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atleastpleasetelephone · 23 days ago

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Brat

Pairing: 75!Elvis x bratty!reader

Word count: 2.4K

TWs: Smut, reader calls Elvis daddy and sir, reader is bratty, Elvis is dominant, spanking, begging, praise kink, possessive kink, copious amounts of cum(!), licking of said cum, panty stealing!Elvis.

A/N: I was looking at the photo below and started imagining what it would be like to wake up the morning after the night before and put that jacket on... kind of like a fancy version of putting on your boyf's hoody.

Waking up, you roll over and see the sleeping form of Elvis Presley lying next to you. Last night comes back in flashes, the show, the kisses, the after party… you groan and rub your eyes. Looking over at him again, long lashes tickling his cheeks, furry sideburns that tickled your skin some time early this morning… one pyjama’d arm outside of the comforter. You peek under your side of the bedding to confirm your suspicions - you’re completely naked.

Wondering idly where your clothes are, you watch him, chest rising and falling as he continues his peaceful slumber. You stay like that for a while, and then your curiosity gets the better of you. Pulling back the covers, you slide your legs off the bed and let your feet dig into the thick carpet beside it. Checking quickly that you haven’t disturbed him, you stand up and wander round to his side of the room, looking for your clothes. All you find is his jacket from last night, the one he was wearing onstage. A flash of a memory pops up, you trying to free him from the million and one layers he’d been wearing, getting somehow tangled and him laughing, eyes crinkled, belly heaving. Picking up the jacket, you’re surprised by how heavy it is. You sling it around your shoulders and put your arms through the sleeves. Checking your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but admire the way the shoulders sparkle as you move. They’re so pretty. You do up the single button in the middle and then check the status of sleeping beauty in the bed again. He still hasn’t moved a muscle. You turn the door handle slowly and then pull the door towards you, poking your face through the gap.

The scene before you is messy and brings back another ghost of a memory of the night before; a blur of bodies, laughter and singing. Some of the bodies are still there, one asleep in an armchair and a couple lying on the floor. There are bottles and glasses strewn everywhere, as well as odd shoes and random items of clothing left behind by their owners. You squeeze through the doorway and then carefully close the door behind you as silently as you can. Padding through the rest of the suite looking at the detritus of the night before, you finally find what you’re looking for. Or, some of it. There’s your dress, and your bra. Your panties are nowhere to be seen. Neither are your hose, but thinking about them reminds you of Elvis between your legs, tearing them off with his teeth. That explains that, then. Picking the clothes up, you finish your little tour of the suite at the coffee machine, setting up a pot and waiting for it to brew. The noise makes a couple of people stir in their sleep, but none of them wake up. You grab a packet of cookies that you find under the counter along with a freshly poured coffee and take your spoils with you back to the bedroom. Slowly, quietly opening the door…

“Where’ve ya been?”

His voice is hoarse and he doesn’t sound pleased. A supposition on your part that’s confirmed by the look on his face, frowning, an exasperated hand running from brow to chin. Looking like he couldn’t believe you’d leave the room without permission.

“Tryna find my clothes,” you explain, slipping into the room and closing the door behind you.

His eyes skate over you in his jacket, and only his jacket, and the look makes your nipples harden with excitement.

“Ya find ‘em?”

You nod, making your way towards him. “Most of ‘em anyway.” Cocking your head to the side, you squint at him a little. “You seen my panties?”

“Well I can tell yer not wearin’ ‘em now.” An eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I would be,” you counter, tossing your dress and bra onto an armchair near your side of the bed. “If I knew where they were. Thought you mighta seen ‘em.”

You take a sip of coffee and watch his reaction.

“You accusin’ me of somethin’, little girl?”

“If the shoe fits.” You throw the pack of cookies at him. “Want a cookie?”

His mouth curls into a smile and he laughs a little. “Yer somethin’ else, ya know that?”

“Want a sip of coffee to go with? Or I could get ya your own?”

You move closer, almost within grabbing distance.

“An’ go out there again with no panties on?”

“Well, if I knew where they were…” head to one side now, one hand on your hip.

He shakes his head slowly. “C’mere. Put that down.”

One step nearer and now you’re definitely close enough to touch, setting your cup down on the side and smiling at him. He pulls the covers back, revealing his hard-on straining against the material of his pyjama bottoms. You bite your lip.

“C’mon.”

You don’t need telling twice, taking his hand to help you back on the bed and into his lap. His hands slide up your thighs and you can see him admiring the view between your legs. Not wanting to waste any time, you reach into his pants and pull his dick out, stroking it lovingly. His breathing gets heavier and he glances up at your face.

“Ya look good in my jacket.”

You smile, wickedly. “Want me to ride you in it?”

He nods eagerly, then moans as you shuffle forward a little, rubbing him against your pussy.

“Fuck, baby.”

Moaning a little too, you keep sliding his dick against you, covering it with your arousal.

“You like that?” You tease, knowing fine well he does.

“Mmm. Put it in, baby. Need ta feel ya.”

Your brain short-circuits to last night, his head between your legs, your fingers in his hair. He’d said it was too late, or he was too tired, or too drunk, or too old. But he’d made you cum again and again with his hands and his mouth.

You get onto your knees before sinking slowly down onto his length for the first time, gasping at the way he stretches you out. His eyes are squeezed shut as a breath puffs out through his full, pink lips.

“Shit.”

Roughened fingertips dig into your hips as you sit there, getting used to him. His eyes open slowly and he stares at you. You stare back.

“Your dick feels good.”

Elvis isn’t used to women being quite so vulgar, and his eyes go wide at the words.

“H-honey,” he stammers a little as you start to roll your hips. “No need fer that kinda language, i-is there?”

Nibbling your lower lip you try to hide your smile. “But Daddy, it feels good.”

You see the blush rising over his face at your words and the smile sneaks through against your will.

“S-stop it.”

“Stop what?” You’re wide-eyed, putting on the expression of an innocent girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. “Stop moving, Daddy? That what you want?” Your hips still.

“That filthy language, little girl,” he chastises, trying to win back the upper hand. “Don’t wanna hear that coming outta that pretty lil mouth a yours.”

You remain still, tilting your head to the side, questioningly. “I only called ya Daddy.”

“Well I didn’t ask ya ta, did I?”

His fingers dig into your flesh again, and this time it hurts a little. You wonder what kind of game you’re playing now, but you can’t stop.

“You don’t like it?”

His jaw clenches and his eyes darken. “Move.”

“No.”

His tongue runs along his lower lip slowly, and then makes it way over his upper lip too. As if he’s contemplating what exactly to do with a girl who disobeys him.

“I’ll move ya then.”

His hands are big and strong, and they move you up and down on him with ease. You press your lips together firmly and try your best to look like you’re not enjoying yourself. He looks at you with interest, you can see him analysing your every move, each little look, how heavily you breathe. You feel like he knows you’re pretending, but you have to keep it up. Can’t let him think he’s won.

“Ya look so pretty,” he observes. “Gettin’ fucked on my dick.”

Your eyes go wide, almost involuntarily. You’re outraged, you can’t help it.

“You just told me off fer bein’ vulgar!”

He smirks, and you know he enjoyed getting that rise out of you.

“That’s my prerogative, honey,” he explains, a finger moving to flick the jacket button open, exposing your naked torso. “Like ma girls ta be polite.”

“Even when they’re gettin’ fucked on your dick?”

He slaps you hard on the side of the thigh. You squeal.

“What did I jus’ tell ya?”

“But yer not being fair!” You whine, your composure completely gone.

He smirks, saying nothing in response, which makes you even more mad. How can he be allowed to say whatever he wants, and you’re not allowed to cuss? Or talk about his dick? Or even call him Daddy? You find yourself making a bratty whining noise, huffing out the air in your cheeks and frowning moodily. It just makes him smirk all the more, still moving you up and down on him.

“Ya want me ta be yer Daddy, ya haveta do as yer told.”

You whine again and he slaps your ass this time.

“C’mon, little girl. Don’t make me spank ya til yer sore.”

The look on your face is still defiant and he recognises it immediately and shakes his head, clicking his tongue too. He lets go of your hips and you sit down on him with a bump. One arm wraps around you, pulling you tightly against him and making the jacket ride up a little.

“Yer gonna do as yer told, baby,” he purrs into your ear, as his other hand moves back just enough to deliver a hard slap to your ass cheek.

You try not to react, but with your body pressed against him like this he can feel everything. Your breathing changes, you make involuntary little noises as he keeps spanking you, your pussy grips him like a vice. You grit your teeth as he keeps going, hard slow slaps and then three or four fast ones in a row. Eventually you can’t keep it together any longer and you groan into his neck.

