#and now they are fucking. following me around the internet.

[not-goldy]

I think a lot of ship fights might be put to rest if Jungkook starts being more vocal about his relationship with the members.

Right now it's usually Tae and Jimin talking. Jimin actually reduced a lot now and Tae has just increased.

Jungkook can always speak more. Just more about regular things. Like I was out with Jimin, or I called Jimin or I ate with Jimin, you know basic things so Jimin doesn't get called a liar everytime coz JK never says anything to confirm.

Who's calling Jimin a liar???

Give me a lock of their hair☠

Also I don't think he's saying much these days either which to me is a very good thing. Silence is Golden.

On the part of Jungkook I see what you mean but I might have to respectfully disagree with you on this.

He tells and shows just as much. I mean had it not been for Jungkook we wouldn't know most of thr Jikook tea we know today. Their fights, Jimin staying up all night to browse the internet, them sharing a bed, Jungkook elbowing Jimin, their travel show, jikook stonewalling eachother etc

Jimin likes to talk about them but I feel he's very selective in the things he shares. While Kook doesn't have much of a filter so he'll share anything as and when the good and the bad and anything that leaves a lasting impact on him.

Eating Ramen on live- oh that reminds me of the Ramen Jimin and I ate yesterday. We were exercising at the gym last night. Proceeds to akiki over something random Jimin said and did when no one asked. Things like that.

Also, they are both triggered to share by different things. They both may share sometimes just to rub it in our faces. But for Jungkook it's usually when some members make it seem like they are more close to JM than him. He may not care what you or I think of their dynamic because we don't bother him much and he doesn't see us as a threat. Just a bunch of nuisance. However if there was someone present with them in a moment he felt threatened their dynamic he would get triggered sometimes.

Jimin cares about how you and I perceive their relationship. He is rarely bothered by the people around them- except for that one time with V where he felt he needed to assert himself. Even that I feel it was more because we were present on the live.

He cares about these things. So sometimes, sometimes, he likes to talk good about their relationship to us. And he likes to show off his man too. He gets giddy excited when Kook does things for him and he likes to share that too. He's more inclined to let us know he got the price you know, mah man treats me so well kinda shit. My man rich kinda shit. My man man man kinda shit.

Jungkook does this too. He just doesn't do it with words. He does it by bringing Jimin up every five seconds, forces us to watch ours and hours of Jimin content, and laughs all to himself while doing it🥴

They both whipped as fuck

And the fact he would follow Jimin around with a camera make him the focus of his attention zoom in on his face and lips-

He may not have to prove anything and he may not be questioned as much as Jimin is questioned because most times he comes with receipts.

I think what I all comes down to is people questions Jimin's assertions more than they do Jungkook's. Jimin gets called a liar when he shares more than Jungkook does.

I think it's the same for Taehyung. People question the intentions behind him showing off their dynamics more so than they would Jin Jungkook or any other member.

When Jungkook posts Jimin he is ship feeding. No one is assuming he is doing so to piss off certain groups of fans or to incite his shippers. When Tae does it, he is trying to incite his toxic shippers and to piss off jokers.

I think they may have contributed to these assumptions because time and again vmin are the members who frequently say they are taking pictures with Jungkook for "fans". So it stands to reason that people would assume they are fanning shipping flames when they post pictures with Jungkook or speak of their interactions with him

I won't lie to you, I have lost my train of thought 🥲

[ursifors]

i genuinely cannot believe i have to fucking say this. again. but if i blocked you, there is a reason for it. it was not a mistake. to see that you have been blocked and then message me from a side account to ask why is so weird. to then message me again when i don't respond months later is SUPER weird. TO THEN SEARCH ME OUT ON TUMBLR TO FOLLOW ME HERE IS LIKE. SUPREMELY WEIRD.

[whysamwhy123]

Since I'm back after a little unplanned hiatus, time to blab about another dumb idea I had for an AU that I'll never write! So! For some reason, a while back, I decided I really wanted to come up with a trashy reality show AU for Max Squared, where MJF decides to exploit Caster's immediate, intense love for him by starting up a little showmance. Max wants to manipulate the editing of the show as well as the game itself to make sure that he wins and/or becomes the breakout star of the season. So when Caster falls head over heels for him on Day One, he's presented with the perfect opportunity.

Initially, I was thinking the show would be a Survivor type deal, a bunch of people on a desert island or something, voting each other off, so Max's game is stringing Caster along so that he won't ever vote against him and he always has an ally help him vote out whoever he considers his biggest competition. But then I started to think it might be funnier if it was an American Idol style singing competition. It kinda fits, right? Both MJF and Caster are musically inclined, after all. And it changes the logic behind Max's plan - he wants to manipulate the editing of the show, make himself seem like a nice, endearing guy so the public will vote to keep him in the show, and ensure he gets a lot more screen time than the the other contestants. And what better way to do than pretending to be falling in love with this weirdo who's obsessed with you? A heart-warming queer romance on a show where only one of them can win? That's some good trash TV there, right?

MJF insists to Caster that it's all an act on his part. He's only pretending to be in love with him for the show, to tug on the heartstrings of all the stupid fans out there who think this shit is anything close to real. A ploy to make himself seem like the perfect charming, irresistible hero he needs to be in order to win this damn thing. And Caster's just like ''Whatever you say, sweetie,'' because he knows before Max does.

Maybe after a certain point, Max figures, hey, there's no harm in sleeping with the guy. It doesn't mean anything - Caster's so willing, so he may as well get laid. Of course, Caster thinks this is a sign that he really does have feelings for him, no matter how many times MJF tells him that it's not because he's actually attracted to him. No, it's just a ''power thing''.

He's only pretending, right? Caster's a fucking loser, a pawn in Max's grand master plan to emerge victorious. There's no way he could end up actually developing feelings for him over the course of the show, right? It's all for the show, it's fake, it's not real! There's simply no way he could...

Also, I'd want there to be a point where one night, Caster straight-up begs Max to let him eat his ass. And MJF's like ''Ugh, no way! That's disgusting! You're insane! You're a fucking weirdo! You're gross! You're...you'd do that for me?'' and of course, Caster tells him he'd do anything for him. And Max finds he can't resist anymore. So he lets Caster do it and he makes sure he doesn't regret it. Max's probably so loud during it that it pisses off the other contestants and the crew members who can hear it through the walls because Max simply cannot keep quiet like he usually can.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

okay so what i need you to know about me is

i skipped breakfast and sorta kinda lunch and browsed three, possibly 4 days of tumblr dashboard just because i really wanted this picture set of some fucking butterflies that i'd forgotten to save when i found them

[hua-fei-hua]

through a series of Wacky Hijinks(tm), i ended up on a livejournal post where someone basically details LiveJournal Social Etiquette (holy grail. to me), and it's actually really interesting to see just how much the concept of tumblr as like, a communal social space, and our modern ideas of "mutual"-hood, and just like, the deeply community-oriented netview (worldview but regarding the internet) of this website seems to echo the environment of lj in its heyday.

like, i've been doing research abt lj out of personal curiosity for quite a while now (if any of you were there, gandalf, pls tell me abt it), and at first it just seemed like such a foreign concept to me. what were the social rules? how did people congregate? how did they form, like, their webs?

but the more i uncover via (not-asking-people-directly-because-if-i-initiate-social-interaction-i-will-wither-into-a-prune) general internet spelunking, the more i've come to realize that like many aspects of humanity, the more things change, the more they will also remain the same. and i just think that's so terribly endearing

[holdoncallfailed]

1996 dash simulator

🍊 allpulpnojuice follow

guys i'm serious can we PLEASE leave the battle of britpop in 1995 where it belongs i am So Tired

3 notes

👽 skygazer81 follow

has anyone heard of this group heaven's gate? they seem kinda sus but their website is sick as hell

🔬 number1skeptic follow

dude...

56 notes

👑 princessdianastyle follow

i can't believe di and charles officially got divorced romance is DEAD

🇺🇸 itstheeconomystupid follow

ok royalist bootlicker

👑 princessdianastyle follow

oh so now the clinton/gore rpf shipper is going to preach to us?

895 notes

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 lesbianbartsimpson follow

i just saw the birdcage in theatres...tbh i don't love the queerbaiting. why would you cast two straight actors to play a gay couple...

7 notes

🫎 tabarnakonwood follow

society if québec had won its independence last year

1,178 notes

🪩 rhythmnation1814 follow

i swear if staff doesn't stop fucking around i'm going to permanently move to geocities.

#i'm just glad my PC can run netscape 2.0 #but the dial-up is so slow it's like barely worth it ugh maybe i'll just stop using the internet in general #it's not like i NEED it yk

6 notes

😎 Anonymous asked: Do you agree that if the glove does not fit, then we must acquit?

🚬 mall-rats answered: Bro I'm not getting baited into talking about the OJ trial again. Go troll someone else

32 notes

🧠 craneonme follow

can you GAYS stop posting frasier spoilers

☕️ cafenervosa follow

niles fucking DIES

34,021 notes

🍳 waterydomestic follow

does anyone else feel like the pavement fandom kind of sucks now?? i don't want to be an asshole but when cut your hair started playing on mtv all the time i knew it was over.

📻 philselwaysbaldhead follow

lol now you know how radiohead fans felt when fake plastic trees was on the clueless soundtrack

16 notes

🍔 kelandkenan follow

i've always loved the way they loved...

#kel climbing thru kenan's window because he just HAS to see him even tho he's banned from the rockmore house #like i'm sorry but it's true love your honor

874 notes

🧸 thebeaniebabyenjoyer follow

whenever i see that someone's fursona is a gerbil i'm always like oh so you must be a pretty big richard gere fan

🕺🏻 scentofalpacino follow

hold on let me ask jeeves something

🕺🏻 scentofalpacino follow

yeah this is funny as hell

51,901 notes

[milla-frenchy]

Push it

3k4 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you have a secret “relationship” with Joel, your dad's best friend. You know you can't have more, but you can’t resist the idea to provoke him a little

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel late 40s), Joel is a grumpy, possessive, jealous man, reader is a brat. Grinding, dry humping, oral (f/m), pussy slapping, spanking, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, cum eating, squirting, piv, creampie

a/n: so, this is my first dbf!Joel fic. Thank you anon, for your ask ❤️ I hope you'll like it 🙏

@aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing baby 💕🫶

dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

The fic is titled after “Push it” by Garbage 

Joel was looking at you walking back and forth from the dining room and the kitchen, swaying your hips and teasing him in your short dress. And if your father had been paying any attention to him instead of the game on TV, he would have noticed the way Joel was biting his upper lip or rubbing his hands together. Joel was nervous, and the more nervous he got, the more you teased him.

“Damn brat,” Joel muttered under his breath.

“What?” your father asked.

“Nothing,” he replied and then sighed. “Just said that player really sucks, that’s all.”

“I think he’s hot,” you said cheerfully. “How old is he?”

“A little too old for you to be interested, honey. Over 30 years old.”

You scoffed at your father’s words, and you were pretty sure you heard “jesus” coming out of Joel’s mouth.

You spent the rest of the match pulling down your neckline to expose more of your cleavage or hiking your dress up your thighs. You were careful to do it in a way that your father wouldn’t consider inappropriate if he ever looked at you at some point, but he was captivated by the game. 

Your and Joel’s gazes met often and he gave you a few serious warning stares that you ignored shamelessly. You didn’t even try to hide your satisfaction each time he had to readjust his jeans.

Once the match was over, you brought their empty beer bottles back to the kitchen, and Joel's firm hand closed around your arm as soon as you were there.

“The hell you doin’?” he grumbled.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Cut the crap, sweetheart,” he hissed through his teeth. “Acting like a damn tease, makin’ me hard during the game? In front of your father, goddamn it! Could even see you’re wearing the black lingerie.”

“Ooooh… yeah, your favorite. Too bad you made it very clear the last time you filled me up- we fuck just for fun, right? So let me have fun and act as I please in my father's house. And let go of me.”

But he squeezed harder. “Keep it down,” he growled. “And that ain’t what I said.”

“Whatever. Next time you see me, I may be with my boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend?” His nostrils flared and you loved the sight.

“The one I’m probably gonna meet tonight, when I go out with my friends. The one who’ll appreciate my lingerie. Let go of me,” you repeated, yanking yourself free.

You headed towards the kitchen door, and after glancing behind, you saw him leaning against the counter. Annoyed, dark eyes, eyebrows furrowed, arm muscles stretching his black t-shirt. Irritation suited him well, he was even more handsome than usual. You tried to ignore the racing of your heart as you stepped back into the dining room.

“Can you help me with the internet at home?" he asked you in front of your father. “Connection ain't working.”

“I’m sorry, Joel, I can’t right now. I have to get ready, I’m going out tonight and my friends are picking me up in an hour.”

“Jesus, your manners?!” your father replied as if you had said the most impolite thing in the world. “Go help Joel. Your friends can wait a few minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, careful so that only Joel could see you. He smirked in a way that was so feline that you felt yourself dripping. He walked out towards his house, not checking if you were following him. He knew you were. 

Once home he sat down on his couch, resting his right arm on the backrest.

“What's the problem with the internet?”

“Ain't got any problems. Come here,” he said, patting his thighs.

“What makes you think I wanna sit on your lap?”

“Pussy's dripping. Can smell it from here.”

You rolled your eyes but you walked over to him and straddled him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. He grabbed your hips tightly and positioned you how he exactly wanted you, his stiff shaft in his jeans against your folds covered only by your black panties. Your eyes sparkled when you felt his manhood. His were fixed on yours. Full of confidence, the eyes of a mature man, aware of his power of seduction over you.

“Stop being a brat and grind on me. I know you need it bad.”

You rolled your hips slowly, grinding against his hard cock. His hands firmly laid on your hips, but letting you lead the pace. His jeans almost hurt your inner thighs but you needed that friction against your soaked pussy. That sweet pain, the one that helps to feel better, like an itch that can be relieved only when you scratch it a little. He pulled your neckline down roughly, cupping your breasts in his palms before taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking it.

“Joel…,” you whimpered.

“Keep humping me, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that. She needs it, uh?”

He took your nipple back in his mouth, licking and then nibbling on it lightly, pressing on your shoulders to feel you more.

“Use me. Use me to get off,” he said, the need in his voice showing you how much he loved feeling you rub yourself against him. You kept rolling your hips, moaning “Joel, Joel…,” your whimpers getting louder and louder, until you breathed out “it’s good, so good, I’m gonna come,” just before you came against him, whining into his neck, trembling. Your desire wetting your panties even more and flowing onto his jeans.

You let your forehead rest against him, panting into his skin that you kissed as he stroked your back, before you pulled back and faced his dark eyes.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you said, kneeling down and unzipping his jeans.

“Yeah? Gonna help me with that after your little game? That's what you wanted, uh? Wanted me to get fuckin’ hard, while I couldn't do anything about it.”

You nodded, there was no more brat attitude left in you, just eagerness as you pulled his cock out gently, and watched his weeping, red tip. You licked your lips and spread the precum around his slit with your thumb. You sucked him the way he liked, lingering on his tip for a long time, licking, sucking. Each time, you wanted to give him the sloppiest head, so that he wouldn’t think about anyone else. Wouldn’t want anyone else.

When you took his length in your mouth, getting used to its thickness, pressing your tongue against his quivering skin, you felt him shiver. Until he pressed his cock against the back of your throat, and finally put his hands on your head. You loved feeling his underlying power, his pressure on your temples.

