#no this didn’t literally just happen to me thirty seconds ago what are you talking about aha

[lieutenantcipher]

I love when

*tags a reblog with #star trek tos”

*pauses*

*looks at kirk’s baby blue eyes*

*backspace backspace backspace*

*#star trek aos*

It’s never not funny to me

[screampied]

#RENT-A-DILF! t. fushiguro

ৎ୭ sum. sims 4? more like sims whore. out of procrastination and sheer boredom, you install this pretty new game titled ‘rent-a-dilf!’ the catch? he actually spawns in real life and wants more than just one day with you. girl…

wc. 8.1k (erm)

warnings. fem! reader, dilf! toji, loser girl reader, unprotected, size differences, size kinks, he’s reaaal nasty, brief toy usage, praise, dirty talk, fīngering, squīrting, face fúcking, me breaking the fourth wall, cunnīlingus, bjs, making him whine, implied marathons, breeding kink, impact play, petnames, toji being well … toji!

an. HUUGE thank u 2 kali @blkkizzat for beta'ing some !! <3 this came to me in a dream so… this is all over the place eheh.

“HEY, GIRL. WANNA GET DILFED? PLAY NOW!”

“huh..” you swipe a fat thumb down the dimly lit screen of your phone. ah, the things you do at the buttcrack of midnight. your eyes were glued to your device for about a good hour as you allowed curiosity to get the utter best of you.

RENT-A-DILF! ™ was a brand-spankin’ new romance simulation game. it was a cheap knockoff version of tinder and the sims combined but made up of purely dilf characters. it was easy, you’d list your desired preferences and the game would randomly choose the perfect matches for you. it’s a 50/50 chance that you’ll match with one of the higher-up characters—specifically, the newest one that recently got added to the roster of digital men. toji fushiguro, also known as his ridiculous alias of ‘GUTREARRANGER385.’

at first glance - he’s smokin’ hot.

the app allows you to spin toji around, swipe a thumb through his shaggy black bangs, and even dress him up. your eyes skimmed toward a few words near his bio that read, ‘thirty-three, single, verified dilf, full nelson / doggy enthusiast. . ,’ and an extra tag that read ‘oh, i’m also filthy rich.’

well…

toji was a top-rated character, and again, he was just added to the line-up about a few hours ago.

as you sink into the fat cushions of your pillows, you grip your phone.

it was almost eerie—it was as if the dark-haired character was looking straight at you. while you’re deep in thought, still taking in his displayed stats and filthy bio, your eyes trace back up toward his face. it reads that he’s about a staggering height of 6’2 and judging from his burly build alone, he was fuckin’ jacked.

such swole muscles . .

you couldn’t stop staring for a bit, and the black compression tank with loose-fitted shorts didn’t exactly help things either.

his stance was idle as he had an accessory of a priggish grin curling across both sides of his scarred lips.

his lips, you were so busy fawning over toji’s body that you didn’t even notice the scar that vertically ran down the right side of his mouth. it’s such a brief detail but it’s sexy.

you kind of wanted to know more about him. now that you thought about it, the game had dozens of ‘???’ symbols near the pink box where his lore was supposed to be. he’s new so you’d probably have to wait until you learn more about him.

with your eyes trailing back toward him, just so smug. you could tell from his demeanor despite him being just literal pixels on your glowy screen.

or so you thought..

“fuck it,” you sigh, lightly tapping the print of your thumb against the bright pink ‘marry me?’ button.

you did a lazy skim beforehand about the app’s so-called ‘pity system’ and how dim your chances were at actually snagging toji. like hell, you were gonna spend money on a game—you just had to hope that you were lucky.

it’s damn near close to one at night before you slouch back, sprawling your legs out in an attempt to get more comfortable.

staring at your screen and scratching your head, seconds . . minutes go by and nothing happens.

the game swallows up the last remnants of your free gems and you’re leering back at toji who you could’ve sworn just rolled his eyes at you.

what . . the . . fuuuck . .

okay, girl. sooo nothing happened. now what?

your brows start to contort together in frustration and now you are really bored.

all you wanted was to see what was the hype around this new popular dating-slash-romance-simulator game and now, you were disappointed.

then again, you’ve heard of how games like these were known to scam their players.

with an annoyed groan, you toss your phone near the edge of the bed before crawling over toward your burgundy-colored nightstand. there, you lightly pull on the wooden handle, opening your drawer.

your eyes land on your sparkly-colored rose toy. just about a few days ago, it came in the mail and you were oh-so ecstatic to try it out.

holding your thumb over the heart-shaped power button, you hear the loud ‘beeeep!’ indicating it’s turned on.

reclining back, you lift your nightgown before sighing deeply. hopefully, your cute ‘lil toy could help make you forget everything that just happened.

honestly, you didn’t really think the stupid game would work anyway. you’ll leave a one-star review later.

the entire game screamed a scam but hey, you only live once. it was worth a shot. actually, no it wasn’t.

but on the bright side,

you were starting to forget about the app the moment your pinched fingers slid your panties to the side. a soft moan leaves from your lips the moment the rubber edge of the vibrator smears against your bare clit. your back nearly arches forward, and as you’re gnawing on your bottom lip, you can feel your toes curling.

“f- fuck,” you swallow in an incoming breath, hearing the loud ‘bzzzz’-ing resounding through each of your paper-thin walls.

the stimulation had you forgetting about that shitty game within seconds. you lie back against your pillow, sweet harmonic whines purring out of your dry throat as you gradually succumb to your coarse thoughts.

then it hit you.

why don’t you just fantasize about . . him?

toji fushiguro.

dark-haired, smug grin, scarred sly lips, beefy build, and cold green eyes..

as you started to envision him in your clouded mind—you let off a soft whine. your thoughts were scrambled, but the first image that popped up in your brain was his arms. his muscles, the various veins that would pop through his biceps.

oh- you only imagined what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around your throat.

the thoughts alone make your thighs squeeze together, and the buzzing from the toy shrieks even louder once you turn it up a single notch.

‘powering off. . !’

wait,

what?

snatched straight out of your lewd fantasm, your fingers pause as they lie against the rubber toy. your eyes widen once the vibrating stops— and then in your room, it’s dead quiet again.

“you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” you whine, the realization that your toy dying mid-fantasy making your mood turn even more sour.

first, you lose in the game and you lose at playing with yourself too? damn, girl you’re a failure!

oh uh, sorry.

“heh, need help, sugar?”

you freeze the minute your ears perk up, hearing a smoky raspy voice. its low, with a bit of huskiness underneath it too. coldness sets against your thighs, creeping at the skin that hides underneath your pulled-up nightgown before you gulp.

was that…

“yeah, it’s me. y’er wished uh- ‘dilf.’ whatever i’m supposed to say,” toji adds in a raspy tone, crossing his beefy arms with a puffed-out chest. it was as if he was reading your mind. you probably had the dumbest expression plastered across your face because toji then smirked. “what? y’er toy that failed to make you cum made you speechless too? awwwh.”

smug bastard.

a wave of embarrassment crept against your skin as you closed your dangling, open jaw. oh fuck.

he saw that- he saw you, little ‘ole you playing with yourself. just seconds ago, you were fantasizing about if he really was here, and now actually he is.

in the flesh . . . literally.

“i… uh,” you stammer, struggling to form a proper sentence. toji stands tall, a few inches away from the edge of your bed. hooded, green eyes stare at you and he’s just loving it - the way your eyes rove down his body, openly checking him out.

he wore the same outfit you picked out for him in the game.

a compression tank top with some shorts. (you added a tiny pink bow on his head just to be funny) the more you ogled at him with cute, enlarged eyes—the more you realized just how big he was. ‘big’ was an understatement, the guy was huge. toji towered over you even while you were lying in bed. “wow,” you softly utter, your eyes coincidently landing on his bulge.

toji was packed- and it was as if his bulge was having a staring contest right back at you.

“i know, darlin.’ he’s big ain’t he?” toji snickers.

you finally meet toji’s eyes before scoffing. his personality traits weren’t kidding about him at all. he’s cocky. “i’m just- you’re real?”

“pretty much.”

“but… how?”

“touch me ‘n find out, darlin.’”

you deadpan, but it was tempting.

you don’t even realize that you’re already sitting up from your bed—slowly inching yourself toward him.

toji eyes you with the same impish simper, puffed chest, and hefty arms crossed. he’s so brawny, and the moment you softly feel on his left bicep with a hand, he snickers.

“mhm,” he mumbled under his breath, and you could feel his muscles tense at your touch. multiple veins pulsed down his exposed arms and oh- the entire thing was so sensual.

you still felt embarrassed but now you started to feel something else. toji noticed you started to stare at his hands and he raised a dark brow. “this not enough for you, yeah?” your eyes widened once he then bent down, a few inches away from your face. he’s actually real, and sure, you were probably staring at literal pixels but you didn’t care. “want me ‘ta touch you, pretty girl?”

“please,” you whine, and that single word comes out of your mouth so quickly. it flew past your lips within and split a second and you didn’t even register how fuckin’ whiny you sounded in front of him.

your body was burning hot, and you were blazing up underneath your nightgown. “i- i mean, yeah,” you try to play it cool, only embarrassing yourself even further. toji’s so close thought that you could fully smell him.

he smelled manly, a citrusy mixture of wood sage and leather. it’s strong, so strong that it makes you blink thrice.

“yeah what?” toji gruffs, and god he’s just getting closer ‘n closer. by now, he’s just a few spaces away from kissing you.

you’re hoping - praying that he couldn’t hear the dramatic thumps of your heart’s weak pulse.

it’s pounding loudly, competing with drums with each ba-dump! it creates in your chest. toji softly cups your chin, and raises a thin brow once you lean into his touch right away.

“ ‘m gonna need to hear that pretty mouth tell me what to do.” and his smoky voice softens just a bit.

leafy eyes intently stare at you before they shift toward your quivering glossed lips. you’re needy and oh, could he tell.

you lock eyes with toji before letting off a cute sigh. it’s more of a frustrated one—and he’s gingerly rubbing a thumb down your pouty bottom lip. “touch- i want you to touch me, toji.”

“aht ahttt. manners, darlin’,” toji eggs on, guiding his thumb near the corner of your lips. the edge was killing you, and the haughtiness in his voice only made you more irritated. “ ‘pretty please?’ c’mon, talk to me nice.”

toji’s simper turns pompous as he watches you attempt to shoot daggers at him. your knees squeeze together and you’re just so impatient that you just sucked it up, complying. “p.. pretty please, touch me toji.”

“good girl,” he murmurs, and his voice pitched a bit lower this time. it’s almost dangerous, and you gasp once his big hand snakes around your neck.

you’re still trying to wrap your head around how this is even real - but fuck, you were never one to complain.

toji takes a glance at your snapped-shut thighs and he chuckles. “aw, poor thing. that cute rose toy didn’t seem to be much help, huh?”

“……”

ouch.

he just had to remind you of that. but his hand around your neck felt good. he’s gentle, slowly making his way down your chest. toji then starts to make you lie down on your back.

with a flop! the comfy queen-sized bed springs out and you sigh.

“toooji,” and it’s almost like you’re whining again. you hated how slow he was taking, and you knew it was on purpose. the stare he’s giving your body makes you almost moan. your room was slightly dim, but you could still make out his towering wide silhouette. “m- more.”

toji gets on your bed, the mattress dipping from the sudden weight before he grumbles. “bet you fuckin’ do,” and you gasp once he stares between your legs. you moan, watching as toji starts to smell your thighs. he doesn’t just smell though, he’s slowly rubbing his nose and entire face up and down your skin. he’s feral already, and you could tell just from the grunt that leaves his lips shortly after. “ ‘m guessin’ you don’t want me to just touch you anymore, huh sugar?”

“no,” you breathlessly reply, nearly writhing from his touch once his shaggy bangs ghost against your skin.

toji could already smell between your legs. so peachy, and he even made out the faint candied aroma of your body wash that lingered on your skin. your back was already creating an arch at the temptation alone. once his barred hands sprawl your legs apart, he stares straight at your dripping cunt.

oh - you were perfect..

toji huffs, taking a second to smear a thumb down your slit that’s dribbling with so much slit.

leisurely, it cascades down your folds and you watch with glassy eyes once he brings his same thumb up to his lips, getting a taste. “mmm, ain’t that a treat,” and you moan, a hand of yours clawing on his head. toji snickers, feeling your weak grip trying to push him further between your thighs. “my, aren’t you impatient,” toji rasps with a guffaw. “but heh- fine, spread these legs f’ me. ‘s been a while since i’ve eaten good anyway.”

and the moment toji feasts himself between your pretty plush thighs — you were fuckin’ screwed..

he was a literal animal. the second his tongue delves itself inside of your cunt - he’s insane.

toji grunts, pursing his carmine-colored lips as your feeble hips start to rock against his mouth.

“o- ohhh my god,” you’d whimper, tugging at his raven strands. his head movement was just ferocious, swerving from the left to right.

his tongue’s stupidly long too, and toji dips it inside of your pussy before fishing it right back out. he reels it out of your puffed folds before diving right back in.

he’s sluuuurping you as if his life depended on it, savoring your sweetened taste as his lips stuck against your clit. “ngh- fuck, toji,” and your lips couldn’t help but curl into a cute oval.

his tongue..

he’s bullying it between your folds, profusely circling the pointed tip around your pretty ‘lil clit. briefly, it gets trapped within his teeth and toji gives it a little nibble.

a soft yelp! rips out of your throat at the tender munch of his canines playfully munching on your sweetest spots. toji found it cute how you were so squirmy, so much so that his callused rough hands had to hold your hips down. with a cute shimmy, you’re wriggling your twitching sex against his mouth.

already, you watch the glittery stream of your slick starting to drip drip drip down his chin.

toji’s green eyes glance up at you and he snickers, popping in a single digit. slooowly, you feel his thumb sinking inside of your cunt before disappearing into the void of your entrance. you’re moaning, maintaining your firm grip on his head before whimpering. “mm, yank on it harder why don’tcha.”

toji grumps—his head pulling forward roughly at your adorable strength. he’s buried not six inches deep but nose deep, and you shiver once the tip of his button nose starts to rub up ‘n down your sobbing pussy.

he’s addicted- not only that but the epitome of pussy drunk.

“tojiiiii!” you slur out his name, a gasp shortly following out of your lips. the dexterous shapes and curves of his tongue make you whine out his name again . . and again . . and a-fuckin’-gain.

as he’s easing another thick finger inside of your cunt, you’re starting to fantasize.

why didn’t men like him exist in real life?!

he’s messy, giving each area of your cunt a multitude of sloppy kisses. bubbles of saliva trickle past the corners of his lips as he’s stuffed right between your legs.

toji’s damn near animalistic- his buds continuing to whine out for more of your divine taste.

he doesn’t think he’s tasted anything this good since.

you’re full, exhaling a sharp breath once you feel him plug in yet another digit.

“biiiig stretch, baby. three’s the fuckin’ charm,” toji huskily groans, staring straight at your pussy.

it’s so pretty, he’d never get over the shine that coats the entirety of your loving entrance. if he’d squint, he’d mistaken your clit for a blossoming flower. a more lewd one at least anyway.

it’s sloppy with the way he’s got three fat fingers barreling inside of you at once. toji watches as your stomach dips and you’re gasping, tightly pulling at his scalp. “hehhh, atta girl. get these fingers wet if you want toji sir later.”

toji sir….?

just as you were about to eye roll, you let off a moan once you hear the ridiculously wet sloshes of your cunt. he’s pumping all fingers in and out of you while flicking his tongue — multitasking.

with a ‘pop!’ he takes one out before sliding it back in, feeling you bare around each digit like a good girl. “oh- fuck, please don’t stop. pleaseplease,” and you grow even more hysterical as you’re just basically fucking against his face now.

as you’re jerking your hips against toji’s face, you feel a bit of stubble along with his slanted scar smearing against your cunt.

it tickled, but oh- you weren’t laughing.

your eyes were rolling at the enticing sways of his tongue every time. they reach deep- far deeper than the tips of his fingers if that was even possible. as toji’s still idly swirling his flat tongue inside of your gummy orifice, he hears you exhale a deep shriek. “ ‘m gonna cum!”

“awh,” toji slyly murmurs, and you coo out a surprised ‘oooh’ the moment he snatches out of his dewy-coated fingers.

they’re covered in translucent webs of your tangled slick when he gives your cunt a pat. “hear that, baby? said she’s gonna cum,” and he’s not even looking at you. verdant eyes gave your pussy his entire uninvited attention instead, and you feel him blowing his hot breath against your puffy slit. toji even presses his ear up to your wet folds before nodding. “mhm. ‘s exactly what i’m sayin.’”

“uh?? are you seriously talking to my pu—”

“quiet now, sugar. you’ll get y’er turn,” toji utters, making you moan with a spanking right against your fluttering clit. as you’re still laid back with your legs widely splayed out, you quietly bite back whimpers once his palm starts to maneuver a circle around your entrance.

a wet splash! ends up making you spurt out a few droplets of slick right onto the center of his hand. “nasty giiiirl,” he purrs, turning his palm around before licking it right up while staring dead at you.

your neck starts to feel a bit numb as it’s slightly raised just so you can keep staring at toji. he’s just toying with your pussy, casually flicking his tongue against your nub just to hear you whine.

“t- tojiiii.” you wail out, feeling your nerves practically scream at you.

you felt every bundle of axons in your body violently shake you to your very core. your thighs wrapped around toji’s broad neck, merely suffocating him—but he had to admit, going out like this wasn’t so bad..

“give it t’ me then,” he gruffly rasps against your pussy. his breath yet again fans against your folds, noticing that cute ‘lil pulse that would always occur whenever his lips were just a few inches apart.

toji even whistles against your slit, lolling out his tongue before lapping you up from top to bottom.

teasingly, he even goes down toward your neglected puckering hole to give it a loving lick. “all on my tongue, girl. hah- make a mess,” he continues, and you’re whimpering as he’s gruffly talking you through your incoming release.

all you’re seeing is nothing but white once it finally comes. bright, blinding splotches of white that blur your vision for a few seconds..

the moment you let go, you let off a sweet squalling orgasm that rings through your ears and toji’s.

more of a sobbing battle cry and it’s oh-so cute.

at least toji thought so, and he could feel the lessening hold of your fingers releasing from his ravened tresses.

toji’s slurping you clean, making sure his tongue doesn’t miss a drip of your syrupy mess. it coats down on his tongue perfectly, falling on his sizzling tastebuds and even pouring a stream down his chiseled chin.

“there we go girl, uh huhhh.” as he’s talking with his mouth full, you fall back against your bed.

you’re beat - stars clouding your vision and your current state was so cartoonish.

your legs felt like they stopped working, no batteries left in each limb and you’re still moaning whilst he’s lapping up the last few syrupy drops.

licking near the crevices of your inner thighs, toji hums. “heh. y’er cute. ‘s been a while since you’ve got eaten out, sugar?”

in a sluggish mumble, you stare at toji with metaphorical heart eyes. “i guess.”

“poor baby,” he clicks his tongue, sitting up. you’re panting heavily, watching as he gets up. toji’s broad body hovers over you and he runs a hand through his matted black strands. “y’know-” he pauses at the feeling of your hand reaching near his shorts. toji looks at you before snickering, raising a brow. “aw, don’t tell me you want a taste too. ‘s that what you want?”

“mhm,” you utter, and you don’t even realize you are drooling once you’re fondling your fingers with the hem of his briefs. they’re a viridescent green, matching his eye color. once you meet the strip of his boxers with bold black letters that read, ‘DADDY TOJI,’ you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

of course he’d wear briefs that had his name on them.

“don’t be shy, girl,” toji murmurs, placing a wide palm on your head.

you crawl forward as he’s now lying down on the bed with you on your knees. toji’s tank top was wrinkly, and it was pulled up just a tad bit for you to peep at his snatched waistline. it’s sharp, you’d guess that if you tried to touch his hips you’d be left with a paper cut. “ ‘m alllll yours t’night. and he watches as you waste no time, speedily pulling down his boxers.

you’re met that same huge bulge you saw when he was in the game—

it’s big, so big that it almost looked painful.

the way it poked out the fabric, hardening from the tent that was concealing it from being sprung out.

once you pull down his briefs, his cock eventually does spring out, and your eyes cutely widen. “f- fuck.”

“yeahh, toji sir’s gonna be inside you in a minute.”

“stop talking about your dick like it’s a person.”

“make me.”

he’s so annoying,

silence was your reply and toji snickers once he sees you deadpan. he liked getting on your nerves. he found it cute how you were trying to keep up your stubborn façade while wrapping a hand around his monstrous length at the same time.

but fuck.. he’s just so thick-

at first, toji could barely fit around your entire palm. his tip’s swollen, a ruddy crimson red with a pearly split tip.

it’s got veins running from not just one side but all, and you were frothing inside of the mouth just imagining that thing down your throat. you’re so close up to it, glancing at the tears of pre-cum that snivel from the meaty sides. you couldn’t help but give his rounded tip a few kitten kisses.

“m-mhm,” toji grunts, his core muscles underneath his tightly fitted shirt flexing.

seconds later, you softly swirl your tongue around his tip—getting a good enough taste before humming with a closed-eye smile. “go ‘head, get a taste.”

toji’s hand claws on the crown of your head once he ogles at the sight before him.

you - arched over, a hand slowly jerking up and down his hefty shaft. a vein on his dick prods against your finger the moment you cup your lips around his head. it’s massive, and it takes you a second to relax your jaw out.

