#BUT NEVER THOUGHT TOO MUCH ABOUT JT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artstennisracket · 2 months ago

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dilf!Art with a lil belly after he retires…he gets a new lil gf and UGH just the way he fucks is so gentle and goooood. He spends so much time trying to please you, and when you want to please him he gets soooo into it, moaning and whimpering, PRAISING YOU

dilf!art with a lil belly will always have a place in my heart🙂‍↕️ he’s so cute just enjoying being retired but also dicking you down so good hehe. wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a request so im just gonna cover all the bases and make jt a request lololol i hope you like it :)

why tf am I always adding unnecessary context wtf just get to the smut mel🙄

dilf art x fem reader

cw: nsfw (18+)

You still couldn’t really believe you were dating Art Donaldson. Sure you had just graduated college so you were an adult but he was still so much older so you thought he’d never go for someone your age.

It was all thanks to that fateful night at the very fancy cocktail bar you went to with your friends to celebrate your graduation. He had sent you a drink, another one of whatever you were already drinking. When you ask the waiter who sent it, he points to a blonde man sitting on the opposite side of the bar.

You vaguely recognize him but can’t quite put your finger on it. But your friends convince you to go talk to him so you do. The conversation goes something along the lines of

“you’re very beautiful, celebrating something tonight?” Art asks.

To which you respond “my college graduation.”

Art lets out a huff saying “jesus fucking christ,” under his breath.

“what?” You giggle.

“you’re— you’re too young for me.” He says definitively, but the half smile of his face is betraying the words he just said.

One thing leads to another and now you’ve been dating for 3 months.

Art is very different from any other guy you’ve ever dated. At first you think maybe it’s just because he’s older, but the more you get to know each other the more realize it’s just who Art is.

He’s very gentle and kind. He’s so attentive, remembers all the little things about you. Makes sure that every time you go out to eat, the restaurant knows your food allergies before you get there. Anytime you mention any little thing that you’re remotely interested in or want to buy for yourself he always remembers.

You mentioned once how you’d love to get more into the fashion space so you can develop your career in fashion marketing, and next time new york fashion week rolls around you have front row seats to all your favorite brands.

You mentioned once how the lululemon jacket you wanted had been sold out in your size for months. Two days later it shows up at the front door of your apartment.

There were also subtle displays of dominance that weren’t even meant to be sexy but were just such a turn on for you. He paid for everything. It was never a question or an awkward “do you wanna split it?” type of conversation. Most times he didn’t even let the bill come to the table. He would say he has to use the bathroom and meet the server so he could pay the bill discreetly. This way you never saw the bill, and you never felt rushed by a server bringing a bill unprompted.

Everytime you guys travel anywhere he makes sure to be the one carrying your bag, or rolling your suitcase alongside his own.

He took care of you in ways you’ve never been taken care of before, the intimacy was just the cherry on top.

There were times where he was more dominant, taking control, manhandling you into different positions without asking. Really fucking into you, with bruising, punishing, strokes. Whispering things into your ear like “this pussy is mine” and “don’t try to run away now, isn’t this what you wanted?”

But other times he would be in a really soft and sappy mood which led him more to “making love”. Like today. He was a feeling a little insecure recently due to the weight he’s been gaining post retirement.

You were sitting up against the headboard while Art laid next to you. You scrolled on your phone with hand, the other hand softly running through Art’s hair.

You could tell he was feeling off so you ask, “hey, feeling okay?”

He nods with a sigh, “yeah I just- does my stomach look like, bigger?”

You direct your gaze to his naked torso. He likes to sleep in his briefs only. His abs weren’t as prominent as when you met him and he did have a little bit of a tummy but you thought it was cute. You move your hair from his hair to rub his tummy.

“your tummy looks perfect,” You say smiling towards him.

He groans shaking his head no. He moves so that his head is on your lap and his arms are around your waist. “you’re just saying that, but I guess we all can’t be supermodels like you,” He says before he blows a raspberry on your stomach where your pajama shirt had ridden up.

You giggle moving a hand to his hair quickly to pull him away. You were incredibly ticklish. “im serious,” you say a little out of breath, “i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

He looks up at you with a small smile on his face. He starts slowly kissing down your abdomen and continues kissing over your panties as he makes his way down.

Eventually he laying on his stomach situated between your legs. He licks over your folds through your panties which elicits a small gasp from you, “ah-Art.”

He smirks before moving your panties to the side and really diving in. He kitten licks at your clit, keeping eye contact.

You keep a hand in his hair, pulling occasionally when it feels really good. He sucks on your clit lightly before he starts going to town. Licking your folds, lapping at your clit, not forgetting to fuck his tongue into your wet hole lapping up all your juices. You keep your grip on his hair as moans continue to fall out of your mouth.

He sticks two fingers in. Pumping in and out while simultaneously licking and sucking at your clit. It doesn’t take much longer until you finish with a “oh fuck Art, i’m gonna— gonna cum fuck fuck,” pulling on his hair harder.

He cleans you up using his tongue, making sure not to miss a single drop. He sits up smiling and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. You pull him in for a kiss, your tongues roaming each other’s mouths.

You bite his bottom lip pulling away smirking, “now it’s your turn.”

You push him down on the bed so he’s lying on his back. You pull down his boxers with haste and he’s already hard from eating you out.

“no baby you don’t have to do that, just like making you feel goo—holy fuck,” Art groans as you swallow him down.

He holds your hair out of your face, always so considerate. You can tell he’s trying really hard to hold back to you pull off to say, “don’t hold back, wanna hear you,” then you go back down to lick up his shaft before sucking on his tip.

He groans bucking up into your mouth,

“feels so good baby, oh my fuck. please—please keep going shit.”

You choke a little trying not to gag, sucking hard while moving up and down his length.

“you’re doing so good for me, look so pretty with my dick in your mouth fuck,” Art whines.

He continues looking down at his cock going in and out of your mouth, your plush lips wrapped around his cock, “baby i’m so fucking close— don’t stop, fuck, please-“

But you pull off instantly, you don’t want him to cum just yet. You sit up looking at him with a slight pout on your face, “but I want you to fuck me.”

Art bites his lip, letting a deep breath out through his nose, “whatever you want sweetheart, gonna give you the world.”

He lays you down gently, lining up in between your legs, before pressing himself into you slowly. His presses kisses along the length of your neck and gently nibbles on your ear. He whispers, “you are so fucking tight jesus christ, squeezing the fuck out of my cock.”

He continues with his moderate pace, making sure to take his time with his longer more sensual strokes, “fuck baby,” he whines.

You let out a long whine initially and then a moan everytime he bottoms out, “feels so good, fucking me so good.”

“ah- ah just wanna make you feel good baby,” He moans out.

You can tell by how much he’s moaning and whimpering above you that he’s already close. He starts rambling, “please fuck baby please can I cum inside you? feel so good, fuck, just wanna make you feel good, your pussy is so fucking tight baby, so good, please baby i just— “

You cut him off using one hand to hold the side of his face making sure to keep eye contact, “of course you can, cum inside me, wanna feel you fill me up.”

He groans closing his eyes and moving his forehead to rest on your shoulder before he speeds up his last couple of thrusts, coming deep inside you.

His fucks you through his orgasm before pulling out slowly. He usually loves watching his cum drip out of you but this time you say, “i think you’re gonna have to clean up the mess you made.”

And Art is never one to say no to eating you out, no matter how many times a day it is.

#anon ask #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art x you #art x reader #dilf art #dilf!art #dilf art donaldson

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its-time-to-write · 7 months ago

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chapter 1

I’ve decided to give you the first two chapters at once, and then (theoretically) the rest daily. I’ve written through chapter 6 and idk where I’m going with it, which sounds about right, so not a clue when it’ll be done. Hopefully it isn’t too long.

table of contents bedroom eyes

It’s late, which is why you’re surprised your phone is lighting up. The initials JT are on the screen, and you wonder if you should just let it ring. But you reach for it at the last second and say, “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes Jamie’s voice from the other end. “You up?”

You roll your eyes and push yourself out of your chair in the kitchen. You’re working late yet again, trying to get ahead on a project while the world is asleep. You reach up into the cupboard for a mug as you reply, “Obviously I’m up. Wouldn’t have answered if I were asleep.”

Jamie snorts at that, but doesn’t say anything else. You’re irritated, which is to be expected, but you haven’t hung up the phone. You can hear him breathing on the other end, so you just wait.

“Can I come over?”

“No,” you say as forcefully as you can, but you’re already reaching for a second cup.

Jamie says, “I’m not trying anything,” but you know he is, he always is; and it doesn’t matter that you know. You’ll always let him come over, you’ll always let him back in.

“Fine,” you say. “One cup of tea. Then you’re going home.”

—

Jamie sits on the edge of the counter, watching you type. You’re pointedly ignoring him and his teal trackies, but it’s hard.

“I don’t got training tomorrow,” he says conversationally, and you refuse to acknowledge him even a little bit.

He slurps his tea and you sigh. You don’t have the energy to glare at him so you close your laptop and take a good look at his face.

You haven’t seen him in a few months, not since the breakup, but you’ve certainly thought about him. It’s hard not to when his face is plastered all around Richmond, and it would be hard anyway because your brain likes to replay every moment of your time together every single day.

You’d run into his teammates a few times but they never said anything about it. In a strange way, that made it feel like it never happened.

And it did.

It did fucking happen, otherwise Jamie wouldn’t be in your kitchen right now most definitely making bedroom eyes because why else would he be here? Why else would you have let him come over?

So. You push out of your chair (again) and slot yourself in between his legs. “This didn’t happen,” you murmur, but Jamie’s too busy kissing a line up your neck. You grab him by his hair and pull his head back, forcing eye contact. “Say it. This didn’t happen.”

“This didn’t fuckin’ happen,” he groans and satisfied, you let go. He hops down and grabs your hand, pulling you upstairs.

You’re not a particular fan of the way his feet skip steps, still familiar with your floorplan despite the separation. But you don’t complain when he’s undressed and in your bed, letting you release your frustrations with your work and with him.

When you’re done, you run a shower. Jamie joins, but everything has become strangely formal now. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t tease, and no sooner is he out and re-dressed than he’s headed out the door. It shuts behind him, you turn the lock, and freeze.

Is this what it’s come to? You miss him so much that you’ll let him into your house, your house, and then fuck him without a second thought?

No, you decide, enough is enough.

—

In hindsight, you should have known Keeley would be at the Prada show. It’s the exact sort of place she’d be, and exactly the sort of place you shouldn’t be. But you’re here with your friend Madeline sitting one row behind Keeley and desperately praying she won’t turn around.

Except she does, and she’s thrilled to see you (because when isn’t Keeley thrilled?) and she’s chattering on as if she isn’t dating your ex-boyfriend.

Madeline digs her nails into your thigh, reminding you that this isn’t the place to lose it. There are too many cameras. And anyway, Keeley doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s not trying to flaunt her relationship and chances are she doesn’t even realize Jamie’s your ex.

But he is, so the second it’s polite Madeline drags you by the hand to the nearest glass of champagne, which you can only take two sips of before you run to the toilets to throw up.

“What the actual fuck is happening to you right now?” Madeline asks, all concern.

You try to shrug but the room’s spinning a little too much.

“You better not be fucking pregnant,” she jokes in an effort to lighten the mood.

Your head shoots up. “Shit,” you say. “I better fucking not be.”

Madeline freezes. “I beg your finest fucking pardon? That is not how you are meant to respond. This is the part where you laugh and say, ‘very funny Madeline, there’s no possible way I’m having a child because I’ve been celibate for the past seven months.”

