#been waiting for like 70 chapters

[fategoflatass]

FINALLY, SOME FUCKING FOOD.

#been waiting for like 70 chapters #and it was worth it #marriagetoxin #marriagetoxin spoilers #if these two don't end up being endgame istg

[tigertales9]

Hard Reset XII

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+

Description: This flashback fic covers Joe & Reader's first Valentine's Day together back at LSU. There's also another flashback nestled within this flashback (Joeception) of when they first met at LSU.

Time/Place: Thursday, Feb. 14, 2019 (Valentine's Day) / Baton Rouge, Louisiana (with a flashback to June 2018)

A/N: This is the twelfth fic in the Hard Reset series.

This flashback got too long so I'm posting it in two parts. The smut is in the second part, but I'm rating this 18+ because it's smut adjacent. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up before this week-end. The smut has been finished for awhile, but I'm just trying to put the finishing touches on the ending. Nothing is coming easy right now, but I refuse to give up. 😋

I've had a few messages asking me if LSU Joe has long or short hair in this flashback. In my mind, he has short hair with the forehead curls (see gif below). I've tried to keep the descriptions ambiguous just in case y'all wanna imagine him with the longer hair.

Since I posted the first part of this as a sneak peek, I put a substantial (bold) cut so you can scroll down and start reading the new content w/o re-reading the sneak peek if you don't want to.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thursday, Feb. 14, 2019 (Valentine's Day) / Baton Rouge, Louisiana

You exit the cool interior of the grocery store, squinting at the mid-afternoon sun as you quickly make your way to your car, popping the trunk and loading a few bags of groceries inside before hopping into the driver's seat; you slide your sunglasses on and head for the exit, looking both ways before easing out into the traffic on River Road, rolling your windows down and throwing a quick glance at the Mississippi River as it runs parallel to the street, its earthy, fertile scent bringing a smile to your face.

"70 degrees in mid-February!" you mimic in Joe's voice, laughing at the accuracy of your impersonation. "He's def gonna bitch about it," you continue, flicking your turn signal on a few minutes later before making the turn that will take you away from the river and toward your apartment complex.

~ ~ ~

An hour later, you're whipping up some homemade frosting when your bestie/roommate Gina walks in, sniffing the air dramatically.

"Smells like heaven," she groans, eyeing the fluffy pink concoction as you finish beating it with a mixer. "What is it?"

"Raspberry buttercream frosting," you answer, grabbing two spoons and scooping some frosting on each before handing her one. "How's it taste?" you ask, laughing when she makes loud, appreciative noises.

"Delish! I can't believe you made homemade frosting," she marvels. "What ya gonna put it on?"

"Chocolate cupcakes." You step back and wave a hand at the plump cupcakes sitting pretty on a cooling rack beside the oven. "I made these from a triple chocolate cake mix, so they're just semi-homemade."

"Oh, just semi-homemade? I better call the food police," she teases, walking over and leaning down to sniff the cupcakes before throwing you a look. "I hope Joe realizes how lucky he is to have a woman who loves to cook."

"He's very appreciative," you mutter, blushing when she cackles at the look on your face.

"Seven months in and you're still blushing over this man? He's def doing something right."

"Not gonna argue with that," you giggle, peeling the wrapper off one of the still-warm cupcakes before cutting it in half; you smear a generous amount of frosting on both halves before handing one to Gina. "Happy V Day," you state, bumping your cupcake half against hers before taking a big bite. "Happy V Day," she parrots, making num-num noises as she polishes off the confection.

"What are you and Trey doing tonight?" you ask, licking a dollop of frosting off your finger as she rolls her eyes.

"He's bringing take-out over because he waited too long to make a reservation, so literally everywhere decent is booked up. I told him if he brings wings or pizza, he can forget about getting any pussy."

You laugh along with her for a bit before quieting down. "So what did y'all decide on since wings and pizza is clearly a no go?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "I'm tired of having to ask for things I want. After almost a year and a half together, he should know without me telling him. He's just gotten lazy and expects me to do all the work and make all the decisions. He mostly just sits and scrolls his phone when we're together unless I tell him what to do."

"I hear you. -- So what do you actually want for dinner tonight?"

She thinks for several seconds before answering. "I know it's basic as hell, but I'd love some lasagna and breadsticks from Olive Garden."

"Might be basic but still delicious." You give her a wink as you cover the bowl of frosting with plastic wrap and place it in the fridge. "I made enough cupcakes to share with you and Trey," you continue. "Once they cool completely, I'll frost them for you."

"Thanks, but I might hoard 'em for myself if he shows up with McDonald's or some shit."

You walk out of the kitchen and head toward your bedroom, beckoning Gina to follow. "He's not gonna show up with McDonald's," you scoff, pulling the top drawer of your dresser open to grab two pair of panties, one pink and one red, both with tags still attached.

"What are these?" she asks, eyebrows rising when you hand her the red pair.

"I ordered them a couple of weeks ago. I was starting to think they wouldn't arrive in time, but they got here yesterday. Happy V Day!"

"Thanks, girl!" She holds the flimsy mesh thong up to her face, grinning at you through the gossamer fabric. "These are totally see-through," she giggles, "and that center seam on the crotch is gonna give major camel toe."

"Exactly," you purr, wiggling your blush-pink thong that's identical to hers except for the color. "Next best thing to crotchless without being crotchless."

"Oh shit, that reminds me of the crotchless panties I gave you as a gift!" she chirps. "You wore them for Halloween, right?"

"Yep, Joe totally wrecked them."

"That ain't the only thing he wrecked," she chortles. "You were def walking funny the next day."

You join in the laughter for a sec before speaking. "I mean, yeah, he beat it up for real, but the limp I had was mostly because I tweaked my groin from doing the splits on his face without stretching first. Didn't even realize it until the next day."

"No way!" she hollers, falling onto your bed and kicking her feet in the air while cackling. "Hold up," she gasps after several seconds, pointing at your yoga mat that's rolled up and leaning against the wall in the corner of your room. "Wasn't it just after Halloween when you got majorly into yoga?"

"Maybe," you shrug, grinning ear-to-ear as she mentally connects the dots.

"I thought you were just trying something new since you already do cardio and strength training, but you've actually been getting more limber for sex?"

"Yep, don't wanna pull a muscle."

"You lucky bitch! I can't even get Trey to pull my hair during sex much less pull a damn muscle!"

The look on her face causes you to throw yourself on the bed beside her, both of you roaring with laughter until your phone rings.

"Oh shit, it's Joe," you wheeze as you check the display, gasping for breath to try and get yourself under control before answering. "Hey babe," you manage before immediately dissolving into another fit of giggles.

"Hey," he answers, his voice slightly bemused. "You okay?"

"Y … yeah," you pant, biting your lip hard enough to hurt before cutting a side-eye at Gina, her ridic, bug-eyed expression causing you to snort loudly before howling with laughter.

"Are you laughing or crying?" Joe asks.

"Laugh … ing," you wheeze, taking in copious gulps of air as Gina grabs a pillow and rolls off the bed and onto the floor, using the pillow to muffle her laughter.

"What the hell, babe?" he asks, sounding slightly worried. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." You take a few deep breaths before continuing. "Gina said something funny right before you called."

"Are y'all drunk?"

"No, daddy, we haven't been underage drinking."

"I don't give a shit about underage drinking and you know it. I mean, you'll be 21 in less than three months."

"You sound kinda pissed," you pout, smiling at his heavy sigh.

"I'm not pissed, and I don't care if you've been drinking. Matter of fact, I've got two bottles of your fav blush wine chilling in my fridge for tonight, I just don't want you drinking and driving. Let me know if I need to come get you."

"I haven't been drinking," you reiterate. "I'm putting you on speaker," you continue. "Gina? Have we been drinking?"

"We have not been drinking!" she states loudly from the floor.

"Told ya, daddy," you gloat in your brattiest voice.

"If you call me daddy one more time, we're gonna have a problem."

"You gonna punish me?" you purr. "Maybe ground me for a week?"

"Maybe bend you over, pull your panties down and spank your sweet ass before burying my tongue in your …"

"You're on speaker!" you yelp, laughing as Gina hops up and sprints for the door, throwing you a naughty smirk on the way out.

"Sorry. Got a little carried away," Joe mutters.

"It's fine. Gina ran like hell, but you didn't say anything super raunchy."

"Only because you interrupted me."

"I mean … we were talking about sex when you called."

"Ummm, do I even wanna know the deets since you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe?"

"Just that I got into yoga so I could be super limber for sex with you. You frequently get me in positions where my knees are pushed up by my ears or I'm basically doing the splits."

"What's funny about that?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you more later."

"You like it when I manhandle you a little, right?"

You smile at his uncertain tone. "I love it. You know I love it. The funny part was her reaction. Apparently, Trey doesn't get down like that so she was expressing her, ummm, frustration. The look on her face was what set me off."

"Does Trey know he's a boring lay?"

"Probably not," you giggle, "and don't you dare tell him."

"I hardly ever talk to him. He's been aggravated at me ever since Gina told him I pay for your monthly bikini wax, and now he feels like he has to do the same for her. I told him it's only fair since getting your pubes ripped out is no fun, and it's at least partially being done for his pleasure."

"He can be a little self-centered."

"A little?" Joe snorts.

"Okay, a lot. Gina loves him, though, so hopefully he grows out of it eventually."

"Wouldn't put money on it, but anyway … how's your day going?"

"Good. My classes were boring, as usual, but I have zero homework so that's good. Also, I picked up all the groceries I need to cook dinner for us tonight."

"Did you have any trouble using my credit card?"

You chew on your lip for a second before answering. "I didn't use it."

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to treat you for once; you always pay for stuff."

"Listen … you go to the store, bring stuff to my place and cook delicious food for us. The least I can do is pay for the groceries."

"Just let me treat you this one time. It's part of my Valentine's Day gift to you."

"We'll see," he mumbles. "Do you need any help getting everything to my place?"

"Nah, I think I can manage the grueling five minute drive by myself," you snark.

"You gonna be a little shit all night, or is this just an appetizer?"

"Just an appetizer," you giggle. "I intend to be way worse later."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"It's a promise not a threat," you purr.

"Woman, I need to go work-out, and I don't wanna hit the gym with a hard-on. Can we save the sexy banter for later?"

"Yes, sir," you drawl, putting as much implied sex in the two syllables as possible.

"Keep that same energy for later tonight," he orders, his voice dropping an octave like it always does when he's aroused.

"Yes, sirrrr," you repeat, giggling at his exasperated groan.

"One more 'daddy' or 'sir' out of your pretty mouth, and I'm gonna skip the gym and drive straight to your place."

"No, you won't," you tease. "You're religious about getting your work-outs in."

"Listen, I'm gonna hit the gym, come home, eat dinner with you, then fuck you 'til you can't think straight. Then I'm gonna reload and fuck you again."

"Sounds good," you whisper, a sizzle of anticipation racing down your spine.

"What time are you coming over?" he asks, his voice still thick with arousal.

"Probably about 5:00."

"I'll be back from the gym by 5:30."

"Okay."

"And, babe?"

"Yeah?"

"I intend to go hard so make sure to take your vitamins and stretch."

"Yes, sir," you whimper, ending the call before he can say anything else. "He's def gonna make me pay for that later," you giggle to yourself, hopping off the bed to go find Gina.

* * * end of sneak peek * * *

You find Gina sitting on the sofa when you walk into the living area. "Hey," you grin, plopping down beside her. "Hope we didn't gross you out."

"Not a bit," she laughs, handing you a small gift bag. "It's your fav bath bomb and some chocolate-covered almonds," she continues as you peek into the bag.

"Thank you! That's so sweet." You give her a hug before setting the bag on the coffee table.

"You're welcome. So, you and Joe are staying in tonight, right?"

"Yeah, we don't like going out on holiday nights because of the big crowds."

"Y'all are always on the same wavelength," she smiles. "What are you cooking for him? Besides the cupcakes?"

"His fav spicy Cajun pasta plus garlic bread and salad."

"Is that the pasta that has blackened chicken, shrimp and andouille sausage in it?"

"Yep."

"Yum! That's what I want you to make for my 21st birthday dinner. I've been craving it for a while."

"I mean, I can make it for you sooner than that if you're jonesing. We don't have to wait a whole month until your birthday."

She gives you a smile as she shakes her head. "It'll be worth the wait. Besides, I'm prob gonna be eating a fucking Big Mac and fries for dinner tonight, so I need to let my digestive system recover before I gobble down that delish pasta."

"You're not eating a fucking Big Mac and fries," you laugh, grabbing your phone and hitting a number before putting it on speaker.

"Hey Y/n," Trey drawls. "What's up?"

"Hey." You smile at Gina's surprised expression before continuing. "Listen, lasagna and breadsticks from Olive Garden."

"Ummm, what?"

"You're bringing dinner to Gina for Valentine's, right?"

"Yeah."

"Lasagna and breadsticks from Olive Garden."

"For real?"

"Yep."

"Okay, cool. -- Anything else?"

"Just … remember that Valentine's Day is about romance." You grin at Gina as she bugs her eyes out at you. "Turn your damn phone off and seduce your woman."

"Did she tell you to say that?"

"No, but I've heard her grumble at you a few times lately about constantly being on your phone when y'all are together."

"That's true," he mumbles. "I def need to be better about that."

"Tonight is the perfect time to start."

"Okaaay, so lasagna, breadsticks, seduction and stay off the phone?"

"Yep."

"Got it."

"Cool. Have a nice night." You end the call and level a no-nonsense look at Gina. "Okay, girl, I did my part. You gotta take the reins once he gets here."

"What do you mean?"

"You got a fresh coochie wax and some naughty panties. Put him on his back and sit on his face."

"For real?"

"Yes! I think he's too shy to initiate that kind of action, but I bet he'll be totally into it if you take control."

"I … don't know."

"He goes down on you, right?"

"Yeah, but not like that."

"Not yet," you purr, wiggling your eyebrows.

She gives you a look before taking a deep breath. "I'm gonna try it."

"Yes!" you chirp. "Just make sure you stretch first."

"I will," she giggles, her eyes going wide when the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," you state, quickly heading to the front door and checking the peephole before opening it. "Wow!" you gush, smiling at the sight of a vase full of blush-pink roses; a head pops out from behind the beautiful arrangement. "Delivery for Y/n," the delivery driver says, giving you a cheerful smile as you reach for the vase.

"That's me."

"I got one more delivery for this address," she says. "Be right back."

You're grinning ear-to-ear when you walk back into the living room.

"Those are gorgeous!" Gina gushes.

"For real! Listen, you need to go to the door; the delivery driver is bringing another arrangement." She gives you a 'say what?' look before heading to the front door.

You set the glass vase on the kitchen island and open the card, reading it out loud. "Happy first Valentine's Day! Can't wait to celebrate many more together. Love, Joe."

You're still smiling when Gina walks in with a vase full of red roses. "Gurrrrl," she chuckles. "I know you told Trey to send these to me."

"I didn't! Swear to God!"

"Really? 'Cause it's kinda cray that Joe and Trey sent the same flowers -- just a diff color -- from the same florist."

You nod your head for a bit before a thought hits you. "I wonder if Joe said something to Trey? If he did, he didn't tell me."

"Call him and ask him."

"Okay," you grin, heading for your bedroom. "Be right back." You close your bedroom door and hit Joe's number, hoping he isn't already working out.

"Hey," he answers almost immediately.

"Hey," you echo. "Thanks for the roses. I love them."

"You're welcome."

"Can you talk for a sec?"

"Yeah. I just got to the gym, but I haven't started working out yet."

"Did you tell Trey to send Gina flowers?"

"Uhhh, no. He called me a few days ago and asked if I was sending you flowers. I said yes and told him what I was sending and the name of the florist. Why?"

"She got the same arrangement you sent me but with red roses instead of pink."

"Well, good for Trey. Maybe there's hope for him after all."

"Maybe so," you grin, dropping your voice a bit. "I really love the roses. Can't wait to thank you for them later. They're gorgeous."

"You're gorgeous," he murmurs.

"You better go get your work-out done so you can hurry up and get home."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't expend all of your energy, okay? Save some for me."

"Don't worry about that. I got plenty," he boasts, his cocky tone bringing a smile to your face.

You end the call and walk back into the living area, giving Gina a huge grin as she waits for the deets. "Joe didn't tell Trey to send the roses."

"Really?"

"Really." You explain the situation while she shakes her head.

"Damn, I guess he was afraid Joe would show him up," she giggles.

"A little healthy competition can be a good thing," you state, laughing along with her for several seconds before y'all quiet down. "I should've got Joe a couple more things for V Day," you mumble.

"Whaaaat?" she chirps. "You're cooking him dinner and dessert, plus you're supplying the naughty panties and the contents of said panties."

"That's true," you chuckle, "plus I got him a jigsaw puzzle to remind him of the first … well ... actually the second time he asked me out."

"You mean the second time you shot him down?"

"Yeah," you grin, letting your mind rewind back to June 2018.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Early June 2018 - Baton Rouge, Louisiana (in a small bookstore just off LSU campus)

You take a sip of your iced coffee and scowl at your computer screen, hitting your delete key several times while barely registering the sound of the bell that alerts you to a customer entering the bookstore. "Let me know if you need any help," you automatically say, never taking your eyes off of your screen.

Several minutes later, you catch some movement in your peripheral vision and quickly turn your head, making eye contact with a tall, blonde man for a few seconds before he disappears behind the bookshelves. Haven't seen him here before, you think to yourself, taking another sip of your drink as you continue to look in his direction.

He eventually reappears, and you smile at him. "Need help finding something?" you ask, swallowing hard as he walks toward you, his long-legged stride making you feel a little funny.

"Just looking," he says, the sound of his voice hitting you like a roundhouse kick to the face.

"Oh … okay," you mutter, your pulse picking up as he walks directly up to the large L-shaped desk that serves as a check-out counter and sticks a hand out toward you, his impressive height and broad shoulders completely blocking out the late-afternoon sun streaming in the windows behind him.

"I'm Joe," he announces, giving you a devastating smile when you stand up from your desk chair and grasp his hand.

You try not to react to the electric shock you feel when you nestle your hand in his much bigger one. "I'm Y/n," you mumble.

"Nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm new here. Just recently transferred over from OSU."

"Oklahoma State?" you ask, grinning when he rolls his pretty blue eyes.

"Ohio State," he answers.

"You're a midwestern boy, huh?"

He raises one eyebrow before answering. "A midwestern man."

"My bad," you giggle, biting your lip as a blush rises in your face; his gaze drops down to your mouth and you feel something stir deep inside you, a rush of heat and a steady throb between your legs that makes you react by pressing your thighs together.

"No problem," he states, his already deep voice dropping a full octave lower; he quickly flicks his gaze down to your denim-clad thighs, lingering there briefly before recapturing your gaze.

Got damn, you think to yourself, trying to act normal as your body continues to react to him. I prob need to buy some new batteries for my vibrator, you muse, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans when his sinful lips curl up in a wicked grin, like he's reading your mind and really liking what he sees.

The entrance bell ringing breaks the porny spell, and you turn your head toward the door, smiling at one of your regular customers. "Hi, Mrs. Peavy. The book you ordered came in today's mail."

"That's great news!" she chirps. "I'm just gonna browse for a bit before I check out."

She disappears back behind the tall bookshelves, and you return your attention to Joe, catching his gaze sliding down your body again before he clears his throat and checks his watch. "I gotta get to the gym," he mutters, raking a hand through his hair while backing away from you. "It was really nice meeting you."

"You too," you grin, shamelessly ogling his ass in his slinky shorts as he heads out the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One week later

You're sipping another iced coffee and staring into space when the entrance bell jingles, pulling your attention to the tall, blonde man striding toward you. "Hey," you grin, standing up as he walks directly up to your desk.

"Hey," he echoes, waggling his large styrofoam cup. "Am I allowed to have this in here?"

"Is it a drive-thru daiquiri? And if it is, are you at least 21?"

"I'm 21, but it's a smoothie not a daiquiri," he chuckles. "I just didn't know if y'all allow drinks in the store."

"It's fine," you state, pointing at your iced coffee. "Drinks are def allowed."

"What is that?" he asks.

"It's an iced mocha latte. I have one every workday to give me a little caffeine boost."

"What days do you work?"

"Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday 3:00 - 7:00."

"That explains why you weren't here when I popped in last Friday afternoon."

"Yep, that explains it," you say inanely, your pulse picking up at the thought that he came in hoping to see you. He takes a sip of his smoothie, and your gaze is drawn to his throat, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the frosty beverage.

He licks his lips before giving you a lethal grin. "Did you know that you get a greater energy boost from eating an apple instead of drinking a caffeinated beverage?"

"No way," you grin, taking a big slurp of your iced coffee while he gives a vigorous nod, causing a dirty-blonde curl to bounce against his forehead.

"Seriously," he states. "There are studies that show eating an apple gives you a longer energy boost than a cup of coffee. Honeycrisp apples are my fav," he continues. "Have you ever tried one?"

"Maybe baked in a pie or dunked in caramel," you tease, "but be for real. Apples don't have caffeine."

"True," he nods. "It's the natural sugars and the fiber in the skin that give you the sustained energy boost."

"Are you a registered dietician?" you ask with a hint of playful snark.

"No, but I'm an athlete, so I've consulted with lots of dieticians and sports nutritionists."

"I see," you grin, half-convinced he's bullshitting even though he's built like an athlete. "Think I'll stick with my trusty caffeine."

"Cool," he quips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while raking a hand through his hair. "Sooo, you go to LSU?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm in my junior year."

"Cool," he repeats. "You taking any summer classes?"

"Just one; it's an online course in business ethics. Super easy."

"What's your major?"

"I'm doing a double major in graphic design and digital advertising."

"That sounds interesting and also a little intense."

"It's really not bad," you admit. "I rarely have homework since I get most everything done in class plus the 12 hours a week I spend here at the bookstore."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Since about midway through freshman year. My parents were against it at first, but they came around once they realized how ideal it is. It's nice to make a little extra money instead of expecting them to pay for everything. Between my partial scholarship and the college fund they started when I was born, I'm gonna graduate with zero student loan debt, which is basically like winning the lottery these days."

"Damn right," he enthuses. "I did my undergrad in finance, and starting a college fund as soon as possible is one of the best things a parent can do for their child."

"Undergrad?" you ask. "Do you already have a degree?"

"Yeah, I got a bachelor's from OSU in consumer and family financial services. I'm a graduate transfer doing a master's in liberal arts."

You raise your eyebrows. "That's quite a move from Ohio to Louisiana. Do you have family here?"

"No … well, not yet. Eventually my teammates will be as close as family."

"Teammates?"

"Yeah, football teammates."

You feel your heart sink at the implication. "You play football?"

"Yeah."

"For the university?"

"Uhhh, yeah. I was a back-up quarterback for three years at OSU, so I transferred here to get a chance to start."

"A fucking quarterback," you mumble under your breath.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"Nothing." You give him a bland smile before taking another hearty gulp of your 'caffeinated beverage'.

He watches you closely for a few seconds before speaking. "I take it you don't like football."

"What makes you say that?" you ask, a bit disconcerted that he read you so easily.

"Your whole demeanor changed when I mentioned it."

"I like it fine," you scoff. "I mean, except for the fact that it's violent as fuck, and I'm always worried I might witness a horrific injury. Other than that, I think it's just peachy."

He hits you with that panty-dropping grin, and you're more than a little annoyed when your body reacts. Simmer down, you think to yourself. Nothing dumber than getting sprung over a fuck boy quarterback.

"How many games have you been to here at LSU?" he asks.

"Several," you lie.

"Several, huh? Like at least ten?"

"Like three," you mumble. "The last game I went to kind of ruined it for me."

"What happened? Horrific injury?"

"No. There was a drunk dude sitting beside me who kept sloshing beer on my boots, literally burped in my face, and then had the audacity to get mad when I refused to give him my number."

"Yikes. Not cool."