“Please stop… please.”

You hear his low chuckle in your ear. “Ya gonna be a good girl f’me?”

“Yes. I promise.”

His lips drag up your neck, giving you goosebumps.

“No more cussin’?”

“N-no more cussin’.”

You feel his lips curling into a smile against your skin and you want to be annoyed that you’ve lost, but there’s something about him putting you in your place when you’re being a brat that’s making you embarrassingly wet right now.

“No callin’ me Daddy ‘less I tell ya ta?”

“No… I promise… I’m sorry,” you breathe.

“Oh. Good girl,” he coos back.

You feel yourself melt. This back and forth between you is electric, you’ve never felt a spark like it. You want to be good for him. More than that, you want to be naughty and for him to make you be good for him. He lets you go and you start to move up and down on him, bouncing on his dick, your hands on his shoulders for balance. The look on his face is one of pure satisfaction; knowing he’s successfully broken a bratty little girl and made her his.

“Ya gonna make Daddy cum?”

You nod quickly. You do want to make him cum.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He grunts with pleasure, and you feel his hips buck into you erratically now. You moan too, it feels so good and you don’t care that you can’t cum like this. All you want is to please him. Without warning, he picks you up and plonks you back down on his legs, telling you to finish him with your hand. You do, and it’s seconds before you and the jacket are covered in him. The noise he makes when he finishes is so sexy you immediately want to find out what to do to make him hard again.

He looks up at you through hooded eyes. “Made a mess a my jacket, honey.”

You nod.

“Why don’tcha lick it clean?”

There’s still a hotness between your legs and that desperate urge to please him, so you do as he says, licking your sleeve and lapel and then running your finger over your belly, collecting the semen there and sucking it off again. When you’re done with yourself you get off him, lying to one side and licking his belly clean too. His hand goes to your face.

“That’s enough, pretty girl.”

He slides down beside you in the bed and kisses you deeply. Pushing the jacket off your shoulders he pulls you in close, tangling your legs together. When you eventually both draw breath, his forehead presses against yours and you look into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Thank you,” comes out of your mouth before you can think about it.

He grins. “Ya were good fer me in the end.”

“Good enough to… call ya somethin’?” You venture.

“Maybe,” he teases. “Still wanna know what happened ta yer panties?”

You’d forgotten all about the panties, but you are interested so you nod, watching him reach into one of his pockets and pull out a black lacey pair that you recognise. He waves them in front of your face and grins.

“You kept them!” You can’t help squealing.

He smirks. “Sure did. Somethin’ ta remember ya by.”

“Am I leavin’?” You ask, trying not to let your voice wobble.

“Not unless ya want ta.”

You shake your head. “No sir. I wanna stay here and please you.”

He drops the panties onto the bed and grabs your face with his hand. You can hear the satisfaction in his tone. “I think sir is a very good place ta start with that, baby. You please me enough an’ imma let ya call me daddy.”

“Yessir.” You tingle all over with excitement.

He moans at the honorific and starts to kiss you again. This promises to be a very fun day indeed…

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x you

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wlntrsldler · 11 months ago

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poisoned mercury | everybody talks

a/n: don't love this chapter. definitely a filler, but the next chapter is much more fun!

iii. everybody talks by neon trees

series masterlist | previous | next

tagged chrisr0driguez, travisstoll, and connorstoll.

lukecastell4n: little break but we'll be back so soon poisonedmercury

poisonedmercuryfan: new music????????

castell4nsgf: omg im excited

stollsluvr: ME TOO

chrisr0driguez: we miss you guys already!

lukecastell4n: fr, we miss seeing your beautiful faces on tour :(

travisstoll: working hard

lukecastell4n: hardly working 🥱

connorstoll: give me my guitar back

lukecastell4n: no

“mornin’ five star,” luke tossed you one of your probiotic drinks from the fridge as you entered the kitchen.

you caught it seamlessly, mumbling a quick thank you. it wasn’t even seven am, but the two of you were already awake. it became a routine since it seemed like you both had the same idea. your coach told you that you needed to workout, even though you were on probation, in the off-chance that you’ll be allowed to play again when the season starts. you figured that the campers would be enjoying their vacations and sleeping in so you’d have the community gym to yourself. unfortunately for you, luke castellan was an early bird.

your gym schedules synced up and you often found yourself having to make small talk with him in the kitchen while you filled up your water bottle before you ditched him to head to the gym. he would trail a respectable distance behind you, giving you your space, as he walked to the gym. the two of you did your separate workouts, sneaking glances at one another because it was a little awkward that you lived together, went to the gym at the same time, but didn’t talk to each other.

it wasn’t for a lack of trying on luke’s part. he’d tried to talk to you a few times, but it seemed to not be a good idea to start a conversation before you had your morning coffee. it was funny for the first few days, but he was afraid that it would quickly cross the boundary of being quirky and cute to being straight-up annoying. he lived with you and he showed mercy to the rest of your cabinmates by not pushing your buttons. too much.

he still occasionally indulged in bickering with you, which seemed to be all of your conversations. you always found something new to argue with him about. your dad was right about you being hard-headed and stubborn, but for some reason, luke didn’t mind. his days at camp were fun, at least, as fun as a summer camp could be, and your interactions kept him on his toes. the usual schedule of meals, rehearsals, and attempts to write new songs, became repetitive after a few days, but with you in his face, ready to argue at any moment, it felt like there was something to look forward to.

you took the foil off your drink, downing it in one go. you tossed it in the recycling bin before turning to him, “do you go to the gym at this hour to spite me?”

luke chuckled, cracking open a red bull, “the word doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”

“i know that,” you rolled your eyes, “but you can go to the gym any time in the day and you choose to go at the ass crack of dawn. why?”

“it’s peaceful,” he shrugged, “the machines are empty and i don’t have to wait. it’s nice.”

“that’s why i go this early.”

“see,” he smiled, tilting his head. “great minds think alike.”

you grimaced at his comparison, scrunching your face up. the sun was beginning to rise causing an orange glow to cast on your face. despite waking up so early and sleeping so late– he’d heard you come in with clarisse at 3 am this morning after a late-night smoke session, luke couldn’t see a trace of tiredness on your features. luke envied you. he definitely did not look that good after 3 hours of sleep.

you fixed the zipper of your sweater, adjusting the bottom of it to better fit your hips. you were wearing a tight-fitting workout outfit, black nike pros, and the usual vans you wore when you worked out. your hair was in a high ponytail keeping it out of your face, which was a good thing. he’d seen how intense your workouts were and you definitely didn’t need to have your hair in your face while you leg pressed 275.

“i just feel like i see you everywhere,” you commented, “and everyone just wants to talk about you.”

luke’s eyes twinkled, “what do they say?”

“luke castellan is so talented, luke castellan is so hot, blah, blah, blah,” you imitated the words you’d heard from other campers, sighing in discontent. “like shut up already. i thought that it would die down after the first day of you guys being here, but it’s been a week and it’s the same thing.”

luke followed you out the cabin door, walking beside you for the first time since you both started going to the gym at the same time, “well, do you agree with them?”

you stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. your eyes raked over his face and his body, contemplating. you weren’t blind. you understood why people said what they said about him. luke castellan was attractive with his curls and toned arms and his stupid full lips, which seemed to always be in a smirk, but the hype was too much. and poisoned mercury’s music was good– great even, but you needed to hear something other than how muscular luke castellan was or how his scar made him look rugged or how his voice sounded like angels singing. you were at your breaking point.

luke stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes and the balls of his feet, patiently waiting until you made up your mind. your lips formed a tight line, “i don’t see it.”

“fuck, five star,” luke scoffed, unable to stop the smile on his face. he shook his head, curls bouncing around, “you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“don’t need to fuel your ego any more than everyone else does,” you replied, continuing your walk to the gym.

you didn’t seem to mind that luke continued to walk beside you, which was progress, in luke’s mind. his bandmates have been on his ass about trying to be friends with you since the rest of them developed friendships with you and clarisse over the week they’d been here.

he’d seen you on the couch with chris watching tiktok videos on how to properly take care of his curls a few times. (luke was not stealing some of the curl cream that chris bought per your recommendation. his curls just suddenly became a lot more defined recently.) he watched you play darts with travis at the activities center and argued with him about why he didn’t need to buy a dart set for the cabin. (he agreed with you there. there was an incident in atlanta where connor was sent to the er because travis managed to lodge a dart in connor’s calf after losing a game.) he once saw you, clarisse, and connor return from a swim in the lake in the middle of the night when he stayed up trying to write a song. (the song remains unfinished on his notepad, tucked safely away on his bedside table. he had no inspiration to write any music at the moment.)

again, it wasn’t for his lack of trying. you just didn’t seem interested in forming a relationship with him outside of being roommates. it was getting to him. just a little bit. he found himself thinking of you a lot. the boys started to comment on how he hadn’t gotten with anyone at camp yet, despite getting numerous offers from older campers and head counselors alike, but luke shrugged it off and said that he didn’t want to start drama so early on in the summer. it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. for some reason, he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

“i can’t control what people say,” luke said after a moment. “i’m sure it must be so annoying to hear about how great i am.”

