#i set the bar so low to the point that it takes only one (1) reaction to make me happy

[joelhoney]

#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads. 

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.” 

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?” 

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past. 

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.” 

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages. 

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately. 

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts. 

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous. 

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained. 

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom. 

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on. 

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his. 

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight. 

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—” 

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him. 

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small. 

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.” 

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts.  The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever. 

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller tlou #the last of us #tlou x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou smut

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

word count: 6.8k

about: Gojo is many things but you get to know him best as Satoru through the eyes of the people who see him as something else entirely - nothing but a fellow human being.

contents: Told through three non-linear stories. CW: Reader is drinking alcohol in story 1, discussions of non major character death and marriage in story 2, discussions of trauma with Megumi and food mentions in story 3. Established relationship, reader is a sorcerer and teacher alongside Gojo, reader is referred to as girlfriend and my girl in story 1 and he is referred to as boyfriend. A bit of angst/discussion of losing someone you love in story 2 but otherwise it's mostly silce of life fluff.

notes: Happy early birthday to my Sagittarius superstar! ♡ This isn’t birthday themed but i’ve been working on this for a few weeks and am proud of how it turned out. If you read, thank you and I hope that you enjoy.

“I have this thing tonight and I want you to come.”

Generally when Satoru says something like this you roll your eyes, irritated about the last minute notice he’s infamous for, but his grin was so earnest you said yes without thinking too hard about it.

It’s easy to indulge him no matter how hard you try to deny your tendency to give in to his whims and it’s how you’ve ended up stepping into a bar in a neighborhood you have never been in with his arm slung over your shoulder, the moon hanging high in the sky while the stars twinkle above. The atmosphere is practically buzzing before he enters and it’s even louder when the patrons spot him, various cheers scattered around the room and arms raised in the air.

Clearly, they know him and he knows them.

“Hideki!” He points to a man who cheers. “Takahiro!” He points to another who nods. “I don’t remember your name,” he points to a third man who is already tipsy enough that he simply smiles and shrugs. Alcohol helps but you’re sure that Satoru’s smile and demeanor are half of the reason his worst behavior isn’t held against him by anyone in the small group that is clearly regulars to this bar.

Food sizzles behind the counter and you start to ease into the unfamiliar setting, sliding onto a chair and leaning back to watch the master at work, his natural charm infectious and soon it feels like the dimly lit room is practically thrumming with energy, voices chatting excitedly and other patrons typing texts inviting friends to come see the man, the myth, the legend in person.

GOJO SATORU - DARTS CHAMPION!

His name is written on a napkin and stuck in the wood paneling above the dart board with a dart. Seeing the bold characters when you spot them on the wall, you giggle. It’s so like him to do something like this for no other reason beyond what was likely boredom and inability to sleep one random night.

The patrons buzz amongst themselves about Gojo’s appearance, his sunglasses slung low on his nose while he flashes a grin at anyone who comes near him, and you watch from afar with a far more demure grin of your own. His name clearly carries weight even outside of the confines of the sorcerer community and you hide your smile by looking around the dimly lit bar, sizzling coming from behind the counter while the chefs flip yakitori by the skewer sticking through it. Your mouth waters and a beer is placed in front of you without even asking for it, your eyes darting across the bar only to be met with a wink tossed over his shoulder from your boyfriend.

One of the men he was speaking to sidles up to you and offers a polite bow of his head. Returning his gesture, you lift the beer glass to your mouth and take a sip, raising your eyebrows when he speaks.

“You must be the girl he always talks about.”

Raising your eyebrows, the warmth in your throat from the beer you’re sipping slowly spreads through your face out of slight embarrassment he talks about you at all when you’re out of earshot. You can’t control what he says when the two of you are apart and only whatever God reigns above knows what he has said but it couldn’t have been too terrible considering the man doesn’t look at you lecherously or with anything but curiosity. Smiling, you fan your face and tilt your head toward the grills to play off the heat of embarrassment as heat from cooking.

“I certainly hope so.” 

You believe that you are the girl in question but your gut churns at the thought he may be mentioning someone else despite the two of you recently making it very clear you are serious about one another, closing off any lingering attachments elsewhere to focus on your relationship. 

“Oh, I know so. He shows us pictures of you all the time.”

Sipping from your beer, you look away briefly, embarrassed about that as well. Gojo has many photos of you, not all of which are meant for other eyes, and you hope that he has enough decency to keep them to himself. Looking to change the subject, you remember the legendary title held by your boyfriend within these walls and shift in your seat to face the man next to you. He’s probably in his 40’s and looks a little worn around the edges but it could also simply be the hazy vibe of the entire bar making him seem that way. Nothing here seems clean, pristine, or perfect - unlike the way Gojo is elevated by his peers - and it amuses you how easily he has found his place amongst it all. 

“So, how long has he been coming here to play darts?” Your question makes the man shake his head and shrug. “A few months, maybe. Came out of nowhere one night.”

He gratefully bows his head when a dish with a skewer is passed across the bar toward him by the chef and wordlessly, another is passed in your direction. You accept it with a bow of your own, appreciative of how kind everyone has been despite your status as an outsider. It’s easy to feel outcast when you consider how isolated the work of a sorcerer tends to be, something you’ve lamented to your boyfriend on more than one occasion, so being accepted open armed and without question is almost uncomfortable no matter how well you play it off by saying thank you for the meal and biting through a perfectly charred green onion and humming your approval.

“It’s the craziest thing any of us have ever seen. He hits the bullseye without even looking sometimes.”

Snorting as you chew, you keep it to yourself that he’s in all likelihood using his excellent perception to cheat knowing that the average person doesn’t care about Limitless or Six Eyes or anything remotely similar. They don’t know he has been exceptional since birth, they just know he has a mean wrist and hits his mark every single time.  Honestly, you think that may be why he likes it here so much. He doesn’t have to be anything but some guy sipping on a cold soda.

“He has a knack for a lot of things,” you mutter to no one in particular, noticing that your companion has left his seat and walked toward where a crowd has gathered around the dartboard. The show must be about to begin and you settle into your seat, taking another bite and washing it down with a sip from your beer. More people weave past you and Satoru appears almost out of thin air, joking and laughing at the crowd.

“Who thinks I should show my girl over there why I’m the champion?”

The champion, The Strongest, it’s all the same to him as long as he’s the star of the show no matter where he is. 

The crowd erupts and turns to glance at you, much to your mortification as you shrink slightly into your seat and another skewer is passed across the bar. You aren’t shy or apprehensive about receiving attention but it’s the insinuation that you are his girl that makes you feel a little uncertain. It’s a big responsibility to love a man with the world in his palm and there have been many times you’ve wondered if you are even up to the task. Will you be enough to keep him happy forever?

He doesn’t give you much time to chase a trail of darkness in your own mind, your attention grabbed when he shouts your name across the bar and flings a dart. It whizzes through the air and hits its designated bullseye with a definitive slam and the bar erupts into applause and hooting.

“That’s not even how you play darts.”

You’re talking to yourself again but simultaneously biting back a smile while Satoru spreads his arms wide and looks around as if to say, “yeah, I did that.” You want so badly to be annoyed by his pomp but his enthusiasm is nothing if not contagious and the crowd grows more rowdy with each second that passes.

“Now it’s her turn to throw one for you!”

As soon as the suggestion is tossed out, you lift the yakitori to your mouth and take a bite to avoid having to walk toward the opposite end of the bar to do just as you’re being asked. He’s a tough act to follow and although your ego isn’t even a speck compared to his, you aren’t sure you can handle the disappointed aww-ing that would come as a result of firing a shot that lands off of the board. 

“Come on!” 

“Do it for Gojo! Do it for Gojo!”

Just as you’re about to throw your hands up and shake your head, Satoru locks eyes with you and crooks his finger, beckoning you toward him with a smirk that you know you are far too weak for him to deny. Making a show of groaning and rolling your eyes, you trudge across the wooden floors and finally you stand next to him. He throws his arm over your shoulder with an easy chuckle and bends his knees to get low enough to whisper in your ear, voice a rasp.

“Yeah, do it for Gojo.”

He produces a dart between his fingers and you reach to grab it, plucking it between your own to get a feel for it while casting him a sidelong glance that clearly amuses him. You have done this just once or twice at an arcade with darts that do not have the sharpened metal point but this is real and everyone is watching you and you’re doing it for him - the man you love no matter where the two of you are.

You take a deep breath and he removes himself from hovering over your shoulder, giving you ample space to get comfortable. Spreading your feet apart, you make a few motions with your elbow to test the angle you need to throw at and you swear the bar falls completely silent the moment you gnaw your lower lip with your teeth and toss it, hoping some of Satoru’s natural good luck has rubbed off on you. 

Instead, the dart clatters to the ground. For a millisecond, you want to follow suit and fall to the ground and hopefully disappear and never come back but without missing a beat, everyone cheers for you anyway. The eruption makes the building feel like it’s shaking, stomping feet and clapping hands coming from every direction while Satoru bundles you in his arms and pulls you against him. Dipping his chin, he presses a kiss against your temple and you sigh, leaning into it. 

“Looks like the champion is still undefeated!” He shouts and you elbow him playfully in the ribs. This only draws a wicked little snicker from your boyfriend and he bends down to whisper in your ear again, one hand wrapped around your waist. “Better luck next time, baby.”

The crowd continues to cheer and several patrons take their turn approaching and clapping Gojo on the back. It’s surprising despite knowing his Infinity is off because you’re in his arms but you know it means that he’s comfortable. He trusts everyone here and their intentions, at least for now and that’s good enough for you.

You tap his arm once and he lets you go, his eyes following your every movement as you bend to pick up your dart from the ground and hold it in your palm. Smirking, you turn toward him with a twinkle in your eye that he recognizes all too well and the patrons hold their breath wondering what will happen next.

“I think the champion is counting his chickens before they hatch.”

An ooh spreads across the bar and you grin to match Satoru’s toothy one, holding your arms open to offer yourself as a contender. His glasses slide down his nose a little and he pushes them back up, covering his eyes enough that you won’t be able to tell if his abilities are on or off.

“Finally, a worthy opponent!”

His words send the patrons into another frenzy and you laugh although the only person who can hear it is the man standing closest to you, the one who wants to make you laugh the most. You join his side and he wraps one of his arms around your shoulders again while plucking a dart from his pants pocket and moving to toss it again.

“Good luck,” he mutters while looking down at you with a smirk and he lands yet another shot perfectly without even looking. 

It’s always evident when either you or Satoru have a rough day. Your shoulders slump and smiles become half hearted, hiding the frustration simmering inside of you. His need to cling to you becomes more intense than ever, you are the desperate reminder he needs that he’s human after maiming curses, and that’s how you’ve ended up walking hand in hand back to his apartment.

The two of you were lucky enough to make it off campus before sunset and you can count today as one of the handful of times that you’ve been reprimanded by Principal Yaga thanks to a mission that leveled the bottom floor of a local preschool. Thankfully no one was injured but you were reckless and deserved the reminder of the innocent that needed protecting. That’s why you do what you do.

Gojo, well…he is rarely not in trouble but today hurts worse because he got you in trouble, too. The two of you are rarely paired up for missions after the Great Restaurant Destruction of 2012 where he leveled a small family restaurant in Yokohama in an ill guided attempt to impress you but now that three years since then have passed, Yaga insists it’s to keep at least one instructor on campus at all times. 

No matter what occurred today, both of you seem a little zapped. His steps are heavier and slower and you’ve been quiet the entire walk to his apartment from the train station. It has been awhile since the two of you have spent any time over here, too busy with work and crashing at your place that is closer to campus than his if you have a night together, but it’s nice to get a change of scenery. His neighborhood is far nicer than your very normal one and you enjoy taking in the sights of how he lives when he’s not with you.

Down the sidewalk, an elderly woman catches your eye and you see her struggling with a few bags. Nudging Satoru’s ribs, he looks down at you and then down the sidewalk and immediately shouts, holding his arms in the air.

“Baba!”

Before you can reprimand Satoru for being impolite and skipping all sense of formality, especially toward an elder, the woman turns her head with a smile and offers a small wave in his direction. She’s slightly hunched in the shoulders likely due to age and her hair is a beautiful pale gray, the fading sunlight catching the hollows of her cheekbones. Your breath catches in your throat as you’re reminded that there’s nothing more beautiful than to grow old, something you pray often that yourself and Satoru are able to do together. Especially after a day like today.

“That’s Mrs. Ikedo, remember?”

You nod at his words, vaguely remembering a conversation the two of you had about Satoru helping her move some things from her home into storage a few months ago. Mrs. Ikedo steps slowly in the direction of the two of you and he takes a few long legged steps toward her and offers his arm to help. She swats it away playfully and you smile watching the interaction, almost identical to how the two of you behave often. How does he so easily find stubborn women to surround himself with?

“Where have you been, young man?”

Witnessing the two of them interact, you wonder how much she knows about the life Satoru leads. Does she know about his abilities? The danger he willingly puts himself in to keep people safe? He doesn’t see it as dangerous, of course, his incredible belief in himself outweighs all other possibilities but there is always a chance he’ll never come home regardless. A breeze blows by as the ominous thought of him never coming back bleeds into your mind and you shiver slightly, pulling your jacket closer to your body.

“You know me, I’m a wanted and busy man.”

She laughs and you smile despite only being on the fringes of the conversation. The sun dips lower in the sky, dusk coloring the world in warm amber, and you’re almost too lost in your thoughts when he joins your side once more and pulls you close to him. He doesn’t caress all of your sadness away but the way his thumb massages your side even through your jacket helps you feel more grounded.

“Baba invited us in for a cup of tea. You up for it?”

It would be impolite to say anything but yes so you nod, letting him lead the way to the home you know belongs to her because it’s four buildings down from his. The longer you’ve been standing here, the more you recall about her because he has mentioned her more than once. 

“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Ikedo.” You smile warmly in her direction and she walks slowly beside the two of you, her grocery bags now slung over Satoru’s free arm despite him jokingly picking up the lightest one and then asking her to handle the rest. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, this one sure isn’t.”

She jerks her head in the direction of Satoru who chuckles and waves his arm, the reusable bags hanging from them rustling against his shirt. Your formality is almost always a balm to his brash nature so you too easily fall into the role. Gratefulness warms you against the cool evening air and you lean further into your boyfriend’s side.

“Remember who is carrying your bags,” she pats his forearm and you follow her inside of her home, taking your shoes off at the door and looking around. It resembles the home of every other elderly person you’ve ever been into - covered in various collectibles and photos. Smiling faces and one you can easily recognize as her a long time ago, hair cropped to her chin in a tidy bob.

“Satoru looked at that one and asked me what century I was born in.”

It would be best to reprimand him for rudeness once again but instead, you giggle and rub your palms together to warm them. Winter has arrived and while there isn’t yet snow on the ground, the air feels chilly even indoors and you will welcome a cup of tea between your hands as soon as you are able. Mrs. Ikedo leads you through her home and into the kitchen where Gojo places her shopping bags on the counter, sighing.

“I just remembered I have something for you from Gifu,” he says with a sigh and a stretch, pretending the bags were any kind of a hassle for him. “Is it okay if she stays here while I run home to grab it?”

The woman nods and you fight the urge to be annoyed that he’s leaving you in a stranger’s home no matter how kind she may be. This day keeps going on and on and you are fighting off a pout and an attitude when a warm mug is offered to you with a smile, the lovely scent of green tea filling your nostrils and calming you down. 

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

You laugh, head bobbing in agreement. That is certainly one word to describe him and many have said the same thing to you in the past. He is something, the word takes a life of its own and has a different meaning to everyone who says it. To you, he’s your “sometimes not but currently yes” boyfriend, a man who has known you since you were fifteen years old and still had baby fat making your cheeks chubby, your best friend most of the time but you understand why others struggle to see him that way.

“He knows it, too. Most people say that’s the worst thing about him - he knows who he is and brings him everywhere he goes.”

The woman laughs and ushers you in the direction of the sitting area of her home, inviting you to sit down at a kotatsu that she flicks the switch on to heat up. You will be the last person to ever turn down the opportunity to warm up and you kneel on the ground, holding your mug against your legs that are tucked beneath you.

“I was surprised when he told me he’s a teacher.” You nod again, understanding that this surprises many people that the mouthiest man in the room has apparently been entrusted to create future well adjusted adults. “I figured he would be a model or something judging by the size of him. What do you feed him?”

“It always surprises people when he tells them that he teaches but he really has a way with the kids.” You respond with a giggle, sipping your tea as you finish speaking and letting the warmth seep through you. The strain of your shoulders starts to relax and you lean back, comfortable. “He keeps things fun for them so they don’t realize they’re learning most of the time.”

She hums and nods.

“He brought that Hakari over here last year because he told me the boy needed to learn a little hard work.”

That’s an amusing sentiment from someone who doesn’t work very hard himself, you think, but you remember the issues he had with Hakari last year and how only a few of them resolved themselves going into his second year and now he’s your problem - attitude and all. Despite his hands off approach to work, he is a good kid deep down and you know the support of the man the sorcerer community basically views as a god probably helped bolster his confidence. That’s what makes Satoru so good at what he does - the weight that his praise carries. All people dream of being told they’re doing a good job by the star in their field.

“He was right about that. Hakari is my student now and it must have helped him a little bit, he shows up to class three days a week now instead of one.”

She grins at you and sips from her tea, settling beneath the warmth of the kotatsu with a contented sigh.

“You’re a teacher too, I recall Satoru telling me. You seem more suited to the role than he does.” She nods and sips again, placing the cup in front of her when she’s finished. “A lot more nurturing.”

It always embarrasses you a little bit to know that Gojo talks about you when the two of you are apart. That’s not to say that you don’t talk about him because you do. In fact, you gush. Your sisters and friends get tired of hearing about it during the good times and put you on temporary bans against talking about him at all. It feels more vulnerable when it’s him doing the talking, though. 

“Thank you for saying that. I’m glad I get to work with him, he’s definitely one of the best parts of the job even on bad days like today.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for a moment and you know she’s appraising you but you aren’t sure on what criteria. Are you slouching? You’re certain that the mascara you put on this morning is likely flaking beneath your eyes by this point and you look a mess but you doubt she’d care too much about that kind of thing. 

“Would you take some advice from a nosy old lady?”

She sure is funny. You find yourself laughing at her again, nodding gratefully. You are warm and relaxed and you can see why he has made friends with this woman.

“Of course. All of the best wisdom comes from nosy old ladies.”

Sighing, she leans forward and makes a face while moving her legs. 

“This cold…terrible for my joints,” she laments while settling back in. You sip your tea and watch patiently, scooting closer to the warmth of the kotatsu yourself. 

“He loves you.” You choke on the mouthful of tea you were swallowing and she chuckles while you wipe the corners of your mouth and cough. “The person you want to spend the night with after a bad day is the person you love. Don’t push him away or punish him for not understanding everything yet, he has a lot to learn too.”

You’re shocked by the wisdom and you blink at her dumbly. Words aren’t coming to you easily and she can tell, smiling kindly and watching you grip your mug for dear life.

“Give him time. He’ll grow to be the man you’re married to for 70 years.” She nods toward the wall behind you and turning your head, you gasp to see a portrait of Mrs. Ikedo and who you are assuming is the now gone Mr. Ikedo by her side, matching grins in wedding kimonos. It’s overwhelming to be compared to a couple that clearly had so much love in it and you blink tightly, willing yourself not to cry and embarrass your boyfriend in front of his friend. 

“Take it from me, the ones who need a little patience are the ones you have the most fun with.”

Sniffling, you nod and sip from your tea again. You hope that she won’t hold it against you that you’re struggling to find the words of appreciation for her sentiment. Blessedly, you hear her front door open and Satoru hums while taking his shoes off and entering her home, whining when he sees the two of you are comfortable without him.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he mutters sarcastically while joining your side, kneeling and sliding a decorative box across the floor in the direction of his friend. You lean your head on his bicep and he smiles, glad to be touching you in any capacity. You are his comfort and his Infinity always off when you’re near, something that the woman across from you likely has no idea about. 

There is a wall between him and the world and you are what reminds him of what exists between the two places. You make him more..human.

“If you brought me another set of tea cups I’m going to throw them at you,” she mutters while opening the box but a delighted grin quickly replaces her teasing frown when she sees a ceramic frog inside the box. Lifting it out, she shows it off and you smile.

“Another for the collection. You know me too well.”

Satoru shrugs and you see it rather than feel it, making a note to ask him a few more questions about just how close he and the widow are when the two of you get home.

At 8 am on a Saturday, a knock rings through the Fushiguro children’s apartment and Megumi rises from where he sits on the floor reading with a groan, his sister scrambling to get up behind him to see who could possibly be visiting them this early. He would assume it’s Gojo but usually he just invites himself in so it has to be…

You.

Megumi opens the door wide enough you can see his eyes and you wiggle your fingers in a wave. The morning sun shines behind you and his sister appears behind him and says your name excitedly. Suddenly he feels annoyed and shy and a million other things he can’t explain because he’s twelve and the world is nothing short of frustrating at that age anyway.

He almost got into a fight at school this week and that’s why you’re here. Satoru is off in Iwate on a mission and as his guardian, he received the phone call while “decimating a den of second grade curses” (his words) and debated even telling you about it. His concern for Megumi outweighs all else though and he asked you last night to check up on them today, just to see how he seems. Tsumiki is always the angel of the household and right now she’s pushing past her brother to let you in even though he’s reluctant. He knows you must know, that big mouthed overgrown idiot-

“Good morning, I’m here to make you breakfast!”

Megumi’s mean thoughts cut themselves off when you offer to cook and he moves enough that the door can open, letting you slip through a narrow crack with a smile. He knows you’re a capable cook and he’d be silly to shoo you off when you’re offering so kindly.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asks as you toe your shoes off and enter the apartment, taking a deep breath along the way. It’s clean as always, the futons are folded, it’s small but cozy and you smile seeing pictures of Satoru and the two of them hanging on the walls. Megumi can pretend he doesn’t like to be around him but there are many signs that point to otherwise, a little smile evident on his face in each framed image. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing! What do you want?”

Breezing through the living room, both of them follow after you.

“We usually have rice with a fried egg on top,” Tsumiki chimes in while she trounces to your side. She’s almost taller than you are and it amazes you how time flies. It wasn’t all that long ago you were braiding her hair and polishing her fingernails for her, her brother shyly requesting you paint his thumbnails alongside hers.

“I’m not asking what you usually have, silly, I’m asking what you want to have.”

You raise yourself up on the balls of your feet slightly to reach high enough to affectionately rub the top of her head and it makes her giggle, the two of you finally making it through the kitchen where her brother is already waiting.

“Depending on what you have in the cupboards, I can make just about anything,” you offer with a hum at the end, wondering who will offer up a suggestion first. You know the two of them are shy about their needs and often pretend they don’t have any lest they concern their guardian or anyone else he has around to help out with the situation but you try to encourage them to speak up when they can. They’re both good kids; wonderful, even, if you consider the situation they’re in.

“How about something fancy? Oh, I can make some French toast.”

Despite himself, the surly almost teenager smiles and shrugs. His sister practically dances out of the kitchen, walking back toward the small living room space of their accommodations, her unabashed sweetness the perfect foil to her brother whose mouth remains in a flat line while his green eyes scan over you, hunting for ill intent he will never find. 

“Why are you here?”

You look up from combing through cabinets to find even the most basic ingredients and make a note to give Satoru a piece of your mind for keeping the kitchen mostly stocked with convenience food rather than what they need to make meals, meeting Megumi’s uncertain glance. He rests against the counter and for a moment you realize that he is no longer the unruly haired child the two of you used to take for the occasional picnic and day at the museum with Tsumiki. He’s growing up and you feel guilty for making things confusing for him thanks to your admittedly confusing dynamic with the man who more or less cares for him, his de facto big brother. 

Megumi and Tsumiki both have experienced a lot in their young lives and all of the attempts everyone in Satoru’s life have made to help them have a normal childhood cannot fix the pain of loss and the anxiety of not knowing what comes next. Neither of them are apt to open up about all of it, satisfied long ago with the thought that their parents ran off together and never returned, and part of you hopes they never find out the truth. There is safety in ignorance and what have these last four years been besides an attempt to keep them as safe as two children can be?

Stepping away from the cupboard, you turn to face him and lean your own hip against the countertop, attempting to meet him on his level. 

“I’m here because the two of you got good grades and I wanted to celebrate with you. Is that okay?” His skepticism practically wafts off of him and you snort. “We got good grades three months ago.”

You sigh, knowing you’ve been caught in an admittedly bad lie but you don’t bother to elaborate the real reason knowing he’s well aware. Changing the subject is probably the worst way to handle it but hey, you aren’t here to discipline him so you assume the role you’re better at and that’s comfort.

 “Can’t I just do something nice for you two? You don’t have to earn everything.”

A shadow falls over his face and you notice it, leaning forward on your elbows slightly to look at him. He is a boy with big emotions even if he hides them to appear stoic on the surface, something you have worried for years that Satoru is not equipped enough to handle given he rarely blinks at his own distress before compartmentalizing it. There’s more than meets the eye for the enigmatic man who ties all of your lives together but children aren’t always the most capable of picking up on that, seeing him as an overly happy nuisance rather than someone who covers up anguish with smiles. 