"Indeed," you grumble.

"Well, if you come watch me play this fall, maybe I can give you a few tips to avoid the drunk assholes."

"As if," you snort, rolling your eyes when he hits you with a pouty expression. That shit's not working on me, pretty boy, you think to yourself, squaring your shoulders as he shifts his weight again and hits you with another smile.

"Well, anyway … would you like to maybe grab lunch or something this week-end?" he asks.

"Ummm, I'm actually hosting a 21st birthday slumber party for a friend this week-end."

"All week-end? Friday through Sunday?"

"Kind of," you mutter, hoping he doesn't ask you to elaborate.

"Cool," he says, "hope y'all have fun."

"Thanks," you mumble, your gaze darting to the door as the bell jingles, signaling a new customer.

"I better get going," he says, giving you a lingering look before striding toward the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two weeks later

You hear the entrance bell jingle and quickly cut a glance at the door, eyes going wide when Joe walks in. Holy shit, take a hint, you think to yourself, giving him a bland look as he walks up to your desk.

"Hey," he smiles.

"Hey," you echo, trying hard not to return his smile.

"How was your slumber party?"

"Good."

The silence stretches out between you for a bit before he speaks up.

"Did I do something to upset you?"

"Nope."

"Okaaay," he mutters, running a hand through his hair while clearing his throat. "Look, I know you don't love football, but I can talk about a lot more than that. I was hoping we could maybe get to know each other better? Maybe just go out for ice cream or lunch sometime?"

"When?" you deadpan.

"Ummm, maybe Friday? I have some team activities Saturday and Sunday."

You give him a tight smile before answering. "Friday's not good for me. I have a 3000 piece jigsaw puzzle that I'm jonesing to finish, and I have it on my schedule for this Friday."

"A jigsaw puzzle?" he asks, his tone bordering on incredulous.

"Yep," you chirp, your expression daring him to question you further.

The silence stretches out for an uncomfortable amount of time before he finally breaks it.

"I get it," he mutters, slowly backing away. "Sorry for bothering you." He spins around and heads for the exit, stopping just before opening the door to look back at you; his gaze lingers on you for several seconds before he pulls the door open and walks out.

You release the breath you didn't realize you were holding and slump back in your desk chair, wondering why you feel so empty when you should really feel amazing for curving an obvious fuck boy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two weeks later

You finish the last bite of your shrimp po' boy and dab your mouth with your napkin, quickly turning your head toward the street behind you as a car backfire causes everyone to flinch.

"Got damn!" Gina snaps, grabbing her glass of sweet tea and taking several gulps. "Damn near choked," she wheezes, both of you giggling.

Y'all are sitting at one of many picnic tables at an outdoor food court that's flanked by several food trucks; you take a sip of your sweet tea and turn your head again, scanning the lunchtime crowd until your gaze comes to rest on a familiar figure sitting at a table with a few other guys.

"Oh shit!" you gasp.

"What is it?" Gina asks, her head on a swivel to see what upset you.

"Don't look!" you hiss. "It's Joe."

"Who?"

"That guy who came into the bookstore a few times and asked me out."

"The quarterback?"

"Yes," you whisper, turning your head slowly to find him staring directly at you. "Oh shit, fuck, dammit to hell," you breathe, plastering on a fake smile and waving when he waves at you.

"He's headed this way," Gina warns.

"Should I run?"

"Hell no," she laughs. "Just smile and act unaffected."

"Fuck my life," you mutter, smiling as he walks up to your table. "Hey," you greet, annoyed at the breathless tone of your voice.

"Hey," he echoes.

"Ummm, Joe this is Gina," you say, gesturing toward her, "my roommate and bestie. Gina this is Joe," you continue, gesturing toward him.

"Nice to meet you," Gina says.

"You too," Joe grins, looking back and forth between you before Gina speaks up.

"I'm gonna throw out our trash and head to the car," she announces. "Y'all take your time talking."

"Thanks," you grimace, gesturing at the seat opposite you once Gina vacates it. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Joe says, dropping his big frame down and resting his ridiculously sexy hands and forearms on the table.

Asshole, you think to yourself, hating the fact that you're incredibly attracted to him. "Sooo, how's your football stuff going?" you ask.

"Good. How's your jigsaw puzzle stuff going?" he asks, not even trying to hide his smirk.

"Good," you state, your cunty expression daring him to call you out.

He stares at you for several seconds before speaking. "Look … I just wanna tell you that the jigsaw puzzle thing is the worst brush off I've ever heard."

"What makes you think it was a brush off?" you ask.

"Because it's ridic. You could've finished the puzzle any other time."

"I could have," you agree. "But I was really looking forward to doing it that specific night."

He tilts his head and gives you a look. "I don't think the puzzle actually exists."

"Oh really?" you mumble, grabbing your phone and scrolling through your pics until you find what you're looking for. "This is it," you say, studying the pic while continuing. "It's a shot from the Hubble telescope." You flip your phone around so he can see it. "It's the …"

"Crab nebula," he finishes your sentence, taking your phone and setting it on the table in front of him. "Damn," he whispers, leaning down for a better look. "This is a beautiful shot." He quickly flicks his gaze up at you before looking back down at your phone. "Most colorized shots of the Crab nebula are depicted in cool colors, but this heat signature is very hot," he murmurs.

Very fucking hot, you think to yourself, studying his face as he continues to look at the pic, his long eyelashes fanned out against his slightly-sunburned cheeks.

He eventually slides your phone across the table toward you and gives you a sheepish grin. "I owe you an apology for not believing you. I'm sorry."

You feel a hot blush rise in your cheeks, more from shame than attraction, and you heave a sigh before responding. "Listen … I did finish the puzzle Friday, but you were right when you said I could've done it another time, so it basically was a brush off."

"Thanks for being honest," he states. "Why don't you simplify this by just saying you aren't interested in me."

"Because that would be a lie," you blurt, surprising yourself just as much as him with your admission.

"Okay, now I'm confused," he grins. "If you're interested then why the brush off?"

You have an answer ready because that's pretty much all you've been thinking about lately. "I just feel like we wouldn't be very compatible."

"What are you basing that on?"

You shrug. "I'm an introverted bookworm who doesn't really like to party. I enjoy cooking for my friends and hanging out at home."

"That perfectly describes me minus the cooking part," he grins, laughing softly when you narrow your eyes at him.

"Boy please," you scoff. "Most college athletes are huge partiers and total manwhores."

"What are you basing that on?" he repeats.

"I'm basing it on my experience, and also things I've seen and heard from friends."

"So you've dated some college athletes?"

"Kind of," you mumble. "He was actually my high school boyfriend, a year older than me. We dated for just over a year before he graduated and went to college. He wasn't talented enough to get a Division 1 football scholarship, but he did get a D2. The school was about a four hour drive from our hometown. He promised me we'd make the distance work, then he proceeded to fuck everything in a skirt the second he hit campus. Luckily I had several other friends at the same school who dropped a dime on his fuck boy ways."

"Was he a quarterback?"

"No, but the quarterback on his college team was even worse. One of those gross dudes who brags about getting more ass than a barstool."

"I see," he mutters, taking a deep breath before continuing. "So now you think all football players are like that? Like 100% of us?"

You shrug. "Maybe not 100% but why chance it? I know that not all snakes are poisonous, but I still avoid 'em. You're a man, though, so you wouldn't understand."

"I understand. And yes, there are plenty of fuck boy athletes, but I'm not one of them."

You bite your bottom lip to quell a skeptical smirk, noting that his gaze drops down to your mouth for several seconds before he continues speaking.

"Can I tell you a little bit about myself?" he asks, finally dragging his gaze back up to your eyes.

"Sure."

"I'm an introverted bookworm who doesn't really like to party," he states, echoing your earlier words. "I spend most of my time at football practice, working out, watching game film, and studying the playbook. Once my classes start, I'll be studying for those, as well. You can usually find me at my apartment or the football facility, which is a five minute drive from my apartment. Occasionally I do something wild like eat at a restaurant, browse a bookstore, or play blackjack at a casino."

You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles before responding.

"I'm not a gambling addict or anything like that. I don't play very often, but when I do, I win more than I lose." You can't help but smile at his cocky tone as he continues. "I also enjoy playing chess, collecting graphic t-shirts, and reading about plus watching pretty much anything related to how the universe works, hence me nerding out over your Crab nebula puzzle. Physics is my fav subject." He gives you a big grin. "Am I boring you yet?"

"Not yet," you mutter.

"I also enjoy building LEGO sets which are basically just 3D versions of jigsaw puzzles." You stare at each other for several seconds before he speaks up again. "If you get to know me, you'll realize I'm not a stereotypical jock."

Holy shit, he's smooth, you think to yourself, wondering if his earnest expression is real or fake. Prob fake as fuck, you seethe; time to set him straight. "Listen, I'm not gonna jump in bed with you, okay?" you snap. "There are plenty of other women on this campus who'd be DTF if you flash that smile at 'em. Why waste time with me?"

"Because I'm not looking for a quick fuck. I'm looking for someone I can vibe with."

"Running game on me is not gonna work, sweetie," you snort. "You're good at it, don't get me wrong, but I see right through that shit."

"Look, I know you've had some bad experiences, but I swear I'm not running game. Don't punish me for some other guys' sins."

You stare at him without speaking, trying not to show any emotion as he continues.

"Plus, you're the one who keeps mentioning sex," he states matter-of-factly. "I'd just like to get to know you."

"You're right," you mumble, caught somewhere between admiration and aggravation that he's managed to get the upper hand in the conversation; time to put him on the back foot. "That was very presumptuous of me. You're clearly not attracted to me, so I apologize for jumping to that conclusion."

"Okay, that's not true and you know it," he mutters.

"Meaning?"

He runs a hand through his hair before answering. "Meaning … I'm very attracted to you, but I'm not just looking for sex. Does that make sense?"

"No."

His laugh caresses you like a physical touch, and you squirm in your seat, exasperated at the effect he has on you.

"You're really not making this easy," he grins.

"I don't owe you easy," you scoff, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from returning his grin.

"You're absolutely right," he states as he stands up, throwing a quick glance at the table where his friends are sitting before returning his gaze to you. "You don't owe me anything," he continues, smiling as he plucks his sunglasses from the neckline of his t-shirt and slides them on; he waits several seconds -- like he's waiting for you to say something -- before spinning around and heading back to his bros.

He takes three steps before you call his name, your pulse hammering when he turns around and removes his sunglasses before locking eyes with you; you stand up and take a small step in his direction, every pleasure point in your body throbbing in unison when he quickly closes the distance with two long strides, looking down into your upturned face. A thrill shoots through you at how much taller he is than you. Focus! you think to yourself, swallowing hard and licking your lips before speaking.

"Ummm, do you have any plans for this Friday?"

"Not yet," he grins. "What do you have in mind?"

"I have no idea," you admit. "Maybe just grab ice cream or lunch or something?"

"Why don't we exchange numbers then we can decide later?"

"Okay," you mutter, feeling a little lightheaded as y'all exchange numbers.

He eventually slides his phone back in the pocket of his shorts and gives you a cheeky grin. "Just so you know, I don't have sex on the first date," he says, gracing you with another deep laugh that sizzles your nerve endings as your mouth drops open in shock. "Just kidding," he chuckles.

"You better be kidding," you warn in a playful voice. "This is just a friendly hang-out, right? Not a date."

"Of course, very presumptuous of me to call it a date." He gives you a wink before sliding his sunglasses back on.

His wink hits you in all the right places, and you quickly slide your sunglasses on to mask your reaction. "Totally presumptuous," you grumble, matching his grin before spinning around and heading toward the parking lot; you take about a dozen steps before throwing a look over your shoulder, a jolt of heat rushing through you when you see him still watching you. "Fuck," you mutter under your breath, picking up your pace as you head toward your car. "What have I got myself into?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Y/n?"

Gina's voice snaps you out of your flashback. "Yeah?"

"Girl, you must've been having a spicy daydream because you were damn near drooling!" she chortles.

"Just thinking about when Joe and I first met," you grin, heading to the fridge to pull the frosting out. "Let me get these cupcakes frosted then I'll help you set up a little tablescape for your V Day dinner."

"Martha Stewart ain't got nothing on you," she giggles.

"Damn right," you laugh, grabbing your piping bag and dropping a star tip in before letting your mind wander, a sizzle of anticipation running through you as you think about the night to come.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

[flowerandblood]

ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

#one year anniversary #celebration

[blo0dybimbobitch]

Smoke tricks - Stoner/plug!reader x stoner!Choso

Content: mostly fluff, stoner!choso x stoner/plug!reader, college au, takes place somewhere in CA . You sell cho a half ounce and he invites you in to smoke.

Warning: MDNI, cannabis consumption, drinking, public drinking, groping, making out, grinding. 🔞

a/n: I found myself dreaming about selling a bag to Choso. This has been in my drafts literally for over a year, and I'm finally publishing my first JJK piece. This may turn into a series, but I don't know. Also, if anyone knows the artist for the Choso drawing, please let me know so I can give proper credits. Thank yuuuu. Wc:5~6k

Chapters: 1•2• next chapter

Sitting up, you double-check yourself in the rear view mirror before looking around for your customer. It's only been a couple of months since you started selling weed, and it was anything but serious. You only served people you knew personally, and today you were serving your crush from your 10am english class you sat behind on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He wasn't much of a talker the first few weeks in class, but after the teacher put you in a group together, you and him regularly spoke and exchanged notes, eventually exchanging numbers, for class purposes of course.

Your heart quickens as Choso emerges from his front door across the street in dark grey sweatpants, a baggy black long sleeve, and slides. His hair is down instead of being tied up in his regular spikey double bun style, which surprised you. He jogs over to the car, using his hand to comb his hair back out of his face as he opens the passenger door, and takes the seat next to you, "Hey, sorry for the wait." He turns to face you as he shuts the door behind him. He smiles as you reach for your backpack.

"All good," you smile, "You're gonna like what I got for you today, Choso." His eyes watch you dig through your backpack. "I got a quarter of this gorilla glue #4 and a quarter of this forbidden fruit. Both will slump you. I remember you tellin me in class you prefer indicas over sativas so I brought you two of my favorites." Handing Choso the jar of the forbidden fruit you watch him open it to smell and inspect the nugs, which are vibrant shades of purple and green. The black line over his nose scrunches as he inhales the dank aroma.

"This one smells so.. " he trails off and takes a second to think, "Purple?" he looks over at you and shrugs.

You smile, "Funny you say that because I thought the same thing when I first tried it."

"Really?" He chuckles softly, "I just can't think of any other way to describe it." His nose is back in the jar, and he closes his eyes, slightly resting his face on the rim, fully trying to submerge himself in the smell.

"Just wait until you try it," you reach for the other quarter in your bag. Opening the jar, you hand it over to Choso whose eyes widen in excitement.

"This one isn't called gorilla glue for no reason," a smirk graces your lips, "will literally glue you to the couch. Trust me when I say that."

"I believe you," he turns to pull his wallet out of his sweatpants pocket, "How much do you want for both quarters?" His tired eyes rest on yours.

"Hmmm, for you, Choso.." You pause, eyes drifting to his lips, rejecting the notion of ambiguity. In class, you tried your best to keep from flirting, but now that you're both here, in your car, at night, it was a different story, "I can do 70, total." Your eyes sparkle, and he tries to ignore his increasing heart rate. Choso never really made an effort to pursue any girl really, with all of his attention going to caring for all his siblings, finding a partner was just defaulted to the back burner.

"Well aren't you sweet, giving me a discount?" He smiles, handing you a crisp hundred dollar bill, trying to keep his cool, his eyes briefly glancing at your lips, "you can keep the change." You took the money and pulled out your wallet as Choso went back to examining the nugs.

"Are you sure? I have change." You look down at the bill and back at him.

"Don't worry about it." He smiles at your courtesy, the 2 Mason jars resting in his lap, "I want you to have it." You smile and blush, turning away to hide your red cheeks, putting the money in your wallet.

"So," He continued, before you could thank him, "I was planning on smoking some of this now since my siblings are all either asleep or in their rooms," He says, subtlety checking you out from the passenger side, admiring your profile, "if you'd be interested in joining me."

"I'm down to smoke," you say reaching for your water bottle to get a drink, the thought of you guys finally smoking together made you slightly nervous. The clock read 10:47pm and you remembered you both had class tomorrow at 10 am, "I shouldn't stay for long, though. Being up before 10 for class is tough for me sometimes."

He nods, understanding, "Stay for at least one joint." Imitating a puppy, he tilts his head to the side, "Besides, we always talk about smoking together in class. Now's a good time." Choso pushes his bottom lip out, pouting with raised eyebrows, while poking your arm playfully.

"Alright, one joint, maybe two." How could you not give in? The rain stopped, and the damp air chills your lungs as you step out of the car in tandem with Choso. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you follow him across the street to his front door. You're wearing your favorite pair of dark gray leggings with a black tank top under a big oversized dark green flannel you buttoned up, swimming in the fabric. Hair tossed up in a messy bun, fringe framing your face. You weren't expecting him to invite you to smoke after you sold him a bag, honestly.

He leads you inside, which is dimly lit but very clean and neat. You follow him through the darkness to his garage, and inside is a dark blue couch, coupled with a big folded blanket and a few pillows. In front of the couch is a coffee table, littered with a few books, pens, a purple grinder, and an ashtray.

Choso sets the jars on the coffee table and turns to toss a few pillows to the side on the couch, "Here get comfortable," you sit down as he hands you his purple grinder, "You wanna roll while I put something on?" He grabs the remote and sits next to you.

"I gotchu." You sit and set your bag down on the floor. Opening the jar of the gorilla glue, you begin to roll a joint for the two of you as he flicks through movies before finally settling on one he'd knew you'd like. Pineapple Express.

"Wow, you did that really fast," he continues watching as you pack the joint, then twist the end, "I'm impressed."

"I roll a lot. I'm what some would call a heavy user." You smile, looking for the lighter you could've sworn you had in your shirt pocket.

"Here," he sets his purple lighter on the table, "You can spark it, I'm gonna get us some popcorn before we start the movie," Choso rises and disappears into his house.

You sit and take in your surroundings. There was a bench press far behind the couch with weights next to it. There was a beat up looking skateboard tucked under the couch by your feet, and a pile of bikes, (probably his siblings’) gathered in a corner. Turning back to the TV, you spark the lighter, roasting the tip of the joint, waiting for Choso.

He returns with a bowl of popcorn and pauses by the light switch. "Is it okay if I turn this off?" He asks before sitting back down again, hesitating, waiting to make sure you're comfortable in the dark with him.

"Oh, yeah, this is fine," The TV and the cherry of the joint glimmer in the dark. He sits down next to you as the movie begins.

You bring the joint to your lips and inhale, taking the smoke deep within your lungs, making sure not to blow the smoke out directly into his face, "Mm, the flavor of this never gets old." You hit the joint one more time before passing it to Choso, who dusts off his hand on his leg before trading you the popcorn for the joint. The familiar smell of the smoke is now filling the room as the TV flickers in front of you two.

You watch him take his first hit, and he coughs after he exhales, "Damn, that's a hitter."

"Don't cough, don't get off," you say, giggling as you hand him your water bottle, which, to your surprise, he gladly takes a few sips from. The indirect kiss makes you blush a bit. 'I mean technically anytime he hits the joint, it's an indirect kiss,' you think to yourself, feeling a bit silly. It's been a while since you felt like this.

You take your shoes off and hug your knees to your chest on the couch, getting comfortable. Choso passes you the joint as the wind shakes the garage door, causing a chill to hit your spine.

"Are you cold?" Before you can answer, he pulls the blanket folded over the back of the couch and scoots to the center, his eyes trying to gauge if you're comfortable,"Is this okay?" His voice is soft and gentle.

You scoot towards him, in silent response, the smoke enveloping you in a haze, highlighted by the flicker from the TV, as the joint teeters on the edge of your smile, and Choso slightly panics to himself. He's never been this close to a girl before, but he feels safe around you. He settles his arm on the back of the couch as you nuzzle in and sink into his side under the blanket, the oncoming high, settling any nervousness you felt about the gesture.

"This is good. Thank you, Choso." You smile up at him before taking the joint out of your mouth and handing it back. He takes it, and his eyes lock onto yours, for a moment, and he realizes he is enjoying this new feeling of you so close to him. He feels something new begin to take root within his heart, as he feels you against him.

"O-of course," His voice is rough from coughing, causing your heart to flutter. He tries to keep his cool as he hits the joint and turns to watch the movie. You giggle, mostly because of the high, then scoot into him more, blushing at his closeness. He passes the joint back down to you. His arm, over your shoulder, now pulls you in closer, unable to fight the urge.

As you breathe in the smoke from the joint, you feel like you're sinking, as if the couch had its own gravitational pull, but it's a good familiar feeling. He leans in closer to you as you share the joint, the heat from both of your bodies mingling under the blanket while the garage shakes again from the wind. The two of you sheltered by the smoke, eyes red and faces smug as you laugh together watching the movie.

As you lean over towards the ashtray, the ash trail falls on the blanket, "Oh shit," you giggle, hitting the blanket from under to knock the ash on the floor, "My bad, didn't mean to ash on your blanket." At that moment, both of your phones let out a notification letting you know that class is canceled tomorrow.

"Hey, look at that." Choso leans down into you, "Professor canceled class. Guess that means you can stay for another joint?" He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Sounds fine to me, I'm too comfortable right now to move anyway." You pull the blanket up to your chin and smile, hitting the joint before passing it back to him.

"Good, because I have a bad case of the munchies right now and could really go for some takeout." He pinches the joint filter and hits the half smoked joint. Before you could say anything, your stomach rumbles, and Choso smiles, "Sounds like you are too. It'll be my treat since you brought me some gas tonight."

"Do you always treat your plug to dinner and a show?" You lick the resin off your lips, catching his gaze.

"Only when they're as cute as you are." The words fell out of his mouth before he could catch them, his anxiety totally settled by God's sweet gift of purple. After he hits the joint a few times, he passes it to you and takes out his phone, browsing what places are open late, trying to take his mind off of these new feelings welling within him, "What are you in the mood for?" His red eyes look down at you, his hair framing his face, "I could go for Chinese." He uses his broad shoulders to squeeze you, the high making him want to feel you close.

You cough, "Honestly me too," you pull the smoke into your mouth from the joint and inhale through your nose as it ghosts out your mouth, "would love some chow mein and egg rolls right now." You hand him the joint back. He takes it while still looking at his phone.

"Damn." He frowns, putting his phone away, his arm around you squeezing you again. You watch him bring the joint to his lips. The feeling of his frame cradling you under the blanket made you relax.

"What is it?" The haze from smoking has you feeling like you're flying on a magic carpet, the troubles of yesterday, light-years behind you as you blush at his strong touch.

"No Chinese place is open now. It's like past 11." He passes you the joint, and you take it in your lips, hitting it once before putting it out.

"Damn, that sucks. Talking about it got me all excited." You bury your face in his side under the blanket, inhaling his scent mixed with the smell of the weed, the high making it all the more blissful. He giggles and pulls you into him more, his heart quickening as he tells himself it's from the weed.

"I know. I'm sorry. Hey, how about this?" He looks down at you under the blanket, dawning a gentle smile, "there's a 24-hour gas station 10 minutes from here if we walk. Sounds like the rain stopped, too. Are you down for a little night walk? We could smoke on the way, get some snacks, drinks." He raises an eyebrow at you, earning a giggle.

"Sure, It's just hella cold outside. I need to get my hoodie from the car." You speak into his side.

"You're cute, I have one for you." He gets up and goes to his room and returns wearing a dark purple hoodie, handing you his old beat up Thrasher hoodie, "Here, it's the only clean one I have right now." You stand up and pull your flannel over your head like a shirt since it's so big. Choso looks away at the sight of you in your tight black tank top, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, even though you didn't. You pull the hoodie over your head, the bottom reaching past your butt.