You don’t respond and she shrieks. “What the actual hell? When did you do that? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been telling you for ages you need to get under someone new to get over that absolute tart of a man and when you do, you don’t even call me? Why-” she stops. “Oh fuck me. You did not.”

“I did,” you groan. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. Shit, Mads. This cannot be happening.”

She pats your back. “Children are disgusting,” she says conversationally. “But I bet yours would be cute as shit. Come on, let’s get you some tests.”

—

Every single one comes up positive. You’re half laughing and half crying on the floor of your bathroom at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Madeline sits on the counter next to the sink in her sequined black dress, hair sleek and makeup perfect except a smudge on her lips where she carelessly wiped away a spilled drink. There’s a rip in her stockings and her heels are haphazardly kicked to the floor.

You’re kneeling by the toilet, grateful that it’s clean; hair in the messiest bun Madeline could make. Your shoes haven’t been on since getting into the car to leave Prada, and your skirt is rumpled. Your jacket is in a pile on the floor and your mascara has run a bit. And Madeline is taking pictures.

“This is the day I become an aunt,” she says. “I need the bean to know how hot we look.”

You shoot her a look. “What makes you think I’m keeping it?”

She shoots one right back. “Are you fucking insane? Why wouldn’t you of all people keep it? I know you want to. You’re fucking brilliant with kids. And…” she hesitates, “well, it’s Tartt’s kid.”

You’re silent at that. She’s right. It’s Jamie’s and despite what you’ve said or will continue to say, you- well. You don’t know what you feel. Something stranger than love, that’s for certain. He’s gone and you don’t even want him back, but there’s a niggling thought at the back of your mind that things aren’t quite over.

Or maybe it’s delusion.

Whatever the case, Madeline’s right.

“Well, shit,” you say. “I’m so fucking glad I’m young, hot, and rich.”

Madeline laughs, the deep, genuine, infectious one, and you can’t help but join in.

You’ve never been more acutely grateful for your job in talent management, for clients who love you and let you charge exorbitantly, for your house that you own, and for Madeline.

“Me too, girl,” she says through hiccuping giggles. “Me fucking too.”

next chapter

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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nevadancitizen · 1 year ago

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-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off.

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years.

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids.

You never… died. Not really, anyway.

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon.

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship.

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.)

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds.

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying.

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected.

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well.

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment.

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin.

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules.

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up.

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller.

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you.

“Come with me,” he says simply.

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies.

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth… very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door.

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring.

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man.

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again.

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly.

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on.

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me.

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric.

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor.

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all.

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it.

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes…

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see.

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy.

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one).

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close.

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way.

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far.

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget.

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock.

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots.

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks.

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs.

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face.

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent.

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…”

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature.

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier.

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame.

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to.

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small.

“Good?” Ghost asks.

“Good,” you parrot back.

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I��m gonna get some water on you now.”

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn.

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other.

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.”

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice.

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions.

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands.

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank.

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine.

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say.

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone.

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it.

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face.

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater.

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

184 notes · View notes

proceduralpassion · 2 months ago

Text

I Don't Wanna Be Unfair | Chapter 10

Pairing: Jax Teller x OC Series Masterlist

Summary/synopsis: Fresh off a broken engagement, McKenzie Gilbert has a one night stand with a random guy she never plans to see again. Soon after, their paths cross, which complicates several situations at hand.

Chapter warning(s): language, implied smut, BRANDON, discussion of cheating/manipulation

WC: 7.1k

McKenzie let out a content sigh as she rolled off of Jax and tucked into his side. She glanced up at him and was met with a playful smirk as the SAMCRO president cuddled even closer to her.

“You really enjoyed that.”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove, “You knew what you were doing.”

As they wrestled their clothes off while stumbling into his bedroom earlier, Jax laid down with that lazy leer of his and had requested, “Sit on my face.” McKenzie didn’t hesitate to oblige and now in the aftermath, she rested in his arms spent and satisfied.

Jax moved from his back over to his stomach and sent her a flirty wink before fluttering his eyes in relaxation. Her eyes roamed over his back and they were drawn to the scarred tissue hidden clandestine within his tattoos. The layered edges of the hole told her it was a gunshot wound. She was too enthralled with their hookup to pay much attention during their first night together, but now it seemed blaringly obvious that the man had a sketchy past. Except for as long as she could remember, her entire life had consisted of morally gray men with hearts of gold.

In a way, he was the most perfectly fitting guy in terms of potential relationships. Brandon was an MC outlaw, sure, but he had joined the life as a means of escape. Jax had been raised in the culture just like she had.

“So how did you get that?”

Jax glanced at her with a hint of confusion.

“The gunshot wound on your back?” It was genuine curiosity, but she realized that it might not be a comfortable topic for him, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said with that easy grin of his, “I was a fucking prospect.”

He laughed at himself, at the memories, before venturing into the story, “Red Woody wasn’t always Red Woody. At first, one of our brother’s wives, Luann, had started the company. It was called Cara Cara back then. The club helped her get the building for it and it definitely wasn’t easy. One time, we were so close to the point where JT, my dad, was going to go co-sign the papers the very next day. Then, the realtor calls and says someone put in a better bid and our deal was off. Turns out it was some loser trying to sell hunting gear. There aren’t even any fucking bears in Charming, much less deer,” Jax and McKenzie chuckled together at the commentary. “Me being the prospect and trying to impress my old man, I grab Ope and say ‘Bro, let’s go mess with him a little, convince him to take his shitty little hunting store outta town.’ We find out where he lives and no one’s home, so we snoop around. Found the sale papers from the realtor deal and decided, shit, if there’s no proof of sale, the deal might as well be off. We were gonna rip up the papers and challenge the realtor.”

McKenzie interrupts, “You know the realtor would’ve had copies of those exact papers, right?”

“Yes, I know that now, smart ass.” Jax pokes at her stomach and enjoys her ticklish grins.

“Anyway, we thought we were home alone. Turns out the fucker was just in his back shed with the doors closed. Sneaky as fuck because I didn’t even hear him come in. I just happened to see him pointing a gun at Ope out of the corner of my eye and I jumped in front of him because I knew he wouldn’t react in time. I don’t really remember much after that except for us getting the fuck out of dodge right after. Ope had to practically hold me up himself until we got to the bikes.”

“Damn,” McKenzie whistled in amazement. Humor danced in her eyes, though, as she continued, “If your dad’s anything like mine, then I know he was not amused.”

“Bro, as soon as he saw it was just a flesh wound, he slapped me so fucking hard, I landed against the pool table.”

McKenzie’s cackles filled the room and they only grew louder as Jax laid out the punishment chores he and Opie got assigned not longer after that ill-fated stunt.

It was only after her laughter died out did she have the chance to remark, “I’m sorry, Jax, but that was really fucking stupid. You absolutely deserve the punishment you got.”

Jax grinned, “I know.” His sigh is filled with notions of bittersweet. It was a fun, chaotic memory that he and his best friend would always share, but it also was a reminder of how quickly things could go left. “The same way my dad was hard on me, I’m sure that’s why your pops was so hard on Brandon. The look of horror on my pop’s face when I burst in with blood pooling all on my side and back was the same look your dad had when he realized Sweets was shot.”

He pauses for a minute before considering. “Sorry, maybe it’s not the best idea to bring your ex up.”

“It’s fine. He’s not Voldemort,” she shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. If my dad was right about one thing, it’s that I might as well get used to being around him.”

“I don’t know who Voldemort is, but yeah, I agree with your dad, too. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well, one: we’re definitely going to have to fix that. And two: thanks. I’m good. Trust me.”

Jax nods, throwing his arm around her waist. “He’s an asshole but that doesn’t mean I want the guy to get killed doing something stupid, y’know?”

“I can definitely get that. Maybe even more than you do. Brandon’s always been an act first, think later type of person. I know he means well in the moment, but sometimes he has a habit of getting himself and others into trouble too.”

“I feel like there’s a story in there somewhere.”

There is, but McKenzie’s just about reached her Brandon quota for the day. She also hates that Jax and SAMCRO are now caught up in mess caused by her ex-fiance. Even more than that, she hates that she can tell that this is all weighing on Jax.

“I’m sorry.” She strokes his cheek, their eyes locking. “You’re responsible for keeping your men safe and I know that has to be a lot of pressure and stress.”

She sees it every day. The toll it takes when you’re responsible for the lives of others. How it’s even more aggrandized when the people you’re protecting are also people that you deeply care for. She’s watched SAMCRO over the past several weeks, taking note of the close bonds weaved within them. It didn’t take her long to realize the parallels she sees with the Street Wolves. They’re more than just a club. They’re a brotherhood. A family.

Jax gazes at her, wearing a look that she can’t quite interpret.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “It’s just that, I guess you do know. Our lives aren’t quite so different…”

“Maybe not, but then again, being a family member of the club is still different than actually being a member.”

Jax tilts his head, “If you, Lisa, or Sairah are anything like the women affiliated with SAMCRO, you’re a part of the club in your own way.” He pushes himself up off the bed. “Thank you, though. Seriously.”

McKenzie smiles at him, the sheets bunched up over her.

“You want something to drink?” He asks as he gets up.

“I’m good.”

Jax nods before disappearing outside his bedroom door with McKenzie shuffling under the covers. She watches the door he just exited from, unable to characterize just how far her empathy goes for him.

***

Brandon sat alone outside on the pathway next to the Garden’s parking lot, his eyes glued to Jax’s Dyna amongst the row of bikes near the front of the bar. It’s been two days since he learned about Jax’s past and he’s yet to come to a decision about just what to do about it. He knew he needed to be strategic with the information he’s learned about the SAMCRO president, using it to be its most effectual in getting his way.

The thing is that he’s not sure whether he wants to share what he’s learned of Teller’s past with the rest of the crew yet. Sure, it would be nice to expose the man’s dirty laundry and let his brothers know what kind of grimy man they were doing business with, but it was currently the only card he had to play at the moment. He wondered whether playing it close to the chest was the more clever move to make instead of losing his upper hand so quickly.

He wasn’t sure yet what to do, but he knew he was going to do something. He can acknowledge that he fucked up, but one would be hard-pressed to convince him that Gil and Rev wouldn’t have chastised him so harshly had it not been for Jax and SAMCRO. And it was pure bullshit. It was one of the Street Wolves after all that got shot, so he didn’t even understand why Gil felt apologetic towards them. They were outlaws, too. They knew the risks.

Jax wasn’t going to continue walking around like he ran the place. Brandon wouldn’t let him.

He had every intention of putting the man in his place. Of making sure that he knew that this was still Street Wolves territory and that he wasn’t in charge.

His goal, for the time being, would be scheming the right way to go about it. And, of course, maybe have some fun at Teller’s expense in the process.

***

Jax steps into the entertainment area of the Street Wolves’ club house, following the aromatic wafts of hashbrowns, grits, and pancakes. A few of the Wolves, along with Bobby and Juice, were already congregating in the room, watching Lisa and Ace unfold the aluminum sheets over the pans of brunch food. They circled the food like lions do their prey and Jax couldn’t blame them. He could already feel his mouth watering from the aroma alone.

“Mornin’,” he greets Rev who’s closest to the door, leaning against the wall with a book in hand.

“Hey, man. You doing alright?”

They dap each other up before Jax mimics his stance, leaning next to him.

“Yep. You?”

“Good. Went to visit Sweets this morning. He was grouchy because I woke him up, but otherwise doing fine considering.”

“Good, that’s good.” Jax muses. His eyes veer back to the brunch spread when Lisa heads downstairs to get plates and utensils. Brandon is standing next to Ace chatting, but his gaze locks with the SAMCRO president instantly, morphing into a smug smirk. Jax’s eyebrows furrow in response, but Brandon is back to his conversation with Ace before he can dwell on it any further.