“nnghm-” you blink twice, laying your wet tongue flat against his flushed crown. toji watches, and he’s oh-so smug. the hooking curve he had on his cock didn’t help either.

you could already start to feel the creases of your mouth numb as you tried to fit him inside. the bittersweet taste of his pre-cum lingers on your buds as your lashes suddenly close.

“niiiiiice ‘n slow, babygirl. you got it,” toji says in a smoky gruff.

the muscles in his burly thighs tense the more your mouth slams down on him. with his nostrils flaring up, toji lets off a loooong groan that puffs out of his chest. “fuuuckk-” he grunts, feeling your tongue circle its way around his sparkly tip.

it’s glimmering with excess dewdrops of cum and you couldn’t help but lap up every drop. toji then sits up on his knees, making you keep your current position.

his knees dig into the plush mattress as he stares at how you’re slowly taking him in your mouth.

with a hand still wrapped around his thick shaft, your lashes flutter once his bulbous cockhead kisses against your uvula. “ahn-” you gulp, a few strands of saliva pouring down the corners of your cracked lips. toji groans, feeling you already starting to lather his entire meaty length with spit as a substitute for lubricant.

it’s messy - and toji eyes you the entire time, his grip against the top of your head getting a bit stronger.

“good girl, mhm. no teeth, n- no fuckin’ teeth. wanna feel that pretty tongue ‘n that tight throat,” and you let off a muffled moan once his tip sloppily drubs against the back of your throat yet again.

you lie your tongue flat, making it wander everywhere—tasting the tasteless veins that were shaped akin to lightning strikes.

it’s all over his cock, and your eyes are closed as you try to savor every inch that eases its way down your right throat. “god- that’s it, that’s what this cute mouth is for, yeah? for dick, huh,” and some more drool seeps from your lips as toji holds up your chin, rubbing a thumb over your mouth. “p- put that mouth to good use, sugar.”

your plump lips wrap around toji’s cock as your head starts to bobble. wholly, you’re taking him in with the end of your conic-shaped tongue teasingly sliding down the midline of his shaft.

toji’s nostrils flare up as he starts to push you closer into his unsteady hips, sucking in a dramatic breath once he feels you starting to wetly fist his cock quicker with one hand.

again, it’s damn biiig, throbbing in the palm of your hand and you moan once you guide your other hand between your legs.

with quick reflexes though, toji reaches in and gives your wrist a slight swat.

“no touchin’, girl.” he grumbles, and you let off a pout as your puffed cheeks heat up. “don’t worry about her right now, she’s fine where she’s at, promise.”

if you didn’t have your mouth occupied you’d smack your lips to voice your frustration, but alas…

your head continues to bobble as you take various fat inches down your throat, occasionally taking a second to breathe for air.

toji’s abs flex as you continue, digging his thick stubby fingers down your scalp. “mmp-” you let off a muffled moan, feeling your thighs squeeze shut.

pathetically enough, you were still dripping and the conditioned air fanning against your exposed skin only made you ten times more sensitive. toji lets off a deep, heavy sigh once you start to fondle his balls.

they were all round ‘n swollen, and he nearly choked on his own words once feels your stringy saliva trickle down toward his heavy, neglected sack.

“nasty s- slut,” he huffs out, already starting to feel his cock tightening. your throat and its warmth were dangerous—and he can feel your jaw starting to slacken. “mmm, gettin’ handsy on me, yeah pretty girl?” and toji brings two fingers toward your face, plugging your nose.

it only lasts about two seconds and you moan, his dick sloppily popping out of your mouth and he hears you gasp. a lustrous stream of spit starts to dribble down your chin as you pant, cutely glaring at him.

“aw, such a messy baby. look at that wet jawww,” he smears a hand down your chin, watching you lean back in.

toji grunts, feeling you grip his base and he knew sooner rather than later, that he was getting close.

you’re opening your throat niiice and wide as if you were preparing to belt out a high note. he’s tapping back against the roof of your mouth and near your twitching uvula repeatedly, and that’s when toji starts to thrust his hips into your mouth.

“fuck, f- fuckk keep goin’,” his voice starts to pitch deeper with an even more husky rasp before he starts to pant. “ ‘m gonna cum, gonna fuckin’ cum right down this messy throat. ‘s that what ya want, pretty?”

“mhm,” your head nods, and you could feel your cunt twitching between your legs at the erotic imagery.

the mental image of toji splattering ropes and ropes of hot cum on your achy pink tongue. it makes you nearly drool just imagining it, and you start to moan again.

toji groans, never getting over the lewd sliminess of your saliva mixing. sloppy strands continue to fall past the edges of your quivering lips as your glassy eyes glance up at him.

toji’s puffing and huffing feverish heavy breaths that make you throb even more. his chest sinks in and out as he’s preparing to shoot a nice load right on your tongue. “hah- fine then, open wide baby girl. better take it all.” toji groans, shivering once your lips tickle down the slope of his frenulum.

with a loud spurt! toji ends up releasing, slimy creamy strings gradually painting near the inside of your mouth.

it comes out slow but it’s so hot- you let off a soft mewl at the bitterly somewhat sweet taste soaking on your highly anticipated tastebuds.

“mmmh.” you let off a satisfied hum, flapping your lashes as he dumps such rivulets of cum down your throat. frosty ribbons ooze down your throat one drop at a time and toji grunts.

“hah- good . . good fuckin’ girl, c’mere.” toji grunts.

as you’re trying to catch your breath yourself, he softly pulls you up by the neck, bringing you into a sultry hot kiss. you moan once his scarred lips harshly crash against yours at full speed.

toji swipes his tongue across the edge of your mouth, barely batting an eye that he’s tasting remnants of his cum on your lips.

as both tongues mercilessly fight for dominance, toji leans you to lie back down on the bed. he’s warm, and you can feel him shiver once you drag a palm down his beefy chest.

you taste a bit of mint on his tongue as he parts your legs with one hand blindly, giving your bare pussy a playful squeeze with his entire wrist.

“mmmpf-” you whimper against his lips, and toji’s big hands slowly trail their way toward your untouched tits. he squeezes them also.

you feel a curve of a smile from toji stretch against your lips as he hears you whine. still delving his greedy tongue in and out of your mouth, occasionally tilting his head, toji brushes his thumbs against the fleecy fabric of your nightgown that sheaths your perked nipples.

before you know it though—you now found yourself bent over and arched.

your lips were all hot and swollen, ridden entirely and you already missed his lips on yours as you laid chest flat down with a cute pout. you could feel toji’s eyes running down your back, shortly hearing a titter come from him once he stops to look at you.

“goddamn, sugar,” toji lets off a whistle as he enjoys the view from the back. your face was met between your fluffed pillows as you chewed on your lip in utter anticipation.

your slicked orifices were just weeping out with your syrupy arousal, clenching from the cold air aerating against it. toji wanders his eyes down the cute shape of your ass with his shaft in hand.

his stare - you could feel it, including the incoming chill that ran down your spine.

with a loud echoing spank, toji swats a hand against your ass, groaning at the jiggly flesh. “so pretty ‘n plump. ‘m gonna take my time with you.”

you moan as your ass instinctively wriggles. toji’s rough wide hands softly caress down your hips before he starts to align himself.

here it goes…

you were mentally preparing yourself, biting on the edge of your cottony pillow. the instant you feel his dewy tip smudge its head against your folds, you let off a deep sigh. shortly afterward, a sweet ‘oooh!’ departs from your lips from the fat size alone. your stomach was already seizing, and the wait was steadily killing you. “fu- fuck,” you croak out, hearing toji’s husky breathing from behind you.

all eyes were on you, and your sweet drooling cunt that just doesn’t know when to stop leaking.

it’s a gorgeous sight in his eyes—

the way how your pulsing inside your clit started to accelerate more ‘n more once he brings his flushed cockhead towards your entrance. “ahh, such a pretty pussy. let’s get the good girl a bit more loose,” toji heaves, and your mouth drops the second his hips sharply pierce inward. gradually, he’s starting to ease his way in..

he’s slow and gentle—

mainly because just a bit of pressure and he’d snap you in half like a twig.

he was that big, and once you were starting to feel the splitting stretch of his cock, you were hysterical. “ohmygoddd.” you blurb out, your hips already pathetically stuttering.

the stretch was so delicious, it’s so good that your eyes were starting to roll back toward the back of your skull yet again. toji groans, feeling your cunt trying to hug against him tightly, greeting him with a cute gummy flutter.

once his thick tip bullies its way inside with its sheer size instead of words alone… it’s game over.

a single thrust was enough to snap you right into reality, and you moan right as his hips punctuate its first hit.

that single hit soon turns into a combo, and toji’s cock started to maintain a decent pace before striking your cunt at all angles. he stares at the fat of your ass that bounces back against his sharp pelvis and he grunts.

“hah- that’s it, girl. fuck back into me, yeah.” and another rude palm smacks against your ass cheek. you whimper, feeling your toes curl at his weight pressing right up against you.

toji lifts his shirt which was practically gluing against his skin due to his masses of sweat. leaning in all the way close, he hovers his weight over you—making his abs rock against you as he starts to grind on your body.

“lemme hear ya,” he hoarsely whispers, feeling your cunt twitch the moment he wraps a hand around the back of your throat.

toji’s strokes were mean-

the epitome of ruthless once he’s just straight-up jackhammering into your walls.

your legs didn’t take long to become wobbly as you were whining his name constantly, choking on your crude inaudible syllables.

“toji—”

“again, not you little girl,” and you moan once his tip thrashes deep into your cervix. it’s nearly reaching there, attempting to drown it with sloppy vigorous kisses.

a palm goes over your mouth, muffling your sweet repetitive moans before he smirks.

“her,” and you whine, feeling him creep a free hand down between your parted thighs. toji rubs circles against your stuffed full cunt, hearing your whimpers pitch louder.

his rhythm was the definition of crazy, and as he was pounding into you continuously, you were slobbering all over the bare center of his palm. toji spanks between your legs, hearing your muffled yelp before lowly chuckling against your ear. a loud splash was heard from your cunt and he starts to smear it back against your throbbing entrance.

“mhm, see baby. she’s tryna talk to me again. ‘m more interested to see what she’s got to say,” and your eyes were practically crossed-eyed now. as toji’s deep voice talks your ear off, he playfully nibbles on your lobe. “wet pussy first, then the whiny wet girl, yeah?”

“mmph-” you moan, bawling your sheets into the open palms of your hand. toji gawks as your body starts to gradually lift.

it’s cute- your ass raises and you’re trying to match his pace. toji’s hitting you well and he’s hitting you deep.

each tilt of his hips sends you whiplash and you’re hacking on your own spit. “mmng.” as your muffled sounds resounded through your walls, you feel his hand go against your ass again.

toji’s favorite part always was to just see your skin bounce back against his.

the jiggle—it was the icing on the cake. the swerves of his hips have you getting dick-drunk within seconds.

bulging widely, your eyes enlarge the exact moment you feel something go against the back of your head.

it’s his foot- thankfully he’s wearing socks.

“fuuuck, such a nasty fuckin’ grip,” toji growls, bringing both hands toward your hips again. he’s holding you firmly, with his foot raising toward the back of your neck. you let off an even prettier moan this time, mutely gasping from the angle.

with toji’s foot near the back of your head, he’s in an even deeper position. “take it. take this dick, t- take it.” as you’re moaning, toji pushes you further into the follow.

oh- you were getting close again.

very, very close. so close that you could taste it in your tongue, it’s salty flavor never subsided.

it was coming quickly, and this time it felt a bit different.

your cunt’s glossing the entirety of toji’s cock that buries itself inside of your clingy walls before he groans. taking the pillow out of your mouth, your words and sounds aren’t so muffled anymore. “t- toji! somethin’s about to—”

“i know… iiiii know,” he cuts you off, and his thrusts against you start to slow. slow but still insanely deep.

you feel a bit of a bulge nudge against the lower pit of your tummy and you exhale. he’s in wholly, stretching out your pretty pussy and rearranging your insides—ironically enough just like his alias name.

“let go for me,” and you moan once he releases his foot from behind you, cupping your chin with a bare hand. you’re a mess, drooling from the sides of your swollen pursed lips before whining. “trust me, sugar. let go.”

at his words—you end up ‘letting go’ which fet like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

you’ve had orgasms but this felt like an entirely new world. you’re gushing out, sprinkling out a small clear stream on his cock before gasping.

your legs were on their last few hinges before collapsing and your eyes widened larger. “toji, toji s- shiiiit,” you ramble with furrowed brows and a dangling dropped jaw.

you’ve never felt more wet, and your entire body blissfully relaxes once your release comes.

toji’s still inside you before he sneers. your body gets limp and he squeezes your plump lips together. “woahhh,” he gruffs, pressing his chin onto your right shoulder. you shiver once you feel the clammy mess stick and soak between your thighs. “did you just squirt on me?”

“s- sorry, sorry,” you moan, feeling your left leg twitch. you’re still spurting out and it’s like a crashing wave that just keeps coming.

toji rubs a thumb against your lips, his hips coming to a sudden pause.

“ah. don’t apologize, silly girl,” toji coos against your neck, planting a kiss near your skin. he feels your body slumping but toji raises a brow once you make him pull out, lightly pushing him back on the bed. “oh? what’s this, sweetheart?” he lands on his chest before snickering. “atta girl. not scared ‘ta look me in the eye.”

“s.. shut up, toji.”

“hmph. how rude.”

toji ends up fucking you stupid, fucking the brain cells—whatever brain cells you had left in your brain by dumbing you down with fat inches of his cock.

round after round after round . .

you’re an entire drooling, babbling mess and despite your legs nearly giving out, you only wanted more..

he did countless positions with you, making you moan out his name constantly until it’s the only word that can slip past your glossed lips. until it’s the only word that can formulate in your brain.

you’re dumbfounded at his stamina - his speed.

you lost track of time and you were sure it was probably waaay past one am by now.

you were currently on top of toji, riding him with the loud creaks of your bed groaning in agony from both active bodies.

your hips were so sensual, rockin’ back and forth while he had a hand attached to your waist the entire time. that sly grin that painted across his lips never left. “yeahhh, girl. use those hip—ack,” and toji pauses mid-sentence once your hand wraps around his throat. “heh- the fuck?”

“you talk too much, toji.” you puff, watching his smug grin widen even more. he’s not even fazed?

oh- he’s turned on.

toji’s sat man-spread with his hand still gripping your hip. his cock’s puncturing inside of your cunt deeply, massaging thoroughly through your walls like its life depended on it.

the view of you swerving your body on his lap turned him on a lot more than he thought it would. it was just something about the way you moved your hips, going in circles and fuck- it drove him mad.

“funny comin’ from a pretty girl with a pussy who doesn’t know when to-”

you shut him up right away by placing your lips on his. toji grunts, leaning into your touch. you felt his hardened scar rub against the side of your lip before your hips quickened.

you’re slow - lustfully torturing toji with your hips. his cock’s pumping in and out of your cunt, feeling you freely writhe around him.

you taste sweet, and he tilts his head back as both crowns of teeth clash at full force. the constant stretch of his hooked cock never fails to leave you speechless as you whisper out soft moans against his thin lips.

“mmph-” toji gruffs, the bed’s creaking turning into mere wails.

you’re bouncing on him now, still having a hand wrapped around his throat before flicking your tongue against his. toji smacks your ass, then he does it again, and again.

hearing your shrilling whines makes him squeeze the fat of your flesh, eagle-spreading his legs even wider like the slut he was.

his body’s just overly glossed with sweat, it shines down his buff physique before you slowly pull away from him. slimy tangled strands of saliva tear away from each lip as toji stares at you.

it’s a mere pout on his lips before he huffs, tilting his head back. “ ‘m gonnaaa fuckin’ cummm,” he blurts in a thick tone, dragging out his elongated words due to your pussy making it hard for him to think straight. “hah- y’er hips are evil, sugar. fuck, gonna milk me.”

as he sucks in a honed sharp breath, feeling the weight of your hips swerve uncontrollably in hypnotizing arcs, toji slips out a whine.

it’s subtle, and you had to really listen to hear his husky tone pitch but you heard it. you watch as the veins in his neck pop, and as you’re still choking him, it turns him on even more.

his cock throbs fiercely inside of you, smacking against each gummy spot that’s located in your sloppy, spongy walls. you had a grip that he just couldn’t get enough of. it was cute how your hand could barely fit all the way around his thick neck anyway, but nonetheless—

toji ends up shooting blanks abruptly, a gruff groan leaving past his lips once he feels himself preparing to shoot inside of you. with your panties still glued to the sides of your thighs, you let off another bundle of exaggerated moans, slowing your pace down.

“f- fuck,” you inhale, feeling toji dig his nails into your left ass cheek. he’s clenching down his tense jaw tightly, emerald eyes flickering back for a moment as his mouth remains slightly agape.

once his milky knot’s pooling its way deep into the barrier of your womb, you let off a shuddering whine. “toji, fill me up, mhm- don’t stop.”

“ugh-” he groans, feeling the weight of his sack start to gradually shrivel up inside of you. the sight of you straddling him was enough to make him cum alone.

toji’s entire body felt hot - scorching, but compared to the dryness of his throat was an entirely different story..

he’s got so much, wads ‘n clods of creamy, gooey seed that plugs its way into your cunt.

you finally sit still, listening to the loud sloshes of all pounds of flesh grinding together. toji’s chest heaves in and out as he’s still got a hand glued to your ass, feeling his cock excessively droooool out such creamy lumps of cum.

“s- sugar,” and his sleazy smile returns on his lips again. toji’s fucked dumb just as much as you were, and you could tell because of how droopy and half-open his eyes were. “heh, got some nerve m- milkin’ me like that. some hah- nerve.”

“you don’t seem so cocky now, toji.” you hum, bringing a chaste kiss against his lips. a stocky arm wraps around your waist before his eyes close, locking lips with you for the final time, hungrily swallowing his low grunts whilst the two of you exchange saliva.

“girl whatever,” he grumbled with sass, and he was still cumming. you let off a soft moan, feeling a brief pudge from just how much he dumped into your pussy. you were leaking from the sides of your thighs, streams of frothy white tearing from each lip. toji licks against your lips before hearing your phone interrupt the two of you with a loud, screeching ‘beeeep!’ with a snarl, he huffs. “the fuck is that?”

you turn toward the side of the bed, reaching for your phone. “my phone, hold on-” and as he’s still plugged into you fully, keeping your walls tight ‘n snug with not only his shaft but his enormous sticky load, you squint. “huh..” and it’s a notification from the app ‘RENT-A-DILF!’

“what’s it say? hah- better be important,” toji mumbles, letting off a soft groan from the feeling of your hips shifting against him.

“ooh. it says . . i matched with a new character,” you reply, taking a moment to scroll your thumb down the brightly pink screen.

it displayed a new character that must’ve been added to the roster a few minutes ago.

as your eyes skim at the coral-pink description box, it mentions in bold how he’s not exactly a dilf like the other male leads….. buuuut the catch was that he was dashingly handsome.

and to be honest, the more you stared at the character with a lit cigarette sticking out of his lips and was draped in a jet-black tuxedo.. yeah, he was pretty hot.

“hm. says his name is shiu kong,” and you look back at toji who’s got a look of literal disgust. “what? do you know him?”

“………………….”

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter four:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ warnings: angst, jealousy, insecurities

➴ word count: 3.9k

➴ author’s note: this is a mess, soph and jack are a mess, quinn’s a sweetheart, grace’s funny af and i’ve reached 100 followers today. can’t even describe how happy i am with the attention IYLM,LMK is getting. i adore u all so much and i hope u stick with me for a while. prepare your seatbelts because shit is about to hit the fan. :,)

SOMETHING changed between you and Jack that day at the Skims set, a week ago.

You finally realized that you are, very much, in love with Jack Hughes. Which was something that you never, in a million years, would’ve guessed. Because, what; you told yourself you’d never get your heart shattered again, yet here you were, walking straight (and worse: willingly) into a trap, falling in love with the man whore of the Devils team.

Despite all of the mean things your mind wanted to tell you, you just forced yourself to remember that not every man is like your cheater ex boyfriend and that not every man would completely crush your heart and tear it apart.

And even though you wouldn't put your hand on the fire and say that he felt the same way as you, if he didn’t, that man was good at pretending. Because no way in hell he’d take all of his fuck buddies to their family lake cabin to throw a Halloween party.

“This is crazy, Jack, you are in the middle of the season, and I’m in the middle of releasing something…” you started, watching as the car took a turn. “Also, how the fuck did you manage to organise a party in, like, thirty minutes?”

“Uh. I’m literally a NHL player. What did you expect?” He scoffed, so full of himself it was almost impossible to stand. You rolled your eyes. “And it’s just a night. I’m not screwing everything up for having fun for one night only, baby, and neither is you.”

“I guess you’re right.” You mumbled, answering some texts messages on your phone.

“I’m always right.” You rolled your eyes again, watching as he drove with ease. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“My fans have been dying for me to dress up as Rapunzel, so I might as well please them.” You shrugged, locking your phone and putting it on your pocket.

“I don’t know about them but I am definitely pleased with the idea.” He smirked.

“You’re just horny, Hughes. Happens to the best of us.”

“Or you’re just pretty. Happens to some of us.”