“People have been doing things for me my whole life even if I’m not acting my best.”

Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask him to elaborate if he would like to and he sighs. The way his shoulders slump gives away anything he’s trying to hide and the nurturing part of you fights the urge to make him spill knowing it would surely backfire. You’re aware he has mixed emotions about his relationship with Gojo thanks to the few times you’ve been able to get him to open up enough to talk about how he feels indebted to the man for saving his sister more so than saving him but that’s a big load to carry for a twelve year old. To keep things as light as you can, you take a card from Gojo’s book and play it off as nothing, propping your chin up with your fist and keeping your elbows on the counter.

“So? It’s not like they’re asking you to pay them back. We all have times where we are not our best.”

The unspoken part of your statement is that Megumi knows he will eventually have to become a sorcerer someday but given his abilities, it was inevitable no matter whose care he came into. Perhaps this is some form of payment for the guardianship he has been given over the years but you don’t believe that Gojo sees it that way on more than a surface level, a debt paid with flesh is hardly one that the cornerstone of sorcerer society would care to collect on from a child.

“Listen,” you use the weighted silence in the kitchen to your advantage and keep your tone low and even while speaking. You’re sure that if Tsumiki were listening that she would hear you anyway but you don’t think too hard about it. “All anyone wants is for you and your sister to be safe and happy. We stop in because we care about you and want you to know that you always have people on your side.”

Watching him carefully, you hope that your words bring him some comfort and you swear that a trace of a blush comes across his cheeks. The tips of his ears are red which always gives him away and you reach to pinch his cheek, to which he responds by slapping at your hand and groaning, scrunching his nose. 

“We love our little Megumi, what can we say?”

He rolls his eyes but something about him feels definitively lighter so you feel as though your job is done. You open your mouth to speak again but you’re stopped when you hear the front door open, Megumi looking over his shoulder to see who could possibly be here.

“Pancakes!”

The shout comes from the front door and you recognize the voice immediately. A smile comes across your lips and Tsumiki stands up in the living room and rushes to the door to greet Satoru who just arrived at the apartment with still hot breakfast in takeout bags dangling from his arms.

Megumi rolls his eyes but his usual frown is replaced by the hint of a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and watches his sister greet Gojo gleefully, already thanking him profusely while he heads toward the kitchen to see you standing there. He raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise, and you roll your eyes as he holds up his arms and shows off the bags.

“Celebrating the two little geniuses in apartment 9-A!” 

You nod and he sticks his tongue out at you while he passes, shimmying past Megumi to place the bags on the counter next to you. Wordlessly, you try to indicate that the smart boy has already picked up on the lie and to not proceed with it by widening your eyes and shaking your head but he misses the cue.

“I had the same idea.”

Megumi scoffs and lifts himself away from where he leans, stepping quietly toward the enticing smell of a fancy breakfast looking between the two of you while gathering plates from the cupboard to his right.

“Yeah that’s because you guys are exactly alike.”

Tsumiki opens her mouth to reprimand him for being rude but you shake your head, smiling as you lean over toward her brother.

“Yeah but which one of us do you like better?”

This finally draws a chuckle from the usually sullen boy and you nudge him playfully, a shy smile on his face that he dips his chin to try and hide. The curve of his cheek gives him away and you decide to leave him be for now until he leans in and fake whispers, plates between his palms.

“You but don’t tell him.”

“I heard that!”

Feigning offense, Satoru scoffs and holds his hand to his t-shirt clad chest. You smile up at him and he winks down at you, the two of you aware that the Fushiguro siblings are watching your every move. Megumi pushes past you to begin unpacking the bags after handing the plates to Tsumiki who giggles and leaves the three of you alone.

“So I’m not in trouble?” Gojo sighs and claps Megumi on the back, shaking his head. “No but if you start a fight you better win it or else you will be.”

You gasp and smack his bicep with the back of your hand, frowning while Megumi genuinely laughs and starts opening containers that smell so good it makes all of your mouths water. The discussion isn’t over but it’s paused for now and that’s something all of you can accept.

“What? I’m just saying,” Satoru argues while picking up a container and heading toward the set table. “Haven’t I always taught you to finish fights that you start?”

Megumi nods, following after the man with another container. Their relationship is unconventional but he can’t deny that he has learned not just that but much more from him. Each of you sit and you notice Megumi perk up a bit, Satoru using his chopsticks to put pancakes on each of the plates.

“To winning fights!”

“Hey, I thought it was to good grades! And he didn’t even fight!” Tsumiki interjects and you laugh, hugging her shoulders. Her brother scoffs at the white haired man next to him while he pours criminal amounts of syrup over his plate and for a moment, you think that maybe this arrangement is more comfortable for them than it seems.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

[ingravinoveritas]

I personally think its disgusting of what she posted yet again its all about her and she the reason why micheal keeps trending 4th day oh please he was trending for days before she came in the picture. And for someone who has no career and basically living off her parter who works so hard and been ill with virus the last few days and haven't been able to perform and she post this. Taking the credit for something that has nothing to do with her. He very grateful that she keep him grounded what that suppose to mean ? He was doing better before she came in the picture since he been with her his career have been slowed a little and she probably the reason for it

What do u say ?

Oh, boy. I saw this a little while ago, and all I could think was that the bar is so low at this point--like halfway between the fourth and fifth circles of Hell--and this still somehow falls short.

I know there has been a lot of talk about the t-shirt Anna is wearing (which was a gift from a fan at the stage door of Nye), but for me, the t-shirt is the least concerning part of all this. It's a reference to a quote from Staged (it's the title of a season 1 episode, in fact), and I am sure Michael found it funny. The only problem is that without the context of why it's a joke, it actually just isn't that funny. And it sets the stage for everything else that is happening.

Which brings me to the caption she wrote, which was what primarily caught my attention. The reason Michael is currently trending on Twitter (X, whatever we're calling it) is because of the overwhelmingly positive response to The Assembly, which aired last Friday night. He is receiving a tremendous amount of praise for being on the show, how he spoke to the interviewers, and the respectful and joyous atmosphere that was cultivated on the show. And rather than allude to any of that--not to mention Michael being sick recently, or the trip they went on to Disneyland Paris--Anna made Michael trending on Twitter about her.

That is what stands out to me the most. The idea of "keeping him grounded" that is coming across more like kicking someone when he is already down. That he somehow needs that, and that she would have us believe he is "grateful" to her for, what...comparing him to a loud bird? Repeatedly making fun of his looks and interests without a shred of respect or affection behind it? I'm also confused by the implication (and the irony) that Michael somehow has a large ego that needs to be kept in check when she is the one coming across as self-involved in this Insta story. So, yes. I'm at a bit of loss here.

I just keep thinking of the things she could have said instead. How she could have uplifted Michael, wished him well on returning to the stage tonight after several days' absence, said how she was glad to have spent time with him or taken care of him while he was ill. Just something that would give him a reason to hold his head high. But I guess it might just be easier to convince herself/everyone else that he is smiling if his head is hanging down instead.

I am just glad Michael is out performing again tonight and getting to be on stage and do the thing he truly loves to do. But those are my thoughts, and I'd be glad to hear from my followers about what you think, regardless of whether you agree or disagree...

#angel19924 #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #the 'keeping him grounded' thing is giving me Georgia Lite vibes #though at least with Georgia it's original #i don't even know anymore #i don't think AL has had any effect on Michael's career either and I'm not blaming her for that #yet it seems clear he hasn't affected her career in the way she hoped either #trying to provide a balanced perspective #but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time #anna lundberg #relationships #thoughts #discourse

[centrally-unplanned]

I watched the Scott Pilgrim anime! I was deeply ambivalent, which I am sure is a shock to no one who knows me and saw it lol. I think I have a sequence of thoughts, so I will tackle the obvious one first to get it out of the way: Marketing, Adaptation, & Genre Drift in Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

Starting from top, if you don’t know, the Scott Pilgrim anime is not an adaptation of the original source material, but an alternate history version of the events where the titular Scott isn’t present for the majority of the episodes and Ramona Flowers is the main character. Which has been controversial! Not…amazingly controversial or anything, this is an extremely low stakes scenario and from my analysis the majority of people liked it. But controversial enough to get insufferable Kotaku articles “explaining the backlash” which don’t explain the backlash well. Let me see if I can do a better job - its fun to set low bars for yourself to clear after all.

The backlash starts with the marketing; really just the professional drama-trolls would have objected beyond an initial reaction to Netflix announcing Ramona Flowers vs the World; as a concept it makes a ton of sense, and it is essentially what they actually did (well, we will get into that). But that is not how it was sold:

“Join Scott in his fight for love, life, and rock!” I’d love to, still waiting for the invite! This is the first teaser for the show, and if you do a quick “frame count” it pretty equally privileges Scott & Ramona both, but Scott is still on top and it deliberately hides any sense that it is an alternate timeline. It even has this screenshot as one of its final moments:

Which I am pretty sure does not appear in the actual anime! If it does its in some flashback alt-timeline scene in a later episode, not its implied context (in the actual episode Scott ‘loses’ this fight). I can show more evidence - casting the original cast of the movie to make it seem like a ‘recreation’, statements by O’Malley where he plays deliberately coy with the idea of how similar it's going to be, and so on - but I think I don’t have to, because it was intentional, you don’t have to read the tea leaves on this. The bait-and-switch is part of the marketing, not an accident from it.

That is the step 1: people are thrown about being deceived. The step 2 is simple - this is a deception about an adaptation. I am someone who constantly complains about shows sacrificing cohesion & storytelling for “the twist”, but its too common these days to be that mad over it in a mass way. My designated punching bag over at Kotaku points this out:

This is a recurring theme for metatextual work like Final Fantasy VII Remake and the Rebuild of Evangelion films: initially they’re presented as retellings of beloved stories, only for it to become clear at some later point that they’re going to take more than a few liberties and tell a different story entirely.

The difference here is that FFVII and Evangelion are remakes, not adaptations. FFVII is a video game being made into a video game again; Evangelion is a tv show + movie being made into a movie series. The FFVII decision was controversial, but fundamentally you can just go back and play the original game; fucking everyone hated the idea of the Evangelion rebuilds being remakes because that is pointless, the originals have aged amazingly, and they had to deviate to justify their existence (they failed at that, but a story for another time). Meanwhile, Scott Pilgrim is a comic, that has never been a TV series, or an anime. There is the movie, but did you know a bunch of comic fans hate the movie? You see a lot of comments like these all the time (from a discourse reddit thread debating the new show):

Personally, I thought it was fun. I agree with a lot of your complaints honestly, but I don’t understand how you liked the movie? I can’t stand the movie because I feel like the characters are all flat, especially Ramona who has absolutely no personality at all.

I disagree btw, the movie is great, but it is a loose adaptation - hell it was released before the final volume of the graphic novels was finished, it has a different ending! A short, cohesive movie could never adapt a long-form, episodic graphic novel. And its live action, stylistically very different. So this TV show was both branded as, and was expected to fulfill a demand for, a first “real” adaptation of the comic, that people wanted. The fact that Evangelion deviated in its remake is a poor comparison. Questioning that people want full adaptations of works they enjoy isn’t really worth our time.

Now I personally don’t care about the above two - I am explaining the debate, but they aren’t problems for me. Step 3 is where I start caring - I think Ramona Flowers vs the World is a great idea. They thought they made that, and I wish they had. But in the process of telling the bait-and-switch of the story, they also bait-and-switched the genre. There is this great quote from O’Malley about the original graphic novel’s story from an interview (whose headline we will revisit in another post, don’t you worry):

Yeah, I mean, when I was writing Scott Pilgrim the first time, I just wanted to come up with a very simple story engine: fight, fight, fight, get to the end. That gave me something to hang all this other stuff on, all this slice of life hanging out in Toronto.

Its such a nice summation of what Scott Pilgrim is - the fighting against the evil exes? Its all sizzle and jokes, none of it matters. Its a plot device to structure the real story, which is a slice-of-life romance drama, coming-of-age narrative, and extremely intimate portrait of Toronto’s scene of indie music venues and hipster coffee shops. The joke is that Scott is dealing with all this crazy video game/anime shenanigans on top of actually having to navigate very grounded past emotional damage and present challenges of adulthood. The heart of the comic is not the fight scenes, some of which literally happen in the background while other characters are talking, but scenes of a group of friends hanging out at 11:00 PM at a dive Korean restaurant:

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off meanwhile is not built around this cast. Its built around a mystery plot and Ramona Flower’s evil exes, who she is investigating, and Scott Pilgrim, uh, checks notes travelling to the future and fighting his …aged enraged alternate self from the original timeline…? Anyway, Ramona’s evil exes are mainly joke characters, comic reliefs who engage in crazy shenanigans. Half of the episodes are structured around them, and their episodes are filled with extended comedy bits and very-long fight scenes. Episode two has a 13 minutes long fight scene between two of them, including build-up, over control of the League of Evil Exes. Hell, they don’t even live in Toronto - a ton of the new anime takes place in New York City and a bit in California. The comic meanwhile has panels just…explaining locations in Toronto sometimes:

Listing the hours of operation, its so cute! The anime has no time for this in between its sci-fi plots and fight scenes, and its far cheaper for it.

The decision to focus on shallow characters like Ramona’s exes is downstream of the decision to focus on Ramona without Scott -besides the exes the rest of the characters are Scott’s friends, who Ramona gets to know through him. Which is the final point here - who are the characters people love from Scott Pilgrim?

All of Scott’s friends ofc. Characters like Lucas Lee are memes, not people. Obviously Kim Pine, Young Neil, Knives Chau and so on appear in the anime. Sometimes they have great scenes - like the adorable scene of Knives & Kim playing music together, Knives’s first time really trying to jam:

Which goes absolutely nowhere from a character perspective - Knives & Kim barely interact after this. It sets up Knives doing a comedy-meta musical for the plot, sure…but that’s boring in comparison to real emotional connections, Knives doesn't have an arc. But they can’t have more, because our main character Ramona Flowers doesn’t know these people; she wouldn’t just hang out with them, and she is busy with her mystery investigation. She sees them when she needs them for plot reasons. Kim and Knives and Stephen Stills are much flatter this time around (Julie, to her credit, kicks ass in this one).

Obviously I could point out that Scott & Ramona’s relationship in the anime, given that they have literally one date before Scott vanishes, has no depth to it, but that is easy. The funniest way to summarize this character issue is if you check the tags on Tumblr right now, you are going to be awash in Scott/Wallace shipping posts. Like I swear, at times its straight(?)-up 50% of the posts going on, its a rabid gay horde out there lusting for this sugar daddy/baby dynamic. Which makes sense, they have so much sexual tension & emotional depth as friends…in the comic. In the anime they barely know each other! Wallace hates Scott and interacts with him maybe a half dozen times, primarily to tell him to move out, then does his own shit. This is all people projecting comic!Scott/Wallace onto the current show.

There are more downstream consequences of these decisions & other issues (like the overdone meta elements, or abandoning most of the indie-music aesthetic) but this has gone on long enough. The point is that telling a different version of the story would actually be fine. It would disappoint some fans, sure, but if done well you would likely win them around. Hell, the original comic’s ending kind of sucks, good time to polish some things. But if you change the main character and the genre and the cast focus and all the character dynamics…at a certain point its just its own new story now. A story irrevocably tied to the old one, but not about any of the things the old one cared about. I think you can see why that would be a harder sell than Ramona Flowers vs the World, even if it was a good zany action comedy anime in its own right. You will get backlash from this level of drift - and you will deserve it.

Also fuck Lisa am I right? Jeez, 0 out of 2 for moving picture adaptations. What you get for being blonde I guess.

#scott pilgrim #Ash adaptation analysis #essay

[lobotomyladylives]

Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases. Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men.

Lol it just so happens that I have my criticisms of most of these basically memorized because as always you have nothing to offer except for regurgitating the same braindead talking points MRAs have been using for years without bothering to think critically. I'm on the train so I have some time but just know that you are getting boring again, be careful or I'll stop throwing seeds into your enclosure when you bang the bars and I know when that happens you're going to try to kill yourself by taking your entire Cialis prescription at once

So this should be obvious but there are tens of thousands of small IPV studies with wildly varying rates of self reported abuse from both men and women, making them unreliable, and the 40% stat falls into this category. This is literally the definition of cherry picking. Why not cite one of the other small studies that comes to the conclusion that women are over 90% more likely to experience IPV than men? Survey based studies, especially those with a low sample size, are notoriously unreliable, hence the massive difference in results.

"At least equally likely to initiate" this one isn't even worth addressing because you provided no actual data that would allow me to identify the study you pulled this from (since you didn't bother to cite any sources as usual) + the language you use is opinion based. "At least" is a term no one with hard data needs to use. Sorry, I know MRAs don't question anything as long as it works with their confirmation bias but outside of your bubble of maladjusted male market failures you can't just say "Women Bad" and have people applaud you for your intelligence & wisdom. You have to back it up.

Women are far more likely to be the sole parents of children due to men abandoning their offspring so often. Adjusted for that (which is the only way to get reliable data, using maladjusted stats to make a claim like this in an academic setting would literally get even an undergrad laughed out of the room), men are in fact more likely to abuse their kids-and far more likely to sexually abuse them even /without/ adjusting the variables, which is alarming.

The "lesbians abuse more!!1!" bs is well known to be a limited & misleading "study" that no reasonable academic would ever cite due to it contradicting better studies that have much more reliable metrics. And you didn't describe it correctly, either-it's not a percentage of couples but rather a percentage of people who identify as lesbians, straight women, straight men (notice how you left them off your list, wonder why?), or gay men who have experienced IPV at some point in their lifetimes. Not each individual relationship. Which should be obvious lol lik or course almost half of lesbian couples don't beat each other, & neither do 2/3rds of straight couples (which would be required for both men and women to have a combined ~70% rate within each couple which is the way you are presenting this misinformation). Plus, many lesbians dated men as teenagers or young adults due to comphet so even if the stats were reliable, due to the nature of the questions used in the survey they're still potentially misleading bc the identity of the abusers is not specified, just the identity of the victims.

By FAR the most relevant source that we have when looking at population demographics of IPV are the crime stats for the most severe forms of abuse. It's the most reliable way to get this data as it's solely based on hard evidence, not just self reporting, and also it's the largest sample size you can possibly get by far-the entire population of the world. Men are almost TEN TIMES more likely to hospitalize or murder their partners as women are, and again that is the kind of data that is impossible to fabricate due to the scale of it. But sure, ignore that and keep citing poorly conducted studies based on low sample size self reported surveys, the weakest form of scientific "evidence".

Something else worth noting when talking about male violence against their female partners is that the number one cause of death for pregnant women is being murdered by the father of the child. It's more common than the top 3 most common obstetric causes combined, in addition to shadowing any other COD that is normally far more common than homicides among adults. But sure, feminists are just being hysterical when we talk about male violence, right? Let's just call women crazy and paranoid until they're murdered, then we'll call them stupid & say they should've been more careful about picking their men.

Anyways, I know that all of this probably went over your head because I used language the average eight grader would understand instead of language the average paleolithic toddler would understand, let me rephrase for the intellectually underprivileged: u wrong lol

#dont be boring and stupid in my inbox again you have to choose just one #asks

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

No Strings Attached

(Strumming of a Heart)

✵ Part 1

Summary: After an overwhelming breakup you decided to set your heart aside and run free. With the constraints of your past relationship behind you, finding the fun in the physical company of others has been your favorite past time and it all started one night you met a lonely Jake Kiszka in a bar. Although you thought you would never see him after that night, a year later you meet him again, only this time you find out he’s a guitar player in a popular band. You can not deny the intense attraction, embarking on a messy situationship that has only one stipulation: absolutely no strings attached.

Pairings: Jake X fem reader

Warnings: as always 18+ no minors, past abusive relationships, angst, drinking, sexual content, friends with benefits, mentions of cheating, I’ll update more as they come along!

Word count: 14k

May 2018

“How about him?” Your friend pointed the neck of the glass beer bottle towards a guy sitting at a table by the bar with a couple of other guys.

“No, he looks like he could be a little clingy” you replied while also sipping on your cocktail. It was your third in the last hour. You knew you were definitely going to need to be intoxicated to get done what you came out to do tonight.

As your wandering eyes searched the dimly lit bar they trailed the expanse of the bar only to fall onto one gentleman sitting seemingly by himself at the end. “Over there” you nodded your head in his direction and your friend followed your gaze.

“Ooh he’s cute, think he’ll bite?”

“There’s only one way to find out” you stood up and tipped back the rest of your quickly diminishing glass.

“Good luck” they called after you as you walked away towards what at the time you had no idea was going to be the biggest regret of your life.

“Hi” you greeted the man at the end of the bar, leaning over on the cold, slightly damp and sticky countertop and crossing your legs.

He looked up at you through tired dazed eyes, he was absolutely plastered, this was perfect. “Hey” he took one look at you then his eyes slipped down into your trap, your chest was on display for him as you leaned in closer to him.

“You here alone?” You were trying hard to act smooth and well versed in the art of picking people up in bars, but in reality your mind was screaming inside.

“For the moment” he replied, flashing you a quick smile.

You smiled back, one thing you’d learned. Anytime a boy smiled at you, smile back and then you had him in the bag.

“You here alone too?” He turned your question back on you, at least he was participating in conversation.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not” he gave a low chuckle and tossed back the rest of his beer.

“So, you from Detroit?”

“Just passing through”. That was perfect, if he didn’t live here that meant there was less of a chance to run into him somewhere else.

You straightened back up and he peaked up as well, wondering if you were planning on leaving so soon. That was your cue that he was interested. “Did you maybe want to umm-” you looked around, although you had planned this out you honestly didn’t think you would get this far on your first try.

He smiled even wider this time, leaving some cash next to his empty glass and standing up as well. He took your hand in his and pulled you away. You looked back to your friend who had been watching the whole time in case they needed to jump in and save you at any moment. You flashed a smile and they raised two thumbs to cheer you on.

Your heart was pounding as you let him drag you along through the bar. It was busy for a Tuesday, but not nearly as packed as it usually was on a weekend night.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you, to his car, his place? You weren’t sure you had signed up to be staying the night with him. Then he rounded the corner. A few girls exited the bathroom, making room for the two of you to pass and sharing a giggle with each other.

Was it obvious? Of course it was. Here you were hand in hand slipping into the bathroom of the bar together.

With the two girls gone it was empty now, thank god. He smirked as he held open the door to the last stall waiting for you to either enter or chicken out and ditch him.

You weren’t chickening out though, you wanted to get this over with so you could move on with your life. So you stepped inside and he closed the door, locking it behind him.

As soon as you heard the slight click of the plastic pieces hitting each other you pushed him against the door, locking lips with the stranger.

Your hands fumbled with the top few buttons of his shirt, giving up halfway and moving below the waist to take a shot at his belt buckle.

You felt his lips pull up against yours as he put his hands on your shoulders gently pushing you away. You looked up at him to see why he stopped you and watched as he wiped his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

“Hey, so, what’s your name?”

That’s it? He stopped you for this? You really didn’t want to tell him your name so you looked down and continued unbuckling his obnoxiously large belt buckle.

Once you got the damn thing undone it was smooth sailing to get his pants unbuttoned and the zipper flew down before you had your hand inside the front of his tight jeans groping him over his boxers.

He stifled a moan, propping each elbow up on either side of the stall, tilting his head back against the door.

He was getting hard quickly, and you noticed a strip of bare skin where his collar had fallen away from his neck so you latched your lips there feeling the grumble of his moan vibrate up from his chest through his throat and out past his parted lips.

He seemed to like what you were doing, so you licked a stripe up the side of his neck then sucked gently.

His head snapped back up startling you into taking a step back.

“No marks” he was looking you directly in the eyes this time and you were stunned in place. When you were talking to him at the bar his eyes looked dull and tired, but now there was a fire behind them as he waited for your next move, a fire you ignited.

“Sure, whatever” you mumbled “anything else I should know?”

He let his arms drop down to his sides before reaching over to take one of your hands in his. “Jacob Thomas Kiszka, at your service” he brought your hand forward and kissed the back of it, never breaking his eye contact as he did so.

You sighed, you didn’t want to know his name, not knowing his name would have made it easier to forget tonight, but here he was with his charming drunk ass practically spelling it out for you.

For a moment you debated giving him a fake one, but ended up giving in and telling him your actual name. He let your hand go but placed his against your cheek and pulled you into another kiss, parting your lips with his and fitting his tongue inside.

Your knees started to feel weak, you had to give it to him, he was doing it for you.

He slipped his other hand around your waist and pulled you flush against him so that there was just a little more room for him to turn the two of you around and push you against the door this time. You broke the kiss so you could take a breath and he followed your lead from earlier by moving to peppering kisses against your clavicle.

His hand on your waist slid down and between your legs. You had worn a dress specifically for this purpose, easy access. To help speed him up you lifted the hem and hooked your thumbs on either side of the fabric of your panties, shimmying them down and kicking them all the way off. Once you popped back up he was smiling at you again so you put a stop to that by putting your lips back on his and resuming the making out.