“Yeah,” Rev continues, “He’ll probably sit home and recuperate for the rest of the week, but that old dog’ll probably be back in no time.”

Jax chuckles, “I’d expect nothing less. I think I heard him and Chibs making plans to take a ride out to Fresno.”

They both turn towards the door when Lisa returns with McKenzie and Sairah following closely behind.

“Morning, guys,” Sairah greets.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Rev brings her in for a one-armed hug before pulling McKenzie in for one as well.

“I don’t have to go into the office until later. Plus I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a hot meal for breakfast.” Sairah turns to Jax. “You don’t know life until you’ve tried my mom’s pecan pancakes.”

“Well, then I can’t wait to truly start life,” Jax smirks. He avoids more than a few seconds of eye contact with McKenzie, not intent on Sairah clocking anything between them.

The brief conversation that carries between them pauses once Gil makes his presence known. He addresses the whole room wishing everyone a good morning.

“Let’s eat,” he enjoins.

The Street Wolves president led the line to grab food, taking loaded servings of all of his wife’s cooking while simultaneously addressing everybody.

“Rev and I went to go see Sweets this morning. He’s doing well, back to his crabby ass self. Cussed us out for being on his doorstep so early in the morning.” The group laughed, the Street Wolves being all too familiar with how much Sweets prioritized his sleep. “He’ll take it easy for the rest of the week, but I’m sure he'll be back in action not long after. Can’t keep an old dog down.”

He continues, “Otherwise, it’s business as usual. Lisa organized this brunch just to keep everyone’s spirits lifted.”

“And your stomachs full. Lord knows half of y’all can’t cook,” she throws in.

Laughter convenes among the group, a gloomy weight lifted off the room. Everyone sits, enjoying their food and making conversation with each other. Jax, McKenzie, Sairah, and Rev all sit towards the end of the long table, chattering amongst themselves.

“So, Jax, do you have a girlfriend?”

Jax nearly chokes on his piece of bacon as he registers Sairah’s question. Rev snickers. McKenzie eyes the parsley on her grits with more attention than necessary.

“Uh, no…” he finally answers.

McKenzie gives a sly grin before taking a sip of her orange juice.

He continues, “I’m single.”

Sairah hums in response. “Nice to know. Now that you’re in Highwater more often, you’ve got a whole new dating pool to explore. Shoot, I’ve got co-workers who want to take a walk on the wild side who’d probably go a round with you.”

“Why do I feel like this is the beginning of a trap?”

“Oh, no such thing,” she says, sipping on her drink with an air of innocence, “Just know that if you’re ever looking for some potential connects, I’m your girl.”

Rev jumps in, “Don’t fall for it, man. I let her set me up on a date once. Never again.”

“I warned you ahead of time that Cosette was a stage 5 clinger. Not my fault that you kept messing around with her after I told you she’d get attached.”

Jax and McKenzie both laughed in amusement watching Sairah and Rev go at it.

“It’s everyday with those two,” McKenzie remarks.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Laughter stops and all four pairs of eyes veer to the source of the new voice in their midst. Brandon approaches them, standing adjacent to where Jax and McKenzie sat. McKenzie leans closer into his sister’s space, a move not lost on Sairah or Jax.

“First, I just wanted to apologize to you,” his words targeted at Jax. “I put SAMCRO in just as much danger as my fellow Street Wolves with the stunt I pulled. Despite my good intentions, I put everyone’s lives at risk and that wasn’t fair. I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong. It’s not easy for a lot of men, but I don’t want to be that guy.”

Jax would feel appreciative of Brandon’s words if it wasn’t for the smug smirk that colored his face as he finished his spiel. Hearing the words alone, he might’ve paid it no mind, but there was an undertone of arrogance as if Jax was supposed to catch some underlying meaning in his words.

Still, he stands up and shakes Brandon’s hand, feeling the eyes on him. “I appreciate that, man.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to get that out there. I mean, the last thing I’d want to be is on your bad side, y’know what I mean?”

Jax’s eyebrows furrow, disquieted by the man’s forced smile.

“Anyway…” Brandon turns to McKenzie. “You got a minute?”

“Not for you,” Sairah jumps in.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Brandon snaps.

Rev cuts his eyes, “Watch it.”

Immediately, McKenzie puts her arms up, not intent on another tension-filled encounter between her sister and ex.

“It’s fine,” she says. Truth be told, she’d rather be anywhere than stuck in a conversation with him, but it’s nowhere near the first time she’s settled to do things she doesn’t want to do in order to keep the peace.

She leads them out into the hallway and veers towards the end. She glances at the dorm room that her and Jax had had their shower tryst in and feels her cheeks warm at the memory. The idea of being blocked into any space with Brandon in her way sends unease through her, so she aims to lean against the wall that’s still not far from view of anyone eating in the rec room.

Crossing her arms against her chest, she sighs, “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask if we could go and talk. Somewhere tonight? Or maybe tomorrow?”

McKenzie stares at him, searching for his angle.

“…why?” She finally asks.

He sighs, taking a step closer before halting at the sight of her tensing. He steps back, looking directly at her.

“I just have some things to get off my chest. I’ve had some time to think about things. Reflect. Pauletta’s been helping me work through some things.”

McKenzie immediately scoffs.

“I’m just trying to be a better man for her. And she thinks that us moving forward in our relationship would go a lot smoother if we air things out for good.”

She hums, “So you’re doing this for her?”

“I’m doing this for myself. I have a lot of things I need to get off my chest. About our relationship. About everything that happened. I don’t want to go around carrying all this guilt. We both deserve to move on for good, and in order for that to happen, you need to know the full truth.”

McKenzie stood there, taking in his words. Trying to decipher whether it was genuine or just a bunch of bull. The guy before her sounds a lot more mature and introspective than the man she was in a relationship with for several years. It takes her back to the beginning of their dynamic, when she fell in love with him. The realization leaves a weight tugging in her stomach.

Brandon presses. “I’ll leave you alone after this, I promise.”

Ultimately, she knew he wouldn’t give in until she gave him the answer she wanted, but it didn’t take long for her to truly consider for herself that she wanted to hear what he had to say. Her confidence was waning, but, on the off chance, that he had a genuine reason behind how he’s treated her, she wants to hear it.

She finally agrees. “Fine. But we’ll do it somewhere public.”

His smarmy smirk returns. “What? You don’t trust me enough to meet in private?”

No source of humor shows on McKenzie’s face. His smile falls at the seriousness in her eyes.

“Okay,” he finally says with a nod. “We can meet up at the coffee shop you like on Swan Street? Does tomorrow work for you?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He starts to head back to go eat. “I’ll see you then.”

She gives a slight nod before waiting a moment, allowing him to enter first before heading back to where she was sitting. Jax and Rev have just finished with their meals and are catching up with Gil on the opposite end of the room.

Immediately, Sairah pressed her, “What the hell did he want?”

McKenzie gives a light shrug, “He just wants to talk.’’

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I guess he’s looking for closure? He just said he wants us to have it out. Explain things. We’re gonna meet up at the cafe tomorrow.”

Hesitation covers her little sister’s face. Her voice lowers as she asks, “You’re not…you’re not thinking of getting back together with him, are you?”

“Are you shitting me?” The stark disbelief on McKenzie’s face immediately answers her question. “Hell no! He’s on his ‘better man’ bullshit, apparently. I guess things with him and Pauletta are progressing mighty fine…”

“God, I hate a dumb bitch. Especially when she actually seems sweet.”

McKenzie sighs, “Well, it’s whatever. He’s not my problem anymore, so hopefully this is the end.”

***

McKenzie sat at the table set near the window, her anxiety on a ten as she waited for her ex-fiance. He was already ten minutes late and she was beyond ready to get this over with. She’d give him five more minutes before she texted him to fuck off and stop wasting her time.

“You need anything, sweetheart?” The young, kind waitress approaches her table, having just cleaned the adjacent one.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m just waiting for someone.”

The woman nods with a smile while heading back to her cashier post towards the back of the coffee shop. The bell above the door jingles and McKenzie’s attention turns towards the figure walking in. Brandon.

At first, he steps towards the register, but immediately veers towards McKenzie once he spots her.

“Hey. Thanks for meeting me here,” he greets as he sits. “Sorry I was a little late.”

McKenzie waves her hand in dismissal, sitting up in her chair. “It’s fine.”

“I actually was gonna try and be here earlier but I’m still earning my way back in your dad and Rev’s good graces. They made me clean all the bikes and the last shit I need is them on my ass about a missed spot or something. Plus, Teller was there. Didn’t need him ratting me out to them.”

McKenzie furrows her eyebrows. “What’s your beef with Teller?”

“Nothing. He’s a dick and I don’t think he’s gonna be much of a problem for any longer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brandon glares at her, scoffing. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re kissing his ass like everybody else. You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

McKenzie swallowed thickly at the comment. It was for her sake that Brandon wasn’t privy to just how well McKenzie knew Jax. Physically, at least.

Whatever was up Brandon’s ass was irrelevant and she didn’t want to venture further into a conversation about Jax, so she switches gears.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Brandon takes the bait, veering back to the topic at hand. “I don’t really know where to start. I know I put you through a lot. With the cheating and everything… I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But I figured you deserve the full story, so I guess I’ll start from the beginning?”

When they had first broken up, she had wished for this honesty. It was what she was owed in her mind. Now, she’s not sure she even cares.

Her nod is mechanical as she waits to listen to what she’s not so sure she wants to hear.

“OK, so the first time I cheated on you, it was a mistake. Truly. I don’t even know if you remember that night but I remember that we had got into that big fight. You got mad because I was working behind the bar and thought I was flirting with one of the customers.”

“I remember.” She interjects.

Brandon nods. “It just spiraled from there. You kept saying that you felt like something was off, that we were distant.”

“Well, I wasn’t crazy for thinking that,” she mutters.

Brandon hangs his head. “No, I guess you weren’t. I was just so pissed after that argument that I went for a ride. Landed in the town over. No one knew me. Knew that I was in a relationship. It just felt good. Familiar. To not have any responsibilities or someone who people are dependent on. It felt easy. And things with us were the opposite of that, so I chased the feeling. The cheating just… happened.”

McKenzie stared at him, watching him as he explained his inner thoughts at the time. She’d give anything to look away.

The words flow out of her mouth harshly. “It didn’t just happen. You made a deliberate choice. Wanting to escape your responsibilities, I can get that, but there’s a difference between taking some time away and putting your dick in another woman. Multiple, actually.”

Brandon doesn’t even bother denying it. “I get it. At first, drinking was enough for escape. But shit, I drink even when I’m not looking for an escape, so there’s only so much that can help. I needed more. Someone else to distract me from our problems. And then… I mean the more I did it, the better it felt. And I should’ve told you, I know that, but cheating seemed easier and it would only make our issues multiply, had I been honest.”

It’s only with impulse control that she doesn’t slam her fist down on the table to get him to stop talking.

She takes in a shaky breath before finally asking. “How many women did you bring back to our place?”

“...Do you really want to know?” Brandon fidgets in his seat, rubbing at his mouth first before scratching the back of his head.

McKenzie nods.

“Six.”

“Six times.” Her throat clenches as she repeats him. “And it was six different women?”

She feels her nose burning watching him nod. Her eyes shone with hurt and anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you have not told me any of this? I don’t get it. I don’t know why you did any of this. Why you asked me to move in with you. Why you asked me to marry you. You’ve been stringing me along for over a year!”

“I just told you why, McKenzie. Because it was easier. I mean, come on,” he sighs exasperatedly. “Did you really think we were gonna make it down the aisle? That we were gonna be together forever? There’s no way you can look me in the eye and tell me that.”