“you are so full of yourself,” you groaned, shooting daggers in his direction. this made him laugh. “you know what you can control, though?”

“what?”

“the mess you make in the cabin,” you replied, “seriously, you guys have been here a week and the cabin already looks like a fucking frat house.”

luke thought about the state of the common area. you were right. the cabin was a mess, empty cans everywhere, crumbs on every surface, and wires from the playstation scattered across the living room floor. the boys weren’t the neatest, they were teenagers after all, and luke had to clean up after them more times than he could count. having his mom on tour meant that he often got stuck with clean-up duty.

“hey, don’t blame me,” he raised his hands up in defense. “i recycle.”

“aren’t you a model citizen?” you remarked sarcastically, opening the door to the gym. you pursed your lips, staring at luke. “yeah, i still don’t get it.”

luke snorted, smiling at you, “have a good workout, five star. looking forward to walking home in silence with you.”

when you didn’t say anything else, but threw up the middle finger as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but stare at your figure before you disappeared from his view. what a way to start his day.

–

“hi, luke,” two girls called as they passed by the boys, waving flirtily at the lead singer.

luke sent them a smile back, tossing a wink to them that made them giggle as they walked away. it was a miracle that there were no news leaks about where they were. luke’s mom was happy that this arrangement was working out.

travis swung an arm around luke, “c’mon castellan, save some girls for the rest of us.”

luke pushed his arm off, laughing, “trav, didn’t you literally go home with a girl on our first night here?”

“ah, yes, stacy,” travis sighed, dreamily, smirking to himself as he recalled his first night at camp. he shook his head, facing luke again, “but seriously, castellan, ten girls have said hi to you since we left dinner and you’re flirting with them but not doing anything about it.”

“i promised my mom i’d be good this summer,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his front pockets as he led the boys into the cabin. “and i told you guys, it’s too early to start shit. we got the whole summer. spread out your escapades, stoll.”

luke thought that being back at camp half blood would bring back some terrible memories, especially his last summer there. it was the summer right after his dad left and luke was miserable. he was a moody 8-year-old who yelled at everybody who tried to be his friend, which resulted in him being alone all summer. he sat in the back of the room during music lessons, refused to participate in the end-of-summer performance, and on many nights, cried himself to sleep because he missed his dad. he felt pathetic.

but so far, surprisingly, camp was actually nice. at his core, luke was a music fanatic, so it was energizing for him to get to talk about his music and his journey to stardom. his favorite interaction so far was with two, younger boys, who enthusiastically approached him and said that they were learning how to play guitar and sing because they looked up to the band. it was a little concerning at first, given that the band’s reputation wasn’t necessarily kid-appropriate, but he appreciated the sentiment. grover and percy walked away grinning from ear to ear when luke made them promise that they’d stop by again soon to show him their progress.

luke sat on the bar chair, watching as connor and chris turned on the playstation, mumbling about a rematch on 2k to prove that one was better than the other. many things changed in all of their lives, but some things stayed the same. they were still just four best friends; the difference was, now, they got to travel the world together doing what they loved.

chris and luke met in their freshman english class. chris let it slip that he was learning how to play bass because his mom warned him that if he broke another bone trying to skateboard, he’d have to walk to the hospital himself. she was joking, of course, but chris figured that after two years of failed attempts at learning how to skate, he should hang it up.

he decided to try his hand at music and the bass became his new hyperfixation. they started writing music in luke’s old bedroom in connecticut shortly after. for years, the songs were just for them. they recorded it on shitty equipment and used garageband to fill in the instrumentals until they met the stolls. the stolls, luke’s neighbors who moved into town when luke was 16, heard them trying to figure out a hook for a song they were writing and offered some help. travis, with connor behind him, introduced themselves and the rest is history.

poisoned mercury was born. travis convinced the other three that their music was good, that they should go out and play at local cafes and bars. at 16, luke became the front man of poisoned mercury. the song the four of them wrote together on their first day as a band, became the lead single of their debut album. kilby girl spent thirteen weeks on billboard top 50 and in less than a year and a half, the boys had a record deal with olympus records and they were heading off to start the north american leg of their world tour.

you walked into the cabin with clarisse, laughing as she explained the incident that caused her to have glitter all over her face and her hair. one of her campers was having trouble opening the glitter jar and when she came over to help, the top popped off and glitter sprayed all over her.

“i feel glitter everywhere,” she shuddered, “i need a shower before we help out with concert prep.”

you looked around the cabin, grimacing, “it smells like boy in here.”

“it’s our bachelor pad,” travis called out from the kitchen. he walked out into the living room with a fresh hot pocket in his hand, eyes widening at the sight of clarisse, “woah, what happened to you?”

“arts and crafts day,” clarisse cringed, falling into the couch cushions. “i’m gonna be covered in glitter for days.”

“hey, watch out,” connor paused the game he was playing with chris, shoving clarisse slightly. “you’re gonna get glitter everywhere.”

“ah, yes, because having glitter is going to ruin the aesthetic of empty cans and half-eaten chip bags?” clarisse cocked an eyebrow, pointing at the mess the boys made. you and her were engaged in a passionate rant about how much it sucked living with teenage boys before your arrival to the cabin.

“we’ll clean up,” chris rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly glancing at clarisse. you had a feeling that cleaning was the last thing on their agenda.

you sat on the bar stool across from luke, “i didn’t expect to live in the mojo dojo casa house this summer.”

“the what?”

“from barbie,” you replied, “when the kens take over barbieland?”

luke shook his head, “haven’t seen it.”

of course, he hasn’t seen it. clarisse and the boys fell into a conversation about how she accidentally got glitter bombed. luke watched you as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, occasionally letting a chuckle leave your lips when you found something funny. he felt a little creepy staring at you like this, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

the sun was shining behind you, a soft glow framing your face and it made your brown eyes look like pools of honey. your nose piercing was iridescent under the light, which made luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise. he thought it was just plain silver, but when you tilted your head in certain directions, he could see sparkles of purple and pink. your long hair was thrown messily over your shoulders, a few tangles here and there, and the god-awful, orange camp half blood shirt you wore actually suited you. luke was a firm believer that nobody looked good in orange until he saw you in it.

“you’re staring,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “don’t tell me i have glitter on my face now too.”

luke cleared his throat, playing with the chain around his neck, “yeah, like a tiny speck on your cheek.”

you groaned, rubbing the right side of your face, “is it gone?”

you didn’t actually have any glitter on your face, but luke figured it would be less awkward to say that you did instead of telling you that he was staring just to stare. he nodded, “you got it.”

“thanks, i cannot deal with glitter,” you got up, walking over to the group. “hey, we can use some help with prep for next week’s concert if you guys are free.”

“we’re not doing anything, right?” connor looked around. travis and chris shook their heads. “what about you, castellan?”

“nah, i can’t,” luke said, “promised mom i’d try to write at least one song this summer and i’ve been in a rut so i think i’ll try to do that. you guys have fun though.”

“perfect,” you smiled, “we can leave after clar gets out the shower.”

they sent you a thumbs-up before you walked into your room. clarisse disappeared into the bathroom shortly after. luke took clarisse’s spot once you both left. he propped his feet up on the small table in front of him, leaning back on his seat. he waited patiently for the sound of the showers to turn on before he spoke, “she’s hot.”

“yeah, she is,” chris said, hitting play on their game.

“don’t even think about it, castellan. when i said start a relationship with her, this is not what i meant,” connor remarked, shaking his head, “we are not gonna fuck up our relationship with mr. d because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“oh, you’re talking about y/n?” the three boys stared at chris, who sunk into his seat, blushing furiously. luke narrowed his eyes at chris, a playful smile on his lips. he’ll have to ask him about that later.

travis blinked, bringing his attention to his brother, “s’not like castellan has a chance anyway.”

luke’s head snapped to travis, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean she’s out of your league, big guy,” travis shrugged.

