#and literally Stops Working after mm about ten or fifteen minutes scrolling

[seilon]

considering how tumblr is generally pretty responsive to fixing or at least improving technical issues when they’re complained about en mass, it’s bizarre to me they haven’t gotten rid of tumblr live yet

[hockeyboysiguess]

Let’s Fall in Love for the Night

a/n: i listened to this song (let’s fall in love for the night by FINNEAS) and immediately got hit with matty vibes. enjoy! let me know if you wanna see more tkachuk writing!

Let’s fall in love for the night

And forget in the morning

Play me a song you like

You bet I’ll know every line

I’m the boy your boy hoped you’d avoid

Don’t waste your time on jealous guys, fuck that noise

I know better than to call you mine

You slammed the shot glass down on the bar, your face scrunching up as the tequila burned down your throat. You shook your head as the liquid settled in your stomach and then let out a sigh.

“I think I need another one,” you shouted over the music to your friend Jess.

“Whatever you need, babes,” she said, already leaning across the bar to wave down the bartender. “I know you just asked for space, but you need to dump his ass now.”

“I know what you think. You’ve been telling me every fifteen minutes,” you threw back at her, “but it’s not that easy. We’ve been together forever and I don’t really know what my life looks like without him anymore.”

“You get to hang out with me more,” she sang at you as two more shots appeared in front of you. “The biggest thing, babes, is that you deserve better than him on literally every level.”

You took the shot, knowing she was about to continue her rant of trashing your long-time boyfriend that she’d started five minutes before you’d even arrived at her house to pregame together.

“You are smarter than him. You are hotter than him, like look at you!” She gestured to your body and you rolled you eyes. You used her outstretched hand as an opportunity to put her shot in her hand. “Your ass looks killer in those pants and you and I both know it. Where was I? Oh, right! You are the breadwinner in that relationship. He has that lame-ass, poor-paying job and he refuses to get a better one even though you have the same degree. Who the fuck does that? You pretty much pay all of the bills while he does god knows what.”

She found a pause long enough to take her shot, which very clearly did not go down smoothly. She stuck her hand out to indicate she needed antoehr second before she could continue. You took the moment to order a drink, an actual beer instead of another shot.

“Most importantly of all!” Jess drummed her palms on the bar as she worked her way up to something. “He is terrible at sex!” You tried to shush her because she had shouted that loud enough to get the attention of a few interested parties around you, but you had no luck. “I mean, did her ever make you finish once? In three years? God, he sucks so bad and you need to actually for sure dump him and kick him out of the apartment you pretty much pay for by yourself. ”

You sighed, not loving your life choices that led to this moment right now. You were grateful the bartender dropped your beer in front of you so you could hide behind the bottle instead of answering. Part of you knew she was at least a little bit right, but you didn’t know what everything looked like without him and there were some parts of him that you couldn’t let go of, some moments that pulled at your heart when you thought about. He’d been so much worse lately though and you were having a hard time continuing to give him chances because a second chance happened so long ago you might have run out of numbers.

“Any reason a girl who looks this good is looking sad and drinking a pretty shitty beer at a bar on a Saturday night?”

You turned to see who had spoken and were met with piercing blue eyes and a mess of curly hair. Stubble coated his jawline and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. Objectively attractive. Objectively your type. Objectively trouble.

“I’m Matthew,” he told you. “You are?”

You sighed, debating if you should cut him off with mercy like you were used to doing. Jess cut in before you could, telling him your name and hers before you could back out.

“So, about that terrible beer,” he picked it up and slid it close to the opposite edge of the bar from you, “can I buy you a better one?”

As if he knew, your phone lit up on the bar with your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen, the hearts on either side of his name mocking you. You sighed and opened the text anyway.

I know you’re out with Jess right now and I just wanted to say that I know we’re taking some space right now, but space doesn’t include seeing other people to me. So I’m not gonna do it and I sure hope you’re not.

