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hyperfixated-gvf · 1 year

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I Wanna Be Yours, Pretty Baby

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader | Rated Explicit | Words: 11.6k

Warnings: Language, smut, semi-public sex, possessive themes, outdoor sex, unprotected sex

Chapter Summary: Jealousy sparks a move forward for spoiled!Y/N and pool boy!Sam.

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

“No, it’s just that someone left a fucking $700 putter on one of the greens today. Why the fuck would someone leave a putter on the green? How the fuck does someone leave a putter on the green and not even notice it was missing? What kind of moron–”

“Daniel Wagner.”

Your voice cut into the golf caddy’s sentence, having been talking to a very familiar head of hair across from him. You smiled. Of course, you'd seen Sam’s head of long, unfairly luscious locks across the table from the man you were intent on finding the moment you walked through the clubhouse door, and immediately thought that perhaps this whole golfing thing would end up being more of a successful use of your day than you’d anticipated it to be.

It wasn’t as if you knew Sam would be here, but…well, it wasn’t your fault that you did know he was off-duty – your friends had been talking during lunch, and you always kept your ears on – and if he wasn’t off being the village bicycle, you’d had a high suspicion that he’d seek his friend out to bother, even if Danny wasn’t off-duty.

It was pure coincidence that you'd had the sudden urge to cash in on Danny's offer for a lesson. Entirely coincidental.

At the sound of his name, Danny whipped his head around, as did Sam, but where Danny immediately straightened his posture and put a smile on his face, Sam did no such thing. Instead, he raised a brow and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but stayed silent.

It had been a couple of weeks since your tryst and, while you’d flirtatiously fought around the pool grounds a couple of times, you hadn’t found your way back to his bed, nor he to yours. It had been his name on your lips while you brought yourself to completion in bed at night, but that was the extent of it.

“Y/N! I mean– Miss Y/N…um,” Danny stuttered out the honorific, much to Sam’s chagrin behind him, but you kept your gaze on Danny, “what can I do for you?”

You smiled at him, finding his attitude satisfactory and his stutter endearing. The man was undeniably handsome, and charming in a completely different way than Sam. “You promised me a golf lesson, remember?” you asked cheekily, fluttering your lashes at him. “All the gentlemen here say you’re a promising young stud on the course, and you told me your schedule would be open for me, so…here I am.”

Danny scoffed and rubbed at the back of his neck, letting Sam drift into your periphery again. You hadn’t so much as acknowledged his presence, and you weren’t planning on giving him the satisfaction, either. “I dunno about that,” he muttered, eyes shifting to the side. “I mean, I’m good! I’ve played a long time but, at the end of the day, I’m just a caddy.” He was quick to correct himself once he realized he was speaking with someone who could potentially hold sway in his employment, but you just laughed and waved him off.

“Yes, but you’re the best caddy. And being the best will get you places, Daniel Wagner, especially here.” You licked your lips once and watched as he gulped. Good. You liked the fact that he knew power and influence when he saw it, and you felt like Marlin and Bruce – a shark and a clownfish, perfectly aware of the danger that rested within reach that was barred by a respect and an acknowledgment of power dynamics you had been raised on.

Your parents were rich, yes, but they tried to raise you on ethical business and that was something you held close to your heart, and one of the reasons you had stayed away from Sam after sleeping with him.

“And she only has the best. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Speak of the devil himself.

Now that you were back in his orbit, it was difficult to hold yourself to the same standard. The challenge was fresh, the sure promise of mind games invigorating, and his steadfast stubbornness - regardless of the fact that these were his first words to you - something you relished. It was more difficult now to tell yourself that despite the fact that you weren’t his boss, you were closely enough tied into the business that, following a straight and true ethical business decision, you shouldn’t be and should not have slept with him.

But on a personal basis…well, you weren’t his boss, and the only business decisions you were making at the moment were meals to be served at the restaurant. At the end of the day, you were only slightly different from any other guest.

“And you would know, Kiszka?” you snorted. “We have one conversation and what? Have you abandoned your ways and devoted yourself to knowing everything about me?”

Sam smirked and met your eyes, staring up at you from his slouched position on the chair and drawling, “Hm. No, actually, I'm quite set in my ways. Fucked a girl named April behind the chemical shed just yesterday, actually.”

Danny balked at his nonchalance talking about his sex life, especially to you, and looked away in what you were sure was secondhand embarrassment. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he got crease lines from having to do it so often around Sam. “Romantic,” you scoffed, and then turned back to Danny, knowing it would grind Sam's gears to be ignored for the most part. “So, lesson? Can we start now? I’m all dressed and everything.”

It had been one time that you’d gone to your father for fashion advice. The man was well-dressed, but his social circles had very little overlap with yours and, if you were being honest, you weren’t a huge fan of golf. Your father’s smile when you mentioned Danny having offered a lesson convinced you to give it another try, and you’d asked for an outfit rundown.

The skirts you found in the women’s section of the on-site retail shop was far too…male fantasy for your taste, so your father had them tailor his favorite brand of lightweight golf trousers to your specifications, and you were now rocking them confidently and admitting that at least your dad had good taste in what he wore.

Everything else was per what the store had, but you weren’t planning on being out on the course day after day – this was probably going to be a one-off. Honestly, at the base of it, your main driving force was the small interaction you’d had after leaving Sam’s room the morning after you’d both given into desire.

You were nothing if not someone who followed through.

“And you look great,” Danny assured, looking down at his phone for a second. “Give me just a second, and then we can check out a cart and go. I’ll– I promise, I’ll be right back!”

Danny scampered away and caught another caddy by the shoulder, taking a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and pointing to something on it, speaking animatedly before gesturing back to where you were.

You hadn’t noticed the smirk crawl onto your face when you realized that he was pawning off a client so that he could take you out to the course. A less than empty schedule, and yet, you’d still gotten your way – just the way you liked it.

You hadn’t noticed, but Sam certainly did. “You really haven’t changed a bit,” he scoffed.

With only a cursory glance in his direction, you shrugged, mocking him as you said, “Hm. No, actually. It’s only been a couple of weeks, and your dick wasn’t life changing.”

There wasn’t time for Sam to have a snippy comeback, as Danny hadn’t needed much time to convince the caddy to take on the client. “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Do you have clubs?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m not sure if I’ll like it or not, so I figured I’d do the lesson first before I went through the arduity of hiring someone else to do the research for me.”

Sam rolled his eyes at your wealthy words, and Danny caught that little blase display of disrespect and cleared his throat. “Um…sorry, Sam, it looks like we’ll have to talk later. I’ll catch you soon?”

The visceral pout on Sam’s face marred his features, and the glare he sent you wasn’t as underlyingly amused as his usually were. “You’re stealing my friend, now?” He mumbled something afterwards, too under-his-breath for you to catch, but it sounded like, ‘bitch,” It could, of course, been something else, like ‘rich,’ or ‘grinch,” but your money was on the original.

“I would never,” you said sweetly, just as Danny panicked and opened his mouth to tell his disgruntled friend off. “You’re free to join us. That’s allowed, right, Danny?”

Danny’s face morphed from a scolding only a moment away from happening to a raised-brow, wide-eyed expression directed at Sam that clearly prompted agreement when he said, “Only if he behaves, because he’s in an awful mood right now, I guess. Sorry about him.”

Again, you waved him off, quite amused with their dynamics – always mimicking a father and an unruly child that they were taking out for a day at the park. “All in good fun; right, Sam?”

“Fun like carnival games,” he muttered, sighing greatly as Danny took the opportunity to whisk you away from further comment on Sam’s part, explaining different aspects of the game to start you off on the start of your golfing journey.

You tried to pay attention, and you took mental notes because you’d be damned before you fell into the stereotype and let golf be a man’s game. Soon, you were out on the greens, driving only a short distance away to a large, open area – Danny driving, you sitting proper in the front seat, and Sam sullenly crossing his arms in the backseat.

“Okay,” Danny said, putting the cart in park and pocketing the key, “first stop: driving range. We’ll have a lesson on how to swing, which club is used how, and proper form. I’ll grab the clubs, you go and pick out a station!”

The clubs, buckled in next to Sam, were picked up and hauled onto Danny’s shoulder while you surveyed your options. Deciding to settle into one between the middle and the end – a sweet spot – that just so happened to be open, you stretched in the sunlight and smiled at the two men following you. Danny gave you a smile back, and Sam grimaced.

You wondered what the stick up his ass was.

You picked the driver out of the bag and tested the weight of it in your hand. “This one, right?” You knew enough not to be a total dunce, at least.

Danny nodded encouragingly, coming up to subtly direct the head of the club down and away from anybody’s pretty face. “Right,” he confirmed, lining himself up on the little mound of grass. “So, first, you’ll want to put your tee in and make sure it’s straight. No one wants a ball rolling off just as you’re about to swing…” He kept explaining the basics to you, showing you first, letting you mimic his actions, and then finally allowing you to step up to where he’d been standing. “Is it okay if I readjust you?” he asked.

In the process of glancing back at Danny, you saw Sam look away quickly, feigning disinterest when he knew he’d been caught staring but was unable to wipe the frown off of his face. It didn’t really register in your head – he’d been in a bad mood since you’d shown up and you were more focused on Danny’s hands gently turning your shoulders to where they needed to be anyways.

It went on like this for a while: Danny would make an adjustment, you’d take it to heart, and Sam would frown the whole time.

“You know, you’re going to get early wrinkles if you pout all day,” you said when you finally got back into the cart to start the course.

“I won’t get wrinkles, my skin is going to glow forever.”

Even his snap-backs were pouty.

You hummed and settled back into the seat, turning to face him, chin resting on your palm. “What’s wrong, Sammy? Did I steal your playtime away?” Your lower lip pudged out exaggeratedly; you wanted to get under his skin. Wanted to be on his mind and make it churn.

He glared at you, also twisted in his seat, and leaned in closer. “Daniel is not a toy, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows perked and you cocked your head. You knew that, obviously – in fact, you hadn’t treated Danny much differently than you’d treat any other caddy giving you a lesson, so you weren’t really sure what his damage was.

"If you're not mad that I stole him away from giving you all his attention, then what's got you being such a bitch today?"

His eyes were dark and moody, but for a split second, they flicked down to your lips, and you quirked them up at that little admission. He was still thinking about you.

"Nothing more than being around the biggest bitch of them all."

Danny began approaching the cart, so you quickly leaned in again under the guise of stretching and getting comfortable in your seat. "Don't talk so dirty to me, Sam, you know what name-calling does to me."

You didn't see what his reaction had been, but all lesson long, his attitude kept up – you were impressed, really. You hadn’t seen that kind of tantrum since your private school days where maturity wasn’t really a thing. He huffed when you asked Danny for clarifications, and he stomped back to the cart when Danny ‘took too long’ making small adjustments in your swing and explaining the different clubs. He even threw you the bird when you offered the clubs to him (along with a taunt about not playing because he was afraid that you’d be better than him).

But the lesson was finished in an hour and a half much to Sam’s sarcastic glee, and you made it back to the cart check-in just as a familiar figure was turning the keys to his personal cart.

“Dad!”

Your father looked up, smiling at you like he always did. “Hey Pumpkin! Finally capitalizing on that free lesson I see?”

“I told you I was,” you said, knowing that your dad had a lot of faith in your ability to finish things out, just…maybe not on the golf course.

Still, he looked very pleased to see you there. “I’m glad to see you out using the course, for once, and with my best caddy, too.” He abandoned his cart for a moment to walk over to you and the two boys flanking your sides. “Mr. Wagner, she received your best, I assume?”

“Only that and nothing else,” he promised, back ramrod straight and chest puffed out a bit. Sam mumbled something behind you, but it was lost in the rattle of another cart passing by.

Your dad patted Danny on the shoulder. “Good man. How’d you like it?” he asked, turning his gaze back to you.

Surprisingly, when you thought back to your lesson, you hadn’t been bored. It still wasn’t your thing, and your father would respect that, but the game wasn’t as bad as you remembered it being, although the company you kept might have contributed to how tolerable you found hitting a ball around an ecological disaster.

Well, half of the company you kept, at least.

“It…wasn’t bad, really,” you told him. “I’m no pro, but we can play a round or two sometime together – Danny was a wonderful teacher,” you appreciated, knowing that your father took stock in what you said about the staff. “The best there is, just like you said.”

He eyed the two of you, gauging any sort of tension and if he should step in to have a word about his baby girl with the caddy, which was ironic when the more threatening culprit was standing a foot away, still unnoticed by your father.

He must not have found anything to worry about, because he hummed pleasantly and nodded. “I’ll take you up on that, Y/N, and we’ll make a day of it, I promise. Right now, I have a meeting on the greens.”

Danny laughed at his joke, casually saying, “They’re always calling, aren’t they?”

And your father, with an amused gleam in his eye, shook his head. “No…an actual meeting. WIth a board member, actually.”

You snorted at his humor and at Danny’s slight embarrassment, but said your goodbyes and continued back to the caddy’s lounge where you’d started off.

“Well, I guess this is where you leave, then, Y/N,” Sam said, flopping into an empty armchair and waving you off like a fly. “I’d say it was nice to see you but that was the most excruciating experience of my life, so…buh-bye. Sayonara, adios, skedattle.”

You weren’t hurt by his callous dismissal, but it did spark your curiosity. What had him in such a tizzy?

You chuckled at him, but paid him no attention otherwise as you turned to Danny and stuck out your hand. “As much as I hate to admit it, it is time for me to go; I have another appointment in an hour. Thank you for the lesson,” you said, genuinely grateful for the care and sincerity he’d shown you during the lesson. “If there was anyone able to convince me that golf isn’t as bad as I remember it being, it would be you.”

Danny blushed pink, high in his cheekbones, and cast his gaze down, taking your hand for a firm shake. “It was my pleasure, Y/N. Drop in anytime and I can show you how to perfect that drive of yours – you could be a really good golfer if you wanted to be, I could tell just by today!”

Sam groaned from the chair, shifting and glaring at the two of you. “Jesus, either fuck him or go away already, Y/N.”

Danny somehow blushed even brighter, then sputtered and sighed in such a long-suffering way that you wondered how long they’d been friends, but something about his tone caught your attention. He’d been pissy the entire time you’d been together, and his words could have been due to his bad mood, sure. But a small, niggling thought wormed its way to the front of your mind, and you knew that it had to be explored the moment you registered what the developing theory was.

