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ellieslittlewh0re · 1 year

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Temptations part 3 - step-sister! ellie x fem reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

wk - 5k

additional tags- step-sister! ellie, sarah doesn’t exists in this bc I said so, band! ellie, weed! mentions, cocky! ellie, loser! ellie, perv! ellie, sexual tension, overstimulation, orgasm denial, light choking, use of the word daddy like once, word cock/dick usage, oral (reader! receiving), fingering (reader receiving), strap-on usage (reader receiving), pussy slapping (sorry but not really), spit play, ellie is messy w it, scissoring, finger sucking, e! is rough but also really hot, implied consent obvi

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You quickly pull away, the loud banging on the

door practically sent you into a shock.

What were you thinking? We're you even thinking at all? That was a dumb question because no, you weren't. You simply let your body take control- letting it fulfill whatever fucked up need you had.

Ellie pulled away with a huff, frustrated in more ways than one, as she walked towards the front door, leaving you in the kitchen with a soaking patch growing inside your panties.

"The fuck took you so long?" Ellie said, annoyed, greeting the man at the door who was nothing but a stranger to you.

You get up, adjusting the hem of your dress to make sure everything was covered and walk towards to them.

"Sorry man. Tire blew out- had to put on a donut."

The guy said, sounding pretty unaffected- buzzed beached hair and a piercing on the arch of his eyebrow.

"I thought you said you got pulled over?" Ellie asked, sounding pretty fed up already.

"Ohhh yeah- a cop pulled us over to tell us we had a flat. Was wondering' why the road felt so bumpy." The man trailed off, mentally putting together the puzzle pieces in his head.

He was high.. like really high, the whites of his eyes a shade of pink, half closed and glossed over.

He glanced over Ellie's shoulder, meeting your shy and slightly guilty-ridden face.

"Damn Williams- you didn't say you had a new girl with you."

He points a finger in your direction, making you more uncomfortable with the acknowledgment.

"Don't be a fucking creep- she's my sister." Ellie snaps back, moving further in front of you like she was shielding you from his sight.

"Get in the van ash before you piss me off more."

Even from standing behind her, you could tell she was rolling her eyes. She was never the patient type.

The man "Ash" threw his hands up, spun around, and walked towards Ellie's car, a classic creeper van that she got because "it's convenient to move shit."

"Sorry bout' him. Weed burned all his brain cells, but I promise he's harmless."

Ellie apologized as she turns around to face you, scratching the back of her neck. Bingo.

"S' okay." You giggle, chasing her eyes with yours and when she looks- you bat your doe eyes at her, your lips widening into a gloss coated smile which made Ellie's cheeks flush and her head spin.

If it was up to her, she'd say fuck the band and fucking anything else that got in her way of having you to herself.

She would've had you bent over the same counter just moments earlier- your bare tits smushed against the granite while she had your dress hiked up over your ass and her knuckles snugged deep inside your pussy.

Ellie clears her throat, rocking on her heels as she looks around the room at anything but you. You weren't going to make this easy for her, and you wanted her to know that.

"Ready to go?" Ellie holds out a hand and you take it, letting her lead you two out the door and down the driveway.

This was Ellie's way of pretending that you're hers, even if it's just for tonight, canvassing it like it was just innocent sisterly affection.

The back of the van was packed to the brim with three more people besides the man that you met earlier, along with instruments and other equipment that you couldn't name.

Ellie points at them individually, telling you their names, and they all greet you in unison, laughing and smiling- not one of them seemed entirely sober but friendly enough.

Ellie insisted you were her passenger. She pretty much kicked Ash from the front seat so you can sit beside her- claiming "family comes first".

It was kinda embarrassing. I mean, Ellie wasn't being the most subtle, so you mouth a "sorry" under your breath in his direction before putting on your seat belt, but you couldn't deny how hot your face felt when she'd openly favor you to such a degree.

The van shortly filled with a thick haze of smoke, the music cranked to an overwhelming degree and everyone talking- more like yelling over each other. It was fun though, and it felt refreshing to be with a group of people that didn't care what anyone else thought about them, freely being themselves without feeling bad about it.

"Here- you take control." Ellie said without looking at you, eyes still on the road ahead as she hands you the aux cord.

"Oh- no- Ellie I don't know what to put on."

I take the cord in my hands, turning it over in my fingers.

"Just play anything babe-"

Ellie cuts herself off to fix her mistake, but it was too late. She slipped, and she quickly froze, waiting to see if anyone else in the van caught on, but they didn't, too busy finishing off a joint and laughing at the top of their lungs.

But you? You definitely noticed, and for a second, it felt normal until Ellie's reaction reminded you it wasn't.

"Babe, huh?" You chuckle, mocking her words under your breath as you plug in your phone, scrolling through Spotify until you find something that felt like a safe choice.

Ellies felt her cheeks ignite, both from embarrassment but also your reaction. You weren't mad or scared; you smiled wildly at the nickname, embracing it, and based on your body language- you encouraged it.

You shifted in the seat, scooting as close as you could, turning your body in her direction and crossed your legs, not bothering to fix your dress that scrunched up to the point your lace underwear was peaking out from under the fabric.

You traced shapes on her forearm that rested on the center console with your manicured nail, tracing the lines of her tattoo. You felt Ellie tense under your touch, swallowing hard and trying her best to keep her eyes on the fucking road.

Sisterly affection, right?

Ellie pulls the van into the alley behind the bar, shifting the gear into park.

It was pitch black, the only light source being a light pole at the corner, flickering in and out, making the already sketchy area even more unsettling.

You take a deep breath as you exit the car, shutting the door and adjusting your dress.

"Do you play here a lot?" Your voice peaks in question, looking at Ellie who was already unloading the van, holding something heavy in her arms, veins and muscles straining under the weight.

"Yeah- every other weekend or so."

You tried helping in any way you could, grabbing mic stands or rolled up cords, but Ellie always shot you down, shaking her finger followed by a "tsk tsk" and a "can't have you gettin' hurt, princess- the old man will never forgive me."

You eventually give up, knowing anything about your step sister-she's stubborn and doesn't take no for an answer. Instead you sit in the van, legs hanging out the side with the door open, observing the amount of effort it took all of them, but if you were being honest... you only looked at Ellie.

How could you not?

Her biceps bulged, and veins popped in her forearms and all the way down to her hands. Her face was focused, eyebrows scrunched together that made her look unapproachable, but when ever she caught your stares, she'd always give a side smile and a wink.

She was a literal walking wet dream.

To say the bar was crowded, was an understatement. The small area was filled with people that were hip to hip, waving beer bottles in their hands, yelling and cheering like they were celebrating a hard-earned victory.

It smelled like smoke and sweat; stickers and hand draw graffiti decorated the walls. Most of the people in there, we're young, mid-20s/ 30s, with the occasional older biker types sprinkled in.

You stood by awkwardly, definitely wishing you wore something that blended in more while Ellie and the rest of the band were setting up on the makeshift stage that was only a few feet from you.

You dazed out into the crowd, rocking from foot to foot when you felt Ellies presence loom over you.

"We're about to start. If you want a drink or anything- just tell Mario at the bar that you're here with me. He'll hook you up." Ellie said in a unintentionally raspy voice, crouching down on the stage to be at eye level with you.

You smile at her, looking down and giving Ellie the perfect time to ogle your tits from a downwards view.

You look up at her and lean in, positioning yourself between her bent knees, letting your nails linger over the denim of her jeans.

You stand on your tippy-toes so that you could get close enough to whisper.

"I'm not taking my eyes off you."

Ellie took a deep breath in as those words danced off the tip of your tongue, so sweet and yet, so suggestive.

Ellie bit the inside of her cheek hard; to bring her back down to earth after the way you teased her. She lifted a finger, tapping it to the underside of your chin, not in an affection way, more of "keep that shit up and see where it gets you" sort of way.

She stood, returning to the center of the stage and draped the guitar around her shoulder, plugging it in and strumming the cords to ensure the tune.

The crowd erupted into cheers louder than before, you look around and can't help but smile as the first few notes start to play.

You didn't recognize the beat, but you didn't care. Your eyes solely looked at Ellie, tuning everyone else out.

She sang into the microphone, chipped black nail polished fingers holding it in place on the mic stand. You felt entranced- under a spell, too busy soaking up the sight and not wanting to forget this night happened.

She looked like a natural, happy, and in her element, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and bridge of her nose, making stands of her hair stick to the sides of her face.

You sway to the music, rocking from side to side with a stupid smile on your face; because all you can think is, she was born for this.

Ellie tried her best to interact with the crowd, but it was hard to look at anyone else knowing you were there, front and center. The way your face lit up in shades of green and red from the neon lights overhead, your smile beaming and how effortlessly you swayed your hips, not too much, but enough to help Ellie imagine you using those movements- swirling your hips on her strap.

You catch Ellie's attention, using the opportunity to blow a kiss at her which definitely may or may not have, made Ellie's voice crack.

You can tell she was frazzled- embarrassed that her mistake echoed into the bar, but no one else seemed to care, too busy singing along and dancing- not to mention inebriated.

You cover your mouth to hide a giggle, your cheeks gleaming from the fullness and sweat of the hot bodies that danced around you.

Ellie and the rest of the band; were starting to pack up after saying their closing lines and thanking everyone for being here tonight.

The crowd had fizzled out. Most left, respectively-being it was almost 3 in the morning, while others passed out over tables and chairs.

"Well, whaddya think, was it everything you'd dream it'd be?" Ellie asked, dropping down from the stage to dangle her legs over the edge right next to you.

You leaned against the platform, placing a hand on her knee, looking around to make sure everyone else was still putting shit in the van.

"I think-"

You draw out your words, hushing them into a whisper.

"You- might have found your biggest fan."

Somehow you ended up between her thighs, your hands on each knee as you continue to lean into your words.

Ellie found herself subconsciously leaning in, closing the space between you, her eyes flickering to a darker gaze, her lips parted slightly as short breaths escaped them. You had a spell on her, a girl who thought she could snake her way between any women's legs, but you?

You had all the power over her.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Ellie asked, her voice low and coarse from her hours of singing/screaming into a microphone.

It sent shivers down your spine- how she loomed over you, how she looked at you- like she was ready to jump your fucking bones.

You bat your eyelashes, inching you hands further up the inside of her jean cladded thighs, "m' not doing anything, el's... just showing my appreciation is all." You play dumb, rubbing circles dangerously close to the seam of her crotch.

"You're unbelievable-"

"Vans' all packed, ready to go-?"

Ash called out, entering the doorway from the back alley.

You pulled away, clearing your throat, trying to shoot down any suspicions that he may have had.

Ellie kicked off the platform, running a hand through her shagged haircut.

"Yeah- let's blow this place."

She took your hand in hers, letting you trail behind her as you go back to the car.

It felt urgent and rushed, feeling her grip. She was frustrated and wanted to get you home as quickly as possible to teach you a lesson- make herself feel like she was in control again.

The ride home was... tense. Ellie didn't say a word, her jaw clenched, white fisting the steering wheel.

When we got home, she didn't bother saying goodbyes or offering anyone to crash for the night, which she usually would do. She was too determined, too eager to let any more distractions get in her way.

The rest of her band pulled out of the driveway, red brake lights disappearing into the distance, while Ellie continued to tug- more like drag you into the house, making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake your poor, unsuspecting father.

She drags you up the stairs, your heels making you trip, but she doesn't ease up. The grip on your wrist tightening.

You whisper yell to her, telling her to slow down, but it went unacknowledged.

She yanks you into your bedroom, practically pushing you onto the bed, shutting the door quickly, but making sure to turn the knob so it wouldn't echo a clicking noise throughout the house.

Your heartbeat thuds harder against your chest, propping yourself up on your elbows as you looked at her. You felt a tightening in your stomach, and the room felt like it was on fire.

"You had fun tonight, huh? Like playing your little games with me?" Ellie said accusingly, steeping to the foot of the bed, placing a knee between your legs that dangled over the side.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You continue to act innocent, lowering your voice into a hushed wined like a kicked puppy.

Her knee between your legs forces them apart, displaying your laced-covered heat.

Ellie clicked her tongue against her teeth, slinking a finger to raise the hem of your dress to get a better look.

"Want me to take care of that?" She teases, a cocky smirk hinted on her lips as she motions a eyebrow raise at your sopping cunt.

You almost whimper just from hearing her voice alone, in fact, you probably did.

You don't respond, too distracted by how fucking hot you felt.

Ellie widens her stance, prying your legs further apart as she climbed on top of you.

"Or- do you want me to let you deal with it yourself."

She mere inches from your face, her breath brushing against your lips.

You shake your head desperately, indicating a no.

"Ah-ah.. need to hear you say it pretty girl."

She smirks, her eye contact deepening.

"N-no els.. need your help." You whined, hoping it would make her have pity on you.

Your hands reach up, snaking your fingers through her hair.

She dips down further, pausing before your lips touch. Ellie's lips ghost over, barely grazing yours. Her knee hikes between your thighs and bumps against your cunt.

"A-ah.." You moan, biting your lip and start to grind yourself down on her knee.

In an instant, something ignited in Ellie, hearing your moans and how you desperately tried to get yourself off with little patience or rhythm. She connects your lips, and a low moan vibrates in your mouth as she slips her tongue inside, grazing your teeth and spongy walls.

"You're fucking killing me.." She growls between open mouth kisses, letting her knee drag over your poor, neglected pussy.

You whine, placing your hands on the back of her thighs and pushing her harder against you.

"S' not enough... need more e-ellie."

"Pretty girl needs more, huh?" She said mockingly in a way that sounded dehumanizing.

You nod enthusiastically, your eyebrows furrowing up in frustration.

"Then beg." She stopped all movements with her knee, and your hips raise to connect the contact, but it was no use- only she can save you now.

"P-please els.. I'll do anything- I'll be good.. please." You babbled and pleaded, not really sure what you were saying, but you didn't care as long as it got her to touch you.

Ellie smirked down at you, clearly satisfied that she had you this needy.

"Atta girl... have to be quiet though- Can't have dad hearing you getting fucked, can we?"

You nod pathetically again and Ellie rewards you with a kiss for how good you were being. She pulls away, hovering over you on her knees as she looked down, eyes trailing slowly to take you all in.

She gets off the bed, kneeling at the edge of it to be eye level with your soaked cunt.

"Up."

She taps your calf, signaling for you to prop up your legs and you do what she says without any hesitation.

She thumbs over your pussy, looking up to watch you squirm from the littlest touches that she gives you.

She rubs tight circles over your clit, and to be honest- it felt like a punishment- how lightly she was doing it, knowing how fucking worked up you were.

"Els... please." You whine, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, thrusting your hips up shamelessly.

You hear ellie chuckle to herself before she palms your pussy harshly, rolling her wrist against it which caused you to cry out.

"Sorry baby- just love seeing you all stupid for me." She continued to feel you through your panties, getting you more wet than before.

The pet names she was throwing out had you close by itself, knowing how fucking wrong it was, but fuck... nothing has ever felt this good.

She wrapped her hands around your thighs, fisting the fat between her fingers to spread you out more. You cover your mouth to suppress a moan.

She dips down, hovering over your cunt and you felt her breath hitting your core before she flat tongues a strip over the fabric. She uses her fingers to tug aside your panties, letting the tip of her tongue flick your erect clit.

You bite down on your hand while the other fists your comforter, rocking your hips against her tongue.

"F-fuuu- mm." Your jaw hangs open, fully engrossing yourself with the sensations of her skilled touch.

"Taste so fucking good, baby.. knew you would." Ellie whispered- almost growled between each taste, her hunger growing more out of control.

You pull at the top your dress, yanking your straps down your shoulders and palm your tits, kneading the fat between your fingers.

Ellie noticed, her eyes widening a little before going dark again. She rips off your underwear, yanking them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

You yelp/moan in surprise as her hands grab you by the back of your thighs and yank you down further to the edge of the bed. She pushes your knees up, leaving your pussy fully exposed to her.

"So pretty.. such a pretty pussy." Ellie says, almost to herself as she placed a kiss to your bud before taking it into her mouth, suckling it until it was swollen and puffy.

You were a mess at this point, overstimulated, and at the same time, you wanted more.

Ellie sat up to watch you carefully, running her fingers over your folds before slapping your puffy cunt repeatedly. It started light at first, but each slap had more power than the last, and she just watched. She watched you squirm, and buckling your hips, trying to get away, but her other hand had a tight grip on your hip to keep you in place.

Full-on tears were streaming down your face at this point, and your clit was throbbing, but you still felt so empty and desperate to be filled.

"E-ellie.. it's too much.. n-need you inside." You said through broken sobs to the best of your abilities.

Ellie's hand tighten on your hip and it will definitely leave bruises for the days to come.

"You need me inside pretty girl?" Ellie fakes a sympathetic tone, her hand smearing your slick further down your thighs before placing a kiss to the delicate skin.

You nod down at her through wet eyelashes, using the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear.

Your exhale was cut short, Ellie's finger plunging into your pussy, slow at first and just holding it inside, curling it against your walls.

"O-oh- fuuck." You fist the sheets at your sides, your dress bunched up where it only covered a small portion of your mid-section, leaving all the most important details on display.

Her single finger was joined by a second, pumping in and out slowly and spreading them apart inside you. Ellie lacked any rhythm, purposefully slowly her movements when you were close to your climax.

You were a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, and your lip was swollen and raw from biting down on it to keep yourself fucking quiet.

Ellie loved every second of it, watching you fall apart from every little thing she did to you, but it was getting harder to ignore how her boxers were sticking to her own arousal.

After Ellie was satisfied that your were properly stretch out for her, she got up and left the room, leaving you confused on the bed.

She returned not even 2 minutes later, her pants gone, leaving her in just her boxers and her black muscle tank, but she had on something else; a harness that cupped the underside of her ass and a purple silicone dick that stood between her thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a shudder runs down your spine as she strolls over to the bed. 'How could she possibly get any hotter?' You thought to yourself.

She gets on the bed, crawling over you and cages you in with her hands on either side of your head.

Her hand reaches around your throat, squeezing lightly as she connects your lips, it's sloppy and rough, leaving you begging for what's to come.

You break away, your hand coming up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

"We shouldn't do this."

"Oh- now you want to stop?" She grins, her hand on your throat coming down to squeeze your tit before rolling your nipple between her fingers.

You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your head presses further back into the mattress.

"S' not what I said." You whisper sweetly.

"Good-" and just like that, her hand holds the base of her dick, lining it up to your entrance, running it along your folds, and coating it in your slick.

"P-please, please, Ellie.. I need it- O-oh.. fuc-k." You're cut off by her dick slamming into you, fully disappearing inside your cunt. Your nails sink into her forearm, surly leaving crescent shapes into the flesh.

She slowly pulls out only to snap her hips forward, repeating the motion that had you reaching for her, begging to feel her lips on yours again.

You were split open, brain foggy and the only thing you could focus on was her. You whine and moan, sharpe exhales cut short by the tip of her cock hitting your cervix just right. You are babbling incoherently, barely able to form a coherent thought, simply muttering her name over and over again, and it was music to Ellie's ears.

She falls forward, her hand wrapping around your jaw as she plants open mouth kisses to your puffy lips, wet of your saliva mixed with hers.

"Fuck- taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl."

She breathed into your lips, pent up frustration covered up by praises.

Ellie was growing more insatiable, her hand wondering down to squeeze your tit, pulling at your redden and abused peak, but it wasn't enough.

Her pointer and middle finger glazed over your bottom lip, smearing your spit across your face before tapping for entry. You opened hesitantly at first, too fucked out to question her. Her fingers slip in, reaching further into the back of your throat. You moan around her, tasting yourself on her as she presses against your tongue.

Ellie snaps, her hips rutting faster against yours, hitting deeper and harder than you thought anyone could. You yell out in painful pleasure, Ellie's hand coming up to cover your mouth as she sucks on your neck, breathing into it like a women starved. Ellie wanted to take her time with you- wanted you to beg for her to come, but she was past that point.

Tears steamed down your cheeks, your nails clawed at the back of her shoulders as she pistoned into your aching cunt. Your cries were growing louder, muffed by Ellie's hand and she felt your body tense under her, signaling how close you were.

Her lips tugged at the sensitive skin below your ear, pulling and letting it plop back into place, moving up to position her lips over your ear.

"Cum fr' daddy, baby girl."

That's all it took, hearing her primitive voice echo in your brain, feeling her breath fan over your neck. Your hips buckle and then stiffen, her lips capture yours the hide the cry that you both knew was coming on. Your back arches off the mattress, your legs tighten around her waist to keep her deep inside as you come undone on her cock.

She slows her pace inside, snapping her hips against your spongy walls, working you through your orgasm.

She quickly placed a kiss to your worn lips, carefully removing herself from you. You were left breathless, still feeling the aftershocks sparking through your body, not noticing Ellie ridding herself of the hardness and the rest of her clothes minus the black sport bra that she kept on.

She crawled back on the bed, her hands prying your knees open as she portioned herself between your legs.

You barely had time to take in the fact she was almost fully naked, her toned stomach and defined 'v' that lead your eyes down to her dripping pussy.

"Wha-? Els... what are you-?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"M' not done with you yet, baby- not after the way you've been teasing me- gonna use your pretty pussy to cum... can you let me do that?" She smirks, rubbing a hand down your inner thigh. It wasn't a question- she was simply vocalizing what she was going to do, and who were you to deny her?

Your breath hitches, your cunt clenching around nothing, already missing the pressure of her inside. You nod weakly at her, taking your bottom between your teeth.

"Good girl." She coos, leaning down to kiss your knee.

