#i know it’s good because this weekend while i was hurting myself in old ways i wanted to sabotage it. because it felt too alive. too real

[rustedhearts]

i want your things in my room (fratboy!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve harrington: resident frat boy heartbreaker. handsome, charming, good in bed—what's not to love? if only he loved you. based on this sexy thought of mine

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ rolly’s roller wheels blurbs commissions! ✶ blurbs!

tags: frat boy!steve, situationship, asshole-ish!steve, pining, kind of feral reader because i was feral writing this, smut.

"i want your things in my room, i miss you all of the time. i stalk myself on the internet just to see what you'll find...you look so cool, I wanna die. is it too soon to say what's on my mind?"

— in my room, julia wolf

for the lovely 🫧

wc: 2,095 (oops)

delta phi. saturday april 12th, 2009

Cords of muscle suffocated under the tight sleeve of a red cutoff—ripped while weight-lifting on the porch, you imagined. Knowing Steve, it was intentionally and meticulously cut in the bathroom mirror for a blurry cellphone image sent to another fling.

You never received texts like that. The only texts you received were late in the evening or at the crest of midnight:

you up?

coming over. unlock the back door.

The one trip-up in this eight month routine came two weekends ago at nine p.m.

coming over, brought you a surprise. want you to wear it saturday.

It was a tight white t-shirt promoting Steve for Delta Phi Senior President. You wore it like he asked, lingering in the basement corner of another Saturday party with a lukewarm beer you wanted to throw up when you saw hordes of other girls wearing the exact same thing.

He didn't even look at you that night.

But he messaged, an hour after you skulked home with a hoodie zipped over his face printed on your left tit.

didn't see you leave. can i swing by later?

He did. And you let him crawl over your naked body under a pink duvet and place his mouth wherever he liked. He didn't apologize, and you swallowed down the sharp sting of tears every time he told you how pretty you were—knowing every girl wearing his face that night received the very same treatment at one point.

You weren't special. You knew that. But he had such a way of making you feel like you were. Catching your eye through passing bodies, lifting his mouth in a sideways grin, wiggling his fingers in a tiny wave when he knew no one was looking. Cupping the back of your head in the checkout line at the coffeeshop when he passed by, because somehow he always knew when you were there. He never said a thing, but he had your heart stuttering every single time.

So, here you were. Another Saturday night in a dark Delta Phi corner, sipping a Twisted Tea and struggling to swallow past the lump of hurt in your throat when Steve's head turned to follow the path of a pretty and petite blonde. Watching his biceps flex under his sleeve, his hips turn in a pair of Levis often rumpled on your floor. You washed them once, when he came and got sick in your bathroom after a particularly intense recruitment night.

Steve lifted a wide hand and swept it through the front of his hair. You could almost smell it, the Old Spice soaked in those chestnut tresses. You used his bathroom on the second floor one time, found the red shampoo bottle resting on the edge of the tub.

And maybe you popped the cap and smelled it, closed your eyes and imagined Steve was right in front of you, pressing his cheek on your chest the way he did post-coital: panting wordlessly, letting you feel the warmth of his flesh clinging to yours, running your fingers through his hair to bring him back down.

Steve's eyes cutting your way yanked you from your warm, gut-wrenching thoughts of him. Over the swell of his own bicep: a pair of hazels fixing on your figure across the room. Your heart lurched to your throat when you locked gazes, fingers twitching to wave. He wouldn't wave back. You knew without a doubt.

But those lips quirked up in acknowledgement, and that was enough. Enough to have heat lapping at your face and coiling in your stomach. Enough to know he'd message after the party, when most of the crowd dispersed and his buddies wandered off to bed. Enough to know you'd feel his breath on your face tonight, feel his mouth over your body.

That was more than enough.

✶ ✶

You waited.

Waited—fully dressed on your bed, lamp clicked on in the darkness of the night—with the skin of your thumb between your teeth. Gnawing between glances at your phone, waiting for it to buzz with his name. The deeper the night grew, the hungrier you became. Hungry for his tongue sliding around your mouth, his fingers digging into your ribs with every pull back against his body. His palm cupped around your throat the way it often did when he took you from behind, keeping you braced against his chest so he could feel you struggle to catch your breath.

You waited. You bid your roommate goodnight through a closed door and waited. You peeled your outfit off layer by layer, checked your messages for his name, and waited. You laid back on your bed holding your phone to your faded-t-shirt-clad chest, and waited.

The hunger nestled between your legs, aching and pulsing with soreness. It was terrible how conditioned you were for Steve's attention. How horribly you craved it.

Somehow, his air of coolness made you want it more. When he avoided your eye, when your texts went unanswered, when he brushed by at a party and looped your pinkies together—you wanted him something awful.

But you wanted him most when you had him. When he was running his nose through the sweat on your neck, big hands sweeping over your stomach under the t-shirt he guided over your head. His t-shirt, always asked for in a groggy, early morning exchange before he left. When he was whispering—unwilling to wake your roommates—and promising that you were the only one he'd ever felt this close to.

"Swear nobody's made me feel so fuckin' high before," he'd say. "Love your body, baby, you're so pretty."

Tears squeezed at your lash line, burning as they spilled over. You swiped at them irritatedly, setting your phone on the nightstand and turning away from it.

And then it buzzed.

You flung your hands toward the vibration, snatching the scratched device eagerly.

coming.

missed you.

Falling back against your pillows, you let out a long, blissful sigh. He missed you. That was new.

Your phone buzzed with the long-awaited "here" text, and you had to catch yourself on the stair railing to avoid running toward the door. But the way you swung the door open and tugged him in did little to hide your excitement, and it had Steve grinning wide as you hurried back toward your room.

"Wait," he chuckled, stumbling over his sneakered feet. "Christ, you're quick to the belt tonight."

You clamped your bedroom door shut carefully, spinning around to find Steve toeing his shoes off at the end of your bed. His tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek when he turned to face you again. The smirk on his mouth was delicious.

Suddenly, all that hunger coursing through you fizzled to coyness. But Steve liked when you were shy. He thought it was cute.

"C'mere."

The way he called to you—softly, a sweeter version of his usual tone—always had your nerves tingling.

You stepped in front of him, giggling when he plucked at the faded, stained material of your bed shirt near your chest.

"Sexy 'jamas," he chuckled, swooping down to press your mouths together.

"Thought...you weren't...coming," you mumbled between detachments and quiet, wet smacks.

He said nothing this time, letting his hands drop to your hips to steer you around. He guided you onto the bed, and the pair of you moved like a well-oiled carnival ride until you reached the pillows. Two heavy palms pressed into the feathers on either side of your head, and Steve's mouth continued lapping at yours vigorously.

One thing about Steve was that he was always pleased to incorporate foreplay. He loved the art of kissing, and he knew it well.

Steve pulled away far too early, moving his lips to your cheek. Down your jaw, under the junction where nerves tingled for his attention under your ear. You fisted the thin fabric of his shirt as he dragged his nose across your jaw.

"Did ya miss me, honey?" His voice took on a low gravel that brought your hairs to their ends.

Your eyes fluttered between opened and closed, hips shifting on the bed. Your breath already shallowed.

"Mhm."

"Mhm? Tell me," he cooed, nose rubbing a small circle into your cheek, breath hot on your skin. "Tell me you missed me, pretty girl."

You blinked your eyes open, glazing over the length of his lashes and flecks of honey and emerald in his gaze. You could barely feel your own body, could barely form a sentence on your own.

"I missed you," you whispered dazedly.

Steve moved his eyes down to your stomach as he dragged the t-shirt toward your collarbones. His hand glided over your navel and between your breasts.

"Missed you, too. Take your shirt off f' me, sweetheart."

He knelt at the end of the bed and watched you undress intently, eyes tracing the curves of your body as he pressed to his knees and fumbled with the buckle of his belt. When the pair of you were bare, he returned to his place hovering above you, and you took your chance to roam your hands over his chest. Firm, warm, smooth-skinned. Lifting your back off the bed, you buried your nose in his throat and inhaled deeply. Steve's chuckle rumbled through you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to feel ashamed.

"Smell good," you remarked quietly.

Steve tipped his head away from your face until you settled back into the pillows. He grinned down at you there, hair curling over his forehead and toward his brow.

"Yeah? That's new."

You shook your head, tongue fat and dumb in your mouth. Your fingers traced down his arms bracing your head. "No...always smell good."

A swallow bobbed in his throat. The back of his finger nudged your cheek from the pillow beside you. "Yeah?"

You nodded this time, meeting his eye with what he could only call a lovestruck stare—all rounded and doe-like. "Yeah."

He wished you'd shut your eyes. He wished you'd stop looking at him like he was some sort of saint. He wished you'd stop letting him get away with all the shit he put you through.

Steve was quick to switch gears, pecking a short, painful kiss to your mouth before flipping you by the hips onto your stomach. You gasped at the quick and irritated pull of your hips upward until your ass was arched in the air. He pressed on the dip in your back and you let your stomach drop toward the mattress.

"Good," he sniffed. "Look good like this."

Because he couldn't see your eyes.

And you let him fuck you like that, pummeling so deep that you were buried in the mattress by the time he was done. You didn't cum and he knew it, and the pair of you settled flat with quiet gasps. He didn't press his cheek to your chest this time, didn't tangle your fingers together between sticky bedsheets. He laid there only a few silent moments before reaching for his pants.

"Hey," you called softly, propped up on your elbows. "You're not gonna stay?"

The broad muscles of Steve's back flexed and rolled as he hoisted his jeans over his hips and secured his belt. He pulled his shirt on without turning around, feet shoved into his sneakers before you could even sit all the way up.

"Nah," he said, turning only as he headed for the door. "Gotta...um, study."

Brows furrowing, a small giggle slipped from your mouth. "Study? You don't study."

Another swallow, noisy and paired with two eyes fixed on the floor. His voice neared a whisper when he spoke again. "Trying something new."

You watched him open the door just enough for him to fit through. You hugged your soiled sheets around your bare body and felt the hunger dim to hurt again.

Steve stepped into the doorway and turned his head an inch, but not enough to see those pretty features again. "Later."

You wanted him to miss you again. You wanted to press your nose back into his neck and breathe him in. You wanted him to bring his words down low where they belonged when he spoke to you. You wanted to be his girl for a few moments more, to feel his affection through every drag of his mouth and hands.

But the door closed, and you were left to watch him jog across the street through a sliver in the drapes instead.

Just another t-shirt. Just another girl in love with Steve Harrington.

#rolly! #steve harrington #fratboy!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington au #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine

[familyvideostevie]

a kind of hunger | chapter 1

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

joel miller walks into your life just as it starts to fall apart. surely some hot nights with the bar's newest regular can't hurt, right?

length: 9.2k

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), doggy style, missionary, slightly painful sex, dirty talk, size kink if you squint, joel is a liiiiiiiitle mean if you squint, general feelings of loneliness and angst from r in her free time

a/n: huge thank you to @strangerfreaks without whom this would never have gotten off the ground. also to all the joel writers on this site, i love you, i am in awe of you. please allow me to give it a go myself <3

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

__

The first time you sleep with Joel Miller you know it won't be the last. 

But that's not where this story starts. 

It starts in a bar. Nothing special about it, really. Staffed half by college kids who come and go, half by drifters who, for some reason, stopped drifting once they found this dimly lit, sticky-floored hole in the wall. Not quite a local institution but not forgettable, never totally empty. It's got pool tables and a jukebox but also clean bathrooms aside from the graffiti and two new-ish TVs showing whatever the first guy who gets there wants to watch.

Point is, you work there. One of those drifters who stopped drifting. The guy who owns it, some crotchety old fuck called Bill, rents you the apartment above the bar for a decent price considering it's loud until 2am on the weekends and midnight all the other days. Loud enough that even on nights you don't work it feels like you're there anyway. But you get used to it. It's called Frank's, which you don't totally understand, but you're not about to ask questions of the guy who has finally allowed you to slow down and take a breath who is also your boss and landlord.

You've worked there long enough to have learned the names and orders of all the regulars who've been coming in since long before you walked through the door and to have seen some new regulars enter the rotation. In truth, you've worked there long enough to basically be running the place. It's still the bar in your head, not your bar because getting attached will do you no good. This is how it always goes: you care too much but it never seems like anyone cares back. You cut and run before you can be disappointed and you’ve already been here longer than you’d expected to be because it’s something close to comfortable. 

Almost no one messes with you despite being younger than most of the clientele and on the off chance some frat boy from the city decides to take a cheap shot you've got a small army of imposing customers on your side. Between them and your coworkers, it's almost like you're not alone. 

Almost.

The hours you spend away from the bar are spent alone. You don't have many numbers in your phone and the ones you do you don't call. You go on drives in the shitty truck you bought off some guy when you moved here. You browse used bookstores and suffer the heat of the day on long walks and wonder if this is all there is. You think of what it might be like to feel something other than rootless.

One thing that helps is…sex. Being close to someone for even a little while, letting yourself be seen in a way that doesn’t require you to totally show your hand. You try not to make a habit of actually fucking your clientele. It can get messy quickly, guys coming in and expecting more than a good pour. Being offended when you don't give them a free round, don't make eyes at them over the oiled wood. It's easier to be alone, that much you've learned. It's easier and it's simpler and it means you've only got yourself to blame for the hurt you sometimes feel laying in bed, staring at the ceiling as some rock song thrums up through the floor. 

And if you do fuck someone from the bar, you keep it simple. You do, however, try really hard not to sleep with regulars. And no staying over. A classic, unspoken rule of sleeping with strangers that you rarely verbalize but make sure to enforce every time. It keeps things neat. The last thing you need is mess. Who knows how long you'll stay in this town, in this little apartment and this shitty bar. You've got a lot of years left, a lot of years you should probably spend in classrooms or an office or falling in love with some nice guy with a nice family who can give you a nice life. 

But you're here. 

And then, one day, so is Joel.

Being a good bartender is memorization, paying attention, and keeping a level head. You know how to make pretty much any drink even though your regulars are mostly the simple beer or Jack and Coke kind of people. You swear you can tell when a glass is going to fall a second before it shatters, spot a punch before it can be thrown. So you notice when a man you've never seen before walks through the door.

You notice how the energy of the room changes, how multiple pairs of eyes follow him as he settles at the end of the half-full bar. Dark hair shot through with grey, green shirt rolled up over chorded forearms that he rests on the wood. It feels like you should know him but you don't. You've never seen him before.

You finish pouring beers for some giggly girls before making your way over to him. His eyes track you.

You wonder what he'll order. A shot, maybe, based on the tense line of his shoulders. Or a dark beer. Maybe something strong. You hope he won't be one of those guys you have to peel off the bar in a few hours. "Can I get you something?"

"Whiskey, rocks," he says. You can hear the Texas drawl even from so few words. Deep, low, measured. "Cheapest you got."

For some reason, it feels like he's returning and you're the new one. "Wanna start a tab?"

"I'll do cash at the end," he says. Ah, one of those. Guy getting away from his wife, maybe. Tough day at work. Doesn't want to leave tracks. You can relate to that.

"Joel fuckin’ Miller," one of your regulars says as you turn to grab a glass. He claps the man -- Joel -- on the shoulder. "Heard you were back up this way," he says. "Good to see you, man."

Joel simply inclines his head once like he's not thrilled to be recognized. The dismissal is clear. And, weirdest of all, it works. You've seen insults hurled between friends for less.

You set his drink down, the amber liquid sloshing around the ice. 

"Thanks," he mutters. The dismissal is...less clear, but you've got other customers to tend to. And Joel doesn't seem particularly chatty.

Your eyes return to him for the next hour or so but he never waves you over for another round. Heat trails up and down your spine and you have to tell yourself that he's not watching you. That would be too optimistic, right? At one point you take a bathroom break and when you're back he's gone, wrinkled bills stacked under the glass. Enough for his drink and a decent tip. 

Joel comes in three more times over the next month before you sleep with him. Each time he orders the same drink, leaves the same tip. He sits alone at the bar, occasionally saying hello when someone approaches but no one ever sits next to him. He's gruff but only ever polite to you, doesn't get impatient when it takes you a minute to get to him. 

And he's really something to look at. The tick in his jaw, the veins in his neck. His skin is tanned, dotted with small scars that must come from a lifetime of hard work. He wears a watch and jeans that hug his ass in an almost indecent way, a way that has you watching him when he's not on a stool. Sometimes you catch him smirking to himself when there's some shit going on at the bar, gossip or people being loud for no reason. You wonder what his laugh sounds like and scold yourself for it. No harm in looking but there's the possibility of harm in thinking too much. You know better.

The third time he comes in is a bad night. It's busy for some reason and everyone is a fucking asshole. You weren't even supposed to work tonight but one of the seasonal kids had banged on your door begging you to come help, promising you all the tips for tonight if you did. You knew it would make you look good to Bill and despite yourself, you didn’t want to leave them hanging, so here you are, sweaty and pissed and smelling like beer, doing your best to empty the dishwasher in between drink orders and praying the keg doesn't need changing. 

You don't even notice when Joel comes in, only spotting him once he's managed to scare some college kid from a seat at the bar. For some reason, his presence makes you a little calmer in the chaos. 

"Be with you in a sec, Joel," you say to him when you're near. You don't call him by his name since he never actually introduced himself to you but it slips out in the rush. His nostrils flare but you don't have time to linger on it even as you feel the hot weight of his gaze. 

"No rush."

You manage to get him what you know by now to be his usual only to be called over by your least favorite customer of the night as soon as he's thanked you. 

"Honey," the asshole says. This fucker's name is Seth and he's a pain in your ass. "Gimme another, will you? Make it a heavy pour." This would be his fifth and he's already slurring his words. 

"Don't think so," you tell him firmly. "I'm cutting you off for tonight, Seth." He's liable to start some shit or at the very least throw up on the floor and you don't want to deal with either. You don't have time to deal with either. 

His bloodshot eyes narrow and he slams a fist on the bar. You manage not to flinch, though pretty much everyone else does. "That's not good fucking service, sweetcheeks," he leers. 

"Good thing I don't give a fuck," you snap. "Get the fuck out of here before you do something you regret, sweetcheeks.” The venom in your tone seems to surprise him before sheer rage takes over. You've thrown out plenty of assholes in your time here but it's not always a smooth experience.

Seth leans forward over the bar, reaches for you -- to do what, you have no idea -- and you prepare yourself to yell for backup and then kick him out for good and maybe get a punch in as he goes. His fingers manage to hook in your shirtsleeve before a hand closes around his wrist.

Before Seth can scream he's got his outstretched arm behind his back, face twisted in pain. Behind him is --

Joel?

The bar is almost silent. You can hear a few whispers over the blood pumping in your ears. 

"I'd get out of here if I were you," Joel hisses. He glances at you, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Are you okay? he seems to be asking. You nod. 

Seth whimpers. "Let me go," he says weakly. 

"Just gonna show you the door." Joel all but drags him through the parting crowd. 

"Jesus," someone says behind you. One of the seasonal kids. "You okay?"

"I'm taking my break." You leave the kid behind the bar to fend for himself and barrel into the back and through the side door into the alley where you always take your 15. It's one of those weird cold fall nights, just the wrong side of chilly to be here without a jacket but you left it in the bar office.

The milk carton you sit on has been turned over so you kick it back with a thud and slump down onto it. The light above the door flickers. "This shit is getting old," you say to no one. You kick aside cigarette butts that aren't yours and wonder how long you can do this. What would be next, anyway? You've got a laundry list of failed dreams and no one wondering if you're going to make something of yourself. Long nights at a bar you care about more than you should and rowdy customers and handsome men who barely say a word to you can't last forever, can it? Would anyone here even notice if you left?

The door flies open, startling you out of your thoughts. 

Joel steps into the alley. Somehow he manages to yet again look like he was meant to be here and you're the one who is out of place. You blink at him and he stares back like he wasn't sure he'd find you here.

"Got lost?" you ask. "Pretty sure you know where the front door is."

He lets the metal door swing shut and crosses his arms. "Was lookin' for you."

That catches you by surprise. "Why?"

Joel shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders. His expression doesn't budge. "Sorry for makin' trouble."

Oh, right. Seth. You wave him off. "Just another night," you say. "I'd have handled it." You stand from the crate and lean against the brick wall. It's true. Seth isn't the first asshole you've handled.

"I bet you would've," Joel mutters. He takes one step closer. You're reminded all at once how good-looking he is, how you've wondered what his hands would feel like on your skin. There's no way he's ever thought of you, right? You're just some girl who pours him drinks, too young and too forgettable. He was just having a man moment, wanting to save the day or some shit like that. 

"I don't have a cigarette or anything if you want to smoke," you say. This close he doesn't smell like tobacco but you don't know what else to say. "Sorry."

"So you just sit in alleys on your break for fun?"

"I like this alley," you say, suddenly a bit defensive. "It's a nice alley." You take a step towards him. He uncrosses his arms and his hands flex at his sides. You shiver. "No one bothers me out here."

Joel tilts his head to the side. "That so?" His eyes are dark under the dim light. When did he get so close? When did your face get so hot?