Did Sam really not like seeing you with Danny? Was he really – dare you even think it – jealous?

You finally turned to face him, square and fully, and stared him straight in the eye. Any micro expression, any fidgety twitch or shift of his eye – you wanted to see a faultline. He glared defiantly back, eventually raising his brow when you didn’t say anything. “Is that what you want, Sam?”

His lips pinched together slightly and something about his gaze changed – darkened, almost. But he scoffed and looked away before you could analyze it further. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

You hummed, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Well, happy birthday, then, I’ll leave.”

“S’not my birthday.”

“Then from out of the kindness in my heart,” you shot back, digging into your pocket to pull out a bill to offer Danny. “Your tip, Mr. Head Caddy.”

Danny graciously accepted the money and thanked you, and then the only thing left to do was leave, so that’s just what you did, even with the damn pool boy still on your mind.

…

Meet me at the cart pickup, 11pm.

The note given to you by the concierge was messy, and even with no identifier nor hint to who had sent it, you still somehow knew exactly who’d written it, although you highly doubted that the pool boy had been the one to deliver it himself.

Regardless of who he’d bribed, charmed, or fucked to do his bidding, or how you’d rolled your eyes at the 90’s rom-com drama of an anonymous note, you found yourself taking a leisurely stroll across the grounds at 11 pm, determined to not be on time.

It was exactly 11:11 when you meandered up to the spot where Danny had checked out the cart that morning and, there, you found a lone figure lounging with his feet on the dashboard of a locked club cart. The dim light from his phone illuminated his features just enough to pick out his profile, sculpted unfairly to perfection, and you cleared your throat to get his attention. “You called?”

Sam looked up, searching for you in the dim light with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. “Oh, nice of you to show up.”

“As if you were on time?” you scoffed. He never was – you’d heard Rico complain about his tardiness before, and didn’t hesitate to use that information against him.

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.” He was still in a weird mood – not as many snappy comebacks, not as much sass, not as much teasing. Because of this, you watched him curiously as he picked himself out of the seat and closed the distance between you in a few strides, coming to rest very near to you – almost near enough to make you feel the need to step back.

It was quite dark, but the emergency lamps that lit up the area where the carts were parked a few feet away provided enough light to see his jaw clench before he reached for you, one hand gripping your waist and the other circling the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he shocked you by planting his mouth on yours.

Nothing about the kiss was sweet. It didn’t start off sweet, he never even gave you the chance to think of the word sweet. It was deep, sloppy, and desperate from the start and, if you didn’t know better, it felt like he’d been waiting to kiss you for a while.

Over and over, his lips connected with yours, sneaking in small breaths in the natural push-and-pull and gentle explorations of his tongue. You hadn’t realized that he’d begun backing you up until you hit the rough bark of a tree, grunting at the unexpected collision but unable to stop greedily taking everything that Sam was giving you.

Barely two conversations between the two of you for weeks, and now this? Surely it wasn’t healthy.

But healthy wasn’t exactly on your mind when he pushed his knee between your thighs. You gasped a bit, hand tightening on Sam’s slightly stubbly jaw until he finally pulled away. For a moment, you both stood there, panting slightly without pulling away from the other’s gravity.

For everything that you’d done together, this was new. Even when you’d slept together, Sam had never kissed you like that. It was far more intimate than what you were used to with Sam, far more…everything. And you hated how much it had an effect on you. You didn’t know what to say – he’d kissed you speechless, and now you couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed by your lack of brain power after that.

Just as suddenly as he'd kissed you, he pulled back and put a few inches of space between his body and yours.

“Come on.”

Leaving you gasping and attempting to re-wet your lips, Sam abruptly turned and motioned towards the golf course, quickly clicking on his phone flashlight and prompting you to do the same.

Part of you wanted to plant your feet and refuse to move until Sam came back and either finished what he started or gave you some sort of thought from his brain that told of his intentions kissing you like that. But Sam stopped and waited for you once he was a few feet away, and you were much too curious as to where he was taking you to be that stubborn right now.

As you walked in relative silence across the greens, dodging in and out of certain places that surely would have been easier just to walk through, you finally broke the silence, saying, “Where are we–”

“You’ll see, just wait.”

Sam made sure that there was no conversation, no witty back-and-forth, and because of that, the walk made you a little nervous. Not in a “oh shit is he gonna kill me out here” kinda way, but more in a tummy-turning, butterfly-inducing “oh my god is this going to be a date?” kinda way.

If anything, you’d have appreciated him acknowledging the fact that you’d just made out against a tree instead of acting so utterly normal, which, in the scheme of things, wasn’t normal at all.

You finally approached an open putting green, lit up by the bright moon and a lamp that lit the cart path nearby, and your silent questions were finally answered.

No, this was not a date.

In fact, this was hole #2, which was one that had very little shade in the daytime, but made an exceptional stargazing spot at night. It was also where another figure was on his back, pointing up at the sky and seemingly tracing patterns in the stars.

“Didya start without me?” Sam asked, voice loud in the silence. As soon as the body on the green leaned up and looked your way, you knew it was Danny (as if you hadn’t already had the sneaking suspicion before that) by the fluffy, curly hair and long, skinny torso. “Seem pretty content there, Wagner.”

“I mean–” Danny finally seemed to notice that Sam wasn’t the only one approaching, and he quickly sat up straighter. “Oh, Y/N! I…um, I wasn’t expecting you.” He moved his leg too quickly to be inconspicuous, and you laughed.

“Chill out, Danny. I’m here as a friend.”

Sam sat down across from Danny, perfectly at home on his friend’s soil in a way that told many-a night having done the same thing. “I invited her. Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, a little quieter. You felt a bit like an intruder and, even knowing what they did from rumors that floated around and reached your ears, didn’t want Danny to feel as though he needed to be work-Danny instead of off-the-clock Danny.

That, in addition to being disoriented at the purpose of this trip if it wasn’t a date and it wasn’t a hookup.

The caddy shrugged, clearing his throat but not moving his leg. “No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t really prepared to see anyone with you, much less the boss-lady.”

“Oh, I’m not the bossy-lady. Yet, at least,” you acquiesced. “The calm before the storm, if you will.”

Sam looked at you expectantly and gestured to the grass beside him, and you took a seat to complete your little triangle, the temperature change between the balmy air and the cooler ground making the short, thick greenery feel damp, but when you brushed your palm over the back of your shorts, you felt no moisture seeping through.

If there was the faintest, lingering wetness between your legs from Sam’s kiss, you blamed the unexpected, hot, and abruptly-ended nature of it.

“So, did you start without me?” Sam asked again, holding his hand out to Danny because apparently he didn’t want to fuck around with niceties when weed (you assumed, at least) was on the line. “Because if you did, Y/N and I need to catch up.”

Danny moved his leg again, bringing it off of the little kit that was thrown together in a fanny pack, confirming your suspicions. “Like, three puffs. Then I decided to wait.”

He handed a pinched joint to Sam and then the lighter, the former which Sam immediately handed to you. “You’ve smoked before, right?” he asked, again prolonging the contact between your fingers as he held the little stick to your hand and getting much closer than he needed to be.

“Not much, but a couple of times, yeah. Here,” you said, holding the blunt up between two fingers, “light it up and show me how it’s done. It’s been a while.”

Sam’s thumb lingered at the pulse point in your wrist, holding you steady as he flicked the lighter on and held it to the end of the paper, making it burn orange and then smolder. He didn’t let go of your wrist to give the joint to him, though. Instead, he gently turned it so that he could put his lips around the non-lit end, staring at you as he dragged the smoke in and held it before tilting his head to the sky and letting it swirl into the night air. “Shit, that’s good. I’m so glad you found this spot, Daniel. It’s perfect for a midnight smoke.”

You glanced over at Danny, but he wasn’t looking back; he was turned politely and watching the stars again. A small pang of embarrassment burned your face – that little show seemed far too intimate for company. It almost made you want to apologize, but Sam handed you the joint before you could say anything, and you shook off Sam’s weird behavior by wrapping your lips around the paper where Sam’s had been just a few seconds ago.

“What makes this spot different?” The smoke burned a bit going in, but you managed not to cough it all out, instead just letting it escape in one raggedy breath. Like you’d said – it had been a while since you’d smoked with others, and you weren’t sure what their rotation looked like. One puff and switch? A couple?

“Danny?” you asked, offering him the blunt since he would be the next in the lineup. But Sam snatched it away before he could answer, taking another hit before handing it over to his best friend.

“The ‘three puff’ tax,” he grinned, smoke escaping his mouth as he spoke.

Danny rolled his eyes and took an extra-long drag just to blow it towards Sam in a taunt. “You’re lucky I waited at all. It’s been a shit week and I’ve been looking forward to this since we bought it.” Finally, Danny turned back to you and answered your previous question. “If I get in trouble, I never said this,” he half-joked. You mimed zipping your lips and Danny explained, “This is one of the only spots the security cameras can’t see. Mallory from security and I get on pretty well, and she let me in on this little secret when Sam and I had been complaining about having nowhere to smoke in peace.”

You laughed, watching as Sam plucked the drugs from Danny’s fingers to hand to you as the middle-man, even though you could have easily reached Danny in the position you were in. Sam’s in-and-out weave on the way here made much more sense now – he’d been avoiding cameras. “Ah. She’s a true friend then.” Thinking back to Danny’s words, you looked down, scratching your fingers lightly through the greenery beneath you. “You know, I hope I wasn’t a contributing factor to your shit week.”

Danny quickly shook his head, waving his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Oh, of course not! No, it’s those damn Freise kids. They started lessons twice a week a few weeks ago on different days, so I have to deal with one or the other almost every shift,” he sighed, gratefully accepting the joint from Sam, who skipped his turn after you’d taken yours so that Danny could unwind. “The youngest one won’t stop throwing tantrums and the teenager tries to break everything on purpose ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

You frowned. That did sound like shit. “You can always ban them,” you offered as a solution. It had been done before in various activities around the club – drunkards banned from the kayaking ‘river’ that encircled the property like a moat, kids who didn’t respect the horses banned from the stables, peeping toms banned from the pool.

Sam’s lean calf brushed your bare ankle as he stretched his legs out, and you realized he’d moved closer to you. Sitting as you were, it would only take a few scooches to be in his lap, which was open and not something you should be thinking about when you couldn’t do anything about it. He was still sitting between you and Danny, who was watching the smoke he exhaled dissipate into the night before handing the stubby butt of the joint to Sam so that he could finish it off while he lit a new one.

“I know, it’s just…” he trailed off, pretending to shift his focus to the lighter in his hand.

Sam cleared his throat after the last puff of the first joint had been smoked. “Because Mr. Freise is buddy-buddy with your dad, and he had been the one to suggest Danny as a teacher.”

You glanced sympathetically towards Danny, hating that he was putting up with shit because he thought he had to. Knowing that nothing you said would make up for the fact that you would always be seen as part of ‘the other side,’ you sighed. “I’m sorry. I–” Any apology would sound contrite in that moment, so you decided on another angle. “Whatever you do, I hope you know that I would be on your side and, if push really came to shove and Mr. Freise didn’t already know his kids were shitheads–” That brought a giggle out of the two boys, who had smoked a majority of the first joint and were passing the next one back around. “–I would have your back. And I know for a fact that my dad values my opinion and his best caddy more than how much one rich family wants their kids on the golf course.”

Danny grinned at you rather dopily, which was when you began to doubt that he’d only had three puffs before you and Sam had arrived, and tentatively patted you on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that made you smile. It wasn’t often you felt able to make real friends around the club, especially with the staff, but you felt some sort of kinship with Danny that you couldn’t explain – the only thing you really shared in common was having some strain of a relationship with Sam who, at the moment, was staring much too intently at the point of contact that had just passed through you and his best friend.

Lost in a haze that must have been at least a third due to the drugs he’d been inhaling at a faster pace than you, he didn’t realize you were staring at him until you snapped your fingers in front of his face and pointed out the still-burning blunt between his fingers. “You gonna take a hit or can I?”

Sam smirked and brought the blunt back between his lips, licking his lips once he let it go before blowing the smoke in your direction. “You want some smoke, Princess?” he asked, and you hesitated answering, not knowing if he was trying to be facetious with his choice of words or not. “Come and get it.”

He took another drag in and held it, leaning forward without losing your gaze. You knew what he wanted, but shot a quick glance back over to Danny, who had once again politely looked away. Sam quirked a brow as he let what would have been your hit out of his mouth in one breath, with it, a murmured, “No?”

“Sam…” you mouthed, chastising him silently. Danny was right there, and it made you uncomfortable knowing that he was probably catching onto the weird dynamic between you two, if Sam hadn’t already spilled everything.

But Sam just stared defiantly back, placing one long-fingered hand on your knee and used it to tug you to him, challenging you to go along with his performance. “It’s just a hit, Y/N, come on. Are you scared of cooties?”

He was toeing the line and pushing your boundaries, but you knew that one word from you or Danny would stop him. While part of you was concerned with Danny’s comfort, it seemed like he was…perfectly used to seeing Sam be a slut. And when Sam sucked in another hit and leaned toward you again, you wanted to be close to him, wanted to take the smoke right out of his mouth and, besides, it really wasn’t as wild as you were making it out to be. People did it all the time at parties, and it wasn’t as if you were going to be shoving your tongue down his throat like Sam had when you’d been alone earlier.

“If I’m gonna catch something from anyone here, it’d be you,” you grumbled, and Danny laughed loudly at that from his position, laying down now with his eyes closed, just enjoying the balmy night. With his attention not on you, you braced yourself on his leg and met him in the middle, barely brushing your lips against his as he exhaled right into your inhale, transferring the smoke between the two of you. “Happy now? Or are you still jealous?”

You whispered your parting question into his ear, nose nudging between the long strands of his loose hair and sending smoke against his skin. Without waiting for an answer, you pulled away, taking the blunt with you for a couple of real hits. His fingertips dug into your skin for a second and made you shivered.

He said nothing, but you knew that Sam had realized he’d been caught out – not that he’d been particularly subtle about his heightened scrutiny of your interactions with Danny that day. You weren’t convinced that Sam felt threatened by Danny at all, though; if anything, you’d have pinned it on Sam’s penchant for creating drama out of nothing with you for the sake of his own excitement.