Things were really heating up at this point, you were glad the moment was finally here. You were going to have sex with this man in the bathroom of this bar and then your first time would be over, nothing special, no one worth crying over, just done and done.

You ran through your plan one last time in your head, it was a simple one. Go to bar, find a forgettable guy, get him alone, condoms in the purse… Wait, you left your damn purse at the table with your friend.

“Do you have umm, some protection?”

He paused his exploration of your thighs where he had been getting closer and closer to your center. “Oh, yeah right” he reached around and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“You know you’re not supposed to keep them in your wallet right?”

He pulled out the thin square, flashing it between index and middle fingers, rotating his wrist to inspect it. “Only put it in there yesterday. Looks fine to me?”

Yesterday? You thought, your head running off with the thought before you could slow it down and catch yourself. He put a new condom in his wallet yesterday. Does that mean he was having sex with someone else just a day ago? How many hours has it been since he was with another girl?

You shut yourself up quickly. He was alone in a bar of course he could be having lots of stranger sex in bathrooms. He was honestly outstandingly good looking, especially this up close, taking the plastic to his lips and tearing it open with his teeth. Also what you were not supposed to do but damn was it kind of hot to watch.

He pulled himself off of you and you watched as he dropped his pants and boxers around his ankles, expertly rolling the piece on before giving himself a few preemptive tugs. He placed a hand on the door next to you, leaning in close and resuming that eye contact you hated so much like he was still watching and waiting for you to suddenly change your mind and go running out of the bathroom.

Although you had said hardly anything to this man before you, purposefully played a game with him so you could use him and lose him all in the same night, as he stood there barring holes into your eyes you couldn’t help but feel like he knew you. At least knew your story, because his was the same. Maybe he was using you tonight as well? Just like he’d used some other girl the night before. You didn’t care anymore, you were here and ready and he was cocky yet gentle, not what you had expected when you’d picked him but now there was no turning back.

You bridged the small gap he left between you, grabbing his hips and pulling him back against yours.

He lifted one of your legs and you hooked it around his hip, pressing your back against the door for more support as he positioned himself, gripping your hip and pulling you down onto him as he pushed up at the same time.

You sucked in a deep breath as you got used to the feeling of being filled. It wasn’t a bad feeling, in fact your adrenaline was spiked to an all new high that flooded your head and relaxed all your muscles even though you were in the most awkward position.

He started to move, knocking you against the door in a way you knew anyone just outside was avoiding coming in because they could hear what was going on inside.

“Mmm, no I need to be deeper in you” he groaned into your ear before grabbing your wobbling leg that was still barely holding you up and hoisting it around him like the other.

With your elevated position you were able to grab a hold of the top of the stall walls, throwing one arm across his shoulders and reaching up with the other to grip the wall, using it as leverage to attempt to move yourself, bouncing off of him as he thrust inside spewing a mix of slurs at the pleasure the change in leverage provided.

Although you had explored with yourself plenty of times this was new, this was intoxicating the burning wave inside your body mixing with the liquid courage still coursing through your system.

“Does that feel good? Is this what you wanted?” He was back at your ear, speaking at just an audible level above the sounds you were making. You nodded your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you slipped your hand underneath his shirt and dug your fingernails into the flesh of his shoulder. He’d said no marks but that was sure to leave one.

He groaned, somehow able to move one hand off your waist and still keep you hoisted in position. That hand came to rest across your neck as he tilted your head back to display for him the vast surface of smooth and delicate skin. His hand continued to trail down, following the curves until he was pulling down the collar of your dress, tucking the fabric under your bust and leaning his head down to place wet kisses across the tops of your breast.

“Fuck you feel so good, I don’t want this to be over” he returned his hand to your neck and kissed all along the skin up to your jaw.

You were seeing white spots on your eyelids, a coil in your stomach starting to tighten as he relentlessly continued to thrust up into you. In the moment you didn’t want it to be over either, but it would be, soon.

You snapped and your body felt like hot liquid running against his. You were shuddering from the orgasm he was giving you, tightening your legs around his hips like you might break him in half but you didn’t care.

His movements started to falter, his steady rhythm falling apart as he moaned. “Fuck that’s so good. Are you still cumming? I can feel it. Me too, I-”.

You didn’t expect him to be a talker, but he silenced himself as he moved his hand back down with the other to your hips, pulling you towards him and holding you in place as he finished himself.

You let go of the stall, wincing a little as your arm was sore from the strain. His head slumped against your shoulder as he caught his breath then he gently lowered you back down onto the ground.

Without wasting a minute you retrieved your panties and bent over to slip them back on, pulling at your dress in all places until it was situated back where it belonged and turning around to pull the lock open.

“Woah, wait!” He hurried to pull his pants back up and chase after you. “Will you let me buy you a drink?”

“No thanks” you rejected him but he caught your hand to keep you from escaping so quickly.

“Just one, I promise you don’t even have to sit with me and drink it, just let me get you one?”

You weighed the pros and pros and cons in your head. The pros being you were really thirsty after that. So against your better judgment you agreed and followed him back out to the bar where you had first met him.

He ordered another beer and you a drink, the bartender took one look at the two of you and smirked before leaving to get some glasses.

You looked over at the man you just let fuck you senseless and realized half of his shirt was still unbuttoned and his long hear was tousseled around. He didn’t look tired anymore, more refreshed than when you first saw him, a hint of a smile on his lips as he fished out his wallet again and pulled out more cash. Yeah, if this was how you saw him earlier you would have walked away.

The bartender returned with your drinks and took the money. You took a sip of your drink and just about when you were about to leave him for good a girl came walking up from behind you.

“Jake!” She called out, making you jump a little at her unexpected arrival.

So he goes by Jake. Flashed through your mind. Wait, you didn’t care.

The girl moved past you like it was nothing and joined Jake by his side.

“Oh right, this is my girlfriend” he announced with no hint of guilt or shame. Your jaw dropped as you saw the unknowing girl call the bartender back over. There was no need for him to get her a drink you thought. He could have yours. You took the small red straw out of the glass and tossed the contents across his bare chest.

Now you were walking away from him. Your friend was still waiting at the table where you left them. Having watched the whole scene they grabbed both your things and followed you out the bar.

You were walking away from him now, and you knew right then and there that you never wanted to see Jacob Thomas Kiszka ever again.

Jake’s POV

As the ice cold liquid hit your chest you sobered up for a moment only to catch her storming off, another person jumping up from a table to follow her out the door. So she wasn’t alone?

You couldn’t hold back a smirk from forming across your face as you grabbed some bar napkins to dab at your chest and shirt.

“Who the fuck was that?” Lila asked you, absolutely shocked at what she’d just walked into, unknowing how you had spent the rest of your night leading up to now.

“I don’t even know” you breathed out. The only thing you had left of your encounter was the warm feeling in the bottom of your stomach and her first name. “She was beautiful though wasn’t she?” Now that she was gone you were already reminiscing about how her face looked above you, pink and glowing with a sheen of sweat under the dim lights.

“Yeah, beautiful and fucking crazy” Lila responded as she finally got herself a drink. “You sure do attract them Jake you know that?” She chuckled under her breath as she took a sip from her glass.

It was evident that she wasn’t coming back at this point so you swiveled around in your bar stool to face your friend. “You would know wouldn’t you? Beautiful” you teased her and she pushed your shoulder nearly knocking you off the stool. She realized then how drunk you already were.

“How long have you been here anyways?” Her tone turning serious.

“Not too long, maybe an hour and a half, or longer, time kind of… got away from me”.

“That’s what I was afraid of” she muttered in a way that you might not have heard her correctly so you asked her to repeat herself. Instead she just shrugged her shoulders and kept sipping.

You spent the rest of the night there with her as she commented on how shitty the bar was and how next time she was picking the spot. You nodded your head and agreed with her. You told her you didn’t plan on coming back here but it was a lie, you spent the next three nights back in this stool waiting to see if she would show again.

She never did, and you had to get back to work. After all, you were just passing through.

Three months prior

You wanted to cry some more, letting the tears roll down your face was a lot more satisfying than the dry heaving sobs your body was forcing you through right now.

Your best friend was there for you throughout the whole thing. They were currently leaning over you with half of their body draped over yours as they rubbed soothing circles into your furiously shaking back. “Shh it will be okay. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright” they quietly repeated to you over and over again until you finally managed to suck in a deep breath and calm down.

Thank god they always had a relaxing effect on you because you were worried you were about to start hyperventilating.

You had just gone through the worst break up of your life. Your boyfriend of 4 years, known him most your life. The man you thought you’d, no planned on, marrying.

He was out of your life for good and as much as you hated it right now, it had to be for the better.

“Now, tell me what happened”.

They hadn’t heard the full story yet. Every time you started to try and tell them you burst into uncontrollable tears.

You took another deep breath and closed your eyes, picturing for the last time the man you’d called the love of your life and letting it go.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. Liam had told you to get dressed in something nice for the evening. He was taking you out.

Your heart raced as you picked through your worn in closet, nothing you had felt like it was appropriate for what you were sure was coming. He was finally going to propose to you.

You met Liam in highschool, he was two grades ahead of you but you shared some electives that allowed for the chance encounter to meet each other and become friends.

He had a different girlfriend at the time, Jessica. She was the sweetest, president of the student council, homecoming queen, insanely smart, but not as smart as Liam.

He was his year's valedictorian, Jessica finishing right behind him, always second in his shadow when it came to academics. You could tell it bothered her at times. She worked ridiculously hard to get to where she was because he didn’t want anyone sitting up on stage between them when it came to their graduation, whereas it seemed to just come naturally to him.

When their graduation finally came you attended to show your support to your friends, by that point you had become as close to Jessica as you had Liam maybe even closer as sometimes girls just shared a deeper connection. As the ceremony finished up you squeezed through the crowd of people trying to find either of them to congratulate them on their speeches one last time before you left them to celebrate with their families.

Jessica found you first, sneakily grabbing your hand with hers and pulling you out of the crowd over to a quiet corner.

“You did so great, the last minute changes you made to your speech were perfect, everyone loved it!” You squeezed her shoulders as you hugged her.

Once you finished she pulled away and grabbed your hands again, holding them in front of her as she debated how she was going to tell you. “Can I ask you something and you be entirely honest with me? I promise I won’t get mad”.

You smiled nervously, your first response was to tell her of course! Anything!, but you held back a little since she seemed to be a bit anxious. “Sure, I’ll do my best” you landed on that reply, seemed safe.

“Do you have feelings for Liam?” She blurted out, but she wasn’t mad, more like genuinely wanting to know.

You pulled your hands out of hers, rubbing your arm as you tried to figure out what was the best way to continue this conversation. Should you lie to her? That wasn’t really fair considering she was your friend and she was coming to you with this in a very stoic way. Should you laugh her off? Admitting to anyone’s girlfriend that you had feelings for their boyfriend, although you were all close, wasn’t really a laughing matter. You sighed as you knew there was no getting out of this, she clearly wouldn’t have asked you if she didn’t already know the truth. You looked down at the pair of feet underneath you, both clad in sparkly heels for the occasion, and nodded your head yes.

“Ok, thank you for being honest with me” she rubbed her hands over your arms like you had. She really wasn’t mad? “I have to tell you something else now”

You looked back up at her, there was something else on her mind, something you realized she’d been keeping from the both of you.

“I got into Brown”.

“Wait, what?!” Your excitement suddenly came back to you when she told you the shocking news. You had no idea she even applied to other universities other than the one Liam was going to. Well that was probably the point, she hadn’t told anyone had she? “What does Liam think?” You asked to confirm your suspicions.

“He doesn’t know, I’m telling him tonight at dinner. Also I got into a summer program so I’m leaving in a few weeks.”. You could tell she was also a little excited to finally be telling you, but scared about how she was going to break the news to her boyfriend.

“I’m sure he will be so proud of you” you tried to help ease her nerves, tell her it was going to be okay even if they were soon going to be nearly twelve hours away from each other and starting whole new chapters in their lives. You knew how highschool sweetheart relationships lasted through long distance at college, they didn’t. “Maybe you guys can work out a schedule before you leave? He can come visit you in the summers and you will be coming back for the holidays right?”

“No, this is it for us” she shook her head, she had already made up her mind. “I’m leaving him, and I’m leaving him to you”.

“Oh” was the only sound that popped out of your mouth. Her question before made sense now, but the reality of the situation did not. “No, he doesn’t like me like that. How could he when he’s got you? You’re so much better at me in everything” she frowned at the way you put yourself down and compared yourself to her, but you thought it was true.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Known it for months. We’ve been on rocky shores recently. I knew it would only be a matter of time anyways. He likes you”.

Your stomach did a flip, partly because you felt bad their seemingly perfect relationship had been cracking because of you, but also because you couldn’t believe that she could be right about him liking you back.

“So does this mean today is the last day I’ll see you?” You sniffled a little bit, damned if you were going to cry, but getting worked up nonetheless.

“Better not be!” She pulled you back into a hug, this time being the one to squeeze on you. “I said a few weeks, I’ll be around and I promise I’ll come say bye to you before I go. Alright now I better go find my mom and dad before they freak out about not getting enough pictures of me in my cap and gown”.

Just like that she was gone. You did see her one last time like she had promised, but it was at a going away party that filled her house with all the people she knew. You felt so out of place at that party. All upperclassmen that had just graduated and we’re excited to go off into the world wherever their post graduation goals took them, and you were stuck here with another two years to go.

The rest of the summer you spent a lot of time with Liam. At first it was awkward and kind of sad without Jessica there, but eventually Liam opened up to you and like she said he’d confessed his feelings shortly before moving into the dorms.

Despite your differences your relationship grew steady quickly.

You were over the moon about dating someone in university, spending as much time as you could going the next few towns over to visit him. Highschool fell into the background for you, only doing as much as you needed to get into the same university as him. Then there you were, finally really together.

When he helped you move into your dorm your first fall at university was the first time you told him you loved him. You didn’t expect him to say it back, there was still a lot of ground to be made between the two of you, one of which being sleeping together. Liam told you he loved you back, your heart swelled and you tried to make your move, bringing him into a long passionate kiss. He stopped you before you could pull your shirt off, explaining that he wanted to wait until marriage.

You were kind of bummed out, stuff like that didn’t really matter much to you, but you let it go because more importantly he loved you.

Back to the Sunday afternoon. You settled with a dark blue dress. One that had gold shimmers woven into the fabric of the dress. You thought the lights would catch just right in the pictures you would be taking. Picturing it already him getting down on one knee and you fighting back tears, you were excited.

You were in for a let down though when you pulled up to the restaurant and Liam threw the car in park, leaving you inside to go meet a group of guys at the front door. You left yourself out of the car, bringing your purses strap over your shoulder as you approached the group, confused.

“Come meet my girlfriend!” Liam told them, walking over to you and placing his hand on your lower back to speed you up. What was his deal?

He introduced you to the guys who all agreed they should go back in so you could meet their girlfriends they’d left inside. It became evident very quickly as you followed them into a private party room that this wasn’t a proposal dinner, but a get together with people from his department.

His hand stayed firmly on your back as you walked inside together, continuing to push you around and guide you towards groups of people to be introduced to.

So him asking you to wear something nice wasn’t to look good in pictures you’d be treasuring for years, but to show you off.

You suddenly weren’t hungry any longer, but when a waitress passed by offering drinks you weren’t about to pass that up.

You took a drink after each person he made you meet, standing there and forcing a smile like the pretty quiet thing he always wanted you to be at events like these.

By the time he was done pushing you around you were done with your current drink. He finally let you go and you found another waitress to get another glass then took a seat at the back of the room at an empty table.

You never set your drink down as you watched him circling back around the room, spending more time with a few specific people than others. He looked perfectly far away through the refraction of the glass.

The evening went on like that for a while and a collection of empty glasses were starting to pile up on the table next to you but no one seemed to care. No one except your boyfriend who was making a b-line in your direction.

“That’s enough drinks. I don’t want you embarrassing me”. He said in a hush as he leaned behind you.

Embarrass him? What about how embarrassed I feel? You wanted to tell him how you felt, how you thought after the week leading up to tonight he had left you bread crumbs, telling you how important this weekend was for us and our future. How you thought that meant a glass of champagne and a ring not whatever this event even was, but you knew he wouldn’t want to hear it right now.

“Fine, I’ll just stop drinking this free booze here and drink ours when we get back home” you replied to him, glancing behind you to see him biting the inside of his cheek. He had commented on your drinking on multiple occasions. It’s not like you were a stumbling drunk, you just enjoyed your first few years of college like anyone else and now that you were legal to drink in public you liked to indulge yourself from time to time. Tonight seemed like a night to enjoy yourself, he certainly was.

You could tell he wanted to say something else, scolding you like he did a thousand times when you ‘weren’t acting like you were mature enough to be around him and his friends’, but he bit the inside of his cheek instead of risking making a scene.

“Excuse me, I’ll be in the restroom. Maybe go introduce yourself to a few more people. I don’t want to see you sitting here alone when I get back” he cupped his hand down onto your shoulder and gave it a squeeze before walking out the room.

You sighed and left your empty table to go find the one other girl you barely recognized to latch onto until he got back.

“Hey!” She called to you when she saw you making your way over to her. You pulled your smile back on but as you made your way across the room your knees wobbled and you nearly fell.

Fortunately you caught yourself by grabbing onto a nearby man’s shoulder. Unfortunately he spilled his drink all over your dress.

Fuck! You yelled at yourself inside your head. If Liam sees me like this he’ll be pissed I made him leave the party early to go home and change. You hurried out the room, not even pausing to apologize. You were embarrassed that you had gotten a little too drunk, but more afraid of Liam getting upset. You searched the restaurant for the restrooms, but stopped yourself when you realized you could cross paths with him too easily this way.

Instead you made the decision to go outside knowing you had some napkins and a bottle of water in your car. That and the breeze outside to dry you off and sober you up a little would work.

The parking lot was small but packed full with cars, most likely due to the event going on inside. You didn’t see many others in the actual restaurant but then again you were in a hurry.

Sitting in the passenger's seat you wiped your chest down, pouring the remainder of the water onto a napkin, some spilling out onto the ground between your feet to try and get as much sticky off of you as possible.

The front of your dress was still soaked. Thankfully the dark color helped hide it a little, but knowing Liam he would notice still.

You sighed, you did want to go home, maybe getting him to agree to leave and deal with him being a little pissy in the car ride back would be worth it.

Standing up you pulled at the hem of your dress, putting everything back in its place and gently closing the car door. When you turned to head back inside you saw a sight you were not at all expecting.

Liam was standing outside the restaurant. You wondered if he was looking for you, but his eyes were fixed on someone else and he was smiling from ear to ear. A beautiful girl approached him, placing her hands around his neck and giving a quick kiss on his cheek. He wrapped one arm around her waist, placing his palm against the small of her back just like he so often did with you. She pulled away but he kept his hand on her as he opened the door and led her inside.

What the fuck was that? You thought to yourself. Sure Liam was very impressionable and charmingly friendly towards most people, but something about watching that interaction made your stomach churn. Nothing about it was particularly incriminating, besides some girl’s hands and lips all over your boyfriend, but they seemed to be very familiar with each other and that didn’t sit right with you.

If you had been in a better mood, if this had been the dinner you expected it to be, if you hadn’t been drinking, then you would have brushed it off, but those were just ifs and instead you were fuming.

If you even so much as smiled for too long at another guy Liam would be angry with you, so why did you have to constantly put up with him acting any way he wanted to?

You marched back inside the restaurant and saw that although they had put some space between them, Liam and the girl were standing in a small group. A waitress walked past and Liam stopped her to grab a glass and offered it to the girl. Oh so she can drink but you can’t?

The man whose drink was spilled on you tried to stop and ask if you were ok, but you ignored him. Only concerned with making it to Liam and getting the two of you out of here.

“I need to go, someone spilled a drink on my dress” you arrived and interrupted his conversation to which he slightly rolled his eyes.

“Of course,” he sighed, pinching the area between his brows, “I’m not finished here yet. Why don’t you take the car back to your place and I’ll get a ride back to mine with one of the guys?”

Well, he didn’t sound pissed, just disappointed which unfortunately made you feel a little worse about it.

“You don’t want me to wait at yours? How much longer are you going to be?” You flashed your eyes at the girl next to him who was caught up in talking with the rest of the group.

“We will probably go out for a bit after this, it will be late” he replied. Something didn’t add up to you. He had invited you here, but did he make plans to go out with his friends after you’d arrived or had he planned to ditch you the entire time?

“Alright, we’ll I don’t have classes until the afternoon tomorrow, I’ll bring the car back by in the morning and get mine”. You gave him an awkward half hug, trying not to get the front of your wet dress too close to his nice shirt. “Love you” you gave him in parting.

“I’ll see you in the morning, get home safe”.

You made it home in one piece despite how much you’d had to drink. In fact, you were surprised Liam had let you drive knowing how many cocktails you’d had.

After the second shower of the day to rinse off the remainder of the spill and wash your face free of the extra makeup you’d put on, you changed into some comfy clothes and made your way into the tiny kitchen to find something quick to eat.

Your apartment was much smaller compared to Liam’s. Well you didn’t have the financial support from your parents like he had, relying heavily on your scholarships, student aid, and even a part time job while he took extra classes and had an unpaid internship.

You spent most of your time together over there where there was more space and you wished he would just ask you to move in, but he stuck to his beliefs and was firmly against living together until you were at least engaged. That was another reason why you’d expected him to propose tonight. There had been comments he’d made about ‘when we start living together’ like it was coming sooner than later.

After heating something up you plopped onto your two person couch and clicked on the TV. In addition to being hungry, you were wide awake, so you decided to catch up on some of your cheat shows as you ate.

Three episodes in and you still weren’t tired. You went into your room where you’d left your phone to charge, thinking surely you’d have a text or a missed call from Liam. Once you unplugged the device and the screen illuminated you saw there was nothing.

It was a little over half an hour to midnight. Liam didn’t go out with his friends very often, but when he did, he did tend to stay out into the early hours of the morning.

Your thumb swiped and tapped along the screen until his contact was pulled up and you hit the call button. The phone rang just a couple of times then went to voicemail.

This was so stupid. You had been so excited this afternoon, only to end the evening alone in your apartment without even a text to say good night.

Fuck this. You snatched up your keys and kicked on some shoes before locking your door behind you and getting back in the car. Even if he was going to be out for longer, you’d wait for him, you wanted to be with him.

When you pulled up to the apartment complex you found that there was someone already parked in his spot. You waited for a moment to see if anyone would come out and move it, besides he'd said his friends were giving him a ride back, but no one ever came. Both the car and his apartment windows were dark.

You drove further down to find an open visitor spot then made your way back to the front door, using your spare key to unlock it and go inside.

You entered quietly in case he was indeed already back and sleeping, but it wasn’t quiet inside.

Cries and moans were being carried down the hallway. You were in absolute shock and denial, your first thought being one of his pretentious friends had a girl over, but then you heard her crying out his name.

You flew down the hallway, throwing the door open and flicking on the light to expose them in the act.

Liam was naked, you’d never seen him more than shirtless before, but here he was only a sheet keeping him somewhat decent and he was on top of the girl from the party.

“Who the fuck?!” The girl squealed, knocking Liam off of her and grabbing the sheet to cover her chest.

“Who the FUCK is right!” You were yelling, nothing but rage filling your entire body as Liam jumped out of the bed you had spent so many nights laying in with him trying to keep control. He pulled a pair of shorts on and ran over to guide you away from the door so she could get dressed and you could talk before you did something rash like jump her and scratch her eyes out.

“Baby, baby, come here sit down” he wrapped his hand around your arm and guided you down the hallway. His touch was burning into your skin, you wanted him off of you, didn’t want to hear a damn thing he had to say. You tried to swing your arm away from him but his grip tightened and he practically threw you onto the couch.

He crouched onto the ground in front of you, placing his hands on your thighs and trapping you there.

“I’m so sorry! I had a little too much to drink!” He tried to explain, reaching up to wipe away the tears that were starting to fall and roll down your cheeks.

“You had too much to drink?!” You repeated, your voice cracking out of your tight throat in a way that made it feel sore to even try and speak. “So you had to fuck someone in our bed? What happened to waiting until marriage?! I thought you loved me!” The tears were pouring out of your eyes now like a faucet turned all the way open. You didn’t even attempt to wipe them, there was no way your face was going to be dry again tonight.

“I do love you!” He squeezed your thigh, his fingers digging into the skin in an unsettling way. “You have to realize, it’s different for men”.

Your brows furrowed, what was he trying to imply? You didn’t respond. Only stared at him, thankful you could hardly make out his face through the water works.

“I love you, and I want to marry you, but until then I need some personal time, to get it all out before we commit to each other”.

Oh. So he was allowed to cheat on you to sleep with others but you weren’t. You had to remain his unspoiled prize until he trapped you forever.

Everything wrong with this picture was slapping you in the face. A blinking red light searing your corneas.