“Don’t move,” he said in a low voice, his length buried in your hot throat. You felt his tip twitch. Finally he started to thrust, fucking your mouth and your throat, using you as a fuck hole.

The mouth of his best friend’s daughter. He didn’t think about it anymore, when he was buried in one of your three holes. His remorse was forgotten. He didn’t care what could happen next, where this relationship or whatever it was, would take both of you. Didn't think about the consequences anymore. Only your warmth, your tightness welcoming his cock, mattered.

His hands firmly gripping your head, he thrusted in, and began fucking your mouth relentlessly. From the first time he’d fucked you, you noticed how different he was from your previous boyfriends. He loved when you teased him. He loved being seated on his couch, manspreading, while you were dancing lasciviously in front of him, waiting for him to break and reach out to you. But sometimes, often, you were the one breaking first. 

When you danced like that, his gaze was full of promise. Promise to fuck you so well you’d forget your own name when he was done with you.

Guys of your age didn’t have that patience.

He loved to make you come several times before spilling his cum. Sometimes he made you come again after, with his tongue or fingers, leaving you breathless and cock dumb. 

Your ex boyfriends usually didn’t care.

But he cared.

You let him use your mouth, let him move your head back and forth. Let him bury himself in the back of your throat. You learned not to gag anymore, when he fucked it. He trained you to do it. 

His hands froze on your temples, and you knew he was about to shoot hot ropes of cum that would hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come… swallow all of it, sweetheart. Like a good girl, just like I taught you.”

His cum spurted out, and drop by drop, you swallowed it all. Then you carefully cleaned his shaft, his tip, until he pulled out. He put his cock back in his pants, and zipped them.

“You should go, you’re gonna be late.”

“Do you have something to tell me, Joel?”

“Good evening?” He sighed when he saw your eyes, a little blurry, and added “and keep those wet panties on. I want you to remember how you came humping me, while you’re out with your friends.”

You didn’t try to meet his gaze when you heard his words, and you left.

Babe? Babe!” You heard your friend’s voice in the distance. You were so lost in your thoughts. Always the same. Joel.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You spread your hands in front of you, as if to mean you had no idea what she was talking about.

“We’re supposed to have fun and you seem… somewhere else. What’s on your mind, babe?”

You answered that everything was fine, and tried to push Joel out of your thoughts. Joel who had told you that you weren’t a couple, that you didn’t have a relationship because your father, other people couldn’t know. That this thing between you was a bonus that you were giving each other. But that there couldn’t be more.

So when a guy of your age approached you and asked you to dance, you didn’t say no. When he offered you a drink and asked if you wanted to join him in the bathroom of the bar, you didn’t say no either. Sat on the bathroom sink, you let him eat you out.

And you only thought about Joel who always did it so perfectly, knew when to lick lightly, when to suck on your clit, knew how to fill you with two of his fingers. You had to think about him, the whole time that guy was eating you out. You had to think about Joel’s beard and mustache, scratching tenderly or roughly against your sensitive skin.

It was the only way for you to come.

When you left the bathroom, Joel was the first person you saw. Dark stare. Then darker than ever, when his gaze fell on the man who walked out of the room right after you. You froze before heading to your table, but he grabbed your arm before you sat down. 

“I’m taking you back home. Now.”

“Are you mad? I come home whenever I want.”

“Wow wow! What’s going on? Are you her dad?” Joel looked at this man whose name you didn't even know, from his full height, fists clenched. Joel looked at him as if he wanted to throw him to the ground, making him take a step back.

“No I ain’t her dad, luckily for you”, he growled. He turned to you before adding “I said, now.”

You followed him, like a docile dog. Turned on by his jealousy and attitude.

“Get in the damn car,” he grumbled. He started driving, silent, hands clenching the wheel until his knuckles were white.

“Joel…”

“Don’t,” he rambled. “Don’t say a word.”

You sank into the seat, waiting for him to drop you off at your place. But he pulled into his driveway.

“Follow me,” he said, without waiting for you.

When you joined him at his house, his hands were on his hips, his gaze turned towards the ground.

“You fucked him?” he asked in a low voice.

“No. No I didn't.”

“He fucked you?”

“No, damn… He didn't fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows, in a way that was clear- he didn't believe a word you were telling him.

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“Don't lie to me. You got that “just fucked” face.”

“Damn, I… He went down on me, that's all.”

“You let him go down on you? On that pussy?”

If you didn't know him, his tone might have seemed detached. But you had known him for a long time, and the surprise mixed with jealousy didn't escape you. Actually, it was even more than a surprise. Almost a shock.

You even felt like he was holding back from saying “my pussy.” But he had been clear about you two. Fun.

“Why do you care? You don’t want anything serious.”

“He ate you with your wet panties on? He pushed them to the side?” You nodded shyly, almost embarrassed.

“Fuck, come here,” he said, grabbing you by the hips before pulling you back towards the couch, your feet dragging in an attempt to keep up with his pace.

He pushed you roughly to sit you down and knelt down in front of you. He pulled your dress up and practically ripped your panties off, and yanked your hips towards the edge of the couch.

“I think this pussy needs to remember who makes her come,” he growled, already pushing two fingers inside you. “You're fucking soaked. You came in his damn mouth?”

“Yes I… Fuck, Joel!” He was fingering your pussy quickly, as if he wanted to remove any memory of any man other than himself.

“Was he good at it?”

“Yeah, he was perfect. Made me come so quickly.”

He slapped your swollen clit and you whined, tears at the corner of your eyes.

“I said, don't lie to me,” he spat at you, stopping his fingers deep inside your pussy.

You lowered your head before answering.

“No, he wasn't good at it. Had to think about someone else to come. Had to think about you,” you whined. “Stop being mean to me, I didn't do anything wrong!”

“I need to remind you how this cunt needs to be eaten. Like the damn slut she belongs to.”

This wasn't the first time he'd degraded you. He'd noticed early on how receptive you were to it. And the way your pussy squeezed his fingers couldn't hide it, once again.

He settled between your thighs, lapping at your cunt still soaked with another man’s saliva, your pleasure and your desire for Joel.

He dove in like it was his last meal on earth, lapping, sucking, mixing his saliva with someone else's and he didn't care. Your hands tangled in his curls. Your orgasm was building and Joel stopped just before you exploded on his fingers and tongue.

“No Joel! Please, why did you stop?”

“I don't want another tongue on this cunt. Ya hear me?”

“But you said…” He slapped your clit again, making you whimper.

“Repeat it.”

“I… fuck, Joel! Jesus… You don't want another tongue on this cunt.”

“If I see you with anyone else again, if I hear about you with anyone else, I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for days.”

Your pussy clenched around his fingers without you being able to control your body.

“Jesus Christ, you fuckin’ like it? You want to get punished over my knee like the dirty little brat you are?”

“I… no, I… fuck…”

“Pussy's drooling even more. Unbelievable…” He started to finger you again, slowly, and placed his thumb on your swollen and sensitive clit, making you whimper. “You were a good girl, with proper manners. And now… can't think straight since you took my fat cock, right?”

“I'm… fuck. I'm a good girl.”

“Really?” he smirked darkly. “Good girls don’t get their pussy eaten by a stranger in a damn bar.” He leaned down and licked a long stripe from your hole already filled with his fingers to your clit, before stopping again cruelly. “Good girls don’t make their man jealous,” he added before diving between your thighs, fingering you fast and so hard that his knuckles tapped against your entrance. His tongue focused on your clit, swirling around it perfectly. 

“My… my man?”

He didn't answer, growling from the depths of your thighs, making you squirm on his fingers as he fingered you hard, until jets spurted out suddenly and wetted his face.

“Fuck yeah! that’s a good girl, squirting on my face, jesus, sweetheart…”

You were completely gone, not realizing that you were cumming on his fingers still buried inside you, until he replaced them with his tongue. He drank everything you gave him, greedy, eager. You kept squirming but his strong grip kept you seated on the couch.

When your jolts stopped, he grabbed your arm to lift you up and bent you over the dining room table. His hand tightened on the back of your neck, and he unzipped his jeans, lowering them mid-thigh with the other one, before sinking into you in one go, grunting like an animal.

He buried his fingers in the flesh of your hip, pumping into you. Hard, deep thrusts, growling “take it, just like that,” and you could only take it. Letting him feed on your needy pussy, on your low moans that he could barely hear, fucking you so hard that you were almost speechless except for the whimpers.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so good.” He kept thrusting in, filling you like only he knew how.

“Harder, Joel. Harder, please,” you begged.

“Jesus…”

Clinging to the edge of the table, you tried to remain as still as possible despite his roughness that threw you forward with every thrust.

“Say my name”, he said in a needy voice. You didn’t hear him and he scoffed. “Too cock dumb to even hear me,” he growled before spanking your ass, hard, making you squeal.

“Joel!!!”

“Oh, you’re back? I said, say my fucking name.”

“J… Joel…”

“That’s right. Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

A second spank landed on your already red skin.

“Say it again.”

“Damn, Joel?! Your pussy… my pussy’s yours, damnit…”

A third spank, even harder than the other ones. “Joel, what the fuck??” you whined.

“Squeezin’ me so tight, each time I spank you… don’t pretend you don’t like it, dirty fucking girl.”

You didn't answer. He was right, you liked it. He knew it and you knew it. You liked his strength, you liked that he used you. You liked being his.

“I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up, fuck!”

He shot his cum deep in your pussy and didn't stop thrusting, pumping you full until you milked his cock.

Your hand against the wood of the table, you were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath as his heavy body pressed against yours.

“You said it was just for fun… What happened?” you murmured.

“Ain’t what I said. I said, your father can't know. The neighbors, your friends, can't know. But you… you gotta know. I don't share. Got it?”

“Yeah… got it.”

You smiled, feeling his breath against your neck, and his hand tightening on yours, on the wood of the table.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday post, love you ❤️

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[mysicklove]

𝐅𝐈𝐗 𝐌𝐄

DAY 2: SUB SPACE + MOMMY KINK

With: Satoru Gojo

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Sub! Gojo, Fem? reader (no pronouns just use of names: mommy and mama), unreleastic portrayal of sub space, mentions of BDSM (rough treatment, degradation,whips, mistress/master use), safeword use (at the end), lots of cooing, Gojo unable to think properly, praise, comfort, clingy/needy Gojo

A/N: this was actually really fun to write! i did a little research on what subspace feels like, and it says it varies from person to person, but it is a sort of euphoric experience. sooo idk! lol. also, a lot of ppl r here for gojos personality, and I feel bad bc he is not like his usual self in this bc of his headspace...dont hate me gojo simps

Gojo Satoru is kinky. Plain and simple. He has tried many different things throughout his lifetime, and he is now confident enough in many different types of sexual play. He spends way too much time on the internet buying all sorts of toys, cuffs, ropes, whips, just to build his secret obsession. He has been with many people, and has always pulled them down to the dark side with him. 

But through it all, he has never found a partner to really push him to his limits. They all get too scared to hurt him, and call their safeword too early. They get uncomfortable when he sobs for mercy, or in other situations, begs for more pain. Gojo doesn't want to be just treated harshly, he wants to be broken. His standards are higher than most.

And finally his dreams came true when he met you. You've been into BDSM for years now, and even if the two of you are dating, you have a strict contract of rules you must obey for eachothers safety. It was cute, he was practically trembling in excitement when he saw the agreement, signing his hame sloppily, and waiting for your next move.

It was strange seeing someone so cheery and upbeat turn into a different breed during a scene. He was long passed the brat now, every defining thought fucked out of him. He's been slapped around, beaten, scolded, forced to orgasm, and humiliated in the past two hours. He has never had anyone treat him this rough. 

A huge part of him loved it, and a small part of him twinged in fear whenever he heard you begin to move again. It sent a multitude of thoughts to his brain, What now? Are you going to hurt him? Was he being good now? Another punishment? 

His blue eyes follow your every movement, and he flinches when you bring your hand up to his face, expecting another slap. You chuckle at the movement, gently petting his face. It takes him a second to realize what is happening, but from there, he melts into your hold. He presses himself deeper into your hand, eyes heavy from exhaustion.

Satoru accomplished his goal though. He was, for the first time ever, wrecked. His hair is matted against his head, damp from sweat. His body is covered in hickeys, bitemarks, bruises, scratches, and marks from the flogger. He was trembling, muscles contracting every couple of seconds without permission. Drools coats his lips, and it starts to drip down his mouth and onto his chin. His eyes seem to be in a different world, cloudy, and half lidded. His cock lays spent against his thigh, flushed red, and leaking just the last of his cum.

But even through it all, he's smiling at you. It’s a fucked out sort of grin, lazy, but content. His cheek is pressed against your palm, and he's nuzzling into it, basking in the softness of your touch, contrasting your earlier actions. “There ya go. You doing all right, Satoru?”

He blinks at you, slow, and thoughtless. “Yeah.”

You climb onto the bed next to him, brushing his hair back affectionately, and a little worriedly. He looked rather beat, and his exhausted eyes made you want to end the session now. “Alright, lets clean you up, and get you to bed,” You soothe, hands rubbing at his thighs, hoping your touch brings him comfort.

Immediately he pulls away, a small pout on his face. “Noooooo,” He uncharacteristically whines, grabbing at your hand. “Wanna…Wanna go some more. I'm doing good, right Mommy? No more punishments,” He pleads, tears coating his eyes. “Reward. Wanna reward, pleaseeee.”

Mommy wasn't todays title. You were called mistress, and master today solely. His words made your eyes widen, and you instantaneously knew he was deep into the subspace. You've seen glimpses of it, the way he becomes uncharacteristically obedient and he gets slightly giggly, probably from the light headed feeling, but he looked deep into his now. His words dragged out, and his body was obviously spent, but still he craved your approval; he wanted nothing more than to please you now. 

Affection, love and care is what he needs right now and you were happy to provide him with it. So, you straddle his lap, and place kisses on every surface you can touch. His body is warm, and he goes slack against your hold, mouth falling open. “Do you want to cum again, ‘toru? Or just attention?”

He goes silent for awhile, his mind hazy, and not liking the idea of making his own choice. He wanted you to take care of him completely, to let his mind slip away, and for you to control his ever thought, movement. “Please,” He mumbles, face scrunching up with frustration.

You are quick to apologize, recognizing his situation almost instantly. “Alright, alright. I'll take care of you. Lets cum one more time, can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

Pretty boy. A nickname unlike the harsh ones he received earlier: brat, slut, dog, whore. In the moment it only increased to turn him on, but now, he wanted to be good. The thought of you calling him those names made him want to tear up, and sob into your arms. He didn't want you to be mean anymore, he wants you to love him. To praise him on anything and everything. 

He jumps when he feels your hand drift back to his cock. It aches from all the abuse from earlier, and he lets out a shaky whimper, not liking the pain as much as he once did. “H-Hurts,” He yelps, wishing for you to make it better. To fix it all, why did everything ache so badly? He wants comfort, and as quickly as possible.

You kiss at his tears and pull his face into your neck. “‘m sorry. Was Mommy too rough with you today? Shhh, it’ll feel better in a bit, just relax,” You encourage, beginning to slide your hand up and down his length. He twitches and mewls from beneath you, fighting the feeling of overstimulation and pleasure. He wants this, he wants this, he wants this so badly, but he wishes it wasn't so uncomfortable.