“Oh my god, give me your phone,” Jess whined from Matt’s opposite side. “I need to throw your phone into a blender. He needs to stop texting you.”

“Boyfriend?” Matthew asked you, an eyebrow raising at the question. “Seems like the jealous type if he’s texted that much.”

Your eyes shifted from your phone to Matthew and back again. He was trying to control you even after you asked for space. You were done just like that. You shot off a quick text to him that simply read ‘We’re done. Get your shit out of my apartment,’ then shoved shoved your phone into your purse, deciding to forget about him and whatever he was about to do next for the rest of the night.

“No, my ex. He still has shit at my apartment and is trying to figure out when he can come get it,” you replied

Jess started freaking out behind you, her fists pumping into the air in wild, uneven movements in her drunken excitement.

“Good,” Matthew smiled at you, “so, about that drink?”

Three more drinks each in an hour and you were stumbling through the front door of Matt’s apartment, his mouth clumsy against yours thanks to the alcohol and his efforts removing his jacket at the same time. You giggled when he cursed against you mouth as he had to pull way to actually get his jacket off. He tossed it somewhere behind you as his mouth reconnected with yours.

His hands were so different compared to your ex. You felt bad comparing them, that your mind was wandering there, but you couldn’t help it. Matthew pulled at different parts of you than he did. His hands on your hips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, one of his legs pushing between yours as he guided you so your back was pressed against the nearest wall. One of his hands ran up towards your chest, your shirt riding up with it. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Matthew groaned when he saw move of your body. “You’re so fucking sexy.” 

“Then stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

Your last words came out as a moan as his mouth found your neck. He chuckled against your skin as he travelled down, sinking low so his lips could kiss along the edge of your low cut shirt. His large hands wrapped around the back of your thighs and he suddenly lifted you, drawing a yelp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders for stability. 

“I hope you know what you’re in for.” 

Apparently what you were in for was the best sex you’d ever had. Your chest was steal heaving with your second orgasm when Matt slid off the bed. He stepped into his boxers before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand. 

“Any idea where my purse is?” you asked him. 

“Uh, I think kitchen counter?” He said it like a question, so much so he threw in additional, “Maybe?” 

You sighed and rolled yourself out of his bed, sliding on your panties and bra before heading toward the kitchen. Your purse hadn’t quite made it to the counter, falling short onto the floor. You grabbed your phone and headed back toward’s Matthew’s room. You audibly groaned when you saw the notifications on your phone. 13 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 26 text messages. All from him.

“Jesus,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I know I’m pretty good, but already moving on to god-like compliments?”

Matthew’s joke brought you out of the spiral your brain had started to go down. You scrunched your nose up at him and stuck your tongue out, which made him throw his head back and laugh. 

“So you had a good time then,” he chided you. His phone hanging loose in his hands as he did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes were raking up and down your body right now. “Wanna go again?” 

“Give me like ten minutes,” you mumbled. 

You barely registering what he’d said as you started to scroll through his texts. Each one was crazier then the last. Guaranteed, you had ended a three-year relationship with a guy you lived with over text, but you hadn’t realized quite how unhinged he could sound sometimes. You’d barely gotten a quarter of the way in when your phone was taken from your hands.

“Hey, that’s mine!” you whined. Matt was dangling it above your head, completely out of your reach. “Matthew, give it back.” 

“Mm, nope. It’s mine for tonight and so are you,” he informed you. “Pick a song.” 

He offered his phone out to you instead, Spotify open for you. He wiggled it a little from side to side to try and peak your interest. 

“Let’s forget about that douchebag after I just fucked you way better than he does, okay? You pick a song and then we’ll go again and I’ll fuck you even better. Deal?” 

A smirk pulled at the corner’s of his mouth. He knew you weren’t going to say no before you’d even decided to say yes. You weren’t sure how he’d known it was your ex. You’d probably given it away somehow. Your mom had always told you that you were an open book, begging to be read. You sighed and took his phone, deciding this night you might regret was better than dealing with you current problems.

