#but the whole letting them go and coming to terms with grief without letting it obscure the good memories is so universal
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... is beimid fé bhlåth go bråch
#i love so so much the fact that colm Ăł snodaigh wrote it with a deceased parent in mind#but the whole letting them go and coming to terms with grief without letting it obscure the good memories is so universal#the original version is sung by colm himself and it's beautiful but i've never been able to find the full version if there is one#he's got a much warmer and gentler voice than his brother and i get easily overwhelmed anyway đ„ș#i love him as a flautist as well but like it's a real pity he doesn't sing more#music#kĂla#imelda may#cartoon saloon#queue-ness bĂłthar cailĂn bainne#on grief
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I donât even know how to articulate my thoughts about Akechi and Sumire in the third semester. Something about Akechi, whose entire life was dictated by grief over his mother and the resentment of her killer that he stopped living it, seeing Sumire doing the exact same, grieving her sister and resenting herself as her sisters killer. Itâs no wonder he hates Maruki so much for how he treats her and feeds into her desire to live as Kasumi - when you boil it down to it, Marukiâs endorsement of her desire to live as Kasumi isnât all that different to Shido playing along with Akechiâs desire for revenge, both of them letting the vulnerable child think that they had an ounce of control in their decision.
He protects her every chance he can without ever being condescending to her but it still comes across patronising because sheâs standing next to Joker, whose competence he never once doubts. He asks her if sheâs okay, if she can handle it, and then turns to Joker and says donât let me down. He checks in with her constantly and he realises what the issue is with her identity but never presses it so she can figure it out herself forgetting that if it wasnât for the right circumstances and the confrontation with Maruki that she could never have realised or come to terms with it, just as he never realised that he was never going to get his revenge on Shido.
And in the middle of that you have a guy who has just watched all of his friends abandon him for a better, happier life with their old friends or old family and despite everything theyâve done together he realised he doesnât really know them all. Not Kasumi, who was actually Sumire, not Akechi, who was lying to him the whole time they were friends (but who he suddenly has to trust completely because he has no other choice, who is STILL lying to him by never mentioning that heâs going to die soon) and not any of the Phantom Thieves, stop having time for him the moment they have other friends.
Maruki managed to make a reality that was completely isolating for Joker, gave him Akechi as a consolation prize for taking everyone else from him (exaggerating for effect: I know he and akechi wished for each other. The point remains that this was the only option Akira has for company after everyone else is given their friends or family back).
Does this make any sense. Can anyone hear me.
#this is a bit of a ramble#Iâm replying the third semester with a friend rn#third semester#royal trio#Sumire yoshizawa#goro akechi#persona 5#persona brainrot real#persona 5 royal spoilers#p5r spoilers
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Judging SPN Seasons By How Messy It Would Be If Sam And Dean Started Having Sex
Season 1: freshly reunited. no one else in their world but them. they are obsessed with each other. they would fuck like feral dogs and it would make them so much worse. also dad is there. unspeakably messy. 12/10
Season 2: dad just died. the grief sex would be more tears than come and at least one of them is probably saying johns name mid fuck. dean might have to kill baby brother (TM) and so the obvious reaction to this would be extremely possessive sex. sam would not like that attitude (with the one exception of if it happens when hes drunk in playthings). messy in even grosser but marginally less feral ways than szn one. 13/10
Season 3: milder. still obsessed with each other but more settled into it now. deans turn to maybe die and sams turn to be uber-doober possessive about it. unlike sam, dean would be extremely into that. and his deal is comin due so he might as well. sad and tragic,, but not that messy. probably still more tears than come. 6/10
Season 4: dean just came back from hell to find sam fucking his new demon girlfriend. the angels are there. they're still hunting but Stuff Is Going On and god knows they need to be grounded with each other to make it through. sex would probably help. would do the opposite than make things messier. would be vicious. definite chance dean might try to feed sam his blood. 4/10
Season 5: apocalypse fuck. oh fuck. ruby is dead. angels and death and demons and god and destiny. sam and dean are the most experienced and secure theyve ever been and yet. the whole damn world is about to explode. and yet they are still tortured and annoyed by the goofy everday hunting horrors. fucking would be nice for them, would remind them they belong to each other. they think theyre gonna die so the consequences wouldnt matter a whole lot. less insulated and worried about holy judgment so the incest thing may be a bother now. 2/10
Season 6: you fuck your brother but its not your brother he's different in ways you cant explain but you havent seen him in months and you thought you lost him and hes not quite right but fuck he looks like him and talks like him and knows everything about the two of you and he fucks like a greek god and hes mean as a motherfucker in bed but you can take it its fine its worth it its sam godammit-
15/10
Season 7: stranded up the creek without even a twig for a paddle. both brothers are destroyed and traumatised and forcing each other forward by force of necessity and a brotherly hand on the back of the neck. at least its just them alone together (dean please ignore the hallucination of lucifer sitting in the corner and judging our cock size-). sex would go terribly and be the most unsexy sex ever sexed. but they would probably like the closeness if sam could handle it. messy but wouldnt ruin them long term. there would be a terrible Dick joke. 8/10
Season 8: WHOA BOY WHAT A DOOZY. BOTH BROTHERS HAVE PARAMOURS ON THE SIDE WHOM THE OTHER FUCKIN HATES. DEAN IS PURGATORY FERAL AND HAS ONE EYE ON A VAMP. SAM IS SOFT HAS HIS PINKY FINGER TWINED AROUND SOME RANDOM GIRL. WHY DIDNT YOU LOOK FOR ME?? // YOU TOLD ME NOT TO!! // YOU TRUST A DAMN VAMPIRE OVER YOUR OWN BROTHER?? // YOU HIT A DOG... meanwhile sam is doing the trials losing his mind again and dean is losing his mind about that. letting you down was my biggest sin//there is nothing i would ever put in front of you. messy. 10/10.
Season 9: less than ideal with sam possessed by and angel. dean is rocking with the guilt and confliction. the mark of cain is also making him a bit feral again. theyre safe together in the bunker but thats already claustrophobic enough sex might just suffocate them both. pretty messy. 7/10
Season 10: your big brother is an angry angry man but its not his fault right??? its because of the mark right?? he cant control it and you love him and you want to stay in the safe house/bunker/tomb with him you dont want to leave anymore and you need him. youve both been through enough. you deserve this. there would be minimal messiness caused by sex with your brother rn. exception to those few weeks where he was a demon. 2/10
Season 11: gods sister is here and its the apocalypse again. dean hates what he has with Her. at least his sammy is here. at least theyre together. still crazy about each other. gay incest sex is the most reasonable reaction. god might find out- but then again, he and his sister are pretty wacked out together too, and are we not made in gods image?. 1/10
Season 12: Mom is here and so is lucifer and his kid and also the cunt ass brits. not ideal. minimal messiness so long as no one finds out. and fuck all them anyway its pretty clear sam and dean can only ever really trust each other. sex would be affirming and safe here. they are absolutely fucking in the kitchen to the smell of toast and coffee. dean discovers he has an std because no its not normal that your balls have iched like that for the past four years you need to go to a doctor and dean i swear on the impala if you gave it to me- . 3/10
Season 13 to 15: fellas is it gay to have sex with your brother who you've been functionally married to for over a decade? probably not right ha ha. if they havent already fucked by now theyre not going to. theyre just gonna be intensely platonically married until they die. they both have erectile dysfunction by this point . sex would mean everything to them but change nothing they would still be old and married in their bunker with the devils kid tomorrow regardless. they dont care what people think anymore. fuck all messiness. 1/10
Post Season 15 Finale/Heaven: we deserve a soft epilogue my love sammy. mildly concerned about being kicked out of heaven for incest but with everything else theyve done they still made it there. it would be the least of their sins. lovely soft and nothing hurts. can you make a sex tape in heaven? 0/10
#labelling this one under 'things i spent too much time on but love anyway'#constructive criticism is more than welcome here#spn#samdean#wincest#first times#edit to clarify:#this isnt rating how /good/ it would be if they got together in each szn. just how /messy/ it would be
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we own the sky | rhett abbott
part three: atmosphere
read the previous part here
series info: new parts will be uploaded every friday at 7pm est. want more? read the synopsis here. find the series masterlist here. listen to the playlist here. see the posting schedule here.
description: in which you decide it's time to stop running
warnings: 18+ only, heavy themes, mentions of character death, grief, angst with a positive ending, smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, inaccurate weather terms, please do not check my science lol this story requires some suspension of disbelief. i usually try not to say much about reader's family in fics but i do mention them having an unnamed great-aunt, as it was necessary to the plot
pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader
word count: 13,768
notes: this story is inspired by twisters. you do not have to watch the movie in order to understand this story, because aside from the storm chasing aspect, it has nothing to do with the twister universe. i've been working on this story for 2 months straight, and it is my pride and joy. i am so excited for everyone to read it! without further adieu, here is we own the sky!
âLetâs go.â
Without a moment of hesitation, you were running after Rhett, shoes thudding against hardwood. You stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind you. Together, you descended the porch steps, and you followed him out to meet the team.
They were all milling about, discussing their course of action. At the sight of you approaching, they stopped talking, watching in surprise as you flanked Rhett. Perhaps they were worried this chase would end like the last one had, but if they were, they didnât show it.
âHey! You cominâ with?â Jeslyn asked you, hazel eyes questioning.Â
Attempting to smile, you nodded. âI am,â came your answer.
Zara caught your eye, and she stepped toward you. âAre you okay to keep an eye on the radar, or would you rather just observe from the sidelines?â She was offering you a choice. You could get involved hands on, or take all the pressure off yourself and simply watch.
You knew what you had to do. âIâll watch the radar. I can do it this time, I promise.â
She didnât question you. She didnât display any shred of doubt. She simply nodded her head. âOkay. You can ride with Rhett, then.â She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she continued. âRhett said he told you about Danny and Finnâs new trackers?â
âOh, uh, yeah, he did. Are we using them today?â
She nodded. âYep! Me, Jes and the guys will get them up and running so you donât have to worry about that. They should give you a high resolution feed on the radar and let you see things a lot more clearly. Weâre hoping the trackers will give us a way to predict twisters more efficiently than just relying on emergency channels for warnings. Weâll see how it goes today.â
Moments later, she was handing you the iPad youâd used last time. She gave you a reassuring smile. âYouâre gonna do great.â
You almost scoffed, but instead, remained stoic. âThanks,â you murmured.Â
She patted your arm before the stepped back to address the whole time. âAlright guys, letâs do this!âÂ
And with that, everyone climbed into their vehicles, preparing to run straight into the face of danger. You took a steadying breath as you settled into the passengerâs seat of Rhettâs truck once again, making sure to fasten your seatbelt before you unlocked the iPad.
You felt Rhettâs hand on your forearm, squeezing gently. He didnât say anything, but you knew what he was trying to communicate. You can do this.
You could. You were sick and tired of letting your grief and fear control you. You would never be able to move on with life if you didnât do something about it. This was in honor of your friends. Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. You were going to do them proud.Â
In the meantime, however, there was a long stretch of land to cross before you met the storm. And in that quiet forty-five-minute drive along the wide open stretch of road, you were forced to come to terms with what had happened in the kitchen that morning. Or, rather, what had almost happened.Â
You couldnât stop replaying it in your mind as you stared out the window at the rolling Oklahoma plains.Â
Beside you, Rhettâs mind was whirling a mile a minute, thinking about what had transpired in the kitchen. Heâd almost kissed you. He was so close to feeling your lips against his for the first time in years, until the moment had been ripped away.Â
Now, all that was left was an uncomfortable ache in his chest. A void that could only be filled by facing his feelings for you. What Amy had asked that morning struck a chord in him. It felt like a slap to the face, or a bucket of cold water dumped upon his head.Â
He still loved you. As if that came as any surprise at all. Had there ever been a time when he didnât love you? You were a permanent fixture in his life. His earliest memory was the two of you sitting in church together, no older than four years old. You had made a silly little stick-figure drawing of the two of you holding hands.Â
He never forgot that. And as years passed, it sometimes felt as if your stick drawing had predicted the future.Â
He realized he loved you when he was twelve years old and entirely too young to understand the weight and depth of true love. You were kind and understanding and you laughed at his attempts to be funny. You made him feel seen when no one else so much as spared him a glance.Â
Through his greatest achievements, you were there. Through his rock bottom moments, you were there. You kept him steady when he couldnât stand. You held him together when he was falling apart. Hell, youâd even physically held him together when he was gored by a bull and was certain he was going to bleed to death.Â
You were there until you werenât.Â
And for the six years that you were gone, he tried to replace you. Found himself entering into the beds of girls he didnât love, hoping to find a connection half as special as the one you shared. But nothing stuck. He realized it was because he never moved on. And maybe he was a fool for it, but he didnât care.
Here you were now, in the passenger seat of his truck again, and he knew that he wasnât going to let you slip through his fingers. He was going to fight for you, like he should have done from the very beginning.Â
âWant yâto know Iâll be with you every step of the way out there, when the storm hits. Youâre not alone,â Rhett assured you. He glanced at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.
âI know,â you whispered in reply, mouth curving into a fond smile. âIâm glad youâre with me.â
It was his turn to smile, albeit shyly. âIâm glad, too.â
There were so many things left unsaid between you. Feelings that needed to be brought to light. But now was not the time. Not when you were driving into the eye of a storm and couldnât afford to be distracted.
For the rest of the drive, not much was said between either of you. You were too preoccupied with what was to come. You kept your eyes on the radar, analyzing the storm. There was no guarantee that it would turn into a twister, but something in your gut told you that it would.Â
The closer you got to Coal County, the darker the sky grew, and it seemed as if you were driving right into the belly of the beast. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the unsettling rumble of thunder.Â
âDamn, look at that,â Rhett remarked. His eyes were wide with anticipation.
âThink itâll give us our twister?â You asked.
He looked at the sky again. âIt just might.â
Suddenly, Finnâs voice crackled to life over the radio. âWeâre gonna get ready to send the trackers out soon. You should get better data on the iPad when we do!âÂ
âAlright, weâll be ready when you are!â Rhett responded into the handheld device.
A wave of fear ebbed through you, cold and icy, as if youâd just been plunged into a bath of frigid water. With each passing moment, the sky became more foreboding. The fields surrounding you were churning, wind rippling through the stalks of green.Â
Your heart rate picked up in your chest as you watched it blow in, angry clouds moving across the sky like an ocean wave. The kind of wave that would drag you out to sea, straight to your demise.Â
âStay with me, honeybee,â came Rhettâs gentle urging. âIt ainât here yet. Need you tâ get your head in the game.â
âI-Iâm okay,â you promised.Â
âTrackers are airborne!â Zara exclaimed through the speaker.
Reality was beginning to set in. There was no turning back.
Eyes locked on the screen, it didnât take long for new info to be fed through, a notification popping up at the top of the screen. Severe weather approaching.
You looked to the sky again, focusing on the way the clouds were moving, the direction the wind was blowing. Then you opened the truck window, sticking your hand out to feel the breeze. The air was humid, yet electric. There was no doubt that a storm was coming.
You began counting down in your head. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The first drop of rain slapped against your hand. Then another, and another. Quickly, you drew your arm back into the truck, jamming your finger against the button to close the window.Â
Lightning splintered across the sky.
The rain fell harder, and within seconds, turned into a sheet of water, intense and heavy. Visibility dropped, and Rhett was quick to flip the headlights on, although it did little to illuminate the path ahead.Â
âHere we go,â he breathed, voice trembling.Â
Another notification came across the top of your screen. Tornado warning. Seek shelter immediately.
The rain gave way to hail, large pellets pattering against the truck. Your stomach dropped. Hands trembling, chest going tight.
âOkay darlinâ. Need you to tell me where to drop the trailer,â Rhett urged.
The wind whipped against the truck, and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling yourself together. You could do this.
It was difficult to see, but you did your best, eyeing the radar, glancing out the windows. Then you saw it. In the distance, amidst the wind and rain, a tornado was just touching down. With your heart in your throat, you leaned forward in your seat. You breathed deeply, closing out all the sounds around you. The roar of the wind, the rumble of the twister.Â
You closed your eyes. Three, two, one.Â
âGo right!â You cried. âIf we wanna stay in its path, you need to get into that field!â
Without questioning you, Rhett veered to the right, directly into the cornfield beside you. You stared out the back window of the truck before you looked down at your radar again. âKeep going straight! We need to get a few hundred feet farther!â
Rhett slammed his foot against the gas, and the speedometer needle shot up, speed increasing with each passing moment. You reached out and grabbed the walkie-talkie, pressing the button and calling into the receiver, âGet ready! Weâre about to drop the trailer!â
âCopy!â Came Finnâs voice, âweâll be waitinâ for your green light!â
Letting out a trembling breath, you set the radio down, hand coming up to clutch the iPad in your lap, while your other hand shot up to hold onto the ceiling handle. The ground beneath the truck was uneven and choppy, and you were jostled about something fierce.
âCâmon, honey. We gettinâ close?!â Rhett called to you.Â
âAlmost!âÂ
His hands were clutching the wheel for dear life, knuckles white. His body was tense, shoulders drawn up toward his ears. Wild eyes glanced in the rearview mirror at the destruction that was quickly approaching.Â
âShit, itâs close,â he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. For a split second, he wondered if this was the most foolish decision heâd ever made. He wasnât thinking about himself. He was thinking about you. If anything happened to you, heâd never forgive himself.
But now wasnât the time to allow himself to be distracted by such things. Instead, he brought his full focus back to his driving, heart pounding in his chest, limbs vibrating with adrenaline.Â
Then, your voice cut through the air, a desperate shout. âNow, Rhett!â
He slammed on the brakes, and you both lurched forward from the force. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his hand down against the control panel situated in the center console, hitting the button that activated the anchors on the trailer, sending them down into the soil.Â
Then, he shoved his fingers into the button labeled release, and the hitch unfurled, detaching the trailer from the truck. The split second that it landed, Rhett thrust his foot against the gas pedal, mud and debris flying from beneath the spinning tires before the truck shot forward.
You snatched up the radio, eyes locked on the approaching tornado. It needed to be timed perfectly. The tanks needed to open up the second the twister was in range. As Rhett sped through the field, you held your breath, staring out the truck window, hand gripping the walkie so tight you thought it might shatter in your grasp.
It was coming. Closer, and closer, and closer. Wild and powerful, devouring everything in its path. Almost there, just a little bit furtherâŠ
âNOW!â You yelled into the received. âNOW, NOW, NOW!â
âCopy!â Finn shouted back.
