#a lot about him reminds me of GD in a good way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soleilnomoon · 1 year ago

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Prompt: “I don’t like them; I can barely tolerate them.” for Abarai Renji. Once again, I leave it up to you what you wanna do (but maybe enemies to lovers) Yes, I might be on a little Bleach binge right now but it's okay you like it. kiss kiss

*hides face* ok, ok, ok, hear me out, let's pretend i didn't take *insert accurate length of time here* and say i wrote this in a few days. i am so sorry i took forever and ever with this but as u know i can only give u top quality work or else i'll never forgive myself. renji is.......well *motions to him* yk how that man is, he made me suffer!!!! in a good way!!! but still i suffered!!! yk how much i love enemies 2 lovers u big brained beauty 🤭 so ty baby❤️️ also this is my first renji fic and i can't belev it.

5.2k words (don't look at me, just don't), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, enemies 2 lovers, angst city, angst angst city biiiitch (yk the vibez babey), smut obviously, no fluff bc who do u think i am? feat. renji being a mean petty bitch (i guess that makes him a mean dom maybe yes), sub reader bc that's what i want; there's a party with alcohol, ichigo and co. make brief appearances, bathroom sex, choking (he's sf romantic), a lot of cursing bc they're grown that's why, renji is a beast when he's jealous, reader is a lil bit of a brat but lbr who wouldn't be in that situation; mutual ""unrequited"" pining, lots of tension, fingering, rough (consensual) sex, lil bit of degradation, lil bit of a size kink, lil bit of praise kink, idk there's probably more stuff but i'm so tired rn i can't think; um renji obviously comes w his own gd warning; reader is determined to not let this man win but, hello, it's renji he always comes out on top wink wink. (if u see spelling errors/mistakes no u didn't hottie)

“when i write about all of this it becomes its own kind of violence. / i retell the story as myth, as if it were my own body devoured.” — caitlin scarano & “so much of love is violence. the desire / to be split open, invaded, mangled / and made new.” — erin slaughter

HATRED X TASTES X SWEET

you’ve never been cut out for this line of work, but your insistence on eliminating all your shortcomings is commendable. brave, even. it’s something you don’t really think about unless you want to spend the night half-drunk, rambling about the things you should’ve done but never had the courage to do.

like telling a certain red-haired, bullheaded lieutenant that he’s the most ridiculous and excessively arrogant man you’ve ever come across. all in all, you’re pretty sure telling him off won’t phase him; nothing ever does, not really anyway.

at first you try politeness; your grandmother would be proud of how well you’ve learned to bite your tongue. it’s ungraceful, but you fake it well enough that others think your emotional maturity is far above theirs. little do they know, you actually have to literally bite your tongue; simply remaining silent isn’t easy for you anymore. so, when you bite, it’s with rage, months of unshed tears and accumulated spite; you bite your tongue so hard you bleed more every time.

your unsaid words bunch together — tiny soldiers determined to strike in unison without fail — and sit heavily in the back of your throat, ready to launch forward at your command.

but you never say them, and you choke more than once; an unbearable shame to carry with you as he continues to slash at your patience, thin ribbons cascading off you like confetti. you wonder if your anger will lead to your death— or if it’ll lead to his. you intend to keep all of that hidden, though, and keep reminding yourself that eventually he will tire from berating you, from talking to you as if you’re the most incompetent being in all of soul society, from looking at you like your very being disgusts him.

that’s what you tell yourself these days. you like to conveniently ignore the way his dark eyes linger on yours during meetings — you’ve noticed that people have taken to describing them as soulless, cold and critical, unimpressed at everything and anyone.

but you see him — all of him; the raw, feral, powerful and severe side that not many have the misfortune of knowing. they think they get the real version of renji whenever they deal with him, but they never do; you know that now. you doubt it’s even intentional on his part, or maybe — just maybe — he really does hate you.

to put it plainly, as you’ve told rukia and rangiku, the sixth division lieutenant has the biggest fucking chip on his shoulder. despite the walls he continues to put up to keep others from carving out a place for themselves in his life, despite the way his words roll around his mouth, clumsily coasting down the length of his tongue before they pierce the air around you with their toxicity — you’re tired of the way he purposely singles you out time and time again to point out your inadequacies without remorse.

abarai renji is also sick of dealing with you. whenever he thinks he’s found a means of scaring you off, you scurry right back more determined and more obnoxious than ever. which is rich, coming from him.

he claims you’re inconsequential, a nuisance — a pest, even — one that he intends to get rid of permanently. it’s harsh and he’s more than aware of that, but he finds that this is the most appropriate solution to his problem. he could easily ignore you; he could try to keep his comments to himself and try to be somewhat cordial whenever you cross paths. but he won’t. and he has no damn idea why.

“no, no come in, i have plenty of snacks for everyone.”

rukia’s voice is a constant in his life that he’ll always be thankful for. he watches her glide into the room, grinning at the friends she’s invited over, her laughter like soft bells that is easily recognizable even with all the conversation happening. when he feels his chest constrict, an uncomfortable, yet familiar warmth stretching over his skin, he decides to drink so that he can ignore the sensation and forget.

a feeble attempt, because he knows how this will all end — with him drunk off his ass in an even worse mood than he started.

mouth opening, renji prepares to tell rukia to get better sake, when rangiku leads you into the living room where he’s lounging comfortably. the bottle in his hand grows heavier by the second and suddenly he’s not very interested in drinking anymore. already, his foul mood from earlier returns, and every step you take only fuels his irritation; it bubbles underneath his skin, making him frown and grip the bottle tighter.

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s glaring at you — he always is. rangiku feigns obliviousness as she encourages you to go make yourself comfortable while she fetches snacks with rukia. you stare at both of them, wide-eyed, confused — a pleading look sliding onto your face after a few moments, but they assure you both that they’ll be back shortly.

with a sigh you sit on the armchair adjacent to him, determined to just remain quiet in the hopes that he’ll just ignore you for once. sitting up straight, discomfort finds its way to the pit of your stomach, swirling around as you fidget with the bracelet around your wrist. his eyes watch your movements with an obsessiveness that startles him; there’s no reason why he should be interested in the shape of your fingers, there’s no reason why he should be interested in the way you keep brushing stray curls away from your face, and there’s no reason why he should be interested in possibly fucking you when he knows for a fact that he is absolutely uninterested in you.

his disinterest runs so deep it spoils the taste of the sake, but he takes another swig anyway. the alcohol burns as it travels swiftly down his throat, and it just so happens that you glance over at him — innocuous, an attempt to gauge his annoyance level — as his throat bobs and your mouth dries at the sight.

you turn your face away quickly, a traitorous flush crawling slowly along your skin, unjustly warming your cheeks. inhaling deeply, you do your best to will the blush away to no avail. where the hell are rukia and rangiku? surely it can’t take that long to grab snacks. you’re tempted to go find them, but you have a sinking feeling that it would turn you into a coward.

and you refuse to give that man any more ammo against you.

IT’S X (NOT) X YOU

what initially starts as a small get-together, quickly turns into a party; leave it to rangiku to liven things up, her laughter infectious and whimsical, flitting about like a persistent hummingbird as she encourages everyone to play drinking games with her. experience taught him better than to engage because despite his high tolerance, there’s really no beating rangiku when she’s on a roll.

but when you emphatically agree to play with the rest, fury rises in his chest; your audacity, it seems, knows no bounds — and, yes, he understands the hypocrisy in his critique. he just doesn’t care.

the games are every bit as simple and ridiculous as you thought they’d be, but as everyone seems to be in relatively good spirits, you play along. not normally competitive with things like this, you get into the swing of things when you win round after round.

cheers resound nearby at your success, but throughout the evening, you feel renji’s stare and do everything in your power to not give in and look back at him. a tough feat to say the least, as you are always acutely aware of his presence; and when you do happen to sneak another glance, his legs are spread and you curse under your breath for finding that attractive.

foolish, you chide, so fucking foolish.

renji sucks his teeth as he feels a heaviness in his head; groaning loudly he swirls around what little sake he has left in his glass before finishing it.

“you lose again,” rukia’s voice is soft and teasing, but he’s annoyed and can’t be bothered with talking to her right now. she pats his shoulder gingerly before standing up to head to the kitchen. his mind is a mess and he blames you for it completely.

“i don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly to her retreating figure, not bothering to elevate his voice as he’s sure she heard him. and he really doesn’t care; he’s trying to tell himself to calm down, but he can’t.

the fault completely lies with you — of course it does, everything you do agitates every cell in his body. the reason is simple, and he hates that he doesn’t want to admit it — he’s so undeniably attracted to you that it pisses him off. he takes in your appearance for the twelfth time that night, admiring the softness of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, the way you seem entirely too animated as you laugh at someone’s lame joke — and yes, he can tell it’s not funny from how your laughter dies down after a few seconds.

if he had better sense, he’d stop looking at you, but he can’t now; he might blame the sake for this later.

the intensity behind his gaze is enough to bring an inextinguishable heat along your skin. it’s only unpleasant because it travels down to your lower abdomen and brings about an agonizing ache between your thighs. at first, you do the sensible thing and ignore it; but the longer he stares, the more you want to look over, until finally you can’t take it anymore.

“i’ll be back,” you mumble to the other guests, although you doubt they hear you with how rowdy everyone is being; the noise isn’t unwelcomed, the distraction serves to mask your footsteps when you scurry from the living room to the back corridor, turning corner after corner until you find the bathroom.

a coward — that’s what you are.

you barricade yourself in there without thinking, heart pounding loud enough to disorient you. after several long minutes, you splash water on your face and take a few deep breaths.

“i can’t believe i ran away,” your voice is so soft you barely hear the words — almost as if you’re still in disbelief over the entire situation. there’s something off about renji tonight; the tension between you was more palatable and tangible than normal.

even though you feigned nonchalance as best as you could, there were so many moments where you couldn’t help but watch him too. pitiful. absolutely pitiful. there’s no excuse for it, and yet you struggle to find one anyway.

as you look at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you try to convince yourself to head back out there. sooner or later, people will realize that you’ve gone missing — and rangiku is nosy enough and like a bloodhound when she’s drunk. your time is incredibly limited now.

there’s no reason for you to continue to avoid the inevitable, so you sigh and give yourself a small pep talk before heading back outside.

TRUTH X OR X …

renji’s mood doesn’t improve at all; in fact, it worsens the moment ichigo sits right next to him. he’s not even sure why this sets him off, but even closing his eyes and counting backwards does nothing to keep him calm.

with slight difficulty, renji grits out, “what do you want?”

undeterred, ichigo stares at renji pointedly, voice steady as he says, “you could go after her, you know.”

again, renji sucks his teeth loudly, arms folded against his chest, right leg bouncing slightly as he taps his foot on the floor. punching ichigo would be pointless, and then rukia would get involved and he doesn’t have time to deal with the fallout from that so he keeps his hands to himself.

besides, his anger is obviously misdirected right now. he knows — he knows —but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mince his words when he responds with, “go after who?” through his peripheral, he can see ichigo’s patience has also reached its limit.

“you’re not that stupid, so stop acting like it.”

normally, renji would take the opportunity to mes s around and argue back and forth, but he might actually fight his friend if he doesn’t walk away. so, he does; abrupt and without looking back, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

maybe he just needs to change his approach with you, maybe talking things out would work in his favor; or maybe he needs to fuck you hard enough to purge you from his mind.

he lies to himself when he considers the first option, because it’s the second option that drives him to walk a little faster, head full of impossible thoughts as he wonders just how far you’d let him go.

when renji finally finds you, you’re in the middle of rebuffing the advances of an unfamiliar guest — they’re drunk, handsy, and keep oscillating between giving you cheesy pick-up lines and berating you for rejecting them. but you stand firm, and your voice is relatively loud when you tell them, “for the last fucking time, go away.”

under normal circumstances, renji would let you handle this yourself; he has no desire to play prince charming or be a knight in shining armor. you’re more than capable, and he’s seen the way you fight and argue to defend yourself — but, it’s when they place a wandering hand on your hip that he loses sight of all of that.

a brief moment passes, where your blood boils as you contemplate how best to kick their ass, but you never get the chance. a rather large shadow hovers over you both, but you already know who it is without having to look properly.

renji is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, but he’s at his fucking limit right now.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t give any options for retreat, doesn’t say a word when he yanks them off with a brute strength that surprises even you.

now, can he really be blamed for throwing them into the neighboring wall hard enough to make a noticeable hole? and is it really his fault that the drunk can hardly walk as they clutch their broken arm while murmuring something unintelligible, something that renji takes as a sign of them wanting a repeat demonstration?

consequences be damned, he gives the drunk a lethal look before they scramble away in fear.

“loser,” he says loud enough for them to hear, but they don’t double back or even try to go toe-to-toe with the hot-headed lieutenant. you watch, half-amused and half-impressed with the unnecessary machismo, but still, you know better than to chastise him right now, especially when your heart sputters out of control from his proximity.

“…thanks,” you say, a faint flush on your cheeks, voice soft, head fuzzy when you realize that renji — aka mr. “i’ll fight you on everything any day of the week unprovoked for no reason other than to drive you crazy” — saved you. unprompted at that.

you make the mistake of looking up at him, your nerves prompting you to take a small step back when you realize that the usual hostility that renji reserves for you specifically is nowhere to be found. in its place is something more unreadable — or, rather, you don’t want to read into it for fear of being wrong.

renji steps closer, which makes you back up again until your back hits the wall and you’re no longer able to escape.

“we need to talk,” he says suddenly, but you shake your head, non-verbally objecting to the idea, curls bouncing wildly with your exaggerated movements. since he knows he’s pressed for time, he grabs your face with his large hand and stops you from moving. “that wasn’t a request.”

swallowing rusty nails would be better than dealing with your conflicting feelings over renji right now, because he’s much too close to you and now you’re forgetting why it is you hate him in the first place. ironically, he’s in the exact same position. so far, he’s acted on impulse over you more times than he can count tonight, but he supposes that’s to be expected — you are a wildcard, after all.

“what if i don’t want to.” your response is clumsy, the words tumbling one after the other. “what if i want you to leave?” you don’t actually mean that, but you throw it at him anyway, to see if maybe this was all a fluke, and maybe, just maybe he’ll remember himself and you both can go back to fighting like usual.

he considers your question, goes so far as to release your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. your sharp inhale and parted lips tell him all he needs to know.

with a slightly raised brow, he asks, “well, do you?”

because if you do, he’ll walk away right now. but he knows what your answer will be, he just has to drag it out of you. he squeezes your neck to remind you to hurry it up, and before you can answer him properly, he places his leg in between yours, pressing close enough that you roll your hips forward while whimpering softly.

he really didn’t think any of this through, but luckily the adrenaline from it all won’t wear off anytime soon, so he’ll improvise along the way. he spent most of the night dealing with a semi-hard cock that wouldn’t listen to reason no matter how many times he tried to stop thinking about you. but now? all of that restraint goes out of the window, and before he can question it, he kisses you.

you’ve kissed plenty of people in your life — some good, most were mediocre and uninspiring — but renji actually takes your breath away. everything about him commands all your attention; from the way his lips move against yours greedily, leaving behind burning kisses that make your nipples harden underneath your clothes — to the way he thrusts his tongue in between your plush lips, licking inside of your mouth hotly, igniting an inextinguishable flame deep inside of you.

he grabs your hip with his free hand, squeezing hard, fingers digging firmly. all the irritation from earlier dissipates completely, leaving you feeling lightheaded and needy; you grind against him recklessly, arousal dampening the front of your panties, clit sensitive as it rubs against the delicate fabric. his cock presses against you — thick, long, and hard — and you wonder if this is why he’s so angry with you all the time.

was it always that simple?

if you asked the question aloud, he wouldn’t know what to tell you — it’s a combination of things, but mostly he’s an idiot; he knows that now, but likewise you’re an idiot too. you just don’t realize it yet.

it’s renji who pulls away first, lightly panting, breath warm against your lips as he releases his hold on your neck. he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to string together a coherent statement, but his voice is low and husky when he speaks. “answer my question.”

you blink at him, completely in a daze, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. “wh-what?” you don’t remember what he asked you, and you don’t care.

“do you want me to leave?”

for some reason, you completely forgot that you told him that. you rub your lips together and run your hands along his chest. “no.” the answer comes out automatically, without hesitation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“good.”

SAY X IT X LOUDER

he picks you up with ease, almost as if you weigh nothing; a small squeal spills out of you as you wrap your legs around his waist, and renji gives you a sly smile — one laced with mischief and an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

you’re back in the bathroom again, this time sitting on the counter with renji standing in between your legs. his hands coast along your curvy hips and down your thighs. he’s touching you but he’s not touching you and it’s driving you crazy.

with hurried, eager hands you both undress, and for the umpteenth time you internally curse this style of uniform; still, it doesn’t take too long before his hands are on you again, calloused palms rough and warm against your skin. he places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck right underneath your earlobe; each kiss he leaves behind distorts your common sense, makes you feel irrational and impatient. your hands are soft and well-practiced, stroking his stiff cock as his hips jerk forward from your touch.

he can’t remember the last time someone had him this worked up, which pisses him off a little; because that means him fucking you once won’t settle things. at that thought, renji bites your neck and your startled yelp quickly morphs into a moan when he runs his tongue along the mark. he dips his hand in between your thighs, rubbing his thick fingers against your slit. a loud banging on the door has you looking over, and you can’t remember if he bothered to lock it once you both were inside.

your attention nearly falters, but when he pinches your clit you buck your hips, a shiver shooting down your spine at the slight pain.

“eyes on me,” is all he says, seemingly annoyed that you would dare to focus your attention elsewhere, “always keep them on me.” what he means by that, he doesn’t know, but you take the command at face value and nod while swallowing. he slides a finger inside of your wet pussy, and while you initially wanted to keep quiet to avoid suspicion and to prevent anyone from intruding, but you can’t now.

“renji,” you breathe, fingers trembling as you hold onto the counter for support, he thrusts his finger in and out, quick and hard, before inserting another. you clench around him, hips rocking forward as he fingerfucks you and grinds his palm against your clit. you close your eyes and moan louder than you mean to, chest heaving, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. he scissors his fingers inside of you, but quickly removes them without prompting.

“fuck!” you open your eyes again and stare at him in disbelief. “why did you stop?”

he laughs darkly and grabs your face roughly, fingers pressing into your soft skin without remorse. “what did i tell you earlier?” everything about this situation is laughable. he gave you very specific instructions, ones he thought were easy enough for you to follow. for some reason your movements are sluggish, mind in a haze as you scramble to remember but nothing comes to mind.

as you open and close your mouth, looking every bit as adorable as you are alluring, he decides to show you a bit of kindness.

“get down.” his command comes swift, his patience practically nonexistent; precum glides down the head of his thick cock, but he ignores it for the sake of teaching you a lesson. you don’t bother waiting for him to repeat himself and slide off the counter. “turn around.”

like a doll, your movements are dictated by renji with simple, short statements. nothing about that phases you, though; it’s all very exciting, so when you do turn to face the counter, you bend forward and lean over the counter. renji admires the roundness of your ass and slaps it hard.

again, you find yourself moaning loudly, without shame and not caring about the volume of your voice. surely the others won’t pay attention, as they’re still very drunk and are entertaining themselves with more games. another slap on your ass has you grabbing onto the counter again, legs shaking, arousal dripping between your thighs in anticipation. if renji doesn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

he knows he’s taking too damn long, but it’s much more interesting making you work for him. he rubs the tip of his cock against your puffy pussy, gliding it in between your slick folds, your moans sweetly wrapping around him once he pushes inside of you slowly. someone bangs on the door again, making you look over, anxiety quickly filling your head with unnecessary what ifs that almost command your full attention.

with narrowed eyes, renji grabs onto your hair, curls soft in his hand, and yanks hard.