You tried to get up, but his hands remained firm on your thighs, his nails starting to dig into the flesh. “Let me go!” You were yelling again, kicking your legs trying to get away but he stood up and hovered over you, squeezing your knees between his legs and placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you still.

“Stop!” He was matching your volume, surely his neighbors were being woken up at this point from all of the commotion.

Panic set in as he held you down onto the couch. He had never gotten this physical with you before, and it was starting to scare you a little bit.

“Hey!” The girl had redressed and was standing in the hallway watching the two of you struggle. “Let her go” she was yelling too, but fortunately she seemed to be on your side.

“Stay out of it and get the fuck out of here” he turned toward her and you took that as your opportunity to shove him to the side as hard as you could and jump up.

You ran for the door and the girl picked up a few books sitting on the bookshelf in the hallway to throw at him and keep him from chasing after either of you.

“Oh my god, thank you” you yelled as you both made a dash for your cars.

“I got you girl, what an ass I hope you dump him!” She replied before ducking into the driver's seat and backing out.

She has been the one parked in his spot, so your car was next to hers. It had been since that afternoon when you came over dressed and ready for what you thought was going to be the best night.

You backed out like a bat out of hell, just trying to get away before he had a chance to come out and chase after you, lure you back inside, lie to you some more.

When you were clear of the apartment complex and a little ways up the road you pulled into a gas station and let your forehead fall onto the steering wheel, sobbing as you tried and failed to calm yourself enough to drive home.

Then it hit you, going home wasn’t the best option, if he came looking for you that’s the first place he’d go.

Instead you fumbled for your phone that you had thrown into the passenger seat when you jumped into your car. Retrieving it you pulled up the contact for your best friend, hoping they would pick up this late.

“Hello?” They answered after a few rings, not sounding very excited to talk to you unlike usual, but also like they were still half way asleep.

When you called out their name through a fit of sobs their voice went from sleepy to concerned.

“Can I come over? I’m sorry, I just really need some help right now” you begged feeling like an absolute mess of a friend.

“Hey, don’t ever be sorry to ask for help. Are you safe to drive over here or do I need to come get you?”

Your tears slowed from inconsolable weeping to a sniffling whimper. It was already easing you to hear them speak so kindly to you. “I can drive, thank you. See you in a bit” you replied and hung up so you could focus on making it there.

You stayed with your friend for the rest of the week and by the weekend they went with you to pick up all of your stuff from Liam’s apartment.

You were so thankful for the patience and support you received from your friend. You were afraid if you’d gone to Liam’s apartment alone then he would have tried to force you to talk again and you didn’t want to talk. It was over between the two of you.

The cheating had been the final straw, and you were constantly nauseous every time you let yourself think about how long he must have been doing it without you even realizing. On top of that you knew there were parts of your relationship you turned a blind eye to. The standards, the image, the way he wanted to control every aspect of it and you had started to feel suffocated even before everything unraveled.

How stupid you felt now, obeying his every wish and command just because he was the first guy to ever love you? Well, that was overrated and you weren’t about to ever let another man possess you.

May 2019

“Hey I’m going to this concert later tonight. My buddy was supposed to come with me but he bailed. Want to take his ticket?” Caleb stopped to ask you.

“What kind of music?” You replied, tucking your arm behind your head to prop it up and look down at him.

“Rock music. They’re a Michigan band that made it big, like doing shows back home. I went through hell getting us good tickets kind of pissed he’s ditching me actually”.

“Yeah, yeah, okay” you finally agreed to go with him and removed your arm so you could place your hand on top of his head and push him back between your legs.

You caught a smile spread across his lips before he went back to work getting you off. It didn't take much longer, unlike him you were focused, throwing your head back against the pillow and riding out your orgasm.

You’d met Caleb through a friend of a friend. Well actually a guy you hooked up with once invited you over again. Although at the time you usually didn’t meet up with a guy twice you’d had a particularly stressful day and some good old fashioned cardio to take your mind off of it sounded like a good idea. Little did you know he wasn’t inviting you over to fuck again but to his party.

You were pissed when you got there. What on Earth had given him the idea you would want to come to his party? Regardless, there was free alcohol so you stayed long enough to stand in a corner and get buzzed.

That was when Caleb approached you. He was extremely talk, tanned skin, dark hair with matching dark eyes. Nothing about him stood out but all the same time he was exactly what you’d needed.

“You look like you want to get out of here?” Was the first thing he said to you.

“Yes please”. You let him drive you back to your apartment. Another unusual for you but what the hell. You had the best mind blowing sex you’d had since, well since the first time.

From that night on you broke a lot of your rules, you let Caleb stick around, stay over some nights, but you had made it explicitly clear to each other that your situation would never turn into a relationship. Because you didn’t have a heart for relationships anymore.

The good thing was you didn’t have to fumble around online to find hook ups anymore. Caleb was there any time you called, always on your command, and eventually you had to admit even when you weren’t rolling around in the sheets you enjoyed his company.

He was a sports management major, whatever the hell that meant. He was smarter than he led on, but he said he’d only ever wanted to be a coach and you found that admirable. He had a vision for himself since he was a kid and he was so close to making that vision come true. You on the other hand had changed your major a few times. Trying out classes and failing at them when you lost interest.

You were a year behind everyone else in school. Only going part time for the duration of your relationship with Liam had set you back further than you had realized at the time.

The only thing you were passionate about was writing, which meant you took as many English classes as possible now and sat yourself down in front of your laptop every afternoon to force yourself to work on something even if the product was just a sentence or two.

Liam never condoned your future as a writer. To him that was a hobby not a career. So your first two half semesters were filled with useless classes you didn’t do well in. You’d started to realize that maybe Liam never expected you to finish college, he only wanted you there to keep an eye on you while he worked on his degree and his future.

Since the break up you had filled your schedule, if not to try and get back on track, but to keep yourself busy so you didn’t have to think about how lonely you were.

You had classes four days a week, not including your study day, and also picked up as many shifts at work as possible. You were burning yourself from both ends but it was paying off.

About 5 months ago you decided you needed a change of pace, or of scenery, honestly anything to keep you going. You sent in dozens of applications to literary arts and creative writing programs all across the country knowing how competitive these programs were. The rejection letters were rolling in, you were soon to give up hope, but finally you got notified you were put on a waitlist for a program in Nashville.

Now all you could do was hope, maybe soon you would be starting fresh in another city, another state for that matter, and maybe you could start to recover.

“Who did you say this band was again?” You questioned as you followed Caleb through the busy crowd. You wondered how many more people were planning on showing up before the building maxed out its occupancy.

“They’re called Greta Van Fleet” he leaned over to speak to you in a way you could hear him over the rowdy crowd and dozens of speakers blaring a random mix of music to keep everyone happy until the live show started. “Want something to drink?” He tipped his thumb over his shoulder towards the back where a long bar was packed.

“Sure” you yelled out so that you didn’t have to lean into him. He took your order and headed to find a spot to squeeze in.

Since it would take him a bit you found a decently comfortable place to stand and pulled out your phone to google the name of the band you were about to see.

The signal was shit with as many people in here all on their phones at the same time. Once the page finally loaded you were shocked at what you read:

Greta Van Fleet, an American rock band from Michigan consisting of Kiszka brothers: Josh, Jake, and Sam, and Danny Wagner.

Kiszka. As much as you tried you could never forget that name. Jacob Thomas Kiszka.

Caleb returned faster than you had expected. You stuffed your phone back into the pocket of your jeans before turning around to take the plastic cup from his hand. Why were drinks at concerts so small, you were going to need a lot more to get drunk and make it through tonight.

You finished the drink as you tried to stay engaged in whatever Caleb was trying to chat you up with. An opener came onstage and eventually Caleb turned his attention away from you to watch them, giving you a chance to slip away back to the bar.

Once two cups were ready you made your way back, only getting half way before the main artist for the night started to take the stage.

Your jaw dropped as you watched them all pile out, the crowd cheering as soon as they made their appearances. Then there he was. Walking out onto the stage with his guitar strapped around his shoulder was exactly who you hoped it wouldn’t be.

He looked different than the night you met him. His hair was longer, his face more defined. There was only shitty lighting in that bar that night, but tonight he was standing about you in the spotlights.

There was no way he could see you in this sizable crowd, and even if his eyes met yours there was no telling he would even recognize you.

They got right to it, instruments roaring to life as the lead singer introduced themselves and thanked everyone for being here. You heard what he was saying, but your eyes were fixed on the guitarist as he smiled and strummed the strings in deeply resonating chords before breaking out into the first song of the night.

Caleb was overly excited, thoroughly enjoying himself as the set list moved along. You gave him a few half smiles and nodded your head to one of the songs to assure him you were having a good time when in reality your mind was spinning and you wanted to turn around and run out the doors. Surely that would cause a scene though, so instead you stood next to him with your hand in your back pocket and the condensation from your thin cup wetting your fingers.

After nearly an hour the last song ended and the band all thanked everyone and waved as they made their way off the stage. A group of people started to back away from the front of the crowd, getting ready to leave so they could beat the line out of the parking lot. That was silly you thought, because bands always played encores.

“Look! Let’s squeeze up front!” Caleb pointed over to a small space right next to the right of the stage.

“I think it might be over” you lied, trying to stay put but he was already hurrying you over before someone else moved in.

“They’ll be back out, they haven’t even played Highway Tune yet” he excitedly remarked when you successfully scored the spot.

Just like you expected, they came running back onto the stage, repositioning themselves and starting their first encore piece, the song you assumed was Highway Tune.

The crowd behind you started cheering as soon as the guitar part blared through the speakers. It was tremendously louder closer to the stage, the sound of the guitar ringing through your ears so that you couldn’t focus on anything else.

They were having fun dancing across the stage, you had to admit, their performance was lively and intense, the stage presence alone nearly outdoing the music itself. Just as the song was coming to a close the guitarist looked out across the crowd, making eye contact with a lot of fans in the front row until his eyes fell on you.

Your heart was pounding with the beat of the drums as you locked sight with him. Does he recognize me or is he just checking me out? You couldn’t tell but his eye’s definitely lingered on you for a moment while the rest of the band started up the final to the encore. He flicked his eyes away but a smile spread across his face as he continued to play, finishing out strong.

“That was interesting” Caleb had noticed the interaction, curious what the point of it was but you pretended like you didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I’m going to go back over to the bar” you notified him before turning to the side and squeezing through the groups who had scrambled forward when the band came back out.

Once you broke free you felt like you could breathe again, finding a seat to take and give your legs a break as you ordered another weak cocktail.

The band was gone for good now, their crew already working at breaking down their equipment. The bar filled up around you but the crowd dramatically thinned out and you were able to spot Caleb talking with another couple.

You turned around and leaned on the bar, pulling out your phone to check the time, realizing you still had your google search pulled up. You swiped through the pictures, almost in disbelief that the men on the screen were the same ones who were just standing up there being real and human. You set your phone face down and took another drink. How in the hell was this even happening right now.

“Hey,” a barely recognizable voice called from just behind you. You tried to ignore him, you did not want to talk to him, but he continued regardless. “You here alone?”

He definitely remembered you, starting up the conversation the exact way you had done with him a year ago.

“Does it matter?” You replied, still facing the bar instead of him but subtly informing him you remembered as well.

“Absolutely not” he deviated from the previous conversation. His voice was deep and scratchy from yelling lyrics along with the singer on stage. He acted like he expected a total replay of the night. Who did he think you were? Easy? Well maybe by this point you were, but just because you knew he was some hotshot rockstar now didn’t mean you were dying to throw yourself at him like a few if the other girls around you’d noticed ogling him the second he walked up.

“Fuck off Jacob” you told him thinking any minute now Caleb would come looking for you and you could suggest leaving. Surely it wouldn’t take much motivating to get him to agree to head back to your apartment and finish what you had started earlier.

“Woah, only my mom calls me Jacob” he snickered. Maybe you needed to remind him how you had left things last time you saw him.

You finally turned around to face him, holding out the cup that was still filled to the brim with ice and a little bit of liquid.

He tossed his hands up, getting the look in your eye as you started him down. “Hey! What’s your deal? I thought we had a great thing last time? Until you freaked out and threw your drink on me”. He pointed at the cup then down to the counter in a way to ask you to set it back down.

“I freaked out?” You scoffed, “I’m sorry but I’m not very turned on by cheaters”.

“Cheater?” His brows furrowed as he repeated what you called him.

You rolled your eyes about to turn back around and ignore him again but he caught your shoulder with his hand to keep you there. He looked slightly pissed that you weren’t showing any interest in him anymore, but also that you were calling him names he thought he didn’t deserve.

“I can admit I’m a lot of things to a lot of different women, but I am not a cheater”.

You scoffed again and he looked like he was getting more pissed off by your attitude. Good, then he’d leave you alone soon. Regardless, you didn’t go around talking shit about people for no reason so you made sure he was clear with why you wanted him to as you put it earlier fuck off.

“Yeah I’m sure the girlfriend you introduced me to after fucking in the bathroom would have thought about you differently. Or did you never tell her?”

“Girlfriend?” He repeated you again, the clueless act was getting annoying but suddenly he started to piece the rest of the night back together. “Girlfriend… Lila? Jesus, how drunk was I that night?” He was talking mostly to himself now, bursting out in laughter by the end of it and running his fingers through his hair. “Umm Lila was my ex-girlfriend. We dated back in highschool, stayed friends, she came to see me while I was back in Detroit for a bit. God, I really introduced her as my girlfriend?” He was chuckling still, finding the whole encounter funny albeit knowing how torn up you had been thinking you’d had sex with someone else’s boyfriend.

It was hard not to continue to feel animosity towards him, even if you were realizing it was only a mistake he’d made while being too intoxicated to know any better. When he slipped his hand against the counter and placed it on top of your arm some of the feelings eased up though.

“So, now that you know I’m not a cheater, like I said, do I turn you on a little?” He was inching closer towards you, trying to keep the conversation intimate, and flashing you a white toothy smile. His thumb was strumming against your forearm just like you had seen him strum on his guitar strings up on the stage. His fingers were calloused, worn in, but that only aided in the formation of goosebumps on the surface.

He seemed to notice your physical reaction, trading his smile for a smirk and moving his hand down to grip yours and pull you away from the bar.

You grabbed your phone and quickly sent a text to Caleb.

Not feeling well, grabbing an Uber. I’ll talk to you later.

If it were anyone else you might have felt a little bad about covering yourself with a text, but that was the nature of your relationship with Caleb. Surely he wouldn’t be too upset by it and you could make it up next time you saw him.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to find a bathroom” you joked with him. Joking was always your way of coping with your chosen lifestyle and this was no different. He had towed you hand in hand towards the stage but over to a door just to the right. A man waiting at the door recognized him as one of the artists and let him through. There was a short hallway followed by a left turn and a longer one filled with doors. Was this backstage?

“Obviously, where else?” He looked back at you with a wicked smile. Please tell me he’s joking too. When he turned back around he stopped at a door in the middle of the hallway. Letting your hand go he opened the door, the lever clicked a little as he pulled down on it and pushed in.

Inside was indeed not another bathroom but what looked like a dressing room. You stepped inside, taking in the disheveled state of the room but also admiring all the little bits of clothes and makeup scattered about. There were quite a few chairs pulled up to the mirrors lined in bright LED lights. It looked like the entire band had gotten ready here just before starting the show.

He closed the door behind himself and strutted into the room, much more familiar with its space than you were. “Don’t worry, the others will be out for a while longer. They like to mingle a lot more than I do”.

That made sense, you didn’t remember seeing any of his band mates at the bar from last time. Until his ex showed up he had been seemingly alone. Why though? You thought to yourself, he seemed to have a pretty good life. He was in a successful band, he was attractive enough already without the allure of being a musician, but it surely helped. No you were just trying to kid yourself, he was hot.

“Where the hell did they leave it?” His talking aloud brought you out of your head and back into the room where he was tossing random clothes around looking for something. “Ah! Here she is!” He exclaimed in victory as he found what he was looking for, pulling a tall glass bottle of tequila out of a bag that had been thrown onto the floor in the corner of the room. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle. You watched him with a small smile and your brows raised.

“What?” He asked when he caught you staring. “You need a glass? We’ve got some around here somewhere”.

You shrugged your shoulders and reached for the bottle. Smiling back he handed it to you, watching this time as you brought it to your lips and took a drink then two before passing it back off. He took another gulp then returned the cap and set it down.

He moved over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you into a tequila laced kiss. You moved your hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck to bring him closer. His skin was still sticky from sweating under the stage lights but that didn’t bother you one bit.

He pulled away from the kiss too soon, just like before.

“So, there’s a futon over there” you followed the trail of his eyes to a small black couch covered in bags and a feather boa? “Or there’s chairs? The counter top? The floor?” He listed off places in the room he could bend you over and let you have it, not really having a preference of his own.

“I have to choose one?” You replied, stretching your arms out across his shoulders and twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers.

His toothy grin returned and he leaned over to hook his hands around your legs and hoist you up onto his hips. Carrying you over to the counter he swiped his arm across the surface to rid it of all the bottles of hair product and eyeliner pens it previously was a temporary home to and setting you down in their place.

“Here first then we will see where we end up” he grinned as he started working at unbuttoning your jeans and peeling them off your body. You placed your hands on either side of you, lifting your hips to help him with removing the clothing.

He started at his pants, just barely getting the front undone before realizing he’d forgotten something. “Wait let me find my bag” he moved to search the area he last remembered seeing it to no avail, but quickly found it nearby. Inside the distressed leather bag he retrieved a small foil wrapped square. “Don’t keep them in my wallet anymore”.

As he made the small walk back you took the chance to observe his stride. There was a confidence in his step, boarding proud but not necessarily cocky. Like you had noticed when you first saw him tonight his hair was longer and messily laid down his back and across his shoulders. Although it was mostly straight, the pieces at his neck had started to form a loose wavy curl after being soaked in sweat from performing on stage. He had the typical rocker attire, only he’d added his own personal touches to everything he wore from a stylish belt to cutting the hem off the bottom of his shirt so that it hung deliciously just above the navel.

“You know staring is considered rude in most situations”.

He’d caught you, but he didn’t seem to actually mind. Only a hint of embarrassment peaking through his cool and collected front making you wonder how much of what he had shown you so far of his personality was truly himself or just an act.

Once he was within range again you were pulling him back toward you and lifting his shirt at the unraveling hem and up over his head.

“Do you remember last time?” He smirked, sliding his hands up your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge. “Very similar position to this”

“Jake?” You hooked an arm around his neck.

“Hmm?” He hummed as he turned to place kisses against your forearm.

“Shut up and just fuck me already” you sighed, dipping your hand into his pants to see he was already fully hard.

“Of course, I am at your service after all” he chuckled darkly, slipping his pants off and removing the condom from the wrapper before lining himself up and rolling his hips up into you.

He stayed there all the way inside for a moment, sucking in a breath of air as your walls stopped clenching and settled around his size. A moan fell from your lips as he pulled all the way out, taking himself in his hand and teasing your entrance with his tip as he rubbed his thumb against your clit then stuffed himself back inside.

“Sorry, I just had to feel that again” he groaned, placing one hand on the counter, the other guiding your leg up around his hip and he started thrusting.

The pace was already set to a fast one. More than likely he was still riding out his high from getting to play in front of his fans, residual energy needing to be expelled.

“You don’t know how badly I needed this” he was pulling at your leg to bring you closer to him.

There was an understanding with where he was coming from. This week leading up to tonight had been particularly long and stressful. You hadn’t had the time or energy to do much of anything which is why you never really wanted to come out with Caleb in the first place. Apart from this afternoon, you hadn’t seen him in a few days. Tonight you had planned to take out all your frustrations in bed with Caleb, but you were finding yourself increasingly satisfied with where you’d ended up.

You suddenly felt the need to take control, to show him how much you had learned since the first time. “Go sit on the couch” you requested and he followed your command without word.

Taking a seat with an arm stretched across the back, he waited for you to pull your shirt off and come to straddle him.

The mood had shifted when he slid a hand up the length of your back as you slowly settled onto him. He was holding back a moan when he bottomed out with you on top. Part of you guessed if the room was insulated well or not so passersby couldn’t hear what was going on inside. While another part wanted someone to hear you making him feel good.

You moved your hips opposite of his, slowly rocking back and forth, grinding against him for some additional friction while he was already nestled right up against your g spot.

He let his head rest back onto the futon, his lips falling open but his eyes squeezing shut. “You know, I waited for you to come back”. He muttered into the room. This wasn’t exactly striking up a conversation time, so you chose to continue your movements on him, picking up the pace a little. “We were supposed to leave the day after, but I stayed the rest of the weekend. I sat at the same spot at the bar hoping you would visit there again and I’d get to see you”.

That was unexpected, his recollection of the past coming as a shock to you. You stopped, now concerned about what it was you were doing here and realizing neither of you had taken the time to explain your intentions.

“I should tell you something” you began as he pulled his head back up to see why you’d stopped. “I’m not the kind of girl right now who wants to be wined and dined. I don’t want the romance, the feelings, the mess. I want uncomplicated, no strings attached, just fun and hot sex”.

“Fun?” He smirked, “is that not what we’re doing?” His hand trailed down until he found the curve of your ass, giving it a quick and sharp slap.

“No, this is fun” a smile found its way back into your face, “but like, don’t expect anything else. We’re just having a good time”.

He moved his arm off the back of the couch, wrapped it around you, and pulled you down onto your back against the cushion.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a good time” he teased and pressed back into you. “Now just tell me what else it is you want. Tell me and I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to finish this quickly, or do you want me to make you beg for it?”

Although the prospect of what he might do to make you beg was alluring, you were pent up and would probably just end up getting frustrated. “Quickly” you chose and his smile returned.

He reached over and grabbed a cushion that had fallen on the floor, asking you to lift your hips as he placed it underneath you. One hand gripped your hip and he brought the other to his mouth, sucking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Then he did just as he said he would, thrusting over and over unrelentingly, the sweat starting to return to his forehead and chest until you were both finishing together.

“We’re playing another show here tomorrow night. Will you come back?” He asked as he watched you redress and collect your things.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea” you admit once getting your jeans pulled back on. “I don’t usually go for seconds let alone thirds”.

“Is that’s so?” He scoffed with an amused grin. Maybe he wasn’t used to getting told no so many times in one night.

“Hey, I agreed we’re just having a good time here. What's one more night? And then maybe I won’t see you again for another year if even” he made a good point but something told you the universe had other plans for the two of you. That first night you’d never expected to see him ever again. It was the point of finding him alone in a bar. Yet here the two of you were.

“I’ll think about it” you replied and slipped out the door before he could try and convince you further.

You pulled out your phone and flicked through the apps, finding the black and white square and ordering a car to pick you up. Thankfully since the area was busy tonight there were plenty nearby and you wouldn’t have to wait long.

Not looking up from your phone as you walked down the hallway you were suddenly stopped by a couple of hands pressing against your shoulders.

Embarrassed that you had almost run into someone you quickly started to apologize until realizing you recognized the person as another one of the band members.

He was very tall, clad in another pair of dark wash tight jeans and just a vest. His arms were tanned and toned, the result of his instrument of choice. He was their drummer.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going”.

“That’s alright, but how did you get back here?” He was less concerned with the near collision and more with what exactly you were doing wandering around backstage.

Your face flushed a little thinking that as soon as you admitted how you got back here he would know exactly what went on in the dressing room. “Oh, umm, Jake let me back. I was just leaving though”.

He looked past you directly at the door you had just retreated from, cocking an eyebrow and letting you go with a sigh. “Of course he did. Okay well the exit is to the right” he directed and you thanked him before making your way out.

The next morning came and you started your wake up routine, making a drink, washing your face, getting dressed into something comfy and heading out to the office to check your mail.

The mail run was an addition to the morning checklist when you started applying to programs. It was annoying to you that everything could be done online these days, yet fancy universities still insisted on sending you their rejection letters in the post.

Regardless, you made it a habit to check for the letters never expecting much, until upon checking today you found the one you’d been waiting for.

You could tell from the address on the envelope that this was the letter that would tell you if you got moved off the waitlist or not. Your hopes had not been high due to the many past denials, however, this had been your first step in the right direction and you were eager to see if you actually made this one or not.

Stuffing the stack of magazines and junk mail under your arm you started to tear into the letter as you walked back to your apartment.

You started from the top, reading the introductions that always started the same thanking you for your application to the program, but as you tried to read lower you were caught off guard by someone calling your name.

You peered over the edge of the paper and saw Caleb closing the door on his car and waving you over. That was odd. Caleb didn’t usually come over without messaging you first, but you had ditched him last night so maybe he just wanted to check on you. He was nice like that.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t call you beforehand, I just wanted to see if you’d made it home after leaving last night”. You were right in your assumption, but there seemed to be something else on his mind by the sound of his voice.

You gave him a smile and a nod and returned your eyes to the words before you, trying to find the spot you left off on.

Upon your addition to our waitlist we did a secondary review of your application

“You know about last night,” Caleb started to speak again, so there was something he’d come over to tell you.

Your focus was split, Caleb was speaking but you had to know what the letter said. He didn’t seem to catch on though, continuing his thought even though you were hardly paying attention.