Rhett didnât dare slow down. He kept going, determined to get you to a safe distance. He veered the steering wheel to the left, getting out of the path of the twister. As he drove, you watched, silently praying that the nitrogen would work.Â
And then the vortex engulfed the trailer, and you squinted, but couldnât see if it was working. You were so engrossed in the moment you didnât even stop to let it register that you had finally faced your biggest fear.Â
But Rhett saw it. He spared you a glance as he drove, and he saw not fear, but wonder in your eyes. For a moment, he was transported back to all those times you chased together. The excitement and adrenaline you shared. Nothing could top that.Â
Despite the danger that was quite literally hurtling toward you both as he drove, he couldnât help the smile that spread across his face. Oh, how heâd missed this.
âItâs not working!â Jeslynâs voice suddenly cut through the speaker. âYou two better get outta there, twister took some tanks with it and theyâll probably hit you guys if you stay in that field!â
Rhett grabbed the walkie. âIâm gettinâ us out. Weâll catch up with you guys!âÂ
He floored it, truck rocking as it raced through the field. âHold on!â He told you.Â
You clenched your jaw, bracing yourself. But that was nearly impossible, and you still felt your ribs collide painfully with the side of the door. At that point, you werenât even watching the twister, you were merely trying not to get your head knocked against the window.Â
You put your trust in Rhett to get you both to safety. And, much to your relief, he did just that.
Minutes later, the truck shot out onto the main road, and he kept going, headed east, out of the stormâs path. Once he was certain that he was far enough out, he stopped the truck, tires screeching against wet asphalt.Â
As he threw the gear into park, he shoved the door open and jumped out. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you quickly unbuckled your seat belt and put the iPad on the dashboard before you climbed out of the truck after Rhett.Â
You jogged over to him, where he stood near the truckâs tailgate, watching the tornado in the distance. It seemed that it was true. The nitrogen hadnât done a single thing to tame the beast. But Rhett found that he didnât care about that. Not when you were standing there beside him, alive and safe.
âDamn, those tanks didnât do anything,â you mumbled in disappointment.
He shook his head. âI donât give a shit about the nitrogen,â he said plainly.
You looked at him in confusion. âWhy not?â
âBecause, look at yourself! Yâdid it, girl! You chased down a fuckinâ twister!â
It was then that you realized what had happened. You hadnât run away. You hadnât let your trauma stop you in your tracks again. You put your nose to the grindstone and you conquered that deeply rooted fear that had been festering inside you for the last six years of your life.
âOh my god,â you breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. âIâŠI did it. I actually did it!â
Rhett laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound youâd ever heard. âI knew you could do it. I knew it!â
You leapt forward, throwing your arms around his neck, and his own arms came up to encircle your waist. He spun you both around, all while rain and wind whipped around you. None of that mattered. And as he slowed to a stop, still holding you close, once again, you were the only two people in the entire world.
Your arms lowered, hands resting against his chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, heart racing like a hummingbird. You gazed into his face, so handsome and strong, so familiar and kind, and you knew that you would never leave him behind again.
You werenât sure who moved first. Maybe both of you did at the same exact time. Either way, you were leaning in without another moment of hesitation, pulled even closer together by that invisible string of fate. And this time, you let it tie you together as one.
You tilted your head back, and he leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation mounting as he ducked forward. Oh so gently, his lips connected with yours, and you melted into him. Just for a moment, the grief, stress, pain, denial; it was all washed away, replaced with a feeling of all-consuming warmth.
What started out as a tender, tentative kiss blossomed into so much more. Heat sparked between you, the beginnings of what would soon turn into a wildfire. His big hands came up to cup your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, pouring all of his heart into the action.
Your veins fizzed as if you were made of stardust and champagne. If you were a firework, you would be exploding across the sky in a million different colors.Â
This was what it had always felt like to kiss him. A memory you had nearly forgotten until now. Sizzling and desperate, gentle and sweet. Neither of you had any desire to pull away, but your lungs said otherwise, and you were forced to part, breathing labored.
His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue of his irises.Â
A sob tore its way from your throat as you spoke. âI love you, Rhett. I love you so goddamn much. I never stopped.â
His chest heaved, and his mouth parted, silent words coming out before he could muster the strength to form them into syllables. âI love you too, honeybee. More âan I ever loved anyone in my whole life.â
You didnât bother wiping away the tears that were pouring down your cheeks. âIâm sorry I left. Iâm never leaving you again, you hear me? Iâm yours forever.â
Unshed tears glimmered in his own eyes. He was too overwhelmed with emotion to utter a response, but that was okay. The only response you needed was him surging forward to kiss you again, tears and rain mixing as your lips met.
Finally, you were done running.Â
When you parted again, you were made aware of how quiet it had become. You looked up to realize the storm had passed, and the twister was gone. The hum of approaching vehicles drew your attention to the road, where you were made aware of the rest of the team pulling up.
Rhett didnât let you go, choosing to keep an arm around your waist as he turned to greet everyone. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, despite the slightly grim looks of your friends.Â
âYou guys alright?â Zara asked as she hopped out of the F150, boots crunching against the ground.Â
âYeah, weâre just fine,â came Rhettâs response.
âWe stopped to check on the trailer,â Finn piped up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. âThat thing held up pretty well. Twister dragged it across the field but believe it or not itâs still in working order.â
âNo shit?â Rhett was surprised.
âYeah. Tanks went flying, though. Weâre gonna have to see if we can find âem so they donât end up sitting in some farmerâs field.â
âWe can help look for âem all. Gotta figure out how to secure those better next time.â
âI think we also need to try something else. Maybe see if we can add some more nitrogen tanks,â said Jeslyn.
âHow the hell are we gonna do that? Thereâs no room left on that trailer,â Danny interjected, lifting a hand to run through his silvery locks.
âWell, maybe we can bring in a second trailer,â she suggested.Â
Danny sighed. âOkay, but how many more tanks of nitrogen will we need? Weâve gotta calculate all of it. Go back to OU and do some more tests before we just come out here blindly.â It was clear that he was irritated. âBesides, how do we even know if itâs gonna work? Feels like weâre fighting a fuckinâ losing battle here.â
âHey,â Zara spoke, her voice clear and hopeful. âWeâll figure it out. We need to tweak some things, and thatâs fine. No big deal.â
âYeah, but how many more things can we tweak? We donât have the budget for this shit, Zar. Weâre just bleeding money at this point.âÂ
âOkay, letâs just take a breather,â came Rhettâs interruption. The two of you had simply been observing, waiting for the group to settle their own argument. But it was clear that tensions were mounting and needed to be diffused. âLook, itâs lunch time, why donât we stop by the closest town, get somethinâ to eat, and put our heads together so we can figure all this out.â
Finnâs posture fell, and he nodded. âYeah, sure. Letâs go.â He was already turning to head back to the RV.
âYouâre right,â Zara agreed with Rhett. And then, for the first time in the last few minutes, she seemed to finally notice you, and she mustered a smile. âHey, you did it! That took guts.â
You ducked your head sheepishly. âThanks.â
âReally, itâs awesome. Iâm proud of you,â Jeslyn echoed her wifeâs sentiments, reaching out to pat you on the shoulder.Â
Their encouragement meant a lot to you, and you accepted it gratefully, struck with a sense of belonging. A comradery. You were truly part of the team now. And it felt good.
âWeâll follow you?â Zara nodded toward Rhett, and he nodded.Â
âYeah, Phillips is the closest town. We can stop off there anâ eat.â
âSounds good!âÂ
As everyone climbed back into their vehicles, you breathed out a sigh, catching Rhettâs eye. He reached for you, pulling you to him. âTheyâll figure things out. They always do,â he murmured.Â
âYeah, Iâm sure they will,â you agreed. He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into the seat, settling in as he rounded the truck and got into his own seat.Â
As he put his seatbelt on, he looked at you, and his cheeks rounded as his lips curved into a smile. He couldnât believe how quickly everything had changed. Suddenly, he felt like a lovesick teenager. The feelings that he had tried to repress for so long were finally allowed to come to the surface. Rhett never had been the most expressive person, but he simply couldnât wipe the look of elation off his face as he drove toward the next town over.
The missing half of his heart had returned.
The ride into town was blanketed with comfortable silence. You could see in the horizon that another storm was rolling in, and as you took a gander at the radar, you saw that a string of storms would be hitting the area later that day, and into the night.Â
You hoped the team wasnât planning on going after any of them. After what you had just gone through, you were utterly drained, and werenât even sure if you could handle another adrenaline rush.
Much to your relief, the afternoon was relaxed. You stopped to eat at an old family diner, where you ordered some comfort food and allowed yourself a moment of respite. Everyone else was discussing the plan moving forward, trying to figure out if an extra addition of nitrogen tanks would be effective enough to actually stop a twister.
Despite your background in weather science, you didnât contribute much to the conversation, because you were content to just listen. But you were struck with an idea as Zara and Finn went back and forth across the table, trying to figure out the next course of action.Â
âI just thought of something,â you said. âIt might be a long shot, because there really isnât that much research out there to support it, but what if, instead of just nitrogen, you added some COâ tanks to the mix? It might drop the air temp even faster. But, again, could just be a crazy idea on my part.â
Zara shook her head, dark curls escaping her bun and tumbling against her forehead. She hastily shoved the strands behind her ear. âNo, no, thatâs actually not a bad idea,â she agreed. âBack when we started testing out the nitrogen we did talk about using COâ but ended up deciding nitrogen was better. I dunno why we never considered using the two together, though. It might work!â
âItâs worth a try,â Jeslyn agreed, arms folded against her chest, her back slouched against her seat.Â
âIf weâre gonna do this, weâve only got one more shot,â Danny said, expression grim. âWe got lucky with the nitro tanks, what with my uncle working at the nitrogen plant. But he can only get us so much at a discount before we gotta start paying full price. That shit is expensive. We canât afford to pay full price.â
âThen we supplement COâ tanks in between, so we donât have to get as much nitrogen,â Finn suggested as he leaned over the table, motioning with his hands for emphasis while he spoke.Â
âYeah, but even if we use less nitrogen, itâs still pricey. We canât afford to go into debt with this. I canât, anyway. We need funding for this project, and the only way weâre gonna get it is if it actually works. Which means next time we go out there, we better actually stop a twister, or it was all for nothing.â
âOkay, hereâs what weâre gonna do,â Zara finally announced. âWeâll go with your idea to test out COâ along with the nitrogen. Dannyâs right, we donât have the finances to keep buying nitrogen, especially at full price. So, weâve gotta hope like hell that this next chase we go on is the one the experiment works on. Otherwise weâll have to try to figure out how to get funding another way, and I just donât think weâll be able to.â
âSo that means the next time we go chasing, it could be the last time,â Finn concluded.
Zara sighed. âYeah, it could. At least the last time trying this experiment.â
âPressureâs on now, isnât it?â Jeslyn sighed, hazel eyes downcast.
âItâll work,â Rhett said from beside you, offering his vote of confidence. He looked at Zara and Jeslyn. âIf anyone can make it happen, itâs you two. Jusâ work your genius magic and weâll be fine.â
The girls smiled at his encouragement. However, it was clear that everyone was tired of talking science, and the table soon faded into silence as all of you finished your respective meals. Another storm was rolling in outside, turning the sky dark again.Â
Rhett glanced out at the sky as everyone stood and began readying themselves to leave the diner. âWe should get goinâ before the storm hits. Might turn into another twister,â he remarked, wary of the incoming clouds.
You certainly didnât want to be caught in another tornado, so leaving right away sounded rather appealing to you. You were quick to leave a tip for your waitress on the table, along with everyone elseâs contribution, before you made your way toward the register to pay for your meal in full.
âIâve got it,â Rhett spoke to you, stepping into your path, already sliding his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.
âOh, you donât have to,â you protested, holding up your hand to decline.
âNope, sâmy treat. Think of it as a liâl reward for chasinâ that twister.â
Who were you to deny him? With a shy smile, you relented, allowing him to pay for your meal. When he was done, you walked out of the diner, side by side, a feeling of peace settling within your heart. He opened the passenger door of the truck for you, and you swore you felt butterflies flutter to life in your belly.Â
Nothing could ever take the charm out of the cowboy.
As you set off back toward the Abbott farm, the weather remained steady, rain cascading from the sky. You were grateful that the worst of it seemed to be behind you. It allowed you to relax in the cab of Rhettâs truck, cozy and safe.
You found yourself growing sleepy partway through, and you ended up with your head resting upon his shoulder. Beside you, he couldnât ignore the surge of comforting warmth that traveled through his body. This felt so right. As if you were a missing piece to the puzzle, now comfortably slotted against him, in the exact place you were always meant to be.
He wouldnât admit it to anyone else, but during that drive home, he did travel quite a few miles under the speed limit, just to lengthen the tender moment. He was committing it to memory, every last second, because that was one thing he hadnât done when you were together before.
He hadnât lived in the moment as much as he should have. And when you left, that was one of his biggest regrets. Now that heâd been given an opportunity to make up for lost time, he wasnât going to squander a single moment of it.
But eventually, he did turn into the Abbott driveway, tires crunching against wet dirt and gravel. And as the truck came to a stop, you were jarred from your slumber. With a soft hum, you lifted your head from his shoulder, squinting as you realized where you were.
âWelcome back to the land of the livinâ,â Rhett teased.
âWow, guess I was more tired than I thought,â came your groggy reply.Â
âChasinâ twistersâll do that to a body,â he agreed.
As you stretched your arms out in front of you, you gazed out the windows. The rain had slowed, sleepy tip-tap-tips splashing against the glass.Â
âGuess we should go inside,â you mumbled.Â
âGuess we should.â
A beat passed. And then another. Finally, you let out a sigh and slid across the seat, wrenching open the door. Rhett followed suit, and you both hurried into the house, eager to stay dry.Â
âOh, thank the Lord!â Ceciliaâs voice rang out from the kitchen as she rushed out to meet you. Her face was stricken. âYou two scared me half to death! What are you thinkinâ, not answerinâ your phone, boy?!âÂ
Rhettâs eyes widened, and he patted his pocket for his phone, retrieving it only to realize that it was completely dead. âShit, âm sorry, Mom, I didnât even think,â he was quick to apologize.Â
âI thought for sure somethinâ had happened to you! I was worried sick, expecting a call from the sheriff tellinâ me you got yourselves killed!â She motioned wildly with her arms, tendrils of short brown hair falling from behind her ear and into her face.Â
Her reaction was perfectly reasonable, considering all sheâd lost.Â
âHey, hey, weâre alright,â Rhett assured her, tone low and even. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder. âWeâre safe, nothinâ happened to us. Jusâ didnât realize my phone was dead.â
You offered support, moving to squeeze her hand. âYeah, weâre all good. Still in one piece.â
The woman nodded solemnly, placing her restless hands on her hips. âYeah. Yeah, youâre fine. Of course youâre fine. Iâm sorry, I justâŠI lost my head for a bit there when we got home from church and I heard about the twister that hit near Coalgate. I thoughtâŠâÂ
She trailed off, unable to voice it.Â
âSâokay, Ma. Iâll make sure my phone is charged next time, that way yâ can get a hold of me.â
Cecilia managed a smile. âGood. Iâll, uh, Iâll try not to act so hysterical about it next time.â
âYou arenât being hysterical,â you told her. âYouâve got every right to worry.â
âUncle Rhett?!â Suddenly, Amyâs voice cut through the tension in the air, and the nine-year-old came rushing down the steps, her golden hair flying behind her shoulders.Â
Rhett turned just in time as the girl threw herself into his arms. He caught her with ease, lifting her off the ground. âGramma said somethinâ mightâve happened! I was so scared!â She exclaimed.Â
âHey now, nothinâ to be scared about. Iâm fine,â he promised his niece, leaning back to brush her hair away from her face. âI ainât goinâ nowhere, Ames. Youâre stuck with me.â
She managed a giggle as he tapped her nose. âGood. Iâm glad youâre alright.â
You watched the tender moment, and you couldnât help the tears that welled in your eyes. He was so good with her.Â
When he finally let her go, he stepped back toward you, and you found yourself instinctively slotting yourself against his side in search of his safety and warmth.Â
Amy caught on immediately, and her face broke into the biggest grin youâd ever seen. âYou are in love!â
This time, you grinned right back at her and said, âWe sure are.â
As she jumped up and down and said, âI knew it! I knew it! I knew it!â you looked at Rhett. There was this beautiful fondness in his eyes that you never wanted to forget as long as you lived.Â
âYou two want any hot cocoa?â Cecilia asked, a twinkle in her eyes, as if sheâd always known you and Rhett would get back together. Perhaps it was motherâs intuition.
âYeah, that sounds really good, actually,â you agreed.
âOoh, can we put the colorful marshmallows in it?!â Amy inquired, hope in her voice.
âIf you can find âem in the pantry!â Her grandmother told her, at which the girl scurried into the kitchen without missing a beat, eager to find the dyed confections.
As the pair busied themselves in the kitchen, you ducked out of Rhettâs embrace to take your damp shoes off. He followed suit, placing his boots on the rack near the door, lest his mother be frustrated with him for leaving them on the floor.
You ambled further into the coziness of the house, taking a seat on the tan upholstered couch that stood in front of the windows. The couch that converted into a bed for Rhett to sleep in each night.Â
âIs the mattress in this thing comfortable?â You asked as you settled in.Â
Rhett hummed, shrugging as he retrieved the old quilt from the back of the couch. âYeah, I sleep fine on it.â
But surely it wasnât as comfortable as his own bed. The one you had the luxury of sleeping in for the duration of your stay.
You could invite him to join you.Â
Was that being too forward? After all, youâd only just rekindled your romance. Was inviting him to sleep in the same bed as you moving too fast? Or would it be like simply resuming where youâd left off. When you were together before, youâd spent more time in his bed than your own. Being with him in his childhood home felt like a safe haven.Â
It still felt like that. Though, he was part of what made it feel like home. Without him here, it was just a house. A mere building. But bring him into the picture, and there was warmth, safety, and security.Â
And that was why you thought about inviting him into bed with you that night. You yearned to feel the comfort of being wrapped in his arms as you slept.Â
Dare you ask him to join you in bed that night?