"It's pretty big on you. Do you want to see if I can find a smaller one for you?" He scratches his head, trying not to feel awkward with himself.

"No, I like this," you smile at him and do a little twirl in his hoodie, hugging yourself, "This one smells like you. It is so fresh and clean. I like it."

"Well, it's all yours tonight." He blushes at the sight of you wearing his hoodie. He grabs your hand, and you take a step closer, "It suits you, you look good."

"Oh stop, you don't mean that," you say reactively to the compliment. Since your last man cheated on you, it was an understatement to say that your self-esteem was still recovering from the incident 3 months ago.

"Hey woah, what's up with that? Do you want me not to compliment you?" He squeezes your hand in his, as his other gently pets the top of your head, trying to get you to look up at him.

"I'll tell you while you roll this next joint. " You bring him over to the couch lazily, leading him with his hand in yours. He sits down and starts picking out nugs of the forbidden fruit, the movie forgotten as he turns his attention towards you. 'Why wouldn't she want to be called beautiful?' Choso thinks to himself as you bring your knees to your chest.

"So my boyfriend, well ex now, cheated on me a little less than 4 months ago. In our new place together too, so, I don't know." You shrug, sighing, "Its been fucking with my self esteem ever since so, I've kinda let myself fade to the background, you know?" It was hard to explain everything, the high causing you to muddy your explanation.

"I understand. How long was the lease?" He grinds down the weed.

"Unfortunately, 10 months. I still live with him now. Need to wait about 7 more months before I can leave."

"Oh, damn." He stops, "That's... rough, I'm sorry he would put you through that." His tone is soft as he speaks. There's so much more he wants to say, but he doesn't know how to say it. Is it even his place to speak his mind so freely to you about your life? He knows he could treat you so much better than that. He sets down the grinder and starts folding the filter, inclining to listen more.

"Yeah, I've been lying real low since then. She was someone he told me not to worry about." You sigh, that familiar bitter taste of betrayal coming up and burning like acid within your heart.

"I-I wow, I'm shocked. That's really fucked up. How long were you guys together?" He opens the grinder and looks over at you, thinking about how hard it must be to be around your ex still.

"4 years," you sigh before pausing, eyes glazing over before you mumble, "long time." You go limp against the couch, surrendering to its pull, stretching out your limbs. Choso quietly finishes rolling the joint as he gives you space to continue, "Yeah, you're like the only person I fuck with now really, even though this is the first time we've hung out together off campus." You smile at him.

"Well, I'm honored, truly." his words are genuine. He twists the end of the joint and puts it in his mouth before he stands up.

"Come on, let's forget about all that stuff tonight and just chill out together, okay? I feel like you need it." He holds out his hand for you, the gentleness radiating from his smile makes it hard not to intertwine your fingers with his, and he pulls you up from the couch. You guys never touched like this before, but you weren't complaining. Who could deny comfort from someone as gentle and kind as him in rough times like these?

"You're right," you shyly pull up the hood and cover your face with the other hand, taking a deep breath, "I do need to relax." He smiles and pulls you ahead of him, hugging you from behind, your back against his chest as he leads you out of the garage through the side door. The drum of your heart beats in your ear as you realize he's probably just extra touchy cause he's high, his head nuzzling into your neck. Or maybe he does feel the same? Savoring in his gentle grip, you try to ignore that questioning voice in your head.

You both stand under the flickering light outside by the door, fingers loosely intertwined, and he pulls his hood up in reaction to a cool gust. Looking at you, he releases your hand to light the joint in his lips, his other hand cupping the joint to block the wind. He hits it a few times and holds out his hand for you as he starts to walk towards the sidewalk.

You stroll together through the night, passing the joint between the two of you as you hold tight to his arm. At one point, Choso takes out his phone and puts on some music to play as you walk together. The both of you occasionally sing along and swing your interlocked fingers somewhat intoxicated on the energy you share together. Lights from the glowing store illuminate the night as you two approach. He lets go of your hand to put the smoldering joint filter out on his shoe before opening the door for you. He leads you to the cold refrigerator doors near the back where the drinks are. Opening the door, Choso grabs two Sapporo tall boys and then closes the door, looking over at you.

"I don't know about you, but I feel like drinking tonight," he chimes, his features now totally visible thanks to the humming LED lights of the gas station. His bloodshot eyes are a deep brown, and droopy. His smile, relaxed and easy, "I know you still need to drive home tonight, so don't let me pressure you into drinking." Choso knows what he wants to say next, but he doesn't know exactly how to say it. He scratches his head with his free hand, the other holding two 22-oz beer cans. "I mean, you totally can drink, I'm not your boss. If you need to, you can stay the night." The last sentence left his mouth with the tone of a question; was he asking you? Himself? Or was he asking himself if it was okay for him to ask you? Before he knew it, Choso was working himself into a knot over you.

"I'll stay," your voice rasps, and you cough, your throat dry from smoking in the cold. "I'll drink with you tonight." You walk over to the same refrigerator and grab the same size Sapparo as him. He smiles at you, the tension melting when you smile back, your nonchalant response making him realize he may be overthinking.

You guys meander through the store slowly. The radio plays the latest hits through a broken muffled speaker behind the counter, and you find yourselves at the register with nachos, soda, beer and a small bottle of vodka that Choso kindly asks the man from behind the counter to retrieve for him. "Are you cool with some vodka?" He turns to ask you at the counter, his hand going to fish his wallet out of his pocket.

"Oh yeah, I love vodka." The excitement of getting crossfaded with Choso only made you think about where this night was headed. He certainly was a very handsome individual. You've admitted to yourself already that he is someone you desire, but now that this is all happening, you are wondering how far you might go. After the painful breakup with Suguru, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn't date for a while in order to heal, but now that vow felt like it was being challenged. How far was too far for you? And at what point is the point of no return? The beep of the card reader pulls you out of your thoughts. Choso grabs the bag full of goodies and smiles at you, turning towards the door. His hand extends out to you.

"You there, Major Tom?" He references a David Bowie song he played on the way to the store, noticing you've zoned out.

"Ha, sorry, I'm high as fuck right now." You say almost in a whisper and the softness of your voice does something to him. He shakes it off as the cold wind bites his pale cheeks. Pulling out his phone, he checks the time, 11:50pm. "Almost midnight." He holds the door open with his foot for you.

"Yeah, it's late." You shiver, and he puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side in a way that's almost too casual, rubbing your arm to warm you up. Choso cracks open the vodka and takes a shot before handing it to you.

"This should warm you up at least a little bit." He hands you the vodka, and you take a few swigs, the cold dry liquid curing your cotton mouth. You walk through the night together, the conversation flowing between the two of you seamlessly as you pass the vodka back and forth for a couple shots before he puts it away.

"Let's hurry before you freeze over. Your fingers are almost blue." After he opens the door, you guys are quickly back sitting next to each other on the couch, your faces pale and rosey from the chilled midnight hour.

Choso stands up again and streches, taking off his hoodie, his shirt riding up slightly, pale skin peaking through. He sits next to you, his hair and shirt all disheveled, eyes dry and red. Stretching out on the couch next to him, you laugh, leaning into his side, the alcohol making you extra giggly and Choso dawns a goofy smile, chuckling. He pokes your side playfully, threatening to tickle you, but he retreats after you beg him not to. He's really enjoying your company and feels like the night just keeps getting better. Especially with you staying the night now. Which, truthfully makes him very nervous since he's never stayed the night with anyone like this before, let alone a girl.

You guys settle back into your spot from earlier and his hair covers his eyes as he peeks at you from his peripheral. You've already started rolling the weed in the paper, fringe framing your face, and Choso notices how red your lips are from the cold still.

You smile and turn to watch him as you lick the glue of the paper and seal the joint. Twisting the tip, you rest the mouthpiece in your lips and light the tip with his purple lighter. Soon after, the two of you are munching on some nachos, drinking beers cozied up to each other under the blanket, passing the joint between you, watching another movie, truly enjoying each other's intoxicated company. The feeling of the alcohol and weed mixing together, a warmth blooming within you, knocking off the night chill, you start to feel euphoric, alone here with him.

After a while, snacks and drinks discarded, you turn and watch Choso as he hits the mostly finished fourth joint when you notice something. He's pulling the smoke into his mouth but not inhaling it into his lungs, which gives you an idea. A small devious smile curls the corners of your mouth. He notices the look and furrows his brow.

"What is it?" He asks, his hand resting over your shoulder rubs your arm, pulling you in closer, his curiosity peaked.

"I wanna try something. Pull the smoke in your mouth again and let it drift out. Don’t inhale all the way. It's a smoke trick." Confused, he does what you ask. Your hand snakes around his neck, and he thinks you're about to kiss him when you bring him down to you, inches from your face. The smoke drifts out of his mouth, and you inhale it into yours, brushing his lip with yours softly, and you earn a small surprised groan from him. You pull away and giggle at Choso, who's left there, stunned, now a visible shade of red. You blow the smoke back into his face, causing his eyelids to flutter, and you can visibly see him swoon.

"It's okay, you can breathe." Your words are slightly slurred, as the liquid courage urges you into his side more, your words slightly slurred. The flicker of the TV light against his pale marble neck draws you in even closer.

"W-wow, I've never done that before." He shyly scratches his head, skin growing hot.

"Well, come here, and we can do it again." He brings the joint to his lips again, hair in his face, and pulls the smoke into his mouth. Pulling him close, you take the smoke in from his mouth again. This time, as you begin to pull away, Choso's hand goes to cup your cheek, not wanting you to create more distance. He pulls you into him and kisses you softly, whimpering into your mouth desperately. You kiss him back savoring the feeling of his soft lips, smoke billowing around you as it blows from your nose.

In one movement, you straddle him under the blanket, breaking the kiss, your hips fitting snug over his. Choso places the joint in his lips as you take his hands and rest them on your hips, your eyes watching him as he blows smoke from his nostrils. Reaching for the joint in his lips, you take it and hit it, looking down at the hazy choso under you, feeling his big hands squeezing and massaging your thighs. He really likes you and has always desired an intimate relationship with someone, but has never had the chance to invest in something like that until now. The idea was swimming around in his mind, all night truthfully, the image of you as his partner. Waking up next to you, your smell, that beautiful smile that gives him such a jolt of energy when he sees you in class, he can't help but smile himself. He wants you, so much more than he thought.

Placing the joint carefully back in his lips, you lay against his chest, your breath tickling his neck. The feeling of your chest against his makes his heart pound as blood rushes throughout his body.

"Ooh, someone's excited." You whisper into his neck, your lips brushing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. A giggle escapes your lips, and he smiles nervously in response.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't help it." One of his hands wraps around your waist, the other hastily puts out the joint on the couch. He holds you flush against his lap, with both arms, and you feel his hard dick, "You're the first girl I've ever done something like this with." He spoke nervously, informing you of his inexperience.

"Don't worry," you kiss his neck softly, "We can take it slow. Especially since we've been drinking tonight." You continue to pepper kisses along his neck, sucking softly on the pale tender skin, drawing groans from Choso as he writhes beneath you. His hard dick pushes up against you as you grind against him, "Shh shh," you hush him, feeling him squirm beneath your strong thighs. You guide his hands up your stomach to your torso. Choso's hooded eyes ooze desire, amplified by the high, as he follows your lead. He never knew skin could be so soft, his face now bright red as his fingers massage your tender breasts. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he groans low in his throat at the feeling of your lips on his neck. To keep yourself from getting carried away, you stop, and guide his hands back down to your hips, resting your head against his chest. He exhales hard, hand going to stroke your hair as you lay against him.

"I want you so bad." Choso spills his guts in your ear, gasping, his arms squeezing you and he can't help but feel like he wants you so much closer now. You hush him again and dismount from him, a slight frown forming on his face mingled with confusion. His eyes, vulnerable as they focus on only you.

Did I do something wrong?

"I want you badly too Choso, but not like this, not when we're both crossfaded as fuck, you know?" You take his hand in yours reassuringly, and kiss his red knuckles which are surprisingly more rough than they appear.

“Did I do something..?” he trails off, his voice a whisper, his eyes frowning, and hazy.

“No Choso,” you kiss his knuckles again, pausing before you speak, “I like you a lot, Choso,” his eyes lock onto yours, “And, I want our.. intimate moments together to be special, intentional, and something I know I can remember doing.” a smile returns to his lips and he squeezes your hand. Honestly, you surprised yourself and him with your articulation in that moment, but maybe it's the alcohol?

“I like you too,” a smile forms on his lips and you cuddle into his side like before, letting out a satisfied yawn. The two of you cuddle on the couch as the TV fills the silence.

Choso lets out an exaggerated yawn, “Cmon it's late.” He stands up and holds out a hand for you. When you reach out, he sloppily scoops you into his arms bridal style, earning a surprised yelp from you.

“Choso,” you wrap your arms around his neck and he smiles, leaning in to kiss your red cheek. He yawns and sways as he carries you inside, bringing you to his room not far from the garage. You can't help but close your eyes as he carries you, feeling your head spin as his strong arms support you all too well. Before you know it, he sets you down in his bed in the dark while he stands beside you, not bothering to turn on the lights. He tucks you in nicely and kisses your forehead in a goofy kind of way, his older brother tendencies showing.

“You can have my bed tonight. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, especially since we're drun-” before he can finish his sentence, you're pulling him halfway into his own bed.

“Hold me while we fall asleep together, please Choso, we don't have to do anything crazy, ” your drunken request makes his cheeks burn, the alcohol and weed almost convincing him he's in dreamland. Sleepy red eyes drooping, scanning your face before he answers.

He gulps down the frog in his throat as he carefully climbs into his bed with you, pulling back layers of blankets. You feel him settling behind you, arms carefully hugging your body, his large frame acclimating to your shape tenderly. Choso scoots in closer, his breath tickling your ear softly as he whispers, “Is this okay?” His voice is shy, almost like he's trying to not disturb you.

You let out a tired mhm, and he smiles, feeling you scoot into him more. The warmth grows between you two in Choso's nest of blankets and pillows as a gentle, innocent calmness fills the room. Choso's breathing becomes slow and steady as he begins to drift off to sleep. You can feel his heart beating softly against your back, and it calms you even more, allowing you to fall asleep peacefully in his arms.

Credits//: dividers from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more also someone let me know who the artist is for the choso drawing so I can give credits please.

#choso!!!! #choso x reader #choso smut #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #choso kamo #kamo choso #choso #jjk choso #choso fluff #stoner choso #geto suguru #read later #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut

[thot-of-khonshu]

All Access, Chapter 1

All Access Masterlist | Ko-Fi | A03 Link

Pairing: 70s rockstar! frankie morales x f! reader

Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)

Word Count: 6.4K

Summary: It's 1975 and you're one of the rare women given the opportunity to write for Rolling Stone. When you get the opportunity of a lifetime to travel with the hottest band in the US, Triple Frontier, you're welcomed into their den of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. But what happens when you fall for their bass player and it becomes more than just a story?

Content: explicit drug use, heavy partying, triple frontier as rockstars, eventual smut, 1975 au

A/N: Thank you so so so much to my beta readers @heythere-mel, @proxima-writes, @nostalxgic, and @pedropascal-whore I am so insanely, eternally grateful you have no idea! Thank you to anyone who has been waiting for this story since it was just a random idea in 2022. I hope you all enjoy it and it makes you sing as loudly as Santiago.

TRIPLE FRONTIER: FROM BATTLEFIELDS TO CENTER STAGE

As the dust of the Vietnam War settles, a new sound emerges from its ashes. Four war veterans—Santiago, Benny, Will, and Frankie—unite under a new banner, Triple Frontier, capturing the soul of a generation seeking peace, love, and rock 'n' roll.

Triple Frontier's latest self-titled album strikes a chord with raw passion and unflinching honesty of their previous work. We can trace their meteoric rise in the music world back to their time serving together in the Vietnam War, an experience that has left an indelible mark on each member and seeps into every note they play.

At the forefront is Santiago Garcia, the charismatic lead singer with vocals matched only by his charm and stage presence; Behind Santiago, Benny Miller lets loose on the drums, laying down the heartbeat of their sound. Will, Benny's older brother on lead guitar, is the soul of the band. He's intuitive and artistic with the guitar akin to Robbie Robertson.

And then there's Francisco Morales on bass. The stoic backbone of the group, his basslines are more than just musical notes—they're lifelines. His bass weaves the music together like a thread that ties each member of the band.

Tom Davis, their manager, has been instrumental in their rise. A fellow vet, he understands their shared history and has transformed their raw, visceral tales into a finely-tuned musical odyssey. Speaking about their journey, Tom says, "These boys have stories that the world needs to hear. I'm just helping amplify their voices."

The band's name, Triple Frontier, references the tri-border area in Southeast Asia—a location many veterans from the Vietnam War will recognize.

Despite the weight of their past, or perhaps because of it, Triple Frontier brings a refreshing authenticity to the rock scene. Their music isn't just entertainment; it's a balm, a therapy, a reminder of the indomitable human spirit.

As they gear up for their nationwide tour, one thing's for certain: Triple Frontier is here to stay, and they're just getting started.

Despite your boss stating he just needed a simple puff piece about Triple Frontier, whenever you reread that review you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you saw your name in print in Rolling Stone. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

You were on the fast track to doing something big at Rolling Stone by the time you were thirty, you could just feel it. After freelance writing post graduation from college, you landed an entry-level job at the magazine. You knew what you were getting into, the long hours and the male-dominated office could be a lot at times, but you were living the dream as far as you were concerned. To write about music and make it your living was a gift you never wanted to take for granted.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were done at work surprisingly early. You lugged your 1969 Dodge home and immediately went to the back patio to light a joint. You slunk back in your chair, inhaling deeply from the joint, and watched the sun dip lower behind the tree line; the warm glow of the Los Angeles sunset never got old. As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt the day slowly dissipate.

The sound of your phone ringing jolted you out of your high-induced stupor but you heard your roommate Jenna flit across the house and yell "I'll get it!" before answering. You took another deep pull off the joint and exhaled, watching the smoke dance around the sky as it faded out.

You heard Jenna call your name from inside. You walked into the kitchen and saw her standing with the phone receiver in her hand, she was looking at you with an expectant expression.

"Who is it?" You asked.

"Some guy named Tom Davis? Sounds foxy." She grinned at you and wiggled her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and swatted her away before taking the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Hey! I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Your work number was listed in the phone book, but I didn't know if you'd want to take this call in the office or not. Figured home was probably better."

You had talked to Tom a month back for the Triple Frontier article. You remembered him as a no-nonsense type of guy who didn't beat around the bush, so you knew even though he was calling you at home it wasn't for a dinner party.

"No, that's okay. What can I do for you? I hope the article came out okay?"

"That's actually why I'm calling, I wanted to thank you again for doing such a great job. The guys really loved it and the boss did too. And we've had some new interest in the band and they think an interview series might be a good way to build some buzz during the tour."

You felt excitement bubble up in your stomach. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume this was an offer, but you also didn't want to say no.

"I'd love to write more about them! I'm not sure if you just want a song by song review or..."

Tom chuckled on the other end.

"Nah, nothing like that. I know this is actually last minute but we're playing a show at the Troubadour on Friday night and we'd love for you to come. I've already cleared it with your editor at Rolling Stone if you're game."

You tried not to sound too eager. Of course you knew about the Troubadour show, it had been sold out for months. You knew this wasn't an easy ticket to score or an opportunity that just falls into your lap like this.

"I would be an idiot to say no."

"That's what I like to hear! I'll be in touch with more details, but I'll have your ticket and backstage pass ready for you on Friday night."

"Awesome, thank you so much."

"Thank you, we'll talk soon!"

He hung up the phone. You stood in the kitchen with the receiver in your hand. You felt like someone had just punched you in the gut, you couldn't believe it. The Troubadour, backstage passes, exclusive interviews... it was the break you'd been waiting for.

This was real rock journalism, the rock journalism your mom cried over when you said you wanted to move out west and pursue this as a career.

Will Mom still think you're dabbling with the devil if your name is under the biggest story for Rolling Stone with the hottest band in the country?

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

By the time Friday night rolled around, you felt like you had a permanent case of butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't often you had the opportunity to attend a show and not write about it, so the fact that you had no other reason for going besides seeing the band was enough to set your nerves on fire. But meeting them?

You'd spent the whole week building scenarios in your head - Would these guys even take you seriously? Would they see you as just another fan? Were they even that interesting to interview, or were their music and looks all there was to them?

You shook the thoughts from your head as you walked up to the Troubadour. The line outside was already around the block and you could feel the energy from the crowd. You saw women with long hair down their backs in tight jeans and crochet tops, some men with hair even longer than theirs and dressed in flared pants and vibrant shirts. You could already smell the weed wafting off some people.

As you approached the bouncer at the back door, he glared at you, intimidating and unwavering.

"I'm here to pick up a press pass from Tom Davis." You tried to exude confidence, even though you felt the opposite. He arched his brow at you before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a paper.

"Name."

You gave him your name and also added what you thought would cement your legitimacy. "I'm with Rolling Stone."

He looked over the paper before his eyes settled on your face.

"Right. This way."

The man turned and opened the door behind him, beckoning for you to follow.

Once inside, he led you through the dimly lit back corridors of the club. You were immediately welcomed into a heavy musk of smoke and sweat. You passed other roadies carrying guitars, amps, and microphones. You felt the excitement rising up again and you had to remind yourself to act cool.

He led you into a dressing room with a large group of people. Everyone had drinks in their hands and seemed to be chatting amongst themselves. The walls were covered in posters and various band members from over the years had scrawled their names on the walls where Tom was seated, reading over a sheet of paper.

"There she is! Good to see you." Tom immediately spotted you from the crowd, his tall and imposing figure stood up and made his way over to you. He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair was pushed back with gel. He looked every bit the rocker, and you couldn't help but wonder if he always dressed like that. With the band but not in the band.

He reached into his back pocket to pull out a laminated press pass. "Here you go, this should get you access to whatever you need."

You took the press pass and held it up, smiling. You were still in shock.

"I can't thank you enough, Tom. This really is an honor."

Tom chuckled and clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Honor's ours. We're looking forward to the piece."

"Speaking of pieces, If you're gonna write about the band you might as well meet them. Come with me."

He started making his way toward the back of the room. As he passed, the people parted to let him through. You followed closely behind, trying to not lose him.

He led you towards a cluster of men in the corner. They were talking amongst themselves, beers in hand and laughing. You recognized Benny–the drummer–from the album cover, by his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. He was bouncing off the soles of his feet, drumsticks tucked in his belt loop, and was the center of the circle.

Will was leaning against the wall, his long blonde hair tucked in a bun. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips and a guitar pick in his hand, fiddling with it.

Next to Will, Santiago was sitting on a couch, his arm draped over the back with a glass tumbler in his other hand. His eyes shined as he was talking to the other boys, taking his hand to smooth out his jet-black hair.

It was true what every girl said - his pants were as tight as his voice.

And then there was Frankie.

He was standing next to Santiago, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingertips. He was leaning on his elbow on the wall behind Santiago, listening to Benny.

He was handsome. His brown hair was covered in his signature baseball cap, and the stubble along his jaw along with his mustache gave him a rugged look. You couldn't help but notice the muscles underneath his thin shirt. You could see his arms flexing underneath the material, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer.

He was the first one to notice you, looking at you before he did Tom. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but you could tell he was assessing the situation.

"Boys," Tom boomed, "I want you to meet the writer from Rolling Stone."

Santiago and Will turned their heads in unison, but Frankie's eyes stayed fixed on you.

Santiago's smile broadened, and Will raised his eyebrow and nodded. Frankie's expression didn't change.

"Well, hey, welcome to the party." Santiago stood up and extended his hand. You reached out and took his, shaking it. His hand was soft and his grip was firm.

"Nice to meet you." You tried to sound confident.

"You've already met Tom, obviously," he gestured towards Tom, who smiled at you, "and this is Will and Benny, and that's Frankie."