“I thought things were hard but I think giving me a ring sent a pretty clear signal that you were willing to put in effort to make things work. Supposed to, anyway.” She snapped. “I mean, talk about fucking mixed signals. What kind of logic were you expecting me to have to think that you saying you wanted to marry me meant that you actually wanted to break up? You should’ve just grown a pair and told me the truth.”

Brandon’s eyes narrow in frustration. “You aren’t naive, McKenzie. You knew that I wasn’t happy. And don’t delude yourself into thinking you were happy either. Our relationship was crumbs. Shit, by the end, we were barely sleeping together.”

“That didn’t fucking stop you from getting it somewhere,” she bit out before releasing a shaky, resigned breath. “I know that things were difficult, but I wasn’t ready to give up, Brandon. You giving me that ring made me think that you weren’t ready to give up, either. Made me think that you still loved me and that we’d get through the rough patch. But you didn’t mean any of that shit and I really, really wish you would’ve just been upfront with me.”

“It’s not like I can go back and change what happened. All I can do is apologize and hope that we can move forward. I fucked up, I know that. All I can do from here is be better and move on.”

“Yeah, with your new girl.”

Brandon scoffs. “So that’s what you’re pissed about? Because I’m with someone new?”

“I’m pissed because I wasted five years of my life fully committed to you, loving you, standing by you when you were off sleeping with God knows how many women. And then what, days after you break up with me, you not only have a new girl, but you’re parading her around me and my family like nothing happened? And now the kicker is that you’re sitting in front of me that you two have gotten so serious to the point where you’ve had this epiphany that now you should be a better man. She means that much to you. But me? Your former fiancee couldn’t have been given enough respect to sit down and have an honest conversation until after the damage is done? I loved you for years and not once did you have the decency to break things off the right way. I don’t mean shit to you, I see that now. I was just a placeholder until something better came along for you.”

Her response is bitter and yet it’s the lightest she’s ever felt now that she’s finally gotten it off her chest. The discomfort and agitation that Brandon displays while clenching his neck means little to her. She just did what she had never gotten to do since everything went to shit: said her piece.

“McKenzie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve broken up with you way before this. There’s a million things I should’ve done. We were never going to work. And you’ve gotta know that. Our relationship wasn’t good for either of us.”

“All the more reason why you should’ve said something. My only fault here is for being stupid enough to believe you or any or your bullshit.”

“McKenzie-”

“No,” she cuts him off. “I don’t need to hear any of your justifications. You want to ‘move on’, then fine, but I’m not absolving you.”

“Kenz-”

“I wish I had never met you,” McKenzie blurts out, unable to stop in hiding her feelings. She ignores how his expression darkens. “I wish I never fell for you. I wish I never worked so hard to make sure that my dad and family approved of you. And I sure as hell wish I never said yes to you. Every bad thing in my life points back to you.”

Brandon’s voice sharpens even in his low tone. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. With everything in me. And I don’t even know why you would care since my feelings never mattered to you. All you ever did was hurt me, and I let you. But not anymore.” Her voice gets louder as she continues, filled with more ire as she watches outrage contort his face. “I’m so sick and tired of you blaming me for things that aren’t my fault. I’m not letting you do that to me anymore, either.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” His words that were aimed at getting her to calm down only set her off. “You don’t get to control me.”

“That’s enough.”

“Or what?”

By now, their harsh exchange of words had captured more than a few eyes.

She didn’t care. She was tired of making herself small for others. Especially him. As far as everyone was concerned, she hoped the unintentional witnesses of their outburst enjoyed the show. She got out practically everything she needed to say to him, so she breathed another heavy sigh before closing what was hopefully their final chapter.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says, her voice lowered but still firm. “You ruined my life, and you’re probably gonna do the same to poor Pauletta but that’s none of my business. You can sit here and try to feel better about yourself, but you’re a pathetic excuse of a man. I don’t know if it’s because you were so miserable with me, or if it’s because you hate yourself and want to make others feel that way, too, but that’s none of my business either. Because I’m done. I don’t care to hear any of your explanations anymore. It doesn’t matter. None of that changes what you did to me. And I can walk around the Garden and pretend you don’t exist, but that doesn’t mean we’re good, because we’re not. Have a nice fucking life.”

McKenzie gets up and grabs her things. She walks past his seat to head for the exit when Brandon grabs her arm tightly.

Absolute fury shines in his eyes. “You better watch your mouth, McKenzie.”

His intimidation should have brought forth fear, but she can’t help the chuckle that escapes her.

“You can’t hide it for long, can you? Your anger. You come in here on your ‘better man’ bullshit and the second I piss you off, you resort back to old habits.”

His hold tightens, a now painful grasp.

“Let me go,” she grits out.

He holds tight, a nasty snarl on his lips that was unfortunately familiar. She contemplates snatching the chair out from under him with each nanosecond that passes.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar figure approaches. “Let her go. Right now.”

She had no idea who the man was, but watches as he pushes against Brandon’s chest with just enough force to get him to let go. The second she was free, she immediately stepped back, holding her arm to her chest.

Brandon launches out of his seat. “Mind your gaddamn business.”

The anonymous man still stood in front of McKenzie unflinchingly.

“Pretty sure half the cafe heard your business, hermano. Sounds like you’ve done enough, so why don’t you take a walk?” The guy spoke roughly, pointing towards the door. McKenzie watches Brandon scoff, measuring up the man. He shakes his head, taking a few steps back before narrowing his eyes at her.

“You’re right about one thing. Being with you was the worst mistake of my life.”

He stormed out of the cafe, the door slamming forcefully after him. McKenzie ran her hand through her hair, letting out a huge breath.

After making sure Brandon is gone for good, the man looks back to McKenzie. She feels her eyes burn again as she realizes that people are only just now resuming their attention to their own tables after the whole fiasco.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” The man asks softly.

“Yes.” McKenzie swallows, slowly nodding. “Yeah, I’m good, really. Thank you…”

“Ezekiel,” he introduced with a kind smile.

“Thank you, Ezekiel.”

She attempts to slide past him, desperate to get out of here, before he asks, “Did you need me to walk you to your car or anything?”

McKenzie shakes her head, “No thanks but I appreciate it. Have a good night.”

She left the coffee shop without another word, her head down until the night air hit her face. Once she settles into her car, her head lolls back on the headrest, her eyes closed. She wasn’t sure what to do now. She didn’t know whether to head home to her sister’s house, stop by her parent’s or drive around with no destination. The encounter she just had is taking up all the space in her mind and she needs it to leave. She finds herself dialing a number, hoping for a response as she listens to it ring.

“Hello?”

She takes a beat before speaking, hoping emotion doesn’t crack in the tenor of her voice.

“Hey, uh, where are you right now?”

“Home. You okay?” Jax asks with mild concern.

“Yeah. Can I come over?”

He answers with zero hesitation, “Of course you can, darlin’.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She hangs up the phone, tossing it in the passenger seat before switching gears and heading to Charming. She blinks her eyes several times, unwilling to let tears mask her view of the streets. She meant it with every fiber of her being that she was tired of letting herself be controlled by Brandon. The feelings of loss still ring heavy in the demise of their relationship, but that doesn’t mean she had to let it consume her. The worst was over. Now, it was time to learn how to adjust, pick up the pieces, and continue on. She couldn’t do that with an overstimulated mind so she sought out the first place where she knew she’d be safe to just be. She loves her parents and she loves her sister, but she knows they’ll want answers if they glean how discombobulated she feels right about now. She’d have to talk, she’d have to explain. And then, she’d have to deal with whatever consequences rained Brandon’s way from her family.

With Jax, there were no expectations.

She pulled up to his house another twenty minutes later and immediately walked up to his front door, not wasting any time. It didn’t take long for her to hear the door become unlocked and for her to be faced with just a handsome, although uncertain, face.

“Hey…” he ventures, widening the door for her.

She practically leaped onto him, grabbing his face with both hands, and willing their lips to meet. It’s so heated that it has Jax staggering back a step before finding purchase against the open door. He kicks it closed with his foot, an arm around her waist as he carries her further into his living room.

Their locked embrace only parts when oxygen becomes a requirement, their lips still close in proximity as they catch their breath. He pants, lost in the pout of her lips before focusing on her face as a whole. There’s something he can’t place about her demeanor. It’s laced with the desperation called for in such a steamy moment, but there’s something else slipping from under the heat.

He doesn’t get a chance to question it before she slips down from his embrace, grabs his hand, and leads him towards his bedroom. He doesn’t resist and his eyes darken, watching her slip her shirt off, met with the sight of her braless.

She reaches for him, her hands on him in an instant, ridding him of his own shirt before she grabbed at his belt. Her clasps his hands above hers, pausing for just a second.

“Hey…” he gathers her attention. “Before we do this…. Are you okay?”

Now that they’re looking eye to eye, he sees the emotion swimming in hers.

“I’m fine,” she says.

She plasters on a smile. She’s successful in sliding his belt from between its loops before focusing on her own jeans. Once they’re discarded, she sits on his bed with him towering over her. He lifts her chin.

“Are you sure? Did something happen?” He reaches for her arms, wanting her to stand back up when he notices her subtle wince. His eyes veer over to her arm and he frowns at the sight of discoloration near her wrist. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” she grabs her arm back from him. “It’s probably from work. Look, are we doing this or not?”

She’s too impatient to wait for an answer before placing a soft kiss on his abs. Her hand slips under his boxers, stroking him with a firmness that juxtaposes the delicateness of her lips on him. It took nothing for them to rid each other of the rest of their clothes, Jax admiring her curvy, regal figure in its most bare form.

Their bodies moved at an unyielding pace as Jax covered her body with his.

It was over much too quickly for McKenzie’s liking, despite the fact that he left her panting in satisfaction. He rolls off of her, landing on his back as he, too, catches his breath.

Now that it’s over, McKenzie’s mind is back to racing and her ex-fiance’s words reappear to the forefront of her mind. Her arm is still tender, more so an annoying reminder that she can’t shake. It’s the gateway portal that flashes her back to the cafe. The harshness with which he spoke to her. The burning sense of worthlessness that it etched into her. The worst part is how he made her feel like she was to blame. Like he had no choice but to cheat and mistreat her and there was something she should’ve done to prevent it. It was all too overwhelming and nothing was alleviating her frazzled head.

Every ounce of concern rushed back to Jax as he looked over and took note of McKenzie’s glassy appearance as she stared up at the ceiling fan.

“Darlin’, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He reaches for her, sitting up with worry.

“No,” she reassures. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

She attempts to shuffle away but Jax has his arms in a hold around her waist.

“What is it, baby?”

The more that she hears the compassion that fills his voice, the more she wants to push away from him. Because she’s seconds from crumbling with every unsuccessful attempt at blocking her evening out from her mind. It’s a battle she’s losing with tears at the brim, begging to cascade down her cheeks.

Jax, meanwhile, had no idea what was plaguing her so deeply, but he’d never seen her so hurt before.

His voice becomes desperate. “You can talk to me. Whatever it is.”

She looks at him, believing the sincerity in his eyes. The mirrored look of distress that distorts his face. It breaks the dam open and her tears fall with reckless abandon. A sob escapes her lips as her hands cover her face.

Jax shifts, pulling her closer into his chest, rubbing her back. Her heavy cries cause his stomach to sink, the reality of her angst coming back with much more force than the inklings of unease she displayed when she first got here. Her body shakes in rhythm with her weeps and he grips her even closer.

What happened is no longer his concern as much as comforting her. Giving her the safe space to let go of everything she’s been holding in. He’d make it right if she’d let him, but for now, he did what he could in the moment and that was to simply hold her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into her ear. He’s not sure if she even registers the soft words he utters under his breath to her, but he continues anyway. Continues until her shaking ceases and she lies still in his arms.

