#so u know just a regular monday then

[onesnoopyaday]

becoming unrecognisable to oneself

Snoopy #13

14/10/2024

[b-blushes]

monday quest is to order the couple of supplies i need for a project. this is challenging to me because it combines 2 things that melt my brain: 'online shopping' and 'deciding between similar but subtly different things'. HOWEVER i can do it!!! and it will be fun to make things when they arrive >:) side quest make a different dinner, i have got some fresh fish to try and i have never cooked with it before due to we always bought it frozen. worst thing that can happen is it doesn't agree with my health stuff and i do not cook it again 👍 i'm making it so basic style for this reason. i feel like it could be delicious!

[mylittleredgirl]

me at my long-in-remission chronic illness when ten hours of sleep a night and six shots of caffeine do nothing to remediate that blinking on red battery feeling

do not.

[pepprs]

update i have to apply for my own job for the SECOND time in two years by wednesday and im taking my learners permit test on friday which means i have to finish absorbing the drivers manual by then. the way i am LONGING to walk into traffic.

[joeybsblackgf]

perfect - joe burrow

pairing: joe burrow x black!fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 2.7k

content warnings: breeding kink, whisper of a daddy kink, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), they’re really in love

synopsis: joey just loves how perfect you are.

playlist: juno - sabrina carpenter

authors note: a hot, new joe burrow writer has entered the villa. hope u love it !! and if u like kpop u can check out my other works on @gojosnympho 🫶🏾

you didn’t go to a lot of joe’s away games. mainly because even though you were the girlfriend to a very rich and successful man, you were still a regular girl with a regular job and a regular life outside of him. you both preferred it that way, honestly. joe took comfort in the normalcy of you. being around you felt easy because you weren’t looking at him as joe burrow the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals. you were looking at him as joey, your boyfriend.

he came home monday night to the smell of you cooking dinner. he hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until the scent invaded his nostrils. he dropped his bags by the front door, promising himself that he’d get them later. the closer he got to the kitchen he could hear your sweet voice, very obviously singing along to whatever song was playing in your ears.

“how you let him cheat and take him back? must be your only nigga.” you rapped along with latto while you took the pan from the oven.

joe only watched you, taking in your comfy appearance. a tiny tank top, the shortest sleep shorts you could find, your bengals slippers, and of course a scarf on your head to protect your braids. his eyes were glued to your ass and the way the cheeks peeked out beneath the short fabric. you turned to see your boyfriend standing in the door of the kitchen, your heart leapt into your throat at the shock that ran through your body. you snatched your airpod out of your ear.

“god joey, you scared the fuck out of me!” you exclaimed. his heart fluttered at the name you called him, further proving his point of how you saw him.

“sorry, you just looked like you were locked in. i didn’t wanna disturb you.”

now that you were turned around, he saw just how tiny that tank top was. he could make out your brown nipples beneath the thin fabric and that fucking belly button ring with the diamond encrusted “j” dangling from it. his eyes trailed up to your face. that perfect, beautiful face that he had as his lock screen on his phone.

“it’s okay, baby boy! i cooked. are you hungry?” you asked him, not even aware of what you were doing to him. he didn’t know what it was about you but he felt like a teenager all over again because of the way he couldn’t control his body. he ignored his urges though, opting to give you a curt nod.

“starving,” joe replied.

“sit down then so i can make your plate.”

again, he nodded going to take a seat at the marble topped island in the middle of the kitchen. he watched you some more, his heart swelling once more with all the love he had for you. he didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as he loved you. you sat his plate down in front of him and before you could walk away, joe pulled you into a kiss.

“what was that for?” you asked him when he pulled back.

“i love you,” joe said, his cheeks flushing that rosy pink color that made your heart melt.

“i love you too, joey.”

you walked away from him once more, this time to make your own plate. you were going to sit next to him but joe stopped you, “sit on my lap.”

he didn’t even give you a chance to answer before he was dragging your body onto his lap.

“isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” you asked joe who promptly shook his head no.

“is it uncomfortable for you?”

“no.”

“then relax and eat. i missed you, mama. i just wanna be around you,” he explained.

you talked some more while you ate dinner. you told joe all about what you got up to while he was away. he listened intently like he always did whenever you spoke to him.

“i miss you so much when i’m away. you gotta come with me to the next away game,” joe said with a hopeful tinge to his voice.

“okay!” you agreed, enthusiastically.

“you're so perfect,” he praised you. he placed a kiss atop your scarf-covered head.

once you both were settled for the night and about to get in bed, joe caught another glimpse of your nipples beneath your shirt. it reminded him of just how long he’d gone without being inside of you, three days. you crawled into bed next to the quarterback, none the wiser about the dirty thoughts swirling in his head. he pulled your body close to his so that you were pressed flush against his bare chest. the warmth of his body made you relax almost instantly. you missed him just as much when he was gone; even if it was just for a few days.

the cuddling started out innocently enough. you were both enjoying each other’s presence and warmth. joe absentmindedly began to stroke your arm with his deft fingers. you didn’t pay it any mind at first. you were just enjoying your boyfriend’s featherlight touches. he stopped those and used that hand to pull you in almost impossibly close. you gasped when you felt his erection poking you in the back.

“do you see what you do to me?”

“joey,” you breathed out.

“you’re so beautiful and so fucking perfect.”

he began to mouth kisses on your shoulder, his hand snaking around your neck to pull your head towards him so he could kiss you properly.

“been wanting to fuck you since i got home,” he admitted, his lips still against yours. he flipped you over on your back, his big frame on top of your much smaller one. “i’m so lucky to call you mine.”

joe put his lips against yours again, pushing his tongue past your lips to kiss you. it felt like he was replacing all the air in your lungs with his own. his hands began to trail over every part of your body making you ache with need. you could still feel how hard he was from where you laid beneath him.

“can i make you feel good, baby?” joe asked you, his lips ghosting against yours in a way that had every inch of your being begging for more.

“please,” you nodded.

he started to suck on the skin on your neck because he knew how much it made you squirm. once he was satisfied that he’d marked you up he began to kiss down your body. he pulled your tank top up and over your head and sucked in a breath at your exposed breasts. joe wasted no time sucking one of the stiff peaks into his mouth. you softly moaned at the sensation. no matter how many times you found yourself in this situation, joe playing with your body, you could never get enough. his other hand tweaked your unoccupied nipple drawing even more moans from your throat. your hands were planted firmly on his shoulders while you laid there in pure bliss. he let go of one nipple with an obscene pop and quickly found purchase on the other nipple. the cold air hitting your spit-slick nipple made goosebumps arise on your skin.

“let me see how wet you are,” joe grumbled. he kissed down your body to the waistband of your poor excuse for shorts. he tugged on them so you lifted up so he could pull them down your legs. “shit, no panties?” he asked when he realized the only thing that was shielding him from your pussy was the flimsy fabric.

“i knew you were coming home, joey,” you told the blue eyed man who was between your legs.

“yeah? you were ready for me?” he asked, using his finger tips to give the insides of your thighs those featherlight touches that made you ache.

“i’m always ready for you.”

joe felt his dick twitch in his boxers. he focused his attention back on your wet pussy. it was glistening with arousal. your clit swollen and begging to be touched. your little hole winking in anticipation. you whined at joe, wanting him to do something—anything. he kissed all around where you needed him the most; he was teasing you in the worst way possible. you whined again. this time pushing your hips up toward him hoping he’d finally eat you out. instead, he pinned your hips down to the mattress.

“relax,” joe said.

he moved his hands back between your legs. this time though, he used his calloused fingertips to spread your lips, “i know i say it all the time. but fuck baby, your pussy is so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks warmed at the dirty compliment. although you didn’t really get a chance to fully bask in it because he was pushing one of his long fingers inside of your pussy. your walls fluttered happily around it, sucking it in with urgency. he added another finger, scissoring you open for his dick. he brought his lips to your clit to give it a soft kiss and you felt electricity shoot through your body. he took the swollen bud between his lips, sucking on it. your hands went to push his head deeper into your needy pussy.

“that feels good, joey,” you hummed.

you grind your pussy all over his tongue, using his mouth to bring yourself to an orgasm. joe laid there pliantly, letting you use him because he loved the way you looked right now. he hooked his fingers inside of you, his mouth still busy pleasuring your clit. you whined out, your chest rising and falling in a quick pattern that made joe aware of how close you were to cumming.

“oh my fucking god!” you cried out. you dug your nails into your boyfriends shoulders as your orgasm came crashing down. you squeezed around his fingers as you creamed all over them.

you relaxed into the plush sheets of the bed, completely in awe of how quickly you had just come undone. you didn’t know why you were still in shock after all this time. joe knew your body. he knew what made you tick. what made you cum all over him with just a few measly pumps of his fingers and flicks of his tongue.

“taste yourself,” he said, bringing his cream-covered fingers to your lips. you opened your mouth and sucked his fingers clean, moaning at the heady taste of your cum.

“want your dick in me. please,” you begged him. you felt heat pooling in your stomach once more. you were ready to give him however many orgasms that he could coax out of you.

you tugged his briefs down until his dick flopped out. you couldn’t help but to moan at the sight of it. the tip was swollen and red with precum just pooling, waiting to be sucked off. you took one delicate finger and swiped the clear liquid off and promptly placed that same finger in your mouth. joe watched you with hooded eyes, his dick twitching with excitement. you wrapped your much smaller hand around him and began pumping him. you never broke eye contact with him while you jerked him off. you watched as he fell apart from your touch, his eyes glossed over in pure bliss

“that feel good, joey?” you asked him.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he said for what felt like that millionth time tonight. but each time he said it you felt butterflies float around in your tummy.

“can you fuck me? i’ve been such a good girl,” you said. your voice was so soft and so pretty and so fucking submissive.

joe leaned down to capture your lips in a filthy kiss. he pushed your hand away from his dick, opting for his own to line up at your entrance. inch by inch he pushed into you causing you to gasp against his lips. you were sure you could feel him in your stomach and that feeling alone had tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. joe pulled away from your lips but not before giving you a gentle peck. he started off slow; he rolled his hips coaxing tiny gasps from you when you felt the tip of his dick rub against your sweet spot.

“you’re so tight, mama,” joe said.

“all for you, daddy,” you replied airily, already reeling from how good your boyfriend felt inside of you.

joe let a throaty moan spill past his lips at the nickname before speaking, “i’m gonna make you a mama tonight for real if you don’t chill out.”

“please,” you begged, squeezing around him. “we would make such a pretty baby, joey.”

he closed his eyes to compose himself because he was sure he was gonna break you if he didn’t. he rolled his hips again, knocking any other bratty comments out of your throat. he opened his eyes to see you below him. you looked fucked out: pupils blown wide, lips swollen, and a thin sheen of sweat. joe grabbed hold of your hips to anchor your body to the bed as he began to give you those strokes that had you crying out to him. joe looked down to where your bodies were so beautifully connected to marvel at the creamy ring that began to form.

“fuck…” he trailed, his eyes still transfixed on the obscene sight. “you missed me this much?” he teased you.

you could only give a small nod; you were so lost in the pleasure. but so was joe. his eyes were screwed tight at just how good you felt wrapped around him, so wet, tight, and warm. he fluttered his eyes back open though to look down at you.

“i love you so fucking much,” you told him, voice strained with lust. and fuck, he could’ve knocked you up right there. your big, brown, glossed-over eyes met his and the words that came out of your pretty, kiss-bitten lips next made him stop moving inside of you out of fear that he’d cum too early: “w-wanna have your baby.”

you whined at him. you started moving your own hips to get some type of friction but he stopped your movements.

“you’re gonna make me cum early if you don’t chill out,” joe explained to you. but his words meant nothing to you in that moment and you told him as much.

“but that’s what i want you to do, daddy,” you said. “want you to cum in me, please?” you pleaded with the man above you.

“shit,” he mumbled under his breath. he started moving again, this time he was pounding you. your eyes rolled into the back of your head because you could feel his tip bumping against that spot that was gonna make you cream all over his dick.

you couldn’t speak or even think for that matter. the only thing that mattered in that moment was joe. you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him impossibly close just how he had done earlier. you gasped into his ear at how deep you could feel him inside of you. joe buried his face in your neck and nipped at your skin to add another hickey to the already blemished flesh. having sex with him was always like this, full of passion and unadulterated love.

“i love you so fucking much, too,” joe murmured into your neck, replying to your statement from earlier.

your orgasm began to sneak up on you. your tummy began to tingle and you could feel the way your walls started to flutter around joe’s dick. he groaned at the sensation, his hips stuttering when he felt it.

“you gonna cum, baby?” he asked you. you didn’t have to answer because the way you felt wrapped around him gave him all the confirmation he needed. “cum for me and i promise i’ll give you a baby.”

that’s all it took for you to let that band in your belly snap and your orgasm wash over you, “fuck, joey! fuck!” were the only words you could say as your walls spasmed around him. almost simultaneously, joe let his own orgasm take over. rope after rope of his seed filled you to the brim, making good on his promise to at least try to get you pregnant.

“you’re so fucking perfect.”

[whore-era]

1-800-GIRLS

☁︎ modern!ellie x sex-hotline-operator!reader, very small mention of dealer!ellie ☁︎ summary: where ellie dials the wrong number and meets you instead. ☁︎ warnings: contains smut! 18+ only. top/dom!ellie, bottom/sub!reader, mentions spitplay/breathplay/overstimulation, mentions sexual interactions with men, dirty talking, guided masturbation (r!recieving), use of fem nicknames (babygirl, sweet girl, pretty girl, pup, puppy) let me know if i missed anything else pls. ☁︎ a/n: i feel like this kinda sucked bc towards the end i kinda rushed it, but i couldn't shake this idea n knew i had to write it. hope u like it bbs<3 also thank u to my bestie @elskittie for helping me figure some things out w this fic ☁︎ word count: 4,463 ☁︎ 1-800-GIRLS part 2

phone call style story — reader is in italics, ellie is in bold.

monday, 12:45am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, hot stuff?

uhh.. i just wanted to order a pepperoni pizza..

oh yeah? you want something hot and ready? i have something hot and ready for you.

ummm..

you hear some shuffling in the background, "jess! i think you gave me the wrong number!" the person comes back on the line again.

this isn't papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

....do you want me to roleplay as papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

woah woah woah! roleplay?? who the fuck am i on the phone with?

this is sugar from 1-800-GIRLS.....a sex hotline...for you know? phone sex.

PHONE SEX?? you hear the girl's voice yell in the background, "jesse! you ass! you gave me the number to a phone sex hotline!"

"does she sound hot?"