“I had a really good time with you last night. Honestly, I have a really good time with you all of the time. I know that we’ve been keeping it pretty loose between us, but I just wanted to let you know that if you ever felt comfortable with getting a little more serious I actually would kind of like that”. After spilling his confession he waited for you to respond, but you’d just gotten to the most important part.

We would like to extend you an offer to attend our creative writing program this fall.

“Caleb,” you started. You did not want to hurt him, he was the best guy you met in a long time, and if things weren’t the way they were then maybe you would consider his offer. On the other hand you were excited, so ready to drop everything here and take a leap into the future and this program was going to help you do that. Just like the many rejection letters you’d received over the past few months you knew he would get over this. He’d try again with another who was more prepared to be loved the way you knew he was so very capable of. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this with you. I’m moving to Nashville”.

Next chapter>>>

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #Greta van smut #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #gvf #Kallie writes #strumming of a heart

[rebelspykatie]

Rushin’ through me like a fire Part 5

A Steddie Club AU

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

They stare at each other for a beat before Steve nods. He takes Eddie’s outstretched hand when they untangle their bodies. The spark from before still ignited and burning quietly under his skin when Eddie smooths a thumb over the back of his hand and drags him along the corridor. 

At the top of the spiral staircase, Eddie opens a plain black door to reveal a stunning, open floor plan loft. On the opposite side of the room, there’s a huge bay window with a cushioned seat in the alcove, a guitar propped up beside it and a stack of journals scattered among the cushions. The walls are the same dark color as downstairs in the bar, but there are personal touches everywhere. A wall of polaroids, a stack of albums and a beat up record player in one corner, odd trinkets on top of a dresser. 

Tucked away in one corner is a low set bed, unmade with black bedding. The rest of the loft is pretty standard, a couch, a recliner and coffee table in the middle of the room, a kitchenette opposite the bed. The only separate room is the bathroom beside Eddie’s bed. Steve wants to explore every inch of this place and soak up all the little details, learn something about Eddie like what kind of cereal he likes, or what’s written in those journals. 

Steve thought after their heated makeout in the hallway, Eddie would drag him straight to bed, but he stops about halfway there, kicking off his shoes towards the dresser and turns to Steve. “You want some tea?” 

It’s about the last thing he expects to come out of his mouth, so he stares at him probably longer than is necessary to answer, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, just watches Steve with those big expectant eyes. “Tea sounds great.” 

“Make yourself at home, I’ll just-” he moves towards the kitchen, not finishing his thought, just nodding and skittering away.

Steve takes off his own shoes, placing them at the end of the couch before he settles down into the worn brown leather. Eddie holds up packets of jasmine and chamomile tea, Steve points to the chamomile. 

He watches Eddie work, the strong line of his shoulders and how the muscles twist when he looks through a cabinet for some mugs. The dim lighting of the bar didn’t do Eddie justice. He’s not as broad as Steve, but there’s a soft muscular tone to his shoulders that speaks to a hidden strength. 

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been with anyone in awhile, but something about the way he gets to watch Eddie move around his own space makes him feel more at ease than he has with anyone he’s slept with recently and they haven’t even made it to the bed, yet. There’s a coldness to those one and done interactions. Bed, bathroom, gone. There’s no buildup, or morning after, or moonlight tea before they crawl into bed together. It makes this situation feel different in a way Steve needed. Confirmation that he made the right decision following Eddie up here. 

As Eddie brings the drinks over, he says, “I heard you earlier.” At Steve’s questioning look he adds, “When you said you didn’t want to sleep with that guy.” He sits on the couch, but backs himself into the corner, facing Steve, propped up against the arm rest, leaving space between them with his socked toes almost touching Steve’s thigh.

“Oh,” Steve stares down at the mug he was offered, cradling it in his lap and watching the wisps of steam evaporate in the air. “He just didn’t care. I’m not looking for a quick fuck, if that’s what you were thinking when you pulled me up here.” 

Eddie takes a sip of his tea and stares at Steve over the rim of the mug, that same unnerving look that feels like it’s digging underneath his carefully constructed layers of defense. “We don’t have to do anything until we’re both ready. It’s certainly been a long time for me.”

“No one’s ever made me tea before,” Steve says quietly, not looking at Eddie. “People look at me and see one thing. Ever since high school, when I was just a dumb jock, people just wanted another notch on their belt. None of them really wanted me. It got old after a while. I’m not looking for that anymore. Haven’t really been looking for anything at all.” 

He finally chances a glance at Eddie, who’s kind eyes unmoor him. “I got lonely, though. Robin’s been gone a lot lately and I realized how little I have outside of her. I know I don’t need another person to make me happy but I don’t do well alone. Got it in my head that I should go out and try again.” 

“Well it got you here, to my couch,” Eddie smiles that dimpled, bright smile that lights up the whole room. “That seems like a pretty good start to me.” He pauses to take a sip. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything after hearing that earlier.”

“You’re not,” Steve reassures him. “You’re different. It feels different with you.” 

“Is my tea that good?” 

Steve laughs, throwing his head back on the sofa, turning to look at Eddie with a wide grin. “It’s actually kind of shit, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“Oh, so it was my awkward dancing then that reeled you in?” 

“Those bony hips really know how to tease a man.” 

Eddie’s flushed red again, hiding a bit behind his mug with mirth dancing in his eyes. “I could think of some better things to do with our mouths, if you’re ready.” 

Steve sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes Eddie’s mug, too. Without breaking eye contact, he swings a leg over Eddie’s thighs and sits back on his heels, jeans tugging on his knees, but he doesn’t care. As long as Eddie keeps looking at him like this, with wide eyed reverence and a slack jaw, his jeans can cut off his circulation and he wouldn’t even notice. 

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes

[puddingpawprints]

Countdown

Jay gets bored during a workout with Cole. It’s safe to say neither of them make much progress as a result. 

Hello!!!!!!!!! This is my first tk fic, hope you enjoy!! this is intended to be platonic but you can see it as romantic if you’d like, whatever floats your boat :3

(takes place a while after Season 11 for those that care fjdksfds)

Wordcount: 3384

Safe for Work

This is a tickle fanfic! If that’s not your thing, scroll away.

. . . . .‿︵‿︵‿୨🍮୧︵‿︵‿︵. . . . .

“43! 44! 45!” Jay cheers, watching his best friend power through a set of pull-ups, sweat shining on his pinched brow.

Cole raises his chin above the steel bar with visible effort, reaching the end of his endurance after the past 2 hours of training their bodies with weights and various exercises. He hangs on the bar and breathes hard, flipping the hair damp with exertion out of his eyes. 

“How many left?” He says between deep inhales, his chest rising and falling. 

The ginger quickly counts on his fingers, “5, 45 was your set last week.” Cole groans and throws his head back. 

“Dude come on! It’s just 5! That’s like, a little more than 3. You can do 3 more and then some!” 

“But I don’t wannaaaaaaa…” The other whines, slowly kicking his legs in the air like a child on the monkey bars being told they have to leave. 

“I’ll give you one of my pudding cups if you do 55,” Jay says with a salesman’s smirk. Cole looks up quickly, a drop of sweat flying from the speed. 

“50.” He bargains, baring his sweet tooth with a small smile. 

“53.” 

“51.” 

“Deal,” Jay says, confident that given how tired the other already is, he won’t be able to win the bet.

The black ninja adjusts his grip and takes a deep breath, gathering himself before pulling himself up with a strained grunt. 

“46!” Jay resumes his rallying as he watches his friend’s chin slowly go past the bar. “47!” 

Cole’s mouth is twisted into a grimace as he shakes with strain, becoming more and more aware of how heavy his body is. “48! Come on Cole!” The motivation from the other was starting to get annoying, but he knew that the minute he asked Jay to stop talking, the ginger would either start talking even more just to mess with him or Cole’s stamina would 

disappear. He couldn’t explain how it worked, like how he couldn’t explain the difference between baking soda and baking powder. They were both white, went into the batter, and had ‘baking’ in the name, why don’t they work the same??

“49!! You’re so close, dude!” Jay’s enthusiasm was a little odd considering how defensive he could be of his sweets. If anybody had a bigger sweet tooth than the guy who was famous for eating cake, it would be Jay. The only one who could beat them both in that area would be Lloyd. The sweaty man didn’t think much of it, the taxing action of pulling himself up demanding his focus. 

Cole hung from the bar to catch his breath again, panting hard from the burning in his arms and core. 

“Dude don’t stop now, you got 2 left-“ 

“I know, Jay! Doing this shit is hard,” He interrupted, huffing and flipping the pesky strands of sticky hair out of his eyes again. “I just need a minute.” 

“Ok. 1, 2, 3-“

“Oh First Master, you big baby.” Cole laughed as he lightly kicked at the other man, “You need to work with Wu on your patience.” 

“And you need to do 2 more pull-ups, chop chop!” Jay retorted sassily, poking Cole’s side with a finger to make his point known and felt. 

“Knock it off!” Cole laughed while squirming on the bar. “I can’t focus if you’re acting like a toddler.” 

“But you can focus on Ninja Kart when Lloyd is screaming in all our ears about the game being rigged?” 

“That’s different.” 

“Not really.” 

“Is too!” 

“Is not!” 

“I’ll argue about this later.” Cole shook his head, adjusting his hands. 

“When? After your hands fuse to the bar from hanging there so long?” 

“After you can do the same amount of pushups as me.” The black ninja looked down with an obnoxious smile. 

“Wow. That’s low.” Jay remarked, crossing his arms and staring with the expression of a bratty child being told ‘no’.

“Not as low as you should be on your pushups.” 

“Ok, you know what?!” The ginger huffed, “You’ve lost your pudding privileges!” Cole’s mouth opened in fake shock and disappointment, letting go of the bar seeing that his friend had stopped counting in favor of falling into the argument trap. 

“I’ll just have to steal one when you aren’t looking.” The other smiled mischievously as he slowly windmilled his arms, quickly getting a furious glare. “Do we have anything else on the workout regime today?” He asked as he crouched to take a swig from his water bottle. Jay pulled his phone from the pocket of his loose gym shorts and looked through the list of exercises he had written down from Wu. Skimming the ones the pair had already done, he reaches the bottom of the list, and lets out an obnoxious groan. “What?” Cole questions with a raised eyebrow, wiping his neck with a small towel.

“We have to do a plank for 2 minutes or more,” Jay complains. 

“Planks are easy, though.” The earth ninja said. 

“Says you mountain man! Not all of us have the core strength of a literal continent.” Jay shoots back, his nose scrunching in aggravation with his hands on his hips. 

“Sucks to suck, doesn’t it triple A?” 

“Shut up and get on the floor, dirt boy.” Jay shot back, getting a timer ready on his phone as Cole laughed. The earth ninja took another drink of his water before shutting the cap and lying stomach down on the tatami mat, letting a curt moan slip as his propped elbows stretched his upper back. “Ok, ready?” The other sat beside Cole, crossing his legs with his thumb over the start button. 

“Yup.” The ninja on the floor answered, shifting his arms to hold his weight better. With a ‘Go’ from Jay, Cole tightened his core and raised his middle, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes in concentration. 

The lightning ninja watched the seconds tick by on his phone, occasionally flicking his eyes to make sure Cole’s back was straight. 6, 7, 8, 9…

And now Jay was bored. 

“Coooooole, I’m bored.” He said out loud, laying on his back. Cole responded by letting out a long exhale. “Wow, rude. You won’t even answer your best friend’s immediate suffering. Right next to you!” 

“Shut up, Jay,” Cole warned, not opening his eyes. “Count the threads in the mat or something.” The ginger huffed, holding up his phone over his head to recheck the timer. 18, 19, 20… He sat back up to stare at Cole’s back. The loose black tank top he was wearing hung from his torso, showing a bit of his sides and stomach. Jay looked back to Cole’s face, still tightly knit with focus. 

There was a seed of an idea, one Cole might hate him for. The black ninja did not like being interrupted; napping, eating, drawing, and working out were all things the noiret would prefer to not be taken away from if it could be helped. Training especially was a way for him to take his mind off of the outside world, and he was always working to make himself stronger and better at fighting. It was admirable, but it could lead to some unhealthy expectations… 

Jay scooched himself to face Cole’s side, placing his chin on his palm as he watched a few more seconds go by. A smile crawled its way on his face as the idea became more and more appealing, and he tried to hide it with his hand despite the fact the other’s eyes were still closed and facing away from him anyway. Another glance at the phone told him Cole was 35 seconds into his plank. 

“Hey Cole, your form is incorrect.” The blue ninja lied, trying not to let his smile become obvious. That got his best friend to react, turning his head and giving Jay a confused look. “Raise your back riiiiight…here.” He reached a pointed finger towards Cole’s exposed side, repeating his earlier action when Cole was hanging on the pull-up bar. A snort, and a quick inhale. 

“Jay- don’t.” The other protested, trying to keep a stern voice. 

“What? I’m just trying to help.”  He knew it was a bullshit lie, especially coming from him, but Jay was having too much fun. “You need to fix your form here too.” He continued prodding at Cole’s side, moving up to his ribs. The black ninja was beginning to shake now, a combination of strained effort and giggles. 

“Duhude! I can’t- my forhorm is fihihine!” Cole laughed, now completely unable to keep a serious face as Jay lightly tickled him. The other was frankly impressed that he hadn’t collapsed yet, especially when he began to trace lines on the exposed small of his back, the laughter going up in pitch. “Jahahay!” 

“Wow Cole, I didn't think your plank would be this bad. We should work on doing planks more often so you can get out of this bad habit.” Jay paid zero attention to Cole’s crumbling endurance and was having the time of his life doing so. “You need to raise your hips too, they’re way low.” Cole let out a short shriek as Jay squeezed his hip.

“AAH! Dickhehehead!” He laughed, trying to breathe through his tight stomach and the giggles at the same time. 

“Hey, it's not my fault your form needs correcting!” 

Cole’s endurance finally emptied, and he collapsed onto the floor, now able to try and squirm away from Jay’s evil hands. “This is nohohohot cohorrectihihihihing! You ahahahahass!!” He yelled, curling in on himself on his side to try and avoid the tickles. 

“Awww man! You didn’t make the time.” The ginger huffed with mock disappointment, latching his fingers to random ribs and tasing them. The reaction was immediate, Cole’s belly laugh coming solid and loud as he thrashed on the tatami mats under his best friend. “Consider this payback for being rude when I was just trying to help!” 

“YOUHOUHOU DID NOHOHOHOT HEHEHEHELP!” The earth ninja exclaimed between laughs, his own hands trying and failing to pry the others from his sides. 

“Help comes in many forms, Cole. You need to be a little more open-minded.” Jay retorted, channeling his element to send harmless shocks through his fingers to tickle the ninja’s ribs even more. “Like right now, I’m helping you get used to my electricity.” 

“JAHAHAHAHAHAY!!” He was fighting for his life now, throwing himself from one side to the other to try and buck the other off. It was proving to be a difficult task, as Jay had somehow managed to straddle Cole’s hips as he lay on his stomach, scrabbling at the floor to try and crawl away from the tickling. “MERCYHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!” 

“I’ll grant mercy if you promise not to steal any of my pudding.” The blue ninja offered, stopping the shocks but keeping his fingers scribbling at the same speed. The black ninja 

continued to writhe under his friend, trying to reach his hands behind to shoo Jay’s hands away. But when Jay shoved his fingers into his armpits and began scratching, a renewal of energy made Cole buck and screech. 

“FUHUHUHUCK! I WOHOHOHOHON’T!” 

“You woooooon't?” Jay pestered, tilting his head as he dragged the word out and diving his hand into the scrunched crevice of his friend’s neck to scribble at. 

“I WON’T STEHEHEHEAL YOUR PUHUHUHUDDIHIHIHIHING!” Cole managed to get out, gulping air as Jay stopped. He let his body lay completely flat on the cool floor, his back twitching while residual giggles leaked out in between breaths. His best friend crawled off his hips and pushed his water bottle to him across the floor. Cole looked at the bottle, and then at Jay. “Dick.” He said sourly. 

“In the flesh.” Jay acknowledged with obnoxious triumph, crossing his legs and turning off the timer as Cole turned on his back to sit up and drink his water. “You had 17 seconds left! You could’ve made that.” 

“I could’ve if you weren’t being a total jackass.” Cole said while rolling his eyes, putting his water down, and grabbing his phone from the floor, tossed aside in the roughhousing. His friend chortled with fake innocence and laid down for his plank, staring at the intricate patterns of the threading while the timer was readied. 

“Ok, are you all set?” The taller man said, patiently biding his time while Jay nodded. He started the timer, and the ginger held up his body while taking a deep breath. Cole watched the numbers on the timer slowly ticking down, already figuring out what the best way to get back at his best friend would be.  

He cracked his knuckles absently and watched Jay struggle to hold his plank. Although the master of lightning was still an incredibly strong fighter, he had been teased by the others for his weak core strength. He didn’t have abs like Kai or Nya, instead having lean muscles. Although this worked to his advantage so he could move faster in fights, it also meant he didn’t have that much endurance when it came to these kinds of exercises. 

“Jay, will you do me a favor?” Cole asked, not even trying to fight a huge smile as he plotted. The other hummed, taking a shaky breath. “Hold still.” The reaction was immediate; Jay whipped his head to stare at Cole with eyes the size of Zane’s shurikens. He noticed that Cole had moved his hand to hover under his stomach, his fingers in a claw form. 

“Wait- Waitwaitwait Cole you don’t have to-” The hand hadn’t even touched his stomach yet and he was already trying to reason for his life in between nervous giggles. He knew that Cole would always get any of them back for that kinda stuff, but he didn’t think his teammate would do it this soon.

“No, I think I do, Jay. Fair’s fair after all, right?” He gave a condescending smile as Jay’s trembling increased. Cole reached his still hand up, just touching down on the black tank top that covered the planking torso. The blue ninja let out a small shriek, now realizing that he had backed himself into a very dangerous corner. 

“What? I’m just helping with your form after all.” Cole said with a mocking tone, slowly moving his fingers and taking great joy in the way his friend sucked in a breath to stop himself from laughing. Strained snorts prompted Cole to move his hand in a circular motion around where his belly button would be. Jay immediately folded inward, cackling as Cole’s fingers picked up speed. 

“AHAHahaha- IhI’m sorry! WAHAHAAAIT- Cohohohole please!” He tried to negotiate, even if he knew that once Cole started, he wasn’t going to until he had made his point clear.

“You know? I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’re sorry at all.” His tickler retorted casually, effortlessly pulling him into his lap so he could reach better. Cole wrapped an arm around his chest and scribbled his fingers into the top of his ribs, tickling his stomach with his other hand as if it were not ‘agony’ for the blue ninja. Jay’s laughter went up in pitch as he tried to pull himself free of Cole’s arm, kicking his legs and hitting the floor with his heels. 

“NONONOHOHOHO! Cohohohole plehehehease!! UhuhuhUHUNCLE!!” He laughed with a touch of hysteria. 

“I don’t think your uncle’s coming to save you.” Cole teased playfully, his tone becoming dark as his smile turned sinister through his cheeks. “The only person who’s here is…” 

“DOHOHOhohon’t!! Don’t sahahahay ihihit!” Jay pleaded as he flushed, his face already warm from how hard he was laughing. 

“Don’t say what?” Cole asked, his smile growing with mischief. “Don’t say…the tickle monster?!” 

Jay’s fate had been sealed as Cole’s hands swiped under his tank top, quickly scribbling all over the ticklish skin. Jay squealed and thrashed in his friend’s hold, a rush of adrenaline washing his energy back into him. He laughed even harder as he felt tiny raspberries on his neck and shoulders, his supposed best friend continuing to tickle him out of his mind. 

“COHOHOHOHOHOHLE! NOHOHO MOHOHOHOHORE!” He tried to beg through snorts and chortles, shaking his head as if trying to wiggle the tickles out of his body. 

“No can do, you’ve got-” He leaned over to look at his phone, still tickling his squirming target. “A minute and 18 seconds left.” The black ninja smiled, squeezing the man’s hip with one hand and his opposite side with the other. Jay’s mirth went up in pitch again as he tried rocking his body to get out of the stone-stiff hold. 

“GYAHAHAHAHA! YOUHOU DIHIHIHIHICK!!” The ginger argued as if he were not in the worst position ever to do so. Still fighting against his friend’s arms, he reached for the other’s knees and flailed to grab them, trying to push himself forward. This escape attempt backfired when a hand immediately began scratching at one of the exposed armpits, making Jay snap his arms down and fall back against his friend’s chest.

“Not so fast bud, gotta finish your time.” Cole said, looking down at his friend with a smile, taking a little too much enjoyment out of his squirming. 

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHO-” 

“So what exactly is going on here?” A different voice interrupted, making both look to the sliding door. Nya stood with a hand on her hip, her other hand holding the door open as she watched with a vaguely confused expression. 

“Oh, hey Nya. We’re finishing our workout, what’s up?” The earth ninja said calmly, not stopping his fingers or acknowledging Jay on the brink of falling apart from laughing so hard. 

“NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHELP MEHEHEHEHEHE!” He begged, looking at his girlfriend with small tears in his eyes. His expectation that the water ninja would jump in to save him was soundly destroyed when Nya only gave a small smile as if his torture was endearing to her. 

“Wu said lunch is ready. Come to the table when you’re done, ok?” She said loudly over the laughter, taking mental notes on where Cole’s hands were and how badly Jay was laughing. She’d abuse that information another day. 

“Sure thing, thanks Nya!” The taller man said chipperly, spidering his hands up and down Jay’s sides as he gave a blameless smile, watching Nya huff out a chuckle and walk away. Mercifully, and because his best friend was starting to wheeze, he stopped his hands and let them come to the floor to support himself while leaning back. Taking the opportunity, Jay weakly rolled out of the ninja’s lap as his chest heaved, pulling down his raised tank top that exposed his giant tickle spot of a stomach. “You didn’t make your time either. We’re even.” His ‘friend’ said cooly, looking down at him with a smug grin. Jay tried and failed to muster up a glare, the residual giggles and ghostly tingles forcing him to shuffle away toward his water bottle as he kept his eyes on Cole, who was turning off the timer on his phone. 

“You’re..still…a dick.” He said between large inhales, gulping his water down as if he were going to die otherwise. 

“What? Fair’s fair, right?” Cole teased, wiggling his fingers before folding them into a fist and holding it out. A peace offering, which the other squinted at suspiciously over the cap of his bottle. He wasn’t new to Cole’s tricks, being best friends with him taught Jay to be on his guard the hard way. “I promise I’m done. Swear on my chili.” The black ninja tried, moving his still fist a little closer. He watched his teammate think for a bit, and then hold up his hand to make it into a fist, bumping the dark knuckles against his freckled ones. 

“Truce. No takebacks.” The blue ninja said quickly, eyeing his friend with lighthearted distrust. 

“Sure, I’ll just take a pudding cup as a bargaining chip.” Cole snarked, quickly taking off and running down the hall where Nya had gone earlier.

“YOU MOUNTAIN CLIMBING CUNT!” Jay screeched, stumbling to his feet and speeding after his friend, laughter following the two of them all the way to the dining room, where Wu scolded the both of them for running in the halls.

. . . . .‿︵‿︵‿୨🍮୧︵‿︵‿︵. . . . .

hello again :3 feel free to leave constructive criticism!!

#tickle fic #tickle fanfiction #sfw tickles #sfw tickling #sfw tickling community #tickling community #tickle community #tword community #ninjago tickle #ninjago tickles #ninjago tickling #lee!jay #lee!cole #ler!jay #ler!cole #AGUDSHGYUJBHSHUIDD MY FIRST FIC #yall. this one was sitting in my docs for SO LONG #had to wipe off the dust every time i got the motivation to write :SOB: #but it's finally done and i'm so excited to share it #i do plan to make more tk fics like this #i have a couple ideas >>>:3 #should i make a fic tag now #nah i'll do it once i have more than one #otherwise it feels cringe </3

[green-ville]

Just Shut Up

Someone put this idea in my head; hate sex with Bob Floyd. Then I was trying to think about it, how would one even go about writing that? What would get him to the point of hate sex. And then it struck me.

Parts 2 + 3 are posted.

Summary: Avery Jones. An exceptional fighter pilot. Third best in her class (just trying to set expectation). When called back to Miramar she finds her people and settles in nicely. If only Bob Floyd hadn't walked into the bar and turned into the biggest pain in her ass.

Warnings: hate sex. Spanking. Sir kink. Slight praise kink. Avery Jones is a huge brat but Bob Floyd returns fire. PIV. Male + Female oral. Hair pulling. Edging. Semi public sex.

Minors DNI, 18+ only.

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

Avery Jones was a. . .she was the type of girl that others girls saw and thought 'she's so fake. She only talks with guys. She's probably a pick me'. Only a small fraction of that was true; she did mainly only talk with guys. That wasn't intentional. The Navy was mostly made of men. She had spent so much time around them that she just migrated to them even when a girl was in the crowd. That didn't mean she avoided talking with girls, she just found it easier to talk to guys at this point.

