought up my individual reading!! and a girl in the seminar told me i spoke well!!(i didnt, god i was so nervous i stumbled upon my words so much and avoided all eye contact) AND ALSO the professor leading the seminar told me my answer was good too :) im so happy. im growing so much.