"well yeah, but—"

hey, you do know it's $1 a minute right? you've been on the line for almost 5 minutes, babe.

HUHH?? hell no..ok thanks sugar bear, or whatever. bye!

the line clicks off, and you shrug. sitting back in your bed to continue watching your favorite netflix show. you feel your work phone vibrate again, the name flashing 'bobby', a regular who frequents the hotline.

sighing and picking up your phone and holding it to your ear, you take a bite from your sandwich as you answer your 15th call this evening, "thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, big boy?"

tuesday, 2:12am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you tonight, cutie?

hey....sugar.. i just- er- wanted to apologize for yesterday. my buddy got your number confused with a pizza place we really wanted to try. didn't mean to sound rude last night.

it's no issue, babe. don't sweat about it.

.......

.......

soooo.... is that the only reason why you called?

ellie didn't want to admit that she was attracted to 'sugar's' voice and that she'd been thinking about it all day during class. but also, ellie was high as a fucking kite, which gave her the courage to even dial the number again anyways.

i— uh— well— how does this whole thing work?

what thing? the hotline?

yeah..

well, you call me, we have phone sex or talk or whatever, and then you hang up. again, it's a dollar a minute.

okay, okay, i get it. so we can just talk? about anything?

yeah, if you want to.

sick.

ellie takes another drag from her joint, before speaking again.

so, do you like doing this? being an operator or whatever?

you let out a laugh, which ellie caught.

specify what you mean by 'like'?

i mean— this is your job. do you enjoy doing it?

ehh...i guess.

c'mon. you can be honest with me.

well, being a sex hotline operator has it's downsides. obviously helping old men jack off gets a little weird sometimes — they have some unusual fetishes.

oh yeah? what's been the weirdest one so far?

uhhh..i have this one regular who has me pretend i'm a ghost. apparently, having sex with ghosts is a real turn on for him.

what the fuck. seriously?

mhm, it's true.

shit, dude....i don't think i could ever do what you do. i dunno how you can do it.

well when you have college tuition and rent to worry about, the downsides don't seem all that bad.

holy shit, you're in college? how old are you anyways?

19.

that's crazy. we're around the same age. i figured you were a bit older.

how 'bout you? how old are you?

21.

not bad not bad. you're way different from the clients i usually get.

yeah? how?

considering my usual clients are 40 to 60 year old men who are married with kids and have secret fetishes, i'd say you're out of my ballpark.

ellie laughs.

how do you know i'm not secretly an old, 57 year old man who's married to my wife janet with three kids? and i have a balloon fetish?

you let out a giggle, adjusting your sleep shorts as you lay back down on your bed, completely invested in your conversation with this girl.

well, how can i appease your balloon fantasies?

i'm just fuckin' with ya. definitely not a man and i have the more normal kinks and fetishes.

is that so? what are the 'normal' kinks and fetishes?

uhhhh....well i'm into bondage, i love tying girls up..i dunno, just seeing them open and vulnerable does something to me. i'm into breathplay, spitplay, overstimulation, and i'm definitely a dominant so—

all you could do was gape as the girl went on her tangent, listing off every kink she could think of. you gulped, suddenly getting a bit nervous from this topic of conversation. you were experienced in the field of phone sex, but actual sex was a totally different world you had no practice in.

so, how 'bout you sugar?

...uhhh....i'm a virgin actually.

the other girl went silent on the other side of the line.

what? but you work as a sex hotline operator.

oh yeah- but— hold on, i'm getting another call. i'll speak to you some other time.

you hung up and threw your work phone across your bed, laying your head down on your pillows. talking to men was so much easier for you, so why do you get all caught up when you talk to a girl?

it was nearly 3:30am, so you decided to turn in and call it a night, mentally preparing yourself for a busy day tomorrow.

wednesday, 11:45am

sitting next to professor adams, patiently waiting for the students to turn in their quizzes, you try to focus on the text of your 'philosophy 101' book.

you were grateful that professor adams gave you the opportunity to be his teacher's assistant for a little bit of extra cash, and you weren't complaining either. the tasks he gave you were easy for a mere $16 an hour. still, it wasn't enough to support all of your bills, so you couldn't drop the hotline gig.

"and time! everyone hand your quizzes in to my TA, regardless if you finished or not," professor announced. all the students shuffled towards the front, handing you their quizzes as you neatly put them in a small pile.

"ah shit— let me put the date on that," a girl, with a very familiar voice spoke. looking up, you're greeted with the most attractive girl you've seen in your life. she had brunette hair and green eyes, with a small scar on her right brow. was this..? no, it couldn't be. that would be insane.

handing you the paper, her hand brushes against yours. you look down at her quiz, seeing in messy, scribbled black ink the name ellie williams.

slinging her backpack on one arm, she heads out the door, "jesse! wait up for me!"

leaving you in a daze, you were completely speechless by the idea that one of your new, favorite clients from your nighttime job is actually a student at your university.

saturday, 1:45am → 1:14:34 ongoing call with 401-890-6798 (cranston, RI)

thanks, sugar. will be calling you again at the same time next week.

no problem, sir. goodnight. dream of me.

sure will, babygirl.

the line clicks as the older man hangs up, and you shudder a bit, feeling uncomfortable after having to roleplay as a ghost, again.

sighing heavily, you place your work phone on your desk and pick up your real phone, opening instagram and scrolling on your feed as you mindlessly snack on some gummy bears.

you double tap to like some of your friends pictures, wishing you were out at a party, drinking some lukewarm beer and dancing with your girls to the latest tiktok hits.

but instead you were cooped up in your apartment, dirty talking old men through their fantasies and bearing witness to their guttural groans and masturbation. it was a shame that friday and saturday nights were your busiest evenings.

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you ponder for a moment, your finger hovering over the instagram search bar.

fuck it, you thought, typing 'ellie williams' and hitting search.

the username @_elliewilliams pops up, and bingo. it was the same girl from professor adams class.

luckily her profile was public, so you take your time carefully combing through her instagram account, mindful not to accidentally like her posts or anything.

ellie's feed consisted of smoking weed, eating out, and hanging with her friends, jesse and dina. there were only two selfies she had posted — one of her and an older gentleman and one mirror picture of her in a grey hoodie and a light brown canvas jacket that made her look so good.

the ringing from your work phone caught you off guard, causing you to jump in your chair and exit out of the instagram app. you take a look at the number, and speak of the devil, it was ellie herself. she was the only jackson number that ever contacted you.

saturday, 2:10am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, sugar speaking. what can i do for you, handsome?

hey, sugar. just wanted to apologize for how our last conversation went. i probably pushed a boundary or something— i'm not sure if you're supposed to talk about personal things with customers— so, i'm sorry.

you let out a soft laugh.

why is it when you call me, you're always apologizing?

'cause i'm a fuck up, that's why.

nooo, that's not true. besides, don't worry about it. your question just caught me off guard, you know? never had clients ask things about me before i guess.

ahh, gotcha. so...were you busy before i called?

you shake your head, even though she was on the phone and couldn't see you.

uh, not really. my line doesn't usually get busy until...12 midnight ish.. it slows down by like 2 am though. how about you? what are you up to this friday night?

i just got back home from a party. business was slow and it was getting boring, so i dipped.

business? what business?

ah— well—

ellie silently cursed to herself, not wanting to scare you away with her current occupation.

if i tell you what i do, promise you won't get freaked out or anything?

you're talking to a phone sex hotline operator. don't worry.

you can hear her laugh from the other end.

well, fuck it, cat's out of the bag. i deal weed on campus and shit.

ahhh. i like that. is that how you can afford the minutes you spend calling me?

yup. i can stay on the phone for hours if we wanted.

maybe you'll be my only customer.

i wouldn't complain.

speaking of customers, do you want me to save your number under a specific name or nickname or anything? since i'm assuming you're gonna be a regular?

trying to confirm if it was indeed ellie you were speaking with, you sat on the edge of your chair, anxiety building in your belly.

what nicknames do your clients usually pick?

uhhh. master, sir, king, mister, alpha— umm and daddy.

something stirred inside ellie hearing that last nickname roll off your tongue.

you could just put me down as ellie.

got it.

what do i call you? do i just keep calling you sugar?

well, you're a customer. you can call me anything you like, but, for formalities and privacy, i can only tell you my hotline nickname — sugar.

okay, okay, that makes sense. you're not really allowed to have any personal or close relationships with clients, huh?

no, not really. mostly for safety purposes.

ellie was a little disappointed to know that she wouldn't be able to get to know the girl she was talking to beyond calling on the phone. she already felt herself getting attached. your voice was alluring and enticing, and she couldn't help but want to hear it more, and possibly put a name and face to who it belonged to.

but, i could bend the rules a little if i really wanted to.

yeah? let's see about that.

saturday, 4:45 am → 2:43:03 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

oh my god! did you and your ex get caught??

you were enamored with ellie. the way she could keep a conversation going and the stories she told — you didn't wanna hang up.

no, no, no, luckily we hid behind a dumpsters before the cops could catch us. it's hilarious thinking about it now, but we were dumbass 18-year-olds back then.

you both were in fits of laughter, your belly aching and tears watering in the corners of your eye.

as you calmed down, you couldn't stop your mouth from asking a question that's been racking on your mind.

so, how long were you and your ex together?

uhhhh, about 2 years.

ohhh okay........are you seeing anyone right now?

ellie lets out a laugh, and you can hear her smile, even through the phone.

why? who's asking?

well, i was just— uhh—

i'm just fuckin' with you. nah, i'm not seein' anyone right now. single af.

okay, okay. good to know.

how 'bout you?

nope. i'm single too.

seriously?? how?

i dunno. just never found the right person i guess. also, working for this hotline has made me lose hope for relationships in general, some of these dudes call me and say all this stuff — while having a whole wife and family at home.

i think you're looking in the wrong place then. try talking to people at school or going out to parties—

can't. if i'm not doing homework or studying, i'm working and doing this. i gotta make a living somehow.

ellie couldn't help but feel bad, knowing if she could, she'd support you full time and take that weight off your shoulders.

hmm, maybe you'll meet someone who could support you and take care of your bills and stuff.

oh? where would i find that? sounds too good to be true.

maybe they're closer to you than you think.

your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say next.

i— uh— i have to go. it's 5am.

oh— uh— yeah. of course. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

sunday, 11:37pm → incoming call from ellie (jackson, WY)

hey.

hey. where's your usual greeting?

you're not a usual customer, so i think we're past that now, ellie.

ellie's heart thumped in her chest hearing you say her name.

good. anyways, what are you up to tonight?

just studying for a quiz tomorrow morning. how about you?

smoking, just finished some homework.

what class was it for?

uhhh, just this calculus class.

you clamped your mouth shut, suppressing a gasp. it was for professor adams class.

....uhhh, i could never get calculus. it's so hard.

yeah? maybe one night i can tutor you.

i'd be a terrible student.

i think you'd be the perfect student. i can teach you, i got you.

you couldn't help but think there was another meaning behind her words, but you didn't want to jump to any conclusions. it would be embarrassing if you got her message all wrong.

what's your quiz on anyways?

energy transfer between cells, it's for biology.

i know a thing or two about that. here— why don't we do this, just explain to me what you know and we'll go from there.

okay, i can do that.

you and ellie spent the next two and a half hours talking about cell function and energy transfer and everything else in between, with her correcting you and adding in important things you missed.

alright, sugar, i think you're ready for this quiz tomorrow.

you think so?

i know so. you're such a smart girl.

there she goes again, praising you.

uh, th-thanks.

don't worry, okay? i know you'll do great.

a smile curls on your lips, flustered from all her support.

you should get some sleep, so you can be focused and ready for tomorrow.

m'kay. thank you, ellie, for all your help.

of course. always. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

monday, 5:32pm → 45:21 ongoing call with mister j (corpus christi, TX)

yeah, babe? you want me to fuck your tight ass?

mhm, yes mister.

c'mon. beg, sugar.

please. fuck my tight hole, mister j.

ah, hell.

you can hear his belt buckle clanging, and the soft buzz of a zipper.

what's wrong with 'ya tonight, sugar? you're bein' a real buzzkill, 'ya know that? fuckin' turnin' me off and makin' me soft.

i-i'm sorry, mister j. please, jus—

yea, yea, save it. we'll jus' try 'gain tomorrow.

the line clicks on the other end. tossing your work phone on your desk, you fall back on your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. weeping into the plush material, you let yourself fall apart and break down.

but your sobbing session is cut short as you can hear the familiar ring of your work phone.

wiping your tears, you walk over to your desk and answer.

monday, 5:45pm → 00:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

thanks for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's suga-

woah, woah, woah are you crying?

e-ellie?

yeah, baby, it's me. sounds like you're crying. what's going on? talk to me.

today was just a really, really bad day and then i opened my hotline a little early and one of my first clients just lashed out on me because i wasn't responding the way he wanted me to and—

you sniffle.

— and i'm just really stressed out by everything going on in my life right now.

i'm sorry. i wish there was something i could do— someway i could comfort you or take the weight off.

i-it's fine, ellie. talking to you is making it a little better.

ellie was silent for a moment, thinking carefully and planning her next moves accordingly.

do you trust me?