âDo you guys want whipped cream?â Amy abruptly called from the kitchen, jarring you from your thoughts.Â
âPlease!â Rhett responded. You echoed his answer, letting out a breath as you shook your thoughts of longing away.Â
He took a seat beside you, spreading the quilt heâd just grabbed over both your and his laps. Immediately, you were surrounded by warmth, and you let yourself sink back into the couch cushions, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension you carried began to slowly melt away.Â
âYâalright?â He asked, cadence low. âBeen an eventful day.â
âIâll say,â you agreed. âIâm okay. Just tired from the adrenaline crash.â
His knee bumped against your own. He left it there. âI know I already said it, but Iâm proud of ya. I know facinâ that twister wasnât easy.â
âWell, I know climbing back on a bull wasnât easy for you, so I guess weâre even.â
He hummed, nodding his head. âGuess we are.â
Moments later, Amy and Cecilia entered the living room with mugs of hot chocolate, and soon, the four of you were huddled around the coffee table, enjoying the sweet, chocolaty drink as the rain continued on outside.
You let your walls down and embraced the domesticity of it all. For once, your body wasnât in fight or flight mode, and you felt at ease. You could get used to this.Â
When it came time to prepare dinner, you volunteered to help Cecilia, but after she learned that youâd endured a tornado chase, she insisted that you rest.Â
âYouâve had enough activity for one day, hon. Yâ should take it easy,â she told you.Â
This left you to sit on the hardwood floor of the home office, with Amy across from you and Rhett beside you, a jigsaw puzzle littering the space between you. You were quite enjoying watching his large hands put each small, fragile piece into place with such precision and care.Â
He was so beautiful like this. Comfortable. At ease in his home, with his family. A life you had once dreamed of living with him. And now, you supposed it had become a dream of yours once more.Â
You could see yourself in the future. A quaint little home, just the two of you. A simple, happy life.Â
And thatâs when you knew. Sitting there, watching him work on a puzzle on the floor, you knew everything was about to change. Your life was forever intertwined with his now, and you would be his until death did you part.Â
That thought didnât scare you. It filled you with so much hope, rising up inside you like water from a babbling brook. It was a beautiful feeling.
Later that evening, as you sat around the dinner table, you were beside him, shoulders touching, stealing glances at each other throughout the meal. Things felt lighter now. The tension was gone.Â
âYou two finally quit beatinâ around the bush?â Royal asked. His expression was neutral, but his eyes swam with humor.
Rhett squeezed your knee under the table. âYeah. We did.â
âGood,â the older man said, nodding in approval. âSheâs a good one, like your ma is. Donât lose âer this time.â
The man beside you let his mouth quirk into a soft smile. âI wonât.â
âHeâs stuck with me,â you agreed, placing your hand over his, which still rested upon your knee.
Soon after, when supper was finished, and the dishes washed, you found yourself in the living room again, curled up on the couch with Rhett by your side. Amy pleaded with her grandmother to let her stay up just a little later, despite her early wake-up call for school the next day, as she wanted to watch a movie with you and Rhett.
Cecilia made the exception, and it wasnât long before the opening credits of Treasure Planet were playing. One of Amyâs favorites, Rhett informed you. But as the movie went on, you found your mind traveling elsewhere, hardly focused on the cartoon.
Instead, you were fixated on Rhettâs proximity.Â
Your head was resting upon his shoulder again, and he was perfectly content with that. This felt more intimate than when youâd fallen asleep on him in the truck. Here, you were settled into the comfort of his home, cozy beneath a quilt that his mother had made many years ago.
It reminded him of the movie nights you would have when you were teenagers. You would trade off who picked the film, and he would often choose ones set in the horror genre, just so youâd have an excuse to hide your face in the crook of his neck during frightening scenes.
Here and now, curled up on the couch with you snuggled against his side, he was overcome with a surge of protectiveness. There was no doubt in his mind that he would do whatever he had to, just to keep you safe.Â
âLooks like someone fell asleep.â Your whispered statement pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over at the floor near the television, where Amy had fallen asleep. He hadnât realized how much time had passed. The movie was nearly over.
Rhett hummed. âGuess I should take âer up to bed,â he murmured.Â
Reluctantly, he rose from the couch, instantly missing your warmth. Stretching his extremities, stiff from sitting for so long, he stepped across the rug covered floor and stooped to gather his niece into his arms.Â
She barely stirred as he cradled her close. He had this down to a science now. He was always good at making sure he didnât disturb her sleep whenever he had to carry her to bed.Â
From the couch, you watch with fondness as he handled her gently. He took her upstairs, stepping into her room and laying her in her bed. When the covers were pulled over her, he ducked down to kiss her forehead before he crept back out of the room and shut the door behind him.
As he did so, the sound of thunder rumbling through the distant skies reached his ears. Yet another storm was blowing through, it seemed.
When he made his way back downstairs, he found you in the living room still, folding the quilt that had been strewn over your lap. He watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you tidying up the room. Oh, how effortlessly beautiful you were.Â
When you caught him staring, you ducked your head shyly. âThought Iâd make myself useful and clean up a bit,â you said.
âMm,â he hummed, lashes fluttering.
The way he was looking at you took your breath away. âDid you, um, get Amy to bed alright?â
âYeah, sheâs still out like a light,â he told you.Â
âGood. I love how she insisted on staying up later, and still fell asleep,â you responded with a good-natured smile. Kids were funny.
âShe always does that,â he agreed, âanâ every time, I carry her upstairs.â
âYouâre good with her. She loves you,â came your next statement, tone full of fondness.
Rhett ducked his head. âI love âer too. Sheâs a special liâl gal. Ever since Perry and Bec diedâŠI dunno, Iâve just felt responsible for her.â
âWell, sheâs lucky to have an uncle like you.â
His cheeks rounded as he smiled, and your heart clenched in your chest. He was truly so endearing.
A moment of silence passed. Then another. The air between you was heavy, as if both of you wanted to say something, but were hesitating. You knew what you wanted. It was right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldnât bring yourself to speak it.
Another crack of thunder rolled outside, and you jumped slightly, caught off guard. This seemed to push you to speak. âWell, IâŠI guess Iâll head up to bed.â
You swore you saw disappointment flash in Rhettâs eyes, but it was gone within a split second. âYeah. Yeah, âm sure you need the rest after the crazy day we had.â
âUh-huh. Iâm pretty beat.â You padded across the rug covered floor, your arm brushing against Rhettâs as you passed. As if on cue, a flash of lightning illuminated the house, followed by the loudest crash of thunder youâd ever heard. The force of it rattled the entire house.
Both of you jumped, and you found yourself surging into his arms on instinct, holding your breath as you waited for the residual rumbling to pass. When it was quiet, you looked at each other, and you began to laugh silently.
âJump scared by thunder,â Rhett mused with a grin, âdidnât see that one cominâ.â
Your hands rested atop his chest, where you could feel the quickness of his heart. âMe neither,â you agreed.
Slowly, your gaze flickered to meet his. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth parted as he took in a breath. As another flash of lightning lit up your surroundings, something shifted between you. Warmth in your belly. Desire in your heart.
When your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he knew what was going to happen. So did you. That was why you werenât surprised with yourself in the least when you heard yourself say, âDo you, umâŠdo you want to come upstairs?â
He leaned in, mouth just barely brushing against your own. âI do.â More than anything.
You let your eyes flutter shut as his lips captured yours. You swore, you knew exactly what it felt like to be a lightning bolt when he kissed you. Bright and alive, thrumming with raw energy.
âPlease, IâŠâ What were you asking for? Your tongue suddenly felt like lead in your mouth, and you couldnât form syllables around it.Â
Rhett sighed softly, his large hand coming up to rest upon the side of your neck. There, he felt your racing pulse, and his eyes widened. âI know, honeybee. Itâs been so long, hasnât it?â His tone was choked. Labored.
Your bottom lip quivered as you were suddenly so overcome with emotion you could hardly breathe. To your dismay, the only sound you could make in reply was a whimper. But, oh, if only you could have photographed the face Rhett made when he heard the sound.
His brow furrowed, and his jaw went slack. You swore his eyes grew darker.Â
âCâmon, letâs get you upstairs.â He took your hand in his and led you slowly up the steps, your footfalls light so as not to alert the entire house of your movement.
With each moment, the closer you got to Rhettâs room, the faster your pulse raced. He guided you inside, carefully pushing the door shut behind you. You stood in the middle of the room as he moved to turn on the bedside lamp, swathing the room in a golden glow.Â
You jumped slightly as yet another boom of thunder shook the ground, but Rhett was there within seconds, hand soothing along the expanse of your arm. He hooked his index finger beneath your chin, prompting you to look at him.
âYâ want me to stop, just say the word, and I will.â
But you didnât want him to stop. âO-okay.â
He kissed you again, languidly, lovingly, but with the mounting intensity of the storm outside, as well as the one currently brewing between you, it soon grew into something more. You parted your lips and allowed his tongue into your mouth, tasting each other.
Your hands rested upon his solid chest, and his own settled on your hips as he eased you back toward the wall. When you came in contact with the solidity behind you, you gasped.Â
You were cornered, surrounded by him, his scent, his body heat. He invaded your every sense. And when his hands came up to rest against the wall at either side of your head, you felt so protected.Â
His chest heaved slightly against yours, and he closed his eyes, gathering himself before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then the edge of your jaw. Down, down, down, to your collarbone. The bite of his day-old stubble against your flesh made you shudder, and you felt goosebumps raise in his wake.Â
Tongue and teeth oh so gently grazed your pulse point, and he buried his face there, breathing in your scent. How was it that you still smelled the exact same after all this time? It wasnât just your perfume. It was your entire chemical makeup, a scent so intoxicating it made him weak in the knees.Â
âCan I take this off?â He asked, cadence low, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt.Â
âPlease.â
He lifted the fabric, tugging it off of you as you lifted your arms to allow him to remove it entirely. He took in the sight of you, in just your bra. You expected to find hunger in his eyes, and it was there, but there was something else. Deep adoration. Reverence. It made you feel as if you were going to dissolve into stardust.Â
Feeling much too clothed, he decided to join you, leaning back to yank his shirt off, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a heap.Â
In the lowlight, you caught sight of the tattoo of a bull and rider inked into the skin of his chest. Lovingly, you brought your fingers up to trace over it. You remembered so vividly the day he got it. You were there with him.Â
Silently, you leaned forward, kissing the artwork. His breath caught in his lungs, and his lashes fluttered. You used to kiss that tattoo all the time. Especially when you were riding him.Â
And then your tongue darted out to trace it, and he audibly gasped. Moments later he was pulling your face toward his again, kissing you deeply, desperately, teeth grazing your bottom lip.Â
You were both a little frenzied as you pulled at each otherâs remaining clothing. You unbuckled Rhettâs belt and he glanced down to watch you tug his jeans down his legs. Once heâd kicked them to the side, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers, he unbuttoned your own jeans, gazing up at you as he guided the denim toward your ankles.Â
He squeezed your calf, and you lifted one leg, then the other, to step out of the pants. The only thing keeping you from being entirely exposed to him was the thin fabric of your underwear.Â
You watched through hazy eyes as he began to kiss up your leg and along your inner thigh, palms resting upon your hips. When he made it to your underwear, he looked right at you as he kissed your clothed pussy, at which you moaned breathlessly.Â
âWanâ see this sweet liâl pussy. Will you let me see her, darlinâ?â His accent had grown deeper with the rasp of his voice. It swam through your head and sent shockwaves through your extremities.Â
âY-yes.â You werenât sure how you found it in yourself to speak.Â
âYeah?â Cautiously, he began pulling the underwear down your legs. Slow, slow, slow, all the way down until he reached your ankles. Once you stepped out of them, he was finally greeted with the sight of you.Â
Deft fingers came up to part your delicate folds, touch featherlight as he began to explore. He was pleasantly surprised to find that you were already soaking wet.Â
âCanât tell ya how much I missed this. How much I thought about you the last few years,â he admitted before he leaned toward you, running his nose along your inner thigh before he left another kiss to your now bare cunt.Â
Your knees nearly buckled, and heâd barely touched you.Â
âYouâŠyou have?â
âUh-huh.â His tongue darted out to taste you, and his eyes flickered shut. Heâd be the first to admit that heâd conjured up images of you when his hand was wrapped around his aching cock. Your softness, your pretty sounds, the feeling of your slick warmth around him. Heâd spill his release against his lower belly as he moaned your name into the confines of his bedroom.Â
âI-Iâve thought about you too,â came your confession. Your head was spinning.Â
âOh really? You touched this pretty cunt while thinkinâ of me?â
âGod, yes.â
Hearing you admit it had him twitching with need within the confines of his boxers. What he wouldnât give to be inside you again.Â
âSâmuch as I wanna eat you until you come all over my face, I think I need tâ be inside ya. Been too long.â
He rose to his feet, and he grasped your wrist, bringing your hand between his legs. You gasped at the feeling of his hardness. Had you forgotten just how thick he was?Â
As he kissed you again, you eagerly dipped your hand past the waistband of his underwear. When your fingers curled around his shaft, he grunted in surprise against your mouth.Â
Stroking him lightly, you took the opportunity to lavish affection on him, kissing along his jaw and neck as his cock grew even harder in your hand. Burying your face against the side of his neck, you took a moment to fully immerse yourself in the moment.Â
This was real. You were here. In the very bedroom where youâd given yourself to each other for the first time. Now, you were together again, giving yourselves to each other not for the first time, but for the last time. Not because it would never happen again, but because this was the moment that you were acknowledging that you were it for one another. A way of pledging yourself to him, a silent promise that there would never be anyone else.Â
It was you and him, for the rest of your lives.Â
âTake me to bed, baby,â you whispered against the feverish column of his throat.Â
How could he deny you?Â
With one arm holding you close, he guided you to the bed. But then he paused, brow furrowing. âDidnât think this through,â he murmured. âThe both of us ainât gonâ fit on that bed.â
âWeâll fit fine, itâll just be a tight squeeze,â you replied.Â
But he shook his head. âNah. The way I wanâ lay you out and fuck you? I need more space than that.âÂ
His words sent a shudder through you, but you still managed a playful quip in return. âThen what do ya propose, cowboy?âÂ
âOne sec.â
Then, he went around the room, gathering all the quilts from the rack on the other side of the room. He even yanked the covers off of the bed. You watched in amusement as he spread everything out on the floor, creating a makeshift bed, complete with pillows. It appeared to be a very cozy setup.
As soon as the last pillow was put in place, he straightened to his full height, gaze falling upon you once again. He reached for you, and you let him reel you in, guiding you toward him until your body was pressed against his.Â
His eyes reminded you of a felineâs, narrow and sharp. The warmth of desire glowed within them, drawing you in, sending shivers down your spine. With a loving kiss, he whispered, âLay down for me, honeybee.â
Your mouth went dry, and your breath came out raggedly. But you complied, dropping to your knees and crawling toward the pillows, where you then laid your head. You watched, chest constricting, as Rhett pulled his boxers down his legs and tossed them aside.
His cock, hard and heavy, bobbed between his thighs, and you audibly whimpered. You had forgotten how thick he was. The memory of what it felt like to be filled by him flashed through your mind. The delicious stretch. The utter fullness.
Above you, he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking lightly as he stepped toward you. Then he knelt, and you still couldnât tear your eyes away from that gorgeous cock.Â
âLook at me.â Quiet, yet commanding. Your eyes snapped up to his. âYou gonâ let me make love to you, baby?â His hand traveled along your thigh, coming closer and closer to where you needed him most.
âY-yes,â you peeped.
He smiled knowingly. âNeed it so bad, donât ya?â His voice was barely contained, trembling as he moved to hover over you. âI do too.â His fingers slid over your dripping center, and you gasped softly as they circled your little gathering of nerves.
Rhett moaned when he felt you pulse beneath his touch. As he dipped two of his fingers inside you, his mouth explored your chest, biting at the sensitive skin of your breast before he swirled his tongue around one pert nipple.Â
You whined as his mouth latched onto the sensitive bud, your hand coming up to thread through his dark locks. You hadn't realized how turned you were until that very moment. But you could feel it now, dripping around his fingers as you clenched around them.
"Rhett, please, I-" You didnât know what you were asking for. Your mind was swimming. Hazy.
Hearing your pitiful begging had him looking up at you expectantly.
"What do you want, darlinâ?"Â
"You. I need you. I-I canâtâŠI donâtâŠplease, justâŠ" God, you were spiraling with need.
âShh, Iâve got you,â he soothed, tongue licking into your mouth before he slipped his fingers out of you.Â
You watched as wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked your desire off them. Your own mouth fell open at the salacious sight.Â
âMm, tastes just as good as I remember.â
He was hovering over you again, bracing himself with his hands against the floor. His gaze was so intense, but you couldnât look away. When you felt his hard cock against your inner thigh, you shivered in anticipation.
âHoney, IâŠI donât have any condoms,â he admitted, voice wrecked.
Maybe it was foolish of you, but you couldnât be bothered to care. Not when you were so close to having him inside you, skin to skin, after going so long without. You wrapped your arms around his neck and said, âI donât care. Take me raw.â
Rhett grunted, jaw tightening, lashes fluttering as his pupils dilated. âFuck. Youâre gonâ be the death of me.â
You let your legs fall further apart, giving him full and complete access. But he hesitated, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. âHold on a minute. Iâve got somethinâ that might be helpful.âÂ
He moved over you, toward his nightstand. Curiously, you watched as he rummaged through the drawer, and moments later, he held up a bottle of lube.Â
âThought I still had some of this.â He made his way back over to you, situating himself on his knees before you. âWanâ make sure you can take it without me hurtinâ you.â
You watched as he carefully poured some of the lubricant onto his palm, and your breath hitched when he brought his hand down to his cock, coating it fully. In the soft glow of the lamp above, it glimmered on his skin.Â
But he wasnât finished yet. He poured more of the liquid into his hand, warming it before he lovingly smoothed it over your pussy, prepping you further.Â
Then he knelt between your parted legs again, and your heart fluttered in your chest as he aligned himself with you. He slid through your delicate folds once, twice, then let his tip catch against your entrance, drawing a gasp of desire from you.Â
When he began to roll his hips forward, your back arched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, relishing in every last second. Inch by inch, he slipped inside you. Arms braced near either side of your head, he held himself steady, grunting lowly as your velvety walls enveloped him.Â
As he bottomed out, he let his head fall to your shoulder, where he remained for a few moments, gaining his composure.Â
He couldnât speak. If he tried, he knew his voice would fail him. Heâd been rendered utterly speechless as he let it all sink in. This was real. He was here, now, on the floor of his childhood bedroom, with you laid bare beneath him.