“well, yeah,” luke rubbed his jaw. he wasn’t that dumb to believe that you were in his league. you were lightyears ahead of him. he’d been rejected before, of course he had, but not since poisoned mercury got big– again, really bad for his ego – but he’d never been counted out before he even threw his hat in the ring.

“i’m with trav on this one, luke. don’t fuck it up.”

luke stared at his friends in disbelief, “can’t y’all have a little faith in me?”

“no,” they said in unison.

“fuck you guys,” luke flipped them off, ignoring their snickers. “i’m going for a smoke.”

he really needed to get you out of his head.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

Text

The Coprophagic AI crisis

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TORONTO on Mar 22, then with LAURA POITRAS in NYC on Mar 24, then Anaheim, and more!

A key requirement for being a science fiction writer without losing your mind is the ability to distinguish between science fiction (futuristic thought experiments) and predictions. SF writers who lack this trait come to fancy themselves fortune-tellers who SEE! THE! FUTURE!

The thing is, sf writers cheat. We palm cards in order to set up pulp adventure stories that let us indulge our thought experiments. These palmed cards – say, faster-than-light drives or time-machines – are narrative devices, not scientifically grounded proposals.

Historically, the fact that some people – both writers and readers – couldn't tell the difference wasn't all that important, because people who fell prey to the sf-as-prophecy delusion didn't have the power to re-orient our society around their mistaken beliefs. But with the rise and rise of sf-obsessed tech billionaires who keep trying to invent the torment nexus, sf writers are starting to be more vocal about distinguishing between our made-up funny stories and predictions (AKA "cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion"):

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2023/11/dont-create-the-torment-nexus.html

In that spirit, I'd like to point to how one of sf's most frequently palmed cards has become a commonplace of the AI crowd. That sleight of hand is: "add enough compute and the computer will wake up." This is a shopworn cliche of sf, the idea that once a computer matches the human brain for "complexity" or "power" (or some other simple-seeming but profoundly nebulous metric), the computer will become conscious. Think of "Mike" in Heinlein's *The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Moon_Is_a_Harsh_Mistress#Plot

For people inflating the current AI hype bubble, this idea that making the AI "more powerful" will correct its defects is key. Whenever an AI "hallucinates" in a way that seems to disqualify it from the high-value applications that justify the torrent of investment in the field, boosters say, "Sure, the AI isn't good enough…yet. But once we shovel an order of magnitude more training data into the hopper, we'll solve that, because (as everyone knows) making the computer 'more powerful' solves the AI problem":

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

As the lawyers say, this "cites facts not in evidence." But let's stipulate that it's true for a moment. If all we need to make the AI better is more training data, is that something we can count on? Consider the problem of "botshit," Andre Spicer and co's very useful coinage describing "inaccurate or fabricated content" shat out at scale by AIs:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4678265

"Botshit" was coined last December, but the internet is already drowning in it. Desperate people, confronted with an economy modeled on a high-speed game of musical chairs in which the opportunities for a decent livelihood grow ever scarcer, are being scammed into generating mountains of botshit in the hopes of securing the elusive "passive income":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Botshit can be produced at a scale and velocity that beggars the imagination. Consider that Amazon has had to cap the number of self-published "books" an author can submit to a mere three books per day:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/sep/20/amazon-restricts-authors-from-self-publishing-more-than-three-books-a-day-after-ai-concerns

As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels. Even sources considered to be nominally high-quality, from Cnet articles to legal briefs, are contaminated with botshit:

https://theconversation.com/ai-is-creating-fake-legal-cases-and-making-its-way-into-real-courtrooms-with-disastrous-results-225080

Ironically, AI companies are setting themselves up for this problem. Google and Microsoft's full-court press for "AI powered search" imagines a future for the web in which search-engines stop returning links to web-pages, and instead summarize their content. The question is, why the fuck would anyone write the web if the only "person" who can find what they write is an AI's crawler, which ingests the writing for its own training, but has no interest in steering readers to see what you've written? If AI search ever becomes a thing, the open web will become an AI CAFO and search crawlers will increasingly end up imbibing the contents of its manure lagoon.

This problem has been a long time coming. Just over a year ago, Jathan Sadowski coined the term "Habsburg AI" to describe a model trained on the output of another model:

https://twitter.com/jathansadowski/status/1625245803211272194

There's a certain intuitive case for this being a bad idea, akin to feeding cows a slurry made of the diseased brains of other cows:

https://www.cdc.gov/prions/bse/index.html

But "The Curse of Recursion: Training on Generated Data Makes Models Forget," a recent paper, goes beyond the ick factor of AI that is fed on botshit and delves into the mathematical consequences of AI coprophagia:

https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493

Co-author Ross Anderson summarizes the finding neatly: "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2023/06/06/will-gpt-models-choke-on-their-own-exhaust/

Which is all to say: even if you accept the mystical proposition that more training data "solves" the AI problems that constitute total unsuitability for high-value applications that justify the trillions in valuation analysts are touting, that training data is going to be ever-more elusive.

What's more, while the proposition that "more training data will linearly improve the quality of AI predictions" is a mere article of faith, "training an AI on the output of another AI makes it exponentially worse" is a matter of fact.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/14/inhuman-centipede#enshittibottification

Image: Plamenart (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Double_Mobius_Strip.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #generative ai #André Spicer #botshit #habsburg ai #jathan sadowski #ross anderson #inhuman centipede #science fiction #mysticism

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biblical-chronicles · 8 days ago

Text

Washing machine

___________________________________

where Noel gets asked a ridiculous question about you in an interview, and the two of you decide to show the press how it really is.

___________________________________

When the journalists filed in, bright-eyed and clutching their recorders, Noel offered a small, polite nod.

The questions started simple enough: the tour, the setlists, his creative process.

“Yeah, yeah, the gigs have been decent. Fans’ve been loud, so that’s a good sign, innit? Better than people standing there like they’ve been dragged in at gunpoint.”

It was routine, nothing too exciting, but he knew how to play the game.

Then the conversation took a turn.

“So, Noel,” one of the interviewers began, leaning forward slightly, “we’ve noticed you’ve been seen out and about with your girlfriend recently. How’s she doing?”

Noel’s face softened instantly. “She’s alright, yeah. Keeps me sane, that one. Proper good laugh, you know? Got more brains than me too, which isn’t hard, but still.” He chuckled, visibly relaxing as he spoke about you. “She’s busy as ever, but she’s always making time to come out when she can. Don’t know how she does it, to be honest.”

The room chuckled along, sensing how much he enjoyed talking about you. For a moment, it seemed like the interview had taken a genuinely pleasant direction. But then, another journalist jumped in with a question that made the air shift.

“So Noel, there’s been a bit of chatter about her wardrobe actually.” they started, a tone of forced nonchalance in their voice.

Noel squinted, the beginnings of a frown forming. “Her wardrobe? What about it?”

“Well,” the journalist continued, clearly enjoying the setup, “there’s this idea floating around that she’s always wearing something new every time she’s spotted. Some people are saying she’s spoiled and blowing through your money, you know, buying new clothes constantly. How do you feel about that?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Noel’s eyebrows shot up, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

“What?” he said flatly.

The journalist hesitated, but pushed on. “I mean, it’s just—some people are wondering if—”

“Hang on,” Noel cut in, sitting up straighter. “Are you suggesting me missus is some kind of gold digger? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

The journalist stammered, clearly unprepared for the shift in tone. “No, no, it’s just—”

“No, no, no,” Noel interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “Let’s get this straight. First of all, she’s got her own job, alright? Makes her own money, does her own thing. She doesn’t need me cash, and she’d be fine without me, thank you very much.”

The room was tense now, the other journalists exchanging uneasy glances.

“And secondly,” he continued, leaning forward, “we've got a bloody washing machine, alright? She takes care of her things. You lot just see a few stitched-together pictures and think it’s some kind of bloody fashion show. It’s not me fault the press can’t specify Monday from Friday.”

He paused for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. “And even if she did wear summat new every day—which she doesn’t, by the way—what’s it to you? How is that anyone’s business? Between you and me, I’m probably the one who re-wears stuff less. So maybe ask me where all me shirts go instead of coming for her.”

The journalists sat in stunned silence as Noel stood up, visibly fuming.

“Unbelievable.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He shot a glare at the journalist who’d asked the question. “You lot need to find better things to talk about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m done here.”

Without another word, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Noel had barely kicked off his shoes and slumped onto the couch when you appeared from the kitchen, carrying two brews. You handed him one before curling up beside him, your legs tucked beneath you.

“How was the interview?” you asked, taking a sip.