You played the first thing you could think of. You regretted your choice as the first few chords started and Matt started laughing at your choice. 

“Sorry, that’s super fucking lame,” you mumbled as you began your search for a new song. 

“No, no,” Matt’s hands wrapped over your to stop your movements. “I love this song, even though it’s definitely super fucking lame.” 

You smiled up at him and it made a mirroring smile come across his face. You let go, letting yourself be entirely in this moment tonight. You let yourself forget the texts and voicemails waiting for you. You let yourself forget how horrible it going home tomorrow was going to be. Instead, you let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a mess of curls distract you. You made him yours for the night, thinking that was all it could be. 

You need a pick-me up?

I’ll be there in twenty-five

I like to push my luck

So take my hand, let’s take a drive

“Are you up?”

Matthew usually texted you. By usually you mean over the past two months where you’d seen him at least three times a week. Fresh off your breakup, he’d become a great regular distraction that made it worth your time to text him instead of trying your chances at the bar again. Apparently he was either drunk or couldn’t read a clock because it was midnight on a Tuesday and he was calling you.

“Well, I answered the phone,” you groaned as you rubbed your eyes with your free hand, trying to wake yourself up a bit. “What’s up, Matt?”

“You didn’t answer my text and I wanna see you tonight,” he told you.

“You’re the worst hook up I’ve ever had for my sleeping schedule,” you mumbled. “Look, Matt, I had a shit day at work and I really just want to sleep and-“”

“Get your shoes on. I’ll be there in like, half an hour.”

He hung up without even bothering to wait for an answer. You tossed your phone down your bed as you let yourself fall back into the blankets. You wanted to let them swallow you up and drag you back to sleep, but you knew Matt was showing up regardless of how you felt about it. You let your feet drop heavily on the floor and let out a sigh before pushing yourself out of bed. You threw your hair up, at least grateful you’d made yourself shower before you went to bed, and grabbed the first clean clothes you could find. The fact that he’d asked you to put on your shoes was odd, but it was Matt. You couldn’t really expect anything because. 

The time flew by and Matthew was knocking on your front door before you could even fully process the situation. How he looked this good with joggers hung low on his hips, and a workout t-shirt at midnight you didn’t really know.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Matt sang softly. “I thought you knew that part was non-negotiable.”

“You called me after I’d already been asleep for two hours. You should be amazed I’m vertical right now,” you grumbled at him as you slid on the nearest pair of sneakers you could find. “Where are we going?”

“You said you had a bad day.” Matt verbally skated around your question as he stepped into the hallway of your apartment, propping the door open for you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you sighed. It had just been one of those days where there were too many little things that individually all sounded fine, but when put together had made you miserable. “How was your day?”

Matt shook his head at you and tsked softly, “Sharing is caring. And you can’t expect me to share if you don’t.”

“Do you like to try and sound like a kindergarten teacher to piss me off,” you stepped into the hallway and began fussing with the lock on your front door to get it to close, “or do you think it’s a kink for me? Spoiler alert, Matty, the answer is I fucking hate it.”

Matt laughed a full belly laugh and you finally heard the lock click into place. You spun on your heels to face Matthew. He smiled down at you and jutted one of his hands out into the space between you two.

“Let’s go for a drive. If you’re a good girl, I might even throw in some French fries at the end for ya.” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth as he added, “And an orgasm or two because I’m feeling generous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile forming on your lips betrayed you. You practically slapped your hand against his as your grabbed it.

“Careful with the merchandise!” Matthew shouted. You shushed him, knowing your elderly neighbor was already none too thrilled with you since her bedroom wall was shared with yours. “Oh, that old bat has heard worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Matthew dragged you out to his car. Part of you, a part of you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, noted just how boyfriend-like this whole evening was. Or at least, that this isn’t what people who are just hooking up typically do. You pushed that thought aside. You knew this was just how Matthew was. This wasn’t serious and wasn’t on its way to it, but it could be self-contained serious. Each night could be serious. You could fall for him each and every single night you were with him if you wanted to, as long as the feelings were gone by the time the morning came.