She wedges herself between you two, positioning one of your legs over her shoulder as she sinks down onto you.

"Mm... fuck- oh my god- you make feel so fucking good babe." Ellie moans, grinding her sopping cunt against yours, the combination of your slick coating your thighs and hers.

You're beyond gone at this point, eyes blown out, and the corners of your vision going dark. Ellie grunted with each snap of her hips, her temple resting against your calf as her eyes focused on where you two were connected. Her jaw hung slightly and her brows furrowed upwards, little moans threatened her tongue.

You felt your stomach tightening, your clit pulsating and rubbed raw.

"E-ellie... I can't- gonna cum." You whine, your tone dripping in lust, and desperate to come undone.

"M-me too.. fuck- gonna cum all over your fucking pussy." Ellie said through clenched teeth, speaking more to herself than to you, getting off to hearing such crude words come from her mouth.

If kissing your step-sister wasn't bad enough... this was crossing the line of downright; filthy. The sounds that filled the room, wet skin rubbing against more wet skin, your whines mixed with Ellie's moans and sharp, shallow breaths. It was something straight out of a porno.

"You feel so-fucking-good.. oh my god-" Ellie's jaw drops, rutting her hips harder and faster against yours to reach her growing climax.

Your nails dig into her hip bone, your body going limp and you just take it, too fucked out to do anything else.

You babble her name weakly, eyes rolling back into your skull, grabbing at her in any way you can.

"Fuck-fuck-ohmygod-" You cry, causing Ellie to kiss your inner thigh that rested on her shoulder, sweetly, cooing words of 'I know' and 'cum for me pretty girl'.

Her hips sputter and jolt, growing harder to keep her pace as she reached her peak.

One last glide of her hips had both of you falling apart, shaking and squirming beneath her, whining and moaning into the back of your hand.

She slowed her pace before stopping all together, gently removing your leg and brought it down to rest on the bed.

She laid beside you, breathing heavily, bringing her forearm to rest over her eyes. You both stay like that for for a moment, catching your breath and letting the silence creep into the room.

Ellie turns to face you and brings the sheet up, and over your frame, slinking an arm over your torso. You turn to look at her, almost too engrossed in her features to think about the consequences. Her skin was dewy, freckles sprinkled her cheeks and upper lip, and her lips were full and a darker shade of pink from how chaffed they were. She was beautiful, and you were fucked.

"Probably shouldn't have done that, huh?" She chuckles, bringing her hand up to remove a strand of hair from your face.

A burst of air escapes your nose as you return a giggle, placing your hand on top of hers as it cups your cheek.

"Probably not- what are we going to do?" You ask rhetorically, eyes dazing up to the ceiling.

Ellie hums in thought, memorizing the side of your face, wanting to remember every detail of your skin.

"We could change our names... move to the other side of the country." She teased, but only partly.

"Ha- seems like a lot of work for the sake of having sex with someone." You playfully scoff, rolling your eyes.

Her thumb dances over your bottom lip, swiping back and forth like she's deep in a thought.

"Just say the words and I'll buy the plane tickets."

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justinspoliticalcorner · 1 month

Text

Jason Wilson at The Guardian:

In a December 2023 speech, JD Vance defended a notorious white nationalist convicted over 2016 election disinformation, canvassed the possibility of breaking up tech companies, attacked diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) efforts and talked about a social media “censorship regime” that “came from the deep state on some level”.

The senator’s speech was given at the launch of a “counterrevolutionary” book – praised by the now Republican vice-presidential candidate as “great” – which was edited and mostly written by employees of the far-right Claremont Institute. In the book, Up from Conservatism, the authors advocate for the repeal of the Civil Rights Act, for politicians to conduct “deep investigations into what the gay lifestyle actually does to people”, that college and childcare be defunded and that rightwing governments “promote male-dominated industries” in order to discourage female participation in the workplace. Vance’s endorsement of the book may raise further questions about his extremism, and that of his networks. The Guardian emailed Vance’s Senate staff and the Trump and Vance campaign with detailed questions about his appearance at the launch, but received no response.

‘Congratulations on such a great book’

Vance’s speech was given in the Capitol visitor center in Washington DC last 11 December, according to a version of C-Span’s subsequent broadcast of the event that is preserved at the Internet Archive. The occasion was the launch of Up from Conservatism, an essay collection edited by Arthur Milikh, the executive director of the Claremont Institute’s Center for the American Way of Life. In his introductory remarks on the day, Milikh said the book “maps out the right’s errors over the last generation … on immigration, on universities, on the administrative state”.

The book, however, appears more directed towards supplanting an old right – seen as too accommodating – with a “new right” focused on destroying its perceived enemies on the left.

In the book’s introduction, Milikh writes: “The New Right recognizes the Left as an enemy, not merely an opposing movement, because the Left today promotes a tyrannical conception of justice that is irreconcilable with the American idea of justice … the New Right is a counterrevolutionary and restorative force.” Also in that piece, Milikh offers a vision of the new right’s triumph, which has an authoritarian ring: “We like to say that one must learn to govern, but a truer expression is that one must learn to rule.” In his speech, Vance first offered “congratulations on such a great book, and thanks for getting such a good crew together”, and then warmed to themes similar to Milikh’s. “Republicans, conservatives, we’re still terrified of wielding power, of actually doing the job that the people sent us here to do,” Vance said, later adding: “Isn’t it just common sense that when we’re given power, we should actually do something with it?”

Brad Onishi, author of Preparing for War, a critical account of Christian nationalism and the host of the Straight White American Jesus podcast, said: “Vance, many Claremont people, including some folks in this volume, and especially the ‘post-liberal’ conservative Catholics that he hangs out with, have advocated for a form of big government that will wield its power in order to set the country right.” He added: “And you may think, well, OK, that doesn’t sound so bad. But here the common good is rooting out queer people, making sure non-Christians don’t immigrate to the country and outlawing things like pornography that are currently a matter of personal choice. “You end up with this conservatism that promotes an invasive government conservatism rather than a small government.”

[...]

‘Free our minds … from the fear of being called racists’

In the book, commended by Vance, a series of authors take reactionary – or “counterrevolutionary” – positions on a number of social and economic issues. In one chapter, John Fonte writes of disrupting narratives of civil rights progress: “The great meaning of America, we are told, comes from liberating so-called oppressed groups and taming the power of privileged groups. Thus, our history is one of liberation: first of Blacks, then of women, then of gays, and now of the transgendered.” Fonte retorts: “Not only is this narrative false; it will take us further down the path of national self-destruction … On the questions of slavery, American Indians, and racial discrimination, the progressive narrative is not a historically accurate project designed to address past wrongs, but a weaponized movement to deconstruct and replace American civilization.”

Like other authors in the collection, Fonte offers policy recommendations. He proposes heavy-handed federal intervention into education: “[T]he US Congress should prohibit any federal funds in education to support projects … that promote DEI (“diversity, equity and inclusion”) and divisive concepts such as the idea that America is ‘systemically racist.’” In his chapter, David Azerrad tells readers: “We need to free our minds once and for all from the fear of being called racists.” The assistant professor and research fellow at rightwing Hillsdale College, and former Heritage Foundation director and Claremont Institute fellow, also claims that conservatives have been too conciliatory on race: “For too many conservatives, the goal is to outdo progressives in displays of compassion for blacks … yet blacks continue to vote monolithically for the Democratic Party and progressives have only ramped up their hysterical accusations of racism.”

Azerrad continues with white nationalist talking points on race, crime and IQ, writing: “It is not racist to notice that blacks commit the majority of violent crimes in America, no more than it is to incarcerate convicted black criminals … There is no reason to expect equal outcomes between the races … In some elite and highly technical sectors in which there are almost no qualified blacks, color-blindness will mean no blacks.” Elsewhere, Azerrad writes: “[C]onservatives will need to root out from their souls the pathological pity for blacks, masquerading as compassion, that is the norm in contemporary America … This is most obvious in the widespread embrace of affirmative action (the lowering of standards to advance blacks) and the general reluctance to speak certain blunt but necessary truths about the pathologies plaguing black America – in particular, violent crime, fatherlessness, low academic achievement, nihilistic alienation, and the cult of victimhood.”

[...]

‘Do not subsidize childcare’

Helen Andrews, meanwhile, offers “three things we could do right now that would put a big dent in the multiplying lies that have come from feminists for the last forty years about women and careers”. Her first proposal is to “stop subsidizing college so much”, since, according to Andrews, in the 22-29 age group, “there are four women with college degrees … for every three men. That is going to lead to a lot of women with college degrees who do not end up getting married.” “Second,” Andrews continues, “the Right can do more to promote male-dominated industries. Reviving American manufacturing and cracking down on China’s unfair trade practices isn’t just an economic and national security issue; it’s a gender issue.” Her third proposal is “do not subsidize childcare” – since the fact that “many working moms are struggling” with childcare costs “might actually be good information the economy is trying to tell you”. Andrews is the print editor of the paleoconservative magazine the American Conservative and has previously written sympathetically about white supremacist minority regimes in Rhodesia – renamed Zimbabwe after white rule ended – and South Africa.

Scott Yenor claims in his chapter that before the 1960s, America lived under a “Straight Constitution, which honored enduring, monogamous, man-woman, and hence procreative marriage. It also stigmatized alternatives”. Yenor is a political science professor at Boise State University and a fellow at the Claremont Institute. He then claims: “We currently live under the Queer Constitution”, which “honors all manner of sex”, and under which “laws restricting contraception, sodomy, and fornication are, by its lights, unconstitutional”. Yenor claims: “These changes in law are but the first part of an effort to normalize and then celebrate premarital sex, recreational sex, men who have sex with men, childhood immodesty, masturbation, lesbianism, and all conceptions of transgenderism.”

Yenor says the state should intervene in citizens’ sex lives: “In the states, new obscenity laws for a more obscene world should be adopted. Pornography companies and websites should be investigated for their myriad public ills like sex trafficking, addictions, and ruined lives. The justice of anti-discrimination must be revisited.” In a separate essay co-written with Milikh, the editor, Yenor advocates in effect destroying the current education system and starting again. The essay includes a recommendation for school curriculums: “Students could start building obstacle courses at an early age, learning how to construct a wall and how to adapt the wall for climbing … Students could learn to build and shoot guns as part of a normal course of action in schools and learn how to grow crops and prepare them for meals.”

The Guardian reports that Trump VP pick and Ohio Senator JD Vance promoted far-right extremist views from Arthur Milkh’s Up From Conservatism essay book.

#J.D. Vance #Arthur Milikh #Up From Conservatism #Douglass Mackey #Postliberalism #Claremont Institute #Scott Yenor #Helen Andrews #Society For American Civic Renewal #David Azerrad #Antifeminism #John Fonte

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pedroscowgirl · 1 day

Text

Breaking the silence

Aaron hotchner x fem bau!reader

part one is here

Warnings: smut minors DNI

p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral!f receiving, riding him, a bit angsty? (conflicted between spence and hotch), power dynamics (he's your boss)

lmk if i forgot something (i prob did)

summary: After much contemplation, you’ve finally made a decision about who you truly want to be with. Although traces of guilt still linger in your mind regarding your choice, Aaron has a unique ability to ease those feelings. wc: 7.4k

A/n: I'm so down bad for this man yall... also I didn't proofread this yet

The briefing room felt colder than usual, the soft murmur of voices blending into the background. The case details flashed on the screen, a series of abductions that led us to a small town in the Midwest. Normally, you’d be fully focused on the profile, mentally piecing together the unsub’s next move, but today, your mind was elsewhere.

Hotch was standing at the head of the table, his posture as controlled and rigid as ever. His deep voice filled the room as he outlined our next steps, but your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. The way his jaw tensed when he was deep in thought, how his eyes would flicker toward me for just a second before shifting back to the case… It was impossible to ignore what had happened between us.

That night in the office—when the line between boss and agent blurred—kept replaying in your mind. The feel of his hands on you, the raw intensity in his touch, the way his control finally cracked. And now? Now it was like we were strangers again.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Hotch’s voice cut through the haze in your head.

You blinked, realizing the rest of the team was already standing up, ready to move. “Yes, sir,” you mumbled, quickly gathering your files and standing.

As we filed out of the room, you could feel Hotch’s gaze linger on you, even if only for a split second. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, but neither of you had dared to acknowledge what had happened. Not at work. Not anywhere.

The case had you working late into the night. Morgan and Rossi were canvassing witnesses, while Reid was piecing together the behavioral patterns of the unsub. You were stationed with Hotch, going over surveillance footage from the surrounding areas, but being alone with him felt like a trap.

You hadn’t talked since that night. There hadn’t been time, or maybe you’d both been avoiding it. But the tension was there, unrelenting.

“We’re missing something,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you stared at the grainy footage on the screen.

Hotch remained silent beside you, but you could feel the weight of his presence. His stoic demeanor had always been a source of strength for the team, but now, it felt suffocating.

“You should get some rest,” he finally said, his voice low, though it carried that same authoritative edge.

you shook your head. “I’m fine.”

His gaze flickered to you, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You’ve been distracted,” he said softly, his tone not accusing, but concerned.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t wrong. You had been distracted, but not by the case. “I’m good, Hotch,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt.

But then, his hand was on yours, a brief, barely-there touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. You glanced up at him, and for the first time since that night, his composed mask cracked just slightly.

“I didn’t mean for things to… get complicated,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tension that mirrored your own.

you took a breath, steadying yourself. “Neither did I.”

For a long moment, we just stood there, the soft hum of the surveillance equipment the only sound in the room. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against your hand again, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

you felt your heart race, the memory of his lips on yours, the feel of his body pressed against you, rushing back with overwhelming clarity. “Neither can I,” you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into his professional shell. But instead, he took a step closer, closing the small distance between you. His hand slid from yours, moving to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I can’t afford to be distracted,” he murmured, his voice tight with restraint. “Not here. Not now.”

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite the warning. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t stop the pull between you two. There was something about Hotch, something about the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and yet still found moments like this, moments where he could let someone in. And now that you’d seen that side of him, you weren’t sure you could let it go.

Before you could think better of it, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand. “We’ll figure this out,” you said softly, echoing the words he’d said to you that night.

For a second, his eyes softened, and you could see the vulnerability there, the part of him that so few people ever got to see. But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened again, the walls slamming back into place.

“We have to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He dropped his hand from your face, stepping back and putting the distance between you again. The moment was gone, the heat dissipating as quickly as it had ignited. But you knew, just as he did, that nothing between us would ever be the same.

The team gathered for a debriefing the next day, the tension from the case still hanging in the air. But beneath that, there was something else, a tension that existed only between Hotch and you. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the task at hand, but you could feel him watching you, just as you watched him.

Spencer noticed your silence, giving me a concerned look, but you brushed him off, unwilling to explain the mess you found yourself in. After all, how could you? How could you explain that you were torn between two worlds, the professional and the personal, and that the man at the center of it all was someone you weren’t supposed to feel this way about?

But as the day wore on, and the weight of the case dragged you deeper into its complexities, you realized something: no matter how hard I tried to bury your feelings, they weren’t going anywhere.

And neither, it seemed, was Aaron Hotchner.

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

The flight back from the case felt longer than usual. The team was asleep, no surprise, given the weight of the case we had just wrapped. Except for Spencer. Normally, you would have struck up a conversation with him by now, engaging him in one of his countless facts or theories. But today, the silence between you was heavy.

He sat next to you on the jet, his fingers fidgeting with a deck of cards, absentmindedly shuffling them. You could feel him glancing at you, his hazel eyes filled with questions. You hadn’t talked about your feelings. Not properly. And now, with the growing complexity between Hotch and you, you felt even more tangled up inside.

"You’ve been quiet," Spencer said softly, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

you shifted in your seat, trying to force a smile. "Just tired," you replied, though it was a poor excuse. The truth was that you didn’t know how to explain the emotional storm raging inside of you.

Spencer wasn’t fooled. He’s a profiler after all. "Is it because of Hotch?"

His question caught you off guard. you blinked, turning to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. How much did he know? How much had he noticed?

"What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

Spencer’s gaze was steady, though there was a softness to it. "I saw how he looked at you. During the debriefing, before we left for the case… There’s something between you two, isn’t there?"

The air between you thickened with the weight of his words. I couldn’t deny it. Not anymore. You had spent days trying to push it aside, trying to compartmentalize the emotions you felt for Hotch, but Spencer was right. There was something between Hotch and you. Something you hadn’t fully understood until that moment.

But how could you explain that to Spencer—the man who had been nothing but kind, gentle, and patient with you? The man whose kiss had felt like safety, like home, even as your mind was spinning with confusion about Hotch.

"Spence, I…" you hesitated, searching for the right words. His eyes were so sincere, so trusting, and you hated the thought of hurting him. "It’s complicated."

He gave you a small, sad smile, his fingers still fidgeting with the cards. "I figured. I mean, it’s Hotch. He’s… well, he’s him."

you let out a breath, grateful for Spencer’s understanding but also pained by it. He was making it so easy for you to talk to him, and that only made things harder.

"Our kiss…" you began, your voice quieter now. "It meant something to me. You mean something to me."

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening. "You mean something to me too."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. "But I don’t know what to do about Hotch. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t expect to feel… anything for him. But now, I can’t stop thinking about him either."

The truth spilled out before you could stop it. The tangled mess of emotions that had been building up inside you was now laid bare between you. And the look on Spencer’s face—God, it broke your heart. He didn’t deserve this. He deserved someone who wasn’t so conflicted, someone who wasn’t caught between two people.

"I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the cards in his hands. "I know."

For a moment, the silence between you was unbearable. You could feel the weight of your indecision pressing down on both of you, suffocating the easy connection you had once shared. And you hated it. You hated that you had brought this confusion into our relationship. But most of all, you hated that I didn’t have an answer.

Finally, Spencer spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. "Do you love him?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t accusatory—it was simply Spencer trying to understand. But the weight of it made your heart clench.

Did you love Hotch?

you didn’t know. What you felt for him was intense, powerful, something you hadn’t been able to shake since that night in his office. But love? Was it love, or was it something else—something darker, more complicated?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I care about him. A lot."

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there with his cards, his mind clearly processing everything you had just told him. When he finally looked back at you, there was a sadness in his eyes, but also a quiet acceptance.

"I’ve always known you and Hotch had… something," he said softly. "I just didn’t want to admit it."

The guilt twisted inside you like a knife. "I never meant for it to happen, Spence."

"I know." He smiled gently, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s okay. I just… I want you to be happy. Even if that’s with him."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. How could he be so selfless, so willing to put your happiness above his own? you didn’t deserve that kind of kindness. Not when you were the one causing this mess.

"Spencer, I—"

Before you could finish, he reached out, pulling a strand of hair behind your face. "I care about you," he said softly. "And I’m not going anywhere. But you need to figure this out. For yourself. For both of us." He gave you a kiss on your cheek and you nodded, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. He was right, of course. you needed to sort through your feelings, to understand what it was that you truly wanted.

---------

The restaurant buzzed with the warm sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. You sat at the edge of the booth, tucked between JJ and Reid, who were deep in conversation about something scientific you couldn’t quite follow. Normally, you would have been engrossed, eager to hear Spencer’s detailed explanation of whatever fact he was spouting tonight, but your attention was elsewhere.

Across the table, Hotch was nursing a glass of scotch, his dark eyes occasionally flicking in your direction. Each time they did, your heart skipped a beat, your stomach tightening with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between the two of you since that night in the office.

You tried to stay focused on the conversation around you, tried to pretend like the heat you felt was just the warmth from the restaurant and not the lingering burn from Hotch’s gaze, but it was impossible. The way he watched you, with that quiet intensity, made it hard to breathe. It felt like he was silently pulling you toward him, and no matter how much you tried to stay anchored to the moment, you couldn’t escape it.

"Are you okay?" Spencer’s voice pulled you back into the present, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at you.

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I’m fine Spence, don’t worry."

Spencer nodded, his gaze soft and understanding. He knew you too well, better than you sometimes liked to admit. But tonight, there was no space for that softness. Not with the way Hotch kept looking at you like he was undressing you with his eyes, peeling back layers of professionalism you’d tried so hard to maintain.

You took a sip of your drink, the cool liquid doing little to calm the heat rising in your chest. You needed to step away—needed a moment to collect yourself before you did something reckless. Without saying much, you slid out from the booth, excusing yourself from the table and heading toward the patio outside.

The cool air hit your skin like a welcome reprieve. You took a deep breath, leaning against the railing and looking out at the dark street below, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The evening had been so casual, so light, but underneath it all, there was this tension, this pull that kept drawing you back to one person.

"Couldn’t handle all the noise in there either?"

Hotch’s voice broke through the quiet, sending a jolt through your body. You hadn’t realized he’d followed you outside, but now, standing just a few feet away, he seemed impossibly close.

You turned to face him, your pulse quickening at the sight of him in the dim light. The way his broad shoulders filled out his jacket, the sharp angles of his jaw catching the glow from the streetlamp, it was all too much. "Needed some air," you managed to say, your voice softer than you’d intended.

Hotch stepped closer, his presence commanding, as always. "It’s been a long week," he said, his voice low and steady. "You did good work."

His compliment should have made you feel proud, but instead, it only added to the tension. The way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you, it wasn’t just about the case. There was more behind his words.

"Thanks," you replied, your breath catching slightly as he moved even closer, his body now just inches from yours.