Benny smiled at you, and Frankie's eyes flickered over to Santiago as he said his name, but he didn't speak. You had a feeling this was his way of letting everyone else talk.

"Nice to meet you all, I'm a huge fan." You offered them a friendly smile.

Benny spoke up, "Well then, I like you already. You'll make us look good!"

Tom looked down at his watch and then snapped up at the guys. "Shit–we have ten minutes before showtime, you guys need to get down to the stage."

They started moving and shuffling: Will stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, Benny put down his beer, and Santiago tossed back his drink. Frankie had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to watch them all go by.

Tom turned back to you, "What are you doing? You're going down with us. ‘Can't write about the show if you aren't there."

You felt the rush of adrenaline surge through your body. Your face broke out into a huge grin.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

Tom smiled and turned, heading for the door. You followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. Backstage was a flurry of activity and you felt like you were on a hamster wheel trying to stay out of the way. You couldn't help but stare at the scene before you, the lights and the sounds, the smell.

After navigating through the throng of people and equipment, you found yourself on the side of the stage, the lights dim and the sound of the audience humming through the floorboards. While Tom had stopped to talk with one of the lighting guys, you could see the boys getting into their instruments and tuning up.

You looked over and saw Frankie. He had taken off his hat and was carding his hand through his thick hair. His mouth was turned down into a frown, but you could see the glimmer of his eyes.

He looked up at you. Your breath hitched and you could feel your cheeks start to burn. He held your gaze for a moment before turning away and putting his hat back on.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the audience erupted in cheers. The guys, including Tom, went into a huddle and you slowly inched yourself closer, not wanting to miss this moment.

You heard Benny shout, "Let's get it done tonight, boys! Let's give the fans what they came for."

You could see Santiago's grin spread across his face, "This is our mission. Our job. Our purpose."

Tom placed his hand into the middle, "I'm proud of you, boys. Now, let's go fucking rock this shit."

They put their hands together and Santiago began to sing "Stop, hey, what's that sound..."

Like a ritual, the rest of the men in the circle sang "Everybody look what's going down."

With that, the boys dispersed and you felt so lucky to be in that moment. You feel their connection, their comradery, their love.

You saw Tom pat Benny on the back. "Showtime!" he boomed. Benny ran onto the stage and the crowd roared. You could hear the clatter of sticks in the air as Benny hit the cymbal to start playing their song "Echoes".

The rest of the guys filed onto the stage and you were immediately struck by the sheer energy radiating off the crowd. They were cheering, clapping, dancing. There was so much movement and excitement and you felt the hairs on your arms stand up.

The band started their set with a bang. You watched as Santiago worked the crowd, his voice smooth and strong. He walked slowly, confidently, swaying with every step. The crowd was eating out of the palm of his hand.

You'd never experienced a concert like this, being able to watch from the sidelines and take in everything. The lights, the sound, the way the crowd responded.

Your eyes drifted to Frankie. He was focused and precise with his guitar, his hands moving effortlessly across the strings. You watched the muscles in his arms flex and strain as he played along with the concentration in his eyes.

The rest of the concert flew by. Before you knew it, the band was finishing up their final song, and the crowd was going crazy. You watched as Santiago, Frankie, Benny, and Will took their final bows.

The audience screamed. Santiago leaned over and spoke into the microphone, "Los Angeles, thank you. We love you! Goodnight!"

And with that, the lights dimmed and the guys filed off stage. Tom turned and motioned for you to follow as he led you to a different area where the guys were drinking bottles of water and catching their breath.

Benny was sweating, his face flushed red. "Man, we really fucking killed it."

Santiago grinned, wiping his brow. "You bet your ass we did. That was one of the best shows we've done."

Frankie was leaning against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand. He was drinking it slowly, his eyes looking up and meeting yours.

Will looked over at you and gave you a wink. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Oh my god, yes. That was incredible." You were trying to be professional, but your excitement was starting to show through, an excitement that Santiago could start to see through.

Santiago clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now that we've broken your legs, I think it's time for the afterparty. Are you coming with us?"

"The afterparty?"

"Of course," Tom chimed in, "you don't have to go, but it might give you some time to chat with the guys more and get some quotes. These things tend to be a good time so I can also book you a room, on us. It's at the Chateau Marmont."

"Holy shit."

"That's the spirit." Santiago winked.

You hesitated, knowing how big a decision this was. The idea of the afterparty excited you, but it was also a chance to spend more time with these guys. To talk to them one-on-one and maybe get some insights that would really sell the article.

You took a deep breath and looked around the room, at the guys waiting expectantly.

"Alright, count me in."

You could have sworn you saw Frankie's lip twitch up into a smile.

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

The afterparty was at a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont and it was a mess of people, noise, and debauchery. You tried to take it all in but you just couldn't. There was too much happening at once.

You found a bar top to sit at, watching the scene unfold. Santiago was at the piano playing some old jazz tunes and laughing with gorgeous women surrounding him. Tom was chatting up some record exec, a scotch in his hand. You even saw Benny and Will having an impromptu arm wrestling match in the corner. Frankie so far wasn't anywhere to be found.

The music, the lights, the alcohol. All of it was almost overwhelming and you were starting to wonder why you decided to come.

This world of excess and debauchery was so foreign to you, a far cry from the quiet solitude of your apartment where you usually did your writing. You've been to parties but nothing like this. You thought about your male coworkers at Rolling Stone, who seemed to fit seamlessly into the rock and roll lifestyle, effortlessly bonding with their subjects over shared experiences and unspoken understandings.

You focused on scribbling notes in your notebook, trying to make sense of the chaos around you and organize your thoughts about the concert. The more you wrote, the more your head cleared, and you found yourself able to better compartmentalize everything you'd experienced.

As you were finishing up your notes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You turned and saw Santiago standing behind you. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"Hey." You replied.

He moved to stand beside you, looking at the party in front of you.

"What are you doing over here by yourself? Having fun?" He asked, taking a swig of the whiskey.

You shrugged, "I guess I just wanted to take everything in, get a feel of the scene. "

"Through your notepad?" He asked, gesturing towards your notes.

"Yeah, uh, it's easier for me to write things down."

"Ah," he took another swig, "can I ask you a question?"

You looked up at him. He was staring down at you, a smirk on his face.

"Sure."

"Why do you wanna write a story about us?"

It wasn't the question you were expecting. You had prepared for a list of generic questions like how you got into writing and your favorite bands, but this one caught you off guard.

"Because..." You hesitated, not sure how to answer, "...because I think you guys are cool."

Santiago smirked, leaning in.

"Cool? That's it?"

"Yeah," you said, feeling slightly defensive. "I think you guys have something special."

He chuckled to himself, taking a joint from a walking passerby, and taking a hit. "That's what they all say."

"All who?"

"People, the press. They all want to write a story about the cool, rebellious, rock and roll band, but the thing is, no one ever actually gets it."

"Maybe because the people who write about you are only interested in the glamorous lifestyle and not the reality of it."

He cocked his eyebrow.

"The reality?"

"Yeah," you said, closing your notebook. "I don't want to write a story about what I see here. This is a party, a show. It's not what's real."

Santiago studied you for a moment, and you felt the tension in the air between you. It was as if he was trying to read you, to figure out what made you tick.

"I'm here to witness the magic, the brotherhood. You can feel the bond between you guys: it's real, it's tangible, it's magnetic. People come to see your shows to see it. Shit, people come to the Chateau Marmont at 1 AM to see it. People want more."

You met his gaze, unwavering. You weren't going to back down.

He laughed, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. I believe you."

You smiled, relieved.

"But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret…Tom? He's over the moon, hunky fuckin' dory that you're writing this piece, but the truth is? We're a little skeptical, a little worried. We wanna look good but we also don't want this to be a puff piece. You've convinced me though, I believe you when you say you wanna do something different. So here's the deal - if you want the real story, the one that matters, you need to prove it."

You swallowed.

"And how do I do that?"

He smirked, gesturing to the crowd. "Come hang with us, chill out, see how we are when it's just us. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you wanna know. If you wanna get to know the real us, you gotta dive in."

Santiago offered you the joint, and you took it from him, putting it to your lips and inhaling.

He grinned. "Welcome to the team."

You hesitated for a moment. You wanted to get the real story, the one that mattered, but you were afraid. What if you didn't fit in? What if the guys didn't like you?

But Santiago had a point. You needed to prove yourself, and what better way than by actually hanging out with the band?

So you sucked it up, took a long drag off the joint, and threw caution to the wind.

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

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the party was still in full swing. The doubts and fears that plagued you had floated away along with your sobriety. Santiago had been a great host, introducing you to people, making sure you had a drink in your hand, and keeping the conversation going. You'd lost track of how many drinks you'd had, but you were feeling good.

He'd also gotten you better acquainted with Will and Benny. Will was reserved but he was incredibly knowledgeable about music, and you spent most of your conversation talking about some of the more obscure bands you both liked in common. With Benny, he was the life of the party. He had an infectious smile and was quick to laugh.

Frankie was another story entirely.

Frankie had eventually been found at the party but he'd stayed off to the side, talking quietly with a group of people, occasionally smoking a cigarette or sipping from a glass. You watched him throughout the night.

He'd glance at you from time to time, his eyes dark and unreadable. His gaze would linger, sending shivers down your spine. You would try to catch his eye, but he'd look away before you could make contact.

A model that you recognized from a cover of Cosmopolitan pulled out a baggie of coke and offered some to everyone at the table. You politely declined and headed for the bathroom.

You walked around the hallway and saw a few sets of doors. You opened a door to see Tom sitting on the bed, the phone cord stretched across the room.

"Of course I'm thinking about this damn offer, it's all I can think about. Fuck, I just don't know if this is the right move. If I had another band under my roster the boys would kill me, but the money they're offering? It's the kind of money we can't turn down."

You tried to back out of the room quietly, but sobriety be damned, the heel of your shoe clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as you tripped. Tom turned, his eyebrows raised and his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

You mouthed an apology and quickly made your way out of the room. Humiliation and embarrassment flooding through you, you decided you needed some air.

You made your way outside, the cool air hitting your face. You inhaled deeply, trying to clear your mind and slow your racing heart. You only had a bit of context but you knew that wasn't a conversation you were supposed to hear.

You sat down on the ground, resting your head against the wall. You could feel your body relax, the tension easing from your shoulders.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the evening replayed in your head. The music, the energy, the excitement.

Suddenly, you felt someone sit next to you. You looked over and saw Frankie, his expression still unreadable.

"Hey."

"Hi." You tried to sound casual, hoping the high pitch in your voice didn't sell you out.

He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly. The smoke curled in the air, dancing in the breeze.

You sat in silence for a moment, watching the smoke drift away, trying to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"Having fun?" Frankie's voice was low and husky, his question caught you off guard. "What do you think of all of this so far?"

"It's definitely not what I'm used to."

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile. He took another cigarette from the carton, offering one to you.

You took the cigarette from him and he lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. You felt the smoke fill your lungs.

"What are you used to then?" He asked, his eyes locked on yours.

"Lighting a joint at the end of a long day, writing a draft for an article, and throwing it in the trash. Sitting at home alone and wondering if I'm ever gonna break out."

Frankie smiled. "We're not what you expected, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

You took another drag of the cigarette. The combination of weed, whiskey, and nicotine was making your head spin, and you couldn't stop the giggle that escaped your lips.

Frankie smirked.

"Lightweight."

You nodded, leaning your head against the wall. You looked over at Frankie, his profile illuminated by the moonlight. He was handsome, his jawline sharp and his lips full. His hair was tousled under his hat and his stubble was perfectly trimmed. You could see the muscles in his arms flex as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, and you felt your breath hitch.

You looked away, feeling a blush creep up your neck. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol, the drugs, or his presence that was making you feel so flustered.

"What are you doing out here anyways?" You asked, trying to distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach.

Frankie shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I could ask you the same question."

You laughed, the alcohol and weed finally settling in.

"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I needed some fresh air."

Frankie nodded, understanding. "I'm not really one for big parties."

"Is that why you weren't around earlier?"

He gave you a curious look. "You really are quite the observant reporter."

You grinned. "I'm a professional."

He smirked, your gaze turning back to the sky. You couldn't help but feel his eyes linger on your skin, you felt like you were burning up.

"I'm just not a huge fan of the crowds. I like the music, the shows, but the parties are sometimes too much."

"I can understand that."

"Can you?"

You looked at him, surprised by his question. "Of course."

He raised his eyebrow. "How so?"

You shrugged. "I've had my share of experiences. Not quite like this, but enough that I get it. Sometimes I'd rather just sit back with a joint and observe it all."

Frankie's lips twitched into a small smile. "Me too."

You couldn't help but smile back. He seemed much less guarded now.

You took another drag of your cigarette; the smoke swirling around the two of you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Frankie glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching again.

"Sure."

"What brought you into music? How'd you end up here?"

He considered your question for a moment, tapping the ashes of his cigarette.

"Well, I just always loved music. I was a quiet kid and my parents weren't around a lot. Santi moved to Miami when we were eight and we just immediately hit it off. Whatever he did, I did. If he joined the baseball team, I joined the baseball team. And then he started playing guitar. We'd sit in his garage for hours and play. I never knew I wanted to be a musician until then. It just felt right."

He paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"How'd you get into journalism?"

You froze. The truth was, you had no idea. You just always felt drawn to writing. You had a knack for it and it came easily to you. You never had any grand plan or vision, it was more like a calling.

"I guess I just felt called to it. I was always writing stories as a kid and then I wanted to write about real people and real stories."

He studied you, his eyes searching yours.

"So far, do you like my story?"

You grinned, "I don't know your story yet."

He smiled, exposing a dimple as you felt your heart skip a beat.

"It's been a long time since I've actually talked to someone like this."

"Me too."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. You could hear the sounds of the city around you, the cars honking, the music and laughter drifting from inside. Suddenly, you heard the door open and Tom stepped out.

"Some chick from Apple Records just threw up on my Italian boots. This is a disaster."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "You've had worse, Tom."

Tom groaned. "I'm gonna call it a night. You guys have that radio station interview tomorrow and I need to get ready for it in the morning."

"I should probably get some sleep too." Frankie stretched out and yawned, his shirt riding up and exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans.

You felt your mouth go dry and quickly looked away.

"Did you get the room key I left for you?" Tom asked you. "We rented out the whole second floor, so you've got your pick of rooms."

"Yeah, thanks." You dug into your back pocket, pulling out the key.

"I gotta clean this shit up so I'll see you guys in the morning."

He retreated away from the cottage, leaving you and Frankie alone once more.

You stood, dusting off the back of your pants. "I guess I should get some sleep, I'm pretty wasted."

"I'm heading up myself, so I can walk you to your hotel room."

"Oh, okay." You said in a high-pitched tone.

"Unless you don't want me to."

"No! No, I want you to, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to say goodnight to the guys?"

"They're honestly too fucked up to remember anything right now. Besides, I'd rather make sure you get there safe."

You blushed, the alcohol and weed still affecting you. "Thanks."

You and Frankie made your way back into the main building, the party still raging on from the cottage nearby. While you walked through the halls and into the elevator, you marveled at the luxury of the famous chateau. You'd heard so many stories but to say you'd gone to a party there, even for a couple of hours, was something you’d never forget.

The two of you got into the elevator, and you were acutely aware of Frankie's presence. He was tall–at least a foot taller than you–and his shoulders were broad and muscular. You could smell his scent, a mixture of spice, nicotine, and citrus.

The both of you got off on the second floor, walking silently down the hallway. The hotel was dark and quiet; it was as if the rest of the world had faded away.

You reached your room, fumbling with the key and unlocking the door.

"This is me."

Frankie nodded. "Good night."

You stepped into the room and turned around, watching as he walked away.

"Good night."

You watched him disappear around the corner, the butterflies in your stomach erupting again.

Once the door had shut behind you, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You were still buzzing from the alcohol and the pot but there was something else, an energy that you hadn't felt before.

You stripped off your clothes, letting them pool on the floor, and crawled into the bed. As you drifted off, you felt yourself smile.

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

You were jolted awake by the shrill ring of the hotel telephone. Before you could even think, your head was already pounding from last night and its excess. You squinted at the clock next to you, the bold white words focusing on 9:30 AM.

"Hello?" Your voice was hoarse and still heavy with sleep.

"Morning! It's Tom." Tom sounded surprisingly chipper given last night's circumstances with his Italian shoes. Not one to beat around the bush, he started, "I have a proposition for you."

You were instantly alert, sitting up straight in the bed. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I had a long talk with Santiago this morning. About you."

You swallowed nervously. You knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Okay.."

"He told me that you really want to tell the real story of the band, that you want to get to the bottom of who we are."

You paused, considering your words carefully.

"That's correct. I think there's more to your story, more than meets the eye."

"That's exactly what I thought, which is why I have an offer for you."

You held your breath. You didn't want to seem eager but you couldn't help the excitement building inside of you.

"I'm listening."

"Rolling Stone wants an in-depth piece, right? Well, what better way to get that than by joining us on tour?"

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in.

"You mean..go on tour with you guys? Be a part of the band?"

"It's the only way to really understand us, right? Get into our world, our culture, and experience it for yourself. I already pitched it to your editor and he said as long as the label pays for expenses and you're game, he's game."

You were astounded at the things that Tom Davis could get done before noon.

"But..how would that work? Where would I stay? I don't have any experience touring or writing on the road."

You took a deep breath, processing everything Tom had just told you. "I'd be lying if I said that this wasn't an incredible offer."

"An incredible offer you can't refuse?"

You couldn't help but smile, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "An incredible offer I can't refuse."

Tom let out a hearty laugh, "That's what I like to hear! Look, we've already discussed it amongst ourselves, and as for accommodations, we're a tight-knit group, we always look out for one another. You'll have a place to crash every night, always a nice hotel to stay in."

Your mind was racing with possibilities. The chance to immerse yourself in their world, to witness their artistry up close and personal—it was an opportunity unlike any other. "What about interviews? Will I have unrestricted access?"

Tom nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. We want this to be as authentic as possible. You'll have full access to everyone in the band, backstage, on the bus, wherever we go. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you won't hold back. We want the real story, the gritty details, the highs and lows of life on the road. Don't sugarcoat anything."

You nodded with determination. "I promise, Tom. I'll give it my all."

"Good," he said with a satisfied smile. "I have a feeling you're going to fit right in."

As you pressed down on the end call button, a surge of adrenaline shot through your veins. This was it - the opportunity to delve deep into the core of the band and capture their raw energy in words for all to experience. Just thinking about it made your heart race, and as you thought of Frankie, you felt an unfamiliar warmth in your belly.

You'd have a new adventure ahead of you, one that would change your life forever.

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[081314]

Book 7: The Ruler of the Abyss – Chapter 5 (Part 1)

Following is part 1 of my translation of Chapter 5 of Book 7: The Ruler of the Abyss. This part contains episodes 7-69 to 7-72

Main storyline spoilers after the cut!!

Episode 7-69

Baul: General, I have news! Briar Castle has been… Briar Castle has been completely surrounded by the Silver Owl, and Henrick and the Knight of Dawn are leading the charge!

Silver / Sebek: Wha-…!

Lilia: ….! We need return to the castle immediately… Ugh!

Silver: But you can hardly stand right now!

Grim: Just lookin’ at him’s makin’ me feel like I’m gonna keel over!

Lilia: Oh, would you shut up already! Like I’d care about some stupid injury.  Besides, they’ve got us completely surrounded out there. What we need is people who can use teleportation magic… Summon the transporter brigade. We’ll teleport back to the castle together…!

Baul: General, that certainly would be our fastest route back… However, we’re quite far from the castle. Teleportation involves dematerializing one’s body… as well as one’s mind, and reassembling them both at the destination. It’s incredibly taxing for those who are sick or injured. And in your condition, your body wouldn’t be able to withstand teleporting over such a vast distance! We’ll have the transporter brigade teleport only those men fit to battle, and the rest of us can return on foot.

Lilia: You idiot! You want us to just stroll back there, huh? Didn’t you just say the Knight of Dawn was spotted at the castle!?

Baul: And that’s precisely my point! It pains me to admit this, but the Knight of Dawn is extremely powerful. And if you were to go up against him right now, when you can hardly pick up your blade, you wouldn’t stand a chance against him. And I know you know that, too.

Lilia: Damnit…

Baul: We need to have faith in Lady Meleanor, and in the Imperial Guardsmen you’ve trained. I’m sure they’ll be able to hold things down until we join up with them.

Lilia: …. Fine. Dammit!

Baul: Troops, retreat! I want medics attending to the injured, now! Transporter brigade, teleport all those fit to battle to Briar Castle immediately! HURRY! The General and I will return on foot!

Imperial Guards A/B/C: Gyagyaaa!

Baul: We leave Briar Castle… and Lady Meleanor in your hands!

Imperial Guards A/B/C: Garuru!

Baul: The Night’s Blessing upon Ye.

(The Imperial Guards cast their teleportation magic and depart)

Baul: Damnit…. They must’ve been keeping an eye on us this whole time, waiting to strike until the General was away from the castle. THOSE DAMN COWARDLY HUMANS!!

Sebek / Silver: …………..

Grim: Man… What should we do, Yuu?

Yuu: (I’m not sure what I should say….)

Silver: ….!!!

(Silver slaps himself in the face)

Silver: …Okay!

Grim: The heck! What’s with you, Silver? Why’d ya smack your face like that all of a sudden…

Silver: If we just sit around here hiding from the enemy, things aren’t going to improve one bit. We need to brainstorm something we can do to help.

Episode 7-70

Silver: We need to brainstorm something we can do to help.

Sebek: …Indeed. Oft when training in the mountains, you’ll encounter a fallen tree or whatnot blocking your path. When faced with such an obstacle, stopping to think about what you should do next can very well spell even more trouble for you down the line – the sun will set before you know it, and then what will you do? Regardless if you choose to turn around and head back, or if you attempt to find another way around, the quicker you make your decision, the better your chances at surviving.

Silver: “As long as you’re still breathing, things will work out in the end”…. We heard those words almost every day growing up.

Sebek: Indeed. ‘Tis one of our master’s teachings. We must deliver Sir Lilia to the castle as safely and as swiftly as possible. And if we are to break through the Silver Owl’s perimeter, we’ve no other choice but to utilize flying magic.  First, we must procure some brooms. I do hope we can also locate some provisions and medical supplies as well, but…

Silver: Let’s search inside the fortress. Grim, Yuu, can you guys help us?

Yuu: Of course!

Sebek: Sir Baul! We shall go look for supplies.

Baul: No, you boys need give up already.

Sebek / Silver: What!?

Baul: …Our mission was a complete disaster. The situation has completely changed from how things were when the General allowed you to come with us. Leave. Now. Don’t squander the fact that the General saved your life.

Sebek: But you’ve only a few men left amongst your troops!

Baul: Hmph. That’s nothing for you lot to be concerned about. In the first place…. You humans have no reason to be fighting the Silver Owl.

Silver: …No, we do.

Baul: What did you just say?

Silver: If General Vanrouge hadn’t protected me back there, I could’ve died. I owe him my life. …And I want to make sure he makes it through all this. I don’t need any other reason than that. It doesn’t have anything to do with… with being a fae or a human.

Sebek: Sir Baul, I feel the same way as Silver.

Baul: Breaking through that army of Iron Ones waiting for us outside and racing all the way back to the castle won’t be easy, you know. We can’t afford to waste any time keeping an eye on you kids.

Sebek: You’ve no need for concern. We shall work tirelessly, and we shall strive to adhere to our master’s teachings!

Baul: But you’re humans… Why would you… …Heh. You sound like a couple of daredevils. Fine, do what you want. But you better not say I didn't warn you!

Sebek/Silver: Thank you, sir!

Sebek: We must make haste and gather all our required provisions! No dawdling!