....y-yea, of c-course. why?

i'm gonna help you ease the tension. okay?

okay.

first of all, where are you?

i-in my room, sitting at my desk.

okay. go lay down on your bed.

with your phone pressed to your ear, you pick up your legs and stride over to your bed, laying down on the fluffy, material of your blanket.

okay, i'm on my bed.

good. what are you wearing?

foreseeing the direction this phone call was heading in, apprehension builds in your stomach.

ellie, you really don't have to-

hey, i want to help you. if that's okay with you. if not, we could talk about something instead.

biting your lip, you fold.

i-i'm okay with it, but i-i've never— played with myself with a customer before. i don't really do anything with myself even when i'm not working anyways.

that's okay. don't think of me as a customer, think of me as a...teacher. i got you, remember?

okay.

good girl. now, what are you wearing?

uh.. a tank top and shorts.

cute. take them off.

gulping, you follow her orders, shimmying out of your top and shorts.

done?

mhm.

good. so obedient.

i want you to rub your boobs for me. rub your nipples, pull on them, just feel the skin under your hand for me, baby.

rubbing the soft skin along your breast, and tugging on your hardened nipples, you bite your lip, savoring the way your body feels under your touch.

how does it feel?

feels good.

bet it does.

ellie couldn't stop her mind from imagining you, on your bed, perfectly naked. and how she'd give everything up, just to sneak a peek.

now, i want you to just rub your hands against the sensitive parts of your body. be slow and gentle, we're not rushing anything.

as your hands drift from your neck, down to the hills of your breasts, and to the edge of your panties, ellie speaks through the line again.

doesn't it feel nice, baby?

mhm.

wish i could be there, to watch you, touching your pussy.

you instinctively clamp your thighs, feeling heat rush to your core.

alright, take your panties off. slowly.

you slowly peel the piece of material off, looking at the small, wet spot that formulated on your underwear.

okay, they're off.

such a good girl, following my every command.

you gulp, her nickname for you sending shivers up your spine.

slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little.

hanging off on her every word, you let out a shaky breath, the heat in your cunt growing only bigger and bigger.

god, i wish i can be there to see this right now. bet you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all wet— all because of me.

i- i'm aching. i need more, ellie.

i know, baby, i know. i wish i can help you more. if it were up to me, i'd have you bent over your desk, taking you from the back. fuck.

your mind drifts to that image, of her fucking you, taking you as hers. a stream of your slick begins to leak out from your pussy. god, you wanted her so bad.

slide a finger between your pussy, baby. let me hear how wet you are.

spreading your thighs apart, the tip of your fingers slips in between the folds of your pussy lips, the slick sound of your wetness echoing throughout the room. loud enough for ellie to hear.

fuuuuuck.

i-

you tried to speak, but it comes out sounding like a pathetic whimper. ellie's brain was going insane, she couldn't believe where she had you, writhing from her mere words.

go ahead, pretty girl. rub slow circles on your clit.

the pads of your pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against your hardened nub. closing your eyes, you imagined ellie, and how it was her hand instead of yours. the thought had you panting, faint breaths releasing from your parted lips.

your pussy sounds so wet, holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.

as your fingers continue massaging on your sopping, wet clit, a pool of wetness gathers right below your ass.

how does it feel, baby?

f-feels amazing, ellie.

you let out a low whimper.

i wish you were here.

me too, pup. me too.

you can hear her heavy breaths from the other end of the phone.

i wish i could be there, kissing your neck. trailing my lips down to suck on your nipples. fuuck, wanna taste every inch of your skin. i wanna feel your pussy tighten around my fingers.

you let out another pitiful moan, only to hear ellie curse under her breath again.

rub your pussy faster for me, angel. imagine it's me, pumping my fingers in and out. would daddy's pretty girl like that?

you couldn't respond. all you could let out was these weak whines, yearning for ellie and her touch. you added a third finger, building onto the pressure and picking up the speed.

your moans sound so pretty. wonder how'd they sound when you're taking my strap. gonna have you cry out my name, yeah? isn't that right?

mhm, yes, daddy.

good. that's what daddy likes to hear, such a polite girl.

with your eyes rolling back, you could feel your orgasm building.

i-i'm gonna— ellie, i—

you gonna cum for me, puppy? huh? c'mon, rub faster, baby. i know you have a little bit more left in you.

your fingers speed up, the sound of your wetness gushing out reverberated in ellie's ear.

oh my god, daddy can i? please? can i—

arching your back, you knew you were close. the feeling was getting to be too much and you were about to fall over the edge.

look at my baby, so respectful and asking permission. come on, pretty puppy. cum for daddy. let daddy hear how good she made you feel.

that was it. letting out a penetrating moan, you rode your orgasm out and finished all over your fingers, making a mess. you were heaving, chest rapidly rising and falling.

god, i made a mess.

oh, yeah? do one more thing for me. suck your fingers clean. puppies clean up their messes.

monday, 8:57pm → 3:01:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

after your little self-care session with ellie, she took it upon herself to get your mind off of today's events, filling your conversation with stories and interesting topics.

oh, forgot to ask, what'd you end up getting on that biology quiz?

ughhh, i got a 65 out of 100. one of the reasons why i was so upset today.

seriously? how?

i don't know! i asked professor gonzalez and she told me that i was focusing on the wrong thi-

wait, did you just say professor gonzalez? holy shit, you're taking biology 201 with professor g? do you fucking go to school at university of wyoming? in jackson?

oh shit, you didn't mean for that to slip out.

i— uh— i have to go—

wait! sugar! please. hear me out.

you stay silent, waiting for what she had to say.

if we really do go to the same campus, please, let's meet up. i really want to see you.

.....why?

i just— i love talking to you. spending hours with you on the phone is what i look forward to when i get home. besides, i really want to take you out, on a date.

you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.

listen, if you want to see me too, meet me at the library in building B, by the comic book section. okay? tomorrow at 1pm.

....

i really hope you come.

the line clicks off, and you spend the rest of the night restless, tossing and turning, debating whether or not to see her tomorrow.

tuesday, 2:50pm

ellie eagerly checked her phone again, bouncing her knee in distress. her mind was running rampant — fuck, she's not gonna come. maybe jesse was right. maybe i was wasting my time.

looking up for the 80th time, she scans the comic book section, seeing no one else but some dude with his face buried in a wonder woman comic.

as ellie gets up from her chair, she turns her head, and she freezes.

there you were, looking like an angel who entered from the garden of eden. ellie's heart sped up, seeing her girl standing before her. you were everything she could've imagined and better.

walking slowly towards the brunette, you brush a piece of hair from your face, and smile meekly.

"hi ellie, it's me."

pls let me know how this fic was, i tried out a new writing style & read pt 2 here <3

[moonstruckme]

soft sirius x reader pleasee 🙏🙏 either established relationship or fwb/friends to lovers vibes you decide

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“You ought to start locking the door,” Sirius calls out as he enters your flat. You tug out one earbud to hear him better. “I could be a serial killer.” 

“Right, sure,” you snark lightly, washing dishes double-time. “And you ought to start calling before you come by, but we both have our bad habits.” 

“Like you’d pick up if I did.” He saunters into the kitchen, taking in the mess and then pretending not to notice. He leans against the counter beside where you’re working. “I just thought I’d drop in and see if you have a bit of free time.”

“A bit?” you laugh. “Looking for a quickie, Black?” You stack more dishes on the drying rack, jolting forward to steady them when a bowl on the top threatens to tumble. “Sorry, no time. The kitchen’s been a mess for days, I have to clean up before my flatmate gets home from class and murders me.” 

“But she seems like such a nice girl,” Sirius muses, taking the precarious bowl and drying it with a towel. “Anyway, doesn’t your flatmate’s last class end at, like, six? It’s hardly three.” 

“It’s weird that you know that.” It’s not, really. You know a freakish amount of details about his life, too, but it’s easier to keep up the casualness of this arrangement if you pretend you’re not quite as close as you are. You go into the living room, collecting dirty dishes and talking whilst you walk. “She does, but I have to revise my essay, and if I don’t get this done before I start on that, it won’t be finished before she gets home. I’ll forget, I know it.” 

“Hm.” Sirius takes the kettle down from its cabinet, nudging you aside to fill it from the tap. “Why do you have to revise your essay tonight?”

“Because it’s due in three days,” you explain, taking his place at the sink as soon as he’s out of the way to dunk more dishes in the soapy water. “And I have another essay due in four days, so if I don’t work on this one now, I won’t have enough time to finish that one. And besides those, I’ve got my regular work to keep up with.” 

Sirius is quiet for half a second, which is unusual enough that you look over to check that he’s still here. He’s giving you a look you know too well, one dark brow and one corner of his mouth quirked up suggestively. “Sounds like you need to blow off some steam,” he says. 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a snort. “Oh, fuck off. And quit looking at me.” 

You don’t look up from your task this time, a particularly stubborn piece of food requiring your attention, but you can tell Sirius is pouting at you from just his voice. “A cruel demand, and one I can’t abide by. Sorry, gorgeous.”

“Freak.” You continue scrubbing at the dish. Finally, you give in, using your fingernail to attack the crusted-on piece of mystery food and doing your best to ignore the grossness of it. It comes off, but your nail breaks. “Damn it!”

“Hey.” The teasing tone drops from Sirius’ voice. “Take it easy, dollface. You’ve got time.”

It doesn’t feel like you have time. There’s been alarm bells going off in your head since you’d woken up on Monday morning and realized all you had to do this week, and there’s no time for any of it. There’s a dangerous pressure building behind your eyes, but if there’s one thing you definitely don’t have time for, it’s a breakdown. You force a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. 

“I know,” you tell Sirius. “Thanks.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests lightly. 

You cut a knowing look his way. “I do not have time for a shag right now, Sirius.”

He grins, showing his teeth. “Not what I was thinking of, but as always, let me know if you change your mind.” You roll your eyes, and his smile drops. “Just, like, an actual break. You seem kind of stressed.” 

“I am,” you say, like duh, “but I don’t have time for a break either. I’ll be less stressed when everything is done.” You just have to make it until then. 

Sirius goes quiet again, but you don’t bother wondering about it this time. It’s fine if he’s worried about you. You want him to be, a little bit. You want someone to see how hard you’re trying, even if it doesn’t look like your efforts are producing much. You’ll wash the dishes, and your flatmate will still be annoyed you’d let them pile up in the first place. You’ll turn in your essays, and they’ll be just okay enough to pass. You can work all day, from the second you wake up until you fall dead asleep, and sometimes it feels like it’s for nothing. But what’s the alternative? Stop, and watch your barely-together life fall apart completely? No, you just have to get through this week. Just this week, and then you can rest until the next hard week. 

You stack the last of the dishes on the drying rack, and your hand has barely left before the three on top slip off. You lunge forward on instinct, like you think you can catch them. You can’t. The crash is loud, but you barely hear it. You bring your hands to your face, cupping your mouth between your palms. Your horrified exhale blows hot air back onto your chin. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” Sirius’ voice is soft, as is his touch on your shoulder, encouraging you back from the glass shards. “You’re alright, just be careful, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you say, and you try to laugh, but what comes out is a dry sob. “Oh my god, fuck me.”

“I think we’ve agreed now’s not a good time,” Sirius jokes, taking a dish towel and using it to scrape together the bigger pieces. “Do you have a broom, love?” 

You shake yourself out of your stupor. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll grab it.” 

You step over Sirius, and he makes a half-suppressed sound of alarm when you come too close to the glass but takes the dustpan when you hand it to him. You sweep up the glass, going farther than necessary from the site of the damage to ensure no one ends up with an impaled foot later on. Sirius dumps it in the trash. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, trying to reorient. “Okay, I need to—”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Sirius cuts you off, going to the stove. “It appears I’ve put the kettle on. Must be habit. Sit and have a cup with me, doll?” You give him a look that says you know what he’s doing, and he shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Just for a few minutes. Please.” 

You relent perhaps too easily, picking out mugs for the both of you and accompanying him to the living room. You curl up against the armrest of the couch, and Sirius settles in next to you, his thigh touching your hip. They’re your usual spots, but what’s not as routine is the arm he wraps around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You sip at your tea as if you don’t notice. The warmth is soothing as it goes down your throat and seeps into your insides. Sirius turns on the TV, and it’s obvious by now that you’ve been lied to, he doesn’t intend to let you go after a few minutes, but you’re losing the will to hold him to it anyway. You let your head lie on his arm as he begins to trace slow, smooth shapes into your shoulder. 

And though it feels nice, you say, “I don’t need you to coddle me.” 

You feel Sirius shift to look down at you, and you tilt your head to meet his eyes. “But you’ll let me,” he says, “won’t you?” 

You don’t know how to answer that. Sirius doesn’t seem to be waiting for one, pressing a casual kiss to your head and then focussing back on the screen, his doodles on your shoulder never faltering. You rest your head on him again, and you suppose that’s answer enough. 

[octuscle]

Bouncer to Wereteenager

Mustafa was the lord of his little empire. No one got past him. Behind him, behind the door, was one of the most fashionable clubs in the city. Inconspicuous in a rundown side street in the red-light district. But the beautiful and rich of the city gave everything to get past Mustafa into the den of iniquity of hedonism. Who was successful? That was Mustafa's decision alone. Sometimes he liked sneakers, sometimes he hated them. Sometimes he didn't want to see anyone under the age of 25.

Today there was a more mature, elegant crowd in the club. And the spotty guy in the sloppy clothes who stamped out the butt of a roll-up cigarette on the floor in front of Mustafa was definitely not a match for the people who were on the dance floor today. “No way, piss off, kid!” Mustafa growled. “Dude, give yourself a break! Please!!!!” Mustafa waved the next customers over and just left the teenager unnoticed. Fuck! This could not be ignored. The teenager fell to his knees in front of everyone and began to lick the bulge in Mustafa's pants. Damn, yes, Mustafa was hard. A blowjob could be a good change. ‘Boy,’ hissed Mustafa. “Wait for me in the next doorway. I'll take a break in a minute.” Mustafa opened the door briefly and called out to his colleague, ‘Fuck break.’ There was nothing unusual about this. The atmosphere was always sexually charged. His colleague nodded and relieved Mustafa. The teenager squatted on the doorstep of the house as instructed and waited to be allowed to suck a mighty circumcised cock. Mustafa unbuttoned his trousers, pulled the waistband down a little and his boner popped out of its prison like a jack-in-the-box. Mustafa didn't regret the break for a second. The boy knew how to use his tongue. Yes, now and then he bit a little too hard. But damn, he brought Mustafa to ecstasy! And Mustafa squirted so hard that the boy's drool dripped out of the corners of Mustafa's mouth on both sides.

“Thank you, boy,” Mustafa growled. ‘But you still won't get into the club.’ He buttoned up his trousers and was about to leave.

Ziggy's real name was Jeremy and he was actually an investment banker. 35 years old, he earned 400 K a year and was a regular at the club. During the week. On weekends, he hung out with his pot-smoking friends at the skate park and earned a few dollars for weed by giving blow jobs. He no longer knew when and how he had become a wereteenager. Actually, he didn't even know that he was a wereteenager. Today was Saturday night. Today he was hanging out with his buddies and partying. In 24 hours, he would be sleeping in pristine white sheets again, before the week would start at 5:30 a.m. on Monday with a training session with his personal trainer and then a power breakfast. And if he didn't come to the club today... Fuck it. He rolled a joint and looked at his cell phone to see where his buddies were hanging out.

Although he had just cum, Mustafa was still horny. And somehow he felt like smoking pot. He felt dizzy. Why was he here, anyway? He looked at his cell phone. Wasn't that his cell phone? With weed leaf stickers on it and a cracked display. His friends were hanging out at the bus stop. Joey had organized beer. Mustafa leaned briefly against the wall. Damn, he wasn't that stoned...

Reefer looked at the line of people standing in front of the unremarkable door. Shit, did something come for free? Should he also stand in line there? Joey sent pictures of Ziggy, who was rolling a new joint. “Shit, were r u? i need something 2 smoke 2!” Reefer sent back. It was Saturday night, a warm summer night, and they were going to have a lot of fun tonight!