He shakes his head into your neck, “Wasn't too rough. I'm fine, Mama j-just make me feel better, please,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and soft. One of your hands pet his hair, while the other strokes him off, shushing his cries, and reassuring that he will feel better soon.

You were right of course, the pain of overstimulation died off, and Gojo felt like he was melting. Everything is so warm, so light, he feels like he was on cloud nine. He feels loved, and every loose thought was traced back to you. “Love you s-so much.”

You grin at him, pressing your lips to his. His lips are chapped from his excessive panting, but you don't mind, licking at the plush flesh. He whimpers and groans, his hands pawing at you to pull you impossibly closer. When you pull back, he follows you, letting out a small huff in complaint. You pepper his face with kisses in apology. “Love you too. Such a good boy, Satoru, I'm so lucky to have such a pretty boy.”

He withers under the praise, nodding his head dumbly. He wants to coax so more out of you, but he can't think of ways, so he just rest his head on your chest, and chants, “Mommy” on repeat. 

Your hand is slow in pace, careful to not overwhelm him. It slides up and down easily, his previous cum acting as lube. His cock is bright red, and you almost feel bad for it after pulling so many orgasms from it earlier. You are suprised he is still even awake, sure, he looks and acts exhausted, but by this long he is usually passed out. He must be awake only because he is searching for praise and comfort from earlier. To not find himself in a sub drop.

You catch his eye, and a wobbly smile pulls at his face. You chuckle at him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Whaddya want from me?” He asks, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

“Hmm?”

He taps his forehead against yours, hazy blue eyes staring into yours. “Wanna command. Wanna be useful for you.” 

You smile warmly at him and he shivers, leaning up to kiss you again. You hand rubs over his small slit, and he gasps, pausing just centimeteres before you face, and moaning out. 

“You are deep in this, aren't you sweet boy?” You murmur, mostly to your self, slightly astonished. It was one thing for him to ask for praise, and to make decisions for him, but actively seeking instructions from you was another. It was fascinating, and adorable to say the least, how desperately he craved approval, or wanted to feel needed, useful. Nothing how Gojo usually was like.

You thumb at his tip, and he heaves, trying to keep up with your words. But everything you say other than “sweet boy,” seems to tuned out. Everything feels blurry, expect for you face, and your sickenly sweet tone. “D-Don't understand. Please!”

“Okay, shhh, it's alright. I want you to cum for me. Can you cum for Mommy, Satoru? That's all I want you to do.” An easy command, one he can definitely fulfill. He can do that – he can definitely cum for you. Gojo feels his chest bloom with butterflies at the idea of what you'll say to him once he follows your wishes. How much praise he will receive. How good and useful he is being. It makes him shiver with excitement.

Your hand picks up speed when he nods, and he gasps, gripping onto your arms from the suddenness. His hips buck upward into the makeshift hole, and you coo at him, telling him to relax his hips. He abides without question, melting into the sheets, and you give him a kiss for a reward. 

He feels himself begin to teeter along his high, and he glances up at you, eyes wide and slightly panicked. He needs to ask for approval, he has to ask to cum, the rules were basically engrained in him, but everything is spinning, and he's beginning to feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the pressure. He feels his voice go dry, and tears begin to pool in his eyes at the prospect of disappointing you.

You take notice of his fearful face immediately, quickly leaning over to cup his face. “You can cum. Relax, hey, its alright, I want you to cum.”

He breathes a shaky sign of relief, and you wipe his tears away, thinking back to earlier of how you wiped his tears away from the ruthless pleasure/pain mix, and now simply because he was afraid that he wasn't able to ask permission before cumming. You would be lying if the power didnt get to your head.

You thoughts are cut off when Gojos entire body jerks, and a muffled, “Fuck!” is let out. His orgasm hits him like a truck, and he trembles, riding the waves. His voice is too scratchy to let out any real noise, so he just silently cries into your chest. Cum dribbles down his cock pathetically, obviously spent, and not having much left to give. You don't seem to notice it though, instead focusing on your lover, and trying to make his orgasm as pleasurable as possible.

When he comes down from it, his legs are shaking, and his eyes are hooded with exhaustion. “P-Plea–Coconut,” He weakly gets out, and you hands fly off his body in seconds from hearing the safety word. You pull away, hoping to not overwhelm him, but instead he clings to you. “Don’t go. Don’t go. Mommy, I can't. J-Just–I…Praise!” He splutters, coherent thoughts flying out of his head, as he slumps into the bed.

You nod, staying away from his cock, and instead placing his head into your lap. His body curls around you in seconds, still slightly trembling. “Did so well. Good boy Satoru. My good boy, I am so spoiled. So lucky to have you." You coo, reaching your hand up to run it through his matted hair. "Took everything so well. I'm so proud of you." A small smile pulls at his face, and everything feels so warm "I love you so much, you know that?”

“Hm,” He hums, nodding his head slightly.

You smile at him. “My perfect boy. It's time to go to sleep, I'll take care of everything. Just rest for me, that's all I need you to do.”

But he didn't even hear the last of your statements, already passed out onto you, his chest rising and falling from his heavy breathes.

You sigh, and stare affectionately at the man. His naked body littered in marks, and he still managed to sleep contently with them. His body was drained of everything. Just like he asked you to do so hours prior.

Your hands roam the nightstand, grabbing healing cream, bandages, and a wash cloth. And with one last sigh, you place Gojo's head onto the pillow, and begin the long process of cleaning him up.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[matchingbatbites]

"What the fuck did you do?"

Eddie wasn't expecting hostility when he answered Jeff's phone call, his best friend's usual calm demeanor replaced with open annoyance. And yeah, okay, the annoyance itself wasn’t new, but Eddie doesn’t think he’s actually done anything recently to earn it.

"Well-"

"Actually, no. I'll tell you what you did. You retweeted photos of Steve Harrington - internationally beloved heartthrob actor Steve Harrington - along with the caption 'not to sound like a subby slut but GOD I would be his puppy baby boy in a heartbeat'. So I guess the better question is, what the fuck were you thinking, Eddie?"

Eddie's jaw clicks shut because- yeah, he had done that. Had seen those photos of Steve smoking circling the internet and spent god knows how long just staring at them, had curbed the desire to shove his hand down his pants by posting a single thirst tweet about it.

“I was thinking, Jeff, that I'm allowed to post whatever I want to my private fucking twitter, man. I mean it's a free country, isn't a guy allowed to make a horny tweet about a sexy man every now and then?”

“You are, when you actually post it to your private account and not our award winning band's main account.”

No. Oh no. There's no way Eddie actually-

He rips his phone away from his face to open twitter, and realizes two things simultaneously. One, Jeff is right, he had posted it to the band's account. Not on his private, locked, personal account, but on the account that's actually open and free for literally anyone on earth to look at.

The second thing he realizes is that their notifications are currently flooded with responses to Eddie's tweet, somehow racking up into the thousands in the few hours it's been since. 

Jesus Christ.

“Eddie?”

The metalhead jerks back into the moment and put Jeff on speaker so he can scroll through the horde of replies, says “Fuck, I fucked up. Are we gonna have to do damage control on this?”

In the mess is a reply from Gareth's own personal account: @ corrodededdie stop tweeting from the band account challenge 🙄🙄🙄

”Maybe. There hasn't been any type of response from Harrington or his people, but they might ask us to take it down if it blows up too much.“

Eddie hums, thinking they might be too little, too late about it blowing up too much, and flips over to his main account so he can reply to Gareth's little jab appropriately. He isn't surprised to see that he has a couple of new messages, probably from other people wondering just what the fuck Eddie was thinking, but when he goes to check them-

He's never been happier that he turned on messages from followers only, because then he would have missed this, missed Steve Harrington's little profile picture beaming up at him from the screen of his phone, along with a new message request.

”Jeff, I gotta go,” he says, not even realizing he's cut the other man off.

“Eddie, what-

”Harrington messaged me. I'll call you back.“

Eddie doesn't wait for a response as he hangs up on Jeff, and his hands definitely aren't shaking as he opens the message from Steve. And listen- Eddie is a fan of the guy, that much should be obvious. 

Steve had grown in popularity around the same time Corroded Coffin had; he’d gotten some part in a drama film that had skyrocketed him into stardom, and Eddie fell in love the moment he saw that gorgeous face on the silver screen for the first time. He's never had a chance to interact with the guy, has been in the same place a few times but always missed him, like ships passing in the night, but Eddie's been fine with pining from afar, just like every other person on the planet that's even remotely attracted to men.

Besides, even with how popular Corroded Coffin has gotten over the years - a couple of Grammy’s here, a dozen chart topping metal songs there - Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to just. Know who Eddie is.

With all of this in mind, Eddie is expecting some kind of semi-casual request to take the tweet down, that it's not a good look for his image-

Anything other than what Steve actually sent.

'If you're puppy baby boy, does that make me Master? Or Daddy?'

And Eddie- 

Eddie slides down, sinks into his couch cushion as all of the blood in his body suddenly shifts, rushing to fill his dick like it's a fucking race. The phone almost slips out of his hand and he fumbles it briefly before taking a deep breath. 

Is Steve serious? He wouldn't send that if he wasn't serious, right?

This could be it, could be Eddie's one chance to impress Steve, to get his foot in the door of Steve's interest. He bites his lip and types out a reply, something quick that he sends before he can change his mind.

‘I’m open to either, actually. Do you have a preference, sir?’

He doesn’t expect the typing indicator to come up immediately, and just knowing that Steve is somewhere right now, typing out a response to Eddie, is enough to have him nearly vibrating in his seat.

‘I’m partial to Daddy, myself.’

Fuck fuck fuck.

Eddie takes a breath, tries to think of a response that isn’t just ‘Please, Daddy, can I sit on your massive dick that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since that one indie film you did that just had all of your junk out in the open?’

Steve saves him by sending another message.

‘But maybe we could start with Steve, and possibly dinner? Though I’d be happy to see where things go after that.’

He- What-

Eddie must have stopped breathing, because the next time he takes a breath his lungs burn, his mid races because there’s no way Eddie’s long term celebrity crush just asked him on a date. He sits there long enough that the screen goes dark and he scrambles to turn it back on, sees the message still there, real and unchanged.

There’s no way he can say no to this, to Steve, and his hands shake as he types out a response.

‘Dinner would be great. Just name the time and place, Daddy.’

[skythealmighty]

can you imagine if like. object show characters were active on tumblr . i mean fans on here but his account is dead so. i mean itd be fun

#rocket talk #roc save #Fan come Back we miss you

(0 notes)

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

OH MY GOD NEW TPOT EPIWODHWND IM GONNA GO INSANE ONE!!! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS ONE!!!!!!

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

:)

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

HELLO??

#oh my god HI . THIS IS LIKE IF A CELEBRITY CAME UP TO ME IN PUBLIC. #ARE THE OTHER ALGEBRALIENS ON TUMBLR??? #/WHAT/

(3 notes)

🧪 test-tubular Follow

My best friend is pacing around my lab. I think a new episode's come out on one of his shows...

#I love him (/p) but he's going to become an unskippable cutscene very quickly

(0 notes)

⛔ nowaynuhuh Follow

i love shrimpy but it feels like he rlly doesnt ... get what i mean you know 😔 at least hes trying to cheer me up? i just wish i had someone to really talk to when it comes to these weird things i keep seeing

💼 emotional-baggage Follow

hey, i completely understand how you feel! im going to be busy the next few days with a finale, but ive sent you a dm if you need someone to talk to ^-^

⛔ nowaynuhuh Follow

thanks, ill take you up on that later!

⛔ nowayhuhuh Follow

...suitcase?

#i dont think shes been online since that last post #i hope shes alright...

(5 notes)

💰 goforthegold Follow

Reblogging this every time I miss my co-hosts!

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

🎮 iamnotmrkrabs Follow

Are you Okay

💰 goforthegold Follow

Take a wild guess.

(512 notes)

🥈 5centwonder Follow

why do people keep messaging me about hotel things?? i barely even go in two's hotel!

🥈 5centwonder Follow

yowie, you all need a hug :(!!

#especially you baseball guy!!! #im giving everyone in the comments a nice warm soft cookie

(19 notes)

🆚️ wordswithfriends Follow

Reblog if you think Flower winning BFB was a good choice, you like cheesecake, you hate Steve Cobs, you think Platinum is annoying, you're a fan of Dr. Fizz, you watch Jasonville TV, you think Glowstick's elimination was deserved, or you're gay

#they'll never know which one #i'm gay

(3,724 notes)

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

WHY IS THERE INTERNET IN RJE AFTERLIFE HELLO

👑 kingofeverything Follow

OMG NO WAY

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

GET OFF OF TUMBLR.

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

YOU HAVE??? A TUMBRL???????

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

...no.

👑 kingofeverything Follow

reblog if u dont have a tumblr

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

This is stupid.

(10,734 notes)

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

imagine needing to be Consistent to be popular

🖍 magic-crayons Follow

You know it girl!!!

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

AYYYEEEE

#idk who u are but we should hang out Now

(3 notes)

🟢 greenyguy Follow

🅱️alls

(42,853 notes)

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

Oh my god I finally got this thing to connect to the internet. Okay.

Hello, Tumblr, my name is Liam Plecak. I'm sorry for the tag spam, but this is an urgent enough matter that I think warrants it.

For the past year and a half, I've been trapped in another universe with little-to-no communication to anyone else. I've been reading a few posts here and there, and I think some of you might be able to help with freeing me and my friends (I think some of you have powers?). Below is an in-depth description of where I am, what happened, and who did this to me. Please, if you can help, send me an ask.

Keep reading

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

oh my god? liam from hfjone is fucking real????

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

I'm sorry what

[patscorner]

KISS CAM

Idea from @lolasturniolo

Summary: Y/n and Chris get put on kiss cam during a hockey game

TW: use of y/n, kissing, nothing really, just a cute idea

PART 2

______________________________

Y/n had no clue what was happening. She didn't know a single thing about hockey. She only came because her boyfriend, Chris, and his brothers played in high school and loved hockey.

She'd cheer when Chris would, only because he would. All she knew was that it was almost over and the Stars were tied with the Bruins.

Halftime just ended, and now the announcers were starting to interact with the crowd. People entered raffles and won prizes and free food. Part of the interaction was getting people on the big screen with the Kiss Cam.

Y/n watched as the kiss cam went round the stadium 3 times. The first time, the couple gave a quick peck and a smile. In the second, the guy held up a sign that read, "This is my sister," causing a laugh for everyone in the crowd. The last one, the couple decided to make out heavily.

Y/n winced as she looked down at her phone, scrolling mindlessly on Instagram.

She tuned out the cheers around her, being sucked into her tiny screen. Until she was nudged by Chris.

"Ma, look." She looked up and followed his finger, pointing at her face in the big screen. Scattered cheers erupted from the crowd, fans recognizing Chris and Y/n.

The screen read Kiss Cam, and even though fans didn't know she and Chris were together yet, they had their speculation.

Chris looked at Y/n, knowing it her call, as she was the one who wanted their relationship private to begin with.

"You wanna give em a show?" Chris smiled at her. She shrugged. "Fuck it."

Her hands grabbed Chris's face, and pulled him into a passionate kiss, earning screams, hoots, and hollers from people around them.