Noel gave a dry laugh, rubbing his face. “Christ, where do I start? It was the usual bollocks at first, but then it took a proper nosedive into the ridiculous.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

He turned to face you, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “They started asking about you—how you’re doing and all that, which was fine. But then this one knobhead pipes up and goes, ‘Does she wear her clothes more than once?’”

You nearly choked on your tea, setting the mug down quickly. “Wait, what? They actually asked that?”

“Swear on me life,” he said, shaking his head. “Apparently, the press reckon you’re wearing something new every day and spending all me money on it.”

You just started laughing. “Oh my god. That is—what? Who even thinks of that?”

“I know.” he said, grinning now that you were in on the joke. “Told ’em we’ve got a washing machine, didn’t I? That shut ‘em up for a bit.”

You leaned back, clutching your stomach as the absurdity sank in. “This is gold. I really want to see what headline they come up with. Summat like… Shocking! Noel Gallagher’s girlfriend owns more than one pair of kecks!”

That set him off laughing. “Bang on, that. I’d bet me last quid they’ll write summat daft like that.”

Grabbing your phone, you started scrolling through some of the usual clickbait sites, searching for any fresh articles.

“Found it.” you said, holding the phone up. Noel leaned in to read over your shoulder.

The headline read: “Noel Gallagher Defends Girlfriend Over Lavish Spending Rumors: ‘We’ve Got a Washing Machine!’”

You both burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Noel,” you wheezed. “Would you have imagined, that one day you’d be clarifying that you own a bloody washing machine?”

“I’ve done some mad interviews in me time,” he said, catching his breath. “But this one? This is a new low for journalism.”

You were still laughing when you scrolled further down the article, but the humor faded as you spotted a particularly biting section. It was a line speculating that you might be using Noel for his money, complete with some snide quotes from “anonymous sources.”

Your laughter trailed off, and you set the phone down, biting your lip.

“What’s up?” Noel asked, noticing the shift in your mood.

You hesitated, then looked at him. “Do they really think that? That I’m some sort of gold digger?”

Noel’s expression hardened instantly. “Oi, don’t let that crap get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us. It’s just noise.”

“But—”

“But nowt.” he interrupted, shifting closer and taking your hand in his. “Listen to me. You’ve got your own job, your own life. You’ve never taken a thing from me that you didn’t need or couldn’t give back tenfold. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

You nodded, but the sting lingered. Noel, sensing that, squeezed your hand and softened his tone.

“Tell you what,” he said, leaning back and draping an arm around your shoulders. “Let me take you out tonight. Somewhere nice. No cooking, no cleaning—just us, yeah? You’ve probably had a long day as it is.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You don’t have to do that, Noel.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, grinning. “But I want to. Come on, let me spoil you a bit. And if the press wants to chat shit about it tomorrow, they can bloody well crack on.”

His words made you laugh again, the warmth returning to your chest. “Alright then.” you said.

As you arrived the two of you settled into a booth near the window, Noel immediately scanning the menu.

“This place alright, then?” he asked, glancing over at you.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation, but as you glanced out the window, something caught your eye—just a flicker of movement, the faint gleam of a camera lens.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” you muttered, turning back to Noel.

“What’s up now?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You gestured subtly toward the window. “Look who’s decided to capture yet another outfit of mine.”

Noel followed your gaze and let out a low groan. “Bloody vultures. Can’t give it a rest, can they?”

You sighed, leaning closer to him, trying to make yourself smaller. “I just don’t want to give them owt to work with, you know?”

Noel turned to you, his expression softening as he sensed your nerves.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “If they want a show, let’s give ’em one.”

You blinked at him, confused. “What? Noel, what are you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, his hand sliding gently around the back of your neck as he kissed you, and it wasn’t just a quick peck to shut you up.

Your hands gripped his jacket, pulling him closer without even realizing it, as the kiss deepened. There was no space between you, no time to think about the press or the cameras or anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his face still inches from yours, you were both breathing harder, your cheeks flushed. Noel grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and rough, “now they’ve got summat better to put in the papers, don’t they?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you tried to catch your breath. “Oh, yeah, that’s gonna make a great headline: Shock! Noel Gallagher kisses his own fucking missus!”

He barked out a laugh, leaning back slightly but keeping his arm draped around you. “Not bad, but I'd add summat.”

“Oh? What’s that then?”

"“‘and they both look great while they’re at it.’” He winked, the grin on his face so proud you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Unbelievable.” you muttered, still laughing as you shoved him playfully.

“Oi, don’t knock it,” he said, feigning offense. “Just tellin’ it like it is.”

___________________________________

big thanks to @ngmyfav for the request, hope you like it love !! (and the rest of ya lot too ofc) xx

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher one shots #noel gallagher fanfiction #oasis noel gallagher #noel gallagher x f!reader smut #noel gallagher x y/n #oasis fanfiction #oasis fic

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gretavangroupie · 16 days ago

Text

Bluebird Lane - Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Pining, Sexual Themes, Kissing, Touching.

A/N: Six months later... I am so sorry this took so long, and I promise the next chapter will be coming a lot sooner than this one did. Thanks for sticking it out with me! Also, a gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. Thanks for reading!

JAKE POV

The sound of the neighbor's lawn mower wakes you from your sleep far earlier than you planned. You roll to your side, pushing your hair out of your face as you tap your sound machine to shut off the white noise. The clock reads 7:51AM and the sun is shining through the slats of your blinds, warming the room despite the best efforts of your ceiling fan. You grab your phone from your nightstand, trying to open your eyes wide enough that face ID will work, blinking away the sleep and stretching out your stiff legs. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything pressing but feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that there is nothing on the calendar for you today.

You roll out of your bed, tossing the sheets and duvet over the spot you were laying in before, grabbing your sweats and sliding them over your legs. You drag yourself to the bathroom, seeing that her bedroom door is still closed and no sound is coming from behind it. She’s still asleep. Your mind flashes back to last night and the way she tasted on your lips, the softness of her skin, and the sound of her laugh.

After brushing your teeth you make your way to the kitchen, digging around in the pantry for the coffee beans and filters so that you can start your day. You dump in the pre-grinded beans and press brew, knowing that in a few minutes the house will fill with the aroma of coffee. You settle on the couch with your phone in hand, scrolling through your socials and replying to a few texts as the coffee pot starts to brew. A few minutes later it beeps, pulling your attention away from your phone as it drags you into the kitchen. You pull a mug from the cabinet and pour in the steaming hot coffee, breathing in deeply the rich smell. This mug is from Arizona, clay colored with a turquoise Kokopelli on the front. You remember the struggle of hauling it around with you on that tour so many years ago, but somehow it made the trip and now several moves.

You hear the soft padding of feet in the hallway and a flutter rises in your chest. You turn to look at her, simultaneously pulling a mug down from the cabinet for her. As she rounds the corner you see her, still in her tiny pajamas and with sleepy eyes. She crosses her arms across her chest as she speaks.

“Do I smell coffee?” she squeaks, her voice still waking up for the day.

“You do,” you answer, nodding her over. You pour the mug full of coffee and extend it to her, instantly wondering if she likes anything in it. “How do you like your coffee?”

She accepts the mug from your hand, grabbing it with both of hers. “Just creamer. I will pick some up at the store later today,” she pauses, “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” you urge, “Can’t start my day without it.”

She leans her hip into the edge of the counter, sipping from the edge of the mug as silence falls over the two of you. You know it's now or never, so you take a deep breath and clear your throat.

“Listen,” you start, leaning on the counter to mimic her position. “I’m– Sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me and I feel as though I overstepped a boundary.”

Her face flushes pink as she listens, biting her lips together as her eyes search yours. “Oh, it’s…It’s no big deal Jake. It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize. It was a tiny kiss, barely anything.”

You swallow harshly as you remember it differently. “It was just the heat of the moment I suppose. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Just wanted to make sure we are okay, I guess,” you continue.

“Yeah, absolutely,” she says, “No big deal.” You can see her holding back on what she really wants to say, but you don’t want to push.

“Yeah, okay, yeah. No big deal.” you confirm. You both stand awkwardly looking at each other, the tension in the room growing larger and larger by the second. Her eyes flick over to the clock hanging on the wall, a wave of panic washing over her.

“I have to go get ready for work…” she pauses, “Thank you for the coffee.”

You suddenly feel guilty about your late night. “I didn’t know you worked today. I shouldn’t have kept you up so late last night.”

She smiles, a small giggle leaving her lips. “You didn’t keep me up, I chose to stay up. And I only have two clients today. Should be a short day.”