"Except guys who drink whiskey on the rocks, I guess," you say. It comes out much softer than you'd like, your voice cracking. The air doesn't have the same bite as it did seconds ago. Joel's expression hovers between something you recognize and something you don't, something you desperately want to figure out. "Good thing I don't mind." The adrenaline from the small altercation hasn't left and the swirl of emotions about your whole shitty life has you on edge, has you wanting to play with fire.

You're so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat of him in the still night. Joel's eyes rake over your face, looking for something, something you try very hard to show him so that he might fucking do it, meet the want that is suddenly uncontrollable halfway, or at least tell you if he's not interested so you can --

Your name is a groan in his throat and then he's kissing you. His palm cups the back of your head as he presses you into the wall, his other hand firm on your hip, fingertips pressing into your skin through your shirt hard enough to bruise. He tastes like the whiskey you served him. You fist one hand in his collar and wind the other into his hair.

Joel controls the kiss but you give as good as you get. He licks into your mouth and you suck on his lower lip. His beard rubs against your face in a delicious burn and when you tug on his hair he makes a noise you must hear again. The brick behind you scrapes a bit but you hardly notice when he presses against you, slides a thigh between your legs and you feel him hard through his jeans. 

"S'not right, you lookin' so good yellin' at that asshole," he grumbles into your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. You cant your hips and he hisses.

"Speak for yourself," you manage. "Always got your eyes on me, don't you?" It feels like a risk to call him on it. Control of the situation is slipping from your grasp, this man who you never thought would actually touch you now holding you in his arms, his lips on your skin. He pulls back from your neck and smirks, eyes dark. 

"'Spose I do." 

You can work with that. You surge forward to kiss him again and this time he lets you call the shots while still meeting your bruising caresses with his own.

"Joel." You tug on his hair.

He makes that noise again.

It might be five minutes, it might be an hour. You have no idea. All you know is you can still feel his cock through the denim and you're so turned on you might combust in this alley. Or at the very least let him fuck you in it.

"I don't close tonight," you pant. One of Joel's hands has worked its way into your back pocket and the other has rucked up your shirt to rest on your bare back. 

"What?" he growls.

"My shift. I'm off at 11." You tap his watch. He glances at it and sees it read 10:30. "Half hour. I live upstairs."

For a second you think he'll say no. Walk away with a nod of his head and out of your life forever. Wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last. You're already breaking one of your rules by even considering sleeping with him but there's just something about him. The way he looks at you, the way his hands feel on your skin. You want to know what he'll feel like inside you. Maybe you’re still in this town because you were waiting for him to walk through the door.

"Alright," he says. He clears his throat and releases you. You fuss with your hair and straighten your shirt and he adjusts himself in his jeans. "Half hour." His dark eyes narrow as he glances down the alley back towards the street. 

"Take a walk around the block or something," you tell him, swallowing the urge to laugh at him so handsome and disheveled from your hands. Never in a million years would you have predicted that tonight would go this way. "My door is on the other side of the building. I'll let you up."

The urge to flatten the damage your hands did to his hair is so overwhelming for a second that you step away from him towards the door. His eyes follow you, expression unreadable. How many nights would it take for you to know what he's thinking? Careful, you think, or you'll be tempted to find out. 

Joel watches you until you give him a little wave and slip back into the bar. The metal door clangs shut behind you and you lean against it, knees still wobbly. Is this actually happening? Are you really this overwhelmed by making out with some guy in an alley? You check the clock on the wall and curse. Your break ended ten minutes ago though since no one came looking for you it's probably no big deal. Being mostly in charge has its perks.

The bar is a little less crowded than when you left so you grab a rag and start wiping down the bar. Joel's seat is empty, his glass gone. 

"Oh, hey," the seasonal kid says. "That guy, uh, Joel? He said to make sure you get this." He pulls out Joel's usual tip from his apron and holds it out to you.

Considering you're planning to go upstairs and fuck him until you can't walk, you don't feel like taking his tip tonight. "It's yours," you say. "Thanks for handling everything while I was out back." The kid blinks at you but knows better than to refuse, pocketing the cash and going back to loading the dishwasher. 

You finish your shift. Your blood feels electric, your skin hot. Can anyone in this bar tell what happened in the alley? You haven't felt this way about a hookup in ages. Like you were wanted, not just convenient. It's just one night, right? Maybe he'll never come to the bar again, which makes your chest tighten for a second. Maybe you're about to ruin something you don't totally understand. But you haven't gotten this far in life by worrying about shit like that, so you clock out and wave goodbye and make your way to the other side of the building. 

Joel isn't there. You unlock the door to the stairwell so you can at least wait for him inside when you hear footsteps, the crunch of gravel under boots. You fist your key between your knuckles just in case but before you can turn around you hear your name in that Texas drawl. 

"Just me," he says. You don't know if Joel Miller is capable of looking nervous but this is probably close. He shifts from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. A thrill runs up your spine. Are you really doing this? Are you really about to bring this man up to your apartment and hope to god he does whatever you want to you? 

"Come on up." Yes. Yes, you are. You give him a smile and he follows you up to the landing. 

"S'loud," he mutters once you shut the door. The bar's music wasn't that loud when you were in it and up here it's a dull hum, people's voices and laughter slipping through the cracks like a TV left on a little too high in the other room. These days it's background noise to you but you figure Joel lives in a house somewhere with lots of land and open windows and silence. He seems like the type to like silence. 

Jacket on the hook, shoes clumsily thrown on the mat, keys in the dish. Your normal routine except there’s a man in your living room, too. He looks around the space, hands still in his pockets. You try not to be self-conscious about your place. It's small, sure, the bedroom visible through the currently open French doors in the small living room. Your kitchen is tiny, bathroom tinier, but it's all yours. "You get used to it," you say. "I hardly mind it anymore."

"Didn't say I did," he says. You both stand there for a few moments before Joel takes two big steps and crowds you against the door, one hand on your hip and the other next to your head. "Means they won't hear us." You swallow a gasp as he drags his nose along the curve of your jaw, breath hot on your skin. You were going to ask him if you could shower first since you undoubtedly smell like sweat and beer but clearly, he doesn't mind. His tongue darts out and he sucks on your pulse point, your own hands clutching desperately at his shirt. If he moves you're sure you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. "Means you can be as loud as you want," he growls. "That sound good?"

Any breath remaining in your body rushes out and you jerk your hips to make contact with the hardness in his jeans. "Yeah," you gasp. You can feel something like a smile against your neck. "That sounds good."

It's a dynamic you don't mind stepping into -- whatever this is. Every second of your life you feel like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everyone around you to get tired. Your eyes are always on the exit, always wondering where you'll go next, what you'll leave behind this time. Even when you're fucking strangers you're always wondering how you'll get them to leave. You’re better off alone. But right here, right now, with Joel's heavy scent of sawdust and whiskey and something earthy, something grounding, in your nostrils, his hands and his mouth on you, nothing else matters. Your brain shuts off and you're just here.

You grab Joel's jaw and guide his lips back to yours. He allows it and you moan deep in your throat as he tongues back into your mouth, your own trying to give as good as you're getting. He pops the button on your jeans and you help him with frantic hands, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear so he can ghost his fingers through your coarse curls. He pulls back from the kiss to watch as he drags two fingers through your folds. Your eyes lock and he smirks as your lids flutter.

"Soaked," is all he says. You tip your head forward and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"Don't be smug."

He huffs. "I ain't trying to sound like an asshole, but --"

"Already failed." He nips at your earlobe.

"Gotta work you open a bit, sweetheart," he says. His fingers circle your clit once, ever so slowly. Your grip on his bicep tightens and you wonder if you'll leave bruises. You hope so. "Gonna be a tight fit."

"Heard -- fuck -- that before," you gasp. Joel really fucking knows what he's doing. "I -- bed?"

"Smart girl," he says. You're pretty sure you get wetter. He pulls his fingers free but keeps a hold on your hip like he knows your knees are jelly. "Sit on the edge." 

You leave your jeans and underwear behind and make your way to the bed through the French doors, sitting heavily on the quilt, knees bent and leaning on your hands behind you. Before you can say another word, Joel lowers to his knees between yours. He pries them apart even further and runs his hands up and down your thighs. 

For a few seconds, you can't find the words. This man, older than you and impossibly handsome, face lined with years he's lived and hands callused with work he's done, this man that you hardly know anything about but can't get out of your mind, is on his knees before you.

"You gonna be okay down there?" is what you come up with.

"You always talk this much?" he mutters, though his mouth tugs up at the corner. Joel's forearms wrap around your legs and he tugs. You fall flat on your back in surprise and your ass almost hangs off the bed. He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and kneads the flesh of your thigh, eyes dark and jaw twitching as he spreads you open and just looks. "Might have to help me up but I think I'll be just fine."

"Joel --" 

The end of his name becomes a high-pitched moan when he leans in and buries his face in your cunt. He drags his tongue up and down through your folds, nose catching your clit in a way that makes you squirm. His beard scrapes against your skin deliciously, leaving a sting that you know you'll be able to see evidence of when he's done. He laps at you before finally taking your clit in his mouth and sucking like his life depends on it. It's only his hand on your outstretched thigh keeping you from suffocating him between your legs, though you're not sure he'd mind.

"Should be a crime," he says. You look down the length of your body at him. His chin is wet with you, eyes meeting yours when he feels your stare. "Cunt this pretty tastin' so good."

How do you reply to that?

He's back at it before you can even try. Joel gets messy with it, the sounds of his attention loud and filthy. He tells you how wet you are, how good you taste, and your eyes flutter shut again.

"How're we doing?" 

"Don't stop," you manage. "Just, don't stop--"

He prods your entrance with one finger. "Reckon you can take it, hmm? You're so wet it'll be easy." There's a bite to his tone, a sense of amusement mixed with awe like he can hardly believe it either. 

"Two," you gasp. "I can take two." You need two, in fact. His hands are one of the few parts of him you've been able to study and you know his fingers are long, much thicker than yours and you need them to fill you up, need them to stretch you out. You need something to clench around because right now you feel like you're on the edge of the pleasure building in your core and if you don't get a release soon you'll just…just…combust. 

Joel hums but you feel a second finger nudge into you. He slides them in and curls them as he goes. Your back arches off the bed.

"Dunno," he coos. "Pretty tight, sweetheart." The slight meanness to his words is in complete contrast with the gentle, attentive way he handles you. Who knew he'd be such a fucking tease.

"Well get to work, then." He scissors the digits inside of you in reply and returns to sucking on your clit. You reach down and bury your hand in his silver-streaked hair, tugging a bit harder than you intend to. Joel just moans into your cunt, the vibration making it feel like your very pelvis is rattling as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. 

Sweat beads on your brow as you try to hold on. He picks up the pace and presses into your walls with his fingertips like he's looking for something. His tongue wreaks havoc on the rest of you, sucking bruises into your inner thighs when he's not abusing your clit. If this is just the foreplay you don't know how you'll survive actually fucking him. And he hasn't even asked you to touch him, hasn't shown even a hint of expectation. He's doing this to get you ready but based on the blown state of his pupils he's enjoying it almost as much as you are. 

"Getting close?" he asks, breath ragged. Your skin is starting to feel deliciously raw from his beard and the hook in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter. 

"Yes -- fuck -- I'm close, Joel, keep --"

His hand moves faster than before and he latches back onto your clit. Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm coming, it's just right there, you just need him to --

His fingers find the spot he must have been looking for and your only warning is a sharp tug on his hair and then your back arches and you come all over his face. He fingers fucks you through it and you feel it as your walls clench around him, your mouth open in a high whine as your muscles finally relax and you flop back onto the bed. Joel keeps his face in your cunt, gently lapping at your release while avoiding your sensitive clit. You push his hair back from his face and try to get your breathing under control.

He manages to get up on his own with a grunt as you pant on the bed. "Okay?" he asks. "Lookin' a little tired." You show him your middle finger and he...laughs, lips shiny with your slick. So he can laugh. 

"Are you going to keep your clothes on?" you ask him. His eyes travel slowly over your bare bottom half, the redness of your thighs from his beard and the way your shirt has rucked up to the wire of your bra. 

"Nah." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and socks. You want to ask him if you can undress him, slowly peel off his layers button by button and explore every inch of him but you won't be able to take it if he says no so you just watch. Already you know you'll be thinking about this night for a long fucking time. The way it seems like he cares about how you're feeling, how he wants to take his time with you, how he enjoys your pleasure. It's nice. It's...making you feel wanted.

His denim button-up is tossed on the floor and he stands, shirtless, to undo his belt. The forearms and small triangle at his throat that you've been treated with thus far when he sits at the bar in no way prepared you for the rest of him. Broad shoulders, thick, muscled arms from years of hard work. Graying chest hair that travels all the way down the slight softness of his belly and in a darker trail his jeans. Your mouth waters. 

"You're starin'," he says softly before unzipping his fly and pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion. 

"Taste of your own medicine." The words come out with much less bite than you intended as his cock springs free. 

Well, he wasn't lying. He is big. You knew he would be based on what you felt through his pants, but seeing it is something else. 

You sit up and scoot to the end of the bed to be closer. Is he really going to fit? He's bigger than anyone you've fucked before, that's for sure. A ruddy color, a little darker than his tanned chest, the tip a little lighter and already leaking. A few veins run the length of him and the hair at the base of his shaft is clearly taken care of though a little wild and a shade of deep brown that hasn't grayed much yet. His balls hang heavy, one slightly bigger than the other. He twitches under your gaze. You look up at him and wait for him to call out your staring again but instead, he's just watching you, pupils blown. 

"You are...so beautiful," you breathe. He makes a dismissive noise but a flush travels up his chest and to his face. It's true. There's something about him that makes you think you could look every second for the rest of your life and not get enough.

"Should be sayin' that to you." He strokes himself once and you lick your lips. "You got a condom? Should be one in my pocket if you don't." Does he always carry one? Or did he hope to get lucky with you, just like you've been thinking about him?

"Bedside table drawer." He goes for it and you remember too late that the drawer has...other things in it, too. His eyebrows raise and he eyes your small collection of toys but says nothing, though his cock twitches again. If you asked, would he use them on you? He seems like the type to be into that. But right now you need him inside you so badly you might combust.

"Can I?" He pauses before handing the foil square to you. You take him in hand and stroke him from root to tip. He makes a noise low in his throat and you lean in to trace the vein along the bottom of his shaft with your tongue. His hips twitch forward just a bit like he's trying to keep control and failing. You know the feeling. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the slightest bit salty. You kind of lose the plot for a second, thoughts of him fucking you fading with the desire to make him feel good like this, to blow him until he's moaning your name like you were moaning his.

Joel slides his fingers into your hair and you manage to take him about halfway before he tugs gently. "I'm not complainin'," he says, voice tight. "'Specially when you look so damn pretty like this. But I've been hard as a fuckin' rock for an hour and I ain't as young as I used to be, so..." He trails off.

You place a dainty kiss on his tip and pat his hip. "Another time," you say, realizing too late what you've implied, but Joel just smirks. You tear open the foil and slide the condom on as gingerly as you can but he still hisses your name like he's scolding you, that hand in your hair pulling once again just a little. You feel the arousal pooling in your gut, sticky between your thighs. 

He tugs on the collar of your shirt. "Off," he says. You're quick to obey, whipping it to a corner of your apartment along with your bra. Joel just looks for a second before reaching a calloused hand to palm one breast, thumb sliding over your nipple. "Look at you," he says, breathy, with a squeeze. "Christ."

"You gonna fuck me, Joel Miller?" You blink up at him. He swallows visibly, throat bobbing before that smirk is back. 

"Only ‘cause you asked so nicely." 

You scramble back up the bed on your hands and knees, leaning down on your elbows and presenting him with your bare cunt. "Cause I'm such a lady."

"That so?" he murmurs. He drags his fingers through your folds slowly, brows furrowed. You fist your hands in the sheets. "You want it like this?" he asks. He palms your hip, traces the curve of your ass and presses his fingertips into your skin. You wiggle at him a little. Most guys you hook up with want it like this. You don't mind being fucked from behind, don't mind being able to close your eyes with your face shoved in the sheets and just feel. God knows with a dick his size you'll be feeling it regardless of the position you're in. But part of you does want to look at Joel, to watch him, his expression, his handsome, rugged face. Feel his arms around you, feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he fucks you. See what his eyes look like when he comes. But this is enough.

"Do I need to say please?"

The head of his cock presses against your entrance in reply. You crane your neck to see as much of him as you can. He's focused on your ass with a light frown, hands resting on your hips.

"Gonna go slow," he grumbles. His gaze meets yours. "For my benefit as much as yours."

Words don't come. You're breathless and dripping, desperate for him to just get on with it. 

"Joel, are you gonna just stand there --"

He slowly, torturously slowly, starts to slide into you. The stretch is immediate, has you face down in the sheets, eyes fluttering. Each inch of painful stretch fades quickly to throbbing pleasure, a fullness that has you keening. 

You press your hips back into him but his fingers grip tighter, holding you in place. "What did I say?" he grits out. 

"Feels so good, so big," you babble. There's nothing left in your brain, your body, but this. But Joel. You have to have all of him. "I can take it, I can take your cock, I --"

"Got quite the mouth on you, huh?" he says. He keeps pressing into you, filling you up inch by inch. "Okay?" he pants. "Look at me, tell me it feels good --"

You crane your neck again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and look at him. His own are lidded, mouth open in an "o" like he can hardly believe it himself. A flush runs down his chest and if you didn't know better you'd say he's trembling.

"Yes, I -- god, Joel, keep going, please --"

"Doin' good, sweetheart," he coos. His hand strokes up and down your spine. "Almost there. Almost takin' all of me."

He bottoms out and you see stars. You feel lips on your back, the warm puffs of his breath on your skin as he waits for you. It's a fine line between pain and pleasure and you're walking the tightrope but the stretch is delicious. You can feel every inch of him. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you shift your hips a little, loving it when Joel moans.

"Alright," you manage. "Move, please." His fingertips are back on your hips and give you a squeeze before he starts to drag his cock out of you. The tip of him catches the spot inside of you that makes your back arch as he pulls out and then again when he thrusts in. 

"All that work, my fingers and my tongue and you're still so fuckin' tight. Christ."

The only thing you manage to say is a litany of his name.

"Lemme hear it, baby," he grinds out. Baby. "Be so loud those fuckers downstairs hear you--"

You meet his thrusts as best you can and even though it feels so good, even though you're so full, it's not bringing you to the edge like you need. Your neck is starting to hurt from the way you're twisting to see him, your fingers gripping the sheets as hard as you can because you want to be touching him instead. But this is good, this works, maybe if you touch your clit, you'll --

You reach between your legs and Joel pulls out. You get off your elbows and turn around, almost gasping at the loss of him. "Is something wrong?"

He's frowning at you. "Should be askin' you that."

You don't know what to say. Your cunt throbs a little from being empty, the ache settling in now that he's not there to literally fuck it away. "What?"

"You stopped makin' those noises," he says softly. “The ones you were makin’ before.” You turn around and sit facing him, suddenly a little self-conscious. "Ain't gonna fuck you in a position you don't like."

"I --" You try to fight through the haze of your brain for words. "I liked it fine."

Joel waits. He just stands there at the edge of the bed and waits. 

"Maybe..." you try again. "Would on my back be okay for you?"

His eyebrows raise like he can't believe you'd think otherwise. "That'll work for me," he says slowly. "Grab a pillow." You shift back on the bed as he kneels on it, positioning himself between your legs. You hand him one of your pillows and he taps your hip. "Up." You obey and he slides it under you so your lower half is lifted a bit before he presses one leg to the side, spreading you open. He slowly bends the other so that your thigh is pressed against your torso in a deep stretch without being painful. You feel bare, exposed in a way he somehow hasn't yet achieved. 

Joel fixes his gaze on your face. "Let's try that." He strokes himself once and then leans over you, bracing himself on one hand near your head. He lines up to press his cock into you again. Faster than last time, you wince a little but you dig your fingertips into his back to tell him to keep going. He bottoms out and you immediately feel the difference, eyes fluttering shut. Before it was like he was plowing into you, like you were so full you could hardly handle it. But like this it's like he's melting into you, like there is no space between you anymore. You're full but it's not so harsh. You don’t know where you end and he begins.

"That better?" he croaks. You force yourself to look at him and find his face closer, closer than you thought he'd get, breath warm on your face. His forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes search your face. This close you can see they’re grey, the lines at the corners deep with strain. Even like this, stuffed full of his cock, you could look at him all day.

"Move, Joel," you tell him. He takes that for a yes and starts at a punishing pace. You have no idea how he's kept it together this long, considering you've felt on the edge of another orgasm this entire time. You anchor your arms on his shoulders as his thrusts make you see stars. 

"Ask for what you want, you hear me?" His balls smack loudly against you and he presses his lips to your ear. "You ask and I'll do my damn best."

You don't know what it is -- the overwhelming sensation of his cock dragging in and out at this angle, how close he is, his words -- but you feel tears at the corners of your eyes again. You nod frantically, hands grasping for purchase on his back. 

"C'mon," Joel says. "Gotta use that mouth, sweetheart."

"Yes," you pant. "Yes, yes, Joel, yes --"

"Fuckin' perfect for me," he moans. His lips trail up your cheek, tongue catching your tears before he presses them to yours in a messy kiss that's more teeth and breath than anything else. 