Y/n pulled away, while Chris stayed where he was, his eyes still closed. "Chris?" She laughed out.

"Give me a minute." He held his finger up. "You just brought me to another fucking world." He said, finally opening his eyes, grinning at her.

"Do it again." He said, his voice just above a whisper.

She shook her head. "You're still on the big screen, babes." She motioned her head in the direction of the giant camera.

Chris turned his head to the big screen and fake pouted. "Please?"

"Fine. But only if we get ice cream after this fucking game." She said. His face scrunched. "You said that with so much hate." He put his hand on his heart, acting offended.

She laughed at him, pulling him by his collar into a short, sweet kiss. "There. Happy, pretty boy?" She smiled.

Chris nodded. "Yes, thank you, baby." He interlocked his hand with hers and turned back to the ice rink.

"You know that the internet is gonna go crazy over this, right?" He said, breaking the silence.

She nods. "It's been 6 months. They deserve to know. It was gonna happen eventually." She shrugged.

She opened her phone, seeing that she had been mentioned over 67 times already; and counting. She rolled her eyes, smiling.

Chris looked at her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, sweetheart."

She looked up at him. "I love you, too." She smiled.

Now the world knew, all because of a Kiss Cam.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 1

summary: following in the footsteps of a girl you once knew, you decide to up and leave home one morning without looking back. when you find yourself to be tired, hungry, and alone in the middle of nowhere, you're thankful when a kind stranger offers you a ride, a warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. he only tells you about himself in bits and pieces, but he seems trustworthy enough, and what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, f-receiving non-con somnophilia (no sex, but groping, fingering, dry humping, kissing, and choking), degrading language toward victims, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, takes place in illinois/ohio/indiana, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, this part is mostly introduction/storytelling/yapping, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 9.8k

a/n: i started this as a oneshot way back in november, and then it sat abandoned for a very long time. thank you to my lovely friends @polaroidpascal and @chippedowlmug for encouraging me to finish it, and also bestie kiers who never hesitates to match my freak. also thank you to the many writers who made me feel inspired to write something dark and not give a fuck what people think about it. i hope you enjoy this joel he's a freak and i love him and if you say anything mean about him i'll send him after you <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 2

Ruby Carpenter.

You had spent all day trying to remember her name without really knowing why. Maybe it’s because as the sun sets on what would be the first day of your junior year at the nearby state school, you wonder if she ever made it to one of the fancy ivy leagues she had always aspired to attend. You wonder if she’s even still alive.

Ruby had disappeared a few years ago now, the summer after your senior year of high school. For nearly a year afterwards, her missing posters remained stapled onto every telephone pole and stuck onto every store window around town, until the paper began to disintegrate and the ink began to fade. In that time, you couldn’t even make a quick run to the grocery store without being confronted by dozens of replicas of her yearbook photo printed onto the sides of all the milk cartons. Despite all of the efforts to find her, including several search parties and a decent amount of statewide media coverage, everyone had just stopped looking for her, eventually. Even the police. Even her parents.

It was decided that she had probably just run away, and you can’t entirely blame her, but you can’t imagine why she would, either. You remember her perfect head of blonde ringlet curls that shone a yellow gold in the sun, and her bright blue eyes that turned fiery in her more passionate moments during classroom debates. She had every boy in your grade wrapped around her finger, was the teacher’s pet in every class, and it wasn’t even a question whether she would win prom queen your senior year. She was always sweet to you, always complimented your outfits or your makeup or your art projects with a genuine lilt in her voice and a kind smile, so you could never bring yourself to hate her even though it would’ve been so easy to. You figured she was going to cure cancer or become the president after you had all graduated, which is why you never really stopped wondering whatever happened to her that summer. She was beautiful, with boundless potential and a bright future ahead of her, why would she have just given it all up?

Everyone around town knew Ruby, or at least it seemed that way. But maybe nobody ever really knew her as well as they thought. Maybe she’d had a secret boyfriend all that time who whisked her away that summer, maybe she had decided to try drugs and fell down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, maybe she had finally figured out that the only thing this town would ever be good for is holding people back. Maybe she did just wake up one day and decide to run without ever looking behind her.

Maybe you should do the same.

With your dad long gone now and your step-father doing a piss poor job of filling in the hole he left, following in Ruby’s footsteps has sounded like a better idea with each passing day. Rob isn’t even really your step-father, anyway, just your mom’s sorry fucking excuse for a boyfriend. The guy’s already been married upwards of three times before, why try for another one? He’s a lazy son of a bitch who can’t hold down a job at a fast food joint for more than a couple of weeks at a time, who sleeps every second of the day that he’s not chugging through a six pack, and who leaves marks on your mother uglier than his fucking face. 

She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, of course, but it’s not like she’s winning the “mom of the year” award any time soon, either. She’s never even been nominated. She’s forgotten just about every one of your birthdays, been the reason you’ve never had any friends come over, and in her most recent offense, blew all the savings you had put away for your last two years of college. Which is why you’re not spending tonight celebrating being one year closer to at least having an official-looking piece of paper to show for yourself. Instead, you’re using the rattling of your bedroom window unit and the booming bass of your radio to drown out yet another drunken screaming match between your mother and the guy she lets live in your house now, watching the world outside pass you by and knowing that if you don’t do anything about it now, you’ll never make it out of here. You’re thinking about Ruby Carpenter, hoping she found somewhere greener and more promising and was able to make something of herself, far away from here. And you’re thinking that this rusted orange sunset is the last one you’ll ever see from your bedroom window.

It’s decided, then. You’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.

—

You’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep by the time your alarm clock chimes to life at five o’clock on the dot. You’re quick to silence the shrill beeping with a swift swat of your hand, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. The sun has just barely begun to stream in through the blinds of your bedroom window, but it illuminates the room just enough for your eyes to land on the backpack you had stuffed full of a few changes of clothes last night, waiting for you by the door. 

You don’t waste any time stripping off your pajamas and pulling on just about the only clothes left in your room that aren’t in your bag. You’ve got your teeth brushed, face washed, and hair tamed in all of about ten minutes, too anxious to spend even one more unnecessary second in this house. You swing your backpack over your shoulder, pull your bedroom door open at just the right speed so that the hinges don’t squeak too loud, and tiptoe delicately down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that you know like the back of your hand—the one three steps from the top, the one at the landing about halfway down, and the very bottom one.

You land softly when you leap over that tattletale bottom step, successful in the most difficult part of your escape plan so far. Rob is passed out on the living room couch in typical fashion, his mouth full of crooked teeth hanging open as his grating snores permeate the calm morning air. He’s still got a death grip around an empty beer can, even in his sleep, and your mother will likely be the one to toss it into the trash for him, useless fucker that he is. You aren’t going to miss either of them, and you imagine they’ll just skip trying to replicate the first half of the aftermath of Ruby’s disappearance altogether—no posters, no search parties, no police. You’ll just be gone, one less mouth for your mother to feed. Though, you’d been mostly feeding yourself since you were tall enough to slide a couple of bills across the counter at the corner store down the street, anyway. You’re ready to disappear, the same as candle wax when it burns, the same as the end of a rainbow, the same as Ruby Carpenter.

You don’t bother looking back when you shut the door behind you, content to leave it all behind just as the sun begins to rise and set the sky ablaze. By the time it sets again tonight, you hope to be in a different county, in a different state, anywhere that isn’t here. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out when you get there, wherever “there” may be.

—

You had only realized about an hour ago that you’d forgotten your cheap digital watch in the drawer of your bedside table, where it’s laid unused for the past couple of months, because who needs to tell time during the summer? You never had anywhere to be, never had to get to class or turn in a paper by a certain time, so it’s just been collecting dust since you had unclipped it from your wrist on the last day of spring semester. It sure would have come in handy right about now, when you have no fucking clue what time it is. The sun had disappeared behind the hills several mile markers back, so it must be… eight o’clock? Ten o’clock? Fucking midnight? You have no idea. What you do know is that you’re exhausted, hungry, and your feet hurt like hell. You aren’t really sure what you expected, the reality only just now setting in that you don’t even have ten bucks to your name anymore, thanks to your narcissist of a mother. The crumpled up bills you do have in your pocket are hardly enough for a goddamn sandwich, let alone a motel room. The cool night breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, and you swear you can see your fucking breath, even in the middle of August. You wrap your arms around yourself just as tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you let them fall as you collapse onto the scratchy patch of dead grass on the side of the freeway, not a park bench or a bus stop or even a gas station in sight for God knows how many more miles.

You sit cross-legged, elbows propped up on your knees so that your hands can support your weary head, the skin of your palms becoming slippery with salty tears as your crying just doesn’t seem to stop. The road you’ve found yourself on seems relatively low-trafficked, the heaving sounds of your sobs accompanied by more cricket chirps and rustling wheat than rumbling tires. But a few high beams do streak across your vision every once in a while, coloring the backs of your eyelids a flaming scarlet.

After several minutes, your tears seem to dry up on their own, your body likely too dehydrated now to produce any more. You wipe the moisture from under your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling as you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip and debate if you should just turn back now, give up on your stupid little plan (or lack thereof) and just call the whole thing a loss, pretend it never even happened. Your mother and Rob won’t have even noticed you’d left.

Just as you pull yourself back up to your feet, set on at least finding somewhere that isn’t the hard ground to sleep on tonight before you make your way back home tomorrow, the warm headlights of an old pickup truck are shining bright in your eyes. You put your arm up to block them as the truck slowly squeals to a halt in front of where you’re standing, and you squint your eyes at the driver as your vision adjusts.

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here. 

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit. 

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat,” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

He sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat. 

“All set?” the stranger asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, finally getting a better look at the man you might just owe the rest of your life to after tonight. For being somebody’s grandfather, he’s… kinda handsome. Really fucking handsome, actually, in a rugged sort of way. He’s got warm amber eyes that sparkle even in the dark of night, a kind smile that completely disarms you in an instant, and a splintering scar across the bridge of his nose that somehow only adds to his good looks. You try to suppress your own grin as you look away from him quickly, opting to focus on fidgeting with one of the fraying edges of your denim shorts instead. Even in your peripheral vision, you don’t miss how his eyes shift from your own to the exposed skin of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat as he shifts gears and steers his truck back onto the road again. 

He lets the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence before asking, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he flashes another charming smile at you. “I like that, ‘s pretty… Well, I’m Joel. Sure you were wonderin’. Now you ain’t gettin’ a ride from a stranger no more, are ya?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not,” you giggle, and you’re surprised at how comfortable you feel with him. “So… you’ve been to Moody’s before?”

“Handful of times, yeah. When I’m passin’ through.”

You nod. “So you come up here, like… for work or somethin’?”

Joel chuckles. “Or somethin’. You never even heard of the damn place, so… reckon you don’t find yourself out here very often, do ya?”

“No… ‘M not even really sure where ‘here’ is, to be honest. I just kinda… started walking.”

“Ah… a runaway, then, are ya?” Joel asks, with an appreciated amount of understanding in his tone rather than judgment. “‘M sure your folks are missin’ ya right about now, must have your boyfriend worried sick.”

You scoff at that. “Fuck no. They probably don’t even know I’m gone, won’t even bother trying to come look for me. And I don’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Damn shame. ‘M sorry about that, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, placing a large calloused hand on your thigh. It makes your breath hitch, but his touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. You let him squeeze once at the plush of your leg before he replaces his hand on the wheel, and your cunt spasms out a little fluttering pulse against the seam of your shorts, despite yourself.

The rest of the drive to Moody’s is relatively quiet, save for the gentle crooning of an old country singer emanating from the cassette player on the dash. The soft singing and steady strumming of a banjo combined with the muffled chugging of the truck’s engine is enough to lull you to sleep, especially after the day you’ve had. You know that just about every mental alarm bell you have should be screaming at you to jump out of the car, to run, that sleeping alone in the dirt would’ve been a better decision than getting into this strange man’s—Joel’s—truck, but you’re too tired to hear them. He smells good, like woodsmoke and pine and cinnamon, and if he wanted to do something awful to you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So you trust him, for now at least, and let your lashes fan out against your cheeks as your head falls back against the cushioned headrest, coaxed into sleep by the lullaby of tires against pavement and fingertips against guitar strings.

—

You only rouse when you feel the truck come to a stop about half an hour or so later, slowly blinking your eyes open against the bright neon sign that reads “MOODY’S” in bold capital letters. Your jaw stretches wide as a yawn overtakes the muscles, and you hear Joel’s southern drawl replace the one from the cassette as he shuts the engine off.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Not too tired to eat somethin’ now, are ya?”

Another unpleasant-sounding rumble from your empty stomach answers for you, loud enough for both of you to hear this time. The air puffing out of the diner’s kitchen smells strongly of fatty bacon and rich coffee, just like Joel had promised you the place would offer. Although the digital clock on the dash read just after 10:30 before you fell asleep, you’ve never craved breakfast quite like you do right now. You absentmindedly lick your lips as you imagine the sweet and savory—and more importantly free—meal that could be waiting for you beyond that blinding beacon of a sign.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get some food in ya before you keel over, hm?” Joel says as he exits the truck, landing on his feet in the dirt parking lot with a soft groan. He waits by the hood for you to meet up with him, and you walk up the couple of steps to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you, and you offer him a shy ‘thank you’, to which he responds with a soft spoken ‘welcome, sweetheart’. You stand shyly behind his broad form as he asks the hostess for a table for two, and she leads you to a green leather booth tucked into the corner of the diner. She hands each of you a sticky laminated menu, the pages a charming mess of clashing colors and faded pictures and retro-looking fonts, then departs with a promise that your waitress will bring the two of you some water as you take your time deciding on what you might like. 

You light up upon reading that Moody’s serves breakfast all day, and that they can make you exactly what you were hoping for—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with sides of bacon and hashbrowns. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you wiggle in your seat, excitedly anticipating the waitress to come back around so you can order.

“Whatcha so excited about over there?” Joel asks, eyeing you from across the table as he glances up from his own menu.

“Nothin’, I was just hoping I could get some pancakes, and they have ‘em on the menu,” you explain giddily. “I’ll probably get some coffee, too, really complete the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing.”

Joel huffs through his nose. “Decaf, I hope. ‘S the middle of the goddamn night, sweetheart. Gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in the room later, hardly get any sleep.”

He’s right, you suppose. But wait—“What room?”

Joel shrugs casually. “There’s a decent motel another exit or two down, figured they could probably get us a couple o’ beds for the night. But, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No! No, it’s okay.”

Is it? You only met the man less than an hour ago, and you already agreed to let him give you a ride before you even knew his name. You suppose you hadn’t really thought about what would happen after he bought you dinner, but not thinking ahead seems to have been a theme today, hasn’t it? You remind yourself that he’s only been kind and respectful to you so far, save for that placement of his hand on your upper thigh soon after he picked you up. But that could’ve just been a friendly, paternal gesture, right? And he said a couple of beds, when he mentioned the motel, which seemed to imply that he plans on the two of you sleeping in separate beds, maybe even separate rooms. You’ve found yourself having to make yet another somewhat reckless decision tonight, but one that would be in your best interest to say ‘yes’ to, at this point. What other option would you have if you declined his offer?

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so… yeah, okay. Motel sounds good. And decaf it is, I guess.”