[marauroon]

Part 2 to espresso I beg 🙏

W A K E U P C A L L — JAMES POTTER!

a 6am shift at the coffee shop was the last thing you needed after a students’ night out. and james is way too energetic.

james potter x fem!reader (barista!au) | 1.4k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — no begging necessary ml, i love this au sm

You’re almost falling asleep as you clean out the basin of one of the coffee machines. It should’ve been done by yesterday’s closers, but the universe obviously hadn’t punished you enough by just giving you a 6am opening shift on a Monday morning in the middle of December.

You honestly thought your fingers were going to fall off as you fumbled the front doors unlocked, but now, nestled into the warmth of the overhead heater you really do feel like you could fall asleep where you stand.

You get it to a point, people have places to be and things to do, even at 6 in the morning, but you also have places to be, places being in your bed and not standing behind a counter serving sleep-deprived business men coffee whilst they wait for a train.

But of course, there’s James, bouncing around behind the counter like he’s ready to run a marathon. You can’t figure out how the hell he does it, even after all this time working together. He’s like an Energizer bunny, perpetually full of energy.

“Oi, what’s the matter with you today?” James asks, his voice loud enough to snap you out of your almost-sleepy stupor. He’s grinning, completely unaware that you just want to collapse into the nearest seat and sink into the floor.

You glare at him over the top of the espresso machine. “I’m fine, just living the dream,” you mutter, your voice hoarse with the faintest trace of sarcasm.

James laughs and pulls a fresh batch of croissants from the oven, his movements effortless. It’s as if he’s been awake for hours, yet you know full well that he probably didn’t get much more sleep than you did last night. Between university assignments, the social committee work, and, of course, his infamous club nights, it’s a miracle he’s even functioning.

“Yeah, you look like you’re living the dream,” he teases, his smile never faltering. “You look like you want to crawl under the counter and hibernate.”

You roll your eyes. "You’re so chipper for someone who was at the same club night as me last night."

James shrugs nonchalantly, wiping his hands on his apron before grabbing the next batch to bake. “What can I say? I’ve got an unbreakable constitution. You know that about me.”

You snort, your tiredness momentarily forgotten at the absurdity of his statement. “Unbreakable? James, you’re literally always falling asleep in the running social meetings, I’m pretty sure you just don’t notice how badly you’re functioning.”

“Me? Fall asleep?” He raises an eyebrow, a mock offended expression crossing his face as he hands over a cappuccino to a regular customer. “I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent multitasker.”

“Right.” You’re not buying it. Not when you’ve seen him slumped in the corner of the student union’s meeting room, eyes half-closed, trying to pretend he’s taking notes for the event planning. You swear he’s somehow mastered the art of sleep while looking awake, and you’re in awe of how easily he pulls it off.

“I mean, if you’re tired, I can always take over for you,” James adds, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve got more than enough energy to go around.”

You snort again, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “You’d be a liability on the coffee machine. I can’t risk you having a caffeine overdose and bouncing off the walls like a pinball.”

James grins, unfazed. “That’s just an extra perk! Think of how much more productive we’d be if I was bouncing off the walls. You’d get to be the lazy one, and I’d be the charming one, keeping everyone energised,”

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile despite yourself. “Right, charming. That’s exactly what we need at 6am.”

The door to the coffee shop opens with a chime, and another customer steps inside, pulling your attention away from James. You greet them automatically, still feeling a bit dazed, your exhaustion not quite gone. As you prepare the next cup of coffee, you try to focus on the rhythm of the morning.

But it’s hard not to notice James in your peripheral vision, his energy contagious despite your best efforts to remain annoyed at him. How does he do it? It’s not just the fact that he’s awake and functioning—it’s that he’s always so alive in everything he does. Whether it’s the running social, the random nights out, or the mornings like this one, he always has that boundless enthusiasm.

“How do you do it?” you ask suddenly, barely catching yourself before you sound too curious. “How are you this... this awake? All the time?”

James doesn’t seem to be caught off guard by the question. He just leans on the counter, watching you carefully with that easy grin of his. “Let me get you onto this magical thing called micronaps,” he says, his voice dropping just slightly, jazz hands and all to sell his ‘idea’. “Otherwise, you can always leech energy from the people around you. Like I do to you.”

“Me?” You’re almost choking on your disbelief. “I’m literally half-dead right now.”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he’s sharing a secret. “That’s the point, love, I’ve stolen it all,”

You blink. For a moment, you just stare at him, the early morning fog of exhaustion making it harder to process what he’s saying.

“Okay, stop. You’re making me look bad,” you finally mutter, tiredness still edging into your tone. “You’re making fun of me now,”

James just chuckles, ruffling his hair in that way he does when he’s pleased with himself. “What can I say, it’s my favourite pass-time,”

You give him a side-eye, but you can’t quite muster up the same level of annoyance you usually would. Instead, you sigh deeply, rolling up your sleeves as you prepare for the next rush. “Whatever, you win. Happy?”

“Absolutely,” James replies, grinning from ear to ear as he hands over another order.

As the morning drags on, you notice yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the shift. James is right about one thing—he really does have a way of making everything more fun, even when you’re running on fumes. You catch yourself laughing at his jokes more than you want to admit, and despite your grumbling about your lack of sleep, you can’t help but enjoy the banter that flies between you both.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of customers, coffee machines, and laughter. Every time you catch James’ grin or hear one of his sarcastic remarks, you feel the weight of your exhaustion lift, just a little bit.

By the time your shift ends, the early morning fatigue has started to recede, replaced by a sense of quiet contentment. You’re still tired, no doubt about that, but it’s a kind of good tired, the kind you get after a productive day. And maybe, just maybe, it’s also the result of being around someone whose energy is impossible to ignore, even if you want to.

“So,” James says, tossing his apron into the back room as you both prepare to head out, “same plan for tonight?”

You look at him, suddenly aware of how much time you’ve spent with him lately. “Absolutely not. I’m just glad I made it through this shift.”

He winks, pulling his jacket on. “Come on. Besides, the night’s still young, and the student discount on pints of strongbow is calling my name,”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, good for you mate, I’m going to sleep.”

“Boring,” James says, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you both step out into the cold December air. “I’ll see you on the run tomorrow, right?”

You can’t help but smile, even as your thoughts drift to the never-ending list of things to do. “Unfortunately,”

“I’m sure an 8k will wake you from your hibernation,” he grins.

[northwindow]

hey julia !! hope ur doing well... am asking u [instead of messaging!] this bc i imagine u might say some rly cool stuff that other ppl would love to see also lol... but i just wondered if u had any basic tips or resources about like developing a (short-term) writing routine? the context is not fiction writing but like academic but i feel like my academic writing is a creative practice so yeah, hope that makes sense! hope its okay to ask ! have a lovely day <3

hi anna marie! you ask the very question i need answered for myself… i am in a very slow place creatively so i feel silly to be giving advice! but i’ve been thinking about how to get things flowing again. very basic but helpful to me:

getting feedback from other people at a regular interval - i am very shy and this can feel like pulling teeth but it’s so worth it, i am always amazed how much it pushes me to finish things i would have otherwise languished on forever

reading a lot (of course) - it helps me to read a bit directly before starting to write. but also being intentional about it and having a defined list of inspiring works… i recently listened to david naimon interview joanna hedva and he asked them which writers were “squatting over” their latest book which i thought was a good way of putting it! i would like to curate a "squatters shelf" to dip into for inspiration on whatever project i'm working on

distinguishing between writing vs. editing time - this is hard for me because i am a very "edit as you go" type person but sometimes it's stifling! in another interview with tommy pico i heard him talk about his writing routine as very everything-goes, yes-and, accumulation-focused style on monday-thursday and then friday is reserved for finding what was good and refining it. i have always wanted to try this!

incorporating a degree of controlled randomness into the routine - whether it be randomizing where you physically work, what part of the project you work on, or brainstorming new ideas, i really enjoy drawing an option "out of a hat" (i hope that makes sense) at some stage of the writing process. i know i am going to be surprised and challenged by a guiding force even in a small way and want to see what’s going to happen.

something that has helped me a lot with routine in general is “habit stacking” i.e. trying to bundle a new task into something you already do regularly - i have not thought about how to do this with writing, but i have successfully bundled reading into drinking my morning coffee every day and it has changed my life significantly

also: i really like that you specified a short-term routine! i think temporary routines keep things interesting, help mark time, and more fully immerse me in things, so academia might be onto something with semesters etc… i am curious about trying to have a self-imposed writing “season” followed by an “off season” where i chill and eat peaches and watch the sopranos every night or whatever without guilt. (one might say i am chilling right now lol… but it’s definitely guilty chilling!) i also love that you see your academic project as a creative pursuit, i hope you are having a really fruitful time so far! ❤️

[httpsserene]

what's good my fellow f1 fiends. thank you for all the love and reblogs on let's go golfing w/ ln4 !!! a lot of people enjoyed the dynamic and my humor, so it made the effort put into it worth it overall. it was lowkey a bitch to make fit in a single tumblr post, since there's a ten photo limit. anyways i say that all to say, i need help deciding on my next next idea!

im working on one request right now that'll probably come out before whatever is decided here just so y'all know :), pls send me more requests

oh! i also plan to do a few kinktober posts! idk how many or when i'll post them, i've also never written smut before so it's a good time to try and get some feedback

so if you want to be added to a kinktober taglist lmk!

but all the possible ideas listed in this poll below are non-kinktober fics, just regular posts that will have a few requests and kinktober fics sprinkled in between!

my singular anon, u know who u are, i promise you this fic will be out by monday! i just gotta finish the ending, and edit it to be readable

[themonotonysyndrome]

I'm down for anything from you, m'lady!

What about something like modern!AU + Coffee shop!AU with Warren/Cupcake or Celi/Castin? 👀

Like any good RomCom, it begins with a bad a bad pickup line in a coffee shop.

"If I have four quarters to give to the four prettiest women in the world, you would have a dollar!"

You press your lips into a straight line, mustering every bit of willpower not to laugh the longer the woman in front of you remains silent and the more sweat dripping down the cashier's neck.

"Are you saying that I'm only worth a dollar?"

Oh shit, oh shit. You just get chills running down your spine. Abort! Abort! Diving underneath a nearby table sounds a lot better than your initial order for coffee and blueberry muffins. But like watching a trainwreck, your feet are firmly planted on the ground due to morbid curiosity. How on earth is the cashier going to save his skin from this? Judging from his 'deer in a headlight' expression, you have very little hope for him.

"N-No! I just, uh, wait. Lemme try that again - " Your jaw is on the floor. Is he seriously going to try - "I'm confused. I thought happiness started with H, but mine starts with U."

"Does anyone ever tell you that you have dyslexia?"

"Yeesh, I'm just trying to give a compliment, sweetheart. You don't have to be so high and mighty about it."

"And I'm just trying to get my tea, but I guess we're both disappointed."

Stares. Nothing but silent stares from the both of them. It's a good thing that the cafe is empty right now because the queue will not be moving anytime soon. Fortunately, your boyfriend emerges from the storage at the back to break the awkward tension.

"What the - Castin, go get her order already. The lunch rush is gonna hit us in half an hour and we'll die if we don't take out the breads by then."

The cashier rolls his eyes and suddenly smirks. "Just for that, I'm gonna add extra sugar to your black tea."

The woman in front of you hurries over to the side, scolding him for his blatant disrespect only for her voice to be drowned out by the tea machines. Watching her trying to throw hands from across the counters is hilarious.

"Hey, Cupcake. Done with classes for the day?" Warren greets, now manning the cash registry. He looks good with the sleeves of his favourite flannel shirt rolled up and an adorable blue apron tied around the waist. Although if you asked him, he'd much prefer working without a shirt. It gets more customers, that's what he likes to say.

"All done. That's why I like Mondays. No more lecturers after 11 AM." You say in a sing-song voice. "And you know what that means?"

"My Cupcake will be chilling with me until the end of the shift?" Warren guesses with a beaming grin.

"You know it! I love catching up with my schoolwork here. The muffins are to die for. Speaking of which..."

"I'll get it ready for, ya. With your usuals too?"

"Yes, please."

The shop is perfectly located between two of the biggest universities in the country. A branch of the e-commerce university from Steelgate and the Imperial Academy for All. Needless to say, students flock here on a regular basis while those like Warren and Castin are taking a gap year to fatten up their funds for future tuition.

So it's not strange to see a student dropping up for a quick pick me up. What's strange is the same woman from yesterday returning once more.

"Welcome to Desmond Coffee & Cafe! How can I - Oh. Back so soon, sweetheart?"

"I'd rather you use my name instead of that inane term of endearment turn insult, Hammer."

"Well then, pray tell; what's your name?"

"It's Celica. The same one you've written on my cups for the last month, remember?"

"Right, right. And do you even bother to remember my name, Celica?"

"How can not? You're the most obnoxious quarterback and foreign exchange student from Intacia."

"C'mon~ It's alright to say it. Names don't bite~"

"Look, can I just have my usual orders? My next class is in 15 minutes."

"Well, if you feel like saying the magic word, I'll get right on it."

"...Fine. My tea and macaroons better be on the house if you make me late, Castin."

[greasers-stole-my-social-life]

The Secrets We Tell //

Dallas Winston x OC Curtis sister

Summary: After Cynthia Curtis suddenly gets iced out by her best friend, the notorious Dallas Winston, she’s desperate to take her mind off of him. After hearing about an end-of-the-year party at her school, she jumps at the opportunity to go. She no longer wants to even allow Dallas in her mind because to him, she’s now nothing. Tonight won’t be ruined by the infamous Dallas Winston.