You sent a stream of concentrated smoke his way before reaching over to tap Danny on the shoulder and hand him the drugs – a reward for having to put up with Sam’s shit. When he peeked his eyes opened and saw your offering, he made a pleased noise and pushed himself up to properly take it from you.

With the second blunt burning down now, you were beginning to feel slightly floaty – not enough to consider yourself baked or anything, but enough to collect on the feeling of relaxation that Danny was apparently basking fully in, having flopped back down onto the soft grass of the putting green as soon as he stubbed the blunt out after smoking the last of it and returned it haphazardly to the fanny pack.

For a moment, the three of you were silent, just the slight whisper of the leaves in a stray night breeze.

“I gotta piss, sorry guys,” Danny snorted, obviously acknowledging the abrupt disruption of peace.

He hopped up and jogged a couple of trees over, disappearing behind the trunk with just a sliver of his back sticking out. You hadn’t even realized that you’d been unintentionally watching him, the little shimmy not registering in your head until Sam’s body knocked gently into yours, causing you to shoot your arms behind you and catch yourself. “Shit–”

He crawled between your knees, and your head was foggy enough to forget all about Danny in this position. “Don’t watch, Princess, that’s rude,” he whispered, uncharacteristically needy as he pressed his lips to yours shortly, letting you answer his accusation.

“I wasn’t– I mean, I didn’t actually realize I was–” you sputtered, simultaneously coming into the realization that you had been about to watch Danny take a piss behind a tree and very flustered with Sam’s forwardness. “Sam, Danny’s going to come back any second.”

Sam hummed in displeasure, gripping your hip to get you closer before he stole another kiss, again diving right into it and taking your mouth with his as if he were starving for it. “I know,” he breathed between kisses, pushing into you time after time, as quickly as he could with a deadline. “Just one more”

True to his word and just in time, he left you with a lingering kiss and a heaving chest, trying to draw in air after being denied for a good minute straight – it didn’t sound like long, but it was enough to have you struggling to calm yourself as Danny approached you, safely apart so that he didn’t catch anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Danny didn’t sit back down, though. He bent down to throw the fanny pack at Sam’s face, grinning when it hit him and Sam gave a glare in return, and stretched instead, jiggling his hands in his pockets when they came back down. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay,” he said, a yawn following the curtails of his statement.

“Already?” Sam asked, frowning as he watched Danny glance back towards the way you’d come. It had only been an hour and some minutes since you’d arrived, smoking and shooting the shit to fill the time. “I thought you had tomorrow off. We were gonna smoke ‘til the sun came back up, remember?”

Oh god, had that really been the plan? You shot Sam a surreptitious look– raised brows, small grin, questioning gaze. That was what he was planning on doing all night long? Because if it was, you were going to have to think on your feet of a way to convince him that you would be much more interesting to do than drugs.

“I was supposed to, but Al got sick today and we needed coverage. As the head caddy…”

“No fun,” Sam pouted. “Being the head of anything sounds like a drag.”

Danny laughed and scuffed his shoe on the grass. “Yeah, well…not all of us have the work ethic of a baby koala.”

You snorted at the comparison and nudged him. “Yeah, baby koala.” When Sam stuck his tongue out at you, you rolled your eyes and tilted your face to Danny. “It was fun hanging out with you. You know, when you’re not on the clock. But that was fun, too.”

He returned your smile, a gentle turn of his mouth that crinkled his eyes a bit. “You too, Y/N. I’ve never been too sure what to make of you, but you’re…you’re pretty damn chill.”

Sam scoffed, a certain playfulness in his tone that you weren’t sure was from the weed or following this strange behavior he’d been having all day – moody and snappy one minute and then sweet and more serious than he usually was with you. “She still ain’t shit, I say.”

“Right,” you said, ready for to give it right back this time, “that’s why you dragged me out here for no fucking reason to hang out with you and your best friend. I am the shit.” With your nose in the air, Sam booed you as Danny laughed, glancing between you two and watching Sam’s smile grow.

He said his goodbyes once more and then began walking into the darker cover of the trees that made up a small grove as part of the course. It would be a shortcut across hole #1 and back to the golf house, and you watched him leave through the gaps in the tree before he veered off with the direction of the fairway, then turned back to Sam, who was in turn studying you.

The silence had settled between you, and suddenly, you remembered what your goal had been once Danny had made to leave – convince Sam to ditch the drugs and do something more productive with the night, alone on the greens with you, security cameras unable to reach you. “You know, I hope–”

As it turned out, Sam didn’t need any convincing at all. He never reached for the bag to roll another joint; in fact, he threw the fanny pack off to the side as soon as your voice jarred him out of whatever trance he’d been in. The tightness of his grip on your shirt as he tugged you forward and into his mouth shocked you, and you could only focus on keeping up with his kisses as he scooted toward you, manhandling your legs until they were virtually wrapped around his waist.

“You’re not gonna stop me this time, right?”

You flicked your tongue out as he drew away, catching the ridge of his top front teeth before exhaling and scooting even closer, your hips pressed flush together and his hair tangled between your fingers. “Stop you?” you asked, finally gaining your brain back from the temporary fog. “You’re the one who starts things at the most inopportune times.”

“Inopportune,” Sam mocked, hand sliding down to grip your thigh. “I don’t think you have enough weed in you.” Taking advantage of his hand leaving the ground and unbalancing him, you pushed him back so that he hit the ground on his back with an, “Umph.”

Now straddling him and in control, you took your time studying his face in the faint light. Eyes blown, lips parted, brow furrowed– fuck, he was pretty. “You and Danny kept hogging the blunt, and it wasn’t my weed, anyways. And I had other things on my mind.”

Sam gripped your hips and rolled his into you, pressing the outline of his cock against your ass. “I knew it," he crowed. "You couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you?” He grinned cockily even from underneath you, and it made your blood boil. “How long has it tormented you, Y/N? Did you get yourself off to the thought of my–”

You took his wrists in your hands, effectively cutting his dramatics off, and pinned them to the grass, even though his wiry muscle would probably be enough to fight you off if he wanted to.

He didn’t, though, and watching him lick his lips made you forget about his arrogance for a moment - long enough to lean down to take them again.

When you let off his wrists, he began tugging your shirt off, but you did the bulk of the work since he wasn’t in the best position to undress you. So you took your own shirt off, then unclasped your own bra, finally allowing Sam to be useful once you were topless and ready for his attention.

Just like last time, he was enamored with your chest, scooping your breasts into his palms and loving on your nipples with his thumbs, wide-eyed like a teenager who was seeing a pair for the first time.

“I’ve been thinking about these girls,” he murmured, smiling as your chuckle contracted your diaphragm in a way that he could see. “More than I probably should have.”

After his admittance, he tore his gaze away from your breasts and back to your eyes, gazing down at him with your own arrogance this time. “So perhaps it wasn’t me who was tormented, Pool Boy. You tell me how many times you got yourself off to the thought of what we did. Did you cum thinking about fucking my tits again? Did you do it in the shower like you did for me last time?”

He cocked his head, pinching your nipple hard enough to cause you to pull your lip between your teeth as a noise barrier. “I did that for me, sweetheart. You got me hard then wouldn’t let me do anything about it by being a brat, remember?”

You hummed sweetly. “Like it was yesterday,” you said cheekily, twirling your finger down his stomach to where you rested against him, then into your own pants to drag through the slick there, sighing when you found your clit. The bulge of your hand pushed out and then retreated like a heartbeat, moving in-time with your strokes as Sam watched with hooded eyes, glued to where you wanted them to be. “I’m just glad you’re finally recognizing the right power dynamics, Sammy-boy. Everything I did, everything I let you do to me was by my hand. On my time.”

Without looking away from where you were pleasuring yourself, just out of reach from his eyes, he shook his head. “That's not how I remember it. You said ‘please’ for me. I made you beg.”

Quickly tiring of the playback when you had the real thing underneath you and seemingly much more desperate than last time, you withdrew your finger and let Sam snatch it out of the air, wrenching it down to his mouth and then letting it slip, dewy with your arousal, across his tongue. “Just like I made you beg. But look where we ended up,” you mused, core throbbing with each deep suck on your finger, “right back here with...minimal begging this time. Should we change that?” you joked softly, not really wanting to break this little spell that was making you both softer than before.

It was less of a fight this time to see who would outlast the other – it was a given that it would happen, with or without a struggle. And, as fun as the struggle was, especially with Sam, you weren’t too sure that you wanted it this time. Maybe next, if there was one. But now, in the aftermath of already fighting tooth and nail with him and then having to wait these few excruciating weeks to touch him again, it felt like the buildup had already passed as an internal clash.

The first time around, it was you against Sam with a healthy dose of you against your own pride. This time, your main antagonist had switched, resolving without the catty back-and-forth that had made the first time so exciting.

Sam finally spit your fingers out, unyielding in his hold until he’d placed a small kiss on each fingertip that brought your desire higher with every touch of his lips. “No. Begging was so last year,” he said, Valley Girl impression spot on but still making you roll your eyes.

“Then what? Are you going to ‘baby koala’ it tonight?” you asked, planting your palms on either side of his head. “Reap the benefits without putting in the work?”

Sam grinned up at you and laced his hands behind his head, pinching your wrists between his bicep and forearm. “We can’t just have normal sex? You know– I get off, you get off, we both walk away satisfied after?”

“Hmm.” Grinding into him again, you watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Is that really what you want? I think…”

You trailed off, letting the statement hang between you as the buttons on his shirt popped open one by one between your fingers, his bare chest now visible and open to your affection. “What?” he asked finally when your nails raked up his stomach and caught his nipples before lightly scraping the sensitive skin around his throat and prominent collarbones. “What do you think, Princess?”

His arms jerked down when you dragged your nails lightly up his sides, quickly catching him by the triceps and forcing them up again, catching the twitch in his pants against your core. “I think you'd really like it if I called you princess for the night. Laying there like that,” you hummed, no scorn in your voice, only lust. “You’re made to be such a fucking pillow princess, Sammy. I don’t think you really like doing any of the work at all.”

Sam laughed breathlessly beneath you, chest beginning to rise and fall faster as you leaned down to kiss and suck at the skin behind his ear and down the side of his neck. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand, and you began to wonder if the last time you’d slept together – the first time, really – was a power struggle because Sam wanted to be difficult.

Danny’s ‘baby koala’ comment had sparked a realization in you, because Sam didn’t like to work hard. He liked it when the women came easy, he liked it when the pool was clean, when people put their towels into the hamper so that he didn’t have to go around collecting them, he loved his days off, liked lounging around and not having anywhere to be.

Sam was textbook pillow princess material.

His lips, close enough for you to hear as you swiped your tongue across the expanse of his skin, smacked together wetly as he swallowed and lowly admitted, “Why would I when everyone else seems to want to do it for me?”

You groaned, a rush of arousal flooding through you and making you burn. You needed the rest of your clothes off, the rest of Sam’s clothes off, now before you caught fire in them. Sweet surrender from the pool boy himself, giving himself over to your whims. The power trip that was running through your veins made you shaky as you dismounted. “Stay there,” you demanded, rushing to get your pants off and then making quick work of Sam’s. “You’re the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, Sam, and I hate it. So fucking pretty, but such an arrogant brat.”

“As I should be. I made you work for this, Y/N,” he gloated. “I made a rich woman beg to take care of me– made you so desperate to have your control that you couldn’t help but want me on my back. I might be arrogant, and I might be a brat, but– but I…oh, jesus fucking christ, Y/N,” he gasped, his fingers biting into your hips and trying to choke back the groan threatening to ring out in the silence due to the fact that cameras around you still had audio. You knew it was stupid fucking him without a condom, but his reaction when he was so unprepared for you to slick him up with your own wetness that you’d gathered from between your legs and sit on him in one move was going to be worth every calculated risk that you were taking. “But I’m a fucking genius,” he finished, a brat until the very end.

You took a few breaths, steadying yourself on his chest that was bathed in moonlight and stark against the dark green of the grass. “We both got what we wanted in the end,” you pointed out, getting ready to move again after the sudden fullness shocked you (brought upon yourself as it was). “How do you know this wasn’t my intention, as well?”

"I think it's pretty obvious that this has been your intention the entire time."

You hadn’t slept with anyone in the weeks since your hookup, only your toys and your fingers accompanying you to bed, but you knew that none of them would be able to scratch the itch that Sam did, so insolent with a soft side that made you melt. It wasn't as if there had ever been a master plan to get him back between your legs, but something about the two of you seemed...imminent. Inevitable.

Something told you that Sam felt the same, as well, especially after the way he'd been so hungry for you tonight. You weren’t sure if he’d actually been fucking his way through the rest of the women at the club or had just been trying to make you jealous with his comment earlier, but now with him underneath you and inside of you, you were less inclined to let him go this time.

The sudden possessive rush urged you to lift your hips forward then drop them back down, building up a steady rhythm until you were riding him listlessly, panting as you took what you wanted from him. Sam’s faced face scrunched up in pleasure, but he never even so much as bucked into you, truly and completely letting you fuck him just as you wanted.

“I really like having you as my little toy,” you moaned, and he did too as you tweaked his nipple and shivered at the sigh he let out, a perfect chord to accompany the dull impact your hips made together. “Mine to play with.” The question burned through your brain and onto your tongue before you could stop it, your previous musings voiced when you asked him, “Did you really fuck a girl named April behind the chemical shed yesterday, Sam? How many others have there been since me?”

Your jealousy flared to life in a flash that was so quick it surprised even you. You weren’t known to have much of a temper around the club – you got on well with most people and your charisma was what your parents had fostered since the day you began showing a natural inclination for winning people over.

Sam had the audacity to smirk, the little fucker. “Who’s the jealous one now–ow, ow, ow!”

Clawing into his chest, you left crescent moons in his skin, one so close to his nipple that it indented in like a threat. “I’ve got your cock tucked bare in my cunt right now, Sam, and it’s so wet and warm, just for you. I’m riding you and you don’t have to do a damn thing except let me fuck you and answer one little question. So do it.”

Sam grumbled as he slowly let go of your wrists, having clenched his hands around them to minimize the sting from before. “I let you get your hands on one little bit of power and it’s already gone to your head.” You stopped moving, prompting Sam to whine and buck up into you, squirming to increase the friction he was getting, but with how you grounded yourself through your knees, he wasn’t getting anywhere. “God,” he huffed, glaring up at you, unimpressed, “No, I didn’t fuck a girl named April and I’ve slept with exactly one woman, one time since we fucked. Happy?”