“the fuck did i say earlier?”

goosebumps travel down your arms as a different kind of awareness and clarity surges through you quickly. you blink at your reflection, watching the way he towers over you, his muscles hard and defined — sculpted from years of training and dedication to honing his skills. it hits you then, what he’s really asking you.

“to,” you swallow thickly, throat dry, “to keep my eyes on you always.” you say it all in one breath, gasping when he runs his tongue along the curve of your ear. you don’t know how much more you can take, but you know if you complain, if you say anything he might stop altogether.

renji’s smile is wicked and dark, his lips graze your earlobe, voice deep and gravelly, a huskiness that wasn’t there before as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deeply.

“good girl.”

he refrains from kissing you properly, instead pushing you down so you can lean over the counter again. your mind melts from it all, and you’re panting, heart beating faster and faster as he firmly places a hand on your back.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he remarks thoughtfully, although you note the slight strain in his voice; as much as he tries to act like he’s not that affected by you, you know that isn’t the case at all. your pussy is every bit as enticing and heavenly as he knew it would be; he pulls back and slams his cock into you all over again, filling you completely. you try to keep watching him in the mirror, but he’s fucking you like he’s angry with himself for being so attracted to you.

and he absolutely is. it’s a truth he fought against for so long that he’s given up on denying it now. your moans drip onto his skin like caramel, sticky and sweet, and when you say his name like that — your voice going higher and higher from the ferocity of his thrusts — he nearly loses his mind.

“fuck,” he says out loud, grabbing your hip roughly, your wetness coating the length of his cock, “you’re taking me so well.” he knows you can’t really answer him, and he likes that; you’re beyond caring at this point, instead focusing on the way his cock reaches a spot that has you bouncing your ass and fucking yourself against him. normally, renji would play around and edge you in retaliation, but he’s too far gone, completely under the spell of your pretty pussy, with how soft and tight it is.

you’re not sure how you got here, but you’re drowning in ecstasy right now. he instructs you to lift your leg to rest it onto the counter, pulling out momentarily to help you position and spread your legs further apart. he plunges his cock into you again, keeping his hips closer as he gives you shorter, frenzied thrusts. your head spins and you can’t think straight, but that doesn’t matter. all you care about is the way renji is angling his hips, rolling them forward to pound into your cunt roughly, balls heavy as they smack against your ass.

“oh, oh, oh.” you swear your life flashes before your eyes, because something possesses him, his strokes shorter, brutal, and frenetic. drool slides down your chin, your voice hoarse from how loud you’ve been. you’re sure someone’s heard you by now, but you don’t care.

how can you?

with renji fucking you like this — merciless and possessive, fingers brusing your skin, almost as if he wants to make sure you’ll be as obsessed with him as he is with you — your common decency, your morals, everything that makes you you, they don’t exist.

all that’s left is this burning desire to let him have his way with you for as long as he wants. thankfully, you have enough sense to not admit that out loud; who knows what kind smugness you’ll be subjected to if renji knew.

but you’re pretty damn transparent about it, he can tell from the way you can’t stop clenching your pussy around his cock, from how your pussy makes loud, lewd squelching noises — ones that he’ll commit to memory so he can revisit them from time to time.

tears roll down your cheeks and you sob as you hold onto the counter as best as you can, back arching, hips rocking against him with a neediness you never knew you had. there’s a tightening in your stomach and your pulse skyrocketing as a flash of white practically blinds you. he watches the way your pussy keeps swallowing the length of his cock, and you finally fall over the edge, orgasm suffocating you with its intensity.

your cunt flutters around him, gummy walls soft and hypnotic, an addiction he never thought he’d have; breathing heavily, his muscles tense and renji groans something that suspiciously sounds like your name. the thought alone makes your face burn and warms your chest in a way that doesn’t make sense. and when he finally cums, he humps into you, cum thick and hot as it spills inside your pussy, mixing with your slick wetness. a completely messy affair, but he doesn’t care — it’s not his bathroom, after all.

legs trembling, you’re limp and incapable of movement, whimpering and whining until he finally pulls out of you.

renji runs a hand down his face, feeling spent but more than satisfied. suddenly his shoulders aren’t so tight and tense, and his mood is much more tolerable. you do your best to stand but almost fall — your legs are useless, turned to jelly because of the man behind you. he chuckles at that, then clears his throat once he realizes. he fully expected there to be a moment of awkwardness after, but it never comes. when he sees your face — lips bruised and swollen, face flushed, eyes glazed with a faraway look — he feels compelled to kiss you again. so, he does. it’s not sweet, nor is it tender, but it still makes your heart swell all the same. he holds you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, doing your best to keep standing, even though your legs are ready to give out.

you don’t know exactly what any of this means, but you do understand him a bit better now. he’s terrible with expressing himself, but you kind of like that about him; and maybe this isn’t the healthiest relationship, but life was uncertain and you’d take renji fucking you like it’s his last day alive over him openly hating you any day.

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bratshaws · 2 years ago

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goodness gracious 78. brb x oc

a/n: *sprinkles some shit in this chapter because I am just feeling like it * also this week might be a bit rough for me but I will keep uploading daily. If I don't I'll let you guys know, just send some good vibes my way peeps I think I'll need it.

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: fluff??, Bea's brothers (esp Michael ) being a gd menace

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

65/66/67/68/69/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77

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@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2 @emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads

Beatrice keeps her eyes on her brothers as they run after the pilots, it was almost comical how both Michael and Guillermo literally stood out from the group by being so immensely tall, with an average sized Leonardo right behind. It wasn’t so bad, at first, they all worked together really nicely, avoiding being tackled just by leaping away.

That is until Guillermo remembered that he was a quarterback and he had a lot more power than most of the guys. He could trek through the others so easily, holding the ball above his head with his face so blank it was like Michael Myers decided to play. The others tried everything, jumping to grab the ball, Coyote even dug his feet into the sand only for Guillermo to just drag him forward when he walked.

It was hilarious.

And a bit worrisome.

Beatrice couldn’t sit down, she kept pacing in front of the seating area about to step in if Bradley got hurt - she didn’t think her brothers would hurt him willingly, but it was still something to think about. He seemed to be having fun, laughing and avoiding Guillermo’s huge frame by skidding to the left like she told him to do, but the ball remained in between her oldest brother’s hands.

Every once in a while, Rooster looked over to where she was just to let her know he was fine, he wanted desperately to walk over and kiss her just to prove he was okay, but he could. The game was still going and her brothers were there, well, he knew Michael and Leonardo wouldn’t mind but Guillermo was a bit of an enigma to him still.

The oldest of the Schiavoni siblings was the quiet brooding type, but he knew he always softened when it came to Bea. Even if Bradley was now accepted into the family, there were still other things he had to deal with along the way…he wondered how they’d feel once they found out they were going to live together.

She wanted to tell her parents last, but said nothing of her siblings. He didn’t know if there was a time where it’d be easier to let them know…but until then, he could handle this. They already got a place! They just had to make it public.

They didn’t know how long they stayed there, but there was a point where Guillermo stepped out saying he was done. He put on his shirt and grabbed the keys from Michael’s pocket when his brother was distracted, telling him he’d be waiting in the car but not before he got closer to Bea and kissed her forehead, giving her the smallest yet kindest smile that dropped back to the neutral line as he nodded to the other women and walked back to the car.

Then Leonardo stepped back too, pressing two fingers on his wrist to check his heartbeat, “Fucking Christ,I’m old.”

‘You are one year older than Brad, Leo.”

Leonardo grumbled, “Yeah, don’t remind me.” he mutters, tapping his shirt free of sand before he puts on his top as well, groaning in pain when he lifts his arms, “My joints feel like granite.”

“I think you are exaggerating.” her brother just glared her way, playfully shoving her shoulder with a small smile. The male pilots were drenched with sweat, panting like old dogs that could no longer hunt while Michael was beaming, skin flushed red and just as covered with sweat, but he looked nothing like the others. He looked younger than he was, the hair he usually kept in his half bun falling in front of his eyes, “He looks happy.”

“I’m sure he does.” Leonardo groans, “I think I need some first aid.”

“Oh shush.” Beatrice playfully swats his bicep, then turns her attention to Bradley who looked downright delectable shining with sweat and flushed such a lovely red color. His chest heaved with his breathing, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but his lips immediately turned into a smile when he met her eyes. “Not too hurt,right?”

Her question earns a soft laugh out of him, “No, not hurt at all, to be honest.” he looks back to where Michael is, putting on his shirt and buttoning as low as before, “It was really fun.” he could see those green eyes brimming with worry, even if she smiled, it was obvious she wanted to know if he was alright without asking. He smirks, “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay.” she replies with a sigh, nodding towards him with her hands clasped together.

Michael is all smiles, grinning so wide it’s like his head was going to get split in half with how happy he was. He clapped Leonardo’s shoulder, tugging him to his chest and earning a ‘ew your wet chest hair is all over my face!’ which the promptly decided to ignore, keeping his brother close, “That was really fun, wasn’t it Leo? Of course it was.” Leonardo rolled his eyes with a frown, seeing that his brother answered his own question, “Anyway, let’s do that again, I moved back and I think it’ll be good for the old bones to get back into sports.”

Beatrice arches one eyebrow at him, “You are a boxer, Michael…and you are forty one, you are not old.”

“Maybe, but I’m getting there.” he chuckles, a deep humming sound that comes from within his chest, “At least we’ll live close by, huh Bea? We’ll be almost neighbors.”

Oh.

Beatrice opened her mouth to speak but the words were stuck in her throat, something that Bradley noticed, placing a hand on her lower back to comfort seeing how anxious she was starting to get. Beatrice’s body relaxed once she feels his huge hand touching her back, thumb following the line of her spine soothingly, the repetitive movements helping her nervous heart ease down, “Well–”

“Oh, you moved close to their new place? That’s pretty cool!” comes Shells voice from the side, unaware that her siblings had no idea she planned on moving in with Rooster nor that they already got themselves a place to stay. Michael and Leonardo slowly turned their head to their little sister, the oldest of the two with his hands on his hips and his smile turning confused.

“Wait, moving in? I wasn’t told of that.” comes Leonardo’s voice, breaking the silence and looking over his shoulder to see if Guillermo was coming back. He wasn’t, thankfully, because that would only turn this situation a lot messier than they thought. But both Michael and Leo were a lot more attuned with Beatrice’s feelings than their older brother, and one look at her was enough to tell him that she was very nervous to say that, “...but you don’t need my permission! You are almost thirty and no longer a child! I’m very happy for you!”

Beatrice blinks up in surprise, her worried façade melting into a relieved smile as she hears her brother’s comforting words to her. Of course Michael would be supportive, he was the…rebel of the family, he’d be all for a sudden chaos or a break in the common family chain. Leonardo’s smile…she isn’t sure if it’s because of pain or because he’s happy as well - maybe both - followed by his weak thumbs up because he couldn’t lift his arm higher than that, was heartwarming too.

Unfortunately they couldn’t stay, a short but loud horn vibrated from the front of the bar, which meant Guillermo was telling them to speed it up. Michael scoffs, muttering to himself about how he was a ‘spoilsport’ before he turns to Beatrice and kisses her forehead before messing her hair with one of his hands. She whines out a complaint, slapping his bigger hand from her head only to earn a deep chuckle, before hitting knuckles with Bradley as a goodbye.

Leonardo did the same, albeit with more groans and moans of pain, having to be escorted out of the little seating area by his older brother picking him by the shoulder and carrying him forward like a toddler. Beatrice waved them both goodbye, easing out a nervous breath she didn’t even notice she was holding, turning her head back to Rooster who had his lips tilted in a small smirk, “That wasn’t so bad.” she mutters once her brothers are both far from sight, “I expected…I don’t know what I expected.”

“Well, we both know sometimes our expectations aren’t what we end up with.” he replies casually, leaning down to kiss the top of her head as the officers behind them talked amongst themselves, “We better go back home, I need a shower. I’d hate to come back to the bar sticking with sweat.”

“Yeah, that’d be terrible.” she giggles, grabbing his hand that dropped from her lower back, interlacing their fingers together, “Penny would probably kick you out.” she whispered the last part since the bar owner was sitting just a few steps away with Pete by her side, “You know she hates when people come smelling to the bar.”

Bradley laughs softly, agreeing with her before he grabs his white tank tee he left folded on one of the seats. Both of them wave their goodbyes, the officers telling Bea to ‘invite her brothers again whenever she wanted’ and she laughs with the promise she’d do that, knowing that Michael would be more than happy to come. Leo, not so much. He’d probably be still soaking his muscles in hot water by the time they play another game.

She didn’t know how it happened, but she and Bradley were now walking Jolene past midnight around his neighborhood after her shift at the Hard Deck. Maybe it was because the weather wasn’t too cold that night and the heat would be dealt with by walking close to the shore, but it was very nice.

“I half expected Michael to show up at the bar.” she says as she sits on the sand, Jolene a bit ahead of them sniffing a little mound that undoubtedly had a crab inside that wasn’t stupid enough to come out, “With him here and all now, he’d be the type to surprise visit me.”

Bradley chuckles, leaning back on his hands as they watch the waves crash against the sand quite strongly, but they were at a safe distance from the ocean. “I don’t think it’d be so bad if he did, the others liked him.” he shrugs, “He’s fun, a bit crazy, but fun.”

“I know he is fun…but the crazy part is also true. My brother has the alcohol tolerance of a purebred horse, I’ve never seen someone chug so much alcohol and not be affected by it.” she mutters, bringing her knees up to her chin so she could hug her legs, holding them close to her by clasping her wrist. But she had a smile on her face in the end, “But I love him, I know I complain about my siblings a bit but I love Mike. I’m glad he’s back.”

Not to mention that having him back meant she’d have more help when it comes to getting a new car. Her father knew cars like the back of his hand, but his knowledge of modern vehicles was limited and his interest wasn’t really the best, preferring everything before her birth and backwards. Michael however, was the one that knew everything about cars and motorcycles, not that she’d get a motorcycle but it’s good to have that type of knowledge.

Silence takes over them after a while, the wind hitting their faces and Beatrice lowering her lips to prevent them from getting dry,”You know,” she begins, shaking her head with a smile, “I’ve been thinking about it and…I mean,I…” shr shrugs, still trying to find her words, “A lot has happened before I turned thirty. And…I don’t know I guess it’s more than I ever expected.” he turns his head towards her in questioning and Beatrice drops her hand to the sand to draw with her fingernail, “I think the main one is well,I met you.”

She looks at him with her face red, seeing his lips curl up into a pleased smile, “And ever since then, I guess…my life took a turn for the better. I was really stagnant,Roos. I was part of a routine that never changed: wake up, have breakfast, take Jolene on a walk, get back, do yoga, spend, I don't know how long, worrying about stuff, go to the bar, repeat. I don’t regret it, it wasn’t a bad type of routine it was just…you know? The usual thing every day. And probably wallow in my own self pity and anxiety until I could no longer understand what was reality and what was a figment of my imagination.”

Bradley hums, scooting closer to her so their shoulders touch, grabbing the hand that was currently drawing on the send to lift to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a smile. “Well, you know when it’s real or not now, right?” her cheeks redden but she nodded. He looks down at her fingers, especifically her ring finger with interest, rubbing its length with his thumb much to Beatrice’s obliviousness. He knew it was dumb, but he was trying to figure out her size with his own fingers - which were bigger than hers by a good amount.

He couldn’t get to the jewelry box she keeps in her room to check for other rings, so he was improvising right now. Beatrice didn’t stop him, she just leaned her head on his shoulder as both watched the waves.

“You know what makes me really excited about all this?” she asks, enjoying the caressing to her fingers with a smile, “We have similar decoration styles.”

He stops, furrows his eyebrows then relaxes them with the realization, “Wow, we do. I never noticed.” Of course Beatrice had the pop culture mixed in, which he doesn’t mind but their whole ‘aesthetic’ per se was very minimalist and neutral colored, modern too. “I guess that makes it easier for us to figure out how to arrange the house how we like it.”

God they had a house. Fair, it was rented but they had a house. He was now slowly starting to notice that this was a real deal, that Beatrice and him were going to really live together. He knew there were things that he couldn’t control, like whenever he was deployed - which thankfully there were no talks about it yet- and she’d be pretty much alone in their house with Jolene. And while Jolene was a pitbull, she was never aggressive, she was actually a bit of a scaredy cat most of the time.

But that could wait until they moved in, he didn’t want to think about being deployed now, fearing that just thinking about it would make it happen sooner than later. It was his job but that didn’t mean he wanted it to happen before they moved in and she had to do everything alone. God he hoped it’d take a little while longer for him to actually go.

“Yeah, and there are rooms in the house where we can put one of the couches. And we have a guest room too.” she explains, breaking him out of his worried thoughts, “So we can put one of the beds. I think we’ll use the space really nicely, don’t you?”

“Well it is a lot of space.” he chuckles, “I think we’ll do good.”

“Yeah.” she whispers, her head lifting from his shoulder with her lips forming an ‘oh!’ “Oh, so I was thinking, for my birthday,” he slowly turns his head towards her, arching one eyebrow, “Maybe we can go karaoke and go eat out somewhere! What do you think? We can invite some people too.”

Bradley tries his best to keep his face neutral, pursing his lips with a nod “I think I can do that.” He hopes she couldn’t see in his face how he already had everything planned, settled and ready to go for next week. Thank God for Evelyn’s amazing organization skills, because neither he or Shells would be able to pull half of the things she did. She had a whole file where she put down everything needed for Beatrice’s surprise birthday party, “I don’t see why not.” Her brilliant smile was enough to make his heart turn into goo, she looked so happy just by the thought of having their friends and himself on a little get together.

Oh if only she knew what was going to happen, “I mean, I could ask some of my family members to come too. My parents wouldn’t join, they aren’t very…tech savvy, but Michael,Leo and Cyn would.” he hums, agreeing with her, keeping in mind to send them a message before he forgot, “But it’ll be fun!”

“Of course it will, we are going to celebrate you.” he replies smoothly just so her cheeks turned crimson and her eyes softened as she looked at him. When the wind started to pick up, Jolene rushed to their side and launched herself in between them, curling against their bodies trying to shield herself from the wind, “I think it’s better if go back,” he says already pushing himself upwards, helping Beatrice up and smiling down at the pittie who remained in between the two “Jojo is ready to leave.”

“Howling wind does make her a bit nervous, come here baby.” she coos, picking the dog up so she could carry her like an actual child, with Jolene’s huge head nestled on the curve of Beatrice’s shoulder. She follows Brad to the Bronco, still holding Jolene tight to herself but blinks when she feels the furs on her back suddenly stand to an end, “Jojo?” the dog’s head is directed somewhere else, her throat vibrating in a quiet growl that makes both of them stop and look at her, “Jojo, what’s the matter? Maybe there’s a cat.” Beatrice answers Bradley’s confused stare.

Both of them jump at a loud bark breaking the silence, something that Jolene never does and that makes both of the humans with her stare into the darkest part of the street. Rooster’s narrowed eyes try to see something, anything, but it was too dark for him to see, so he steps in front of Beatrice in hopes he could have any idea why Jolene suddenly got mad. He hears Beatrice gently calming Jolene down, the low growling still present which meant that whatever was bothering her was still in the direction they were all looking at, “Brad?” Beatrice’s soft voice calls, which promptly makes him hold a hand back for her to be quiet for a bit, moving his eyes around but not being able to see anything.

There is a noise from beyond, the clatter of a trash can’s lid falling to the ground making Jolene bark one more time, except this time Bradley can see what was actually bothering her: a raccoon. “Oh my God,” Beatrice heaves out a sigh, watching the small animal scurry away from there and disappear into the night “God that scared me.” Jolene ‘boofed’ towards the gray critter in warning, “It was just a raccoon, Jojo, it’s all good.”