"Joel, Joel, Joel --"

"Gonna come for me? Gonna soak my cock like you did my face?"

Your orgasm comes like the snap of a rubber band. You hold him as tight as you can as it washes through you, the waves almost painful as he keeps fucking you fast and hard, your name a series of broken sounds from his mouth until his hips stutter and he groans deep in his chest. You try to keep your eyes on him as you come down from your high and are rewarded with the scrunch of his brow and the slight part of his lips as he comes. Beautiful, you think. 

The room is all of sudden much quieter without the sounds of your fucking. It's just the dull sounds of Frank's through the floor and your combined panting as he pulls out of you and flops on the bed beside you. You wince this time, the soreness really settling in. Joel finds your hand and kisses the back of it in a move so unexpectedly tender you can't look at him, raw as you are already. The bed shifts and you figure he's throwing out the condom. 

"You okay?" he says. You open your eyes and find him standing at the edge, looking at you. He's holding your robe from the bathroom. You stretch and let him look. 

"Yeah," you reply. You give him a smile as you scoot to the edge and wrap yourself in it when he holds it out. "Thank you." Joel grunts. 

You go to the bathroom yourself to pee and see the damage. Hair a mess, your mascara gathered around your eyes like you've been working hard. You've got hickies forming on your neck and chest, the skin rubbed a bit raw from his beard around your mouth. You love how you look right now. 

You look like you got fucked well. And you did. 

But now you want a shower and a snack and to go to bed. 

You half expect Joel to be gone when you go back into the bedroom. You remember belatedly that you don't let hookups stay the night. Will he leave if you ask him to? If he's already left then you don't need to worry about it. A small part of you worries you won’t ask him to go.

Instead, he's sitting on the edge of your bed putting his boots on. His shirt is unbuttoned but other than that he's dressed. He looks up briefly. His own hair is going in a thousand different directions and if this wasn't a one-night stand you'd fix it for him, a hand pushing it back like you did when he was between your thighs. But things are different outside the heat of the moment. 

"You want some water or anything?" you ask instead.

He shakes his head and finishes his boot, stands and buttons his shirt. "Nah," he says. "Should just head out."

You wonder belatedly if there's anyone at home missing him. Maybe he's got a wife. Maybe he's got a life that he's running away from and into your arms. 

"Bar'll be closed by now, or as good as," you say. You spy his jacket by the door and bend to pick it up. "No one'll see you."

Joel's face does something funny that you don't quite know how to read. He takes his jacket from you and shrugs it on. "Alright," he says. 

He looks awkward in a way you didn't know he could so you throw him a line. "Thanks," you say. For fucking me. For listening to me. For making me feel good. "It was fun. See you around?"

His expression softens. He steps close and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger before kissing you once, firmly but chastely compared to what you were doing before. 

"See you around," he says. And then he opens the door and disappears down the stairs. 

You hear the outer door close and only then do you let out a breath. Your entire body feels like you just spent hours at the gym. But your mind? It's going a thousand miles an hour. You don't know what to think about first -- how Joel looked, how he spoke to you, how his hands felt. How he implored you to ask for what you wanted, how he made you feel good because it made him feel good. How you desperately, desperately want to see him again, to know him in every possible way. How you want him to walk back up the stairs and hold you until you fall asleep.

And that's not how you expected to feel. It's not how you should feel after a one-night stand with a guy you serve a few times a week at your place of employment. Like he saw right to the core of you, like he gave you something you didn't know you needed. 

You need to get a hold of yourself. This is how it starts -- this is how you get hurt. You care. Well, you always care, but no one has to know that. You let someone care about you. Not that Joel does, but he could. 

But isn't that the one thing you want most of all? 

You sleep in the next day. There's not much that needs to be done at Frank's besides bookkeeping and inventory which doesn't take you long. When you finally make it downstairs, three Advil popped to ease the soreness of your entire body, you're surprised to find Bill himself sitting at the bar. 

He looks just as you remember, hair a little longer and a little grayer. Shit kickers and jeans, a hunting jacket and trucker hat. You'll bet his actual truck is parked around back where no one from the road can see it. 

"Uh, hi?" Bill hasn't come around for at least a year, which is making your stomach sink a little. The last time was when there was a fire because some dumbass tried to smoke inside and he wanted to make sure you weren't going to quit on him for having to throw water on the nasty curtains. 

"Heard about Seth," he says. Always right to the point, this guy. He's drinking what looks to be Coke with a lemon. "Sit." You do as he says. So much for bookkeeping.

"Yep," you say. You have no idea where he heard it and know better than to ask. "No big deal."

"I want to retire."

What? "Do you...work here?" Bill appreciates honesty and he's the kind of asshole that respects you if you're an asshole back. 

"No," he says. "But I own the fuckin' dump. And me and Frank want to retire."

"There's a Frank?"

"My partner, dumbass. Keep up."

You were already groggy and still muddled from last night but this is forcing you to bring everything into sharp focus. Bill wants to retire. Which means he wants to...

"So my options are to sell this dump or find someone to take it."

If he sells the bar you're shit out of luck. No way another owner would let you live upstairs the way you do for next to nothing and let you work here and run the show. This is...a lot to take in.

"Are you listening to me?" Bill says. You blink a few times. 

"No," you admit. "Can you say that again?"

He sighs. "Do you want it?"

"The bar?" you ask incredulously. 

"No, idiot, the dumpster out back. Yes, the bar." He raps his knuckles on the bar top. "You could keep everything the same. It's just paperwork, really. I'll just give it to you. God knows a young person like you could make it nicer, turn a better profit." He says it like it's an insult. 

"Are you fucking serious?" This goes against most every rule you've had for yourself for the last who knows how long. Don't get attached, keep moving. No one really needs you so you can disappear whenever. You haven't gotten bored yet, haven't gotten restless, but you know it'll happen. There's no way you can do this forever. But owning a bar? That would make you stay. You'd have no out. You’d have to let yourself be seen, let yourself be needed. You’d have to commit. You’d have to not fuck it up.

"Why not?" he shrugs. "I know you said it was temporary back when you moved in, but you practically run it."

He's right. Everything is temporary for you. But would sticking around be so bad? Would trying to actually make a life for yourself, have a home base, a thing you care about be the end of the world? And then there's Joel...No. Not going there. 

"I..."

"Either you take it or I shut it down." Bill gets off his stool and looks around. "No one cares enough about it to try to sell it."

"Then why me?"

"Do you care about it?" he asks. His piercing stare pins you to your stool, compels you to be honest with him where you're rarely honest with yourself. 

"Yeah," you say. "I do."

"Then there's you're fuckin' answer. I know you do. You clean the shit out of this place and train the seasonal dipshits and learn the names of the fuckin’ drunks and live upstairs and make this a good place for good people to come. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice." It's possibly the most words Bill has ever said to you in a row. 

"Can I...think about it?"

He shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Not too long, though. Gotta decide by the end of the year. Maybe earlier."

That gives you three months, give or take. To figure out what the fuck you're going to do.

With one conversation Bill has shattered your entire life here. Now there’s actually a timer on it, this little piece you’ve carved out and started to enjoy. Could you make it a real thing? Could you finally admit to yourself that this is what you want – to be wanted? To be needed? To have something that’s yours?

The bar door shuts and you realize Bill has left you alone with your thoughts. You shift in your stool and a wave of soreness rolls through you from your core. 

You thunk your forehead on the bar. “Fuck me,” you say to the empty room. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction

[poemsillneversend]

In another life, we’ll stay up all night together.

We’ll manage our lives together seamlessly.

We’ll clean on Saturday mornings so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend.

I’ll make the coffee and pick out an album for us to jam out to.

You’ll sing along to our favorite songs while making pancakes.

We’ll laugh and dance and you’ll use the batter-covered whisk as a pretend microphone.

We’ll finish cleaning up after breakfast, and I’ll join you in the shower.

We’ll scrub each others backs, and make out while rinsing off under the hot water.

You’ll follow me back to bed, the bed you freshly made with clean sheets just hours ago.

We’ll make a mess of it and make it up again.

You’ll tuck in the corners.

We’ll spend the afternoon at the library.

I’ll pack a picnic and you’ll read your old favorite books to me.

I’ll kiss you in the dusty History section, and when I think no one is looking,

I’ll touch and tease you some more.

You’ll take me to the bathroom and lock the door because you want me so bad

You just can’t wait any longer.

We’ll get caught and almost get thrown out and we’ll run away laughing.

I’ll drive us home, but maybe I’ll stop somewhere secluded first

And touch you just how you like it, from the safety of the backseat.

In another life, we’re so fucking good together.

I’ll hold you when you need to cry,

you’ll make me a hot cup of tea when I forget how to take care of myself.

We’ll cook dinner together.

I’ll wash the dishes and you’ll put them away.

I’ll clean and cut up fruits and vegetables to snack on.

You’ll motivate me to be good to myself when I don’t feel like it.

We’ll remind each other to take our vitamins and meds.

I’ll make you a smoothie when you don’t feel like eating.

You’ll tell me I’m beautiful when I don’t recognize my own reflection.

I’ll tell you you’re worth the world, because you are.

I’ll sweep the floors so you can mop.

I’ll do the laundry and you’ll mow the lawn.

When we’re both having a bad day,

We’ll let each other be as grouchy as we need to without judgement.

You’ll kiss me when I can’t make myself get out of bed.

I’ll gently play with your hair when you can’t sleep.

I’ll say something careless on occasion and you’ll be rightfully upset.

We’ll both feel guilty.

I’ll shut down and you’ll implode.

You’ll call me out and I’ll get defensive.

I’ll take way too long to process and understand my feelings as well as yours,

And you’ll get tired of explaining it to me and eventually give up.

You’ll feel invalidated and I’ll feel confused.

We’ll work through it and try not to hurt each other again,

Even though we both know it’ll happen again anyways.

We’ll grow to resent each other in new ways.

In another life, maybe we’re still no good for each other.

#heartbreak #poetry #relationships #writing #healing #original poem #poets on tumblr #sad poem #writers and poets #original poetry #lgbtq poetry #female poets #original post #love poem #relationship #situationships #in another universe #in another life #in another time #in another reality #poetic #romantic #queer longing #queer love #lost love #poems I’ll never send #poem #longing #queer poets on tumblr #queer poetry

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — foreman!JOSH ANDERSON x reader word count — 3.5k

note — this little number was day one of my patreon kinktober this year, and it was too beloved (by patrons and myself) to be gatekept forever!

recommended viewing — TI WEST'S X (2022) + PEARL (2022)

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

bingo squares — backdoor play, costumes/roleplay (kinda sorta), + risky location/exhibitionism additional content warnings — implied age gap, outdated patriarchal beliefs, innocence kink, corruption kink, slight humilation kink, spit as lube, dacryphilia, slight overstim, unprotected p in v, possessive!josh x virgin!reader (outdated definition and beliefs here, too) and just general filth

JOSH ANDERSON HATES TO WASTE A SWEET GESTURE, but, even in the scorching mid-day heat, ice-cold lemonade just couldn't compare where it would never compete.

While fresh squeezed is good, drinking the sugary nectar straight from the tap is better.

Still, it hurt Josh's heart a bit to watch the fruit of your afternoon's labor get soaked up by the dirt. He reckons he's the only one who minds the undue waste. 

Though, that shouldn't be much of a surprise; it's hard to mind much of anything when you've long since lost yours.

He supposes you have him to blame for that particular loss, too.

How did a harmless compliment devolve into this?

His hips flush to the skin of his boss' daughter, bent over the tailgate, cotton twisted at the knees, and in full view of the main road...

The afternoon began normal enough; the old man sputtered down the long drive towards town around noon, as usual, and the screen door slammed shut not a minute after the rusty ford dipped around the bend, as usual.

And, as if on cue, the delicate twinkle of glassware on a tray pulled his attention from the task at hand—barrels of hay that now lay abandoned at his boots—and Josh was treated to the eyeful that never failed to make his jeans feel two-sizes too tight and burn his neck faster than the looming sun.

Josh enjoyed the back and forth, however one-sided it often was. Though, not for a lack of trying, however girlishly awkward those efforts might be. It wasn't your fault you were sheltered beyond belief, and it made the mental reprieve all the more addicting, too.

You were easily frazzled in a way many weren't and it—a bashful purse of your lips, the gentle tremble of nervous fingers just behind you back, the way you can't meet his eye for more than a minute at a time—stirred up a sick, juvenile satisfaction Josh thought he long outgrew.

The game was relatively harmless because you were exactly that—harmless. A girl too sweet for her own good, recklessly trusting, and shouldering the heavy predisposition to assume the best in people.

Which is why he hadn't thought much about praising your equestrian skill, having been subjected to the visual torture that was the lessons you gave to local children each weekend.

Josh loved how you couldn't take a compliment without coaxing and, even then, you still squirmed like a newborn kitten.

Blinded by a halo of purity and the lure of a timid smile, your inquiry into his own riding prowess appeared just as unassuming. Another opportunity to get his fix, naively offered up on a serving tray, and he was powerless to resist the temptation.

Josh recalls chuckling to himself, prematurely reveling in the delicious reaction, as he threw a bushel out of the truck bed.

"Not as well as you, darlin', but I know my way around."

He expected you to shrivel. If not at his thinly veiled undertone, at the crass wink he tacked on between innuendos, sandwiched beside the candied term of endearment that made your thighs rub together every time he put it to use.

"I could...teach you a few tricks? Maybe show you my skills one-on-one? Something tells me you're a hands-on learner."

Josh nearly jumped out of his skin. He couldn't tell if you were being serious or not; you've never given back an ounce of what you've gotten from him, but it felt too bold to be a first foray.

Sayin' something as lamely disguised as that? It'd be like jumping into a swimming hole without testing the depth beforehand.

Surely, you were brighter than that. Or, at least, puritanical by proxy.

"You're playin' with fire, darlin'."

Your resolve proved resistant to his polite warning. The grin on your face could've only been categorized as wicked.

"I'm not playing with anything—yet."

"Your daddy know you talk like that?"

"You gonna tell on me?"

You were lent against the truck by then, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him through a fan of lashes. They casted a shadow onto your cheeks that created the illusion of sob-streaked makeup; he groaned out loud.

You've set things hurtling toward mutually assured destruction. Josh had to rein you and your girlish whims in before it was too late for common sense to win out against the ache in his jeans.

That dog won't hunt.

"No, because you ain't serious. I wouldn't wanna get you in trouble for a fib."

"S'not a fib."

Your face pinched in irritation then, understandably annoyed at not being taken seriously.

He hadn't been around too long, but Josh'd seen enough to know hardly anyone did 'round these parts. Probably why you were fixed on him like junebug pursuing light to its own detriment.

For that reason alone, he should've stopped there. It was an easy place to lay the interaction to rest. You'd gotten too big for your britches and it was his responsibility—morally and professionally—to bring your head out of the clouds and put those faded pink boots back on dirt.

Josh should've left it a bluff and sent you on your way, but he had the forethought of a bull straight out of the chute. His impulse control was on par, too, come to think of it.

So, Josh did what any red-blooded man with a death wish would; he hopped down from the truck-bed.

Stalked forward until you were pinned between his bare chest and the hot metal of the truck, his gloves shed and discarded elsewhere sometime between now and when reason got caught in the wind.

"No?"

You bit your lip and shook your head, body shrunken away from his.

Josh would have thought himself safe if not for the mischievous glint in your eyes, sparkling bright and strong in the heavy sunshine. He took that glimmer as a plea for more and caged you between his arms, palms burned by the surface.

It hurt no less than the punishment for his indiscretion would if, God forbid, someone caught him takin' advantage like this.

"I'm not soft and gentle like the boys i've seen droppin' you off."

Half a mile down the road, lights off, and in the middle of the night—Josh had half a mind to steal the ladder right out from under your window in order to facilitate some natural consequences.

"You spyin' on me, Mr. Anderson?"

You weren't too much younger than him, but you treated him with the same respect and reverence as your daddy's business partners or any other senior member of your small community in next-to-nowhere Tennessee. It was endearing, how dedicated you were to respecting your elders, no matter the gap's size.

And nothing in Josh's twenty-nine years has sounded better on his sunburnt ears—or to his throbbing cock—than 'Mr. Anderson' falling from your sweet, glossy lips.

"Got to," Josh shrugged.

He feigned nonchalance about as well as you wore a poker face.

He considered you for a moment then, considered the skin exposed by your top. The way your chest rose and fell; delicious little quakes. Josh liked the way you watched him with bated breath. Perhaps, a little too much.

You were so hungry for attention and approval, so fucking eager for anything he might dish out next—he'd test the bounds of your devotion eventually if luck and time were on his side.

"It's my job to keep all your daddy's property safe and in line, sweetheart... but, i'm also a man, so I can't say I ain't dyin' t'see you ride somethin' else."

Caution bled from his mind hearin' you moan so lewdly at words alone. Any bystander would've been at a loss imagining what he could've done to coax out a sound so broken and overtly impatient from such a pious, pretty thing such as yourself. All he did was utter a quip that would've made a teenager scoff and roll their eyes, and you practically melted in his palms.

You wore your neon innocence on your chest.

"Darlin, it ain't too late to pretend this never happened. We haven't done anythin' wrong, but you're toeing a dangerous line. You're a good girl. Y'wouldn't wanna get us both into any trouble, would'ya?"

"'m not gonna to tell."

You're persistent, he'd give you that.

Bold, too, he came to learn; your warm hand palmed his considerable bulge with enough enthusiasm to negate your palpable inexperience.

"You keep movin' those hands and i'll have to, sweetheart."

"You won't."

You said it with as much conviction as you say grace every night. Josh can almost feel your palm in his.

"How can you be so sure? You hardly know me, sugar. I've been here all summer and this is the most you've said to me in one go."

"Because you wanna touch me as much as i wanna touch you."

"That right, sweet girl?"

"Yessir."

Josh would have you if the creek don't rise.

And even if it did, he would find a way.

You squeak out a garble of protest as you wriggle in his arms. The struggle only worsens the dig of his wide tip prodding the mint hole, his length slick and sliding between your sticky folds with absolutely no resistance—a fact josh goaded you with, one that only made you gush out even more.

"N-not inside, Mr. Anderson," you hiccup.

All your sobbing and moaning has rubbed your vocal cords raw. And thank God for it, because you're louder than a rooster in a hen house and he hasn't even been inside anywhere.

You wouldn't even kiss him with tongue.

"Why's that, sugar? You savin' this sweet cherry for your future husband?"

A pathetic, bashful nod is all he gets from you. Josh chuckles into the musky skin of your soft neck. The patronizing sound makes you mewl and rut back into his lap in spite of your earnest vow of chastity.

"Well, aren't you precious, sweetheart? But that don't mean I can't fuck you, though. You've got another perfectly good hole back here for me to stick my cock in."

You don't hate the filthy suggestion, even though you know you should; you curled into yourself as if you did. The escaped whimper and roll of your body scream the truth when your mouth insists on lying. You might love his idea more than whatever you originally sought out.

In fact, if Josh was a betting man, he'd feel good putting his savings on that.

"Aw, don't get all shy on me now, darlin'. Where'd my little cocktease go, huh? Thought she'd be over the moon at the thought of me stretching out one of her little holes—no matter which one—but I guess I was mistaken."

Josh makes a show of separating your bodies. He leaves you bent over the truck bed, fingers threaded through crumpled hay, as his belt rattles dismissively in his hand.

"Go on, sugar. Run along now. I got work to do and you ain't gonna waste any more of my time."

"No!" you burst, spinning on a bare heel to latch onto his forearm. The tears of a blossoming fit well in your already glassy eyes. "I-I want to, I've just never...nothin's ever been...y'know."

"Never?" Josh blinks incredulously. He wretches off your iron grip to take your hand in his. "Not even these cute little fingers?"

Your head wags.

He smirks. "What about that hairbrush of yours?"

You wear embarrassment just as pretty as you do lust. Josh thinks you might cry for real this time.

He can't wait to lick your cheeks dry.

Josh does his best not to laugh, but your pained, guilt-ridden expression is too amusing. You try to look away but he's quicker—and stronger—than you. Josh grabs your cheeks with his free hand and squeezes until you whimper in obvious submission.

Like a tomcat with a belly full of yellow feathers, Josh bares his teeth. "Shouldn't leave your curtains open if you ain't inviting me to a free show, sugar. Not that I'm complaining—the hours go by much quicker when y'got somethin' nice to look at."

He smells the shame rolling off of you in uneven waves, can just about taste it, too. Fuck, one taste of you'll never be enough to satiate him. Of that, the foreman is certain.

Josh drops your wrist and cups your face with warm, calloused hands. His thumbs rub the teardrops into your cheeks as he coos, "I promise I'll take real good care of you, sweetheart. Nice and slow...get you so ready you'll be beggin' me to split you open. Y'can trust me, I know what I'm doin'—y'ain't the first i've had the pleasure of breakin' in."

You scowl, jaw set and eyes narrowed; rearing to charge. Invisible steam plumes from your rabbit-twitch nose. You are so dang cute, he could hardly stand it.

"Put that pout away before I spank it off of ya, y'hear?"