“No.” Leaning forward again, you used the extra strength to pull yourself forward as you ground down, your breasts plastered to his chest as you nipped at his ear. “I don’t particularly like the thought of another girl falling for your peacocking.”

Sam grunted, brain getting fuzzy with your increased speed and the tight fit he had at this angle. “I didn’t– I didn’t know if you’d…” His statement trailed off into a series of sweet little gasps in your ear as his fingertips began to draw little patterns on your naked back.

You pushed yourself up, gazing heavily down at Sam, who now had his eyes closed and lips slightly parted in a silent moan. He was a sight for sore eyes, with his abdomen tensing in time with your hip movements and one hand creeping behind his head, fingers digging into his own scalp. “What? You didn’t think I’d want you again?”

He tensed his jaw suddenly, thrashing his head to the side. “No,” he said, the brat in him surfacing again. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to get off of your high horse and face me again when you’d denied wanting me so vehemently.”

Was that really what he thought? If there was anyone who should have been insecure about being wanted, it would have been you with Sam’s penchant for sleeping around. He’d even admitted to fucking another woman – you hadn’t sought anyone out because you knew you’d be thinking of Sam, which wasn’t fair to the other person.

“Look at me, Sam.” Your demand in tandem with your unceasing hips, constantly bearing down on his cock and welcoming him into your body on your terms, left no room for argument. Sam seemed to realize that and let his eyes blink open hazily, meeting your gaze as his expression grew more pornographic with every thrust forward of your hips. “Did you think about me when you fucked her?”

You were panting by now, and your thighs were burning, but you weren’t willing to stop riding him and stretching yourself out, swirling yourself so that his dick caught your g-spot every once in a while.

“Yes.”

A rush of pleasure surged through you and you whined as you reached down to play with your clit, feeling his pubic hair rub against the back of your fingers. “Don’t do it.”

Sam’s eyes hooded even more, and he began thrusting up into you, chasing his orgasm. Something in you was feral at the thought of him shooting off inside of you, just waiting for the warmth to settle deep within you – it wasn’t enough that he was inside of you now, you wanted him to stay inside of you. For all of the jealous, possessive feelings you were having that were directed at the man, you wanted just as much to feel like his, as well.

“Don’t do what? Think about you when I fuck other girls?”

“Dammit, Sam!” you growled, one hand landing heavily by the side of his face and the other taking his chin as you got close so that he couldn’t pull away. He knew what he was doing; even in the throes of pleasure, his eyes were telling of his mischief and challenge. “I get what I want. It’s always been that way but, the thing is, it’s made me a very generous woman,” you explained, licking your lips mid-sentence as your hips slowed to a torturous pace. Sam whined and tried to fuck up into you, but you only allowed him the smallest of spaces to keep nudging into your cunt. Just enough to keep him on edge, but not enough to get him anywhere. “I give because I know that I can get more. But you? Shit, Sam. You’re…you’re my favorite toy, and you're a limited edition one at that.”

Sam let out a shuddery breath, and you could have sworn that there were tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Holy fuck,” he breathed, surging up to kiss you. “More, please. I like that. I like being your favorite toy,” he muttered into your mouth.

Finally, you let him turn over to service you from the top. As soon as you tugged him over, he hugged you to him, one arm securely wrapped around your waist and the other looped under your arm and behind your back so that there wasn’t a scant inch between you. Each desperate thrust pushed the air from your lungs, but Sam, letting out the sweetest little sounds against you, was waiting.

“You like being my toy? Good. Because I have the feeling that you’re gonna be my favorite toy for a while.” He let out a strangled half-moan, and you smiled a bit. Him getting so turned on at the idea of commitment and being wanted seemed like such an ironic switch from the persona he put out during the day: free-spirited, unwilling to be tied down, jumping ship and boarding another after he got what he wanted. “My little pet,” you hummed into his ear, sliding down for a moment to give him a mark with your teeth. “Mine to flaunt around – a little trophy boyfriend. Do you like that thought, Sam? Do you want to be my little doll that I can strut around the club? I think that turns you on.”

He nodded, his thrusts getting sloppier, and you knew he was close. You pinched your knees in tighter and could only imagine what the two of you looked like, bathed in moonlight, so close that there was no telling where one ended and the other began, rocking on the soft grass of the green as Sam’s hips worked hard drive himself into your pussy over and over and over again. His gasps were ragged against your shoulder, but he still attached his mouth to it and used it as another anchor from himself to you. “I like it when everyone looks at me.”

“Oh they’d look,” you promised. “I’d make them. What’s the fun in having what everyone else wants if you can’t show it off a little bit?”

“God, you talk about me like I’m an object,” he groaned. Just before you were about to ask him if that was a problem, he snapped his hips and buried himself deeper. “Keep going. More.”

You stroked his hair away from his face, wrapping a chunk around your fingers and tugging. “So greedy. Always demanding more more more like you’re the rich, spoiled brat instead of me. But if you insist…I’d– oh, god, Sam, right there–" You muttered a curse as you began to lose composure as well, grinding up to catch your clit on his public bone when you could. “Fuck, I’d– I’d get rid of all those stupid cropped shirts you love to wear around the pool. Parade you around shirtless and glistening so that all the women and men can still lust after you, still have you as the star of their dirty thoughts, but know that they couldn’t have you, couldn’t touch.” You really wanted to drive that point home to him, so you pulled back to press your forehead to his, hand tightening in his locks. “Do you hear me? They can’t touch.”

He nodded, letting out a whimper and a groan into the space between your lips. “They won’t. Jesus fuck, they won’t, I promise– please, I’m gonna, I have to–”

“Inside, Sam. Cum inside of me, make me yours like I’ve already made you mine.”

He couldn’t even make any noise as he came with a stutter and a twitch, burying himself as deeply as he could and staying there as his hips sporadically shuddered into you, fucking his cum deeper. The feeling was just as you were hoping it would be – hot, deep, messy, and entirely satisfactory. You could feel the wetness of his open mouth as he buried his face into your neck, and knew that he was choking on his own sounds, unable to get them all out at once.

He stayed like that for a moment, and you didn’t make him move. His whole body heaved as he caught his breath, leaving his softening cock inside of you which kept everything in and not dripping out. As he recovered, you let silky strands of his hair fall between your fingers – uncaring that you hadn’t quite cum yes, as this closeness and intimacy just as good as the sex and you knew that you’d find a way to get off – and placed small kisses on the side of his head as he returned the favor to the skin of your throat and shoulder.

Eventually, he pulled away and looked down at you, lip pinched between his teeth. “What do you want?” he asked softly.

There it was. You knew he wouldn’t leave you wanting and you swallowed thickly, still throbbing around him and wound up, waiting for an orgasm.

You hummed and let a smile grace your lips, just barely. “Waiting for instruction like a good boy for once,” you teased, knowing that he wasn’t out for the count. And, sure enough, his brows furrowed, but before he could say something bratty, you pushed at the top of his head, guiding him down your body. “I don’t need anything obnoxious coming out of your mouth except your tongue when you’re close enough to eat me out, Sam, understand?”

And, just like that, Sam moaned and relaxed, willingly going through with what you asked him to, snuffling, kissing, worshiping your lips before darting his tongue out to tease you for a second, never delving further to where you needed him until you pressed down on the back of his head again, legs spread to accommodate his shoulders. All he needed was a firm hand and he turned into putty, readily shaped by you and only you.

Finally, he lapped with enough force to reach your clit and the sensitive skin around your opening. Even the feeling of his own cum slowly dripping out of you, having been delayed by gravity in your position, was lost under his tongue as he swiped it across your center, suckling as much as he could where he knew you’d need to cum, but still making visits to where he’d been previously to dip in for a taste.

Your hand stayed steady on his head, not letting him pull back much and using his hair to grab onto when you got close. With an arched back, breasts to the sky, shoulder blades digging into the ground, and soft moans slowing from your mouth, you flexed your hips up to his face, pressing yourself harder against him. “That’s it, Sammy. Make me feel good. Make me– oh. Ah-ahh,” you whined, thrusting your cunt onto his tongue from below, teetering on a cusp you desperately wanted to fall off of. "God, I’m there! Shit- shit, keep licking me, Sam. Take me further–”

Sam diligently followed your direction, letting you fuck his face as he stayed buried between your lips, nose nudging your clit to help you ride the waves of ecstasy for longer while his tongue collected each wave of your climax, re-wetting his lips and mouth with it.

Even when you were well spent and done, spasms of oversensitivity wracking your body and making you shiver, Sam only slowed his tongue’s movement against your skin until he was kissing your cunt more than he was eating it.

“Holy shit," you huffed, chest heaving as you caught your breath. "Good boy.” You chuckled and glanced down at him as he returned your laugh at the overused term of endearment, muffled by your pussy. “Are you planning on staying down there for long?” You didn’t mind, actually, you were just curious. His attention felt nice – he was avoiding your clit for the most part, really, and only loving on the skin that wouldn’t get him kicked away for over-use. He seemed to be doing this for his pleasure in addition to yours, but in an entirely different way than what you were used to.

He broadened his tongue and licked all the way up your slit until he could look at you. “I was, actually. Probably until you got bored. Got a hot date?”

As if any person in the world would be able to whisk you away from this man right now. Call it the honeymoon phase already starting, but you were more than ready to shut the world out for a few days and get past where the two of you had been before, hating each other and in constant combat. You weren’t naive enough to think – nor would you ever wish for – the fighting and challenges you each presented the other with to end completely, but you wanted to know soft moments with Sam, too.

“Only with you and my tub. Preferably at the same time.”

Sam kissed the little pouch of your stomach that sat above your pubic bone and then nuzzled your inner thigh. “Then let me indulge in this little hyperfixation I’ve developed for a bit, then we can go.”

You weren’t going to complain, if you laughed a bit at his description, so he went back between your lips, kissing and tonguing up and down every inch until there was no part of your pussy left untouched by his mouth. It was relaxing, in a way. A great way to wind down after sex, certainly, and you found yourself almost dozing off to the feeling before the breeze picked up and made you shiver.

In a place where he noticed immediately, Sam finally let up and crawled to give you a real kiss on your actual lips. “Let’s get dressed.”

“You’re coming back to my room, right?” you asked, catching him and giving him another searching kiss. You couldn’t get enough of him now, and wondered how it would have been if you both had been just a hair more stubborn.

Sam grinned. “But…then Danny would know I never came back to my room last night.”

You rolled your eyes, his little quip enough to make you push him off so that you could gather your clothes. “As if you haven’t been making it very clear that it’s been your intention all night. Poor Danny must be a saint for putting up with you.”

Once you were both fully dressed, Sam offered his hand out to you like a true gentleman and you began your meander back towards the clubhouse. “Well, A = B = C,” Sam said. “If he’s putting up with me and that makes him a saint, and you’re putting up with me, then that would make you a saint as well, and we both know you have horns growing out of your head. So he’s most definitely not."

His endless drivel assured you that the attitude wouldn't be stopping even if you took your relationship further, and that made you smile as you knocked your head into his shoulder. “Stop arguing with me and take me home, Pool Boy.”