I love it when you talk that nerdy shit

We’re in our twenties talking thirties shit

We’re making money but we’re saving it

‘Cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it

You won’t stay with me, I know

But you can have your way with me ‘til you go

“Okay, okay, try me again,” Matt said slowly, his fingertips tapping slowly on table between you. “I definitely won’t get it this time, but it’s hot when you’re smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a frequent occurrence, and shook your head softly. You grabbed your orange juice and took a few swigs of it before trying to explain the intricacies of your problem at work to him. He was cute and he was really good at hockey, but his ability to understand your job was lacking. Matthew still tried to understand though, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get it. Your ex could understand, you’d gone to school together, but he never tried. It was the morning though, so you couldn’t be in love with Matty right now. That feeling, that temporary love, was reserved for nights in his bed or yours.

“Okay, I still don’t get it,” Matthew sighed, clearly a little frustrated with himself. “But you clearly know what you’re doing and you’re way too smart for me. I hope our babies get your smarts, but my hockey sense. You still can’t figure out offsides.”

“How many babies am I pushing out here, Tkachuk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but you knew he was just talking shit, trying to get a reaction out of you. “Also, offsides is complicated and I’ve got a college degree taking up space in my brain where you have hockey knowledge.”

“I was thinking three,” Matt told you as he tossed his coffee cup between his hands, sliding it across the table with each toss. “I’ll strap them in skates as soon as they can walk, make them fall in love with hockey before your brains take over and they decide to become doctors or something ridiculous.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that just be the worst thing if little Matty became a doctor instead of a hockey player?” You lifted your glass to your lips and smiled against the edge. “Absolutely the worst thing that could happy to him.”

“Exactly.” Matthew’s smile was evident in his voice. “Glad you’re on board with this plan.”

“Mm, I think you owe me some jewelry and a big party before I pop out any kids for you, Matt,” you sighed as you set your cup back down on the table.

“You’re so fucking picky. I’m just going to stand there in the jewelry store with a blank check and let you go ape shit,” Matt informed you.

“Thinking about wifing me up, huh?” you joked.

The words came out of your mouth and you knew you’d gone too far. Everything else was just running your mouths, something you both needed to keep things light and non-committal. But that joke was walking dangerously close to asking for a real commitment and a future.

“Do you want me to be thinking about it?”

You had absolutely no idea how your were supposed to feel after hearing his response. He was pushing the issue back on you, trying to get you to admit if your question was a joke that didn’t quite land or if it was serious. The problem was you honestly didn’t know. You knew you weren’t looking for anything. You knew you hadn’t let Matthew take you home the night you met at the bar to start anything. He wasn’t the type of guy you would have ever seen yourself with, but maybe that’s because you’d only ever pictured your future with one specific person.

“Is it okay if I don’t really know?”

The question was risky, because up until that moment everything was completely casual. You were forcing an issue that you weren’t even sure was really what you wanted or not.

“I’m good however you want to be. I just like being around you,” Matthew told you. “Whatever you want that to look like, I’m down for.”

You smiled and took his open ending as an opportunities to change the ton of the conversation with, “What if I wanted to move to the Bahamas and become a scuba instructor with you and our three kids?”

“Give up my hockey career to see you in a bikini everyday? Sign me the fuck up.”

I know better

I know better

I know better than to ever call you mine

It was like that conversation had only happened in your mind. You’d left the diner that day and Matthew acted like everything was exactly the same as it had been when you walked in an hour prior. You pretended too, because what else were you supposed to do?

“Okay so,” Matthew tossed the stress ball from your desk up into the air and paused to ensure he caught it on its journey back down. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to this party thing the team’s having. It’s like, kinda nice, but I promise it’ll be low-key. I’ll even buy you a new dress for it. Well, I’m gonna let one of the guys’ wives do it. Call it a gift for putting up with me for so long.”