He nearly busts with how quickly you fall in line at the mere implication of corporal punishment.

Josh'll remember that for later.

"Didn't even give me a chance to say ain't none of them could hold a candle to you, sugar."

Taking you on your back proved to be too much of a temptation, what with your virginal hole mouthing around nothing like a siren song, and your demure face crinkled into disrepair at the hand of your own perverse wants. Your limp thighs splayed open as Josh fucked your ass bare with no assistance, save from his spit and your dribble.

"Look how ripe you are, sugar. Your little pussyhole is cryin' for me and you won't even let me touch her...not even a little bit."

He gave you your first peak in that position, his teeth ground into the side of his cheek as he fought to keep his own at bay; Josh was far from done playing with your supple, sensitive body. With his thumb pressed to your puffy button, he stroked you halfway to your second and then abruptly pulled out.

The hiss of pain and surprise is swallowed by a mound of hay as you're flipped over and he hikes your hips up high into the muggy air. Your hands curl into fists on either side of your head.

Josh's face lowers until his nose slots in the valley between the rounded muscles. His deep inhale and subsequent hum of approval exacerbates the battle waging behind your glazed, lust-blown eyes. His thick tongue slips past the love-loosened ring and he fucks you with it like he can hear the conflict monopolizing your mind.

Josh laps and laps, kneading the tender flesh of your rear like he's got something to prove, until your back aches and you scream into the earth.

The obscene smacking of his lips as he parts from your tender hole is nothing short of profane, but it's no match for the fresh, hot glob of spit that lands on the sore pucker with a loud splat!

And Josh can't help but throw salt in the wound, "'wanna be able to smell your wrecked little asshole for hours, sugar, wanna be able to taste you on my lips all fucking day."

Tears race down your cheeks. This is everything you've been taught is immoral. A one-way ticket to the fiery domain down below. This is a sin, desecration of the worst kind.

This is the most pleasure you've felt in your entire life.

The sun is far too close to the adjacent range of mountains for his liking; the old man will be home a little before it dips behind them for the night with your mama in tow.

Josh is going to cum before then. At least once. Propriety be damned.

He maneuvers you up and off of the ground, taking the time to brush the dirt and smushed fodder from your tear-stained cheeks and clammy palms.

Your heart jumps to your throat when he finishes positioning you—split open on his girth, straddling his broad hips, turned away from his kind eyes, and facing the dirt road. You grip his rippling, jean-clad thighs.

Josh can feel your freshly-painted claws through the sturdy fabric.

"I d-don't know how, sir."

His hips involuntarily buck at the honorific; it'll never get old.

"Yes, you do, darlin'. I know y'do. Seen it with my own two eyes." Josh taps the fleshy bit of your hip. He's growing impatient. "Go on, pretty girl. Ride me like you ride your ponies."

"Not ponies."

He doesn't need to see your face to know you're glowering. Probably singeing holes into the poor, weathered barn ahead, your kind features scrunched tightly into a frown. If you do it any harder, you'll get stuck that way.

And Josh can't have that. Can't have his sweet, good girl permanently pouting. He'd never get a lick of work done again; he'd be to busy fucking that absent-minded smile back where it belongs.

Admittedly, the open-palm hit is harder than the situation warrants but he's waited too long to watch it jiggle at his hand to control himself.

"What was that?" he growls.

You grind down, swiveling your hips as you grasp onto the lifeline, "Nothin', sir."

"God, even with a cock in your ass you still mind your manners. Your daddy would be so proud of ya, wouldn't he, sugar? Raised ya so good, got ya so obedient."

Josh's vision clouds as you find your stride. The feel of you rocking over his cock is unreal. Entirely unmatched by anything he's ever experienced, in practice or in theory. You feel divine.

You're just as dedicated and passionate in riding him as you are that gentle Tennessee Walker of yours. But there's an intense undercurrent he's never seen before—a fervid need that he could only hope would surface and possess you someday.

Today is that day, and it is glorious.

"Spread yourself f'me, honey."

You do so without lip or hesitation. You just reach back and grab yourself with both hands, hips never wavering.

Heaven-sent, he muses. His very own fallen angel.

A she-devil in disguise; a dirty whore with a greedy, greedy hole.

Josh's never seen anything hotter than your tight little ass fighting to accommodate another of his blessings.

It ain't like you're going easy on yourself either, forcing that sweet hole to take a beating because slow and steady ain't enough anymore. The floodgates have been opened, you're now subservient to the mounting heat low in your tummy and the pulse of your neglected, untouched pussy. You're fucking yourself hard enough for both holes, and you've graciously awarded Josh a front-row seat.

"Sweet Jesus, you're prettier than a peach—juicer, too. I reckon you got the nicest set of holes this side of the Mississippi, sugar."

You preen, back arching. In response, you hold yourself open even wider for his perverted gaze.

"That's it—show me where my cock is. Show me what you've let me take, what you've let me claim—what I'll always call my own. Even when you're good and hitched, it'll be mine. And whenever your empty ass aches, you'll think of this—think of me.

You'll always remember the time you let your daddy's foreman soil you in the middle of his pasture."

The moan that tumbles from your gaping mouth is as uncouth as the visual feast you're treating him to. Even in your struggle to balance on chaffed knees.

Taking mercy on your poor skin, Josh sits up, tugging you back so that your back is pressed tight to his sweat-drenched chest. His grip on your hips matches the ferocity of your hole pulsing around the base of his member, his heavy sack jumping up to repeatedly slap your sensitive clit.

"Y'gonna let me fill this little hole, sugar?" His voice is low in your ear, his breath humid and encouraging.

Your head bobs, your body in a frenzy.

Josh hums his satisfaction, "m'gonna stuff you full and send you back inside—have you make supper right next to your mama with me leakin' down these pretty thighs...M'gonna make you sit in your sin across the table from your daddy."

It's that thought—and your enthusiasm for it—that kicks him over the edge, and, without warning, Josh is unloading warm ropes into your ruined body while you spill for a third time, painting his generous sack in your cream—and it's the crumpled white cotton sticking out of his back pocket that lays the foundation for it to become a reality.

As you limp back to the main house like a freshly dropped foul, Josh knows there won't be any more boys parked at the edge of the property line. No need for the ladder tucked behind the bushes.

Your daddy's gonna be so pleased with him. For weeks, he's been asking Josh for his two cents on how to exterminate the vermin in his field. They're gone now, and Josh'll make sure they stay gone.

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[goodluckclove]

Tell me about your suffering is art stance. I wish to know. Please and thank you. <3

Man you know I never thought I would openly talk about this part of my life because it was a nosedive that took me literal YEARS to recover from. But I'm seeing a close friend of mine go down the same path despite watching me almost sink into the void, so apparently this isn't universal information.

Storytime, dear ones. And it starts here. TW for mania, derealization, substance abuse, kind of parental abuse, and ultimately suicide related stuff.

This is an issue of Content magazine from 2016. It's a popular arts magazine from the Bay Area of California. Flip through it, it's neat! The arts scene in San Jose and around that area is small, but very dedicated.

Now go to page 56-57. The headline for the interview is "Miranda and the Young Outlaws". I did not choose the headline. I did not decide to have my photo be the only one in color. I was, at one point, Miranda, and at the time of that photo I am 19 years old.

I've been a novelist since 12, but at 16 I got into playwriting. It was instant validation. People thought I was good at it, and I was - though good in a way I don't believe applies anymore. Google my full dead name and you'll see some short plays of mine. Some short stories. I don't really mind putting my full dead name out there, mostly because I worked hard for all of that and would rather not let it die forever. So have at it.

If you read this interview you'd probably be impressed. Maybe envious at the depiction of independent creativity being validated at such a young age. A few notes from my present self:

- when Miranda referenced the rehearsal on the street outside the coffee shop, she neglected to include how once her actors finished the final scene, she laid down on the dirty sidewalk with no warning and began to weep from exhaustion. The cast, her friends from high school, most of them still IN highschool, gathered around her and struggled to calm her down.

- when she describes her "house of recovery" she doesn't mention that her "recovering addict" parents got her hooked on medical cannabis to stop her nightly, hyperventilating panic attacks. Not everyone who smokes weed is addicted. Miranda was for three years.

- "when you're young and you find an art form you're really passionate about it helps you emotionally..." The reporter misquoted Miranda here. It HURTS you. That's what she said. It. Hurts. You.

- I considered the other people in that group photo the most important people in my life. None of them talk to me anymore. I get it, though.

The Young Outlaws was my legacy at the time. We did The Muses, and it was one of the most profound experiences of my life. Then after that I had a complete, screaming mental breakdown the night before our Halloween show.

I was working five jobs at the time. I dropped out of school to focus on theater. I didn't eat much, and every other weekend I wrote a new full-length script in the span of less than two days. I was insane and miserable constantly, but that's what an artist is, isn't it? Someone who suffers? Isn't that what it means to put in effort?

It's crazy, but that brainwashing runs so strong that as I write this it's hard not to think that I was somehow STRONGER back then.

I didn't stop so my body stopped for me. I shut everything down over a video on the Facebook group for my troupe that I filmed while lying on the couch, and then I just kept lying on the couch for days. Then weeks. I have a memory of lying on the patio at dusk, looking up at the clouds pass and wishing desperately that I had enough energy to kill myself.

I didn't write. I didn't write for a long time.

But that's what an artist is...right?

It got better when I stopped smoking weed. As I kept going to therapy and adjusted my medication. Then my foundation broke again and I walked out of the show in Santa Cruz I was emceeing for and made an attempt that landed me in the psych ward for a week.

I did write a play there in the notebook they gave us. A friend I made in the unit gave me the title. If I ever make a Patreon or something I'll put it up there because it's good but it's too painful to ever hear aloud.

Listen. Please listen. Lean in close like we're children sharing a secret.

Suffering isn't cool. It is not helpful. It. Will. Not. Help. You. Not in relationships, not in life, especially not in art. Do not make an identity out of pain that you can get ease or erase entirely. If you are an artist with ANY sort of neurodivergence, you do not have the luxury to be the picture of the Tortured Artist.

Mania shows through artistic pursuit. Same with depression. Same with anger and delusion. But people expect artists to be weird and a little unstable and edgy, so what's the problem?

The problem is I'm dying. The problem is that I could've died. The problem is that so many other artists have.

Writing can still be hard. You can write something that's painful. But if your writing is always hard, always painful, always lonely and doubtful and you never walk away feeling proud of yourself - something is wrong. You need to reframe the way you think about yourself in relationship to your art. This is not an option. The alternatives are that you either don't make art, or you make a few works that some people might find so amazing that they talk about how much of a shame it was that you died early.

A few brave people have shared their writing with me and I've been thrilled and impressed. I'm seeing things that should be on bookshelves. I'm looking up short story journals and practically begging them to submit. To them, to you, to me, and to Miranda, I say this:

Your craft is your heart. It can feel, but it doesn't have to break to be worthy. People don't study the tragic greats because they were drunk and high and mean, they study them because they had a beautiful heart and it is an immense loss that it was shattered so soon. Please don't become another tragedy. Please find a way to listen to your craft and your body with sympathy and tenderness.

Please? For me?

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writing #on writing #authors of tumblr #queer writers #queer artists #young writer #young artist #oof what a ramble haha

[dancingqueen19]

Little story I wrote about them (this is my first time writing in so long so forgive me if it’s not the best)

It's been three months of pure happiness, and it's been three months since I saw Conrad Fisher, the boy who once held my heart, and here is he is standing across from Jeremiah and me. We didn't waste any time getting together after the motel. I can see on his face that it still hurts him to see us like this, standing together while holding hands. I drop Jeremiah's hand, and I put a strand of hair behind my ear. I grieve the loss of contact. Conrad is the first to speak in this awkward staring contest. "Hey, guys, I haven't seen you in forever. His eyes flick back and forth between Jere and me, and he's wearing a half smile on his face, but his eyes are revealing a different story. "Yeah, I missed you. It's great to see you. Jeremiah smiles and moves to embrace his brother. I decide it's my time to speak. "How has Stanford life been? He releases Jeremiah and replies, "it's been good—crazy but good! A full, genuine smile on his face now. I smile back and say, 'That's great; I'm happy for you!' Jeremiah makes his way back to my side. The conversation dies off after that and Conrad excuses himself and goes to his room. Jeremiah glances at me and says, "I'm sorry, I didn't know he was coming this weekend. I look up at him and clasp his hand. 'It's alright; it wasn't as bad as I expected.'

I woke up at around 2 a.m. Jeremiah's arms were wrapped around me. I remove his arms from me and walk out of my bedroom to the kitchen. To my surprise, Conrad is in there with a bottle of water in his hand. I turn to quietly walk back up to my room, but I hear him softly ask, "Why are you up so early? I curse myself for coming down here; not that I don't like talking to Conrad, but I'm instantly reminded of the hurt I caused him. But he hurt me first, so it's fair game, I guess. As I enter the kitchen, I mutter, 'I'm thirsty, and take a drink from the fridge. His nose crinkled "same old Belly." I raise my eyebrows and ask, "What does that mean? He looks at me like it's the most obvious answer in the world; "You haven't changed a bit. I roll my eyes and reply, 'I better go back to bed.' He pressed his lips together and said, "Right, you wouldn't want Jere to think you'd disappeared."

After waking up to an empty spot next to me, I decided to take a shower and get refreshed. I go downstairs to find Jeremiah cooking after getting dressed and blow-drying my hair. I sneak up behind him and put my hands around his waist while he's occupied making breakfast. He turns around and keeps my arms in place. "Morning, Bells, rest well?" He looks so adorable in this way; the grin on his face is only for me. His blue, drowsy eyes fixed on mine. 'Yes.' I grinned. He placed his hand around the nape of my neck, then gently kissed my lips, and I kissed him back with the same gentleness. I could kiss his soft lips forever. A cough interrupts us, Conrad. We move away, and I remember that day, 3 months ago, when he approached us to see that we were leaned up against his car, kissing—the day I chose Jeremiah Fisher. Jeremiah clears his throat and asks him, "Do you want any eggs? Conrad stared. "Nah, I'm good; I'm going to take a walk on the beach,"

I was in the living room that evening, about to go outside and join Jeremiah in the pool because we had to return the next day—Jeremiah to Finch and I to my house. Conrad grabs my wrist and appears to appear out of nowhere, stopping me in my tracks. He says "Belly," and I pull my wrist out of his grasp. "Conrad." I put on a phony smile because I'm anxious, and when he doesn't respond, I say, "Need anything? The question, "Do you love him? My eyes narrow, my smile fades, his eyes flickering with passion, "Why do you want to know? I ask. I don't like the changing mood. He moves in closer and tenderly takes my face in his hands, saying, "I've missed holding your face. He answers hesitantly. His eyes were looking for anything and everything in mine. And when he starts to lean in to close the space between us, I back away from him.

    The door suddenly swings shut, and I look out the window to see Jeremiah dashing out to his car, starting the engine, and driving off. "Why would you do that? I asked furiously. My jaw clenches as I feel my chest tighten with rage. He casts a quick glance up towards the ceiling to avoid me. "I can't help myself," he says, opening his lips as if to add more but swiftly closing them again. "What about Jeremiah? He saw you trying to kiss me, and he left! " If looks could kill, he'd be dead. I can't believe him; I don't know what to do. I need to get away from him. I need to call Jeremiah. He steps closer, but I quickly move away. "What I said before, about being friends, I- Before he can say something regrettable, I cut him off. I shout, "I love him. Immediately, his eyes go wide and his face goes blank. "I love him." I repeat again, this time slowly saying the words. His face was void of any emotion. "If you love him, why are you still standing here with me? I open my mouth to reply, but he keeps going, "You know what? Forget this conversation even started, and don't worry about your precious jerebear; I'll deal with him when he comes back. And just like that, he walks up the stairs and fades away from my sight.

I know Jeremiah needs time to calm down, so I hesitate to call him, but I do it anyways because what if he's driving recklessly and gets hurt? Straight to voicemail "Hey, it's Jeremiah; leave a message!" I hang up the phone and decide to go swimming. I need to calm my mind from everything that just happened: Conrad almost admitting he still has feelings for me; Me admitting that I love Jeremiah;  I never realized it before now. It still feels strange saying the words, even in my mind, but I do, unconditionally. I think I'd fade away into the darkness without him by my side.

It's nearing midnight, and still no sight of Jeremiah. With my mind full of worry, I call my mom. It takes her a few seconds to answer, but she does: "Hello, aren't you supposed to be asleep? You have to get up early tomorrow." Emotion slips out of me, and I start to cry "mom," the only word I can get out. Her tone instantly worried: "Belly, what's wrong? Where's Jeremiah?"

"He left; I don't know where he is; he won't answer my calls! I sobbed out "Did something happen?" Why did he leave? She questions, "He saw Conrad about to kiss me. I gawk out. "Belly!" She scolds. I explain the situation the best I can, and she comforts me until I stop crying and we say our goodbyes. I get up off my bed and look in the mirror, my eyes still bloodshot and puffy, and my nose slightly running. I suddenly feel so exhausted, but I can't go to bed, not without Jeremiah next to me. I hear the front door open,footsteps, and Jeremiah's bedroom door shutting; he's home. I feel like I can breath again.

I slowly make my way out of my room and into the hallway. I quietly open his door to see him sitting on his bed. I examine his face, and his eyes match mine. So he's been crying too. I walk in his room and shut his door behind me. Jere, my Jeremiah, his arms crossed, and he looks drained. I go to sit beside him on his bed, "I don't want to talk to you, Belly." I play with my hands, "Jeremiah, nothing happened. He scoffs, "I saw what was about to happen. I shake my head. "Nothing would've happened, Jere," i say softly, and I take his hand in mine. In return, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "Look at me. I take my other hand and delicately move his face towards me. He opens his eyes and says, "Bells, I'm sorry. He says it so quietly that if I wasn't reading his lips I wouldn't have registered what he said. "No, I'm sorry; I should've just walked outside to you instead of entertaining Conrad. Fear crossed his face. "Don't apologize, i shouldn't have gotten so angry and left. It scared me—the possibility of losing you again to him," he said, tears shimmering in his eyes. I squeeze his hand, and he leans into my touch. I wish he could see himself how I see him. "I don't feel anything anymore for him;the love I had remaining for him died the second I kissed you. The corner of his mouth turned up, and he leant forward and pressed his lips to my cheek, and then to my lips. I ran my finger's through his hair, and he slowly pulled away. Our faces both flushed. "I love you," I whisper. He takes my hand and kisses it. in this moment, his eyes sparkled with admiration and hope. "I love you too, so much." I can't help but kiss him again. "I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life. I admit it when we finally pull away. He breathily laughs and says, "Yeah, bells, I'd like that too."

We'll deal with Conrad later, all I care about right now is that I have Jeremiah beside me and that I know I have his past, present and future.

Any requests?

#belly conklin #team jelly #tsitp jeremiah #jeremiah fisher #belly and jeremiah #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp spoilers #tsitp #tsitp season 2

[i-need-some-advice-on]

how do i break up with my partner?

ive (17m) been considering breaking up with my partner (17nb). theyre my first serious relationship, we’ve been together 2 years and for a long time i was scared of committing because we’re young and i know we’re immature and dumb but after a while i decided id rather commit and get my heart broken than ruin a perfectly good relationship out of fear. i kinda regret letting myself commit now.

im gray aromantic, theyre one of the first people ive ever been romantically attracted to and we’re good at communicating and supporting eachother but lately its just felt. wrong. a few weeks ago they came over for the weekend and for whatever reason i was just miserable. i didnt want to kiss them, i didnt have fun, i felt like i was being forced to hang out with an old friend i didnt have anything in common with anymore. nothing has changed so i dont know why i feel this way.

ever since then theyve been texting me and i just dont want to respond. i thought at first i wanted to avoid everyone because after that sleepover ive been really depressed but ive realized its really just them. i still want to love them, i dont know how ill ever find someone like them again i just feel like staying with them is torture for absolutely no reason.

the idea of breaking up is so fucking scary. they want to be with me forever, we’ve made our college plans around moving in with eachother, theyve been my rock through so many horrible dips in my mental health and loved me through all of it.

im scared of what the aftermath would be. i know theyre the happiest theyve ever been right now because of our relationship. i dont want to hurt them, they didnt do anything to deserve this. i still care a lot about them, they literally didnt do anything wrong its completely a “its not you its me” situation. we have a lot of mutual friends but almost all of them were my friends first and i feel like if we break up they wont feel like they have anyone to talk to since they arent still friends with most of the people they were when we started this relationship.

im scared of what the aftermath for me would be too. like i said i am really depressed right now, being in this relationship is making me really stressed out and contributing but breaking up would probably be even worse.

i really have no idea what to do. i know breakups are kinda always scary but this is just too hard.

.