The night air suddenly felt too warm, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was, how easily you could reach out and touch him. You shouldn’t. You knew that. But the temptation was overwhelming.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he looked back up, there was a heat in his eyes that made your knees weak. "We shouldn’t be out here alone," he murmured, though there was no real conviction in his voice.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the pull between you both growing stronger, the line between what was right and what you wanted blurring more with each passing second. "Maybe we shouldn’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The space between you felt charged, electric. Your body hummed with anticipation, every inch of you hyperaware of how close he was, how much you wanted to close the gap. His hand brushed against yours, and the simple contact sent a shockwave through you, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Hotch…" you started, but the words caught in your throat as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you gently toward him. The touch was subtle, controlled, but it was enough to break whatever restraint you’d been holding onto.

You found yourself pressed against the railing, Hotch standing over you, his gaze dark and intense. His hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake as he moved closer, his body almost flush against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

"We can’t keep doing this," he whispered, but the way his breath ghosted over your skin told you he didn’t really mean it.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his face inched closer to yours. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your lips. "Then why are you here?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with tension, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, might retreat back behind the walls of professionalism he always kept up. But instead, he leaned in, his lips just barely grazing yours.

"Because I can’t stay away from you," he admitted, his voice raw and low.

The confession sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think better of it, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like you were both testing the waters, but the moment his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, everything else faded away. The world around you disappeared, and all that was left was the feel of his mouth on yours, the heat of his body pressing against you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as the kiss deepened, all the tension that had been building between you finally breaking. His lips moved with a fierce intensity, like he had been holding back for far too long, and now there was no stopping it.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a confidence that made your heart race even faster. Every touch, every press of his fingers against your skin, set you on fire, the overwhelming need for him consuming you.

You gasped softly as his mouth moved to your neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. Your head fell back, giving him better access as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer.

"Hotch…" you breathed, barely able to form the words as he continued to kiss you, his hands sliding under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers across your skin.

"We shouldn’t do this here" he muttered again against your skin, but the way his body pressed against yours, the way his breath came faster, told you neither of you were stopping.

The sound of laughter broke through the fog in your mind, pulling you back to reality for a moment. You suddenly remembered where you were. the team just inside the restaurant, Spencer probably wondering where you had gone.

You pulled back slightly, your breath shaky as you looked up at Hotch. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your pulse quicken all over again, but there was a flicker of hesitation there too.

"Spencer’s going to wonder…" you trailed off, not finishing the thought, the guilt creeping in.

Hotch’s jaw tensed, his hands still resting on your hips. "I know," he said quietly, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, filled with a conflict that mirrored your own.

You wanted him. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. But as you stood there, Hotch’s hands still on your body, the heat between you still burning, you realized that no matter what choice you made, things would never be the same again.

The cool night air still clung to your skin as you stepped back into the restaurant, your pulse racing from the kiss you had just shared with Hotch. Every inch of you still felt electrified, your body buzzing from the intensity of the moment. You were trying to play it cool, act as if nothing had happened, but it was hard when your heart was pounding in your chest, and the heat of Hotch’s touch still lingered on your skin.

You glanced sideways at Hotch as he walked next to you, his face composed but his jaw tight. Neither of you spoke a word as you rejoined the team, but the silence between you was filled with unspoken tension. It was as if everyone in the room could sense that something had shifted.

Morgan was the first to notice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a playful grin. "Well, well, look who finally decided to come back," he teased, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. "What were you two doing out there? Planning world domination?"

You forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. "Just needed some air," you replied, sliding into your seat next to Spencer, who was watching you with quiet curiosity.

Hotch didn’t respond. He simply took his place back at the head of the table, picking up his glass of scotch as if nothing had happened. But you could feel his presence, strong, commanding, and impossibly close, even though there was now a table between you.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual response. "Air, huh? Looked a little more intense than that." His teasing tone carried an edge of curiosity that made your stomach twist.

You shot him a quick glare, trying to will the heat creeping up your neck to disappear. "Just some air, Morgan. You’re reading too much into it."

Before Morgan could press further, Garcia piped up, her bright voice cutting through the tension. "Come on, Derek, leave them alone. Not everyone needs to be in on your gossip." She shot you a wink, though there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes too.

Spencer smiled at you, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if searching for the truth beneath your words. His kindness, his understanding, made your heart ache. But the guilt that twisted inside you wasn’t enough to erase the pull you felt toward Aaron. The two men couldn’t have been more different, and yet, you found yourself caught between them, unable to make sense of your own feelings.

Morgan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, leaned forward, his playful smirk returning. "Well, whatever you were doing out there, just know we all have bets going about who’s sneaking off with who tonight."

JJ shot him a look of exasperation. "Derek."

"What? I’m just saying. We all see how you two keep sneaking off," he said with a grin, his eyes darting between you and Hotch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. "It’s nothing like that, Morgan."

But your words felt hollow, especially when Hotch’s gaze flickered briefly in your direction. The weight of what had happened outside was too fresh, too raw, and you could feel the shift in energy between you both, even if no one else knew the truth.

Morgan was still watching you with a knowing smirk, clearly not convinced by your attempts to brush him off. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Come on, something’s up. You’ve been acting weird all night."

You glanced at him, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would get him off your back. But before you could respond, Hotch’s deep voice cut through the noise.

"Morgan, leave it."

The command was calm, but firm. It wasn’t a request. Morgan straightened up in his seat, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I’ll drop it." He shot you a quick glance, his curiosity still simmering just beneath the surface, but he let it go—for now.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for Hotch’s intervention but also hyper-aware of how close you had come to unraveling under Morgan’s scrutiny.

Spencer’s hand brushed against yours under the table, a small, innocent touch that made your heart clench. You turned to him, his soft gaze meeting yours. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was steady, grounding you in a way that made you feel both comforted and guilty at the same time.

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

You were barely out of your clothes and into your pajamas when the knock echoed through the quiet of your hotel room. For a moment, you considered ignoring it. You were too exhausted to deal with any more emotional turmoil, but something—someone—pulled you toward the door.

When you opened it, Hotch stood there, his expression neutral as always, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight. His jaw was tight, his eyes searching yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hotch?" you asked, confused by his sudden appearance. "What’s going on?"

He hesitated for a moment, his hand gripping the doorframe as if steadying himself. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken beneath the surface.

You stepped aside, letting him in. The door clicked shut behind him, the soft hum of the hotel room suddenly feeling deafening. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, but you had no idea what had brought him here tonight.

He stood in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, his posture rigid. "I saw what happened on the plane," he said finally, his voice calm, but you could hear the weight in his words. "With Spencer."

Your breath caught in your throat. Spencer had kissed your cheek after your conversation, a simple gesture of affection, but it had felt like so much more in the moment. You hadn’t realized Hotch had seen it.

"Hotch, I—"

He cut you off, his voice still infuriatingly neutral. "I think you should be with Spencer."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. His tone was so matter-of-fact, so calm, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t unaffected by this. For a man who always kept his emotions tightly locked away, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen before.

You stared at him, your heart racing. "What?" you whispered, stepping closer to him. "Hotch, no…"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering away from yours for the briefest moment before returning to your face. "He cares about you. I saw the way he looks at you, and I saw how you two talked on the plane. He kissed you." His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something raw. "Spencer can give you what you need. What I can't."

His words twisted inside of you, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. How could he think that? After everything that had happened between you, after all the tension and moments you had shared, how could he believe you’d choose someone else?

"Hotch, you don’t understand," you said, your voice trembling slightly. You took another step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm, desperate to make him see what he was missing. "I want you. That’s what I told Spencer."

The silence between you felt thick, charged with emotions you could no longer ignore. His eyes softened just slightly, the stoic façade he always wore cracking at the edges.

"I told him," you continued, your voice gaining strength. "I told him that I care about him, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he should believe you. But then, his hands slid up to your waist, and the tension between you snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.

Without another word, you leaned in, capturing his lips with yours in a kiss that was filled with all the frustration, the longing, the desire you had been holding back for so long. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, like you hadn’t kissed him in ages, like you were trying to prove everything you couldn’t put into words.

Hotch responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a need that mirrored your own, his touch igniting a fire inside you that you hadn’t been able to extinguish since the first time you kissed.

His body pressed against yours, pinning you gently against the door as his mouth devoured yours, the tension that had been simmering between you finally finding release. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slid under your shirt, his touch hot against your skin.

"Hotch," you gasped, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, but he didn’t give you time to recover. His lips were on your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, making your pulse race.

"I shouldn’t want this," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and filled with restraint. "But I do. God, I do."

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, your body pressing against his in a way that left no space between you. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, your voice breathless as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your waist and over your hips, pulling you even closer. His fingers dug into your skin, his touch possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You kissed him again, hard and hungry, your lips moving against his with a desperation that mirrored his. The tension between you had finally reached its breaking point, and now, there was no turning back. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, your back—exploring every inch of you with a need that made your head spin.

Your shirt was pushed up, his hands sliding under the fabric to touch your bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You gasped softly as his fingers brushed against the curve of your waist, your entire body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control.

"Hotch…" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he answered in that deep, sexy voice that made your whole body heat up.

"I need you so badly."

His eyes darkened at your words, and without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly and laid you down on the bed. The way he moved—so strong, so sure—made your heart race even faster. He hovered over you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your body, before his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head.

You felt exposed under his gaze, but it only added to the excitement coursing through you. His lips found the soft skin of your neck, kissing, nipping, and trailing lower with each breath. When his mouth reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, looking up at you with a smirk that sent a wave of heat through your core.

“God, your tits are so hot,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, and it took you by surprise. You were so used to his professional, composed demeanor that this raw, vulgar side of him was both shocking and incredibly arousing.

The dirty words made your body respond instantly, a fresh wave of wetness pooling between your thighs.

His mouth latched onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before pulling it between his lips. A gasp escaped your throat, and your hand flew to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands as he groaned against your skin. The vibration of his voice against your breast sent shivers down your spine.

He alternated between your breasts, his hands kneading your flesh while his mouth worked you over, sucking and kissing every inch of you until your entire body was humming with desire. His hands were warm and firm, and every touch sent sparks of pleasure through you, heightening the need that had been building between you all night.

When he finally moved lower, kissing down your stomach with a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses, your heart pounded in anticipation. He paused when he reached the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you with that devilish smirk again.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft, but filled with desire.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, unable to hide the desperation in your voice.

He hooked his fingers into your shorts, pulling them down slowly, torturously, and when he revealed your white lace underwear, his eyes lit up with amusement.

“You knew I was coming here tonight?” he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill through you.

You smiled up at him, biting your lip as you watched him. “Maybe,” you whispered, the teasing tone in your voice barely masking the fact that your body was already aching for him.

He groaned softly, his hands brushing over your hips before he slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, dark and intense as they took in every inch of your naked body. The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine.

And then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips soft against your skin. Your breath hitched, anticipation building as he moved closer to your center, teasing you, making you wait. His hands slid up your legs, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, and when his mouth finally met your core, you gasped, your hips jerking toward him instinctively.

Hotch groaned against you, his tongue working slowly, deliberately, as if he was savoring every moment. The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and the way his tongue circled your clit had your entire body trembling.

“Oh God, Hotch,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair again as your back arched off the bed. The pleasure was intense, almost too much, but you couldn’t get enough. Every stroke of his tongue sent you higher, building the tension inside you until you thought you might explode.

He gripped your thighs, pulling you closer as he buried his face deeper between your legs, his tongue working you over with expert precision. You were already so close, your body teetering on the edge of release, and when he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you were done for.

The pressure inside you built to a breaking point, and with a cry of his name, you came hard, your entire body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Hotch didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through your release, prolonging the pleasure until you were completely spent.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you collapsed back against the bed, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Hotch slowly pulled away, his mouth and fingers leaving your body as he kissed his way back up your stomach, over your breasts, and finally to your lips.

You kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The fire between you hadn’t dimmed, it had only just begun.

“I need you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your body as he positioned himself over you. “You have me,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

And with a fluid motion, Hotch gripped your waist and pulled you on top of him, flipping your positions in one swift move. You straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips as you looked down at him. The sight of him lying beneath you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes dark and full of lust, made your pulse quicken. He seemed so in control and yet, completely undone by the sight of you.

You reached for his tie, slowly loosening the knot. Your fingers trembled as you slid it free, tossing it aside before your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. You took your time, savoring the moment as you unbuttoned each one, revealing more of his chest with every flick of your fingers. When his shirt was fully undone, you pushed it open, running your hands over the firm muscles of his chest, your palms lingering over the warmth of his skin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his skin, kissing and sucking at the exposed flesh. You trailed your mouth from his collarbone down to his chest, leaving small, dark marks in your wake. His breath hitched, and you felt his hands slide up your thighs, gripping them tightly as he groaned.

"Fuck, naughty girl," he muttered, his voice dripping with desire. His grip tightened in your hair, tugging your head back just slightly so he could look into your eyes. "You wanna mark me up, huh?"

The man who was always so stern, so composed, had completely unraveled beneath you, and you reveled in the control you had over him.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. "Maybe I do," you teased, your breath hot against his skin.

His eyes darkened even more, filled with a raw hunger that sent your heart racing. Without another word, he pulled you down, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His tongue found yours, demanding and unrelenting, and you moaned softly into his mouth as your body melted into his.

His hands slid from your hair to your waist, gripping you firmly as he kissed you deeper. You could feel the hardness of him beneath you, and the anticipation of what was to come made your entire body throb with need.

"Ride me," he commanded, his voice low and full of desire. The authority in his tone sent a thrill through you, making your stomach flip with excitement.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, your fingers working to unbutton and unzip his pants. You tugged them down just enough to free him, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw him, thick, hard, and more than ready for you. The sheer size of him made your body clench with anticipation.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You positioned yourself above him. And as you lowered yourself onto him, the stretch was immediate and intense. He was so big, filling you up completely, and you gasped as the sensation took over, your nails digging into his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips as he watched you intently. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with restraint. "You feel so good."

You paused for a moment, needing to adjust to the fullness of him. The pressure of having him so deep inside you made your head spin, and you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. The pleasure was overwhelming, but you needed a second before you could move.

But Hotch wasn’t in the mood to wait.

His hands gripped your hips more tightly, and with a low growl, he began to move you, guiding your body up and down his length. The sudden movement made you cry out in pleasure, your hands bracing against his chest as your body rocked with his.

"Aaron…" you whimpered, your voice barely more than a gasp as the sensation of him inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The stretch, the fullness, the way he hit every perfect spot inside you, it was too much and not enough all at once.

He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he set the pace, thrusting up into you as he moved you on top of him. "God, you’re so tight," he growled, his voice rough and filled with a raw intensity that made your entire body tremble. "Look at you, taking me so well…"

You couldn’t respond, your mind was too clouded with pleasure, your body completely lost in the sensation of him filling you over and over again. Every time he thrust into you, it sent a bolt of electricity through your core, making your thighs quiver and your breath come in ragged gasps.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you, threatening to consume you whole. "Hotch," you gasped, your head falling back as your body rocked against his. The tension inside you was coiling tighter and tighter, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

His hands slid up your waist, guiding you with steady, relentless movements as he watched you with hooded eyes. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You gonna come for me?"

The words sent you spiraling. The intensity of his gaze, the heat of his hands on your body, the sheer pleasure of having him so deep inside you, it was too much. Your body tensed, your thighs trembling as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

"Aaron!" you cried out, your body convulsing as you came hard, the pleasure so intense that it left you shaking. Your hips bucked against his, your nails digging into his chest as your vision blurred, and all you could feel was him.

He groaned, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he thrust up into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His muscles tensed beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he reached his peak. "Fuck…" he growled, his hands digging into your hips as he came, his release filling you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the aftermath of your pleasure to speak. Your body was still trembling, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you collapsed onto his chest, your head resting against him as you tried to steady yourself.

Hotch’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as his chest rose and fell beneath you. His hands slid up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, his breath still heavy in your ear. "You’re incredible," he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender.

You smiled against his skin, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "So are you," you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest as you caught your breath.

Hotch’s hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin so you could look into his eyes. There was a softness there, a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "You mean so much to me," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "More than you know."

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling over you. "I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #hotchner smut #hotch smut #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner imagine #thomas gibson #thomas gibson smut

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zedecksiew · 9 months

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THE BLOGGIES 2023: FINALISTS

(If you just want to skip to the list of BLOGGIE finalists, scroll to the "Who Are The BLOGGIES?" section below.)

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WHAT ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Awards for some of the best tabletop roleplaying game (TTRPG) blog posts to come out in 2022. There will be five awards: Best Theory Blogpost, Best Gameable Blogpost, Best Advice Blogpost, Best Review Blogpost, and, the biggest one, Best Blogpost.

I won Best Blogpost, last year. So I am hosting the BLOGGIES, this year.

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WHY ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Blogs are worth celebrating. Barring the actual playing of actual games, they are our most fertile field, our most volatile laboratory. Longform, text-based, and informal---they are a place to jot down our most outre design ideas. Free and publicly available---they are a vector for open debate and serendipitous discourse. Perhaps most importantly: relatively free of algorithmic social-media pressures---they are the best chance we have at a cultural memory.

I got into TTRPGs because of blogs.

The BLOGGIES are, at best, an affirmation of the above. At least, they are a way to celebrate 64 excellent blog posts from the last year, and maybe get them in front of people who did not read them the first time.

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HOW ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Nominations: I put an open call for blog-post nominations on Christmas 2023; I also canvassed the TTRPG communities I am part of. Nominated posts had to be from between 1 December 2022 to 31 December 2023.

I closed the nomination period on 1 Jan 2024 with 149 blog posts for consideration. I read / re-read them all.

I chose a slate of 64 finalists, according to the following metrics, in order:

Enthusiasm---a post got multiple nominations;

Diversity---no one blog was allowed to be a finalist more than once in a category (except the Reviews category, where this rule was tied to individual writers, due to shared review blogs);

Notability---a post was extraordinary in presenting a novel idea, addressing an important subject, or reflecting a community current.

Obviously, that last metric is highly subjective, and limited to my knowledge and perspective in the scene. I did my best.

I will not have final final say. Finalists will go head to head, vying for to be anointed best of the best by ballot. The bracket was seeded in order of number of nominations received. The BLOGGIES await your vote, o TTRPG folx.

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WHEN ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Throughout January 2024! Voting is >>>NOW OPEN<<< on Google Forms according to the following schedule (I will link to the forms and result threads as I post them):

First Week January - THEORY

3 January: Round of 16

4 January: Round of 8

5 January: Round of 4

6 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Second Week January - GAMEABLE

10 January: Round of 16

11 January: Round of 8

12 January: Round of 4

13 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Third Week January - ADVICE

17 January: Round of 16

18 January: Round of 8

19 January: Round of 4

20 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Fourth Week January - REVIEW

24 January: Round of 16

25 January: Round of 8

26 January: Round of 4

27 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

31 January - FINALS

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WHO ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Your BLOGGIES 2023 FINALISTS are (presented in bracket order):

(High-res version here)

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THEORY

🥉 (1) being a problem - playable orcs at the limits of humanity, from Majestic Fly Whisk Some deep thinking about the racialisation of the orc in elfgames, why mainstream fixes fall short, and ways to move beyond.

(16) #132: Axes of Game Design, from The Indie RPG Newsletter An exploration of the design axes / spectrums on which every TTRPG may fall.

(8) The Genres the OSR Can't Do, from A Knight At The Opera Sketching the limits of the OSR playstyle by looking at genres which are too differently-bound for it to emulate.

(9) RPG Transcript Analysis: Critical Role, from Trilemma Adventures Examining a style of play through transcript analysis (looking at what is actually being said during a session), with Critical Role as case study.

🥈 (5) Critical GLOG: Base Resolution Mechanics, from Goblin Punch A deep dive into dice and resolution mechanics, and what they do in practice.

(12) My favorite problems, from Failure Tolerated A list of design problems in TTRPGs, and a case for game design and theory to be driven by problem-solving.

(4) Roleplay Is Folk Art, from Wizard Thief Fighter An impassioned call to consider TTRPGs as folk art as opposed to corpocratic walled-garden IPs.

(13) ART, PRODUCT, BOARD GAMES AND MAUSRITTER, from Fail Forward Critique of reviews that accuse TTRPGs for being too slick; interrogating the assumptions behind the label “commercial”.

(6) Toolbox Design, from The Dododecahedron Considering the principles of designing TTRPGs like toolboxes, through the lens of Cairn RPG and similar.

(11) Mario vs ActRaiser vs Final Fantasy vs Zelda - Types of Advancement in RPGs, from Rise Up Comus Identifying some general types of advancement in TTRPGs, using videogames as a comparative lens.

(3) Posters, Posers and POSR(s), from Prismatic Wasteland Relitigating whether the OSR is dead, and defining its successor, the Post-OSR.

(14) psychosis is badly written in tabletop games, from paper cult “Attempting to mechanize something so intensely personal, different, and mutable as mental illness is complicated. I think that makes these depictions bad!”

(7) “Rules Elide” and Its Consequences, from Jared Considering the implications of the maxim that "a game is about X when you have rules for everything but X".

(10) Models of High-Level Play, from Benign Brown Beast Loose but useful classifications for types of high-level play: domains; god-like play; etc.

🥇 (2) OSR Rules Families, from Traverse Fantasy Sketching the landscape of the OSR, how various systems function, and how their attributes cluster and trend together.

(15) Moralising and manipulation in tabletop roleplaying games, from Playful Void The importance of having design preferences without tying these preferences to moral judgments.

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GAMEABLE

🥉 (1) Flux Space, from Papers & Pencils A point-crawl procedure specifically designed for labyrinths / dungeons that are architecturally confusing / samey.

(16) Generating Elevation in a Hexcrawl, from Traveler's Rest Procedures and advice on how to generate a mountain-crawl: hiking-focused adventure geography.