You had said yes without even thinking really. Also, you said yes without realizing Matthew was totally lying about how nice the event was. When the dress arrived on your doorstep, you unboxed it, expecting something just on the right side of too revealing. Instead, you found an absolutely stunning right, knee length formal dress.

“Matthew,” you sighed to yourself in your empty apartment, the dress in your hands. “What are you doing here?”

You mentally blocked out more time to get ready than you’d previously been planning, knowing you had to step up your game this time. Still didn’t mean you weren’t rushing to put the last bobby pin in place when Matthew knocked on your door that Friday evening.

“It’s open!” you shouted from your bathroom.

“You know, that’s not really safe!” Matthew shouted back, his voice getting louder as he came toward you, his dress shoes tapping against the floorboards as he walked. “You know I could’ve been- holy fuck.”

You turned to see Matthew standing in the doorway of your bathroom, his eyes raking up and down your body unabashedly. One of his hands gripped the doorframe in support as his eyes lingered at his favorite areas of your body.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “You look unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. Your nerves were rising under his intense gaze and you kept fidgeting with a strand of your hair. “Thank you for the dress. And thank whoever picked it out for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely gonna have to thank her.”

You giggled a little at just how in shock he still was. Guaranteed, he’d never seen you actually try and look this good before. The best you’d probably ever looked for him was the night at the bar where you met.

“Are you ready to go?” Matthew asked after clearing his throat. He finally had collected himself enough.

“Just gotta our the heels on and then yes,” you replied, motioning for him to get out of your way so you could get to your heels in your bedroom across the hall.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and began winding the straps of your heels around your ankle. Jess has picked them out when she saw the dress. They were a little cumbersome to put on, but they looked incredible with Matthew’s gift, so you dealt with the hassle of getting them on.

“Hey um, I wanted to talk to you about something before we go,” Matthew asked, his voice shaky.

For someone who was usually so confident it was almost a turn off, he was practically green when you looked up at him, taking a physical and mental break before putting on your other shoe. His hands were clenching and in clenching at his sides.

“Look uh, I know you’re,” he paused and looked you over again before continuing. “Well, you’re you and I’m me and this is stupid why did I start this?”

He sighed and let his head fall back, his curls flopping back as he gathered his thoughts. He cursed softly before looking back at you.

“I know I said I’d be whatever you wanted in the diner, that it was up to you and anything would be fine with me.” He finally met your eyes. “But I don’t think anything is fine with me. Fuck, I know better than to think you’re mine, but you feel like mine. God, you really, really do.”

He had crossed the room and was standing in front of you before you could process the words coming out of his mouth. Matthew’s hands grabbed yours and he pulled you to your feet, keeping you steady because you were still only wearing one heel.

“I love being around you,” Matthew told you, his baby blues looking into your eyes. You felt like he was looking straight into you, into the parts that made you who you were. “You’re one of my favorite people I’ve ever met. I know I shouldn’t ask. You’re so successful and smart and strong and you deserve so much better than me. I know better than to think you’d want to be with me, but fuck, do you want to be with me? Because that’s what I really want.”

You didn’t even have to think about your answer. You knew it. You steadied yourself against him and pressed your lips to his. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground to eliminate the rockiness from the one heel situation. His mouth felt different against yours, eager, but tender and caring in a way you’d never felt before from him or anyone.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, his smile making kissing you too challenging in that moment. “You’re mine now.”

“Kinda already was,” you laughed lightly. “Glad you’re taking the position of boyfriend up officially.”

“Oh shit. Miscommunication. I was promoting myself right to future husband,” Matthew joked. “Guess I gotta earn that promotion now, huh?”

[marvelousworldgeek-blog]

Texting Strangers

Author: Kennedy

Characters: Fem!Reader and…?