[fritextramole]

heal the holes in me

part 2 of a Nate Archibald playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

This Year ~ The Mountain Goats

I played video games in a drunken haze I was 17 years young Hurt my knuckles punching the machines The taste of Scotch rich on my tongue

Going Underground ~ The Jam

We talk and we talk until my head explodes I turn on the news and my body froze

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out ~ The Smiths

Take me out tonight Because I want to see people And I want to see life Driving in your car Oh please, don't drop me home Because it's not my home, it's their home And I'm welcome no more

It’s Obvious ~ Au Pairs

Spending time nowadays By my side That's oh so nice

Fall for Me ~ Matt Doyle

It never has been easy, lover, standing at your side Always thinking you've got something to prove And while I hate to have to blow your cover But it's only pride

Dance With Somebody ~ The Midnight

Take off your armor, let down your hair You could sit on your hands or you could get closer, if you dare And it's not that the rest of us don't have to fight For every bit of love and every bit of light But tonight, it's Friday night

Dance With Me ~ Dirty Honkers

Your hand was shaking as I held it tight We were alone beneath the stars

Triple Dog Dare ~ Lucy Dacus

They put our faces on the milk jugs Missing children 'til they gave up Your mama was right, and through the grief Can't fight the feeling of relief

Video Games ~ Trixie Mattel

They say that the world was built for two Only worth living if somebody is loving you And, baby, now you do

Unwritten ~ Natasha Bedingfield

Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find

Love My Way ~ Psychedelic Furs

In a room without a door

I Like Me Better ~ Lauv

If we lay, let the day just pass us by I might get to too much talking I might have to tell you something

Ultralife ~ Oh Wonder

Blood running in my veins I've never been here before And I got love falling like the rain I never could've asked for more I got so much soul inside my bones Take a look at me now I'm young forever in the sun

Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) ~ Edison Lighthouse

I'm a lucky fella And I've just got to tell her That I love her endlessly

Oh, What A World ~ Kacey Musgraves

Oh, what a world, don't wanna leave All kinds of magic all around us, it's hard to believe Thank God it's not too good to be true Oh, what a world, and then there is you

Ecstasy (Apple of My Eye) ~ Strawberry Switchblade

Doing all we want to do Seeing things we've never seen Going places we haven't tried to be

Neptune’s Jewels ~ Mystic

Something about my lifestyle makes love so strange

Sundress ~ Zoo Culture

Just picturing you and I on an island in the sky so high That no one can reach us, nobody can preach to us

Big Jet Plane ~ Angus & Julia Stone

Gonna hold ya, gonna kiss ya in my arms Gonna take ya away from harm

Perfect Day ~ Lou Reed

Just a perfect day, problems all left alone Weekenders on our own, it's such fun Just a perfect day, you made me forget myself

What I Got ~ Sublime

Love is what I got, it's within my reach

uuu ~ Field Medic

Lovin' you sure makes me afraid of losin' But I don't care, I can't slow down now

Real Love Baby ~ Father John Misty

Our hearts are free So tell me what's wrong with the feeling I'm a flower, you're the bee It's much older than you and me

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy ~ Queen

When I'm not with you, think of you always I miss you (I miss those long hot summer nights)

Hazel ~ Roy Blair

Can't take back what I've been born with My family's gorgeous, flaws and all I won't ignore them, they're important Keeping these friends until the end

Age of Consent ~ New Order

I thought that you might like to know I received your message in full a few days ago I understood every word that it said

Moon and Waves ~ Haroula Rose

Why does every river's flow reach for the sea? Can they be lonely? Seeking some truth to reveal? Serving their purpose for eternity

august ~ Taylor Swift

For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call

#gg #ggplaylists #nate archibald #gossip girl #source: senamarais

[toomuchracket]

My friend and her housemates have taken to sunbathing naked/ with very little on in the last couple of weeks because the sun is actually out in England?! They got a complaint through their letterbox from an old couple who live nearby today. (My friend and everyone found it hilarious so it’s ok I’m sending this lol). Anyway! My mind has, of course, managed to link this to Matty somehow. Imagine HIM being the neighbour. Like he’d be like wow I really should NOT look but… that girl is gorgeous… and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her (is this too Joe Goldberg! Idk! I’m just letting an idea snowball. Ignore it if it’s too creepy!)

good for your friends lol the uk really has been boiling this week! and i mean yes it's bordering on the joe goldberg but you know what!! we'll modify it so it's less like that. thinking about you and matty dating/living together in his house, and you being off work one sunny day while matty has several calls to make and emails to work on; in the afternoon, once the sun has peaked and you've done what you wanted to get done in the house that morning, you put on your little summer dress and grab your book and a sun lounger and inform matty you're off to sunbathe. and he's like "ok darlin', have fun, i'll bring us some drinks out when i'm done with work", and you're like "sounds good" and there's a little smooch before you head outside and make yourself comfy. and it's nicely sunny at first, but somehow the temperature gets even hotter as the day progresses - after an hour or so of sweating in your (admittedly tiny) dress, you think "fuck it, nobody can see in here anyway" and take it off so you're only in your panties, and the relief is instantaneous. matty's wandering around indoors as he chats on the phone, glancing out at you and smiling at how cute and content you look reading; the first time he looks out after you've taken your dress off, though, he literally does a double take because??? his perfect girlfriend is just fully topless in the garden??? shook. and matty tries so hard to tear his eyes away, because a) he knows how hot it is outside and correctly assumes you've done it to cool down, and b) he is literally still on a work call lol. but then you catch him looking and smirk, blowing him a little kiss and stretching far more gratuitously than necessary - immediately, matty's like "you know what mate i think we've discussed all we need to today. have a good weekend i'll talk to you on monday byeeeee" and running outside to perch on the end of your sun lounger like "hi, gorgeous". and you're like "babe i thought you were bringing drinks!", and matty grins like "yeah i was planning on it but then your outfit - or lack thereof, i should say, distracted me"; you roll your eyes, but smile at him, and stand up like "well, i guess i'll go inside myself then", and walk back into the house. matty tears his eyes away from your bum for a second to be like "kitchen's that way, babe" when you turn the opposite way indoors, to which you look back at him cheekily like "i know, i just quite fancy going to our bedroom right now" - matty's by your side immediately, gently slapping your bum like "minx! but i fancy that too lol" <3

#mads muses #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I used to somewhat frequently get really bad chronic physical anxiety symptoms, like I’d mentally feel not that bad but I’d still feel dizzy and lightheaded and feel like throwing up and a bit numb everywhere and my chest would hurt, and then of course I’d worry that this means I’m dying so then I would start to feel anxious, and that would make it worse. I even went to the emergency room a couple of times when these feelings were accompanied by particularly severe chest pains. They hooked me up to machines and did all kinds of tests and eventually said it’s just that I’ve got so much anxiety happening so chronically that it’s causing physical symptoms to also happen chronically. That or there was some physical cause that they missed with all their EKG tests and breathing tests and blood tests and other things, which would be quite a coincidence, if I had my several different anxiety disorder diagnoses and also a different thing that caused all the same symptoms. I don't know. They did find my blood pressure runs low and tell me to eat more salt, and someone said something about a thyroid being a possibility but never followed it up. Maybe I should follow that up.

But these were weird and extra scary because they weren’t just happening during a panic attack, or while I was freaking out about something and I could make them go away by calming down. They’d come on with seemingly no warning and they wouldn’t go away and I hated it so much. There have been a few years in my life where this has happened regularly, most days, and I’ve generally had to make some major life change to get it to stop.

Outside of those few years, this has been something that happens occasionally, and it freaks me out, but I try to remind myself that I’ve had it before and it’ll pass, and it usually does within a few days. As of now I actually hadn’t had it for quite a while – not in that way where the physical symptoms just come on with no obvious warning or antecedent, that is. And yet it’s been happening all day today. I feel fucking terrible and I’m writing this post because of course I hope it’s just that again, but I can’t really know.

It’s really frustrating, because I’ve just gone three weeks without drinking for the first time in many years. And I’m pleased about that. But I’m always hearing and reading people saying that when they stopped drinking they felt so much better and healthier physically and psychologically, and I’ve had the opposite pretty much from the start, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my plan to cut back but it does seem unfair. To my justice-obsessed brain, if I have to live without doing that thing I really enjoy, which is drinking whiskey and watching old comedy videos every weekend, I’m supposed to feel better in exchange, not have my anxiety levels ramp up to the point where I’m dizzy and almost throwing up and a bunch of other physical symptoms that I could get from alcohol too, but at least if I got them from drinking then I’d have fun in he process. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night convinced the world was going to spin off its axis and I was dizzy and I couldn’t get back to sleep for two hours. That’s what’s supposed to happen during a drunk/hungover sleep, as a price I pay for having fun drinking. It’s not supposed to happen when I haven’t had a drink in three weeks.

I don't really know why any of this is happening because things are actually going relatively well right now, maybe it's low blood pressure. I'd just like to say, I feel cheated. I know that not drinking is still a good idea and it's what people should do and everything and it's what I'm doing, but I was promised that this would feel better in at least one way and I feel cheated because I'm still waking up in the middle of the night panicking and I'm still dizzy and lightheaded. It would sure be great if these symptoms would slow down before I have to go to work on Monday. This is exactly the sort of thing that I'm afraid of when I worry that I'm not functional enough to keep a fulltime in-person job longterm, that this sort of thing will happen when I'm working. Hasn't really happened since I started working in person last year, but it is now, so that's good. I'm living in a friend's house at, as the British say, mate's rates, but I still do have some rent to pay.

[olsenmyolsen]

All Eyes On Me

Part 18 of On The Inside With Elizabeth Olsen

Word Count: ~8.5K

masterlist

Y/N POV

I decided to listen to my girlfriend Elizabeth Olsen and not have a frozen breakfast. I made buttery pancakes and scrambled eggs. Breakfast isn't my favorite meal, but it is Liz's. Well, I think every meal is Liz's favorite, if I'm being honest. But I persist! MK left halfway through, but I promised her we'd hang out soon. Anyways I still have extra batter, so if I'm feeling up for it, maybe I'll have more after I finish my two pancakes and scrambled eggs with hot sauce—the only way to do it.

I sit my butt down on my couch and place my plate and cup of tea on my coffee table. I have a dining room table, but it's a small and old plus; if it's just me here, why would I use it? Ya know?

I pull out my phone and decide to see what's going on in the world and if I should hate myself while I eat. One bite and in and fuck, why don't I make pancakes more! This is so good! Okay, new food fixation, I feel it! Tomorrow morning? Pancakes! This weekend? Pancakes! Hell yeah!

Through my pancake high and ignoring the latest news about how our planet is fucked I take a moment to think on where I'm at and how I feel. After my mom left, I felt like she and I were possibly on the most significant grounds of understanding one another in years. She told me she'd come by early afternoon so she could adequately see my space, and so we could hang out and do touristy things. It's her first time in New York, after all! So, I guess I got a couple of hours to kill.

I am also incredibly thankful and appreciative of MK for being here and supporting me. She didn't have to stay or do the things she did, but the fact that she did meant so much. As the saying goes, actions speak louder than words.

I then think about one more person. I shove another forkful of eggs into my mouth before I get up and grab the picture of Max and I. The picture MK saw last night. I return to the couch and place it next to my plate. I haven't opened it since that day. I don't know why I want it here with me. Maybe it's the guilt I feel? Perhaps it's because I'm ready? I don't know...

Before my mind can wander anymore, my phone lights up. It's Max. I guess she's on break, so time to trauma bond, am I right!? Just kidding, Max is just understanding.

Y/N: Hey, what's up?

Max: Not much. I just have a free minute, just wanted to check in with you!

Liz POV

After Max gave me a rundown of how Y/N and her mom have been over the last couple of years, I instantly feel my soul hurt for the person I love. I guess she never mentioned her mom for a reason. Max also told me the name, Davey. Max said that Y/N might bring up that name up if she talks about her mom but to not push her on it. I fill in the small blanks and figure out that it must be her dad or stepdad.

This makes me feel shitty about how I could think that MK would swoop in and take Y/N. It's stupid, I know. But Y/N is hot and my girlfriend. MK has this weird pull on her, and I don't want to lose her. So yeah, I may have texted some bitchy things, but now I'm apologizing.

I put my phone away, and as my nerves start working up my body as Max's phone tells me that we're here. This is it! I made it! A black SUV pulls out of a spot just in front of the building. Perfect! I must be wearing a stupid smile because when I look at Max, she has the same face, but she's looking at me while I was looking at an old NY building.

Max cocks an eyebrow. "You ready?" I rapidly nod and hop out of the car. Max does the same and comes to the back to open the truck for my bags and suitcases. I insisted on helping, but Max informs me that I'm the "Queen," so luggage was "beneath me." Silly, but who am I to argue? However, before Max piles everything onto or in front of her, I grab my black backpack and traveling tote.

I start to walk ahead and into the building before max yells out and stops me. "You don't know where you're going." Shit. She's right. I roll my eyes and gesture for her to lead the way instead. We get to the elevator. Max hits the button and informs me we have about 20 seconds till it arrives. Good to know. As we wait, I can see Max's mind working, and ding, she gets an idea as the doors open.

Max pulls out her phone and dials up Y/N as we step into the elevator. "Basically, I talk and talk, and then when we arrive in front of her-" Y/N answers. I like this plan. I like everything that's happening, actually! I continue to listen to Max. I only hear her side of the conversation before I get too nosy and grab her phone, putting the call on speaker. Max looks at me and mouthed the word sorry before I had her phone back.

Y/N: No, you don't need to come over. I'm alright.

Max: You eating?

Y: Pancakes and eggs. Dude, I never realized how I might have an addiction to pancakes.

Max laughs at Y/N's ridiculous comment while I smile because she made what I said.

The elevator comes to Y/N's floor, and we hop off.

M: Hey, so we still on for Avengers tonight?

Y: Yeah-

M: Is it cool if I bring someone?

Max looks at me with pure excitement.

Y: Uhh yeah, is it Flirty?

M: Someone better!

Y: Do I know them?

M: You might.

We arrive at Y/N's door, and Max motions for me to knock as she gets behind me. I give a rhythmic set of knocks before covering the peephole, so she can't see that it's us.

Y: Hold on, someones at my door.

It feels like my whole body is vibrating, waiting for her to unlock this door. Shit, I should've thought about what to say when she opens the door! "Long time no see?" No, that's lame. I could just go with the classic-

-the door swings open!

"Hey, Coffee Girl."

Y/N POV

I feel my phone slipping from my hand, but thankfully some piece of my brain realizes I need it, so I subconsciously hang up and put it in my back pocket, all while staring at the beautiful green-eyed woman smiling at me. Like giving me a genuine fucking goofy ass grin.

I take a wobbly step forward as my face begins to break. "You're supposed to be in London.." "Surprise," Liz responds in a hushed voice before we clash into one another. We let our arms wrap around one another as we let quiet tears and kisses land on our faces. I'm still in awe that she's here! My Liz is here! I get lost in the moment, and it feels like time is speeding by, but I guarantee we've just been hugging for two minutes tops. "What? How? When? I-" I stop when I see my favorite redhead pop out from behind my girl.

"You bitch!" I let go of Liz and playfully shove Max before pulling her into a hug. "Thank you!" I let Max go as I feel an arm snake its way around my body before feeling a plethora of kisses land on my cheek, causing me to squirm. I look over at the green-eyed beauty next to me. She looks straight at me and gives her classic scrunch face. God, I love her. I then see Liz's eyes dart their way down my body before her eyes go wide, staring at my chest.

I look down, expecting my boobs to be on display or something, but oops, I forgot what shirt I was wearing. I whip my head back up to see Liz's awe-struck face. "I can't believe you have this!" I crane my head towards Max because it was her idea that I get this. All I get back in return is her hiding a fit of laughter behind her hands. "Please never wear this out." Liz pleads to me in a voice that makes me want to wear it 24/7. "But it's my favorite shirt!" I whine. She and I both know that's not true. My favorite shirt is the one she gave me the night I slept over. She shakes her head, but I see the smirk coming from her.

"Show me your place, love," Liz demands, changing the conversation entirely. So not wasting any more time, I help Max with the bags and bring the girls into my place. Once inside, I immediately start to become self-conscious. It's nowhere near as big as Liz's place. Or as nice. It's a studio. I have no garden. I literally just got stuff that expresses me as a person more. Shit, what if Liz doesn't like anything. What if-

"I love it." You what now? I watch Lizard look around my place. She becomes infatuated with the books and journals clogging up my tv stand. She runs a hand along the exposed brick on the dividing wall between the two main rooms. I watch her peer her eyes into the bedroom before she turns back to face me. Wait, why is she pouting? She just said she loves it. What happened?

"What's wrong?" I ask, making my way over to the little witch. "No plants." I pull Liz into a hug to comfort her but also to hide my eyes as they roll. Of course. I feel a hand hit my arm, and I look down in shock. "Just because I don't see it doesn't mean you can just roll your eyes." How does she know? "How!" I pull her and cup her face to ask. "I'm an Avenger." She states in the most 'duh' way possible before grabbing my hand and pulling me into the kitchen.

I look back to the couch and just see Max, who has already made herself at home watching us. She puts a finger to her mouth and gags, but she knows this shit is cute. Plus, she has a special someone, too, so she can shh.

I focus my attention back on Liz as she begins searching through my kitchen cabinets and drawers. "Can I help, my love?" Liz doesn't respond. Instead, she pulls out her phone and begins typing away. I have zero idea what's happening. I try to take a peek at Liz's phone, but she pulls it away, and let me tell ya, earlier, she looked pouty. Now she looks angry.

"You're missing so many essential things, Y/N. It's killing me. You also have so many mismatched pots and pans." She holds up a blue pot I got from a neighbor, and she holds up a non-stick pan that I got from... I'm not sure where I got it from. I'm not even sure that's mine. Okay, maybe Liz has a point. "So?" Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

I watch Liz eye me up before she finishes typing on her phone and puts it away. She then looks around the kitchen and tilts her head at me. I hear a gasp come from the couch. "Y/N apologize right now. She's doing the thing." I quickly turn my head to Max and back to Liz, who is now wearing a smirk. "Okay, I'm sorry for having an unorganized kitchen. It's shameful. I know." My tone is more on the sarcastic side, but I think Liz knew I would never truly apologize. I mean, it's just knives, pots, and pans. "Good." She raises an eyebrow before she shifts back into her calm non-life-threatening self. I watched some videos about how Liz is obsessed with cooking and how she travels with her own kitchen wear, but I had no idea it was this bad.

"I ordered you all new things. And before you argue. It's more for me than you, and you know it." With that, she gives me a look. And it's just us. It's finally the two of us. Suddenly I feel a kiss fall onto my face before she gives me another one, followed by one more. I feel her push her body up against mine, and I love it. She keeps pushing, backing me up until I bump up against my kitchen counter. Liz wastes no time putting her hands on mine to stop me from moving. A tiny moan squeaks out of my lips as I feel her breath roll down my neck. I'm about to push her legs open with my own when I hear the most irradiating sound ever.

It's a cough from Max.

Why is she still here?

I feel Liz's breath against my neck, but this time it's because she is laughing and trying to hide her embarrassed face. We both forgot about her. I can't help but laugh and pull Liz into a hug. This moment is gone, and Liz's laugh is so contagious. "I'm going to excuse myself," Liz whispers to me before her red face escapes my grasp and makes her way to the bathroom, avoiding all eye contact with Max.

I turn to see my best friend gleaming at me. "Why didn't you just sneak out?" I whisper yell. "That was so hot." My face forms a look of shock and disgust. "Ew. Don't do that. That's my girlfriend, not the famous actress Elizabeth Olsen. Got it?" "Got it." Max nods, but she doesn't wipe that shit-eating grin she is wearing. "You ruined this moment," I state. "This moment wouldn't have happened without me." I groan in frustration because, once again, Max is right, and now I realize what a mess I'm in. My body missed Liz's touch a lot more than I realized.

I huff and shoot Max a face of pure anger before walking into my room just as Liz pops out of the bathroom. I take a look around, noticing my room isn't in perfect form. "Sorry." I simply state as I dig through my underwear drawer. "Don't apologize. Remember, I love your space. It's all you." She looks around, smiling before her eyes lock onto my own. The deeper I look into her eyes, the more I know she means it. I pull my gaze off her and pull out a red pair to change into. "Red, huh?" Liz notices. I feel my cheeks heat up. There's only one reason I'm changing my underwear right now, and Liz and I know it. She walks up to me and leans into my ear, and whispers. "Don't worry." Liz grabs my hand and brings it to her thigh. "I'm wearing your other red ones." She moves my hand up her leg as she begins attacking my ear. I'm not even in control of my mouth as quiet moans keep escaping and my inability to form words. My hands keeps moving up before she stops. I open my eyes to see her biting her lower lip before she kisses my nose and leaves my room in a blur.

I slowly turn towards another drawer to pull out a change of sweat shorts as well.

After a quick change, I come out to the living room to see Max and Liz finishing off the rest of the breakfast I had. They're in the middle of a conversation; well, it looks like Max is grilling Liz about MCU stuff, but Liz isn't budging. After another minute, Liz makes my presence known to Max, who quickly shuts up.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Max asks, looking at the two of us. This bitch.

"Oh, you're joining? I thought you were just Liz's chauffeur?" Liz cups a hand over her mouth as Max's jaw drops. "Fuck you." Max breathes out as she rolls her eyes and takes the dirty dishes into the kitchen. I shoot Liz a wink, letting her know we'll have our time together. I feel my phone buzz, and I pull it out. It's a text from Max.

"I'm third wheeling, aren't I?"