Bur Bradley wasn’t convinced. He didn’t know why but his eyes remained in the same direction, Jolene wouldn’t bark even for squirrels, why would she bark for a raccoon? He was starting to get the same feeling from when Damon was not following them. Something in him was on high alert, something in him got closer to Beatrice, gently ushering her to the car with his narrowed gaze back to the dark area. If there was someone there, a mugger or something of the sort, they didn’t step closer.

Unless it was, God forbid, Chloe…but she already fucked her career enough, she wouldn’t try to pull any bullshit like that. He hesitated on going back, only moving when Beatrice calls him and he walks to the driver’s side with his eyes still on the same direction, getting into the car to see Beatrice looking back as well, since Jolene supported her huge head on the top of the back seat, “Do you think there’s something else there?”

He kept his eyes on the rear view mirror, trying to see if there was something moving or any light that would turn on the second they got to the car, but there wasn’t, “I don’t know, maybe there’s more raccoons. I can’t be sure.”

“A person?”

Bradley inhales, turning the car on, “I’m not sure, baby.” if there was, they were really well hidden in there, so well hidden he couldn’t see anything, “It is past midnight, strange people roam around this time. Can’t be too careful.” she agrees, leaning back against the seat to sigh softly, placing her interlaced hands on top of her thighs. While still a bit nervous by Jolene’s sudden aggressive behavior to whatever it was hidden in the dark, they managed to get back to his apartment safely.

Beatrice chews her lower lip once inside, running her hands through her hair as she thinks about what just happened minutes ago. It was strange, and a bit scary, but neither of them were hurt so that’s always good. She sighs, kicking off her sneakers and putting her bag on the coat hanger before she meets Bradley in the kitchen, pushing herself to sit on the counter top as he pours himself some water, offering a glass to her, “Thanks.” she murmurs, sipping the cool drink slowly, swinging her feet back and forth.

“You are welcome.” he says back, kissing her cheek and leaning his lower back on the counter’s edge, trying to ease his mind from what happened by thinking of anything but Jolene’s weird behavior, “So, when do you want to check the car out?”

“I’ve looked some stuff up and probably on monday.” she says, holding the glass with both hands, “I can ask Mike to help me out, so you don’t have to worry. He’s really good with cars and whatnot…and well, he has a lot of experience with cars and motorbikes and such.” she shrugs, giving him a small smile, “And well, yeah,I think that’d be good.”

“I’m okay with that,” the pilot replies with a little smile, drinking his own water slowly, “It’ll be a long week, but I’ll be calm enough for your birthday on Saturday.” he grins, kissing her forehead when she gave him a thankful smile, dropping his lips to the tip of her nose then her mouth, “I think around…eight would be a good time to go, huh?” not because that was the scheduled time Evelyn managed to get them, but Bea didn’t have to know that.

“I think so! It’s usually open around seven, so yeah!It’ll be fine!” she grins, still swinging her feet, “Did you ever go to a karaoke bar?”

Bradley chuckles, “Have I? Yes, absolutely.”

“And what’s your go to song?” she asks with genuine interest, placing the empty glass in the sink, “Any Jerry Lee Lewis ones?”

“While I love his music, very few karaoke bars have them.I had a bit of everything, and I’m not telling you yet, it’ll be a surprise when we go there.” he finishes his sentence by taking a slow sip of his water.

Beatrice stares at him for a while, her smile widening, “It’s Backstreet Boys isn’t it?” he chokes, placing a hand under his chin to hold back the dribble as he tries to calm down his shocked coughing. He didn’t know how she figured out so easily, he wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Backstreet Boys, they were a good band, but it wasn’t something he shared with everyone, “I’ve heard you humming to I Want it That Way one time in the shower when you thought I was asleep. It was really cute, Roos.”

Bradley licks his lips and wipes his chin, his coughing diminishing until it is finally gone, “It’s a good song.” she just giggles, mentioning it was cute no matter what and Bradley’s cheeks warm up just a bit, just enough for him to look away. He honestly preferred them to think about him singing Backstreet Boys by the top of his lungs than what happened close to the beach hours before. “What about you, what is your favorite song?”

Beatrice shrugs, “I don’t have one. I think. I can never really choose, I get a bit…over excited when I see the options.”

“I thought you were going to say Great Balls of Fire but,” he shrugs, with a little pout, looking away from her, “I’m not hurt by it.” Beatrice laughs, which in turn makes his lips quirk up in a smile as he steps closer to her, her legs parting so accommodate him better, “But seeing you singing it was really good for me.” he mutters with his lips on hers.

Beatrice however, blinked, her lips just brushing his as her head recoiled in surprise, “Where did you see me singing it?”

“Shells sent me the video when you guys went there, when I was deployed.” Beatrice’s face slowly lost color, little by little the usual light peach coloring turned lighter and lighter, “It was really cute, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Oh my God, that’s why she was recording!! She just said to keep it for prosperity!!” she covers her face with both hands, whining into her palms, “That’s so–”

“Cute and adorable and probably sexy too since it’s you we are talking about.” he smiles, hugging her shoulders when her forehead pressed on his chest, “You know it is. And you know I loved seeing you singing it.” Beatrice whines again on his shirt, her face so hot he could feel it through his top, “And you can sing it again at a…later time…when we are alone and less clothed.”

Her swat to his arm was light but enough to sting a bit, lifting her head just enough to glare at him playfully,”You are terrible.” she’s still blushing a violent shade of red “But I’ll consider.” she yelps out in surprise when he picks her up by the legs, laughing when he travels all the way back to his room, kicking the door behind him.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader

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carnal-lnstinct · 3 years ago

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I'm so sorry but I wanted to ask you if you could make a bardock x reader smut, because I haven't seen much on bardock

The reader is chubby and is a little human hehe sorry for the request!

This man...this man... mmm~, what a man. But I had to tweak him before he ruined me forever like sir pls your son already has my heart. Since this is debut Bardock for my writing, I did do it headcanon-y again but added the extra bits as well. ♥

Pairing: Bardock x Chubby Female Reader ( Requested By @the-otaku-without-a-name ) Rating: Mature / 18+. Minors DNI Warning: ( canon divergent, explicit language )

For as savvy in the head and roguishly charming as he can be, Bardock is a gd idiot when it comes to romance. Smart fighter but he's no Casanova. We still lovin and supportin him. Bardock strikes me as the type to be the last one to realize he has feelings for you. Maybe when the "threat" of not having you as a significant other at all rears itself.

He feels connected to you as much as he is/was with his crew, but now he's picking up the difference in how he interacts with you and them, he's putting two and two together. So he may throw a few more smiles your way, throw his arm over your shoulder when you're chatting, or promise to bring you back something valuable from his assignments.

He would promise to come back to you unharmed, but he knows what trouble he likes to get into so just be assured he'll be back alive and with a story of his battle, at least.

If anyone asked him how he felt about you prior to actively dating you or even him realizing his feelings for you, he's laying out the basic facts he knows about you as if they're compliments of your character: That one thing you're good at because everyone's good at something, or that one physical trait that distinguishes you, like being a woman. You're never in the way, so that's something to consider. You're a friend. A good friend, to boot. Even you just being loyal and trustworthy is basic common sense you should have in his opinion, but he's not holding that to anyone he's not going into battle with.

Dead ass, Toma and Fasha are a big help to why you're even together if they're around to remind him how absentminded he's being.

If the endearing qualities that make you suitable for courting are put in his head, he'll think about it briefly and then proceed to have the idea cast aside to focus on the here and now until it's brought back up, and he gives himself a chance to linger on the idea. Again, Bardock considers the bare minimum facts that would make sense to him in making you his wife. He'd have someone waiting at home for him with food, someone to have his kids, patch small wounds he feels aren't worth a trip to the healing center, your loyalty, etc. Typical low-class saiyan expectations, next to simply fighting and dying on the battlefield.

But that...sounds like a lot of fuss and work to get to. It can just come to him naturally, and he'll wait you out on that to happen. For him, that just means keep treating you like a friend when he thinks he's giving you extra attention.

If you think your chubby features put him off and fear it is the cause for him hesitating to make any moves to pursue you, you're wrong. He's just focused on getting to the next big fight and blind to everything outside of that. Don't worry, he's got it worked out in his mind somewhere to make you his wife.

His taste in a s/o may be just as common as any other saiyan male, so being a little more assertive in your demeanor would help as well. A lot.

Bardock wouldn't recognize your chubby features as something that makes you stand out, it's just part of who are you. Sticking with the same logic I once stated for Vegeta, he's not at all put-off or criticizing of your physique if you're comfortable with yourself.

If you're a little anxious about that part of yourself, he'd find it a needless thing to worry about and assure you to not get all worked up over something like that. And if anyone has a problem with the way you look, then kick their ass or let him do it for you. Nobody's allowed to give you crap for your body as long as he's around, and if you do it to yourself then he's about to personally toughen you up. Don't be down on yourself, he's got your back.

It's when you're officially together that he starts to really cater to his physical attraction to you. Most importantly, this is where his passion really starts to surface for you. You're all his now, and out of your awkward dating stage. When you're alone, he'll playfully pinch your cheeks to tease you or hold you around your waist to bring you into his side and feel how soft you are. Loves to watch your tits bounce and jiggle at the slightest motion or when you walk.

Your smile is so rewarding to him when he returns home from missions, he plays it off for his team but he truly can't wait to return to you.

His PDA is...not great? It's not bad, you can just tell he has a way of being a tad standoffish. He makes it clear that you're with him in public, he's not shy about claiming you. He's more receptive to your public affections if you're both only around his crew, but there's a limit before he feels you're doing it to embarrass him in front of them.

He more than makes up for the lack of PDA when you're alone, however. He can't help but fall for the fullness of your hips and thighs when they're in his hands.

Favorite Positions: carrying position, doggystyle, cowgirl+variations, full nelson, mating press, butterfly position

Listen he's gonna wanna pick you up, bend you, and flip you around any way he can. He's gonna just go for it, be ready at all times when he's in between missions and got nothing else to do than to give all this time and energy to you. Stretch baby, he's putting you to work and expect you to endure it all, but he will ease up if you ask him. Especially for positions that don't feel the most comfortable to you. Bardock's going to want to hear your voice during sex. Flatter him, beg for him, cry out to him, utter the foulest filth to him, he's going to dish it back to you and encourage you to speak out to him with his cock inside you. He holds onto every drop of your voice when he's not with you to get him through to the next time he can be with you.

Don't ever try to tease him in a place where you think he can't have you, or he will pay you back tenfold for it. He'll find a place and ensure everyone hears you from it.

Breeding Kink Bardock s'what the crowds callin' him these days and I agree! You're his wife (even if you never officially marry), he's gotta fill your womb with every bit of his seed. He's gotta prop your legs for a good view, watching his cock disappear inside you until he emptied his balls deep. It's all for you, you gotta take all of it. Bardock is gonna praise you through every bit of it.

He can get pretty vocal during sex, himself but he is mostly quiet when it's all over and with his aftercare. Keep chatting to a minimum, or all you can get out of him is an affirming or disagreeing grunt before he doses off.

Whether he lives on Earth with you or by some other means you live on Planet Vegeta with him, Bardock's interests are pretty limited to his desire to fight, his love for you, and eventually the chubby cheek family you have together. This will also include his crew if they are with him, you're all his family.

He likes to stay busy, so give him something to work for. ♥

#♚ ;; [ asks ]#my writing #bardock x reader #bardock imagine #bardock #dbz imagine #dbz fics #nsft #lemon

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scrollypoly · 3 years ago

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If you haven't already, Ben for the nsfw alphabet 😳

It took 3 days since i started this for you guys to ask me about ben, yall should know i'm one of the biggest ben simps on this gd hellsite, i'm so disappointed in all of you 😤

That being said I now get to talk about my baby boy~ ��

Friendly reminder that my ben is very different from the generally accepted canon, and if some things confuse you, you can always shoot me an ask or dm, or go through his tag or my masterlist for a couple posts talking about him. A big one that i will bring up here tho is that Ben and BEN are two separate entities that share a body, and i distinguish between the two of them. I will be writing for both of them here, and when it comea up, I will differentiate between them by making BEN's notes green for you guys. Also, my Ben is trans, these hcs will reflect that.

Now time to gush about my baby 😫😫👏🙌

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS - DO NOT INTERACT, you will be blocked

Ben Drowned NSFW Alphabet

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

Aftercare is very important with him, because if he trusts you enough to have sex with you, you need to affirm it. He can have severe drops from his ptsd and get overwhelmed easily. Thankfully its not hard to calm him back down and assure him, just give him a good sturdy squeeze and soothe him a bit, reassure him that he's safe with you, and after a couple minutes of that he'll be good to tell you if he's okay to keep going 💕

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

Being dead and forming his own vessel to use as a body, he got to pick how he wanted to look. Very lucky for him, because he likes almost every part of his body. Especially his eyes tho, he has his mom's eyes and now that she's dead its one of the few things he has to remember her.

On you? Boobs, if you're a woman. He also loves thighs and your neck, very fun to bite and suck on. Or just snuggle up into 🥰

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His dick isn't technically real so most of the time, unless you've been working him up bad or edging him, he fires blanks He is a squirter though 😳💦

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

He's a dirty panty thief, none of your laundry is safe. He is pretty shameless about it too, if you catch him, he'll tease you for it 😤

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Ok listen . . . This boy is not inexperienced. However, most of the times he has done anything sexual previously was as a way to manipulate victims unfortunately. So in terms of an equal and enjoyable sexual encounter?? This boy is lost, but he's eager to learn 👀👉👈

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He doesn't have too much of a preference, but he likes to lay back and see you on top. Cowgirl, reverse missionary, amazon, any of them work cuz he loves the view 😏

BEN however is flipped almost. BEN is more dominant and will pin you down on any surface and leer over you and watch you freeze up or squirm 😈

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Def someone more casual and goofy, he knows he's nowhere near smooth enough to be all serious and sexy so why bother 🤭

BENs a bit more serious, mostly cuz it's more intimidating, so if it jokes around with you it has this weird threatening undertone thats pretty much designed to throw you off, and he plays it off pretty well but inside he's laughing his ass off cuz its so easy to fluster you.

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

Clean but he doesn't care much to trim. He prob will if you ask nicely tho 👀😏

As for the carpet matching the drapes, well, he's not a natural blond. Take that as you will

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

The two of you will only have a sexual relationship if he trusts you a lot, so that intimacy will already be there. Like Jack, Ben is demisexual, and has some severe trust issues, so the intimacy is a prerequisite for a relationship with him. He's very clingy and affectionate, and that translates to sex as well. He's very touchy and doting and will absolutely melt at any gentle touch you give him 🥺

BEN also needs a lot of intimacy to be in any kind of sexual relationship with you, but being a sort of protector of Ben, it needs far more trust with you, and has also never really had a chance to receive or process any sort of physical affection. It will be more of a hard ass for longer than Ben would, but once you have proven to him that it can trust you, it will slowly open up to you. Once BEN realizes it can safely have this kind of physical intimacy, it might fry a little bit tbh, but it will get so soft and gentle with you. He treasures you now 💞💖

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He gets so shy when he masturbates oh lordy He has to drop the glamour when he does it cuz his glamoured dick doesn't get that much sensation, and thankfully his dysphoria isn't too bad anymore, but mentally its still an Experience™️ to get off with a vagina when he's so used to having a dick. He gets really flustered and tbh it makes the sensation much stronger, and it's really hard for him to be still. His whole body goes into it when he masturbates.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

If you both be careful, he'd love to choke you, just make sure you have a safe word or signal so he doesn't go overboard.

He also has a bit of an oral fixation, and it shows cuz he will kiss and nibble and suck on you so much. Let this boy suck on your fingers, he will be such a good boy for you

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Please just a bed jfksjfk Or his desk 👀 he def would not mind that either 🥴

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

If you dress up for him, there's no going back, his pants are off, you are getting thrown onto that bed, and you cannot get out of this no way sir, nuh uh, he is on top of you and kissing down your neck like you are air that he needs to survive 😩

Sending him any form of nude or audio will also make him go crazy and if you do that, be prepared for him to pop out of your phone and show you how much he appreciates that~

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Do Not ever choke him; I wouldn't even recommend putting your hands on his neck. I wouldn't recommend any impact play on his upper body or arms either, it's just too close to the abuse he used to receive. If he asks for it, anything below the waist is okay though. I wouldn't restrain him without his enthusiastic consent either.

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

This boy could go down on you for hours if you asked. He has a slight oral fixation, and by golly he knows what he's doing down there too 🥴🤤

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Tbh he lets you control the pace most of the time, but he doesn't like to go too fast, he'll just kinda bounce you on his lap and watch your head roll back and be content~

BEN likes to go a bit faster and rougher, it's just that demon-like instinct

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Hell yeah, come sit on his lap and ride him rq while he's playing a game, he'll be putty in your hands

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Open to public risks, but not many more.

BEN is far more open to public stuff because he's a possessive little shit.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Decent, he doesn't really do much working out so for what its worth he can last 🤭 Him not being as sensitive helps more tho, but having other pretty sensitive spots on his body that you can exploit evens that out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He got a few, might have stolen them might have not 🤭🤫 Hes got a bullet vibrator and a couple of different dildos, and somehow he managed to get his hands on a stroker, just in case

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be a tease~ He's very touchy and that's usually how he'll get ya, he'll sneak up behind you and start rubbing down your sides and playing with your neck

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Noisy boy lol, very whiny and groany and breathy. He might babble a bit too, if you get him too much into a space

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Listen I know everyone talks about how sensitive his ears are, and I hate to disappoint, but my Ben is not elf like 😔 He doesn't have the pointed sensitive ears you can play with, he's just some guy

His neck is sensitive tho 👀

Technically since hes also *technically* a demon, BEN can have cycles

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Alright This is where the bulk of my trans headcanons come out, yall ready?

BEN is, physiologically speaking, a demon. It was not born a demon, but when it was created, the digital process resembled the arcane process of creating a demon just enough that it developed those traits. That means that BEN has a shifting or glamour ability.

Ben's dick is not real. I'm so sorry to say. It feels real and looks real, about 6.5 inches and very pretty, a nice vein underneath thats a little more sensitive. It feels real to the touch, but because it technically isn't, it's not nearly as sensitive as a real dick would be unfortunately. The good(?) news about this is he can't be overstimulated this way.

Depending on how bad his dysphoria is, he might be okay with having sex without his dick. He hasn't had any hormone treatment or surgeries, he didn't have to after he died, so he has a normal vagina. Usually, he keeps his dick out as long as he can, but if he gets too weak or exhausted his glamour will drop. If he wants to keep going after that, most likely he will strap up.

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

His sex drive isn't super high, but it is pretty easy to get him worked up.

Unfortunately though, BEN has a very very low sex drive. It wasn't really programmed for that, and most of the time for it, sex is an act of service or manipulation. The thing that really gets it going tho is the trust and intimacy of it, which does make him crave it more.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If you wear him out, yeah he can probably fall asleep with you. He's such a cuddle big from being touchstarved most of his life, he really likes being able to be close and frisky with you like that and then just curling up in your arms and feeling good and safe and warm. Both of them do. Its very pleasant and reassuring to him, and it feels so safe.