You laughed, cheeks warm and heart beating fast. “You’re a flirt, Jack Hughes. I missed that. Is it always this crazy during the season?”

“Like you can’t even imagine. My life is just games, working out, eating plain shit and practice for seven months straight.”

“And you love every second of it, don’t you?”

He smiled, white teeth making the view seem a whole lot brighter. “I do, yes. It’s like… the only thing that makes me feel truly alive.”

“Yeah, I know what it feels like,” you whispered. “I feel like that when I’m on the stage too. It’s just… I don’t know. Makes me feel good.”

“I like seeing you on stage,” he nodded and you raised your brow. “What? I do, really. That concert I went to with Nico was fun. Besides, watching you dance with those little dresses of yours is something else.”

“Boo, you’re just an idiot!” You laughed. “But thank you, Jackie bear.”

“Sophia, Jesus, do not call me that,” he whined, but the smile was still on his lips. “Gross.”

“Okay, Jackie bear, whatever you want, honeypot.”

“Sophia!”

— ♡

THE cabin was packed with people, and you were amazed with how fast people arrived, even with the short notice.

You were waiting for Grace to finish getting ready— she would be wearing a Tiana costume, matching your Rapunzel one— so you both could go downstairs and enjoy the party.

“Jack’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you with that little skirt,” Grace said, while applying lip gloss on her plump lips.

“Yeah, about that… I might need to talk to you about something.” You started, crossing your legs.

She stared at you through the mirror, raising her eyebrows. “Go on, Pinky Pie.”

“I thought we’d established that I’m Twilight and you’re my Mordecai?” You giggled, making Grace laugh too.

“I guess we can pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars…” she sighed. “Go on, then, baby. We don’t have all night.”

“So. I may or may have a thing for Jack. Actually, maybe more than just a thing. Think I’m in love, to be honest,” you waited to see her reaction, not expecting her to jump out of the vanity and start twirling around the room, making you laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Are you joking?” She looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “I just won two hundred bucks!”

Confusion took over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I told Nico that you’d be in love with Jack by the end of October and he said you’d be in love with him by the end of November, and since you confessed it now— perfect timing, by the way— I get my two hundred bucks!” She started dancing and jumping, like she wasn’t a nepo baby.

“Grace! What the hell, this is serious!” You raised your arms.

She sat back on the bed.

“Girl, no it isn’t. Just go to him and say: hey, buddy, here’s a secret not so secret: I’m in love with you.” She shrugged. “Just don’t sing the Airplanes song, please. That’s, like, our thing.”

“Grace, I— I can’t even— what the hell,” you wanted to run your hands through your hair, but you remembered that you were wearing extensions and a tiara. So you stick with biting your nails instead. “First of all, why the fuck would you and Nico bet on something like this? That doesn’t even make sense. Second, I can’t just go over there, call him and tell him I like him. That’s not how it works.”

“Well, Nico was the one who proposed the idea of betting so that’s on him!” She raised a finger. “And yes, that is literally how it works.”

“You’re forgetting that this is Jack Hughes. A guy who, apparently, can’t stay a week without a pussy and fucked every Jerseywoman who walked on God’s green earth.”

“Ew, don’t say that! You know my mom’s New Jersian…” she sighed, making a disgusted face. You smiled, apologetically. “Okay. I know that Jack’s past may not be the ideal background you want for your baby daddy but hear me out!”

“Baby daddy? What—”

“Jack hasn’t touched anyone else since you guys started… well. Fucking.” She blushes, like she wasn’t calling him your baby daddy not even a minute ago. “And he’s a great, great person. I’ve seen how he looks at you and if that man isn’t in love, then I’m white as a sheet of paper.”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, feeling frustrated. “Harris also seemed like a great guy, and when we got together, everything changed. I don’t want to go through that ever again.”

“I know it hurt, and God knows I’d rather mop the entire ocean than to see you like that again,” she scooched closer, grabbed your hands and pressed her lips together, the REM Beauty lip gloss making her lips look magical. “But you have to give yourself that chance again. It’s been more than a year, and I’ve seen you and Jack together.”

“I know that, but—”

Grace clicked her tongue, a tsc reverberating on the bedroom walls.

“I’m telling you this as someone who isn’t inside that little head of yours,” she whispered, holding your hands tighter. “You and Jack together? Girl, that’s meant to be. That’s like Achilles and Patroclus, Romeo and Juliet, Hazel and Gus—”

“Girl, what the hell, can’t you find a couple who at least one of them is still alive?” You scoffed.

“Sorry, I just love depressing stories…” she apologized before starting talking again. “That’s not the point, anyway, Miss Girl and you know it! Fuck whatever your head is telling you, Soph: you deserve to be loved and you deserve to love.”

“I didn’t say I love h—” she put a hand over your mouth, interrupting you.

“You don’t have to. I know you, Soph, and the look you get on your face whenever you talk to him, or even better, talk about him, is enough for me,” she kissed your cheek, quickly wiping the lip gloss stain on your face. “And let me tell you a secret, honeybun, he has the same look on his face.”

You smiled, cheeks carmesim and heart full. Thanking Grace for saying all of this wasn’t enough, you needed to buy her a house on the beach with a very naked Nico Hischier inside of it. Maybe that’s what you were going to do.

If only you knew how to convince Nico to be naked at a beach house, you’d certainly—

Someone knocked on the door, and you both got up, surprisingly fast, remembering that you were not alone and that there was a whole party happening downstairs.

Opening the door, you faced Jack who looked way too hot with his own jersey. Of course he’d be wearing a Jack Hughes, NHL Player costume. Of fucking course.

“You were taking too long up here so I came to check on you but maybe we’ll be here for a bit longer.” He smirked, hands finding your corset-covered waist instantly.

“Hum—”

“Excuse me, Mr. I-can’t-keep-myself-in-my-pants, I’m still here.” Grace yelled behind you, and you watched as his entire face showed his annoyance.

“Yeah, I can see. Feel free to leave, though,” he rolled his eyes, holding your right hand and twirling you around. “You look so pretty, baby.”

Your entire face felt like a fireplace but you still smiled nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“You both are disgusting, excuse me,” Grace walked past the both of you, mumbling something about checking in with her husband.

“Let’s go.” He offered you his hands, which you promptly held.

Going downstairs, you were surprised with how full the house was. Like, there were at least fifty people there, which seemed insane for a cabin, no matter how large it was.

Jack dragged you around, saying “hi” to every person you walked by, true to his NHL playboy persona. To your amusement, some people also acknowledged you. Mostly some girls and a few guys. It was nice.

“Sophia!” You heard a shout and immediately knew who it was. Trevor Zegras, wearing a pirate costume, which was just an excuse for him to be shirtless, really. One of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Truthfully. “Damn, I’d climb that tower for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d push you down that shit, Zegras, fuck off.”

Jack laughed softly beside you, moving until you were both sitting on the couch. Quinn, Luke, Nico, Grace and Zegras were all there, talking with a few people you didn't know the name of.

“You can't say you don’t like me without trying me first.” Trevor suggested, looking directly at your face. You showed him your middle finger.

“No one wants to try you, Zegras, now fuck off,” Jack stated before sipping on the beer he stole from Luke, who was dressed as a cooking chef. Or at least that’s what it looked like.

“See, this is why Quinn’s my favorite Hughes,” he mumbled, smiling at Quinn. “Anyway, Soph knows where the heat’s at.” Pointing at himself, Zegras moved on to the girl on his right, who seemed awfully pleased to be his second option.

“Asshole.” You heard Jack mutter under his breath and you giggled, amused.

“Be nice. He’s just… in heat, I guess,” you shrugged, already used to Zegras’ comments. Every time you saw him, he had something new to add to the list. Usually, you’d tell him to fuck off, and he would.

“He’s a pain in my ass, that’s what he is.” Jack bickered, pouting like a ten-year-old child. You found it cute.

“Poor Jackie, huh?”

“Shut up, Soph.” He smiled, blue eyes bright and kind.

Now that you knew what those backflips your heart did every time you saw him smile meant, it was much harder to control them.

Confessing to Jack would break the no-strings-attached arrangement that you both had silently made. It would meant either dating him and having your happily ever after (even if you hardly believed in those) or having your heart broken (again) by a really nice guy who just wanted to fuck you.

Besides that, you were both well-known people, especially you. You remember all too well when you were at home, chilling after a concert, and you got several texts from your friends and family, regarding a bunch of pictures of Harris kissing another girl at a bus stop station. A fucking bus stop station.

The situation dragged on for months, every time you’d post something, people would mention the fact that your ex was a cheater, you had been cheated on and that somehow you deserved to get cheated on; because of the things you sang, because of the clothes you were. Just a shit show with an even shittier audience.

“Hey,” you heard Jack’s voice beside you, and you turned your head around, looking at him. “Where'd you go?”

“Nowhere,” you smiled; it didn’t reach your eyes. Jack seemed to be ready to talk back when a girl— brunette with the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen— threw herself at his lap.

“Jackieeee.” She whined, kissing his cheek. “I missed you.”

You could tell she was a little tipsy, but even so, it made your stomach ache anyway. That ugly, shattering feeling of feeling like less than less came back, and it was as if you could feel the narrator of your story preparing himself to repeat the same shit again. Here’s Sophia again, the girl who likes to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrests.

“Hi…” Jack sounded unsure, something he rarely did. You looked at Grace, and she looked right back at you. Only then you realized that basically everyone was staring at you.

“You don’t remember me?” The girl sounded like she was pouting and you cringed. She was so close to you, sitting on his lap, that her left thigh was brushing against your arm. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure to be unforgettable this time, baby.”

“Wow, I think that’s it for me,” you muttered, getting up from the couch, moving to the kitchen without looking back. You knew that you’d throw up if you did; not because of Jack and Mrs. Unforgettable, but because of the pity stares you knew people were giving you. It sucked.

You also knew that if you stayed inside the house for too long, you’d end up drunk and pissed off. And you didn’t want that. So you did the only thing that you knew would put your mind in the right place again: going to the lake.

You walked outside, feeling the cold breeze hit your face and legs and arms and— everywhere, really. You should have worn a sweatshirt, but now it was too late to go back. You’d rather turn into a popsicle than to go back there and watch that again.

Sitting on the dock, you watched the lake in front of you, listening to the sounds of insects and trees moving. It was a nice view, but probably nicer in the summer. Right now it just looked like a Criminal Minds crime scene.

Lost in thoughts, you didn’t hear the steps coming from behind you. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Letting out a scream, you turned around, facing Quinn, who was wearing a pilot costume, with a scowl on your face.

“Sweet Jesus, Quinn, what the hell,” you put your hand on your barely covered chest, taking a deep breath. “Don’t you know how to, I don’t know, make noise while you walk?”

“I did that, actually, you just didn’t hear it,” he sat down beside you, handing you a Canucks sweatshirt. “Thought you’d get cold.”

You smiled, thanking him and putting it on, trying not to ruin your hair and makeup.

“Thank you, Quinn. That’s nice. Go Canucks!” You raised your hand, making a fist bump, hearing his soft chuckle beside you. You sighed. “I don’t know if you’re here to try to make me feel better or anything like that, but you don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“I’m just here because you needed a sweater and because it’s kinda creepy to be here alone. Nothing else, I promise.”

You looked at him, once again surprised with the Hughes men. But then, they were raised by Ellen, so you shouldn’t really be surprised.

You nodded, choosing not to say anything, just feeling the breeze on your face, a million thoughts in your head.

Now what? What would you even say to Jack? Hey, yeah, I know that when we started this we said that we didn’t want to fall in love but guess what! I’m in love with you.

And what would he even say to you? It wasn’t his fault he didn’t like you back. He’d probably say something like yeah, you fucked up our arrangement now I’ll have to find someone else to fuck every week. You were fun, though! and move on with his life.

And you’d move on with yours, just like you did before. The thing is, you didn’t want to move on again. You spent five years into your twenties trying to move on from things and it was tiring as hell. Moving on from broken friendships? Tiring. Moving on from toxic people? Tiring. Moving on from your cheater boyfriend? Tiring and humiliating.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Quinn throwing rocks at the lake, laughing when he couldn’t make them float like he intended to. He looked at you with that tired expression of his, and smiled back.

“Great album, by the way,” he blurted out of nowhere.

You frowned. “Thank you, I guess. Did someone leak it?”

“No,” he laughed, shortly. “Jack talked about it in our family group chat a while ago. Ma asked about you and he went on rambling about it, which was really funny. He was like, putting on his uniform before practice and recording a voice note at the same time, which he never does. And then he went full rambling about all of the songs and how shitty your ex was. Sorry about that,”

You looked at Quinn like he had grown two more heads, four more arms and five more legs. You had no idea Jack talked about your songs with his family. At all.

You wanted to ask more about it to Quinn so bad but you were kinda scared about what you were going to hear in response. Does Jack talk about me?

About you? Yeah, and a lot of other girls too.

“Sure,” you mumbled. “Yeah, Harris was a dick,”

“I liked some of his movies but now he’s banned from my watchlist forever.” Quinn announced like the statement didn’t make your heart break and mend at the same time, his tone calm and distant. “It’s good that you found something to channel your pain though. I do that a lot during my games.”

“Singing for me is like breathing. I’ve done it since I was, like, eight or even younger,” you nodded to yourself, looking at the stars above you. “This album means a lot to me, in a lot of ways. So thank you for telling me this.” You smiled, not sure if he could see it. He was also looking at the stars.

“Don’t need to say ‘thank you’. You have a gift, Sophia. I hope you know that,” he stretched himself, yawning and wrapping his arms around his middle. “I wish I could write songs but I suck at that.”

“Why do you sound like you’ve tried that already?” You smirked, fucking with him.

Or at least you thought you were, because Quinn went quiet, which confirmed your suspicions.

“What!” You looked at him, throwing your arms up. “Have you written songs before?”

“I was thirteen, okay? I just thought that maybe if I didn’t make it to the NHL, I could at least be a rapper or something.” He shrugged, again, which only made you start laughing. “I know, it’s funny. Thankfully, I made it to the NHL.”

“I don’t know, it’d be great to make a song with you,” you said, playfully, before realising something. “Oh my God, Quinn. That’s what I need!”

“What?” He smirked. “Make a song with me? I don’t think that’s a great idea—”

“No, not a song with you. Just a song. I need to write,” You nodded to yourself, getting up and fixing your skirt with your hands. “Do you think I could get a cab here? I came with Jack and I think he’s…” you bit your lip. Focus. Write the song; it will all be better. “Busy. And Grace needs to have her fun, too. She’s been working nonstop.”

“A cab? Soph, it’s like midnight,” he got up, too, standing in front of you. “I can take you home. It’s no biggie.”

“What? No! Enjoy the party! I’ll just try to catch an Uber or something.” You went to grab your phone, just to remember that you left it at the cabin. “Ugh, fuck, I need to go inside again.”

“I will take you home, no need for Ubers or anything like that. Just tell me where your things are and I’ll pick them up for you. I’ll talk to Grace on my way there.” He affirmed, walking with you towards the cabin, the loud music slowly filling up your ears again.

“That’s… so nice,” you breathed, more grateful than you’d like to admit. “Thank you, Quinn, seriously. I owe you.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, hands in his pockets. “Wait a second here, please.”

You did, and it wasn’t long until he showed up with your backpack, your phone and a very worried Grace beside him.

“Girl, what the hell?” She yelled, probably not even realizing how loud she sounded. “I’ve been looking for you like crazy and out of nowhere Quinn shows up with your stuff, saying he will get you home.”

“I have to write a song.” You reasoned, raising your shoulders.

Grace stared at you for what felt like forever, until she pressed her lips on your forehead and sighed. “Alright. I’m not even going to ask. Be safe, please, and remember that I’m only a phone call away.”

“Thank you, I love you.” You kissed her back, following Quinn on the way to his car, not bothering to look back.

Jack was probably busy anyway.

— ♡

HANDS around the guitar, you replayed the same melody you’ve been playing for five hours straight now.

You arrived home at one thirty in the morning, and even though you were awfully tired, you had to get the lyrics, the feelings, the emotions out of you. Fuck sleeping.

You offered your guest room for Quinn but he just shook his head, saying that he’d crash at his parents’. You made him call you when he arrived there so you knew he was safe, which he promptly did.

After that, you made yourself tea and sat in your home studio, writing obsessively. It had been a long time since the last time you had a song practically written in your head, and honestly, you couldn’t tell if that was good or not.

What you knew, though, is that now, five hours later, seven a.m. in the morning, you had a song. Bad for Business. You sent it to your producer and Grace before laying on your bed and drifting away immediately, the exhaustion taking over you.

[honkytonk-hangman]

In Sickness...

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he's gravely ill.

Notes: mentions of a cheating boyfriend, jake convinced he's sick when really he is in loooveeee

Masterlist

“Hey, Hangman, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jake, despite his usual goal of doing everything in his power to get on Phoenix’s nerves, finds himself ignoring the need to be quite annoying. His antics aside, he knew his fellow aviator well enough by now to recognise when she was up for his shit, and when she absolutely wasn’t.

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a little bit of a douchebag, though.

“Give me a second, Trace, I’ll need to start my timer.” he makes a show of observing his watch and starting a countdown from sixty seconds. Phoenix ignores him, and in place of possibly giving him a dead arm, she instead comes to a stop in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that was just a Natasha Thing, and not actually a sign of closed body language-thing

“You’re going to be at Mav and Penny’s later, right?” she asks, even though he knows he’s never given the impression of having any other plans, and she knows it. Jake simply nods, still pretending to count down.

“Right. Well… maybe take it easy on Cricket tonight, okay?” Phoenix asks him, her voice soft and quiet in a manner that makes Jake mess up his countdown, and subsequently drop his wrist and the bit entirely.

“I’m under the impression that I always take it easy on my favourite member of the orthopteran insect family,” he poses, and it's not untrue. He didn’t snipe with Cricket like he did with the others, mostly because she never sniped back, so trying to maintain a faux adversarial relationship would just be boring. No, Cricket was far sweeter and more wholesome than literally anyone he’d ever met, like Elle Woods had a lovechild with Barbie, and instead of banter, he’d found it irresistible and perpetually rewarding to tease her about her Certified Disney Princess status.

(Jake will never let her forget the time a small child at the beach approached her to ask if she was a mermaid, and that wasn’t even the only instance he’d witnessed something like that happening.)

 Phoenix shifts uncomfortably in front of him and purses her lips.

“Look, just… give her a break tonight,” she pushes. Jake frowns even deeper, his own mood becoming solemn now.

“What's wrong? Is she alright?” the questions leave his mouth before he can really consider perhaps only asking one, to keep some semblance of cool. Phoenix dances from foot to foot again and nods, but then quickly makes the universal noise, gesture and expression of ‘well, no, actually’.

“She, uh, broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago.” Nat reveals, and oddly, it's the last thing Jake was expecting to hear, and the last thing he’d expect her to divulge to him.

“Oh.” he says, a little unsure of what else to say. Blinking rapidly, Phoenix starts nodding again, this time in a sort of commiserating manner, as if they often gossiped.

“Yeah, she came home to find the prick was fucking one of his colleagues…” She all but spits the words. Her hands form fists where they’re still tucking into her folded arms.

“She's actually really torn up about it, but you know Cricket. She’s not very good at not being positive, you know? So she’s just bottling it up, and I figured, maybe your usual game with her might not be so lighthearted right now. You know she would never tell you if you actually hurt her feelings, so…” Phoenix manages to catch herself before she descends into a full on ramble.

In all the years he’d known her, Jake had only ever witnessed Phoenix fully ramble once, several years ago back in Lemoore, when she and Halo had downed eight shots in ten minutes, and she then proceeded to give him a thirty minute TEDTalk about how cockroaches were basically just incredibly simple AI machines, interrupted every so often when she dozed off against his shoulder, only to pick right back up like nothing had happened.

Pushing the memory aside, Jake takes in her words slowly before at last he releases a deep breath.

He actually finds himself a little taken aback by the sheer depth of anger that lances through him at the thought of Cricket being treated like that. Nobody deserves to be cheated on, but Cricket was simply someone that Jake doesn’t believe anything bad should ever happen to. Around the same time he comes to this conclusion, Jake also becomes aware that as his anger simmers down, he’s struck with the need to seek out his squadmate, and comfort her, something which, if Jake is honest with himself, is not something he has much experience with. He was much more likely to offer space to someone in need, so this sudden urge causes his brow to furrow.

Jake chooses to compartmentalise this oddness for now, but makes a mental note for later to figure out when exactly he’d developed such a strong fondness for Cricket, and more importantly, how exactly that had happened without him knowing.

For now, Jake just gives Pheonix a level nod, and what he hopes is an expression she takes to mean he understands. He then tries to get a hold of his rogue fondness and leashes it with what he thinks is a brotherly, friendly reaction, a more normal reaction for him to have towards his squadmate.

“Does she want him punched or something?” he asks, feeling as though anything more would reveal too much of his scattered, fond thoughts. Jake purses his lips when he realises that ‘fondness’ was quickly becoming an understatement he’ll have to address at some point.

Phoenix's lips curve into a genuine smile, and she chortles softly, shaking her head.

“Well, you’ll have to get in line if she does. I’ve got first dibs.” she states, cracking her knuckles and then her neck, making Jake snort, and shrug, glad to know that perhaps he wasn't the only one suddenly feeling protective.