Pool Boy, affectionately.

~~~

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foultastemusic · 6 months

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Power of noises and vaginas - a thought

For two decades now, post-hardcore has been considered a sub-genre descended from hardcore, which in turn was considered a sub-genre descended from punk, and which in turn... well, it's not important to put musical genres and sub-genres into boxes purposely organized to fit people and their ways of dressing and other useless aesthetics promoted by media/digital cultures. But for two decades now, post-hardcore has been asserting itself as a well-defined genre, with well-defined textural characteristics, as well as certain types of chords and experimentalist riffs in the nostalgic-depressive world, heartfelt screams with a poetically sad story to tell in the most imperfect and dirty way possible, where D.I.Y. is valued in the various arts that embrace recorded and live music.

In 2003, music researcher Jessica Hopper wrote the review "Emo: Where the Girls Aren't" for a column in Punk Planet 56. It was already in the cradle of the emo thing at the beginning of the century that we noticed an absence of girls at concerts - at first there was no mention of them playing or making music, but even their absence from the public as listeners / active participants in this subculture and community. Girls began to enter this world in a very controversial and unrevolutionary way, but always with all the freedom.

Obviously, through the promotion that took place on the internet on the various platforms, the genre reached more stages, more people, more musical cultures and gained a large structure. Girls (like everyone else) start going to these places, often through an interest they already had in other genres such as indie, punk, metal, etc., and as soon as they buy a ticket to go to a concert, we have a group of 50 young men talking about love, depression, nature and other "weaknesses" seen through the eyes of toxic contemporary masculinity. And girls are welcome here. They will always be welcome until they start making music out of fear, because in punk they've already had the chance to revolutionize themselves and post-hardcore/screamo gives voice and space to boys who also suffer from prejudice.

Hopper talks about this band that dedicates a song (Strike Anywhere - Refusal, 2001) to the girls about their problems and lives, and claims that we need more of that: protection and respect. But this hasn't happened and girls still don't feel encouraged and empowered: they are an inspiration for the experiences and texts of this subculture, they are desired as artists and recreationists, and even though they aren't sexualized or repudiated in all cases, they feel obliged to get on the boys' knees to make it too, perhaps even better. A fight against meritocracy, male dependency in order to learn or be promoted and supported, where we are ALL programmed to think that we have a sex organ between our legs and that public reception is influenced by this: either in a positive or a negative way.

«And so I watch these girls at emo shows more than I ever do the band. I watch them sing along, see what parts they freak out over. I wonder if this does it for them, if seeing these bands, these dudes on stage resonates and inspires them to want to pick up a guitar or drum sticks. Or if they just see this as something dudes do, because there are no girls, there is no them up there. I wonder if they are being thwarted by the FACT that there is no presentation of girls as participants, but rather, only as consumers – or if we reference the songs directly – the consumed. I wonder if this is where music will begin and end for them. If they can be radicalized in spite of this. If being denied keys to the clubhouse or airtime will spur them into action».

- Jessica Hopper (2003)

Girls are not yet part of this music, or at least not in a direct or comfortable way. Perhaps through music promotion, the organization of concerts, photographs and poster designs, perhaps through their words adopted by these boys or the desires and utopias of an all-embracing subcultural milieu that, although they may all agree and share the same idea, refuses to accept that they are not welcome altogether, completely. Perhaps they are, but ever since men began to dominate this music or all music, they have needed reasons to pick up a guitar without the issue of sexual gender being brought into the listening experience or even to politics. Would it be better to ignore the gender issue at all costs (until this argument is normalized) or to promote the importance of giving girls a voice to help empower them, as has been happening in punk and hardcore (until this issue becomes part of the contemporary elements of screamo)? Maybe no one has the answers, but the reality is that girls continue to enjoy and consume this music without drumsticks in their hands.

#screamo #post hardcore #diy #concerts #emo #emoviolence #gender critical #critical role

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rpgsandbox · 1 year

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kickstarter

Cryptid Creeks is a tabletop roleplaying game using the popular Powered by the Apocalypse engine and is 'Carved from Brindlewood', a term for content based on Jason Cordova’s award-winning Brindlewood Bay. In this supernatural mystery, you'll play river scouts, a crew of young adults setting out to stop a rapidly spreading curse with the help of ancient cryptids of your own invention.

Creeks has many inspirations including Gravity Falls, Hilda, The Goonies, Lumberjanes and Night in the Woods, representing a genre we feel is surprisingly lacking in RPGs. Through this game, we hope to see themes such as friendship, discovery and community explored by gaming groups and summer campers of all ages and backgrounds.

Cryptid Creeks will feature 150+ pages filled with the beautiful full-colour art you have come to expect from Hatchlings Games. Content will include robust safety tools, character creation, intuitive dice mechanics, a guide to running the game as Navigator, a collection of sample curses, and an appendix of rolling tables and handouts.

The standard edition hardcover can be carried easily and will feature smyth-sewn bindings, a matte laminated cover for durability and recycled paper throughout. The special edition will feature an alternate cover with foil-stamping to make it shimmer, a ribbon bookmark in a spooky shade and an additional chapter with designer notes and concept art.

The game begins with the town you call home becoming cursed. This malediction has occurred many times throughout history, most recently in the Autumn of 1962. The nature of the curse is completely down to you, however it always springs from an object sold by the Peddler, an enigmatic demon with hidden motivations. The curse is of particular concern to the Watcher, a benevolent cryptid who has existed in harmony with the townsfolk for centuries. Your crew of scouts must stop the curse before it overwhelms the community and spreads to the neighbouring city.

Your scouts must investigate for Clues to the accursed object while trying to prevent the darkness from spreading! These dual tasks will form the basis of your roleplaying sessions (episodes). The game is best played over several episodes (series), but we have provided rules for one-shot play (pilots).

Once the Watcher visits your clubhouse to inform you of the curse, you'll begin to discover Eeries around your hometown. These minor cryptids act as the eyes and ears of the Watcher and will observe your crew as they travel Clawfoot Creek attempting to find the object. The Eeries are a neutral - sometimes chaotic - presence in the game, but will intervene under special circumstances.

As episodes play out, the curse will spread and grow in strength, its potency measured on a Curse Clock ticking slowly through four phases towards calamity. Your actions during episodes will earn you Clues, and when you believe you've collected enough, you can attempt to destroy the cursed object forever!

Before episodes conclude, you'll be shown a list of milestones that, if met, will reward the crew with Cryptid Keys. These mythical items can be spent to upgrade your clubhouse and boat, factors essential to your progress in the game.

In Creeks, you'll create scouts using playbooks. These templates are provided to ensure character diversity and are ideal for those new to RPGs. Playbooks are named after boating roles, with Skipper, Shipwright, Lookout, Stowaway, Journaller, Negotiator, Medic and Conduit to choose from. The final game will include rules for you to create your own playbooks and select from a pool of special moves we've called Badges.

In most Powered by the Apocalypse RPGs, moves are used to determine your actions. In Creeks we have basic moves, which can be used at will, such as The Crew Move (used to clear misfortunes) and The Eerie Move (used to gain support from cryptids). Each playbook also has Badges, which can influence a wide range of mechanics.

The game uses two six-sided dice (2d6) where every roll progresses your story regardless of the outcome. Only players roll dice during sessions, so it never feels like a competition with the Navigator. Instead, they'll be your biggest fan, willing you to succeed as they represent the characters you'll meet and the challenges you'll face.

If your rolls fail (6 or below), the Navigator has an opportunity to react. They might drop misfortunes on your scouts to slow your actions, split the party so you can't rely on one another, or even progress the Curse Clock!

To stop the curse, you'll travel Clawfoot Creek visiting landmarks and inspiring locals to fight alongside you. To achieve this, you'll need a boat. Name your trusty vessel, then upgrade it to reach new locations on the map or welcome Eeries aboard, like the treasure-hunting Goldtooth. We're encouraging Navigators to incorporate creeks, coves and beaches into their adventures to ensure players use their boat often.

Having worked for a Deaf charity for twelve years and raising a disabled child, making Cryptid Creeks accessible to everyone is really important to us. To honour this commitment, we have hired Chris Hopper, one of the most experienced consultants in the industry with credits including Tal'Dorei Reborn from Critical Role and most recently Tales of the Valiant from Kobold Press.

The digital PDFs will accommodate screen-readers and feature alt text and chapter hyperlinks as well as plain text versions. Both hardcovers will have colour-coded page edges for intuitive navigation. Our website will also host form-fillable handouts for both players and Navigators.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, October 5 2023 2:59 PM BST

Website: [Hatchlings Games] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

#rpg #kickstarter #Cryptid Creeks #Powered by the Apocalypse #Hatchlings Games

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roe-and-memory · 1 month

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at 17, during the 2005 dinoco grand national series (xfinity) season, lightning is invited by harv to a meeting he really has no business being at.

its to discuss lightnings future, how rusteze plans on closing their dgns team and reopening it under the piston cup series, and what that’ll look like. the only people who really need to be there are rusty, dusty, and harv — but lightning, and therefore mack as well, get invited along for the ride.

however, its over a game of golf.

lightning has never played golf before as his dad wasnt a huge golf fan — and even if he was, the man wasnt a big lightning fan either, so it wouldn’t have even mattered.

mack parks in the overflow parking lot with the truck the night prior, informs harv of their whereabouts, and locks it down for the night. the next morning, the man is banging on the truck door at first light, and when lightning inevitably answers (after mack doesnt get up off the top bunk, continuing to snore away) harv thrusts a nice, red, rusteze polo into his hands, and points at the bag of golf clubs on the tarmac below.

“tee time is 7:30, meet us at the clubhouse before then. youre looking to impress them today.” he says, and hes off.

lightning wakes up mack and gets ready for the day, taking fashion advice from his brother-figure, because theres no doubt that mack has golfed before, and soon enough the group is down at the clubhouse with the bag slung over his shoulder and his stance as uncomfortable as ever.

lightning learns pretty quickly that theres a reason he’s a racecar driver and not a golfer.

he leaves divots in the ground, he cant hit the ball any farther than ten feet away from the tee box, and the entire time harv is glaring daggers into him.

lightning has no place in the adults conversation, he knows that — harv trained him well enough to know that he doesnt interrupt or speak, just put on a good enough show that rusty and dusty will be impressed and more inclined to give him his dream — but what harv left out is that lightning also has to be a god at golf.

the agent ends up pulling him aside while rusty and dusty walk back to their cart after putting. he looks him in the eyes and in a low voice hisses that he’s not impressing them by acting like an idiot, and another assortment of verbal reprimands for not being perfect. lightning is trying his best, but with the confirmation that hes supposedly disappointing the people who have his future in their hands, he starts trying his very best to be the best damn golfer they’ve ever seen.

it doesnt work. he still can hardly hit the ball. by the 15th hole hes given up on hitting and just sits in the drivers seat of his and harv’s golf cart, awaiting the mans return and chauffeuring him to his ball or the greens or the next hole.. its discouraging, and harv gives him shit every time for lacking the talent and skill to just suck it up and be a good influence on their opinions.

by the end, rusty and dusty are proud to announce their new cup team with 17 year old lightning mcqueen as the driver for them, harv has drilled it into his head that it’s only his “expert” negotiating skills that got lightning this, and lightning had dislocated one of his shoulders trying to swing as hard as he could and ended up making contact with the ground instead, spending the rest of the night sprawled across his bunk, masking that pain until mack figured it out after.

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #pixar cars #cars headcanons #memory’s headcanons #harv SUCKS #rusty and dusty cars #dinoco grand national series #piston cup #harv is a clown #rusty and dusty love the kid actually #they felt bad that he was in pain and bored and told harv they’d pay for any medical supplies he needed #harv declined and told them he was fine though #cause he SUCKS LIKE THAT #mack my king #older brother mack cars

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ivan-fyodorovich-k · 8 months

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If you had to capture Silicon Valley’s dominant ideology in a single anecdote, you might look first to Mark Zuckerberg, sitting in the blue glow of his computer some 20 years ago, chatting with a friend about how his new website, TheFacebook, had given him access to reams of personal information about his fellow students:

Zuckerberg: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard Zuckerberg: Just ask. Zuckerberg: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses, SNS Friend: What? How’d you manage that one? Zuckerberg: People just submitted it. Zuckerberg: I don’t know why. Zuckerberg: They “trust me” Zuckerberg: Dumb fucks.

That conversation—later revealed through leaked chat records—was soon followed by another that was just as telling, if better mannered. At a now-famous Christmas party in 2007, Zuckerberg first met Sheryl Sandberg, his eventual chief operating officer, who with Zuckerberg would transform the platform into a digital imperialist superpower. There, Zuckerberg, who in Facebook’s early days had adopted the mantra “Company over country,” explained to Sandberg that he wanted every American with an internet connection to have a Facebook account. For Sandberg, who once told a colleague that she’d been “put on this planet to scale organizations,” that turned out to be the perfect mission.

Facebook (now Meta) has become an avatar of all that is wrong with Silicon Valley. Its self-interested role in spreading global disinformation is an ongoing crisis. Recall, too, the company’s secret mood-manipulation experiment in 2012, which deliberately tinkered with what users saw in their News Feed in order to measure how Facebook could influence people’s emotional states without their knowledge. Or its participation in inciting genocide in Myanmar in 2017. Or its use as a clubhouse for planning and executing the January 6, 2021, insurrection. (In Facebook’s early days, Zuckerberg listed “revolutions” among his interests. This was around the time that he had a business card printed with I’M CEO, BITCH.)

And yet, to a remarkable degree, Facebook’s way of doing business remains the norm for the tech industry as a whole, even as other social platforms (TikTok) and technological developments (artificial intelligence) eclipse Facebook in cultural relevance.

To worship at the altar of mega-scale and to convince yourself that you should be the one making world-historic decisions on behalf of a global citizenry that did not elect you and may not share your values or lack thereof, you have to dispense with numerous inconveniences—humility and nuance among them. Many titans of Silicon Valley have made these trade-offs repeatedly. YouTube (owned by Google), Instagram (owned by Meta), and Twitter (which Elon Musk insists on calling X) have been as damaging to individual rights, civil society, and global democracy as Facebook was and is. Considering the way that generative AI is now being developed throughout Silicon Valley, we should brace for that damage to be multiplied many times over in the years ahead.

The behavior of these companies and the people who run them is often hypocritical, greedy, and status-obsessed. But underlying these venalities is something more dangerous, a clear and coherent ideology that is seldom called out for what it is: authoritarian technocracy. As the most powerful companies in Silicon Valley have matured, this ideology has only grown stronger, more self-righteous, more delusional, and—in the face of rising criticism—more aggrieved.