Grim: Alright! Just you guys wait, you’re gonna get front row seats to my fancy flyin’ skills! I been polishin’ ‘em in Vargas’s supplementary lessons.

Silver: Wait, Sebek. There might be some more Iron Ones lurking around. Stay sharp.

Sebek: Hmph! I’m well aware of that. Grim and Yuu, you are to follow after me! And stay close!

Grim: Oh, yeah? You sure you wanna walk ahead of us? What if I mess up when I’m spittin’ fire and I light up your ass by mistake?

Sebek: Argh! And here I was offering to be so kind as to protect you little weaklings…!

(Crash!)

Everyone: !!

Silver: That sound… it came from downstairs. Is it the Iron Ones coming to look for father and the others?

Sebek: Hmph. There’s no need to go bother the gaurdsmen. Let us rout these miscreants on our own. Besides, ‘tis standard practice for galleys and laundry rooms to be located in the lower floors of castles and fortresses. There’s a good chance we shall come across some brooms and what not whilst down there. LET US HURRY!

Episode 7-71

Silver: There’s someone in that room…

Sebek: Yuu, Grim, get back. Let’s go, Silver…

Kitchen staff member A: Eep! P-Please, please spare us!!

Kitchen staff member B: W-We’re just a couple of kitchen staff members, and… huh? Oh, it’s you, Sire! Please, don’t scare us like that!

Silver: Huh?

Kitchen Staff member A: Did you guys already send those fae packing? Aah, of course ya did!

Silver: Fae? What are you two talking about?

Kitchen staff member B: *Gasp* Sweetheart, look closely! This boy isn’t “him”!

Kitchen staff member A: Wait, you’re right! His hair color’s all wrong! That’s a hell of a coincidence, you guys look a whole lot alike. S-So does that mean you’re fae from the Land of Briar, then? W-We’re done for… *sobs*…

Kitchen staff member B: Oh, and I was so hoping to see our grandbaby’s face, their due date's right around the corner...

Silver: Please, wait. We’re not going to hurt you.

Kitchen staff member A/B: Huh?

Silver: We’ll get out of your hair as soon as we find what we need.

Grim: Hand over your brooms and make it snappy! Nyahaha.

Kitchen staff member B: Eep! T-That beast just talked!?

Yuu: Grim, quit scaring them!

Silver: It’s okay, Grim won’t bite. I know I’m repeating myself here, but we have no intention of harming you guys. We just want to get our injured men out of here safely, and that’s why we’re looking for some brooms.

Kitchen staff member A: Your injured men… You mean fae?

Silver: …Yes, that’s right. From your standpoint, I guess they’d be… they’d be your guys’ enemy. But please, will you help us?

Kitchen staff member A/B: …

Kitchen staff member B: A-Alright. I’ll tell you boys where we keep all the brooms.

Kitchen staff member A: The heck are you doing!?

Kitchen staff member B: Oh, just look at them, honey. These boys are a lot younger than our own son. And their ears are….

Kitchen staff member A: Ah, their ears are round! So they’re humans. Then how come they’re helpin’ out the fae?

Kitchen staff member B: It’s probably best we don’t find out. The fae could be forcing them to do all this, for all we know…

Kitchen staff member A: Yeah, but…

(someone’s stomach rumbles loudly)

Silver: Sebek….

Sebek: ….’Twas not I.

Silver: It’s okay, I understand. That good smell wafting around the galley is making you hungry, right?

Sebek: No!!! ‘Twas… ‘Twas Yuu’s stomach, was it not!?

Silver: No, it was definitely you. I’d recognize that thunderous grumble anywhere….

Sebek: Silence, Silver!!!!

Kitchen staff member A: …You boys hungry?

Sebek: No-

(Someone’s stomach rumbles)

Grim: Aww, geez. Sebek’s stomach talked my stomach into grumblin’ along with it. All we been eatin’ lately is dried meat and fruit.

Kitchen staff member A: Hah. You shoulda said so in the first place! Honey, go wrap up some bread and bacon they can take along with them.

Kitchen staff member B: Will do.

Sebek: W-Why has your demeanor changed all of a sudden!? I’ve no intention of accepting your charity…!

Kitchen staff member A: We’re kitchen staff, boy. Feedin’ hungry people’s our job. Besides, you kids showed up at just the right time. Buncha our food was ‘bout to go to waste, with Henrick leavin’ all of a sudden like that.

Grim: Yahoo! Hey, can I have some of this soup, too?

Kitchen staff member A: Sure thing, eat up.

Sebek: Grim! Do you not understand the meaning of an “emergency situation”!?

Grim: I don’t wanna hear that comin’ from you. Your stomach started this.

Kitchen staff member B: Here you go, here’s some bread and bacon… And I also got you some bottles of water. I can’t say if any of this will be all that appetizing to the fae, but… Please take it with you.

Silver: Thank you. We’re really grateful you’re doing all this for us.

Kitchen staff member B: ……..You really do look just like him.

Silver: …Huh?

Sebek: Oi, Silver! Cease with the chitchat already. We must find out where that storeroom is located!

Silver: R-Right.

Kitchen staff member B: You’ll find the storeroom upstairs, in the northern wing of the fortress.

Silver: Understood. Please take cover in here until we leave. I apologize for startling you earlier. ...Stay well.

Episode 7-72

Grim: Maaan, I didn’t get a chance to eat dessert. Why ya gotta be in such a rush, Sebek.

Sebek: You little- You complain even though you wolfed down two whole bowls of soup…!

Silver: That storeroom the kitchen staff told us about should be around here somewhere… Hm?

Sebek: What is it? Why are you just standing there?

Silver: I know that bird call…

(An owl hoots)

Grim: The heck is this place? There’s tons of birds in here.

Sebek: Ah, that’s right. The peoples of this period relied on owls and pigeons to deliver messages to one another.

Silver: They look really hungry. Let’s give them some of our bread.

Sebek: Tsch… ‘Tis not the time to be feeding a bunch of animals right now. We must look for brooms at once- Ah! Wait a moment… Couldn’t we utilize these birds?

Grim: Huh? No? These guys are skin an’ bones, wouldn’t be any point eatin’ ‘em.

Sebek: THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT! Oi, Silver. Perchance the time has finally come for you to put your inutile affinity with animals to good use.

Silver: …What?

Sebek: Sir Baul! We have returned with brooms and some gurneys.

Grim: And we got some grub, too!

Baul: Ah, good work.

Silver: How’s General Vanrouge doing?

Baul: He’s still in no shape to fight… But I’m sure the Silver Owl is gearing up to come finish us off as we speak. Our time’s up, we need to get out of here. I’ll lead the charge and clear a path for everyone. You boys bring up the rear!

Sebek: Sir Baul, could you please allow us to lead the charge?

Baul: W-What!? No way in hell! You take one step out of those doors, and you’ll be met with a face full of arrows.

Sebek: You needn’t be concerned. It’ll be a gamble, but… We do have a bit of a plan in mind.

Baul: A plan..!?

Silver: We’ll clear a path for you guys, we promise. Sir Baul, please watch General Vanrouge for us.

Imperial Guard B: Goei! Garuru!                          

Baul: What? Outside the fortress? So the Iron Ones are finally on the move.

Sebek: It's time. Come, Silver! Let us go!

Silver: Right. Grim, Yuu… I promise we’ll make it through this.

Grim: You leave Yuu and Lilia to me!

Yuu: Please, be careful!

(Silver and Sebek depart)

Baul: Wait, humans!! Damnit… Looks like we have no choice... Men, follow them! They need backup!

Imperial Guards A/B/C: Gyagyaaaa!

Lilia: …..Ugh… What’s with all the racket…?

Baul: !! Are you awake, General!?

Lilia: What happened with… those brats….

Baul: They ran off ahead, saying they’d break through the enemy’s perimeter for us. I tried stopping them, but they said something about having a plan of some sort….

Lilia: What!? Those little idiots!! Let’s go, Baul!

Sebek: …Look. The Iron Ones have the fortress completely surrounded. And they aren’t even trying to conceal themselves, either.

Silver: Looks like they’ve got about 100 people on their side. And we’ve got… not even 10.

Sebek: True, but considering our numbers are so miniscule, as long as we can rely on “their” assistance, no doubt we shall be able to escape.

Silver: Right. They said they’d go get their friends for us as thanks for the bread. We need to trust them. Let’s go….

(Silver whistles)

Iron One A: Huh? Is someone whistling?

Iron One B: Are those fae up to something? Hah. If they’d have just kept themselves holed up in the fortress, we wouldn’t have to wallop ‘em or anything. …But alright. If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they’re gonna get! Troops, charge!!

(sound of wings flapping)

Iron One A: Huh? What’s that sound… Uwaah!?

Iron One B: What the!?? Is that a pigeon?

Iron One A: Aaah! Ouch ouch ouch! What’s with this thing?!

Iron One C: And there’s a bunch of sparrows and owls, too! Oi!! Stop pulling on my cape!! Lemme go!!

Iron One B: What the!? There’s a whole stampede of animals pourin’ out the forest….!

Iron One A: Gyaa! T-There’s something crawling around inside my armor!!

Iron One B: Eep! A squirrel!? Yowch!!! It’s biting my ears!

Iron One C: S-Stop!! It’s tickling me! Ah ha ha hah ah!

Silver: Thank you, everyone! We’re in your debt!

Sebek: The Iron Ones are faltering! Now’s our chance!

Grim: Come on, henchman! Hold on to me nice and tight!

Yuu: I’m counting on you, Grim!

Sebek: We must break through their forces! Follow Silver!!

Imperial Guards A/B/C: Gigiiii!

Iron One A: Oh, you think you’re gonna escape, huh? Archers, at the ready!

Silver: Sebek, behind you!

Sebek: What!?

Yuu: Look out!

(bats screech and fly across the screen)

Iron One A: Guwaaaa! What now!? Bats!?

Silver: That’s….!

Sebek: S-Sir Lilia!

(Lilia flies over to Silver and Sebek and bops them on the head)

Silver/Sebek : Ouch!

Lilia:  You little morons! The hell did you two think you were doing, running off like that? Ugh, this is why I can’t stand kids!

(Animal sounds)

Lilia: Ow! Stop pecking me! I’m on your side! …But I gotta say, calling on a bunch of birds and squirrels for reinforcements is pretty sloppy. We’re followers of the night, you know. I’ll give you props, though. Ah ha ha ha!

Iron One B: Look! It’s Vanrouge! Capture him!

Iron One C: After theeeem!!

Lilia: I still can’t fly on my own for too long. Sebek, let me ride behind you on your broom.

Sebek: Yes, sir!

Lilia: You boys need to fly as fast as you can! I’ll stave off their attacks! Silver, give me backup!

Silver: Yes, sir!

Lilia: Baul, you take up the rear!

Baul: Leave it to me, General!

Lilia: Grim! And Yuu! You better not fall behind!

Grim: Heh heh. Ain’t nobody better at runnin’ away than ol’ Grimmy here!

Lilia: Come on! Let’s blast right through ‘em!

Baul: We made it past their perimeter! Keep going, and don’t slow down even a second!

Imperial Guards A/B/C: Gishaaaa!

Iron One A: We can’t let them escape! Use rocks, arrows, whatever it takes! Just stop them!

Iron One B: I-It’s no use! The squirrels gnawed through the ropes on our catapults!

Iron One C: Ow ow ow ow! Now the birds are throwing stones at us! Aww, come on!

Lilia: Farewell, Iron Dumbasses! Ah ha ha ha!

Iron One A: Waaaait!!

Battle Map Conversation

Lilia: Did you guys see the look on their faces! Their precious iron armor’s all covered in bird shit now… You boys did an excellent, job!

(Lilia pulls Sebek and Silver together and pats their heads)

Sebek: For the General of the Right himself to caress my humble head… I am honored! Truly honored!

Silver: ……I’m glad everyone made it out alright.

Baul: We’re not out of the woods yet. No doubt they’ll be following after us on horseback.

Lilia: Yeah. They aren’t going to let us get through the Canyon of Howling Winds without a fight. We don’t have time to spare. Let’s go! …Please be okay, Meleanor!

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#twst spoilers #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #baul zigvolt #twst #twisted wonderland #twst jp #ruler of the abyss

[accihoe]

Case Study 1

Pairing: detective!Bucky x doctor!reader

Summary: Prologue of how the geneticist and the detective met.

Warnings: Angst (in chapters to come)

A/u: 80s (Starts off in late 70s)

A/n: Howdy. Same drill; PLEASE DON'T STEAL MY WORK. God bless.

xxx

August 31, 1979

"Barnes." Stark acknowledges as he walks into the detective's office. "Stark." James says, removing his glasses and laying them on his brown desk. "Here are the evidence forms. We contacted Doctor Banner, but he's caught up in something. So, in place, he's sending his brightest intern." Tony states, sitting on the desk. "An intern?" James sighs, rubbing his cheeks. "Apparently she's good." Tony shrugs, lighting his cigar. "No smokin' in here. Ma complains about the smell." James waves away the smoke. Tony rolls his eyes and walks to the door. "You two start Monday, September 3rd." With that, Tony leaves.

September 3rd, 1979

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor, I'm detective Steven Rogers." Bucky hears Steve as he walks into the building. "The pleasure is all mine, detective. I'm Doctor Y/N Y/L/N." Y/N smiles warmly, shaking Steve's hand. "Doctor? I thought you were a novice." James states as he walks in, and Steve shakes his head with a quiet sigh. "I'm a Probationer, actually. Mr Barnes Junior." Y/N states. "Is that so?" James asks, lighting his cigar. "Indeed. However I lean more towards the science in genetics than medical practice." She says. "Very well. Well now that we've passed the introduction phase let's get to the case, shall we?" Barnes changes the subject. "Yes of course." Y/N smiles. James feels his heart jolt at her warm smile, so he returns it.

September 21st, 1979

"You're aware that the case ended like a week ago, right?" Sam Wilson asks, slipping his coat over his shoulders. "Oh we're very aware. Doctor Y/L/N is just helping me uncover more family schemes and suspect. Because she's a genius and all." Barnes shrugs. "Right. And that's why she's sitting on your desk." Sam says as he leans against his colleague's doorframe. "Goodnight Sam. Take care." Y/N smiles and singsongs. Sam sighs and shakes his head as he leaves, and once his back is turned to them he allows the smile to take over his face.

November 16th, 1979

"Buck, can I ask you something?" Y/N looks over at James, tucking a strand of overgrown hair behind his ear. "Ask away, doc." He smiles, looking down at the filed paperwork on his lap. "How would you like to meet my family?" She hums, twirling his hair between her fingertips. "Isn't it a bit soon, dollface?" He asks, finally looking at her. "I don't think so. For all they know we could've been together since September 3rd." She states calmy. Bucky smiles at his girl, taking her hand into his. "They're going to swoon over you. Trust me. Just brace yourself for questions. They have loads of them. About anything and everything." She says. James laughs, tilting his head to the side. "I can't wait to meet them. When and where do we go?" Bucky is quick to shift closer, intrigued and excited.

They shared their first kiss over New Year's. And, 4 months later, Y/N had a shimmering engagement ring adorning her left hand.

September 3rd, 1980

"And do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, to be your lawfully wedded wife?" The pastor asks. "I do." James smiles, more sure about his answer than he's ever been. "And do you, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, take James Buchanan Barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The pastor asks. Y/N sucks in a breath of excitement as she looks at all the seated and waiting guests, and then to her almost husband, his beautiful baby blues shining with the utmost love and adoration, "I do.". "You may now kiss the bride." The pastor announces. The crowd cheers and applauds as James dips his wife and kisses her.

"This is so bananas that on this very day, a year ago, we met for the first time. And now we're married." Y/N says dreamily as her husband kisses her knuckles as they sit at the bride and groom table. "Yeah, love acts in mysterious ways." He agrees, feeling himself get physically lost inside her eyes. "I love you, Y/N Y/M/N Barnes." He smiles, eyes scanning over her breath-taking features. "And I love you, James Buchanan Barnes." She hums in agreement. "Tonight I'm exceptionally grateful that Doctor Banner was busy." James smiles. "Want to know a secret?" Y/N whispers. "Always." He whispers. "He wasn't really busy. But I asked to go in his place." Y/N smiles up at her husband. "Wait. What?" He asks, scrunching his nose up as he smiles.

"Well, I wanted to gain experience fairly quickly, and word about NY's hottest detective on the look for a Geneticist came my way, so I pulled a few strings." Y/N admits. "So I have my beautiful wife to thank for this?" Bucky asks with a smile. "And Tony, for allowing a rookie in on a big case." She smiles playfully. "You helped us ace that case." James says in return.

xxx

This will probably just be a mini-series. But I'll see how it does, and decide thereafter.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes series #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #mcu #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #marvel mcu #detective!bucky

[mercair]

SAY HELLO TO... SHERIFF WOOSTERN !!

It was about time for this post to get an upgrade. Now, i don't think there's many of you, but for those who don't know her, allow me to re-tell you the story of Sheriff Woostern; My Deltarune Chapter 3 Secret Boss OC...

███████ ████ ███ was a former child actress on Starry Lands, known for her role as "Sheriff Woostern" on the show "Woostern & Friends". It was quite the popular show among the darkners, but most improtantly, among the lightners; the main reason the show existed to begin with.

She was a very talented actress for such a young darkner, almost as if she truly believed that she was a Sheriff and a "true hero", and that everything that happened at the show was... Real.

Nonetheless, things were going great for her. Everyone on the studio loved her, she became close friends with Ms. Mari, another actress who worked on the show, and overall, it seems that life could only get better for her...

But... One day, something strange happened. "Woostern" was alone in her green room that day, just drawing things as she usually did, waiting for The Director or Ms. Mari to call her to record a new episode. She heard a knock on her door, excited, she ran over almost immediately to open it to whoever it was. She has always been a bit air headed, perhaps that's why she didn't notice the strange darkness growing from under the door...

And when she opened the door, she was met by... Him. The man introduced himself as a big fan of her show, so much that he came over to the studio, only to meet her. "Woostern" was excited and cheerful to meet the man, she didn't know any better. Suddenly, the man offered the young actress a present. A little gift inside a box. "Woostern" happily accepted the gift and opened the box.

Inside the box was... A large piece of cloth, and a strange crystal. She looked up and the man had dissapeared. She looked at the piece of cloth, and it ocurred to her that it was meant to be some kind of clothing, so she decided to try to put it on. And when she did, the strange cloth transformed, into a very fiiting poncho, with a big smile on it. She loved it. Little did she know, that that "poncho" had more secrets inside of it than what it seemed.

Not long after that, people started to notice strange behavior coming from the little actress, she started to whisper things to herself quite often, and sometimes even suddenly disappeared with no excuses or explanations other than she was doing it for a "friend". And all of that, without ever taking her new poncho off.

Not long after that, the lightners stopped enjoying, caring, and watching the show. The ratings were low, and there was no way the show could keep up like this. So, The Director took the decision of cancelling "Woostern & Friends". When the young actress heard the news... Something changed. Something horrible. Something inside of her... SNAPPED. The recording set of the show was destroyed, in what seemed to be a fit of anger and desperation, by what people thought was "Woostern" herself. When she was finished, the young actress seemed like she couldn't remember anything of what just happened. She was the sheriff, why was everyone blaming her for this? Why was everyone talking to her like she was some sort of criminal? With tears in her eyes, she ran away from the studio before anyone could stop her.

Nowadays people have forgotten about the show, and The Director stopped searching for her assuming that she was taken by the young lightner when he went to college. In reality, she's hiding, waiting, for someone to help her out of this dilemma she has found herself in. But the poncho she's wearing... Her "friend"... Seems happier than ever.

Now, enough sad backstories.

As said in the image, she's strongly based on the Woody Theory, so her whole western theme, along with some other points, are not really that original.

She's a sweety pie the 70% of the time, helping Kris and becoming friends with them , the other 30% she's busy being the secret boss.

Her lightworld counterpart is a random doll Asriel used to play with, then forgot about it when he got older, and then abandoned it when he went to college. Pretty much like Toy Story 3, yeah!

About her design, i tried to go for a more cartoonish/doll? styled, making her whole torso being cover by the oversized poncho, the little hands, rosy cheeks and eyes way too big to be a human. And as for the poncho, well, you can already tell where her "friend" is, right?

WOOSTERN & FRIEND !!:

And laslty, her soundtrack! composed by myself, if you wanna listen to the rest, consider checking my soundcloud!

#deltarune #secret boss #deltarune chapter 3 #oc #deltarune secret boss #SoundCloud #sheriff woostern

[pattypanini]

Lay All Your Love On Me

Chapter 11- Forever and Always

Josh Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

TAGLIST

AN: Hi everyone! Here is the eleventh chapter of Lay All Your Love On Me from me and @mar-rein12! We are veryyyyyy sorry with the late chapter. The first 8 chapters we had prepared for a while but the last 3 have been made throughout the week whenever we had free time which is like never when your college students. But we're excited for you guys to read this, its a crazy one but we have good stuff for the future! We tried to play around with time skips and stuff, so if its confusing let us know so we can fix it for the future. So enjoy the eleventh chapter, Forever and Always

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, penetrative sex, fingering, butt stuff..., cursing, angst, slut shaming, fighting, fluff (comment if I missed any!)

Josh’s POV 

You are currently sitting in your musical theater composition seminar and couldn’t focus on anything. You were still thinking about your night with y/n a couple days ago. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. You needed her badly. You sit on your computer and attempt to take notes on the class but instead find your way onto a flower website. 

Maybe, I should order a bouquet for her, to surprise her. 

You scroll through the website completely disregarding your professor's lesson. You find a bouquet filled with pastel colored tulips. You remember her mentioning she had liked them before. As you look at the price, realizing it is only $70, you add it to your cart. 

You pay $10 for express delivery, in order to get it to her by the end of the day. You love doing nice things for her and you know this will make her so happy. You attach a message to it, signing it off with Love, Josh.

You click the place order button and let out a deep breath. Love Josh. You were feeling pretty bold for that one. You do love her though, or at least you feel like you could love her. She is everything and more that you look for in a woman. She is confident, hard-working, funny, and so incredibly beautiful inside and out. 

You continue daydreaming about her until your professor decides to end class a little early. As you walk to your next class you feel a buzz come from your pocket. 

3:12pm y/n: I don’t know if you have class rn, but if you don’t you should come back over to the dorm. I have the place to myself and I miss you. 

3:13pm Josh: No class at all, I’ll be over.

You would do anything to be able to see her, no matter what it takes. You quickly make your way over to her dorm, walking a little faster than you’d like to admit. But she just has that effect on you. Once you make your way up, you knock on the door. The door swings open, almost as if she was waiting for you.

‘Hi Joshy, I missed you.” She embraces you, wrapping her arms around your neck. You look down at her noticing she is dressed in only a thin, black satin robe. 

“I missed you too. What are you up to?” 

“I was actually about to hop in the shower!” She giggles, turning around to walk towards the bathroom. You just stand there not really knowing what to do with yourself. She halts her steps to whip around, facing you again. “You coming or not?”

 You immediately walk over to her discarding your shoes and shirt along with your backpack at the front door. Once you make it to the bathroom you kick off your pants and under garments, being left completely exposed to y/n. The only sound that could be heard was the hot water hitting against the shower floor. She slowly unties her robe, letting it fall to the floor. It feels like something out of a movie. 

Your eyes scan over every inch of her body. All the curves, dips, and perfections about her. 

“You’re so fucking sexy y/n.” Your hands connect to her sides, pulling her closer. “I need you, and your body so bad. Can I make you feel good princess, please?” She looks up to you with her doe eyes.

She sultrily struts over to the glass door of the shower, placing her hand on the handle. “You want me so bad? Well, then, you gotta come get me.” She pulls the door open to step inside, you run over to quickly step in from behind her. She tilts her head back and lets the hot water saturate her hair, and smudge her makeup. The way her mascara melted under her eyes turned you on way too much. You wanted so badly to push her down to the ground and make her suck you off but you wanted to make this about her. 