(8) The Autumn of Summers, from False Machine God-monsters born of summer, the hunting culture around such beasts, and random tables to generate their attributes.

(9) MIMICS, from Vaults Of Vaarn A spread of novel pretender-creatures, with ecological and social implications.

(5) Another take on demihumans as social constructs, from Cavegirl's Game Stuff What if we consider fantasy races not as separate species, but as differing social roles?

(12) The Apocalypse Archive, from Bearded Devil An unfinished by exemplary #dungeon23 attempt that includes wonderful maps and soundtrack notes.

🥈 (4) Pointcrawling Character Creation, from Rise Up Comus A framework for tying character generation to a geography, generating history and familiarity with campaign locales.

(13) how to be erased, from Straits Of Anian Procedures for getting lost and getting led astray, and the kith and spirits one meets in those places.

(6) Dungeon Skirmishing, from All Dead Generations Feature-complete skirmish combat mechanics for OD&D, and the design rationales thereof.

(11) Zelda-Style NPC Personalities, from To Distant Lands A system of generating quick and punchy NPCs, inspired by the way Zelda videogames present NPCs.

(3) GULCH, from Mindstorm A starter town specifically designed for contemporary (horror, urban fantasy, non-fantasy) campaigns.

(14) Down the Road: Local Situation Design, from Deeper In The Game A procedure for quickly generating a powderkeg situation in a local geography of play.

🥇 (7) Laws of the Land: meaningful terrain via in-fiction limits and conditions, from Was It Likely? A method to generate meaningful diegetic terrain and tone in an adventuring region.

(10) False Equivalent Exchange, from The Graverobber's Guide A novel magic system, done in natural language, with discussion on how it could be used in play.

(2) Deeper Catacombs, from Benign Brown Beast Iteration notes and a presentation of a comprehensive dungeon tracking procedure.

(15) Inadvisable Decisions (GLΔG), from The Nothic's Eye An evocative alienist character class, based on drawing the attention of alter-describable things from beyond.

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ADVICE

🥈 (1) How to Handle Parley as an OSR DM, from Goblin Punch Comprehensive notes on how to run non-combat encounters without resorting to boring rolls.

(16) GM Pointers: Live-Text Games, from Shadow & Fae Good reminders on how to run live-text games better, so they are better coordinated and don't take forever.

(8) ONLY Roll Initiative, from Bastionland Considerations on how to adjudicate combats, if initiative were the only dice roll in a combat system.

(9) Action Mysteries, from A Knight At The Opera Asserting that good TTRPGs mysteries involve action---not just figuring out the truth but opposing the antagonist's goals.

(5) Modular Ecology, from The Graverobber's Guide A practical approach to including gameable ecology in TTRPGs, by tying materials to specific locations and conditions of the world.

(12) ULTIMATE ANIMIST MECHANIC: EVERYTHING IS A REACTION, from Alone In The Labyrinth How to run a game where all actions are resolved by reaction roll: everything in the world responds by how much they like you.

(4) Game Mastering Like A Park Ranger, from SILVERARM Advice about GM-ing, based on the real-world work experience of being a park ranger.

(13) An OSR approach to Spotlight, from Permanent Cranial Damage The suggestion that intentionally spotlighting characters solves the real-life problem of spotlighting players nicely.

(6) #Dungeon23, from Win Conditions The idea that spawned a thousand notebook dungeons, plus salient advice on how to start / keep going.

(11) The Storyteller Technique, from Possum Creek Games When writing TTRPGs, imagine your game text as a diegetic artefact in the world of the game.

🥉 (3) RANSACKING THE ROOM, from Mindstorm A simple and powerful three-step method to handle room-searching in games: inspect, search, and ransack.

(14) Cairn Crash Course, from Widdershins Wanderings A masterclass example on how to write player guides to a game, for Cairn RPG.

(7) AN EXAMPLE OF FKR (NEAR-)DICELESS COMBAT (WITH COSMIC ORRERY!), from Underground Adventures Describing combat in a Free Kriegsspiel Roleplaying (FKR) game, useful in understanding that playstyle.

🥇 (10) Re-inventing the Wilderness: Part 1 - Introduction, from sachagoat Figuring out problems with wilderness exploration, and applying a mental-map framework from urban-theory academia.

(2) Dungeon Design, Process and Keys, from All Dead Generations A detailed process to designing and keying a traditional dungeon adventure.

(15) THE D&D IN MY HEAD: In Only 6 Load-Bearing Numbers, from I Cast Light! Identifying the essential and minimum rules you need to remember, to run D&D.

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REVIEW

🥇 (1) An Empty Africa - PF2E's The Mwangi Expanse and the strange career of Black Atlanticism, from Majestic Fly Whisk A review of Pathfinder’s "The Mwangi Expanse", and a discussion of Black Atlanticism's fraught relationship with its sourcelands.

(16) What Hull Breach Teaches Us, from Mazirian's Garden An assessment of the Mothership RPG third-party "Hull Breach" anthology as a "new standard for anthology companions".

(8) Grave Trespass - Jim Henson's Labyrinth: The Adventure Game, from Bones Of Contention A review of the Labyrinth RPG. It’s got all these things which are "bad" in RPGs, so why does it work?

(9) The First Rumor Tables, Part 2: Caverns of Thracia or Caverns of Quasqueton?, from Tom Van Winkle's Return To Gaming An investigation into the origins of rumour tables in TTRPGs. Did TSR plagiarise Jaquays?

(5) Standing up for D&D's Gen X: 2e (Part 1), from Mythlands Of Erce A full-throated defense of D&D2E, viewing it in the context of its time and as a refinement over 1E.

(12) Systemcrawl: Break!! RPG, from Widdershins Wanderings A review and system analysis of Break!! RPG, which marries JRPG and OSR inspirations.

(4) Dungeon Crawls in Cinema, from Directsun Games Evaluating several films on the basis of how well they function as dungeon crawls.

(13) Reasonable Reviews, from Rise Up Comus A general overview of TTRPG reviews, and what may or may not make them useful.

(6) Deep Dive: A|STATE, from The Indie Game Reading Club A review of a|state, and how it builds on and departs from the Blades In The Dark formula.

(11) I Read Cloud Empress, from Playful Void A review of Cloud Empress, the first descendant of the Mothership RPG ruleset.

🥈 (3) Plagiarism in Unconquered (2022), from Traverse Fantasy A forensic analysis of how Unconquered plagiarised Ultraviolet Grasslands and Vaults Of Vaarn.

(14) Rod, Reel, & Fist (Review), from Benign Brown Beast A substantial review of Rod, Reel, & Fist, a "system-forward fishing simulation RPG".

(7) Pedantic Wasteland - Vampire Cruise, from Bones Of Contention A review of Vampire Cruise, a largely system-neutral horror-comedy adventure set at sea.

(10) Dragon Magazine: Player Advice Collection Overview, from Attronarch Athenaeum A comprehensive read-through and rating of 143 Dragon Magazine advice articles.

(2) Spire: The Monstrosity of Empire, the Necessity of Violence, from A A Voigt A comparative-literature analysis of Spire RPG through R F Kuang’s spec-fic novel "Babel, or the Necessity of Violence".

🥉 (15) MICROBLOG: CHILDREN'S BOOKS AND TABLETOP GAMES, from Fail Forward Considering the influence of children’s books on TTRPG designers and works like "Barkeep on the Borderlands".

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It is difficult to describe how hard it was for me to whittle down the list of nominees to these finalists. I consider each of these 64 a landmark in 2023's TTRPG thinkings, and the folks from which they issue essential reading, going forward. They already deserve a prize.

So here it is, dear bloggers: a hand-carved linocut "finalist's pin" graphic you are free to use on your sites / posts, should you wish:

(High-res downloadable version HERE)

Thank you for writing! And good luck in the coming rounds of voting!

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CORRECTION: A blog post from 2021 (Not All Crunch Is the Same, from A Knight At The Opera), was included in the soft-launch posting of this list. An error on the part of its nominator, compounded by a data-entry error on my part. It has since been replaced by a post from the same blog with the actual most nominations (The Genres the OSR Can't Do). I have also double-checked my lists and all finalists. Apologies for my error!

#bloggies2023 #ttrpgs

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ladykailitha · 9 months

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The Magic of Christmas Part 3/8

Just an extra long chapter here because they didn't want to shut up. They're getting closer and their best friends are slowly coming on board to the idea.

Part 1 Part 2

***

Eddie was vibrating. Chrissy had done a total deep dive into this guy and other then being a bratty teenager and having shit parents there was nothing in Steve’s closet that would set off alarm bells.

Steve Harrington just knew how to deal with people to get what he wanted. He knew when to back off, too. In fact, Eddie was trying to get the dude stop backing off so much.

He was a people pleaser with eroded boundaries. And while that was certainly a problem, it wasn’t a ‘might be a serial killer’ problem like Chrissy thought.

So yeah, Eddie was vibrating because he was going to show Steve his first set of sketches for him to okay the design.

Steve was late. He had called to let him know he would be late. A meeting had gone over and he would be there as soon as he could.

Eddie pulled out his drawing pad and flipped through the designs he had come up with. He itched to pull out a pencil and “fix” a line or seven. But he had to refrain. If he started on it he would be so far down the rabbit hole that he would have three new designs before Steve got here.

A shadow crossed over him and he looked up to see Steve standing there.

“Steve!” he greeted warmly, getting to his feet.

They shook hands and then sat down.

“So what have you got for me?” Steve asked eagerly, leaning on his forearms to see Eddie’s drawing pad.

Eddie grinned at him. “I’ve got loads, big boy.” He turned the drawing pad around and Steve paid diligent attention to each piece.

He went back to the third design and turned it back to face Eddie. “I like this one. But I have one suggestion, if I may?”

Eddie shrugged. “Sure.”

“What if the dragon’s wings spread out over the four other pieces connecting them?” Steve asked, biting on his lip.

Eddie began to sketch furiously while Steve watched in fascination.

“Have you ever thought about streaming your process?” Steve asked. “It’s very enthralling.”

Eddie’s head jerked up like he’d forgotten Steve was there at all. He looked down at his pad and blushed. “I never thought I’d have the patience for it, you know? The whole explaining it while I’m doing it.”

Steve nodded. “I can see why that might deter you. But if you just drew or painted and put music over the top, I think it would do very well.”

“And would you be my first subscriber?” Eddie teased.

“Hell yeah!” Steve said with a grin. “And I would tell everyone I know to subscribe too.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He slid the drawing back over to Steve, who grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Edward Allen Munson!” Chrissy hissed as she threw open the door to their loft. “You tell me right now: are you joking about the YouTube channel?”

Eddie looked up from his sketching and blinked at her. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

She walked over to where he had sprawled out in front of the five canvasses and flopped down across from him. “I am pleased but only if you aren’t trying to butter me up to leave you alone about your ridiculous crush.”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth, licking and smacking his lips as he struggled for words.

“It’s about the crush but not in the way you mean…?” he said with a grimace.

She crossed her legs and put her elbows on her knees. She rested her head on her knuckles to stare him down. He wiggled and squirmed under her gaze.

“Explain.”

So Eddie did.

Chrissy rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So no talking but what if I convinced you to let me write words to put up on the screen while you paint talking about the subject matter and why you chose it?”

“Oh!” he said brightly. “Even better! Why don’t I talk about D&D or music while I paint? That way I can babble to my hearts content without out having to drone on about the process.”

She blinked at him. “Eddie Munson you are a genius.” She rose up on her still crossed legs and kissed him soundly on the forehead. “I love it and you.”

Eddie blushed and went back to his sketching.

“Steve!” Dustin screamed into his ear when he picked up the phone mere days after his last meeting with Eddie.

“God, kid,” Steve groaned. “Tone it down. I don’t want to go deaf please.”

He could practically feel the eye roll from here.

“Eddie Munson has a YouTube channel!” Dustin continued to scream. “Oh my god do you know how big this is?!”

“One, I need to you to breath before you pass out from lack of oxygen to your brain,” Steve said. “You like your brain, don’t abuse it like this.”

Dustin let out a slow shuddering breath. “Right. I’m breathing.”

“Good,” Steve said slowly. “And two, I know about the channel because he told me about it.”

“You already know?” Dustin squawked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve sighed. “Look at the clock and tell me what time it is?”

“2:37pm. Why?”

“What time did the channel go live?” Steve asked, pinch the bridge of his nose.

“About one.”

“And where would you have been at one?” he asked, his eyes fluttering shut against the audacity of this kid.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, bud,” Steve said. “Oh. You were in class. Which I still don’t understand why you are taking summer classes. You’re young, you should enjoy your life.” He tilted his head. “How did you find out so fast anyway?”

“I follow Eddie on twitter, Facebook, Instragram, and his fan Discord server.” This was said as though it was obvious.

“Well now you have one more place to follow him,” Steve said ignoring the tone.

“Steve…” Dustin said, his voice low and dangerous. “Why are you his first subscriber?”

“Look, Dustin,” he said trying to keep the giggle in his throat from bursting through, “I’ve got to run. I have a meeting.”

“Stev–”

Steve sighed as he held the phone against his forehead, grateful they weren’t in person.

“Yeah, Steve,” Robin said from the doorway, “why were you his first subscriber?”

He blushed a dark red. “Because I promised I would be when I suggested the channel three days ago?”

Robin narrowed her eyes. “I see.”

Steve wasn’t sure what she saw, but he knew he would find out soon enough.

Eddie was working on Dustin’s first because he felt like it was the most important to get right. Wizards were usually portrayed as dusty old men and it appeared that this kid had done the same. But then the character was created ten years ago.

But Eddie decided to avoid a Gandolf/Dumbledore looking dude and went more for a Jafar that had gotten the time to grow old. A neat goatee, a sharp piercing gaze and weather-beaten skin.

His robe had stars on it according to Will the Wise’s picture of them. So he decided to make the robe look it was filled with swirling galaxies and nebulae.

Eddie was working on the cave background when his phone chirped. He tucked his paintbrush behind his ear and pulled it out.

Rich Pretty Boy: I got ahold of a couple of friends of mine that are going to help promote your charity. Nancy Wheeler is an investigative journalist most of the time but she owes me a favor and is willing to interview you about the charity to get it seen on a national platform. I’ll email you the details.

Eddie blinked at his phone in shock. Nancy Wheeler was the new and improved Barbara Walters (improved as in she wasn’t an ass to the people she was interviewing.) That must be a huge fucking favor she owed Steve if he got her for this.

EM: Holy shit! What kind of blackmail do you have on her for this?

RPB: LOL! I’m sworn to secrecy, sorry. :(

EM: All right, keep your secrets.

RPB: That’s LotR, right?

EM: Correct. I know you keep telling me you aren’t a nerd, but dude every time we talk I gather more and more evidence to the contrary.

RPB: I blame Dustin. He wore me down.

EM: Then I take it upon myself to complete the education that Sir Dustin has begun!

EM: Meet me at my loft on Friday at 8pm. We are going to start with the animated classics of the 80s!

RPB: Beer or wine?

EM: Beer.

EM: I’ll see you later, pretty boy. I have this huge project I’m working on that is on a deadline.

RPB: Curse the bastard that’s taking up all your time. ;)

Eddie laughed out loud.

EM: He’s the worst. ;)

RPB: See you on Friday, Eds.

EM: Laters!

Eddie put his phone down with a fond smile on his face. It was absolutely ridiculous how much he loved this beautiful idiot that had come in and swept him off his feet.

“Tell me again why I have to be here for this?” Chrissy complained for the fifth time that hour.

“Because fair Christine,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “it’s not a date and he’s bringing his best friend.”

“How is his secretary his best friend anyway?” she groused, folding her arms and burying herself into the big fluffy sofa.

Eddie rolled his eyes and flopped down next to her. “They were friends before he took over the business. They had worked together in every job they’ve ever had so when he took over he put the one person he could trust in front of his office to shield himself from the assholes who make his life a living hell.”

Chrissy pursed her lips. “Fine.”

He kissed her cheek and went to go get the popcorn and candy.

“You ever going to tell this Steve you have a hard on for him?” she asked as he kept swapping bowls around for best placement.

“No,” Eddie said firmly. “Not while he’s paying me, anyway.”

She shrugged. “I guess that’s fair. It’s just...”

“That I have it so bad my only two thoughts are painting and Steve?” he finished for her.

“And me,” she agreed. “But pretty much.”

He put his head on her shoulder. “I’ve never fallen this hard for a person before. He’s sweet and funny and an absolute dork.”

Chrissy kissed the top of his head. “I’ll be good tonight. No bitching or being mean.”

Eddie snorted. “He’s also a queen bitch. So you can be you all you want. Just...”

She turned on the sofa, bringing her knees up to her chest. “But what?”

“When he starts gushing about something don’t...” he floundered for the right words. “Just don’t make him feel small about it.”

Chrissy tilted her head to side. “Has people made him feel small about his interests?”

Eddie nodded. “I think his parents were like yours, if I’m honest.”

“Rich, entitled assholes who wanted a doll and not a child?” she asked bitterly. He nodded. She sighed heavily. “Yeah okay. You got me. I know the signs and will adjust accordingly.”

He threw his arms around her and gave her a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Just then the doorbell rang.

“They’re here,” Eddie said nervously.

Chrissy leaned down to look at him. “Do you want me to answer the door to give you a second to prepare?”

He nodded.

She gave his hands a squeeze and gracefully slid off the couch to do just that. She bounded over to the door and threw it open. And yeah, objectively she knew what Steve looked like, but seeing him out of his trademark blue power suit was a revelation. And immediately she got why Eddie fell hard for this guy.

He was wearing a David Bowie t-shirt from his Ziggy Stardust era and tight, light blue jeans. His sneakers were Nike’s, and his watch was Schwartz but those were the only major shows of wealth.

Next to him was not what she was expecting either. Chrissy was expecting someone more bookish. Glasses, frumpy. Or even the extreme opposite, a fashion plate. Someone who fit the sexy secretary stereotype. But nope.

She was fashionable, Chrissy had to give her that, but not in the way she thought. Billowy pants with a long-sleeved button up with sleeves rolled up to her elbows and pair of colorful suspenders. Her blonde hair was artfully tousled and she had freckles on her nose and cheeks.

In short, Chrissy was in love.

“Hi!” she greeted as though her heart wasn’t going to leap out of her chest to prostrate itself before this lovely maiden, only for her stomp all over it.

“Hey,” Steve smiled back. “You must be the agent/best friend, Chrissy I’ve been hearing so much about. It’s nice to put a name to the face.”

The woman elbows him. “Face to the name, dingus.”

Steve flushed. “I’m so glad I have you here to correct me.”

“Come on in,” Chrissy said warmly, moving out of the way for them to enter the loft. Inwardly she briefly wondered if maybe the best friend was the cause of the “limiting” as Eddie called it.

“Thanks!” he said and then pointed to the woman next to him. “This is Robin my platonic soulmate, best friend, and all around Stevie wrangler. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“Aww,” Robin said with a smile and hip check.

Steve stumbled but laughed, too.

By the time they reach the living area Chrissy still wasn’t sure what to think about these two.

Eddie leapt to his feet at the sight of them.

“Stevie! Robin!” he greeted brightly. “You found the place okay?”

Robin nodded. “I’m glad you gave us directions on top of the whole GPS otherwise we would have ended up in some cemetery.”

Chrissy grimaced. “Yeah. But that cemetery was here before the condos and high rises so I can’t complain. Even though I really, really want to.”

“How old is the cemetery?” Steve asked eagerly.

She looked over at Eddie for help. “I don’t actually know.”

“Uh...” Eddie said unhelpfully. “I don’t know exactly but I know it’s over a century old.”

Steve lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“You like old graveyards, Steve?” Chrissy asked. She sat down on the sofa and grabbed the bag of popcorn.

“Steve is obsessed with them,” Robin said playfully.

“Am not,” he said and then turned to Chrissy and Eddie. “I’m really not. I just think it’s super neat.”

“What makes them so neat?” Eddie asked, taking the beer from Steve and setting it on the table with the array of goodies.

“Like seeing a bunch of people with similar death years knowing that it was because of a pandemic,” Steve said. “Or on Memorial Day going to see all the American flags for those that died during war time. It’s all just endlessly fascinating.”

“I could take you some time,” Eddie said. “Have a picnic lunch, make a day out of it.”

“You’d do that?” he asked eagerly.

Chrissy bumped Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie here likes graveyards because they’re spooky.”

Steve laughed. “That’s a great reason to like graveyards.”

They settled down to watch the movies Eddie had picked out for them. A double feature of “The Hobbit” and “The Return of the King”.

“Holy shit!” Steve said afterwards. “How did they get more faithful to the books in less time than Peter Jackson?”

Eddie laughed. “Good story telling.”

They finally left for the night and Eddie closed the door behind them.

“Thoughts?” Eddie asked.

“And prayers,” Chrissy said. “Holy fuck do you have it bad. And I’ll swear under oath that if there is a god, he made Steve especially for you.”

He blushed. “Fuck, you can’t say that.”

“Why not?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

“Because it feels that way for me, too,” he whined, “and if you think that too, then I’m royally fucked.”

Chrissy sighed. “Yeah.”