“I’m sure we could come up with a wrestlemania-worthy finishing move, a la The Hardy Boys to sort him out.” Jake chortles, imagining he and Nat in matching championship belts, and ignoring her raised eyebrow. He knows from that one movement alone that she is filing this information about him away to whip out like a trap card, but compared to the other information she might have gleaned from his reaction to the situation, he doesn’t care so much.

(Besides, Jake felt no shame about his love for Attitude-Era WWE, and if he ever gets the chance to repay her for the thirty minutes of cockroach facts he could have lived his whole life without needing to know, well, now he knew exactly what his topic of choice would be.)

Four hours later, Jake, for some reason, cannot stop thinking about his conversation with Phoenix. He tried chalking it up to the fact that it was an unusual request she’d made of him, but he knows that is bull. Jake is far too invested all of a sudden in your personal life, in your feelings, in a way that honestly, he never has been before. Or at least, has never realised before, because the more Jake lingers on the idea that you were cheated on, he has to confront the fact that these feelings might just have been there all along, and that actually, your happiness and wellbeing are extremely important to him.

He keeps his distance when you arrive with Halo at Penny and Mav’s, but he eyes you hawkishly anyway, uncaring if he’s obvious about it or not. He wants to believe that if he hadn’t known, he’d have spotted your much more reserved demeanour immediately, but honestly, he's not really sure of anything now when it comes to you. Jake isn’t sure if Phoenix spoke to the others, if he was just the last to know, but there is an air of tenderness in the way the others greet you, which wasn't entirely unusual in itself, yet the softness is palpable even from where he sits on the other side of the yard.

He watches you put on a good show, smiling sweetly at Penny as she rushes over to say hello, but the moment you dont think others are paying attention, your features fall and Jake decides that it is basically unacceptable for you to look that sad ever again.

When you disappear through the backdoor, to put the share platter you’ve bought into the fridge he assumes, Jake doesn’t even excuse himself from the conversation he’s supposedly in before he’s beelining for the house. Behind him, he can vaguely hear Javy and Payback protest, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

Jake steps through the sliding back doors quietly, closing the door behind him and shutting out the rest of the barbeque, if only for a few minutes. He moves softly through the small back room and towards the kitchen, once more surprised to find out just how pleased he is when you turn to look at him right away. That was new… or was it? Jake thinks perhaps he should stop trying to figure things out.

“Hey! Jake!” you greet cheerfully, and he’s comforted a little that your smile reaches your eyes.

“I didn’t catch you this afternoon, so I didn't get to find out your fruit platter preference, but Javy told me anything but pineapple–” you launch right away into friendly conversation, and oddly, this small normality brings him comfort too, after his afternoon of quiet worry. Jake nods at your words as you continue explaining your fruit platter, and if he hadn't other things on his mind, he would have voiced his amusement at the fact you’d somehow managed to cut or arrange all the fruits into the shape of jets.

Anger bubbles in him once again, at the idea that anybody would do anything to cause you to be upset. You, who cuts fruit into themed shapes, and who makes sure to ask every member of the team their food preferences, and who, he’s almost certain, has made the yoghurt dip you're currently unwrapping completely from scratch just for this casual get together.

How could any sane person know you, know how sweet and caring and fundamentally, altogether good you are, and still choose to do something that would hurt you?

More importantly, how could a man be with you and want anyone else?

Jake takes a step forward and fixes you with what he hopes is not an expression that reflects his inner anger, but gives off something more like softness. He’s not sure he’s ever really had a serious conversation with you before, especially not one that wasn't about work, so he’s surprised how natural it feels to show you something more genuine than his usual playful amusement.

“Are you alright?” he hears himself ask you, almost regretting it when your expression drops immediately, and you look away from him, back to your fruit platter which you now seem to be pointless rearranging just so you don't have to look at him. You attempt to wave him off after a few moments, plastering a smile on and scrunching your nose as you continue to not look at him.

“I’m okay. Really. Things weren’t right for a while, so it’s sort of a relief, really.”

Jake thinks that maybe in a few months time, those words might actually be believable, but Phoenix was right. You were such a naturally happy and uplifting person, it’s clear to Jake that you were struggling to let yourself be sad or angry about it all.

You seem to be expecting him to speak, because you glance back at him several times before you seem to really get a look at his face, at which point you stop messing with your platter and turn to face him properly.

“Thank you for asking, though, I… I really appreciate that,” you murmur, wringing your hands together, before realising what you’re doing and smoothing them out over your sundress instead. Jake feels his pulse speed up. Or maybe it slows, he’s not sure, he just knows that his heart beat becomes irregular, and before he knows what he's doing, he’s stepping even closer towards you.

“Cricket,” he begins, a frown beginning to crease his brow, which your eyes flicker to consciously, as if you were concerned about his feelings. “Just say the word, and his nose will be irreparably broken. For the rest of his life he’ll be telling people it's an old football injury. Maybe he’ll even need surgery to fix it enough that it’s even remotely normal again,” Jake watches your eyes widen and blink as he speaks, but he makes sure to keep any trace of humour from his voice, so you properly understand just how serious he’s being. “Hell, it doesn't even need to be his nose. I’ll break his collarbone, I've heard that's the most painful in the long run…”

When you let out a soft sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, Jake almost thinks he needs to rephrase his offer, but your soft smile and the almost shy look you shoot at him before you drop your gaze for a moment assures him you understood that he wasn’t joking, even a little.

“Sometimes…” you purse your lips and frown, struggling to find the right words, but you begin wringing your hands slowly again and the movement seems to lend you some confidence. “Sometimes I really wish I could be more like Phoenix… or, more like anybody else, really–” Jake has to physically clamp his mouth shut to stop himself protesting that point and let you talk.

“Sometimes, I wish I was someone who would take you up on that offer. I… I feel like I should want to want that… but I don’t…” you trail off and sigh again, but this time, the exhale seems to take a weight off your chest, like simply admitting these feelings out loud was what you really needed.

You look back up at him properly, and smile again. Jake thinks his pulse has stopped altogether now, and begins to seriously consider reporting to medical first thing Monday morning.

“But, I promise that if I ever change my mind about the severe breaking of certain bones, I’ll know exactly who to talk to.” Your smile widens just slightly, a little mischievous almost, like even just joking about it was very cheeky of you. Jake on the other hand, just believes it to be the only correct course of action.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you begin talking again, dropping your fidgeting hands to hang more relaxed at your sides.

“A lot of my life I haven’t really been surrounded by people who’ve looked out for me, or folks who I can really trust… and I know we’re not really friends, more like work friends, but–” you suddenly cut yourself off and shake your head with a little chortle.

“It doesn’t matter, ignore me–”

“–We’re friends.” Jake can’t stop himself from protesting this time. You blink at him like this is surprising to you. “We are friends, Cricket… I know I–” Jake cuts himself off like you had just done and grinds his teeth a little. This was not a conversation he went around having very often, if ever, at all. “You know I wouldn’t poke fun at you if I didn’t care. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think we were friends,” he says, hoping his words didn’t give away exactly how much he cared. You seem to search his face, but you’re nodding, as if he was the one who needed assuring in this situation.

Jake starts to wonder then if he was actually becoming seriously ill, and all of his reaction to this afternoon has just been one big fugue episode. That idea is genuinely more believable to him at this moment, that Jake is really, actually currently unconscious in the on base hospital, with a skyrocketing fever and some other terrible things, than all of this sudden personal change and inner realisation happening so naturally and smoothly and without him having a say in it.

But then you’re smiling at him again, bright and genuine and all thoughts of climbing fevers and sudden illness evaporate. As sad as it sounds, Jake would never dream of you smiling at him like that, the sight so affecting and sweet that he could never come up with on his own. However, he does conclude he’ll probably be seeing it a lot in his dreams from now on. He thinks this should cause panic in him, he should not be planning to dream about one of his squad mates smiling at him, but unsurprisingly to him now, panic is the furthest thing he feels about it.

“Well, I just know that I’m not always good at asserting myself, but I know that you guys… you guys will do it for me.” You give a little shrug. Jake feels a little shame then, that he’s worked with you for several months now and has not once picked up on the fact that you were completely aware of your own tendency to be a bit of a pushover.

It dawns on him that every time he teased you for being ‘too nice’, and every time you laughed or shook your head in amusement, the real joke was on him. It’s a joke that Jake doesn't find particularly funny right now. He’s not sure he ever will.

“Sorry, I’m being so dramatic and grim!” you say suddenly, and this time your mood change isn’t fake or put on. Jake shakes his head at you, and at last feels some of his regular programming begin to seep back in. He chooses to make a show of leaning back against the counter and carefully crosses his arms over his broad chest in a way that he knows looks incredibly sexy (Javy has assured him), a small smirk slowly spreading over his features.

“Cricket,” he drawls out slowly, somewhat relieved that he feels more himself again. You double take as you look back up at him from where you’ve started fiddling with your fruit platter again, your eyes blinking rapidly as you now quickly try to avoid his whole side of the room. Jake’s grin grows ever so slightly when he has your attention, even if you seem too nervous to look at him now.

Unlike most of the women Jake had worked with, you didn't seem to try to, or perhaps you simply were unable to, hide the effect Jake had on you, how he could so easily make you flustered. It's not something he’s totally unfamiliar with, after all, plenty of women around the Hard Deck were the exact same, but the fact that you aren't some civilian looking to get laid, and are in fact one of the best aviators he knows, makes it all the sweeter.

(Jake had once tried to reconcile the way you handled yourself in the air, with the way you were at all other times, but he could never quite do the maths on it, so it was better for his brain if he didn't think about it at all.)

Honestly, Jake knows his getting a reaction out of you is an act of self ego-stroking, but he loved making a spectacle of himself, just to watch how you would sputter and go all mushy, and if he’s even more honest, a big part of his enjoyment lay in the thought that perhaps, he was doing you a favour, giving you something to think about, boyfriend be damned. He supposes he doesn’t need to worry about that being a problem anymore.

Jake then pauses then, and wonders when exactly you having a boyfriend had become a ‘problem’, a threat to him specifically, because the more he thinks about the idea now (hypothetical as it is), the more his skin starts to itch under his shirt.

Perhaps he was getting sick after all.

“Yes, Jake?” you ask, still avoiding looking his way, and trying to use a tone of voice that was either exasperated or ignorant, but your slightly higher pitch gives you away.

“You didn’t say that I was your friend, too,” he faux complains, watches you shake your head a little, but fail completely at keeping the smile off of your face.

With your platter now deemed ready, you pick it up and turn toward him, holding it out for him to take. Jake, without thought, does so.

“You are my friend, too, Jake,” you tell him, far more sincerely this time, and Jake feels his pulse do that odd thing again. He swallows thickly, and nods, before you direct him out the back door.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jake can’t help but hover, never moving too far away from where you are, and when he doesn’t have an excuse to linger close to you, he always keeps one eye directed your way.

[strangerpringle]

(‼️UPDATED HUNTRIC FIRST MEETING SCRIPT‼️) (CONTEXT: This is now a flashback minisode script where Hunter and Edric are both in their late thirties and have two kids Lewis(14) and Fionna(12) when Hunter and Edric tell Lewis about their first meeting)

Hunter, and Edric are sitting on the outside couch on the porch, while Fionna is playing with Batric, Lewis comes outside excited to show his dads what he’s been working on.

Lewis: Dad Papa, can you help me for a second I need some help on a few details.

Hunter: of course! Uh, what is the project exactly, you haven’t really told us what it is yet.

Lewis: oh yeah, I’m supposed to write a report on the most inspirational person or people in my life, and I had to go with you two since your story is so beautiful and moving and emotional it’s literally something that came out of one of my romance novels, it’s so interesting and inspiring to me!!

Hunter and Edric are practically in tears they did not expect that kind of response

Edric: *sniff*🥺

Fionna: booooooo I don’t wanna eavesdrop on all this gross sappy romance talk *blegh*

Lewis: Fionnaaaa if you’re gonna be like that then go back inside and watch your creepy clown movie or something-

Fionna: At least that’s entertainment-

Hunter: haha it’s ok Fionna-

Edric: don’t worry Lewi, sometimes kids don’t really care about romance. I didn’t really care about it until I found the romance section in the video store around your age, I think it was something about vampires-

Hunter: anyway, what did you need exactly?

Lewis: Oh yeah, *Lewis places long sheet of paper on the coffee table in front of them* I just wanted to make sure the timeline was correct, was the break up before or after aunt Mittens had the fight with Papa at Eclipse Lake?

Edric: Uh, before, and uh, we actually didn’t first meet when the abomitons were being transported to the old castle.

Lewis: Wait, really??

Hunter: I guess technically that’s when you first asked me out.

Edric: Wow, we really never told you?

Lewis: NO, I can’t believe I never fact checked this…

Hunter: heh, you remember that night?

Edric: How could I forget❤️

Hunter and Edric look over at Lewis, he has a VERY intrigued face.

Edric: You want to hear the story-

Lewis:-YES PLEASE!!

Hunter and Edric both giggle-

Hunter:Grom night, if I remember correctly, I haven’t even met Luz at that point.

Edric: ugh, the night me and Em got stood up-but also the night I met the love of my life~💞

Hunter: *blushes* and the night I met mine~💞

Lewis: EEEEEE *bouncing with excitement*

Fionna: *very exaggerated gags and covers her ears*

Edric: …23 years ago

Hunter: Titan we’re old-

Edric: HA-oh man…

(…)

It’s Grom night, and Edric and Emira are alone after being stood up, they’re having an argument because Emira’s upset…

Ed: "AT LEAST YOURE NOT ALONE"

Em: "ID RATHER BE ALONE THEN BE STUCK WITH YOU"

Ed: "…FINE IF YOU WANNA BE ALONE, THEN BE ALONE-“

Ed runs into a nearby forest, sad cold, and lonley. After a few minutes he sees a flash of red light coming right towards him-

The Golden Guard stops right at his tracks-

Edric is very taken aback, hes only heard of The Golden Guard, hes just never seen him before, he becomes slightly starstruck.

“Sir why are you here this is a dangerous forest, its not safe-“

Edric: Whatever, if the forest is gonna eat me alive let it-

GG: What why??

Edric: …it’d be a lot better then getting your heart broken🥺

GG: How did that even happen, wait what do you mean hearts can break-IS IT CONTAGIOUS??

Edric: what no?? It’s a saying-Ugh why do you even care, no one else would care if I died out here why should you??

GG: Look man I’m not good at this sort of thing, I just think it’s stupid that you’d rather be eaten alive by whatever horrific monsters roams around here then whatever happened to your heart, how did your heart become “broken”, I don’t see any bleeding?

Edric: CAN YOU JUST LET ME BE DRAMATIC GUESS WHAT SOMETIMES YOU FEEL PAIN WITHOUT ACTUALLY BEING PHYSICALLY HURT-DO YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE WHEN SOMEONE ASKS YOU OUT TO THE BIGGEST NIGHT OF THE SCHOOL YEAR ONLY FOR THEM TO NEVER SHOW UP AND MAKE YOI FEEL SO EMBARRASSED AND STUPID TO THINK THAT SOMEONE WOULD ACTUALLY LOVE YOU- . . . sorry I, *sigh* I just wanted to have the perfect dance with the perfect guy…but I guess that was wishful thinking…

GG: I’m, sorry about that and no, I don’t know how that feels… can I do anything to help?

Edric: heh, can you dance?

GG: I uh, I dont know how to dance, uh, how do you even do that…?

Edric seems very intrigued by this information, "oh I can help with that-" The Golden Guard says it all, I dont have time, theres no point, I'm on a mission. "What? The Golden Guard is not aloud to have a little fun?" Edric swiftly takes his hand, and places it on his shoulder, takes the other and holds it high, while he takes his own, and places it on The Golden Guards shoulder, he slightly flinches, but relaxes after they slowly start to dance, Edric can tell hes nervous but decides not to poke fun at him.

After a few misteps, they start to find a rhythm…

"Well aren't you a fast learner" Edric says with a flirty tone...

The Golden Guard giggles slightly-

They danced for what seemed like forever…

Until a beam of light brightens the entire forest, both shocked and confused they stopped dancing, bits of black goo scurry away under them, "What in Titans name was that??" The Golden Guard yells, "is, that bits of Grom??" Ed questions "Gromethius, is here?" says The Golden Guard "not anymore apparently" replies Ed, they both laugh-

After stomping out the rest of grom, The Golden Guard apologizes to Ed having to miss his dance, smiling, Ed replies, "its ok, I had a better one right here..." The Golden Guard quickly turns away flustered and begins fiddling with his staff.

Edric shivers because of the cold, he left his coat with Emira. He then feels the warmth of a white cloak on his sholders, he looks over to see The Golden Guard without his cloak, and showing his pushed back light blonde hair, with only a strand out of place. "What about you?" Edric asks "It's fine, I can request another when I get back-" *peck*💞

Edric kisses the very flustered Golden Guard on the cheek and replies with a soft -

"Thank you…”❤️

GG: "h-happy to help-uh-"

Ed: "Edric."

GG: "Edric."

Edric suddenly feels butterflies in his stomach-💞

After a moment of silence Ed suddenly realizes- "WAIT WHATS YOUR-" a flash of red wisps into the night sky, "…name.."

"maybe next time, hopefully" Edric thinks to himself...

Edric starts to hear cheering in the distance, he follows it to see what the commotion is about and sees his little sister and her friend Luz being carried away by many students cheering, Mittens and Luz defeated Grom and are now being carried back to end the night with a fun dance celebration, Ed follows his sister and the crowed back to Hexside, still thinking about what happend.

Emira sees him and very worried starts bombarding him with questions, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, WHY THE FOREST OF ALL PLACES, WHAT WAS THAT LIGHT, WHOS CLOAK IS THAT???- but it all just went in one ear and out the other... everything that just happend was magical, more magic then he could ever conjure. He just walks away in his own mind and replays every second of that dance, a dance he never wants to forget, and he hopes someday, maybe, just maybe, he'll see him again.❤️

(…)

Edric: What I once thought was the worst night of my life, actually turned out to be better then I could ever imagine…💞

Hunter and Edric look at each other lovingly💞

Lewis: *in tears* that was beautiful…🥺

Fionna: Awww🥺… IM MEAN-EWWWw oh who am I kidding that was really sweet-

Lewis: Not so gross now huh-

Fionna: What?? I’m aloud to think it’s nice SOMETIMES-

Everyone laughs except Fionna-

Lewis: Hey dad, do you still have the cloak?

Edric: Oh, um, I probably do, just not here…

Lewis: *sigh* I can’t wait till I find my love of my life-oh-

A butterfly lands on Lewis’ nose, the wings spread out to show its colorful wings.

🧡💛🤍🩵💙

Fionna: oooo pretty! :D

Lewis: *takes butterfly on finger* *looks at it and smiles*

Butterfly flutters away into the sky…

*later*

Hunter and Edric arrive at a storage unit, unlock it and open it to see many boxes filled with old stuff that belonged to Ed Em Amity and Alador when they moved out of the mansion.

Ed and Hunter walk to the very back and find a few boxes labeled “Edrics closet”

Hunter helps Edric open and look through a few until Edric find a small white cloak that would only fit a 16 year old Golden Guard.

Hunter slowly grabs it and holds it up to himself, seeing how much he’s grown, and they both slightly giggle.

Hunter looks down at it, holding the cloak is bringing back memories, some he wishes he didn’t remember. Edric places his hand on Hunters sholder and gives him a look saying “you ok?” Hunter puts the cloak down and hugs Edric tightly. Edric hugs back and strokes Hunters hair to calm him. They start to sway side to side, and begin a small slow dance…❤️

[skylarmoon71]

Eobard Thawne - Extra (Flash)

“You’d look a lot cuter if you smiled.”

Eobard thought being trapped at Star Labs and inability to take out his arch nemesis was the worst thing that could happen to him, but he was terribly wrong. Because the woman who was attached at his hip was much more irritating than any master plan he’d been scheming all his life.

You always wore a smile. Insistent on getting him to become good.

How laughable.

The only reason he hadn’t taken down the entire building is his lack of speed. That and the little trinket Cisco created to monitor him. It tracked everything. He almost thought it could be his bad intentions, because he definitely felt a jolt when he was glaring at Barry a few days ago.

“I can’t believe you all are stupid enough to believe this woman is a cupid.” Eobard grumbled.

“We’ve literally seen talking gorillas, sharks and freaking aliens. Cupids seem pretty believable."

Cisco continued to lick at the popsicle as he swirled in the chair. Harry was not too far away, tinkering with some items. Discreetly stealing glances. Just to be safe.

When Barry not so casually walked in and whispered something in your ear, Eobard didn’t like the way your eyes lit up. The both of you left, and he could feel his mind reel at the possibilities of torture he was in for. Cisco snickered from his spot.

“Something funny.” Eobard pressed.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

He didn’t like the sound of that.

“So how do I win his heart?”

Barry was the last person to help with that question. So he’d just handed you a book.

“These are some ideas I got from a reliable source.”

Source meaning lots of google searches. You took it happily, diving into the contents. Barry was impressed at the way your eyes whipped over each page. In a matter of seconds you were done with the forty page journal he’d put together.

“Got it! Thanks Barry.” You threw the book and Barry caught it clumsily. When you entered the room, you were almost glowing. You marched straight over to Eobard who narrowed his eyes.