You immediately push her up against the wall. Your bare chest flush with hers, with your hands placed on either side of her head.“You just can’t control yourself can you?” She teases you, attempting to push her hips up into yours, under the stream of warm water. 

“Honestly, It’s hard for me to control myself around you, you’re so fucking perfect. Always making me want to fuck the shit out of you, like the dirty little girl I know you are.” You take your knee and place it in between her thighs, giving her the most perfect amount of stimulation on her clit. 

Her head flies back smacking against the shower wall with a sharp moan, far too turned on to feel the pain of it. Your lips connect with her in a passionate kiss. You gently slip your tongue past her lips, her gladly accepting it. You continue just like that for a few minutes until she pulls away. “Mmm… Josh…”

“What baby? Is something wrong?” You give her a concerned expression, eyes slightly widened. 

“No, nothing is wrong. I just need you to fuck me, hard. Right here. I can’t wait any longer” She begs, connecting your lips again with a quick kiss. 

You pull away this time, “Yeah? You want me to fuck you hard, right here?” You take your hand, lifting her chin up to look at you. She gives you a little nod, but that was not good enough for you. “Words, mama. Tell me exactly what it is that you want.”

“Holy shit, Josh. I’m so fucking wet for you. Feel it.” She takes your hand in hers, moving it to rest in between her legs. You drag your pointer and middle finger up her slit, collecting her slick on your fingers. You audibly moan at the sight before you, she looks too fucking good, its criminal. 

“Goddamn, yeah…you’re fucking soaked. Turn the fuck around, now.” You command her. She obeys, turning her body around to face the wall. Your hand finds its way to her back, pressing her up against the wall fully. You lean down to whisper in her ear, “Now mama, tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

You can feel her squirm under you, practically begging you to touch her. She turns her head to the side, “I want your fat cock inside of me Joshy. Fuck me so hard I can’t fucking walk. I wanna feel you fill me up.” She places her left leg up onto one of the low shelves, to steady herself and to make herself more accessible to you. 

You stroke your cock a couple times before lining yourself up with her entrance. You take your time sliding in, to allow her to adjust to your length. She lets out a deep sigh once you’re fully seated inside of her. “You been thinking about this mama? Because I sure have. You’re a fucking angel, got me wrapped so fucking tight around your pretty little finger.” You don’t move your hips, just yet, your cock only resting inside her. 

“I’ve been thinking about this, Josh. You have no idea. Give it to me, please. I can’t take it anymore.” There's no way you can give into her that easily. You gather her hair pulling it all over to one shoulder, giving her a sweet, little kiss on her back. 

“And why should I give it to you sweetheart? You think you earned it?” You question her, biting down onto her tender skin, making her wince. 

“I know I earned it Joshy, I’ve been such a good girl for you. You think I just invited you over here to be nice? I know what I want Josh, and I want you to fuck me. So give that to me or leave.” She says with a smirk, knowing how much she can control you.

You don’t mean that mama, you know you love me.” Oh shit. 

“Do I now Joshy? I could say the same about you.” She smiles pulling you into a kiss. “Now, I said I need you to fuck me or leave, so which is it going to be?” You bring your cock to her entrance, teasing the outside while bringing it up and down her slit. After perfectly lining her up,  you grab her hips and slam her back onto your cock. 

She lets out a loud moan and clutches onto the wall in front of her. You know she can take it by now, so you don’t slow your pace. You continue pulling her back onto you but you feel her push back harder onto you, knowing she wants it deeper. 

“Harder Josh please, it's not enough.” Not enough? You weren’t insecure about your size or anything but you wanted to give her more. You disregard the shower you were meant to be taking and turn off the water. Throwing the door open you pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, throwing her on the bed paying no mind to her wet body. Her soaked hair leaves a wet mark around her head, on the comforter. 

You bring her legs up to your shoulders, letting them drape over like a backpack. You line yourself up and begin abusing her pussy. Your hands squeeze tightly around her ankles, guaranteeing marks the next day. You slam in and out of her without any thoughts in your mind other than the sounds of your skin slapping against hers. 

“Is this enough for you now, slut? You’ve been such a spoiled little brat, a quick little fuck in the shower wouldn’t be enough for you huh? You need to be fucked hard like the whore you are.” You continue on with hard, deep strokes to her aching cunt. She was wrapping around you so perfectly and so wet, allowing you to easily slide in and out. 

She was so relaxed that her body was just so free and loose. All her perfect little holes were opened up to you and you couldn’t help but wonder what other holes you could fill. You flip her onto all fours, pressing her face down into the mattress. You grab her hips, beginning your harsh pace again. Your hands make their way down her ass and one hand stops right at her asshole. You take your thumb and lightly press it on the outside, not allowing it to enter. You begin to hear quiet moans coming from her mouth that were different from the ones from before. These ones were softer and hungry for more, not the loud, pornographic ones you always hear. 

“Do you like that y/n, does that feel so good?” Slowly making circles on the outside of it.

“It feels so good, please put it in Josh.” She begs.

“What a dirty girl, needing all your holes filled. Practically begging me to put a finger in her ass” 

“I am begging, so do it before I do it myself.” Her hand begins to reach around and moves your hand. Before she can do it, you swat her hand away. You take your pointer finger and shove it in her mouth, wetting it for her. You slowly slide it in, not knowing if it was something she had done before. 

“Please, tell me if it hurts or you want me to stop mama.” You begin to gently pump your finger in and out, in time with your thrusts. She shoves her face deeper into the bed, muffling her moans. 

“It doesn’t hurt, I need more Josh, add another.” What is this girl on?

You pull the finger out, not wanting to shove it in her mouth again you end up spitting directly on her asshole, and start massaging the two fingers into her. You make the final push, both fingers plunging inside of her. You slowly increase your speed back up to what it was before, slowing down your thrusts upon noticing her fullness. 

“Fuck, Josh. Oh God.” Her body starts to squirm underneath you. You can tell she's getting close. 

“Mama, you’re so goddamn dirty, holy shit. Wish you could see yourself right now, all fucked out and on display for me. I have you so filled right now. I wish I could fill you up in all your holes.”

 She only responds with a sharp moan. That causes you to speed up your thrusts again, the hand that wasn’t in her ass grips tightly onto her hip. You rip your fingers out of her, giving her a harsh smack on the ass. She yelps, beginning to grip harder onto the comforter. 

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.” She whimpers on, her eyes half lidded.  You continue on with your pace, doing all you could to push her over the edge. 

“Do it. Wanna feel your pussy squeeze around my fat cock. I’m so fucking close too.” Her moans heighten, making you thrust harder and faster despite your movements getting sloppy. 

Her body begins to shake, as curses and moans fly out of her mouth left and right. You feel a tight squeeze around your cock before you feel a new type of wetness splash onto your lower abs. A feeling you know all too well. The feeling of her squirt against your abs sends you over the edge, filling her up with your cum. You pant and slowly pull out of her, laying down in the bed next to her. 

She looks over at you, eyes wide and out of breath,” ya know…I’ve never done that before.”

You turn your head over to look at her, “clearly you were enjoying it.” You smirk at her.

“Oh trust me I was. Makes me want to invest in some butt plugs or something.” She says as you begin rolling off the bed.

You stand in front of her with your arms stretched out, offering her your hand. She allows you to take her hand, pulling her up off the bed. 

“How about we try again with a shower?” She giggles at your statement and nods her head. 

You both begin walking over to the bathroom, to hop in the shower yet again. 

—

Jakes POV

You sit on the couch waiting for Josh to get back from class. Usually you guys would go to the gym after your Wednesday classes, but he was late. You scroll on your phone trying to waste time until you come across a funny video of a cat barking. 

You save the video to your favorites on Instagram to show Josh later. A few videos later the front door rattles and in comes Josh with wet hair and a huge grin on his face. What's his deal? 

You give him a questioning look, “You look like you just got laid brother.” You joke with him.

Josh chuckles at you, “I was just in class.” 

You could tell when your twin was lying, “Reallyyy… why’s your hair wet then?” You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge. 

“I had to use the eye wash station in chemistry today.” 

“You don’t take chemistry dumbass, if you're gonna lie come up with a better excuse.” 

“Fuck… you caught me.” So, he finally decides to be honest with you.

“So where were you then?” You’re determined to get the answer out of him.

“I was over at y/n’s.” He says nonchalantly, dropping his bag on the floor and flopping down onto the couch. “Are we still going to the gym?”

“I mean I was planning on it, hence why I waited for you but you were late.” You look at your phone seeing that he's an hour late and now it would be cutting into band practice if you went now. “I can’t go anymore, I'm gonna be late for the band.”

Josh doesn’t even seem to care, he's just sitting there on his phone laughing at whatever video he’s watching. What a dick.

“Oh my god you gotta see this Jake.” He’s still chuckling as he turns his phone around to show you a video of the local bar and this crazy guy freaking out and jumping behind the bar. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the video despite being upset with Josh. “You're not gonna believe it. I literally saw him one time when I was there and he was being really weird and was doing the worm. I took a video I think let me see…” 

You scroll through your camera roll, Josh expectantly looking over your shoulder. You scroll up to a few weeks ago in your camera roll. You scan your eyes around where you think it would be and click on it showing Josh. You begin laughing but don’t hear much coming from your twin. You look over to see a confused and disgusted look on his face. 

“Jake…” you hear him say. 

You turn to look at him, your smile fading and confusion written all over your face. “What?” 

“What was that picture next to it?” he spat at you, anger filling his voice. 

You swipe out of the video and look at what is next to it. 

No. fucking. way.

Y/n’s nudes from weeks back were sitting in your camera roll. But there is no way he would know that they are hers. “I don’t really remember, it might be this girl from my class. We’re talking right now I guess.” Shitty lie.

“Girl from your class? Really, because that looks a lot like y/n.” He says pointing at your phone, eyebrows furrowing and free hand clenched into a fist. 

“How can you be so sure, the girl's face isn’t even in the picture, bud.” 

Josh stares into your soul, your eyes battling for dominance. You knew this wasn’t going to end well for anyone's case.

—

Y/n's POV

You're woken up from your pre-study nap to a loud knock on the door. You knew Char would be getting home late but normally when she forgets her keys she calls you. You quickly hop out of bed to answer the door. When you take a peek outside the door you see…Josh. 

“Josh? What are you doing here, did you forget something?” Your eyes scan over the room to see if anything was left. 

He darts in the door, without invitation, and makes his way to the couch and takes a seat. “Were you talking to anyone while we were?”

“Not romantically… I mean I was only talking to you. I pretty much cut off any prior things with everyone.”

“Did you start new ones?” He says clasping his hands together, squeezing them. 

“No- Josh what is this about? If you're gonna say something just fucking say it.” 

“Okay fine. How long have you been fucking my brother?” Your eyes widen, that’s the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I’ve never even talked to him.” You try your best to defend yourself, but you don’t think it’s working too well. 

“So you’ve texted him, is that what you're saying? I mean surely talking in person wasn’t enough so you also had to text when he wasn’t around. Squirt? Does that ring a bell y/n? Or the nudes you sent to his phone?”

“Josh, I don't send that kind of stuff anymore. Not to anyone. Plus I never sent them with my face ever!”

“Yeah true but it’s pretty fucking easy to notice you with that fucking initial necklace you always wear.” He says pointing at it. 

“You can’t prove anything, you asshole.” You didn’t feel like dealing with this shit right now. 

“Really, wanna hear everything that Jake just told me?” You give him a certain look to just shut his mouth. 

—

2 hours before 

Josh’s POV 

“How can you be so sure, the girl's face isn’t even in the picture, bud.” Jake proclaims.

“That necklace that ‘girl’ is wearing is the same one y/n never takes off because her dad gave it to her. The little freckle on her neck, her hair draping over the shoulders, who is it then Jake? I know her and her body, that's y/n.” You snap back at him, seeing right through his little lie. 

“Like I said, it might be a girl from my class. It might also be some random girl I don’t remember?”

“Then why would it be on your phone if you don’t remember? Open your messages now.” You’re seething. If you could see yourself right now, your face would most likely be bright red.  

“I don’t have to do shit Josh. Damn. You’re fucking crazy.” 

“No go ahead and just swipe through, if I don’t see her name then fine.”

Jake sighs, pulling open his messages and slowly goes through showing that he had nothing to hide while you quickly look at the previews of the messages. Nothing crazy until you see 

2:14am Jake: I know he’s asleep. Come to the bathroom now.

With that you grab Jake’s phone and run to the nearest room. You slam the door shut, locking it quickly.

“JOSH STOP, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT DOING THAT!” Jake screams muffle from behind the door. 

You take a deep sigh, knowing that you don’t want to see what's in those messages, but the pounding on the door tells you that your suspicions are correct.

After clicking on the messages, you’re met with weeks of conversations between Jake and y/n. 

9:45pm y/n: What am I wearing tonight hottie?

9:46pm Jake: Didn’t expect to be hearing from you, I missed you.

-

9:56pm Jake: I told you I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.

-

11:16pm Jake: I miss you too sexy, and your body. I wish I could be with you, taking that slutty little outfit off. Who picked that out again?😏

11:17pm Jake: Of course, sexy girl. Show me what's mine.

11:18pm y/n: Who said I was yours?

11:18pm Jake: Is anyone else getting these pics?

11:18pm y/n: No

11:19pm Jake: Then they’re mine, along with your body, all mine.

Holy shit. This has been happening underneath your nose the entire time. You trusted y/n, and even worse, you trusted your brother. You took out your phone and took pictures of some of the messages. You knew you needed to confront y/n and you knew you weren’t going to give her any time to come up with a story. You take Jake’s phone and hide it deep in your closet knowing he’ll never find it. You didn’t want him to give y/n any warning about what was going to happen. 

You yank open the door making your way to the door while Jake hollers his apologies behind you. You completely ignore him, slipping out the door. 

—

Present Time

Y/n’s POV

You couldn’t deny the truth. He had evidence and there was no way of getting out of it. 

“Josh, we weren't together. I- I can explain.” You grab onto his arm trying your very best to fool him. He forcefully rips his arm out of your grip. 

“So what was that then, huh. You can’t expect to act that way with me and not make me think it's something more than friends, because it wasn’t no matter what you say, and you know that.” His finger digs deeply into your chest, discomfort rising within you from his jab. You back away from his harsh touch. 

“It was more than friends, I thought it was friends with benefits.” You feel tears beginning to form in your eyes, your lips quivering as you attempt to speak. 

“Holy fuck y/n. You’re so fucking stupid. We said that because we were horny for each other, but I thought after making the connection it was something more. I should have known it from the beginning.” You see tears start filling his eyes, a wash of anger flashes across his face. He lets completely loose on you. 

“You’ve always been a slut and I should have recognized that you wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants for just one person, but hey go for my brother I guess. Was it convenient to just go to one bed and then hop into another only 5 feet apart? Probably the most efficient you’ve ever been, huh?” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” The tears are flowing down your cheeks now, sob after sob racking through your body. The thing was… he was right. You are everything he says you are. 

“I’m the asshole? Wow, y/n, real classy. Just admit it. Admit you fucked Jake. Then we can go back to the way things were before this goddamn musical.” 

“I don’t want to go back to the way things were before the musical. I made some mistakes and I'm sorry. But I just want everything to be how it has been.” 

“Oh yeah? When you were sleeping with both me and my brother? Fuck that. I don’t want anything to do with you, y/n.” 

“Did you even think about why I was getting with him in the first place? You selfish piece of shit, and for me to think you changed your ways.” There is no way he’s placing all the blame on you. 

“MY WAYS?! You're the one who hasn’t ‘changed their ways’ but please enlighten me as to why you would have to fuck me and my brother at the same time.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You have always been a fucking dick to me, and you know it. Jake treated me right from the beginning and made me feel wanted. I had to beg for your attention and for you to be kind to me. When you finally started to act the way a ‘boyfriend’ should act is when I cut it off with Jake.” You’re screaming in his face, begging him to hear you out, to understand. You stand there completely helpless in the middle of your living room, crying. 

"Damn it y/n I love you. I always have, I wanted to treat you that way but I didn't want to scare you off." His hands rubbing his face.

"Well you didn't do a great job showing it." You say in a snarking tone.

Josh walks up to you, incredibly close, his face right in front of yours. “You are a bitch.” You’re done with his shit, you forcefully shove him backwards and off of you.  

The room gets quiet, only being able to hear the heavy breathing of both of you bouncing off the walls. 

“Josh… please. I don’t want this to end.” You can hardly make out his body now standing in the doorway, through your tears. 

“I want that too… but I don’t know what else to do. This,” he motions between the two of you, ”is fucked.” You collapse on the floor, curling up into a ball, and just can’t stop your weeping. “I’ll text you tomorrow y/n, I need to clear my head after tonight.” The last thing you hear from him is the door slamming. 

After what feels like hours of laying on the floor weeping,  you hear knocking at the door.

Josh?

You pick yourself off the ground hurrying your way to the door. Maybe he wanted to talk it out more, figure something out.

When you get to the door you're met with no one. You look at your surroundings and notice a large bouquet of flowers sitting on the ground. You bring them in, hoping maybe they were from your dad who occasionally sends you flowers as a little gift. 

You set them on the counter and open the card. Your eyes scan the words, causing you to fall to your knees. What have I done? This is your fault. You are a slut. You don’t deserve anyone. 

Thankful for you, forever and always. Love Josh.

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

Taglist:

@demonrat444 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jordie-gvf @jazzyfigz @slut4lando @gvfmarge @peaceloveunitygvf @jjwasneverhere @areuirish @mar-rein12 @woyayaofdreams @freyjalw @musicspeaks @jennabobenasblog @do-it-jakey-baby @dannys-dream @its-interesting-van-kleep @josh-iamyour-mama

#greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #gvf #josh gvf #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut

[chantsdemarins]

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston fan fic #foot lover #meet cute

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter ii

that fateful first day at the galeries gourmet, and a little bit after, told from the vantage point of the fickelgruber balcony.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.9k

fair warning, i am a MASSIVE shakespeare nerd. but, if the 70s movie is anything to go by, so is wonka. so it's fine.

florence, however, as we've established, is Very Much Not Fine.

enjoy!!

(part one) (fic masterlist) (part three)

The outside air was refreshing, almost as refreshing as the young woman’s realization that not a single eye was on her.

That honor and worry went to the newcomer that was becoming ever curiouser to behold.

“Now, who wants to try one?”

The crowd around him clamored for a chance at his flying chocolates, and Florence’s spirit nearly lifted into their twittering flush, only to fall again when-

“I will.”

The buzz of the crowd fell silent at Slugworth’s words, and Florence frowned as the Chocolate Cartel stepped forward with intent to embarrass the young dreamer beyond repair. The boy, though, looked between the three as if this were suddenly the most exciting day of his life. He greeted them, utterly starstruck, but was caught off guard when Slugworth crushed him in a handshake, and Florence winced. She’d seen near-countless hopefuls come to the Galeries filled with entrepreneurial spirit and be driven away by the trio within minutes, but this one seemed…different somehow.

It’s as if he has nothing without this dream, and somehow that gives him more to lose.

She blinked, wondering how such a specific thought could come to her when she’d only just learned this man existed. But her view from the balcony allowed her to study his face, which she did with fascination and a slight speck of shame.

The Cartel each tried one of the chocolates the newcomer had brought, and now they were the ones she watched closely.

Yes, something was different this time.

Because Florence Fickelgruber knew her husband, and despite his attempt to hide his reactions at this moment, the chocolatier had a very expressive face.

He liked that chocolate. He loved it. Even more surprising, so did the others.

They listed off the ingredients they tasted, trying to keep the wonder from their voices, and the younger man responded to each with a fascinatingly short anecdote telling where he’d gotten it.

How could he be so well-traveled, yet so naive? How could-

She realized then that she was smiling, blushing even, feeling as light as if she’d had one of those weightless chocolates herself. It was silly, she knew, to hope for real change simply because of one charming new arrival, but that hope bubbled up regardless as she watched the Cartel exchange eye contact which was far more frazzled than the cool assurance she’d seen earlier.

Slugworth then began his typical long preface to his judgment, the telltale sign that he was about to demolish the young man’s hopes, and Florence from her balcony was the only one who knew.

Should I say something?

Before she could, the “absolute, one hundred percent, worst” came crashing down.

Not hearing the end, the boy-Wonka, as he was apparently called-whooped into another call to the crowd, his smile wide and infectious as-

Then it hit him.

“Wait, the worst?”

“We three are the fiercest of rivals, but we agree on one thing,” Slugworth declared, and Florence rolled her eyes-she’d always been frustrated at never being told much about the inner workings of the Chocolate Cartel, knowing just enough to be sure it was corrupt but not enough to bring the truth to light and be believed, but she was certain that the three were anything but rivals-“A good chocolate should be simple. Plain. Uncomplicated.”

“Whereas this,” her husband said, dripping in condescension and pronouncing each W with a drawl of air, “with all its bells and whistles, well, it’s just…”

“Weird,” Prodnose finished, and the younger man’s gaze fell.

Guilt by association had become a familiar friend of Florence’s over the past two years, but it pricked at her even more intensely now.

“That’s a shame,” Wonka said, so quietly that she had to lean over the balcony to catch it. “If you thought the chocolate was weird…”

Florence leaned forward further, eyes widening as the young man looked up at the Cartel from under the brim of his top hat, his expression having taken on an almost darker confidence.

“You’re going to hate what happens next.”

And with that, Mr. Slugworth was floating.

The crowd gasped, and Florence gasped right along with them, especially when the other two soon joined him. Felix’s face twisted almost comically when he rose to the point of seeing his wife on his balcony, and he tried with little success to swim through the air towards her. They reached for each other again and again, futile attempt after knowingly futile attempt, accompanied by the crowd’s delight, Wonka’s shouts of a satisfied salesman, and the frantic bickering of the Cartel.

“Have a nice flight, darling!” she couldn’t help calling out as Felix continued to rise helplessly past his office and toward the high ceiling of the Galeries. With no one watching her anymore, Florence was free to fall into pealing laughter.

Well, one person was watching.

Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she realized she’d caught the glance of Mr. Wonka, who looked up at her with a glint of recognition and a more genuine smile than she’d ever seen in her life.

Huh.

He tipped his hat to her, then turned back to his crowd of customers, who each dropped one single sovereign in his jar before relishing the candy. What’s more, his eyes spent much more time on the people’s happy faces than on the jar to make sure they were paying. This man was in this business for the love of it.

She could have ran down and kissed him right then.

…Aaaaaaaand that was not something she was going to think about right now.

Because apparently this day is so unusual that she’s now thinking in third person.

Get a hold of yourself, Wren.

She watched as customer after customer was lifted into the air, as her husband-your husband, till death do you part-and his Cartel floundered on the ceiling, as Wonka beamed at a little girl he saw near the Galerie’s entrance, as-

As the police came through that very entrance.

She should have known.

She’d tried many times to gain information from her husband by casually bringing up related subjects, because she had a feeling his group had something to do with the local police department being far less just than advertised. But Felix was perfectly tight-lipped, always flipping her words around themselves until he’d turned the conversation as if she hadn’t asked a thing at all.

…How did I ever think…

Never mind.

So they’d initially planned to humiliate the boy and then place him under the law’s eye, even if he hadn’t proved a threat, which he most certainly had.

She sighed, watching as the officers pulled people down from the air. It took them quite a while to figure out a way to retrieve the Chocolate Cartel from the ceiling, but retrieve them they did. Upon reuniting with solid ground, Felix cast his wife a wide-eyed, exasperated look, which she returned with an equally dazed shrug. He rolled his shoulders back, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and turned smartly on his heel to follow his colleagues out of the Galeries, presumably on their way to regroup.

Shortly after they’d reached the outdoors, the Cartel learned that being temporarily grounded wouldn’t stop the bugs that still resided in them from flying, and they involuntarily took off once again, shouts and curses echoing.