You find yourself wishing you were one of them. To lay on her table and feel her hands on you, working away at the tense muscles in your body. Fuck, it sounds good. You shake your head of the thoughts, refocusing on her as she walks down the hallway, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Your mind swirls back to last night as you look out the kitchen window. The sun is shining brightly into the backyard, a few birds chirping in the Oak tree as your neighbor finishes up their lawn. Then, part of the conversation settles within you. Her garden. She wants to plant a garden here. And as you watch the bugs fly around outside the window an idea strikes you. Suddenly your free day is now filled with a plan.

—

HER POV

The drive to work is short, but that doesnt keep your mind from racing with the memories of last night. Every moment, big and small, replaying on the ten minute drive. His lips, his eyes, his touch, his laugh. Everything all at once right in the middle of Saturday morning farmers market traffic. Your heart rate picks up as you let the feeling of his lips on yours take center stage, though, the horn honking from the car behind you pulls you from the daydream.

You make the turn into the parking lot, having your choice of parking space today. After a few minutes you’re unlocking the front door and turning on the lights, bathing the small reception area in warm light. As you wait for the computer to power on, you check your phone, seeing a few missed texts that you take mental note of to respond to later. Quiet music begins to play through the speakers of the building as the booking software opens on the computer screen. You confirm your two appointments for the day, seeing that one is a new customer, and one is a return customer. Though, it's the last name of the return customer that has your heart beating out of your chest.

It couldn’t be. Right?

Before you can confirm, the front door opens and a woman walks in. Older and gray, she hobbles through the small lobby and up to the reception desk.

“Mrs. Sandborn?” you ask, confirming it’s your first client and not a walk in.

“Yes, dear,” she smiles kindly. You can tell she is a sweet woman and that this appointment is going to be a breeze. The session is only thirty minutes long and you find she wants special attention paid to her lumbar area.

Just as you thought the appointment slipped by in the blink of an eye as you got to know the woman and heard a bit of her life story as you worked on her aching back. She thanks you profusely as she leaves, making a return appointment for a few weeks from now.

You see it’s not long before your second session with your returning client, and once again your pulse starts to race as you realize this client is likely very related to your new roommate. The thought has your palms sweating as you work to sanitize your work room, laying out new linens and checking the clients preferred diffuser scent for his session.

The bell on the front door alerts you of his presence, and with a deep breath you shake away your nerves, walking into the lobby to meet him. His long dark hair is tied up at his neck as a beaming smile crosses his face. There is no doubt he is related to Jake, you can see it now clear as day and you know this hour long session will be the longest of your life.

“Hi Mr. Kiszka, great to see you again.”

A smirk pulls his smile to the side as he gives you a subtle nod, “You can call me Sam.”

—

Your mind is still racing as you weave through the midday traffic on your way home. You learned quite a few new things about your new roommate, whether you wanted to or not. You didn’t dare tell him that Jake is your roommate, not wanting to cross the line of professionalism, and honestly because you kind of wanted to hear what he had to say while still under the veil of anonymity. The hour seemed to move at a glacial pace as he told you of life on the road, new projects, and upcoming adventures he had planned with his brothers. But now, finally as you drive home you are able to put it past you, ready to spend the rest of the day at home decompressing, alone.

As you pull up to your house though, you notice Jake is actually still around, and working on something on the side of the house. You feel your pulse quicken as you catch a glimpse of him shoveling dirt, his t-shirt soaked through with sweat as the Tennessee sun beats down on him in the heat of the day. His black sunglasses sit low on his nose as he works, shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow. His hair is twisted into a knot at the back of his head, a few sweaty strands escaping from his exertion.

Curious as to what exactly he is doing, you find yourself stepping out of your car and walking across the grassy lawn. You’re hesitant at first, still feeling a bit unsure about everything after last night, but you swallow down your anxiety as you step up to the side of the wheelbarrow.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you jut your hip out to the side as you finally speak, “What–What exactly are you doing?”

His head snaps up from his shovel, and he flicks his sunglasses up on his head, surprised to see you.

“Shit, you’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Huh?” you question.

“Well, I wanted to get it done before you got home, but, I guess…” he pauses, running his glove covered hand over his dirty face. “Surprise, here’s your garden,” he smirks, “Or what will be your garden.”

“Mine?” you ask, genuinely taken aback.

“Figured it’s the least I could do for you before I leave,” he answers, resting his arm on top of the shovel.

Shock makes its way through your body, and you’re positive that no one has ever done anything this kind, let alone thoughtful, for you.

A huge grin spreads across his face as he takes in your look of surprise. “So, you know what you want to plant here?”

You swallow quickly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “Yeah, I mean– yeah it’s summer, there’s a lot I can plant right now.” you stammer. “But– I don't have any seeds or–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I thought…I know of this local plant nursery nearby. I could…take you?” He seems nervous to ask, and continues. “It’s kinda over near my office and I'm sure they have seeds and stuff. I pass it every day.”

“Sure,” you answer all too quickly. “It would need to be soon though, so that they have time to root and everything.”

He looks down to the perfect rectangle of tilled dirt as he smiles to himself, “Yeah. Yeah let me get cleaned up a little bit and we can… go now? If you want?”

“Oh, um, s-sure.” you answer, the initial shock now being replaced by the surprise of his forwardness.

“Cool, give me a minute. I’ll drive.” he smiles, leaning his shovel against the side of the house before sauntering across the yard and through the front door.

You stand there staring at this patch of dirt, in the perfect spot for a garden. You didn’t know he knew much about gardening, his brother failing to mention that detail during today's session. You mentally go over your list of summer vegetables, trying to decide what would be best for the space.

Seconds later you hear the front door closing, and see Jake locking the door behind himself.

“You ready?” he asks, the past ten minutes a whirlwind of events.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile as you head towards his Jeep. He opens the door for you, helping you inside, his hands still a bit dirty from his work. He joins you seconds later, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

“How was work?” he asks, so casual for someone you only just met.

“It was good actually, just a short day, but um, your brother Sam was my last client.” you say nervously.

“What?” he asks, his head snapping over to the side.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him once before but I didn’t know you then. I saw his name on my schedule today and figured it had to be your brother, but when I saw him I knew for sure.” you admit.

“Wha–what did he say?” he asks, seemingly nervous. “Did he say anything about me, or?”

“Oh uh, nothing really,” I lie, not ready to disclose some of the things I learned in the hour-long session. “There isn’t a whole lot of talking during the appointments.”

He seems satisfied with that answer, dropping it with the shake of his head and a huff of annoyance.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a few minutes, just the sound of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing. You decide to break the silence, a question eating you alive.

“How did you know where to dig? That is the best spot in the whole yard.” you ask. “I had no idea you were into gardening.”

“I mean, I’m not. I did a little bit of research after you told me you wanted a garden here.” he answers, peering over at you beneath his dark lenses.

“That was just last night…How did you–”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you. Only took a little bit of reading.” he grins, turning his attention back to the road. “Was worth it.”

“Well, thank you. Truly.” you breathe, letting a kind smile turn your lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his tone the same as yours. Soft.

—

“How about zucchini?” you ask, “Do you like zucchini?”

“Love it, one of my favorites,” Jake replies, plucking the seed packet from the wooden stand. He has an entire handful of different seeds, insisting you plant them all.

“We can’t do too many! It will be too crowded!” you laugh, scanning the rack of packets.

He shrugs his shoulders and smiles, as he grabs a few more packets of common herbs. Your eyes wander around the quaint nursery spotting a wire rack of plants on their last legs, brown and withering away for a severely reduced price. When you spot the sad looking tomato plant you tilt your head to the side and wander towards it.

Your fingers graze its sad, wilted leaves, only one lone and tiny tomato bud on its puny stem. The soil is dry, and you can tell it has been neglected in its short life. You feel Jake walk up behind you, taking in the sight just the same as you.

“I think I’m gonna save it,” you say, turning to meet his eyes. He looks at you like you’re crazy turning to look back at the entire row of strong and healthy tomato plants just behind the two of you.

“Why that one? There are about a hundred great ones we could get.” he says, gesturing with his head.

“No, this one is so sad. It needs its underdog story,” you pause, grabbing the frail plant. “I’m saving him.”

A grin pulls across his lips as he gently shakes his head, “Okay. Whatever you want, as long as I get to eat the tomatoes.”

You smile and nod, “So you think I can do it…” you say cheekily.

“What?” he questions, walking the two of you towards the hose attachments.

“Save him.” you answer.

“Oh, well, yeah. I guess so.” he grins shyly, plucking a new sprayer nozzle from the shelf. “I think I’m going to enjoy watching you try.”