“Would you like to have a seat?” You pulled out a chair, but he merely folded his arms.

“I’m fine.”

“A massage?”

“Pass.”

“Chocolates?”

“I’m allergic.”

“Bath?”

“Took one thirty minutes ago.”

You were running out of ideas, and Eobard was sure with each word you would snap at him, but you were still wearing an almost contagious smile.

“Thank you, I think now I’ve learned more about you than when I started. “ It took him a few seconds to realize what had just happened. His hands unfolded slowly.

“You played me..”

Was this what it felt like when someone used a reverse uno card on you?

Before he could apprehend you, you were skipping off. Cisco was just sitting there confused.

“What did she just do?” He waved around his partially melted popsicle. Barry decided to explain.

“I gave her a book on studying human behavior. It was centered around romantic encounters. Some of that stuff is actually accurate when it comes to reading body language. She knows you're combative.”

Cisco’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape.

“Damn, she played you like a fiddle.”

With one look, Cisco was silent for the remainder of the day.

It was clear that the journey to change Eobard would be a tough one. While they were willing to try. There were still points that were a lot harder than most.

“Not that I don’t trust him, but it’s been a few weeks and I’m still afraid to fall asleep in the lab. We could keep him locked up in the pipeline, but (Y/N) might have a breakdown if we did that again.” Cisco was right.

“I can take him!”

The poof of your appearance startled both Barry and Cisco.

“Don’t do that!!”

You giggle bashfully.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting humans don’t teleport. I’ll do better.” When Cisco got his heart rate under control.

“You’re going to take him to your place. I just realized we’ve never asked where you’re poofing too all the time!”

“I have a place here. Cupid’s are very resourceful. This isn’t my first time in this city. I’ve been here many times, I’ve just never stopped long enough to do much. But now that I have my soul mate we can live together and cuddle all day long.” After that statement it appears you were off in your own world. So Cisco took that time to negotiate.

“It's not a bad plan. She’s the only one who’s not scared shitless of him. Plus she’s like all powerful. He’d be screwed if he tried anything. “

It was very appealing. Barry turns back to you.

“Are you sure you can handle him?”

“Yes!! Please, please, please!” Your eyes did that thing again and Cisco agreed.

“Alright fine you can have him just stop it with the cute freaking eyes!!”

Your grin was wide, and you gave Cisco a hug. He stumbled slightly at the whiff of pink.

“Thank you!” You were gone again, and Barry groaned.

“Barry, I love you bro.” Cisco was wearing a silly smile as he patted Barry on the shoulder.

“I know.” They supposed they would have to get used to this.

~~

“Here’s a blanket, and your bed is right here.” Eobard stared down at the king sized bed.

“Where is yours?”

“We can share.”

“Absolutely not. “

“Why not?”

Eobard assumed you were joking, but he should have known that at this point, he should take everything you say as it was. Because you were as naive as you were powerful. He’d put up with your constant flirting, inserting, pestering. But it was never ending. The worst part wasn’t your infatuation, but your view that if you invested enough, then you’d magically wake up one day and he’d be some good guy. He wasn’t as oblivious as Team Flash gave him credit for. It’s clear that was the only reason he wasn’t rotting in Argus right now.

It was aggravating.

“I’ll never change.”

There was a bit of contempt in those words, and all you offer is a smile.

“I don’t remember saying I was going to change you.”

Eobard squinted.

“It’s naive to expect you to become a hero overnight. Of course I’d prefer it if you didn’t go around impaling people. But I don’t want you to change everything about yourself. There are certain traits you have that are a part of you. You’re stubborn, combative, brutally honest. Even under normal circumstances, these are regular characteristics that make up a person. To ask you to change that would be wrong. That’s not love. Love is making a person better inside and out because you care. Not changing them because people expect it of you. “

Eobard didn’t have words to retaliate against that.

Deep down he knew that you were right in some aspects. Had he never met Barry Allen, his life would have been much different. He could have been a professor somewhere and maybe..

His eyes drifted in your direction, this time, he found himself enamored by the soft inviting smile you wore. He held your gaze for a few moments before turning away.

“I’ll take the couch.” With a laugh, you stack the colorful sheets.

“Have a good night.”

You murmur comfortingly.

For once, he felt like he actually might.

[catastrophicmind]

Get to know me (take two)

I came across this little prompt and thought we could continue sharing about ourselves. Believe it or not, but I’m invested in y’all and would love to get to know everyone! 😁

Are you named after anyone?: No, but everyone assumes my parents are huge Allman Brother fans because my name is Melissa. When I asked my mom about it, she informed me that she, in fact, hates the Allman Brothers. She just thought the name was pretty.

When was the last time you cried?: Ooh, boy. About a month ago when I made amends to my mom for all the hell I put her through. We both cried like babies.

Do you have kids?: None currently. I’d actually prefer to be a dog mom. The thought of having mini versions of me roaming the Earth is quite terrifying.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?: It’s literally the only way I know how to communicate. I absolutely love sarcasm and dry humor.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?: Physically, I go for the eyes— they’re a window to the soul. I actually can read people very well. Someone’s eyes say a lot about who they are as an individual. I normally can accurately hone in on their intentions and emotions within the first five minutes of talking to them. I’m big on reading energy. Plus, I’m a sucker for pretty irises.

What’s your eye color?: Hazel to be vague. Normally they switch between green and gold depending on my mood. It’s actually pretty cool.

Scary movies or happy endings?: Scary movies hands down. Not a huge romance fan. I thoroughly enjoy reading fluffy fan fiction, but I’m not big on lovey-dovey movies. I need to be on the edge of my seat the entire time. I get bored watching people fall for each other over a two hour timeframe.

Any special talents?: Heh. I was in concert and marching band for eight years. I can play any type of symphonic instrument you put in front of me from a flute to a tuba. I specialize in reed instruments but that didn’t stop me from learning how to play them all. Also, I play by ear. You can play any song you wish and within thirty seconds, I can pick out the key and play it in its entirety without reading any sheet music. I actually wrote a lot of scores for the football game music.

Where were you born?: Good ‘ol Raleigh, North Carolina where I currently reside. I’ve lived up and down the East Coast, but always manage to make it back home. I don’t intend to leave this beautiful area any time soon.

What are your hobbies?: I’m actually pretty boring. I do a lot of writing and reading, I’m obsessed with music (you can almost always find me with my headphones in) and other lame adult things. I’m getting to an age where all I do is work and come home to relax. I try to keep a structured life. I’m horrendous to be around if I don’t plan my day out in advance.

Have any pets?: No, my lease won’t allow it. My mom still has our family Cockapoo, Cody, we brought home the summer of my Senior year. He may not live with me, but I love him immensely. He’s like the annoying little brother I never wanted and came to grow quite fond of.

What sports do you play/have played?: I was not a sporty gal. Did four years of marching band in high school. It was intense considering we were the top band in the state all four years. We’d travel to Grand Nationals every winter and place in the semi-finals for the country. I got to march on the Indianapolis Colts stadium— that was pretty fucking rad. Had me in phenomenal shape too. I used to be able to run a five-and-a-half-minute mile.

How tall are you?: I’m five-foot-seven-and-a-half. Sometimes I wish I could be petite like other girls, but it works in my favor when I want to reach something on the top shelf.

Favorite subject in school?: History and Psychology. I loved learning about anything to do with what happened in our country and the world long before we arrived. I also adore understanding the brain and why it functions the way it does.

Dream job?: Substance Abuse Counselor. I’d love to work in a treatment center to help individuals struggling with dual diagnosis. I have personally been fighting addiction since I was twenty. I’m coming up on a year of sobriety early March and my dream is to give back what was so selflessly given to to me in my time of need. I want to bring positive change to the world for addicts that believe there is no hope. It actually gives me butterflies thinking about it.

Tagging: @the-type-a @heysatanitsyourgirl @webui1tgwensface @sentimentalslut @plutosschild @honeynotgood @duncans-unibrow

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

A month ago, when Daniel Kitson released his film of the play Tree, my dad wanted to do something the night it was streaming, and I told him I can’t because I have to see a play by my favourite comedian that night. I hadn’t actually defined Daniel Kitson as my favourite comedian before, hadn’t really thought about it, said it without thinking and it was accurate.

A couple of weeks later at was at the pub with a few of my friends, the sort of thing that used to happen a lot more often than it does these days (something that was maybe already starting to slightly slow down pre-COVID, for reasons involving life being different as you get into your thirties, and that process was wildly accelerated by a global pandemic), and we got talking about a Nish Kumar show my best friend and I saw last summer. I described Nish Kumar as “one of the best people in the world”.

One of my friends misheard that as “the best in the world”, and asked me if Nish Kumar was my favourite comedian. So I had to clarify, because I will throw around hyperbolic statements like that as long as they’re qualified with “one of” – any number of people can be “one of” the best, “one of” my favourites, “one of” anything. But if I say that without the “one of” qualification, I’ve usually put some thought into that and actually mean it. Also, obviously I was joking, because I didn’t call him “one of the best comedians in the world”, I called him “one of the best people”. I have previously referred to Nish Kumar on this blog as the eighth wonder of the world, but if we’re literally listing the actual best people on Earth, I think we have to go through quite a lot of people like Malala Yousafzai before we got to anyone who’s ever been on Taskmaster.

My friend’s question made me stop for a moment, and think about what I’d say if I weren’t being hyperbolic for comedic effect. But, crucially, only for a moment. I then quite easily told her that he’s probably not literally the best person in the world, but he is my second favourite comedian, and that’s pretty significant, given how much of my life I have dedicated to listening to all the comedians. My closest friends are vaguely aware that when I disappeared for the last three years it involved a lot of British comedy – I don’t really discuss it beyond that, as I would like to keep whatever friends I still have. I did drag my best to that Nish Kumar gig last summer and he hated it, but he’s been in my life for nearly twenty years, there’s too much there to damage with one difficult night.

Anyway, the point is that if I were writing a list on this blog that ranked my favourite comedians, it would take me fucking ages. And I’d end up caveating it all to hell, not really being able to choose, dividing it into subcategories and explaining my reasoning and how it would be a different result if I used different but equally valid subjective criteria. Because if left to my own devices, I’m never able to just decide anything. But if you take me slightly outside my head and have me engage with someone else in a normal conversation, I can just say things. I can think about something for a split second and immediately come to a conclusion about it.

It doesn’t really matter, in this case. It is not hugely important that Daniel Kitson is my favourite comedian and Nish Kumar is my second favourite comedian, and if I had not specifically defined them that way, that would be fine. But I was thinking today that this may apply to things that do matter as well. It’s possible that one effect of locking everyone inside for ages – and specifically in my case, locking me inside for about 2.5 years because I decided to live like it was something close to full lockdown for about that long, and even in the time since then have treated emerging as a gradual process – is that it’s absolutely ruined my ability to just have normal, coherent thoughts. About anything. About favourite comedians, but also about things that could make an actual difference in life.

When I was twenty, I got fired from a cashier job because I kept getting panic attacks while I was serving customers. I had a complete mental breakdown, and only got through it by getting drunk in my bedroom about every other day. I didn’t open up to anyone until about a year later, when my roommate told me that he could tell I was drinking too much and I didn’t hide it as well as I thought, he’d wanted to help me but didn’t know how to reach out. I ended up telling him everything, including the fact that I knew drinking so much was bad for me, but it was justified in this case, because I wouldn’t have gotten through the year without it. I wouldn’t have passed my university courses if I hadn’t been able to regularly get drunk and process the breakdown that way, and that was what made me emotionally functional enough to do the readings and the homework. So it was actually a good thing that I was drinking so much.

This made 100% sense in my head. I’d spent a year almost never leaving my bedroom, not interacting with people, going over and over this stuff in my own mind, and it seemed like watertight logic. The moment I said it out loud to someone else, I realized how incorrect it was. My roommate pointed out that it was wrong, that the fact that you need alcohol does not make it better that you’re drinking it all the time, but he didn’t have to. I knew it as I was saying it, and in one moment everything I’d believed for a year collapsed. Becuase it turns out that some thought processes can be very skewed if they never go anywhere outside our own mind, but the second we’re in conversation with someone else, everything is clear. I think that can apply to defining a favourite comedian and to understanding when drinking has become a problem and to a lot of things in between those in terms of importance. It makes me wonder what part of my thought processes from the last few years would just become instantly clear if I put them under the slightest outside scrutiny. If you don’t run your thoughts by other people, you end up doing things like thinking the concept of a “favourite comedian” is too big to define, and spending a dangerous number of hours drinking whiskey while watching all of Joss Whedon’s TV shows and writing journal entries about how alcohol can’t be bad because without it I wouldn’t pass university (welcome to my 2010). Isolation breeds overthinking to the point of paralysis.

I realize there are few things more annoying or pretentious than a self-described overthinker, as it’s an obviously backhanded way of bragging about being smarter than everyone else. But I promise it isn’t a backhanded brag in this case, because there is nothing smart about being unable to make an innocuous decision like who’s your favourite comedian without spending ages going over all the caveats. I’ve always been like that to an extent, but the times when I’ve gone a long time with very little social interaction - COVID, that time in 2010 when I lost my job and had a breakdown, my entire childhood before I got to high school and made friends for the first time - have all come with overthinking the details so much that they become abstract, I lose the plot and miss the obvious. Nish Kumar is my second favourite comedian and regularly being drunk alone at 2 PM is bad. Obviously. Sure it’s obvious now, once I’ve said it out loud.

I genuinely cannot tell whether this blog has helped with that, by giving me at least somewhere to put thoughts instead of having them just circulate in my own head, or if it's made it worse, because unlike a conversation with my dad or my friends, this doesn’t give feedback. It's just externalizing the process. The advantage, of course, is that at least I’m not annoying anyone who hasn’t specifically chosen to follow my blog.

I genuinely apologize for bringing everything in the world back to Daniel Kitson, but a line from his incredibly bleak 2013 show, After the Beginning Before the End, is coming to mind. His bleak, bleak show about getting into his mid-thirties and all his friends moved away and/or got married and/or had kids and he had nothing to do except be alone in his house with some mice and a pool table. Incredibly bleak show. At one point he said: “I don’t think I’ve completed a thought process since 2008.” A line that stuck in my mind just because I think it’s good, I like its composition. And I know he just picked 2008 as a hyperbolically long time ago, but 2008 was when he did his show Impotent Fury of the Privileged, his very long, densely written explanation of his strongly held opinions about how the world works and how human cognition and affect work and how people should behave within society. Amazing that you can be that sure of everything in 2008, and five years later revolve a show around feeling like you’ve run your own thoughts into the ground so much that you’ve lost the plot.

I don’t know, it’s just something that occurred to me today. That when people talk about social interaction being good for mental health, they may mean that sort of thing. That social interaction may be a pretty important component to being able to complete coherent thoughts, to come to a conclusion. It can be a problem the other way too, there are some people who never spend any time on their own and are severe under-thinkers. There’s probably a balance somewhere.

As I wrote this post, I was writing another post at the same time. Instead of making this next one a separate post, I’m going to put it here and make this all one thing. I think they might be in some way very loosely related.

Things I don’t like in stand-up comedy:

- Millennials who makes jokes about “what it’s like to be a millennial”. Gen Z people who make jokes about “what it’s like to be a gen Z person”. Gen Z people who make jokes about stereotypes about millennials. Millennials who make too many jokes about stereotypes about gen Z, though I have a bit more tolerance for some level of this than for other generational stuff.

When people from generations that are older than “millennial” make jokes about younger generations – this doesn’t tend to fall into the “annoying” category, it’s either really shitty, if it’s done with genuine malice, or I think it’s fine and at times entertaining, if it’s done without malice. Millennials and gen Z people making fun of older generations can be okay, but gets annoying if I hear too much of it.

I don’t think any of those things are inherently offensive or anything, they just annoy me. I’ve tried to articulate why before (particularly why the millennials and gen Z joking about stereotypes related to themselves and each other annoys me so much, because that’s the part of this point that annoys me the most), and I’m not really sure. If I had a person in front of me who asked me why it bothers me, I’m sure I’d instantly figure out the answer as I explained it to them.

- Jokes that use the term “Guardian readers” to define a certain stereotype. I don’t mind jokes about that stereotype or that type of person, I just don’t love the term. I do know why I feel that way about this one, and it’s because The Guardian is not a particularly left-wing paper, and it’s not a particularly intellectual paper, it’s just not a worthless tabloid. I don’t like the idea that the default level of liberalism and/or intellectualism is being a tabloid reader, and if you go so far as to read The Guardian, that puts you on the more liberal or intellectual side than most people. That might, in fact, be how things are these days, but I don’t like it.

- It’s not a huge deal, I don’t think someone’s a horrifying misogynist or anything for saying this, but I don’t love the way even feminist comedy, that agrees with other feminist principles, will use the idea that women who don’t shave gross as punchlines. I’m not sure if that happens as much anymore, but was definitely still happening somewhat regularly up until a few years ago. I hear this more often from female comedians than male ones, but I’ve heard it from both.

- Similarly to the above point: when female comedians do stuff about the culturally expected aspects of growing up as a girl, involving how you dress and wearing makeup and trying to look good for boys, I find that an interesting look at someone else’s experience, and I can find it funny the same way I find lots of stuff I don’t personally relate to funny. But when they take it into the territory of “this is what it’s like to grow up as a girl, other girls get me on this, right?” it immediately ruins all my ability to enjoy it. I sometimes worry that I’m a hypocrite about this, that it’s a standard I have for female comedians but not for male ones, because obviously men talk all the time about the “normal” aspects of growing up as a boy that didn’t happen to me, and that doesn’t bother me.

The only male equivalent I can think of that’s bothered me in an at all similar way is that Russell Howard has a routine he likes, and has told a lot, about how simple life used to be, how “When you’re eight, all you care about is custard and jumping” and anyone you look at is immediately your friend. That provokes in me a similar reaction. “Okay, Russell, glad you had a good time being a kid, I didn’t think that much about custard or jumping because before the age of thirteen I spent most of my time being terrified of everything and thinking desperately about a problem that would be instantly solved if you really could make friends just by looking at them, but I realize there are billions of people all over the world who could justifiably resent how good my childhood was by comparison to theirs, so it’s not fair for me to resent you just because you were less miserable than I was at the age of eight, but also, fuck off. Or at least, speak for yourself.”

- You know Tim Vine’s entire vibe? Anyone who has even a bit of anything like that annoys me.

- Posh comedians making fun of themselves for being too posh.

- This is a pretty obvious one, it should go without saying but it still happens often enough to be worth mentioning: comedians telling us that their next joke will get them canceled, and meaning it. I mean, obviously they don’t literally hope their career gets ruined, but they say it before saying something that they’ve genuinely crafted to be unacceptable. The “I know this will get me canceled but I’m saying it anyway” thing is probably more annoying than whatever they say after that.

Comedians saying that ironically is something I still find hilarious, though. I feel like at some point that joke has to get old, as it’s been ubiquitous for a while. I maybe should have gotten sick of it by now, I’d understand why someone else might be. But I’ll let you know when I stop finding it funny to hear someone ironically complain that “You can’t say anything anymore because of the woke and cancel culture,” before or after saying something completely innocuous.

- I used to say I didn’t like breakup shows, until at some point I realized I could name more exceptions to that rule than ones that adhere to it. I now realize I based that whole rule on one show that I didn’t much enjoy, and I think I’ve liked every other breakup show I’ve ever heard. I think I may specifically like breakup shows.

- On the opposite of the previous point, shows that are too heavy on the marriage and/or parenthood material tend to not be for me. It’s fine, I’m glad other people enjoy them, just not my thing. There are some massive exceptions, though, Mark Watson does parenthood jokes ridiculously well.

- I tend to not be a big fan of crowd work - no one in the audience is as funny or as interesting as the comedian (and if they are, that’s another problem), so I’m not that interested in hearing from them. Again, there are significant exceptions (Dara O’Briain spun gold out of a few different audience members when I saw him live last summer, obviously Kitson, I can think of a few more exceptions but far more instances that adhere to the rule).

- Thing I really really wish I disliked: when comedians congratulate their audience for being smart just because they’re there. This is sometimes done in a straightforward way (“You’re not like regular members of the public, you’ve come to see this intellectual comedy show”), but it’s more often backhanded (“Why are you fucking nerds here to see something as uncool as this intellectual comedy show?”). That’s such smug bullshit, both on the part of the performer and on any audience member who would enjoy hearing it. I really want to say I hate it, but unfortunately I do actually enjoy it. Obviously I enjoy it, I couldn’t have Daniel Kitson and Nish Kumar as my favourite comedians if I actually disliked that.

[tennessoui]

sometimes you just need a judgy bitchy friend to tell you what's what before they reluctantly support you

“I’m in love with him,” Obi-Wan says. “And it’s killing me.”

Quinlan blinks. Quinlan stares.

“It wasn’t purposeful,” he adds, addled in the way one can only be when facing down someone who knew them at age thirteen. “It just happened.”

Quinlan stares.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and it’s mortifying, the way his voice breaks on the third word, the way his chest constricts and he’s turning to cough into his elbow without a second’s thought.

“Alright,” Vos says “Alright, let’s…let’s talk about this, yeah?”

Obi-Wan takes a sip of his drink and watches his oldest friend watch him in turn.

“Alright,” Vos says again, as if he has thrown him so for a loop that all of his words have turned to dust beneath him. The other man lifts his glass and drains half of the liquor in it, looks across the table at him before lifting his drink and finishing it off. “Skywalker,” he says, setting his cup down. “Really?”