Sleep.

The broken-hearted girl in front of him cried herself to sleep and it wrenched at him.

He throws a hand into his hair, combing it back from his face. As he rolls onto his back, he takes her with him, clutching her to his side as he shifts into comfort. The lights are already off and darkness covers them as their breathing evens out.

She’s never stayed the night before but he wouldn’t let her leave even if she woke up and insisted. There was no way he was letting her be by herself this upset. Even if it was subconsciously, she sought him out for a reason.

He just hoped that when the dawn rose in the morning, she’d still let him be there for her.

A/N: Whewww can't believe it's been 2+ years since I've updated this fic. Thank you to all readers, both new and old. Lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist. Please, of course, leave reblogs and comments if you enjoyed. Love you bbs 🫶🏽

#sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller x oc #c: mckenzie gilbert

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darthbecky726 · 1 month ago

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daredevil born again 1x05 spoilers

ddba spoilers below!!

the theme song right after the recap?? it's gonna be a loaded episode

Yusuf Khan!! Kamala Khan mention!!!

of course the bank matt JUST leaves is now being robbed

why would this guy with this thick distinct accent be yelling lmao

matt playing up the innocent blind guy is my favorite thing

Matt's face at being called Stevie wonder 😂

if I was matt I would've flinched sooooo hard knowing that blow was coming

side note, how did Kirsten know what to call 911 about?? Matt def hung up before he told her what he was hearing

the bank robbers giving each other a pep talk is funny as hell

are these robbers people I should know?? the way they're showing their faces makes me think they're important

I feel a hallway scene incoming with this vault setup

i watch too many cop shows for this lmao

now how did I know Matt was gonna be one of the hostages chosen to be released

and of course he wants to swap with someone else, the most help he can be is inside the bank

matt you're such a fucking lawyer

yeah Matt's life is almost comically tragic lmao

he's gotta stay, he's too entertaining to release

HES DOING THE HEAD TILT THING

her hair is whitening by the frame

who is Angie Kim??

ahh the old i gotta go to the bathroom

trailer shot!!

oh this guy stalling at the vault

HERES MY HALLWAY SCRNE J JUST KNOW JT

MATT WITH THE TIEEEEEEEEE

this guy's putting up a lot of fight damn

I had to rewind that fight scene so my roommate could watch it

that second takedown was CLEAN

and of course he hits them with that accent I love him

we love a safecracking scene and Matt is such a good one bc how could he not be

A REALLY GOOD ONE INDEED

who knows a good joke I like her

ooh Charlie's accent slipped a little there

this joke is gonna be terrible 😂

never let them know your next move huh detective Kim

this guy and his butter fingers feels almost intentional

oh that's def not all that's in there

what the fuck is that jt looks important

oh and he already closed the box?? def a revealing error

I love the way Charlie says question

matt sure knows how to lie when he needs to

I love him so much

oh heres thing about smoke bombs, they don't really affect matt much

get his ass Matthew

I love when he gets into tracking mode

ooh he's using that mask

I thought he was gonna throw the cane but he's using it as bully clubs

an open air hallway scene!!!

DAMN MATTHEW LETTING THE DEVIL OUT

this was such a good episode!! a bottle episode!!

ooh matt stays being invited to dinner

and Matt put the diamond in the candy dish!!

#daredevil born again #daredevil #daredevil born again spoilers #daredevil spoilers #ddba #spoilers #matt murdock #mcu

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crochetybag · 1 month ago

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I have so many THOUGHTS about seasons 3 and 4 of shoresy but I need to get this off my chest immediately:

The b’ys taking on the b’y b’ys and teaching them to be vulnerable not as some sort of hazing ritual but because public embarrassment means nothing in the face of true connection?? That even if he never got the girl, there is value in a group of older men mentoring younger men and making connections and having fun with one another? Be still, my heart.

Striking, in watching the intergenerational dynamics of shoresy season 4, is the lack of older generations in either show. The millennials are the adults in the room, and even if they don’t always feel equipped to manage it, they’re going to have to step up. I wonder if JK or JT has ever commented on this because it’s a haunting absence but also speaks to the way that modern masculinity is facing challenges and issues elders could hardly have dreamed of.

Between letterkenny and shoresy Jared keeso and Jacob tierney have given us multiple models of masculinity that stand on decency, strength, protecting the members of the community who need it, and certainly not least - joy. I’m not even totally on board with every part of their model. the insistence on women’s hockey not being as good to them is uninteresting to me, and policies put into place to limit sexual harassment in locker rooms are generally good, imo. but I love that they make such a good case that masculinity isn’t inherently or inescapably toxic, that there are many ways to be a man without being a sexist, reactionary dipshit. Critiquing toxic masculinity is important, but so is building a model to move forward. The masculinity of these shoes is not totally old school, but it’s not totally separate from it either. part of growing up is figuring out what to take and what to leave behind (there’s such thing as too much talk about horns and a man ought to know the difference).

#letterkenny #shoresy #jared keeso #jacob tierney #masculinity #shoresy season 4

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spaceytoxinz · 5 months ago

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saw your gideon edit and the comment you made saying you associate him with industrial music (iirc) and I think thats really unique.. what genres or artists do you associate with the other exes + if you have any more for gideon him too im really interested in these playlists...

JOYOUS OCCASION.

I do have a gideon playlist though, pretty short but i feel like it gets his general vibe across [imo]. I made it like last year i think. Its the only one i have besides the 2 playlists i have for my oc

continuing with Gideon though, he reminds me of industrial because in different medias he’s associated with either Indie/pop rock or techno. So i just slapped industrial onto him because it sits pretty well in the middle of the two. because im cringe like that]. Industrial, some electropunk [not rlly msi ripoff bands, more like Elias and the Error], general EBM, new wave and ofc the obvious techno/pop rock. I also chose industrial because of the raw, edgier themes songs usually tend to revolve around. His main artists would be like, NIN, Death Spells, KMFDM probably, Depeche Mode, etc. Though ik he bumps Hamburger Lady once in a while /j [also some songs by Romeo Santos cause bros kinda insane about his relationships]

Matthew Patel is musicals [i wasn’t much of a theatre kid i only sang my parts when my friends would randomly perform Heathers outside of class in midde school. I was never super invested in musicals though.] and emo music. He honestly kinda reminds me of the entire 2016 emo revival with the “Holy Emo Trinity” or whatever. Though ofc this shit takes place in like 2005 so its not the same. He reminds me more of Midwest Emo than Post-hardcore emo. Maybe he would listen to shit like Sleeping with Sirens but for some reason its hard for me to imagine. To be fair its also because i grew up with second wave emo [i think its second wave. mostly the end of it but jt altered my life and ive seen shit that would occur in the scene thanks to my older sister] so i have a specific idea of the different types of emos at the time. He’s much more emotional and theatrical to me which is why i choose midwest emo over post-harcore/emocore. Also hes zesty so brittany spears.

I usually associate Lucas Lee with old school Reggaeton. Just based on personal headcanon about how he looks like a specific genre of Latino in the early 2000s idk to describe it, im also from the west coast so theres that. But ofc the anime gave me a reality check and i realized this mf is still a skater. so of course you have punk rock/pop punk. so the range goes from Daddy yankee and Don Omar to mf The Offspring and Anti-Flag. I’ve thought about making a playlist for him, i just gotta figure out how to organize it the same way i did for Gideon and how his playlist has both bachata and industrial.

Todd would stray more away from electronic heavy music unlike Lucas and Gideon. In my head I also associate him with pop punk, basic bands like Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Bowling for Soup whatever. Indie Rock like The Killers, The Strokes, Queens of the Stone Age probably. Honestly basic level radio rock that people argue the genre of. Though another headcanon is that most of the music he grew up with was like, basic level metal. Shit like Metallica and AC/DC. I also do think about him while listening to Los Infieles by Aventura because hes a cheating ass mf.

quick note for todd, i also have a headmate based off of a specific way an artist depicted him in fanart, who wouldn’t stop listening to skrillex a while back for almost a month straight so yeah. theres that.

As for Roxy, she reminds me a little more of Post-Hardcore and RIOT GRRRL. Shes not rlly emo but some of her aesthetics overlap so why not lol. I don’t know enough RIOT GRRRL bands other than Le Tigre [also the the Empty>>>>> that song is peak]. But bands like Kittie, Jack off Jill, Saosin, etc. Since my music taste mostly revolves around Rock/EDM and because various soundtracks having a theme song for her, she also reminds me of trance or eurodance. Can’t name any specific artists for those two genres i only know a handful of songs. I can’t rlly put her into one genre of music like the others, i feel like a lot suits her. Fuck it she listens to Lady gaga too. I only know for sure that she reminds me of Devi McCallion and the artists mentioned above. She would be okay with me playing my cringe ass music on the aux cord i think /j

For the Twins. The obvious answer is basic EDM. But i feel like one of them is a little more experimental than the other while one of them would focus on being more melodic. They both remind me of Aphex Twin and Venetian Snares. Ngl though they kinda remind me of 2000s/2010s hip-hop/rap in a way that i can’t fully explain. I have no specific artists nor subgenres to describe it unfortunately because i have a very basic level examples i heard on the radio growing up. i think its cause theyre always at some party/event depending on which media. They remind me of the instrumental to Black and Yellow by Wiz Khalifa tho.

yeah uh, most of my music taste revolves around rock and EDM plus the various genres i grew up with so honestly there’s probably more out there i haven’t listened to yet that could be better fits for them. i like music lol. I also gotta reread the comics to get a better understanding other than what i remember.

#scott pilgrim vs the world #gideon graves #gideon gordon graves #matthew patel #lucas lee #todd ingram #roxy richter #roxie richter #ken katayanagi #kyle katayanagi #katayanagi twins #this is mostly based on the comic tbh

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kibblbread · 1 year ago

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This is completely aimless and scattered, like more than usual but whatever. Either way it’s just relationship dynamic stuff~ btw pls read the fucking pizza gorl fic —>>> 🍕✨

Random thought but i think exposure therapy might be the best option in aiding Jason to recovery, well, that and gentle coaxing! Jason is very responsive to praise because he’s definitely a people pleaser. I know it might be hard to tell looking at him from a glance; but let’s not be shallow, he gives chance after chance to his loved ones no matter how much they screw him over. He’s simply a lover boy. So I conclude that Jason is a huge people pleaser, and he’s privy to it but ignores himself. He hates digging into his psyche.. it just hurts, poor guy has too many painful memories.

But it’s necessary for healing unfortunately 😔

AK!Jason is extremely.. emotionally.. wrecked. He doesn’t act outside his redhood persona often unless it’s completely necessary— like getting food and supplies, or even to possibly get intel.

At least for a while.

Meeting PG turns his entire world on its head! He’s pretty out of his element as it is while trying to define his persona, the redhood. But PG! Hoo boy— he did not anticipate a partner in crime. A sidekick if you will lol. So essentially his healing process is expedited(just a tad bit); since Jason interacts with his family at a much faster pace than otherwise on his own terms. Dick is very eager to give his younger brother the much needed affection and support that JT deserves but doesn’t want to scare Jason away. So early in the rekindling process, Dick takes a backseat and lets Barbara lead— she’s the voice for not only herself, but Dick & Tim even Alfred for a bit too. Babs knows just what to say and how to say it more often than not! Jason is more relaxed around her than any of his family for a time.

JT’s attitude is still pretty rotten though, he’s suffering so there’s still so much happening within him that slows them down in regaining his trust.