The new technocrats are ostentatious in their use of language that appeals to Enlightenment values—reason, progress, freedom—but in fact they are leading an antidemocratic, illiberal movement. Many of them profess unconditional support for free speech, but are vindictive toward those who say things that do not flatter them. They tend to hold eccentric beliefs: that technological progress of any kind is unreservedly and inherently good; that you should always build it, simply because you can; that frictionless information flow is the highest value regardless of the information’s quality; that privacy is an archaic concept; that we should welcome the day when machine intelligence surpasses our own. And above all, that their power should be unconstrained. The systems they’ve built or are building—to rewire communications, remake human social networks, insinuate artificial intelligence into daily life, and more—impose these beliefs on the population, which is neither consulted nor, usually, meaningfully informed. All this, and they still attempt to perpetuate the absurd myth that they are the swashbuckling underdogs.

Comparisons between Silicon Valley and Wall Street or Washington, D.C., are commonplace, and you can see why—all are power centers, and all are magnets for people whose ambition too often outstrips their humanity. But Silicon Valley’s influence easily exceeds that of Wall Street and Washington. It is reengineering society more profoundly than any other power center in any other era since perhaps the days of the New Deal. Many Americans fret—rightfully—about the rising authoritarianism among MAGA Republicans, but they risk ignoring another ascendant force for illiberalism: the tantrum-prone and immensely powerful kings of tech.

The Shakespearean drama that unfolded late last year at OpenAI underscores the extent to which the worst of Facebook’s “move fast and break things” mentality has been internalized and celebrated in Silicon Valley. OpenAI was founded, in 2015, as a nonprofit dedicated to bringing artificial general intelligence into the world in a way that would serve the public good. Underlying its formation was the belief that the technology was too powerful and too dangerous to be developed with commercial motives alone.

But in 2019, as the technology began to startle even the people who were working on it with the speed at which it was advancing, the company added a for-profit arm to raise more capital. Microsoft invested $1 billion at first, then many billions of dollars more. Then, this past fall, the company’s CEO, Sam Altman, was fired then quickly rehired, in a whiplash spectacle that signaled a demolition of OpenAI’s previously established safeguards against putting company over country. Those who wanted Altman out reportedly believed that he was too heavily prioritizing the pace of development over safety. But Microsoft’s response—an offer to bring on Altman and anyone else from OpenAI to re-create his team there—started a game of chicken that led to Altman’s reinstatement. The whole incident was messy, and Altman may well be the right person for the job, but the message was clear: The pursuit of scale and profit won decisively over safety concerns and public accountability.

Silicon Valley still attracts many immensely talented people who strive to do good, and who are working to realize the best possible version of a more connected, data-rich global society. Even the most deleterious companies have built some wonderful tools. But these tools, at scale, are also systems of manipulation and control. They promise community but sow division; claim to champion truth but spread lies; wrap themselves in concepts such as empowerment and liberty but surveil us relentlessly. The values that win out tend to be the ones that rob us of agency and keep us addicted to our feeds.

The theoretical promise of AI is as hopeful as the promise of social media once was, and as dazzling as its most partisan architects project. AI really could cure numerous diseases. It really could transform scholarship and unearth lost knowledge. Except that Silicon Valley, under the sway of its worst technocratic impulses, is following the playbook established in the mass scaling and monopolization of the social web. OpenAI, Microsoft, Google, and other corporations leading the way in AI development are not focusing on the areas of greatest public or epistemological need, and they are certainly not operating with any degree of transparency or caution. Instead they are engaged in a race to build faster and maximize profit.

None of this happens without the underlying technocratic philosophy of inevitability—that is, the idea that if you can build something new, you must. “In a properly functioning world, I think this should be a project of governments,” Altman told my colleague Ross Andersen last year, referring to OpenAI’s attempts to develop artificial general intelligence. But Altman was going to keep building it himself anyway. Or, as Zuckerberg put it to The New Yorker many years ago: “Isn’t it, like, inevitable that there would be a huge social network of people? … If we didn’t do this someone else would have done it.”

Technocracy first blossomed as a political ideology after World War I, among a small group of scientists and engineers in New York City who wanted a new social structure to replace representative democracy, putting the technological elite in charge. Though their movement floundered politically—people ended up liking President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal better—it had more success intellectually, entering the zeitgeist alongside modernism in art and literature, which shared some of its values. The American poet Ezra Pound’s modernist slogan “Make it new” easily could have doubled as a mantra for the technocrats. A parallel movement was that of the Italian futurists, led by figures such as the poet F. T. Marinetti, who used maxims like “March, don’t molder” and “Creation, not contemplation.”

The ethos for technocrats and futurists alike was action for its own sake. “We are not satisfied to roam in a garden closed in by dark cypresses, bending over ruins and mossy antiques,” Marinetti said in a 1929 speech. “We believe that Italy’s only worthy tradition is never to have had a tradition.” Prominent futurists took their zeal for technology, action, and speed and eventually transformed it into fascism. Marinetti followed his Manifesto of Futurism (1909) with his Fascist Manifesto (1919). His friend Pound was infatuated with Benito Mussolini and collaborated with his regime to host a radio show in which the poet promoted fascism, gushed over Mein Kampf, and praised both Mussolini and Adolf Hitler. The evolution of futurism into fascism wasn’t inevitable—many of Pound’s friends grew to fear him, or thought he had lost his mind—but it does show how, during a time of social unrest, a cultural movement based on the radical rejection of tradition and history, and tinged with aggrievement, can become a political ideology.

In October, the venture capitalist and technocrat Marc Andreessen published on his firm’s website a stream-of-consciousness document he called “The Techno-Optimist Manifesto,” a 5,000-word ideological cocktail that eerily recalls, and specifically credits, Italian futurists such as Marinetti. Andreessen is, in addition to being one of Silicon Valley’s most influential billionaire investors, notorious for being thin-skinned and obstreperous, and despite the invocation of optimism in the title, the essay seems driven in part by his sense of resentment that the technologies he and his predecessors have advanced are no longer “properly glorified.” It is a revealing document, representative of the worldview that he and his fellow technocrats are advancing.

Andreessen writes that there is “no material problem,” including those caused by technology, that “cannot be solved with more technology.” He writes that technology should not merely be always advancing, but always accelerating in its advancement “to ensure the techno-capital upward spiral continues forever.” And he excoriates what he calls campaigns against technology, under names such as “tech ethics” and “existential risk.”

Or take what might be considered the Apostles’ Creed of his emerging political movement:

We believe we should place intelligence and energy in a positive feedback loop, and drive them both to infinity … We believe in adventure. Undertaking the Hero’s Journey, rebelling against the status quo, mapping uncharted territory, conquering dragons, and bringing home the spoils for our community … We believe in nature, but we also believe in overcoming nature. We are not primitives, cowering in fear of the lightning bolt. We are the apex predator; the lightning works for us.

Andreessen identifies several “patron saints” of his movement, Marinetti among them. He quotes from the Manifesto of Futurism, swapping out Marinetti’s “poetry” for “technology”:

Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Technology must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.

To be clear, the Andreessen manifesto is not a fascist document, but it is an extremist one. He takes a reasonable position—that technology, on the whole, has dramatically improved human life—and warps it to reach the absurd conclusion that any attempt to restrain technological development under any circumstances is despicable. This position, if viewed uncynically, makes sense only as a religious conviction, and in practice it serves only to absolve him and the other Silicon Valley giants of any moral or civic duty to do anything but make new things that will enrich them, without consideration of the social costs, or of history. Andreessen also identifies a list of enemies and “zombie ideas” that he calls upon his followers to defeat, among them “institutions” and “tradition.”

“Our enemy,” Andreessen writes, is “the know-it-all credentialed expert worldview, indulging in abstract theories, luxury beliefs, social engineering, disconnected from the real world, delusional, unelected, and unaccountable—playing God with everyone else’s lives, with total insulation from the consequences.”

The irony is that this description very closely fits Andreessen and other Silicon Valley elites. The world that they have brought into being over the past two decades is unquestionably a world of reckless social engineering, without consequence for its architects, who foist their own abstract theories and luxury beliefs on all of us.

Some of the individual principles Andreessen advances in his manifesto are anodyne. But its overarching radicalism, given his standing and power, should make you sit up straight. Key figures in Silicon Valley, including Musk, have clearly warmed to illiberal ideas in recent years. In 2020, Donald Trump’s vote share in Silicon Valley was 23 percent—small, but higher than the 20 percent he received in 2016.

The main dangers of authoritarian technocracy are not at this point political, at least not in the traditional sense. Still, a select few already have authoritarian control, more or less, to establish the digital world’s rules and cultural norms, which can be as potent as political power.

In 1961, in his farewell address, President Dwight Eisenhower warned the nation about the dangers of a coming technocracy. “In holding scientific research and discovery in respect, as we should,” he said, “we must also be alert to the equal and opposite danger that public policy could itself become the captive of a scientific-technological elite. It is the task of statesmanship to mold, to balance, and to integrate these and other forces, new and old, within the principles of our democratic system—ever aiming toward the supreme goals of our free society.”

Eight years later, the country’s first computers were connected to ARPANET, a precursor to the World Wide Web, which became broadly available in 1993. Back then, Silicon Valley was regarded as a utopia for ambitious capitalists and optimistic inventors with original ideas who wanted to change the world, unencumbered by bureaucracy or tradition, working at the speed of the internet (14.4 kilobits per second in those days). This culture had its flaws even at the start, but it was also imaginative in a distinctly American way, and it led to the creation of transformative, sometimes even dumbfoundingly beautiful hardware and software.

For a long time, I tended to be more on Andreessen’s end of the spectrum regarding tech regulation. I believed that the social web could still be a net good and that, given enough time, the values that best served the public interest would naturally win out. I resisted the notion that regulating the social web was necessary at all, in part because I was not (and am still not) convinced that the government can do so without itself causing harm (the European model of regulation, including laws such as the so-called right to be forgotten, is deeply inconsistent with free-press protections in America, and poses dangers to the public’s right to know). I’d much prefer to see market competition as a force for technological improvement and the betterment of society.

But in recent years, it has become clear that regulation is needed, not least because the rise of technocracy proves that Silicon Valley’s leaders simply will not act in the public’s best interest. Much should be done to protect children from the hazards of social media, and to break up monopolies and oligopolies that damage society, and more. At the same time, I believe that regulation alone will not be enough to meaningfully address the cultural rot that the new technocrats are spreading.

Universities should reclaim their proper standing as leaders in developing world-changing technologies for the good of humankind. (Harvard, Stanford, and MIT could invest in creating a consortium for such an effort—their endowments are worth roughly $110 billion combined.)

Individuals will have to lead the way, too. You may not be able to entirely give up social media, or reject your workplace’s surveillance software—you may not even want to opt out of these things. But there is extraordinary power in defining ideals, and we can all begin to do that—for ourselves; for our networks of actual, real-life friends; for our schools; for our places of worship. We would be wise to develop more sophisticated shared norms for debating and deciding how we use invasive technology interpersonally and within our communities. That should include challenging existing norms about the use of apps and YouTube in classrooms, the ubiquity of smartphones in adolescent hands, and widespread disregard for individual privacy. People who believe that we all deserve better will need to step up to lead such efforts.

Our children are not data sets waiting to be quantified, tracked, and sold. Our intellectual output is not a mere training manual for the AI that will be used to mimic and plagiarize us. Our lives are meant not to be optimized through a screen, but to be lived—in all of our messy, tree-climbing, night-swimming, adventuresome glory. We are all better versions of ourselves when we are not tweeting or clicking “Like” or scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

Technocrats are right that technology is a key to making the world better. But first we must describe the world as we wish it to be—the problems we wish to solve in the public interest, and in accordance with the values and rights that advance human dignity, equality, freedom, privacy, health, and happiness. And we must insist that the leaders of institutions that represent us—large and small—use technology in ways that reflect what is good for individuals and society, and not just what enriches technocrats.

We do not have to live in the world the new technocrats are designing for us. We do not have to acquiesce to their growing project of dehumanization and data mining. Each of us has agency.

No more “build it because we can.” No more algorithmic feedbags. No more infrastructure designed to make the people less powerful and the powerful more controlling. Every day we vote with our attention; it is precious, and desperately wanted by those who will use it against us for their own profit and political goals. Don’t let them.

#artificial intelligence

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months

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Weekend Update 05/12/2024

I’m back! Two weeks in a row!

Very good Nerdie. We appreciate this. We’ve been keeping tabs and you’ve been busy this week.

I did dabble in a few things this week.

A new discord server started by myself and my friend fhatbhabie for Latinx/Black/POC Pedro stans. It’s one of those things where I shouldn't have been as surprised by the overwhelming support for it as I was. It’s actually been pretty awesome and I’ve had very thoughtful DMs. The name of the server is Unhinged Clubhouse.

I wrote my first mostly smut fic in a while with Dave York. Trule wasn’t expecting him of all Pedro characters but, the smut fairy does what she wants, when she wants and I just gotta roll with it. It was another entry for Jett’s Flora & Fauna Challenge.

Going through my inbox - mostly caught up but still a few outstanding replied to be made. Sorry about that.

Lastly, working on WIPs and deciding in addition to working more on Weddings 101 with Dieter, which other series I’ve been working on did I want to pop out there? Frankie and Ezra’s series are finished and I think I might wrap up the on Din series in the next part or two. The other Din series I have to workshop a bit. I have ideas of who I want to pop up next from Star Wars, I just need to work it in.

Also Weddings Dieter: Sesame Street, Reading Rainbow and cheese? How do we feel about this? I also could use some help in deciding between the following for my next series: Marcus Pike vs. hot dogs + therapy, me finally writing nice things for Javi P, Dieter + brick house + you and a baby, and Pero Tovar + Dragon for revenge?

Lastly, does anyone have some prompts for nipples? It sounds weird, but consider, this is me. Also with @mysterious-moonstruck-musings influence, I have a weird bullet point list and made a horrible drawing. I just need to write something so it will leave my mind. I hope.

Side note: Nerdie now has reblogs queued up to July 21st. The queue shall know no rest! 😎

Nerdie, like are you sure there’s no recreational use of anything? Like really sure?

Nah, these ideas are all from a sober mind. And I shudder to think what I would be like if I did, so I don’t partake. Mainly because I’m a scaredy cat and also my alcohol tolerance is low. Plus I like mixed drinks. 🤭

Now it’s time for everyone’s favorite part:

Fic recommendations! I read a lot this week!

1. Worth A Thousand Words by @intoanotherworld23 (Joel Miller x f reader)

2. Chapter 1 - Howdy Neighbor! by @inept-the-magnificent (Frankie Morales x Plus sized OFC)

3. A Rugged Kindness by @pedropascalsx (Pero Tovar x F reader)

4. Just the Lilac by @djarinmuse (Dieter Bravo x F reader/OC)

5. Torment Part 2 - Terror by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

6. Torment Part 3 - Horror by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

7. Torment Part 4 - Wounded by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

8. Torment Part 5 - Victims by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

9. Torment Part 6 - Trauma by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

10. Torment Part 7 - Healing by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

11. Fall Into You by @megamindsecretlair (Kevin Atwater x black fem/plus size reader)

12. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 1: Meat Cute by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

13. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 2: One Bed by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

14. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 3: Happily Ever After by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

15. So Much Goddamn Talkin’ by @stargirlfics (Joel Miller x Black fem reader)

16. To the Flame chapter fourteen by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) DDDE

17. Scattered Promises chapter 1 by @soft-persephone (Din Djarin x AFAB OFC)

18. Waffles and Cigarettes by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Javier Peña x fem reader)

This week I hope to have a new series up, maybe chapter six of Weddings 101 and my entry for the Dieter Bravo Brainrot Serve club challenge (it’s slightly over the word count - I’m going to see if it will still make sense on another edit). I dunno if all of those will happen, but at least one of them should.

Stay safe and hydrated everyone!

Love Nerdie! 🥰 💜💜💜

#weekend update #Nerdie update #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #random thots #discord server #unhinged clubhouse #latinx writers #poc writers #black writers

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seiberries · 1 year

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hihi! I have an idea!! karaoke date with reo?

hehehe get the title? i hope this is satisfactory!!

ka(reo)ke : mikage reo short fic

mikage reo x gn!reader / listen to: kirari - fujii kaze

warnings: none! except maybe reo’s spending habits!

it was his idea, surprisingly. though mikage reo could probably rent out a whole clubhouse for you two to sing in, he wanted to experience the little moments in life with you. the idea of a room with colorful lights and a TV set came into mind.

a minute or so ago, reo took your hand to drag you towards your date spot. he had been looking forward to it all day, a bright smile appearing on his face as he walked. it was a surprise too, so you let yourself get carried away by his excitement.

you knew you’d enjoy it no matter what, anyway- it was reo, after all. he has yet to disappoint with any of his date ideas.

he halted after a few more steps of walking, going behind you to cover your eyes. surrounded by darkness, or more-so his hands, he guided you forward. you giggled at his antics, he did this every time. it was pretty cute of him. the boy resembled a puppy, always anticipating your reactions; you can imagine his purple tail wagging.

“ta-da! here we are.” he lifted his hands, revealing a small black building with a large glass door, posters littered along the outer walls. you realized where you were after a sign caught your attention.

“karaoke house.” you read, before rushing to hug who had brought you here in the first place. so he remembered? see, a week ago, you had mentioned wanting to try this activity out after seeing it featured in a drama you enjoyed. you were talking to yourself then, so you never would’ve guessed that he had taken note of it. always paying attention to you, it was one of the many things you loved about him.

you expressed your thanks, taking his hand this time, and walking into the place. as soon as you entered, the lady at the front desk was already personally bringing you to your assigned room, no words were exchanged except for her overenthusiastic greeting. your boyfriend’s influence knew no bounds, he must’ve reserved a spot previously to make sure everything went right.

you take a brisk trip using an elevator to the third floor, the hostess leading you to a red door labeled “VIP”. she bows her head and leaves, thanking you both for choosing their branch in a polite tone.

reo opens the door for you, a gentleman as always. he lets you go into the room first, closing the door himself afterwards.

he really prepared for this.

the tv was already turned on, your favorite snacks neatly placed on the glass table in front of it. the disco ball hanging from the ceiling spun with different colors, all reflecting onto the room.

your jaw was gonna hurt soon from how widely you were smiling. reo saw your expression, and swore to himself that he’d do all he could to make sure you’d smile like that everyday that you’re with him, which hopefully meant forever. he’d take you here anytime you wanted- he’d take you anywhere, anytime, if it meant forever.

you two sit down, picking up the song book positioned beside the food. you quickly notice how all of the songs on your favorite playlist are conveniently located on the first page, looking at your partner knowingly as he scratches the back of his neck.

“ah... you caught me. yes, i had to spend extra. but, it wasn’t much at all! just enjoy, okay?” he explains, leaning in to lay a peck on your forehead. you never need him to spend on you but, he does regardless. it was a mikage love language. it makes you roll your eyes, albeit jokingly, your smile still accompanying the action.

“let’s sing, shall we~?” he stands up to take the two microphones near the television screen, handing one to you. you then choose a song, reading the corresponding numbers, as the boy presses on them using the keypad provided.

you started the late afternoon with taylor swift, love story, a song you both knew by heart. it was an extremely familiar tune- to you, since it was your favorite, and to reo, precisely because it was your favorite. well, he does likes her music too, but that’s besides the point.

you were jumping around already, just stopping to take a bite of the snacks that were prepared by the facility. singing loudly, your boyfriend gladly providing you with back-up vocals. the sound of clapping is heard after you finish your “performance”.

the following song was his favorite, kirari by fujii kaze, you knew it by word too. you cheer him on as he sings almost passionately, recording a short video of it on your phone. god, your boyfriend really is good at everything; he even sings well. perhaps he was an idol in his past life? the song suits him.

he points at you as he sings the following lyrics.

“where have you been, i’ve been looking for you take me there, take me there. giving up everything, and going with you to anywhere, to everywhere”

oh, he’s dedicating this to you.

your face feels hot, hands moving to cover your cheeks. the grin you sported was too big to hide though, reaching ear to ear. the song finishes, and reo approaches you.

“it looks like you enjoyed, hm?” he teases.

“be quiet.” you pout, turning away.

the afternoon passes as song after song plays- some from your playlists, some from his, some classics, and some popular and new.

both of your voices were slightly hoarse by the time you’d finished, the fun you had being more than enough to compensate. voices and food gone, you just cuddled close to reo, a sweet silence filling the once noisy room. you pair were somewhat worn out, so you needed this before departing the building for the day.

“thanks, love.” you voiced out, scattering kisses on the violet-head’s face. he was more than happy to receive them, giving you a love-struck gaze as he watched you start to slip into sleep. you had all the time in the world, the person he spoke with on the phone gave him the whole day to use their services. he’d wake you up later.

mikage reo would devote his life to making you smile. you’d never know how much, but spending more money than he needed to for this date was very necessary!

little moments with you were priceless, so of course he’d give everything for them.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #mikage reo x you #mikage reo x y/n #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage x you #reo mikage x y/n

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master-of-metal66 · 1 year

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I’m alive, finally I crawled out of my coffin. I have to catch up on tumblr 😅

Anyway, here we go with Xavier’s backstory. I’ll probably still work on some details, but generally that’s it, that’s my biker boy, how and why he landed in Santa Carla.

This became much longer (this one part have 5,361 words, let alone the rest) than I planned, so I split it into three parts and some random things about Marko and Xavier relationship. (Sorry for all mistakes I made. I’m not used to writing so long stuff and English isn’t my first language). I think I made Marko a bit ooc here, let me know what you think 😖

Life on the outskirts of Tecate, one of the cities on the border between Mexico and United States sometimes wasn't easy, Xavier knew it from an early age.

Bullied by his peers, the illness of his younger sister, the loss of one of his siblings - it was a lot for a vulnerable and quiet kid like Xavier. But there was one thing that kept him together, his family has always been associated with one of the well-known motorcycle clubs in this area - the Westside Eagles.

Xavier joined the club at the age of fifteen, just like his father and brothers before him. He probably never would have done it had it not been for the death of his older brother Miquel in a shootout with a rival club. That was the hardest time in his life and had the biggest influence on him out of all his family. Back then his desire for revenge changed him from that quiet, soft kid to a cold, careless and irritable teen. While growing up, when he almost went to jail and through his entire path from prospect to full-patched club member, he saw a lot of similar and even worse situations in which people were put. He realized that revenge wouldn’t bring him relief, it only dragged him down, ruining his relationship with loved ones and the club. So he finally accepted it.

Maybe that’s what shaped his character, the amount of experience opened his eyes. He returned to being the person he used to be, starting to prefer to solving problems with his mind rather than with unnecessary violence.

Westside Eagles was one of those ,,motorcycle clubs" that worked on the border, smuggling drugs and weapons mainly for the cartels, Xavier wasn’t always directly involved. He always had a hand in repairing things, especially cars and motorcycles. So it wasn't strange that he became a club mechanic. He enjoyed spending most of his time in peace in the car workshop on the premises of Eagles clubhouse.

That was until one time when he agreed to help his brothers - Diego and Felipe during one of the transfers. It probably saved his siblings’ lives at some point, but put him on the run because, as you might expect, not everything went well.

It was supposed to be some kind of ,,special" delivery ordered for the cartel, the Eagles usually worked for, that was supposed to be a quick job.

So it was… at first glance, entering the tunnel in an old slaughterhouse, overcoming the tunnel, it was easy. Problems began when Xavier, his brothers, and two other club members were already on the other side of the border wall. Tunnel exit was located in one of the warehouses on private property, owned by one of cartel’s associates. It was weird for the whole group that he wasn’t waiting for them as usual. Xavier was the one who discovered why. While men started to unloading crates with drugs, he went to the man's house next to the warehouse, where he found him shot, along with two other cartel members. It must have happened shortly before their arrival. Xavier knew that they were in serious trouble. He ran back, not knowing that someone was watching him.

When he returned to the warehouse and told the others about what he saw, Diego felt an impulse to open one of the crates. It was half empty. At the same moment, the whole group heard footsteps. Everything happened quickly when cops entered the building. Eagles immediately understood what had happened. Someone framed them, and the worst thing was that probably it was someone from their own club since no one on the outside knew where they kept the goods and when or where they entered the tunnel.

The shootout was inevitable, men were able to get rid of cops for now, but in the process Felipe and the prospect were shot. Xavier and Diego knew it wouldn’t end there, they heard more police sirens outside. Their only way out was to go back through the tunnel, there was no time to take the crates especially with two wounded. They had to get them out of there and get to Erasmo -the Westside Eagles president.

Return to Tecate was much longer. Now that the cops were aware of the tunnel they had to choose one of the less frequented branches of the main road. Xavier went through hell during their escape, not because of the cops chasing them and the threat of prison but because of bleeding Felipe. It reminded him of the sight of dying Miquel and he didn’t want to experience it again.

There was no time for a ,,trip’’ to the hospital, besides, they didn't need any unnecessary questions and thus further contact with the cops. As soon as they got out of the tunnel, Diego and Xavier collapsed the entrance to the tunnel giving themselves more time for escape. Although now that the police have found out about the crossings, they probably won't use them anymore.

Group returned to the clubhouse and to the only person who could help them at that moment. Ruben – a former military doctor - despite the late hour, immediately took care of Felipe and the prospect.

Xavier didn’t want to leave his brother, Felipe lost a lot of blood and there was a risk that he would need a transfusion. Xavier stayed with him, trying his best to help Ruben, while Diego and other Eagle went to Erasmo.

There was a fuss in the clubhouse, even though it was the middle of the night, clubhouse salon was boiling. Some of the club members have already heard about the whole action. Diego avoided any questions from his brothers and went straight to Erasmo. Behind the closed doors of the Westside Eagles meeting room, he told everything to the most important members of the club. The tunnel had been discovered, the goods had been seized by cops, they had a traitor in the club and in the worst case they would have DEA agents on their heads. Everyone knew it will be a tough time for the Eagles.

Meanwhile, Ruben finished dressing Felipe’s wound. Fortunately, there was no need for a transfusion, but both he and the prospect needed to rest. Xavier stayed for the rest of the night with his younger brother.

He wasn't happy when an upset Diego woke him up early in the morning a bit brutally throwing backpack at him, telling him that he had to run away. He wanted to argue but Diego forcibly dragged him out of the room, Xavier took one last look at the sleeping Felipe. He was in total shock when his brother explained to him as they ran towards the club's garages that the cartel already knows about the drug theft, they ordered to search the area of the clubhouse first, it was weird as if someone had given them the idea. The worst thing was that they found the missing part of the drugs... in Xavier’s flat above the workshop. Of course none of the club brothers believed Xavier could do it, especially Erasmo and Xavier's father. Xavier had no interest in stealing drugs, most of the time he wasn't even involved in the transfers. Besides, everyone knew that he wouldn't risk hurting anyone from his family in the process.

It was obvious to them, all this time someone’s target was Xavier and someone had framed him, but the cartel wasn't so understanding, especially considering the case of their dead members, that Xavier had found the night before.

Xavier had to run away if he didn't want to get a bullet, he was worried about Diego. It was obvious who helped him to escape, but his brother assured him that Erasmo already working on it. Diego promised him that as soon as something will clarified he would immediately contact him and also personally he will find that ,,rat" who caused all of this. Xavier had no choice but to leave the clubhouse. He have to lie low for some time, until his brother found out who was behind all of this, there wasn't much he could do with the cartel on his head. Thanks to the help of a good friend of the club, he managed to cross the border without being noticed. It was better to deal with the cops, if they were also looking for him, than with men of cartel. It so happened that this same friend had a small cabin in Santa Carla that he had bought for a vacation, but he didn't really use it, so Xavier took the opportunity. Shortly after arriving to town, he found a job in a auto repair shop. All he could do now was wait, if only he knew how his decisions would change his life.

Marko and Xavier met in a bit unusual way, soon after Mexican moved to Santa Carla.

The frequent disappearances in town must have finally attracted someone's attention, unfortunately for the Lost Boys, the attention of someone who will make their (un)lives miserable for the next few months. Because vampire hunters, especially the real ones (not some kids from a comic book store) with crossbows, tons of holy water and stakes can be a real pain in the ass.

Ever since they started showing up in town from time to time, David did his best to keep his pack safe. However, some of the rules he set for the time when hunters were hanging around town didn’t appeal much to the boys, especially Marko. Despite the fact that probably out of all pack, he had the worst luck at running across the hunters. He wasn’t happy with the idea of staying in a group all night. They spent enough time together, sometimes he had to have some time for himself. That night when Xavier and Marko’s paths crossed, the blonde vampire decided to leave Paul and hunt on his own. It wasn’t so hard to split up when his best friend blindly followed a small group of surfers they had been watching since they appeared on the boardwalk. One of them will become his meal, now Marko had to find something tasty for himself. He knew that if David found out he wouldn’t be pleased but well…curly-haired boy rarely followed the rules. It didn't take him long to notice a girl who was about to leave the boardwalk after saying goodbye to her friends. A mischievous smile appeared on his angel face. Hunger took over his body, and he didn’t even notice three pairs of eyes watching him from a distance.

Marko followed the girl for some time. That night he wasn't in the mood to play with his prey as usual. He just wanted to get back to the cave and continue working on the painting he started a few nights ago on one of the last walls of the cave free of his artworks. He hoped to get back before the rest to avoid David's complaints about paint spilled all over the place and to have more time before Caroline (my other oc – David’s mate) and Paul dragged him into some other activity, probably involving testing platinum blonde’s patience, not that he didn't like it.