If its during the day though, and you both have things to do, you'll prob still cuddle for a bit, but then its time for work

#ben drowned smut #kinktober #creepypasta smut #minors dni #my writing #my posts

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers smut #simping for steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

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omegalomania · 2 years ago

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Ok honestly fall out boy is so interesting to me bc they’re a very huge example of what would realistically happen if just some dudes who like music got sprung into fame randomly… like they’re one of the biggest modern bands but aside from their actual talent, there’s nothing really “glamorous” or “celebrity” about them, and i don’t mean that in like a “ooh i forget they’re celebs they’re soo different/quirky” kind of way but like in the way that it’s insane seeing the contrast of patrick mentioning in a recent interview that he isn’t on social media/the internet anymore bc he’s paranoid everyone hates him vs the fact that he was literally trending on twitter yesterday bc people love his performance in de:pp… like everyone jokes around about fobs obliviousness to their fame but like that kind of anxiety is realistically exactly what would happen to any normal nerdy shy dude that happened to get thrust into fame for fixating on music… SORRY this is so long winded but your posts got me thinking about this weird lil band again

i think absolutely one of the most endearing things about all of them is that literally none of them know how to be famous and it's still extremely funny to me. they are literally just some guys and they're like oh right We're A Big Famous Band and they always seem surprised to be recognized. like oh my god you guys have been chart-toppers for 20 years you are allowed to have a FRACTION of an ego about it but they literally just dont!

but i think they’re just extremely aware that they were exceptionally lucky, and while they’re certainly all extremely extremely talented dudes, the sad fact is that the industry is constructed in such a way that raw talent is never enough to get you where you need to go. they had grounding and stability that a lot of other up-and-coming artists sadly don’t get, and i think they understand that very well and it has a lot to do with their perpetual surprise that people still care about them.

this ask reminded me of something i saw posted forever and ever ago on the fall out boy subreddit (which is a godless joyless place and i do not recommend frequenting it, except that it does, on occasion, serve as a good source for news update and the like) and i had to dig through literal years’ worth of ancient plurks to find it again, but i DID because it still rings true to me today:

transcript of the image, with some emphasis by me:

“Yes, I’m late 30s and wasn’t particularly into FOB’s early work b/c I saw all 00s pop punk as an extension of the havoc GD/Blink’s popularity on 90s punk, but I was quite aware of Racetraitor, Arma, and Chicago’s cultral moment with the sound in general from 90s message baords. It was easily some of the best challenging-to-enjoy work of that time. I was busy buying jumble lots of obscure East Coast punk, tossing ones with swastikas (yay anti-racist skins, fuck anti-anti racist skins) and mining for gold like a proper grumpy punk teen, so I didn’t listen to them a lot.

But as a child of the early 80s, tenors & hits, I got into FOB years later when they were doing weird top-shelf pop rock. That helped me understand what younger people appreciated about their early stuff.

I rarely get to say this, but searching for a comparison in terms of bands reaching/sustaining their level of success with that kind of shitty basement political punk history... Bad Religion, maybe? BR was absolutely an oddball pop-inspired punk band & they were/are massive given what they discuss, and more so via their label creation. They never really grew much, though. Rancid are great & have a duo at the core. The Clash were exceptional and experimented a lot.

FOB’s presence over the past two decades is just not a thing that is supposed to happen anymore. Couldn’t be happier it worked out for punks managed by guys who are music stories of their own. Knew of jonathan Daniel from The Loveless thanks to a superfan debate coach in the 90s, was overjoyed to hear he was managing Butch Walker in the early 00s. I wasn’t aware of McLynn at the time, but I’ve heard his stuff since and what a house bassists built.”

legitimately i struggle to think of a band like fall out boy in the mainstream. a band with legitimate punk and hardcore roots, who built their way into practically universal recognition, and have remained culturally relevant for literal decades. that’s not a thing that happens a whole lot and it’s not a thing that is meant to happen anymore.

i think it’s one of the reasons it’s easy to look at them as the underdogs, even now. like by just about any metric, they’re not underdogs anymore, but they still manage to feel like kind of an island. there truly is no other band like them on the planet, and i don’t think that there ever will be.

#askin hours #anon #even with their closest modern day contemporaries - the other two members of the big three #i don't see them as being equivalent to fob in terms of how they got there #its more like they just had these vastly overlapping fanbases which is an important element all on its own #but in terms of raw staying power and cultural relevancy and the fact that it's been the same four members the whole time #they're it man. they're the only ones.

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bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

Photo

ELEVATED SURFACES

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, smoking, lots of cursing)

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

MASTERLIST (check it out for extras) | INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST

a/n: as a recently graduated srat girl and lover of a good frat party, this one shot was intended to fill the whole in my heart which is LEGIT frat Harry. he is fratty and hot and long haired and a mess. if u like this try out TEMPTATION which is my other frat!h series and the first thing i ever wrote on this gd website (he’s not as fratty but we love him a LOT)

a/n pt.2: as a note, i want to make very clear that frats and greek organizations frequently harbor predators and abusers. i do not in any way condone that behavior or that reality, and i would like to bring attention to a petition to remove a fraterity that had done truly many horrible things--your signature would be a huge help. for survivors of assault, you are not alone, and it is not your fault.

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

Harry is a very fratty frat boy and Y/N is a really good dancer

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“We really should not be still going to our own mixers,” Emily said to you, fluffing her hair and rotating to check her ass in her jeans. You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed, a gin and tonic in one hand to get your blood flowing before the party started. Emily sighed, and then turned from the mirror to you, grabbing the coffee cup that had never seen coffee, just alcohol. “Are people even going?”

You nodded, tossing your phone next to you and leaning against the bed frame. “Alexis is on her way over—she got held up finishing an essay. Maya said she might come, I tried to convince her by promising I’d bring my flask and you’d have your Juul.”

“I swear, she has to just give in and get one of her own.” Emily took a long sip and crossed her arms.

“She claims that will make her addicted.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She’s already addicted—she uses half my pods and ends up hanging out with whatever guy will let her take a hit. Is it just going to be us and all the new members?”

“No, I think some juniors are going. And definitely the sophomores—they’re all on the little hunt.” You got up, going to your computer to change the song, scrolling through your comprehensive and well-curated pregame playlist. “Plus, who gives a fuck, we’ll only be there for an hour or two for the free alcohol and then we’re hitting the bars.”

“True.” A knock came from the door, and Emily hollered to come in, and Alexis appeared in the doorway, her makeup looking utterly flawless as always. You had always wanted Alexis’s wardrobe and told her constantly, to which Alexis always replied that she wished you were the same size. Unfortunately, Alexis was a solid five inches shorter than you and had a completely different bra size, making sharing quite difficult.

“Bitches, I brought tequila!” Alexis swung into the room in a cloud of perfume, and threw her arms around you and Emily’s shoulders. “Come on, we need to get tipsy before we get to this mixer. Nick already texted me making sure I was coming.”

“Grab the shot glasses,” You replied, nodding to the makeshift bar cart in the corner, which as laden with glasses of all kinds and all your alcohol. “Are you hooking up with him tonight?”

Alexis shrugged, pulling her tequila from her bag and setting it on your desk before turning and going for the shot glasses. “Probably. I don’t know, he’s been weird lately—we hooked up on Monday night, but then he got all weird and left like immediately after and hasn’t texted me since. Barely acknowledged me when we saw each other in the library.”

“Was the sex weird?” Emily asked, unscrewing the top on the tequila so she could pour.

“Yeah,” Alexis replied, holding the glasses steady while Emily poured. “Like weirdly…intense? I let him come inside me which was probably a stupid idea, but I’m on the IUD so we should be all good. And then I offered to let him stay and he just got all flustered and said he had to go.”

You took your full shot glass, and you all clinked before tossing them back, the alcohol burning on your throat. You hated tequila shots but Alexis loved them, and you did admit they did their job. “Do you think he’s caught feelings?”

Alexis’s eyes widened. She had been pining after Nick for ages, his tall basketball stature and surprisingly good fashion sense a dime a dozen. Much less, apparently the sex was insane, so what wasn’t to like? “You think? I thought it might’ve not been his vibe.”

Emily grabbed the bottle. “Another?” You all nodded, and she poured again, The Weeknd crooning in the background. “Just see what happens tonight, feel out what his vibe his.”

“Good idea.” You slammed back another shot, hissing before setting down the glass. “Okay, that’s enough tequila or you two are going to be carrying me home tonight.”

Emily and Alexis laughed, before taking seats on your bed, continuing to chatter about the night ahead. It was a Friday, your favorite night because it was usually just mixers, no general parties, which as a senior you had grown to despise. The fighting for watered down alcohol, packed bodies and horrific gender ratio was simply no longer something you had the energy to deal with. Mixers were your preferred zone, filled with your sorority sisters who you adored, the opportunity to actually hang out with the frat brothers whose presence you enjoyed, and usually pong. Sometimes they even let you DJ because you had the best party playlists. The president of Sig Ep had actually asked for the link one time and you’d heard they used it sometimes when the brothers didn’t want to man the computer anymore.

You surveyed your outfit in your narrow mirror, the black denim jeans and simple white tank that showed a bit of stomach and your tan you’d worked hard on during your winter escape to the Caribbean with your lineage. It was simple, yet it suited your needs—after three and a half years of college parties, you had discovered getting dressed up for frat parties was a useless activity, since your clothes would get drenched in jungle juice and sweat anyways. You left your best outfits for Saturday nights spent clubbing downtown.

If you were being honest, the whole reason you were going tonight was because at the last mixer you’d had with Beta, you’d turned around on the dance floor to find Harry’s eyes on you. You were already dancing with another one of the brothers and ended up making out with him in a corner until you got bored, but you hadn’t been able to get the sight of his eyes on you out of your head.

You’d known Harry since freshman year, your interactions limited mostly to mixers and the occasional run-in in the dining halls when you exchanged pleasantries, or the one time he’d volunteered for a karaoke team for your sorority philanthropy event and you’d been in charge of his team. But the two of you had rarely ever spent time together. That didn’t mean you hadn’t had a lingering crush on him since you’d first laid eyes on him, though, and over the years he’d only gotten more attracted. A body that filled out his white t-shirts and black jeans, hair long and sweeping his shoulders to where he wore it in a bun most times, a jaw that could cut glass. He was hot and he knew it, as did everyone else on campus.

As juniors you had both been on the executive boards of your respective Greek organizations and had ended up in meetings together about housing violations and social calendars, but it hadn’t ever led to much more than you both complaining about how fucking annoying FIJI and their insistent requests for a house was, considering they’d trashed their last one. But this year, you’d found his eyes on you multiple times, and you wondered if perhaps your time had arrived. You’d both always danced around each other and you were curious after all these years if he was finally interested in hooking up. Not that you really expected much more, or were looking for much else—you were a senior, after all, and you were enjoying it.

“Y/N.” Alexis’s voice ripped you from your musings over Harry, her fingers snapping from her spot on your bed. “What’s got you thinking hard over there?”

“Harry?” Emily guessed, one eyebrow raising. “Emmett said he’ll be there tonight.”

“He’s always there,” you replied, because he was. Like you, he seemed to enjoy the mixers, but usually avoided the open parties unless he was on door duty.

“You’d hook up with him, right?”

You looked at Alexis. “Obviously. He’s so fucking hot.”

She laughed, as did Emily. “Then go for it, girl. It’s not like he’ll say no.”

You shrugged. “He might. Never know.”

“I seriously doubt that. You look hot as fuck, as usual, and are the life of the party. Beta adores you. They literally asked you to move in this year when they had an open spot.”

“It was a joke,” you reminded them, because it was—you wouldn’t ever be allowed to live in the house and they knew that. It was true though, you had become a bit of a groupie over the past few years, preferring the more laid back vibe in their house. You’d become friends with all the senior guys, except the weird or obnoxious ones, and had become a regular invite to Bachelor Monday watch parties in their second floor living room. You brought snacks and your friends, they provided the booze and the cable.

“Still,” Emily said, nudging you the toe of her black booties. “Don’t sell yourself short, babes. He is missing a brain if he’s not interested in you.”

“And seriously missing out,” Alexis added. You shot her a look, but she just chuckled. “Bitch, I lived next door to you last year. You are loud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, laughing, but she was right. You were. Guys had told you on countless occasions, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care all that much. “Come on, we should go. Maya is texting me asking when we’re leaving.”

“Do you have your cigs?” Alexis asks you, downing the rest of the drink she’d made while you had been staring into space.

It was your vice, one you had picked up during a semester abroad and only did when you were drunk. You knew you should stop, but something about it made you feel powerful, a bit badass, so you kept doing it. “Obviously. Emmett will have a fit if I don’t.” You swiped your pack from your desk drawer and your trusty pale blue lighter, and shoved them into the pocket of your jacket. With one last swig of your drink, your veins buzzing with alcohol just the right amount, the three of you were off, singing an old Hannah Montana song in the elevator down to the lobby of your dorm.

One of the pledges was working the door, but happily let you three into the frat house. The lights on the main floor were off, except for the ones in the front study that doubled as a coat room, where you tied the arms of your jackets together and set them in the corner so you didn’t lose them. Your cigs were transferred to your back pocket, and you just prayed you didn’t forget they were there and crush them again.

Josephine and another junior were the sober sisters, and offered you three hugs before checking your names off the list. You got positive points for being there, as if that was the main reason you had shown up.

“Emmett!” Emily called, and the blond-headed boy’s head flipped up from where he was standing behind the bar. A Gatorade water cooler was sitting on the high bar, stacks of red solo cups and boxes of white claws and beers sitting on top of one another.

Aka, your happy place. “He’s bartending, thank god,” you said, and grabbed Emily and Alexis, weaving through the crowd. Girls stopped you all as you moved, hugs and squeals at your appearance. You had to admit, you were popular in your sorority, but mainly because you had made it your mission to get your money worth. As a result of your exec position, you’d gotten to know the sophomore member class and you adored them all, chaotic messes who always turned up with you and made you laugh hysterically. Honestly, you were sad to graduate because it meant leaving behind so many fun friends and memories.

“We’ve been waiting for you three,” Emmett said when you arrived in front of him. He was wearing the frat’s homecoming shirt from the previous year and his eyes were dilated, obvious that he had smoked before. “What are we drinking?”

“What’s the mix?” You asked, pointing to the cooler.

He grabbed three cups, knowing you would be taking it. “Shit ton of vodka, Kool Aid, water, the usual.”

“My favorite,” you replied, blowing him a kiss. “How is it downstairs?”

He filled the cups and handed them to you all. “They just wrapped up pong so it’s still getting moving.”

Alexis took a long sip before grabbing your hand. “Sounds like we need to get people dancing.” With that she turned around, her long slick black hair moving in a circle. “Let’s dance!” She called, and the girls around you cheered, following the three of you down the slippery steps to the basement.

Downstairs, The Motto was playing and you bobbed your head along with the beat, moving your hips as you entered the large basement space. It was dark except for a glowing sign with the Beta letters in narrow neon lights, casting the room with a tint of green. Your battered frat shoes, an old pair of white Vans, stuck against the beer and jungle juice-covered floor as you made your way to the middle. A couple of other girls and brothers were scattered around the floor, and you broke from Emily and Alexis’s hands as you twirled on the floor.

You raised your cup above your head and started dancing, rapping the lyrics by heart, moving your hands and hips along with the song. Emily and Alexis sang along with you and some of the younger girls showed up, then some other seniors who shared your love for frat parties. All of a sudden your little was screaming and running towards you, Mallory’s arms wrapping around your waist.

“Oh my fuck god, MOM,” she screamed, using the nickname she’d had for you since you’d taken her as your little two years ago. You laughed and threw your arm around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics. There was a specific reason you had taken Mallory as your little, and it was because she lost her shit at parties just as much as you did. You two were a dynamic duo like no other, and if your grand little didn’t have a huge exam on Monday, she’d be here too and you would all be dancing together as usual.

You downed your jungle juice, the sugary drink combined with the loud music blasting and your friends making your adrenaline kick into high gear. And then Maya appeared, arms waving like crazy, and then she dropped it low and you remembered why you adored her, even if she always stole Emily’s Juul. She had a beer in one hand and a white claw in the other, ready for the night ahead.

Then Emmett appeared, trailed by some of the other brothers in tank tops and t-shirts, one carrying a six pack on his shoulder and handing out warm beers to the brothers he passed. Emmett beelined for Emily, his arm thrown around her shoulder, their completely platonic friendship on show for everyone. The song ended and you took a breath, crushing your cup and tossing it into the corner so you could have your hands free. Emily pulled her Juul free and took a hit, passing it to Maya next without a question between them.

The opening notes of Come Get Her started and you immediately grabbed Alexis and Emily, beelining for the bar that the speakers rested on, something you weren’t even sure how it got there, but it was your favorite elevated surface of all time. Wide enough to dance, tall enough to be high but not too high where you couldn’t mostly stand. You clamored up, coming to nearly full height and turning to your friends.

“Somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper!” You screamed, your friends coming in a circle in front of the three of you, some other girls getting up on the bar. When the line came through again, you decided fuck it, and you dropped your ass low, bending your knees and tipping your head back.

When you danced, you didn’t give a single fuck about impressing guys or any of that. You just simply loved to dance with your friends, move your hips, and didn’t care what you looked like. Mallory screamed when you got low, your name falling from her lips in a squeal of joy.

That had him moving. He joined a circle where Emmett and some other senior guys were dancing with some other girls, beers in hand as they shifted back and forth. But you knew what would have them all actually dancing and screaming and jumping along with you. You needed to see Harry like that—loose and free. So you turned around and grabbed the attention of the sophomore on aux, his name something along the lines of Justin, and screamed your song choice to him. He gave you a thumbs up, and then you turned back around. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck, and you rolled it into a loose, high bun, pulling the elastic on your wrist around it as you swayed to the song.

You could hear the song ending, and with your eyes on Harry, you decided you would get down. He was next to a pledge with a six pack, and you wanted a beer. You were mixing alcohols like nobody’s business tonight, but you’d done worse. You squatted down and kicked your feet out, Mallory’s hand coming out to help you down. “You good?” She asked, leaning in to you.

“Yeah, just hot,” you replied. “Going to get a beer.” She nodded and let you go. There wasn’t a need to watch your friends as much in a normal party, since you knew all the girls here. Maya pulled you in for a hug as you moved, and then the current president called out your name from where she stood with her boyfriend, a white claw in her hand.

Squeezing next to Emmett, you nudged the waist of the pledge next to you. “Can I get one?” You asked, pointing to the beers.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling one from the case and handing it to you. It was a Natty Light, but you really could’ve given fewer fucks—they were a frat after all, they didn’t buy the good stuff.

You popped the tab and took a long swig, the liquid quelling your rough throat from singing. And then, the song changed, and you smiled, eyes meeting Harry’s. You decided you were going to draw him out. “I got hoes, callin’!” You screamed, the song starting the speakers, and the boys all joined in. Fuck it, you thought, and chugged the rest of your beer so that you could jump, your arms outstretched and pumping up and down. Your bun was bouncing on your head and you were grinning, the music flowing through you.

Harry was watching you, his head tapping, hair swishing back and forth. You needed more. So you moved into the center of the circle, knowing the guys would hype you up, and reached for him. “Why aren’t you dancing?” You asked him playfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Fuck! Shit! Bitch!” The best lines of the song ran through the speaker and you just grabbed his hand, which was warm, and pulled on him. Suddenly his body was in front of you, close, and you tried to process what your original plan was. But then, Harry started moving, back and forth, head bopping, rapping the lyrics in time, and you knew you had gotten him. “I be ballin’, like a motherfuckin’ pro,” you sang, starting up to jump, and to your surprise, Harry joined you, a carefree expression finally crossing his face. He was screaming the lyrics then, hair bouncing as he moved. He rotated, grabbing the shoulders of another one of the boys, who joined in with him, them screaming the lyrics at each other.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the change in his demeanor so sudden. When the song changed, T-Shirt by Migos coming on, he turned back to you. All of a sudden, his lips were next to your ear and you choked on air. “Fuckin’ love that song,” he said, accent smooth in your ear.

“You and every other frat boy,” you replied, stepping backwards. You had ended up at the side of the circle closer to the wall, and so you moved towards it, freeing yourself from the heavy circle of boys.

The song was slower, not a jumping and dancing song, but one that suggested the slow grinding of hips and closeness of bodies. Which fuck it, you wanted. Desperately. He was looking at you with an intense stare, smile sloppy from alcohol, Harry sweaty on his forehead, arms straining under the fabric of his shirt. He was following you, taking a step away from his friends and following your body as if magnetic. So you just went for it, putting your weight lower, and rolled your hips back and forth to the music.