He’ll still snap & even become aggressive toward Barbara if she isn’t cautious and calculated in her approach, which she is, but she’s not a mind reader and can trigger the worst in Jason. However, on the other side of the spectrum, we have pizza. PG seems to never catch any lip, and if she does it doesn’t seem intentional most times— genuine underestimation is the biggest culprit. PG can be reckless, it’s the largest pain point in the fic between these two imo! But you’re not from gotham, you’re truly ignorant, you’re like a second chance to him almost. You don’t know of his sins, not really anyway… A slate as clean as yourself, he’s gotta prove to you he’s not a useless, unworthy, sorry excuse for a person right? He’s gotta prove it to you.

To his family.

To gotham.

No, he doesn’t. But if we are gonna play this game he proved it when he put on his life on the line once as robin, and a second time the moment he decided to become redhood. He’s no less worthy than anyone in reality. Hopefully he’ll see it in this lifetime, but even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t change how you see him and continue to see him. It most definitely doesn’t change how you make him feel either. 🥰 PG is a protective person at heart. She’ll do what she can to help just about any decent human being but especially her loved ones.

Jason sees it. He can feel it too, subconsciously he wants what she wants for him. So he’ll allow her to poke and prod him where he needs to be directed. JT allows a lot from PG actually, from her quick gentle touches to her quips and questioning. He doesn’t take it the same from any of the other bats, when it’s from family it’s nothing short of condescending. Humiliation and anger rises bubbles from his gut straight into his heart. But from you? It’s not something he can quite name.. sometimes it’s annoying, yes, but with you he doesn’t mind feeling insecure as much. You don’t know what insecurity looks like on him just yet so naturally he allows you to suggest things he wouldn’t otherwise acknowledge. The dialogue between you two is allowed to flow freely. To not know Jason’s trigger’s is to not know his anger; which is arguably both a pro and a con.

The closer PG gets to JT the more she sees what he’s capable of.. and how. The why is what she’ll inevitably get to, but how she gets to his truth is much more important. I think PG not being afraid of how Jason will react is her biggest advantage in being so close to him. On the reverse side of things, Jason is more calm because to him, she not antagonistic in his mind. She doesn’t know his past or the extent of JT’s capabilities so why would she, and even if she did, could she? Again I feel JT genuinely underestimates PG as she is a civilian and not held to his impossible self imposed standards. It’s not malicious, he just wants to protect her, his guard is lower than usual which isn’t saying a lot because it’s still extremely high. JT is still distrustful don’t get me wrong, but it’s not personal like it is with his family.

When you tell J he did good, that he’s accomplished something, he’s on the moon. PG’s acknowledgment goes such a long way in the never ending void that is his insecurity and self loathing!

On a less abstract level, when it comes to doing, Jason unintentionally gives PG the go ahead to start pushing his buttons when he inevitably begins clinging to her presence for comfort. For better or for worse, you push many buttons. lol.

“Stay here a bit longer?” Fine, what’s a bit longer?

“Call for back up! We need help!” Im good enough for the job, but maybe some help would be better than none in this instance…

*looks around Jason’s safe house* “Damn bitch you live like this??? Sleepover at my place😝” *complies but serves the most bombastic of side eyes*

The batfam get to see parts of him they haven’t seen before, or at least in a very long time when you two interact in front of them. Jason is still largely argumentative, but thats how it stays surprisingly, he doesn’t boil over and actually backs down or bites his tongue. Which is.. shocking to say the least. Dick & Babs take note of the more true extent of his patience and how willingly he’ll hear your suggestions. They’ll take note of how freely you grab his hand and drag him along. They even notice him suspiciously looking in your direction for prolonged periods while your back is turned. Hmmm very note worthy indeed. Jason is all too aware but doesn’t know what he can do about without you noticing his clear change in demeanor. But quite a few of his new habits fly under his own radar when it comes to being around PG!

He’s less jumpy for one.

Jason isn’t at all more confident in his abilities since he’s still crippled with anxiety and a lot of self doubt but, he’s really focusing on monitoring and guiding you. JT is teaching you to work smarter, teaching you how the streets of gotham work. And above all else making sure PG can keep herself safe! He’s firm and direct, sometimes even sounding like the commander of a militia 🤭 I like to think sometimes he reverts accidentally. Jason also tends to stay close to PG. Most times it’s unintentional but others he’s just watching out for you. You give him a lot of good vibes and reassurance and JT just naturally finds himself hovering over to where you are. Like him and D are side by side on a rooftop, then all the sudden he’s breathing down your neck because you decided sitting on the ledge of a building was cool like a dumbass. But the most notable of all these habits is how much he allows your touch; JT doesn’t squirm away from you either, he stays put. PG will touch his shoulder in gentle support or give his hand a quick tap to pull his attention.

Barbara finds this behavior interesting, Dick thinks it’s adorable but is lowkey in his feelings about it.

Lol

I think thats it for now…

thank u for reading my post bestie 🍕🤪

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jt <3 #head empty #arkham knight #red hood #ak!jason #jason peter todd #pizza girl x jason todd #pizzagorl #blurb #arkham knight x reader #morven my queen #im actually going insane #because u made me obsessed with this boy 😭#i lobe him sm #jayborb #my lil pookie

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spilling-my-guts-to-you-guyss · 2 months ago

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Is life really worth living...?

Ive been fighting my life with tnis question ringing through my mind, ive answered yes and no before. Ive acted upon my yes and nos before.

Lets admit it, life is fucking terribke. No one likes life. People exist out of tgeir own will and hate themselves. Tgey mentally degrade themselves, physically harmthemselves, and emotionally lock themselves up. I can testify fkr all three.

"But why? What about the joys in life?" There is no real joy in life.

Friemds come and stay sure. Some will go and some wjll fade. True friends will never leave, but those are rare to find, especially today.

Little things. Little things tgat once made me estatjc brought me joy. Luttle things that once brouggt me joy made me happy. Little things that made me happy dont make me happy anymore. Ive grown numb.

My mind has been paralyzed with fear ad doubt and anxieties od the world and dwpressing ideas. Failure was all i kmew, and the steuggle tk merely exist grew too much to bear. Ive thought about God, wondering if he coukd still help me. If he would welcome me with open arms jnto the iridescent gates of heaven.

I craved God and his love, but i grew impatient to recieve it. Life grew worse in returm, and so did my thoughts. I needed God, so i wantedn him right away.

"To die is gain" paul once said. Of course i thought so when preparing my suicide attempt, fkrgettjng the rest of the verse. Downing pills, all 55 of them, i thought of Him. Of God. Woukd he be mad if i were to arrive in heaven early? Woukd i even make jt to heaven? Was i... was i truly saved?

A christian shoukd never think of suicide, let alome put it into action. Yet there i was, lying in bed wkth a foggy mind, shutting my eues in hopes to be greeted by my creator in the next few momens.

Yet i didnt.

I awoke in pain.

Unbearable pain.

That night was the worst ive experienced, lying helplessly on the bathroom floor with tears in my eeyes, clutching myself in pajn. 4 times i threw up, all through the night.

A grounding pain.

I couldnt breathe.

I was in so much pain,

I called to God

"Im sorry... im so sorry"

And He listened.

"Please let me live.. ill give all my life, all of everything to yoh... i can try, im sorry"

And He listined again.

And im greatful for that. I never thought i woukd be, byt i am.

That night passed, the nexr day i was considered "sick" by my mom, unknowing of my attempt. So what if she didnt knoe.

God knew.

The next few months, self harming grew worse. But i told a friend, a close friend. I told her eberything. All my struggles and attempt and

And she listened

And she cared

She helped me.. she assisted me and affirmed me and gave me love.. whule still knowing my dark thoughts... my tendencjes and habits. Even now she still does. She is a very clos friend tgat will never leave me no matter what,

And friends like that are rare to find, especally today.

So back to the question- is life realky worth livi g? This stressful shitty life that no one truly gives a fuck for? That people kill themselves ocer? That people cut themselves over? That people cry and panic over?

No. Its not,

But

The real worth is those who care. The close friemds tgat are there for you no matter what. Magbe you have them, maybe you dont. If you dont, im terribly sorry. I hope you find someone like that.

So yeah i hate life. Yeah i still have suicidal thoughts. Yeah i still self harm. But guess what? I have people to help.

I have friends

I have close friemds.

I have God.

And He gives me hope.

Thank you for everything @theweirdbox123 . You truly mean the world to me.

As well as @the-ellia-west . Thank yoh so much for everything.

I love yoh all.

#personal vent #vent #tw sh implied #tw sh related #tw sui talk #writers on tumblr

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hughesybear · 7 months ago

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“Elliotte talks about the struggling Elias Pettersson.” (21/10/2024)

transcript of 32 Thoughts segment below cut

Elliotte: I have a theory on Pettersson. I think number one, he’s wired a little differently than guys like Miller and Hughes, which is okay. Not everybody can be the same, so I think that sometimes the way he reacts to tough or challenging moments, or when things aren’t going that well, it’s not as emotional as them. We’re going to be interviewing Mats Sundin this week, and I always thought that was a thing that hurt Sundin a little bit in Toronto - it took people a lot of time to understand that just because you’re more of a stoic, as opposed to emotional, person, it doesn’t mean you don’t care or that you don’t want to win just as badly as anyone else. But I think people who are like that in sports sometimes get penalized for it, Kyle. And I think a little bit that happens with him.

You know, you’ve got to produce (…) but you know what the other thing is, and I’ve really thought about this and I think it’s true more and more, I think Pettersson is one of those guys that reads everything or he’s aware of everything that’s said about him. And honestly Kyle, I think that’s one thing that he’s going to move past. Because I think in moments like this, when you’re struggling (…) I always say about markets like Vancouver, the rewards are high but the risks are high.

Jamie Baker, the former NHLer, told me a great story of when he got treaded to the Toronto Maple Leafs, Wendell Clark pulled him aside and said “Understand this: you’re never as good as they say you are, and you’re never as bad as they say you are. You’ve got to ride a flat line as much as you can. You can’t go up and down, it can’t be peaks and valleys, you’ve got to ride the flat line.” And I suspect, this is my opinion, because I think Pettersson is well aware of everything that is said about him, I think he rides the peaks and valleys, and I think that is the thing that he has to get out of his system.

(…) I think Hughes is excellent at riding the line. I think he’s captain for a reason, because he knows what matters and what doesn’t. And I think the key thing for Vancouver is that I think they have players who weren’t like that before, but have gotten there. Like I think JT Miller, over the last year or so, has gotten a lot better at riding the line. Now I think it helps because they’re successful, I think when they’re losing it’s extremely hard for him, but I think he’s gotten better at riding the line. I think Brock Boeser is a guy who’s gotten a lot better at riding the line, keeping it calm. I think you can develop it, I think you can learn it.

But I think one of the things, and this is my theory on Pettersson too, is that when he’s struggling and it’s not going well, I think it really - it’s something he’s really aware of, what’s being said about him, and he has to stop that. And that’s my constructive criticism for Pettersson (…) You have to learn to weed it out. There’s a difference between constructive criticism, which we all need, and just pure savagery. So I think that’s one thing Pettersson’s going to have to get better at, is blocking that out, and I think it’ll really help him.

Kyle: I think back to a couple years ago, I remember asking a question about like “when you’re going through tough stretches, who do you lean on to help get you through?” And he said “you know, I’m a little bit of a lone wolf.” And that really stuck with me. This is a guy who’s - I mean, he’s only gonna be 26 next month, just over 400 career games in the NHL, so this is a guy who’s still very much figuring out life as a person.

I mean, I grew up [in Vancouver] when the Sedins went through “they’re too small, they’re too soft, they can’t survive in the NHL,” to being one of the great dynamic duos in the league for an extended period of time. And seeing how that market can be with players who really learn to thrive amidst the chaos that market can provide. So I hope he does find joy in where he wants to get to, because it can be a really great ride out there when you can find that balance.