For a few moments, you were both still, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Tears pricked behind your eyelids, and you focused on breathing deeply. For the first time in a very long time, you felt at peace. Here, joined as one with him.Â
He lifted his head from your shoulder and kissed you softly before he broke the silence. âYâready?â He asked. Breathless.Â
Whining softly, you nodded. âY-you can move.â
Another kiss was left against the corner of your mouth before he slowly pulled his hips back, inch by inch, before rolling them forward again. You let out a broken moan, suddenly so overwhelmed by him. He swallowed the sound, mouth open against yours as he drew back again, only to fill you up all over again. Your chest heaved. The tears in your eyes finally made their way down your cheeks.
The drag of his thick cock was so slow it was almost not enough, yet too much all at once. You could only focus on him. His comforting warmth, his familiar scent, the pleasured sounds rumbling deep within his chest.Â
Outside, the wind and rain wreaked havoc, but inside, you were safe, shielded by your lover, lost in the way he made you feel. You didnât realize how much youâd truly missed him until this very moment. It hit you all at once, like a kick to the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs.
Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck as he moved. You breathed him in. Earthy, musky, and so familiar. You wished to bottle up his scent so you could have it with you forever.
âMissed yâso much,â Rhett spoke, voice trembling. He leaned back so he could look fully into your face. When he saw your tear streaked face, he lifted his hand and lovingly wiped the tears away with his fingers. âCanât believe youâre in mâ arms again.â
Then he was kissing you deeply as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, causing you to moan brokenly into his mouth at the feeling. You threw your head back as he built a rhythm. Back and forth, faster and deeper. You felt so indescribably full. He didnât want to ruin that closeness, so he kept his movements contained, barely pulling his hips back, moving in a pulsing motion.Â
He was so deep that you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock, creating this wonderfully delicious friction within you. It took your breath away and made your head spin all at once.Â
You let your eyes fall shut and you whimpered as he kept rutting into you, stretching you, fulfilling your needs in ways you never could have imagined. This felt right. Your bodies joined as one. One soul. One heart.Â
âYou feel so good,â you breathed, unashamed of the tears still streaming down your cheeks. âSo good.â
Rhett could hardly utter a reply. He was breathless, his ever sense overwhelmed by you. Nothing else mattered. Here, on his bedroom floor, with you laid out so beautifully beneath him, he didnât have a care in the world but you.
Again, he leaned back to watch you, in awe of the way you shivered and gasped, your body responding to him, releasing more of your slick around his cock. It sent a crackle of arousal through the base of his spine, and he pulsed inside you. You squeaked softly at the feeling, tightening around him.
He couldnât resist stealing a glance at the place where your bodies met. His mouth fell open, eyes nearly rolling back. The sight of you stretched around him sent a jolt through him. âTakinâ me so well,â he sighed out. âLike you were always made to.â
You pulled his face back to you, urging him to meet your gaze. âI-I was,â you whispered in agreement. âI was made for you.â
âYeah?â His tongue darted out to wet his lips. âYouâre mine. Always will be.â
You tugged him toward you to kiss him again. âAll yours.âÂ
With one hand braced against the floor, he brought his other down between your bodies, fingers locating your swollen little button, so sensitive to his touch. You whined out his name, back arching off the floor. He purposed in himself that he was going to make you come before he ever did, because he wanted to feel the way your sweet pussy fluttered and clenched around him as you fell apart.
The sound you made as he swirled his fingers against you was music to his ears. The sweetest whimper heâd ever heard.
He kissed your tears away, a loving gesture that only served to bring even more tears down your cheeks.Â
As you looked up at him, you were overcome. It hit you like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind right out of you. You brought your trembling hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, committing every part of him to memory.Â
The love you felt for him was so deep, so intense, that you couldnât put it into words. All you could do was cry. And you did.Â
He lowered his head, forehead resting against your own. He slowed down his pace just a little, and it made you feel impossibly closer to him. âShh, Iâm right here,â he soothed. âDonât need tâcry, honeybee.â
âI-I-I justâŠI canât believe I get a second chance with you.â
It was his turn to grow overcome with emotion. His eyes fluttered, and he let out a soft breath, nuzzling his nose against yours. âI know,â he whispered. His mouth was on yours, kissing you delicately, encasing you in love and devotion.Â
His hand had stilled between your legs, but he soon resumed his movements, fingers swirling as he kissed you. How was it that you could feel such deep emotion and pleasure all at once? It felt as if your body might explode into millions of stars from it all.Â
You wished that you were more eloquent. That you could find the words to tell him how you truly felt. But it seemed as if he already knew what was in your heart. Because it was in his, too. That all consuming love that heâd always had for you. Something that would never die.Â
Everything had taken on a new meaning. This wasnât just the two of you making love on his bedroom floor. It was the joining of two wandering souls as one. And you gave yourself to him as he kissed you. Pouring every part of yourselves into that kiss.
You felt as if you might float away. And yet, there Rhett was, anchoring you, keeping you tethered to the earth. To him.Â
Beyond you both, thunder once again rolled across the night sky, your only reminder of the danger that lingered just beyond the walls of the Abbott home. It didnât matter. None of it did. Not when you were sighing, trembling, weeping in his arms. Baring all the intimate parts of yourself to him.Â
You were climbing toward that peak now. Even as your tears fell and you cried softly against his mouth, a familiar, enticing heat had begun to spread through your lower abdomen.Â
Subtle at first, but soon, it began to spread throughout your extremities. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Rhett could feel it, too. The way you tightened and gushed around him.Â
âOh, honey,â he sighed. âYouâre close, ainât ya?â
At which you nodded, bottom lip quivering.Â
âPoor thing. Donât worry, Iâll get you there.âÂ
You let him take control entirely. You both realized that although youâd been apart for so long, he still knew your body well. For him, it felt like getting right back in the saddle. Natural. Comfortable.Â
When he moved to switch positions, you let him, trusting him without question. He was gentle as he guided you up and into his lap, still nestled snugly inside you as he settled onto his knees.Â
You were face to face, chest to chest, hip to hip. Now, as he held you in his big arms, it felt all the more intimate, if that was at all possible. He cradled you as if you were the most precious thing to him. And, truly, you were.
âMove your hips with me baby,â he urged, voice a whisper against your heated skin, dancing across your collarbone.Â
With your arms strewn around his shoulders, you tentatively rolled your hips, and when it elicited a gasp from him, you were emboldened to build your own rhythm. There was nothing rushed or frantic about it. You simply took the time to enjoy each otherâs bodies, as you climbed toward that glorious peak.Â
His hand was between your thighs again, fingers pressed against you, swirling firmly, deliberately. He kept his forehead against your own, eager to watch your face. God, you were the most beautiful creature heâd ever seen. Your brow furrowed in pleasure, eyes going out of focus.Â
And it was all because of him. It made his chest swell with pride to know he was the reason you were overcome with bliss.Â
He kept his movements slow and even, so deep inside you that neither of you could tell where he ended and you began. You were certain that you would ache with emptiness once you parted, but for now, you were content to be in the moment and relish in the fullness.Â
However, you were quickly beginning to lose yourself. Part of you never wanted it to end. You wanted to stay like this forever, the electricity of desire crackling beneath your skin, along the base of your spine. And yet, you also wanted so badly to come for him.Â
âSâokay, honeybee,â he was struggling to form syllables, his breathing rushed. âLet go when yâneed to.â
His lips were warm and open against yours, tongue laving at your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you granted. Moaning into each otherâs mouths, losing yourselves in the moment.Â
You expected your orgasm to hit you like a ton of bricks. Perhaps youâd have to bite down on his shoulder to suppress your scream so as not to wake the entire house. What you didnât expect, however, was the opposite.Â
It didnât hit you hard and sudden. No, it was gradual. Like the spark that started the wildfire. So small, yet able to grow into something so wild and unkempt. You felt it in your lower belly first. As if someone had taken hold of the very core of your being and tugged, like a rope being pulled taut. It wasnât long before the delicious warmth began to spread further into your extremities.Â
You were a live wire, thrumming with electricity. âRhett,â you heard yourself gasp, and you buried your face against the crook of his neck as you began to tremble.Â
He spoke again, but you couldnât hear it over the rush of blood in your ears. The range of motion between you was so minimal, and yet it was sending you toward cloud nine. Slow, deliberate grinding, building and building and building until you knew you were too far gone to hold yourself back.Â
Then he was tilting your head back, hand cradling your neck as he sighed into your open mouth, âCome for me, sweet darlinâ.â
And you did.Â
As it ebbed through you, you were engulfed in the most comforting feeling you had ever experienced. You locked eyes with him, and he watched in amazement as you unraveled. Your face contorted into an expression of raw, unabashed pleasure.Â
It ebbed and flowed through your body, rising to meet you like the warm waves of the ocean, heated by the summer sun.Â
And you smiled. A wide, blissful smile as you shuddered in his arms, wholly and utterly satiated. It was as if part of yourself had been missing and was now found. You felt complete and fulfilled in a way that mere mortal words could not describe.Â
As you floated down from your peak, Rhett was barely holding it together. With trembling hands you held his face and kissed him, rocking in his lap, knowing that he, too, needed to reach his end.Â
âI love you,â you gasped as you moved, shivering from sensitivity as your puffy center brushed against the base of him.Â
He let out a high-pitched keen, deep in his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut. âS-say it again,â he sighed, Adamâs apple bobbing as he swallowed.Â
You picked up your pace, knowing he was almost there just by the pulse of him inside you. âI love you.â
This time, his head fell back, his mouth open to let out his broken moans. He was so close. It clouded his every sense, consuming his being. âAgain. Please. Say it again.â If he wasnât so wrapped up in the moment, he might have marveled at the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks.Â
With one hand still holding his face, and your other arm now wrapped around his shoulders, you cried out, âI love you, I love you, I love you!â
His own hands immediately came up to grip your hips and he let out the most beautiful sound youâd ever heard. A cross between a groan and a sob. He had to muffle it by hiding his face against your shoulder.Â
You felt it then. The warmth of his very essence spilling into the deepest part of you, claiming you, filling you to the brim. You took it all, slowing down until you finally rested still against him as he shuddered from the aftershocks.Â
You werenât sure how long the two of you stayed like that, bodies intertwined. After a while, you felt him begin to soften, and gravity took over as his spent cock slipped from the confines of your slick heat.Â
And oh, how empty you felt without him there to fill you. However, all at once, you were content. For the first time in a long time, you felt alive once again.Â
As the afterglow settled in, Rhett lifted his head and offered a sheepish smile. âWas that alright, honeybee?â The tips of his ears went pink.Â
You hugged him close. âIt was everything I needed,â you replied with honesty, punctuated with a loving kiss to his lips. âYouâre everything I needed.â
The look of pure adoration in his face made it all worth it.Â
You werenât sure who initiated it, but soon, youâd switched positions and settled against the mound of pillows and blankets, with your head resting against Rhettâs chest, right over the place where his bull and rider tattoo was.Â
His fingers traced patterns along your spine, as your own fingers trailed absently over the expanse of his chest. You knew that you should eventually move and get cleaned up before you fell asleep like this, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.Â
Rain pattered gently against the window. It seemed that the storm had begun to fade, leaving behind a quiet, sleepy earth in its wake.Â
âDidâya ever think weâd end up like this?â Rhett spoke into the comfortable silence of the room.Â
You hummed. âBefore I came back, I didnât.â
His fingers stilled against your back. âWhen did it change for you?â
âThe night of the rodeo,â came your reply.Â
âFor me, it was the first time I saw you after you came back. Brought all these feelinâs back that I tried to ignore. But then I held ya when you jumped outta the truck durinâ that twister. And then I, uh, saw you when you ran out the bathroom to grab a towel.â Mirth was in his tone as he said the last part.Â
You couldnât help but smile. âGod, I was so embarrassed about that,â you admitted.Â
âSâalright. Nothinâ to be embarrassed about.â He resumed the gentle patterns against your back with his fingers. âI sure am glad I got to see ya naked again, though.â
You lifted your head and slapped his chest lightly. âHey now,â you scolded, humorously so.Â
His mouth curved into a good-natured smile. When he leaned in to peck your lips again, you eagerly accepted the kiss.Â
But it was soon time for the conversation to turn serious. Rhettâs lashes fluttered, his eyes growing misty.Â
âI gotta askâŠwhat does this mean for us? Because I need yâto know, Iâm serious about you. We ainât two kids fresh outta high school anymore. If weâre doinâ this, I wanna do it right. I want to make this relationship work. But only if you want that, too.â
You let out a soft breath, absently tracing his chest tattoo. In your heart of hearts, you knew what you wanted. âI do want that. Iâm not about to walk away from you again, I promise you that much. But Iâve gotta figure out what Iâm doing with work. I donât want to go through a long distance thing.â
His brow furrowed slightly as he placed his warm hand over your own, giving it a squeeze. âI couldâŠI could move to Maryland with ya.â
You met his gaze. âYou? Leave Wabang?â
âWhat? I could do it.â
âYouâd hate the city, Rhett. Youâd hate living in my one-bedroom apartment. I know you love this place and itâs where youâre happiest. You donât need to sacrifice that on account of me.â
âDoesnât matter where Iâm livinâ, as long as Iâve got you.â
Your heart clenched at his words, and you nuzzled your nose against his. âIâll figure it out. But I want to make this work, more than anything.â
âSo do I.â Rhett was willing to go to the ends of the earth, if it meant he got to be with you. If he had to move to the city to do so, then so be it.Â
For now, he was content to share this moment with you, bodies entangled on his bedroom floor. It reminded him of days gone by. And if only for a moment, he could close his eyes and go back to that time. When you were young and in love. When his brother was still alive. When life felt safe and hopeful, as if nothing bad could ever happen.Â
But it did happen. The bull riding memorabilia that currently surrounded you both was a reminder of what heâd lost when he took a horn to the gut. The first bitter taste of reality heâd gotten as a young man. Little did he know that just a few years later, heâd lose three of the most important people in his life, and that injury would feel like a mere paper cut compared to the agony of grief.Â
How far both of you had come since then. Youâd conquered your fear of storm chasing. Heâd conquered his fear of bull riding. And it had brought you both together again.Â
The truth was, youâd needed to go on your own respective journeys of healing so you could return to each other as better versions of yourselves.Â
âI guess we should get cleaned up,â your sleepy voice pulled him from his thoughts.Â
He smiled, lips brushing against your forehead. âGuess we should. Iâm about tâ fall asleep on this floor, and I know Iâm gonna regret it in the morninâ when my back is fucked up.â
Reluctantly, you sat up, immediately missing his warmth as the cool air rushed over your skin. Rhett stood, his knees popping slightly as he did so, and he reached for your hand, pulling you up with him.Â
The evidence of your combined releases was slick against your inner thighs, and you were reminded of what youâd just done. The way heâd just made love to you. It sent a rush of warmth down your spine.Â
âIâm all wet,â you murmured shyly.Â
Rhett grunted softly. He could see the milky white glistening on your skin, and he had to avert his gaze, because he knew heâd wind up taking you all over again, and you were both much too tired to withstand another round.Â
âIâŠI can help clean ya up?â He offered with an earnest smile.Â
You decided to take him up on that, which led to you both sneaking across the hall and into the bathroom, where Rhett so lovingly wiped you clean. It reminded you of the past, where he had been so eager to learn how to care for you after sex. It had been a learning curve for both of you, being each otherâs firsts. It had been such a special experience, one that you cherished to this day.
âYâready for bed now, honeybee?â He asked, once you were clean and had brushed your teeth.Â
You nodded, and together, you tiptoed back across the hall, feeling much like your teenage selves, trying not to get caught by Cecilia whenever youâd sneak into Rhettâs room in the middle of the night.Â
When you were safely closed into the confines of his bedroom again, you both scrambled to pick up all the pillows and blankets so you could settle into bed.Â
âAinât much room in the bed. Guess weâll have to snuggle up real close,â Rhett said with a grin.Â
You stepped into his warmth, kissing his jaw. âIâm fine with that. Reminds me of all the times we used to squeeze into this thing together.â
Rhett was more than happy to have someone to cuddle up to again. His bed had been empty for far too long. And as he climbed beneath the covers that night, your body curled against his own, a sense of peace washed over him.Â
You nestled your head against his chest, and he felt a sense of protectiveness overcome him. He would watch over you while you slept. You were safe with him. You always would be.Â
When he fell asleep that night, his dreams were filled with flashes of your beautiful face, and he slept better than he had in years.
-
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Slap Shot || Prologue
a Jake Seresin AU
previous part | masterlist | next part
synopsis: the first night out in a long time, and it just so happens to be one of the biggest weekends in the Hockey season. A certain blonde hair cowboy makes his charm on you.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: mentions of grief, alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of "locker room talk", puck bunnies, mentions of cheating, PDA, making out, allusions of sex.
This wasnât like you.Â
You werenât the type who went out wearing one of the shortest and tightest black dresses you own, killer heels on your feet, your hair curled in big blown out-waves, makeup done and a bright bold red on your lips. You werenât the type to sit at the bar, twirling the straw around in your drink and flirting with guys whose names you didnât bother to ask for or learn. And you definitely werenât the type to actively look for and plan to go home with one of those guys.Â
But tonight was different.Â
Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of the world had been finally lifted off your shoulders. Grief was such a weird thing. You knew that long ago, but it had been a while since you were met with the process. The first time you went through the grieving process, it had come on so suddenly, you werenât sure how to handle it. This time, you had years to prepare for it. Once you hit that final phase of acceptance, you felt like you could breathe again. And you had a new outlook on your life and you were ready to take charge of it.Â
Or maybe it was because the bar was crawling with hockey players.Â
It was All-Star weekend, and the best of the best NHL players were in town to show off their skills. The bar you were currently sitting in was crawling with them. Some were trying to enjoy probably their first night off in weeks, others looking for a puck bunny (or two) to take back with them, and some fell in the middle.Â
You sighed as you looked down at your drink, swirling around the melting ice with your straw. The confidence you had felt earlier when you first put on this dress was starting to fade, and the insecurities started creeping in. You werenât entirely sure what you thought was going to happen when you strolled into this bar. You could count on one hand all the one-stands you have had in your entire life (the answer was one and that one ended up becoming a long term boyfriend). Also, you had a thing about not hooking up with hockey players. You had been surrounded by them your whole life. There was something about hearing the locker room talk the day after a win that made you want to stay as far away from hooking up with one as humanly possible. Even if a hockey player was the last man on the planet, you would weigh the pros and cons of reproduction or killing off the human race.Â
âHey,â You waved down the bartender, âCan I get my-âÂ
âJack and Coke, sweetheart,â A husky voice said, as a large, warm body saddled up next to you, âAnd whatever the lady is having,â He nodded his head towards you.Â
You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked up at the man next to you. You were met with the sight of perfect tan skin as if it had been kissed by the sun god himself, sandy blonde hair and the brightest smile you had ever seen. His green eyes peered down at you, a smirk on his lips.Â
âYou looked like you were going to leave,â He said, his voice with a slight southern twang to it, âAnd I couldnât let you leave without introducing myself.âÂ
You raised a brow in suspicion.