“I’m as unimpressed as you are,” Obi-Wan replies dryly, even though it isn’t true. Even though all he has to do is think of Anakin Skywalker and he has come up with thirty-nine reasons the man is worth loving to the point of destruction.

“Doubtful,” Vos says. “But alright. You’ve certainly made more questionable decisions. Not that I can think of any at the moment, but that’s because I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’ve struck up a relationship with your former padawan who is also the Chosen One who is also responsible for charring Darth Sidious’ body into literal ashes in his very own office who is also sixteen years your junior and has a rather unfortunately scar on his face, mind you—” “I like his scar,” Obi-Wan replies mutinously.

“Yes, we’ve established you’re too far gone on this boy,” Vos waves his hand. “Alright. Is it the guilt about lying to the Council then? Of bedding a boy you had to remind to do his coursework four years ago? Is Skywalker not as good in bed as you hoped, because really, that’s unfortunate but I think you could train him. You know, again.”

vos has entered the hanahaki au group chat <3

“There is one more thing, Obi-Wan,” Healer Che says as he is smoothing down his robes, holo scans of his lungs clutched in one hand.

“Force,” he snaps, “what else is there?” 

I’m dying, it’s unavoidable this time, it’s because of my own foolishness, it’s because of my uncontrolled heart, it’s because of my own weakness. I’m dying and there is nothing to be done except allow it to happen and now you tell me there’s more?

The smile she gives him is one part wry, two parts sad. A sliver of his pride rankles at the perceived pity, but he should probably get used to it. Eventually, he will be incapable of hiding his condition, and everyone will look at him the way Che is now.

“It is rare that we must give a terminal diagnosis,” Che says. “When we do, it is our practice to contact the patient’s emergency contact, pull them back from their mission or their leave should they be outside the Temple, so that the patient does not have to come to grips with the news by themselves. But given the nature of this disease, I want to have your explicit consent before moving forward. Do you agree to allow me to reach out to your emergency contact?”

Obi-Wan looks at her and then scrubs a hand over his face, letting his shoulders drop. “Force,” he says, drawing out the word like a curse. There isn’t really much in the way of a choice, though he appreciates Che for taking the time to frame it as one.

After all, his emergency medical contact will find out soon anyway. Best to give him permission to abandon his mission before he does so of his own volition and looks to pin the blame on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine, you may contact him. Tell him I’ll be in the Room of Some 30 Odd Fountains, meditating. He’ll know what I mean.”

And it’s truly a mark of how dire the situation is that Healer Che does not point out that she is not his messenger nor his secretary. Instead she inclines her head, and shows him out of her office, smile falling gracefully into an unreadable expression, tinged with sorrow. 

Not without empathy, but without pretense.

—------------

“Do you think Skywalker knows I’m still listed as your emergency medical contact?” Vos asks, dropping into the empty seat across from Obi-Wan and immediately leaning forward to steal his drink. “Because if he doesn’t, I think I’m best suited to break the news myself.”

“I do not wish to speak about Anakin Skywalker,” Obi-Wan says, stealing his drink back from Vos’ wandering hands and downing it in one go.

[topguncortez]

Can I please have “ you got that pregnancy glow. ” with Maverick??

Pregnancy Glow | Maverick x Young!Female warnings: mentions of vomiting, morning sickness. prompts list continuation of this fic:)

Maverick never understood what Goose meant when he said “Carole has that pregnancy glow” almost thirty some years ago. He had tried to figure it out, looking at the blonde woman when she was pregnant with Bradley, but he once looked too long and she bursted out in tears. Maverick had never felt so bad in his life at that moment (until that fateful day in 1986). But ever since that moment, Maverick remembered what Goose had said, and still tried to figure it out.

It wasn’t until Y/N had started showing that Maverick finally understood what his best friend was talking about. It seemed like it had happened overnight, and quite literally, it did. He had read from various books that when a woman’s belly finally “pops” it’ll be very noticeable. Maverick had been watching her belly like a hawk, though remembering the time he made Carole cry, waiting for that moment when their baby would make their presence known. 

Y/N hadn’t even noticed, going through the motions of everyday life since becoming pregnant. Wake up, throw up, brush teeth, eat breakfast, throw up again, brush teeth again, yell at Maverick for getting her pregnant, apologize to Maverick, throw up again. It had been like a never ending cycle, and she was exhausted. She thought by the second trimester the morning sickness and headaches would let up, but it didn’t. Maverick felt terrible watching her go through the motions every day, but he was right by her side when she needed him. 

Maverick had stirred when he heard the bathroom door slam shut. He groaned looking at his alarm clock, realizing he had about an hour before the alarm would go off, but there was no use trying to fall back asleep. He pushed himself out of bed, and headed to the kitchen, getting a start on breakfast before Y/N would come down. Maverick hummed to himself as he whisked up some eggs to make french toast, which seemed to be Y/N’s go-to breakfast food since becoming pregnant. 

“I swear, this kid is you to a T. Putting me through the wringer and they aren’t even here yet,” Y/N said, rubbing her eyes as she walked into the kitchen. She had on nothing but a sports bra and pajama pants. Maverick smiled as he turned around to look at her, but froze, “What? Do I have vomit on my face again?” 

“No,” Maverick said, setting the bowl of whipped egg down, and turning to look at her. She felt a bit self conscious and rubbed her arm awkwardly, as he stared at her. 

“Listen, I know it’s morning and I’m breaking out right now, but I don’t need you staring at fucking mount everest growing on my-” 

“I get it now,” Maverick said, and walked over to her. He placed his hands on her hips, the pajama pants sitting low on her hips accenting the small curvature of her belly, “What Goose meant when Carole was pregnant. I could never see it, but now I can.” 

“See what?” Y/N said, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“You have that pregnancy glow,” Maverick smiled. And Y/N bit her lip, shaking her head. 

“God, and here I thought you were going to point out the zit on my forehead,” Y/N said, glancing down at her belly, “Oh my god! Mav, look!” 

“I know,” He looked down too, his hands gently touching her bump, “They really did say you’ll just pop overnight,” He got down on one knee and placed a kiss on your bare skin, “We see you little baby.” 

Y/N smiled as she ran her fingers through his dark brown locks, and caressed her belly, “I love how much you love my bump but. . . I’m hungry.” Maverick laughed as he stood up from the floor and kissed her, before going back to finish cooking breakfast.

[erodasfishtacos]

Is this seat empty? " Yes and this one will be too if you sit down" , "Don't be like that my love."

For MLB!Harry first stupid fight in a relationship 😂

Okay this turned into something entirely different then the prompt. Sorry anon 😂

—

Peace & Quiet (Please)

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-

“Where d’you put m’protein mix?” Harry asks, padding into the kitchen and opening every single fucking cabinet.

“It’s in the same place it’s been for the past five years,” YN bites out with a slight irritation, mixing the pancake batter a little rougher.

She’s been up since three in the morning and Harry sauntered in around six-thirty after coming home late from a baseball game last night.

All the babies still asleep.

“Ah - fuck,” Her husband huffs when he spills the powder all over the countertop and floor she had just swiffered ten minutes ago.

When he goes to open the other cabinet and grab for a shaker bottle - they all come tumbling out onto the floor in a loud clash.

“Could you be any louder? You going to wake up the kids!” YN scolds harshly, pointing to the closet, “Go get the swiffer.”

He obliges - surprised by her attitude, grabbing it and slapping it (by accident) on the ground like a fucking baseball bat, the head of the mop snapping off and breaking.

“S’broken,” Harry states the obvious, shrugging and going about peeling a banana before leaving the peel near the sink.

YN turns to face him, voice irritated, “I’m about to break you, just like you broke the swiffer.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” He asks cheekily but her glare tells him there is no amusement to be had this morning.

“I just spent all morning cleaning and you’ve made this place a disaster already!” His wife bites before flipping one of the pancakes.

Harry dejectedly cleans up his protein mix mess, neatly places the shake bottles into the right place, throws away the peel, and closes all the cabinets.

“M’sorry,” He murmurs, coming up behind her and kisses the nape of her neck, “Y’seem a bit cranky this mornin’.”

And man. He should have not said that.

“Do you have a baby who needs to fucking feed from your body every hour even during the night? I don’t think so,” She mutters, shaking him off of her.

“Hey, mama. M’bein’ an ass, what can I do to help?” He changes gears, choosing to stand next to her since she didn’t seem to want to be touch.

“Breastfeed - let your nipples feel like their constantly on fire and about to fall off. Make all this post-partum bleeding stop. Let me sleep for a day straight. I don’t know,” YN begins to sniffles, plating a few mini pancakes.

He’s taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in concern, and he leans forward to flip off the stovetop, “Can I touch you?”

She nods, wiping her eyes, and allows him to haul her up into their marble countertop, “Mama, y’need to tell me when y’feeling overwhelmed? Please baby. I’ve asked you a million times to wake me up and I can bottle feed her.”

“No, she…I have to feed her. It helps bonding and it-“

Harry interrupts firmly, “She will be perfectly fine being fed by a bottle a few times a day. You’re putting too much stress on yourself.”

Her head falls on his shoulder and she mumbles, “I just feel so…gross, not attractive at all.”

He pulls her back, searching her face in confusion, “Baby, why would you ever say somethin’ like that?”

YN let’s out a quiet sob, “My nipples are chafed and sore, I’m constantly bleeding, my belly hasn’t deflated -“

Harry can’t help but lean in and connect their lips harshly, he’s pulling her loose shirt up and over her head.

“Harry, what-“

“Listen t’me,” Harry rasps seriously, his hands are tender and careful as they cup her swollen breasts - thumbing at her painful nubs.

“I’m literally obsessed w’your tits, baby. They’ll go back to normal after y’done feeding and even if they don’t - I love them just as fucking much. You fed our three healthy strong boys and now you’re makin’ sure our chunky little girl is eating good.”

Then he hands move to cup her belly, large hands splayed over the still softening, firm bump from where Briar had been housed for nine months.

“Y’gave me four, four fuckin’ babies from this belly. I’m fucking in love with your body. God, y’thighs, y’tummy, the stretchmarks - fuck, getting me hard just lookin’ at you.”

It was true, he was stiffening up in his shorts but neither of them acknowledged it - it was a love boner more than anything else.

He literally got hard from how much he loved her.

“I’m tired,” She sighs softly, letting Harry tug her shirt back on as the children would be waking up soon to eat breakfast.

“I know, mama,” Harry acknowledges softly, giving her another kiss before taking over the pancake station.

-

When all the boys are downstairs and chomping away on their food, Cash, who is just about four decides it’ll be funny to squirt the sticky syrup all over their expensive stool cushions and the floor.

When YN turns from the sink to see the mess, she admits she snaps a little bit, “Really Harry? You’re supposed to be watching them, not checking the sports news on your phone!”

Harry is about to defend himself but his wife is stomping over to where Cash has emptied the bottle and gives him a firm look, “Cash Edward Styles, get your bum upstairs, right now.”

Cash’s eyes widen, his mother rarely needed to use a harsh tone with them, “Mama, I’m so-“

“If you are not upstairs, by the bathtub this instant, you get no outside time today. Do you understand me?” YN tells him, giving Easton a warning look when he licks at the syrup on his finger.

“Yes mama,” Cash squeaks out sadly, abandoning his plate and walking up towards the bathroom upstairs to get clean.

Easton and Ezra are dead silent as they watch their brother leave - not wanting the same fate as him so they sit proper.

“Sweetheart-“ Harry begins, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“No, I have my hands full taking care of four kids. I don’t need you acting like a fifth. Go bathe your son,” YN tells him coldly, an angry stare directed his way.

Harry clenches his jaw, biting his tongue as he stands up and pushes his chair in with force - making a loud noise before following after his second son.

A few minutes after they’re out of sight, Easton thought it’d be funny to wipe syrup down Ezra’s cheek which made Ezra cry and throw a pancake at his older brother - now soaking him in syrup.

YN starts to leak milk at the sound of Ezra’s cries.

“Easton Robin - get you butt upstairs this instant too. You know better - no outside time today,” She informs him as she uses a wet wipe to clean Ezra’s cheek.

“Mama,” Easton whines, fat tears starting roll down his cheeks as he stands up, loitering by the kitchen stool.

“Do not make me repeat myself,” YN warns, swiping a paper towel over the wet spot on her shirt from the leak.

-

Harry had just started washing up Cash who was still melancholy when his blubbering older one comes in - still tearful.

He sighs, looking at his syrupy son, “Wha’ happened?”

Easton looks hesitant, “I put syrup on Ezzie and mama said no outside time today.”

His father is tight-lipped, he can already predict that Easton’s actions upset Ezra, “Alright, c’mon. Let’s clean y’up too. Y’know better, Easton.”

-

Harry had just finished helping both boys dress when YN appears in the doorway with Ezra who has a binkie popped in his mouth.

She steps over and hands their son to Harry before muttering, “I’m going to feed Briar, keep the boys out of the room. I need some peace.”

YN disappears from the room before he can even reply to her.

-

Harry can admit he gets distracted when one of his coaches calls him up for a game change, doesn’t notice when Cash sneaks from the playroom.

It’s less than five minutes later when YN leads Cash gently by the hand back into the playroom, with Briar still latched and feeding.

When she sees Harry on his phone, she’s fucking livid with him.

“Really Harry?” His wife scoffs, guiding Cash to join Easton in where he’s playing with legos.

“I’ll call you back,” Harry replies to his coach before hanging up, “Sorry, it was Donny-“

“Good to know your job is more important than watching your kids,” She spits out before storming back out of the room.

Harry is up and following behind her, jaw clenched and irritated, “Just ‘cause you’re in a pissy mood doesn’t mean that y’say shit like that.”

She turns on her heel, eyes fiery, “You have no god damn consideration. You’ve been swamped this week because of your nike promotion and games. I’ve had the babies all by myself for four nights while you get to gallivant around!”

Harry goes to speak but she puts her free hand up.

“I ask for you to keep our house clean and to let me have one moment of peace with our daughter but you don’t even let me have that! You do not understand how hard it is to push a baby out of you and then have them rely on you to feed them twenty times a day!”

His anger fades when his wife starts sobbing - chest shuddering sobs, “I just had her four weeks ago. I-I haven’t had a break yet. You act like it’s so easy!”

He starts to walk towards her, “Sweetheart-“

YN shakes her head, a desperate plea in her tone, “Please just give me time with Briar.”

Harry swallows harshly and nods - feeling like shit as his wife walks back towards the stairs - all the while still feeding their daughter.

-

“Hello?”

“Mum, I-can you take the boys for the night?” Harry asks quietly, standing in the kitchen while the two older boys are still playing quietly.

Ezra’s passed out, on Harry’s hip with his little face smushed against the cap of his shoulder with parted lips.

��Dear, is everything okay?” She replies cautiously.

“No, I-I don’t know. YN is overwhelmed and I don’t think I’ve been supportive enough,” Harry feels himself begin to sniffle.

Anne doesn’t pry for information which Harry loves about her, she agrees to take them, and states she’ll be over within the hour.

Harry goes about packing their pajamas and other necessities in their little backpacks as the squeal excitedly about going to Nana’s.

“Can we say bye to mama?” Easton asks anxiously as they clear out of their bedrooms.

“Let me go ask,” He murmurs, running a hand through his son’s curls.

When he cracks open the door, YN is sprawled out on her back, fast asleep with Briar also asleep in the bassinet next to the bed.

His heart aches because her shirt is off, and the remnants of her nipple cream which was a pinkish orange color wasn’t fully rubbed in on her bruised breasts.

Harry guides them downstairs, promising that their mama will call them later.

-

After the boys leave, Harry doesn’t know what to do so he cleans whatever he finds that is dirty or messy so she won’t have to.

He does all the laundry in the house, cleans up every single toy, and when Briar starts to whimper - he sneaks in to snatch her up so she doesn’t wake YN.

Then he takes her out to the shops with him to grab groceries, her favorite snacks, and maybe he does stop by a jewelry store and buy her something nice.

(casually a pair of 20k earrings)

YN fell asleep around eighty-thirty in the morning and doesn’t wake up until about nine at night, Harry had put Briar in her nursery about an hour ago.

When she does awake, Harry is sitting in the living room - watching a stupid action movie to pass time and dwell on everything.

She comes in quietly, stands in front of her husband who looks up at her with anxious eyes - she looks brighter now that she’s had adequate sleep.

“Will you hold me?” She rasps quietly, just in one of Harry’s shirts and soft pair of sleep shorts.

“Never haven t’ask, mama,” He murmurs, guiding her until she’s straddling his lap and burying her face into the crook of his neck.

His hands sneak beneath her shirt to massage the sleep-warm skin as he kisses her shoulder - over and over again.

“I’m so sorry,” YN whispers into his skin, voice croaky as she tries to not get upset.

He pulls her back to study her face, “Do not apologize, y’allowed to get mad at me and feel frustrated. You’re emotions are valid. There’s a lot going on and I could be doing more to help.”

YN wipes a tear that trickles down as she laughs in disbelief, “No, you can’t do anymore to help.”

“Wha-? I can, I promis-“

She interrupts his with a kiss before telling him sincerely, “You can’t do anymore help because you’re already doing the most amazing job. As a husband and dad. I was just tired and stressed - it’s not an excuse.”

It warms his heart, he fucking loves her so much it does make sense, has to button their lips together one more time.

“You have a really hard job too, on top of being a husband and dad. You give us all this, support us and take care of us.”

“Are y’kidding me? Y’the one who keeps this family together. Y’the fuckin’ love of my life, you know that? I love you so much, so so much,” He emphasizes, rubbing a thumb across her bottom lip.

The kiss one more time - the anger was subsided and they were okay once again.

Harry laughs and agree when YN murmurs, “S’time for bed again, m’tired.”

“Okay mama, anythin’ for you,” He responds before peppering her in kisses to make her giggle lightly.

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[rarepairnation]

im feeling FERAL tonight and i feel the need to elabourate. well denethor lives au navigating aragorn's return to minas tirith specifically regarding the. situationship. i wrote a post about this literally a month and a half ago and let it disappear into my drafts because i wasnt brave enough to post it for real but ive grown and changed. or something. maybe for the worse LOL anyway the thesis statement is truly. aragorn: well i don't think more gay sex can fix him now but i might as well give it ANOTHER good college try. denethor: well he IS still hot and i AM mad about it i GUESS we have to make out about it. well the real thesis statement is that well what happens when you see your ex-situationship after FORTY YEARS and A WAR have passed and he’s waltzing back into your life to claim the throne you denied him when you were thirty and he’s not even going to be good at the job. so you can have it, and the consequences too. condolences, congratulations. your majesty. i just they are so different and there is so much spite and resentment and political strife that separates them and there is no reason to make it any more complicated AND YET. they see each other and too much is still the same. and what if they both made the bad decision<333

more chatter under the cut bc u know i love to talk

- idk if i can put it in the au because i have a complex about it. like the au is my big serious project and if everyone isn't in character along the lines of my Main Interpretation of them ive fucked it up. but i also love myself. so in THIS particular timeline denethor rides either onto the pelennor to meet aragorn with the armies of the dead, or to the black gate with the army of gondor. or both if im really feeling spicy. i just the idea of the first time aragorn sees him in forty years being as The Steward Arrayed For War...........delicious.

- and that being immediately followed by aragorn walking into the throne room for the first time and seeing denethor out of All Of That for the second first time and realizing abruptly the toll that all these years have taken. the toll that they haven't, not really, taken on aragorn himself. i want it to trigger a guilt complex SO BAD. like. i had the choice to leave and he didn’t and i knew he wouldn’t have come if id asked (and he asked me to stay (he didn’t but he did) and i didn’t). i want him to pity him and denethor to know it and want to fucking kill him about it. you RAN and left me ALONE to fight this unwinnable fight and now you think you’re at a ground high enough to pity me from? just because you’re waltzing back in here with your legendary sword? go fuck yourself because im certainly not doing it (lying).

- and don’t even get me STARTED on the psychic aspect of it. denethor has always been powerful and known it and wielded it. but when aragorn touches his mind - by instinct, maybe, because that was what they always did, that was always their secret dimension of their relationship and he doesn’t even pause to think - oh, the shock and the horror. oh its so bad. for him. to expect a soft place to land (probably never that soft at all. but there was a certain level of familiarity) and encounter a blade…and for his first thought to be “what have you done to yourself”…..girl its crazy. and the natural response. “what was needed. unlike you.” prime time for a “you’ve aged, lord steward”/“you left, your majesty” moment if im being so honest. which is really just a disguise for “what happened to you”/“you happened, and you left, and i’ve beEN PICKING UP THE PIECES OF THE MESS YOU MAAADE”

- denethor knowing that he is much better suited for the lordship of gondor than aragorn is but! this is the will of the people in the wake of the war! and that is one thing he Will acquiesce to! he’s got the legal right to deny him but the consequences of that might be ruinous. so he looks at aragorn and goes, this is what you wanted the whole time wasn’t it? the throne. even forty years ago you had it in your mind while you played my loyal second for my father’s favour. then here. you can have it, and the consequences too. condolences, congratulations. your majesty. yeah i said this already but it was THEE image that captured my mind when you mentioned that lyric.