Elliotte: If I was good enough to play, and we all know I’m not, but if I was good enough to play I would be all over a Canadian market (…) I really do love it. And you can see this, like a guy like Miller, who’s signed long-term, he sees that. He’s been through the wringer, and he’s grinded his way through, and now you see the videos that his family is putting out like when he scored the other day, last year in the playoffs when Natalie Miller put on Instagram the video of their daughter hearing them chant his name, like that’s what I mean about the rewards are high.

If you succeed in hockey in a Canadian market, your ticket is booked for ever. Forever and ever, amen.

#god. Petey.#I’m hopeful he’s learned to rely on others more for help #I’m glad the team has gotten so close together - we know he’ll get through this and be as good as we know he can be #and of course he’s not as outwardly emotional but we know just how much he feels inside #and Friedge’s last quote… forever and ever amen #elias pettersson #vancouver canucks #nhl #canucks roundup #auriel:text #auriel:media

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ladybelladonna76 · 7 months ago

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Voila, Dakota's Misty Summer, Part I

Dakota Harding, Ms Harding to her pupils was an okay teacher, not the best but certainly not the worst. A fourth year teacher she was starting to become jaded with how little she could achieve within in her classroom. Sure she helped the students she could and cajoled those that she couldn't. She was loved by some of her class and hated by others, but for the most part she was just another obstacle to be overcome for these young adults about to head out into the world.

It was the end of another year and one more class was graduating ready to start the next step on leaving their own paths into adulthood. As always she recieved a bunch of presents from those graduating and she gathered them up and put them in a bag to take home and look at later.

Getting home Dakota settled down for a quiet evening, she started with the main event, the unpacking of her class's gifts.

"Nice! Target, Starbucks, Macy's", the middle class parents always defaulted to gift cards, "a couple of mugs to be put in the cupboard with the dozen others ages been given over the years", she snickered, "Best teacher ever! Wow Stacey's parents do not know their daughter at all!", she continued to sort through them until the various knickknacks and gift cards were all sorted, laid out haphazardly on her coffee table. "Nice haul" she smiled, "better than last year" and started tidying up, she folded up the bag she'd used when one more unnoticed card fell out, she opened it up, reading the front, "Hmmm, what's this, Voila, a gift card for $200", she was impressed, flattered, "wow that's a lot, I wonder what Voila sells, and who'd give me a gift like this", she looked inside the card and read the inscription, "from JT" she was incredulous, "this must be a mistake, he hates me, I had him in detention most weeks and almost got him expelled a couple of times", reading on, "I know I wasn't your favourite student Ms D, heck I'm pretty sure I was your arch nemesis at times but you've been my teacher since I was a freshman and you were the best teacher I had, so I hope this makes up for it. I guess I was trouble mostly because I wanted to get your attention, and spend more time with you whilst we were still together at school, you were always my favorite Ms D.",

Dakota was taken aback, flustered even. She would never have expected this from Jack. Jack Taylor was always trouble.

He came from a wealthy family and he knew no matter what he did he always had Daddy's money to back him up. As she thought about it even though he was rich and spoilt his life must be hard, he never saw his Dad, he was always traveling and his mom was too busy being the wife of a wealthy man to pay much attention to her son. The only place he must get any attention must be here at school, of course his behavior was a cry for help and she'd missed it. She got misty eyed and a little choked up, "I'm sorry Jack I never knew" she mouthed almost silently to no one.

The rest of the night went as planned, the gifts sat on the coffee table mostly forgotten, except for a single box of candy that she picked at periodically. Dakota later ate some microwaved noodles and binged three episodes of Stranger Things, she was watching it for the fifth time, it was comfort TV. Eventually the day caught up with her and she felt her eyes growing heavy, rather than sleep on the couch again Dakota turned off her TV before crawling to her cold lonely bed in her quiet empty one bedroom apartment.

The next few weeks were what she'd come to expect from the long summer months, they were boring with nothing to do and no where to go, Dakota drifted, she went out a couple of times with friends, saw family, read a couple of books but really she did nothing of consequence. Finally cleaning her house in a burst of energy to block out the overpowering monotony she came across Jack's forgotten gift card again and decided on the spur of the moment to find out what exactly Voila did.

Grabbing her laptop she did a quick internet search and discovered that Voila was a beauty salon on the wealthy side of town! She smiled and laughed in exasperation, "Oh it could have been such a nice thought Jack, it was so expensive, but it was just a way for you to get one more dig in about my appearance", memories of Jack poking fun of her in front of the rest of the class about how she should act like a young woman not an old crone ready to go to nursing home flashed in her mind. She thought about giving the card to someone or just throwing it away but instead Dakota laughed in defiance, "Fuck you JT, I'm using this and then I'll never have to think about or see you ever again!"

She called the salon's number on the card the next day and arranged for an appointment through the rather rude and impatient receptionist, she was given an appointment for the next week, apparently she was lucky, there's been an opening, appointments were normally scheduled months in advance. Dakota was eager to use the gift card and forget Jack or the present had ever existed, move on with the rest of her life.

Walking up to the salon on the day of her appointment Dakota felt instant regret at not giving the card away.

Voila was a bustling high end salon in an exclusive part of town. Dakota stood watching the entrance from across the street trying to summon up the courage to enter, she watched the numerous clientele coming and going she knew this wasn't her kind of place at all, they were all glamorous women, some young, some old, all ostentatiously wealthy. Dakota didn't want to judge but they all looked like high maintenance trophy wives, she most certainly did not belong in a decadent place like this.

Dakota normally got her hair cut at a local salon. They did good straightforward work, she didn't need anything fancy, most importantly they were cheap and familiar. She'd been visiting her normal hairdresser ever since settling here after college, she was comfortable there.

Taking one final deep breath and steeling herself Dakota walked quickly towards the salon door, she could see there was a gap in people coming and going, she decided, it was now or never. Looking around the salon as she walked through the door she knew immediately this really was an alien world. She could hear some kind of chart music playing in the background, it sounded familiar, she'd heard her students listening to it but she couldn't fully make out what it was. People were bustling around, there was so much happening, her senses were bombarded, disoriented. In this state of sensual overload she approached the front desk apologetically.

"Err, excuse me, I have an, um appointment", she tried to catch the receptionists attention

The intimidating receptionist looked her up and down making an obviously negative assessment.

"Name?"

The tone in this beautiful Amazon of a woman's voice and her withering stare unsettled Dakota even more, she gulped, "it's errm..."

"Oh spit it out, can't you see we're busy here?", her eyes narrowed, it felt like they were burrowing a hole in Dakota's head.

"Ms D. Harding"

"Okay Misty I've got a Harding here, your stylist Raven will be out in a minute, take a seat"

Dakota tried to correct the receptionist but her words died in her throat as she was dismissed with a wave and a roll of the eyes. Dakota went over to the waiting area and flopped down into a big chair. She didn't belong in a place like this, she knew it, the receptionist knew it, everyone here knew it, she felt like the eyes of everyone were looking at her, judging her. She slouched back desperately hoping the soft chair would swallow her up so she could disappear from this horror show.

After what seemed like a long time Dakota heard a voice calling out insistently.

"Misty.....Misty.....", Dakota heard a brief exchange of words punctuated by a snicker, "her? Okay....there you are....Misty?", the voice was directed at her..."are you deaf darling or just catatonic..." realizing the voice has been calling for her she sat up straight and saw the intimidatingly perfect woman looking down at her questioningly.

Dakota couldn't get out her words she just sat up and stared

"So not deaf then, are you mute Misty or just stupid?"

Stunned Dakota bit her lip, "no", she gulped, she thought she should correct Raven's mistake, "just a little nervous, sorry, the receptionist she err..."

"No need to be sorry," Raven cut her off before she could correct the error, "looking at you it's obviously your first time" her hands waved at Dakota to follow, "I do love a Voila virgin, come on Misty hurry up, we've got a lot to do today", with that Raven marched back towards the back room, Dakota hurrying behind in her wake. She was so defeated and in a daze she decided that today she'd just have to be Misty, she didn't want to go through the rigmarole of trying to explain the mistake and be ignored again.

"Okay bitch, get in the chair and we'll get you started"

"I'm sorry" Dakota said outwardly offended by Raven's language.

"Stop being so sorry, all my clients are Bitch to me, it's a sign of affection sweetie, you'll get used to it, you'll soon think of yourself as a Bitch too"

"I'm sure I won't, I can't afford this extravagance regularly, this was a gift"

"Don't worry Misty you'll be back, my clients always become regulars, I have a certain magic about me, now let's get you started"

"Okay well I was thinking a trim and perhap some low li...."

"It's okay sweetie, the instructions were all on file with the gift card, just sit back and relax, I'll take it from here, I know what you need"

"Errm......okay Raven", Dakota wanted to protest but she knew it would have no effect, this woman was a force of nature.

As Raven went to work Dakota felt a daze coming over her. Watching Raven's movements whilst working her magic was almost hypnotic, Raven chatted away and Dakota would respond and hold simple conversations with her but she couldn't seem to remember what they talked about only moments later. After what seemed like just a few minutes, but was in fact several hours, Raven span her to the look at her new hairstyle in the mirror.

"Some of my best work", Raven announced proudly to her, "So what do you think Bitch?"

Not even registering the word bitch, Dakota was transfixed by the beautiful woman staring across the salon at her.

Dakota's jaw relaxed and her mouth opened ever so slightly in awe of this baddie, she held up her hands to touch her hair in anxiety and the woman in the across the way did the same. The realization slowly dawned on her, this stunningly hot woman looking at her was her... she was looking at a reflection, this couldn't be real, this was some kind of a trick. There was no way she that young woman staring seductively from the mirror.

She registered the glasses and oversize jacket, she'd put them in this morning, they were definitely hers, but this must be an elaborate prank after all looking at this vision the clothes were where the similarities ended. This woman, this perfect vision of sexuality, looked like some kind of seductive trophy woman. Her lips painted in perfectly applied lipstick, makeup accentuating her seductive eyes, even her blouse was gone, she could see the top of the woman's bare chest and what looked like two incredible tits...no not tits, nice looking breasts, peeking out. Dakota's hand trembled as her hand moved to her chest, mirrored by the image opposite her, she found only skin and the woman in mirror's face dropped in shock.

"The first time is shocking isn't it?" Raven observed, this wasn't the worst reaction she'd ever seen by far.

"Oh my God, what have you done to me, I look like some 20 year old party bitch"

"You're welcome and it's 21 year old actually, and I told you at the beginning Misty, I have a certain magic about me", she winked, "so do you like the look?...I know your boyfriend will"

"I don't have a boyfriend you witch", a harsh tone crept in to Dakota's voice, "and my name is fucking Misty, not Misty"

"Okay, fucking Misty it is and as a 'witch' talking to my client I'll just let you know that I was just doing what it said on the order Bitch, take it up with Mr Taylor if you've got any complaints"

"I want a full refund" Dakota called after Raven who was walking obliviously towards the reception, "no can do sweetcheeks, Mr Taylor paid in advance and the $200 was my special fee, take it up with him", Dakota felt a sudden burning at the mention of Jack's name, her whole body flushed with anger?

Infuriated and defeated Dakota impotently stormed out of the salon, "Fuck you all" she cried causing a scene and slamming the door in a full on tantrum as she left. She could see people looking at her shocked by her behavior, ashamed a tear rolled down her cheek. Dakota didn't know what to do or where to go, she breathed slowly composing herself and made sure to straighten herself up, making sure her makeup wasn't smudged she examined herself in a shop window, "yep still looking good Bitch!", she paused momentarily wondering where that had came from. Just because she looked like trophy bitch didn't mean she was any different inside, she was still Dakota. Finding herself calm for a moment Dakota decided she needed somewhere to think, to plan out her next move, she wandered in to a nearby coffee shop she'd spotted deciding a hot drink would help calm her nerves.