Story: Y/N, who’s going through a rough patch, texts a random number in search of a friend.

Rated PG-13 for language, mention of drinking

Warnings: Reader is going through a rough patch, but I tried to keep it on the lighter side. Also, use of language.  

“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?”

The lilting voice of The King floated in through the open window as Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen in front of her. There was plenty of work to be done, sure. But what was the point now. She hated her job, her coworkers, the tiny cubicles, the sound the water cooler made every time an air bubble floated up. And here she was on a Saturday working from home to try and finish whatever dry, boring project her boss had saddled her with, knowing that Y/N was the only person who would actually get it done. Nevermind that Marc had ten years of experience on her two, or that it was actually Kayla’s department that was in charge of this particular project. Or the fact that Y/N was still technically an intern.

“Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare? Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?”

And to throw a cherry on top of this hate-my-life sundae, today marked the official six month anniversary of Jeremy moving out. Break ups were always tough, of course. But things could have certainly been easier if he hadn’t literally picked up and left in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the past year had been one big non-stop “fuck you”. Work? Terrible. Relationship? Long-dead. Family? Radio silence. Friends? Moved away. Apartment? Actually starting to feel like a cave.

Y/N glanced around the room at the stack of empty takeout boxes, the pile of paperwork, the week-old laundry. Motivating oneself to clean up seemed an immense task when the overwhelming feeling in life was ‘why bother?’

“Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

The sad song was just too ironic to handle at that moment. Her neighbor across the courtyard was a huge Elvis fan, and listened to old records nearly every night. For the most part it was nice to have the soft music as a background when she was home, but tonight it was a glib reminder of how lonely she actually was.

“This is bullshit,” Y/N muttered to herself and closed the laptop.

It was saturday night and she wasn’t about to stay at home and mope her way through another weekend. No sir. And so with all the energy and false confidence she could muster, Y/N grabbed an outfit out of the closet, threw on some makeup, and headed out on the town.

…

Okay, so maybe the nightclub scene wasn’t what she was after. Thirty minutes to get in, twenty waiting for a drink, then a whole lot of sitting around on garrish plush furniture waiting for someone to walk over and strike up a conversation. The closest she came was two drunk girls telling her they liked her shoes before stumbling off into the sweaty fray. And now this overpriced, watered-down drink was going straight to her bladder.

Y/N set the now empty cup on a table and headed off for the line to the bathrooms. Surprisingly, she only had to wait for two people before she got in and locked herself into a stall. The walls were as high as the ceiling and provided a satisfying amount of privacy. Behind the safety of four walls, Y/N finally had a chance to breathe. And once again the stress of the past months settled in, despite the cheap liquor pumping through her bloodstream. She leaned her head against the wall next to her and sighed, tracing the faded graffiti.

“Satisfaction guaranteed. Call now!” and a number scrawled below, along with a doodle of a stick figure with a ‘censored’ bar over its lower half. Giggling to herself, Y/N snapped a picture and tucked her phone back into her purse. With a defeated groan she clicked back out to the sinks.

“Oh my GOD, couch girl!”

The shrill voice cut through the bathroom, and Y/N (along with everyone else) turned to glance at its owner.

“Come here, come here,” the blonde girl from earlier gripped Y/N’s hand and dragged her out into the club again, “Come dance!”

And then the evening descended into a blur.

…

Y/N woke to the bright morning sun pouring through the window of her own bedroom. Her head was pounding, her feet ached, and her stomach felt sour. Last night had turned into a long, drawn out drunken dance fest with her two new friends (whose names and numbers she had never managed to get), and in the cold light of day Y/N vowed to never try and drink her woes away again.

After much groaning, she managed to shuffle to the kitchen and set the hot water on, all the while cursing her past self. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her phone and checked the screen. One unread text.

“Dammit,” she groaned.

Work never stops. Reluctantly, she opened the message.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to drop me a line again.”