“Oh, well, I thought you knew…” you continue, watching as he shoots you a confused look. “This is a big commitment, you know, becoming tomato parents. It will take the both of us. Are you sure you’re up for that kind of commitment?” you say playfully.

He pretends to be unsure as he taps his fingers against his lips, “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to be, aren’t I? I can’t let you raise him alone.”

“I think so.” you giggle.

He smiles at you with a brief pause as he looks at the pitiful plant, and then to you, “Then let's pay for him and get him home.”

—

JAKE POV

“Was that the last of the pack?” you ask, watching as Y/N places the last of the cucumber seeds into the ground. The sun is starting to dip below the trees, your daylight nearly gone. You worked all afternoon planting the seeds in the fresh soil, a smile plastered to your face as you talked and laughed at each other's handiwork throughout the process. Her tomato plant, which you named Heinz, was placed in its new home on the front porch, pruned and watered and ready to begin its journey back to full health.

“Yep, that’s all of ‘em,” she grins, dusting off her dirty hands on her denim shorts.

You take that as your cue to try out the new spray nozzle you bought for the hose, wanting it to be as easy as possible to water the garden bed. She starts to gently tap her shoe on the dirt, making sure it's packed down as you turn on the spigot and hear the water start to flow.

You pull the trigger on the nozzle and a few drizzles of water start to flow through the head. You begin to spray the patch of dirt, watering your newly planted herbs and vegetables for the first time. Y/N steps back, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you. Just as she looks away you aim the spray at her, hitting her arms with the cold faucet water.

“Jake!” she squeals, your playful action taking her by surprise. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and shakes off her wet arms.

“What?” you ask, a cheeky grin on your face as you spray her again in a different place.

This time her jaw drops as she starts to walk over to you, ready to turn the tables. You back away, holding the water house out of her reach as she tries to wrestle it away from you. She puts up a valiant fight, but it’s just not enough.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was my bad.” you lie, waiting for her to retreat just enough, and she does, stepping back and turning her attention back to the water that is now flowing onto the ground.

But you don’t concede that easily. As soon as she feels safe, you spray her again, knocking her sunglasses off of her head.

“Jacob!” she shouts, this time running at you full force and ripping the nozzle from your hands before you can stop her. Instantly you are soaked with water from the hose, the two of you fighting each other for the upper hand between sprays of cold water.

You finally regain control of the water hose as the two of you laugh, now completely soaking wet. You let the spray hit her face, and that is her final straw as she tackles you to the ground in order to end this water war.

“You are terrible!” she laughs, still doing her best to grab the hose from you. But sadly for her, you are stronger and find yourself rolling her to her back on the muddy grass as you hold the hose out of her reach.

You are both dripping wet and mud covered as you hover over her, your smiles a mirror image of each other as you both breathe heavily trying to catch your breath. It’s then that you take her in, in her most raw, vulnerable state as she lays beneath you. You stare at her for a moment, everything silent between the two of you as the hose continues to run.

Without warning, your hand moves up to swipe away a muddy drip of water from her cheek, softly and probably far too tenderly for a pair of roommates. Before you can pull your hand from her warm, wet skin, you feel her fingers move to grip at the back of your neck, pulling you down to her as she presses her lips to yours.

You’re instantly transported back to last night. Back to that first sweet kiss shared between the two of you. Her lips ignite the same feeling as they did then, soft and electric, but this time wet.

It’s her that initiated this kiss. It’s her that wants this, and so you take that as your green flag to descend deeper into it, kissing her back the way you’ve thought about every second since last night. You let your muddy, wet hand cradle her cheek, your thumb balancing on the curve of her chin.

You feel yourself relax a bit, really feeling the moment of this kiss. You feel a vibration against your lips as she lets the smallest whine leave her mouth and flow into yours, her tongue beginning to part your lips. Her free hand finds its way to your back, her fist gripping your soaked t-shirt, as her other hand tangles into the hair at the base of your neck.

She tastes how you imagined, stronger than she did last night, and you want more. Your hand slides down her neck as you use your thumb to tilt her chin higher. Your left hand is still supporting your weight above her as she lays in the grass below. You want to get closer, but you don’t want to move too quickly. You’re happy with this, and you’re willing to take whatever she will give you.

You feel her try to pull you closer, her tongue moving further into your mouth as your own groan leaves your lips. Her wet leg slides against your own and you want nothing more than to feel her naked skin against yours. You almost let yourself settle on top of her, but a passing car pulls you both from the heated moment, placing you both back in your front yard.

“Fuck,” you breathe, pulling away from her quickly as you realize what exactly had happened. She too, sits up quickly, adjusting her wet clothes and wiping her lips of the taste of you. Yet again you have thrown yourself at this woman, and are left in an awkward situation.

You stand to your feet and adjust your pants, hoping to conceal the fact that you are hard beneath them. You run your hand over your chin as you look at her, feeling terrible for what happened in the heat of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you start, a deeper tone taking over your voice, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s the absolute last thing you want to be saying to her, your attraction to her growing tenfold over the course of the day.

She stares up at you in shock, or maybe embarrassment, you can’t be too sure. But embarrassment is the last thing she should feel. You haven’t been kissed like that in quite some time. She stands quickly, shielding her hard nipples with crossed arms. She nods and doesn’t say much, and for some reason, it makes you feel worse.

“We should um, go get cleaned up,” you say, hoping to break the tension. “You can grab the first shower, I’ll clean up out here.”

She nods and starts to walk towards the door, stopping quickly as she calls your name. “Jake?”

“Yeah?” you answer hopefully.

“Thanks for doing all this.” she says quietly, before disappearing into the shared home.

—

As you make your way back into the house you notice the quiet. Her bedroom door is shut, and you can’t hear a single sound from behind it. You figured she would be in the shower by now. You walk to the kitchen sink, washing the mud from your hands before attempting to touch anything else in the house. The dirt swirls down the drain as you finally hear her bedroom door open, and the quick closing of the bathroom door.

You take this as your chance to head to your bedroom, finding your phone laying on the bed, where it has been for the last several hours. Truth be told you forgot about its existence until this exact moment. You strip yourself of your muddy clothes before reaching for it, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as the screen lights up in your hands.

Missed Call: Sam

You bite your lips together as you decide whether or not to call him back, but eventually decide to fill your mind with something other than the girl in the shower. You hit his contact letting the call ring out as you hold it to your ear. He answers on the second ring.

“Dude, where have you been?” he asks as he answers the call.

“Sorry, I was doing some stuff in the yard here. What’s up?” you answer.

“Nothing too much, thought maybe we could get a drink or something later…”

Fuck yeah, thats exactly what you need.

“You know what? Yeah, I actually need to speak to you dammit.” you growl out, fully planning to interrogate him about his little session with Y/N earlier.

“About?” he asks, as if not knowing.

“I think you know. I’ll see you at Rack Em’ in about an hour?” you confirm.

“See you then.” he says, ending the call.

A few minutes later you hear her coming out of the bathroom, her figure a blur of blue towel and wet hair as she dashes across the hallway. You let out a deep breath as you pull yourself up off your bed and make your way into the bathroom, ready to shower away the mud and sweat from your skin.

You grab your towel before stepping into the bathroom, the air still steamy and smelling of her sweet body wash as you enter. You feel yourself start to grow hard just from the smell alone. You start the shower with a growl, pissed at yourself for letting her have this effect on you. For consuming your mind this quickly.

You cannot do this. She is your roommate.

Your really sexy roommate whose lips were on yours mere minutes ago.

As you step beneath the spray you push all the thoughts of her and everything that happened outside to the back of your mind, showering as quickly as possible, desperate to get out of the house and away from her before you make anything worse.

You dress quickly, pulling a few staple items from your closet and sliding into your boots. You run your fingers through your hair and give yourself a spray of cologne as you pocket your phone, keys and wallet. Your eyes flick over to see her bedroom door is still closed. You briefly consider knocking to let her know you’re leaving, but decide to just let things be and really drive home the point that the two of you are roommates and that's it. No matter if it pains you just a little.

You decide to get to the bar early, giving yourself time to sort out your thoughts before Sam arrives. The last thing you need is for him to catch wind of your feelings that have begun to blossom with Y/N. You throw back a shot of tequila, feeling the burn as it travels down your throat and warms your stomach. You can’t seem to shake the thought of the kiss from your mind, though. Or the feeling of her hands gripping your shirt, or the sounds she made. Fuck. You need another shot.

As the bartender slides you another, you see Sam walking through the door and you wave him down to the corner spot at the bar.