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written, but I hope y’all like this one! Lmk if y’all wanna Pt II from Dallas’ perspective, and lmk what u think!

~~~

One whole week. An entire week without even being acknowledged by my best friend. Dallas Winston, known for being a heartbreaker and trouble maker, but never as someone who’s disloyal. He’s not one to shy away from confrontation, so it comes as a surprise to me that he won’t even tell me what he’s upset about. His devotion to the ones he calls friends is something most people admire about the hot head from New York, and something I’ve always flaunted on his behalf to those who don’t know him. How is it that that same person has now iced out one of the first friends that he’s made in Tulsa? How can he throw 6 years out the window like it means nothing? On Monday, I walked to the DX to bother Soda and Steve before going home, and unsurprisingly, Dallas and Johnny were already there. But, would you believe, the second Dallas sees me, him and Johnny say their goodbyes and walk the opposite direction. And on Wednesday, I come home with a box of Razzles, one of Dallas’ favorites, but when I walk through the door with my usual smile, he eyes me up and down, says goodbye to Johnny and Pony, and leaves! Leaves without saying anything! Not even bothering me for Razzles and tackling me for the box like usual! He just leaves! And he calls himself a best friend?!

It stings. But then I get angry. If he can forget about me at the drop of a hat, then I can do the same. I will live my life without Dallas Winston, and be perfectly fine in doing so.

***

“C’mon, Dar, I’ll be back before midnight!” I plead again, following him from the truck and into the house full of our regular group, except Johnny and Dally. The guys watch diligently as we bicker about the party for the 100th time this week. He sighs and swings himself around to face me, “Absolutely not, Cynthia. Not only is it a Soc party, but it’s a Soc party held in the woods. Forget it.” Darry didn’t understand why I needed to go to this party so badly, and it’s not like I could just tell him that my best friend wasn’t talking to me and I needed to distract myself; he’s too matter-of-fact to understand how I feel. He turns back around, and I decide to try one final time, “Okay, first off, it ain’t in the woods, it’s an after-game party at the park, and second, it isn’t held by the Socs; it’s a whole-school party.” Without saying anything else, we file into the house and Darry goes straight to the bathroom for a quick, cold shower.

I watch him turn the corner to the hallway, cross my arms, and plop down on the couch beside Pony. “Why do you even wanna go? You hate school parties,” Pony inquires, placing a bookmark in his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and glancing over to me. “It’s my last year of high school and I’ve never gone to a party. This is the last one of the year, and I just wanna see what it’s like I guess,” I lie. “Those parties suck anyways...there’s always some soc that drinks too much and convinces his friends to go beat up a greaser with him,” Soda chimes as him and Steve play blackjack at the kitchen table. I narrow my eyes and stare at them in disbelief, “You guys used to go to those parties all of the time, and you still do!” Soda and Steve share a glance with each other before Steve pipes up, “And? We love fighting; it’d be weirder if we weren’t there.” I scoff and throw my head back against the couch as Pony begins to read again.

I sharply sit up as an idea pops into my head, causing Pony to jolt and drop his book. I earn a glare from Pony as he picks up his book again, and I make sure to mouth a ‘sorry’ to him as I give a light squeeze on his shoulder. “Hey, Two? Theoretically speaking, what would it take for you to sneak me into a school party, and tell Darry that we were going to the library?” I ask sweetly. His eyes don’t leave the TV screen as he replies, “It’d take a million dollars for me to lie to Superman, especially when the lie is as unbelievable as me goin’ to a library. Plus, I wouldn’t want to be responsible if you got jumped at the party. Your brothers would skin me alive.” 

Darry enters the living room again, smelling less like tar and sweat and more like tar and soap, and takes a seat in dad’s old chair in the corner, unfolding the newspaper. “Hey, Dar?” I start sweetly. “If it’s a question about the party, drop it,” he states coldly, not taking his eyes off the newspaper. “What if someone came with me? Like, Soda or Two-Bit?” I suggest softly. Darry lays the newspaper in his lap and lets out a big sigh, “Are you going to bother me about this for the rest of the day if I say ‘no’?” “Yup, and for the rest of your life too,” I respond matter-of-factly. “If you can find someone to go with you that I approve of, fine, but I want you back at 10, not 11, not 12. And, if anything happens tonight, you’re never leaving this house again,” he says sternly before picking up his newspaper again.

***

“I still can’t believe you managed to get Darry to say yes to me being responsible for ya,” Two-Bit ponders as he drives us to the party. “I can be very annoying when I need to be,” I smile cockily, watching the street lights flash by the car. The air is cold as it whips through the cracked car windows, the moon full. With it being so close to summer, I would’ve thought it would’ve been warmer, and I’m second guessing my attire. Darry was right, I should’ve opted for jeans instead of this stupid, white skirt that was almost too short for me. Luckily, I had tights underneath, but when it’s cold in Tulsa, you’re gonna be cold regardless of what you wear.

I wonder what Dallas would think of my attire. He knows I hate skirts, but I wear them because of how much Mama said she liked them on me. And he knows I hate parties, and he probably would’ve made some remark about how stupid I’m going to look showing up in some tattered sneakers and an un-ironed black button up. Then he would’ve made fun of the Socs that are gonna be there, probably faking a gag at the very idea of them. He would’ve had the idea in mind that we would tell Darry we were running to the store so that Dallas could buy some cigs, when in reality, he would drag me to another part of town with a house full of drunk, lively greasers that smelt of Brylcreem and cheap beer.

It would be fun—but no. I am going to have a great time without my best friend. I am going to meet new people and celebrate my youth before I graduate and have to get a job and figure out my future. Maybe I’ll drink until my stomach hurts and go home drunk—or maybe not actually; I think Darry would kill me before I ever got the chance to graduate if I did that. But maybe I’ll drink a little! Just enough to feel a soft buzz that makes the world seem less daunting!

“You’re awful quiet for someone who’s been raging about this party for the last week,” Two comments as we’re stopped at a red light. I haven’t told anyone about Dally icing me out, and I probably shouldn’t, but when an opportunity presents itself…

“Hey, Two? Has Dally been acting weird to you?” I question as I stare out the window. “Not really...” he trails off. I turn to look at him and notice he’s chewing the corner of his mouth. “You’re lying,” I state bluntly, turning to face him with a stern expression. He sighs and giggles slightly, “Not lying, just avoiding, babe.” “Avoiding what?” I press, not taking no for an answer. “I’m really not supposed to say anything. When guys say stuff to each other, it stays between them. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them,” he explains politely. “Liar! You never follow the rules! None of us do!” I laugh, playfully punching him in the shoulder. “Okay, well, you have to drop it on this one. Trouble your brothers with it or somethin’,” he shrugs as he pulls into the dirt parking lot where other Socs and Greasers stand by their cars, some staring us down while others give a quick wave. “He talked to my brothers?” I ask. But Two ignores me, and gets out of the car before he can answer and I can ask more. I step out and walk beside Two and a few other greasers we know that we parked beside.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m at the party I jumped through hoops to get to. I’m just going to have fun, and ignore my thoughts of Dallas for now. I’m at the party, I’m going to have fun. I’m at the party, I’m going to have fun. I’m at the party–

“Hey! Cynthia, right?” A soft, yet husk voice calls out from behind us. Adam Martin, a tall, dirty blonde, brown-eyed gem from Texas that moved here a couple months ago runs up to us. I don’t know much about Adam other than he has a younger sister named May, made it on the football team despite starting at our school halfway through the year, and he’s awful at math to the point where it’s laughable; but it’s impossible to laugh at him because he’s far too kind. And surprisingly, he’s a Greaser with all of the Soc qualities. Unlike us Greasers, he’s popular, drives a brand new stinger that he won in a raffle a couple months ago, doesn’t put grease in his hair, but has frizz-less curls, and he sports a varsity jacket around school while every girl swoons over him and tacks his last name onto theirs in their notebooks instead of taking notes in English.

“Uh, yeah, we have trig together, right?” I inquire with a smile. “Yeah, that’s right! I didn’t know you’d be here, I’ve never seen you at any parties,” he observes with a big smile, and the whitest, shiniest teeth I’d ever seen. I turn to Two-Bit and wave him off as I walk beside Adam. Two nods his head and runs along with his buddies to find a keg. “Yeah, usually I’m much to busy with homework for parties,” I explain, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, then clasping my hands behind my back nervously as we continue. “I wish you would’ve come to more,” he divulges, and suddenly my cheeks are red and my smile is wide. “Why do you say?” I chirp, glancing up at his chocolate-swirled, hazel eyes. “I’ve kinda always wanted to talk to you since I got here, but I was pretty nervous…especially ‘cuz when I mention your name, your brothers and their friends get brought up a lot. And, I hope I don’t offend you when I say, but they sound like a pretty scary bunch,” he laughs as we reach a vacant bench at the heart of the party and take our seats.

I scrunch my nose with an awkward smile before explaining, “Yeah, I think that’s why a lot of people don’t talk to me. But I can assure you that they only fight if they have good reason!” He chuckles and says, “Well, guess you can’t argue with that.” We both let out a light laugh before catching a glance at each other, the moon and field lights illuminating each other’s features. “Do you want to get something to drink?” I ask, breaking up the moment. He smiles, “Allow me.” He gets up, leaving me at the bench. I glance around and catch Two’s eyes, and flash him a thumbs up so that he can return to his group.

See? I can have fun without Dallas! Who needs him when you have Adam Martin to keep you company.

I see Adam at one of the coolers, taken away in conversation with Chet Grimes, fellow football player and professional douchebag. I hide my discontent at the sight of Chet, and observe who else is at the party. Lisa Hughes, Cindy Sanchez, Heath Callister, Dallas Winston, James Turnigan—Dallas?! What is he doing here?! He hates these stupid high school parties!

Dallas stands beside Sarah Hannigan as she rambles on and on to him about something incoherent to me, all the while, he appears to be looking around the party. Perhaps he’s people watching like I am. Or maybe he’s looking for me—no. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be because he has no reason to. Clearly he’s upset, and that’s why he’s not speaking to me anymore, so he probably has friends with him and he’s looking for them. Whatever, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing.

I look around for Adam, but seem to have lost him in the crowd. Not wanting Dallas to see me by myself, I get up quick and look around for any sign of Two and his friends. It’s as though every single student decided to show up right here, right now. I squeeze past different groups of people and hear a familiar laugh. Thank God, I found Two-Bit!

Two’s already drunker than a gambler at the racetrack, and normally, I’d be annoyed, but, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’ve never been happier to see Two in my life. I smile at him and the other Greasers before joining the circle that they’ve created. While the group babbles about their greatest hits against Socs, my eyes dance around the party to try and find Adam. Again, he’s nowhere to be seen, and I try to listen to what the guys are saying. But it’s hard to concentrate when you know your, maybe, best friend is around you, yet you can’t talk to them because your pride prevents you from it.

Why was Dallas here anyways? He’s the one that always talked about how much he hated the whole concept of high school, and how I should just drop out like him. But now he’s here? Doing what? He’d much rather be at the rodeo or at Buck’s, and he wouldn’t be caught dead at some high school kickback at the park. Or at least not usually. Maybe he’s looking for a fight with an easy target? But why would he choose a drunken Soc? He prefers a challenge, even when he’s way in over his head; I can’t possibly imagine him hanging around a party looking to fight some rando wearing tan corduroys and freshly polished shoes.

“There you are!” Adam exclaims behind me, startling me ever so slightly. I turn to face him before he apologizes kindly and hands me a beer in a red solo cup. I say thank you, and follow him to a group of his friends nearby, taking a final glance over my shoulder to see if I could see Dallas again. But I don’t. It’s as though he vanished. Maybe I had imagined him here? Probably, I mean, with how much thought I’m giving him, you’d think I was crazy.

Even though Adam and I stand with the group, we have our own conversation as though the others don’t exist. His family’s broken, like mine, but not in the same way. He has a mom and dad, but they treat him like he doesn’t exist because they’re too focused with work and his little sister, May, who’s just 3 years old. But he explains that she sees him, and he’s okay with things that way. And believe it or not, that Stinger that he won? He absolutely despises it. He jokes about it constantly, causing me to laugh more than I should. He says the car is way too small for a 6’4” guy like him, and he’s embarrassed every time he has to squeeze into that tiny sports car after school. And even more embarrassing, the first time he got out of the car, he practically fell out because one of his shoes got caught on the edge of the floor. His reenactment of the event causes me to laugh louder than I ever should, especially when, during the explanation, Adam actually falls and spills some of his beer on his pristine varsity jacket. I help him back up, and he excuses himself as he chuckles to go and find something to clean up his jacket.

Realizing that the rest of the group doesn’t care too much for my laughing presence, I step away to find Two again, finishing off whatever is in my cup. I see Two by a keg and start making my way over. Perhaps it’s the buzz from the alcohol or the disorienting high of laughing so much, but I don’t realize the tall, dark figure standing beside Two until it’s too late.

“Hey, Cyn,” Dallas greets sheepishly. Two giggles ever so slightly and says, “I will leave y’all to it.” I watch him laugh and stumble away towards a group of girls who seem to be amused at his behavior. “What was that about?” I ask, trying to hold my composure and not seem buzzed. “Hell if I know, that’s just Two, but what are you doing here anyways?” Dallas inquires, seemingly bothered by my presence. “I could ask you the same. You don’t even go to school,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

“What’s your deal?”

“Seriously? You’re gonna ask me that?”

“Okay, fine. Forget it then. What time are you supposed to be home?”

“Don’t see why that would matter to you.”

“Jeez, lay off would ya? It’s a quarter to ten, I can’t imagine Dar would want you out any later than that. Why don’t I take you–”

“No.”

Dallas stares in disbelief. I narrow my brows and turn away to pour myself more beer from the keg, but can’t seem to figure out the spout. Dallas watches in amusement before teasing, “M‘kay, lightweight, let me get that for you.” He scoffs as he fills my cup, and suddenly my eyes start to burn with tears. “Why are you mad at me?” I wince. Dallas suddenly looks confused, “Mad at you—why are you about to cry?” “I’m not, and yeah, you’re clearly mad at me. You don’t talk to be anymore, and you ignore me when we’re at home, and you obviously told Two-Bit something ‘cuz he lies every time I ask him about ya,” I fight back tears, but a couple stream down my cheeks before I wipe them away. He laughs slightly before handing me my drink and guiding me to a fallen tree by the field for us to sit on.

“I’m not mad at you, and also, I’d prefer you didn’t talk to Two about me because half of it won’t even be accurate,” he chuckles, playing with a ring on his finger. “If you’re not mad at me, why aren’t you talking to me? Obviously something’s wrong!” I exclaim as I stand up quickly and face him, causing a little bit of my beer to spill out over my hand. Dallas scoffs again, looking away from me before standing up as well, “It doesn’t matter what’s wrong anyways. You’re fine whether I’m here or not, and I’m sure Darry prefers it that way too! I drink, I smoke, I keep you out past curfew–”