She walked in to the coffee shop and automatically without thinking walked straight up to the barista, jumping past a couple of people patiently waiting in line. Her resting bitch face glared at the other customers almost instinctually, as if she was challenging them to say anything, they looked away quietly.

'They know their place', she thought.

She walked up to the counter and without being asked just barked out her order at the meek pathetic looking barista

"I'll have a venti 7 pump vanilla soy 12 scoop matcha 180 degree NO FOAM green tea latte", where had that come from she normally ordered a flat white, "make sure that temperature is right" she demanded, 'what's wrong with me? I must still be in shock she reasoned to herself'

"Name?", the barista asked

Dakota felt a momentary anxiety trigger inside her remembering the confusion earlier.

"Misty", Dakota said automatically despite herself, "M-I-S-T-Y!", she spelled out as if assuming the girl was dumb or would deliberately write it incorrectly to spite her, inwardly she was screaming, 'why am I being such a bitch and why can't I seem to dump that bitch moniker, although Misty does seems like more of a name for a bitch than Dakota and that is how I'm behaving right now. Get a hold of yourself, this is not who you are, be nice Dakota, it costs nothing.'

As she stood waiting for her drink the time seemed to be dragging, it seemed like it that little bitch was taking forever deliberately. Dakota, found herself tapping on the counter with her elegantly painted nails impatiently. Dakota looked up at the clock to see it had only actually been three minutes, she dismissed that, the clock must be broken, this wait felt like forever, impatience darkened her already irritated mind further. The drink finally arrived, Dakota took it before paying and took a tiny sip, she sighed and with dark stormy eyes she turned sardonically to the poor slight barista, a young girl of barely college age,

"Really....you took all that time, making me wait and this is what you give me", her irritation was fast turning to anger, her voice gaining a strained tone, "do I need to get someone more competent, perhaps not a fucking trainee to make this for me, this, whatever this you think this is, is disgusting" she passed it back dismissively, "make it again, but properly this time!", the barista intimidated by the forcefulness of Misty took the drink back sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it again, I...", she started to apologize

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Misty snapped, "just do your fucking job properly, it's not hard, ugh idiots"

Dakota couldn't believe what she was doing or just how satisfying it felt doing it. After the fourth attempt, with the barista looking more and more upset the drink was finally to Dakota's exasperated satisfaction

"About time, I assume this will be free"

The barista meekly nodded and retreated into the back room, Dakota thought she could hear muffled sobbing, she smirked as she strutted away from the counter pridefully.

"I'll be sure to leave a review", she called back maliciously, reveling in the pain she was causing the girl.

"That was uncalled for and just mean", a woman's voice murmured from the expanding line, Dakota spun on her heel glaring accusingly at the line of people.

She started laughing at the sight of these pathetic examples of humanity, "Look sheeple if that moron did her job properly she wouldn't have caused that to happen to her, we all have to learn", she smirked hoping the voice would identify themselves, "in fact if that pathetic serf had any real sense about her she wouldn't be working at this awful job, she'd have someone to take of her and not end up serving me and you fucking robots, she gets what she deserves and what she deserves certainly doesn't include respect or compassion from me just because she can't do the simple job she's paid what she's worth to do".

'Wow', she felt her eyes roll a little backwards in pleasure, 'that was a rush, why does being mean make me feel so fucking horny', Dakota thought biting her lip a little, 'is this what being Misty would feel like, this is terrible, I'm being so fucking bitchy, this is so wrong, I'm being a horrible person, but mmmmmm it feels so good', a damp patch started to form in her panties.

She walked elegantly away from the murmuring line of people and sat down at a table by the window looking outside so she wouldn't have to remember she was in a room full of pathetic worthless bags of skin. Looking out the window she started examining the people that passed by on the busy street. Dakota found herself openly sneering in disgust as each and every person she saw was found lacking in her mind in almost every criteria she now found found important.

Look at her rat's nest hair, why is he wearing a suit like that, where did she get those clothes, a garbage dump? Dakota was fast realizing that there was not one person in here worthy of Misty's precious time.

'Why did I come to this dump', she thought, "this isn't me at all" She shook her head trying to clear mind of cobwebs, to think clearly, '..or is it, I've always loved coffee shops" Dakota was fighting for her identity, 'No this bitchiness it isn't me, none of this is me, this is just an uncharacteristic moment, shock from my appointment' she held herself tightly, her hands feeling her soft delicate skin, the brush of her nails comforting her , 'maybe that wicked slut Raven drugged me and I'm still just sat hallucinating in her chair', of course that must be the answer. That made sense, this must just be some lucid fever dream, a momentary hallucination. Dakota rationalized if it's a just a dream then there's no guilt, this isn't me, there's no consequences to this. My subconscious is just running free let loose of my normal inhibitions, I should just play along and let go. A thought intruded, let's see where my subconscious is going with this, let Misty out, then we can enjoy this dream fully together, if it's just a dream let the bad girl play, she's always been just below the surface just waiting for you to let her out and have fun, that would be the nice supportive thing to do', she bit her lip seductively at the titillating idea of freedom swirling in her mind, 'Misty you want to come out and play a while whilst I dream?', she asked to only herself in her mind.

With that mental choice Dakota's personality was suddenly overwhelmed by a new fully formed identity erupting out, finally freed from inside her. A raw passion awakened, a realization of power cascaded throughout her being, a tantalizing shiver of possibility shot up her spine and her nipples hardened against the fabric of her cheap jacket.

A perfect smile crept over her face, 'I'm over this place, where too now?', Misty wondered sipping her coffee, seeing the sleeve of her jacket as she raised the cup gave her a spark of inspiration, 'I'm done with this cheap costume, it's served it's purpose now I need a more appropriate outfit", Misty adjusted her jacket making sure her breasts were still on on display looking perfect so all these pigs would be aware of their inferiority. With a flourish she stood knocking over her barely touched drink to spill all over the table and floor, she actively ignored the mess leaving it for some peon to clean up.

Misty seemed to head on autopilot strutting along the street like a model on her own personal catwalk, her face daring anyone to get in the way of her parade of perfection. She could see the stares and hear the intakes of breath she was attracting as she seductively strutted towards her goal.

She walked in to the fanciest boutique like she belonged there, this was a place Dakota didn't know existed, let alone would ever have considered shopping at.

"I'm going to need some help" she announced upon entering the store looking coldly at the sales staff.

She looked at the three people who had stopped working and now stood staring up at her like startled deer. Her mind quickly sizing them up she selected by pointing at the most attractive girl, she knew the other two girls would be equally jealous of their colleague but a little relieved too, "You'll do for now", she subtly let the girl know she was replaceable, "I need a new wardrobe, go get me somethings to try on, clothes that will dream me perfectly, you know what I want?"

"Yes of course, Miss erm?"

"Misty darling", she looked in the mirror adjusting her hair and touching up her lip gloss.

"And I'm..", Misty immediately cut her off

"No thank you, I could not care less", superior bitchiness was so delicious, "now run along little girl and bring me something more", she waved down at her old oversized jacket, "suitable for a bad bitch like me out on the town", Misty loved ordering this peon around it made her nipples hard as diamonds, I'll be in the changing rooms, please don't make me wait too long, I hate to wait, I get so terribly impatient and bored"

The girl ran off frantically to bring Misty the stores hottest looks.

Misty walked towards the changing area and started stripping her clothes off as she went. The two remaining assistants scurried after her in a panic picking up what she dropped, the glasses, shoes, her skirt, and finally her jacket.

"Miss Misty what should we do with these?", the oldest of the assistants called after her, gasping at the customer's beautiful round ass.

"Throw them away or keep them, I don't really care, they're just not me anymore", Misty said with a dismissive tone.

The assistant followed behind Misty gathering up her discarded clothing as she went, when she came to Dakota's granny panties she looked around furtively to make sure she wasn't being watched then stuffed them in her dress for safe keeping.

Now competently naked in the changing area Misty took in her whole body's magnificence in the full length mirror for the first time.

'Jack what have you done to me', she thought remembering her student who's gift has brought her to this moment, 'if you could see boring Dakota now you you wouldn't think she's some ugly crone anymore, mmm, I think I may need to go visit JT and apologize to him personally for not giving him the attention he needed when he was in Dakota's class'

She'd had an inkling when she first changed whilst boring Dakota was still in control that she was sexy, but fuck Misty could she that she was a magnificent sexy bitch who knew it. Her pride an arrogance pumped wicked nasty thoughts in to her mind, her hands massaged herself roaming around her naked body, exploring every inch, her plump soft lips, her graceful neck. Every light touch was a rhapsody in sensitivity sending tingles shooting throughout her consciousness. Her arms and legs were strong but elegantly sculpted like a dancer's, her ass full and round, she'd perfectly fill out any pants or leggings now. oh her beautiful breasts, her glorious fucking tits, they were at least a full C Cup, they were pert and firm to her touch, she accidentally grazed her erect nipple and it send a shock of pure pleasure to her beautiful glistening pussy, she could feel the heart emanating from her sex, she wanted so desperately to touch it to feel her pussy's lips, she could feel her then moistening with every naughty moment, before today she'd never have used the word pussy to describe her vagina, but it was undeniable, she had a pussy and it was a fucking gorgeous succulent one. Her finger edged closer towards her dripping eager cunt, feeling the heat she knew that she had to...

The retail assistant burst in to the dressing room carrying an armful of clothes desperate not to disappoint Misty.

"Miss Misty, I got everyth...", the young girl stopped struck mute at the sight of the goddess before her.

"You really should have knocked", Misty said menacingly, "you left me waiting so long I got bored and needed to distract myself"

Misty looked the girl up and down assessing her coldly. She was a moderately good looking woman, after all, that's why she'd chosen her.

"It seems to me that you that you took forever getting what I asked for, and then you rudely barged in here without knocking, you really are awful at this job, aren't you?"

"I'm so sorry Miss Misty, I can leave and come back when you're ready"

She pursed her lips in mock irritation, "My name is just Misty, I told you that already", Misty closed the space between them, "that's your third offense", she smiled wickedly taking the girl's hand and squeezing, "How do you propose making all this up to me?"

She placed the young woman's hand on her soft thigh, she felt the girl tense up, "I can either talk to your manager about this and tell them what you've done and probably get you fired, or you can help me relieve my frustration at your poor attention to customer satisfaction"

"Please Misty, I'd do anything", the girl has said the magic words and opened the door Misty smirked taking the girl's head in her hand and leaning in. Misty heard the girl's breath hitch involuntarily and she kissed her, Misty felt the girl's skin heat and her mouth open just enough to allow her tongue room to explore.

Her tongue massaged and toyed with the girl, her hand explored the girls body finding a hardened nipple, she broke off and looked at the girls eyes noting her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils,

"I like you", she saw the young woman beaming with pride at her approval, "now I could care less...tell me your name"

The girl eagerly blurted, "It's Vicki, Misty", her hands nervously massaged Misty's thigh, "I've never kissed..."

"There's lots of things you haven't done Vicki, let's get rid of one more of those today shall we", Misty rose and walked to the door, opening it fully exposing her glorious body to the store, "I'm going to be commandeering Vicki for a little while", she smirked, "she's going to be helping me, I do not want us to be disturbed", not waiting for a response she slammed the door and turned the lock.

Turning back she looked at her new pupil, "Now where were we Vicki?"

This was based on a prompt by David Bikerbat that struck me. This is the beginning of Dakota's summer break from school, I suspect she will have to confront JT and Raven and address what they did to her, Misty has unfinished business

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