- an addendum to the previous point: the way that they argue has NOT changed even though they haven’t seen each other for forty years it is still as singleminded and vitriolic and homoerotic as it ever was and not a single other person in the room exists when they really get into it. denethor ONLY calls aragorn your majesty in an unapologetically spiteful and also horny way. he DOES think it’s hot and DOES hate himself a bit for thinking it.

- except he also thinks about their incredibly high-functioning military and political partnership and how no one else in all of gondor has ever been able to match that for him and thinks that perhaps…this steward-king relationship might not all be lost. perhaps, as he had thought all those years ago, aragorn could be a powerful weapon in his hand, if only he could put him there. (and maybe he looks at him and in a secret part of himself thinks, well, i missed you.)

anna you mentioned condolences congratulations the mountain goats the other day and i just want you to know it awakened the world's craziest idea inside of me and i MIGHT be stealing it (give or take 12 business months. well the novel. that the au is)

the way I Would Love To See This....... abby i am sending u my strongest energies

[sluttywonwoo]

something more || h.js x reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: additional warnings: masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play

“Joshua! Come look at this!”

There were a lot of things you liked about your apartment. Cheap rent, nice views, mostly functioning air conditioning… however the gaping hole in your bedroom ceiling was not one of them. It had started out as a small leak a couple of weeks ago, water dripping from some imperceptible hole in the plaster that had slowly turned into a trickle and then a steady stream, until finally the ceiling had collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the weight of all of the water any longer. You had filed a maintenance request when you first noticed the leak, but it had gone ignored. Maybe now, now that your bed was covered in drywall and pipe water, now that you could see into the apartment above yours, your concerns would be important enough to be addressed.

“What is it?” your roommate called back.

You heard him approach and waited for the gasp that would follow. “Y/n…” he hissed, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping your shoulder in shock.

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed and took a tentative step forward into your room, wincing when your sock made contact with your damp rug.

“I’ll call maintenance,” Joshua offered and turned on his heel to grab his phone.

“I’ll… try and figure my shit out, I guess.”

His footsteps faded into the background as he retreated into his own room and you looked around your room with a frown, surveying the space for anything salvageable. You were surprised you hadn’t started crying yet. But apparently your brain hadn’t quite caught up with your eyes because all you felt was a numb sort of apathy as you gazed at the mess in front of you.

There was no way you could sleep in your room tonight. Even if you managed to dry everything and clear the debris, there was still a giant fucking hole in the ceiling. The mere thought of trying to fall asleep underneath it made you uneasy. You would have to crash somewhere else.

“They said not to touch anything-” Joshua shouted from the other room. You froze in place, afraid you’d already done something you weren’t supposed to and decided to join him in the kitchen instead.

Your socks left wet footprints against the concrete floor as you padded over to where Joshua was. He shot you a look of sympathy as you peeled them off and tossed them to the side, shifting his attention back to the notepad on the table in front of him to write something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

The pen hovered above the paper momentarily, and Joshua rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow? Is that the earliest- yeah that’s fine.”

The little hope you’d had that the issue would be resolved tonight fizzled, and you blew out a breath of frustration. You pulled out your phone and began scrolling through your contacts, mentally making notes of who might let you spend the night at their place.

Joshua thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up, pushing the notebook away from him with a groan.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Seungcheol.”

Joshua made a face. “Seung- why?”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over.”

“You haven’t talked to him in months,” your roommate protested.

“He’ll say yes to me,” you assured him.

“That’s because he expects you to sleep with him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n! You’re not seriously going to have sex with him in exchange for a place to stay, are you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” you trailed off and sighed. “Whatever, I’m not above it. It’s been a while since I’ve been laid anyway.”

“Seungcheol couldn’t even last thirty seconds-” he paused when you gave him a look, “I know from what you’ve told me. Not because I slept with him.”

“You know saying that makes it sound like that’s exactly why you know.”

“Please, y/n, I have taste,” he said matter-of-factly, easily dodging a swat from you. “You’re not sleeping at Seungcheol’s,” he said as if he’d decided, as if he had final say on the matter.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Joshua?” you demanded. “I can’t sleep in my own room, and you know I can’t sleep on the couch so what do you suggest?”

“Take my room,” he offered simply, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

“What?”

“You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. You don’t even have to fuck me for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well what do I have to do for it?”

You could tell Joshua wanted to say ‘nothing’, but knew you wouldn’t accept his offer without feeling like you could give him anything in return so he settled for “fried rice”.

“You want fried rice?”

“I want your fried rice,” he clarified with a grin. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Fine. Thank you, Joshua.”

He gave you a knowing smile and nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

-

Joshua kept his room colder than yours. Your wet hair from the shower only made the chill worse, but you didn’t want to mess with the thermostat and throw off how he liked things. You were even hesitant to touch the pillows on his bed. You knew Joshua wouldn’t care, but you still wanted to respect his space.

Joshua was literally the most easygoing person you knew, which offered a nice balance in contrast to your high-strung, perfectionist personality. One time you’d bled on his sheets while you were just hanging out in his room and he was completely unphased. He just threw the bedding in the wash like nothing had happened and mentioned that he’d been needing to wash them anyway while you practically cried in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Yeah, but I’m not your girlfriend!”

“We live together, close enough.”

To be fair, you knew that this kind of thing happened all the time, but you were still mortified. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the movie you and Joshua had been watching. To this day you didn’t know how the Lego Batman Movie ended.

“You need something to sleep in?” Joshua had asked on your way from the bathroom back to his room, having noted your state of undress.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to make the trips to and from the shower in nothing more than a towel, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to go back into your room tonight, and that most of your clothes were still damp from the ceiling anyway.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He just nodded from where he was on the couch and gestured past you in the direction of his door. “You know where everything is. Pick out whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’d chosen an old t-shirt from a gas station souvenir shop, one of many in his collection of road-trip tees and a pair of panties you had managed to snag from your dresser before Joshua had yelled at you to get out of your room earlier.

You hung your towel on a hook attached to the back of his closet door and sprawled out on his bed, pulling the comforter around yourself.

It was late. It had been late for a while, but you and Joshua were night owls. You both kept busy schedules, so at night you liked to take some time for yourselves before bed. Still though, you knew you should sleep. But you couldn’t.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your muscles.

If you were being honest, the idea of getting laid had been exciting and you were a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to happen for you tonight. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and you were craving the intimacy, even if it was coming from someone like Dylan.

Your skin was beginning to feel hot and sticky, and you pushed the covers off of you in your frustration. You had just been cold a few moments ago, and all it had taken to make you sweat was the mere thought of sex. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you knew it.

Your fingers inched toward the waistband of your panties almost unconsciously before you stopped yourself. You were in Joshua’s bed. You shouldn’t be getting yourself off in his bed. That was wrong. It wasn’t your room, there must be some sort of boundary for this sort of thing. Roommate code. What if Joshua walked in on you- no. You clenched your fists by your sides and sighed. The idea of your roommate walking in on you with your hand down your pants should not be turning you on. It should be having the opposite effect. But you couldn’t help it.

You had managed to suppress your attraction to him for this long, being in his bed shouldn’t be the breaking point. Maybe it was because his sheets smelled like him, or maybe it was because you were wearing his shirt…fuck, you wished you had your vibrator. The little pink toy was sitting in the drawer of your bedside table, likely water damaged beyond repair. God, hadn’t you lost enough?

“Forgive me, Shua,” you whispered hoarsely into the empty room as you resigned yourself to your pleasure.

Your pussy had won over your head and you’d given into your desire. Familiar sparks of arousal flickered faintly in your stomach when you brushed the tips of your fingers over your panties. You weren’t shocked to discover that the material was already damp from where your wetness had seeped through.

You tried to think about Seungcheol, about your celebrity crushes, about anyone other than the person behind the other side of the door, but your mind kept drifting back to your roommate. You thought about what Joshua’s fingers would feel like instead of your own. They were so much longer than yours… you stifled a moan as you curled a finger into yourself and let your thumb begin to circle your clit, imagining Joshua’s head was buried in between your thighs instead.

Getting yourself to the edge was usually difficult for you without the help of toys or a third party, but you surprised yourself when your thighs began to tense in anticipation as you worked your fingers over your g-spot repeatedly, orgasm just out of reach. You were trying to be as quiet as possible, but you kept letting quiet sighs and curses slip from between your lips as your focus began to blur.

You pictured Joshua pushing himself into you, pictured how his face would scrunch up in pleasure as he felt you clench around his cock for the first time, how he’d kiss your neck and praise you for taking him so well- you bit down on your knuckles to stop yourself from screaming.

The invisible string inside of you snapped right as the door to Joshua’s room swung open and you were forced to rip your hand away from yourself as you came and your pussy clenched around nothing.

The light overhead flicked on and you squinted, groaning at the sudden blinding intrusion.

“Sorry,” Joshua apologized sheepishly. “I just forgot a pillow.”

You used your dry hand, the knuckle-bitten one, to throw him one of the pillows from behind you. He caught it with ease and you thought that would be it, but he zeroed in on your hand, narrowing his eyes at it with a confused expression on his face.

You hoped he couldn’t tell that you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your ruined orgasm, hoped he didn’t question why you were so flushed and breathless.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside and taking your hand into his own to observe. “You’re bleeding.”

Damn, you hadn’t meant to bite your hand that hard.

“It’s nothing,” you said and tried to yank your hand out of his grasp, but he was holding onto you too tightly.

“I have some Band-Aids in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Shua you don’t have to-”

He was gone before you could finish your sentence, and back before you could protest any further. While he was in the bathroom you hurriedly wiped your other hand on your- his- shirt in an attempt to erase any evidence of what you had been doing just moments before he had interrupted.

“Give me your hand,” Joshua instructed, taking a seat on the bed so that he was facing you.

You outstretched your arm so that he could see the damage and watched as he dabbed a tissue at the specks of blood on your skin, applying pressure to stop the flow.

“It’s just a little scrape,” you insisted.

“Still, we don’t want it to get infected.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

Once he was sure that you had stopped bleeding he dabbed a tiny bit of Neosporin onto your knuckle and wrapped a Spider-Man Band-Aid around your finger.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I’m not done!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, lifting your hand to his face princess style. He pressed a gentle kiss to the Spider-Man Band-Aid and took a moment to admire his work. It was only when he was holding your hand closer that he noticed the indents in all of your other knuckles.

“Why were you biting your hand?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no use in lying about it, the marks on your hand were clearly teeth marks. He would know you were bullshitting if you tried to play it off.

“I wasn’t.”

So much for that.

Joshua blinked. “Show me your other hand.”

“What? No.”

“Show me.”

“No!”

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it tighter to you while Joshua tried to wrestle it from your grasp.

“I swear to God, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

You put up a good fight, but he was stronger than you and tugged it off of you within seconds of struggling. He pushed you back onto the bed and used his body to pin you to the mattress so that you couldn’t wriggle away. Now that you were stuck underneath him he was able to assess the hand that you had been trying to hide. You whimpered in embarrassment and watched in horror as he brought the hand… brought the hand to his…

“Joshua, what are you doing?” you breathed out.

He looked at you brazenly and then put two of your fingers in his mouth. You shivered as he sucked the arousal, the evidence, from your fingers to confirm his suspicion.

“You’re a liar,” he said finally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

Joshua chuckled to himself and let your hand fall back to your side. “And a brat too.” You scoffed in offense but Joshua just leaned down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “I already knew that, though.”

“Excuse you, but I am fucking delightful!” you argued.

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You just called me a brat!”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

“I hate you.”

“So you… don’t want me to… give you a hand there?” he asked.

You paused. Was he really offering to-

“We’re friends, Joshua. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat and in your pussy. Joshua was your best friend and your roommate… but was there something more? Right now you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. This couldn’t end well.

“Joshua?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Joshua was back on top of you as soon as the words left your mouth, pressing his lips to yours while one of his hands tangled itself in your hair. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned softly into his mouth. You found yourself wishing the moment could last forever, but you quickly changed your mind when you felt Joshua pressing his thigh up in between your legs. Lazily making out was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He brought a hand to your hip and urged you to move. He guided you until you were rocking back and forth on his thigh at a steady pace.

“Feel good?” he asked.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your panties were the only layer between your pussy and Joshua’s leg, and although they were certainly ruined by now they still provided the means to create friction that went straight to your clit.

Joshua’s hands fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing and he tugged at the bottom of it, motioning for it to come off.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Another nod from you and he was whisking the shirt off over your head without a second’s hesitation. He was pulling his own shirt off next, tossing it into a pile on the floor with yours. His fingers found the waistband of your panties soon after, and he played with the elastic impatiently, eager eyes searching yours for approval. You lifted your hips off of the bed so that he could take them off, leaving you completely naked before him.

Joshua let his gaze travel down your body, shamelessly admiring every dimple, curve, and freckle that was now exposed to him. You shifted under him self-consciously, silently wishing you had shaved. If you had known you’d be fucking your best friend, you would have, but it was too late now and you could only hope he wasn’t bothered by a little hair.

“How are you real,” he murmured to himself, earning an eye roll from you. Joshua reached out and dragged a finger through your folds, smiling when you flinched. “So sensitive…” he noted. “Did you cum already?”

“Yes, but it was ruined,” you admitted.

“Poor thing,” he tsked in fake sympathy, bringing his hand back up to his mouth. “Just wanna nother taste. You’re too sweet to resist.”

“Shua,” you whined.

“What is it, baby?”

“I need you.”

He smiled down at you and took you by the chin, tilting your face up towards him. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You groaned stubbornly and twisted your head out of his grip, only to let out a yelp when he closed a hand around your throat.

“Stop being a brat,” Joshua spat as he forced you to look at him again. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a good girl, got it? Good girls use their words to tell me what they want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you choked out desperately.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“So what is it that you need, love?”

You swallowed your pride and opened your mouth to respond. “Your cock, please.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Joshua asked, cupping a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t hear you.

“I want- I need your cock, please.”

“Atta girl,” he praised and eased the grip around your neck. “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head weakly and watched as Joshua pushed his boxers down to his thighs, then onto the floor, letting his cock bounce up against his stomach. He was fully hard already and you wondered how long he’d been like that, wondered how he had so much self-control when you barely had any.

“We can stop whenever you want, okay?” Joshua said, face softening and hand gently cupping your cheek. “Let me know if it’s too much. Just tell me what you need, baby.” You nodded obediently and met him halfway as he leaned down to kiss you. He broke away from the kiss suddenly and held a hand underneath your mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

You complied and sat up a little to spit into his hand. He worked that same hand over his cock a few times, using your spit to lubricate it before positioning himself over you.

“Is this a good idea?” you blurted right as Joshua was about to push himself into you, suddenly aware that you wouldn’t be able to go back from this as soon as he did.

You had shoved any feelings you’d had for Joshua down for so long and it would be impossible to keep doing after sleeping with him. But you had already come this far.

“Probably not,” Joshua answered with a shrug. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Great.”

A brief moment of silence lapsed while you both stared into each others’ eyes, not quite sure where to go from there.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Joshua said casually after thirty more seconds of silence.

“Yes, please do.”

You braced yourself for the stretch as Joshua pushed into you at an agonizing pace and sank your teeth into his shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. Joshua groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, a feeling which was only heightened by you nipping at his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“You’re… so big,” you echoed back.

He allowed you a few moments to adjust before he moved. You were already so worked up that he slid in and out of you easily and it wasn’t long before he was pounding into you at a fast tempo. He pressed hurried kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of hickies to remember him by.

You cried out each time his cock hit your g-spot, overwhelmed and still sensitive. Joshua kissed you to drown out your moans, clamping a hand over your mouth in his stead whenever he came up for air. His other hand was up against the wall for stability, though it wasn’t helping much.

“Joshua,” you gasped.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you choke me again, please?” you all but begged.

Joshua smirked. “Of course.”

He did as you asked and cursed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl and ask nicely?” he teased, cocking his jaw arrogantly. “You get rewarded.”

You could feel your orgasm building in your abdomen as Joshua continued to thrust into you and wondered if he was close too. You guessed that he was from the way his hips had began to falter.

“Up,” Joshua commanded suddenly.

He slipped out of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, hauling you into a sitting position.

“On your hands and knees,”

“And if I don’t?” you challenged.

“You don’t want to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Should I finish myself off, then?” he asked, pumping his cock lazily as if he expected you to call his bluff. “Leave you here needy, not let you cum?”

“No, please!”

You quickly got into position on all fours with your back to Joshua praying that he wouldn’t make good on his threat.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You fell forward on your face when he shoved his cock back into you only for him to tug you upright by your hair. He fucked you like that in doggy for a minute or so before he snaked an arm around your upper body and pulled you flush against his chest. Being seated on his lap allowed Joshua the ability to touch practically anywhere on your body. He took advantage of the new position by grabbing your tits.

He was so fucking deep in you like this you couldn’t stand it. Every tiny movement brought you closer to the edge and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“Shua, I’m close,” you warned through broken gasps.

“Don’t cum yet.”

“Why not,” you whined.

“You’re not allowed to cum until you answer this question for me,” he said breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“When you were touching yourself earlier, who were you thinking about?”

“I-”

“Was it Seungcheol?”

“No.”

Joshua’s fingers found your clit and began rubbing circles around it, making it that much harder not to disobey him.

“Fuck, Joshua…”

“Who was it?”

“It was you! I was thinking about you!”

“Do you always think about me?” he pressed.

“You only said one question,” you accused defensively.

Interrogating you while he had you on the brink of orgasm was not fair.

“Fine, cum.”

You cried his name as you finally came. He held you through it, your orgasm triggering his own as you clenched around him repeatedly. Your name tumbled from his lips too, while he lost himself in the midst of pleasure. You couldn’t see his face as he came, but you could imagine it, like you had hundreds of times before. The way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way he’d bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut as he let go of control…

You couldn’t see him as he came, but you could feel him. You felt his entire body tense behind you, felt the warm spurts of cum fill you up, felt the way he instinctively grabbed at your throat to anchor himself.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity as you both caught your breath. Joshua collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, cock still buried inside of you. He brushed your hair out of your face and turned your head so that he could look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded sleepily and gave him a weak smile. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, you were perfect.”

He kissed you again without a second thought and you kissed him back. It felt familiar and warm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Here let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out of you.

You winced at the empty feeling, but laid in bed motionlessly and let Joshua dote on you. He used a warm washcloth in between your thighs and wrapped a new Spider-Man Band-Aid around your hurt finger. He slipped back into his boxers and tossed you another pair of his to wear before fetching you a glass of water from the kitchen and making you drink it all.

Joshua returned to bed finally and snuggled up to you instantly. You nestled yourself into the crook of his arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t have to fuck you to sleep in your bed,” you said quietly once he had gotten comfortable.

“Shut up.” There was still a lot to discuss between the two of you, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. For now you were content to fall asleep in his arms and ignore all of the unanswered questions bouncing around in your mind. “For the record, I still expect my fried rice.”

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[nightttdreamers]

The Plan (and how it failed miserably) / Stan x Kyle

hello! reuploading this fic because i edited it a bit. last night, i found a playlist called “songs to have a crush to” and it possessed me and three hours later i’d written a 4.5k fic! crazy how that happens

please enjoy pining kyle x oblivious stan and be ready for confessions, fluff, a pinch of teenage angst for spice, fun side character action, disaster gays, and a happy ending :)

TW for underage drinking and some (canon-aligned) sex jokes, but otherwise this fic is pretty tame and wholesome

AO3 link | 4.5k words | One-shot

Kyle's going to ask Stan out tonight. He has a plan. The only issue is literally every part of the plan is falling apart.

You’ve got this. You are super cool and fun and hot. 

Kyle stares at himself in the mirror, delicately placing a curl of red hair just over his forehead in an attempt to conceal a blemish.

Even though this is your second stress pimple this week. You’ve still got this.

He looks down at his outfit, carefully coordinated during a thirty-minute facetime call with Heidi. Kyle figured that she would know what clothes made guys look better, and she was happy to help once he told her why he needed the perfect look for tonight.

Your outfit is “giving effortlessly flawless.” Heidi said so and she used to be attracted to you, for some reason.

His phone buzzes to life and Kyle doesn’t even need to check it to know it’s the “im outside” text he’s been expecting. He gives himself one more glance in the mirror.

Tonight is the night you are going to ask Stan out.

“Your boyfriend’s outside,” says Ike from the doorway. Kyle grabs his phone from his desk, tucking it in his back pocket.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Well, yet , Kyle thinks. Hopefully. He’s been planning this night for two weeks now, ever since Tolkien announced that he’s throwing a party at his family’s lakehouse to kick off Spring Break. It’s the perfect set-up; Stan will drive them there (as usual), they’ll have the whole long car ride to talk and listen to music. They’ll hang out at the house, dance a little bit, get some liquid courage. Then, once the party starts to mellow out, they’ll head out onto the dock and Kyle can ask him under the stars. Then, either Stan accepts, the two head inside, find one of Tolkien’s numerous bedrooms and enjoy their evening, or Stan rejects him and Kyle drowns himself in the lake.

“Earth to Kyle,” interrupts Ike. “God, you sure drool over him a lot for a guy who’s not your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” is the best retort Kyle can think of, he’s too busy heading out of his room, desperate to get out of the house before he’s berated by another Broflovski. However, when he reaches the stairs, he sees that Stan is already in his doorway, talking to Sheila.