“So all this is because of Darry? He told you–”

“Darry didn’t tell me anything! It’s me, I’m telling you! We don’t make a good team, and you deserve better.”

“What?! Where is this even coming from?! Never once have I said to you I’m better than you–”

“You don’t have to!”

“Cynthia, is everything okay?” Adam surprises me, and I turn around to look at him, tears now freely flowing. “Everything’s fine, she’s just–” Dallas starts. “I didn’t ask you,” Adam glares at Dallas before turning to me again softly, “Are you okay?” My stomach begins to turn, but I confirm, “Yeah, everything’s fine. This is my brothers’ friend, Dallas Winston, the biggest grade-A asshole.” “Why don’t I take you home,” Adam suggests, holding out his hand. My stomach grumbles again before Dallas chimes, “I’ve got it, her brothers won’t be happy with a stranger taking her home anyways.” “Well I’m not letting her go with you if she’s crying and yelling at you,” Adam states firmly. Their words begin to get muffled as the familiar taste of alcohol begins to resurface.

Oh no.

I turn away from both of them, holding onto Dallas’ forearm as I throw up onto the grass in front of me. Onlookers gasp, giggle, point, and everything in between. Adam takes a step back with a look of disgust on his face, while Dallas is quick to place a hand on my lower back while the other holds my hair out of my face. As I lean over and look at my foamy vomit that’s sinking into the ground, I turn bright red, not even wanting to look at everyone else around me.

I’m going to die of embarrassment before I ever graduate, this is it.

Before anyone has a chance to make any sort of joke, Dallas shouts for everyone to hear, “If any of you so much as look at her funny, I will personally make it my mission to make sure you never step foot in Oklahoma ever again!” Eventually, everyone turns around and goes back to their conversations, terrified of the infamous Dallas Winston causing them harm in any way, and I finally look around and don’t feel as scared. “You okay, doll face?” Dallas whispers, keeping his hand on my lower back as I stand beside him and look at Adam. “Uh, you know, I’d better get going, but it was great meeting you, Cynthia,” he awkwardly gives his farewell, taking a final glance at the vomit before walking away briskly.

I cringe at the interaction before glancing up at Dallas. He can’t help but smirk and sigh, “Let’s go home, barf bag.” I glare at him before turning away to smile. As we walk back to the car, a drunken Two-Bit’s laugh can be heard along with some disgruntled Socs. Dallas hands me the keys before saying firmly, “Passenger’s seat, not driver’s, kid.” He walks away to retrieve our giggling jester, and I continue making my way to Buck’s car.

I’d know that car anywhere. Dallas drives it more than Buck does most of the time, and it’s the first car I ever drove. Dallas and I had gotten high when we were 14 and were in an abandoned parking lot when I mentioned how terrified I was to learn how to drive. Suddenly, I was being egged on to try it out, and how there’s no better time than the present. Yes, I definitely should’ve been sober, and yes, I probably shouldn’t have listened to a higher-than-a-kite Dallas Winston, but there I was, behind the wheel of a beautiful, red Thunderbird, telling Dallas how nervous I was that I was going to crash it. At one point, Dallas grabbed control of the wheel when I was heading towards the only other car in the lot, but once we diverted a 15 mile per hour crash that definitely would’ve taken our lives, we put the car in park and laughed hysterically. When it’s just Dallas and I, he still teases me about how awful of a driver I was at that time, and I can’t help but laugh at the thought of having to explain to Buck how I crashed into the only other car in the parking lot, going under the speed limit, while high on one puff at six o’clock on a random Thursday. I wish I could go back to that moment.

I try to stick the key into the lock, but struggle before actually being able to unlock the car door. As if on cue, Two and Dallas show up right as I get the door open, and Two practically dives into the backseat. Dallas pushes the seat back into place and makes a dramatic, yet sarcastic, gesture for me to get in, somewhat gently closing the door after me.

I glance back at Two, and he’s nearly knocked out, his eyes getting heavier and heavier the more I stare, and by the time Dallas settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car, Two’s out like a light. I turn and look at Dallas with a light smile as he turns his head to back out. Before he does, we stare at each other for a moment. Without saying anything, he tells me that he’s not angry at me, he’s scared of something. He gets the car moving again, and we begin our short journey back home.

“On the bright side, we’ll make it back right at ten, so your brother won’t be chewing anyone’s head off tonight,” Dallas comments, pulling a cigarette out of the pocket inside his light brown, leather jacket. “Light this for me would ya?” Dallas asks, using the cig to gesture to the glove compartment where Buck keeps the lighter. The lighter, which is nearly empty, struggles to ignite, but of course, the second it does, I burn my thumb and drop it on the floor of the car, cursing under my breath and cradling my hand. “Klutz,” Dallas teases before taking my hand, and briefly sucking the stinging part of my thumb to cool the burn before letting go of my hand. Seemingly shocked by his own actions, Dallas sits up straight in the seat and stares forward, clearing his throat. My heart is pounding out of my chest as butterflies tickle the sides of my stomach.

What was that? Why am I feeling like this? Was Dallas somehow attractive? My best friend, Dallas? The same Dallas who belches after every sip of soda? The one who hocks a loogie after every cigarette and measures how far it goes? The same one who leaves the toilet seat up?! Attractive?! No way in hell! I’m just buzzed and confused and coming off the anxiety of embarrassment. There’s no way that that was attractive. Think about how many girls he’s done that to. Gross. Think gross thoughts, think gross thoughts, think gross thoughts–

“So Buck has this new broad staying with him, and, get this, she wants him to quit drinking to be with her. And guess what he said? He said he would! Can you believe that?” Dallas gossips animatedly. I shake my head from its brain fog and exclaim, “Nuh-uh, no way! Buck? Who owns a bar? That’s insane.” “That’s what I’m saying, there’s no way that’s gonna work, I hate to say it,” Dallas chuckles. “Well…” I trail off with a smile, imagining how whipped Buck must be to consider quitting.

“‘Well’ what?”

“Maybe he really likes her.”

“So?”

“Maybe he really wants to change for her.”

“Not Buck Merrill, that’s impossible.”

“Don’t be so severe on ‘im. What if he really sees a future with her? It might be worth it.”

“The futures not even guaranteed though…I mean, what if they end up hating each other? Or she leaves him or cheats on him or–”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

The car’s silent, then Dallas says, “I guess it would work out then. They’d be happy.”

I look at the small burn on my thumb and run my other thumb over it. It’s no longer stinging, but there’s a small blister. The thought of Dallas fixing the burn crosses my mind again, and I find myself smiling wide.

Have I ever made Dallas feel this way?

We pull up to my house, but neither of us move, stuck in the comfort of each other’s, and Two-Bit’s, I guess, company. I search the depths of my mind for the right thing to say, anything to call him my best friend again. I just want him around again, even if it was just to tell me how awful of a driver I am, or how I can’t hold my alcohol, or how I’m wearing a skirt even though I hate them. How could this have happened? How could we go from goofing around everyday to crossing the street when we see each other? How do we go back?

“I was never mad at you,” Dallas starts, fiddling around with his Saint Christopher as he stares down the street and scoffs, “I don’t think I ever could be mad at you, even if I really wanted to be.”

Knowing Dallas wouldn’t look at me when trying to formulate some sort of twisted apology, I stare down at the empty lighter on the ground, pick it up, and mess with the flint. “Then why’d you stop talking to me?” I question sadly.

“I don’t know…It’s like one day I woke up and realized you would be moving forward without me, y’know,” he uncomfortably snickers.

“What could you possibly mean? What would I be moving on to?” I press, holding the lighter between my hands and staring out the windshield.

He scoffs in disbelief, “C’mon, Cyn. You’re smart and wanna leave Tulsa, so you will. You put in those college applications, you’re saving up for a car, you even talk about your dream of living in California like it’s set in stone. Like there’s no talking you out of it. It’s going to happen.”

I turn to face him, and explain, “I’m not going to stay in Tulsa forever, of course not, but that doesn’t mean I should be punished for it. I want change, and I want to start somewhere fresh and have the freedom to try everything. That’s not here in Tulsa, let alone Oklahoma, and you’ve even talked about wanting to leave here. I just don’t buy it, Dal. What’s the real reason you shut me out? And be honest.”

He finally looks at me, his eyes filled with annoyance and a touch of anger. “I don’t like how you make me feel,” he admits coldly.

I’m taken aback, thinking about how to answer. Before I can, he adds, “It’s just annoying that I can’t be how I usually am around you…Like tonight for instance. I should be drunk and trying to pick up every broad I see, but I’m not. I’m completely sober and driving you home, making sure you get home before curfew, and making sure you don’t go home with some jock who you barely know.

“And last week, when you showed up early to Buck’s and waited for me to get there, and then that creep from Nebraska hit on you. And instead of knocking his teeth in, I bit my tongue and walked you out. And that’s not me! I love fighting! I would’ve jumped at the chance to knock him to the ground! But I didn’t because I knew it would’ve made you cry. You would’ve resented me for it, and I would’ve had to make it up to you a hundred times over because I would’ve scared you.

“I got so tired of you, but I hated not having you around at the same time, which is why I went to that stupid party. I hate that I feel the need to be more like that dipshit you were talking to tonight—And I don’t mean a jock, I mean being some sort of prep that’s respectable and on his way to becoming one of those stupid neighbors that’s obsessed with how his lawn looks or something. I don’t want to be that! You know how much I hate preps, and I know how much you hate them, so why do I feel the need to be that way for you?! It’s not fair.”

I can’t help but let out a quick laugh, “Why would you care what I think?” Dallas turns away with a huff, and before he gets the chance to say anything, Two chimes in, “Because he likes you!” My smile falls and those butterflies start dancing around my stomach again. Dallas is quick to turn and face the smart ass sitting in the back seat, “I told you not to say anything!” Two just laughs and sits up in the back, laughing directly in the face of danger. I’m quick to push Dallas back into the front before he does something he’ll regret.

“Dallas, is that true?!” I interrogate, making sure to keep a neutral tone despite feeling a strange sense of joy. Dallas looks to me, his eyes softening, but before he even gets a chance to answer, my door is opened, and Darry stands leaning over the car, “You’re late.” I turn to Darry, then back to Dallas, who hasn’t said a word and has since turned a soft shade of red. I face Darry again and smile sheepishly, “But I’m home, aren’t I?” Two-Bit leans over the center console and burps, “Sorry for bringing her back late, Sir.” Darry just roles his eyes and steps away from the door so that I can get out. “Thanks, Dally,” Darry says before closing the door. “No problem, Superman,” Dallas jokes before starting the car back up. I take a final glance before he speeds off with Two-Bit in tow, and I can almost make out a beaming smile from the guy everyone deems as angry at the world and bitter.

I grin widely as we make our way inside, where Soda and Pony sit on the couch, saying their “ooh”’s as we walk through the door. But I don’t care. No matter what punishment Darry gives, it doesn’t matter. Dallas Winston, the boy I’ve known since I was 11, who I thought I had all figured out, was a complete mystery. Dallas, my best friend, has been hiding a part of himself from me, and I had no idea.

As Darry explains the consequences that come from being out past curfew, I stare blankly into his eyes. He yaps on and on, eventually pointing out the smell of alcohol hovering around me, but even then, I can’t stop thinking about Dallas. How long has he liked me? Why hasn’t he tried to make a move on me, after all, isn’t that what he’s kinda known for? If Dallas wants something, he always gets it. And why would he have gone out with Sylvia? Could Two-Bit have been confused? He has been drinking…

But he smiled.

He doesn’t smile like that very often. Was a part of him happy that Two said what he said? Dallas isn’t one to talk feelings, so maybe by Two-Bit blurting out his secret, it was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. And that would mean, it’s true. Dallas Winston likes me. Likes me.

“…grounded for a month,” Darry finishes, pulling me from my thoughts. “Yeah, okay,” I agree quickly, getting up from the kitchen table and walking to my room. “What?! No argument?!” Darry shouts as I close my bedroom door, throw myself onto my bed, and squeal into my pillow, something I normally would be ashamed of, but I can’t help it.

I wonder what Dallas is thinking right now. I wonder if he’s thinking of me, or maybe he’s too preoccupied with getting Two-Bit home. Hopefully Dallas isn’t too harsh on Two, he was just being his usual self. And surely, he must’ve learned his lesson; never tell Two-Bit Mathews who you like. But I’m sure glad he did.

[bigbrainkatrina]

In All the Gin Joints in All the World, He Asks For Coco Moo

"Ah, I'm fuming, Sheila," Drew explains as if that is a very normal hobby. "You remember my arch-foe, James Possible?"

She snorts. Arch-foe. Dumb. "Yes," she chuckles.

"This is his daughter," he growls and then says in an annoyingly shrill voice, "She can do anything!"

"Uh huh," she laughs. "Bitter much?"

i. try the coco moo. it's soothing.

You meet the most interesting characters working late nights in Go City. Weekdays especially. That's what draws out the real sad sacks.

She almost laughs at this Poindexter the second he saunters into her bar. Body so thin and springy, he wobbles like a penguin with each kick of the squeaky shoe. His glasses are unflattering at best, crooked and likely snatched from an old man just trying to read his paper in the park. And God — that suit! Navy blue sport coat with a clip-on bowtie from a party supply store.

Poindexter looks so oblivious looking over the seedy tavern with beady eyes, so it surprises her when his voice scratches like a dog bark and he slouches into the bar and spits, "Appletini. More on the apple, less on the tini and in separate glasses please."

She groans and leans towards him. "Uh huh. Well you know what they pay me for, right?"

He shakes his oblong head. "I'm unfamiliar. A genius like me spends most of their time at coffee shops and libraries, not riff-raff like this, but my dear, it has been a day."

Ah, his braggadocio brings out the nasally underpinnings to his deep voice.

"Uh huh," she drawls. "Cool backstory. Anyways, I'm paid to put a lot of apple and a little bit o' tini into a metal shaker and shakey-shake 'em. Then I give it to you. If you're gonna be a fussy cuss, you can just buy the full bottles and I'll give you your own glass and shaker."

The man scratches his chin ��� wow, his fingers are like a baby's. So tiny she's surprised they can even bend. "Mm, I would — but then Mother would call me and ask why I spent so much on a bottle of tini."

"Your mother?!"

"Mm yes — well — it's my account — she just — erm — has access to it…" he grumbles and his cheeks glow like mulberries.

"It's not actually called tini by the way but alright," she smirks and slides three glasses over to him. Apple, tini, and whatever Poindexter whatever proportions Poindexter wants it to become. "Closed or open tab?"

"Depends — do you have Coco Moo?"

"What?"

"Nyrgh. Closed tab."

He hands her his debit card and while she doesn't do this for everyone — she sneaks a peekaboo at the name because he's just so much. She needs a name to her pain. "Andrew Lipsky?"

"Yes," his eyes nervously scroll elsewhere. "But if you want to see my work, you can internet my pseudonym: Doctor Drakken!"

Internet my name — what the flip is this guy talking about? She almost asks but spots some regulars somehow managing to jam their entire party of four through the same door frame at once. Ugh. She hands the card back to Poindexter and winds up getting slammed with a rush.

Poindexter gets aggravated early into the rush (it's very noisy) and slaps his notebook shut, leaving behind a very specific clump of cash as a tip. When she has time for it, she counts it off and finds that it's a perfect 15%.