âJake,â He held his hand out to you. You looked at it skeptically, and then back up at him, his smile never wavering, âOh câmon sweetheart, I promise I donât got any diseases. Itâs just a hand shake, not a marriage proposal.âÂ
âSonny,â You said before you even had a chance to stop yourself. It was the nickname your father had given you, and the name he almost always introduced you as.Â
âSonny, huh? Short for Sunshine?âÂ
I wish, you thought, âYeah, I guess.âÂ
The bartender set down two drinks in front of you, the jack and coke for Jake, and another vodka soda for you. Jake lifted his drink, cheersing against yours before taking a sip. He leaned his back against his bar, canvasing the tightly packed area. Your eyes wandered over his body. He was clad in a burnt orange suit, with a lighter orange shirt underneath, a vast difference from the black and navy blue fitted suits filling the bar. It fit him in all the right places, the top buttons undone showing his collarbone and a gold chain around his neck. You watched as his throat bobbed as he took a sip of his drink, and thoughts of you running your tongue down the vein in his neck filled your mind, a warmth spreading in your lower belly.Â
âI can feel you staring,â Jake said, turning his head to meet your gaze.Â
Normally, youâd turn away and blush like a schoolgirl. You werenât inexperienced with guys by any means, but you didnât have the confidence. The fear of rejection was buried deep into you, that most of them you stayed away from guys like this. But blame it on the alcohol, you gave him a smirk, lifting the straw to your red painted lips.Â
âA girl canât admire what she likes?â You shrug, batting your eyelashes.Â
A flash of darkness moved through his eyes, before the playful grin arose on his cheeks, âYeah?â He leaned in closer to you. The scent of his cologne fills your nose, goosebumps arising on your skin from the warmth filtering off his body. Who knew that you could get turned on by a man smelling good? âWhat else does the girl like?âÂ
You bit your lip, leaning into him, so your chest was almost touching his. You didnât miss the quick shift of his eyes downward at your chest and then back to your eyes.Â
âTequila.â Â
The smirk never left his lips as he turned back towards the bar, ordering two shots of tequila with limes. You took another sip of your drink, setting it down on the bar as the bartender delivered the shots. Jake gently took your hand in his, his green eyes locked on yours as he licked a stripe on your skin, before sprinkling a line of salt. The move shouldnât have turned you on that much, but alas here you were, wondering what it would be like to feel his tongue on other places of your body.Â
As if he could tell what you were thinking, Jake shot you a wink before handing you one of the shot glasses. He held his glass up slightly, as he gave a small toast.Â
âTo bad decisions. Canât come in her, come on her.â Jakeâs eyes never left your as you both licked the lines of salt on the back of your hands. You watched as he clenched his jaw from the burn of the clear liquid down his throat. You set the shot glass down on the bar, now feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through your veins.Â
âMore?â You asked, a look in your eye that told Jake you werenât ready for the night to end yet.Â
âFuck it.âÂ
The two of you put down a couple of more shots, before Jake was dragging you back to a booth he and his friends had claimed on the other side of the bar. You werenât sure what it was about Jake, but you felt like you knew him. Maybe it was his easy going smile or how easily a conversation flowed between the two of you. Jake had sat you down next to him in one of the booths, but at some point in time, you had slid into his lap, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, like it belonged there. Your drinks had long been discarded and the ice melted.Â
âSo, what are you in town for?â Jake asked, his lips right next to your ear as he tried to speak over the loud sound of the bass.Â
âWork stuff,â You shrugged. You would rather not get into the details of what was going to be your most stressful weekend of the whole entire season, âWhat about you? You live here orâŠ?âÂ
âNah,â Jake chuckled, âBorn and raised, but donât live here. Also visiting for work.âÂ
Right on cue, one of Jakeâs friends set down another tray of shots, everyone around the booth grabbing one. Jake kept his arm around you as he reached to grab one. He raised it up, toasting with the rest of his friends, before turning to look at you.Â
Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him take the shot, holding the alcohol in his mouth. You didnât need to be told as his hand gripped your face, and brought your jaw towards him, opening your own mouth. You knew it was obscene as Jake spit the alcohol, which was again tequila into your mouth, but you didnât care. You had barely swallowed the liquid, when you crashed your lips to his.Â
Jakeâs grip on your hips tightened, and you felt the swelling of his cock against your ass. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting of the lime and tequila he had taken earlier. His warmth enveloped you, as you rubbed your thighs together trying to get some friction to relieve the aching heat between your legs. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling gently on the blonde locks, making a groan fall from his lips. Jakeâs lips trailed from yours, leaving a path of sloppy, wet kisses on your skin, sucking with just enough pressure to make a moan tumble from your lips.
âWhat do you say, sweetheart,â Jake whispered against your skin, the feeling making you shiver in his arms, âWant to get out of here?âÂ
You turned to face him. His green eyes were blown wide with lust, his hair tousled from you running your hands through it, his lips slightly swollen and pouty as he looked at you.Â
Throwing all caution to the wind, you placed another heated kiss on his lips before pulling away.Â
âThought youâd never ask.â
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A Blank Slate for Hunter
I love this outfit of Hunter's the most.
Hope you enjoy this lil' essay as a Halloween gift from me!
Hunter's silly elegant stable boy outfit is an outfit that allows him to be agile, not weighed down by layers of armour he had no choice in selecting to wear, and he can move freely.
No more cloaks (the precursor to no more gloves!). Keep in mind that in Labyrinth Runners he still had a cloak on, even if it wasn't the Golden Guard cloak.
And we know how dear freedom is to this boi's heart. He most likely picked this outfit himself, and by then he was no longer living rough post-Hollow Mind.
I guess this outfit always makes me think of the calm before the storm, in all its innocence. I mean, look at his corresponding model sheet:
The smirk. It's childlike. He's so silly. There's his excitement about something new that's beginning and which would bloom during the summertime he spends in the human realm.
And interestingly, there's some of the cheeky Golden Guard vibe left, yet it feels so new: which shows that it wasn't 100% persona. It's part of the real Hunter too!
When he runs with his friends, he looks happy:
He looks like he's experiencing safety and connection, belonging to found family already.
Not like when he's running scared:
His world is brightening:
It would eventually be snatched away on the night that Flapjack dies. But it wouldn't be lost to him forever, as love always returns even if in a different form.
Without this first season of beginning and growth, we wouldn't eventually have the pre-timeskip season of beginning and growth to let light back in again, in a new way.
There's the relief he feels after making it past Labyrinth Runners, having support from the kids at Hexside, and having a heart-to-heart talk with Gus, receiving and then giving back.
There was relative safety, in fact the most safety he's experienced at that point in his life after the horrors of Hollow Mind and Labyrinth Runners
and he was in the process of building up groundwork that would strengthen his resolve: the peak of which was voicing his desires in his Thanks to Them speech.
Sure, he gets triggered, but my god does he have help and support:
And he's cushioned by safe, trustworthy company. People who won't harm him.
His poor nerves could enjoy some respite for once! Well,
most of the time I think.
If you have heard of the body's sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, you can spot both in action, well-animated during his various responses to distress.
"Sympathetic" forces him to move quickly, "parasympathetic" forces him to slow down and get rest. Sometimes, one of these might go into overdrive and bringing in the other would restore a better balance between both systems.
You can even "hack" these to slow down your heart rate and reduce distress, one example being splashing your face with ice-cold water (this triggers the body's "dive reflex" which can slow down one's pulse and generate more calmness), using deep breathing techniques or meditation to deliberately activate the parasympathetic system.
Hunter's fight-or-flight moments mean his sympathetic nervous system has come online, letting him be ready to spring into action to reach safety.
As he collapsed into his own grave which he dug at Eclipse Lake, that's the parasympathetic nervous system that's a big signal for him to rest, no matter how short. Any moment where he freezes is also the same nervous system activating.
There also would've been the offscreen pre-timeskip period of being depressed about Flapjack's absence and lack of purpose - it makes me so sad that this would've made him feel as though ALL progress he made was completely erased. But this grief response from his whole body and mind would've also the result of the parasympathetic nervous system forcing him to collapse into needed rest (any supposedly "extreme" response of his is honestly a normal response to unspeakable long-term abuse). These are the closest hints we got, when he thinks no one's watching, but of course we as audience members were privy to part of what may've been going on:
We have canon material that shows Gus helping him adaptively switch to his parasympathetic system, with something meditative (the square breathing technique) which he can continue to use and even develop variations of with his future therapist's help:
What about the times where he can healthily switch to the sympathetic system - moving his body a lot to reap physical and mental health benefits - as is needed? A good guess is that resuming flyer derby:
would be a big help during the worst of his post-regime depression, as part of an elaborate treatment plan in therapy. The tricky part for Willow, Gus, Camila and his other loved ones would be getting him out of bed and the house to Hexside. Luz and co. could also drag him out of the basement into the living room to dance to music videos or something.
He would eventually feel its benefits and have more happy brain chemicals! The more he does stuff with a group that he's close to, the more bonus chemicals he gets too.
What I'm getting at with the neurology stuff is the significance of this:
Perhaps most notable of all though, is him able to rise above and practice uttering a resounding "No" to Belos. The belonging he has found with the Hexsquad empowered him to do this.
When you build up protective factors (the opposite of risk factors) such as a support system and techniques to manage distressing symptoms, you could regain some control over your responses to triggers.
When Hunter helped to save Gus, he could push back against being overwhelmed by a flooded sympathetic nervous system here:
I love that there are moments where he experiences unpleasant sensations (affection from friends being very foreign to him), but he is mostly able to believe that he won't be harmed:
Neither nervous system is overwhelmed. Flapjack being on his shoulder must be a great help in grounding him here.
I just love this smirk on his face as he's in sync with Flapjack, the most confidence he's had since Belos shattered his beliefs at the end of Hollow Mind.
He and Flapjack have become even closer. They've built a relationship and have shared some precious memories, with many more to come during the summer.
We lose Flapjack, but one day in the future, Hunter can look back on these memories without being frozen in the horrors of his worst memories. He can't let the new in without first letting his best friend go in that scary sense. But he had the strength to do it, to engrave "Thank you for finding me. - H." on what would be Flapjack's headstone with his own timing, to make room for an existence without Flapjack, and for one that would eventually have his new palisman Waffles in it.
During this short period of resting up before the Day of Unity fight scenes, he gets to overall take a break.
There's an incredibly good analogy by therapist Georgia Dow on Youtube (link to her channel here) for when he starts to be in great danger.
When we see his expressions being drawn by the animators as more and more hypervigilant, when we see that adrenaline floods his system more and more to help him power through:
When you're hypervigilant like this, especially if you already have had a history of trauma dating back years, it's like when a smartphone's video recording mode switches on outside of your control.
The camera lens is wide, collecting all the trauma-related data and details that it can of the image frames in the recorded video: to ensure survival. And it's all subconsciously carried out beyond one's control.
And unfortunately, the phone might replay the distressing video(s) beyond your control, against your will, whenever a future trigger comes along. Imagine the video files simply just playing on their own, and you aren't able to hit the pause button on your phone screen or even choose to look away from your phone screen. That's how trauma replays in the mind during a trigger.
We see this in motion when Hunter is emotionally flooded with white hot fear here:
But when he saves Gus, he is able to regulate a similar if not worse wave of flashbacks later on here with the help of Willow's and Gus's breathing technique.
I think the scenes where he has childlike mischief written on his face are sandwiched between other episodes where he's going through an insanely tough time. It gives us in the audience a break as well...before the mayhem.
Under extremely high stress and in deep anguish, his prefrontal cortex is probably functioning at 1000% - one of the hallmarks of C-PTSD - to help him stay level-headed, and have good reaction time, and to strategize and survive.
He walks through the portal after Flapjack's death
with the widened wild look in his eyes, the overactivity in the part of the brain called the amygdala is screaming out how much danger he is in. His fight response is activated.
The opposite of all that hypervigilance mentioned above is the dissociative state that would become part of his day-to-day, once an extremely difficult period of depression hits him post-regime.
But in Clouds on the Horizon, King's Tide and the start of Thanks to Them, he is able to spend quite a few moments just "being". He's able to grin quite a bit.
I just love that he's learning about and experiencing safety in relationships in these episodes:
He can chill a fair bit, given the benchmark of craziness that was part of his daily life for too long. He's grounded yet relaxed during much of this phase.
As brief as this phase was, it's endearing, there's a pure and particularly vibrant quality about it despite the actual outfit colour being bland ol' beige, and it's a really special part of Hunter's overall screentime.
It was a simpler time, before the far worse and far messier confusion which would be waiting for him post-regime e.g. missing the 'love' that his 'Uncle' had shown him...feeling like he did not deserve to be revived by Flapjack once the survivor's guilt related to the grimwalker graveyard hits...and the rage of Belos's betrayal reaching full force.
#toh hunter#hunter noceda#hunter deamonne#the owl house#toh analysis#loz writes a meta#stable boy chic#hunter's cptsd#toh spoilers
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after sleeping on the latest anniversary special i think iâm at peace with the whole bi-generation thing because it does something i donât think it wouldâve been able to do if it was executed in any other way. it allows the show to move the fuck on.
nuwho began with this mysterious sense that something bad happened. that this man, this alien, is filled with guilt and pain from something terrible. that theme of a horrible anguish being thinly veiled under a witty, dorky shield has been consistent throughout every incarnation of the doctor since. itâs a brilliant piece of characterisation but the doctor always being weighed down by this insurmountable grief i think was always going to hold the show back eventually. tragedy is inherent to doctor who but when does it become hard to believe that the main character is somehow able to continue on after everything theyâve gone through. what effect would this have on the audience, especially long-term fans? letting go of past companions and doctors is something that doctor who fans are notoriously bad at and i just wonder if it would become too much for the show to handle at one point. but now it wonât anymore.
bi-generation allows the doctor to heal from everything theyâve gone through whilst still being able to barrel into the next adventure. thereâs a million theories on where 14 will end up but i think what matters the most is that the doctor is finally happy. not in a temporary, tenuous state of thrill that will only last until the start of the next episode or when the next threat appears around the corner but truly happy. unlike in previous versions of this story where the doctor gets an impossible happy ending which we never get to see onscreen (e.g. tentoo settling down with rose) we are actually going to witness 15 be joyful and alive, no longer held down by whatâs come before. a fresh start almost. not to say that the time war or the flux were so horrific that the doctor never couldâve gotten over them but i donât think the doctor healing wouldâve been believable without him literally splitting in two, allowing him time to breathe and slow down as 14 whilst untethering him from the past and allowing him to fully spread his wings as 15. itâs not a perfect conclusion to this era (and discussions on whether bi-generation undermined ncutiâs entrance and role as THE doctor are completely valid) but iâm ultimately glad it happened
#spreading positivity in the doctor who fandom GASP what a concept!#hope i donât swing into hating this plot point immediately after posting this but this is where i am rn#hope some of this made sense lol#im just so excited for ncuti!!#doctor who#dw#doctor who specials#doctor who 60th anniversary#the giggle#14th doctor#15th doctor#david tennant#ncuti gatwa#bi generation#my bi-generation thoughts#bi-generation#bi regeneration#bigeneration
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Why âIâm Billy Maximoffâ Mattered to Me â A Queer Disabled Personâs Journal
10/17/24
***
Call it silly if you like. But I feel actually healed. Because these stories, theyâre not just âsuperheroesââtheyâre modern mythology. Theyâre how we teach each other and our children who deserves a place in the world.
When I watched WandaVision, like a lot of people, I identified with Wandaâs grief/depression/trauma journeys. And of course saw myself in the queer kids she gave a loving home, more so the more Young Avengers books I read. But with the WandaVision versions of Billy and Tommy in particularâmore so even than the comic booksâI also read into it the disability/childhood terminal illness allegory. Itâs something on Schaefferâs mind while writing themâleaked audition tapes from actors not cast as the boys revealed as muchâeven if it didnât occur to all the viewers.
But I wasnât supposed to live, either. Wasnât even supposed to be born.
I donât talk about it a lot because itâs hard to talk about. But when my mom was pregnant with me, doctors in Tennessee (pro-life peons they claim to be; itâs all an act) tried to get my parents to late term abort me, all because of a genetic condition they suspected I hadâwhich I donât even have lol, turns out I had a different handful of impairments, but anyways. A lot of people with the genetic conditions I DO have die within two hours of being born. My whole childhood was spent ducking in and out of hospitals, I had eleven major surgeries and almost died a dozen or so times before I turned twenty⊠I am so pro-choice itâs insane, but I was one of the âinspiration pornâ kids that white, southern Republicans used in their crusades, screaming their âpro-lifeâ BS at the Democrats who gave MY mom the right to choose my life.
I know. Itâs WILD.
All that to say, though: It hit me in a particular place when Wanda married her trans husband, had queer kids who the entire world screamed at her (either werenât real or) shouldnât have been allowed to live, and then believed in them and loved them. With her everything. Thanked her queer, disabled kids for the honor, for choosing her to be their mom. (And Multiverse of Madness asked us to hate her. It baffles me to this day.) She didn't give up on them, did everything in her power to rescue them on the faintest hope they had survived (calling out for help in the Darkhold), even as some of the most powerful mages on SEVERAL worlds gaslit her for years... And when the gaslighters finally convinced her they were right, she destroyed the artifact that could be used to hurt anyone like her boys ever again.
For years, since Schaeffer had to relinquish creative control to the Multiverse of Madness team, I have felt that âthe only creator amongst my favorite stories who feels like I belong has had to let us go, and the people who follow her donât even believe we deserve a chance⊠weâre crazy, imaginary, and the world is better off without us.â
A slam-the-door narrative, Doctor Pandemonium & Avengers: Disassembled come again, the likes of which Byrne & Bendis would be proud.
But Agatha is an anti-hero/anti-villain story about ALL misunderstood, outcast people who deserve a second chance, no matter what the world may think.