An unknown number, great. Y/N scrolled back up through the rest of the conversation. And was surprised to find several hours worth of back-and-forth with the mystery person. Somehow, in her intoxicated state, she had poured out her heart to a complete stranger, telling them all about the stress and sadness and heartache over her life. In turn, they had offered support and humor, and if she hadn’t known better she would have assumed this was a conversation between close friends.

“What the-”

Y/N recalled the number from the wall of the club bathroom. In a panic, she checked the photos on her phone. But the number didn’t match the one she had texted. At least not exactly. Somewhere during her night out she had attempted to text this mystery man but instead had hit up some poor clueless stranger and had a long drawn-out conversation over the course of the evening.

With an exasperated sigh, Y/N tossed her phone on the counter and retired to the couch in defeat.

…

“You look really tired,” Kayla’s brunette locks appeared above the edge of Y/N’s cubicle.

Y/N nodded; “It was a long weekend.”

“Did you finish the projection project?”

“I put it on his desk this morning.”

“Ah man,” Kayla sighed. “I was hoping I could hand it in to him. I have some, um, stuff I had to go over.”

“Like taking all the credit?” Y/N thought to herself.

“Oh well, I’ll get the next one. Thanks!”

Then she bounced away, heels clicking loudly against the floor.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the desk and groaned.

“Fuuuck…”

Her phone buzzed and Y/N sat up, rubbing her temple, and pressed the notification.

“Hope they aren’t giving you too much crap today.”

Y/N frowned; it was the stranger from the night before.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

It was only a moment before they replied; “You mentioned you might say that!”

“Ha ha sounds about right. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“A friend.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered to herself, frowning. “Is this being cute? Or shady…”

“A friend with a name?”

“I thought you said we weren’t doing names?”

“Of course drunk me would say that,” Y/N thought.

“Okay friend. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“I’m a member of a secret organization who kept me in a lab for the first part of my life in order to mold me into a super weapon. Now I spend my free time saving the world.”

“You’re funny.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Y/N smiled to herself; “Okay ‘friend’ I’ll leave it be for now. You’re a superhero.”

“Really just a run-of-the-mill hero.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll take your word for it.”

“If you didn’t have to do your job, what would you want to be?”

The question caught Y/N off guard; she hadn’t thought about it in so long. She had been fully focused on getting through school, then getting a job that could get her out of her parents  house and on her own. She hadn’t thought about what she actually wanted to be.

“Um, idk”

“That’s not good.”

“I have a job. That’s what really matters,” she paused, then added, “Do you like your job?”

“I love it.”

“You’re lucky.”

“What do you like to do?”

Y/N sat for a few minutes and considered this.

Another text came through: “???”

Finally she typed, “I love to cook. I actually took a bunch of cooking and culinary arts classes in school. But I would hate being a chef. The hours are outrageous and it gets stuffy in the kitchen.”

“What about a food truck? You could make your own hours, drive to different places every day, you could even travel.”

Y/N actually laughed aloud to herself. She had never considered cooking for a living. She had worked as a waitress when she was in highschool and the kitchen staff were always miserable and overworked. Not to mention kind of mean. She had written off cooking for a living right then and there.

“I’d never thought of that.”

“What is your favorite thing to cook?”

“Breakfast food and baked goods, mostly.”

“That is perfect food truck food!”

“I suppose it is…”

“You should check this out,” they replied, then sent a link to an article titled ‘Considering Opening a Food Truck? Read these fifteen true stories from other chefs who did the exact same thing!’

“I’ll check it out, thanks!” Y/N name typed back, still smiling to herself.

“Hey friend, can I text you tomorrow? I have to go save some kids from a bus on fire.”

“Of course. Be safe, Superman!”

“Hm, nah. Call me ‘Batman’.”

“Okay, be safe Batman.”

“Read that article; I’ll ask you about it tomorrow!”

Y/N chuckled as she pressed save contact and typed ‘Batman’ into the name.

To be continued...