Huh.

ii. to prove that i'm brillianter than the lot of them

If you asked her why exactly he likes her joint so much, she could not even fake a response. But Poindexter struts in every night, at least every night she works. She's a part-timer after all. Monday through Thursday, eight to two thirty AM with one half hour break at eleven. All her other weekday time is devoted to studying — she's a sophomore at Go City U — paying through the nose to get herself a teaching degree so she doesn't need a side hustle anymore.

Well — her weekend life isn't really a side hustle. Her dumb lummox of a brother calls it that — she calls it a charity case. She's actually not that into it — crime fighting that is — but she does have superpowers and regrettably loves violence — so it'd be weird if she wasn't out there saving the world.

It's just part time anywho.

Her big brother though? He wants her to quit the bartending gig and drop out of college because duh um Shego! the city needs you blagh gurmp I'm really stupid. So not happening. Unlike her brothers who never questioned their reality, she has direction. She studies hard and works for those tips because one day — she's blowing this joint. No more superhero antics for her.

God, she's a freakin' superhero. That'll never roll right off the tongue. But yep, she's got the key to the city and everything. You already know who she is. The moody green one from Team Go. And she's the only one with her head on straight. Mego, Wego, Hego — God, she can't believe she let them call her Shego.

To be fair, her pitches — Fuckgo, Shitgo, Pissgo — though brilliant names, were a little juvenile and she should have known better.

iii. the traditional captive - captor relationship

Poindexter ends up being such a character. Beyond that pocket protectin' exterior — he is committed to being a regular at this bar, though he still hasn't decided on his drink yet. But he always ventures to see if the bar has introduced Coco Moo yet, the answer always being no.

So every night is a new concoction. Even an apple with only a bit o' tini is too much for the guy to stomach. She doesn't get what the appeal is for him but he always shows up, and he always sits in the same seat and takes up three other stools with his backpack and binders.

When she has time, she hears him out. He loves the sound of his own voice and over time, his rants become an anthology of all the times that people laughed him out of something. Like the time the kids laughed him off the four square court. Or the time he got laughed off stage in a high school performance of The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Or the time James Possible laughed him out of college.

Yes, yes. James Possible. She has no idea who that schlub is but he comes up a lot. James Possible this and James Possible that, ugh. She starts to hate James Possible too, if only for making a neat bookends to Poindexter's pathetic life of rejection.

It's about a month into him coming to her bar that he officially becomes a regular. He struts in as always and her coworker elbows her in the ribs. "God, I hate that guy," the coworker growls. "He never fucking tips."

Huh. Weird.

She doesn't know what to say because whenever she serves him, Drew tips a solid 25%.

iv. fo'sheezy it's off the heezy

It's not every night you come out from the kitchen and find that your favorite customer has turned blue, and yet here we are.

He doesn't even seem stressed out about it. No, he's just leafing through the drink menu as always, trying to find something (that regrettably isn't Coco Moo) that could possibly give him some semblance of happiness.

She almost wonders if he's even noticed his new look but she knows she should give him more credit, so she hangs in the back kitchen for a little bit until she can think of a joke. Because something about him being blue is making her anxious, she is so not coming out until she can properly defuse the whole thing.

After ten minutes, she decides to go with the first joke she came up with, even though that now feels stale and disingenuine. But she sells it as an off-the-cuff gag when she leans in and snarks, "Wow. Violet Beauregarde over here, huh?"

Drew looks over his glasses and slides them back up. "Ha ha. And that's not a funny ha ha...but, — mhrm, it is a funny story. You see — it was a Tuesday…"

She rolls her eyes. "Eh, I'm good on storytime." Drew's smile falters and for a moment he actually seems disappointed. But no — he loves it when she kicks his teeth in like that. It's probably because his mom was too nice to him.

There's a quick flush of lime across her own cheeks but she tosses it off. "By the way, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" he licks his lips.

She holds up two fingers and retreats back to the kitchen, already biting her lip. She really doesn't want to go through with this but it's too late now. There's a simmering pot of homemade hot chocolate waiting for her — or rather, him.

She's embarrassed to say but she actually came in early to prepare this: two cups of whole milk, a quarter cup of sugar, two tablespoons of cocoa powder, a cup of chocolate chips, a teaspoon of vanilla extract, and a cinnamon stick. Simmering for hours with the occasional stir. She used the extra time to power through her homework much to the chagrin of the kitchen staff but no one dared give her any lip — she was scary as Hell after all.

She pops out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand and slides one in front of Drew. His gasp of joy ("COCO MOO?!") is so endearingly shrill she can't help but stare as he slurps the drink all over his face. His eyes shine as his lips purse inward, a chocolate mustache spread across his apelike maw. He leans in and raises an eyebrow to her and very cooly says three words that shake her to the core. "You do care."

She fails to fight off an authentic smile and sits across him. They clink mugs and bottoms up.

v. i'm going to open up a can of freak on all of you

Aviarius is always up to some nonsense. Bird Boy says he's taking over the world but she can never quite make the connection as to how his actions will tangibly lead to absolute, infallible power. Hego says that's because she has no imagination, but really it's because their arch-foe is dumber than a sack of bricks. But Hego won't hear it. Dude's positively convinced that Aviarius is Public Enemy #1.

But will her brother kill the dastardly foe? No, of course not. Moral high ground and all that. Hego has all the power in the world and uses it for — what exactly? Sure, big man likes to pin the baddie to the ground and lecture him on the differences between right and wrong — but...big picture?

That's nothing.

Aviarius is deluded to think that he'll actually conquer the world. There's a few months where she's pretty sure he's in on the joke — but no he's dead serious. He's as career about this as Hego.

So every Sunday morning Aviarius pops up and robs a bank acting like this is it — his big break. And Hego takes it so seriously, and of course Team Go downs the bird once again and locks him up in the pokey. Yet somehow the cops are dumber than the villains and Aviarius flies again.

And Hego is scandalized! Aviarius boasts and brags as if a prison escape actually means something nowadays — though it's the equivalent of climbing out of the baby crib.

God, is there anyone in this city with two brain cells to rub together?

So she does something a little — ah — morally iffy? She — erm — she sabotages a classic Aviarius caper. Yes, she lets him get away. Because fuck it, why not. Possible change in the routine, and an opportunity for Hego to understand how fruitless this rivalry is.

"My Gods," Hego is shaken to the core as he watches Aviarius' silhouette dissolve in the sunlight. "We — we failed the planet. Team Go. We must not rest until we stop Aviarius. It could be this very moment that the mad man takes over the world."

She rolls her eyes and grabs her brother's burly shoulder. "Hey."

"Oh don't give me that look Shego!" Hego growls. "You'll see! You'll be talking about him in your political science class tomorrow! The ramifications of what it's like to live under a totalitarian mastermind!"

"Hego!" her voice catches in her throat. Are they really doing this right now? "Aviarius is an idiot who ran off with a big bag of money but guess what? Everyone knows his ugly mug! You think he can go around spending any of that? No! Chill. Out."

Hego makes to say something but instead sniffles. His bulking frame folds in on itself and he storms off.

Guess not. Today's not the day it implodes. She feels the metaphorical blood dripping from her mouth and wishes there was more of a smackdown in her town….

She feels bad — watching the Big Kahuna drag a thick arm across his nosey-wosey to wipe away the tears and snot. This is actually her fault after all. She sabotaged the mission and now she's starting to wonder what possibly motivated her to allow that.

It's just — petty. She's petty and has some work to do.

vi. ah, my teenage foe

It's been a month since Aviarius' hollow victory and surprise surprise — nothing of any significance happens. Except Coco Moo is officially added to the menu at the bar. While the drink is obviously cheaper than anything else on the menu, Poindexter tips tremendous percentages that mirror the money she used to get off him when he was weaning into over-priced self-destruction.

But this night — the game changes a little. Poindexter doesn't have much to talk about and in fact, he hasn't even brought his notebooks; his backpack is still strapped tight to his blazer.

This is the first night he asks for the Wi-Fi password and it take her a few minutes to actually find it somewhere in the employee handbook. He spends hours pouring over his laptop, tossing headphones on when the late night riff raff storms in to make a ruckus. She tries to make small talk with him but he merely grumbles indecipherable words like "Uhrm...nyrgh…" so she gives it a rest until her lunch break.

Ever since she started working here, she used her lunch breaks to go out for a smoke break and fit in some reading for school — and even though finals are coming up — she uses the half hour to slide onto the stool besides Drew. But he's too focused to even notice her, so she peers over his shoulder.

Kim Possible: She Can Do Anything!

She raises an eyebrow and looks over the site. It's some twelve year old cheerleader who is apparently saving the world with this dumb looking kid and his naked mole rat. Also available for babysitting gigs?

Weird.

The name too. Kim Possible. Why does that sound familiar?

"Yo, Doctor D!" she finally says.

Drew yelps and turns to face her, his blush is purple now because of the perma-blue skin. Super weird but she's also used to it. "Um...hello Sheila."

"You're not using our Wi-Fi to look at porn are you?"

"Huh? No! Wh—what is porn actually? Perhaps I am using it for that…"

She stares at him for so long and he doesn't even flinch, so she is forced to put a pin on that and steam ahead. "Don't worry about it. But um...seriously, what are you doing?"

"Ah, I'm fuming, Sheila," Drew explains as if that is a very normal hobby. "You remember my arch-foe, James Possible?"

She snorts. Arch-foe. Dumb. "Yes," she chuckles.

"This is his daughter," he growls and then says in an annoyingly shrill voice, "She can do anything!"

"Uh huh," she laughs. "Bitter much?"

Drew's face drops and he blushes. "Well my hubbub with James was a formative experience for me and to see his daughter do so well — out of sheer luck at that — "

He grumbles some other things but she stays hung up on the sheer luck part because that's a weird thing to say. So she asks him about it.

"Mm," Drew pauses and purses his lips. "I have a theory — see — this site is called kimpossible.com yes? Well — there's also impossible.com — for Team Impossible — you've heard of them I trust?"

Is it weird for a bartender to have heard of Team Impossible? Maybe? But of course she knows them and fuck it, she actually likes Drew so she tells the truth and nods. Strange she has to mull that over for so long, usually she's more knee-jerk in conversations, but something about Drew makes her want to be careful. Because this friendship might actually mean something one day.

Drew goes on to explain his theory that Kim Possible's first contact was actually trying to reach out to Team Impossible but made a typo...fascinating stuff really. Makes sense too, it's just one letter off.

But she can't stop thinking about Team Impossible…see, it was a week ago that she met them; it was for an interview. She likes their style, this whole capitalist heroism angle. Charging people for their services. Makes sense. The lack of a paycheck is why she can't stomach taking time for Team Go anymore. Freakin' bartending at minimum wage pays the bills. Not superhero antics. Those don't do her any favors. Hego refuses to accept any payment. Because of morals.

What freakin' ever.

Team Impossible turn her down though. They give her some corporate schlock about how their team isn't a good fit for her but she sees right through them; the boys' club just doesn't want to split the cut with her. Well. Okay. They will rue the day they — ugh. She's starting to internally rant like Doctor D.

By the end of the conversation, she's actually proud of Little Kimmie for knocking Team Impossible down a peg. But on the flippity, she hates this brat because once again, a hero who doesn't accept payment is storming the scene and that makes it harder for gals like her….

Gals who just want to put a roof over their head.

vii. has society gone completely to seed

She hates ceremonies — like, she already accomplished the thing, why does she have to show off? It's done. She's not a student anymore, she's alumni. Summa cum laude baby.

And see — now she's annoyed. She wouldn't have been annoyed if she didn't have to doll up for this dumb thing but guess what? She paid for extra tickets and guess who decided not to come anyways? Ah-yup-yup. There's an empty metal chair with a reserved sign over it. She's not stupid; she can tell that the Wegos duplicated themselves to fill out their row.

God fucking damn you Hego.

Among the black storm of everyone throwing tasseled caps in the air she peaces out. Enough is enough. "Where is he?" she growls at Mego.

Mego throws his hands up. "Listen, I don't want a fight right now — how about we just take you out and celebrate?"

"No. Where. Is. He?"

Mego looks aside and grumbles something. Sounds like Aviarius. Unfuckingbelievable. She snarls and spits. "Fuck him," she says coldly. "Seriously. Fuck him."

"I know, he's being a bit of a bonehead — " Mego starts to say.

" — a bit?"

"Okay, a lot of bonehead, I dunno," Mego shrugs. "Fuck, don't take it out on me. Listen if you want to fight let's just do it and get it over with, okay? You can yell and scream all you want right now, but when we're done we're going out — and we're not gonna talk about this — and we're gonna get fucked up. It'll be fun."

There's a long pause. "Should we go home?" the Wegos ask together.

"Yes," she and Mego say together.

After the twins depart, Mego looks her right in the eye. "Hego wants you to exchange your college hours for Team Go hours — "

" — no. I've already committed that time to the bar."

"To the bar?" Mego doesn't mean to sound judgmental but oho — he's really going through the motions of it. "I thought you wanted to be a teacher."

"Yes — what?! It's my job you ass — just because you decided to freeload in Go Tower and not worry about actually trying — you know what? Fuck it. I don't care."

It's not the first time a conversation between them has gone like this, and it's not the last, so Mego doesn't bother. They part ways and she feels kind of gross. He does too, because she's right. She's always been right, but it's easier to call her a crazy bitch and be done with it. But when the chips are down? No duh — Team Go is squandering on borrowed time.

She's shaking for some reason. It's weird. She's quit Team Go like seventeen times — oddly enough she's never thrown in the towel when Hego's around. Only with Mego, whom she actually kind of likes. And she always comes back. Be it a day or a few weeks, she comes back, ready to brawl.

This time though, it takes three months for her to return.

viii. do you think that I'm evil

"Nyrgh…"

"What are you grumbling about tonight? You're kinda pissing me off."

Drew looks up, looking worse than ever. He used to have such good posture — now he's a hunched over lunatic with darting eyes. "Demenz," he says simply.

"Oh God, what is it this time?" she shakes her head. "Did he call you Violet Beauregarde? Because you can tell him I came up with that joke three years ago."

"No, he hasn't quite found his nickname for me yet fortunately — " Drew ponders but shrugs it off. "Demenz invented the weather disruptor machine I've been working on."

"So? He invented it." Drew doesn't even bat an eye so she has to continue her lecture. "He obviously came up with it before you did, if that's what you're implying."

"Ah!" Drew waves a finger in the air. "I did not steal from him! No! I — I invented it too! You see, I came up with the concept independently!"

"Mhm," she smiles wryly.

"He can just build faster because he has an army of henchmen. It's not fair!" he pouts.