***

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @carlprocastinator1000 @mogami13 @samsoble

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #christmas #artist eddie #businessman steve #autistic steve harrington

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moronkombat · 11 months

Note

I beg you please do kuai liang nsfw alphabet! thank you so much😘

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kuai Liang is very tender after sex. He holds his partner close, practically wrapping out up. He whispers how much he loves you and how happy you make him. You are his soulmate and he will treat you with a tenderness that not many know

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

There have been a great many hours spent on training and honing his skills. He is exceptionally athletic and well refined. However he is particularly proud of his arms. There is strength and power within them that he uses not to harm but to protect

Kuai Liang is not the type of man to love you for how you appear. He loves you for who you are but that does not mean he doesn't find you attractive. He does, he loves all of you completely but is very attracted to your eyes. He can lose himself within them, see the future you two can create together. He could stare upon them endlessly

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's rather traditional and likes to cum inside his partner. He feels they are much more connected that way. To feel himself completely unravel inside you, to know his seed is flowing through you, truly sates a man like Kuai Liang Kuai

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kuai Liang is relatively calm and collected. He doesn't typically let people know what he is thinking. Well, he's thinking quite a bit. In fact, he's thinking a lot about you. You are always on his mind every moment of each and every day. These thoughts are not solely pure, however. He often finds his mind wandering to places rather wretched and lewd. He thinks about how he wishes to make love to you, he thinks about how he wants to fuck you. He'll feel guilty and a bit ashamed about it but still continues to fantasize about you and him entangled together

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Rather inexperienced. He is a quiet and simple man, not one for seeking out life's most primal pleasures. He has sex with meaning and so he only wants to engage in the intimate moments with someone he truly cares about

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. It may be a bit vanilla but he feels close and connected to his partner. It's his favorite way to make love to you, so deep within you and holding you close. He is also open to other positions if his partner requests them

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Overall, rather serious as he wants to be respectful. However, he is not always stoic in the bedroom. He can be lighthearted and fun too. It really demands on the overall mood and situation he and his partner are in.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kuai Liang is well groomed. He's clean and neat, with his hair trimmed and well taken care of. He doesn't wish to irritate his partner during sex and it is more comfortable for him too. He is not entirely hairless as there is still a clear and light path leading to his more intimate area

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

A complete and utter romantic, probably even a hopeless romantic. He expresses his love for you through words and actions. It is his goal to let you know just how much he loves and cares for you. You are his everything and he owes everything to you

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Though he may come off as rather reserved. He is not immune to the call of flesh. Yes, he masturbates a healthy amount but not endlessly. He does it when he feels the urge of sex but it is not an option. Overall, prefers to express his desires with his partner but will handle himself if he unable to do so

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Shibari- Kuai Liang sees this as art more than something purely sexual. The body is a canvass for creation and the ropes are another form of paint. He finds the process of binding his partner and himself extremely intimate and special. It is his favorite additional to the bedroom festivities

Temperature Play- Kuai Liang's connection to fire runs deep. It is a natural part of him and sometimes he simply cannot control it when his mind is too unfocused. It was an accident at first. His hands gripping onto your hips began to heat up and you began to moan so licentious. Kuai Liang had paused for moment, realizing what he'd done but there isn't guilt. There is desire and the need to do it again. You beg him for it and he cannot deny you

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Somewhere meaningful for the both of you. A place that is just for you and him, no one else. It can be his bedroom, your bedroom, by a lake or river. As long as it is a special place between the two of you then Kuai Liang will make love to you there

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His partner turns him on. The way you move, the way you speak...everything about you drives him crazy and wanting for you. If someone where to ask him what it is about you, he wouldn't be able to describe it. You are just perfect for him, simple as that

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He finds betrayal and lack of patience as major deal breakers. Not just betrayal against him but of core values and believes. Selling out for something, changing who you are so that you can achieve something shallow rubs him in all the wrong way

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Happy to give or receive. Either option is enjoyable for him. Although, he does secretly thrive when you give him oral. He feels his stress and worries melt away as you pleasure his aching cock. He'll lean his head back, rest a hand on the top of your head and just become pure bliss

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual is how he prefers to start out. He wants to get close to you and really take his time enjoying you. It's not the pace he keeps, however, he can get rough and fast overtime and then switch right back to slow and sensual. It can be quite unpredictable at times

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Would definitely engage in such activities. At first he questions just how pleasurable something so quick can be but you show him just how amazing it can be and Kua Liang actually becomes pretty hooked on them

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not the type to shy away from something new but is cautious about it. He wants to make sure he is never hurting you too much or causing you unpleasurable discomfort

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

If he can train for hours than he can certainly do many activities for hours. He is quite impressive with just how many rounds he can do and if it were truly up to him, he'd have sex with you all day and night never once leaving your warmth

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Does not own any toys and has generally never thought about using them. That doesn't mean he's not open to them, he is just hasn't really thought about using them yet

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Although he wants to pleasure his partner, he sometimes gets too wrapped up in the moment and can turn into a bit of a tease. It's actually very refreshing for his partner, to see him become just a bit more playful with his fingertips and tongue

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

In terms of expressing his own pleasure, he's relatively quiet. You'll get breathy grunts from him most of the time. What he is vocal about is his love for you which he often whispers into your ear or when in between you legs

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

It is not often but he does actually really enjoy being rough and dominant with you. He's never rude or degrading but exceptionally rough and wild. He becomes quite the beast of man as he fucks himself into you. That's when he gets loud, grunting and groaning into your neck as all control fades away and something darker takes over

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kuai Liang is physically fit and well sculpted. He is pure muscle and like something you'd see out of a museum. He's not massively muscular but extremely well-toned. In terms of length he is average but a bit girthy. He knows how to use it well and can and will absolutely fuck you senseless

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Despite his humble nature and quiet demeanor, his sex drive is above average. He enjoys sex often but only with someone he loves. The higher is sex drive the more he loves his partner

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He prefers to fall asleep with his partner after sex. It's not that he's tired but he finds it extremely endearing to fall asleep in each others arms right after making love

god i love kuai liang so much thank you so much for requesting content for him

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #mk1 kuai liang #kuai liang x you #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang headcanons

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velandvithestarlightgullwings · 1 month

Text

Moral Superiority and the 2024 Election

I think a lot of those that are looking to either vote third party, vote for GOP, or not vote at all don't understand nor realize that a lot of the rights we have today as American citizens were won in hard and bitter fights that often led to people dying. From job rights, civil rights, gender rights, and more, our elders suffered from bigotry, hate, greed, and severe violence to get us to this point and as we reach the eve of the 2024 election, we are on the cusp of losing everything our elders fought, bleed, and died for because of a myriad of reasons.

Many will claim that general apathy and pure ignorance would be two of the biggest reasons, and I would agree when it came to the 2016 election, but the biggest reason is we could lose it all in 2024 is moral superiority.

So many people I've spoken to on tumblr, twitter, reddit, canvassing, and people I personally know have stated the democrats need to "earn" their vote by doing this, that, and the other or they won't vote/vote third party.

Many don't/won't understand that the main third party candidates this year in Jill Stein, RFK Jr, and Cornel West are different shades of MAGA with their various ties to Putin, Trump, and general MAGA Superdoners (something people better have me have illustrated in their own posts) and actively bury their heads in the sand and ignore that any vote to them will actively bring us closer to a Trump Victory, and thus, a Trump dictator ship.

On the other side of it, many simply won't vote and will not listen to reason, not understanding that their vote is their voice and if they willingly silence themselves, they lose any right to complain later because they failed to speak up when their voice was actively needed.

In the last couple of months, I've heard every excuse in the book, from "Both Sides bad," and "I'm in a deep red state and my vote doesn't matter," both being equally false considering that only one side is actively trying and succeeded to strip away rights and recently, we've seen deep red states, such as Texas and Florida, inch ever so closer to blue by people going out to vote more.

But the biggest thing people cite is the Palestine/Israel conflict, something that has been going on longer than any of us have be born and was recently inflamed by both Trump moving the US embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, thus officially recognizing Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, and the October 7th attack.

The attack on Israel on October 7th was a horrible act but the retaliation that Israel took on Palestine in their "hunt" in Hamas was down right heinous and in our generation where the internet is widespread, we've all seen absolute horrors that Israel has enacted on the Palestinian people in a looooooooong list of heinous acts they've inflicted on the Palestinians.

We have every single right to be angry by it. Personally, as a Black Woman who has spent years studying discrimination, a lot of the horrors instilled on the Palestinian people reflect those that happened to my race during and after slavery and that had me marching in the streets and arguing for the Palestinians every step of the way, thus losing a lot of close friendships and family members in the process.

We have every right to hold our government accountable for this as for decades, longer than many of us have been alive, have been allies to Israel. Many will say that Israel, much like Nazi Germany, learned from the United States how to inflict such cruelties and I will not disagree.

However, with all of that said, due to the actions and personality of Donald J. Trump, Racism, Homophobia, misogyny and every other -ism has been on the rise to the point that since 2016, we've been in a fight to defeat the rising dictatorship that Trump and the GOP have been salivating to instill on us, with 2024, in my opinion, being the the final round.

We, as the American people, have seen the GOP and Trump actively skate by and make a mockery of the laws that many of us are still adhered to while also watching not only our rights being stripped away, by the world we live in being ravaged by climate change, all by the actions of the GOP and the billionaires that fund them.

But instead of us all banding together and trying to stop them from completing their plans for Agenda 47 and Project 2025, many will opt to...do nothing because of the Palestine/Israel conflict, thus allowing a Trump Dictatorship to potentially win.

These people understand what is at risk and they understand that people around them will suffer, but they refuse to fight back and instead do nothing to help because of their rage that no one is doing anything about the conflict.

I don't know if they don't believe that these things can happen, outright ignoring what's going on in Louisiana, Georgia, Texas, and Florida or our country at large since 2016, or that they hope it will happen so they can build the "perfect society" from the ashes of what America used to be or that they'll be a glorious revolution.

But what I do know is that many believe that by not participating in fighting the dictatorship that is knocking on their door, they can retain their moral purity.

And I'm not talking about Palestinian-Americans. They have all the right in the fucking world not to vote and unless that want to, I will not convince them because they are hurting.

I'm talking about the Performers, the clout chasers, the puritans. Those people don't care about Palestine and her people. They care about looking good to the people around them. Much like the BLM movement, where they put a black square on their pfp and dusted their hands like they did something, it's all performative to them.

They care more about being right than the suffering. Because if they did care, they would know that many people in Palestine are hoping that anyone but Trump and his ilk win in the white house. I even posted an article from a Palestinian website saying as such.

And there are plenty of Palestinians that I spoke to in my personal life and during canvassing that are voting for democrats in order to help their homeland because they understand the risk to not only those in Gaza but to themselves in the states.

If they did care, they would be out in this streets, protesting and raising hell. Not only against the democrats, which they love to target, but to the republicans as well, which have been conveniently ignored everywhere that I've looked.

And if they did care, they would understand that if Trump wins, Gaza, along with the Ukraine (something I'm sure many have forgotten about) would be gone, along with the United States.

Because many of us do care, but we also know what is at stake for a lot of fucking places alongside Palestine so we vote to fight because If Trump and the GOP win, there will be no revolution or reclaiming the united states from the ashes. Why? Because half of the country love that God-King Trump and his GOP are hurting the "others" in this bullshit culture war and they are counting on a lot of the single issue voters to sit this out. They are practically begging for it as they have been losing in the polls lately since Biden stepped down and Harris stepped up.

Trump, the GOP, and the mindless followers of MAGA don't care what happens after Trump wins, as long as they get to say their slurs, beat POC and Trans in the streets and act like they are the "Master Race chosen by the "Christian" God" while keeping women in the chained in the kitchen, popping out babies until they die.

These mortal puritans will say "I don't care about your first world problems," while forgetting that they live in the same country. I've even seen tweets saying "The US can burn to protect Palestine" ignoring that Palestine will be done and dusted if Trump wins.

Trump has said time and again that Israel needs to "Finish the job" and has used Palestine as a slur. When he says this, it is not a joke. And yet people will allow him to win because the Democrats are not doing enough, while not understanding the political tightrope many are walking on due to this conflict.

Can the democrats be harder on them, yes. they can. I was not pleased to know that Biden was sending weapons to Israel at all, nor was I pleased to learn that he's a zionist, which made me loath voting for him.

And I really didn't want to vote for him a second time in the first place because I did NOT forget how racist Biden was when I was younger.

But so far, Harris seems more sympathetic and harder on Israel than Biden is (don't not make me a fool Harris) and that, along with everything else, makes me want to vote for her.

But the biggest reason we need Harris to win is because once she does, we know that protesting and letting our voices be heard can sway her to be harsher on Israel. Versus Trump, where he is on record talking about giving all officers Qualified immunity and making protesting illegal.

And we all know the infamous photo-op during 2020.

So to all of the moral purity performers that are just looking for the next trend to catch, either put your money where your mouth is and vote to help, or admit to what you are and your lack of care and then be true to yourself and let Trump win.

#vote democrat #vote blue #please vote #project 2025 #vote kamala #fuck trump #free gaza #I hate clout chasers #Fuck off with your moral purity bullshit

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npc-arts · 1 year

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Do you remember when Markiplier's Smash or Pass Pokemon video went viral? I heard about it and ofc was curious bc Pokemon is my favorite thing ever, and I know this man would make the video funny. It was! I laughed, I audibly asked him why he made choices, I nodded in resignation, Then it happened. The thought that would change the trajectory of the week for me.

"Hey so you do pokemon designs. You design fakemon, right? What if. What if you-"

and I immediately went to twitter where people were talking about it. Somebody made a chart of all of Markiplier's Smash picks in loose categories. I poured over the video, noting every reaction to the pokemon he enthusiastically smashed and hard passed. I analyzed body types, themes, concepts, came up with a clear picture.

A presentation was made. canvasses littered with circles and notes. An audience formed as I designed it live. Color palettes were made, body shapes and concepts shot in and out of existence. We lost our collective minds as we reached for the perfect design. The exact kind of pokemon that would fit a specific set of criteria.

We did it.

We made a Psychic/Water type Deep-sea alien.

I wasn't done though. I waited patiently, hoping for the trend of pokemon smash or pass videos to reach more people. I didn't find many I wanted to do.

Until ProZD made one.

Nobody had analyzed his video like people had for Markiplier's, so I catalogued every single pokemon he Smashed, Passed, how much, the types of all of them, body types, themes. For at least a week, I was fixated. Captivated by the process. I couldn't replicate the storm that was my first design, but I didn't want to. This time, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I went live again, with friends and strangers alike, and made another.

Swolder, the weightlifting pokemon. Fighting/Fire type.

I haven't seen any more smash or pass videos I want to study under a microscope, but I'll be waiting. Watching. Biding my time.

#this is a very serious post about something extremely fucking funny I decided to do on a whim fghjk #I hope a gay man makes one of these so I can really just #go hard in the paint #or hell anybody who loves men #npc-arts #digital art #pokemon #markiplier #prozd #fakemon

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wildbluesorbit · 7 months

Text

Wounded III || JTK

18+mdni

paring: jakexreader(f)

LONDON MASTERLIST

A/N: alrighty, here’s the final piece. All your words have made my first fic/series so fun and I can’t wait to give yall more:)) pretty please let me know what you think <3

Summary || You promised Jake an evening out, but you’re not certain if you can make through the night.

Content Warnings || swearing, alcoholic consumption, anger, verbal aggression, adult themes, agoraphobia, haphepobia, graphic sexual depictions

Word Count || 9.5k+

The light knock at your door sends you into a frantic spell before anyone can announce themselves and their business that miserably requires access to you and your sanctuary.

You had been doing your best to go about your routine the past few days and not dwell on the daunting date you assured Jake. You had always given him your ifs and maybes when it came to going out, but this pledged appearance was taxing your every thought.

Routine. Keep your head in routine. Just keep moving. One day at a time and all that compartmentalizing bullshit your therapists always vomit at you yet never proves useful.

The truth being no matter how you avert your attention, the dreaded moment would still come to pass. And alas, it does; arriving in the form of Jake poking his head through the door. You invite the rest of his body to join your room.

With an easy energy, Jake percolates through the doorway dressed in his signature all black deep-v button up and pleated trousers. Paired with his signature chain of doubloons and black loafers. You always find the consistency of his formulaic ensembles to be a comfort.

In the true spirit of procrastination and denial you hadn’t even conceptualized an outfit yet.

Jake instinctively gravitates towards the guitar in the corner of your room and begins to fidget with the strings, busying himself from your bed as he watches you get ready. You think maybe he fears you are going to talk yourself out of the evening or it might not come to pass if he doesn’t witness it with his own eyes.

You frantically scatter for the first outfit you can make out, dressing in a relaxed cream button blouse with mom jeans and platform oxfords. You paint your features with natural make up and throw your curls in two messy braids and lightly accessorize. You emerge back from your bathroom expecting to make out a bored Jake. Instead, you’re greeted by an empty bedroom.

You are sure you hadn’t taken too long to get ready. You simply shrug and stomp to the full body mirror. You appear just fine, yet you definitely do not feel it.

You run your sweaty hands down your jeans as Jake reappears through the door. In his hands, he clutches his navy corduroy jacket he went to retrieve. You are clueless as to what you have done in your life to deserve this man that always anticipates your next need before you do.

Jake streams across the floor towards you and unfolds the coat, lifting it in the air for you to slip your arm through. You face away from the doting man and extend your hand out as he attentively dresses you in his jacket one shoulder at a time, savoring the moment. His aroma emits from the material as you take a deep breath and tug the sleeves over your fingertips.

Glancing back in the mirror you already feel a bit better; that’s what your outfit had been missing.

You return your eyes to Jake, slinking your hands deep into the pockets of the coat as he tugs on the lapel, properly adjusting it over your shoulders; unaware of your shaking till he steadies you with the weight of his hands.

His digits travel to faintly twist the tail of one of your braids between the pads of his fingers as a smile breaks loose at the sight of you.

“You are truly a vision,” Jake’s honey eyes swivel as he indulges in every detail he can canvass, his words adorn you better than any accessory ever could, “Ready?”

You force a weak nod and dreadfully follow his giddy lead from out your bedroom, down the stairs, and towards the front door.

Of course, you freeze where you always do but this time Jake just smiles and swings the entryway wide open, sauntering out to wait for you on the other side of the threshold.

“You’re ready, I can see it,” his lips curl as he beckons you with his giant smile.

You raise an eyebrow at him from the safety of the inside, “How do you know?”

“Because in just these past few days, it's not hard to see you’re outgrowing your fears and soon you’ll become cramped with them in this house,” he offers his palm out to you.

You slip your hand into his and squeeze, clench your eyes shut, and take a deep inhale as you step from the elevated doorstep down to the porch.

You playfully puff your cheeks out to hold your breath and squint open one eye to examine your surroundings.

Jake chuckles, tugging you toward his car, “Oh? So you got jokes now?”

You anticipate the same relapse as the last time you stepped foot out your door. Everything appears the same. The autumn breeze waltzes around you the same. The birds chirp the same. The world is the same shade of fall. The same sun warms you. Yet everything that terrified you about your last excursion seems to spell you ambitious to walk further with Jake now. Maybe Jake is right and he can see something you can’t. Maybe you are ready.

You achieve the top of the driveway as Jake pilots the path to open your door and you load into the vehicle. Like a familiar episode of Deja Vu, you had almost forgotten what Jake’s car looked like: the black interior, the smell of him mixed with car leather, and of course a tricked out stereo. The sight brings you to a nostalgic giggle as you are reminded of an indecent moment or two with Jake in this very car.

The door shuts with a slam and just like that, you are alone with the terrorizing silence while Jake walks around to the driver door. Although he rejoins you within seconds, it's enough time to let panic make its presence known, like it always does.

Jake fidgets in the driver’s seat and asks you the same antsy question for the second time this evening through his restless dorky smirk, “Ready?”

You have run out of no’s for him so you force a tight lipped smile and buckle yourself, nearly flinching at the click of your seatbelt. You tug the sash as tight as possible and just pray you aren’t making a fool of yourself.

Jake pulls into a parking spot and anchors his hand on your bouncing leg. The warm sensation of his limb is what reels you in from your own anxious realm to make contact with appraising eyes. You fold your hands in your lap and manage a smile.

You can’t help the way your breath gets caught on panic, “So, everyone is just in there? Waiting on us?”

“If it's showing up wounded you’re afraid of, don’t be,” his hand seeks the lock of your seatbelt and unfastens the buckle with a click, “You tell them that's just your battle scar, angel. Don’t hide how strong you are.”

You grant Jake a slight nod in agreement. Slowly, you push your car door open and extract yourself from the vehicle one limb at a time, as if you are some fragile thing that can shatter with a single misstep. Regret looms closer and closer as you cross the parking lot and pass everyone’s car one by one, each step dragging you towards the warzone you know awaits inside. You stall as your proximity to the battlefield diminishes.

Taking notice of your dawdling, Jake shifts to tower directly in front of you. The sudden advance pounds throughout your chest and hitches your breath but you refuse to fall back. He presses his forehead to yours and coaches you through a deep breath once your eyes refocus on his caramel brown ones.

“If it gets to be too much you don’t even have to say a word,” he gingerly takes your hands in his and squeezes in a triple pattern, “just like that, and I will immediately take you home. No questions asked. Like it never happened and we can try again when you’re ready.”

You focus on your breathing and mimic the intervals in which he gripped your hands.

“Good girl, just like that,” he praises your raging seas back to stillness and checks in with you for a third and final time, “are you ready?”

You nod your head and inhale as if you could take a drag of the courage he is emitting deep into your lungs. Jake releases your limbs back to you but replaces it with his palm against the small of your back as he leads you through the entrance of the bowling alley.

You soak in the dingy fluorescent lighting and are greeted with the smell of beer, leather, and frying grease. The humble sight is paired with a cacophony of pins clunking together in their gutters as classic country pours over the sounds of cheering and laughter.

Your feet already beg to turn back towards the door.

Jake waves to the group occupying the last two lanes, only they are bowling in the farthest and using the other as a barrier of isolation. Just like Jake said. This seems to cancel out a portion of your initial panic wave.