Mama told me/not to sell work/Seventeen five/same color T-shirt

Your eyes met his, and the shared intensity of his gaze stirred something inside of you. Desire. A need to know what his skin felt like, a desire that had been lingering since you first saw him. Your hands moved on their own, draping over his shoulders, and his hands found the curve of your waist, and suddenly you knew what his skin felt like on yours. They found the bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans, burning your already warm skin.

Justin-something on aux changed the song, deciding that was enough, and then No Role Modelz was on, and you moved, swaying back and forth, your chests coming closer and closer. His face was inches from yours and you wondered what his lips would taste like. The slow rap and smooth feel of the beat had your eyes fluttering shut, mind twirling from the alcohol and the lowlights, the heat of the packed basement. If you didn’t have Harry under your hands, you might have left for a smoke break, an excuse for air. But you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon. So you turned around and when your ass touched his dick you couldn’t help but smile—he was already hard. You felt his arm move and watched him sip his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You rolled your hips against him and then reached up, grabbing the can and bringing it to your own lips, taking a sip and watching him watch you. The two of you were taunting each other, acting on a feeling that had always been an undercurrent in every one of your interactions, a slight sexual tension that if you pulled on would become taught.

Which as you pressed against him, you fucking yanked on. His free hand clasped around your hip, holding you close and swaying in time with you. You could feel the sweat that had soaked through his t-shirt a bit, but you didn’t care—you were sweaty yourself, so was everyone in the room. It was part of the appeal, the fact that everyone was a mess and no one cared. He was rock hard between the denim of both of your jeans, and you could feel the power racing through you, the fact that you had him like this going straight to your head.

When Mr. Brightside came on, you decided that was your smoke break time. You couldn’t stand the song after so many years, and the feeling of bodies pressing together as they jumped was too much for you. “I’m going to get some air,” you said, turning around so you could face Harry.

He was so close to you, just inches away, when his tongue licked over his lip. “Can I come with?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand as you moved through the crowd, pushing between frat brothers and your sorority sisters who were all dancing together to the song. When you made it through the exit you sighed, the stale air of the stairwell even feeling better than that room.

“Fuck it was hot in there,” Harry said, your hand dropping from his. He followed you up the stairs and you nodded. You pushed open the door and a Doja Cat song was playing, some people upstairs scattered around, drinking and talking, some sitting on couches together. You waved to Maya, who seemed to have also needed a break, and nodded to the door as if to tell her you were getting some air.

“I’m going to smoke if that’s okay,” you told him as you made your way to the door, pulling your cigs and lighter from your back pocket.

He nodded. “Can I bum one?”

You opened the heavy oak door and said hello to the handful of guys sitting on the steps, who were manning the door and making sure no one random got in. “Sure,” you responded to Harry finally, sitting down on the concrete half wall that lined the landing. You could hear the slight thump of the music, but for the most part it was quiet, the the frat house a couple yards away not throwing anything tonight.

Harry leaned against the wall close to you, taking your offered cigarette. You flicked the lighter and raised it to your cigarette, taking a drag when it lit. Then you handed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly, doing the same. The smoke filled your lungs and your drunken mind considered that you should quit, but at the same time, you liked having something to do when you got air, an excuse to be on the steps. One of the other guys asked for one, and you handed one over, making a new friend.

And then you looked back to Harry. “So,” you said, tapping the ash on your cig. “How have you been?”

You hadn’t seen him since your last mixer with Beta, but you two hadn’t talked in ages. “Good,” he replied. “Busy with classes and stuff.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Political science,” he answered, and your eyebrows shot up. You had expected business or economics, like most of the Beta brothers.

“Why poli sci?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash before taking another drag. “Dunno, really. Took a class freshman year and liked it enough.”

“You don’t want to work in politics or something?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do, honestly.”

“You make it sound like that’s unusual,” you tell him. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckles, a low sound from the back of his throat, and you like the sound of it. “I’ll tell my dad that next time we talk.” You could tell there was a story there, but didn’t push. It wasn’t that kind of moment. “What about you?”

“Psych and pre-law,” you reply, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease.

“Oh? What kind of law?”

You took another drag before answering. “Criminal defense, but I want to work with people on death row.”

His eyes widen, just as you expected. It’s the usual response from people. “Fuck, that’s awesome. What made you interested in it?”

“I just got really into true crime when I was in middle school and ended up doing research on the criminal justice system and what a fucking disaster it is. Death sentences and death row especially. So I want to overturn false convictions.”

He puffed a cloud of smoke, and you watched his lips form a circle, a dark pink color that drew you in. “And you said most people don’t know what they want to do.”

A breeze made the hair on your arm hair stand up, and you rubbed the skin to warm up. It was cold tonight. “I’m unusual,” you told him. “Most of my friends have no idea what they’re doing after graduation.”

You had reached the end of your cigarette, so you dropped it to the ground and stamped it out, the combination of the nicotine and alcohol making your head deliciously hazy. “I’m going back in.”

Harry dropped his cigarette too, putting out the bud. “Lead the way.” He swiped his ID card on the door to let you both in, and you held the door for him, the sound of Post Malone sweeping through the house. “Want another drink?”

You mentally considered how drunk you were, came to the conclusion that you could take some more, and nodded. “White claw, please.” If you laid off the jungle juice you would last a bit longer, and you weren’t particularly wanting to get wasted tonight—you wanted to see where this went.

Harry nodded and walked towards the bar, while you turned to the group of girls closest to you, who were drinking juice and chattering amongst themselves. They immediately started asking you about Harry, about what was happening, and you shrugged because you truly didn’t know. “He’s hot,” one of them, a sophomore named Cat said. “You going to go for it?”

“If the opportunity presents itself,” you replied. You weren’t going to push with Harry, the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him. You’d follow his lead, see what he was interested in, matching his flirting and see where it went. Not to say you weren’t forward, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. “What about you guys?”

Cat launched into an in-depth analysis of the weird flirtation she’d been having with a junior guy in Beta, how they’d hooked up once but not again, but he kept looking at her. You encouraged her to go for it if she wanted, and she grinned, perhaps just needing an extra push. All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your back, and Harry was next to you, a Black Cherry white claw in one hand, a Heineken in the other.

“If I’d know there were Heinekens I would’ve had that,” you told him, accepting your white claw.

His hair fell behind his shoulders when he tipped the beer back. “Most girls don’t like beer.”

“Well you’ve met one now.” You liked messing with him, dropping flirtations into the conversation and pushing buttons. It made him smirk at you and you loved it, the twinkle in his eyes and the pinkness of his lips.

“H.” A guy appeared behind Harry. “We’re out of vodka.”

“How are we out?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer.

The guy, a pledge from the looks of him, grimaced. “Someone took one of the bottles.”

“Fuck,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have one of the other pledges go get more and keep the receipt. Get more claws while you’re out, we’re running low.” With that, he turned back to you, exhaling sharply. The boy disappeared, sensing that was his cue.

Right as you were about to speak, you heard the opening notes of I Love It from downstairs, and you turned to the girls around you. “Downstairs,” you told them, and they all tossed back the rest of their drinks before tossing them into the trash can a few paces away. You opened the door to the basement and then looked back to Harry. “Coming?”

That made him move, following you down into the dark stairwell that smelled of stale beer and sweat. He stayed close to you, and when your foot slipped on a stair he reached out to steady you, a hand to your side that made your body warm with more than just the temperature of the room. The girls in front of you streamed into the room, screaming the lyrics to the song.

“You’re such a fucking hoe/I love it!” You joined in, laughing at the lyrics in spite of yourself, but the truth is you fucking loved the song. It was absurd and was filthy, but you liked screaming the lyrics in a room with a bunch of your friends.

You twirled around and walked into the room backward, moving your body with the beat, taunting Harry to follow you. Which he did, as if connected to you by a magnet. You could see his lips moving, the lyrics falling from his lips to match you. You stopped moving in the middle of the room and Harry’s hands found your hips. Turning in his hands, a coy smile on your face, you knew what this song was going to involve. Hips moved on their own accord, grinding hard against him. You could feel his breath on your neck, the lyrics I’m a sick fuck/I like a quick fuck/I like my dick sucked/I’ll buy you a sick truck in your ear. Hearing the words on his lips for some reason had your blood pumping, and you wanted to hear them again on a loop.

His dick was hard against your ass and your hands stretched behind you, finding his hips to hold him close. His head fell to your neck, nosing at your skin, his fingers on the bare skin at your waist clenching. Your hips moved in time with each other, his body dropping to be at the height as yours, chasing the desire that was running between you. Your head tipped back against his chest and eyes fluttered shut, letting the alcohol in your veins and the music pounding in your ears take over. All you could feel was him, the cut of his body and the strength of his arms next to you, his hips insistently rubbing against yours and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually grind on him.

The song changed, Work Out by J. Cole sounding through the speakers and you pulled away from him and turned to face him. You were going to put on a bit of a show, you decided, because why the fuck not. It was clear at this point that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, so why pretend like anything else was happening?

So when the lyrics Let me see you get/High then go low/Now, girl won't you drop that thing down to the floor? fell through the speakers you dropped to the ground, Harry’s eyes following you came back up slowly, your body just inches from his. His hands fell on your body, grabbing at your waist to keep you close, pressing his hips forward to grind right over the front of your jeans and you panted from both the heat in the room and the pleasure ripping through your body. When the chorus came again, you dropped down, and this time you ran your hands down his legs lightly as you moved, fingers dancing down and then back up the seams of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said and you could barely hear him over the music.

His eyes met yours, searing into yours, a question passing between you. And then you were moving towards each other, an answer to the question in the way your lips met, slotted together and pulled at one another. Your hands were pulling at his shirt, grabbing at the material and the skin underneath, one of his hand holding your head close to his, the other at your waist. It was fast and messy, your lip pulling on his bottom one, before chasing him, his tongue brushing at the seam of your lips before dipping inside.

Kissing Harry was hot. It was like setting your whole body on fire with desire and you just wanted to know what the rest of him felt like because his lips were sending you to another planet. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and a moan escaped you, desperation clear in your throat. You could feel bodies press around you, the notes of Fire by Louis the Child ringing through the room. When the beat dropped, you knew people were jumping, the guys doing that thing where they slammed into each other like some kind of mosh. But Harry just stayed there, pulling his lips into yours, drawing wet pants from your body. He was holding tight to you as if you were going to slip away, even though that was the last place you wanted to go.

But you decided you wanted to tease him a bit more. Not let him get away, but just…push him a bit. So you drew away, enough to where you could dance, your sorority sisters at your back—you had seen Alexis move behind you. You grinding on her, your asses touching, and you could hear her laughter, before moving against you. It was something you two always did, dancing partners since the moment you met.

“If I go down in flames/The smoke going to spell my name,” you sang.

Harry watched you, his eyes burning a line down your body, the ministrations of your hips against Alexis’s. And then he was moving towards you, his front pressed yours and his lips were at your ear. “Drink?”

You nodded, and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. People were moving down them and you pressed yourself to the wall to let them pass, before following Harry up the stairs to the main floor. “Is there anything better than that shit?” You asked him when you stood next to him, his arm loosely around your waist, holding you to him.

His gaze drifted to the bar and then back to you. “I’ve got some stuff in my room.”

You knew he lived in the house, the result of being on exec last year and having first dibs after the current exec board was placed, the hierarchy the same as in your own sorority house. “Do you have mixers?” As much as you drank, you still hated drinking most straight alcohol, especially if you were going to be sipping on it. When he nodded, you replied, “Let’s go.”

You caught the eye of Emily who was standing on the other side of the room, watching you, and you pointed upstairs to tell her where you were going. After she gave you a thumbs up, letting you know she’d check in before leaving, a silent conversation well rehearsed over the years, you followed Harry up the stairs. Other guys and girls streamed down them, coming from rooms where they were smoking or using the bathroom or drinking just like you.

“What floor are you on?” You asked when you passed the first floor, twisting to go up the second flight.

“Third,” he replied, not pausing no the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

That made sense, as you could imagine if he didn’t feel like partying one night it would be kind of hard to avoid. You followed him up, the sound of the music fading as you made your way higher into the frat house. You passed other girls on the way you exchanged hugs and promises to catch up after chapter on Monday night. Finally, you made it to the third floor, and Harry pushed open the door to a room with his name on it.

You followed him in and the first thing you noticed was how much of a boy’s room it was. Messy comforter, clothes on the floor, alcohol bottles lining the window sill, the frat’s flag above his bed. Some posters and photos littered the opposite wall, a single framed photo of what looked like his family on his dresser, along with some random items like cologne and a brush and hair ties. A pair of athletic shoes and boots were shoved into one corner, and a tub of protein powder sat on top of his mini-fridge, along with a stack of solo cups. On his desk was a bong and a couple of lighters, his computer sitting next to it on a charger. The dorm room was narrow, most of it taken up with a double bed that you were a bit confused by, since most rooms just had a single.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” he said, shutting the door behind you. If you focused on it, you could hear nerves in his voice, a low laugh in the back of his throat as he surveyed his room. “Didn’t expect to have people up here.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, moving into the middle of the room to get out of the doorway, taking in the space.

“Uh, I’ve got Tito’s, Jack, some gin one of the guys got me.”

It drew you back to the whole reason you were in his room. He was standing next to his mini-fridge, a solo cup in his hand as he looked at you. “What mixers do you have?”

“Coke, juice, and tonic,” he replied. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

You shook your head. “Tito’s and tonic,” you told him. Usually you would’ve been all over the Jack and coke option, but considering how much you’d already drank the last thing you needed was to mix clear and dark liquors.

You watched him pour, leaning against his desk as you waited. He handed you the cup, asking you to try it and tell him if it was too strong. You took a sip and it was strong, but not too much. Then, he made a whiskey and coke you were jealous of, and the two of you stood in his room, not quite sure what to do. You didn’t want to go back down the party, the feeling of fresh air—even though it smelled vaguely like college boy, a mixture of sweat and cologne that you keenly recognized—feeling good on your skin.

“Want to listen to some music?” He asked, moving towards you. There was a bluetooth speaker on his desk, you realized, and shifted away so he could get at his computer.

You decided to sit on the bed, thighs resting on the soft comforter. “Sure.” You pulled your cigarettes and lighter from your back pocket, before looking back at him.

He fiddled with the speaker, the sound of it connecting ricocheting in the small room, before clicking keys to wake up his computer. “Any preferences?”

“I’m good with whatever,” you replied. “I like pretty much everything.” It was true, you had everything from country to Top 40s and rap on your Spotify, a variety of playlists to fit the mood.

He pulled on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he perused his Spotify and you tried not to focus on the sight. Low music began to sound in the room and you immediately recognized the beginning notes of Let Her Go by 6LACK, a smile drifting onto your face. He must have noticed, because he turned around, his cup in his hand. “You like 6LACK?”

“More like obsessed,” you replied and he chuckled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, his knees falling open, his back slumped a bit. “I don’t know a single girl who even knows who he is.”

You took a sip of your drink before replying, resting your body back on one hand. “They must not have good music taste, then.”

Harry gave you a small smile, an edge of playfulness to it. “Where’s home for you?”

“Denver,” you responded. “You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“Where’s that?”

He brushed a hand through his hair, the long locks slipping between his fingers and you couldn’t help but wish you were the one doing it. “South of Manchester. It’s a small town, lots of fields and shit like that.”

You’d never been to England so you had no idea of where Manchester was, but you didn’t ask. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t want to like, move back or anything. But it’s a good place to go home to.”

Denver felt the same way to you—it was home, but it wasn’t a place you saw a future in. You’d go where law school took you, and then the work, wherever you could make the biggest impact. “Where do you want to go?”

The solo cup hung in his hands, and he twirled it a bit, the rim of the cup pressed between his fingers. “LA, maybe. New York. Not sure, really. London, most likely, unless I can get a job and someone to sponsor my Visa so I can stay.”

“Do you like the states?” You knew you were asking a lot of questions, but you’d never had a conversation like this with him and you were curious. Curious about him, about who he was, underneath all the frat shit that he loved so much.

“It’s different than home,” he replied, and you understood what he meant. “I don’t think I’ll want to be here forever, but it’s good for right now. Got friends here now.”

You took another sip of your drink, and then pushed yourself up, the need to pee suddenly overtaking your body. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall. Make sure you slam on the door before locking it—it got fucked up during homecoming and hasn’t been the same ever since.”

You nodded and took your cup with you, four years of college ingraining some lessons into your bones. Down the hall, you found a blond wood door and a doorknob that was barely attached to the door. You pushed it open and shut it quickly, shoving against it with your shoulder so that you could flip the lock. Inside, you wondered for the millionth time why boys were in capable from having a properly stocked bathroom. Head & Shoulders shampoo littered the floor of the shower, a flimsy shower curtain that had come free from a couple of the rings. You squatted to pee, grabbing the toilet paper roll that sat on top of the toilet, no one even bothering to properly put it away.

As you peed, you scrolled through your phone. Mallory had texted saying she was going bar hopping with some of her friends and you told her to text you if she needed anything and a heart, before checking her on Find My Friends to see she was, in fact at a bar. Then you texted your group chat with Emily and Alexis and Maya, who had asked how you were doing. You told them you were with Harry and most likely going to be here for a while, which got excited responses and Alexis sent the eggplant emoji, which made you snort. They told you to text you if you ended up staying the night so they could keep track of where you were, which you agree to do.

When you went to wash your hands, you rolled your eyes because of course they couldn’t even buy hand soap. You went to the shower and found a bottle of body wash, and squirted some into your hands before going back to the sink, rinsing them off. Then you looked at your face in the mirror, eyeliner and mascara still in tact, but your hair was a disaster. You pulled the bun free and let your hair tumble down your back, running through it with your fingers to calm the strands that were askew.

Standing the mirror, you had the opportunity to consider your choices. Did you want to hook up with Harry? Yes. That was a clear answer, despite your alcohol-hazed mind. Did he want to? Most likely—every indication had pointed towards yes. So your mind was made up as you pulled the door open and made your way back to his room, your phone tucked into your jeans and solo cup in your hand.

“You guys really need soap.”

He was still sitting on the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone and sipping on his drink when you came into the room. At the sight of you, he put his phone down. “I know—it’s fucking disgusting. I have my own, though. Sorry for not sharing.”

You set your cup on his dresser, deciding you were done, and moved towards him. “It’s fine. I made do.” His eyes trailed down your front, the sexual tension thick in the room. When he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, you decided fuck it you were done waiting.

You crossed the space between the two of you in second, slotting yourself between his knees. His hands found your waist immediately, his solo cup moving to rest on the table once your body was pressed to his. Without pausing, you pressed your lips to his, reconnecting them in a fire—you needed him, you wanted him, you craved his hands on your skin. Now that you were alone, it was like you couldn’t hold yourself together and neither could he. His hands moved up and down your back, tugging you into his chest as your hands curled in his long hair. Lips fought for dominance, teeth tugging and tongues pressing for more. When he licked into your mouth a wet moan left your lips and you pressed into the crotch of his pants without even meaning to.

6LACK was still flowing through the speaker, and the smooth RnB just adding to the desire rolling through your body. When his lips dropped to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin, a desperate, filthy noise fell from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile when Harry grunted into you. “I—fuck,” he mumbled, squeezing at your hips.