She found it incredibly easy to talk to Jake Seresin and Javy Machado. When she was called back to Miramar and found herself at the bar that every officer wound up at, she migrated towards the duo. Why? Machado held his hand in front of Seresin's eyes as the latter took three shots at the dart board.

He made all three, perfect bullseyes.

She gave a low whistle, arms crossing over her chest. "Nice grouping Seresin. You're pretty good at that."

Green eyes gave her a once over, a signature smirk coming to rest on his face. "Only pretty good?" He challenged, fishing for compliments like a true sailor.

"Well," she drawled out the word, "I'm sure I could still take you in a game."

"Bets?"

"Loser gets the first round."

"You're on Jones."

That was how she met Jake 'Hangman' Seresin.

He made a show of ladies going first, but she insisted that he go first. If he was so confident, there should be no reason for him to not be able to win going first.

He took the bait and landed another three bullseye. Machado's eyes never left her, watching, waiting, knowing something was up her pristinely ironed sleeve.

She stood behind the line. She readied her shot. She fired three times with perfect grouping, completely missing the bullseye. Machado let out a slow, deep chuckle.

"Good luck man," he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "She's got you."

Avery may not have hit the bullseye, but she did hit just above the bullseye. Specifically the triple 20. For every 50 he got, she got a 60.

"Have I been hustled?" Seresin wondered, a gleam in his eyes.

She grinned at him, winking. "For future reference, I don’t drink beer. I like a Mai Tai."

"You haven't won yet Jones."

"Optimism in the face of defeat, I never would've guessed it."

He rolled his eyes and pushed her over. She stumbled with a laugh, watching as he changed his aim for a higher point shot. He landed the triple 20's as well, his grouping neat and fast. Avery missed one on her next turn, taking her would be 60 to a regular 20. In a non-discrete bit of cheating, Machado and her teamed up.

Seresin's next shot was a '1' due to some vertical difficulties. He tried to play it off as not fair, he was shoved last second, but Machado had designated himself referee and claimed he saw no cheating.

Avery won the game and Seresin bought the first round. When he was at the bar, Machado and her high fived. That was how she met Javy 'Coyote' Machado.

Things went smoothly now that she had people to talk to. All three were here for the same reason.

Their group expanded with more aviators. The best of the best and all that egotistical crap.

Natasha Trace was an interesting figure. Avery leaned against the wall beside Machado, watching her interact with Seresin, and knew she'd be fun. She sipped her drink, feeling her excitement grow for the weeks to come.

"I don't know what they have planned for us," she whispered to Machado, "but I know. It'll be interesting."

"I can't figure out whether I'm more excited about being back here, or flying against these people," he agreed.

"Oh the latter, definitely the latter. It's way too humid to be excited about being here. My hair's expanding at an alarming rate. I'm like a freaking Chia Pet."

He snorted.

The conversation turned to them, Machado's snort drawing them attention. They blinked in blatant 'oops'.

"Glad you agree with me," Natasha said, grinning, dark eyes sparkling.

"I have no idea what I just agreed with, I was not paying attention," Machado said with full disclosure.

Seresin rolled his eyes.

"And your names are?" The woman wondered.

"Javy Machado," Avery greeted her.

"Johnathan," Machado said, nodding.

"Ah," she nodded her head, pointing at each of them. "Class," she said to Avery, "Clown?" She finished towards Javy.

"Clever. And what's your callsign, Token?"

Alright. This was why she didn't have girl friends.

Machado snorted again, head falling forward and beer going through his nose. Seresin's brows rose and he tipped his beer back to her in one smooth, slow motion. Avery clinked her Mai Tai with his drink.

Natasha didn't flush, or glare. Her grin settled in deeper.

Avery liked her a lot. She didn't roll over. She was a waiter. A snake. She'd bite later when there was no chance of escape.

"I earned my place here," Natasha assured with her confident, subtle tone. "Just like I'll earn it on this mission. Just you wait, three weeks' time we'll see who the best of the best really are."

"Well I can answer that for you right now Tasha," her voice had an uncomfortable edge of seriousness in the light atmosphere. It turned everything electric. She stood, gaze never wavering. Then she smiled. "It's not me. The top of my class didn't re-enlist, and the second best went to the Chair Force. You're looking at third best."

She got a round of laughs, easing the electric air she had created. Natasha couldn't help her smile, rolling her eyes and whispering something to the two men flanking her.

"Number one in my heart," Seresin offered, holding his beer but managing to put his fingers into the shape of a heart.

She winked at him.

That was also, technically, the night she met Bob Floyd. He was a quiet figure, hiding on the opposite side of the pool table and blinking like a deer in headlights when attention came to him. Immediately, damn near instantly, she liked him.

Why? She didn't know. He wasn't her type.

He was quiet. A stutterer. Avery's left pinky had more confidence than him.

Coyote and her made a bet. He said Bob Floyd would be out of the bar before ten o'clock. Avery said half past. When it looked like he was getting up to leave before ten, Avery's desperation to not lose kicked in. She didn't really care about losing, she just wanted the eye candy around longer. She went up to the bartender, she paid for a beer to be sent to the 'guy that borrowed his dad's glasses from the 80's'.

Somehow the bartender knew exactly who she was talking about.

She was sitting by Coyote again, clapping as Hangman 'wowed' the crowd with his impressive billiards skills. He'd glance at the ball he intended to hit, look at someone else, and nail it perfectly.

The man was cocky and she found it hilarious.

The bartender from early popped up in front of her and handed her a beer. The message she received had Coyote howling beside her.

Bob Floyd didn't want it. The bartender specifically said, 'he said 'no thanks''.

Bob Floyd left at 10 o'clock sharp and Avery vowed that night. It was on.

There was an old saying she liked. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a lady smart, pretty, and wise. She went to bed late, still rose early, and was therefore pretty. The other two were still on the fence.

She was in the mess hall getting food that most would consider shit. They would not be wrong. Still, idiots couldn't be choosers and so she grabbed her plate.

She didn't know if she was late or early but she was the only one of the returnees present. She sat down at a random table and started eating. Three minutes later, the man, the myth, the legend walked in. He grabbed food.

He sat at a different table.

Avery stared in open shock. She picked up her food and moved over to him, sitting directly across from him.

"First you reject my beer and now you don't even sit by me? Jeez, what'd I do to you?" The intent, which she thought was obvious, was to be joking.

His head raised from his food. He looked at her behind those glasses that shouldn't be so attractive but on him, they were. She got nothing from him. No emotion.

"I just don't think you're funny."

Avery would've preferred his silence.

She stood, abandoning her food, and left the mess hall. She passed Hangman and Coyote just as they entered. They called after her but she kept walking.

She had thirty minutes before they'd be meeting their Commanding Officer for the mission and she had every intention of spending it on a punching bag in the gym.

She was the last, save for their CO, to arrive to the hangar. Her hair was matted down with enough hairspray where nothing slipped out of place after her rage fest. She took a seat beside Coyote, winking to Hangman.

"Hit the gym?" He asked from across the aisle that separated them.

She nodded, then considered. "Hit something." Her nails tapped on the table in front of her, a steady rhythm as her leg shook.

"Missed you at breakfast." He knew something was up. He was trying to get the answer out of her.

"I am the life of the party."

There was a snort behind her. Quiet. Almost inaudible. More a huff of breath really.

Still, she heard it. Her muscles tensed. Her nails stopped their tapping.

The man to her left and the man to her far right were now one step closer into figuring out what was wrong.

She couldn't stop herself from responding to him. If he was going to laugh at her like that, then she'd respond.

"Sorry about the beer last night Floyd," she addressed, staring forward, eyes hard. "If I had known you weren't old enough to drink I'd have gotten you something else. Like a juice box."

"I would've turned that down too."

Her response was on the tip of her tongue. She was so prepared with her snap back but was cut off by the words that silenced everyone.

"Admiral on deck."

She stood beside Coyote, body locked in place, and anger slowly turning to a boil.

Getting shot down by Captain Pete Mitchell and having to do 200 push ups just pissed her off more. After they were excused that day, she did a questionable thing. She went to the gym. She got on the treadmill. She started running, glaring dead ahead, and didn't stop until her legs were shaking.

There was a plan in her head though and she didn't get her callsign just for funsies.

She skipped The Hard Deck that night. She didn't really feel like any more socialization. She let her anger steam in the solitude of her shared barracks, rolling two metal balls in her hand, mulling over a plan.

Her plan was put to the test before she even got in the air. She was paired with Bob and Phoenix. Her lip curled at the group but she'd be damned if she let that stop her. They split up and she was headed towards her jet, helmet in hand, determination in her gate, when her callsign slipped through the air.

"Scorpion."

She kept walking.

"Scorpion!"

She stopped; jaw tight. Phoenix jogged in front of her.

"Listen, I've got a plan – "

"And I've got zero fucks. You seem to forget that on this mission, you'll be behind me. So why don't you practice following orders now. Remember two things when we're up there today, kay? Don't get shot, and don't get in my way. We shouldn't have a problem."

Scorpion moved past, shoving her helmet on overhead. Even with the protection she still heard it.

"Apparently she doesn't handle rejection well."

She stilled before she could strap the helmet on. Her heel dug into the ground as she pivoted, her glare finding Bob Floyd and Natasha Trace.

Both of which were still watching her.

"I'm surprised Bob."

"Doesn't take much."

"Surprised that your parents signed the waver for you to fly with the big leagues today. Try not to screw it up for Phoenix, will you? She'd be a decent partner if she wasn't held back by you."

Scorpion turned and climbed up the ladder into her jet.

Sitting down, canopy closing in overhead, she clipped her helmet in place.

Pete Mitchell was going down.

Seething was putting it lightly. If you dumped a gallon of gasoline on a bonfire it still wouldn't be as enraged as she was.

She had a plan. She had a good – a great plan. Her plan was working.

Then they got in her way.

She died first and they followed a minute later. By the time they landed, she was fifty pushups into her two hundred. Her flight suit was tied around her waist. Her tank top was black and that hid most of her sweat, but it clung to her frame with each rise and controlled descent.

She finished first of course and walked away the second she was free. Her arms burned. Her hands were clenched. She would've smashed her helmet into anything if it was by her.

Hangman was walking towards her, ready to take another shot. He saw her and offered a sarcastic frown.

"Dead?"

"All thanks to them," she growled out.

"Woah! I know you didn't just blame that on us." It would seem Mother Hen and her child had finished their pushups.

"Great," she answered with a smile, still walking away. "So you don't know shit in the air or on the ground."

"If you had just listened to me on the ground we would've had a chance up there! You decided to go solo thinking you were some hot shot! He's teaching us for a reason, because we can learn from him, and you think you've got it all down already!"

"My plan would've worked!" She snapped, whirling. "You got in my way. I said stay away –"

"As what, bait?" Phoenix demanded. "What, we take the hit and go down but as long as you survive everything's great?"

"Don't know how to dodge Phoenix?"

"Wanna find out Scorpion?"

Floyd came up from behind, grabbing Phoenix's arm and pulling gently. "Don't bother," he said. A man of few words, but precise ones. Going straight for the kill. "She's not worth it."

And Phoenix turned away, walking beside her WSO who knew exactly what to say to have her pot steaming.

Today was going to be different. She was calm. Smiling, laughing, joking. Her personality was quiet though. Something about how she carried herself had shifted.

When she got into the air, she was easy.

Watching.

Waiting.

Payback and Fanboy were off in the distance, completely separate from her. She was humming a tune that carried throughout their frequency. The tune was annoyingly catchy and she knew that because there had been three separate instances where she heard Fanboy quietly humming along as well.

That meant it was working. Proved further by -

"Monkey monkey!" Fanboy called. "3!"

"Copy," her verbal response was immediate, and her physical response synced with it. Her speed went through a shocking deceleration and when that alarm sounded in her ear, saying Maverick had a lock on her, she was smirking. She flipped a complete 360, slipping to the side. Something he could easily lock on again – if she hadn't slowed down.

"Woah!" Maverick exclaimed over comms, the lock removed from her as he blew past. He was above her and slightly diagonal.

Her speed picked up instantly and she shot forward, rising up to be level with him. She closed in, Fanboy and Payback flying towards the two of them, having altered their 'aimless' course the second Maverick had been spotted.

"Clever," Maverick said with a gentle chuckle as that alarm sounded.

The alarm that sounded when both of them locked on him.

Avery removed her mask, breathing in the air of her canopy. There was a proud, an egotistically proud, smile on her face.

"Nice plan Scorpion," Payback congratulated. "Worked like a charm."

"I've always wanted to break check a superior officer," she commented, sweat on her face.

"I don't recommend trying that with Cyclone," Maverick warned, receiving a round of laughs at just what punishments the Admiral would concoct at being break checked.

On the ground, a deal was a deal. Maverick got into pushup formation, only for Avery to hold out a hand to him. He looked up before he did his first one.

"That wouldn't be fair," he said, frozen in a plank.

She shrugged. "You're not the one that needs to learn the lesson."

"Some of your teammates would disagree."

"Then it's good I didn't ask them."

He moved into a crouch and accepted her hand. He stood, an equal height to her.

She turned to walk away, making it a few feet away before he stopped her.

"Scorpion. . .you have potential. Don't let your emotions ruin your chance of leading the team."

She stopped, helmet at her side, shoulders squared back. "What would you recommend sir?"

"Just. . .work through whatever happened between you and that WSO."

Taking that as her cue to leave, she did. As she did, she passed by Coyote, paired with Phoenix and Bob. Coyote raised his hand and she gave it a hard high five.

Avery walked into the locker room. Her flight suit was already half off, the humid temperature of Miramar killing her. She really did hate humidity.

She opened her locker and sat on the bench, taking off her boots. She rolled her glistening neck, hearing the cracks and feeling the relief. The boots went into the locker and she unzipped the rest of her suit. She was about to shove it down when the locker room door opened and she was no longer alone.

Just her luck, the royal pain in her ass.

"Kids locker room is next one over," she said in greeting. It was instinct, really. She actually had pondered Maverick's words of wisdom but then she saw him with his carefully done hair, the sweat on his smooth skin, and his flight suit zipped all the way up (he was never disheveled) and it pulled a snip out of her.

"Did you leave yours there?" He asked her, moving to the other side of the bench and opening his own locker.

"How were the pushups?" She settled with for an answer, and was met with silence.

She grinned as she shoved her flight suit down, folding it neatly and placing it in her locker.

He opened his locker, the action nearly inaudible just like everything else about him.

He was the one to break the silence, which surprised her. Normally she was the one talking first. "I don't know what your problem is Scorpion, but stop it. You're losing out on a good pilot if Phoenix doesn't fly this mission."

She had been peaceful after beating Maverick earlier today. That was ruined now. Her anger flickered.

"What my problem is?" She repeated, teeth grinding together. "You're the one that started this."

"You sent that beer over."

"That's what you do when you're at a bar and you see someone you think is cute."

"Don't patronize me, it was a bet. You made a bet with Coyote to see if I would leave at 10 and you were going to lose, so you sent that beer over."

"A cover up!" She exclaimed, knuckles white as they griped the locker door. She was a hair away from slamming the metal door shut. "I did that as a cover up because I knew Coyote would see me send the beer over so I made the bet! And," the word was a little louder, a dash more pointed. "Maybe I wanted you to stay later because I was hoping you'd pluck up the courage to come talk to me. Instead I get a public rejection! Then I tried to make light of the situation in the mess hall the next morning and get met with 'I don't think you're funny'. All because I thought you were cute and sent over a beer."

"Not everyone has to think you're funny."

"I can accept that, trust me. What I don't accept is you being an outright dick to me even when I'm not talking to you."

"Maybe if you weren't so loud I wouldn't feel obligated to respond."

"Oh, I'm loud now?" She was actually getting louder. She knew this but he riled her up like no other.

"Yes. Do you always have to be the center of attention? Is it because of self-esteem issues?"

"I'm sorry – "

"Apology accepted."

"You asshole!" Now she did slam her locker shut, whirling to face him, pointing a finger. He turned to face her as she began her rant, his face flushing. "I don't see anything wrong with me liking attention, I can admit it. I like it. I want it. It's not like you were going to go for it so why can't I? And don't pretend to be better than me just because you're quiet. Guess what, it was my plan that got Maverick locked on today. My plan – "

"Do you ever stop talking about yourself?"

That was it. Leash snapped. Restraint defenestrated. Her eyes blew the rest of the way open, her face went cherry red as heat coursed through her. She took a step forward, her hand came back, and when she cracked it forward with every intention of slapping him right across the face – he caught her wrist.

The strength surprised her. It was a sturdy grip and it sent a shock through her of the not unpleasant variety.

He pulled her in, her shins hitting the bench that separated them. His free hand came to her lower back and forced her even closer. Then he was kissing her.

Avery kissed back right away but it was purely out of hatred and no other emotion (sure Jan). She was angry at him for existing. For rejecting her. For insulting her. For embarrassing her continuously. So she kissed him back and conveyed that to the highest degree.

She bit at his lip with a little extra force. Her free hand pulled his neck down to get him closer. The hand on her back moved even lower and her ass was grabbed. Her ass only covered by her black underwear. His hand was scorching when it reached her bare skin and it pulled a small sound from the back of her throat.

He pulled back, his breath mixing with hers from how close he stayed. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest and there was a traitorous thought in her head to get him out of that damn flight suit. He was probably wearing another six layers under it anyway.

"If you think this changes anything," she began, and was promptly cut off.

"Just shut up already." His mouth was on hers again and while she wasn't necessarily mad at how he was shutting her up, she also hated being told to shut up.

Her hand which she had fully intend to slap him with was released. His hand came to her hair, already loose from the bun, and he pulled at the roots. Her anger flared and she pushed forward. Her legs climbed over the bench and she shoved him against the lockers, hoping it hurt him.

He grunted and pinched her ass. She gasped and his tongue was in her mouth. The feeling had her head swimming.

He was surprisingly good at that for someone she pegged as inexperienced.

Her fingers found the zipper of his flight suit and she pulled down, then shoved the fabric off his shoulders. He had to move away from the lockers for it to go down and they pulled away again.

She let out a breathy laugh. "I knew it. You've got layers on beneath it."

"Always a smart comment with you, isn't there?" The way his accent was slipping out more and more right now had her wanting to christen the locker room.

She bat her eyelashes. "So you think I'm smart?"

The suit hung at his hips and he brought her in again, one hand fisting her hair and pulling her head back. Her hips involuntarily pressed against his from the position, but there were no complaints from either party with that. His head hovered above hers, calculating eyes moving up and down her face. Her puffy lips. Her flushed cheeks. Her taunting gaze.

His head dipped down and his lips pressed against her neck. Normally she wasn't squeamish with things like that, but her head was being pulled back, exposing her neck more than normal. It left her with a sense of vulnerability and made everything that much more electric. The slightest brush of his lips on her neck had her knees weak and her hands gripping his shirt for stability.

"You have your moments," he conceded as her heart pounded in her chest. He left another fluttering kiss. The next one was right over her raging pulse point.

Her hand slipped down beneath his suit and she pressed against his bulge, reveling in the way his breath hitched, movements stilled. The hand in her hair let up just enough for her eyes to lock with his again as she rubbed up and down, slow, dragging.

"Careful," she whispered, giving his jaw a quick peck. "Almost sounded like a compliment."

"You keep playing with me darlin'," the threat was ardently clear in his tone and it had every part of her body excited. Even the most miniscule sensations were intensified by a hundred. "You might not like what happens."

She grinned. He set himself up for this next one. Did he even realize how many ways she could turn 'you might not like what happens' into a performance issue? "I'm sure I could coach you through how to pleasure a woman Floyd. We'll take it nice and slow for your first time."

"That's it."

Those two words, the manner in which they were said, the environment they were said in? She was slick.

Her wrist was grabbed and she was dragged away from the lockers. She admitted she was a little frazzled at what the plan was until she saw the counter space he was pulling her to. Then the idea hit.

He yanked her forward and caught her in a tight grip when she stumbled. At first he held her by the elbows as they kissed again. The pace only seemed to go faster, the emotions running higher. She was finding it hard to think as he pushed them forward, her ass pressing against the counter, his front pressing against her.

She liked the feel of him against her. She gripped that stupid short sleeve he wore to bring him closer. It was the only thing she could do with the way he held her.

"Here's how it's going to go," he said when they broke up.

This was her first flash of defiance. He was trying to take control of the situation? Like hell.

"You make a sound, I stop."

"Bold of you to assume you'll even get a whisper out of me," she returned.

He chuckled with that little quirk of a smile he had. "Oh darlin', that mouths' running a bill you can't afford." His hands found her ass and gripped tight. She just had the time to hold onto his shoulders before he lifted her up and set her on the counter. The cold space hit her warm skin and sent a chill all throughout her.

"And you're setting quite the expectation for someone that hasn't gotten rid of any clothing. Who's the one with self-esteem issues?" She brought up their earlier conversation, tone light but pointed all the same.

"You wanna get me out of my clothes?" He wondered, lips brushing against hers again, fingers trailing down her tank top covered stomach until they settled just above her underwear. "Then be quiet."

He kneeled down and maybe she skipped a breath. He kept his eyes on her as his fingers hooked underneath her underwear and pulled down. She lifted up to help the process but didn't look away. His hands stayed on the outside of her thighs, holding them. Her feet rested on his back. His head found a place high up between her thighs and then his tongue swiped through her.

At this moment it hit her.

They were in the most public space to ever public space.

They were in the damn locker room.

Anyone could walk in. Realistically, at the very least, one person would walk in. The realization was horrible and she forgot all about it when he sucked on her clit.

A moan slipped from her and the sensation stopped.

There was a sharp nip on her thigh.

She yelped, looking back down.

"What the hell Floyd?"

"Use that pretty little brain of yours. What was the one thing I told you?"

She flushed, hummingbirds in her stomach. She knew exactly what he wanted and she didn't want to give it to him.

Yet again, she did like the position they were in.

His lips pressed against her thigh. He kissed the soft skin, then nipped again.

Her jaw clenched. "Be. Quiet."

"Good," he praised, returning to his previous place. "Remember that next time."

A thousand and one curses filled her head. They all left when his tongue was on her again.

Alright. Maybe he wasn't completely inexperienced.

Maybe he knew his way around.

Another moan built up but she clenched her jaw tight. Her stomach sucked in with the desire to roll her hips. Her hands itched to weave into his hair and mess up that stupidly perfect side brush. She couldn't roll her hips with how she was and so she settled with moving one hand off the counter and sliding into his hair. The style was messed up right away but thankfully, graciously, he didn't stop.

She kept herself propped up with one hand which was a lot harder than it may have looked. She clenched on nothing and a whine built up, wanting to ask for more but not wanting to stop. Her forehead furrowed, her grip on his hair tightening, unknowingly bringing him closer.

He didn't fight it, giving her more.

Avery was both immensely grateful and incredibly frustrated. By getting more she was happier. By getting more, she wanted to verbalize her pleasure more. His order rang in her ears and she kept silent, eyes shut with each swallowed whimper, whine, moan.

It proved damn near impossible as her climax built. She could feel it from the very beginning and her calves clenched, desperate for purchase but with nothing else but Floyd's back to rest loosely on top. Her thighs wanted to squeeze shut at the slow build up but his strength was proved again when he kept her thighs open.

The subtle display of strength only added to her pleasurable torture.

Her voice hitched and fear slammed into her like a truck and a frozen deer. But Bob didn't stop and there was a flicker of a smile. Her head rolled back, involuntarily bringing his head even closer, and when it ran through her, her brain cleared of every negative, aggressive thought.

Her hips rolled the best they could in her position and with Floyd holding her down.

When he let up and she could feel her release seeping out, her eyes opened. Her legs could finally lower as he stood, hands caging her hips in. His lips were wet and she tasted herself when she kissed him. Her tongue brushed against his mouth and her hands began to pull at his shirt.

Only to find he had an undershirt on beneath the short sleeve.

The man was ridiculous.

"Off," she whispered, bringing his two shirts up.

His lips trailed down her jaw, then the side of her neck. "What's the magic word Darlin'?"

"Please sir."

He only asked for the magic word but she threw in that last bit to rile him. He had been holding the reigns for a little too long at this point.

He stepped back and grabbed the two articles. In the stereotypical guy motion, he pulled it straight up and overhead.

She drank in the site like a Mai Tai.

He was too quiet for everything he had. She scooted forward, off the counter, and pulled him to her by the hips. Her hand slipped down again, rubbing his poor, neglected member.

"You got to order me around, so it's only fair I get to do the same," her voice ghosted over his lips. His head was bent down towards her, his lashes so long as they hid behind his glasses. "I want to hear you, pretty boy."

"Earn it," he challenged, and she turned them, pressing him back against the counter.

She grinned, pecking his lips. "No problem."

In one smooth motion she was on her knees and the rest of his clothing was around his ankles. She clenched at the sight of him and held him gently in her hand. Her next move was just as gentle but had him twitching in her hand.

She locked eyes with him, stuck out her tongue as far as it would go, and licked the length of him. Then she downed him in one go. His hips jutted forward which was everything she had expected from him,

And all she got was a soft curse.

If that was how he wanted to play, then she could do more.