I have to suppress the laugh I want to let out so bad. "Who's that?" Liz pipes up. "My mom." I dodge Liz's eyes and turn to Max. "Max, could I speak to you in my room?" I turn to Liz. "Just one second." I see a wash-over worry crash onto Liz's face. Max walks into my room as I see Liz start to shimmy to get up, but I hold out a hand with my index finger raised. "One second, my love." I quickly load an 80's pop music station on my tv to drown out Max's and mine's talk.

Once Max and I are in my room, she starts. "I feel like I'm annoying you two!" I pull Max into a surprise hug. "Thank you so much for bringing her to me." Max, unsure of what to do, takes a second before wrapping her arms around me. "You're always annoying, by the way." Max shoves me out of our hug. "But I was thinking..." "What?" Max asks me in a teasing/annoyed tone. "My moms coming over soon, and I need to sit down and talk to Liz about everything. Plus, the first time she meets her, I think it'd be better if you weren't here." My voice goes extra soft at the tail end. Thankfully, Max is my best friend for a reason. "I get it." See what I mean. "But." Uh oh. "I want to watch Avengers tonight with Liz." "Okay.." "And I want her to let me talk to Chris Evans." I look at Max like she just grew three heads. "The first part deal. The second part... I'll work on it. Okay?" Max extends her hand. "Okay." We shake. "Now, this is weird. Get going." I push her shoulder as she leaves my room.

I hear her come up with an excuse to leave as I grab my 2019 journal. I must've gotten lost in thought because I didn't notice Liz turn off the tv. I didn't hear her footsteps walk up behind me. Hell, I didn't even feel her arms around my waist until she placed a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. "Coffee Girl?" Liz, let's just above a whisper. "Yeah?" I respond, staring straight ahead. "You okay?" I lower my head and turn to face my girlfriend. I look into her eyes once again. I think just today, I'm realizing how much comfort they provide me. How much strength I get from them when they shimmer that green color I love. Or how when I look into them, I see a future. I see Liz and I together. I see her laugh. I see our pain. I see the love that we share.

I smile and place a kiss on her forehead before saying the phrase no couple ever wants to hear.

"We need to talk."

Liz POV

Well, that's a phrase no couple ever wants to hear. "It's okay. I promise." Y/N whispers after cupping my face. She must've seen the look of horror and panic I let out. "Follow me." Y/N grabs onto my hand and pulls me to her bed. As much as I would love to continue what I started earlier, I don't think that's going to happen. At least for now.

"Put these on." Y/N points to a navy pair of sweats. "I'll be right back." Y/N walks into the living room, leaving me to change. After doing so, I turn my head next to me to see what she left on the bed. It's a journal. It says it's two years old, but I would've guessed more aged from the binding.

Y/N walks back into the room with a picture frame in one hand and another journal in the other. She smiles at me as she makes herself comfortable on her own bed. "Babe?" I look over to her as she makes grabby hands at me. I quickly take the hint and crawl up her bed before laying down next to her. She kisses the top of my head as I get pulled into a cuddle. "I can't believe you're here." I think Y/N let an inside thought slip out. I just squeeze my arm around her waist. "Believe it."

After a calm minute, Y/N breaks it up. "How long are you here till?"I look up at her and smile. "Till you get sick of me. I have nothing planned right now—no movies to shoot. No shows to make. I'm free." I watch as Y/N can't believe it. Instead of using words, she just pulls me closer. "What about LA and your LA house?" I think about my following words carefully. "Well, technically, it's Robbie's place right now. And I'll have to go back eventually but let's not worry about that. I'm here with you. We'll stay here as long as we need to. Okay?" Y/N nods and lifts my chin to plant soft kisses on my lips. "Okay." She unwraps herself from me so she can scoot herself up and grab the things she brought in with her. I move my body up until I sit straight so she can have my full attention.

"So I know Max told you some things. I put it together... I don't know exactly what she told you about my mom but-" "Whatever you feel comfortable telling me." I stop her so she can collect herself. Plus, it's true I want Y/N to be comfortable sharing everything with me. I don't want her to do it just because she feels like she has to. She squeezes my hand and gives me a soft smile before she grabs a journal off her desk and the one that's on the bed.

I watch Y/N's face change multiple times. She's struggling with her words. I see her eyebrows tighten as she is getting frustrated with herself. I rest my hand on her thigh, letting her know I'm here and it's okay. "Just trying to figure out how to start." I nod. "I know."  She nods back to me.

She opens her mouth and starts. "My mom and I have always had a good relationship. She always loved and cared for me no matter what. Even when it was just her and I, she worked a lot which made those early years difficult because she became a workaholic trying to support her and myself." Y/N stops herself. "Sorry, I'm rambling." I burrow into her more. "It's okay. Just say what you want to say. In any order you want."

"My mom never dated, and I know it's because of my biological dad. She never said, but I know my mom better than she thinks. So one night, when she dropped me off with my grandparents, I knew something was up. I was 6, not an idiot." Y/N laughs before continuing. "Those types of nights kept happening until one day she took me out to lunch on a workday no less. That was when I knew this was a big deal. That's the day I met Davey. A man who deserved the title of father." Y/N brushes her hand over the cover of her 2019 journal, smiling. "The day I met him, he gave me a choice. He said you can either call me Davey or Dad but never David. I remember thinking that's a crazy way to start a conversation off with a 6-year old. But he knew. He knew he would do anything to protect my mom and I. He would love us and treat me as his own. He wanted me to be safe and to grow up knowing it wasn't just my mom and I anymore."

I don't think Y/N feels the tears coming down her cheeks. I raise a hand and start brushing them off her. She responded to my touch by laughing and kissing my palm. "Sorry. I didn't even know." I don't say anything. I just lean up and kiss her.

"I loved that man." Y/N clears her throat and pulls up the picture frame she initially brought with her. Inside the frame is a photo of Max and Y/N from a Halloween party. It looks to be years old. She unclasps the back of the frame and pulls the picture out.

The photo wasn't just of Max and Y/N. She unfolds it, and another person is revealed to be there as well as a second smaller picture. I almost don't recognize who the third person in the Halloween photo is until it hits me. It's Naomi. Y/N's ex. I didn't know they went this far back... Y/N grabs the two pictures in one hand and puts the piece of the frame onto the floor.

She takes a glance at the Halloween photo and places it on the floor as well. I still haven't seen the small picture. She's kept it facedown this entire time. She looks at me and grabs one of my hands. She takes the photo and gently places it in my hand before she lets go. "This is the last picture he and I took together. We took it from his old polaroid camera, and days later he..." Y/N begins to cry again. I go to reach out to her, but she stops me. "W-When you're done-e with the picture put it back in my hand." Y/N turns her head away, leaving me alone with the facedown photo.

Y/N POV

"How's it looking, kiddo?" I look up from the photo of the man giving me a big grin and two thumbs up and put on a fake smile for Davey. "I think it's time you got a haircut?" I sarcastically reply, earning a hearty laugh from the bald man before me.

I place the polaroid into his hand as I pop myself into the chair next to his hospital bed. As he brings the photo to his eyes, I can't bare to watch his reaction. I put my arms and head down onto his bed.

Every time I see him, he's looking weaker, frail, tired. You name it. That's why he's moved around so much before winding up here. Room 414.

Our monthly pictures have slowly started to become something grim as appose to joyful. We both know it. Davey hasn't said anything about the picture yet, and that's fine. I'm growing tired of pretending everything is a-okay.

My mind has wandered again as I hear the muffled beeps of the monitors and machines keeping my Dad alive. I close my eyes, wanting the beeping to stop. Not for him but for me. I've wante- "Kid?"

I slowly lift my head and put my hand on Davey's right arm. "Yeah?" He throws on a smile and taps my hand. "You weren't listening, were you?" I shake my head and make myself open my ears and watch him. Instead, he doesn't talk. He lets us sit here in silence. After a few good minutes, I reach over and flip on the tv, stopping once we get to the game show network. They're showing reruns of The Price is Right. It's better than a soap opera or a boring superhero movie, so this will do.

_

I can't remember if we're on the third or fourth one in a row, but it's when Davey breaks up the silence. "Moms coming later tonight?" "Yeah." "Where will you be?" "At the house." "Doing?" I roll my eyes. Even after everything, he still wants me to do my school work and write. "Essays, stories, and songs," I reply less than enthusiast. Davey turns to me, nudging my arm. "Exactly." I give him a soft nudge back. The last time I did that, it was too hard, and I left a bruise on his arm.

"Anything new?" He asks, pointing to my bag. "Some stuff, but I don't know." I shrug at him, but I know he won't let this go, so I grab my bag and pull out one of the journal he gifted me last year. I open it to the most section and slowly begin flipping through until I find something I want him to read.

April 26th, 2019

Don't Wanna Know (Don't Wanna Know - Bo Burnham)

How are you feeling? Do you like the show? Are you tired of it? Never mind, I don't wanna know Are you finding it boring? Too fast? Too slow? I'm asking, but don't answer 'cause I don't wanna know

Do I have your attention? Yes or no? I bet I'd guess the answer but I don't wanna know Am I all in the background? Are you on your phone? I'd ask you what you're watching but I don't wanna know

Is there anyone out there? Or am I all alone? It wouldn't make a difference, still, I don't wanna know I thought it'd be over by now but I got a while to go I'd give away the ending but you don't wanna kn-

I watch Davey's eyes read and reread the short song over and over until he finally closes it and turns to me. "Are all your songs going to be about me?" His question isn't a joke. Him and I know the 'show' in the song is watching him die. I dart my eyes away from his own unable to answer.

I stare at the cold floor until he speaks up again. "It's just a bad wrap, kid." I turn to his kind eyes and warm smile. "That's all it is." He gives me back my journal before it's time for me to leave him. I make sure his tv remote and water are near him. I hug and kiss goodbye like I do every time. I make sure my exit has always been the same. I feel like if one thing changes, then my life would change.

I didn't even notice that he made the change that day.

He didn't keep the picture like he always did. Instead, he slipped the Polaroid into my journal. I didn't find it until I went to write that night.

The night he was gone.

Liz POV

I put the picture back into Y/N's hand. Without looking at it, she flips it over before turning to face me. "He got sick when I was in high school. But then he beat it. He was a real fighter.." Y/N picks up the gran next to her and begins putting the whole thing back together. Hiding the small picture and all.

"Around the first time he got sick, that's when the crack in my mom's and I's relationship started to form. My mom threw herself into making everything better. Or at least that's what she thought. That included working triple the amount and not caring for anyone's opinions but her own. She still loved Davey and me, but it's like I couldn't breathe around her anymore. I couldn't do anything. So once I knew Davey was better, I graduated, and I got the fuck out. I know it crushed my Dad, but I just couldn't do it. So you can only imagine how I felt when he took a turn for the worse while I was in college."

Y/N doesn't realize it, but she's been gripping the two journals in her hand with such force I'm afraid their about to tear apart. I gently lift my hand from her body and onto the journals causing her to panic before she sees what I'm doing. She lets her body relax and gives the journals to me.

"If it weren't for that man, you wouldn't be seeing these. He encouraged this." I take them and begin flipping through them. To say I'm stunned is an understatement. I never knew my Coffee Girl had all of this hiding from me. It's laced with short stories, poems, and songs. All original, as far as I can see.

She never mentioned she was a writer or a musician, maybe? I take a glance around the room as if she can read my mind she answers. "Closet." She shines a smile at me, and I respond by kissing her. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me. You didn't have to, but I'm proud that you did. I truly, truly appreciate this Y/N. I love you." I give her another kiss before pulling back, and she's crying. But this time, it's different.

"Babe?" I cup her face and bring it to me. I want to ask questions, but maybe it's just all the emotions working their way through her. So instead of disrupting her, I let her cry in my arms.

After a couple of minutes, she pulls away and gives me a kiss that causes a new wave to course through my body. "I'm so happy." Y/N eeks out. "I started crying because that was the first time we've said I love you in person. You saying it made me realize how much I love you too. I love you so fucking much, Liz. You have no idea. I'm so happy with you, and please, thank you for making me safe enough to tell you and show you, Davey." I listen to her words hit my ears. Shit. This is the first time we've said I love you in person. I open my mouth to speak up, but I'm cut off. "Davey would've loved you."

Y/N POV

"I would've loved him too." I'm smiling like an idiot right now. I know I am. This girl right here. This Lizard. She has my heart, and I have hers. I watch as her she has a finger on a page inside one of the journals.

"Which one is that?" I ask her once both of our eyes have dried a bit. She looks at me confused before she knows what I'm talking about it. She opens the journal and shows me.

It's a revitalization of an old poem I came up with in high school called All Eyes On Me.

"Are their parts missing?" Liz runs her finger along the words. I watch as she begins to quietly read it out loud before she confirms that, yep, words and phrases are exempt.

"Yeah. I wasn't happy with it." "I like it. Sounds like it could be updated." She says, looking at me with her best puppy dog eyes. I laugh and kiss her at her attempt. "Maybe another day." I grab my journals and place them on the floor before I pull Liz close to me. "My mom and I are good now, by the way. Yesterday was tough, but today will be better." "Today?" Liz ask me, and oops, I didn't tell her. "Yeah, my mom is still in town."

Liz, in an instant, is up and out of the bed. "You're just telling me now?!?" I get startled by Liz's actions and lift myself up. "Well, I was getting there! Plus, you weren't even supposed to be here!" I shoot back in a teasing way. "When is she coming over? Should I even be here? She doesn't know about us. Y/N!" Liz is starting to panic.

Don't get me wrong. I'm nervous as hell, but Liz is here now. I'm not kicking her out or hiding her. So today is the day my mother is going to meet my girlfriend, Elizabeth Chase Olsen.

I get up and pull Liz back into bed. I let her rest herself on top of me while I stroke her hair. I continuously tell her that everything is going to be fine. I tell her that my mom will love her and that if one thing goes wrong, I'll fix it. It took a couple of minutes, but my Lizard is back.

We look at each other and press our foreheads together, only to be interrupted by my phone. Liz grabs it for me, and her eyes go a bit wide, so I have a feeling I know who it is. "What's it say?" "She'll be here in twenty." Liz hands me my phone and charges into the living room to grab a new set of clothes.

Liz POV

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can't believe I'm about to meet Y/N's mom. I want to throw up and hide. Oh God, what if her mom doesn't like me? I don't want to be the reason their relationship goes back to being on ice. What do I even wear?

"Y/N! What do I wear!" I yell out, letting my nerves get the best of me. "Hey, you don't have to yell." I turn to my side to see a smiling Y/N. Shit, how long has she been there? I look at her chest and roll my eyes. She is not wearing that shirt out!

After going through my luggage together and practically fighting Y/N on her t-shirt choices, we're finally both getting dressed in simple outfits.

We both decided that t-shirt and jeans would be appropriate for today. While I'm wearing this, Y/N is wearing a similar pair of jeans out instead of a simple black shirt, she opted for a baggy forest green t-shirt. I watch from the couch as Y/N is running in and out of the bathroom.

Y/N POV

Once I'm finally done freshening up, I walk into the living room to join Liz. Okay, fuck me. Liz is sitting on the couch, legs spread, feet firmly on the ground while she fiddles on her phone. Her beautiful hair covers her shoulders, and I want to do nothing more than to pounce on her at this moment.

However, she interrupts my impure thoughts but calling me beautiful and telling me how much she loves my shirt. "Thank you for changing," Liz says, kissing me on the couch. "You know I would've." I wink back at her. I let my hand slide down her side and give her hip a squeeze earning a playful yelp from Liz. "Y/N, we're not doing this right now." I go to whine but knocking from my front door stops me.

I get up and reach my arm out to help Liz up, but she shakes her no and runs into the bathroom. "Liz!" I go to chase after her, but the knocking doesn't stop. "Liz, get out here!" I yell out before opening the front door to my mom.

"Hi, Pumpkin." She greets me and pulls me into a hug which I more enjoy this time around. She walks into my place as I close the door behind her. As I turn back, I watch my mom almost stumble over a suitcase on the floor.

Shit.

"Going somewhere?" My mom looks at me with some concern.

Okay. My girlfriend is hiding in my bathroom—a girlfriend who is world famous. A girlfriend, my mom, has no idea even exists. Oh, God. How do I do this?

"No, it's-" The door to the bathroom closes, causing me and my mom to turn our eyes to my scared Liz.

"It's mine. I apologize. I should've moved it." Liz extends her hand out to my mom, who kindly accepts it. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth." "Hi, Elizabeth. I'm Y/N's mother, Y/M/N." Okay, so far, so good. I watch their hands drop, and Liz begins fiddling with her rings.

"Y/N, why didn't you tell me you had someone over?" Once again, Liz speaks for me. "Oh, don't blame Y/N. I showed up this morning unannounced to surprise her. I had no idea her mother was in town. I'm so sorry." Liz dips her shoulders down in an attempt to be friendly to my mom. I scoot myself closer to Liz, hoping to provide her some comfort.

"Oh well, it looks like Y/N got two surprise visits. How she's still standing, I have no idea." My mom, thankfully, is also being nice as she turns away from Liz and I and begins looking around my space with actual care this time. Liz and I are standing there watching my mom. I reach down and grab Liz's hand. Holding her hand calms her down, and I need her right now too.

"Would you like any water or tea?" I ask my mom, who cautiously examines the pictures I have around the room. "Tea?" I scoff. "It's new. Thank Liz." "Liz?" My mom turns back to me. "Elizabeth," I reply, pointing to Liz, who awkwardly waves at my mom. My mom gets an 'ahhh' face. "Your friend Elizabeth." I can feel Liz's eyes make their way to me.

"Actua-" "What kind of tea would you like, Y/M/N?" Liz asks once again, interrupting me while dropping my hand. "I'll take whatever black tea Y/N has, but you shouldn't do it, dear?" Liz protests. "I insist." Liz speeds into the kitchen as I watch my mother look at me before she starts making her way to the couch.

Not knowing what to do, I end up bringing my mom to my messy bedroom. "Y/N, you have guests here, and this is how you decide to live?" I'll take the scolding right now as I'm trying to find a way to distract my mom so I can talk to Liz. "Mom, you remember my journals?" My mom whips her head to me and softly grabs one from my desk. "You kept them?" "Of course." I hear Liz grumble something from the other room. Shit. "I'll be right back." I leave my mom alone to take a trip down memory lane.

Liz POV

She hates me.

Now here I am, getting her stupid black tea as an attempt to make her warm up to me. Y/N's friend. Whatever, Y/N's not telling her today.

As I'm grabbing her mom a plate and spoon. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Fuck." I grumble under my breath. I don't even know how her mom takes her tea. Fuck. I'm so stupid. I shouldn't even be here. My suitcase almost tripped and killed her. Of course, the week I decide to-

Suddenly a pair of arms wrap around me, startling me. Y/N can't be doing this. Her mom could see. I start to push away Y/N's arms which causes her to hold me tighter. "It's okay. It's me. I'm here. Liz. Please." She's whispering. She doesn't want her mom to know that her own girlfriend, sorry, friend is a mess. A mess that she has to take care of.

"Y/N, get off me!" I finally grip her hands and push them away from me. I hear Y/N take a step back, and her breathing change. "Liz.." "Stop Y/N. I'm your friend right now, and right now, I'm getting your mom her tea." Y/N takes a step up next to me and bends down, so I see her face. "Liz, look at me." She calmly asks me, but I don't budge. "Liz." She reaches her hand out to me. I don't take it. I take a step away from her she takes my original place, still looking at me.

"Baby, talk to me." Y/N is starting to beg. "She hates me." I look to Y/N's eyes. They're filled with confusion and hurt. Care and love. "She doesn't hate you, Liz. She just doesn't know you." "She thinks I'm your friend." "Because I didn't get the chance to tell her who you are and what you mean to me." "She-" "Liz. Who cares what she thinks." "I do-"

"Elizabeth. Listen to me." I shut up at the sound of my full first name. Y/N takes a step closer to me so our faces our inches apart and takes my hands into her own. "My mother does not hate you. My mother has no idea who you are. I know who you are. I do not hate you. Liz. You're my world. You're my future. Trust me. No matter what my mom says or does, that will never change. We will never change because I love you with my whole heart." Y/N takes my left hand and places it over her heart. "Now, Liz, we are going to give my mom her stupid tea, and we are going to tell her together. And in case you need a reminder." Y/N drops my hands and pulls me into a kiss. It's sensual and tender. It's a kiss that makes me smile against her lips. A kiss that reminds me, yes. I'm her girlfriend. Yes, I want a future with her, and yes, who cares what her mom has to say? We both pull out and catch our breaths.

Y/N POV

"Do you need another reminder?" Liz opens her eyes and looks up at me before nodding her head. I give her another significantly shorter kiss, and when we break from that one, Liz has her nose scrunched up and a smile on her face. "I love you." She whispers to me, causing the wings on my heart to flap. "I love you too," I whisper back. After a beat of comfortable silence, Liz asks me how my mom likes her tea, and honestly, I have zero idea. So Liz decides to grab everything imaginable that could go into a tea to bring to her mom.

Liz and I both stop when we see my mom waiting in the middle of the couch. She's on her phone. Probably answering work emails or on Facebook. We slowly continue placing everything in front of her. "Elizabeth?" My moms ask, not looking up from her phone. "Could you sit next to me, dear?" Liz does as asked, leaving me standing in the middle of the room.