Suddenly your clothes were too warm, burning against your skin. You leaned back and pulled at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s eyes went wide, blown out irises from alcohol and desire criss-crossing over your body. “You can touch me,” you said, confidence coursing through your veins and just desperate for him to do something.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling you back into him and attaching his mouth to the swell of your breast, right above the lace of your bra. Hot breath on your skin had you keening into him, back arching up into his mouth, your fingers tugging into his hair. You loved his hair, having something to hold onto and anchor yourself, and from the pleased hums he liked it too. His hands fumbled with your bra clasp, and when he got it free and pulled the material away, he pulled your nipple into his mouth and you audibly sighed. When he sucked on it, then laved over it with his tongue you couldn’t help but buck into him. You were putty in his arms and he had barely done anything.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, the desire to see his skin overwhelming you. He didn’t make you wait, helping you tug it over his head, and let it drop to the floor. Black ink scattered across his skin, words and images that made a million questions swirl in your mind. The G on his shoulder, the ship on his bicep, the name Jackson scrawled above a rose, the swallows across his collarbones and a butterfly on his stomach. He sat there, chest heaving as he caught his breath and your fingers brushed his skin, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Y/N,” he rasped, “bed?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with ease, and he was backing you into it immediately, hands in your hair and lips on yours. Your bare chests touching sent you into overdrive, the brush of your nipples on his warm skin, a sheen of sweat covering both of you from dancing all night.

The comforter was plush underneath your back as you scrambled up the length of his bed, his body following yours immediately. Your legs fell apart so he could fit between you, and when he did, his dick rested right against your clothed clit and it made you gasp. “Feel good?” He mumbled, the words a haze in your ears as he plucked your lips between his.

All you could do was buck up, your knees finding either side of him. You wanted to be on top, to be in control. You wanted to grind on him properly, after waiting for so long. With a hand at his chest, you pushed slightly, enough for him to move back. He must have understood what you wanted because he flopped onto the bed next to you, one hand on either of your thighs and you mounted him, your ass sitting on the top of his thighs.

When you moved your center over his dick, both of you groaned, deep and drawn out, your head thrown back in pleasure. It was bliss, after so much waiting, to finally be able to do this, his hands crawling from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place, exactly where he wanted you. You put your hands on his chest to hold yourself up, and let your hips find a sinful rhythm, one that was making pleasure curl in your stomach. Pants left your mouth, matched by Harry, who was watching you as if you were a fucking art exhibit, eyes trying to take in every inch of you. Fingernails curled into his skin, red marks that you expected to be there tomorrow, when he nudged at your clit, and you rubbed that spot a few more times, his name falling from your lips in a beg. “Harry.”

That had him moving, pulling your lips down to his so he could kiss you again, his fingers cradling the back of your head. It was just rough enough where you were scrambling to catch up and it felt good, that this was consuming every part of your brain. You rolled your hips again, your hands pressing into the pillow under his head. Then, you felt his thighs agains your ass, and he was pushing up into you, making him snugly flush against you, the only thing between you two being your clothes.

Which you wanted off, and wanted off now. You moved back, crawling between his legs, and his eyes followed you, panting as he watched you pop the button on his pants. He lifted his hips to help you and you tugged the tight skinny jeans that showed every inch of his thickness underneath them down his legs. Then, you pulled on his briefs, and he was bare in front of you, exactly as you wanted him. Your jeans were constricting your movement so you turned tot he side, pulling the denim off of your body so you were left in your underwear.

Then you were on him again, but this time, it was your hand on his dick, fingers running up the length of him.

“Fuck,” he said, voice husky in your ears. He was gorgeous underneath you, desperation making his eyebrows crease, his long hair a mess on the pillow. Why had you waited so long to act on this desire? You suddenly couldn’t remember.

He watched you spit onto his most sensitive part, and then slide your hand over him, spreading the moisture. He hissed at the feeling and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long here—he was already hard, his tip red and throbbing. The fact that you had him this turned on and you’d barely done anything made your ego soar, to be honest. You pumped him three times before licking up the underside of him, his hands curling in the comforter, a stream of curses falling from his lips.

When you took him into your mouth, a low, rough grunt filled the room and you smiled. You hollowed your cheeks and immediately took him all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. “Shit,” he rasped. “You—shit.”

You’d done what you were about to give him just a handful of times before, only with people who you knew you would feel pleasure from too when they did it, and trusted. And Harry fit both of those categories, because he could fucking smile and you’d want to fuck him. So you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat. Your mouth was full of him and it felt so good.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” His eyes were glimmering in the light, completely focused on you. You were happy you had left the lights on, because it meant you could every inch of him, every reaction you drew from him.

In response, you licked at his tip, hoping he knew that meant yes.

He seemed to, because he curled his fingers into your hair and pushed his hips up, his tip hitting your throat immediately. You groaned around his dick and he cursed at the vibrations. Then, he kept his hips on the bed and instead pulled you up and down him, fucking your mouth just as you had wanted. You couldn’t do much from this position, so you focused on inhaling through your nose and running your hands over his skin, scratching at the butterfly on his torso. Leaving reminders of this night, of you, on his body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off. “I—I have to stop. But, shit, you feel so good, babe.”

The pet name made you smile, sitting back on your heels to wipe at your mouth, the taste of his salty precum still on your tongue. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, because all that you had done had left you more than ready—you needed him inside of you.

Harry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled up. “Fuck,” he exhaled, grabbing at his desk drawer and pulling it open. Watching him look through his drawers completely naked was, you had to admit, a bit amusing, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. He wrenched another drawer open, tossing the contents about as he looked. Then he sighed, and looked back at you. “I’m out.”

“Go find one,” you told him, leaning back against the wall, letting your knees drop open to show your underwear. You could feel the wet spot on them and you knew he saw it too. “I’ll wait here.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll—yeah I’ll find one.” He pulled on his jeans, not even bothering with his briefs, eyes flickering to you every once and a while. “Shit, I’ll—I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, pushing open his door and letting it slam shut behind him. Through the door you could hear him knocking on the door next to his, some muffled words, and then him knocking again. He was going fucking door to door looking for a condom, you realized with amusement. Then, the patter of feet on the stairs, and you knew he was going downstairs, that no one else was in their rooms.

While you waited, you grabbed your phone and scrolled through it. Caught up on texts, liked shit on Instagram, checked Snapchat even though you barely used the app. Most people were at bars, as far as you could tell, but it looked like they’d set back up pong downstairs according to Emily’s story.

All of a sudden, feet pounded on the stairs and you knew it was Harry. You pushed your phone back onto the desk, and when the door opened, he was standing there holding probably ten condoms. “How many did you get?”

He looked down at the wad in his hand and visibly blushed. “I—I thought I’d re-stock.”

You let it slide, even though you knew exactly why he got so many. He was hoping you’d have a couple rounds, and you were not opposed to the idea. “Come here,” you said, and let your legs fall back open.

He was on you in second, his pants kicked down his legs as he moved and you were surprised he didn’t trip. Hands found your skin and he pushed you up the bed, this time he was the one hovering over you, lips drawing eager mewls from you. You pressed your hips into his unclothed erection and he cursed, a grimace crossing his face that you knew was from him restraining himself. “Can I take these off?” He asked, fingers pulling at your underwear.

“Please,” you replied and that made him smile at you. He peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Then he brushed a finger over your slit and you gasped, cool touch sending waves of pleasure through you. “Need you.” The two words made his head snap up from where he was looking at your pussy, eyes connecting with yours.

“I was going to go down on you,” he said, and although the thought was tantalizing, you needed him inside of you.

You shook your head. “Later.”

Harry wasn’t complaining. He grabbed one of the condoms from his desk and ripped it open, rolling it down his dick with a concentrated gaze. Then, he crawled up your body, reconnecting your lips, and you both sighed at the feeling of his dick rolling against your center. “Okay?” He asked, pulling away just a hair to check in.

“Please,” you begged, and that had him moving immediately.

He tugged one of your legs around his waist, and then he gripped his dick, brushing his tip to your slit once, twice, three times. On the third time, though, he pressed in, and your wetness accepted him immediately, allowing him to push in about halfway before he stopped.

It burned a bit—mainly just from his size, which was bigger than most other guys you’d been with. You hands scrambled across his chest, grabbing at his skin, struggling to get your breathing under control. “You’re big,” you said, unable to stop the words that fell from your lips.

A cocky smile drifted over his face and you mentally kicked yourself for adding to his ego. “Can I move?” He asked though and you nodded. His head bobbed down, and you realized he was watching where you two were connected as he pulled back and then pushed in all the way. A choked moan left your mouth and a similar one sounded from Harry’s, although his had a string of curses attached. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, hands adjusting so they were next to your head, his face above yours. “Fuck.”

You were about to tell him to move when he did it on his own accord, pulling out and back into you, the impact making your body shift on the comforter. There was a very real possibility of you having sore legs tomorrow, but you really didn’t give a fuck because he felt so good. “Holy shit,” you babbled, those words the only ones you could find as he thrusted in and out of you, finding a rhythm that made you both pant with pleasure.

Sounds drifted out of you without you even realizing, something that always happened when you had drunk sex. You couldn’t control yourself as much, unable to process how loud you were being, what you were saying. Looking back you couldn’t even remember exactly what you had said, but you knew it was a mess of curses and his name and God and just pants and mewls that were feeding Harry like a fucking three course meal.

He loved your sounds, used them to figure out what you liked, where to move and shift. You could tell because when you’d let out a sharp gasp he’d say, “Yeah, there? That’s the spot?” and drive in and out of you, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every move of his hips. Your hands were clutching at his hair as he thrusted into you, your ankles hooked around his lower back, and your body was desperate for release.

But you could also tell he was not going to last. His eyes were heavy, eyelids drawing shut with pleasure, fingers curling in the pillow next to you. Shoulders tensing and abdomen tight as he swiveled his hips, a broken moan falling between you. “Close,” he finally said, and dropped down to his elbows, so his face hovered above yours, only a hair away. “You feel so good, shit, oh my god—how do you feel so good?” His words were broken and that made them even better, that he had no control over what he was saying.

“Want you to come,” you babbled, “want to feel it, come on Harry, come for me, please, I need it.”

“Holy fuck—“ that had him snapping into you, hips slapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin overpowering the music that still played in the background. You gripped his shoulders when his head hung in the crook of your shoulder, and you knew he was about to come.

So you said one more thing. “I need you to come, Harry, please.” The words came out as a beg, exactly as you intended. His hips were stuttering immediately, curses falling between you like a broken record, repeating over and over again as he shot into the condom. He smattered kisses on your shoulder as he collapsed into you, sweat sticking to your skin.

He laid there for a second, panting, and you didn’t mind, even though you desperately needed to come. Perhaps it was how you clamped down on him, or you shifted your hips to feel slightly more of him, but Harry seemed to figure out what you needed. He lifted his head, took one look at you, and then pulled out, ripping off the condom and tossing it into his trash before crawling down your legs.

When his tongue licked your slit, you mewled his name, your hands moving into his hair immediately. You tugged and pulled on it as he licked over you, drawing circles that pulled desire from your flesh. And then he went inside, darting his deftly skilled tongue into you and practically thrusting it into you. His thumb brushed across your nub and you let our a shuddering moan, bucking up into his face. You were close—insanely close—the combination of his tongue inside of you and the thumb on your nub drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Harry,” you rasped, voice broken from panting. “I’m close.”

He seemed double his effort, tongue moving in and out of you at double time, his thumb brushing a brutal pace over you. You were twisting in his arms, hips bucking, curses leaving your lips. And when he pulled his thumb away and sucked on your clit, that’s when you came, in a mess of his name and broken gasps, choking on air. Your fingers curled tightly in his hair, anchoring his face to your center as you came, bucking up into him. He didn’t mind though, he just held your hips and took it, licking at you to draw out all of your aftershocks. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind was a mess, swirling without the ability to grasp onto a single thread of thought, just a mess under his lips.

When you finally regained the ability to breathe, you pulled your hands from his hair and he sat up. You watched in awe as he licked his lips, gathering your juice, and swallowed them, a smile on his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

He gave you a cocky expression and then flopped down next to you. “They have, in fact.”

“Good. I’d be concerned about the other girls if they hadn’t.”

He laughed, and then pulled you into his body. You were surprised at his desire to cuddle, but you weren’t mad. “You can stay if you want. There’s people downstairs still and it’s cold out.”

You propped your head up on his shoulder. “There’s also all those condoms.”

“That’s true. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

You trailed your fingers up his torso. “Might have to just stay the whole weekend if we’re trying to use them all.”

His eyebrows quirked, but he wasn’t mad at the prospect. “Wanna be my study break for the weekend?”

You smirked, leaning up to quickly peck his lips. “As long as you’re mine.”

He hauled your body on top of his and curled his fingers into your hair. “We’ll get your shit in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal.” You kissed him, lips slotting against one another, slower and less hurried than before, but that same undercurrent of desire stringing between you two. You were already grinding into him, hips brushing over his as you moved.

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the door, and you froze. “Fuck off!” Harry called, pulling the comforter that had ended up at the bottom of the bed over the two of you.

“Fuck—sorry—I need a condom, man.” The words were muffled, but you heard them all the same.

Harry snorted, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ask Nick,” he replied, “and leave me the fuck alone.” His hands grabbed at you, kneading into your ass, and you licked at his nipple.

It was going to be a long weekend.

SEND ME CONCEPTS ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY!

#frat boy harry #frat boy au #frat boy fan fiction #Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing

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headgehug · 2 years ago

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So I reached the timeskip in Dimitri's route and let me say this: those new outfits are *not* it. what the hell happened. ashe went from hella cute to just hellish. Some are just fine but I don't think there's any design I actively appreciate... at least they're all more interesting than the GD cast. except for Mercedes who so far has just been There. I'm also very sad at how my boy Randolph is done dirty in every route apparently. Little guy just wants to be hot and survive, ends up becoming canon fodder because we need Deaths™. At first Dimitri was going to spare him for a bit to ~play with him~ (suggestive look, yes I vaguely wrote a few sentences of that) but then Byleth was like "stfu" and decided to be even more bloodthirsty than Dimitri. chill girl.

At least I finally got Rodrigue on my team! Can't wait for him to die because he has difficult relationships with the cast and wants to repent. So he'll die, probably sacrifice himself or something. ugh

god I was looking at the timeskip designs and got reminded of how hot Hubert suddenly became, and I'm sad that he's only available in one route because he's such a great character.

I ended up recruiting Alois and his supports with Gilbert are nice! I ship them (of course i do). also recruited Cyril because he's adorable and a beast. I have Manuelle and I don't ever remember recruiting her but even though as a unit she's uninteresting, she got 2 Funny Footsteps supports in succession so she's actually great.

I love Edelgard in this route though, Dimitri's like "i'm gonna fuck you up" and she's just ":(" and like. hmph. the angst! It's so obvious she sees the war as the only solution but isn't happy about it. Like I can see why people would flat out hate/not care about her if they only did Verdant Wind, but even Azure Moon makes it pretty clear she's not just a bloodthirsty dictator. girl just wants to stop inequalities which, good for her. good for her!

But Byleth is so weird, like they seem chill most of the time but then suddenly they execute in cold-blood Randolph (AM) or Edelgard (VW), they're so inconsistent. One moment you relate to them and the next you're like "???????"

People can rage on Corrin from Fates all they want but at least Corrin insisted on not killing anyone (...the Gameplay/Story Separation is not great but still). Well Corrin is also a teen/young adult with an actual past and situation while Byleth is just There. so it's weird then that people can actually form relationships with Byleth when they're essentially just... answering what people want to hear.

anyway my opinion on Dimitri is that his haircut still sucks but his outfit... remove the cape and we got something. The route is much more interesting than VW. Also I really like Gilbert. and his relationship with Annette!!!!

see my main issue with FE3H is that it actually isn't wordy enough. there's no elaboration on a ton of things. For example, Gilbert and Annette's paralogue doesn't explicitly say that the two of them can't move, or they'll be attacked. Annette's uncle just says sth like "I can't let you take the sacred weapon" and that's it. there's just one or two lines missing!! and it's the same everywhere! reactions to Sylvain's brother dying? pretty much nothing! Lonato's uprising? Catherine kills him instead of asking what the fuck actually happened. the Death Knight? his identity isn't even clear unless you do Edelgard's route and that's only after an update. a lot of things don't pack nearly enough punch because they needed more scenes. Tomas is Solon? Seteth's like "okay, we don't know why, since when, and we don't really care." There's such a lack of elaboration on *everything*!!!! And I say this when Fates's continent isn't even named! I'm not interested in lore but I *am* interested in interpersonal and conflictual relationships, but if the game doesn't give me enough food to chew on, how am I supposed to be satisfied?

(by the way in this playthrough I defeated the Death Knight everytime, it was fun!)

anyway it was just ramblings and opinions and stuff. I also tried a quick Claude-only run and realized the game isn't made for that lmao (sth sth "Claude isn't available in this chapter" "Byleth is forced to come too")

can't disagree with you on any points! I love fe3h but it def could have more elaboration on all the characters. certainly it's hard with just have how many there are. also I love byleth bc they are so morally dubious lol. I guess people say they seem like a blank character vs like Ephraim, Roy, etc, main characters who were fully fleshed out? but Byleth is what I would be like in that world, blank expression, quiet, just making my own damn decisions because I'm somehow better than everyone lol. btw if anyone could solo a run it would be Claude. bc I get bored of wyvern rider Claude sometimes I like to make him an assassin with allll the movement speed.

#fe3h #asks

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topconfessions · 3 years ago

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T.O.P.. I don't think he loves his fans as much and he claims to.He pretty much mocks and dissses them with his posts.

I have a workmate who reminds me a lot of him.

She is into the same things as he is. I almost envy her. She studies wine, likes art , collects sneakers, and grew up in the 90's with the "old school" hiphop influence.

I convinced her to listen to doom dada and she said it has become one of her favorite songs, even tho the kpop industry fuckery and delulus appals her.

She said something like " how can someone who sounds so sophisticated and uses Basquiat and pinot noir references in the song plus Kubrick, zoe trope, Dali, and Tarantino in the music video expect delulus to understand it? Isn't he targeting the wrong people? Doesn't he get frustrated? I would."

Ok, delulu is a strong word, but let's level, most of comments are about his looks and love declarations. The fans, they must be young.

That got me thinking. Is he frustrated? Hence the instagram bipolar shit posting and quickly deleting and posting again and deleting again Is it because he gets frustrated and somewhat angry? I mean, the guy gives his fans absolutely NOTHING. I am surprised people still follow him tbh. He makes me feel like a clown, humiliated.

I am always angry at myself, why did I expect more?

Maybe he is going thru a transition. He is afraid that he won't have same the amount of supporters ad he has now when he finally make the move from BB's T.O.P into his trueself. But then again, does he want the same kind of fans?

On a different note:

Is TOP really back with lynnkmm? What's her real name anyways? Who is she, what does she do?

I think it's such a waste. Why does it feel like he only dates empty minded women who do not have their own personality, they just copy whatever he does. Why can't he be with someone on his level and would defy him in a healthy way. You know what I mean? Does he lack that much self confidence?

You've summed up everything I've ever been saying about TOP from the start. And you've perfectly summed up everything that pissed the butthurt loser trolls off who expressed their lunacy and downright mental detriment with their huffs on here about "ageism" taking everything about this man personally as if it's a slight against them - when in reality from what your art enthusiast friend has described, it shines a light on the fact that TOP would not want to realistically spend time with the average fan let alone fans who pretend to be into his interests as he can spot a poser a mile away in terms of his hardcore dedication to the arts industry.

Top IS frustrated. Greatly frustrated and it shows. That probably is the answer and sums it all up cause I can't think of any other valid reason minus severe mental illness and issues he hasn't seemed therapy for, as an explanation as to why his behavior is so erratic. And I'm not here for the kids enabling him through toxic positivity and saying he's 4D and happy. When he clearly showed on that IG live melt down when he looked a mess that he wasn't okay and said himself he was over Korea.