As you follow in Jake’s bee line around pool and foosball tables you recognize Josh, Danny, and Sam waving you over, along with a few other new faces.

The two of you are serenaded by scattered hellos. His brothers each take their turns to greet you, welcoming you with warm words of how elated they are to have you with them again. Jake strategically takes the opportunity to introduce you himself to the new faces to avoid any awkward interactions and customary physical contact. He turns to you as he announces your name with the most exuberant tooth-bearing smile. The one you first witnessed in that dusty record store on Christmas Eve. The one that spelled you absolutely his by New Years. The same giant smile you now only know to exist within the walls of your bedroom during late night laughs. This is Jake in complete bliss.

The beaming smile fades out as he goes to retrieve shoes for the two of you and is replaced by a flood of new ones belonging to his brothers as they catch up with you.

As your welcome parade dies down, your eyes immediately hunt for Jake seeking comfort, already approaching overstimulation. You see him off to the side of the lane’s designated sitting area, discreetly speaking with Sam. Jake’s hand finds its place on his hip and it occurs to you this exchange is one of hostility. Sam presents some unstable defense, eliciting an eye roll and a scoff from his older brother. Ultimately, you witness Jake give into whatever Sam’s plea might be as he heads back towards you with the shoes.

You timidly prompt Jake to tell you what is bothering him when he resides back to your orbit, sitting next to you on the bench.

“Nothing, Sam did something stupid but it doesn't matter anymore,” he looks down as he unconvincingly dismisses your question.

Wavy tresses that normally frame his face, curtain his features as he lets his head hang.

You lightly tug on one of the dangling coffee-brown strands to bring your favorite honey eyes back to your line of sight and give him a heartening smirk, “But you’ll tell me when it does, right?”

His burdened face breaks back to bliss as he tucks a rogue curl behind your ear, “Yes, of course.”

Jake lets his hand linger and for a second you are revisited by the marvelous familiarity of that time with Jake before Nashville.

The rental shoes hit the floor with a light thud as Jake lets them drop beside you. He relieves you of any obligation to participate knowing that you might not be up for it yet.

Grateful doesn’t even scratch the surface of how Jake is able to read you when you aren’t sure how to articulate yourself. You agree, telling him to check back next round.

After a few cycles of everyone’s turns you notice a peculiar pattern in Jake’s behavior. After every play the bowler would return to the lane, showered by hoots and hollers of praise and glory from your friends. This includes Jake, all except for when it came to the welcome of one person.

A girl. She is tall and lean with a long auburn bob, graced by delicate cartoon features and olive skin. Earlier she introduced herself as Claudia.

Everyone cheered upon her return to the kingdom. But not Jake. He did not shout. He did not clap. He did not smile. If she so much as let her gaze fall in your direction he would clench his jaw and check on you. Everytime single time. Like a tick.

You slide your hand on Jake’s mid thigh and rest your head against his shoulder. You feel him almost spooked by your touch. Other than when he came home earlier this week, you are rarely one to seek ease in his touch. You usually avoid all physical contact but especially are never the one to initiate it. However, Jake leans into you once your intention occurs to him.

You tilt your mouth up towards his ear so only he could hear your notion, “That’s her? Isn’t it?”

The muscle of his jaw protrudes at the very mention and he places his hand over yours, “I didn’t want to cause any commotion to further overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable. More than anything or anyone, I’m just happy you're here.”

You didn’t have a word for the strange sensation that followed being in her presence. Someone you thought you’d never meet. Someone you hoped to never meet. To put a name and face to the horror story of some wicked stranger who heartlessly spun your trauma without remorse between her fingers. Someone who wielded your weaknesses as a weapon to torment Jake. To turn the only man you trust against you without so much as a motive.

You are interrupted by the already buzzed boys asking for requests as they obnoxiously announce they’re headed towards the bar. Just as Jake’s brothers become absent, the girl with the auburn hair lifts herself from the opposite bench to head towards the restrooms, but not before the flashes you a sly smirk and cheekily waves and winks at Jake. She then swiftly disperses into the ladies room.

The grisly sound of Jake’s teeth grinding invades your ears as he shifts in his seat from physically cringing in outrage.

He growls through his clenched jaw, “That’s enough. I’m going to say something to that fucking prick.”

You discourage him, “No, Jake, please. It’s fine. Don’t give her the reaction she so blatantly wants. Seriously.”

“She fucking with us- she’s fucking with you,” he struggles to not to raise his voice and remain still in his seat.

“I know, but my goal is only to get through tonight,” you try to make him understand beyond his momentary red.

“She’s only going to get braver-,” he surveys your face and cuts himself off with an indecipherable flicker, “Fine, but only because you asked.”

He settles back in his seat appearing fine, his only tell being one leg vigorously bouncing up and down.

Jake seems to cool off though once his brothers are right back with beer and distractions. Claudia eventually returns from the restroom and you do your best to ignore her.

You reticently watch the boys bowl from your reserved spectator bench and ardently listen as they delight you with funny stories of what has happened since the last time they caught up with you. Your vigilance actually begins to wane and you feel yourself seeping into a plane of comfort and ease of enjoyment.

That is until you're being dragged back into reality by Claudia calling your name.

She casually accosts you with the loaded question, as if she is addressing the weather, “So I’m told you moved here from London, what brought you to the states?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. She knows exactly where the trigger is. Your shortest fuse to a spiral. You have no idea why Claudia is gunning for you, just that she is doing it well.

You feel Jake’s subtle touch to your knee and place your hand over him and squeeze.

One.

Your cheeks glow red as you burn alive.

“Well- I-,” you squeak out, “just needed a change of scenery.”

Pleased with the results of her game, Claudia continues, “Interesting. Well, tell me, why our little city? What’s Nashville hold for you? Other than your friend, Jake.”

Your hand clenches around Jake’s once more.

Two.

You feel Jake shift in anticipation, waiting for your third and final squeeze; a bull pawing before his charge. If Jake had his way he would have already put Claudia in her place and left. But he knows this night belongs to you and should be your decision, but you freeze.

In an instant, Jake discreetly turns his head to your ear, the decibel of his encouragement is hardly audible in its lull, “I’m so proud of you no matter how this night ends.”

Proud? Jake is proud of you? You had never really stopped to think about how he might perceive you.

In the midst of your storm you never sought past how he made you feel. You assumed he regards you with compassion and patience and loves you despite being this broken mess because that’s how he made you feel.

Never once did it occur to you that when Jake looks at you, it would be with eyes full of pride.

It isn’t until now that you fully realize how he craves you. It is clear he longs for your recovery and happiness and hungers to have you to himself. But you understand now he yearns for the time he had you in his corner. He aches to experience life with you, like the two of you used to. To walk into a room with you by his side and show you off and indulge in your presence. To be your equal. To be your partner. Though he loves to come home to you and regale you with stories of the road, more than anything he wishes to make you smile by recalling a shared memory instead. He misses who he is with you. But he wouldn’t dare confess such a selfish thought amongst your recent fragility.

You remove your hand from Jake’s and strain a cordial smile across your face.

You're terrified to stay but terrified to retreat. You fear if you go home now you might not ever leave again. And that is not an option. More than ever, you’re now miserably aware you can no longer survive without the courage that would dawn at the burning end of this anguishing night, you only need to push through.

You will your words to wield an ostensible confidence you do not possess, “Well actually this is probably my favorite thing to do anywhere, just spend time with loved ones. So why not Nashville?”

Before she can get in another word Josh returns from the lane and Jake curtly alerts Claudia it is her turn.

After that game ends everyone decides on one more for the night. Jake attempts to sit this round out but you insist he play and so he does. Although it does not take much convincing on your end.

He plays his turns briefly, immediately finding his seat next to you every time. He avoids all contact with Claudia and is mindful to keep you stimulated with conversation rather than your surroundings.

He hums, “So, what did you do for a whole week while I was gone, hmm?”

“I went outside for a walk,” you had almost forgotten to tell him, your brain had repressed the memory.

“Oh,” his tone turns up in genuine surprise, “How was that?”

Even though Jake has seen you through so much ugly, you still carry the small failures with a backbreaking shame.

“I ran back inside,” you grimace.

His brows knit together and bites his lip, “Were you alright after?”

You look down at your fidgeting hands in your lap and click your tongue, “That was the night you came home.”

He rests his pointer finger under your chin to raise your eyes back to his, “Well, all that matters is you’re here now. Even if you hadn’t come tonight, you’ve already overcome so much. And I know I’ve said it already but I’m proud of you.”

You don’t even have a chance to process his adulation as Claudia ambushes your bubble from her seat a few feet away.

“Enough chit-chat. You’re up, Zookeeper,” she smugly addresses the man beside you.

And just like that, everything all at once is consumed by swelling flames of a long-repressed scorching temper.

She must think she's so slick. She must think she is so fucking clever. She must assume you wouldn’t understand her reference. That no one would dare tell little frail you of her verbal assailments.

Or maybe she does hope you catch on. Maybe she thinks you’ll run and hide.

To your own surprise she isn’t so lucky.

Without so much as a moment’s sense or contemplation, venom commandeers your tongue and spurts past your lips and any prior inhibitions, “So just how big does the stick up your ass have to be in order for you to be such a raging bitch?”

She, along with everyone else within earshot, surrenders their aghast attention to you. Claudia's face is now painted with a red blaze. It's obvious she did not think you were going to burst from your timid and socially safe box, no one did.

She springs straight up and crosses her arms from her place on the opposing bench, “Excuse me?!”

Though you had been keeping to yourself you had been paying attention to the game. She couldn’t have hit more than 10 pins the whole time you’ve been here.

You reload your gun and fire off another round, “Is that also the reason you can’t bowl or are you just doing that for attention like everything else?”

Her face creases in bewilderment as she jumps to her feet, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Her attack stance has concerningly no effect on your newly ballsy demeanor. Jake doesn’t say a word but the way he stands to mimic Claudia’s body language speaks volume enough. She relaxes a bit but is still ready to pounce.

“Oh, I apologize,” you feign a pout, “I forgot you probably can’t hear very well with your head so far up your ass. Let me speak up.”

The distant sounds of snorting laughter and Sam choking on his drink as he spits it out reminds you of where you are.

A pang of guilt ceases your fire. You had given Claudia exactly what she wanted, but now it looked as if it was more than she could handle.

Normally, this would indicate victory. The old you would have basked in Claudia’s dumbfounded state. But now for some reason, you aren’t able to stomach making her feel any worse than you already have.

You back down from your reign and feel your face heat a bright red. Jake holds his hand out to gesture you to stand from the bench. As soon as you take it he squeezes three times and pulls you to your feet.

In all the ways you saw tonight ending, you definitely did not predict Jake being the one to call it quits.

He turns on his heels to address his brothers and friends, “Well, it’s getting kind of late so I suppose we should head home,” his shit-eating grin finds Claudia before she can regain any kind of composure, “We’ve had quite a lot of excitement for one night!”

You only have enough time to grab your purse and motion a goodbye to Jake’s brothers before he whisks you away from the wake of madness you had created.

Once in the shelter of Jake’s vehicle he asks if you’re okay. You respond with a disingenuous yes and neither of you whisper a word to each other for the rest of the car ride home.

You speed through your nightly regimen as if the sooner you shut your eyes the sooner the tides of slumber would wash over you and rinse away the day.

Yet you lay restless in your bed. You toss and turn, pleading for sleep to come but you’re convinced your prayers must have gotten lost.

After what feels like hours, you slip out of bed and throw on an oversized shirt and a pair of worn sweats you stole from Jake. You scamper about, not even certain of what you’re searching for until a tangible task to occupy your idle hands presents itself. You never thought you’d be grateful to arrive at a kitchen sink harboring dirty dishes. You fill the sink with hot water and soap and begin to scrub away.

Your laborious act is rewarded by the complete consumption of your thoughts. Your focus is on the cleanliness of the plates only.

That is until you hear the clinking of glass on the bar cart across the kitchen. You don’t even bother to avert yourself from the chore; you know it’s Jake pouring himself a late night drink.

You dare to ask the question first before Jake can pry, “I know why I’m still up, but why are you?”

“Well, I was in bed until someone decided now would be a great time to do the dishes,” you hear the ice in his drink clatter against the glass.

You attempt to scrub quieter but don’t actually stop.

Jake has no regard for subtly as he dives right into what he knows is terrorizing you sleepless, “I thought you handled tonight fine.”

“I wasn’t ready for- I shouldn’t have-” you hesitate for a moment before continuing the dishes rather than your train of thought.

You hear Jake’s tone slightly pick up, “Shouldn’t have what? Shouldn’t have stood up for yourself? Should have let that cunt walk all over you?”

“Jake-”

You can hear his boiling frustrations begin to erupt past his control again, “No- I'm glad you handled yourself that way! She would have just kept bulldozing!”

You pointlessly try to illustrate your crime, “I stooped to her level-“

Yet he has no desire to understand your fault, his hand not responsible for his glass flying through the air to cut you off, “She deserved it!”

You suddenly feel queasy at the night’s recap, almost dropping the dish you are holding from fatigue, “Jacob, were we even in the same room?! I mean, did you see the look on her face? How can I expect understanding for my pain and trauma and then go and make someone else feel like that?”

The kitchen fell into a still silence, the only audible signs of life being the dying suds in the sink and a remorseful huff from Jake. In his rooting for your full recovery, it hadn’t occurred to him that you might not want to return to everything you once were, including your existing flaws.

A crackled feedback of speakers introduces itself to the air, indicating Jake connected his music to the sound system throughout the kitchen. A soft blue melody pours from the stereo, confirming your assumption as you feel him come from behind you.

He nimbly removes the plate from your grip and places it to soak in the soapy sink water. He takes the nearest dish rag in his hand and delicately dries yours off before placing them around his back, leaning in to curl his arms around your afflicted stature.

Wallowing in your fresh wounds, you naturally resist when he begins swaying you back and forth with the rhythm of the music.

His speech abandons all previous conviction it carried seconds earlier as he softly prays, “Come on, I’m sorry I got upset with you, angel. Dance with me please? It’s been so long.”

You loosen your demeanor and sway with Jake, always wanting to grant him yes on the small things you could.

He accepts your movement as his exoneration and continues to candy you with kind words, “You know, I had no clue what I was in for the first time I laid eyes on you. No clue how in over my head I was- No clue I’d get to feel this way about you.”

As he feels you further give into his motions, he places his hand in the dip of your waist to properly waltz you about the kitchen. With his opposite he tucks your stray bedhead hairs behind your ear and gives you a small tight lipped smirk. His smile is one that you have yet to deny so you wrap your arms around his shoulders and follow his feet, fully accepting your fate.

You rest your head to his bare clavicle as a familiar steel guitar resonates throughout your kitchen. The smallest chuckle escapes him as he begins to hum along with the melody.

Why are you still crying?

Your pain is now through

Please, forget those teardrops

Let me take them from you

The love you are blessed with

This world's waiting for

So, let out your heart please, please

From behind that locked door

Still whirling around the kitchen tile to the swaying melody, Jake fully presses against you and rests his chin atop the crown of your head. Left. Right. Right. Left. Just like the first time on that New Year's Eve. Just like he taught you.The recording blends with Jake as he begins to fully sing along with George Harrison.

It's time we start smiling

What else should we do?

With only this short time

I'm gonna be here with you

And the tales you have taught me

From the things that you saw

Makes me want out your heart, please, please

From behind that locked door

You’re not sure if you’re overwhelmed from the evening’s events or maybe it's Jake singing along with former Beatle’s kind words, but something inside you breaks as your face begins to stream warm with tears. You cling to Jake and hide your face in his chest like a scared child. He holds you steady as you quake under his arms.

A sharp sob breaks out of you and into his flesh, “I miss me too, Jake! I want to come home to you more than anything.”

“I know,” his voice is a calm surface, contradicting his heart pounding erratically under your cheek, “but you’re going to be alright. You will heal, I can feel it. All in good time, angel.”

You fight to steady your speech against hiccuping breaths, “I’ve never fought this hard. It’s never been this dark before, Jake! How do you know that I haven’t burnt out and this is what's left of me? How do you know I’m not stuck this way?”

He answers without a moment’s hesitation, as if he had rehearsed his words and held onto them for a thousand years, “Because, angel, I’ve seen so many places and people and there is only one of you. You’re a marigold. An eternal flame. A rey of light bestowed to me by the sun herself. Your’s is not an energy that can be demolished.”

You squeeze your arms around his neck tighter, abolishing any unwelcome space between the two of you.

Jake caresses small soothing circles against the small of your back, “Whenever you’re ready, I love you now and I'm ready to love whoever you are going to be.”

There are those words again. Words you hadn’t spoken to him till you blurted them out in a half-conscious panicked confession. Words he hadn’t dared speak to you since London. But here he is confirming his love for you in the midst of your wounds and extending it to the woman you would be after they healed.

Swept in your own existential whirlwind, your fingertips mindlessly explore the warmth of his exposed skin as you tilt your head up and close in to his face to appreciate his delicate features there. He realizes you are searching for his lips before you do. Jake lowers his head to help you achieve your hunt, brushing the tip of his nose over the peak of your top lip and across your wet cheek until his warm breath hovers over yours. You swear hours must pass when you finally feel his lips press into yours but not in a kiss, more like he is relearning your mouth, trying to recall your taste before savoring it. Taking the time to survive on the same air, waiting for you to give in.

Heedlessly, you rush against him, lips plush as you remember. As if you are magnetic, Jake’s starving hands fly to cradle your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks and swiping the rolling tears away.

Your appetite swells quickly and you push your weight into Jake until he slowly backs into the nearest kitchen countertop, eliciting a hum that tickles your lips. You stretch on your tiptoes to better reach his hungry mouth. He immediately wraps his hands into the curve of your waist and shifts to lift you on the counter. Jake’s lips never leave yours as he plops you down on the espresso wooden slab.

His tongue graces your lips and you promptly grant him access. He impatiently laps into your mouth as his touch further constricts around your midriff. You feel his starved fingers fighting not to venture across your skin.

Finally, all at once Jake reignites your desire. Like someone turned on the light in a dark room you had been stuck in. Suddenly, you remember where you are and what you had been doing in that room, like you picked up exactly where you left off.

Jake has been your only shelter in this storm. He has put you back together so many times now and remained patient every step of the way. He took care of you in London when he could have looked the other way and nobody, including yourself, would have known. He hauled you away from the monsters Europe held for you. He’s been your only friend and liberation when you couldn’t even escape the very walls of your bedroom. If your malaise hadn’t warded him off yet nothing would.

You finally recognize Jake isn’t leaving. He always says it, but it seemed like this abstract concept, but he is here in front of you still voracious for more even after all he has witnessed.

His devotion is now this tangible thing.

You can see it in the way he looks at you and fights for you. You feel it in the way his fingers grace your skin and hands grab at you. Hear it in the way he sings your name and groans in restraint to devour you. Taste it on his bourbon and peach velvet tongue. Jake is not going anywhere and he’s not going to hurt you.

You depart from his lips to catch your breath and contemplate if this is solid ground or a passive breeze. You retrieve his hand from where it is clasped around your waist, calloused, heavy, extending much longer and thicker than your own digits. You run your fingertips over his knuckles studying the lines there, fidgeting because you’re uncertain how to articulate the arrival of your long awaited craving.

Jake's eyes grow wide, terrified he's done something wrong, “I’m sorry! I don’t-”

“Jake, I want you,” you can’t even stand to hear him finish.

His breath hitches at your words, “No, it's alright. You don’t have anything to prove to me. Tonight has been more than enough.”

It has been months since the two of you have touched each other. He was more than satisfied to just be near you and he did not want to lose or confuse or overwhelm you.

You wrap the material of his shirt around your fingers and tug him in close once more, not even letting the sting of his rejection sink in, “Jake I need to feel you again.”

Still gripping the half open button down, you commandeer his exposed neck to your reckless mouth. He growls a, “Fuck,” into the open air as you begin to kiss, lap, nibble and suck his salty skin.

He groans as you mark his collarbone, “Are you sure, Angel?”

You whisper your third consent into his ear and without a beat missed Jake whisks you off the counter. Your feet barely meet the tile before he's grabbing your hand and ushering you out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the frigid dark hall till you reach his bedroom door.

He twists the knob and the hinges groan as he pushes the entrance open for you. You take your time entering his room, your fuzzy socks slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor over to his bed. You sit, sinking into the soft mattress and place your hands in your lap as he turns on his salt lamp, illuminating the room in a coat of warm light.

Your favorite smile grows wild on his face at the sight of you waiting for him on his bed. The elated man hurries over and presses a quick kiss to you before he places his hands on the tops of your thighs.

He levels himself with your line of sight, his every word carrying what seems to be the weight of the world, “You’re in control here. You say the word and it is my command.”

You whisper a rushed yes and he pulls you back to your feet, gripping your hips. He once again envelopes your lips in his, but this time it is sweet and slow. There is no haste, no power dynamic, only the two of you basking in the warm essence of the other.

He swings your hips closer to him and you feel his hard bulge press into your stomach. Jake's fingers scatter for the hem of your shirt. Hips not daring to leave you, his torso repels in order to slip your top off, exposing your goosebump ridden skin and breasts to his soft eyes and brisk air of the room.

You in turn, undo the few done up buttons of his shirt. You lean into him to slip the sleeves off his shoulders, your lips catching along the muscle of his jaw as you undress him.

His hands travel down your sides and slip under the waistband of your sweats, his warmth buzzing across your cool skin. He traces the curve of your hips under the fleece material and migrates to grab your ass until your feet have left the hardwood floor and locked around his back.