The fact that Billyâs story in the MCU is now a meta-commentary on that publication history narrative⊠That Schaeffer took the episode to say, âI donât know how many times or in how many different ways Iâm gonna have to spell this out for yâall, but Wandaâs kids are HERS. They are and were REAL. They have their OWN SOULS and they BOTH DESERVE to FIND THEMSELVES and FIND LOVE and LIVE.â
I canât think of a better way to have honored us. đ
âItâs nice to see you again, Billyâ đ
(for the record, Agatha saying this totally genuine and with tears in her eyesâshe will never be a villain to me, not ever again đđ€)
Thank yâall for listening. â€ïž
This oneâs for Tommy đ„čđ
#healing#lgbtqia#billy maximoff#wandavision#billy kaplan#avengers#young avengers#mcu#mcu meta#marvel pride#marvel meta#jac schaeffer#Michael Waldron#brian michael bendis#john Byrne#scarlet witch#master pandemonium#doctor strange 2#multiverse of madness#teen agatha all along#aaa spoilers#agatha all along spoilers#Agatha all along#tommy maximoff#tommy shepherd#Fionaâs Art Journal#representation matters#marvel mcu#disability rights#disability representation
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something about the diaz home as a symbol of everything sacred to eddie.
something about the diaz home representing eddie's privacy and his life and by extension, christopher's, and that it's a constant, recurring motif of a life that he's built with his son. and it's always interesting to see that his home is always warm (in terms of lighting, color combos, etc etc) and welcoming, which feels so vastly different to the other two homes we've seen for him in eddie begins
something about the way he has to physically open the door to let people in to his life, and how many shots of that we've had of just him opening the damned door since. something about the way he physically lets shannon in in 2x07, or the way he braces himself with chris' encouragement before opening the door to ana in 4x08, or the way he happily lets carla in in 4x13 or the way he softens and smiles when he opens the door to buck in 6x12. it's in the way the only people we've really seen in eddie's home as "not guests" are the ones that he chooses to let in.
in that same vein, we can always tell when there's someone in there that doesn't quite belong. 5x11 is a prime example of this, and not just because of the episode title, "outside looking in." it's evidently obvious that the only reason taylor's in his house is for buck's sake, and maybe that's why we never see eddie actually letting them in. 5x03 is similar to that, in the sense that ana stays for three days with chris at the diaz home, but when eddie comes back, it's a metaphorical and physical mess that he's left standing in the middle of, alone.
and it's very, very interesting that we've never seen his parents in his house. ever. and yes, it could just be the fact that they rarely come to los angeles period, but i just think it's interesting in terms of eddie's journey with them, that the closest we've gotten to them physically being there is that facetime call with his dad, and that phone call with his mom - both of which happen after he goes back to texas in 5x17 where he point-blank tells his dad he's trying to be better for himself, and his dad meets him halfway. it only happens after his relationship with his dad starts improving.
i just constantly think of the diaz home front door, and now that i've thought of it, there's so many other moments that scream at me:
buck unlocking eddie's door in 4x14 and swinging it open to the party, and then later standing in the open doorway almost like he's protecting eddie and the life he's built in this one way because he couldn't protect him in the other way
buck unlocking eddie's door with his own key in 5x13, then bursting through yet another door to get to eddie, just to step in and sit with him in his grief - and how much that scene symbolizes that eddie may have built this life but it was after burying demons that later just crawled up through the cracks of his new home.
buck standing inside the diaz home after eddie gets home from therapy in 5x14 like this is a regular occurrence.
the way eddie's discomfort is visible in that split second scene we get of the police officers storming his home in 2x15
eddie asking shannon to leave through the back door because he may have let her into his life but he's not ready to let her into chris' and thus, he doesn't truly let her into his life - and actually, even the shot of eddie, chris and shannon at the end of that episode takes place outside the diaz home. which is...telling methinks.
eddie opening his door post-date in 4x07 to buck meeting him at it (always meeting him halfway), and just. the domesticity of it, set off by the warm lights, the discussion they have, and the looks on their faces the whole like
eddie opening his door to buck in 6x12, looking apprehensive for a second before he realizes who it is and his smile grows and eyes turn into heart-eyes and buck just pushes past him without waiting for eddie to step aside, only to go and swing his feet up on the coffee table like the diaz home is his, too.
there's so many examples but @sevensoulmates and i put this whole meta together because the symbolism in this tv show is off the charts
#zee rambles#meta#911 abc#911 on abc#eddie diaz#is some of this a reach? probably#do i care? no#because fr it's so bold of a motif to use the diaz home as a symbol for eddie and it's not just house is a home#it's also my home is my heart and you are my home and here's my heart#idk#it's a lot of things at once#there's a complete separate meta about the buddie implications of this all#and from a visual standpoint there's something about the fact that eddie clearly prefers lamp and warm lighting (as he should)#we rarely see overhead lighting used and that's just...that#long post#i should be writing my midterm rn but alas
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So after watching Agatha all along and just rewatching. Can we just talk about how much Rio LOVEDDD Agatha.
Like not even taking into account that she gave Nicky 6 years to live when he shouldnât have even lived?? Or when he said âmy mother needs meâ not mama which he called Agatha. Or the fact that she basically just took the chance to destroy the imbalance of the universe just for her wife, my love, her mâlady what ever you want to call them. Ex wives, ex-toxic lover (which is a whole different story) her savior ?!? If you read ff itâs a conclusion. To let her keep their son for as long as she could allow before taking him. The fact that she let Nicky say goodbye we all know HE KNEW it was his time and he was ready because he just knew his mother would take care of him.
Fast forward to the cat and mouse game they played, the hiding behind the darkhold, to the being stuck in the hex. In the first episode of Rio and Agatha meeting. You can just clearly see the way Rio is 1. Playing the role she has to for âAgnesâ and 2. The way she responded to everything Agnes said. They way she clenched her jaw, her hands, her stuttered blinks. She knows this isnât her Agatha but she loves her enough to play into it when even tho itâll hurt her in the long run. She stayed off topics she KNEW werenât approachable to save her love the confusion.
And when she got on the road. She tried to keep Agatha from another heartbreak. Agatha not letting her get close to rio and not wanting to leave behind that grief or even talking about it as a family. To her playing it off to the cons that Agatha pulled so Rio would have her bodies.
Rio saying she had the emotional scar because she had to take Nicky from them and sheâs hurt the only person she ever allowed herself to love. Agatha.
She talked back to Evanora Harkness not just cause she hates ghost but just because itâs her wifes mother who hated her child.. Someone who treated her poorly. Rio wouldnât stand for it. Their has to be history behind that.
To the betrayal of Agatha hiding Billy because to Agatha it was another Nicky situation even if she knew who he was. To Rio being betrayed because Agatha was purposely hiding him like she tried to do Nicky with all the witches Agatha killed back then. The fact that Agatha didnât trust her. Or the fact that Rio knew that once again it was her purpose as death to do what she had to do and Agatha wouldnât understand. No matter how many times she could say it.
The fact that when it all came around when Rio was screaming âwhy donât you want meâ because no matter what she did for Agatha. Agatha was driven by grief for their child. Their Nicky. It was way ultimately (I think) Agatha finally realized in that moment when teen said âis this what you did to Nickyâ and she reached up for her necklace to to finally come to terms to realize it wasnât Rio that took him on purpose. It wasnât rios choice, it was just his time. His death. And who is death? Rio, his mother. Someone who also losses someone
Which led us to the kiss of death. Literally. But the fact that Rio loved Agatha so much and when she realized what it was she still gave all her love that she had for Agatha into that kiss. She wouldnât let her wife go without letting her know how much she loved her and probably how much sheâll always love her. Heart fucking breaking.
#agatha harkness#rio vidal#agathrio#agatha all along#marvel#the fucking trial I went through on my own with this show.#holy shit
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Iâve been thinking about all our conversations about the shift in tone between Lover and Folklore in terms of feeling like there was some forward momentum in Joe and Taylorâs relationship that stalled out, and I keep thinking about the Lakes in relation to this and in relation to her Miss Americana comments about her career and feeling like Lover was her last shot in some ways.
Like was The Lakes the future she and Joe kind of thought they would have. Like after Lover, she would leave behind her legacy and go off to the lakes and lead a quiet, private life with Joe? Did Taylor at some point realize that was a fantasy but not ultimately what she wanted her whole life to be? I donât have a fully formed thought on this, but I do find it so interesting especially with the lakes being the last bonus track, technically going after hoax. I donât completely know what Iâm trying to say but would love your thoughts
Ooooooooh this is such a good question!!! I donât know why, but The Lakes is one of those songs I rarely think too deeply about as a whole, not because itâs not incredible, but that it just feels so otherworldly to me. Individual lines absolutely stay with me, but the song itself like, exists on a different plane to me. Does that makes sense at all? đ
I think I tend to think that The Lakes was more a reflection of the uncertainty of the early days of the pandemic, but of course now we have a better idea of just how fraught that time was, even outside of what was happening in the world and what was happening to them both professionally. (Or, I suppose, they were all happening in tandem.) It's so interesting to think of it in relation to the discussion about the stalled relationship that we can surmise was happening around then, too.
If I had to guess, through that lens, is that The Lakes is more a reaction to the storm around them at the time. I was always fascinated by, "I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you." It's the implication that neither of them are fit for the world in which they live. There's such a deep sadness in the song, like with much of her work, grief is again at the forefront thematically, and she desperately trying to find respite from it. It feels like there are still external forces acting against them-- the cynical clones, the hunters with cell phones, the name-dropping sleaze, etc.-- and the pain is compounding on itself freezing her in place. So in thinking about it this way, it almost feels to me like she's telling herself, if we can just get out of here, escape to an idyllic land (which may not truly exist) where none of these forces can touch us, then maybe this hurt will dissipate and finally mean something.
It's interesting to me that it also kind of feels like the flip side of I Hate It Here, or rather, like the prologue to it. She wants to go to this mythical land where she and her muse are untouched by the pressures of the real world in which they live, but it's not really clear (imo) if she actually believes in this place, or if it's the earliest secret garden she goes to in her mind to deal with the cracks forming in her real life.
Another thing that strikes me that even in this fantasy land in which they escape together, all she wants to do is cry. It speaks to someone holding onto so much unexpressed hurt who's begging to let it all go, but also that she might not be the only one who wants to do so.
So I guess if I have to come to a conclusion, it's less that she necessarily feels like she wants to escape to a quiet life alone with her beloved, but more like she feels like she has no other choice, because she wants to go to a place where she can feel her pain without being exploited for it. As in, it's not like this is her romantic ideal, but more that the place she is in is so hurtful to her that she wants to run to the antithesis of it to quiet herself, but she doesn't want to do it alone. It's kinda like the pendulum swinging, if you think about it: going from being hunted in the fishbowl to setting off alone with her beloved in the desolation of nature.
(I also think a lot of the song came from the Scott/Scooter/masters situation and speaks to how much that broke her, along with general industry/career fears about her place in it, and dealing with the fallout still of 2016. Along with other stuff I'm sure including her relationship.)
Does any of that make sense?
#Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn't pour the whiskey#soberqueerinthewild#the lakes#folklore my beloved â€ïž#writing letters addressed to the fire
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More (general) thoughts after watching Jurassic World Chaos Theory:
I love that trauma is one of the main themes of it. Those kids have been through a lot and instead of it getting swept under the rug, we see Kenji having a panic attack, Yaz going to therapy (and finding a way to help other people like her deal with dinosaur-related trauma), Sammy sort of ignoring what happened and trying to carry on as usual, Darius becoming reclusive up to the point where Kenji talks more to his mom than he does and Ben going down the conspiracy theory hole. They all responded differently to what happened and we see the aftermath of that - which includes all of them growing apart as they try come to terms with what happened to them - and it was so well done
one thing that irked me about Ben and Darius road trip was how Darius got annoyed at Ben for not keeping quiet while he was trying to sleep. For all we know Ben has been driving for hours, maybe even days at that point - first to Darius's place, then to Sammy's - so I think he can be excused for giving off so much nervous energy. Also Darius, maybe offer to drive next time instead of getting annoyed at your friend who just saved your life
speaking if these two - I know many people ship them and while I personally am a Ben/Kenji shipper, I can't be the only one who thought the whole Darius/Kenji/Brooklynn triangle is the perfect set up for Darius and Kenji realising they can be happy together without Brooklynn, right?
on that not, let me talk about Benji real quick. Those two didn't have many scenes together but boy am I here for them co-parenting Bumpy's egg and Kenji comforting Ben and helping him after he got hurt
Yaz casually bringing up Ben's pterosaur-related trauma was interesting. It implies they've reached a point where they can all joke about it but I'm not so sure that's the case. Ben's trauma has always been played down a little and I wonder if he might not just be very good at hiding it from his friends. Also, after getting traumatised by air (flying/falling), he can now add trauma by water (drowning) to the growing list. So what's next? Earth (getting buried alive)?
I'm still not a fan of the Jurassic World Allosaurus design. Big Al my beloved I miss you and your beautiful looks.
Also speaking of things I'm not a fan of in the franchise: where the hell are all these dinosaurs coming from? There are whole herds roaming across the US, hundreds of dinosaurs being sold world-wide, creepy people training raptors to perfection, species that weren't on InGen or Masrani's lists cropping up left and right - and I'm supposed to believe all that happened in a few years? This is not JWCT's fault (mainly Dominion's) but omg I hate how it just makes no sense. Especially considering how relatively easy it should have been to neutralise the large dinosaurs after they escaped Lockwood Manor. It's the small ones like the Compsognathus that are the true problem in this scenario. But no, somehow dinosaurs have overrun the US and we can't get them under control. Sure.
Brooklynn faking her death is going to cause so much pain when the truth comes out and given how great the show has handled trauma, grief and betrayal so far, I'm so here for it
speaking of faking deaths - there's a possibility Kenji's dad is not dead, right? That this was staged as well? Because if he turns out to be alive too, then Kenji's in for a very rough ride
Creepy raptor lady is a very cool villain. I love how ruthless and emotionless she seems the whole time until we get a crack in the facade when her Atrociraptors get hurt. Makes her way more interesting than if she'd just been, for lack of a better word, a robot
My Ben-specific post about the first season is here.
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yeah i'm gonna need a full breakdown of the deleted rhaenyra and jace scene
LET'S GO THEN
there are SO many things i want to say about it. it's literally been my white whale since it was announced as a cut scene. i was hopping one of the scenes op talked about with jace was that i'm sooo happy it was. my main reasons were that 1) it's a jace/rhaenyra scene and those are always juicy and 2) jacegon reasons. i'll be using text from the original post here btw.
under the cut for more jace, rhaenyra, jace AND rhaenyra and some jace and aegon <3
"Daemon fights like an unrelenting tempest with little regard for his well-being [...] Daemon hungers for war, and he'll have it one way or another"
I love that the scene begins with daemon fighting other knights and in a sort of frenzy. he's obviously expressing his grief over viserys and visenya both, and how angry he is about the situation. i think it's such a great contrast with how rhaenyra and jace are presented in comparison. jace finds rhaenyra in "deep contemplation" as she watches over daemon. it's such a great element in their dynamic because as much as rhaenyra doesn't want war, she's as angry and as grief-stricken as daemon, but cannot express herself in the same way for fear of losing her image in front of the other lords. daemon has always been her outspoken twin, he's her sword and shield and like a dragon he's expressing what she cannot. it really is so good how they represent one half of a whole. delicious.
then jace comes to her and says
"Daemon wants to fight for us."
SO interesting that earlier in the episode we have jace and daemon in explicit opposition. daemon wants to act, jace is heeding rhaenyra's orders of not doing anything except by her command. daemon obviously doesn't respect him because he's a man who respects actions and jace is still a boy without experience neither political or in a war. i'm in the camp that while jace also doesn't respect daemon nor wants or likes him as a stepfather/father figure, he accepts him as part of the family and implicitly feels safe in his presence. he is his siblings' father, the man who raised (loosely! daemon is still daemon <3) joffrey when harwin and laenor died. he's known him for six years and seen him every day.
this scene is also after daemon threatens the KG in front of jace with caraxes so i think a minimum of respect for daemon's war knowledge made jace trust the he would do anything for rhaenyra and her children. /he wants to fight for us/.
"I wonder. Will you?"
"will you?" SO delicious because while jace will heed her commands to stop daemon from plotting, he does NOT agree with her approach! very very interesting. makes sense when he says "send us" when all rhaenyra wants is to keep her children safe. obviously direct parallel to ep 2:
"I will always fight for my family... but this is not as simple as one of the other"
rhaenyra is understandably reticent to enter war full on. her first experience with it has her losing a baby. and added to this is that just /the day before/ she's spent and more or less amenable afternoon with both family. it's not easy when it's not what viserys would want and what could possibly be his last wish.
it's also about alicent of course. it's not easy to give the order to kill or imprison the woman you considered your best friend and who probably is one of the few people with whom rhaenyra had a deep relationship in her life.
"It could not be simpler. If you accept Aegon's terms, you will forfeit my life. And Luke's and Joff's."
another crash between them! as much as they are a lot alike, they butts head more often than not, esp when jace doesn't agree how rhaenyra is handling an issue like harwin's funeral and now the war. but in all this, he still supports and respects her because he very pointedly questions her in private, both in driftmark and in here. when he was younger, he could've confronted her in public out in the yard, but to me jace learned very early or assumed to himself that he could be (and is!) her mother's most steadfast ally as her heir and young prince and that meant playing the politics game, and in this case to question her in private rather than in public where he could undermine her.
it also comes from the very public humiliation the kids, and jace as the eldest and most cognizant of the situation, have faced by their peers. he knows the power of rumors and whispering, what it does first hand and would not and does not want rhaenyra to face them too, or at least not from something he could've avoided. in this scene he is acting like one of her loyal lords, advising her to take one way or the other. acting like the prince he is.
it is also very interesting that he mention's "aegon's terms" when it's very obvious the terms came from alicent, maybe he doesn't know the full extend of the conversation on the bridge. in any case, it's clear aegon's on his mind. in early 2023 all we knew of the scene was that jace said "we shouldn't trust the usurper". jace wants to know what is to be done about him because he knows how aegon is, how long aegon holds grudges and his negative attitude (indifferent more like) to renew their old bonds (ouch!). esp after last night's dinner where aegon couldn't wait to bother him and join aemond in the antagonism to jace's immense dislike.
he thinks that if aegon had the chance he would kill them because they represent a risk to him claim. i personally don't think aegon would, but it's a real risk that jace is aware and that rhaenyra doesn't seen to grasp.