"Elizabeth." My mom finally looks up from her phone and turns towards Liz. "Are you happy?"

Liz POV

The question threw me off, so since I can't formulate words, I just nod my head. "Y/N makes me the happiest person I've ever been." There are the words!

Y/N's mother gently takes my hands into her own. "How long have you two been dating?" I look to Y/N before I firmly answer. "Less than a month." Is that how long it's been? "But it feels like I've known Y/N for way longer. Like my whole life. She treats me with such care, and love, and how she makes me feel and understands me is something I've never had with anyone else." I conclude my ramble that I didn't mean to start. 

"And you love her?" I take my eyes away from the woman before me to look at my Coffee Girl. "I do." I look back to Y/N's mother. "I do love her. But before-" A raised hand stops me. "You don't need to justify your love. Y/N here knows that. Her Dad told me he loved me on our second date."

I look to Y/N, who understands my face. "My mom means Davey. And yeah, it's true." I watch from my peripheral vision Y/N's mom looked at her in shock. "Yes, mom, Liz knows about Davey."

Suddenly I'm being pulled into a hug as her mom begins whispering into my ear. When we pull out of the hug, I blink my eyes a few times before looking at Y/N.

I come to the conclusion that it may not be today or tomorrow. Not next month or the month after, but whenever I do get married, it will be to her.

Y/N POV

I don't know what my mom said to Liz, but her green eyes are shining with a new twinkle in them.

My mom let go of my girlfriend's hand, and I let Liz's body crash into mine. It only lasts a few seconds before my mother pipes up. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving. So shall we get this show on the road?" Liz laughs into my neck before I peel her away. "Yes, mom, I'm sure Liz can eat." I look to Liz, who looks offended before I tilt my head. "I mean... I could." She shrugs and begins fixing her hair while I grab everything I need for today.

_

It only took a few moments, but we're finally about to walk out the door when Liz stops me. My mom is already out into the hall when I turn back to watch Liz. She opens up her suitcase and grabs two pairs of sunglasses and two LA Dodgers hats. I smile. She thought to bring one for me. Liz sees my smile as hers grows bigger.

I know she worries about how I'll feel hiding in public with her, but I don't mind. I mean, I do, but I understand. Liz isn't ready, and everyone still thinks she's with Robbie, and there have only been speculation that she's anything more than straight. So I'll put on the sunglasses and hat until she's ready, which I easily slip on.

Once we walk out, lock up and join my mom waiting for the elevator. She looks at us like we've grown 8 heads. "The sunglasses I get but the Dodgers?" I almost laughed at how confused her question sounded. "It's my home team," Liz replies with a childlike joy in her voice. My mom simply nods at that. I give Liz an encouraging smile as I make my hand hold hers.

The doors to lift open, making us pile in. As we enjoy the ride down, my mom turns to Liz and me. "Y/N, I really am happy that you have found someone. Someone right for you." "Thanks, mom." She smiles at me and turns to - "And Ms. Olsen. I look forward to getting to know you more." "Me too." Liz shines in her answer while my jaw drops. I look down at my girlfriend as it takes a few seconds to register, but once the words hit Liz's ears, my hands gets squeezed by Liz. "Did she just..?"

My mom, seemingly content with what she just said, walks out the doors as soon as they open, leaving Liz and I stunned.

Part 19

#eggs with hot sauce #buckle up for the future #elizabeth olsen x y/n #y/n #otiweo #fanfic #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #coffee #unneeded drama #olsenmyolsen #lizzie x y/n #lizzie is so hot #realtionship?? #hot lizzie #lizzie #lizzie olsen is the best #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth chase olsen #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen imagine #step on me

[dayswritting]

“There she goes”

Chapter 2: The one with The Hard Deck

Bob Floyd x Teacher! OC

Summary: Maybe getting out of the house wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Especially if it end up with the opportunity of meeting that cute stranger again.

Pairing: 

Word count: 4,4k

Warning: Bad spelling (English is not my first language), fluff, sloooooow buuuuuurn, Bob being gentleman, Bradley being the fairy godmother

Masterlist

Sunday, a day after Bradley got home, after going to church and having a nice day together. The family was found gathered in the kitchen. Talking about a serious subject they needed to focus on. Getting Lucy out of the house for Sunday night.

“I’m not going,” Lucy said, getting a whine from her brother-in-law. Bradley had decided it would be a good idea if she went with him to Hard Deck. Lucy hated the idea. It was a Sunday night, and tomorrow she’ll have work and didn’t like looking tired. Another reason why she didn’t want to was easy because of Sienna. 

“Come on” Bradley begged her “You need to go out more. Abuela told me that you spend all your weekends in the house”

“Yeah, because I’m spending my time with my niece.” She replied, trying to defend herself. Bradley just laughed at her like what she just said was a joke.

“Don’t use my daughter as an excuse. I know for a fact that mamá has taken Sienna to her house on some weekends and you stay all by yourself at home” Lucy gasped about this confession. She couldn’t believe it, her own mother betrayed her. “And don’t get me started. Because Joel told me that you turn down his invitations when he is in town”

“I can’t believe it.” she hit him in the chest. “You turn my family against me!” she shouted at him. This was completely nonsense. She was a grown-ass woman, she could do anything she wanted. Even if that involves staying at her house for the weekend.

“Yeah, so don’t make me tell you what Sienna told me.” Lucy turned at her niece who was hiding behind the kitchen aisle. The child was trying so hard not to laugh. Nice, now Sienna was on Bradley’s side. “C’mon Lu, we’re worried about you.”

“That’s true, Tia” Sienne finally said “I mean, even I had plans for tonight” That caught Noa by surprise.

“You did?” she asked concerned that her own niece didn’t tell her “Why you didn’t say anything”

“You sound so excited about today's movie night and I didn’t want to hurt you,” Sienna said.

“Oh darling,” Noa got close to her niece and hugged her. “You can tell me if you want to do something else. You could never hurt me for something like that” Noa separated a little to look into her eyes “What are your plans, bee?”

“Lisa’s mom is making pizza for dinner so she invited me to eat with them and have a sleepover” Sienna answered excitedly.

“Well, if your dad is okay with it.” Noa turns to Bradley who just nods in answer “We can call Lucy’s mom and tell her you are going. But I hope you won't be sleeping late because tomorrow is a school day”

“ I promised we won't.” Sienna replies “Her mom said that we can sleep till 10, is it okay?” Lucy and Bradley only nodded in answer.

“You better pack your stuff, baby.” Bradley said, confirming with a smirk.

Sienna smiled so big and jumped to her father’s arm to give him a kiss on his cheek. She hugged her aunt while saying a million thank you. Bradley just laughs warmly at the actions of his daughter. He missed these moments the most when he was on call.

When Sienna left the room, Bradley didn’t lose time and looked at his sister-in-law with a mischievous smile.

“Well, now, since Sienna is going to her friend’s house. You can’t say no to going to the bar” Bradley announced pleased.

“I’m not sure, Brad.” Noa stared at the book in her hands “I’m pretty sure it would be more fun without me. Why don’t you go and enjoyed yourself”

“No way. I’m not leaving my little sis all by herself in this big old house” Bradley replied

“I’m fine being by myself.” Lucy showed Bradley her book “And I have some reading to catch on”

“‘Don’t care. You’re coming with me” Bradley took Lucy’s book and put it on the table to start pushing her to the stairs. “Now, go and get ready. Put the best of your wardrobe to catch the eye of a guy.” Lucy fake laughs at him

“Yeah, right. Good joke, Brads” She started to climb the stairs “I’ll call Marie’s mom and then get ready”” Lucy mocked Bradley.

Lucy looked at her wardrobe without knowing what to use. Sure, when she was in college, she knew how to dress up for going to a bar. But now it was different. She hasn’t gone out like that in ages. Especially now that she is a teacher, she didn’t like the idea of accidentally meeting some parents. Yes, definitely she was not going. So she simply sent a text to Bradley to avoid confrontation.

I have nothing to wear. I’m not going. Sorry.

When she sent the text she heard some noises coming from the room next door. Her door opened and the duo of father and daughter came through it. Quickly, Sienna sat on Lucy’s bed to watch the show while her dad went directly to her wardrobe. After a minute he came out with clothes in his hands.

“Wear this with some white sneakers, tie your hair up and you’re ready to go” Bradley said while handing her the clothes “I expect you downstairs in 10 minutes. We still have to drop Sienna at her friend’s house” He exited her room after saying that. Leaving a shocked Lucy and a smiley Sienna in the bedroom.

“You should use some light makeup.” Sienna said capturing the focus of her aunt “It will make you look gorgeous”

“How do you know so much about makeup?” Lucy asked amazed.

“Abuela Alma told me. Especially that, light makeup it's better because it brings out your inner beauty” her niece answered, trying to imitate her grandmother.

“Well, I’ll listen to you, my beauty guru. Now, get out of here so I can start getting ready” Lucy pushed her niece making her laugh.

Alone in her room, Lucy decided to listen to those two and get ready. No one would believe her but Bradley did have a good sense of style. Sadly it looked like it didn’t work when it came to his stupid Hawaiian shirts. 

What he chose for her was something comfortable and just like her. A white blouse and some blue mom jeans. And just like he said, with her flowered vans it looked perfect. Definitely, the best brother-in-law she could have.

With the essential stuff in her bag, she went downstairs. Finding a quite unique image before her eyes. Dad and daughter were wearing the same Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. Lucy grabbed her phone and took a picture of them, gaining their attention.

“I don’t even want to ask about how you got another shirt like that,” Lucy said

“Don’t worry I have one for you too. But today I've decided to have mercy since it's your first time out ” Bradley replied.

Now that everyone was ready, they went to Bradley’s Bronco.

“I’ll see you inside,” Lucy told Bradley when they came out of the car. “I got a call from my principal”

“It’s Sunday! You can check that tomorrow” Bradley said, trying to stop her.

“It’s really quick. You can go ahead” Lucy answered, gaining a not much convinced nod from Bradley. He went to the bar after telling her “You buy the first round”. To which Lucy just laughed at it.

Lucy called back to her principal. It turns out that in a few weeks, they were having a little fundraiser. It was a yearly event trying to gain some extra money for school supplies. Since being a public school it’s always hard to get money for special materials. Her principal wanted to ask Lucy to take care of the baking area. She had to make some cakes and ask for support to parents to sell some of them. Lucy accepted happily because she loved baking, so it wasn’t a problem for her.

After the call, she made her way toward the bar when a man was thrown out of it. She got close to the man and helped him to stand up.

“Let me guess, you put your phone on Penny’s bar more than once,” Lucy says while offering her hand so he could stand up.

“Seems like I didn’t get the memo” the man responded while taking her hand.

“Yeah, a newcomer 's mistake.” she faked a laugh, helping him. 

Lucy took a look at the man, noticing the pilot’s jacket he was wearing. A Navy pilot, nothing new here. But the nametag caught her eye for a second. Maverick, that name sounds a little familiar. But she couldn't put her finger on it.

“Well, thank you. You didn’t need to help an old man.” The man said with a grateful smile.

“Well, my parents raised me well, sir.” She smiled at him when a familiar song came from the bar. Damn it, Rooster. He really needed to listen to more music. “I think that’s my call. And you're welcome, sir. Have a nice night”

“You too, kid” He replied and Lucy answered with a smiled 

She walked back to the bar. Opened the door and was greeted by the voices of drunk and sober people singing along to “Great Balls of Fire”. Before getting in she got a text from her brother, Joel.

No pilots allowed.

Lucy chuckled at his warning.

Don't worry. Too busy for that.

She went straight to the bar and tried to get Penny's attention. When the woman saw her, Penny's face lit up, and smiled at her. Before Lucy could ask, Penny got her a soda.

"It’s on the house Luce. It's really good to see you." Penny smiled at her handing her the cup before leaning on the counter "So… What do I owe this pleasure?"

"I was dragged here, Pen. You know I don't like this stuff." Lucy replied.

Penny knew her thanks to Lucy's Mom. Three years ago they went to the same book club. And since Amelia needed help with Spanish, her mom offered Lucy's help. After a few sessions, Lucy and Penny became friends. Penny became Lucy's confidant when Lucy felt she couldn't keep going and vice-versa. 

"And who should I thank?" Penny asked.

"My stupid brother-in-law," Lucy said, making her laugh.

"Well, I'm glad he did." Penny placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. "You really needed it." After saying that, she left, leaving a speechless Lucy alone.

While at the counter, Lucy analyzed the room realizing how out of place she was. Friends chatting and dancing, people making out, girls trying to flirt with Navy officers. If she had come here eight years ago, she would be dancing with her sister or singing along to Bradley’s piano. But now this wasn't her thing anymore. She was too lonely even in a crowded place like this. And the sound was making her ears feel overstimulated. She really needed to distract herself or get out of the place.

Before she could still feel petty for herself she heard a "Teach" calling in her back. When she turned around she was greeted by the life-sized version of a Ken doll. He walked confidently to her side.

"Hey, Luce. Missed me?" He asked flirtatiously as he gave her a hug.

"Hey, Jake." Lucy answered, “I think I should ask you that question.” She crossed her arms and smiled at him.

“Well, I did miss you.” He smiled at her while leaning closer

The relationship between her and Jake “Hangman” Seresin was one of frenemies. They met at a cafe when Lucy went to pick up some drinks for her co-workers. They talk while waiting and connect in a good way. Even had some more encounters around Miramar. After a while, they meet again at Bradley's Top Gun graduation. That’s when she learned Jake was Hangman, the one pilot that always loved to mess with Bradley. And Lucy didn’t like it when someone messed with her family. Even if she likes them, in a friendly way.

 “Still taking care of other people’s children,” he asked.

“Yep. Still giving girls headaches?” Lucy counterattacks, making Jake laugh. She drinks her soda while he tries to get her to talk. But she barely listened, the noise was becoming louder so it was hard for her to concentrate. She only could see Jake move his lips but nothing came out from them.

She felt a hand on her shoulder “Hey, Teach. Are you okay?” Jake asked, seeing her sudden change of demeanor. 

Before she could answer, Bradley came into her vision. And Lucy into his. She saw how his carefree smile tense when he registered who was next to her. Like the big brother he is, Bradley moves faster to take place next to Lucy and taking Jake's arm away from her.

“Need something from my sister, Bagman?” Bradley asked while putting his arm around Lucy’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Big bird.” Jake showed his hand like surrendered “Just catching up with an old friend. Don't need to be so overprotective, Rooster.” Before any of them could keep going, Lucy interceded. She really didn’t want to be in the middle of their bickering.

“And we are already finished.” Lucy turned to Jake and smiled “It was really nice catching up, Jake. See you around.” She took Bradley’s arm and started dragging him to the pool table. Where Bradley was before coming.

“See you, sweetheart” Jake shouted playfully making Bradley groan of annoyance.

“I swear you two are worse than my kids,” Lucy mumbled annoyed.

“He started it,” Bradley said, winning a look from her.

Getting to the pool table Bradley left Lucy's side when he saw a brunette getting closer. Lucy didn’t realize it since she started to look around the people in that area. When she found someone she thought never saw again.

“Tasha?” Lucy asked not believing her friend was in front of her.

"Teach!" She got closer to hug her "It's so good to see you, girl" Lucy embraced her warmly.

It had been years since the last time they saw each other. Phoenix and Lucy meet at the same time she and Hangman did. It had been all thanks to Bradley, he invited Phoenix to have dinner with her after hearing how homesick she was. When Natasha saw her in the kitchen feeding Sienna, she immediately thought that Lucy was Bradley's wife. But after presentations, she learned that they were nothing more than in-laws, a family helping each other. Lucy still remembers the look of relief on her face.

"I didn’t know you were called. Bradley didn't tell me anything." Lucy said when they broke the hug.

"You and I, Luce. He forgot to tell me he was called too." Natasha answered by lacing her arm with Lucy "I'm so happy that you're here, now I'm not the only girl in the group. Well, except for Halo, but she's with the other guys." Phoenix pointed out a girl next to two guys in the corner. "Now let me present you to everyone else."

Natasha took her where Bradley and the other three guys were surrounding a small table in the back. Here the sound was a little lower, so that helped Lucy to calm down. Bradley was chatting cheerfully to two of them while the other had his back turned. When they saw the two girls coming, they stopped their chat so the presentations could begin. Payback and Fanboy, that's how Bradley introduced them, where reall y excited to meet her . The first shook her hand while the second went for a hug saying something about how happy he was to "finally meet Teach".

"I told them about the time you punched Hangman in the face," Natasha explained proudly, putting her arm on Lucy's shoulder.

"Oh, that was an accident," Lucy told them. Feeling that she needed to explain the situation, she began to ramble. "Some guy was following me and Jake tried to help me. But I thought he was the guy so I ambushed him and punched him straight in the eye." She smiled ashamed, looking at her shoes. 

While the guys laughed so hard that they were almost crying. Especially Fanboy that had to lean on Payback's arm.

"IT WAS YOU? You gave him the black eye?" Bradley asked, astonished. Lucy just nodded and chuckled, eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Yeah, Jake make me promise that a won’t tell anyone" Lucy explained to her brother-in-law.

“But you told Phoenix!” Bradley argued like a little child.

“Because she wouldn’t use to annoy him. As you would” Lucy muttered loud enough to make everyone expect Bradley, to chuckle.

Before he could “defend” himself, a new voice joined the group.

"Sorry, guys. I had a call from my Meemaw" Someone spoke next to Phoenix.

When Lucy raised her head, her eyes were met with a pair of Birth control glasses and cobalt eyes. It was him, the same man from the library, he was in front of her. Just that this time he was wearing khakis instead of some blue jeans and a blue plaid shirt. And his hair, if Lucy thought he looked cute before, now that she saw him with his hair styled, that changed him to handsome.

From the man's point of view, it was almost the same. He never thought fate was on his side, but maybe just for today. Maybe the scales have changed for good. For him, Lucy looked more beautiful than yesterday. Without a doubt, she was the most beautiful woman in the bar, no, in the whole world. He started to feel his heart racing, making him unable to talk.

"Library boy" Lucy was the first to speak, making the group look at the just mentioned.

"Hi…hi" He stuttered, still in awe. 

"You know Bob?" Phoenix asked, interrupting their moment. Everyone was asking the same question. How was that possible? 

"Yeah. We met yesterday," Lucy answered, not knowing how to answer correctly.

"In the library" Bob completed shyly, feeling everyone's eyes on him. 

Lucy smiled at him, ashamed of the possible future reactions from Bradley and Phoenix. Those two were so happy to see her like that. Maybe even planning their wedding already.

"Well, that's great!" Natasha said gaining the attention "Now you know my backseater"

"Your backseater?" Lucy asked with her brown furrow “You’re a WSO?” her voiced sound surprise. And for him was the same, it was rare that women not NAVY related knew what his job was.

“Yeah,” he admitted flustered. He extended his hand to introduce himself. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd, Weapon System Officer” 

Lucy smiled at his actions and how he told her exactly what WSO meant. Even though she already knew what it was. She took his hand and shook it.

“Lucia Orozco” she answered with a smile “But everyone calls me Lucy or Teach”

“You have a call sign?” Bob asked, surprised.

“More like a nickname, Tasha and Bradley gave me one a long time ago” she explained, a little embarrassed. She placed her hand on her wrist, playing with her bracelet “What’s yours?” She asked curiously. But before he could answer, Fanboy did it for him. Getting in between.

“It’s Bob,” he said with a giggle.

“Dude!” Bradley scolded him as he had just interrupted an important moment. 

Lucy only chuckled at it. She thought Bob had a call sign just as his name fitted him perfectly. Bob on the other side, felt ashamed of it. He was thinking that it wasn't as cool as the others were. So he just hide a little, like he was trying to make himself smaller. Lucy quickly catches his change of demeanor.

“I think it's a great call sign,” She said sure of herself, making everyone surprised. “It’s short and easy to say. Most callsign should be like that. Especially if you’re in situations where you can’t use too many words” she explained “Imagine you're in a difficult situation and say Fanboy instead of Bob. I mean that's three letters of difference, too much trouble.” she finished.

Both WSOs had their cheeks tint red the only difference was the meaning of each. Fanboy felt ashamed, while Bob was surprised and his heart was racing faster than ever. It was barely the second time they saw each other and Lucy was ready to defend him. 

“Damn, she got you good, man” Payback started bursting into laughter. Seconds later everyone joined him

But on the other side, Lucy realized what she just said. And now she blushed too.

“I'm so sorry, Mickey. I swear I didn’t want to make fun of you.” Lucy apologized “Sometimes the filter between my brain and mouth doesn’t work” Bradley hugged her shoulders.

“Lu, don’t apologize to that guy. He deserved it” He said, trying to calm her down. After that, Mickey assured her that it was okay, he just was caught by surprise.

After that, everyone fell into a more comfortable and friendly conversation. Everyone except Bob, decided to stay silent and enjoy the moment. Or at least try. Since his eyes couldn't focus beyond the arm of Rooster on Lucy’s shoulders and how comfortable they seem with each other. Yeah, definitely her noticing was too good to be true.