At this new angle he laps one of your erect nipples into his velvet mouth with ease and your whimper floats into the room. He groans with a mouth full of your tit as your hands slip into his tousled hair and tug, the vibrations rippling through you and straight to your core as he hums against your pebbled breasts.

He staggers, carrying you till he reaches his bed and leans to lay you down on your back. Jake casts his face over your pelvis and begins to slowly tug down your sweats, pressing his mouth to every newly unenveloped inch of your skin as it peeks out from behind the material being pulled down further and further. Jake’s open mouth kisses trail your hips, thighs, and down to your ankles, tossing the pants somewhere on the floor near his closet after he’s fully removed your pajamas.

He brings his knees up to the mattress and props himself over you, crawling till his mouth is hovering over yours again. He looks down between your bodies as he drags his faint touch below your naval, over your mound, and slips through your folds to feather your clit.

He swallows your moan as you are reintroduced to his kiss. You struggle to stay still as his loving fingers press into your labia till he finds your entrance. You swear you are far more sensitive since the last time he touched you, almost as if this is the first time he’s had you.

He pulls away from your mouth to gingerly check in with you, “This is okay, babygirl?”

“Fuck- more than okay,” you breathlessly whimper against his pink pout.

At your reassurance he inserts a long finger inside you, relishing in the way you squirm underneath him.

“Please- Jake, more,” you’re already begging.

Without any hesitation he inserts his middle fingers and watches as he starts pumping his digits in and out of you, glistening in your slick.

He begins a beeline of open-mouth kisses down the valley of your breasts and past your belly button. He reaches your slit and slightly parts them to suck your clit into his mouth, swirling his warm plush tongue around the swollen bud.

He returns his fingers, this time curling them up inside you, causing your hips to buck towards his face. The lewd sounds of Jake lapping your clit and fucking you with his fingers fills your head. He moans into you as you writhe in his hard-working mouth.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” you desperately command, “Jake, I- fuck, baby- I need you.”

“Just be patient, angel, let me take care you,” he croons against your bundle of nerves, “I’ve- I’ve waited so long for you.”

Jake continues drilling into you, his thick fingers pumping inside you and velvet tongue fluttering against your clit. All at once, your climax sneaks up on you, a drive by of ecstasy, sweeter than you could ever remember or commit to memory. Your legs cut off Jake’s air supplying, squeezing around him till you tremble and you cum right into his mouth without so much as a warning.

But he refuses to cease his oral attack on you. Instead, he continues to consume you at a painfully dizzy pace. You hardly register the symphony of your own whimpers and slurping of Jake sloppily eating you out.

“Fuck! Ja- I- Please, Jake, I need to feel you inside me,” you restively whine through your overstimulation.

Like you’ve casted a spell on Jake, his mouth and fingers part from you without another word. Though the dark of his eyes and furrow of his brows tell you a story of struggle; if Jake had his way, his head would still be lost between your shaking thighs.

He steps to the floor to shimmy out of his pants and boxers to free the pretty pink cock you are desperate for. You watch his hard length bob about as he hops right back on the mattress.

He wraps his hands around your ankles and pushes them in toward you to bend your knees upward. Jake admiringly watches his own hands run along your shins and up your thighs until he stops and squeezes at the thick of them. He spreads your legs open to gain access to your inner thigh and presses more kisses and nibbles there.

When his lips reach your folds Jake laps his tongue though for one last taste before he pulls away to gravitate his core closer to your dripping center. His consuming touch leaves you to grab his cock, collecting the gloss at his tip to pump his hand over himself a few times before pressing his painfully pink head to your lips.

You gasp in pure anticipation and whimper when Jake flicks his throbbing tip over your swollen clit. Lining himself up to your entrance, he looks back to you one last time for your consent.

He rests his arms down beside you to anchor himself in your atmosphere and rasps in your ear, “Ready, angel?”

“I’ve never wanted this more, Jake,” you pant out against his neck.

At your cue, he thrusts his hips into you and hisses in your ear. Your drawn out moan sounds through the room as your cunt welcomingly stretches for Jake.

He looks at you with curious eyes, concerned if you’re still comfortable.

You run a gentle finger along his hairline before brushing the rest through his chestnut waves and nod, “I’m okay, baby, you can move.”

You see relief flash on his face but it is quickly replaced by something else when he plunges deep inside you to the hilt. Jake begins to pump himself in and out of you at a deliciously slow rhythm.

This is so different from anything you’ve ever done with him. Fooling around with Jake had always been some thrilling primitive game. And while this moment is still animalistic, it is also raw and real and sweet and tender. The two of you taking care of each other. The two of you a union.

You are consumed by Jake; he is the only thing you can see, feel, taste, smell, and hear. You can’t recall a moment before him or see a thing beyond. Everything belongs to him. At this moment Jake could do no wrong.

He speeds his pace up and laps a stripe across your neck, “Oh fuck- I missed you, pretty girl.”

The only words you could find were babbled moans.

Praises absent of any satire or malice, he coos, “Oh, someone likes being called pretty? Well good because you are. You’re the prettiest girl.”

Without any real ideation, the desire blurts out of you, “Jake- Fuck- want to be your pretty girl, Jake!”

Both of you caught off guard by the demand, he pulls away from his work on your ear and his hips stall in divided attention. Jake blinks at you wide-eyed, waiting for some redirection of blood flow back to his brain to process your words. You swallow down your mournful whine that follows the loss of momentum, knowing you brought it on.

You are summoned back to coherency by the rasping of your name as he blesses your face with kisses, “You want to be my pretty little thing? Want me to make you all mine?”

Fully wrapping his mind around the concept, his strokes return harder and faster. That familiar sweltering pressure you’ve missed begins to burn in your pelvis, rolling your eyes back.

A stuttered moan is all you can manage, “Yes- Please, Jake!”

Jake brings his hand to cup your chin, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and slows his hips yet again to bring you back to earth, “I need to hear you say it, angel.”

You open your eyes to meet his dark chocolate irises and focus all your energy into gathering your words, “Yes, Jake. I’m yours and I want you to be all mine.”

You are graced with the sight of that giant smile of his, of which he presses to your lips and attempts to kiss you through his teeth baring elation.

He then swings his hips back to a mind numbing pace.

He can’t help the audible smirk in his demands, “Good girl. Now, will my baby cum for me?”

Your only acknowledgement to his request is a broken stream of moans, whimpers, and muttered swears as he swivels his hips, hitting the spot only he ever manages to find.

You are rendered to a puddle of incoherent begging, “Please, Ja- Baby- Fuck- I love you, Jacob, don’t stop!”

You feel your second climax begging to burn through you like a good smoke. With every swing of Jake’s hips, you inhale his saccharine nicotine deep into your lungs and puff him out, only to drag him in again. A sweet slowburn of ashes till you turn out.

Jake begins to thrust inside you even faster and reaches a hand down to rub your clit. You’re lifted by his gravity, arching your back as your pussy begins to contort around him.

“Fuck- do that again, babe,” he hisses in ecstasy, “squeeze me and tell me that you love me when you cum. Please?”

His begging is enough to set off your release. You try your best to look at him but your eyes roll back as the tension in your stomach bursts in a white heat. You feel that electric buzz in your chest ripple throughout you. Your only tether to reality is fulfilling Jake’s sweet need.

You squeeze your walls around Jake as tight as you can, sinking him even further inside you as your rasped confession breaks against involuntary moans and squeals, “Fuck- Ja- I love you so much- Jake! I didn’t even know- it was possible to- to be so consumed by one person. I love- I love you, Jacob!”

He fights to remain composed, coaching you down from your high as he approaches his, “Easy, princess, I’ve got- I got you. I’ve missed you so bad, baby, please let me have it.”

Your senses become bombarded by overstimulation as you finish on his twitching cock inside you but remain attentive to help Jake finish. You know he is close when his hips begin to sputter.

You buck your hips upwards to finish his motions and clench around him one last time as you feel his cock jerking inside you. Jake’s eyes flutter shut and his head drops to your shoulder as slack jaw mutters your name like a swear. Jake slips a hand under your head to cradle you closer as he fights though his final stokes.

You take the opportunity to start sucking and kissing encouragement against his neck, “Come on, baby boy. You’re so good to me. I want all of you, Jake. Want to feel full of you. Want to love you.”

Your serenade shoves him over the edge and his bruising grip sears into your hip bone as he lets go. With a blissed out grunt of your name, you feel his release coat your walls and fill you.

He collapses on to you, his weight sinking you further into the soft mattress. You wish to exist in this amber lit moment forever, convinced the weight of Jake’s head and rhythm of him catching his breath against your shoulder is the safest shelter you’d ever find.

You wrap your arms around Jake to rub his glossy back, still heaving in recovery. He hums underneath your jaw and begins to lazily kiss the muscle there. The two of you seem to exist in your own plane before Jake breaks the silence, telling you to stay put while runs to fetch you a warm rag.

Upon his arrival you grab the cloth from Jake, his eyes devouring the scandalous scene you are cleaning him from your dripping thighs. You catch his ravenous stare and fold the rag to the opposite side. You earn a beaming smile and bashful giggle from Jake as you begin to gently swipe away at the beads of sweat that decorate his glistening face.

He nuzzles into your touch, allowing you for once to care for him. But as you clean him, Jake catches your hand in his to cease your movements. You witness a short scene of grief and guilt play across the very features you were just nursing.

“Was it- not-,” you can’t string your sentence together to bare the thought of Jake regretting his actions.

“No- No- That was- I’m so glad we- Its just- It reminded me of the last-,” he scrambles for his words as a few thoughts try to make their way all at once.

You squeeze his hand still in yours and tend to his uncertainty with a smile of reassurance, “Jake?”

He reflects your gesture, taking a deep breath before putting his concern to words this time, "I never apologized for the way I treated you."

Out of all the things you expected Jake to confess in this moment, an apology is certainly not one, "What the hell are you talking about, Jacob? You have nothing to apologize for. You've been nothing but good to me."

He shakes his head with a slight chuckle, indicating you misunderstood, "No- I meant before your move to Nashville. I was just- I was cruel to you and I'm so sorry for what happened between us."

It seems like lifetimes ago, you almost want to giggle at Jake’s amends, having already made up for it in more than a million ways, "Well, trust me, you have more than made up for it. And we are finding our way back now."

Jake pulls you into him for another kiss as he presses a small chuckle and that pretty smile into your lips before scooping you off the bed and into his arms. You devoutly wrap your limbs around Jake to stabilize yourself as he playfully peppers your skin with quick pecks and carries you to the bath he had already started running.

He slowly lets you down to the floor and checks the temperature of the water. Once he is satisfied, he ties up his hair while stepping into the tub. Jake sits and settles his back against the wall before extending his hand up to guide you in. You utilize Jake for balance as your feet dip into the steaming water. You twist away from your guide as the rest of you sinks into the warm bath, replicating his movements.

Jake’s arm grips the lip of the tub as an anchor when the other wraps around your waist as he tugs you into him, your back flush against his chest. You let your head fall against his shoulder to find his lips yet again. A blissed out sigh slips from Jake and tickles your cheek.

Your call comes out smaller than you intend, “Jake?”

His only acknowledgement is a vague hum as he tucks his face away in your neck.

You timidly purpose, “No more games, right?”

You only receive another fatigued hum in agreement, “Of course. No more games.”

You proceed to pry for an answer he's already given in ten thousand different tongues, “Be honest with me? You meant what you said? Or was it the high of the moment?”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to but you should know I have a girlfriend now,” he giggles at himself into your skin, having not removed himself from your neck.

You roll your eyes at Jake. You know he is merely teasing you but you do not have the courage to ask twice.

Jake pries himself from you to grab the tan bar soap and lather it in his vast calloused hands. The smell of vanilla and patchouli shamefully teleports you back to days he had to help you bathe.

He runs the suds down your arms and speaks softly against the shell of your ear, “I meant every syllable.”

Jake rakes his fingers against the skin of your forearms before he places his stretched out hand below your open palms, your limbs posing so helpless and dainty in comparison to his.

He studies the size difference before interlocking your fingers and bringing them to his lips, “This is all I’ve ever wanted. And now it's finally mine.”

Jake places your hands back in your lap to retrieve more soap.

He lathers the suds around your torso and slightly presses his finger into the meat of your stomach, “This is mine.”

You giggle and he continues, the goofy smile plastered on his face audible in his tone.

Jake wraps his digits, finger by finger around your waist, “And this is mine.”

He spreads the suds up across your breast, massaging them and running his knuckles along your nipples as he lightly teases, “I’m very pleased to say these are now mine.”

With his fingertip, he blazes a trail along your clavicle, his lips following the route as he adds, “and this.”

With his hands still on your shoulder he lightly guides your weight forward to gain access to your back. He sweeps your half drenched raven locks above your head and grabs a tie from the tub caddy to place your hair up. His digits meet your shoulder blade and flutter down your back in lawless streaks.

You know he is tracing exactly where your scars are. The scars you’d hardly seen, avoiding them in the mirror at all costs, but you know exactly where the tissue lies.

Jake feels you cringe underneath his touch but doesn’t let you squirm from his reach.

He places his pink lips to the discolored welts there, kissing blessings and vows to your scarred flesh, “And this- I want all of this too.”

His mouth continues up your neck, biting and lapping until he reaches your jaw. Jake places his fingertips on your chin and tilts your head towards a full body mirror across from the tub, directing your vision to your reflection.

“And this stunningly gorgeous face, the one I see everytime I close my eyes,” he punctuates every word with a kiss to your eyelashes, the tip of your nose, and cheeks, “All you see is mine."

He finally reunites with your lips, “And I am irrevocably and absolutely yours. You are all I’ve ever wanted. I am so in love with you, baby.”

thank you so much for reading, pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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sunshinevanfleet · 2 years

Text

brat - d. wagner

pairing: danny x reader

a/n: hey y'all!!! i'm back again with another fic. i'm trying to keep up with the writing and avoid some writers' block, so here's another fic. i am hardcore in danny's lane rn, and planned to write some fluff and then ended up with the exact opposite lol. so here's some enemies to lovers, hate-fuck smut with our lovely danny. he's kind of an asshole in this one and it's very sexy so pls enjoy. let me know what u think!! luv you all. (p.s. this is unedited and not proofread so excuse me for any mistakes thx ok bye)

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), enemies to lovers

word count: 4k

warnings: alcohol consumption, explicit sex scenes, unprotected sex, car sex, danny being an asshole, some light degradation, etc.

“You have got to be fucking with me.”

You barely noticed the words leaving your lips as you stood by the bar, the plastic cup in your hand crunching as you gripped it. You glanced over your shoulder at your friend; she was still distracted by the hot bartender flirting with her. Nudging her with your shoulder, she finally glanced over.

“No way, is that–”

“It is,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I’m going to fucking murder Josh Kiszka.”

Kara laughed at your words, just as shocked as you were. The bartender was forgotten, still chatting away distractedly as you two stared at the man in the doorway of the bar. The low light obscured him slightly, not to mention the blurriness of your eyes from the couple of drinks you had. But it was him, silhouetted there, all broad-shoulders and dark curly hair framing his face.

“Daniel Wagner…” Kara shook her head, taking a long swig of her drink in front of her. “Josh totally did that on purpose.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I dunno.” She shrugged. “He knows you hate each other, obviously.”

You sighed heavily. You should’ve called anyone but Josh. You should’ve spent your last ten dollars getting an uber home. It would be worth sacrificing your pretentious cold brew from the coffee shop down the street in the morning in order to avoid riding home with Danny Wagner.

“This is so fucked.” You turned around to face Kara. Danny was canvassing the crowded bar, obviously searching for you since he had been called to be your savior tonight. “I’m never calling Josh to pick me up again.”

“You should’ve expected this, Y/N,” said Kara. “Josh is always sending someone else to get you. Remember last time? He was taking fireball shots at home with Sam, so he sent Jake…”

“That’s the difference!” you hissed at her, trying not to call attention to yourself. You were beginning to panic. How were you going to survive a twenty minute drive in the car with a man you hated? “It was Jake! He’s not my–my arch nemesis!”

Kara snorted, covering her mouth as she began to laugh. “Your arch nemesis… I can’t with you. Sound like a supervillain,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m being serious.”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N,” she waved her hand halfheartedly. “At least he’s hot.”

Your features screwed up into a scowl. It felt like all of your friends were setting you up for this. The two of you never got along; he always had some snarky comment any time you said anything, and the sound of his voice hit the wrong nerve with you. Something about him was just infuriating. But he was a staple in the Kiszkas’ lives, and so were you, so you tolerated each other. Josh, however, was always trying to get you to get along. This was another one of his plots, and you knew it. You were going to strangle him.

“Oh, shit, I think he’s spotted us,” Kara said, eyes widening. She forced herself to look back towards the bartender, and sipped her drink aggressively.

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands over your face. This would definitely be interesting. It took everything in you not to turn around and watch him saunter over, that stupid cocky look playing on his features as he realized the rest of your night was in his hands. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to make every second a living hell.

“There you are, sweetheart,” came his voice from behind you. You resisted the urge to scream at the pretentious nickname.

You turned to face him, your face curled into the nastiest smile you could muster. “Daniel,” you said, feigning politeness. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Kicking and screaming,” he agreed, nodding his head. You eyed him for a second. His hair was pulled back messily, stray curls fanning his forehead and cheeks. He wore a black muscle tee and a pair of gray sweatpants that were hanging dangerously low on his hips. He must’ve been in bed when Josh called him.

“Where’s Josh?” you asked bluntly. Your two-second show of getting along was over. He was the last person you wanted to be face-to-face with right now.

“Incapacitated,” said Danny. “You know how he loves a good Friday night drinking game.”

“And you weren’t playing?”

“Nope,” he continued, “I was all cozy in my bed, going to sleep early. Then Josh calls me to come rescue the princess, so here I am.”

You rolled your eyes. With a huff, you decided not to push the subject any further. If you ignored him, maybe the next half hour would go by in a flash. Next time, you’d be calling your Mom before you called Josh to come pick you up. Unreliable little shit.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” you said under your breath.

Standing from the bar, you grabbed your purse and slung it over your shoulder. You shoved your phone inside, and said a quick goodbye to Kara. She smiled sweetly at the both of you as you left. Danny led you out into the warm night air, where his car was waiting.

“Don’t look so miserable, sweetheart,” he said, a twinge of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, tone laced with venom. You had never met anyone with such a smackable demeanor, someone so hell-bent on pestering you until you broke.

“What? Not happy to see me?”

You wrinkled your nose. Ducking into his car, you dropped your bag on the floor and kicked off your heels. In the back of your mind, you wished you drank a little more before you left. Danny’s presence was a wonderfully effective buzzkill.

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist. You don’t have to see me for too long,” he said, grinning.

“My panties are perfectly untwisted,” you said haughtily. “Can you just shut up for the next twenty minutes? It’d make my life a lot easier.”

He laughed. “I’m not here to make your life easier.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

You could feel the smugness radiating off of him as he pulled away from the bar. You wished you could hitch a ride with Kara, but you knew her boyfriend was picking her up and they would be nearly as insufferable as this car ride with Danny. It was quiet for a moment, but you knew he would be back to bugging you any minute now. You merely hoped you didn’t explode once it started.

He reached between you, flicking the radio on to kill the silence between you. The station was set to something hard-rock. The drums and guitar blaring through the speakers were really starting to worsen the headache threatening to come on.

“Can you turn that off, please?” you asked, glaring at him.

“No, I like this song,” Danny said, reaching over to increase the volume.

Your face flushed with anger.

“I have a headache, Daniel,” you said bitterly. “At least turn it down.”

But he was steadily cranking the volume up, up, up. The grin on his face was only widening. Your head pounded, both from the drinks and the immeasurable rage coursing through you.

“What?” he shouted. “I can’t hear you!”

You half-groaned, half-screamed, and reached over to pull his hand away from the volume. You knew you looked like a crazy person, and you didn’t care. He laughed as you pushed his hand away from the radio. You muted it without a second thought.

“My head is fucking pounding,” you hissed at him. “Asshole.”

“Oh I’m an asshole,” he added, chuckling. “That’s rich, coming from such a brat.”

You glanced over, and met his gaze briefly before he looked away. His eyes were dark, and slightly hooded with sleep. He really must’ve been sleeping. Your heart thundered in your chest. If you weren’t so pissed off, you might have noticed the butterflies blooming in your stomach and spreading down between your legs. There was no way that Danny Wagner insulting you was turning you on. You ignored the feeling, twisting one leg over the other and flopping back against the seat.

“You are an asshole,” you said.

“I am a perfectly nice guy.”

You snorted. “You’re fucking delusional.”

“You know it. You just don’t want to admit that you’re the instigator in this relationship,” Danny said.

“Instigator? Which one of us is constantly, intentionally, pissing the other one off?” You raised your eyebrows expectantly at him.

He grinned at you, shrugging. “Which one of us is constantly getting so worked up over absolutely nothing?”

“I’m going to ignore you, now,” you stated. You turned away from him, staring off into the distance as he drove you home. You couldn’t stand looking into those intense eyes any longer. Your thighs were clenched together so hard that they were beginning to shake. It was about time you got the hell out of this car, before shit got out of hand.

“Looks like I’m right,” he continued. “Poor little brat knows I’m right, huh?”

Brat… The word made you squirm in your seat, the brief throbbing in your core making you swallow hard. He was going to be the death of you, the gorgeous shithead sitting in the seat beside you. God, you hated how easily he could push your buttons in all the right ways. You hated to admit it, but underneath all of the outward animosity, there had always been some serious sexual tension.

“I must be really getting under your skin, huh sweetheart?”