"Rhaenyra looks at him quizzically." "If you do not claim the throne, we will be taken hostage, or sent to the wall, or put to the sword. I do not know which fate will await us, but I do know they will call us "bastards" first."
the first line kills me because out of context it makes rhaenyra look naive but i think it does make sense for the rhaenyra we see in the bridge. what i said earlier, she's still reeling from the alicent from the diner /the night before/. the alicent that proclaimed her a good queen and begged her to stay with her. it's difficult! but i think it shows very well how complicated her feelings are in this.
this is also the point were jace and rhaenyra start having two different conversations: rhaenyra is still absent, "deep in contemplation", while jace is pushing and pushing. he wants answers, he wants to act! he doesn't care about alicent the queen who always sneered at him and called for luke's eye, he wants to ask about the boy from his childhood (girl, the parallels) who betrayed him so many times. and he's right! i think he's trying to soften the blow, this is the second time he's said he and his velaryon brothers will forfeit their life if they lose, if rhaenyra fails to act. this talk is also driven by self preservation and it's why he's siding with daemon this time. it kills me that rhaenyra has comforted luke all ep 10 but because jace is presenting himself as an equal in this conversation, not as her son, he doesn't get any kind of comfort. he's clearly thinking of death. and he's sixteen. and his mother doesn't know how to comfort him.
in this case, it's jace wanting rhaenyra to see him beyond of what he presents. beyond the perfect prince who's pushed through earth-shattering revelations about his identity. he wants her to see him and answer for once.
"but I do know they will call us "bastards" first". this jace knows with certainty. they might kill him or they might sent him to the wall, but they will call him a bastard as they do it. this is one of jace's touchiest points and weaknesses. every time he's called that he's flipped, due to under processed anger issues (hii harwin) and the repression he's going through to Just Not Think About It. i think it took a lot from jace to say this to rhaenyra's face. the first time it's when he confronts rhaenyra after harwin leaves and you see it's something he has thought about for some time
and later when they are in driftmark where the passions are high
note that he doesn't yell the word. he whispers it to her. he knows the power of it and how angry rhaenyra would become, it's a key word there. and one here too. in the cut scene he's trying to get... let's say a rise out of rhaenyra. to make her understand what will mean for them to get captured. to me it's so visceral because i don't think jace had ever consciously said or thought himself in such after driftmark and after aegon's betrayal. and i don't think that is how he framed it for luke when he told him about their parentage either. even in the audition for child luke, jace's lines frame the issue differently: "I think he thinks we don't belong here [...] we don't look like Targaryens. You must have noticed".
"Alicent gave her word that you would be treated kindly."
they are NOT having the same conversation!
"The word of an usurper means little and less."
either aegon or alicent, jace doesn't trust their word. the king and queen are one power in paper, but i bet jace is thinking about this too
his words means little and less to jace, he who was a victim and at the same time someone who enabled most of aegon's bullying behaviors. he knows him best. but jace also knows that aegon wouldn't bother with lies either. he was trying to unite the family during dinner, but time has shown him he shouldn't have bothered to carve himself to be someone aegon liked anymore. from the same audition video jace says: "so let us be good sons and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack". aegon will never forget! and even if jace or aegon want to break from this, they must play their part because they are too far along.
"In the yard below, Daemon can be heard SHOUTING for a fallen knight to get up and to come at him again. He prowls the fighting ground like a tiger protecting his den. He calls them out, taunting them -- a cruel avenger."
once again daemon as the externalization of their anger! "like a tiger protecting his den"!
"Jace and Rhaenyra reach stalemate; the conversation ends in silence."
my favorite part! this conversation could've never reached anywhere with these too. the issue is too thorny and they are too alike to want to see the other completely. jace is too angry and rhaenyra is too detached.
all in all, i wish they had kept the scene. it furthers rhaenyra and jace's relationship and gives a little bit more of characterization to jace and his relationship with aegon. loved seeing jace oppose rhaenyra and at the same time support her and take the lead when it's needed.
thanks for asking!
gifs mine, screencaps mine. script from the link above.
#ask#Anonymous#daemon targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#daemon x rhaenyra#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x rhaenyra#aegon x jacaerys#WOOFFFF this took hours#i love you jace :) i love you rhaenyra :) i love you jacegon :)#aegon ii targaryen
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fundamentally disinterested in the recurring discourse about kevin's drinking that aims to a) make it his Specific Problem To Focus On And Overcome when it is a crutch and coping mechanism to get him through a Much Bigger Problem (emotional fallout he can't square with by himself, culture shock, trauma, loss of his extremely wildly co-dependent relationship w riko, losing the structure of the nest, mourning a future he was meant to have, processing a grave injustice, anger and fear and desperate grief, all of which is his Actual Specific Fox Problem) while he builds himself back up, and b) thinks that even if it is a problem (more on that later), it's the foxes' problem to deal with.
like. it's just not.
yeah, he doesn't drink until he meets them. they gave him that habit, and in traditional terms, they're (the monsters specifically) a 'bad influence'. but these are the foxes. this is kevin day, son of exy, whose meteor is crashing spectacularly through no fault of his own. there are no traditional terms to be found here. the framework for it literally doesn't exist. neil comes into the foxes with more conventional expectationsâappalled at the athletes' substance use, his horror at matt's trip to columbia, his steadfast and early repeated stance that none of the foxes should let andrew treat them the way he does, and certainly not nickyâand tends to engage with them less as the series goes on and he folds himself into the foxes. the thing about the foxes is that they've all been in pits deeper than they are tall. and some of them got a helping hand on the wayâerik, andrew's extreme intervention methods, stephanie walkerâand wymack was always waiting for them on the other side, ready to throw down a rope, but all the foxes dragged themselves out of their own holes. often not alone, often not without assistance, but at the end of the day, they have to do it.
there's that line neil has about aaron in that scene that got deleted when the timeline shifted around, when he thinks about how aaron got this far in life on his own, surviving on willpower and sheer desperation. that applies to aaron in a way that's a little more acute than some of the rest of themâboy who doesn't let the foxes in bc of andrew, boy who doesn't let nicky in bc he doesn't know how, boy made of flinching and seeking an escape and grieving the one who hurt himâbut is broadly true for the foxes en masse.
this isn't to say the foxes can't help each other, but it's not their job. it just isn't. they'll keep kevin alive, keep him safe, keep him flanked and contained within their ranks. they'll fight tooth and nail in this battle with him, fight to get him to that championship game, fight to get that trophy in his hands. but that's all they've agreed to. that's all they're responsible for, in this covenant they've made with him. he says they can make this happen, and they're going to get him to that final game, but it's up to him what state he's in when he gets there.
like. they're foxes. they've been triaging their whole lives. they hate each other and they hate everyone else more. they're the kids with their backs up against the wall. half of them are addicts. i don't think kevin is comparable, personally; he's getting through a horrific situation with a coping mechanism. that's not the same thing as battling yourself to stop using. but that's not really the point of this. what i'm getting at here is that to the foxes, it's easy math: kevin who can lean on vodka and andrew and wymack and the foxes to stay upright when he's not ready to stand on his own two feet is still a kevin who is standing. a kevin with one less piece of scaffolding to lean on is a kevin who falls over, a kevin at risk of complete collapse, a kevin one phone call away from running back to the master, a kevin one crucial loss away from not ever making it back to himself at all. they're triaging. this is low on the totem pole of things they have the room to care about. they very much have bigger problems, both individually and even just kevin-related. if alcohol makes seeing the boy he knew best in the world and moved in tandem with his whole life and who destroyed their entire legacy and his entire life in one move â if alcohol makes facing that boy easier to stomach, then, fuck, why would they take that away? they're foxes. they've all got their demons. this is what kevin needs this year and a half to let him face his, that's all. they can understand that. it doesn't have to be pretty, as long as it keeps him in the fight. that's the priority.
i think there's absolutely space to explore this in fic and art and fandom in a way that maybe does explore it as a Problem, both that it's an active problem for kevin & that it's something to explore other foxes helping him with (there's a t&n fic that i've been gnawing at the bit to read for months that seems poised to explore this premise, and that's super up my alley)! i just think we're in different territory when we're talking about the seriesâand its characters and dynamicsâin a conversational rather than transformational way, and end up talking about this like the foxes are responsible for kevin's choices. i love kevin day. i read these back at the start of 2015 & he's so dear to me that loving him was the blueprint for how i feel abt kageyama. but it's been pretty weird to see how the conversation has been translating Loving Kevin Day into... thinking the foxes are doing wrong by him with respect to this in actual canon. like that's just not how it operates there
#kevin day#aftg#aftg is a sports anime story that's mostly about survival. it's no surprise they're all aiming to Get Through This Yearâ first and foremost#personally i don't think kevin is an alcoholic. that's a specific term that means something that i don't think means kevin.#i understand why people apply it to him with the way it's used colloquially a lot but like. that doesn't make it true#but i'm also not particularly interested in hashing that out and litigating it#i've seen people with more specific and relevant Personal experience than me try that and it fell on deaf ears#so i don't particularly care to waste my breath there. that's not the main point of this anyway#i am saying that i don't think kevin's drinking is the Capital P Problem but mostly i'm saying even if it is. that's not the foxes' issue#like in the most basic truth sense. it just isn't. you can wish they did or think friends should or whatever but like.#you have to remember who they are. they're not the trojans. they're not the gangsey. they're foxes.#they wanted to mutiny against kevin within twelve hours of him opening his mouth but they still voted to keep him. ykwim.#they're not here to hold his hand but they will keep him intact.#like. they're gonna get him to the championship game. he promises them that and they promise in turn to show up and get there.#but they're only in charge of making it there. it's entirely up to him what state he's in when he gets there.#this isn't to say that they wouldn't care; it's that the foxes have been triaging their entire fucking lives.#kevin with alcohol in his hand is a kevin who can stand up on the court and face riko instead of giving up. it's a shield.#absolutely there's an argument that it's not healthy but like. Cs get degrees. if this gets him throughâ then it gets him through.#alcohol tw#alcoholism ment //#substance abuse ment //
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â đŹđ°đđ§ đŹđšđ§đ .
main masterlist
pairing(s) â JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc â 14k synopsis â what's a reunion without some groveling?
note â this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au â tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!
specific content warnings listed below the cut.
cw â cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, readerâs wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger???Â
Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time.Â
Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far youâve come until it pinches you.
Youâve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as youâre a different person than you were three years ago.Â
Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldnât believe itâd one day feel too small. You canât fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.
But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too.Â
Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting.Â
The drive between your new life and your old one hadnât been too bad, but thatâs probably because you didnât do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand.Â
âThis is so weird,â JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.
As you survey the crowd, you nod.Â
He didnât need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. Youâre well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you donât think youâre all that different, but everything still feels foreign.
All the right pieces are there, and youâre sure youâve put them in their proper places, but the image wonât behave.
You quickly realize the only thing thatâs misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket.Â
âLook what the cat dragged in, boys!â
A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.
Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.
âCompher and the missus,â the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JTâs a quick pat but merely cups yours.Â
His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would.Â
âI was starting to think weâd have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.â
JTâs affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.
âA night, Landy. Weâve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,â your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabeâs flushed cheek, returning the favor.Â
The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. âLook at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet itâs as well-trained as your firstborn.â
Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabeâs strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.
Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit.Â
Free booze and a free showâlucky them!
Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you wouldâve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.
Tysonâs loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.
You would like to say nothingâs changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That youâre just as close as youâd been in college, that distance hadnât done as much damage as it has.
You'd be lying if you did.Â
You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didnât end up mattering much.
JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and youâve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tysonâs sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriendâs head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.
Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JTâs respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.
After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. Heâs yet to see it, still.
Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.
A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tysonâs insistence on you finally hooking up and âputting everyone out of their misery,â his smile didnât meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasnât a one-night thing.
Maybe his âlittle crushâ hadnât been so little after all.Â
If thatâs the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.
Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You werenât sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.
Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.
âYikes,â Gabe drawls. âTrouble in paradise?â
You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. Thisâwhatever it is âfeels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.
JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed houseâsome remix you donât remember learning the words to. âTrouble? Nah, Jostyâd have to give us the time of day for that.âÂ
Gabe laughs, but you know JT isnât trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. Itâs impossible not to without an artificial buzz.
Thereâs no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck.Â
Kate.
âFuckin finally!â The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.
Definitely drunk. Or highâor both.Â
âDonât look at me,â you say, beaming when she pulls back. âI wasnât driving.â
Kate swats JTâs chest with her open palm. âAnd this is why we donât let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.â
The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and sheâs probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.
The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, theyâve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. Sheâs more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.
âWell, weâre here now. Alive.â
Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.
âAnd now Iâm stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do⊠whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.â
âExcellent idea, Madame President,â Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male gingerâs shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kateâs direction.
Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, âPresidentâs bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.â
Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.
âGood girl.â
As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.
Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someoneâs mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so itâs no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm.Â
When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.
Itâs not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so itâs going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.
âYou, my dear, look thirsty,â Kate declares through a mischievous grin.
You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but sheâs quick to show you off to whoeverâs trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kateâs been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and itâs very⊠dizzying, to say the least.
âKit-Kat!â
Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.
In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, youâre having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.
âBlake Meyers,â the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.
You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name.Â
âMeyers?â you ask, attempting to work it out.
âAvaâs younger sister,â Kate interjects. âAnd one of our best steals this past recruitment.â
Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.
You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.
âI was really hoping Iâd get to meet you tonight,â the freshman tells you bashfully. âKate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed likeâI donât know, a non-negotiable?â
Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldnât have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldnât physically be there for her.
You wonât be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. Itâs basically a family tradition.
Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.
Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. Youâre more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.
Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.
This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You canât help but smile when you see her reach for the lockâyour old lock.
Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.
âWait, can you even drink?â Kate asks you from where sheâs kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.
âHilarious,â you reply with a playful glare. âAnd before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, donât. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."
Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your âold age.â She shoves a ratty sweatshirtâan old favorite of Tysonâsâback into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.
âSo, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?â you ask, brow cocked.
âDo you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?â Kate counters.
âTouchĂ©.â
Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. Sheâs going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when youâre the one doing the asking.
âOkay, so, dâyou remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?â
You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.
Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, âWell, I was understandably pissedâDonât give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldnât have been that blasĂ© that soonâso, I hatched a plan.â
You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.
âI wasnât planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before⊠I donât know; I just couldnât resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyoneâs getting a reaction, itâs Landy. I had to.â
âAnd?â you prod.Â
âAndâŠâ she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. ââŠwe mightâve done it in the backseat of his truck.â
âIâm scared to ask where.â
She buries her face in your shoulder. âThe venueâs parking lot.â
Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry theyâll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.
âAnd I didnât tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,â Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. âYou donât, right?â
âI donât think Iâm even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,â you giggle, and sheâs quick to join you. Lowering your voice, âEspecially the hottest of hot blondes.â
âIâm so telling JT you said that,â she teases, pulling away.
You shrug and take your first sip. âGo ahead. Heâll agree.â
âAnd this is why youâre my favorite couple,â she says, bumping her hip against yours. âThe worst part is Tyson didnât even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabeâs neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?â
âI wish I had an explanation for you, but I donât. Iâm starting to think I didnât know him as well as I thought I did.â
Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.
âIâm guessing things havenât gotten any better?â
You shake your head, eyes downcast like thereâs something super interesting between the floorboards. âI know heâs busy, and weâre busy, but heâs acting like our friendship meant nothing.â
âNot to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"
A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain whatâd been weighing on your conscience.Â
Then, your boyfriend looked cluelessâbecause he was. JT didnât remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Jostyâs image of you.
After a scene or two, you broached the subject youâd both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JTâs permission, but you felt it wasnât entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.
You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where thereâs none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be.Â
Something shifted that night. Youâd known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasnât subtle, and it wasnât uncommon for his dejected expressionâhis forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalanceâto visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.
But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down⊠You couldnât get yourself to see it through.Â
At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, itâs just plain, garden-variety sadness.
It wasâis disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.
"In the moment, I was certain he didnât. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,â you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I donât know, say anything?"
Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."
You snort despite your woes.
âAlright, thatâs enough doom and gloom for one night. Howâs my nephew?â Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.
Itâs a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions youâre starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents youâve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with youâit lasted all of a day in his over-excited gripâthen gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.
By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, youâre feeling a bit better.
Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairsâalone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesnât give you a hard time. To be honest, sheâs just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.
Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Threeâs the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.
âWhat? No riddle this time?â you tease over your shoulder.
The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. âI was given strict instructions to âkeep the shenanigansâ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.â
âJT?â you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. Heâs the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.
âLandy, actually.â
Well, close enough.
You shouldnât be surprised. It wouldnât be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JTâs more salacious antics.
As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kateâs. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal⊠while you were defiled on the balcony.
âStill doing his bidding, I see.â
He counters with that lopsided âGet Out of Jail Freeâ grin. âWhat can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.â
As if cued, Caleâs companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alexâs raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowenâs, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know heâll misplace before he can polish it off.
âJesus, how drunk is he?â you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.
Sure, the qualityâs shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; itâs a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.
âNot drunk enough to not see you here with us.â Caleâs voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, ââŠand not up there with JTC.â
JTC â Talk about a blast from the past.
An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing heâs up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your âhomecomingâ that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.
As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but youâre finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.
Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, youâve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, theyâve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.
However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agencyâthe ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involvedâhas you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.
Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, âThank you for your service!â accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You donât stick around to catch their responses, though.
As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for somethingâSomething about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?âbut itâs more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what youâre accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, whoâd been JTâs vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancĂ© out of your path by the shoulders.
You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.
Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You canât help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who wouldâve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That wouldâve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy sheâs happy.
Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.
As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the presidentâs suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.
JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. Thatâs a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.
And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?
Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. âI was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.â
The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isnât a hard person to readâdownright wolfish when heâs homing in on a targetâbut the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.
Your body thrums with anticipation.
âNever,â you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: âIs there a reason weâre in your old bedroom instead of, I donât know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?â
Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.
âYâknow, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,â JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.
He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.
You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.
The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.
JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until heâs pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.
Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.
âThereâs still one thing left on my college bucket list.â
He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desireâof who is in charge.
Message received. Loud and clear.
JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; youâve never been able to hide from him and never will.
His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like heâs committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.
This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; itâs a primal instinct.
For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.
There isnât enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge â and youâre glad for it. Itâd be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.
JTâs chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. âYou gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?â
His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didnât realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.
The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous â your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like itâs the first.
âHm, sweetheart? Donât be rude. I asked you a question.â
Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.
The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.
His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.
âP-please,â comes your pouted whimper.
âFocus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to â and you arenât in a position to be difficult, are you?â
You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JTâs ultimately satisfied.
âSuch a good listener Iâve got myself. But youâre always to eager to please, arenât you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but itâs just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.â
His frankness sears your face.
Youâve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said âoddsâ being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. âDonât l-let it go to waste, Compher.â
It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.
He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.
âI donât think it matters, sweetheart. I know thereâs no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.â
With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. âIs that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?â
Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remarkâs undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.