Joel’s apologetic expression quickly morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Good girl,” he praises. You like how the words sound coated in his thick drawl, even though you probably shouldn’t. You shift where you sit as that familiar fluttering sensation returns to the seat of your panties, just for a moment. You’re grateful that the waitress arrives at the booth not a second later, cheerily introducing herself as she sets down a glass of water for each of you. When she asks if you’re ready to order, Joel gestures to you as if to say ‘ladies first’, and you politely prattle off your request. You make sure to emphasize that you’d like your coffee decaf, and ask if she could please bring some more of the little cups of vanilla creamer to the table. “Not a problem, honey,” she replies, and Joel winks at you as she asks what she can get for him. He orders the Thunder Burger he had told you about earlier, and a black coffee, which he doesn’t request to be decaf. The waitress leaves the two of you alone again with an ‘I’ll have that right out for ya,’ and you let your eyes follow the calming baby blue color of her dress as she glides her way back to the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner of the bar, you take the opportunity to study Moody’s other patrons. There isn’t another young person in sight, mostly just men around Joel’s age with similarly heavy bags under their eyes, likely truck drivers indulging in their first hot meal of the day within the diner’s comforting wood-paneled walls. You wonder if that’s how Joel knows about this place, because he “passes through” this area on long hauls across the midwest. You open your mouth to ask him if your assumption is correct, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart, I’m curious… The hell was a pretty thing like you doin’ out in the middle of goddamn nowhere tonight? I mean, I know you’re a runaway ‘n all, but… shouldn’t you be one o’ those college party girls or somethin’? ‘M sure you got plenty of friends wonderin’ where you are.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you distractedly pick at a splintered piece of wood at the edge of the table.

“I was in college. Was supposed to be going back again this year, but… my mom spent all the fucking savings I had left for the rest of it on fixing up her dumb boyfriend’s car. It’s just been sitting in the fucking lawn all summer, sure as hell not being used for something useful like going to the job he doesn’t have. That bastard…” You say the last part under your breath through gritted teeth.

“Shit… Tha’s a tough deal, baby, ‘m real sorry to hear that,” Joel comforts. “But y’know, everybody’s got mommy ‘n daddy issues, don’t mean you just up and start walkin’ all by your lonesome, not even have any idea where you’re goin’.”

“Well, it wasn’t just that. There was… nevermind, it’s stupid.” You slump into the cushioned booth, silently cursing yourself for even bringing it up.

“What is it?” Joel pushes, sitting up straighter to show you that he wants to listen, wants to get to know you. And God dammit, he might be the first person you’ve met in a long time who actually seems to care about what you have to say, as strange as it is. You flick your eyes up to his face, and he’s wearing a sincere gaze that convinces you to continue.

“There was this girl I went to high school with. She disappeared a couple of years ago, nobody ever found out what happened to her. People figured she probably just ran away, and I thought… I dunno. That maybe she had the right idea, leaving that place behind. I always held onto this hope that maybe she was still out there somewhere actually doing something with her life, that maybe she just changed her name or something and disappeared on purpose.” You pause. “I guess I just thought I might be able to do the same, if I left.”

“I see…” Joel muses sympathetically. “Maybe I oughta give you a lil’ more credit, then. Must’a been tough losin’ a friend like that, not knowin’ where she ended up.”

“I mean, Ruby wasn’t really my friend. She just—”

“Hang on. Ruby, you said?” Joel interrupts, his eyes suddenly looking a little wild.

“...Yeah. Her name was Ruby. Ruby Carpenter.”

—

Fuck.

Joel has to adjust himself under the table, his dick now hardening uncomfortably in his jeans at just the mention of her name. He remembers Ruby, remembers chuckling to himself when he realized the irony of her name matching the color of her blood, remembers watching the news coverage of her disappearance in this very same diner, those handful of years ago. She was a sweet thing, he remembers this, too. It was a shame she had ended up being such a fighter, that she had to get put down the way she did. But she shouldn’t have thrown that fucking rock at his face, called him a sick fuck and a freak as she made her pitiful little escape attempt. Joel is lucky that all he came away from it with is that ugly little scar that mars the bridge of his nose. He can’t say the same for her.

“Why? You heard her name before?” You ask him, an unfortunate little twinkle of hope in your eyes.

“Maybe.” Yes. “Sounds a lil’ familiar, might remember hearin’ about it on the news or somethin’.”

That goddamn news coverage sure as hell taught him a lesson. Joel had spent months trying to keep the cops off his fucking tail after he had dumped her body on some forgettable patch of land behind an old decaying barn. He had even gotten pulled in for a fucking interview at the station in what he now presumes to be your hometown, where they had questioned him for an hour or so about her disappearance. He still isn’t sure how he talked his way out of that one. Ruby might not have been good for much else, other than pissing him the hell off with all of her pathetic crying and begging to just please, please let me go back home, but she did help him perfect his craft, he can give her that much. It’s because of her that Joel makes certain now that any girl he picks up doesn’t have anybody who will miss her or plaster her face on every local channel or send out goddamn search parties to find her. Girls like you.

You’re just so perfect, it would be so fucking easy for him to make you disappear for good, it’s almost comical. It had hardly taken any convincing at all to get you to climb into his truck, had taken even less to get you to agree to go to some seedy ass motel with him that might not even exist, for all you know. It does, but you didn’t even try to test him about it this time, just put all of your trust in him like a stray puppy would to the first person to pick it up off the street. That is just about what you are, he supposes. So far, you seem like the perfect candidate to become his little captive pet. If you keep it up, maybe you won’t meet the same fate as the rest of them. He’d told himself he’d be done after the last one, anyway, his body too old and achy and slow now to chase after the ones who put up a little more fight, like she had. She’d nearly escaped, made it a decent way through the woods and almost reached the main road before tripping on an exposed root and snapping her ankle. He remembers how weak and scared she’d looked before he’d used his knife to put her out of her misery, and it makes his dick twitch. Joel doesn’t plan on snuffing you out, not right now at least, since you haven’t given him a reason to. But his fingers still twitch where they rest on the table, moving out of instinct as he can’t help but imagine what they’d look like wrapped so tightly around your little throat. Would you cry? Would you beg? Would you pray? Would he have to glide his blade across your vocal chords just to get you to stop screaming so fucking loud? He wonders.

“Oh… Was that one of the times you were just ‘passin’ through’ for whatever reason you haven’t told me yet?”

Joel hadn’t realized that his eyes had been unfocused for so long, or that he’d been holding his breath, or that his hand had been squeezing his glass of water so hard he’s glad it hadn’t shattered. The airy sound of your voice brings him back to reality, and he huffs a light chuckle as he fixes his face into a more pleasant expression. 

“Yeah, ‘spose it was.” 

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Come on, Joel. I just told you, like, my whole sob story. I feel like I deserve to know at least one thing about you now.”

You have a point.

He gives in. “Fine. I got a brother, used to come through this area when I’d pay him a visit. That good enough for ya?”

You cross your arms. “No. What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like me. Little younger. Little uglier.”

You laugh at that.

It makes Joel smile.

Maybe you could be the one he’s been looking for all this time. Too bad he had to waste so many others before he finally got to you.

—

The waitress comes back to your table soon after that, with your steaming plates of delicious-smelling food and hot mugs of coffee balanced expertly on a large plastic tray. She sets them down in front of the pair of you with a cheery smile, and you thank her happily when she doesn’t forget the extra sickeningly sweet cups of creamer you had requested. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you once during the interaction, not even to feast his eyes upon the monstrous burger now sitting before him, not even as he thanks the waitress for delivering it to him. His lingering gaze makes you feel a little warm, but it could just be from the heat radiating off of your plates.

“What? You’re not getting a bite of mine, if that’s why you’re looking at me,” you tease, already getting to work putting the sugary creamer to good use.

Joel just shakes his head, his caramel colored eyes still never leaving you as your coffee begins to resemble their hue. “No, ‘s not why.”

“Whatever,” you reply through a giggle, making a poor attempt to hide your girlish grin behind the lip of your white ceramic mug. 

The two of you eat your meals in relative silence, mostly enjoying each other’s company and basking in the relaxing ambience created by silverware tapping against porcelain, hushed conversations, and the local country station playing through the old radio sitting on the counter. The reception is a little spotty way out here in wherever the hell you are, so you can’t quite tell what song it is. But Joel seems to know, judging by the rhythmic bouncing of his knee under the table that creates little circular ripples in your coffee. Maybe you’ll ask him what it is later, how he knows it, if you can listen to it again in the truck together. He doesn’t seem to be as much of an open book as you’ve already given yourself away to be, and you respect that about him. It doesn’t make you any less curious, but you resign yourself to getting to know him better in the small doses he’s willing to offer you. 

You decide to begin a mental list of all the things you want to ask him later, knowing that by the time you make it to the motel tonight, you’ll be far too exhausted to do anything more than just collapse onto the springy mattress and sleep until you get kicked out of the room the next morning. You almost wish you hadn’t listened to Joel’s request for you to take your coffee decaffeinated tonight, and you still aren’t quite sure why you did. It just feels so strangely easy to give into him, to trust him, to let him make decisions for you. You suppose that’s what you’ve been needing all this time, someone to guide you and understand you and at least pretend like they care about you. Joel has shown you more concern and care and protection in the last hour or so than either of your parents have pretty much your whole life. And he’s good at this, making you feel wanted, making you feel like somebody, even in subtle ways, just by looking at you.

“A’right, why don’t you finish up, darlin’, ‘n we’ll hit the road again. Practically usin’ your pancakes as a pillow over there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize sleepily, waking yourself up enough to make quick work finishing off your plate and your last few sips of coffee. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, sweetheart. Lord knows you need some rest, won’t be too much longer now,” Joel assures, fishing a few tens out of his faded leather wallet and placing them on the table. He slides to the edge of the booth and stands himself up with only a few pained noises as he straightens out his back, then offers his hand for you to take. You use it as leverage to pull yourself upright, and your hands linger in each other’s hold for a few seconds longer than they need to. The hostess thanks the two of you for stopping in when you pass her by, and Joel opens the door for you again as you leave Moody’s. He opens the truck door for you, too, and promises you that the motel is just another couple of minutes down the freeway. You make an effort to stay awake in your seat this time as Joel begins the drive, opting to gaze out the window and focus on trying to make out the sparkling constellations above the treeline. You smile privately at the moon when you find that she’s following closely behind you just as she always does, bright and full. 

She doesn’t leave your side until you reach the unassuming little roadside motel, which to your gratitude, proudly displays their vacancy on the flickering sign in the parking lot. It doesn’t look like a five star joint by any means, but you know it will serve its purpose just fine. Joel instructs you to stay in the truck while he goes about getting a room for the two of you, and you don’t object. He’d insisted that you didn’t need to be on your feet any longer than you already had been today, and you were too tired to argue with him even if you wanted to. When he returns, he taps lightly on the passenger side window so as not to startle you from the half-asleep, half-awake state you’ve found yourself in, and swings your backpack over his shoulder as he helps you out of the truck. He leads you to the room at the end of the row, and the door takes some finessing of the key and a shove of his shoulder to open. Joel flicks on the light, and you let out a disappointed-sounding ‘oh…’ when it reveals your accommodations.

There aren’t two beds like you had assumed Joel was going to request. There’s only one.

Joel catches your reaction. “‘S this gonna be alright? I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but—”

“No, the room’s fine, it’s not that. I just thought… I just assumed that… I didn’t know it was gonna be, like… just the one bed.” You try to explain your discomfort as gently as possible, without seeming ungrateful for everything Joel has done for you tonight.

He looks at you sympathetically. “I know, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear. Guy told me it was the last room they had, jus’ figured it was better than nothin’.” 

You offer him a soft smile, but your eyes must still look a little wide as you begin to nervously pick at your fingernails. Joel continues, “I can take the chair if you want, darlin’. Get the bed all to yourself, how’s that sound?”

You visibly relax at that, your shoulders deflating as your smile becomes a little more genuine. “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. How’s about you take a nice hot shower, rinse off some o’ that dirt you picked up from walkin’ all day… Don’t suppose you got some suitable clothes in here for sleepin’ in?” Joel asks, handing your backpack off to you.

You shake your head. “Just some jeans and t-shirts, and another pair of shoes. And… y’know, some underwear, and stuff.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his fingers across his forehead exasperatedly. “I swear… it’s like you didn’t think there’d be a tomorrow or somethin’, girl. Christ.” Joel looks out the window to his truck parked just outside. “Tell you what, think I got somethin’ in the truck you can wear. Why don’t you see if they got anythin’ on the TV tha’s worth a damn, ‘n I’ll be back, alright?”

You nod, “Okay,” then set your backpack down on the drab carpet in favor of picking up the remote perched in front of the small square television. You sit yourself down on the edge of the bed as Joel leaves the room, and begin to flick through the few channels that aren’t just a screen full of snowy static.

Local news. Commercial. Game show. Commercial. Documentary. Commercial. 

Eventually, you land on what seems to be one of those old black-and-white western shows that you can never remember the name of. You only know that the reruns used to play on Sundays around lunchtime, because Rob would always be half paying attention to it with a beer in his hand when you and your mom would get home from church. For how adamant she was that you attend every weekend, she sure never called him a harlot and a sinner for not wanting to go with her. You’re not sure she had ever even tried to get him to go, but he probably didn’t own anything decent enough to wear, anyway. Whatever, fuck them. The show seems like the kind of thing Joel would like, so you let it keep playing. 

He comes back a moment later with a small stack of folded up clothes, tossing them over to where you sit on the bed. You unfold what he’s given you and examine them—a pair of simple pink cotton shorts, and a white tank top with a ditsy floral pattern scattered across the fabric. The clothing is a little more revealing than you’d like, but you figure you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable wearing them to sleep than the denim shorts you have on now.

“These are… great. Thank you, Joel. But…” you snicker. “Should I be concerned that you have a very convenient supply of girls’ clothes in your truck?” Joel scoffs. “‘S for when I got Tommy’s kid with me, smartass. He’s got a daughter, few years younger ‘n you.”

“Okay, well, I dunno how I was supposed to know that, but… as long as you don’t have a girlfriend who’s gonna come after me for wearing her clothes.”

Joel only chuckles in response, his attention suddenly pulled to the TV.

“Gunsmoke, huh? ‘S a good choice, definitely what I’d classify as ‘worth a damn’.”

You smile to yourself, and his approval makes that warm fluttery feeling return to your belly. “I didn’t even know what it was called, just seemed like something you’d like.”

He turns back to you. “That obvious, huh? ‘S just ‘cause I’m old and southern, ain’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, making a pinching gesture with your hand.

Joel nods as he makes his way over to the armchair on the corner of the room, collapsing onto it with a groan. “Well, why don’t you go ‘n get yourself all changed and cleaned up, ‘n if you’re quick enough maybe we can finish the episode together and then get some shuteye, hm?”

You swiftly unzip your backpack to retrieve one of your clean pairs of underwear, then bound over to the small bathroom with them and your new change of clothes in hand. It’s not the most spotless one you’ve ever had to use, but you’ve honestly seen much worse. You rinse off quickly in the steaming shower, using the scratchy motel-provided washcloth to scrub the dirt from your legs, stuck to you with the sweat you worked up from God knows how many miles of walking today. 