Oh, God.

Well, he said it only lasted twenty minutes.

…They’ll be fine.

Florence grinned and looked down toward Mr. Wonka, hoping despite herself for another glance, but he was in conversation with the one officer that she still trusted. Affable seemed to take pity on the boy, reaching into his pocket and handing him a sovereign of his own.

He wouldn’t have done that if he knew I was watching.

That idea that anyone would think she was against that act of kindness was a twisting thorn in her heart, and she internally vowed to make it as clear as possible that her morals were nowhere near lined up to her husband’s.

As clear as possible to everyone except said husband.

And anyone else that would put my family in danger of losing anything, if he finds out I’m not truly aligned with the brand that’s currently allowing them to survive.

He’d give her jewels, and she’d wear them for a while until he forgot about them, at which point she’d mail them home-under a secret name, her old name, her real name-to be bartered for food and board. What with Felix’s decidedly obvious aversion to anything resembling charity, it was the only thing she could think to do.

“So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

Huh.

The police and customers had all left by now, and the young man was left standing there, staring at the mark of compassion that had been pressed into his hand by the officer.

The feel of the Galeries had become quiet after the chaos of all that had happened only moments before.

Florence had suddenly found herself nervous.

“Mr. Wonka.”

He startled at the sound, apparently having believed she’d left, but then smiled, pocketing the sovereign as he looked up.

“You’re the actress, the musician! You’re Mrs. Fickelgruber!”

“I am,” she said, lighting up a bit upon being noticed first for her art and only second for her marriage.

“So,” Wonka said with an ever-so-slightly deflated flourish of the hand, “what do you think? Of…all of this?”

“I,” she began, then paused, then cautiously smiled, “do not share my husband’s opinion.”

“Good.”

His eyes were hazel, like hers, and they sparked with an energy so striking that it seemed to travel all the way up to her slightly lofted position.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” she said, looking around to ensure their secrecy and feeling quite like a teenager, “but you’ve really got something. No crowd I’ve seen has ever taken to a newcomer quite like they have to you, so don’t worry about the others’ scare tactics. There hasn’t been anyone here lately with a passion, talent, earnestness like yours-”

I’m rambling I’m rambling STOP RAMBLING you are MARRIED you are a RESPECTABLE WOMAN you are being TOO SINCERE you NEED TO STOP TALKING.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Wonka said, after a moment, and just as sincerely.

Everything about him is sincere.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he continued. “Giving up, I mean.”

“Good,” she echoed, and he smiled. “I have a feeling the world would be far worse for it if you did.”

He shook his head as he looked at her, seeming rather unsure of what to think beyond a strangely certain trust.

Well, that makes two of us.

“Really, thank you,” he said. "That means a lot, especially…well, especially coming from you.”

She glanced down for a moment at the swirling wrought-iron balcony beneath her hands, and laughed a little at the sudden realization of their position.

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

He blinked, stunned by the reference, and continued it.

“I take thee at thy word.”

A nearly disbelieving smile broke across her face, then his, and the clock then rang out before she could say anything truly stupid.

“Well. Good day, Mr. Wonka.”

He nodded, considered her for a moment, then slung his cane over his shoulder.

“Call me Willy,” he said with another tip of his hat, then turned to leave. “Glad to have met you, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

A beat, and then, without thinking, before she lost her courage-

“Call me Wren.”

The clock’s final chime of half past ten echoed and faded, and the young chocolatier smiled once more.

“Good day, Wren.”

#wonka 2023 #wonka movie #wonka x reader #willy wonka x reader #wonka #willy wonka #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #fiytwtb #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Will there be smut between Elvis and Elaine in the 70s/80s chapter of the saga? I absolutely adore the second gen, but i am also really obsessed about the both of them still finding time (to make babys obvsly) but also enjoy eachother soo passionately like in the early years 😍 i am very invested 😂

Oh, oh darling yes there will be and…it just might be my favorite of all their eras. Plenty of fic in the works, and I’m delighted that interests you. Nothing hotter than a couple fused together by time and devotion. Also, this is beyond random but I do envision Elvis getting a bit cuddlier and bulkier into the 90’s…whereas in this AU the 70’s remain about the same health and looks as around ‘74…with some gray allowed to creep in by the mid 80’s. 😏 ALL THAT TO SAY, I find the idea of warm and sturdy Elvis being enamored with his Pilates obsessed wife pretty swoonworthy

There’s a lot coming soon for the 80’s and earlier but for now, how about a little intermediate, plotless, fluffy, wintry smut fest between Grandpa Elvis and his Tink when they’re stuck in a ski lift on their aspen holiday? …it goes something like this (WARNINGS, fluffy smut involving p in v, semi public sex but not observed, tender cum feeding (somehow Elaine made that a thing) and subby older Elvis, 18+:

Sarge & lil Mama blurb, Jan 1995,

|| Snow Bunnies

“When’d I get so damn fat?” Elaine hears her man huff over the rustling sound of their snow coats rubbing together and wants to roll her eyes, amused that Elvis didn’t expect that result from almost nightly burger and shake runs with Shiloh for the past decade.

She does roll her eyes at the thought that he wiggled her snow pants down and her panties, too, before even unzipping himself.

“You’re cuddly,” she retorts with a smile directed down to the ski slope far below them, her hand pressed to the frosting glass of the lift, “as all grandpa’s should be. Nobody wants a scrawny grandpa.”

Case in point is the waft of steaming heat Elaine feels against her bare backside the minute he gets his pants undone, sweaty body heat radiating off of him despite the freezing temperatures around them. Instinctively she arches her back a little and shifts her footing, putting a leg up on the bench to make some room for little Elvis, slotting her ski carefully between the narrow walls. It barely fits.

She thanks God for the fact she’s got just enough height to her that they can do this standing up, have been doing it this way for over three decades now, because if he can’t wait for a private moment and if he must take advantage of the stalled ski lift, then she’s secretly relieved she won’t be the one exerting effort with ten pounds extra of ski equipment hampering her.

As it is, it’s funny how swelteringly hot they both feel besides their barely exposed privates. She can hear the minute Elvis frees himself from his little wounded hiss at the cold air and his pitiful need always did make her run wet.

“C’mon mopey, come to mama.” she encourages and braces her hand on the glass, checking to make certain her long coat covers any frontal view, only the back tugged down and her husband is soon behind her with enough width and padding to hide a dumpster. “Give lil Elvis some shelter.” she tries to reach between her legs to guide him but there’s too much winter bulk in the way and only her fingertips make it to his line of sight.

Elvis moans at the eager gesture anyway, touched by how ready she still remains for him, how willing even when it ain’t her idea or need.

“Keep ya hand right there, Mamas.” he tells her in a conspiratorial little whisper, “Hims gots a little gift for hers.” he says and Elaine grins wildly in delight, trying to anticipate it, beyond the delicious stretch she readies for with braced and booted feet.

She hears the shlick/shlack of him rubbing something, along with the muffled creaking of his nylon jacket and leather gloves, and after a few moments of white breathed puffing behind her she feels a warm drop hit her finger tip.

Then another, and another and then a little string of liquid and she knows it’s his precum, he’s dripping it onto her hand and Elaine closes her eyes against the bright white landscape of an Aspen morning and imagines his drippy pink cock in a sea of leather and nylon, one warm and vulnerable little knob in the harsh elements and she knocks her forehead against the glass wall in mouthwatering craving.

“Oh Elvis!” she groans, curling her fingers as the puddle grows and begins to puddle in her palm, slicking up her own curls down where her hand is wedged so tightly from her barely removed pants. “Put it in baby, mama wants it, c’mon pretty baby.”

“Ok.” The whine and shuffle she hears behind her sounds like a child clumsily but eagerly obeying and that’s rather characteristic of her man. She bites her gloved thumb at the feel of his tip pressing blindly at her folds, poking and prodding the wrong places for entry and strangely it’s terribly exciting, this inhibited Elvis, this clumsy man who wants her so bad he’d try to bonk her in a sky lift with Pillsbury Doughboy amounts of padding striving to keep them apart.

The path of true love never did run smooth.

The jabbing and novice pokes are worth it for his frustrated little grunts in her ear and the way he tries to wiggle on top of her leaning frame, like extra height is going to help matters. She bends a little further with a fond smirk, wanting to chuckle at the way his arm presses across her shoulder and the back of her neck. It’s so desperate it’s comical and Elaine always has a weakness for being overly wanted by him.

His face is hanging over her left shoulder when he manages to wedge an inch into the correct hole and his hot breath blasts her cheek in relief and she spares a gloved hand from propping herself against the glass to pat his squishy cheek. It’s not fair how packing on a few pounds has seemed to erase the age from him, filling out the wrinkles he collected last decade and turning him into something as cute as the grandsons all over again.

Elaine feels like she did when she was freshly married and he was a chubby cheeked baby man. Even now when she can’t really see his face with the positioning, she can imagine it and it makes her heart flutter. She pats at his face and the scritch of his trimmed sideburns is noisy against the leather, Elvis nuzzles her palm.

Before she knows it he’s got her gloved fingers in his mouth and his teeth clamp against the leather at the tips and he starts to pull the glove off. She helps him, yanking her wrist and he drops the glove over her shoulder like a dog depositing a gift.

“Pet me, mamas.” Elvis begs again and nestles into her body a little further, half way in if she were to guess, and after all these years, she’s a pretty good guesser about little Elvis. “M’too fat to get in all the ways.” he fusses, forlornly starting to hump inside her in aborted little fucks like a bunny with his mate.

The mental image makes Elaine chortle, as do the silly little jabs from those famous hips. He’d get more depth violating a jacuzzi jet but Elvis Presley waits for no man and she supposes if the slide is tight enough to drag his little scarf back and forth, maybe it’ll be sufficient. She clenches for him, little rhythmic kegels that remind her of postpartum rehabilitation and his answering moan encourages her. “That feel good, baby boy? Hmm? Is mama warm and cozy?” she asks, her cheek getting sweaty from where his is pressed to hers.

Into their sixties and Elvis still twitches madly under her doting, purring in her ear when he’s being spoiled.

“Ssso’cozzzeeey.” he slurs right into her ear and she shudders in delight, feeling his arm around her waist through her layers of bundling, his hand on her shoulder needy and insistent.

After a decade of peace and over three so intertwined and inseparable, it’s as if Elvis has forgotten they are separate people. Older and less fastidious over timing or moods, when her husband gets a craving for his better half, he indulges it. It’s wholesomely nasty and Elaine doesn’t expect her children or the public to understand but she gets it.

She leans her forehead against the glass, lets her sweat smudge the clear view, and thinks she sees the specks that are their friends and kids below, commenting on the stalled lift no doubt, and she grins at the notion that Elvis can’t get enough momentum to actually make it obvious as to what these two bundles in the sky are doing.

His chubby and familiar cock is rubbing inside her delightfully as do his balls, hanging lower and swollen by age, smack her backside with every lurch, and she lets out a happy sigh at the slick sounds of his sloppy movements. Elaine can hear when he starts to get close, his breathy moans of exertion quicken and he lets out throaty little noises of delighted panic as his climax nears. His hands grasp her hips over the padding and he nearly climbs on her like it’s a piggy back ride, squirming to get a little deeper before letting out a long and loud sigh of contentment as he lets go, a sigh that has begun to crack at the end in a hoarse moan the older he gets.

“You feel so good, Tink.” he groans into her ear and her pussy clenches at the praise and the feel of his wet slop inside her.

The gush between her legs is obscene due to his shallow depth and just when she thinks he’s done with his deposit, Elvis will jerk some more and out sputters another little bit to join the rest slowly leaking out of her and dripping onto the crotch of her ski pants. “Mmm, shit, I made a mess, mama.” he mumbles apologetically at the obvious and easily foreseeable consequences to his actions.

“S’ok mopey,” she reaches back and strokes his sweaty cheek as he burrows his lips into the collar of her jacket and kisses her neck ardently and grateful, “that do it for ya, baby?” she asks, tipping her head back to allow him more access.

“Yeas,” He sighs happily, “m’all better.” he declares and Elaine’s heart thuds like a teenager from his soft, adoring tone, from the way she’s still his cure-all at all times. “But damn is it soupy down there, sorry mama.”

“You’ve been holding that in for a couple days now,” she coos, “been makin’ you grumpy and it must’ve been so hard, bein’ so full and achy and not able to relieve it.”

Elvis sniffles into her neck even as he begins to pull out, the gush of his release beginning to pour out and she quickly cups her hand to her cunt to catch some of it in her palm and spare her pants just a little.

“It’s been verra rough.” he agrees with a pout that no longer reaches anywhere else on his face save his mouth, quite an improvement from the grumpy storm cloud that was Elvis traveling here yesterday in a crowded Bus with kids and grandkids, deprived of his naps and his autonomy, with his bed full of grandkids at night and unable to have his Tink at whim.

Vacations were nice in theory, and suddenly relieved of his more irritable humors -which Elaine was cupping milky white in her palm- they might end up being nice in practice too. He just needed a little dotin’ on, like a vintage car, one can’t expect it to purr constantly without some upkeep. Tink knows this and she smiles back at him sweetly, same way she smiled at him on the bus when his boyish and round face was puckered in a moody scowl that matched Jack’s a few rows behind.

“Yeah, I know,” she’s still smiling but he watches her glance down to the pearly puddle in her palm as she adds, “but we gotta count our blessings we’ve got kids who wanna bug us as much as they do, people dream about families working as well as ours. Nothin’ we did alone, God’s been good to us, I mean -look at those sweet idiots, they’re not even skiing even though the conditions are perfect, they’re too worried for us. Don’t you think most rich kids would be hoping the car falls so they get the inheritance faster?”

Elvis wheezes a laugh and does a little hop to pull his padded pants back up, struggling with the zipper a bit. Slightly thicker around the middle and he acts like he’s nine months pregnant, unable to fasten his closures or put his shoes on, the pink happiness in his cheeks when Elaine offers to help him, betrays his act each time.

“I’ll help ya, if you need,” she offers, her own pants having been pulled up by him as he’s a gentleman, even if he’s a feral one.

“Yeah baby I need a hand.” grunts and his chin has a soft double under it as he looks down to his fly.

“Well, then clean me up so I can help.” she casually presents her cum coated hand and he balks for a brief moment until her unflinching little smile tells him she’s not kidding in the slightest, and he doesn’t need her to remind him she’ll be waddling and skiing all day in the soupy mess he made in her pants. It’s the least he can do, her eyebrow remind, and with a stuttering little whimper of aversion he takes her wrist in his large, gloved hand and bends over it like he’s gonna kiss it with all his Hollywood honed suavity.

Instead he gets to work on his task with only a fleeting grimace at the tepid saltiness of his own release and his compliance makes Elaine shiver and clench. She can feel the warm little kitten licks from his tongue, so reminiscent of other activities she uses him for, and his black lashes fan against his cheeks through the orange visor of his ski glasses as he peaks up to see her approving expression.

“That’s good enough, well done, let me help you now, sweet man.” she sighs dreamily while rubbing her finger against his curling tongue.

Elaine pats her shiny hand on her leather vinyl ski pants and finds it ineffective for drying it but there’s nothing to be done about it and so she dutifully lifts up his jackets and grasps the top of his pants and brings them together, “Suck in just a lil.” she suggests as her knuckles dig into the soft, hairy flesh of his belly, rubbing against his little treasure trail. “There we go.” she clasps it and he lets out a sigh and she steps back and both smile shyly at each other over the pretense of him needing help with something so easy.

“I love you.” it bubbles out of her lips as she sees him bundled and shy in front of her with a face shiny from his exertions inside her.

Elvis’ pink lips gasp a little at the common little declaration and he brings his large hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep kiss. She tastes his salty spend still on his tongue and moans into his scorching mouth. Her man and his body -always so warm and never more so than when he’s been freshly sated.

The ski lift jolts and Elaine falls further forward into Elvis’ embrace, losing her footing in the clumsy footwear, and he holds her up, looking above them to find the car has begun to lurch in what he hopes is an intentional motion to help the stall.

“Are we about to die?” Elaine asks with a giggle into the poofy padding of his jacket and his own laugh rumbles under her ear.

“Dunno,” he jokes, “but if we are, I want ya to know I don’t regret a damn thing ‘bout lovin’ you, ‘cept that I just left ya hangin’ in our last ron-day-voo like a green boy.”

Elaine smacks at his arm and feels the ski lift start to slide down the cable as it ought to have a whole half an hour before. “Gosh, I think we’re actually going to make it.” she mutters as their skiing party has remained intact for the most part, loathing to split off before the Boss and Boss Lady made it up safe.

When they get to their drop Elvis helps Elaine hop off the lift and he follows after, being swarmed by kids and grandkids and their friends asking if they’re alright. Which they are, of course they are.

A employee from the Resort, no doubt the fella who got them moving again, comes up and apologizes profusely for the inconvenience.

“Say nothin’ of it boy.” Elvis beams and claps him on the shoulder and Jack shares a look with his wife Vic at the quite obvious attitude adjustment that seems to have occurred since leaving the lodge. “Ya never know, one day I might tip ya for stallin’ an elevator or something so I can get this sweet creature alone for a minute.” and Elvis squeezes Elaine to his side like a typical, flirty old man and the poor employee stops chewing his gum in confusion.

“Uh. Well I’m glad you’re not shaken up, these things are quite safe they just stall occasionally.” the guy assures, loathe to get a bad review from the Presleys of all people.

“Yes of course.” Elaine smiles demurely at him and that should be his signal to move along but he’s one of those overachiever types, rules and regulation sorts, and so he persists.

“What can be dangerous is rocking a car in hopes to get it going.” he explains, “If this happens again, God forbid-“

“-better not.”

“-then it’s really important not to rock the thing or sway it too much, that can snap a cable, really Mr. Presley it’s important you guys don’t try that again.”

“We-we didn’t-“ Elvis is the picture of confusion even as Elaine’s face solidifies into diplomatic blankness.

“But we saw it rocking.” Bee, Shiloh’s best buddy and a tag-along to all Presley events, insists she saw what she saw, which was the lift rocking. She had commented as much to Danny despite his arguments that it was the wind before he dragged her off to watch him fail at a misty ski trick.

That’s why his forehead was busted and Elaine stares at the gash partially hidden by his shaggy brown hair with some concern.

“Must’ve been the wind.” Elvis repeats his son’s logic and Bee stares in confusion as they’re all out to ski because of the lack of wind.

Elaine beckons Danny over and makes his lanky frame crouch a little so she can ascertain the damage to his head while elbowing a still protesting Elvis in the ribs.

“We did try hopping a few times.” she admits breezily and as soon as she says it, Elvis stops his lying, quickly clamping his mouth shut, “Just thought we might get the momentum back. I’m sorry sir, we didn’t know we could die, we won’t try it again.” she assures.

Content the employee leaves them be and the various groups split off for the various courses, eager and red cheeked. Elvis and Elaine agree to shepard the youngest kids in the group down the easier slopes with the help of Rosalee and Sam.

On their way to their starting places Elvis brushes by Elaine, grandchild's hand in his on his opposite side and mutters in her ear, “Shouldn't make promises ya can’t keep.”

🥰 I hope y’all don’t mind me tagging y’all in blurbs as well as fics, most of y’all asked to be tagged in “everything” so I took you pretty literally, lol. Let me know and I’ll remove you for future. Xoxoxo

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

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@steph-speaks

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@angelface-555

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@coolgirl462

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@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

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@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

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@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

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@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #sarge & lil mama #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #welcome home elvis #elvis presely smut #Elvis smut #elvis the king #elvis history #elvis and priscilla #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

POLARIS

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi, or Makisig (the Tamawo bros). Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto.

A/N: This one is the sequel to Rough around the Edges. The last chapter (Rough Around the Edges - Final Part) may seem rushed- honestly, it is. Not in a way that I wanted to finish it at that, but my ADHD brain sometimes gets sudden bursts of ideas that I need to quickly get into my drafts, however, my fingers are too slow to type everything. Those I didn't get to type is somehow forgotten or changed into something else, thus explains the inconsistencies in pace, typos, wrong grammar, and other imperfections in my writing. (No, I am not sad or apologetic about it. I have a lot to improve and I have all the time in the world :D ) Still, I am thankful for everyone who takes time to read the products of my mind. I love writing about Maliksi btw, I think his character is complex and simple in itself and I am absolutely smitten with him. <3 Love HC and everything they do, as well as my fellow Planet Puto fans and enjoyers.

((AND NO, I AM NOT HURTING YOUR HEARTS THIS TIMEEE))

"Hey old hag, slow down or do you wanna get your second hip replacement right away?" Maliksi grumbled as he helped Amor's granddaughter, Maricela sit into a chair at the patio. She and Maliksi became friends- sharing their adoration for Amor.

Maricela has been old now and being in her 70's wasn't that enjoyable for her. She recently got hip replacement surgery and her grandchildren will be coming home from the city next week to take care of her.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Lola Amor loved not getting this old. That woman died pretty." Maricela softly chuckled. "Thank you for visiting, Maliksi."

Maliksi scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Can't have you tumbling around your backyard again before Amor scolds me on my dreams."

"Lola visits you on your dreams? Wait, you guys sleep?"

"If you were any younger I would've smacked you on your head by now. Ofcourse we sleep! We're not vampires! And no, she doesn't visit my dreams, that snobby little lady not even showing herself to me...even once."

"Not like you visited her when she was still alive!" Maricela burst out laughing.

"To my defense, I absolutely have no idea how time works outside Biringan. I didn't bother finding out before losing her." Maliksi softly answered.

"Atleast you're learning now. How's your Kuya Makisig? Still busy with his tamawo duties?"

"Yeah, as always."

"If you both didn't tell me everything about tamawos or explained how you guys' relationship with the humans work, I would've stayed there. I was crushing hard on your Kuya when I was younger." Maricela giggled.

"Well, you're a widow now want me to get Kuya to-"

Maricela, even being that old was still strong enough to playfully bonk Maliksi on his head. "Oh shush! Have some respect to your elders, how can you pimp me like I'm some kind of sugar baby wannabe."

Maliksi clutched his stomach from laughing too hard. "C'mon. I'm technically older than you by a lot!"

"You have a point. You should visit here next week. My grandchildren will be throwing a little party since this is the first time they'll be going home here in the province in a very long time. We'll have a lot of sweets and kakanin for sure."

"Next week huh? Seven human days, sure...I'll set that in my calendar so I won't miss it."

Maricela's laughter filled the air as her younger grandchildren pushed her wheelchair around the yard. Most of Maricela's family stayed at the city and rarely visited the province. The kids are absolutely enjoying it, having a chance to play in the sun and have fun on an open yard for the first time.

Maliksi quietly watched as he picks up a plate, ignoring the other savory dishes and going straight to the dessert section. The family members just thought of Maliksi as anak ng kapitbahay who looks after their Lola Maricela whenever he's free so he is treated warmly, oftentimes greeted by everyone who passes by his table.

Maliksi was spooning some lecheflan right out from the llanera when a shy boy approached his table and placed a platter of kutsinta right infront of him.

"My ate told me to give this to you." The boy shyly said before running away to join his cousins.

He tilted his head, eyes scanning the plate of steamed rice cake in front of him.

Amor still makes the best one.

Kutsinta is still his favorite, no doubt about that, yet he couldn't get himself to eat it after learning about Amor's passing, knowing nothing can top her kutsinta- it's the best he's ever tried even after being alive for centuries afterall.

Maliksi looked around, knowing that the kakanin might be prepared by one of Maricela's relatives, or worse, by one of her grandkids. Not wanting to be rude towards the one who made it, Maliksi slowly picked up a piece, inching it closer to his mouth before taking a bite.

His eyes widen as he quickly stood up from his seat, Maricela and her family were surprised at his suddenness, all eyes staring at him in bewilderment.

"Is everything okay, ijo?" one of the aunties asked Maliksi.