I agree with your friend. His work and artistry is targeted the wrong audience completely and this is why he wanted out of YG entertainment among other reasons. His work is beyond the understanding of the average teenager, young 20 something or kid. At the same time though to some small fraction TOP brought this upon himself by becoming too comfortable and content in bigbang by remaining an active member, as long as going along with GD's " we don't need America we're good right here" POV. He unintentionally screwed up everything by not leaving when he was venturing into acting during Tazza 2 era. I vividly remember a lot of the fandom easily accepting the rumors of him leaving then and we were all pretty much ready and bittersweet-ly okay with letting him go so he could become a fill fledged actor as well as continue Sotheby's. Art auction work. Also Sothebys is a highly esteemed Art Auction company also Realty and other services. He is on good terms with them and works with them still but could have did so much more and rose in the ranks if he applied himself. He stayed comfortable and I've literally heard the biggest names in the business and CEO game like Mark Cuban who is always on Shark Tank & owned sports teams say that in order to be successful you need to be comfortable with being uncomfortable and take risks.

Hes not a risk taker by intention he's a risk taker unintentionally with the mistakes he makes minus risks in his creative direction i.e doom dada. He should have went independent and left the company & group altogether after Tazza was released then either venture into America for tours marketed to a certain crowd or festivals that is not for the average mainstream community. Or be like Paris Jackson and have her music reach niche audience.

It's been clear TOP is probably angry and disappointed inside that minus his love for the group, his music will never be directly consumed and understood the way niche persons like your friend or us understand it.

Tell your friend he fails to understand that all of these gripes because he himself is trying to overcome mental health issues and stress on top of depression. So it isn't 100% apparent to him that the average fans won't get his message cause he himself is very youthful at heart, the group has always said he's a like a grown kid and the most sensitive despite being the oldest.

I just...idk. Sometimes in life you have to know when to walk away from things cause time is everything and timing matters. If the rock would have stayed in WWE for like 3 more years or 5 more he wouldn't be what he is and John Cena as a result wouldn't be what he is cause they wouldn't have had a big need for a replacement star in WWE minus Stone Cold leaving. Just an example. You have to know when to stay and when to leave. Now TOP is leaving when it doesn't matter anymore and leaving in a backwards time where the group has came together for a single yet we are being treated like childern and supposed to blindly jump for joy & believe this isn't a goodbye song or a bone thrown to us so they can stop promoting together for another 5 years. Which they will be close to 40.

I get the sense TOP wasn't physically ready or believed he was fully capable of making it on his own fully without a management company i.e YG and the GROUP as back up. Just my theory and opinion. And YES! his comments are always flooded with redundant mind numbing love spam, foreign fans who are blissfully clueless and sharing love (nothing wrong with that at all) and just a lot of praise or some occasional questions. At some point although I'm glad he has love it looks like a robot spam. It looks like legions of repeating statements and spam with no real thought process behind it. Look at American stars comments. Sure its messy but you'll find love in it and varying opinions, some criticisms, some love with shade peppered in and maybe some fans wars with a troll or shady person. It's a lot of variety in the posts then with people like Beyonce it's similar to TOP but you can still sense a flow of realistic comments and the genuine care from her fans.

I believe TOP clearly sees this and he feels numb to it. Like he appreciates it on surface level but it means nothing to him overall. Which is why he can easily respond to hate comments or comments he doesn't like quicker than love comments he NEVER Acknowledges. I've seen in the past during the first years of him joining that he would reply to a random comment of fans but now he doesn't really do. It's to people he knows like most celebs. He treats his most valuable resource aka his fans poorly but the fans will never see this. They never will and it's sad.

Too much adoration especially if it's done in this way can be harmful cause its not offering a concrete genuine support. He just sees another flood of the same old same old.

And as for the Lynnkmm situation she's a wealth off girl he met through connections. Nothing more or less. A lot of guys in the industry American and overseas do this. Date hollow girls who are beneath them especially mentally cause it keeps them in control, keeps them in the lead, they don't have to think or bend much, it serves them and if TOP dated a woman his age in his league it would be too much for him. He would have to really be present and take accountability and be on better behavior. Younger girls will and can give guys like TOP hell especially due to immaturity or brattiness but it's a smoother ride with them plus it's easier to transition through break ups with them emotionally to some degree.

Its a lot I can't sum up into 1 explanation. It's no different than Leo DiCaprio or Zac Efron dating girls like that. And with TOP of course he's dating girls who drop everything for him or pretend to take on his lifestyle. Women on his level 9 times out of 10 won't do that. Only seasoned athletes manage this well (not the cheaters*) Singers and Actors don't manage this well.

Eventually we'll probably hear of him dating some actress or woman in the higher arts industry in the future. But that's it.

Glad someone feels the same way I do. P.S I won't respond to any counter remarks. None of our words about TOP matter in the grand scheme cause he's unreachable and he's untouchable.

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passable-talent · 5 years ago

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May I please request a zuko fix where the reader is a huge flower buff (like knows the meanings and names) and is more graceful and peaceful rather than a fighter despite being a fire bender and zuko thinks she doesn't care or take the war seriously and when zuko joins the gang he doesn't see how much she contributes until he sees her taking care of everyone one night and questions the others and learns she in fact is a fierce fighter and he takes her up on a challenge to see for himself

playful fight? where there’s a lil pride involved? but there’s also a lot of pining? hmmmmm

also I love/hate writing fight scenes bc they’re SO FUN but also I’m such a perfectionist (and actually a martial artist so like... I see flaws u know?) that I actually have to get up and act them out and that’s time consuming but also a good workout so whatever ? I guess

you would not believe the amount of flower research in both the avatar and real world I did before going into this ask

this is too much to preface a story with gd I’m annoying but I hope u don’t mind that I was gender nonspecific. It’s a thing with me since there’s like never any male readers on tumblr. so even though you kinda asked for female reader I made it gender nonspecific because that’s what I do I hope it’s ok

anyway here we go!!

Zuko simply did not understand.

The house where his family vacationed was big and beautiful, and a good place to hide until Sozin’s comet. What he never had noticed, until now, were the flowers growing all around the courtyard and the path to the beach. Over the years of disregard, the more exotic flowers had died and been replaced by native life, taking over much more than the flowerbeds he barely remembered the staff taking care of. There were fire lilies, those he recognized, but there were many other flowers that he had never bothered to learn the name of.

Y/N knew all of their names.

He didn’t understand you. He couldn’t figure you out. You were of the fire nation, and a bender, but he had never seen you fight. All you did, as far as he could tell, was pull the others away from danger, settle fights, and tend to flowers that seemed perfectly capable of survival all on their own. It’s not that it bothered him, but it did, because you seemed so absolutely noncommital. Nonchalant. Indifferent. How had another citizen of the fire nation come to the realization that the fire nation was evil, and gathered up the courage to join the avatar, and yet didn’t seem to care about the war at all?

When he’d first met you, he thought you didn’t have much use to the team at all. He thought you just another kid caught up in the war, like the others that were at the western air temple after the day of black sun. But after the brief battle with Azula, he came to see your worth.

“If only we had some Aloe,” you’d murmured as you passed him, on your way to Sokka’s side after he had complained of a sunburn, riding all day on Appa’s back.

“Can we get some?” Katara asked, leaning against the side of Appa’s saddle.

“No,” you replied, “too far away. It only grows near the Si Wong desert, and we definitely can’t go there right now.”

“So what can we do?” asked Katara again, and you shrugged, settling down beside Sokka, on his right while Toph clutched onto his left arm.

“The medical treatment for burns in the fire nation are less advanced then you’d expect. But there’s a few plants that can be soothing- even if not as much as Aloe. If there’s any banana leaf nearby our destination, that may help.” Zuko, though he’d remained silent, cocked an eyebrow in surprise. Medicinal knowledge of plants- that seemed extremely useful, especially given the group’s nomadic behavior. He briefly wished that you had been around while his uncle had had his quarrel with the white jade bush.

More so, though, in the following days he began to see your similarities to Katara- you were kind, and caring, and you made sure that the group was taken care of. You sat through worries and soothed fears the best you could, and that was admirable. You almost reminded him of his mother.

One question was left on his mind. If you were a fire bender- why did Aang need him to teach him firebending?

After you had gone to bed one night, he sat around a fire with Aang, Sokka, and Toph to pose that very question.

“Is it because they’re not a very strong bender? I’ve never even seen them use firebending, they must not be that good.”

“Oh, no,” Sokka said, “they’re actually really good. Probably better than you.” He laughed a bit after his words, earning a punch in the rib cage from Toph, which made Zuko think that Sokka was only trying to tease.

“Really?” He asked, looking to Aang, whose information he’d trust.

“Yeah,” Aang said, “they’re good. But they didn’t want to teach me- said that they didn’t have enough formal training. I think they just didn’t want to be that violent. They’re a pacifist, like me.”

“I could see that,” Zuko said, gazing into the fire. In his fingers he twirled an orange cyclamen, which you had given him before you’d gone to bed. When he’d asked why, you had responded that ‘it was a flower without meaning*, and the color reminded you of him’. He didn’t know what to do with it now, though, before he went to bed. He didn’t want to toss it in the fire, as that felt too heartless, but he knew it was dying now that it was picked. So, when he stood to return to his room for the night, he crouched by one of the overgrown flowerbeds and propped it up in the soil.

Maybe, from its turmoil, it would grow roots and live. Or maybe it would die surrounded by the beauty of the other flowers.

After spending all night wondering the true extent of your prowess, when morning came Zuko decided to find out.

“Spar me,” he said, catching you alone in the courtyard. “I need to be reminded what it’s like to fight a fire bender, and I’ve been told you’re quite good.” You let a little quirk of a smile onto your lips and turned to face him, tilting your head.

“You sure? What if it hurts your pride?” He shook his head, expression stoic as ever.

“It won’t. Either I’ll beat you or I’ll learn.” You took off an outer layer you’d been wearing and, carrying it, made your way toward the beach.

“Good way to think about it,” you said, laying down your jacket on a stone just outside the entryway. But as you straightened back up you planted your forward foot and flashed your other foot up and across, sending an arc of flame toward the prince. He quickly noticed that the game had begun and diverted the flame to his left, sliding his foot into a strong stance before punching flames toward you. By this time you had completed your spin and dove out of the path of his fire, rolling onto your feet and into a tight stance, your hands at your chest. You took them to your left, then swung them to your right to add momentum to your spin, lifting your feet from the ground for a round kick that sent another arc of flame toward him. He dove forward to get out of the way, getting closer to you, and sweeping one of your feet out from under you. You landed on your back, your fall cushioned as much as it could have been, and he pinned you down by hovering over you.

“You’re impressive,“ he said, and you gave him a look somewhere between pleading and fondness. His moment’s hesitation allowed you to swing your foot and use both its momentum and a shove from your elbows to flip him onto his back, your two foremost fingers creating a fire dagger at his throat, not close enough to threaten. This was only sparring, after all.

“Have you forgotten the rules of a match? It’s not over until the opponent yields.” He smiled, slightly, as he looked up at you.

“I yield.” You chuckled and stood up, giving him a hand to right him on his feet as well.

“You have more honor than I,” you told him, knowing that you only won thanks to trickery. A slight laugh rumbled from his chest and he tossed your jacket toward you again.

“How I’d love for my father to hear you say that.”

*a cyclamen a flower that, when given, expresses sincere feelings of admiration and romance. y/n was cheeky

-🦌 Roe

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reynie-muldoons · 3 years ago

Text

'The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery' Liveblog!

Sorry this is a few days late!! I moved across the country this weekend, we drove like 13 hours within 2 days and we did a lot of heavy lifting. I'm exhausted, but the boxes are slowly emptying and I've been wanting to watch this episode so gd bad, so LESGO

Over halfway through the season!!!! That's absolutely surreal

1:11 oooh they're getting their royal fitting

1:22 LMAOO WTF 😂😂 Princess Diaries vibes

1:42 ✨CONFIDENCE✨

1:52 Alfonse is a perfect name for that guy HAHA

2:05 Nathaniel, my guy, you've made some points

2:11 "do you feel your power?" POWER RANGERS, GO

2:24 no no hesitation just prolly thinkin bout how he was caught cheatin

2:39 "can you not allow yourselves luxury?" okay fr I feel that I get Nice Things Guilt(tm) too easily

2:52 dayummmm let's talk about Sticky being a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, mans is brave as fuck under extreme pressure and loyal to the point of putting himself on the line

3:15 bro Sticky getting some recognition. Love to see it, he deserves it

3:19 "is that a coincidence? Or written in the stars?" IS DR. CURTAIN CATCHING ON THAT THEY KNEW EACH OTHER BEFORE OR LIKEEEE

3:49 WHAT WORD AROUND CAMPUS 😭😭😭 MY BOYS ARE NOT A MISTAKE HOW DARE YOU

4:09 why doess the action of Dr. Curtain putting the sash on them seem so nefarious

4:36 I dont really understand the whole pastel yellow, blue, and pink palette of the school but the boys both look pretty okay in their vest-sash getup

4:42 THE OPENINGGGGG. This shit slaps.

5:41 Kate and Constance look so fucking cute in that shot, dont ask me why but hnnggggg

5:54 sash rope 😂😭 kate, honey, that's a reach

6:09 it might feel buttery, but, my guy, it also looks buttery. It's literally the color of butter. Get yourself some crisco

6:24 I find it kinda interesting that they made up new riddles for the show, I'm almost positive that that one wasn't in the book. Correct me if I'm wrong though

7:03 "I'm not gonna apologize for knowing things" the sass. the ✨confidence✨. living for it

7:03 If they build on that it sets Sticky up really nicely for the arc in the second book where he starts to show off a little

7:15 tiny Constance who is constantly dressed in pink with cute little braids is the perfect medium for the most morbid comments 😂😂

7:55 Martina's hot in her uniform. Can't prove me wrong.

8:15 why does that make me sad 🥺 eat with your friendssss. iirc they only talked about eating at the Messenger table in the books

8:26 dipshits forgot their lunches. Seems Constance is holding the communal braincell atm

8:50 anyone have Guiness on speed dial? Reynie and Sticky have a submission for them

9:25 oh hello this was alluded to in the preview!!! Morse code is compromised, rip

10:05 so are Jackson and Jillson stuck with night guard duty all the time?? They've been outside at night a lot

10:18 ahhhhhh the little blinkie light, stopppp

10:25 MILLIGANNNNN!!!

10:25 so is this the point where he starts staying on the island with them????

10:39 so are they just like "fuck it we'll do it right before sundown" ???? Like Jackson and Jillson are still gonna be on the lookout, they aren't gonna chill just because it's not fully dark

10:50 did the kids.....just not tell them that Mr. Bloom was on the island 😂 nice oversight guys

11:05 MADGE TIME MADGE TIME

11:05 remind me to tell you guys a story about Madge, I may or may not have done something irl a few years ago that would make y'all proud 😂😂😂

11:16 idk why but it makes me so happy that they kept Madge as a peregrine falcon

11:37 Rhonda, my love, you have my heart in your hands

11:46 roll credits

12:05 THE HEAD SHAKE HAHAHAH

12:06 Awww man, I was so excited for Milligan to be on the island .-. He must have been scoping out the inlet

12:07 "they're quite regal" A. I read the subtitles as "legal" the first time and that's somehow really in character for him, and B. IS MILLIGAN GOING TO NAME HER???!? HER MAJESTY???? PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THAT SO MUCH

12:15 his grimace KILLS ME

12:17 the hard cut from Nicholas in a brown setting and brown suit to Nathaniel in a blue setting and blue suit was lowkey striking

12:36 are they looking up Morse code 😳 can you imagine if they wrote down the message and are now decoding it

12:41 omfg all that for a HAT 🙃 I feel stupid

12:51 two things: 1. Those walls are atrocious, and 2. Yeah, talk about Morse code in a louder voice Connie girl, you're just in a public hallway

13:03 I'm sorry but those orange pillar things are not the vibe

13:03 the golden gate bridge called, they want their arches back

13:10 please let Kate climb the tower before the end of season 1. please.

13:22 y'all are about to be flying something else 😎

13:33 cleansing breaths

13:47 OH HELLO MESSENGER DUTY ALREADY??

14:06 what the heck is that teal pole for 😭😭

14:12 blindfold timeeee

I'm so sorry but I'm exhausted, it's 11:30 pm on Sunday night right now, I'll finish this episode tomorrow morning after I get some sleepies

Good morningggg lesgetatit

14:50 "vomit of metal" ashhdjdjd

15:16 a wild Martina appears!

15:36 and if you folks look to your left, you'll see a wild Constance being the voice of reason once again

15:57 "lose the bucket" "I'm not gonna do that" HELL YEAH KATE

16:07 I get not having the bucket on the court lolol, I thought Martina was telling Kate to lose the bucket in general. Like, yeah, good luck convincing her to so that

16:35 show!Kate is much angrier than book!Kate and I'm still deciding how I feel about that. The Kate we've known from the books is a sunshine baby with looots of repressed trauma.

17:03 ......what is that. why is that.

17:11 WAIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE REYNIE AHEHDJDJD

17:15 HI MADGE

17:41 the grand swell in the music makes me think it's going to go comically wrong

17:51 she's majestic because she's a queen 🥺

18:03 LMAO CALLED IT

18:14 Rhonda and Number Two getting at each other is such a sisterly thing to do 😂😂😂

18:37 ohhhhh? Someone's approaching? Miss Perumal perhaps????

18:45 YEAHHHHH BABY

18:50 PROTECTIVE MOM COMIN IN HOT!!!

19:22 THEYRE SO PRECIOUS 😭😭😭😭 I feel like I've been subconsciously starved for her and Mr. Benedict's interactions

19:36 died at that line in the one trailer

20:00 so Miss Perumal pulled a Sherlock Holmes. Love that for her

20:20 Cheri Tupintown??? Of all the aliases they could pick, Cheri Tupintown???

20:33 "Power in Truth Inc" that HAS to be something Rhonda came up with

21:01 you can literally watch Mr. Benedict realize that this is a woman not to be fucked with and he is CORRECT

21:23 "he's fine. Perfectly fine." At this, Mr. Benedict's pants caught aflame.

21:52 something about Constance sitting in on practice!!! It scratches an itch!!!!

22:19 "incorporate the helix. Live in the helix." Lord Helix is pleased with this offering.

22:26 so what I'm hearing is Kate is going to blow up on Constance for messing with the bucket

23:13 unrelated but Jillson'a shoes are cute

23:29 why does this room give off Johnny Depp's willy wonka vibes

24:13 that looks like a chair from a doctor's office waiting room 😭

25:29 they do be egg heads tho

26:02 baby girl, I have no idea why you're crying at weird art but let me dry your tears 🥺🥺

26:50 SHE FOUND ITTTT

27:27 okay Indiana Jones, go off

27:46 why did that kinda sound like Miss Perumal

28:43 the return of everyone's favorite, "enjoyable"

29:05 not that I'm not loving the ice breaker questions and the one-sided conversation, but I'm not loving it

29:22 oh so we're getting right into it aren't we

29:54 his eyes being open again makes this infinitely creepier

30:36 "where's your proof?" Miss Perumal doesnt fuck around!!!

31:29 you're telling me Constance has been there all day?? And Kate went to find her???? 🥺

31:58 oh so we're getting right to it then?? Kate addressing her independence and trust issues arc????

33:29 NEWS!!!!

33:49 CONSTANCE RIDING PIGGYBACK!!!!!!

34:04 okay, so they opened the murder hole, what are they gonna do now

34:59 Italian? 🤨 m'sir that is so fancy

34:59 fun story I learned Italian diction in college, so I know a little bit

35:16 "take your time" the whisperer says, immediately repeating the prompt to get the answer sooner

35:31 theeeeere it is

35:46 SOMETHING ABOUT THE WHISPERER SAYING "YOU ARE HOME" 😭😭😭 the show really played up the cult shit!!

36:02 Kate being protective of Constance 🥺

36:20 ohhh shit is it time for Connie girl to have double Reynie? Double Sticky?

36:36 STICKY

36:52 "what kind of nonsense?" HAVE THEY NOT ASKED THAT BEFORE THIS?????