Her cheeks hollowed. She cupped his balls and gently rolled them. Her eyes stayed shut as tears slipped down. Then she started to hum, the vibrations halting his already stiff breathing.

What was she humming?

A nursery rhyme.

She could pinpoint the exact moment when he realized what song she was humming. He fisted her hair, simultaneously keeping it out of her way and acknowledging her tactic. While it may not have pulled a sound from him, his abs did tighten.

She sucked. Her tongue brushed against a long vein. On a particularly deep vibration she got another curse, a little louder.

She popped off, saliva keeping them attached. She ran her fist up and down the length of him, breaking the connection.

"Use that pretty little brain of yours," she whispered. "What was the one thing I told you?"

"Jones," he warned.

"That doesn't sound right," she said, squeezing just a little tighter, loving how his eyes fluttered.

"You want to hear me?" He repeated, and nodded. "Fine. You'll hear me."

"Atta boy," she grinned and downed him again.

She didn't take up her humming again. She bobbed, letting his hand control the pace. She intermittently hollowed her cheeks. She'd swirl her tongue around the tip and watch his reaction with teary eyes.

When he listened to her, it wasn't how she expected.

"Finally putting that mouth of yours to good use. Taking me so well. God look at you, you crying Darlin'? Just wait, you'll be crying a lot more."

She moaned around him and those vibrations seemed to affect him more than her previous humming did. His hand tightened in her hair, holding her down, nose brushing against his pelvis. Her throat constricted, the air solely coming in through her nose.

"You'll be wanting to scream, but if you make a sound I'll stop. Don't care how close either of us are, I'll pull away and leave you begging. Shit, that get you off? Like the idea of being so close only to have it ripped away? Think you can still finish with your fingers? Huh? I'd say answer me, but you look a little full Jones."

She rubbed herself as she sucked him off, wishing she could be verbal. Wishing she could moan and whine. He pushed her all the way down again, hips jutting forward, and he cursed.

He was close.

It became less of her head moving to get him off and more his hips jutting forward to get himself off. She stayed on her knees, one hand between her legs, the other holding on to stay upright. He fucked her face and when he climaxed, she pulled off of him before swallowing. She made a show of making the sound loud, as if she was refreshed, just to annoy him.

"Shame you spent your load," she said, knowing she was antagonizing him. Knowing what the result would be. Doing it anyway. "But it's good to know you've got a good imagination. Maybe one day all those dreams'll come true."

His eyes darkened and she clenched.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Ordered?

She listened, grinning. He took a step to the side and nodded his head to the counter space. "Bend over."

"Sir, yes, sir," she answered slowly, forearms resting on the counter, back curving, ass on display.

The first slap surprised her. The fact that she liked it so much surprised her more.

"You need a lesson," he informed in his normal, reserved voice. Showing he was in control. "You're lacking in your manners."

Another slap.

Her thighs clenched.

"You think you need to be loud to be the center of attention? Darlin' you take it just by walking into the room."

Her body was on fire with the next slap.

"You think every situation can be helped with a sarcastic response," another slap and she groaned, head falling forward. "You just come off as a cocky know-it-all. Little Miss Perfect." Another slap.

Two fingers slipped inside of her. Twisting, scissoring, curling. Her muscles clenched, her breath halted. They moved out and rubbed up to her clit again, pressing around it.

What possessed her to say the next words? That thing between her legs.

She looked back at the man behind her. Her hair flipped over and she gave him the most innocent look she could muster. "When's my lesson gonna start sir?"

Her hips were held tight enough to bruise for a week at a minimum. She was yanked back and filled up so quickly she didn't even have time to get in a breath. What little air she had in her lungs was pushed out of her with that first thrust in what could only be described as a breathy pant.

"You think you're funny?"

"Absolutely hilarious," she choked out, legs shaking with the force. She was struggling to keep her head from hitting the wall in front of her. He had a disarmingly strong figure behind all those damn layers.

"Let's find what it takes to fuck you silent once and for all."

She clenched around him, legs itching closer to help her stability. She heard the weakest 'nu uh uh' and then a foot was shoved between her feet and spread her stance. She choked again, hands spreading out on the table, as he spread her legs to the point of instability.

He fit himself closer, deeper. Insuring she couldn't right herself.

She whimpered out a curse, eyes shut tight. His hands on her hips and half her body bent over the counter were the only two things keeping her up.

It was a stretch in her legs and yet, she couldn't help but love it. Love how deep it allowed him to go.

"God you should see yourself. All spread out. This what you wanted all along? This why you were so upset over that little drink I turned down?"

"You're one to talk," she gasped, sweat on her back, feeling his hips hit her ass with each thrust. "You were on your knees first." It was building again. Her toes curled, calves locking up. The pressure started in her lower back and she pushed to meet his thrusts.

"And I found a soaking mess there Darlin'." She clenched again, stress lines easing out as she neared. "No wonder you've been so moody, you haven't been able to get off for a week."

She let out a small chuckle. "You think I waited to get off? Please, I – I turned," she was so close. She was clenching tight. "To Coyote – "

Just before it hit, he pulled out.

Her eyes flew open with the chill that wracked her body. She was going to stand upright but he bent over her, his front to her back. She could feel him against her and she wanted to cry at the missed climax.

"You asshole – " utter disbelief.

"You see what those comments get you?" He asked, hands running up and down her hips. His lips pulled at her earlobe. "Let's try again, okay?"

"You're such an asshole – damn you."

He slapped her ass again, rubbing the red mark that was beginning to show. He slipped in but didn't take up a relentless pace. He stayed slow.

"This feels nice," he said with a calm sigh.

Her entire body was tensed and buzzing from the loss. Her head hung forward, hair covering her face.

"I hate you."

"Would you like to stop?"

She kept silent.

She could hear the grin in his voice. "I see we're finally learning."

Avery hated that she clenched at the snark. She stayed clenched when he gave out a low chuckle. His hands continued to rub up and down her hips. She loved the calloused feelings on her soft skin.

The pace increased and it took an annoying amount of concentration to remain silent. When his fingers slipped to her front and down to her clit, she bit her lip and clenched her thighs.

"There we go," he praised, "see, knew you had it in you. Listening so well. Taking me so well. Shit, like a vice grip on me."

He sped up, the sounds of his thrusts ringing in the empty locker room in the most lewd way possible. Her muscles were starting to lock from the position and stars were flickering in her dark vision.

The way he pressed his fingers on her clit let a whine loose and he cursed.

"Love those sounds you make when you're trying to keep it in. You can. . .shit, you can get a lock on Pete fucking Mitchell but you're whining beneath me. God."

He returned to his earliest pace and she arched her back more. Her eyes were pinched shut, her jaw clenched tight, and all she wanted to do was scream and cry at how good it felt. Due to the risk of the cessation of the activity, her lips remained sealed. He pulled her by the hips to meet each thrust and she realized now. She would not be able to walk properly.

It started again and she could tell the same for him by the way his pace was quickening yet growing erratic.

His fingers circled on her clit and she wished her hands had something to hold. Stars danced out more and her jaw unclenched. She couldn't help it.

"Yes, yes, c'mon, please sir, c'mon – "

"Shit," he cursed to her childish whine, ramming into her with everything.

Her whines became even more high pitched as her body tensed up, wanting to run away from the sensations and desperate for them all the same. She repeated those please, the begs and then it was happening and she lost her breath.

She was absolutely silent as he spilled into her, as she released. Her lower half shook, mouth fallen open as the blissful sizzle washed throughout her body.

Her head stayed hung as she took in deep breaths, knees collapsing slightly.

He pulled out and the sound of their activity was replaced by his much louder breathing.

For a long moment, that was the only sound.

Naturally she was the one to break it. "I can't walk."

". . .Are you serious?"

"No, I'm trying to feed your ego – yes you asshole. Now help me up before we get caught."

The asshole snorted but he helped her stand all the same. "Now you care about getting caught."

"You think I wasn't worried the entire time? Next time you want to screw me, do it somewhere where people can't just walk in."

"You think there'll be a next time?"

It was her turn to snort. "Please. Cats out of the bag, you like me. This whole 'teach me a lesson thing' was such a ploy."

He looked at her, the bottom of his glasses fogged from the heat. "Guess you need another lesson then."

#top gun maverick #tgm #top gun #tgm smut #top gun smut #bob floyd smut #bob floyd #natasha trace #phoenix #jake seresin #hangman #javy machado #coyote #pete mitchell #bob #bob fucks

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, and info under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Written By: Valerie Simpson & Nickolas Ashford

Artist: Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell

Released: 1967

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” marked the first collaboration between soul artists Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell in terms of releases. It was the first single from their debut album United where it also appeared as the opening track on the record. Although they kept their relationship as professional as could be, the two were practically inseparable with most describing them as “brother and sister.” At Terrell’s funeral after her tragic death at the mere age of 24, her mother barred everyone at Motown from attending except Gaye (who also delivered the eulogy) as she felt he was her only friend there. Perhaps there really was no mountain, valley or river that could ever come between them. The song was listed by writers of the UK publication NME as one of the Top 150 Singles of All Time, and the song was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999. The song would go on to be covered by dozens of artists, including Diana Ross, The Supremes and The Temptations, as well as the songwriters Ashford & Simpson among others.

[Verse 1] Listen, baby Ain't no mountain high Ain't no valley low Ain't no river wide enough, baby If you need me, call me No matter where you are No matter how far Don't worry, baby Just call my name I'll be there in a hurry You don't have to worry 'Cause, baby, there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, babe [Verse 2] Remember the day I set you free I told you you could always count on me, darling From that day on, I made a vow I'll be there when you want me, someway, somehow Oh, baby, there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, babe [Bridge] Oh no, darling No wind, no rain Or winter's cold Can stop me, baby (No, no, baby) 'Cause you are my goal If you're ever in trouble I'll be there on the double Just send for me, oh, baby, ha [Verse 3] My love is alive (Woo) Way down in my heart Although we are miles apart If you ever need a helping hand I'll be there on the double Just as fast as I can Don't you know that there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, baby Don't you know that there Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough

Accidentally in Love

Written By: Adam Duritz, Dan Vickrey, David Bryson, David Immergluck & Matthew Malley

Artist: Counting Crows

Released: 2004

“I was really struggling with it. I generally don’t write songs on demand, and I almost got to the point where I thought I wasn’t going to do it. They just told me that the song had to be uplifting. They actually said, ‘Don’t write a song about Shrek. Write a song that’s about you.’ The funny thing is, the song ended up reflecting a lot of what was going on in my life at the time: falling in love with someone you’re not supposed to fall in love with because it’s inconvenient. My songs for Counting Crows are mature and generally don’t get a chance to reach kids. To be part of something like that is pretty cool.” – Adam Duritz via Billboard

[Verse 1] So, she said, "What's the problem, baby?" What's the problem? I don't know Well, maybe I'm in love (Love) Think about it Every time I think about it Can't stop thinking 'bout it How much longer will it take to cure this? Just to cure it, 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love (Love) Makes me wanna turn around and face me But I don't know nothin' 'bout love, uh [Chorus] Come on, come on Turn a little faster Come on, come on The world will follow after Come on, come on Because everybody's after love [Verse 2] So I said, I'm a snowball runnin' Runnin' down into the spring that's comin' All this love meltin' under blue skies Belting out sunlight, shimmering love Well, baby, I surrender To this strawberry ice cream Never-ever-ender All this love Well, I didn't mean to do it But there's no escaping your love, oh [Bridge] These lines of lightnin' mean we're never alone Never alone No, no [Chorus] Come on, come on Move a little closer Come on, come on I wanna hear you whisper Come on, come on Settle down inside my love, ohh Come on, come on Jump a little higher Come on, come on If you feel a little lighter Come on, come on We were once upon a time in love [Post-Chorus] We're accidentally in love, accidentally in love Accidentally in love, accidentally in love Accidentally in love, accidentally in love Accidentally in love, accidentally in love Accidentally, I'm in love, I'm in love [Refrain] I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love Accidentally, I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love Accidentally [Chorus] Come on, come on (Come on) Spin a little tighter Come on, come on (Come on) And the world's a little brighter Come on, come on (Come on) Just get yourself inside her love I'm in love

#polls #poll tournament #poll bracket #tournament #bracket #lovesongbracket #round7 #ain't no mountain high enough #marvin gaye #tammi terrell #accidentally in love #counting crows #Youtube

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I'm not sure you need people to announce that they're just here for fun? it's tumblr...surely that can be assumed?

i dunno sometimes it seems like when you say this stuff it's a bit of a straw man argument because I don't really see anyone on here taking this stuff that seriously. we are not larries! no one is claiming Paul's kids are fake or anything lmao. yes people like to look at the history but again it's tumblr, it's just for fun.

maybe there is a whole other delusional side to beatles tumblr that i am not seeing, but i think maybe if people are getting mad when you argue with their dumb little posts it's just cause they think that you, in fact, DO want to spoil the party!

I have been waiting for someone to make this joke ever since I got that url. Have had to make it myself often <3

1. "we are not larries" is an incredibly low bar.

2. the specific contents of theories isn't the only thing that makes them conspiratorial. it's about the way they're argued.

3. Actually, I am thinking of One Specific Event from about a year and a half ago that was treated as people "spoiling the party" when in fact it was an example of good faith engagement with a seriously worded discussion post.* Maybe you missed that, and it's not like it's a super common occurrence. But in hindsight, I don't find it surprising given the climate here.

*I can provide more details on this specific thing in DMs if someone is curious. I don't wanna hash it out on main, especially since I was only peripherally involved.

4. This isn't about whether tumblr is your space to have fandom fun – I do assume that. It's about whether someone is making arguments in jest or if they mean them seriously. Both of these things might be fun to someone (but maybe I could have worded that point better in the original tags).

5. No, no fake kids, and this fandom isn't plagued by a central figure who's to blame for all the "bad stuff". Plus, it's "decentralized", so no singular entity is controlling some super specific narrative. This definitely keeps the space in check. That's part of it though: it's all very sociological, which makes my issue difficult to address because most single posts aren't a problem in of themselves, but there's a tangible vibe to the whole thing. That's also why I want to tread lightly here; I know a lot of it is a joke, but it's hard to tell what isn't. Like, yeah, I've been passive-aggressive lately, but I've also been watching this for a long time. And I regularly see things I perceive as a strawman against my position as well as absolutist rhetoric, which reads just as much as picking a fight as any of my recent posts do. If you talk about there only being "one explanation" for something, what is that, other than putting forward your theory as true? Is it really Not Serious? Every time? Even when the post is presented in a serious way, with sources and evidence? People on this site talk about what they expect Mark Lewisohn to include in his Definitely Trying To Be Serious And Factful biography series. Those demands are never serious? And I don't want to just ruin people's fun for no reason! But I also have a hard time dismissing every single thing that Sounds Kind Of Serious as Probably A Joke (and I do do it, pretty regularly) And I semi-often see people doing things that set off my alarm bells, even when they are not proclaiming Stella McCartney to be a lifelong actress. (reminder that several people on here freaked about the For Paul tapes story being semi-debunked last November; like actively scorned people who were trying to figure out how that story came about and where it originated. That's not normal, sorry to say! And, funnily enough, about a year ago, there was a blog on here pushing a very very very esotheric version of McLennon [and even trying to monetize it] and while most people dismissed them for the kook they were, they splashed onto the tumblr scene in an identical way [saying something that amounted to: "how dare you imply this apocryphal Paul McCartney quote might be fake?"] –––– so my question is: is it not that serious? I Don't Know You Tell Me!)

6. This is @ me mostly, I guess. I just feel like this space has become more and more of a monoculture. Shipping is the default angle with which everything is approached. If John and Paul write songs that are maybe not about each other that's not often seen as worth diving into. (See: Beautiful Boy tinhatting). I actually want to try and change this; get more diverse content on this site, but I guess I assume it's not welcome, which is on me, really. I have slides explaining my specific reading of Double Fantasy (yes, seriously) and there isn't really much stopping me from posting them, outside the fact that most people on here seem to have a very different relationship to the songs from the album than I do, so I assume they won't care. But y'know, I'll try to just Make More Content and see what that does. (For the record I know that sounds whiny. And I do seriously want to do better on that front)

#ask #anon #discourse #fiona.docx

[king-paimon]

Houseki no Kuni Chapter 96 Thoughts: Hello darkness my old friend

Hello, everyone!  After nearly 1 and a half, Houseki no Kuni finally returns with chapter 96! And the results are... anguish less than desirable, I admit, but it was sadly expected.

Once again, this will be a long post and I may make edits to it later on. Though I know I don’t get a lot of responses, I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts about this chapter, this post, and anything related. I hope you guys are doing alright, though I understand if that isn’t the case. 

Anyways, here we go:

The only ones who seem to care...( even a little bit)

I knew that when this story was going to come back, things were not going to improve like many fans would have wanted. I’m both disappointed and yet not surprised by the attitudes of the former gems that were shown in this chapter. I’m sure there are fans who were hoping certain gems like Antarcticite, Padparadscha, Diamond, or at least Ghost to show more concern or empathy for Phos and are disappointed that they aren’t. I’m also sure there are people who are disappointed that Ghost didn’t confront Cairn at all, but I’ll get to this later.

With Antarcticite in particular, I was disappointed that they no longer seemed as concerned as they were in the previous chapter. However, it was made clear several times that Antarcticite’s love for Adamant was stronger than their care for Phos so...yeah. As for the other gems, especially Phos’s former “allies,” I feel just about the same, if not more unsurprised because I expected this. I explained this before in older posts about how it was clear to me that most of the moon gems care for Phos was near non-existent. With the exception of Yellow Diamond and Padpa (to a degree), the other moon gems didn’t really show concern for Phos or their goals before and after their transformation and when Phos was trapped in limbo for centuries. And they only agreed to go on the invasion, at least with Dia, when their hands were forced. Like I said; disappointed but not surprised.

But isn’t interesting that the ones who currently showed any concern for Phos are Euclase and Cinnabar (at least to an extent)? 

I remember there were many fans who hated Euclase in particular and though I could understand to a certain degree, I didn’t hate them personally. Maybe because I didn’t see all of their actions as completely malicious towards Phos, I thought it was clear from previous chapters that despite everything that had happened, Euclase still had some care for Phos. Plus the fact that they were the ones to ask if there was anything that can be done for Phos says a lot about them in comparison to Phos’s former “allies” (like Antarcticite, Padparadscha, and Dia). And even though Cinnabar claims that they are happier, even with the fact Phos isn’t with them, it’s clear that they are conflicted. 

It isn’t much but would you look at that? Two former earth gems, who were also two of Phos’s biggest critics, seem to care more about Phos than the ones that willingly went with him to the moon in the first place, even though that is a low bar to surpass at this point.

Any glimmers of hope on the moon?

When the leak came out, one of the things I was wondering about was whether or not all of the gems are okay with their transformation. I was thinking about Bort in particular but I wanted to believe that not everyone was okay with it. After this chapter, while my hope that there could be some gems that aren’t happy with this change has decreased, my belief that Bort isn’t totally for it isn’t completely gone. After looking over this chapter several times, I had time determining whether or not Bort was happy. Yes, we see them taking care of jellyfish while choosing to stick with their short haircut, but the whole setting seems... lonely. And when Dia, who I guess has decided to move on from their animosity towards Bort, invites them to the party, Bort out rightly rejects the invitation. To me, it looks like Bort is self isolating and is trying to make the most of the situation. I could be looking to much into this, especially since Bort wasn’t known for expressing happiness a lot. But I don’t know. They just seem like they’re simply... existing because what else are they supposed to do now. 

Speaking of just existing, Bort doesn’t seem to be the only one who’s less “appreciative” of their new lives. Is it just me or does Yellow seem off? Even though they were the first one to express a desire to become Lunarian, though stemmed from their depression, they don’t seem particularly happy. And even while they’re surrounded by their fallen diamonds/gems who are clearly happy, Yellow doesn’t seem happy at all. In fact, they seemed empty. Why is this? Is Yellow still experiencing depression despite how things turned out or could this have been a result of the transformation itself? It think its a bit of both.

Is the lack of empathy completely their fault?

One topic that carried from the previous chapter was how much the former gems would remember things after their transformation and this chapter seems to be confirming this. While there are gems who clearly remember Phos and seem fine to intentionally forget them, there are signs that other characters are already showing signs of forgetting them. My question is, is this because of how the gems natural are or because of the transformation? Once again, I think it’s both. Like I said with Yellow, their emptiness could also be a result of both depression and the transformation. 

I’m not going to excuse the gems as a whole. Even though we’ve seen time and time again that expressing empathy towards others wasn’t something all gems could and forgetting things over time was part of their nature, how most of them treated Phos (and other gems who were going through their own forms of grieving) was.. bad. But at the same time, it’s hard to expect these humanoid being to react how we would want them to react because at the end of the day, they weren’t truly humans. And once again, none of the gems are black or white; they are all shade of grey.

I understand why many fans no longer like the gems because of their lack of care for Phos, especially the former “allies” who are fine letting them suffer for their happiness. However, at the same time, it’s concerning that at least some of the gems are going to be forgetting things and they don’t have control of this. This again echoes real life colonialism, cultural assimilation, and identity desecration. And yes, while the gems staying in their original society wasn’t good for them either and that change was necessary, this is still concerning for me.

What would be nice to see (even though it’ll likely not happen)...

I said it many times and I’ll keep saying it. It’s become harder to predict what Ms. Ichikawa is going to do with this series and it’s even harder to predict how it’ll end. I still think it will be a bittersweet end that won’t satisfy people who want Phos to somehow win in the end. As the new chapters come about, I’m going to keep my mind open and try not to make big predictions, at least not until more questions are answered.

So instead of predictions, I want to quickly list some things that I would like to see happen, even though I don’t think they will. You can see these as my hopefulness or a subtle way of me criticizing Ms. Ichikawa’s story telling so far, or something else I can’t think of. I’ll likely edit it in later.  Here it goes:

Conversations between the gems who were previously in conflict. This would include Cairn and Ghost, Bort and Dia, Padpa and Rutile. Though we got glimpses that suggest that things are now fine amongst these gems, this revelation feels less than satisfying. I want to actually see these gems talk things out, allow them to properly express their feeling about what happened between them without them sweeping things under the rug like they’ve been doing for so long.

Conversations about Phos without Aechmea’s or Adamant’s presence. We got a glimpse of this near the end of the chapter with Cinnabar but I would like to see more to gain more insight into how some of the gems actually feel. And this could lead to the reveal that there are at least a few gems who don’t like what happened to them or Phos. 

Conversations with Adamant without Aechmea’s presence. Some people have pointed out that Adamant also feels off ever since he was transformed. I would like to think that Ms. Ichikawa did this on purpose. I would like this to indicate that while Adamant is going along with Aecmea’s plans, he has his own plans to deal with this situation. 

Former gems, Admirabilis, and/or lunarians sneaking back to earth. I still hypothesize that while Adamant is all powerful and can materialize on the moon wherever he wants, he might not be omnipresent. Meaning that he doesn’t have full control over what everyone does or read their minds. And while he may be good at predicting other people’s actions, he can’t predict everything. I would want anyone who still has an ounce of care for Phos to use this to their advantage to go earth. Maybe during those missions to collect new gems or just when Aechmea is completely unaware. 

Phos protecting new gems from being kidnapped. This is something that I do think could happen in the next few chapters. This chapter hinted at the likelihood that new gems would emerge and Aechmea’s new strategy involves taking them. It would be nice for Phos to fall into the protective role of preventing the new gems from being taken. The downside is that can lead to Phos truly becoming the new Adamant by doing everything, including being the gems’ leader and reluctant praying machine, effectively restarting this whole cycle.

I’ll likely add more to this later but this is it for now.

Until the next chapter...

Despite how I felt with this chapter, I’m glad to see Houseki no Kuni again and it was nice to see the characters, even though they disappoint me. I also honestly liked the interaction between Cairn, Antarcticite and Cinnabar. 

And as always, I’m both excited and dreading the next chapter. Though I admit, even though I ended up making another long post, I don’t know how invested I will be for the rest of this series. Don’t get me wrong, even though it has made me feel all sorts of things and I question the author on more than one occasion, I still like it a lot. But at the same time, I’ve started to get invested in other things both in real-life and on the internet so I can’t promise that I will be making posts for each chapter like I did before. But we’ll see!

Thank you everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments on my posts. These interactions, even though they are brief, makes this journey with this series more bearable and memorable. I hope you like this post and like always, please feel free to voice your thoughts. Until next time, stay safe wherever you are. 

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #HNK #LOTL #hnk spoilers #hnk spoiler #lotl spoilers #hnk chapter 96 #hnk thoughts #HNK theory #hnk theories #hnk discussion #hnk phosphophyllite #hnk antarcticite #hnk cinnabar #hnk sensei #hnk cairngorm #hnk yellow #hnk yellow diamond #hnk gems #hnk bortz #hnk diamond #character analysis #haruko ichikawa #long post #Story Predictions

[raisengen]

Today I’d like to explain/advertise how to use Nine-Colored Deer’s E0 workshop skill. There are more in-depth discussions on places like Gamepress, so I’m going to try to keep to the key points here.