His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. âAre you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?â
You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.
âNothing to say now?â JT taunts. âFunny how that works.â
Fuckinâ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.
Your boyfriendâs smugnessâand your subsequent annoyanceâbecomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.
Hips bucking forwardâyou just canât help yourselfâyou're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. Heâs made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like itâs already his to occupy.
Your surprise drips down his hand.
The blissâthe relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.
Before, you didnât see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasnât lost on you, of course, but thatâs all youâd written it off as.
Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.
This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress youâve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoonsâthis ostensibly clichĂ©d moment is an amalgamation of it all.
One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?
Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?
The journey mightâve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.
Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride wouldâve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.
His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad backâIâm feeling nostalgic, heâd said. In more ways than one, apparently.
âSâgoodâwanted this for so long, Compherâk-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.â
JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and youâre entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.
Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back.Â
Away.
Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.
âI donât ever want to hear another manâs name outta your mouth when itâs my fingers buried in your pussy.â His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like heâs been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "â'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.â
Youâd grin if you werenât so miserable.
Thatâd been your intention. It wasnât anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTCâs hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason youâd been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.
Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, youâd of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JTâs buttons.
There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didnât know that. If sitting in their chapter houseâs kitchen at 5 oâclock the next morning didnât raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.
Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didnât have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.
Youâd tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.
âDid you like what you heard?â
His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.
You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, âDid you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place⊠wishing it was my pussy instead?â
You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.
He squeezes until youâre no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close youâre getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.
âYouâre so full of shit.â His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when itâs you yanking his chain. âYouâre lucky I love you.â
You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste âGrapefruit, maybe?âand you suck it in like you havenât had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.
He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.
âDonât want him, never wanted him. Jusâ youâAlways you.â It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.
JTâs cock isnât immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, âGo on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly whoâs fucking you this good.â
You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.
JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once youâve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.
A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.
His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."
Youâre having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.
âWhatâre you doing?â Strained, barely above a whisper.
He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. âCome on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, canât you?â
You arenât an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JTâs⊠Well, anythingâbut definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your companyâs holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.
It hasnât lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.
Fuckinâ tease.
Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. âAs long as you let me return the favor afterâneed to taste you so bad.â
âDeal,â he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.
His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you donât miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because itâd normally be a tease-able offense.
But not tonight, not right now.
Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.
JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriendâs earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward toâ
Something bangs against the door.
His face falls; your heart seizes.
âOccupied!â your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like heâs on the verge of exploding.
A full, lilting sound barrels into the doorâtoo-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. âItâs me, dickhead.â
Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.
Shocked doesnât even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JTâs reprimanding; youâre hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.
Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in timeâgood-humored, untouched. As if nothingâs happened, nothingâs changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasnât ignored you for months on end, like your and JTâs absence in his life wasnât felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.
Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasĂ© demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honestâtoo much.
The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isnât capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.
Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. Itâs difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when thereâs no easy place to lay blame.
A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. Youâre nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words youâve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammableâyour silence is probably for the best.
Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesnât suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues youâve never seen in him before.
The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.
Anxiously, you chew on time; youâre trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.
JTâs pulse races against your skin. Heâs just as affected, just better at hiding it.
âTook you long enough,â is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.
All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces youâre missing.
JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. âFuck now, talk later. Sound good?â
His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotionsâlust overtaking the pack with ease.
Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. Itâs as if youâre afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.
âFigured youâd be a little parched, baby.â Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. âAnd we canât have that, now can we?â
You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy youâd become if he ever stood before you again.
Both men notice.
Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriendâs trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriendâs weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.
In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. âFilthy bastard.â
Charming as ever.
âShe deserved it.â JTâs nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.
Wicked eyes twinkle. âOh, I donât doubt that.â
You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.
He yelps and bats your hand away. âGot you good, didnât he?â
You nod.
The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriendâs back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.
Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.
âPoor thing,â Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. âM'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.â
Itâs something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but youâd never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. Youâre too eager to impress them both to give in and reactâto the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything youâre given.
Still, either by virtue of Tysonâs lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isnât enough time to consider wiping it off; Jostyâs mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.
âWould be a shameâŠâ Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks heâs decided to spoil your dĂ©colletage with, ââŠto let it go to waste.â
JTâs begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. âJesus, kid. Whereâd you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking âwho' you've been doing?"
Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-youâll-miss-it sort of reaction only youâre close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever heâs implying.
Youâre too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.
Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skinâyour boyfriend a few paces away, watching. Thatâs more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesnât take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tysonâs chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.
Happy.
âSomethinâ special, arenât you?â Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.
âAs sweet as this reunionâs been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we donât have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.â
You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you werenât the intended target.
JTâs dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JTâs thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. Heâs conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.
Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadowâs fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.
âYouâre scaring me, Josty.â
This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. âIf anyone should be scared, itâs me.â
In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.
âI-Iâve been such an ass. IâI just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than everâwithout me. It fucking sucked, and I didnât cope well. Didnât cope at all, really. Kateâll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.â
You canât help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.
Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. âBut thatâs no excuse for what I didâdidnât do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like youâre supposed to.â
He claims JTâs old spot knelt between your parted knees. âAnd Iâm sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to youâlet me apologize properly.â
Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.
A silent pardon.
The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible contentâof relief.
âIs this okay?â His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.
Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejectionâand to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possibleâto bother with words, you nod immediately.
âWith how much sheâs been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?â JT interjects, mood vastly improved.
Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.
The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.
A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.
âI wasnât gonna say anything. Didnât want to embarrass her.â He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; heâs that stupidly attractive. â âwas try tâbe a gentleman.â
Youâre a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.
Tyson wants to tease your body; itâs in his nature. But he wonât. Namely, because he canât. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, heâs already on JTâs shit list as is.
Besides, heâs only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...
Your guttural screamâan appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clitâpumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadnât thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.
âPause.â
JTâs clipped command is a bucket of ice water.
Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tysonâs, but you both know how delicate a game youâre playing.
With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tysonâs inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, itâs swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriendâs firm hand.
You canât even convey how hot you find JTâs fingers casually twisting in his friendâs curly mopâjust the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JTâs self-assured manhandling.
Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.
âHave to make sure he does it right, donât I, sweetheart?â JTâs voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; heâs enjoying the view as much as you are.
Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. âControlling much?â
âI know what my woman needs.â
The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.
And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.
His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tysonâs breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the twoâs eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.
JT licks his lips, triumphant. âOpen her up for me, will ya?â Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriendâs lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. âDonât screw around, âkay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we donât have all night.â
Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where youâre most sensitive.Â
You actually yelp.
Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his nameâBut who knows? And who fucking cares?âunable to control yourself while heâs finally touching you like this. Finally back.
Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.
âWhat dâya think, baby? Think youâre wet enough to take another finger?â JTâs tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.
âMhmm,â you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. âPleaseâc-can I? Can I have another?â
His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.
JTâs reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. âYou heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.â
KidâTyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. Thereâs barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, heâs still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that wonât end.
He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.
He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all threeâwide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)
Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.
JTâs hand retreatsâonly slightlyâto make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriendâs chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.
During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tysonâs tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.
âHoly shit â Ty, I-Iâm â Iâm â â
The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.
Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesnât hurt either.
Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.
âJust like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so goodâdoinâ so good for us.â
JTâs praise sends the brunetteâs unoccupied hand right to his bulge.
This is the best heâs felt in months.
Thereâs the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.
He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.
Jostyâs guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.
âYâhavenât earned it, bud,â his mentor chides.
The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering thereâs work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.
Tempting him to do something, to take it furtherâŠ
He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about itâyou can see the tape winding in his eyes.
JT can read Tysonâs mind through his skull, apparently. âDonât even think about it, kid. Her last oneâs mine, but youâre more than welcome to watch from right here.â âYour boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing itâll be close quarters for you bothâ âJust remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.â
And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, heâs just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.
Heâs always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.
Finally ready to play fearless.
JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.
Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck youâre graduated and gone. Otherwise, youâd never live this downâKate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if sheâs feeling particularly charitable, though.
Your boyfriendâs grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.
He wants you on display.
Your gasp is rivaled only by Tysonâs pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.
The gingerâs chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.
Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.
âBend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl heâs been missing out onâwhat a filthy thing youâve turned into.â
As soon as youâve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. Itâs fast and dirty; primal. He knows thereâs no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.
You watch Jostyâs mouth part like heâs about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.
Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriendâs bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; thatâs what youâre now watching. Heâs mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.
JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.
Iâll handle it.
At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo.Â
âFuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.â
Keep rubbing your clit.
Keep playing with you.
Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.
Be present.
Be here.
âSuch a fucking mess, baby. Donât know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.â
The two halves of Tysonâs demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.
Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering youâre doing.
A familiar palm shoots to your raw neckâtender, inside and outâlightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.
Still, he furthers their madcap banter. âI dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesnât make it any easier. Sometimes I think sheâs tryna milk me dry for good.â
If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pantsâpost-pubescence, it would be now.
Like, right fucking now.
The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JTâs neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.
Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too muchâitâs all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the lastâhalf-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friendâs damp, tented lap.
âNot gonna last, sweetheartâyâfeel too damn good, sâtight and warm, always strangling my cockâknow youâre close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girlâneed to feel your perfect pussy squeezinâ me dry.â
It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.
Youâre a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JTâs arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.
For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; thereâs simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enoughâsilence says it all.
Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.
JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the doorâonly as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; youâre too tired to take any initiative.
Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, thatâs how much of this your boyfriendâs willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.
âPaging Mrs. Compher!â Gabe hollers over JTâs head. âClean up on aisle âKate.ââ
Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.
You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. Itâs pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn donât exactly lend themselves to effective primping.
And itâs not like youâve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either.Â
Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.
Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.
As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriendâs irritation. ââand youâre sure there isnât anyone else to hold her hair back? Why canât you do it?â
The gears in Gabeâs skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your havenâheâs intoxicated, not stupid.
âCupKate wants her mommy.â The blonde winks at you over JTâs shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tysonâs equally disheveled state. âAnd what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weatherâs hot and steamy this time of year.â
âReal mature, Landy, real mature,â JT scoffs.
The sound just revs him up. âSays the fucker whoâs locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.â
âCan you two go measure your dicks, I donât know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.âÂ
You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday.Â
Years have passed, but youâre all still the same.
âMe-yeoh!â Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.
Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JTâs jaw tick.
The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. âWhoops?â
Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that youâre decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.
He juts his head in Landyâs direction with a sardonic eye-roll. âGo on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. Iâll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.â
âMeet you out front?â You ask, and he nods.
You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. Itâs faint, but they instantly soften for you.
Before they know it, youâre slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accoutermentâchivalry isnât dead!
Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. âNicely done, boys. Nicely done. Canât say I thought weâd see the dayâor that either of you had it in yaâbut I feel like a proud father.â He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. âMakes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost tiââ
JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.
The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded.Â
As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bellâs hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tysonâs stomach along with it.
The air shouldnât, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.
âIfâuh, wow.â A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.
JT doesnât interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.
Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. âIf Iâd known this would be our swan song, I wouldâve tried to enjoy it more. I donât knowâsavored it, I guess?â
âThis,â JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isnât hanging fire. ââ is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.â
Before they got into it in the garage, before theyâd been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.
They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.
JTâs alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.
Tyson balks. âMe?â
Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. Heâs bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.
âI love herâand I know you do, too. Iâm not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.â
Tysonâs head hangs lower, chagrined.
JT continues, âIâm going to ask her to marry me, but I didnât want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure youâd be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.â
Tyson canât help but snort at the sheer absurdity. âLeft out⊠God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isnât even mine.â
âPathetic was going AWOL.â
Josty winces. He doesnât argue because he has zero ground to stand on.
âBut feeling something? Far from it.â
âI didn'tâdonât want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.â The hurtâs been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.
JTâs smile is just as downy. âI do, and youâd be wasting time by trying.â
Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.
You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. Heâs always been it for you. Thereâs never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.
âThank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,â the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.
Theyâre side-by-side, as they should be.
âWhyâs that?â
JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, âSomething to remember tonight by.â
Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.
Your boyfriend grins.
âThe best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, donât you think?â
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#in conversation: go out with a bang#in conversation: swan song#in conversation: sharing is caring#sharing is caring verse#jt compher x reader#jt compher smut#jt compher fanfiction#jt compher x reader x tyson jost#jt compher x y/n#jt compher x you#tyson jost x reader#tyson jost smut#tyson jost fanfiction#tyson jost x jt compher#hockey romance#hockey smut#nhl smut#hockey rpf#nhl rpf#nhl fanfiction#nhl imagines#nhl fic#hockey fic#nhl players x reader#*àłàŒ by holy pucks
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I really like your headcanons for Cori and totally agree with them!
And if you donât mind my asking, what did you dislike about the recent episodes of Chikn Nuggit? Because personally I dislike a lot of it tooâŠthe whole shift to lore has been kind of jarring for me and I also think things were resolved too easily.
THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH, THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY!
& OMG THANK YOU FOR ASKING because god i've been pissed. with one episode they made me hate that stupid yellow dog
HERE'S THE THING, RIGHT. i don't even mind the shift from slapstick shenanigans in youtube short format to something that illustrates a bit more lore. in FACT, i thought the way they were going about it was very interesting! having chikn realize his ultimate power & being due to a moment of vulnerability & having been manipulated some by bezel therein,
however,
this is all cheezborger's fault. for some fucking stupid reason
LET'S BACK UP A MINUTE. cheezborger got the girl! she's all excited about it & prioritizing her girlfriend above all, as i think we all do when we're excited; we make whatever we're excited our entire worldview for a bit, it happens!
chikn, at least from my perspective, sees this - sees that all of his friends are busy doing stuff without him or have their " significant other " where he does not - with cheezborger, his best most important friend, caught up in the moment, & he feels left out. he feels like a " third wheel " &- with all of his friends occupied with something or someone else, he's all alone & feels bad. i've been there a few times, i get it. in that moment of vulnerability does bezel take advantage & PUSH chikn to realize his power & potential, to control his friends or control the world & make things how he wants them to be.
suddenly the plot goes from " chikn suffering from third wheel grief " to " chikn coming to terms with the fact that he's a god & his powers have unintendedly warped his friends. we're taking all the nonsense seriously suddenly " okay. interesting. so chikn ascends to god form & starts fucking up the whole world because he believes that's what he's MEANT to do. the conclusion of his spiraling is realizing that he was meant to cause chaos & rip apart the world? ok. i think we jumped a bit far, how & when did he decide that
now we're leaning really hard into the ' i have to do this because it's my DESTINY ' trope. okay. did you come to this conclusion after deciding you don't need your friends? or realizing that you're the god of everything & therefore such menial things don't matter? did bezel coach you more than we see through the shorts? i don't remember there being an episode dedicated to chikn's sudden snap of character, thus we just never find out where that leap in logic came from.
so the world's ending but fwench fwy & iscream manage to trap chikn for 5 seconds. chee intervenes & tries to get through to him, despite all his bullshit ramblings of " go away i'm a god this is my destiny, " this WORKS. chee pulls him from his divine spiral & all's fine now.
except chikn, IN FRONT OF EVERYONE MIND YOU - NOT IN PRIVATE, blames cheezborger for it. he's like " you ditched me & that wasn't very nice, you need to make time for all your friends "
LIKE OH OKAY. BUZZFEED YOU JUST KILLED THE VIBE.
cheezborger's excitement for her new girlfriend might have been the tipping point & the technical catalyst of this all, but not at any fault of her own. she did not do this maliciously or purposefully & i hate the way chikn says she " ditched " him. no she did not you horrible mutt she politely declined your offers to hang out because she was busy with her girlfriend, & YES IT CAN BE UPSETTING WHEN YOUR FRIEND CAN'T HANG WITH YOU BECAUSE THEY GET CAUGHT UP IN SOMETHING THEY LIKE, BUT SHE DID NOT DITCH OR ABANDON YOU SHE JUST GOT BUSYYYY
it's circumstances. chee didn't do anything " wrong ", things just happened & chikn couldn't take being apart from his friend or not having what all his other friends had & downspiralled + got manipulated by bezel.
chee gets called out in PUBLIC for " ditching " chikn when she really didn't & this is turned into a big lesson about " managing all your friends " ( kiss my ass buzzfeed your usual social lessons aren't going to fly with this one ), in essence blaming chee for the apocalypse despite the initial start of the arc having gone unaddressed since the beginning.
OH & GET THIS, we blame chee for being excited but bezel, THE ONE PUSHING FOR TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD & ACTIVELY MANIPULATING CHIKN TO DO IT, gets a literal slap on the wrist chikn nor anybody else calls him out for being a gigantic prick, he's just like " i fowgive u let's be fwiends " & we leave it at that apparently. are you fucking for real. that straight up smells misogynistic & straight up shitty regardless. this COMING from the stupid little youtube shorts series all about validating everyone & equality & being kind to people too just feels a PARTICULAR kind of rancid.
& yeah whatever it's a rinkydink silly buzzfeed show where every character is named some woobified or joke rendition of a food product ( chikn nuggit, cheezborger, fwench fwy - so on ), BUT I FEEL LIKE THEY WERE DOING A VALUABLE SERVICE & DOING PRETTY GOOD FOR BEING A RINKYDINK SILLY YOUTUBE SHORTS SERIES !!!!! they had such good intentions & good lessons in mind...
& then this happens. it just puts SUCH a bad taste in my mouth now, you know? & it's honest to god so disappointing! & INFURIATING
that ending was a total BUST & relaying it back now, THE PLOT OF THAT ARC IS ALL OVER THE PLACE. it can't at all decide what the point of itself was & ended SO poorly. i'll forgive the pacing because this is a youtube shorts series MEANT to be done relatively quickly & chikn nuggit isn't necessarily a show you're going to expect a masterpiece of, right. it's endearingly imperfect
but god that ending. this entire arc. fuck it all man fuck that dog
oh wow i wrote down a lot but YEAH. VERY UPSETTING. hopefully this was an entertaining read or i just look insane to my friends
THANK YOU FOR ASKING! been LOOKING for an excuse to be upset on main
#anonymous#inbox#Chikn Nuggit#i used to PITY chikn man i really did. this could have been an arc of tragedy & things out of our control & handling it or something#BUT NO WE HAVE TO HAVE SOMEONE TO BLAME & IT'S NOT EVEN GONNA BE THE CLOCK GUY#the worst part is that i don't see ANYONE talking about that massive gaping flaw beyond me & my close friends#do we not see it chat. the misogyny#i really thought that arc would swerve into something way more existential but i guess not
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