Yep. There it is. Another red flag. Drew's been throwing up a lot of them lately; she already knows he's a mad scientist aspiring to be a wacked out supervillain, but he's way too much of a softy for that field. She almost wants to sit Drew down and tell him the honest-to-god truth: that she is a superhero. Then she can give him some real talk pointers on how to get his act together.

Because this Kim Possible kid now? She's huge. She like saved the world six times or something last week. Like she's already graduated from fighting off goons like Aviarius. If Drew — Drakken — wants to compete — then he needs to let go of this stupid James Possible grudge and actually do the work.

"You know Doctor D," she says while wiping off a dusty glass. "You should just steal the weather gizmo from him if you want it that bad."

"Hm?"

"Steal it! You know — spooky evil stuff."

"Aaaaaah…evil..." Drew mulls it over and pulls back his stupid pompadour into a ragged ponytail. "Stealing, huh? Well — I prefer to call that outsourcing and either way, I don't have the manpower to do that, I'm a one-man band."

And that's the end of that for some time.

ix. you think you're all that

Drew gets banned from the bar one night. She's not even there to see it. Apparently Drew comes in with Demenz for drinks on a night she wasn't working and they got into a bit of a spat. Something about Dementor calling him the Genie from Aladdin, and Drew calling Dementor Winnie the Pooh.

Yeah. Dumb. Drew could have cooked up something better. He really needs to spend more time journaling so he can be faster on the uptake.

But there's a spat and that spat becomes a brawl. Everyone starts smashing things and at the center of it is her snivelling Poindexter. It's nights like these that she wishes she helped him out with the whole evil thing because Jesus Christ — someone beats the tar out of him. Yeah. A glass shatters across Drew's face and those splintered shards dig deep. He's got this gnarly scar running down his cheek, leading from the corner of his eye.

Honestly, he got off easy. With the mouth on him it's a wonder he didn't get into more trouble...but yeah, someone got the drop on him and now — that villainy career? It's probably over now. Poindexter doesn't have the moxie. How can he not see that by now?

She feels sad for him. Not enough to go visit him at the hospital but — there was — potential? He had this spark and it could have been fun but now...

...now she's catching herself brewing Drew's Coco Moo. She stops when she realizes he's not coming. She considers drinking it alone but pours it out into the sink.

x. but you're not

By day, she's a superhero. By night, she's a bartender. And every moment in between she's hungry.

She's addicted to job applications. At first she is very selective on what she applies for but there aren't any biters. When she does get lucky enough to score an interview, she hits the employers with everything she's got and somehow never gets a call back. Not even an email. So after some desperate months of that, she just applies everywhere.

She remodels her resume and draws up cover letters as if she's a full time writer. She can sell a book out of her stupid please hire me diatribes. But nothing seems to land and after six months of ten applications a day with no interviews — she gives up.

Because fuck it. It's not her that's the problem, it's the world that doesn't get when they're seeing gold and she's not going to wait up anymore.

So she becomes full time at the bar for some reason. She doesn't know why. Everyone she started with four years ago has moved on to bigger and better things — probably — she just kind of assumes those people are happier than her. The only thing that's consistent are the regulars — aside from Doctor D.

She thinks about him more often than she'd like to admit. She gazes at the door when she punches in, wondering if they'll push open to reveal that ungodly strut he always marched in with. Months pass by as if they're nothing and he never returns.

xi. i do think of us as kind of an evil family

The only reason they're at the chemical labs that night is because Aviarius and Mathter are teaming up to do — something. Who cares anymore. She just shows up because it's an opportunity for her to beat the crap out of someone.

But while she's sneaking around, she sees a man crouched over a safe. He's grumbling very loudly and is apparently deaf because he doesn't hear her footsteps pattering across the metal girder.

Gross, dry black hair, rattail, awful posture, tiny digits, and Violet Beauregarde skin peeping past the high-collar of his coat — oh God.

She squats down and watches him fuck up the safe combination again. He pulls out a notebook and reads off the numbers out loud. "Thirty six...twenty one...four. What — what am I doing wrong?"

She can't hold it anymore; it's like watching your teenager try to march out the door in that outfit. Like — honey no.

"Seriously?" she laughs.

You can hear a pin drop. For a second. And then you can't. Because Doctor Drakken shrieks and scrabbles away, but she grabs him by the boot and he trips into the safe. He looks at her and scrunches into a fetal position almost. Then he blinks and remembers her. "You're — you're — whatsername — the girl from the bar!"

She rolls her eyes but forgives him. Doctor D's not good with names. At least for people he actually likes.

"You're — " he stutters. "A superhero!"

She just grins and lets him process it all on his own.

"You're — you're Shego! Oh that makes sense — your name is Sheila Go, isn't it? I don't know how I didn't get that."

"Eh, most people don't somehow. Everyone in this city's an idiot so…."

"Mm, well I'm no idiot, I'm a genius!" Drakken declares. "I just seem to have copied the safe combination down wrong.

She rolls her eyes. "Are you kidding me with that? Dude, Doctor D, you never use the combination. Those change all the time — you want to bring the equipment — here. Move over."

Her fist lights up into a brilliant emerald and Drakken needs no reminding that he better back up. Her hand closes in on the safe and the metal immediately lights up at the intensity. It's hard to hold a flare this long — but for him? For him it's kinda worth it. So she drags her hand through the safe until she burns a little hole out and pow — the metal gap ker-thunks to the floor.

"So — you're helping me then?" he asks.

Her eyes widen a little. "I guess I am, huh?"

There's such an uncomfortably long silence that it almost makes more sense to kiss him than do what she is about to do.

"I don't want to do Team Go anymore, it's dumb," she shrugs, trying to play it cool. It's not like these thoughts have been tormenting her for years or anything.

"Ah, and I do need an assistant," Drakken grins something surprisingly charming. It's not like he's been a loser with no friends except the bartender ever since James Possible got him kicked out of college.

"I'm def not your assistant, but I'll do with partners."

"Sidekick?"

"Partners."

"Henchwoman?"

"No. Partners."

Drakken eyes her as if any second the cameras are about to swarm him from all over and broadcast his naivete and gullibility all across America. But no one comes.

"We'll stop you Aviarius!" Hego proclaims from waaaay across the lab, saying it with the relish of an actor who can deliver a line one hundred times and somehow always keep it fresh. "Even if it's the last thing I do."

She snaps and grabs his tiny hands, making the decision for him, rocking his arm up and down. "We'll talk logistics and titles later — let's steal the cash before my brother trounces that idiot. Drakken's your monicker right?" She wants it to sound like she didn't already know that — but she's no phony. Not like Hego. And Drakken sees right through the I-don't-give-a-fuck-facade.

He nods along anywho. Because he likes the banter.

She grins. "Good. Doctor Drakken and Shego. I like it. Kinda like Frankenstein and Igor — "

Drakken raises a finger to make the exact same point that just came to her mind.

"So not a lab assistant," she shuts that down fast and laughs as he droops like a rapidly wilting flower. "But we're going to make a big time villain out of you, Doctor."

He smiles and finally grips her hand back.

"Partners," they say together.

[zapreportsblog]

↱ my mother : the successful business woman ↰

➘ summary : In this story we see how Izuku grows up in the hands of a successful business women, watch as his mother becomes his hero, the hardships they face as a family and how Izuku gains new friends and siblings to come

➘ a/n : there’s now a masterlist for this story

➘ Chapter 3: The Gift of Education

O N L Y   T H E   B E S T   F O R   I Z U K U :

Monday morning arrived, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in Izuku's life. It was time for him to embark on his educational journey, but instead of attending a regular school, his adoptive mother, (y/n), had arranged for the top homeschooling teachers to come to their home. The grand study room was prepared with everything he needed to learn and grow.

As the clock struck nine, the first teacher arrived, a renowned scholar with a kind demeanor. He greeted Izuku with a warm smile, and they delved into the world of mathematics, science, and literature. The lessons were engaging and tailored to Izuku's interests, making him feel eager to learn more.

Throughout the day, more teachers followed, each an expert in their respective fields. The history teacher spoke of legendary heroes and their feats, inspiring Izuku to dream even bigger. The art teacher nurtured his creativity, guiding him to express his thoughts through sketches and paintings. The hero studies teacher delved into the characteristics of true heroes, instilling valuable life lessons within him.

As the lessons concluded for the day, Izuku was filled with a sense of wonder. The knowledge he had gained felt like seeds planted in the garden of his mind, ready to bloom and flourish with every passing day.

In the afternoon, after his last lesson, Izuku found himself sitting with (y/n) in the living room, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa. He looked up at her, feeling a profound sense of gratitude in his heart.

"Mama, why do you do all these things for me?" he asked, his eyes brimming with curiosity. "You don't have to arrange for the top teachers to come to our house. You already do so much for me."

(Y/n) placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with warmth. "Izuku, you are my greatest treasure," she said softly. "You deserve the top educational experience because you are capable of achieving greatness. You have a heart of gold, and your dreams of becoming a hero are worth pursuing with the best guidance."

She smiled, and her words wrapped around him like a protective embrace. "You see, being a hero is not just about having powers; it's about having a strong mind and a compassionate heart. By giving you the best education, I hope to nurture those qualities in you."

Izuku was in awe of her wisdom and love. Her words resonated within him, reaffirming his belief in himself and his dreams. He had found not only a mother but also a mentor, someone who believed in him unconditionally.

"But mama," he said earnestly, "I'm not special like All Might or the other heroes."

(Y/n's smile never wavered as she gently cupped his face in her hands. "Izuku, you are special in your own unique way," she said. "You may not have a quirk, but your heart is a quirk all on its own. Your determination, your kindness, and your resilience are what make you extraordinary."

"You're right," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I won't let not having a quirk stop me from becoming a hero. I'll work hard, just like you do for me every day."

(Y/n's eyes shimmered with pride as she hugged him tightly. "I know you will, my dear. And I'll be right here, cheering you on every step of the way."

From that moment on, Izuku's desire to become a hero burned even brighter. His mama's unwavering support and the gift of the best education filled him with determination to chase his dreams with all his heart.

As he prepared to face the challenges ahead, he knew that he was not alone. With his mama's love and guidance, he felt invincible. He was ready to take on the world and prove that heroes came in all shapes and sizes, and they could be born not only from powers but from love, courage, and the belief in oneself. And as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Izuku would grow, not only in knowledge and strength but also in the profound love he had for his mama, who had given him the greatest gift a child could ever receive—the gift of education and the belief that he could be a hero in his own right.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

As the afternoon sun painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, (y/n) decided to surprise Izuku with some quality time together outside of their usual routine. (Y/n) called the gym teacher, explaining that she'd be taking Izuku out for a treat, and the teacher happily agreed, looking forward to seeing them both the next day.

They stepped out of the house, hand in hand, ready for their little adventure. (Y/n) noticed that Izuku's eyes sparkled with excitement, and she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Where are we going, mama?" he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

"It's a surprise, my little hero," (y/n) replied playfully. "But first, let's get some limited edition items of all your favorite heroes!"

Eagerly, they explored the stores, finding action figures, comic books, and posters featuring the heroes Izuku admired. He felt like he was in hero heaven, and his heart swelled with gratitude for his mama's thoughtful gesture.

However, as they were browsing, fate had an unexpected encounter in store for them. Among the aisles, Izuku spotted some familiar faces—his old classmates from before he was adopted. His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity.

His classmates, recognizing him, approached with smirks on their faces. "Well, well, if it isn't the quirkless loser," one of them taunted.

"Yeah, what are you doing here? You think buying all this stuff will make you a hero?" another jeered.

Izuku's insecurities resurfaced, and he found himself feeling small and inadequate. But before he could respond, (y/n) appeared behind him, her presence commanding and protective.

"Leave him alone," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You have no right to mock him or anyone else."

His classmates, intimidated by (y/n)'s stern expression, quickly retreated, muttering apologies as they scurried away.

Turning to face Izuku, (y/n) softened her gaze. "Izuku, don't let their words get to you," she said gently. "You are not defined by whether or not you have a quirk. You have the heart of a true hero, and that's what matters."

Izuku looked at her, tears welling in his eyes. "But mama, they kept saying I'm quirkless, and that makes me weak."

(Y/n) knelt down to his level, her eyes filled with love and understanding. "Guess what, Izuku," she said softly. "Mama doesn't have a quirk either. Do you think that makes me a loser?"

"No, mama," Izuku replied, shaking his head. "You're the bestest, most greatest mama in the world!"

"And that's how I feel about you, Izuku," she said, wiping away his tears. "You are the most courageous, determined, and kind-hearted boy I know, and I'm proud to call you my son."

With her words, Izuku's heart swelled with happiness, and he couldn't hold back the tears of joy any longer. He jumped into her arms, feeling safe and loved in her embrace.

They continued their day, going to get ice cream at his favorite parlor. As they sat together, enjoying their treats, Izuku felt a sense of warmth and belonging that he had never experienced before. With (y/n) by his side, he knew that he could overcome any challenge, and his dreams of becoming a hero felt more attainable than ever.

In the arms of his loving mama, Izuku knew that he was not alone in his journey. He had a true hero by his side, someone who saw his worth beyond any quirk or power. With her support, he knew he could be the hero he had always dreamed of—one who would save others not only with strength but with love and compassion. And as the sun set on that memorable day, Izuku felt like the luckiest boy in the world, grateful for the gift of a mama who had filled his life with love, guidance, and the belief that he was capable of being a hero in his own right.

[mountain-in-springtime]

hi mal!!! i totally feel u in terms of procrastination— i have my thesis due on monday and i didn’t even start looking at my edits until today 0.o buttttt we r vibing

i’ve been listening to the mystery to me album by fleetwood mac ((really enjoying pre-stevie fleetwood mac)) what songs are helping u get through this busy time of the semester ?? <3

hi izzy!!! i hope everything goes well with your thesis! i definitely procrastinate on a regular basis, so i know what you're going through.

i loooooove fleetwood mac, and i honestly wish i knew more of their songs. i need to make the time really dive into their discography. i've been listening to a lot of different things lately. i've been listening to a lot of musical theatre (particularly sweeney todd, the original rocky horror show soundtrack, and something rotten!) but i've also been listening to a lot of classic country and also one of my playlists that just has a bunch of my favorite songs on it. as far as specific songs go, i've really been loving this must be the place (naive melody) by talking heads! it's just so fun!