“You started without me?” he laughs, feigning sadness.

“Couldn’t wait on you all night,” you grin, tossing back the clear liquor.

“Tequila?” he asks, taking the empty seat next to you.

“The one and only,” you answer, nodding at the bartender as you signal for two more. “Now, why don’t you tell me about your little massage this morning, hm?”

He smiles a cheeky smile, “I wondered if she was going to tell you.”

“She mentioned it. Casually.” you say, tossing back another shot. “The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs, taking his own shot, but following with a lime wedge. ��Just told her your whole life story and every embarrassing fact about you.”

“Fuck you, no you didn’t,” you warn with a deeper voice.

“No, calm down.” he says as if exhausted. “Just talked about band stuff. She never even mentioned that she was your roommate, but I will say she has magic hands.”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“Oh, you sound a little jealous there, brother.” he taunts.

“Not jealous. I just– It’s weird. You being her client. That’s all.” you answer.

“Mhmm.” he hums, giving you a knowing look.

Of course at that exact moment your phone lights up on the bar top, a message from ‘Girlfriend’ displaying across the screen in big bold letters. You try to grab it before Sam notices, but you’re too late as a smile spreads across his face.

“Huh, is that right?” he taunts, elbowing your side.

“No. it’s not what you think. I had to put her in my phone like that– Our landlord thinks–Actually I don’t have to explain this to you. It’s not like that. It’s just a lie we are telling the landlord because she is too nice to tell him otherwise.” you ramble.

“Yeah, uh huh. Sure sounds like it's like that.” he answers, fully unbelieving of your explanation.

You do decide to spare a glance at her text, opening it as Sam orders another drink.

Girlfriend

8:56PM: Did you leave?

You

8:59PM: Yeah, be back late.

You keep it short and sweet and as neutral as possible, when truth be told, everything in you wants to tell her that you were just out with your brother for drinks and that you would be home soon. But you felt that was too much information for two people who just shared the same house. She didn’t need to know every detail. Right?

Girlfriend

9:01: Oh, okay. I left cookies for you on the stove.

A shock shoots right through your chest. Cookies? You suddenly find yourself wanting to be home, and in her presence, completely negating every other feeling you’ve had tonight. But no. You can’t. You need to make the line clear. Roommates. That's it.

You make it a point to not think about her for the rest of the night, spending time with your brother and making conversation with anyone who came up to you tonight. Sam continues to question you about her, but you shoot him down every single time. You need him to believe it. You even go as far as to accept attention from a girl that has been eyeing you from across the bar. A leggy blonde in a tight black dress.

That seems to shut him up as the two of you share drinks and your mind becomes hazy. The night has grown later and her jokes have become funnier, a kiss is shared between the two of you and in the back of your mind you know it feels wrong. You know that her kiss doesn't even compare to the kiss you shared with Y/N just hours ago. You let her though. You let this nameless woman kiss you in the bar just to prove a point.

Truth be told she isn’t even your type, quite the opposite actually, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sam now fully believes you about Y/N. As Sam makes his exit from the bar, you find yourself in the back of an Uber with this woman, Claire, on your way back to your place. His lips are attached to your neck and her hands are in your hair as the Uber driver sends you judgemental looks through the rearview mirror.

You couldn’t care less though, tipping him as he pulled up at the curb in front of your house. You fumble with the keys as she continues to kiss you, in a drunken state of her own. As the lock breaks free you both stumble inside to find the house dark. You’re both laughing as you push her down the hallway towards your bedroom. You know you’re being too loud but you don’t really care. It’s not that late is it?

“Stay here,” you say, pressing a kiss to her lips before she falls backwards onto your bed. You slip out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you as you make your way into the kitchen, the clock on the stove reading 1:04AM. Shit, maybe it is late.

You know you’re going to need another shot if you are going to sleep with this girl. You pull a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and twist the lid. You bring the glass straight to your lips and take a long pull. It burns like hell, but you’re already too gone to care. You place the bottle on the counter as you run your hand over your face, unsure if you really want to proceed with Claire.

It’s on the walk back to your bedroom that you get your answer, though. Standing in her bedroom doorway, is Y/N. She’s in the tiniest little shorts and a tank top you’ve ever seen. Her eyes are tired and you can tell you’ve woken her from her sleep. You wonder how long she’s been asleep and what she did tonight, while you left her alone at the house.

“Is everything okay?” her groggy voice asks, it’s quiet and timid. You feel your heart shatter as you realize she is the one you would rather have waiting in your bed. From the moment you kissed her last night, you’ve wanted nothing more.

You don’t want to let her in on this, so you continue with your cold, short demeanor. “Yeah. All good. Great actually.”

Just then, Claire opens your bedroom door, peeking out, revealing her in just her lace bra. “You comin’ Jake?” she asks, and right then you want to disappear into thin air. Claire isn’t the girl you want to be with tonight, and the girl you do want to be with is watching everything happen a foot away from you.

Your eyes shoot to Y/N, who is looking at her before slowly looking back at you. You can tell she is feeling something, but she will never admit it. It’s a similar look to the one she had this afternoon. Right before she kissed you. Right before your wet bodies gave away your intentions with each other. When her lips kissed yours harder than they did last night. Needier and more wanting.

You know you can’t sleep with Claire. Not when your mind is so consumed by Y/N.

Y/N quickly nods at you, and quietly closes her bedroom door, twisting the lock and retreating back to her bed.

As if things could get any worse.

You look to Claire, and a rush of clarity washes over you. You can end this. You can make the right choice.

This has to stop. You can’t sleep with this girl.

You push your way back into your bedroom and close the door, Claire instantly trying to attach herself to your neck. All you can think of is Y/N and your kiss earlier, it’s as if that is all your brain can process at the moment. You gently push Claire away, shaking your head as you suddenly start to sober up, despite the whiskey traveling through your veins. You can’t use her like this. You won’t.

You shake your head as you look at a very confused and drunken Claire, “Listen, I’m sorry, Claire. We can’t do this. We aren’t in the right state of mind.” you pause, “I will call you an Uber to take you wherever you need to go.”

“You serious?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips, stepping back a bit. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say you, pulling your phone from your pocket. It takes you two minutes to order an Uber, and instantly you begin to feel better. About everything.

“I really am sorry. I’ll let you get dressed,” you say, slipping out of your bedroom. You feel guilty for bringing her here, but you know this is for the best.

A few minutes later she joins you in the living room, her attitude drastically different than it was ten minutes ago. You feel guilty for leading her on, then shutting her down so quickly but the minute you saw Y/N you knew you were making a bad choice.

You watch as Claire walks into the kitchen and leans up against a counter as the two of you wait for the Uber to arrive. She grabs a cookie off of the stove and that's when you remember why they are there in the first place. A heat begins to take over your body as you watch her eat the cookie that Y/N left for you. Despite being upset with you, she made and left you these cookies, and all you did is throw another woman in her face. You’ve fucked up, yet again.

The Uber arrives and you usher her out the front door with haste, praying you never have to see her again, and in a city like this you likely never will. You lock the front door behind yourself and you head back to the kitchen, grabbing a cookie for yourself as you sit in the dark and enjoy what is probably the best chocolate chip cookie you’ve ever tasted.

As you brush your teeth you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out how you can fix this. If you can fix this. You briefly consider knocking on her door and telling her that you sent her home, but you realize it doesn’t really matter because truth be told you shouldn’t be with her either, no matter how badly you want to be.

Once again your mind flashes back to this afternoon. All the laughs you shared and the genuine happiness you felt as you planted the tiny seeds in the garden and brought home the sad tomato plant. She has the prettiest laugh, and the best smile. You could stare at her all day. You don’t want to sleep with random women. That’s not who you are.

You drag yourself into your bed, staring at the ceiling as you replay the kiss over and over in your mind, torturing yourself as you realize it might have been the last one. In a final act of guilt you reach for your phone, pulling it out of the pocket of your jeans and pulling up her contact.

You

1:38AM: I’m sorry I woke you. Just thought you should know I sent her home.

You place your phone on your nightstand, wondering if you’d done the right thing, and as your eyes shut you are surprised to hear it buzz with a response. You snatch it off the nightstand far too quickly.

Girlfriend

1:39AM: Why did you do that?

It takes you a minute to figure out the real answer to the question, and if the real answer is the one you should give her. You decide that you’re done lying to her. All it does is get you into more trouble. So, you tell the truth, unknowing of what the future would hold because of it, and praying you were making the right choice.

You

1:41AM: Because she's not who I want.

You

1:41AM: Sweet dreams, Y/N.

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