37:14 "and your tiny brain can somehow pick it up!!" KATE STOP 😂😂😂

37:16 "I knew you had to be special in some way." WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

37:51 she's right, this is disregard for their safety. The show made Mr. Benedict and his team a lot more back-alley and dishonest, and Miss Perumal has every reason to be pissed

38:30 oh good they finally remembered he has narcolepsy

39:38 and the best mom award goes to:

40:38 I was gonna say that this hallway is how I imagined the KEEP in riddle of ages but then I remembered that (spoilers) the Institute is the KEEP

40:46 oh, hello propoganda

41:10 that's the other person Rhonda couldn't contact, along with Mr. Bloom. This has to be the brainsweeping process

41:22 yeppppp

41:44 this dark doctor's office theme gives me horror movie vibes

42:22 ohhhh, so that's how they replaced that scene where the four of them jump in a crate to hide and Sticky drops his glasses in the open

42:47 and so we've come to the part of the story where Sticky and Reynie become infinitely more conflicted

42:47 and since we've reached that point..... can we have the white knight scene? Pretty please? Please Disney I'm begging you-

43:12 so Reynie just figured that out without Constance? :/

44:03 love the manipulation

44:31 I'm sorry, the farm?

44:35 farm and forest????

45:16 "the Emergency has served its purpose" 😳 well okay then murder man

45:39 "one thought, one purpose" the hive mind rises once more

45:48 LOVE THE MANIPULATION

46:07 "what have you done to earn anyone's trust?" VALID

46:26 "please do!" WHY AM I EMOTIONAL

47:06 "we still have the falcon" that you do 😂

47:19 AYYY HERE WE GO!!! Time for Milligan to stay on the island??

47:49 ohhhh Constance, casual telepath strikes again

48:16 "stop it, Kate!" OOOOHHHHH

48:53 that line ("it would be nice to be unburdened") would be funny as shit if not for the fact that Constance is a telepath unbeknownst to herself and can both subconsciously perceive people's thoughts and hear the subliminal messages

49:20 HI MRS. PERUMAL!!!

49:25 wow, she's really going through with it 😳 not that I doubted her, but still, that's dedication

49:39 OH SHIT

50:17 oh, so he's an asshole to SQ too. Got it. Torches and pitchforks? Ready to kick his ass?

50:40 "for the moment, anyway" FUCKIN WHAT

This episode was really good!!! They covered a LOT. I hope Miss Perumal comes back to the group and talks about her findings, I hope Milligan goes to get the kids and they tell him no, and I hope they get that classic 4-person Society brainstorming and binding time that hits that sweet spot

#mbs disney+#mbs liveblog #the art of conveyance and round trippery #the mysterious benedict society #charity's talkies

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daesungindistress · 4 years ago

Note

The five hands pic was posted alongside a pic of his screen, noting the time on New Year’s. Maybe he was trying to mark a new beginning since it is a new year. But then, he's always been difficult to read.

Mark a new beginning by bringing back something old? You might be onto something ;) I’ll explain below.

Alright y’all, I’m back, and with a new take on his post. One that, though I had a half-formed idea about it the day he posted, New Year’s Eve my timezone, I didn’t have the peace of mind or mental clarity to make sense of it at the time, there in the thick of so much unexpected emotion, yours and mine.

While I’m undecided about how much stock I want to place in this, preferring to take a guarded approach to Jiyong and his characteristically cryptic Instagram posts from now on, I think it's worth considering. The few fans I’ve shared it with privately have agreed that it “sounds a lot like Ji.” Disclaimer: this is not an excuse for the disturbance he caused or the pain he inflicted, whether he meant to or not, whether he’s out of touch with fans or just doesn’t care. Think of this more as a genuine, good faith effort to understand what could be going through his head. Because, no, putting aside my initial impression heavily colored by the years (literally years!) of negative experiences here, I can’t agree with the shit stains of this fandom and their misplaced gloating. Jiyong did not “say BIGBANG is 5.” But he did say something. And I think his message without words deserves a closer look.

So here we go:

Quite a few VIPs are taking his post as a comeback teaser for a GD solo followed by BIGBANG. And while that may be the case, I wouldn’t be surprised if it... are you ready for it... had little to with G-Dragon or BIGBANG at all. Those two images side-by-side may have been a generic call for unity and cooperation for the world at large as we leave behind a year defined by distance and division.

First of all, it was his first post of 2021. The time stamp on his screen read 1:11 1/1/2021... really driving home the number 1. Unity, obviously.

In the background the painting Millionaire Nurse by Richard Prince is projected over him. He is wearing what appears to be a surgical mask, an instantly recognizable symbol of the sickness that dominated the year 2020, and a piece of protective equipment we carry with us into 2021 because, with cases still surging and restrictions tightening, the fight isn’t over. What’s more, of all the pics in this photoshoot, I noticed he chose one in which the word NURSE is highly visible in bright lettering across the front of his mask. A much-needed message of hope and healing for a world driven into quarantine by COVID-19. He hopes 2021 will be the year we’ll finally conquer this contagion that keeps us apart.

Still with me? Here’s where things get interesting:

In a recent interview promoting his Nike Paranoise 2.0 shoes Jiyong was asked about his one wish for 2021. “What is the 2021 'YOUTOPIA' you are hoping for?”

“I hope the world becomes healthier,” Jiyong answered. “I think that’s what everyone wants right now.”

Health and healing for the world. No mention of music, solo or otherwise. His mind is on the state of the world, not the state of BIGBANG. And he assumes everyone is on the same page.

But wait! There’s more:

That photo of interconnected hands was first posted to his IG back in 2016 but resurfaced recently in October 2020 when someone (presumably one of his or TOP's art friends, I’m not sure who this guy is) reposted it as a visual accompaniment to a rambling criticism of a country more fractured than ever before by politics and policy as its people grapple with this novel coronavirus. Jiyong came across it with his personal account and slapped a heart on it, liking it very much.

Thinking about it, trying to get a sense of where his mind may have been back then, this was roughly around the time his Paranoise shoes were being prepped for release, about which he explained, “Our footsteps are the result of our decisions. I believe you can completely change the meaning behind these sneakers depending on how you wear them.”

“Change the meaning,” he says. That isn’t limited to footwear, you know; depending on how it’s presented, it is also possible to change the meaning behind a photo. And that may be what Jiyong has just done. It's not about BIGBANG anymore, it's about something bigger than BIGBANG.

That IG post by Matt Carey Williams may well have been the first time Jiyong viewed that iconic photo from his past in a new light, through someone else's eyes, being applied broadly to something outside of BIGBANG. Perhaps he saved it and has been holding onto it in the months since, waiting for the right time to use it to make a similar statement of his own about the godawful year we’ve just left in the rearview mirror. One that will be remembered by (to name just a few) rigorous hand washing, religious mask wearing, and to the detriment of mental health worldwide (in an effort to preserve physical health)... widespread social distancing.

Like everyone, Jiyong is tired of the distance, done with the divide, fed-up with closed borders and stay-at-home orders. Fatigued by this seemingly endless cycle of self- and state-imposed separation. Family, friends, and fans advised (and in some cases required) to steer clear of each other? So this picture, this bold reminder in black and white of skin-to-skin contact, hands joined with other hands, connecting person to person... that is the return to normalcy Jiyong would like to see in the near future.

In another ask, anon observed, “It's entirely possible [Jiyong] just doesn't think Seungri has a right to infringe on his own memories or sense of ownership of BIGBANG.”

I thought that was insightful. And important to keep in mind going forward. Because unless they plan to ignore everything from their past and run from it forever (an impossible feat), sooner or later Jiyong, Youngbae, Seunghyun, and Daesung will have to take steps to take back BIGBANG. Take back their brand, their music, their art. Their memories together and their past work shouldn’t stay trapped with and tainted by their former member for the rest of their days.

This doesn’t have to be Jiyong signaling a return to the past, or even asking that we remember it; instead, I see it as him reclaiming it. Owning it in ways that are, well, his own, even if that means going about it with ambiguity. Infusing old things with new meaning in a new year ripe with the potential for new beginnings.

#and okay maybe it's a little bit about bb after all #2021 will be the year bb reunites... with vip #that fifth hand? it's ours now #😉#bigbang will be back as 4 and we'll be here to support them as such #and as always sr/ot5 fans can fuck right off 🖕#gd #ask #anon #also osen published a positive article about gd's new year's post and yg shared it to their website yg-life #yg who we can be quite sure will never acknowledge you-know-who's existence again #so I think it's safe to say koreans are not taking it as a sign of support for sr #maybe it's a cultural thing #and if kvips don't think it's cause for concern then I suppose I won't either... I'll try to be a bit more fair-minded from now on #also I wrote this like 4 days ago sorry it took so long to clean up and hit post

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jafreitag · 3 years ago

Text

Grateful Dead Monthly: Gaelic Park – New York, NY 8/26/71

Fifty years ago today, on Thursday, August 26, 1971, the Grateful Dead played a concert at Gaelic Park in New York City.

Gaelic Park is located at West 240th Street and Broadway, five miles north and east of Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. In 1926, the Gaelic Athletic Association purchased it to host the Gaelic Games. What are Gaelic Games? I’m a sliver Irish (just learned that a few years ago from a cousin who did some DNA stuff), but I didn’t know about such games until I asked the Google machine. Here you go, from the Wiki:

“Gaelic games (Irish: Cluichí Gaelacha) are sports played in Ireland under the auspices of the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). They include Gaelic football, hurling, Gaelic handball and rounders. Women’s versions of hurling and football are also played: camogie, organised by the Camogie Association of Ireland, and ladies’ Gaelic football, organised by the Ladies’ Gaelic Football Association. While women’s versions are not organised by the GAA (with the exception of handball, where men’s and women’s handball competitions are both organised by the GAA Handball organisation), they are closely associated with it.”

Some to unpack there. What’s Gaelic football? It’s basically rugby. (The rules are probably way different, but this is a music blog, so don’t judge.) And hurling? Rugby with a small ball and sticks that look like sporty pizza paddles. (Again, don’t judge.) Gaelic handball? Racquetball, except you use your hands and you’re outside, not in some bougie health club from the ’80s. Finally, rounders? It’s actually alot like baseball. Pretty cool.

Why were the Dead there? A 9/2/71 piece in the Village Voice by Carman Moore, now archived on the Grateful Dead Sources blog, said that Gotham promoter Howard Stein, a Bill Graham competitor who booked the Dead to play at the Cap Theater in Port Chester, NY and the Academy of Music in NYC, had turned “the drab little Riverdale soccer field … into a summer rock mini-festival.” (Check out the poster above.) Moore’s writing has an early-70s sizzle, and he refers to his colleague, now-legendary rock scribe Robert Christgau. Here’s an excerpt:

“Last week’s Grateful Dead concert up at Gaelic Park was a usual Dead session, meaning that the band-to-fan-to-band electro-chemical process for which rock music is famed was on like high mass at Easter. Although I think I know most of the time what they are doing musically (Christgau will like this notion); I don’t quite understand them electro-chemically. Like the New York Knicks of two seasons ago, they can do excellent things together though they are not a group of deathless superstars. Garcia gets his songs across, but he can’t sing, and Bob Weir’s voice rises to about average…maybe better when he gets to screaming and the music sweeps him along. I still find it difficult to recognize the Dead songs that aren’t “Truckin'” or “St. Stephen” one from the other. I am not one of their fans, but seem to be one of their admirers. Their music speaks in a special language to their live listeners, and that language has the vocabulary of everybody else, but a convoluted syntax all its own. The note sequences are not completely dependent upon musical factors but are also dictated by how involved the band feels and also upon what kind of heat the audience is giving off. I’m trying to get to some essences of this thing.

The drama of a Dead concert revolves around the fact that wherever the band plays they know that a certain number (several tons) of their partisans will be there and that their crowd knows the Dead potential to excite them, but they also know that the Dead may not get into gear until the crowd begins to apply some heat, and so forth. Both parties also know that the concert will be long enough and informal enough for anything to happen on either side of the footlights, and so audiences improvise (smoke, go to the hot dog stand, kiss and snuggle, cheer, dance, listen like star-struck fools) just like their musician friends on stage (who play light and funny for awhile, retire backstage awhile, stand around, or get lost in a piece and turn on the heavy jets). Like good lovers, the Grateful Dead know the secrets of good foreplay, taking your time, surprising the partner for awhile, and then just reacting for a spell.”

The timing of the show seems odd. The band was on the East Coast in July, but began August back in Cali – LA, SD, Berkeley – before a three-night run at Chicago’s historic Auditorium Theater. Then they trekked back to NYC. Our resident Deaditor ECM explains that aspect: “This show was supposed to be played the day before the Yale Bowl concert on July 30, but some issues with the equipment trucks and/or weather prevented it from happening from the scheduled date. There are a few stories on the web about people who didn’t get the message (no twitter back then!) and dropped some acid only to show up to an empty stadium. Haha!”

Moore said that the show reminded him of “a high school stadium I used to know – low stands, unfulfilled infield grass, mud holes here and there, beer sold at one end in some quantity.” He continued:

“The formal shape of the concert was a general crescendo, light at the beginning and heavy-groovy at the end – not a shooting-star, call-the-law finale, just a heightened physical-emotional climate…the goods delivered as promised…sort of like good preaching in a church known to be a happy place. I did not enjoy their country-westernish opening tunes; maybe they didn’t either, because the pieces were awfully short. But by the three-quarter mark they had involved themselves, the crowd, and me too.

First they got the rhythm engaged and finally, courtesy of Jerry Garcia’s lead and interplays with Lesh and Weir, they went into the soloing and jamming which are the real magic music territory of this band. Much is made of the Dead soloists, but it became clear to me by last Thursday that bassist Phil Lesh plus those two drummers create the atmosphere that makes the Dead thing possible. The drummers were exceptionally understated, but Lesh kept bopping and thrumming away, heavily at all times, until his patterns were consistently getting the other players off. In the middle of “St. Stephen” there was a special coming together: Lesh had found a nice ambiguous but compelling set of licks; Garcia eased into a solo; Weir strummed a cross-time lick over all of it; it built; it quieted; Garcia started to play strange classical kind of lines; the drums dropped out; the audience got quiet; nothing at all could be predicted for a minute or so; then Lesh began to grope his way out with two chords and rhythms which began to regularize; audience began to jump and then to clap; guitars began to straighten out; the band came home to the cheers of the fans. Good music-making. The listener goes home without a little tune to whistle, but he hears music. As if they were finishing off some personal solos based over the last riffs heard, the fans went out of Gaelic Park without a thousand encores and without a lot of fuss on the streets outside.

It’s all very interesting, surprising, and I guess mystifying as before. All I know is that the Dead, or their fans, or the combination of both lure you into planning to return when they’re all assembled and back in town again.”

Apparently, there was some grief about bootlegs at this show. The GD Sources blog has a post that archives a 10/6/71 piece by the excellently-handled Basho Katzenjammer (Basho, the 17th Century Japanese haiku master; Katzenjammer, the German word for hangover) that gripes about an army of 200# “muscle freaks” at the direction of tour manager Sam Cutler liberating a handful of tapes from 100# weakling Johnny Lee. It’s a truly fun read. An excerpt:

“The biggest piece of shit spewing from Cutler’s mouth is about the reasons the Dead have for being so pissed off: they don’t like the quality (remember Garcia’s line in “I Got No Chance of Losin”? He says, “I’m only in it for the gold.” Yeah, music has a way of being more honest than the artist intends it to be at times…) The “quality”? Anyone who has bought a bootleg recently will know and agree that the bootleg stereo album called “Grateful Dead” is one of the best underground products yet. The tape was taken from a concert the group did at Winterland, on the coast a few months back. Yeah, Garcia fucks up a bit on “Casey Jones,” and Pigpen’s ego may have been deflated a bit by his voice coming over poorly on “Good Loving” but that was a concert. You do a concert and you stand by your performance, good or bad. That’s show business.

This effete artistic bullshit doesn’t matter anyway … When you’re out to get all the money you can out of your gigs, like the Dead seem to be (like all the groups seem to be) you might be accused of being a bit piggish; when you use strong-arm shit to insure that you get every last penny that you deserve — by making Amerikan standards — you are a Pig. Jerry Garcia, is that you?

Nobody buys that anti-bootleg shit about the artistic integrity of the artist in saying what goes out. One, you stand by your performance; two, even if you don’t want to, Jerry, somewhat, and say “all your private property is fair game for your brothers (especially when they sell records of concerts that don’t compete with coming releases) and your brother (who’s gonna continue to dig you as we live off your comets we’re gonna keep ripping you off because it is possible. As simple as that.” If you and Cutler and Stein continue your shit, though, we’ll just have to sing the song the same old way, you guys being put in the position of being the same old reactionary establishment that we’re all ripping off. It’s all around. You break your back playing gigs for ten years and suddenly success is staring you in the face. Bread: lots and lots of bread. You turn your back on your poor, ripping ’em off roots and start to tighten up. You’re in the biggest rip-off industry around, but no one cares as long as they’re having fun.

Money. That’s the whole story, isn’t it? If these were other times, in another land under a different set of rules maybe you could justifiably complain about the people who want to give your recorded performances out free because you didn’t screen them and pick out the sections you didn’t like and do them over for the cat, ’cause no one charges for their music, and because the means of production belong to the people, and they can turn out all the good sounds they can, and you have a natural right to screen all releases. But we’re here. Now. You guys are making millions — or soon will be. Money is power, especially as the concept of money is crumbling nation-wide and power freaks like Stein are cornering the market on it. The channels that the green-power the Dead bring in travel aren’t the healthiest for the generations of revolution to come. Stein is one of these hopeful images of a freak with a chance to change things positively gone sour, who uses all his power to consolidate his power; who’ll go to any extremes to insure the natural expansion of that power. Fuck him. Fuck you.”

Speak, Basho! Quaint that the beef about bootlegs back then was sound quality, rather than copyright. Stuff got figured out at some point, I think. Like when Bobby shut down the LMA, lmao.

Ed featured part of this show in the 2016 edition of his epcot 31 Days of Dead project. Here are his listening notes, which are typically spot-on (and better than than the not-quite-on-the-bus commentary from Mr. Moore):

“Less than three weeks after Pigpen’s definitive performance of Hard To Handle at the Hollywood Palladium (8/6/71), the Grateful Dead play the final date of their summer tour in 1971 at Gaelic Park in the Bronx. It will be Pig’s last show until December and the last time the band will ever perform in their original quintet configuration of Jerry, Phil, Pig, Billy and Bobby. By September, Keith will be rehearsing with the band to assume a full-time role on the keys. Perhaps anticipating his absence, Pigpen leads the band through 6 of his songs including the rarely-played Empty Pages and the last Hard To Handle. It is also one of the last performances of Saint Stephen, until the band revived it in 1976 with a major facelift, never to be played the same way again. When you consider these historical milestones along with the departure of Mickey Hart and the closings of the legendary Fillmore East and West earlier in the year it makes you realize that this concert carried a little more weight than anyone could have ever foreseen at the time. It truly was the end of a chapter in the life of the Grateful Dead. As you listen to each song you can’t help but feel a certain degree of nostalgia.

For me, the hidden gem of the show is the outstanding version of Uncle Johns Band. Jerry’s first guitar solo is an absolute joy to hear. His notes sing with irresistible melody and happy sunshine which perfectly capture the nostalgia of those carefree early years. If you listen closely you can hear Pigpen playing the wood claves.”

Speaking of Pig, this show features the second and final performance of Empty Pages. The NYS Music blog, which has a nice write-up of this show, describes it as a McKernan original that “pairs his traditional crooning style with a slow blues jam that’s nicely peppered with fiery guitar licks from Garcia. It’s a true rarity and a shame that the band wouldn’t be able to further develop this one.”

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I feel like this was a try-hard post. It might be tl;dr, idk. Here’s the true goodness…

Transport to the Charlie Miller remaster of the soundboard recording HERE.

More soon.

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