There it was again, another one of his condescending nicknames. It felt wrong to say you were almost enjoying this. You squirmed slightly again, trying to avoid his attention. The sound of your pulse thundered in your ears. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he could tell.

“I hate you,” you muttered. Your voice was hoarse, and so quiet it was barely audible between you. You were afraid if you spoke any louder that the shake in your voice would give it all away.

“Doesn’t seem that way,” said Danny smugly. His car came to a stop at a redlight, and you turned to glance at him. He was looking at you, almost hungrily. He looked you up and down, shaking his head as the light finally turned green and he pulled off. “Can’t sit still over there, can you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act all clueless,” he chuckled. “I see you over there, squirming and writhing…” His eyes flicked down to your legs twisted together. Your skirt had ridden dangerously high up your thighs, almost enough so that your panties would be exposed shortly.

“I am not,” you hissed, uncrossing your legs and pulling your skirt down. Your face flushed red, and you prayed he couldn’t see it in the dim light.

“Are too,” his voice was tinged with amusement. “Bet that little pussy’s just throbbing when I call you brat.”

His words sent a jolt up your spine, and you knew he could see your red face now. Your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He laughed darkly at this.

“You know I’m right.”

You swallowed the planet-sized lump in your throat, trying to figure out how to breathe again. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

“I– Danny, what–” You were lost for words. You couldn’t take your eyes off him as you rode the last two minutes to your house. He seemed to be completely focused on the road, not paying you any mind as you sat there in complete shock. What the fuck was going on?

The car came to a stop in your driveway with a jolt. There was a short pause, where the two of you just stared at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, Danny leaned his seat back, and you caught the hint.

You climbed across the center console and straddled him with all the ease of a professional. He leaned up and caught your lips in a heated kiss. It was hot, and messy– all lips and teeth gnashing and saliva everywhere. His hands had fallen to your ass, bunching your skirt up around your hips and kneading the fleshy skin. Your own were tangled in his curls, pulling more hair loose from his bun as you pushed him down against the seat.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he groaned against your mouth. One of his fingers teased along your panties as he squeezed your ass. There was barely any friction, but still you sighed heavily.

“Fuck,” you hissed as he dragged the finger up and down the fabric again, teasing you through your underwear. You ground your hips down against him, trying to get some kind of relief.

“What got you this wet for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” His lips traveled down your neck, sucking the skin hard as he left bruises behind. You rutted your hips against him again, desperately as he continued teasing you. “This sweet little pussy loves it when I call you my brat, huh?”

His deep, silky voice sent a jolt through your body. You needed him so bad. To touch you, to taste you, to fuck you. Anything at this point. You couldn’t take the sound of him teasing you anymore. You needed him to destroy you.

“Fuck, Danny, stop teasing me, please,” you hissed through clenched teeth. Two of his long fingers swept past your panties and swirled against your soaking wet core. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head at the feeling of it.

“Teasing you is the best part,” he said breathily. His lips skirted across your collarbones, nipping harshly at the skin. You were going to be fifty shades of purple come the morning, but you didn’t care. You wanted his mouth–his teeth– on you, everywhere.

You grunted, swirling your clothed center against his bulge and fingers again. It was almost pure bliss, having two of his fingers prodding your entrance and his clothed bulge dragging against your clit. You knew you could cum like this, but you wanted him, all of him desperately.

His fingers finally pushed into your soaked cunt, and you moaned loudly. Your face flushed with embarrassment; it had been so long since you’d been fucked properly. The desperation in your movements made you feel something like a virgin again. You didn’t have time to worry about what Danny would think– his free hand had snaked up your body to wrap around your throat.

You gasped, throwing your head back as his fingers sank into you to the base.

“You like that? You like my fingers stretching that little cunt open?”

You nodded, clenching around him as he slowly began to thrust them in and out of you. He curled them slightly, the pads of his fingers grazing your sweet spot deliciously.

“Use your words, brat.”

“Y–yes, Danny, I–” a moan broke through as he curled his fingers more harshly, driving them into your g-spot. “Fuck, I love it.”

“Oh, you love it?” he asked, his voice amused. “C’mon, ride my fingers, then.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting yourself up and rolling your hips against his fingers. Your entire body seized as his fingers hit that spot over and over again. Your eyes were screwed shut, bottom lip tugged between your teeth as he held you up by the throat and let you fuck yourself on his fingers. Pleasure coursed through your veins; you were sure he was the best lay of your life, and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. Stars bloomed in your vision, and your legs began to tremble.

He breathed sharply as your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. “Feels so good, doesn’t it sweetheart? You’re so close to cumming all over my hand, aren’t you? Yeah, that tight little pussy’s gonna cream all over my fingers, isn’t it?”

You whimpered at his words. You forced your eyes open and glanced down at him, and you nearly came at the sight. His lips were raw and swollen from his assault on your neck; sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks, his curls plastered to the skin as he watched you with black eyes. His expression dripped with pure filth– no one had ever looked at you this way. You leaned down into him, pressing your open mouth against his. You breathed his air, tasting his breath and sucking it into your lungs as if it were your own lifeforce. Your tongue darted into his mouth; you throbbed at the wet, lewd sounds emerging from the two of your mouths together. It was disgusting, and you were loving every second of it.

Chest heaving, you began to grind yourself down onto his digits, hard. You vision began to go black.

“Danny, oh my god, Danny,” you breathed, rocking against him. “I’m gonna cum, fuck me, I can’t hold on…” You were practically screaming, hoping that his car was muffling the sound of your shrill moans from the outside world.

“No, no, not yet, sweetheart…”

Your heart dropped as he dropped his hand from your throat, and grabbed you around the waist. You gasped as he pulled his soaked fingers out of you, your cunt clenching around nothing as he laughed darkly.

“Danny, what the fuck–”

He grinned. “Relax, Y/N,” he said, amused.

“But I was so fucking close,” you groaned, squirming above him as he watched you. Without saying anything, he brought his slick fingers up to your mouth and held them in front of you. You stared at him for a second, before he reached his other hand up and tapped you on the chin with his thumb. Opening your mouth, you allowed him to insert his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself. He groaned at the sight; you felt his cock twitch underneath you, straining against his sweatpants. You rolled your hips against him, and he bit down on his lip with a grunt.

“You’re gonna cum all over my cock, okay? Gonna be my good girl and ride me,” he said, watching as you nodded, bobbing your lips over his fingers. You swirled your tongue around his digits hungrily, your eyes widening as you watched him pull down the waistband of his pants. His cock slapped against his abdomen. You knew from feeling it that it was bigger than average, but you never would have expected this from Danny Wagner.

“Fuck, where have you been hiding that thing?” you muttered, incredulous.

Danny laughed, taking his saliva soaked hand and wrapping it around his shaft. The tip was slightly purple, leaking shining clear precum. He spread your spit and juices over himself, groaning thickly.

“Let me,” you replaced his hand with your own, swiping your thumb over the tip. He grunted, closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. You leaned forward, letting a string of saliva drip from your mouth down to his cock. You bobbed your fist up and down over him, feeling his thighs twitch as you teased him.

“Enough,” he groaned thickly, his voice deep with arousal as he reached forward to grab your wrist. “Sit on it. Now.” He commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you said snarkily, lifting yourself up and positioning your hole over the tip. You dragged the tip through your folds for a moment, soaking it in your arousal. The two of you moaned in unison, and a deep breathy groan spilled from his lips as you finally sank down onto him.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the stretch of his cock; it felt as if you were being split in half in the best way possible.

“Holy fuck,” you panted, rolling your hips slowly against him. You didn’t know how you were going to take him for very long. Your legs trembled on either side of his, and you could barely lift yourself above him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Danny grasped your chin as you stared down at him. “Need some help, baby? Need help riding my big cock?”

You nodded, “Yes, please. I can take it, please.” One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, and the other grasped his shoulder. Your nails dug into his skin as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He lifted you off of him a bit, and began to drill into you from beneath you.

You pressed your forehead against his, your mouth open in a silent scream. You couldn’t think as he set a relentless pace, barrelling into your swollen hole without abandon. Your thighs quivered and began to shake; if it weren’t for him holding you up, you would have collapsed on top of him. He was so deep, abusing your pussy as tears of sheer pleasure clouded your vision.

You felt his hips stutter beneath you, and you moved your hand from his shoulder, to his throat. “Don’t fucking stop,” you moaned, your voice cracking. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed throatily, his breath fanning over your face. “Oh, if I had the willpower to torture you with my cock right now, I promise you I would, sweetheart. But I’ve gotta cum in this pussy, now.”

Tears swept down your cheeks as he maintained his rhythm. Sweat poured down your face, and mingled with the dampness of your tears. You squeezed your eyes closed, your entire body shaking as you approached your release.

"Poor little pitiful thing..." he muttered. "I love seeing you cry over my cock. Feels good, huh baby? Splitting you open like that..."

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck, I’m cumming, Danny– Oh, motherfuck–” Your voice was cut off by the heaving breaths breaking from your throat. Your cunt tightened around Danny’s thick length, squeezing deliciously as he fucked you straight through your orgasm. Your entire mind was blank, your vision cloudy as you slumped against him. But he wasn’t done with you; his pace was more relentless than ever as he chased his own high. You used the last of your energy to meet his thrusting, pushing him closer to the edge.

“Almost there,” he whispered, his features twisted in focus as you fucked down onto him. You rocked your hips, swirling around on his cock. His mouth fell open, and his features screwed up in pleasure. A strangled moan fell from his lips, and you felt his hot cum shooting inside of you, staining your walls. He came with a deep groan of your name, and you throbbed around him.

You whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out of you, his strong arms still holding you above him. Gently, he released your waist, and you slumped down onto his chest. The two of you were covered in sweat, sticky and smelling distinctly of arousal. Around you, the windows of his car had fogged up enough that you could barely see out of them.

“You okay?” Danny asked quietly as you rolled back into your own seat, pressing your back against the door. You were still panting, your skirt hitched up around your hips. Your panties had been ripped to shreds in the process, threads dangling from your thighs. Absent-mindedly, you struggled to remove them.

“I’m good,” you nodded, taking a deep breath as you tried your best to fix your appearance.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said, sounding almost sorry.

“It was a good cry.” A laugh fell from your lips, and you were glad to see him smile. A real smile this time. Not the shit-eating grin you were used to.

“Want me to walk you up?” He nodded towards the door to your house, slowly becoming visible through the fogged up windows.

You nodded. “Sure,” you said. “Think I might need you to carry me after that.”

“I can manage that. If you can do me one favor in the morning…”

“And what would that be?”

“Tell Josh I said thanks for calling me,” he said cheekily.

“Oh, shut up,” you reached over and smacked him on the chest, then shook your head as he ducked out of the car. What were you going to do with him?

#danny x reader #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner imagine #danny wagner smut #greta van fleet x reader #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fic #gvf imagine #gvf x reader #gvf fic #gvf smut #my writing #greta van fleet #queue are my special

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word-wytch · 9 months

Text

warm vanilla sugar.

Little Eddie and his mom, Elizabeth, bake Christmas cookies together. [2k]

CW: tooth-rotting fluff, depictions of poverty, angst over paternal absence

December 24th 1971

Philadelphia Street was quiet on Christmas Eve. It was always pretty quiet in the dead of winter, especially once the sun went down. Nothing but the wind rustling through the glittering branches under the street lamps.

But if you listened closely just outside the smallest house—the Munson’s house—there was music. There almost always was. Crackling and popping, the spinning record warmed the house with carols sung by Ella Fitzgerald this time. Tinsel glittered in the light of the colored bulbs on the little fake tree by the large front window. Behind the house there was a light as well, glowing warmly from the small kitchen window in front of the sink.

Perched on a chair at the counter with hands barely as big as the plastic cookie cutter, Eddie made his first big impression, stamping the dough in the shape of a snowman. He peeled it back with wondrous satisfaction, eagerly stamping another in the middle of the flour-dusted canvass, and another above it in frantic succession.

“Easy there, big guy,” came a voice from beside him; warm and sweet like honey on toast. A pale hand blotched with green food coloring intercepted, lifting the plastic from the dough before Eddie could get his grips on it again. “Gotta keep ‘em close together, we’ll get more cookies that way,” Elizabeth said with a wink. “Like this.” Gingerly, she lined the snowman up beside one of its kin, upside down so that the large bottom tessellated snugly beside the top hat of the other.

Sudden laughter erupted out of her son: bright, bubbling, and contagious.

“What’re you gigglin’ about?” She punctuated the question with a teasing poke at his ribs.

Eddie pointed a trembling little finger at the scene, biting back his snicker enough for words to make it out. “His butt’s in his faaace!” He doubled over at his own joke, as if saying it out loud made it twice as funny.

Elizabeth shook her head with a soft smirk at her son—the comedian—whose laughter was sweeter than any song she’d ever heard. His cheeks were pink from it, dimpled and squishy like the dough under her rolling pin. Tempting enough to take a bite.

“What, like this?” She dove in, blowing raspberries against his chubby cheeks as he squirmed in her arms. His laughter erupted in squeals. “MmmooO—HAHA—mmmm!” Eddiesqueaked in a few gasps between laughs. It was a merciless onslaught; locked in a bear hug while fingers tickled his ribs. When Elizabeth was finally satisfied, she loosened her grip, pulling him into a hug with a soothing hand at his back to calm him down.

Sucking in deep, ragged breaths, his chin nestled into her shoulder, into her long, strawberry blonde hair. She’d styled it extra today; half-up in a clip with those swooping curtain bangs framing her face. It was rare she had anywhere to be but at home, but that wouldn’t stop her from feeling like Bridgette Bardot on Christmas Eve. Hairspray was her secret weapon. It was cheap and always on hand. With it, she could transform into whoever she wanted.

The scent of hairspray—of her—enveloped Eddie just like her arms. Warm like sheets freshly dried in the sun. More comforting than anything on Earth. Her hand rubbed loving circles into his green sweater while his own sticky fingers tangled into the oatmeal knit of hers. Finally Eddie let go, hands trailing the belt of her belled blue jeans as he steadied his stocking feet on the chair.

All calmed down, she nodded toward the cookie cutter. “Ok, go on and press it now.”

White plastic sunk into the dough, and Eddie beamed up at his mom with a smile that could outshine the moon, even with a few missing teeth.

“Good job! See it’s cold out there so they’ve gotta snuggle up real close to stay warm,” she said with a giggle, giving Eddie a side-squeeze. Before his hands could press another cookie, hers found the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling the flour and crumbs of dough caught in the knit up and away until they sat snugly below his elbows. “There you go, much better. Think you can handle it, big guy?” Elizabeth asked, turning back to her bowl of frosting on the counter.

“Okay Mommy,” he said, gripping the back of the chair for balance before finding the cookie cutter again. With careful precision, he hovered the snowman over the dough close enough to touch mittens with the one beside it before pressing down. “Good job!” He heard her coo, and that was all he needed.

It was good to see him like this, so preoccupied with the project in front of him that he hadn’t even glanced at the front door. He’d been watching it a lot lately. Even more as the days grew closer to the big one. Green blotches of food coloring stretched into trails beneath Elizabeth’s spatula as she blended the dye into the crisco and margarine mixture, tucking the metal bowl against her chest for leverage. When blended to a smooth, pale green, she set it beside the red and white ones. Sighing sharply, she glanced over her shoulder at the porch light shining through the glass. Still no shadow, no sound of heavy boots. Only the crooning of Ella Fitzgerald, swinging along with her band to “Sleigh Ride” in the living room.

“I goooot it!” Eddie chirped proudly, holding up a snowman by the hat in his small fist as its doughy body drooped towards the floor.

“Oh sweetie! Here, let’s get a pan.” Rushing to the oven, she snatched a well-loved baking sheet from atop the burners, pivoting to bring it under Eddie’s outstretched arm just in time. The dough hit the pan with a dull thud. The snowballs had stretched to droopy ovals, twice as long as all the others. Tiny grip marks dented the hat. Eddie—proud creator—beamed down upon its gooey form.

“Oh wow, he’s—he’s a very tall snowman now!” Elizabeth exclaimed, sealing her snicker behind her twitching pink lips. She set the pan down in front of her mixing bowls. “Here, let me show you a trick, watch this.” Coming up behind him, she reached around his shoulder to pinch a corner of the dough. With a slow, upward pull, it became lace, leaving only the snowmen scattered on the large wooden cutting board. “See, like magic!”

And it was. Magic to see those umber saucers filled with wonder, to see her own eyes reflected back. But it wasn’t long before his tiny hands grew eager again, grabbing at a doughy body. “Woah—woah,” she clasped his wrist and his clutch slowly released. “We’re gonna use a spatula this time ok? It’ll be safer that way.” For the snowmen.

The oven was already warm. It had been for an hour now, just warming up the kitchen. Cookies were a great excuse for that. Sometimes in the dead of winter, when cold crept in through the single pane windows, Elizabeth would light up the old Magic Chef and leave the thick, enamel door hanging open. It would warm the whole kitchen, living room too. Sometimes she and Eddie would pull up chairs, wrap themselves in blankets, and pretend like they were roasting marshmallows. Cranking the thermostat was too expensive, but they could afford a fantasy.

Snowman cookies went in the oven this time, and by the time they came out, Eddie had a whole batch of Christmas trees ready to go. Steam rose from the snowmen as they cooled on the rack, and Elizabeth rolled out the dough for the Santa ones next. Even in the warmer-than-usual kitchen, it didn’t take long before the snowmen were cool enough to frost.

Eddie was ready, holding the loaded butterknife tight in his grip. It descended with a plop on a snowman, and a haphazard jerking of the knife left it thick on the bottom and thin on the top. Eddie picked it up, poking out his tongue in concentration as he tried his best to spread it, but the pressure from the knife snapped the head clean off. It fell to the cutting board with a clatter of crumbs. “Noooo!” he wailed.

Elizabeth tossed her head back with a chuckle as sweet as molasses. “Some must be sacrificed,” she said with a wink, picking up the head. Gently, she took the butterknife out of his grip, grabbing a dollop of frosting from the bowl before giving it a generous smear. She handed it to Eddie. “Guess we’re gonna have to eat ‘im, huh?”

He didn’t waste a beat, stuffing it into his mouth in one eager bite. His crumb-dusted smile was enough to warm the whole house. Leaning against the counter with a soft chuckle, Elizabeth took a bite of the body. It was still a little warm, the dough flaking ever so slightly beneath the glob of sweet vanilla that her teeth left marks in. Grabbing her half-full coffee mug from beside a dirty mixing bowl, she chased it with a cold sip. “How ‘bout I frost and you decorate, big guy?”

Eddie was happy to do anything that involved sugar. Happy to lick it off his fingers, happy to bury his hands in the sprinkles—transferred to bowls for more accurate decorating after the plastic shakers left more on the tray than the cookies. Still, Eddie was more than generous, grabbing handfuls and releasing them in hills atop the frosting.

“Mommy you think Santa’s gonna see my list?” Santa and list were challenging words without front teeth, but he managed.

She paused as a sinking feeling crept into her stomach. Staring down at the long, half-frosted snowman in her hands—darker than the others and fragile due to its thinness—she took a deep breath before answering. “Yes baby, it’s right on the coffee table.”

Rainbow sprinkles clung to his fingers as he released another pile, leaving behind colored dots on his palms. “We’re gonna have to give him extra cookies so he brings everything.”

Twinging, she glanced at the door. “Baby, you know sometimes Santa and his elves get real busy and gotta make sure they have enough presents for everybody. Means he can only pick one or two things from each person’s list, you see.” Let alone a whole dang person.

Eddie frowned, gnawing his lip as he stared down at all his hard work. “But he’s magic.”

Elizabeth set down the cookie, folding her arms across her well-worn floral apron with a heavy sigh. “I know, baby.” But he don’t work miracles. Staring into the bowl of frosting, her mind drifted back to the bedroom closet where two wrapped gifts lay tucked away. On the shelf above the coat rack was a dwindling bundle of cash in a brown paper bag. It was all Al had left behind three months ago when he said he’d be gone only one. She’d made it stretch, but barely. Elizabeth Munson wasn’t going to let that dampen the occasion though. Not today, not ever. Brightening her eyes, she turned to face her son. “But you know what? Christmas is really ‘bout appreciating what you got already.”

Eddie looked down at the snowmen, at their white bellies full of rainbow sprinkles. A few sprinkles dropped from his sticky palms as his shoulders began to slump, but suddenly a finger lifted his chin; soft as a peach and blotted with green food coloring. Suddenly he was staring into his favorite set of eyes, warmer than Tennessee whiskey.

Elizabeth cupped his sweet face, rubbing her thumbs along the apples of his cheeks. “You know what I appreciate?”

“Wha-?” was all he could mumble from between her palms.

“You.” She planted a big kiss on his forehead.

Her smile was infectious, and before Eddie knew it, one was cracking across his face too—crooked and toothless. His sticky fingers found her wrists, lowering them softly to free his cheeks. He had something important to say. “I ‘preciate you too Mommy.”

Elizabeth Munson had a smile like the sun; radiant and warm even on the coldest days. Because when Elizabeth Munson was happy, the whole entire world was happy.

And Eddie was no exception.

______

A/N: I might have gone through half a box of tissues to bring you this.

I might do more little vignettes like this. I just love Elizabeth Munson so much and it was really fun to develop her character more and give her a sweet moment with her boy.

✨ If you enjoyed this, please let me know! Your feedback keeps me writing and sharing helps others find it too! ✨

📖 MASTERLIST 🖋️AO3 ☕️ KO-FI

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #elizabeth munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #flight of icarus #eddie and elizabeth

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