Today. You can hardly believe it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since you left home yet. It seems like you’ve already known Joel for days, maybe even years, as silly as it sounds. You wonder if he might just take you in after this, or if he’ll have had enough of providing for you after just one night. He seems like a man of limited means, and he’s already given you so much. If you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll ask him tomorrow, when you get to the ‘so… what now?’ part of your time together.

For now, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with an impossibly scratchier towel, then pull on your panties and the tank top and shorts Joel provided you with.

Jesus, how much younger is Tommy’s daughter?

The shorts just barely cover your ass, and there’s a sizable gap between their waistband and the bottom hem of your top. The thin, white material of the shirt only serves to accentuate the way your nipples poke through the fabric, but you suppose there isn’t anything you can do about that.

You quietly crack open the bathroom door, and are somewhat relieved to find that Joel’s already fallen asleep in the chair. You do wish you could’ve finished the episode of Gunsmoke with him, but the end credits seem to be rolling already anyway, and you’d rather avoid being seen in your very ill-fitting pajamas. Although, you do wonder if he’d say anything, or if he’d just let his hungry gaze linger in silence again, holding himself back from touching you beyond a comforting pat on the thigh.

You pick the remote up off the bed and use it to make the TV screen sizzle to black, then tip toe over to the lightswitch by the door and turn it off, the room now completely shrouded in darkness. Joel snores softly from the chair as you blindly feel your way back over to the bed, pulling the covers back and nestling yourself underneath them. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, considering, and it doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to catch up with you. Your thoughts become slower and slower along with your breathing, and you’re asleep not even five minutes after your head hits the pillow.

—

The last room they had, yeah, right. You’re just the most pathetic little thing, aren’t you? You’ll believe just about anything that comes out of his mouth if he turns up the ‘southern charm’ dial a few ticks, throws in a feigned apologetic-looking expression for good measure. It’s sad, really. For you, anyway.

Joel fakes his snoring for another thirty minutes or so, until he’s certain you’re sound asleep. He had heard your breath even out almost immediately after you had tucked yourself in, but he had chosen to lay in wait for a little while longer, just to make sure you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight when he made his move. You don’t seem like the type, considering how you’d hardly argued with him at all tonight, like when he had convinced you to forgo the caffeine with your dinner. There’s a reason he wanted you sleepy and subdued tonight, but you didn’t know that. Joel likes how well you listen to him, how easily you do as he asks.

He also likes how warm you are, how small your body is compared to his own, the difference in size especially prominent now that he’s laying snugly against you, his front pressing firmly into the back of you. You don’t wake from his lumbering movement, only coming to slightly when you feel his arm slide underneath your body, his warm hand snaking its way beneath your tiny shirt to squeeze at your plush tits. 

You mumble out a little “Hm?”, which he’s quick to quiet with, “Sorry, darlin’. Chair was too hard on my damn back. Just go back to sleep, ‘kay?” That chair felt like laying on a goddamn cloud compared to some of the other surfaces he’s found himself having to sleep on before, but again, you don’t know that, and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, how his hard cock is slotted so perfectly against your ass, especially without the confines of his thick jeans holding him back. They’re discarded onto the floor now in front of the armchair, along with his flannel shirt and jacket. Joel holds you tightly against his bare, hairy chest as he circles a roughened pad of his finger around one of your nipples, smirking to himself at how quickly the bud hardens from his touch. He knew you wanted this, and the wet spot that the fingers of his other hand are teasing in the gusset of your panties is proof of it. How long have you been leaking for him like this? Had you been soaking the seat of his truck earlier today? Filthy thing.

You still don’t rouse when he pulls your panties aside and slips a finger inside your slick cunt, or when his grip on your tit loosens in favor of sliding up higher under your tank top, his hand coming to a rest around the base of your throat as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat. It would be so fucking easy…

But he can’t, he won’t, because you’re not like the others. You want to get to know him, you let him take care of you, you seem to like his company, and you don’t leap out of bed and call him a fucking perv and a dirty old man for what he’s doing to you. That’s what the others would have done. It’s what they have done. And they faced the consequences.

But you’re different. You’re not like them. You’re like him. A lost soul, that’s what you are. Nowhere to call home, no one who misses you or loves you or gives a damn what happens to you. Joel’s mouth had tasted bitter when he had told you about Tommy, or rather, lied about him. Joel hasn’t seen the fucker in years, certainly doesn’t pay him any visits or watch his brat, not since Tommy had learned the truth. You better not show your goddamn face around here ever again, you understand me? Tommy had spat at him. You’re fuckin’ sick. Only reason I don’t turn your ass in myself is ‘cause you’re my goddamn brother. But if I ever fuckin’ see you again, I won’t hesitate. Better make yourself pretty fuckin’ scarce ‘fore I change my mind. That might’ve been about the only time Joel had ever taken orders from his little brother. 

That bitter flavor is cut by the sweet tang of you that he tastes on his finger now, so young and eager and fresh. The hand around your throat squeezes a little tighter, and Joel’s hips begin to move against your ass as he allows himself to suck wet kisses onto the skin under the hinge of your jaw. Softly, gently, so as not to wake you. He could come just like this, using your pliant body in your sleep, rutting himself against your still form with the taste of your pussy on his tongue and his fingers pressed against your pulse points.

He’s close when you stir again, making broken hiccuping sounds as you choke on your breath.

“Shh, shh,” Joel soothes. “You’re alright, sweetheart. ‘S just me. Just—fuck—hold still, go back to sleep, baby.” You let out a quiet whimper, squirming against him just a little bit, but return to your unmoving and silent state a second later. Joel finishes himself off quickly with another couple of shallow thrusts against you, his large hand still gripped around the column of your neck, trying to stifle his groans as he spills into his briefs. He removes his suffocating hand and keeps you pressed tightly against him for a while after that, tanned arms wrapped around your waist and breathing in your scent as he waits for you to settle back down. 

When he’s sure he won’t disturb you again, Joel releases you from his hold and pads quietly back over to the armchair, redressing himself and resuming the position you had left him in. In the morning, if you do remember any of it, you’ll just chalk it up to a very strange dream, one fueled by the desire he knows you’ve felt towards him since he picked you up. You’ll be left with a strange assuredness that he feels the same way about you, without really knowing why. 

But Joel will always know.

—

The digital clock on the nightstand only reads around 8:00 when you’re awoken by a beam of sunlight shining brightly against the backs of your eyelids, streaming in from the window’s lopsided blinds. You had gone to sleep with your back to Joel, but you find yourself facing him now. He looks kind of peaceful when he’s asleep, that permanent furrow etched between his brows finally smoothed out as he dozes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but they fall quickly when you adjust your legs and feel the cool dampness against your core, the sensation bringing back the memory of the dream you’d had last night. 

It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, could it? There’s no evidence that Joel had really laid next to you last night, that he’d really touched you like that, that you’d wanted him to keep going. It must just be some kind of strange side effect of the affection you feel toward the man who had rescued you, more or less. You’ll likely just part ways after today, anyway, so it’s probably best to just try and forget about the whole thing, put on a fresh pair of underwear and pretend it never happened. 

Joel is awake by the time you’re done freshening up in the bathroom, and he greets you with a raspy ‘Mornin’, sweetheart’ as you retrieve your backpack from next to the bed and shove your ruined underwear into the bottom of it. “You get some good sleep last night?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his eye.

“Mhm, the bed was nice, more comfortable than the one I had at home, honestly.” You finish zipping your backpack closed and sit back down on the bed, pulling on some socks and the lace up sneakers you had been wearing yesterday. “I hope the chair was okay, like, for your back and everything.”

“What makes you say that, baby?”

You pause in the middle of tying one of your shoelaces, turning to look at him with a confused pout. “Didn’t you…? I thought you had told me something about how the chair would be hard on your back. Like, last night.”

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t think so, darlin’. Chair was just fine.”

“Oh… Well, that’s good.”

Maybe it had just been a dream, then.

Joel hands you a few bills from his wallet, and tasks you with getting the two of you some breakfast from the gas station across the street while he cleans himself up. He tells you that he doesn’t eat much in the mornings, but that you can get yourself whatever you want, as long as you bring him back a carton of cigarettes and a black coffee. You obey eagerly, retrieving what he asked for and getting a pack of miniature powdered donuts and an equally as sugary coffee for yourself.

He’s just stepped out of the bathroom when you return to the room, and your face feels hot when you see him with his dark hair slicked back and wet from the shower. The few strands that fall onto his forehead as he laces up his boots almost make him look a little boyish, despite his whitened temples. 

“Such a good girl, thank you,” Joel praises when you hand him his items. 

You respond with a shy ‘You’re welcome’, but he doesn’t miss how you seem to light up at his words. You plop yourself down onto the worn-in chair that Joel had used as a bed last night, happily munching on your gas station donuts and sipping on your coffee. It all makes you feel warm from the inside out.

But you figure you should find out what the rest of today might look like before you let yourself enjoy the beginnings of it too much.

“So, um… We’re just gonna check out this morning and then… what?” 

“Whaddya mean, baby?”

“I mean… are you just gonna, like… take me to the nearest bus station or something?”

Joel’s confusion is written all over his face, embedded deep into those lines between his brows. You could swear he almost looks a little hurt. “Why would I do that? ‘S that what you want?” He asks softly.

You try to backpedal a little, afraid you might’ve offended him or seemed ungrateful in your question. “I just thought it might be what you want. That you probably have somewhere else you need to be, like Tommy’s or—”

“No, I don’t,” Joel says definitively.

You pause. “Okay, so—”

“You ever been to California?”

His question stumps you for a moment, seeming so random in its nature. “No.”

“You want to?”

You shrug. “I mean… sure. Maybe someday—”

“Why don’t you come with me then, baby?”

You let out an awkward giggle. “...Come with you where?”

“To California. Come with me.” Joel’s tone is genuine but firm.

“Like, today? Are you sure?”

“I mean, we ain’t gettin’ there today, darlin’. But yeah, I’m sure. We both got nowhere else to be, do we? So let’s just go, we’ll see it together.”

You beam up at him, realizing that he’s being serious. Joel does want you, wants you to be his companion, maybe even something more that you’ll discover on familiar-looking back roads and in cities you’ve only ever seen pictures of. 

“Okay,” you agree excitedly. 

Joel nods. “Okay, then. Lemme go check us out ‘n we’ll get back on the road again. Burnin’ daylight already,” he jokes. He carries your backpack out to the truck for you, setting it down between your feet after he opens the door and helps you inside with a stable hand. It only takes a few minutes for Joel to hand in the room key and pay for the night, and then he’s back at your side. You begin to feel like that’s where you always want him to stay. 

“So, where to first, baby? California ain’t goin’ anywhere, can take as long to get there as we wanna. We’ll go wherever you like, take your pick.” Joel leans across your body to dig a folded up map out of the glove compartment, handing it to you. 

You examine it, your eyes darting across the dozens of dots with the names of cities next to them, some you’ve never even heard of. You point to one that you have heard of, but have never been to, because you’ve never even left the state you grew up in before.

“Um… how about Detroit? I’ve heard it’s nice, I think.”

Joel belly laughs at that. “It ain’t, but sure. You wanna go to Detroit, that’s where we’ll go. Buckle up, baby,” he instructs, patting your thigh. You oblige, and it feels good to finally know where you’re going, and that you’re going there with someone who cares about you, who feels safe, who wants you around. You also feel a little hopeful that maybe you were right about Ruby, after all. That you didn’t start walking for nothing, that you weren’t following some childish delusion, that if something as good as Joel had happened to you when you left, that maybe she had found herself on a similar path, ran into somebody good who took her wherever she wanted to go and helped her find someplace she belonged. Maybe she found her way out to California, eventually. What you are certain of is that neither of you ever have to go back to that town ever again, and that feels good, too.

And if it feels good, then it can’t be bad.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[legandairy-horror]

Does anyone else feel a strange sort of dread waiting for new deltarune chapters?

It sounds crazy right? I admit it's a weird feeling for sure, and I'm not even 100% sure if dread is the right way to describe it. But as more info is revealed and the next chapter inevitably gets closer and closer to releasing I can't help but feel a strange sort of, melancholy? Longing? The only way I can describe it is "when you know the goodbye is coming". The strange somber feeling when you know you’re going to have to leave stuff behind, but aren't quite ready for it yet.

warning: words. Homestuck

In 3 months Chapter 1 will be 6 years old, and in 2 months Chapter 2 will be 3 years old. Deltarune is ostensibly in Early Access but this release schedule puts new chapters closer in time scale to whole sequals if anything, which they most assuredly are not trying to be. This has created a strange situation in the fanbase that I don't think I've ever truly seen anywhere else. One where, In the time between chapters It feels like everyone has had their own chance to decide what Deltarune is to them. To create their own version of this story, to write their own themes that they want to see explored, to imagine their own events and plot twists they want to see play out.

@lynxgriffin Paper Trail Comic Being an Alternate Story following off of chapter 1

@lilybug-02 The Chara Timeline Being one of many interpretations on the popular Asriel & Chara roommates headcannon.

@huecycles Andromeda Chapters being their interpretation on the full game

The innumerable Deltarune Theorists and analysts like HalfBreadChaos, Andrew Cunningham, Stuffed Alpaca, etc. etc.

@vyletbunni Deltatraveler being a whole ass fangame based around a chapter 2 meme that it has long since outlived

And that's kinda the thing isn't it? Once more deltarune comes out, a ton of these projects will just become outdated, it's an inevitability. So what will happen to them? will they become forgotten? maybe, maybe not, it's impossible to tell. but either way it feels kinda sad to think about yknow? that one day all the time and effort spent and all the memories made might one day just cease to exist.

There's a lot more I could say on this topic if given the chance but to keep this tumblr post from morphing into a 2 hour long video essay in text form let me leave off with this.

In the age of the internet and social media there will always be a fan of something. Nothing truly dies quite like it used to anymore, regardless of whatever influencers want you to believe. But that doesn't mean things stop changing, that there wasn't a past that has since been left behind. I'm a Homestuck fan. more specifically I'm a Late Homestuck fan, one who came in after the comic had already ended and it's peak in popularity was long behind it. The fandom's still around all these years later. But it'd be foolish to admit that, 8 years after the comics controversial end, the inescapable trend of new fans replacing old fans has left the fandom wholly disconnected from the monolith that it once was. the only remnants of which lie in decades old discourse and fanfiction. Like old relics of a long forgotten city, waiting to be excavated under a fine layer of dirt.

Before I close out here I just want to make it clear: I'm not saying that we should be trying to return to some nebulous "glorious past" that never really existed. I'm not trying to deride Toby Fox for not working in the sweatshop hard enough to produce more content™, or whatever you wanna try and spin-doctor this post into. It's just a thought that creeps into my head every now that I wanted to share, see if anyone feels the same, yknow?

Besides it's not all doom and gloom. For those of you OG Homestucks who read till the end. You remember Heinoustuck? Guidestuck? Nightfall? Fucking Ke$haStuck? yeah those are still going by the way! after years of inactivity they've now started back up again. some under new authors and some by the same author but still!

You could say a lot about that but to me at least, it makes me feels hopeful in a way. That, even if not everything will survive. we'll at least have some mementos to remember what came before.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I (26, NB) dropped a long-term friend (23, not disclosing gender, I'll call them X) for being a proshipper, and now they're trying to get in the way of my other friendships.