“Stop that,” Phoenix told him making him jump. Bob didn't realize when she moved next to him.

“What? I… I don’t know what you mean” he said confused at what she just said to him. She looked at him for a second, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or trying to fool her. But after seeing his baby deer eyes, she realized Bob actually didn’t know what she meant.

“That face of hurt baby deer” she reply while she moved closer to him like she didn’t want to be heard by the others.

“Hurt? Wha… what do you mean?” he asked. Phoenix sighed at his reaction. Man, this boy couldn’t be more blind, joke aside.

“I just, I know what your thinking” she stated in a whisper “I had the same face the first time I met them. And, since you are a nice guy or that’s what I hope, I’m gonna tell you this.” Phoenix moved closer, making it look like she was taking some of the peanuts from Bob’s cup. “They’re family. Rooster and Lu are in-laws. He was married to her sister before she died giving birth to his daughter” she explained.

Suddenly it clicked, the little girl in the library. She was Rooster’s daughter. Even Lucy had told him she was her niece. Now he really felt embarrassed. He made conclusions without knowing all the information. His Meemaw would be ashamed of him right now.

“I don’t know what to say” he admitted avoiding Phoenix's eyes. The woman seeing his action, felt compassion for her WSO so she just gave him some pats on his back.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself” she tried to calm Bob down “It’s not the first time someone thought that about them.” Bob drinks some water from his cup “Now you can definitely try to get a chance with her” She added mischievously making Bob choke.

When he started to cough he got everyone's attention fixed on him. Lucy quickly moved closer to Bob seeing if he was okay, Phoenix seeing this left his side. Maybe it was the teacher inside of her, but Lucy wanted to make sure he was fine.

“Are you okay, Robert?” she asked him getting his attention while she placed her hand on his back.

Bob simply nodded and blushed, no one called him by his name when he was on call. After calming down he just stared at her. 

“What is it? Do you need more water?” she questioned him quickly worried. 

“No, no, it’s just… It’s silly, don’t worry about it” he replied softly but the brunette looked at him like she was expecting an explanation. Bob sighed defeated “It’s just no one around here calls me by my name”

“Oh,” Lucy simply commented “Do you want me to call you Bob? I mean, I call everyone by their name. But I can totally call you Bob if you wanted. I mean, I don’t have a problem at all” She started to ramble, feeling a little anxious about making a mistake. 

Bob notice how she started to talk faster than before, just like when they meet at the library. He simply giggled at her reaction, damn, she was cute.

“Robert is fine” He replied friendly trying to ease her “I mean, my ma tends to use it when she is mad at me. But you can call me Robert or anything you want” Bob chuckled awkwardly.

“Okay, Robert” Lucy smile warmly.

They stood there in comfortable silence. A minute passed and Lucy decided to try to have a conversation with him, because, even if she leaked the silence she always needed to fill it. Thankfully, Bob found that endearing and followed everything she said to him. Paying attention to what Lucy said, answering all of her questions, and sometimes making them himself. The time passed but they didn’t felt since they were inside their own bubble. So they didn’t realize that two sets of eyes were watching this whole interaction from the pool table.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Phoenix smiled mischievously at Rooster.

“I don’t know. Are you thinking about how I should play again “Great Balls of Fire”?” He reply winning a glare from the brunette “I’m joking” he chuckled “Yes, I think they look good together” Rooster rolled his eyes

“Good, so we are definitely going to do something about it” she said determined.

“Are you sure? I mean, you know where Lu is standing when we talk about relationships” Rooster knew better than anyone his sister-in-law feeling about having someone to care for romantically speaking.

“Bradley” Phoenix talk with a serious tone “You know better than anyone that this is what she needs” She stared into his eyes hoping to convince him. Rooster sighed.

“Fine, but if something happens it is all your fault” He accepted making Phoenix smile excited.

Half an hour later, the gang decided to go home so they could sleep before the big day that was coming. Everyone said their goodbyes and went their own ways. Before getting into his car, Bob gave one last peek at Lucy, who was talking with Rooster while getting into their car, and smiled warmly. Tonight it had been the best night of his life.

What he didn’t know was that the girl from the other side was looking at him too. Grateful that her brother-in-law and niece got her out of their house. She definitely went to sleep with a smile on her face.

#robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha trace #top gun maverick #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd fanfiction

[missmouse25]

Personal rant below the cut. Honestly i might prefer it if you didnt read. You can like and scroll

Ive actually been very quiet about whats been happening in my life and with my family the past three months. I just need to get this off of my chest and then delete it. Because i cant keep taking on my family’s pain and not dealing with my own.

Towards the end of october last year my grandfather was hospitalized due to health issues regarding his legs. He was due to see a specialist here in my hometown early next year. So the plan was that we were going to go to them for Christmas and then bring them back with us for the new year. He was in and out of hospital for two weeks before a doctor finally told him that he needed to see the specialist asap. So on a Tuesday in the middle of November they drove him in an ambulance from East London to George, saw the specialist and scheduled for surgery the next day. While he was having surgery on that Wednesday, my dad went to fetch my Gran. For a week he was in hospital while my gran stayed with us. Luckily, my gran is still very independent and mobile at the age of 84. From the hospital, my grandad was moved to a step down facility where he stayed for two weeks. (This was all while mom and i were prepping for a dance show that we’d committed to in the beginning of the year, which came off the first weekend of December).

After the two weeks at step down, Pops joined us at home. It was a lot of adjusting for us all as he can only walk with the aid of a walker and not very far. Due to his issues, he had a wound on the back of his leg which he needed to see a wound sister at least once a week for treatment. He’d been home for about a week and the wound sister said he needed to be admitted to hospital again for better treatment.

Another week over Christmas in hospital and then he was back with us. But he’s stubborn. He’s old. He’s in pain. The best way to relief the pain and swelling is to exercise but the exercise causes more pain. Right before new years his legs gave way from under him two nights in a row and thank goodness for my dad because he can keep a calm head and knows how to help because of his profession.

The past week has been horrible. Pops spends his days hunched over rubbing his knees trying to find any kind of pain relief. My mother is at her wits end. My poor gran has been washing him, taking care of him. And i’ve been here. Not able to do anything. Yes i’m able to make life “easier” by being a pair of hands or a set of legs but i cant really help him. And it hurts me to see him like that - to the point i dont even want to be in his company because thats not the man i remember from my childhood. But the guilt of not spending time with him and my gran eats at me constantly.

They’re probably going back home next week and my mom has just told me that Pops has agreed to go to a step down facility in east london. It’ll be so much better for both him and my gran (and my aunts who now have to take over responsibility of them).

Its been tough. While writing this, i’ve finally cried after feeling like I’ve needed to for at least a week now but just haven’t been able to. And it feels so bad to want my space back, my house back, my independence back. My friends have been making plans to see everyone and i just cant bring myself to go out and leave my family behind. Besides i know that if they ask me what i’ve been doing or how I’ve been, i’m either going to break down or not be able to answer honestly.

I love my grandparents, I really do. But i cant keep myself together anymore

Maybe next after next week, things will be ok again. I just have to make it till then

#dl

[sevilemar]

I went larping this weekend with @wyrdnis (Midsummer Disco hosted by the good folks from poltergeist larp), and I'm still finding my way back to the real world, and sorting through everything that happened with me there.

I played Domovyk, a snake badger fey with badger primary model that was a) in a very happy, very intense, and very functional romantic and sexual partnership for centuries, and b) a firmly established and integral part of a very close-knit, hierarchical group.

Or in other words, we were the fey mafia, and me and my partner were the consumate professional executioner/cleaner duo that got shit done. Real badasses, if I do say so myself ;)

As some of you might know, I am not only a slowly unburning snake primary, but also a late to the party asexual (meaning I only found the label in my mid-twenties). As you can imagine, I have lots of baggage sourrounding intense, intimate relationships, and especially physical intimacy.

Experiencing exactly the kind of relationship I want in my life for two glorious days in a safe environment with a complete stranger blew my mind. I know how it feels now, how it works, and most crucially that I, lil' old me, can do this. Can have this. Want this. I have no words for how grateful I am to my play partner, to @wyrdnis, to the orga team of poltergeist larp, and to all the awesome and kind people who were there and created the safe space with us.

The other astonishing experience I was not expecting was playing, and being played up*, as a lynchpin and high-status member of our Squad. Two other Squad players told me later that they basically equated what I was doing with what 'The Squad' was doing, and our leader said their character just knew they could depend on Domo to care as much for the Squad as they did. While I was playing, I realised none of it, I was just doing my job (hi there, badger sec^^).

But now that I think about it, I know where this feedback comes from. There were characters in the Squad that Domo had personal beef with, or found ungrateful and illoyal (worst insults they can think of). And yet, when they had beef with other kin, or got hurt (unfairly) by one of our own, Domo didn't even think twice about jumping into the frey with all they got. And, most astonishing for my own snake primary self, prioritised things that were important to them over what was important to Domo.

As my double snake self, it was deeply weird to see these instincts develop more and more. I had a bit of trouble in some situations, but fortunately my play partner recognized what I was trying to do, and gave me exactly the right impulses when I needed them. And even now, as I am myself again mostly, I feel a special bond to everyone who played Squad members, no matter if I have played with them or not, or if I personally like them or not. It's very, very weird, and a little bit special.

And yet, there is no denying that under all those badger experiences, Domo was snake through and through, and there is one moment at the very end of the larp that tells you exactly why:

The larp was situated in the 80s, and the elevator pitch was 'fey kind comes together for one last party before the world ends in a nuclear holocaust brought on by the Cold War'. Pretty heavy stuff, but it allowed us to go wild, and ramp up our play intensity as much as we wanted.

In the final moments before the explosion, our Squad performed a ritual to save us, and only us. And quite a few Squad members chose to break out of it at the last minute. There was no question for Domo that these characters will die, and I was 100% Domo in this moment. And then I had a split second of player disconnect: 'do I have to play affected that these people/characters chose to die?' and both Domo and myself answered 'No' immediately, because our partner, our person, was with us.

That moment settled some deep emotional thing in both Domo and myself, and it is also something that sparked an important discussion with @wyrdnis afterwards, that untied a few philosophical and political knots I had gotten myself into.

All in all, my second ever larp was a raging success, and a huge step not only in my own unburning, but also in my understanding of a sorting that has always been the biggest emotional mystery in the sortinghatchats spectrum: badger (secondary or primary).

*Playing someone up in a larp means when someone is supposed to have an effect on others, the others act like the effect is happening. For example when a character catches you alone and tries to frighten you, you act like you feel the menace coming from them. In theatre there's a saying: 'The king is played by others', which means basically the same thing, that the audience will only see you as the king if your cast members react to you as if you were.

#sortinghatchats #snake primary #badger primary #badger secondary #larp #nordic larp #larplife

[fayeandknight]

I am writing this while crying on the floor so that's your warning for this post.

I just received a text message from my old/previous/former???? best friend asking about sending me an invitation to his wedding in the beginning of next month.

I just... I have no idea how to process this let alone respond.

For context we became friends in highschool and bonded over being queer and mental health struggles. Our friendship prevailed through college and shitty relationships that we supported each other through. I spent a lot of time at his house and became close with his family as well. We remained close post college and I was a bridesmaid in his sister's wedding.

All of that to highlight that we were very close.

About 5 years ago he started dating an incrediblely toxic person. Given my own past and experiences I clocked said partner as radioactive and tried to express my concerns gently. Those concerns were rebuffed. It came to a head during his sister's wedding weekend where I watched toxic ooze gaslight friend and called it out.

This resulted in a verbally abusive falling out with friend and me being chewed out by his family who basically said they agreed the partner was shitty but it wasn't my place to say so and thus I was in the wrong.

A few years later sister reached out to me to say she felt bad about the way things fell apart and wanted to reconnect. We've hung out a few times and but never regained the previous closeness.

About six months ago friend called me to apologize for things, admit I was right, and tell me he is engaged to someone new. His journey led him to become estranged from his family for a time and he has been building the relationships back up. I have no ill will towards him and wish him the utmost happiness.

We've not spoken since.

So now I'm left in a huge quandary on how to proceed.

They don't know me as a service dog handler and given that, I'd want Forte to be further along than he currently is to feel comfortable asking for accomodations for him. Could he work the event without issue? Probably, but I'm only 75% sure and that's not good enough for me given the short timeline.

Lots of couple intimacies are hard for me. Parties are hard for me. Seeing a bunch of people I used to consider safe and then very much weren't will be hard for me.

If I don't go, I'm afraid that will be the final end of the friendship. Despite the extreme ups and downs, it would hurt me to have the door closed on this friendship forever. I've always held out hope that we could reconcile given how much time we spent together in the trenches of life.

If I do go, I'm going solo into a difficult at best situation. There's no one I feel safe enough to cling to and certainly no one I feel safe enough to rely on to advocate for me if I get overwhelmed. I hate being vulnerable. More so when I know people are more likely to see me as dramatic trouble maker than a person who is genuinely struggling with their disability.

Part of me wishes there was a secret third option where I go with someone willing to play service human. Someone who would help me step away to ground myself when needed and would let me know when it's time for me to leave. Unfortunately I don't have anyone in my life I would feel comfortable asking for that sort of thing.

I feel like there's no good choice to make.

All of it hurts and I'm angry with myself because if Forte was trained enough it would solve the bulk of my problems. But he isn't and that's entirely on me.

So yeah, I'm crying on the floor because I feel like there's no good way forward on this.

[not-orphaned-account]

This request is for the 20 minute one shots. Matt and Mello discuss plans to go on a date but incidentally stay at home.

I've been wanting to do this forever but I burnt out before I got the chance, BUT! Here it is now :] it's a very adorable idea and was very fun to write. I may have gone over 20 minutes, but just enough to get it to some sort of natural stopping point, because I love the idea so much and wanted to do it justice. Thank you!!!!!

-

Mello would not consider himself a romantic person. The very thought of Valentine’s Day makes him cringe, and the more red hearts and pink roses he sees while out and about, the more he feels himself getting close to burning down the romance section of the nearest library.

However, he would consider himself the very best at everything, ever, which includes the best boyfriend. So, when Matt mentions they should have a date night on the first weekend off they’ve both had in weeks, Mello decides that he is going to plan them the best goddamn Valentine’s Day date his loser ass bitch of a boyfriend has ever seen.

It starts with a candlelit dinner at the most expensive restaurant he can find. They’re not hurting for money, given Mello’s high reputation and higher rates in the detective industry, and Matt’s mostly-legal tech exploits, so he makes a reservation for the night of Valentine’s day with no problem. He even looks up the menu online to plan what exactly he’s going to order for maximum-romance points, and to make sure they have something that Matt will actually eat, given he has the palette of a six-year-old.

Then, he books them tickets to a show. A movie may have worked, and certainly would be enough for Matt—he’s always insisting the simple things go a long way—but Mihael Keehl doesn’t do ‘simple.’ So after a lot more furious googling, he finds a highly rated Broadway performance taking place at a theatre in the heart of the city, and books them tickets for a private booth that they won’t have to share with any strangers. It’ll just be the two of them, and Mello smirks when he thinks of the possibilities.

The show is in the late afternoon, so they’ll be going straight to dinner after it finishes. It’s a short ride by taxi, both the play and the restaurant have raving reviews, and Mello is certain this will be the best Valentine’s dates in the history of ever.

-

It snows.

Because of fucking course it does.

Matt, who has no idea of his plans, doesn’t understand why Mello is screaming into a pillow on the sofa at three in the afternoon, and Mello doesn’t tell him, as he’s too busy screaming into said pillow. It wouldn’t be an issue—the show is indoors—but for some reason, today of all days has to be when the city’s water system throws a bitch fit from the sudden cold, and he gets a notification on his phone that his tickets have been refunded as the entire theatre, as well as the surrounding block, has been completely flooded.

No matter. It’s no matter. They’ll just go see a movie. Dinner and a movie. It’s more Matt’s style anyways, he probably would’ve been bored at the show. This is actually a good thing.

Mello sits up on the couch and looks over at an understandably startled Matt.

“We’re going to see a movie,” he says. Matt blinks once, twice, then nods.

“Okay. What movie?”

Mello pauses. He…has no idea. He hasn’t been to the movie theatre in ages—he hasn’t had time, for one thing, and he usually can’t stand the places, with their crusty seats and stale popcorn and the ever-present smell of butter. He doesn’t even know what’s playing.

So, he looks it up online. The movie theatres nearest to them are all playing different movies, and with his plans for the show already ruined, he’s twice as determined to pick something good. Matt sits beside him and rests his head on his shoulder.

“You gonna tell me what you’re schemeing, or do I have to spend the rest of the day by myself?”

Mello pauses. He didn’t even realize it, but he has in fact been completely ignoring Matt. He bites his lip and stares at his screen. Matt can be…indecisive. He’s never been the one making the decisions, preferring to let Mello call the shots. However, this is supposed to be their perfect date, and Mello supposes that it would help to get some of Matt’s actual input.

So they squish together on the couch with Mello’s laptop between them, carefully looking through the list of movies. Matt points something out that looks interesting, but Mello is skeptical, and after a few minutes debating back and forth, he decides to just pull up the trailer to get a better idea.

The trailer is shit, which Matt reluctantly admits, so they go back to searching. Watching the trailers seems to work the best to compare the movies, but after a few minutes of both of them trying to see the screen, Mello just pulls Youtube up on their TV to play them from there.

“Wait, which one was that?” Matt asks once the umpteenth trailer has cut to credits. Mello glances at the list he’s still got on his laptop.

“That’s the last one listed for Moxie Theatre.”

“The trailer was all over the place, I don’t even know what genre it was. Can you find another one?”

Mello does, pulling up the second listed trailer for the movie. Then the third. Then goes back to one of the first trailers they watched, because Matt says he can’t remember if he’s seen it already. Mello’s stomach growls—he was planning on getting a light snack at the theatre—and Matt makes a bowl of popcorn because he’s ‘been craving butter,’ as if that’s a normal fucking thing for a human being to say.

The movie trailers are actually pretty entertaining, and Matt suggests they look at a few for movies they’ve already seen together, seeing how they hold up to the actual film. The popcorn is wedged on the couch between them, but when it’s done, Matt scooches closer and rests his head on Mello’s shoulder again. Mello lets him, searching for another old trailer to play.

They both decide that none of the new movies playing today are as good as the trailers for ones they’ve already seen, and Matt looks so excited when he asks if their streaming service has Toy Story that Mello can’t exactly say no. 

It’s not until Buzz and Woody are stuck in the claw machine and Matt has his hand buried in their second bowl of popcorn that Mello remembers what it is they were supposed to be doing.

Frantically, he grabs his phone and checks the time, heart sinking into his toes when he sees that they’ve missed their reservation. There’s a snoozed alarm and even a missed call from the restaurant, which he must’ve missed when he put his phone on silent to hear the TV better.

He buries his head in his hands, feeling sick with disappointment. 

“Mel?” Matt asks from above him, and Mello hears fabric shuffling before he lays a mostly butter-free hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong? We can watch something else if this is too sad.”

Despite himself, Mello snorts. He looks up at Matt, who looks genuinely concerned, which only makes him feel worse.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

Matt raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Mello rolls his eyes, but he lets Matt run a hand down his back anyway.

“I had this whole big romantic plan for tonight,” he admits. “Like, this kickass Valentine’s Day date, with a theatre show and a fancy dinner…but the theatre flooded and I got so distracted with the stupid movie trailers that I forgot about dinner, and we missed our reservation and now the whole thing is fucked up. I ruined our first actual date in ages.”

He hangs his head, glaring at the floor in an attempt to ward off the welling self-loathing he feels building in his gut. 

There’s a few moments of silence before Matt snorts.

“That’s it?”

Mello looks up, scandalized. Matt raises his hands and tries to backtrack.

“No, sorry, I’m not—it’s just—that’s what you’re so upset about? Mel, I thought something seriously bad had happened.”

“Did you not hear me?” Mello snapped, crossing his arms over his stomach and glaring at him. “I ruined everything.”

“Mello,” Matt says, and he sounds so fond that even in his state of self pity Mello feels his cheeks flush. “You think I give two shits about some stuff show and fancy dinner? Did you not see me eat Kraft mac and cheese for every meal for like, two weeks straight a few months ago?”

Mello frowns. “Well—”

“And honestly,” Matt continues, “I have the attention span of a squirrel on coke when it comes to shit like plays or whatever. That’s always been your thing, yeah? And even the movie, like, I had way more fun making fun of shitty trailers with you than I ever would’ve at some sticky theatre.”

He rests a hand on Mello’s knee and rubs circles with his thumb, giving him that lopsided grin that Mello thinks might be his favourite sight in the world. It’s Matt’s genuine smile, the one he reserves for him and him alone, and despite the failure of the night he can feel his heart lightening just a little.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he insists, though his protests are feeling a lot less convincing then they did before. Matt rolls his eyes.

“Trust me,” he says, “this was probably one of the best dates I’ve been on.”

Mello can’t help but snort.

“You’ve never dated anyone but me.”

Matt grins and leans forward, kissing his cheek.

“That’s the best part.”

#death note fanfiction #mellodramattic fanfiction #mellodramattic #req #death note req #oneshot #1k #fluff #20 min