Assign 9CD to the workshop, and a counter “0/40” will appear. Every time she fails to produce byproduct on a recipe that costs 4 Morale or less, the counter increases by the Morale cost. If the counter would hit 40/40, it resets to 0 and gives you a guaranteed byproduct instead. (The counter value is saved if you remove 9CD from the workshop.)

This means that once the counter hits 36/40, you can set 9CD to produce a 4 Morale purple recipe and you’re guaranteed a blue-tier material. (Sorry, it doesn’t work on gold recipes.) Note that since she has a base 10% chance to produce byproducts, there’s a chance you’ll get a byproduct and the counter will remain at 36/40, in which case you can try again until the counter resets.

Low-tier byproducts are worth much less than high-tier ones, so the trade of fewer low-tier byproducts for more high-tier ones is a good deal. Her output value is about 14% / 8% higher than the next-best combination of workshop skills (including Blemishine) on the same recipes if you fodder her with green / blue recipes respectively, or 95% / 56% if you’re just using the common +80% skills. It’s free materials!

However, if you want to be really cheesy, you can use carbon sticks as fodder. Their recipes have no LMD cost and you get them passively from logins, so it’s basically free materials. Right now I have about 50 byproduct’s worth of carbon sitting in my storage.

Of course, there is a downside to this that you may have noticed. It takes upwards of 40 Morale for 9CD to guarantee a single byproduct, about 2 full Morale bars, while a standard workshop operator does 8 of those recipes in a single bar. 9CD isn’t useful if you urgently need a large number of purple materials, so you’re still going to want to use standard skills in those times. 9CD is someone you rotate between dormitories and the workshop in the background, slowly and steadily upcycling your low-value materials.

(9CD’s second skill unlocks at E2, and applies the same mechanic to 8 Morale gold-tier recipes. However, since it only applies to gold recipes, you can’t game it by using low-tier recipes to build up points. As such it’s statistically equivalent to a +90% workshop skill, and using Morale on the E2 skill means you’re not using her E0 skill. Since the difference between +90% and +80% is only worth about 1 sanity point per craft, so it’s not really worth it.)

#Arknights #Nine-Colored Deer

[lutawolf]

Unforgotten Night (2022) Ep 1

My brat with a British accent wanted to write this together. Her once again covering the sub and me covering the Dom. I told her that she was a sadist and this was supposed to be bad. Iffy "noooooo, no, I'm just a special word for someone who wants you to suffer with me" You will be able to find the lovely iffy's companion post here.

It didn't help that I got so many requests to watch this. I think some of you are sadists. Is there something about doing this to a sadist that turns you on?? I included the Coconuts Mafia in my torture because if I'm going to take one, then the team should too. Thank you so much for the support and commentary! @biochemjess @suga4mycoffee read here @mematryoshkame @minisculecosmos @hereiswhereitbegan28 @akitbeast and their commentary here and Pebee. Also make sure to read @feralpansexual bdsm red flags post here

For those that know nothing about the series and this is your first time hearing about it: Kim (sub), a 25 year old office worker, has been in one sided love with his senior, Day, for a a long time. To forget about him and move on, he decides to have one night stand with a random stranger he met at the bar. What he didn't know was the stranger would start liking him to the point of no return. Kamol (Dom/Sadist), a 30 year old mafia, has some special needs in bed and so he keeps switching partners but no one is able to satisfy him. One night he meets Kim, who perfectly meets his needs. Right at that moment, Kamol decided to make the man his own.

Promo Poster

Seriously guys, what the fuck is that picture above. His FACE. "When you want to be tied up, but the idiot you're fucking doesn't know how to do it properly." I would like to be on the side of the Dom here but I can just hear the sub saying "Gotta do everything my damn self" Also, why are they using a glorified shoelace?? I mean, I haven't even started the episode yet and I'm dead. Where is the chemistry? What is it with these poses? They feel like their about to give a beginner's class in couples yoga with fun accessories.

Episode 1

So begins my drinking habit, I mean watch. No really, this turned into a drinking game. I took a shot every time a sub cries. I was tipsy by the end of the show. There was torture... Of the audience kind. Ellen DeGeneres shoes, constantly running water taps, 80's music and a horrible English breakfast with anemic sausage. On the plus side, I laughed a lot. I highly recommend as a group hate watch.

We meet Kamol as a "business tycoon" and you can tell they are trying to set an air of arrogance and command. The typical portrayal of a Dom. I didn't feel it though. I was deeply underwhelmed, he really wasn't giving strong power vibes. Ohhh, the ominous whisper "Something big is coming up." I'm all a flutter. Also, this might be an American thing but he just gave the weakest hang shake ever. As a Dom, I would be embarrassed. That's the one area where it is completely acceptable to have a pissing contest and you just barely held finger.

The next scene shows a weeping and marked up submissive. I've got no issue with one night stands but you still put the work in. Not only should there have been respect for limits but also aftercare. Instead he leaves him and has his bodyguards take him out. Can we get more Dom low class?

Why, yes we can "They always say they can take it but they never last" Yeah, okay. He wasn't any more satisfied than you buddy, so who is the real problem here? That's just stupid. You don't pick someone off the street and go, lets do a little whip and tickle. It takes a masochist to like pain and every masochist likes a different type of pain. This is like me asking if someone likes ice cream and then making them eat the flavor that's my favorite. Dumbass, I said I like ice cream, doesn't mean I like that ice cream.

We have a lot of weepy sub scenes. Then the girls aka assistants, take their boss to the bar. I don't know how they thought this was a good idea. The music alone would cause me to cry and drink too much. However, it's at the bar that Kamol (aka shoelace Pillsbury Ceo) shows up and notices Kim. Finally we have the moment they meet. In a bathroom, because the mafia apparently really appreciate bathrooms.

Kim is stumbling drunk into the bathroom and Kamol thinks this is a brilliant. Follows him into the bathroom. Where we have the conversation of,

Kim "Are you starting at me"

Pillsbury "I'm staring at you"

Kim "you interested"

Pillsbury "Yes, you caught my eye"

All why the mother fucking water facet is going!!!

Weepy Sub "in that case can you help me forget him"

Pillsbury "As long as you can tolerate it" 🙄🙄 Because yes, I like chocolate chip ice cream and so will you! 🤦🏻‍♀️

Weepy "No problem, you can do whatever you want" that's a good way to get stds kid and then you'll really have something to cry about.

Oh look! We finally have the, you're drunk, who me talk. It went as expected. Weepy sub is now up against the bathroom counter. Managing to avoid the still running water! It's torturing me! This is not my flavor of masochism! Then he calls him Baby. Which fits weepy sub. It's a very accurate pet name.

We show up at Pillsbury's place where they are magically changed into robes.... And they ones again talk about if baby is drunk. Yet they never talk about what kind of kink they are into. We apparently just gonna wing it, cause yeah that works. Guess we can blame it on him getting all hot and bothered at being called Mister. 🤦🏻‍♀️

The most consent talk we get is, you can suck this up right. And then he beaks out the Toys-R-Us cuffs that baby can easily slid right out of. He started him off real light with luke warm wax that's barely dripping. Yet we get this face.

At this point, I'm thinking boy can't handle much. Then Pillsbury breaks out a horse flogger. You guys, I wasn't expecting accuracy and if you want me to give a break down of why the flogging was so fucking God Awful that I took two shots! I can. Needless to say it was grossly inaccurate but even that doesn't match the horror of this.

Meanwhile his flogging is on the level of "I’m going to FLOG YOU……with kindness"

"W-would you like to talk to me about my childhood wounds as I whip you very gently"

On the plus side, there was a very nice, very accurate bite mark. I've got a bitting kink myself and no way THAT was fake, so kudos for that.

Then the true torture again. Dripping faucet. While Pillsbury finally gives some kind of aftercare. A bath with sweet kisses. While whispering sweet nothings of "You are the one".. It's not much but it's finally something so we'll take it.

But then baby wakes up alone to a Best Western breakfast. Is it any wonder he booked it? Maybe start acting like a Dom and taking care of your subs? Hmm.

I can't leave you without mentioning the stick on tattoo.

It shifts. For a second I thought we were going to get a shifter bl but they were just teasing. It's just a bad fake tattoo.

So there you have it. My torture is now our torture. Especially if you made it all the way through, what ever, that was that I wrote. Hope you got a few chuckles 💜💜💜

#unforgotten night #unforgotten night kink #luta #luta opinions #luta question and answer #weepy boy and Pillsbury dough bo #really bad flogging #turn off the mf faucet #coconuts mafia

[chaotically-rem]

1, 3, 13, 14, 20 for the ask game!

Ohhh, thanks thanks, sorry I'm days late answering!

These are questions for the ask game!!! Which I'll still do answers for btw! I'm going to throw it under a read more bar because I am already off to a really long start for the first question, ^_^;)/

1. What led you to start writing fan fiction?

 

You see. I was an avid fanfic reader, back in the wee era of 2015 when I was in my early 20s, for a certain fandom that I shall not name. And I realized after reading hundreds and hundreds of fics for my favorite pairing that my preferred genre of fanfic (*coughs in major trigger warnings*) were all so.... so... Well. Every fic for that fandom was The Same. And I don't mean 'the same' in the way that enemies to lovers is always the same (where the enemies become lovers through some plot that forces them together) I mean that I can tell you plot point by plot point, scene by scene, argument by argument, exactly what happened in all of these fics because they were all the same. Every. Single. Time. There was no diversity in the plot. No creativity. It was the same scene setup, the same lines/same arguments, the same hurt/comfort every single fic. It was like a group of people who liked these topics all got together and brainstormed the Same Idea and then wrote the Same Idea a dozen times in the exact Same Way with very little deviation from the "hurt in an alley, rescued by their enemy, nursed back to health in the bedroom, and then they sleep together" plot and posted it on AO3. The first couple of times, it slapped. But then when the entire tag became Just That, or some variation of Just That because people branched out from "the alley" to "the almost alley" I sort of had enough.

I wanted to be a writer. I've always loved to write. So I thought "wow, what if I take this idea that wasn't bad the first time but it sucked the fourth fifth sixth and seventh time, and just make it crazier out of spite" and thus, I wrote the worst 140k first POV fanfic for my ship (and discovered that I enjoy almost setting this man on fire) and then I just? Never stopped writing because it was fun and low-pressure and I could read fic and go "I dont like that" and learn from other peoples mistakes, and then my own. This fic, however, is dead to me. Looking back, I'm glad I started somewhere and yes it was insane and wildly different than the others, but me @ me, first-person POV? are you insane?

And here I am, easily five million words later (not an exaggeration, I've written at least 5 mil since then because I wrote 3 mil 2019-now).

And now, I'm a Horror waiting to happen to your blorbos, ehehehehheeh.

3. What experiences/influences have shaped your writings the most?

The polite answer is: life experience of my chaotic luck that sounds fake. Listen. If you send me to the store for milk, there is no way for you to prepare for what kind of trouble I will get into, of no fault of mine.

The real answer: a life of misery. I get a lot of comments about how 'real' some of my fics feel, to an uncomfortable degree. Well. There's a reason for that :wheezesmiley:

I always recommend a few gintama fics starting with Pandemonium. This is like, a staple Gintama fic to read and it's gen! I really enjoyed this one even though I haven't reread it in a long time and I only remember the ending which was probably my favorite part. (I should do a reread) but I remember I liked the characterization and it sort of touched on all of my favorite things about Gintoki being unhinged, and how he could end up there down at the bottom ready to throw it all away. It was a real aspiration of mine to keep to the characterizations and to always drag out Gintoki's little horrors until the juicy last moment, and this fic is the reason for all of that.

13. What are some must-read fanfics in your fandoms? Why do you admire these, and how have they impacted your works?

Otherwise, I just have a few self-indulgent angst fics I like to reread. But for inspiration, I will admit that my timeloop fic, which i wrote obsessively like a madman and those of you who were dming me know I was ripping out my hair because you need an excel sheet for this level of insanity, was inspired by the other timeloop fic, because while I enjoyed that timeloop fic, I was severely disappointed that Gintoki never mentioned the timeloop to Hijikata, and more importantly, Gintoki never mentioned the fact that he witnessed Hijikata's death dozens of times and it has negatively impacted him to a severe degree. And then I was more annoyed that this is completely in character, so I decided to force Gintoki's hand on my own by making him the victim of the timeloop. (and then I accidentally killed Sakamoto, and the rest is history, ngl idk wtf happened I just sat down and wrote 40k one day and went "oh, ok, this is gonna be a long one")

I would also like to go out of my way to recommend a Witcher fic. I don't go here anymore and I likely will never go here again, but this fic had me hooked for two solid days. I did nothing but read this fic for two solid days. (I skipped the smut because I was more invested in the plot than the relationship LMFAO) I was so convinced that the plot had somethign to do with werewolves (or some other kind of shapeshifting/vampiric/demonic monster) that I actually binge wrote a 70k fic in one week because of this LMFAO

14. What aspects of your creative process do you enjoy most? Which are most challenging?

THEREFORE, the most challenging thing is me sitting down and going "okay this needs to not be vibes, it needs to have very specific crafted elements and also be creative while also being clever and meaningful and metaphorical and deep" and then I just don't write for three months (me rn, trying to force myself to write one (1) hyper specific thing I could care less about)

I just sit down and the brain and hands go 'brrrr' there is no creative process there is only me leaving my body and coming back like "noice". This is my favorite part. Or the part where someone goes "wouldn't it be wild if" and then goes to sleep and then suddenly they wake up to a 10k fic link in their inbox because they left me unattended with their left-field idea.

20. What’s your favorite work you’ve ever written?

Oh god. Ok. I can't pick one so I'm going to rec some of my favorites and explain why they're my faves.

I feel like Don't You Know That Timeloops Suck? (gintama, no warnings) has to be my most recent favorite because I was on an entire other level of insanity for this one and it was unfortunately very personal and looking back its a lot of things to me. lololol BUT the ending is... listen. Guys. I didn't want to finish it because I hated it at one point. It's rough. The second Sakamoto enters the timeloop everything went to shit on my end because I just didn't want anything to do this fic anymore, I was sick of writing it, I was sick of Hijikata, I was sick of Gintoki being too much like me. It's not my cleanest work, that's for sure and rereading it, I can see it clear as day and it drives me insane tbh. If I could rewrite any fics end/write more for a fic, it would be this one and I would be screaming the entire way.

But. This JJK fic, In the Vastness of the Cosmos, We Are But Nothing was a lot of fun to write. Like. A lot of fun. And I mean, I would love to write another one like this, but I need some delirious combination of cosmic horror and colours and higher level of clarity. It's not my strongest work technically and easily could have been double, triple the length to really drive the finer points home, but it is what it is and it's great considering I wrote the whole entire thing in one sitting and then just posted it without even an edit.

I have another fic like this for danny phantom, but I haven't re-uploaded it yet because I lost it in the deletion. (It's somewhere, I'm sure)

BUT. Fill the Void, Lest the Void Fill You (Trigun, content warnings beware) is my favorite, most solid ending. Like this fic? Is probably my favorite in terms of technical writing. It's solid the whole way through. I had actually discussed with a friend where my writing was lacking, and determined that my endings need some work (because I usually end things when I'm sick of writing them and it shows) but this fic? Solid. 10/10.

Okay I'll stop rambling, thanks for the ask! I love talking about my own fics lololo

Also. That “If Utsuro’s ‘Totally Not Meteor From Final Fantasy VII’ Attack Had Ended The World In Episode 361 But then Gintoki Tried To Go Back In Time And Save Everyone” AU deserves more love.

#good job rem #this is so long sorry not sorry #i had fun with this #I always feel lowkey weird being like yeah i write fic from real life experiences and then the fics are all just awful tags #LOL #I used to have more gntm fics to recommend but i lost my list #I read a lot of rainsometimes fics #i hope theyre doing well its been a while since ive been around to chat with people sjkahfskjdhgksd #jjk i read jubi #JUBIIIIIIIIIIII #i dont even go here anymore #okay but most of my fic ideas come from the craziest sources #like the furby fic #listen #the furby fic was a joke that got out of hand okay #and bad sakamoto was literally just me wanting to write sakagin at the same time a friend was talking about villainizing heros

[sparrowsworkshop]

“All I Am” by OneWingedSparrow, for Zelink Week 2023; Chapter 1: Deceptive Appearances

Next Chapter >>> (Coming Soon) Fic Summary: The captain of the Knights of Hylia has been tasked with holding back the demon king’s forces. Aware that he is out of his league, Link struggles with coming to terms with the gravity of this command. Fortunately, Hylia is watching out for him. Main Tags: Link / Hylia, Hylia & The First Hero, Hylia & Link vs Demise, Worth, Purpose, Romance, Skyward Sword I Love You But We Ignore SkSw Canon for the Sake of Creative Liberty, I suppose that fact makes this an AU, it’s supposed to be set way before the events of Skyward Sword anyway, Additional Tags to Be Added Warning Tags: Alcohol Use, Conversations about Death, Struggling with Feeling Unworthy, Addtional Tags to be Added

Author’s Note: This fic will be rated M on AO3, but will stay SFW throughout. Before you choose to read, please be mindful that this story will touch upon heavier themes. Angst with a Good Ending: As of now, I cannot promise that this story will have a Happy ending; but I am certain that it will be Good. Read on AO3 @zelinkcommunity​ Here is my fic for Day 2 of Zelink Week 2023! “Forbidden.” The rest of this fic will not be posted for Zelink Week (I have other fics to share for the remaining days), but I intend to return to it at a later date! I hope you will keep it on your radar! ✨ Reblogs are appreciated!

~ He was going to die. He knew better than to believe in mercy from a demon king. That’s why Link didn’t bat an eye at the inflated price of Tabantha’s homemade whiskey, but simply tossed the bag of rupees over the counter at her and started drinking straight from the bottle. If anyone had been seated on the empty stool to his right, they might have noted the haggard lines carved into the man’s forehead—that is, if those were even visible under the low-hanging hood of his tattered black cloak. If such a person had a keen eye, they might even have recognized the blood red scarf tucked inside the hood, a noose that never left his neck; and they would well have wondered, perhaps aloud, “What is the captain of Hylia’s army doing at this bar at this hour, drinking his life away?” Not that the captain himself would have answered. Link’s eyes were distant, staring into a realm no mortal could wander. He downed the whiskey with the same practice and precision as he might have driven a blade into the heart of a foe. How long he sat there, whiling away what little remained of his life, Link neither knew nor cared. Though Tabantha’s bar was filled with its usual number of patrons, and a steady hubbub rollicked the room, silence was the captain’s only companion. Until someone took the stool to his right, and swung it towards him, long skirt swishing over the worn, oak floor. Removed though he was, the motion caught his eye. Link glanced over the bottle to see a woman beside him, leaning one elbow over the bar. The light from the sconces on the wall seemed to make her hair sparkle; golden, it was, and long like a tapestry, with purple beads braided into a few choice sections. If he was in his right mind, he might have thought her beautiful. But hearts blinded by dread so rarely acknowledge the beauty set before them, prominent though it may be. “No man thirsts so without reason,” his companion said. Her voice was soft, and seemed to float through the air like a feather. “What is it that you seek to forget?” Link tugged at his scarf, freeing just enough to wipe his mouth. A burp came out before his reply, but he was too drunk for his lack of table etiquette to bother him. “All of it,” he said, raising the bottle in a solitary toast. “Take it...take it away.” “That is much to ask for, my friend. Is that truly what you wish?” “Why not?” He laughed, hard and long, but there was no humor in the sound. “No point in holding on. You get it, yeah? You—you unnerstand.” Even the hearty din of the room could not drown out her silence. She was quiet for a time, though he wasn’t sure how long that time was. He shouldn’t have cared—why was this woman even bothering to talk to him, anyway?—and yet, when he tipped the bottle back again, it froze before the rim even touched his lips. She...she was looking straight at him, and for some reason, he startled. Her face...those eyes. Did he know her? Huh. How strangely...familiar. This unplanned staring contest could have gone on forever, had the woman not looked away first. Despite this, Link knew she was not turning away from him, not writing him off as some drunken fool blabbering on. No, she was still listening; he was convinced she was listening. For some reason, words started to dribble out of his mouth, freely as the whiskey on his chin. “We’re gonna die,” Link said bluntly. “We’re all gonna die. They think we can fight the Demon King. Ha!” His voice cracked. “Th’ last line of defense, they call us, an’ they’re right, they’re right. They’re right, y’know. We can’t hold him off for long. Not alone, without divine aid.” He spread his arms wide for dramatic effect, and then let them fall, limply, to his sides. Her long, pointed ears inclined towards him, her countenance somber. “Your wisdom is sound,” she said softly. “Facing him alone is ill-advised.” The bottle was slick in his grasp. He tipped it on accident, spilling a considerable amount of booze on his cloak. Link growled at the treachery, and tried unsuccessfully to wipe it away. “You need not face him alone, Link. I vow, I shall be with you.” This news was surprising enough to divert his attention. He looked her up and down. Round face, white dress, bare feet. Her hands looked too soft to have held any weapons. Her face seemed too peaceful to have seen much battle. If she believed herself a warrior, where was the proof? “You?” he said hoarsely, now too tired to laugh. “I,” she said, with a smile that rivaled the glitter of her beads. “You,” he repeated, frowning. Such confidence, such poise...it all seemed so familiar. Was she an acquaintance? An old friend? Did he know her after all? He couldn’t recall. “Wha’s—” Link hiccuped. “Your name, by the by?” “Hylia,” she replied. “I am Hylia.” Link stared at her through bleary eyes. “Like the—the, the goddess?” “Precisely like the goddess,” said the woman named Hylia, feathery voice embellished with a certain fondness. “You are correct.” Well, he didn’t know anyone named Hylia. Clearly, his gut was mistaken. She must have reminded him of someone he once knew. “Tha’s funny,” Link mused. “You don’...look like a Hy...lia.” With that proclamation, he tipped off the stool. The whiskey slipped from his fingers; but Hylia caught the bottle before it could crash to the floorboards alongside his crumpled form. The liquid sloshed lackadaisically within; the bottle was nearly empty. “And you do not look like a Hero, Captain,” Hylia said, peering down at the floor where he lay, hood and scarf both fallen askew. She set the whiskey upon the counter, and the brown glass dimly reflected the faint glow of her long, golden hair. “But appearance oft belies the deeper truth within.” *        *        * A ruthless hangover thrashed him into waking. Hmm. Tent poles. He was in his tent, back at the warcamp. Birds twittered outside, gossiping behind his back. He sat up and groaned, shooing a fly away from his face. How...did he get here? He had no memory of the night before. “Well, that’s mighty fine,” Link said aloud, with a snort. There was much he wished he could forget; the escapades of last night were certainly the least of his troubles. Summoned by his voice, the flap of the tent lifted. The army cook poked his head in, immediately wrinkling his nose. “Captain. I see you’re awake.” “Yeah? I see it too,” Link muttered dryly. Stretching, he reached for his nearby daypack, and began rummaging through its pockets. “Do you have anything truly useful to report, Dovos?” “The soldiers grow antsy,” Dovos said. “You are not usually absent for the morning drills. Pipit wanted to wake you earlier, but left to run the drills instead.” His fingers danced between several smooth, cold objects. There was a catch. There was always a catch. “How kindhearted of Pipit to let me sleep in,” Link said, distractedly. “I sent him away from your tent.” The cook cleared his throat. “Captain, I...I never thought you to be a drinking man.” There it was. “I am not,” Link replied, and tossed a gift through the air. A single rupee landed in Dovos’ open palms. When he saw the color, the cook’s tanned face turned darker than ever. “Silver? You play a dangerous game, Captain. The Knights of Hylia must abstain from alcohol. You know this.” “And a man on his deathbed is gifted spirits to drown the pain,” Link snapped. “If Hylia so desires, she may strike me down. Frankly, it would be a mercy.” So saying, he threw another rupee at the man. This time, it was gold. Dovos’ eyes went wide. “I appreciate your concern,” Link said, voice hardening, “but my business is my own. Consider this my token of thanks for carrying me back, and mind that you do not follow me on my private outings again.” “I did not carry you back, sir,” Dovos stammered, fumbling with the rupees. Link scowled. “Un—understood, Captain.” The cook ducked, and the flap closed after him. Blasted headache. Link rubbed his eyes, while his dry, dirty hair fell over his face like a veil. What had become of him the evening before? Had he stumbled back here alone? In the dark? Miles from camp? No...someone had to have been with him. Hiding his intoxicated state from the soldiers. Ensuring no one took advantage of him on the way. Keeping him from getting lost. With a sigh, Link loosened the scarf on his neck, and then threw the soiled fabric to the corner of the tent. As if that would happen. No one ever cared that much. ~ Next Chapter >>> (Coming Soon)

#thanks for reading! #zelink week 2023 #zelink community #hylink #hylia #the first hero #hylia and the first hero #multichapter fic #alternate universe #link #dovos #tloz #tloz fanfic #fanfic #all i am #the legend of zelda #zelda fanfic #fanfiction #sparrow fics #forbidden #loz #loz fanfic #legend of zelda