A little more than a month ago, an old friend from when I was an itty bitty teen on the internet (we met when they were 12 and I was 15 or so) messaged me on twitter asking if we could share discord since they're more active on that platform, and they missed hanging out. Ok, no prob!! I missed talking to X and life was going kinda icky for me at the time. We exchanged discords and started talking more frequently, before we would talk through twitter dms maybe one day every few months, and we went from almost no contact to talking every single day. It was like being a teenager again; we still shared similar interests and we really fast clicked over old and new fandoms we were in. We talked about college and how they're starting to get the hang of their new job but needed support, talked about our family lives, etc., and in general I felt really comfortable and happy to be chatting again with someone I've known for so long. We were inseparable for weeks.

However... of course, as adults, and having known each other for YEARS, we started talking about fandom ships and fics we enjoyed. We didn't have the same taste in pairings, but that was okay. Until it wasn't anymore.

I shared my NSFW twitter with them, and they followed me. A few minutes later X told me, "I see you have "proship DNI in your bio, I just want to let you know that I am a pro-ship and enjoy some things in fandom that you might think is gross. I hope that's okay."

I was kind of weirded out, and told them that as long as they didn't like anything that would be criminal in real life, that's fine. They told me they *did* enjoy things in fiction that they "wouldn't condone in reality" and even though they "don't talk about it publicly" they still wanted me to know. For some reason. ?? Even though they KNOW that I have an irl history of abuse as a kid, they still told me this.

I was so fucking uncomfortable and really, really sad, and honestly I felt betrayed? I stepped away from my account for like, an hour before messaging them back and saying I didn't want to continue talking to them anymore. That I didn't know they were that kind of person and I'm not comfortable being their friend. I didn't read their response to me because I soft-blocked them.

While I was getting over that and trying to move on, a few days later I was talking to another mutual friend of ours when they asked if I was still friends with X. I got chills remembering how I broke off with them, and said no, we weren't talking anymore. That they were the kind of person that made me really uneasy and uncomfortable to be around. The mutual friend, I'll call R, said that X was "feeling kind of down about losing a friend recently" and talked about it in a discord server they share. X didn't mention my name but R wondered if it was me who dropped them since I was really touchy about boundaries online. I freaked out a little thinking about them talking about me, and asked what else they said, and R told me "not much, just that they felt sad but it was your choice in the end because you two were different" and I don't know why but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Were they trying to make people seem like I was the bad guy or something?? Idk.

I told R the reason why I stopped talking to X, and that X is a proshipper who likes things like inc*st and rape, and R wasn't as supportive as I thought he would be, saying that he understood how I felt but if X was being honest and open about their interests, it probably meant they trusted me and didn't want to "lie" to me. I don't understand how that's even relevant if X is a fucking proshipper. I don't want their trust in the first place if that's who they really are, and I felt betrayed that someone I knew for so long was hiding that for me until we were bonding again. R basically dropped it there and said "idk then" and I told him I was going to shut off my notifs for a bit. I really don't want to talk with him again right now especially since he didn't seem THAT bothered by X being a proshipper who's into really criminal shit.

Since then, friends of mine who are also friends with R (because he's a friend of X still, for some reason), haven't been replying to me as much anymore and I'm super sensitive to noticing these things, at first I told myself it was nothing, but there's an obvious decrease in our interactions. I can't help but think that X actually said bad stuff about me, and R didn't want me to know, or maybe X convinced R that I was a terrible person or something. I still haven't read X's reply to me because I genuinely do not want to interact with them ever again, but for the past few days I've been so angry and hurt by my other friend's actions that I can't help but want to blame them, since this all started when I left them.

AITA for dropping a friend because their interests made me SEVERELY uncomfortable? I don't know what to do.

What are these acronyms?

[roanofarcc]

THE ALCHEMY

pairing. tyler owens x boone’s sister! reader

summary. the reunion of you and your high school sweetheart, years after your split, brings back all those long-lost feelings you tried to bury. (based off of taylor swift's "the alchemy")

warnings. ex-high school sweetheart tyler owens. fem!reader. reader was a pageant queen. bull rider tyler lives rent-free in my head (I need to write more bc oof...). a little bit of angst but with a happy ending!

word count. 5.3k || masterlist

‘What if I told you I’m back?... I circled you on a map… I haven’t come around in so long,  but I’m coming back so strong.’ 

The sweet smell of rain filled your senses the second you stepped out of your car. The gray sky overhead spat little droplets onto the red dirt road, instantly causing the dirt to stick to your boots. You pulled your jacket closer to your body as the wind picked up.

“We couldn’t have met up at a gas station or something?” you shouted, cupping your hands around your mouth to draw the attention of the group huddled around a red pickup truck parked off to the side of an empty road, which was split between two freshly planted fields. 

“Oh, shit!” A wide grin broke out on your brother’s lips as he rushed towards you. He tackled you in a hug that quickly became him hooking an arm around your neck as he brought his knuckles down against the top of your head, screwing up your hair. With a huff, you shoved him off, playfully punching him in the arm as you mirrored his smile. 

“You could have at least told me we’d be meeting up in the middle of bumble-fuck,” you said. 

Boone rolled his eyes. “Everywhere around here’s bumble-fuck,” he said. “We’re waiting for a storm to come through here and the closest building is school fifteen miles north.” 

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else before it was Lily’s turn to tackle you in a hug, nearly knocking you to the ground. The rest of the Wranglers surrounded you excitedly, all talking over each other, but you had gotten good at following their chattiness from the years Boone had been a part of the internet famous storm chasing group. 

“I can’t believe Boone finally talked you into chasing with us,” Dani said. 

“He didn’t tell me you guys were chasing this weekend until I landed,” you replied, glaring slightly at your brother. “It felt too late to back out.” 

“Damn right!” Boone said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna love it; right, Ty?” 

Compared to him in the group’s livestreams, Tyler Owens stood unusually quiet and lingered back in the group that swarmed you. Since you often tuned into their streams, he didn’t look too different, but it had felt like a lifetime since you’d seen him in person. The last time you met his gaze, he had just hit his last growth spurt as high school neared the end. He wore his tattered cowboy hat nearly every day and the same old pair of boots that you used to get excited about when you saw them discarded in your mudroom. The Tyler looking at you now was grown and broad, in a new hat and boots. 

“Yeah,” Tyler answered, sending you a quick, unsure smile. 

You returned it before turning to Boone. “Great. Can you help me with something first?” He nodded and followed you back to your car. You opened the driver’s side door and pretended that you really did need your brother’s help. “Did you not tell him I was coming?” 

Boone sucked air between his teeth, his tell-tale sign that you were right, but he was going to try to lie about it. You glared at him, and he sighed. “No, not exactly. Not until this morning…” 

“Boone!” you groaned. It was one thing being in awkward proximity to your high school sweetheart, it was another when he had no idea you were coming to crash his party. You two had kept it weird but civil, considering Tyler and Boone were best friends and had been since the day they met at the county fair, but you two had grown exceptionally good at avoiding each other, up until then. 

“I’m sorry! But you already planned to come out this weekend and Mother Nature had her own plans. It’s been years, can’t you two just get along?” 

It was more complicated than ‘getting along.’ You could get along with Tyler, probably pretty easily if you had let his presence slip from your mind since you ended things with each other before you split up for college. But you still found him stupidly charming through your screen; seeing him in person was a different ball game. You never outgrew the space you had carved out in your heart for him, and it was embarrassing. 

“I’m sure we can get along just fine,” you said. “But that doesn’t make it any less weird.” For you, probably not for Tyler. He seemed to be doing rather well for himself. If you were being honest with yourself, he probably hadn’t thought about you in years, not too deeply anyway. You were just some girl he dated in high school and the sister of his best friend who never came around anymore. 

“If it feels weird, just make that weird face you do when Grandad makes a bad joke and I’ll try to buffer it out.” 

You rubbed your temples. “Fine,” you huffed, peering around the door at the group invested in their conversation. You looked at Tyler, standing with his hands on his hips and a small, genuine smile on his lips as he listened to his friends. You couldn’t help the memories the sight of him dredged up. 

‘Call the amatures and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby, I’m the one to beat.’ 

Cotton candy was sticky on your fingers as you plucked it from the stick. You resisted the urge to wipe them off on your brand-new dress, knowing your mom would have a fit even, though it was impossible to stay clean while doing your duties strolling around the fairgrounds, greeting guests, and getting pictures taken. A sash was placed across your chest, sparkly and bright, declaring you the winner of Fair Queen, a beauty pageant you’d been dreaming about since you were a little girl in 4-H, watching the pretty girls up on stage in their gowns and cowgirl boots. 

You walked with pride, head held high to keep your crown upright and a smile stuck on your lips. Just as you finished your cotton candy, you spotted your older brother set up a picnic table. He was with another boy, the two talking excitedly to each other despite you never having seen the kid he was talking to before. He sat opposite of Boone, dressed in a dirty pair of boots and a hat that covered wild blond hair that poked out from underneath. 

You absentmindedly fixed your hair, as you had been doing all day in the summer heat, before heading towards them. The blond spotted you first, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Boone,” you called out, gaining your brother’s attention. He waved at you with a mouth full of pizza. You noticed the spread of food between the two boys. “You didn’t spend all of mom’s money, did you?” 

He winced, swallowing his bite and slowly pushing a half-eaten basket of fries toward you. “I saved you these…” You narrowed your eyes, and he threw his hands up in defense. “You’re fair royalty! I didn’t know you had to pay for food!” 

“I’m not the queen of England,” you said. 

“Here,” the blond piped up, holding up a fresh slice of pizza. You looked at him, confused and a little dazzled by his soft smile and the smear of dirt across his cheek. You knew for sure he’d never hung around your brother before because you’d remember a face like that. The boys at school and that your brother hung around weren’t nearly as cute as the blond cowboy. 

“What?” you said after a beat too long. 

“You can have it; we can’t let the royalty starve, now can we?” 

You felt heat rush to your face but played it off with a shake of your head. “No, it’s okay.” 

“Technically, I think it’s yours. Boone bought it for me. Besides, I gotta get back. My dad will have my ass if I skip out on feeding the bulls…again.” The blond all but shoved the pizza into your hands.

Boone groaned dramatically. “Aw man, I was gonna say we should try to sneak onto the rides.” 

The blond grinned, standing up and stretching his lanky limbs. He was a head or two taller than your brother, and you noticed the paper pinned to the back of his shirt. 

“You’re one of the bull riders?” you asked, an impressed tone dripping into your voice. 

The blond adjusted his hat before he tipped it in a nod. “Yes, ma’am. Tyler Owens,” he said, stretching out his hand toward you. A little too quickly, you shook his hand, matching his toothy grin. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. 

“Right back at ‘cha, your highness,” he teased before turning to Boone. “I’ll be here all week. When I’m not practicing for the rodeo next weekend, I’ll get us those wristbands for free.” 

Boone gasped. “You got a double agent carnie?” 

Tyler laughed, patting Boone on the shoulder before he started walking away. You smiled sillily down at the slice of pizza in your hand, knowing there was no way that cowboy would leave your mind any time soon. 

‘What if I told you we’re cool? That child’s play back in school, is forgiven under by rule.’ 

As terrifying as it was, you had to admit, storm chasing was incredibly thrilling. Boone had been doing it for years, but you never tagged along. You’d been taught to run away and shelter in the face of storms, but that didn’t stick for Boone like it had for you. 

Racing down the backroads in the back of Tyler’s truck, you found yourself incredibly stressed and entertained at the same time. From the front seat, your brother hollered as he live-streamed, clearly having the time of his life. 

Tyler stopped on top of a hill, throwing the truck into park before everyone rushed out to snap some pictures as the tornado raged on across the wide-open fields. The deep gray clouds were captivating, swirling around in a dangerous but beautiful display. It hurried further from where you stood, taking your anxiety along with it. You held your camera up to your face, capturing the moment in a way you’d never before. 

You laughed in disbelief, riding a kind of adrenaline high that made you begin to understand why Boone loved chasing. “That was incredible!” you said, a little breathless. 

“Did it live up to your expectations,” Tyler asked, appearing beside you. You faltered, seeing him face to face up close. He had the same smile, one that made him look freshly seventeen again. Only he was no longer the lanky kid who used to pick you flowers before every date and entertained your family game nights with zero complaints. It was a hard pill to swallow, especially standing in front of him, but you didn’t really know that Tyler Owens. The internet-famous Wrangler was worlds away from the rodeo star you used to know like the back of your hand. 

“Yeah,” you replied, voice soft in the afternoon air. He turned his gaze out over the expanse of field that started at the bottom of the hill and stretched beyond what your eyes could see, staying quiet as the rest of the Wranglers excited chatted somewhere behind you guys. You didn’t look at him either, focusing elsewhere while your mind conjured up the pretty little memories of you and Tyler from high school against your wishes. “I’m sorry Boone forgot to tell you I was coming.” 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, letting out something between a sigh and a chuckle. “I don’t think he forgot. I think he thought I’d tell him not to bring you.” 

“Would you have?” 

You felt his eyes shift onto the side of your face, and you turned your head. “No, ‘course not.” 

Relief flooded your chest. You didn’t know why it was important to you if Tyler wanted you around or not. In hindsight, you had dated years ago, back when you were kids, so it probably hardly counted as a real relationship in his head. But it was more than that to you. As silly as it sounded, you’d always hold a soft spot for Tyler. That’s why you tried to avoid him face-to-face. It made you feel weird, plucking at the abandoned teenage heartstring you once tied to him. 

‘These blokes warm the benches. We’ve been on a winning streak.  He jokes that it’s heroin, but this time with an ‘e’.’ 

The fair week raged on in a wonderful storm of non-stop chaos and action. You were there every day, dressed up all pretty with a sash and a crown, grinning from ear to ear at every little kid who tugged on the skirt of your dress to get a picture and front row of every competition. 

When you eventually got a little downtime from your queenly duties, you met up with your brother, who had resorted to hanging out at the grandstands. He didn’t technically need to be at the fair all day, every day like you did, but he was your ride. Instead of making trips back and forth, he used you as if free entry into the grounds and spent his days bouncing between the food stands and his new friend, Tyler Owens. When Tyler was busy practicing for the big rodeo on the very last night of the fair, Boone cheered him on from the bleachers. 

“How’s he lookin’ today,” you asked, taking a seat beside Boone. 

“A shoo-in for stayin on that son-of-bitch the longest, which I think is the point but to be honest I haven’t been paying that much attention. Did you know all elephant ears are half-price if you order a lemonade? It’s a steal,” he said before taking an obnoxiously large bite, letting the cinnamon sugar spill onto his lap. 

You rolled your eyes before you turned your attention to Tyler. He was standing against the fencing, listening to the man beside him talk, who you assumed was his dad. He must have felt you staring because he turned around and squinted upward at you and Boone before a grin broke out across his face and he waved you over. 

“Shit,” you hissed, smoothing out the skirt of your dress and the fabric of your sash. “Is he calling you or me down?” 

Boone wiped his mouth. “You for sure. I was just down there, and he kept asking, ‘where’s your sister?’ ‘what’s she up to today?’” he said, a slightly mocking tone in his voice. Your heart quickened in your chest, a little flutter like a butterfly wing forming inside your stomach. “I told him you were so not interested in some wannabe cowboy; you’re welcome.” 

Your eyes widened before you smacked your brother’s arm, hard. He nearly dropped his elephant year. “Shit! What the hell?” 