“The team’s doing great, Mrs. Broflovski,” Stan says. Kyle knows his mother is asking about football, though the season ended months ago. Stan never corrects her, just giving her that sweet little smile he does when he’s being bashful or modest and suddenly Kyle can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Maybe you don’t got this.

“Kyle! You ready, dude?” Stan asks when Kyle makes his way to the bottom of the stairs.

Kyle nods, taking a second to find his voice. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Bubbeh, you look so handsome!” Sheila says, giving her son a pinch on the cheek. Kyle looks at the ground, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Stanley, you take good care of my Kyle tonight, okay? Make good choices!” And now Kyle wants to hide under a rock.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Broflovski,” Stan says, still smiling that stupidly perfect smile. 

“Okay, bye mom,” Kyle says quickly, grabbing Stan by the sleeve and pulling him out of the house. “Dude, you didn’t have to come get me at the door.”

Stan shrugs as he heads to his car. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Kyle hops into the passenger seat. “Since when have you been a gentleman?”

“I dunno,” Stan replies quickly, turning the car on. He opens his mouth again, then shuts it, simply sliding in one of his CDs.

That was weird , Kyle thinks. But, he doesn’t have time to overthink it as Stan is about to do what Kenny calls “the sluttiest non-sexual act a man can do.” He glances back through his rearview window, keeping one hand on the wheel and one on the console. With Stan’s gaze occupied, Kyle can shamelessly watch him, that perfect side profile, those forearms, even his hand gripping the wheel does something for him. 

He’s so used to this routine that he’s able to look away before Stan turns to face forward again. Kyle thinks about how happy he’d be if he could just watch Stan drive around their shitty town forever.

“You excited for tonight?” Stan asks, snapping Kyle out of his daze.

“Uh, yeah I guess,” Kyle responds, because he wasn’t sure whether to play it cool or not.

Stan scoffs, glancing over at him with a funny look. “You guess?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, it might be fun. Might not be.” Kyle internally curses at himself for sounding like such a douchebag.

“Well, I’m excited,” Stan says, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I think it’ll be a good time. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Something’s off. Sure, Stan is usually optimistic about parties, but that’s because he’s a fucking social butterfly and the reigning beer pong champion. But he’s not usually this excited. Kyle looks over at him and notices that over his typical graphic t-shirt and jeans combo, he’s wearing his leather bomber jacket. The one he got for Christmas that was immediately declared the coolest clothing item anyone could ever possibly own (by Stan, but Kyle did love how he wore it).

“You look nice,” Kyle says, knowing Stan will hear the hint of suspicion in his voice.

The question flusters Stan, Kyle can see that in the way he glances down. They can never hide stuff from each other.. “Yeah? Thanks. I guess I’m dressed to impress.”

Stan’s reply leaves Kyle with a funny feeling in his stomach, but before he can question it further, Stan’s phone starts ringing.

“Hey Kenny… Yeah, just driving over with Kyle now... No, we’re not far from his place… Yeah, sure. Be there in a few.” Stan puts his phone back on the console. “Bebe bailed on giving Kenny a ride,” he explains to Kyle before he turns the car around. 

Kyle wants to open the door and fling himself onto the road. Step one of the plan is failing, because there’s no way they can have tense, subtextually romantic conversation in the car ride with Kenny in the backseat. As they drive to Kenny’s, Kyle thinks about the sins and good deeds he’s committed recently and if the balance is okay enough for him to ask God for some favors tonight.

“‘Sup, shitlords,” is Kenny’s greeting as he steps into the car.

“Nice job getting ditched, Kenny,” Stan replies.

“She’s playing hard to get. You’ve gotta see the shit she was texting me last night, I think my phone screen is still sticky.”

“Nasty, man!” Kyle exclaims, and it’s one of the only things he says for the entire ride.

  They approach Tolkien’s lake house about forty-five minutes later, which means that Kyle has had plenty of time to talk himself out of asking Stan out, then convince himself to do it again, and repeat the process a few times.

The party has already started, because Stan insists on being at least an hour late to everything, something Kyle’s actually grateful for right now. The boys head inside, Kenny quickly leaving them to “pursue the hunt.”

“He’s definitely just gonna hook up with Butters again,” Stan says to Kyle, leaning in a bit to be heard over the noise.

Kyle stifles a laugh, which makes Stan grin. “Well, yeah. But aren’t you at least rooting for him?”

“If Bebe bailed on him already tonight, I think he’s lost his shot. Do you see her anywhere? She usually drives Wendy too.”

He grips the hem of his t-shirt at the mention of her name. Stan and Wendy had their last break-up over seven months ago. This was by far the longest they’d ever spent apart, and it really seemed like the end for them. Kyle could almost forget about the girl, except for the fact that she’s his academic rival. And your romantic rival now.

“No,” Kyle says flatly, even though he hasn’t looked around the party at all.

“Well, let’s get some drinks,” Stan says, giving Kyle’s shoulder a squeeze before making his way through the crowd. Kyle follows behind him, looking up at Stan’s dark hair and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone so he doesn’t have to go through the greeting process. 

Unfortunately, they run into Tolkien, and though he’s desperate for a drink, he’s not going to be an asshole and ignore the host of the party.

“Stan and Kyle!” Tolkien shouts with a grin, giving Stan a fist-bump and Kyle a wave. Kyle likes how he calls them ‘Stan and Kyle’ in the same way people refer to ‘Tweek and Craig,’ a couple that’s absolutely attached at the hip. Maybe we still can really be Stan and Kyle.

Luckily, Stan keeps the chat with Tolkien short, and the host knows that people are really there for his open bar. He points them in the direction of the kitchen and the boys make their way over.

Kyle just needs a drink. He absolutely hates the taste of anything alcoholic, except for Kiddush, which was disgustingly sweet enough to hide the bitter taste. Tonight, though, he would even do shots if it means he can muster the courage to look Stan in the eyes. Granted, Stan seems to be constantly scanning each room they walk through, not even looking at Kyle anyway.

The kitchen is a bit quieter and every surface is covered in boxes and bottles and glasses and loose lime wedges. Thank god .

“What do you want, dude?” Stan asks, looking through the selection. 

“There’s a lot to choose from.” Kyle typically just accepts whatever’s in Cartman’s flask, he has no idea where to start. “What are you thinking?”

Stan picks out two cans of beer, holding one out. “Natty light?”

Kyle eyes the can. “I was thinking something stronger,” he says. And something that’s not absolutely gross.

Stan doesn’t seem too happy with his answer, and his expression makes Kyle feel like a dick. Before he can try to apologize, though, they’re interrupted (fucking again ).

“Stan Marsh!” Shouts Clyde from the doorway, already incredibly drunk. Kyle doesn’t dislike Clyde, more the fact that Clyde and Stan have gotten close since they started playing football together more seriously, and that football-captain Stan is very different from Kyle’s Stan.

“Clyde fucking Donovan!” Stan shouts back, putting his beer down to give his linebacker a hug with lots of back-patting. It’s grossly macho and Kyle actually has to look away.

“I need you to play pong with me right now. I’m getting my ass kicked out here,” Clyde says, keeping a hand on Stan’s shoulder for stability.

“We can tell,” Kyle remarks, in a needlessly bitchy tone.

Stan shoots him a sympathetic look. “I just got here, Clyde. Can you go one more game without me?”

Clyde makes an expression much like a kicked puppy. “Come on, Stan. Help a guy out.”

Stan looks between the two on opposite sides of the kitchen, his face all scrunched up with conflict.

Finally, Kyle concedes. “Go, I’ll find Kenny or something.”

The smile Stan gives him almost makes the sacrifice worth it. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

He’s already being dragged outside by Clyde before Kyle can respond. The redhead sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Another step of the plan, get drunk with Stan, is looking like another failure. He leans back against the wall, needing a minute to recuperate, revisit the plan, maybe tonight is just not the night for him and Stan. Maybe these are all signs that it’ll never happen for them.

“Shit, Kyle. You need a shot,” says a voice straight from heaven. Kyle turns, and sees Heidi standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“I need a gun, Heidi,” he says, and it feels very good to let himself be dramatic.

“Can we try this obnoxiously fruity vodka first?” She asks, which earns a smile from Kyle. Heidi searches the cabinets for clean shot glasses while Kyle leans against the counter, watching her.

“I’ll chug it from the bottle. You look really nice, by the way,” he says. He’s always liked Heidi’s fashion sense, which is why he trusted her to help him out.

“You too, and not just because I’m the one who dressed you.” She settles for solo cups, and Kyle doesn’t even care if that means she can’t actually measure out a shot. “Where’s loverboy?”

Kyle groans. “It’s never gonna happen. He’s barely spoken to me all night. Maybe a party was a bad idea, there’s too much going on here.”

“No! It’s a great idea! It’s gonna be so romantic, Kyle. You just need a little bit of assistance, that’s all.” She slides him the cup, holding hers up.

“Fuck, l’chaim,” Kyle says, downing the shot. At least if it’s just him and Heidi, he can cringe without fearing judgment.

“You’re such a baby,” Heidi teases (Well, her judgment he can handle). She pours them each another shot. 

Kyle chugs it again, not even waiting for Heidi this time. “What do I do? Kenny did a dramatic reading of his sexts the entire drive over and now he’s playing pong with the football team.”

“Give him space for a minute! Let him play a few games, get the party started his own way, get a bit tipsy. The night is young, Kyle.” She takes Kyle’s hand, pulling it away from his cup and holding it in her own. “Come dance with me?”

Kyle takes a breath, looking at Heidi’s reassuring smile. Thank god they went through the whole I-thought-I-had-a-crush-on-you-but-I’m-actually-gay-and-want-to-be-your-friend thing a long time ago. When they’re not in a strange elementary school relationship, the two actually make a great pair.

“It would be my honor to dance with such a beautiful lady,” Kyle replies, giving Heidi a small bow. The brunette laughs, pulling him out into the living room.

  The party isn’t so bad. A little space from Stan helps, actually. Of course, Kyle still glances up every time he sees someone with that dark brown hair (fucking Craig), but he’s able to loosen up, socialize, and get a very comfortable level of drunk. After about thirty minutes, he runs into Stan again, the two crossing paths on their way inside and outside the backyard.

“Kyle! I was just about to go look for you,” Stan says, and Kyle hopes he can blame the red tint of his cheeks on the drinking.

“Me too,” Kyle says. “How was pong? Did you get to defend your title?” The words come out a lot easier now and Kyle thanks the nasty fruit vodka for its help.

“Well, Clyde didn’t pull me out there to lose. I did take all of his penalty drinks for him, but that’s because he doesn’t need anymore beer for a bit,” he replies, shrugging.

He’s so cute. I should just kiss him .

Wait , too fast. Kyle reminds himself that there’s still a plan in motion, even though he really wants to ditch it and just wrap his arms around the dark-haired boy.

“You having fun?” Stan asks, a teasing grin on his face.

Kyle nods, taking another sip of the spiked seltzer he’s been holding onto.

“Good, I’m glad,” Stan says. The two simply look at each other for a moment, exchanging content looks. Stan’s tongue dashes across his lower lip, a nervous habit Kyle notices sometimes. “Do you wanna, um-”

“Hey! Party people listen up!” Yells Kenny, loud enough to silence the entire room.

Kyle’s ready to commit murder.

“All of you motherfuckers need to loosen up, and I know just the thing.” Kyle turns to look at the other, who is standing on a chair to distinguish himself. He holds up an empty bottle of wine, which explains the tint of purple on his lips. “Seven minutes in heaven.”

Actually, Kyle’s ready to commit a murder-suicide. 

A few people roll their eyes and leave the room, but some stay. Kyle notices Heidi, Bebe, and Wendy standing in the corner, and understands now why Kenny proposed this game. Kyle misses the days of simple spin-the-bottle desperately. 

“We’re in,” Heidi says, glancing across the room at Kyle. He hopes his expression adequately conveys just how little he wants to do this.

“Hell, why not?” Pipes up Craig, who the rest of his gang agrees with.

“Us too,” says Stan, putting a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. Fuck.  

“Dude,” Kyle says in a low voice, looking up at the other. Stan simply shrugs. Why did he have to fall for such an idiot?

Kenny herds everyone to sit in a circle, placing the bottle center. He’s eyeing Bebe the entire time and Kyle laments that he has to suffer because Kenny doesn’t have the balls to just ask the girl out. Hypocritical.

“You look like you’re being tortured,” Stan says as the two sit beside each other cross-legged on the floor. 

“This is one of the layers of hell,” Kyle replies, finishing off the rest of his drink.

Stan frowns a little, sipping his own drink. “Hey, Kenny, shouldn’t you start us off?”

“Bad luck to go first,” Kenny explains, shaking his head.

Heidi chimes in before anyone else. “I’ll go! It’s just a game, right? Never know what could happen,” she says, giving Kyle another look as she leans forward to spin the bottle. It lands on Jimmy, which Heidi seems pleased about. The two head off into the closest closet, and Kenny makes a show of setting the timer, earning a lot of “Oohs” from the group.

Another part of the plan is fucked. Kyle’s already done the math in his head of his chances of getting Stan, and it’s slim to none. Given his luck tonight, he’ll probably end up in the closet with Kenny. While the time passes, the rest of the group chatters and Kyle leaves to refill his drink. 

In the kitchen, Stan catches up with him once more, and Kyle pretends not to notice until the other boy speaks up.

“You okay, man?”

Kyle looks down into a box of seltzers, completely faced away from Stan. “They only have the shitty flavors left.”

“I mean, like, with the party. You’ve been acting kinda weird all night.”

Kyle cracks open a can regardless. “I’m having a blast,” he says, turning back to Stan. His pissed-off expression fades when he locks eyes with the other. Stan doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for sarcasm.

“I just-” he begins. “I’m gonna head back to the game. I didn’t mean to drag you into something you’d hate.”

Stan walks back into the other room and Kyle follows at a distance. Heidi and Jimmy are emerging from the closet, smiles on their faces, and a hint of pink lipstick smeared across both their lips. Kyle feels like an asshole.

Heidi sits back down beside Wendy, who leans forward to spin the bottle. And just when Kyle was beginning to think that he should just spend time with Stan rather than sulk about some stupid plan for the rest of the party, the worst thing that’s ever happened in his life, and maybe the history of mankind happens.

The bottle lands on Stan.

And even worse, Stan looks happy.

He watches the boy he is hopelessly in love with head into a dark closet with the girl he’s been competing against for his entire life.

Ignoring Heidi calling his name, he leaves the room. He needs fresh air, he needs to not be around people, he needs to fucking scream. Of course there’s people on the dock, so Kyle sits beside the water instead, despite the fact that he’s dirtying the pants that took thirty minutes to choose.

It doesn’t matter anyway .

Kyle hugs his knees to his chest, holding back tears. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten drunk like this. The confidence he felt earlier was definitely not worth the loss of control he has now. If they weren’t at this stupid lake house, he’d probably be walking home.

He feels like an idiot. Stan has always been a pipe dream. Kyle doesn’t even know if he’s into guys. He’s just been clinging to every sideways glance, every lingering touch, every whispered joke. 

He wishes he could have fallen for anyone else. Why did it have to be the popular football player who's definitely living his dreams right now, getting back together with his perfect ex-girlfriend?

The people on the dock begin to shuffle inside, catching Kyle’s attention for a second. He feels a few droplets from the sky fall on him, and he understands the exit. He doesn’t want to get up yet, a little rain won’t be the worst thing to happen to him tonight anyway. 

He stays put, watching the rain bounce off the water, until he hears a voice call out to him.

“Kyle!” Stan shouts, hurrying over to him. Kyle doesn’t even bother to look up. “What are you doing out here, dude? Got a little too drunk? It’s about to pour.”

“Whatever,” Kyle replies, letting Stan pull him up by his arm.

“Come inside,” Stan says and the concern in his eyes reminds Kyle that his feelings aren’t just going to disappear instantly. He just nods and follows Stan as the two head inside. They walk straight through the living room, where the game is still going on, and head upstairs to the bedrooms. 

Confess to Stan on the water, under the starlight: also ruined.

Stan heads into one of the bathrooms, waiting for Kyle to enter before closing the door. “Sit down, I’ll get you a towel.”

Kyle’s doing his best not to look directly at Stan right now, so he pulls himself up and sits on the countertop. 

“Take your sweater off,” Stan says. Kyle hopes he’s not blushing.

“Why?”

Stan cocks his head to the side slightly. “So you don’t catch a cold? I’ll give you my flannel, hang on.” He pulls his jacket off, then the flannel, leaving him in just a t-shirt. 

Kyle pulls off his wet sweater, letting it drop to the floor below them. Stan presses the towel to his chest and Kyle is quick to take it from him, patting himself dry. He doesn’t say anything, even though he can feel Stan just standing there, watching him.

Once he’s in a better state, Stan helps him slide the flannel on. However, it’s when Stan begins to button it up for him that Kyle really comes to.

“Stop,” he says, grabbing Stan’s hands and pushing them away.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks, backing away from Kyle cautiously. 

“Just-” Kyle lets out a breath. “Stop, Stan. I don’t need your help. Why don’t you just go back to the party and your friends and Wendy and let me take care of myself, okay?”

Kyle’s staring at the tile below them, hands gripping the countertop. From the corner of his eye, he can see Stan fidgeting, the hesitant shuffle of his feet.

“I’m sorry, Kyle.”

The admission makes Kyle look up, confusion clear on his face. “For what?”

“Everything, fuck. This whole night has been such a shit show,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “And I just keep messing things up. I just wanted it to be fun for you but I kept getting so nervous and saying the wrong shit. I’m just- I’m sorry.”

Kyle feels like he sobers up in an instant. “What are you talking about?” He asks slowly.

Stan looks at him, lips pressed together, it’s his guilty face. “I was gonna tell you how I feel about you tonight.”

And then Kyle’s body goes into autopilot. The next thing he knows, he’s getting off the counter, grabbing Stan by the collar of his shirt, and pulling him down into a kiss. It’s a bit too forceful and his aim is off, but it’s still a kiss.

Stan puts his hands on Kyle’s chest, pulling away for a second. “Wait- what about you and Heidi?”

“Me and Heidi?” Kyle repeats, practically shouting it. “She helped me pick out an outfit that would impress you, Stan. She’s playing wingwoman.” He pauses. “What about Wendy?”

Stan lets out a laugh. “She was trying to help me out too. Six out of the seven minutes were her lecturing me about how terrible of a job I’m doing romancing you.”

“ You’re doing a terrible job? I’ve almost had like three nervous breakdowns tonight because my plan to ask you out kept getting ruined!”

“What was your plan?” Stan asks, reaching up to brush aside a curl of hair. 

Kyle knows he’s blushing now. “Um, y’know. Lakeside. Stars out. Bottle of wine or something. It wasn’t supposed to be in the bathroom. And-” he steps away from Stan. “ I was supposed to confess to you! ”

Stan laughs again, quickly diffusing Kyle’s frustration. He takes Kyle’s wrist, pulling him close to his chest again. “Go on then, confess to me.”

Kyle can feel his heart throbbing in his entire body. “Was the kiss not enough?”

“No way,” Stan says. Maybe the romantic confession under the stars wasn’t for them, anyway. Before everything, Stan is still his best friend, and Kyle should’ve known that meant this moment was going to be filled with fumbled words and awkward, nervous laughter no matter how hard he tried to prevent that. 

He exhales. “I like you, Stan.” 

They kiss again. It’s still pretty sloppy because the two can’t seem to get close enough. But, after a moment, they slide into a comfortable position. Kyle pulls him back, breaking the kiss for just a second to sit on the counter again, bringing them face-to-face now.

“I like you too,” Stan says breathlessly, pulling away.

“Really?” Kyle asks, because this entire thing is still too good to be true.

“Are you kidding me? I’m fucking crazy about you, dude.” Stan’s grinning widely, and so is Kyle. 

And because getting interrupted is their thing now, someone knocks on the door. “Hello? Some of us have to pee!”

Kyle leans forward to get off the counter, but Stan holds him there, keeping his hands on his waist.

“Ignore them,” Stan pleads.

“Dude, come on,” Kyle replies.

“There’s like a million bathrooms in this house.”

“And a billion bedrooms.”

Stan’s brows raise and he begins to stammer out a response.

“Relax. We’re not moving that quickly. But we are getting out of here.” Kyle hops off the counter, buttoning up the rest of Stan’s flannel before opening the bathroom door. To his surprise, it’s just Heidi standing there, with Wendy behind her.

“Sorry, Kyle,” she says, not seeming apologetic at all. “Looks like the plan worked, though.”

“Thank god,” Wendy says, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re both idiots. You know that, right?”

Before Kyle can reply, Stan speaks. “Yep.” And then he reaches forward and takes Kyle’s hand and Kyle feels like he’s going to combust.

“Told you it would work out,” Heidi says, smiling at Kyle before heading into the bathroom.

“I’m happy you got your shit together,” Wendy says, giving Stan a kiss on the cheek before following her friend.

The boys are quiet for a second before Kyle looks up at Stan. “Did… Does that mean they set us up?”

Stan looks down at him, nodding. “I think we might’ve just been a part of their plan.”

The two share a laugh, then Kyle remembers that they’re holding hands and he’s wearing Stan’s flannel and they literally just kissed and gets flustered all over again. 

“So, what did you expect to happen after you told me?” Kyle asks.

“We get a bedroom. Make out. I tell you everything that I’ve been dying to tell you for months. Make out some more.”

“Sounds like a plan.”