He quickly realized his actions, clearing his throat to gain composure and sitting back down calmly. "I- Sorry, it's just..the kutsinta is...good. Who made it?"

"Oh, must be Y/n. Lola Maricela's granddaughter who just graduated college. She loved cooking."

Maliksi heard a soft chuckle from behind him. He slowly turned around to see who it's coming from.

"Tastes like the best kutsinta ever, huh?" You stood infront of him, giving him a smug smile.

"You look like a kutsinta type of guy so I asked my lil bro to give you some. You like it?"

Maliksi stood frozen in place, his mind wandering to places. It is indeed the best kutsinta. Hell, it tastes like Amor's. He cannot forget that taste even after so many years.

The nostalgia brought by that single bite alone is enough to take him back to that time when Amor would make kutsinta and place it somewhere he'll find since he's too prideful before to accept anything from humans. He won't be able to resist it and just tell himself that Amor didn't give it to him- he 'sneakily' stole it from the human girl and enjoyed every last bits of it.

"I might not remember him, but my heart and soul will know him once we meet again."

"You...made this?"

You nodded. "Yeah, aside from the kutsinta itself, the secret actually lies on-"

"On the yema that is spread lightly on the top of the kutsinta before it's sprinkled with grated coconut." Maliksi finished your sentence which made you chuckle a little bit.

"How did you know that? Not everyone does that."

"A...friend of mine made it like that." Maliksi softly answered.

#philmytcrea #planet puto #rp tamawo #planetputo #maliksithetamawo #PLEES ACCEPT DIS AS AN APOLOGY FOR THE ANGSTT

[thebestofoneshots]

WOLFSTAR X READER SERIES

Gilded Constellations | THE INTERLUDE Part 2

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally see Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. Mostly canon-compliant. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Series Masterlist | Previous episode | The first Interlude

You guys know I wanted to make another interlude, but upon lack of time, and because I don't want to have you wait another week to read the next chapter (darling @aremuslupinsimp for sure needs someone to vent about the absolute rollercoaster of emotions that it is) I've decided to make it a WEEKL-LONG EVENT!

But Lilly, What does that mean? It means you can send as many questions as you might have and I'll try to address all of them within the week. Including anything related to last week, this week's, and the next week's chapter (although I will not spoil that one).

Adding a few questions here, just as a start:

Have you always known where the story is going or have you kind of figured it out along the way? do you have the ending planned?

Hey love! I do have a base idea of where GC is going. I've had these big plot points thought out from the very beginning to the part where they all start dating. Having said that, a lot of things that happen in the story, and that are in between those points, are just me letting my imagination soar, and a lot of those chapters end up being some of my favourites.

I wanted to end the story either before they end school or before 1981, but now that I've gotten so attached to the characters, I've honestly thought of writing past that, and "fixing" some of the things that happen in canon. But who knows, that's like a whole other fic just on how much plot it would have.

SoIi can’t really remeber if the ‘prank’ that Sirius pulled on Snape had already happened in Gilded Constellations, if it hasn’t will it be happening or will it just get skipped over?

It's happened already (in 5th year). That's the reason Snape is weary about leaving Vixen in the Shack in "Bad Moon Rising". He knew she would be in danger because there was a werewolf inside. He couldn't say anything to them because of the young twisting charm Dumbledore put on him, and he's never been brave enough to stand up to the other Slytherins, so he went straight to Lily and told her Vix was in danger.

That's why Lily knew about Vixen being in danger when Sirius showed up with a fox in his hands and was livid about it.

Tu penses prévoir combien de chapitre pour GC si tu sais sinon si tu sais pas une estimation de chapitre que tu aimerais écrire pour GC ?

I'm terrible with estimations, originally it was going to be a short 5 chapter-long series. And then I wanted to end it at thirty, and then at forty. So far I've written 55 chapters, but I'm thinking of ending before chapter 70. (That's IF I don't get carried away).

Do we get to know if Sirus ever got that necklace back from the first few chapters?

Oh, the necklace is still on Vix's neck and it's going to be HUGE in the next couple of chapters. I've been building on is for a while and I'm really excited about it finally happening.

How is it going with Remus' and reader's fireworms?

They are amazing! They've implemented a whole system that helps them get fed automatically. They're probably going to ace that test.

Are we seeing more to Nina?

Definitely.

After they come back from winter break will the study group start again?

I mean, there're going to be a LOT of things happening after the Winter Break, but I assume yes. Also the reading club, the reading club is going to happen.

How long do we have to wait 'till Remus, Reader and Sirius go out?

I think I'm about one or two chapters away from writing that, but I'm a few chapters ahead. But it's waaay less than before.

Does Nina have a little crush on Reader or is it just me?

I mean, there's a reason why the ribbon she tied on her quidditch gear was enough to defend Vix from Barty's spell. And why, more than once, Nina's love has proven to be a strong protective spell over the reader.

Are we getting more lessons like some of the first chapters?

Yup, not very soon, since the next few chapters will all be happening over the winter break, but once they're back in school, certainly.

Further questions will be answered directly on asks as they come.

I'm really excited about the questions I might get, also a bit terrified about the questions I'll get after Chapter 44, but of well, the show must go on.

Love ya lots, Lils xx

Series Masterlist | First Interlude

Taglist: @rayrlupin @callmelovergirl @warcelia @ireneop @endversewinchester @moonyunebi @smuttysluttybitch @mazzymoons @drugs-for-memes @sofiacblair @vmpir3lvr @remuslupinisbae @rabluver @willgrahamisalesbi4n @thatobsessedreader  @itskailey24 @hell0-kittie @belovedmoony @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @cassie-love20 @starchaser-lily @zucchini-queenie @springflwer07 @sseleniaa @cometsghost @orkwardx0 @imdoingbetternow  @sbrewer21 @remuslupinsbae @maxinehufflepuffprincess @wifiatthetrainstation @unstablereader @msblacklupin @oliversaurus @jaylienpotter @remussbitch @hermionelove @izuoyarmin @themarauderswife7 @keira-kaz2y5 @lampthemacarenagod @bugg06 @a-n-1-m-3-f-r-3-4-k @darlingeels @kissmeunicornbaobei @xluansstuff @boo8008 @angelmixer @voteforintensedreams @allons-y-molly @aremuslupinsimp @imaginexred @writingshae @nyanwyn @poetrypirate @crazyhorseforgot @saturnhas82moons @ryeyeyer @mothraantics @maqqiekwon @desikudisworld @pastelorangeskies

Leve a comment telling me if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

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Read more Marauders Fiction

#marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #moony #padfoot #prongs #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius x you #sirius x y/n #remus x y/n #remus x you #remus x reader #remus one shot #sirius black one shot #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders #wolfstar x reader #wolfstar x y/n #wolfstar x you #sirius black x fem!reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #moony x reader #moony x padfoot #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #moony x you #gilded constellations

[eddies-house]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x fem reader #eddie x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #the under ground

[bthump]

What are your thoughts or analyses on the phallic imagery in berserk? Less so the more obvious ones like seen in Casca’s nightmares which are obviously pointing to her sexual trauma, but like we see with the vagina-esque monsters and how Guts’ sword is alluded to being like a penis in some cases. Sorry if it’s a weird question lol

Sorry for the wait on this lol, I was on vacation for a while, and it's also a topic I wanted to spend some time on because I love it and I wanted to be relatively thorough. Thanks for the ask!

So yeah, disclaimers out of the way, Freudian analytical theory is very silly, very gender essentialist in ways that can often be transphobic and misogynist, and as far as I'm aware pretty much wholly unrelated to real psychology. Back in the 70s and 80s you had film theorists who took it seriously as a genuine glimpse into the subconsciousness of humanity or whatever, but now it's pretty much just a readily available source of sex and gender related symbolism that's easy to understand.

And in Berserk I do genuinely think it's a valid lens to view the story through because Miura is often quite heavy handed in utilizing it as symbolism. I mean, Guts literally gives someone an orgasm by stabbing her at one point. Some of this can definitely be a stretch, taking established symbols and running with them, but some of it is also almost certainly purposeful. I'll leave it to you to decide what you see as legit and what you see as stretching believability here.

This is very long lol

So yeah, it starts off strong in Berserk with Guts' oversized sword. Swords are dicks, ie sources of masculine power, especially in Berserk

and in the context of the story the dragonslayer is Guts overcompensating imo. And it's not compensating for a small dick lol, which would be more the purview of comedy, but for a loss of masculinity, ie Guts' childhood abuse from Gambino, and rape trauma. It's about his need to prove himself because he was made to feel like he had to, imo.

And it's not just the size of his sword, his obsession with it is also a major factor. He has a grandiose speech about how his sword is like a part of his body (hmm) and that it's been at his side through everything and he's always relied on it. The dream he lands on is to be the best and strongest sword fighter ever. He's currently having a breakdown over not being able to hit someone with his sword. He has a recurring tendency to break other guy's swords lol. At one point Casca screams at him that he essentially cares about his sword more than her. etc etc.

In the story dreams are at odds with emotionally healing human relationships, and dreams are represented by swords (Guts' sword obviously, Casca becoming Griffith's sword, Griffith calling the throne a sword while taunting the king in the dungeon as well as his vision of himself throwing him a sword and pointing to the castle in chapter 72).

So through a Freudian lens, Guts' sword can also be said to represent emotional isolation, positioning masculinity as emotionally isolating. Which, yk, fits with Griffith also equating dreams and masculinity in his Promrose Hall speech (a man must achieve a dream before he can have a family or lover) and, I suppose lol, Casca getting "softer" and more feminine as she falls for Guts, as femininity is therefore the opposite: emotional reliance on and support of others.

So if swords are dicks, then it follows that wounds are vaginas, ie yonic symbols. Also pretty obvious when you read some of the lines during the Guts and Casca sex scene lol. "I too want a wound I can say you gave me." These can represent weakness and victimization (I did warn for misogyny lol) and/or (often sexual) relationships and emotional openness.

So you have the relationships - "licking wounds" with Casca; Guts letting Casca stab him when he thinks about abandoning Griffith; the Beast of Darkness calling Casca the wound Griffith left so Guts can keep feeling the pain Griffith caused; Griffith scratching his own shoulder where Guts' sword pointedly didn't wound him; Griffith being out of reach of Guts' sword post-Eclipse; "let's give him a heap of raw iron;" and Farnese grinding on Guts' sword while possessed and Slan directly treating being stabbed as sexual penetration for the most obvious examples...

Also I'd argue that any time Guts gets his ass kicked in a fight it functions as an echo of his rape trauma symbolically and subconsciously to Guts. Both kinda obviously at times, like eg when Slan overpowers him and tears off his shirt while wounding his chest, and kisses him after the stabbing, causing Guts to feel a burst of fear

or when Rosine stabs Guts through the mouth as another enemy who flirts with Guts mid-fight. And of course the first duel with Griffith in which Guts unilaterally sets the stakes to sex slavery because he's projecting.

But also a little more subtlely, such as when Zodd is given the same position as Nightmare Donovan in Guts' concussion nightmare after he kills Adonis, or all this consistent imagery that rapists and apostles tend to get.

Or, interestingly, the way the Berserk armour functions as self-harm as Guts fights by penetrating Guts to "heal" him.

Something that solidifies its hold over Guts and makes him lose more and more of his positive humanity to his urge to kill.

So yeah, from a Freudian angle I'd suggest that Guts is driven to fight to reclaim the sense of masculine power he was stripped of when he was raped, and every fight can be said to be a repetition of his rape trauma in which he (usually) successfully fights back, but also continuously retraumatizes himself rather than healing.

I'm going to delve a little deeper into how phallic and yonic symbols intersect with the characters' relationships now that we've outlined some of the preliminary symbolism, starting from the Golden Age.

The first duel between Guts and Griffith is rife with Freudian symbolism, very overtly. Griffith stabs Guts and then Guts proceeds to have a nightmare about his rape trauma. Then he projects that trauma onto Griffith when he assumes Griffith wants to fuck him and adds sexual stakes to their duel. Then, yk, he takes Griffith's sword into his mouth lol.

Griffith winning by dislocating Guts' arm can be easily taken as a symbolic unmanning/castration, nicely introducing us into Guts' three years of growth towards prioritizing relationships instead of aimless sword-swinging to prove himself. It's also suggestive of penetration when you're primed to look for sexual symbolism (and if Guts offering Griffith his ass and then biting a sword doesn't prime you for it, what does?):

And the two of them losing their swords in the course of the fight and resorting to unarmed combat can also be taken as a telling symbol of the conflict between dreams and their relationship with each other. They lose the symbols of their dreams and contend only with each other, in a more positive contrast to the second duel that ends their relationship, in which they fight only with swords and never touch each other.

Wounds come into it when Griffith nearly gets killed rushing in against Zodd to save Guts, leading to the most impactful moment of their relationship, where Griffith admits he did it solely for Guts' sake and had no other reason. Griffith also points out how wounded Guts is after that fight, in what I'd call a nearly flirtatious way:

And if you follow these symbols completely strictly this scene suggests Guts retreating into his defensive masculinity in his sword exercises after being defeated/emasculated by Zodd and accused of not valuing his personal relationships by Casca, and finally finding a new, more constructive purpose for his sword after Griffith essentially confesses his devotion to him.

Dedicating his sword to Griffith in return for the wounds Griffith suffered for his sake, with, it has to be noted when the topic is freudian symbolism, his sword held at exactly crotch level.

In the second duel Guts destroys Griffith's sword before leaving, a symbolic castration which is most likely intended to represent and foreshadow Griffith's subsequent loss of power when he throws his life away and ends up tortured in a dungeon for a year. More interestingly imo, is Griffith tracing scratch-markes on his shoulder after sleeping with Charlotte and while crying over Guts - the same shoulder Guts' sword didn't quite hit when he won the duel, drawing attention to the lack of a wound by Guts' hand, a wound he created himself and traces in his devastation.

You have a nice... I don't know what the comic terminology is lol so I'm just going to call it a match-cut here, with Griffith and Casca both getting penetrated by the same number of arrows/skewers, to signify Griffith and the Hawks' fall from power, in contrast to Guts' growing phallic power as he pursues his sword swinging. Power which he demonstrates when he returns and saves the Hawks and Casca and Griffith by swinging his sword a lot and defeating a lot of powerful enemies and, if I'm gonna be crass, healing Casca's suicidal despair with his dick lol.

Interestingly though, before he does that he lets Casca stab him while experiencing the guilt of having driven Griffith into a torture chamber by leaving. It's a wound that highlights his emotional connection to Griffith and vulnerability to those emotions, even as he tries to deny them. He then manages to successfully deny them for a little while longer after having sex with Casca.

In this Freudian context, Guts and Casca's sex scene is an affirmation of a relationship, but one which is emotionally uneven, with Casca ready and willing to emotionally rely on and support Guts, but Guts still dedicated to his sword-swinging dream, inviting Casca with him but only as long as she doesn't get in the way of what he wants to do. This does fit with phallic symbols being associated with emotional distance and yonic symbols being associated with emotional closeness lol. (Also fittingly, the one way he does open up to her is about his rape trauma after a flashback.)

It's worth noting that in this disconnect Casca erroneously assumes Guts fought the hundred men and "bled" for her, making her want "a wound" from him in return. Guts fighting those hundred men is much more reminiscent of his fights against apostles, the fights that revolve around replaying his rape trauma to make himself feel better. Casca assumes they already have an emotional bond due to Guts' wounds, but she's wrong - Guts specifically thinks to himself during the hundred man fight that he's not doing it for Casca.

This is reflected in the Wyald fight when Guts insists on fighting Wyald, again as part of the whole reaffirmation of masculinity thing I outlined at the start of this, when Casca just wants him to run away. The Wyald fight is pretty overt about being about Guts' rape trauma imo, moreso than most fights in the story. Wyald's rapiness is made a point of from Guts' point of view when he sees him wielding the torso of a woman sexually impaled on a pike and gets extra angry, and when he literally cuts off Wyald's dick when he's about to rape Casca, and then has his pointed line about needing to "settle the score with him... with them... by his own sword."

SO ESSENTIALLY to sum up this subsection, I think you can argue that what prevents Guts and Casca from being an equal relationship is Guts stlil being hung up over needing to prove his masculine power through sword-swinging, rather than embracing his emasculation (which, remember, tends to signify positive relationships in this context) and coming to terms with it ("immersing himself in sorrow" as Godo says much later.)

Like, to return to Griffith, it's fitting that after Guts destroys his sword and he goes through a year of torture and is thoroughly emasculated, he's able to recognize his feelings for Guts and understand that Guts is more important to him than the dream, the "sword called the throne."

But he doesn't quite come to terms with his emasculation either. This symbolism is one explanation for the wagon scene where he propositions Casca - a desperate bid for some form of power. Not the strongest explanation imo, but since we're currently in the business of actively looking for this symbolism, it definitely fits. Casca's rejection and pity reinforce Griffith's emasculation, and overhearing her tell Guts to leave again is the final straw. Relationships are a bust, swords are now his only recourse, as we see when he has a vision of himself throwing him a sword and pointing to the castle.

You could take the nightmarish vision he has of a life with Casca as Griffith rejecting emasculation, but an alternate way of taking it is Griffith regaining a form of phallic power, and the emotional isolation that goes with it. After all, it's implied that he has a child with Casca, while totally withdrawn and emotionally isolated.

I once said in a different silly essay that Griffith choosing the dream is, in a way, Griffith choosing another version that nightmare, and that take also fits here.

And hey, it's another reason for Femto to rape Casca lol, if we want to ascribe meaning there, and of course we must in this kind of analysis. In the wagon Griffith essentially offers sex to Casca for the faint vestige of masculine power it could give him (emotional isolation and a child); in his nightmare he imagines that life and it drives him to suicide; and after becoming Femto he forces sex onto Casca and then continues on to embody emotional distance and masculine power.

This power is painfully demonstrated through the rape of Casca, but also subsequently through his pure untouchability (often in pointedly sexualized contexts); through his phony relationship with Charlotte and ascending to the ultimate patriarchal role of king/emperor and taking that sword called the throne; and I guess also through his actual sword lol which he still uses.

An example of sexualized untouchability - check out the positioning of that third thought bubble, in this scene where Griffith lords his invulnerability over Ganishka.

And look at all those pillars, I'm js.

And I'd be remiss not to point out the most recent confrontation with Guts where Guts tries many times to hit his naked body with his giant sword, completely fails, and then Griffith kidnaps Casca. More very on-point emasculation symbolism, it might as well be Guts trying to fuck him but unable to get hard lol. His breakdown afterwards doesn't do much to disabuse you of that notion either.

Anyway, back to post-Eclipse Guts. There's not much else to add that I didn't cover at the start, but in brief:

Guts has lost his arm during the Eclipse, which is an emasculation - he loses it while watching Femto rape ~his woman~ so it's like the most traditional symbolic castration there is lol. And of course he replaces it with a bigger, better, and more overt phallic symbol: a canon. And like the first thing we see him do with it is shove it into the mouth of a monster he's banging and blow her head off. So yk, there's that.

And there's Puck, who exists to help bridge Guts' emotional distance and essentially serves as the feminine counterpart to Guts' masculinity for a while. From his magical empathy, to his tiny size, to his lack of genitalia (note that in Freudian theory the lack of a penis is an indicator of femininity rather than specifically the presence of a vagina), to his connections with female characters Theresia and Jill, even arguably to his introduction where Guts saves him from a bunch of men throwing phallic knives at him by skewering them with his own (bigger) projectiles, this is consistent during the Black Swordsman/Conviction arc era.

Chestnut Puck is a lot more boyish, with his particular humour, his cameraderie with an annoying teenage boy, and now having his own feminine counterpart in Ivalera, but that's fine because his thematic job as a feminine influence on Guts is over after Guts starts collecting more friends.

And as far as the RPG group goes, there are a few notable instances of phallic symbolism for them too. Farnese and Serpico are an obvious example, with Farnese sexualizing the wounds Serpico voluntarily suffers for her, when she demands he duel for her honour a bunch of times.

Farnese brandishing the end of her whip at him doesn't hurt the freudian power dynamic symbolism either lol.

In the Conviction arc Farnese wielded a sword she was incapable of using, suggestive of her true femininity under a brash masculine surface, and when she softens in the Millenium Falcon arc she becomes a caretaker with only a small dagger for self-defense. That said, she does get that epic moment of stabbing a tiger in the eye with a long silver pole (candlestick) when she rejoins Guts' crew rather than becoming a housewife, so she still gets some badass phallic weapon imagery lol.

Serpico wields a thin rapier in the Conviction Arc, which Guts easily grabs in his hand, and in the Millenium Falcon arc he switches to a... limp feather duster lol. Serpico is very feminized compared to Guts and his weapons fit as part of that, but they're still effective weapons. You could maybe argue, within this Freudian lens, that this is indicative of Serpico's healthier relationship with masculinity. He's not compensating for anything, he's at peace with himself.

And god I gotta say something about Guts and Serpico's duels. In the first one you have Serpico delaying Guts while Farnese steals Casca from him, and part of that delay is to force Guts into a fight where he can't wield his sword, a parallel emasculation to Casca being kidnapped.

Then you have their confrontation after Farnese's no good very bad night, which is just incredibly suggestive lol.

You cannot tell me this isn't Guts getting blueballed when Serpico leaves after one quick exchange. Particularly coming in the same chapter featuring possessed Farnese grinding on Guts' sword (which Guts was much less interested in, incidentally). Also: wounds as sexual imagery again. Guts licking the blood off his cheek? Come on.

And finally you have their fight in Farnese's basement, in which Serpico attempts to hinder Guts by surrounding him with giant pillars, which Guts smashes through as he dodges around them. Another neat illustration of Guts' pure phallic power and Serpico's much more effeminate style.

One final note to address part of your ask, which didn't naturally fit into the rest of this lol: I would interpret vaginal imagery in monsters as mainly castration anxiety, yk, vagina dentata vibes, the fear of sticking your dick in a hole you can't see into. There's actually a lot of interesting stuff to consider in terms of the feminine as the unknowable other when it comes to Freudian theory, but that's like, not something I would expect Miura to lean into first of all, and also it would take another essay of explanation. If you're interested in that kind of Freudian analysis though I'd recommend the books Men, Women, and Chainsaws by Carol J. Clover and The Dread of Difference, edited by Barry Keith Grant. I took a course on women and horror films ages ago and read chunks of those, and it was very fun, and iirc both address Freudian imagery in horror.

Okay! So that's the rundown of like, all the examples of Freudian imagery that interest me at least lol. This isn't exhaustive ofc, Berserk is long and not stingy with this stuff, but this response is already so long and meandering lol, so I'm going to wrap it up here.

To sum up, phallic imagery often represents masculine power as well as masculine flaws (like emotional isolation) in Berserk, while yonic/vaginal imagery tends to represent feminine weakness as well as feminine virtues (like emotional connection and vulnerability). As a general rule, the more phallic imagery someone violently swings around, the more fucked up they are. Phallic violence is used to compensate for past trauma, but it only continues the cycle of violence. The way to break that violence is to accept one's wounds and focus on them, to heal, rather than trying to distract from them.

I don't think this is always the best way to interpret Berserk lol, but it adds another dimension that very often complements the surface meaning and thematic resonance of the story, sometimes purposefully, sometimes likely incidental. And either way it's a lot of fun to read into!

#genuinely thank you for asking lmao this was so much fun to write #sorry it took forever though i had a lot of shit going on the last couple months plus a bunch of other asks that didn't require #as much effort lol so i only worked on this intermittently #ask #anonymous #a #b #theme: symbolism #theme: revenge #theme: relationships as personal growth #theme: isolation #theme: trauma #character: guts #character: griffith #arc: ga #arc: mf #arc: bs #(just a note: i've used image descriptions on a few of these images but not all. that's deliberate - i've described the ones that aren't #naturally described by what i've written in the post itself. generally i try to word my posts so image descriptions are unnecessary but #there are a few here that would be clunky without descriptioins)