“Why would you tell him that?” 

Boone looked at you like you had grown two heads. “Those were literally your own words when mom asked you about any cute boys at the fair!” 

If you weren’t in public, you’d strangle him. Of course you weren’t interested in most of the boys strolling around the fair with their high and mighty attitudes, but from the little you’d been around Tyler, he didn’t seem too much like them, and he was much cuter. 

“Idiot,” you muttered before you climbed down the bleachers to where Tyler was. 

“Afternoon,” you greeted him and the older man. 

Tyler beamed. “See dad, I told you I met her. She’s even got the crown to prove it.” 

Tyler’s dad chuckled and shook his head. “And here I thought my son was making up meeting the queen herself.” He extended his hand just as Tyler had when you first met him a couple days prior. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope my son hasn’t been causing you too much trouble.” 

“No, sir. Not at all," you said.

“Good.” He checked the watch on his wrist and seemed to contemplate something. “Ty, you got an hour and a half. Buy her and yourself some dinner, but don’t be late, got it?” 

Tyler nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes, Sir!” He snatched a couple of bills from his dad’s hands before he shoved them in his pocket. His dad wandered away while Tyler practically bounced on his toes. “How does a pizza sound?” 

Between you, Tyler, and Boone, you finished off a whole pizza, comfortably seated at a picnic table. Your bother offered to buy everyone a pop, leaving you and Tyler alone. You propped your chin up on your hand and gazed at him from across the table. 

“Boone says you’re a shoo-in for winnin’ the rodeo,” you said. 

Tyler ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders. “My dad wants me to win more than anyone, I think. I don’t know if I will though.” 

“Well, I’ll be rootin’ for ‘ya,” you said. 

“Really?” He looked at you all stary-eyed.

You’d had plenty of crushes on boys before, but there was something about Tyler that settled differently in your chest. Maybe it was his tinted pink cheeks when he talked to you, or the little creases by his eyes when he smiled widely. Maybe the summer heat and crown on top of your head made you woozy with confidence and flushed with admiration. Whatever it was, all you knew was that in the very short time you’d known Tyler Owens, you wanted to keep on knowing him. 

‘Cause the sign on your heart, said it’s still reserved for me.’ 

The Wranglers and you pulled off at a little motel a couple miles off the interstate, near where a cluster of storm cells were brewing over the next couple of days. Tailgating was all a part of the storm-chasing experience, according to the Wranglers, and you were happy to join them. 

You sat on the tailgate of Tyler’s truck bed, watching with amusement as your brother shot-gunned a beer with Dani. She threw the can down first, earning a round of cheers. Dexter offered you a beer, and before you could decline, Tyler appeared beside Dextor, returning from where he had disappeared to. 

“She’s not a beer drinker,” he said. “Unless you’ve had a change of heart?” 

You were surprised he remembered. There had been countless summer bonfires where Tyler’s friend had tried to get you to drink a beer, and every time you tried it you didn’t change your mind about the taste. You’d hand it off to Tyler for him to finish. 

“No, still can’t stand it,” you replied. Dexter moved on with the cooler while Tyler hopped up beside you, leaving a fair gap. He held out a pop that he must’ve gotten from the vending machine, offering it to you. “Thanks,” you said. 

As the night stretched on, you found your attention drifting away from the Wranglers and onto the sky. It was stunningly clear, putting the stars on display. You rested back on your elbows, peering upwards. You had missed catching Tyler's curiosity until he knocked his shoulder with yours. 

“What can we see tonight,” he asked, the same way he once had when you found yourself in a similar position as teenagers. Tyler would ask you about the constellations, but he often paid more attention to you than the sky. That wasn’t the case anymore, though; his eyes were actually fixed on the dark expanse of sky overhead, glittering with stars as far as the eyes could see. 

You pointed out the ones you could see, tracing them with your finger until you had run through all of the ones you could make out. The two of you continued to watch them, listening to the Wranglers’ conversation in the background. It was unnervingly peaceful, something you hadn’t been in a long time. Even when you’d visit home, there were too many differences to make it feel fully like the home you had left when college rolled around. You knew that was the nature of growing up, things changed; they had to. But there was something about the laughter of your brother that you could almost pretend was from a room just across the hall, and the presence of Tyler beside you that made you feel seventeen again. 

It lulled you into a false sense of peace that you were okay with. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fluttered closed, head resting on your crumbled-up sweatshirt as you lay in the bed of Tyler’s truck. The smell of spring and the hum of the wind put you into a light sleep. 

It wasn’t until someone gently shook your shoulder that you woke up with a little start. It was still dark, but the parking lot had emptied of tailgaters. You rubbed your eyes, unblurring the world around you until the face of Tyler came clearly into view. 

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, a flush of embarrassment crawling up your spine. “Sorry.” 

Tyler chuckled lightly. “You can still do that, huh?” You furrowed your brows, confused. “Fall asleep anywhere.” 

“Oh,” you said, sheepishly sitting up right. “I guess so.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, a smile softly playing on his lips that you found yourself looking at for a moment too long. He caught you but didn’t drop it. Instead, he outstretched his hand and nodded his head toward the building. 

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk ‘ya to your room.” 

You didn’t think before taking his hand, some kind of old muscle memory, but the second your fingers curled around his, you felt that stupid flutter reemerge in your chest. It made you feel childish; a crush you couldn’t kill despite having outgrown it. For a second, as he helped you off the tailgate, you thought you saw the same light blush that crept across his cheeks when he shook your hand the first day you met, but you wrote it off as a trick of the dim lighting. 

When your two feet were on the ground, you both let go and you let him lead the way to your motel room. Boone had left your keys with Tyler, and he handed them off to you as you approached the door. You hesitated for a second. 

“Tyler,” you rushed out. He hung back from where you stood, leaving a stretch of space that felt like a world apart. “Thank you for letting me tag along today.” You weren’t sure what else to say, how to voice the hot creep of old feelings refilling your gut. 

He searched your face for something, before he said, “I’m glad you’re here.” That felt like a step closer, even though you two maintained the distance. 

“Me too,” you replied. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

‘Cheers chanted ‘cause they said, ‘“there was no chance trying to be the greatest in the league.”  Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.’ 

The last night of the fair blew in with a light breeze and a clear sky. You and Boone had raced to the grandstands and sat as close to the front as you could to get a good view of Tyler’s bull ride. Energy swirled across the bleachers, painting you in jovial unease. You bounced your knee and kept a steady gaze at each bull rider who attempted to win the prize. 

When Tyler’s turn came around, you weren’t sure you had ever cheered so loud for someone. He still wore his dirty pair of boots and hat that was nearly too small for his head, but he claimed they both were his good luck charms. Under the bright lights, he glowed with pure determination and pride. The entire time he was out there, you held your breath. It happened so fast. One second, they’re calling his number and the next he’s being announced as the winner. 

You stood up alongside Boone, hooting and hollering at the top of your lungs as Tyler smiled in disbelief at his luck. Through the people lining the stands, you raced down toward the fence that circled the ring. The crown nearly toppled from your head as you climbed the fence just enough to stand tall among the crowd. The excitement that filled you was on par with your own win earlier that week. 

The announcers stood in the middle of the corral, announcing the prize as you locked eyes with Tyler. He broke out in a grin when his eyes met yours, even bigger than the smile of a winner he already held. As he was supposed to stay with the announcers to claim his prize, he took off toward you instead. 

He climbed the fence on the opposite side, meeting you eye to eye a couple of feet off of the ground. You threw your arms around him, a little unsteadily. Above the cheers from the crowd, you spoke into his ear, “You did it!” 

Tyler pulled back just lightly, just enough to see your face. His eyes shined, stary and bright, chest heaving with excitement and adrenaline. For a second, he just stared at you, looking for something until he found it in the twitch of your lips and the reflective shine in your eyes. He crashed into you, kissing you quick and sweet. 

All in a quick second, somewhere over the speakers the announcers laughed, the flash of a camera went off, and Tyler pulled away before racing back to claim his prize. You stood in a daze, fuzzy-headed and lovesick. 

‘Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?’ 

You still had the photo of your and Tyler’s first kiss. You kept it in the locket he got you for your birthday. You never wore it; it never left your jewelry box. But for some reason, it had found its way in with the other jewelry you packed for your trip. How, you weren’t sure, but as you got ready for the next day, you found it. You traced your finger across the small heart, almost missing a light knock at your door. 

It wasn’t until your name was called that you snapped out of your daze and rushed to the door to find your brother. Boone greeted you with a cup of coffee before he pushed his way into your room and jumped onto the bed with a tired huff. 

“Ready for day two? Rader’s lookin’ like we’ll have some good ones today,” he said. 

Sipping your coffee, you nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but his hand knocked against the locket you left on your bed. He grabbed it before you could, holding it up to the light before his face filled with recognition. “Holy shit, you still have this thing.” You knew he only recognized it because you had talked about it non-stop after Tyler gave it to you. But to confirm his suspicions, he popped the locket open to reveal the little picture of you and Tyler inside. 

“I didn’t mean to pack it,” you blurted out. “I-I don’t…” You sighed heavily, plopping down next to him. Boone handed the locket back to you. 

“You know, he asks about you, a lot,” he said after a beat of quietly contemplating. “He tries to be nonchalant about it, but I think he forgets that I’ve known him forever. He’s not nearly as smooth about it as he pretends to be.” 

You fiddled with the necklace in your hands. A part of you didn’t believe your brother, even though he’d have no reason to lie. You opened your mouth to retort, brush off his words, but another knock echoed from your door. You kept the locket held in your palm as you opened it to see Tyler. 

Wide-eyed, you faltered in a greeting. Boone beat you two it, appearing from behind you with a stupid smile as he patted your shoulder. “I’ll meet you two downstairs,” he said, slipping out of the door past the two of you quickly, but shooting you a smirk before he disappeared down the stairs and towards to parking lot. 

The morning sun caught the metal locket, reflecting off of it and drawing Tyler’s attention right to the piece of jewelry. Before a greeting left his lips, he said, “You still have that?” 

“Yeah,” you replied with a sigh. “I couldn’t get rid of it after…” You two broke up in what was disguised as a mutual split but didn’t feel as much. The second you were out of Tyler’s sight after the conversation that ended it all, you bawled the whole drive home. Your momma had tried to console you, and Boone threatened to beat up his best friend, but nothing mended the split in your heart. Even a college fresh start didn’t quite rid Tyler from your mind. He had always been there, a ‘what-if’ and ‘what could have been.’ Getting rid of the locket felt like a final nail in the coffin that you couldn’t, even after all that time, make. 

He seemed touched by the sentiment, smiling softly down at the object in your hands. “I remember that old picture you used to keep in it,” he said. “The one of us at the rodeo. You know, my ma still has it on our fridge? She says it was because the only picture he had of that day, but I know she’s lying.” 

You unclipped the little latch on the side of the locket and flipped it open with your thumb to reveal the same photo that existed inside. A rush of different emotions you couldn’t quite pinpoint flashed across his face he as stared at the photo. You two had been so young, so flushed with pretty emotions. Just two kids not sure what love was but found themselves at the start of it. 

“I don’t know why I packed it,” you admitted. “I didn’t even know I’d be seein’ you until I landed, and Boone suckered me into chasing with you guys. I just…I’ve thought about this lot, an embarrassing number of times.” 

“Thought about what?” 

“Seeing you again. What’d I say to you. But, I’ll admit, actually seeing you in person again I…” You weren’t sure where the sudden rush of words found the confidence to leave your lips, but you knew they needed to get out. “I don’t know how you do it.” 

Tyler stepped closer to you, lingering in the doorway. His brows were pulled in confusion, but his eyes shined with something between his usual starriness and softness. “Do what?” 

“Just being ‘round you,” you sighed. “I feel like the girl in this picture again.” 

You half expected him to look at you with pity, gently let you down in the way only he could. Maybe you could catch an early flight back home and spend the rest of your life avoiding the boy you fell in love with as a teen who never quite left you. You’re sure Boone would understand, and he wouldn’t suggest you go with them again. It would be fine, really it would be. 

But Tyler didn’t. He reached out, brushing a thumb across your cheek before he let it rest cupping your jaw. There was a slight hesitance in his movement, giving you enough time to move away if your words hadn’t meant what he thought they did. But you stayed, and the second you smiled at him he closed the space between the two of you with a hot rush of feelings. His lips moved against yours with familiarity mixed with a newfound excitement as his hands held onto the side of your face like he was scared you’d slip away from him all over again. 

It felt like something that only happened once in a few lifetimes; almost too good to be true but standing right there.

[murdrdocs]

Sunshine….Tyler Owens hitching a chase with chaser! reader and he’s getting turned on mid-tornado cause when the RPMs stutter she keeps talking to her truck like “cmon baby, you’ve got it. I know you can do it for me.”

-❣️

suggestive content; dirty talk in mundane environments; MDNI 18+ w/ TYLER OWENS

tyler really wishes he took his truck, because your hunk of clunk is barely making it down the road. who knows what'll happen when you're forced to go off road. will your truck even last the damage speeding towards ya'll?

tyler's doubtful—extremely doubtful as he sits in your passenger seat, trying to hide his fear as he digs his blunt nails into the fabric seat beneath his rugged jeans.

"we should've taken my truck," he says again for the millionth time. the same five words have become his safety net, the only words he knows how to utter as he lets you shakily steer him towards—what seems to be—an imminent death. he just hopes it's quick and he's glad, for once, that there are no cameras around. he doesn't need his death immortalized for any curious, poorly supervised twelve year old with an adequate internet connection to find.

"we're fine!" you stress, taking a deep breath when your truck skips a beat. "it would've taken too long to get your truck. we would've missed it." tyler knows you're right, but he can't focus on that right now.

he squeezes his eyes shut, trying his damndest to remember the lord's prayer. he really should've paid more attention in church instead of spending his time counting how many people were in the pews over and over again.

"he's doing good. he'll get us there," you assure.

tyler peeks one eye open, turning to see you staring straight ahead. determination looks cute on you.

you reach a hand out, resting it on the dash as you press your foot harder onto the gas pedal.

"come on. be a good boy. there you go. you got it, baby."

jesus fuck this is so not the time, but tyler can feel his jeans getting tighter. it's the adrenaline, he keeps telling himself. the erection steadily growing in his pants has absolutely nothing to do with your smooth voice and your accent and your words.

"your truck's a boy?" the question has no place for this environment, but tyler has to say something, otherwise he'll be stuck in his head, forced to listen to your melodic encouragements to an inanimate object.

"don't fucking—" a golf ball sized slab of hail pelts right down onto the center of the windshield, immediately followed by multiple others. you don't let it faze you as you dip your head down, squint up at the sky, and steer your truck off of the road and into a field. "worry about that, tyler."

but that's all he can worry about whenever the things you're saying to your truck are things he wants you to say to him.

"we're almost there, baby, almost done. just hang on for me a little while longer."

do you know you're speaking out loud? do you know that tyler can hear you over the sound of the weather?

"come on," you grit, pushing the truck just a little further, and when you reach your destination, you put it in park, deploy your spikes, and watch it all happen. tyler snaps out of his daze quick enough to open his eyes and look out of the window, staring straight up the center of the tornado through your sunroof for his favorite part, and he almost forgets about what you've been accidentally doing to him.

until it's all over and you sigh.

"there we go, baby! such a good boy. so proud of you."