The girl must have felt that someone was following her, she started to walk faster and looked over her shoulder from time to time. Marko giggled. As soon as the girl heard laughter behind her, she started to run, her choice of way was rather unfortunate. The girl strayed from the road into a more tree-lined one area in hope to lose her pursuer. Marko had her exactly where he wanted, soon they would reach the cliff. When the girl saw emptiness in front of her, she slowed down to enter a more open area, free from bushes and trees. She stopped, there was no escape route. She slowly turned around, but only silence greeted her. The only sounds were her loud breathing, sound of the wind and waves somewhere behind her. For a moment she thought she had done it, she had escaped from who whoever was chasing her. Or maybe it was just her imagination?

‘’Looking for someone?’’

The girl didn’t even have a chance to scream when Marko grabbed her and sank his teeth into her neck. She tried to struggle, but Marko's grip was too strong. She didn’t have a chance, loud sound of snapping neck was like music to Marko’s ears. Blonde vampire sighed contentedly as fresh blood reached his tongue, soon after, limp body fell to the ground. Marko licked his lips in satisfaction, that was what he needed. Getting rid of the body was easy, there was a reason he had drove the girl to this place. A loud splash and then the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, just like that, the end. Traces of blood will disappear. Marko smiled, wiping away the rest of the blood with his hand. He closed eyes and breathed refreshing sea breeze, it was one of those moments he felt kind of alive. But it didn't last long, his vampire senses warned him almost in last moment, he barely dodged an arrow that flew past by, disappearing somewhere below in the rough water. Marko turned around only to see someone he really hoped he wouldn't meet today. A man in a black jacket with cross pin with a crossbow aimed straight at blonde, vampire hissed. Hunter. In his eyes, a man or rather boy couldn't have been older than 19 years old. Good, it could have been worse. Young hunters weren't as dangerous as the more experienced ones. Blonde vampire smiled maliciously, poor thing, it will be quick.

Hunter shot again, but this time, if it wasn’t out of surprise, Marko easily caught an arrow right in front of his chest.

‘’Is that all what you’ve got?’’

Boy growled in irritation as he heard Marko’s laughter , he put away the crossbow and pulled out the stake. Seeing that, for a moment blonde vampire remind himself when he almost got staked by this little fucker from comic book shop, a shiver ran down his spine at the memory, but on the other hand his blood boiled, he saw red.

Everything happened quickly, in one moment hunter was about to strike, the next he was lying on the ground, pinned down by Marko. He didn’t stand a chance against raging vampire, his weapon brutally ripped from his hand, lying somewhere out of his reach. Young hunter screamed in pain as Marko clenched his hand on his shoulder, the sound of the collarbone cracking was delicious, blonde grabbed the boy by the throat, tightening his grip with each passing moment. He watched with vengeful satisfaction as the boy tried to catch his breath, out of the corner of his eye he saw the hunter reaches for a stone lying nearby. He swung, but Marko immediately grabbed his wrist, blonde chuckled, seeing pure terror in boy’s eyes, another scream pierced the silence of the night. He leaned forward, clenching his hand again over the broken wrist bone, the boy underneath him sobbed. He knew what was coming when Marko's fangs gleamed in the moonlight. Blonde smiled, he wasn’t expecting another snack that night.

He was about to sink his teeth into the boy's neck when a sharp pain shot through his arm, this time arrow reached its target. Marko hissed as two men ran out of the trees. Another hunters, but much more older than the one who had just passed out, lying limply beneath him. Marko stood up quickly to avoid silver knife aimed at him, the blade cut the air. Vampire cursed when he saw dagger-shaped medallions on hunters' necks. They won't be so easy to defeat, but he didn’t want to call his brothers, he could handle it on his own. Adrenaline was flowing through his veins, he had to think about how to get rid of the hunters, separate them somehow to finish them off one by one. Marko reached for the arrow, which was stuck slightly below his shoulder, he grimaced as he grabbed the tip and pulled it out. A faint trickle of blood ran down his arm, he was lucky the tip wasn't made of silver like sometimes. The wound would be much worse to heal and it wouldn’t be easy to remove. Blonde growled in irritation as one of the hunters attacked him again while, the other knelt, checking at boy lying on the ground. He easily avoided the blow, kicking hunter in the back of the knee, sending him to the ground. However, the man quickly turned around and took a swing, silver blade missed Marko's leg by a centimeter. The second hunter joined the fight, trying to put Marko in a choke hold with his crossbow. They struggled for a while as Marko tried to break free, finally grabbed hunter by the forearms and almost without an effort threw him at his companion. Men fell to the ground with loud thud, cursing heavily. Marko smiled, came up with an idea how to get rid of hunters, once and for all. He watched how they get up, making sure they could see the direction he would go, he ran through the trees.

Soon he found himself at an old, abandoned summer house near the cliffs, he stopped at the door and looked around. Men were after him, he heard their footsteps. Blonde was about to move when suddenly he heard the door creak. He didn't have time to react when he felt someone grab his waist and cover his mouth with a hand, pulling him into ,,abandoned'' cabin. At first he was sure that he had been captured by one of the hunters he didn't noticed, he tried to break free. Marko was about to bite his attacker's hand but a loud whisper stopped him ‘’Stop it, I won't hurt you. Be quiet or they will find us. '' Hearing this, Marko felt probably weird in this kind of situation, sense of safety. When person behind him felt that he had stopped struggling, the grip on his waist disappeared as did the hand covering his mouth. In the darkness of the room, he clearly saw a tall, long-haired man who quietly closed the door, turning the key in the lock almost at the last moment. Hunters came out from behind the trees, right in front of the house. Marko and the stranger watched through the half-covered window as the men walked around the cabin, checking the area. One of them went to the door, trying to open it, while the other to the window looking inside, Marko felt the man behind him grab his forearm and pull him back to the place where they couldn't be seen from the window. Blonde vampire tensed when the door handle suddenly stopped moving, he was sure that hunters wouldn’t give up so easily. Outside however, there was silence, until blonde heard their voices, Marko, despite the silent protest of the unknown man, went to the window, peeked outside. The hunters were still standing in front of the cabin, but in the hand of one of them there was two-way radio.

Men were talking, Marko clearly saw furious grimace on the face of one of them, he wasn't quite happy about conversation with the person on the other side of device. It didn't take long when the hunters withdrew. They ran back to the place where the young hunter, or rather his body, remained.

‘’That was close amigo.’’

Marko turned around, man was already standing behind him, looking in the direction where the hunters had disappeared. Vampire frowned dissatisfied.

‘’ I could handle it myself.’’

Man didn’t respond to this, so blonde looked out the window again, they both stayed like that, waiting. Hunters could return, but after a long time nothing has happened. Blonde vampire watched in the dark as the man walked over to the switch, turning on the light, illuminating the room. A tall, black-haired man with a slightly darker skin tone, watched him with curiosity. Marko saw fragments of tattoos stick out from under his black shirt and blue worn out vest. Blonde smirked.

‘’ Like what you see, ragazzone?’’

Curly-haired vampire smiled wider seeing the shock and then flustered expression on the man's face, he looked away but his gaze fell on Marko’s arm, he quickly became serious.

‘’ You’re hurt.’’

Marko raised his eyebrows, also looking at the same place where the hunters’ arrow had been stuck earlier. The bleeding stopped, but it still didn’t look good, he knew one nap was enough to heal. As for his jacket, sewing will take a moment. Fucking hunters, ruined his artwork.

‘’ I am fine, I've had worse.’’

Man didn't seem convinced, Marko was ready for tons of questions but they didn’t come. Good for curly-haired vampire at that point, Xavier been through enough shit in his life, that he knew sometimes it’s better not to ask. He was supposed to be hiding here, not right at the beginning, being involved in something he didn't even want to know what it was about. When he saw that men chasing blonde, as he was returning to from work his ,,new home’’, he felt this intense impulse to help him, some kind of strange attraction. Like a moth to the flame. There was one thing that still bothered him, did he really saw crossbows on men's backs?

‘’ Something needs to be done about it, wait here.’’

Marko doesn’t even get a chance to protest when black-haired man disappears behind bathroom door. That was the first time when Marko felt it. That tempting scent floating in the air, overwhelming. It was weird, he had never experienced anything like this earlier. But before he began to think about it more, man came back holding bandage and little bottle, placing them on the table by the window.

"Take off your jacket.’’

Marko smiled, man looked at him questioningly.

‘’ We haven’t been on a first date and you already want me to undress?’’

Black-haired certainly didn't expect such a question, he blinked in surprise. Marko giggled but granted his request. Man looks at his uncovered stomach for a moment, then shook his head and started dress the wound. The only strange thing was that the wound, despite its serious appearance, didn’t bleed too much and why it looked as if something had pierced blonde's arm. Marko looked around the cabin, couple half-unpacked bags was thrown next to the wardrobe, a small box by the bed, a leather jacket thrown carelessly on the chair, a few empty food boxes on the second table. Out of the corner of his eye, the man saw a curious look on Marko's face.

‘’ Yeah, well… I just moved here, I am Xavier’’

Blonde turned his head, watching Xavier wrap his arm in a bandage, it was a strange feeling of being cared in that way, in human way. As vampire he just need sleep to regenerate, no other special treatment.

‘’Marko’’

Black-haired glanced at him and nodded.

‘’ You often act as a nurse?’’

Xavier smiled a bit awkwardly at this term.

‘’ Sometimes. For my younger brother, day without hurting himself is a day wasted. Even though he is already an adult. Done.‘’

Marko looked at his now bandaged arm, not that he really needed it. Xavier went to put down the bandage away while blonde put his jacket back on. Curly-haired vampire got lost in thoughts for a moment, why was Xavier helping him at all and why didn't he ask any questions? Moreover, according to him, hunters gave up too quickly, Marko knew how stubborn they could be when they tracked down a vampire. Was Xavier one of them, just pretending be nice? Normally he could sense something is wrong, but now he felt nothing besides calm. It was strange, of course, he could have tried David's method. Just got into Xavier’s mind, but somehow he didn’t want to. The biggest surprise for him was that he didn’t think, even for a minute to about killing Xavier. He was just another human being in his life, nothing just another potential meal, then why did the thought about that make him really uncomfortable?

‘’ Hey, earth to Marko? You good manito?’’

Xavier went back to room, he had only known Marko for a moment and he could already see that this thoughtful expression didn’t suit him. He was sure that boy had really ,,interesting’’ personality, despite that lovely curls and angel face, he saw that mischievous spark in his eyes. Blonde looked at him and nodded, his face lighten up back to normal state.

‘’ Well…it's quite late and I’m convinced that there aren’t too many houses nearby. Drop you off somewhere?’’

Marko looked at clock on the wall, there wasn’t much time left until dawn. He had to go back and find Paul, his friend has probably already fed and found some entertainment for himself.

‘’ Boardwalk will be fine.’’

Xavier raised an eyebrow, but walked over to a small cabinet by the door, reaching for the keys.

‘’ Let’s go then.’’

They both left the house, Xavier made sure he closed the door properly and went down the stairs, Marko followed him to the back of the house. There were two things, both hidden under gray tilt, Marko was sure there was a car under one of them but under the other? Xavier grabbed the material and pulled it off, curly-haired vampire didn’t expect a motorcycle, a black Harley Davidson.

‘’ Big bike for a big man, huh?’’

Xavier laugh slightly, he shook his head, grabbing the wheel.

‘’ I grew up on them.’’

Blonde noticed a certain nostalgia and some kind of longing in the man's voice, he wanted to ask about it, but Xavier had already got on the motorcycle. The roar of the engine drowned out the silence of the night, Marko smiled widely as he came closer. He’d never gotten on a machine like that, according to his vampire lifestyle he had to have something more agile. His bike was a bit smaller, this thing was big and surely not as easy to drive as his own. Marko slid into the leather seat just behind Xavier, wrapping arms around his waist. Black-haired was probably not used to have a company, Marko smirked as he felt how man tense for a moment. Xavier looked at him over his shoulder, making sure he was sitting comfortably, the motorcycle moved.

The ride ended sooner than Marko could have wanted, Xavier stopped his bike near to boardwalk entrance. Neon sign illuminated them with red and white light. The place wasn't as crowded as it was when Marko left.

‘’Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to your home?’’

Marko shook his head, dismounting from the motorcycle. If he took Xavier to the cave, man would probably never come out again and to be honest blonde didn’t wanted that. He still had to figure out where this strange feeling in Xavier's presence was coming from.

‘’ I have to find my friend. I am 100% sure he’s still hanging around here somewhere, besides I have my own bike. Are you worried about me, bello?’’

Xavier lowered his head, a little ashamed. Marko saw that glimpse of blush on his cheeks. If one simple word did this to Xavier, how would he react to the higher level of his flirting. Marko would be lying if he didn't want to see it.

‘’ I just…I doubt these men was your friends and I'd rather not bandage you again anytime soon.’’

Blonde laughed internally, if only he knew.

‘’ I assure you that if I meet them again, they will need a bandage. ‘’

‘’Or rather coffins’’ thought Marko

‘’ I guess I can't stop you from doing that, now I’m sure we’re both tired and need some rest.’’

Motorcycle engine came to life again, Xavier smiled.

‘’ Take care of yourself, amigo.’’

Marko nodded, smiled back. He stayed in place for a moment, watching the motorcycle disappear into darkness of the night.

Curly-haired blonde didn’t tell his brothers what happened. He knew that David would be furious if he find out that he had disobeyed him, Marko wasn't in the mood to listen to complaints. Anyway he was 100% sure that Paul kept his mouth shut, that they split up, otherwise bleached blonde would immediately expressed his dissatisfaction.

When Marko returned to the cave, he felt again that weird feeling he had experienced earlier that night. But now it was some kind of longing. Marko shook his head as he returned to his thoughts from Xavier's cabin. After all, he decided to be careful towards him, for now trying to drown out that voice calling him back.

Before Caroline or Paul noticed, he managed to sneak to his nest in the higher parts of the cave. He wanted to sew up his jacket, but before he could begin, his gaze paused for a moment on the bandage. An involuntary smile appeared on his lips.

David, Dwayne, Paul and Caroline saw that Marko was thinking intensely about something, but none of them asked what it was about. It could have been something from Marko's pigeons to which one of surf nazis pissed Marko off enough to be on the missing poster next night. They were convinced that if something serious happened to Marko, he would definitely share it with them…

Marko and Xavier met again two days later on a boardwalk.

Marko was just chilling with Paul near the Arcades after feeding, looking for some entertainment for the rest of the night. Just then, Marko spotted Xavier entering one of the small boardwalk shops. That feeling came again, leading him to the same store. This time, he didn't even try to fight it, leaving Paul again. His friend didn’t even notice, flirting with some girl. Xavier almost jumped out of his skin when Marko suddenly appeared behind him, but he had to admit he was glad to see blonde again. He had been thinking about curly-haired boy before, he was curious. He heard Marko’s Italian accent and wanted to know more about him. Luckily for Xavier, blonde vampire after two nights of trying to reject his feelings, gave up. He asked Xavier if he wanted to hang out together, biker agreed. Marko showed Xavier around Santa Carla, he didn't even notice when it was almost down and they spent whole night together.

He was surprised how well they got along, despite the visible differences between their personalities, as if they complemented each other. Xavier told him a bit about himself, however Marko saw that the Mexican was hiding something. Blonde knew he would eventually find out what was going on, it was only a matter of time. The only thorn in the night was when Xavier asked Marko about his wound. It’s was nice that he cared but how was Marko supposed to tell him that there wasn't even a trace left from the shot? He was glad he sewn up the cut in his jacket before he went to rest, so Xavier couldn't see his arm. Marko just mumbled something like ‘’It’s fine’’, man looked at him unconvinced but he didn’t ask about it again.

Soon after Xavier drove away, back to his cabin, on his way to find Paul, Marko still thought about black-haired Mexican who refused to leave his thoughts, making himself in his mind like at home with every next second. Blonde vampire just couldn't get those honey-colored eyes out of his head.

And then Marko suddenly stopped. The realization hit him hard, at that moment he understand this warm feeling that had accompanied him since they met, probably the same feeling that David had experienced when he met Caroline. Marko never thought about it, never believed he’d get one. That was it, he found his mate.

#the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #masterocs #xavier🇲🇽#tlb marko #the lost boys #oc x canon #david tlb #the lost boys oc #tlb paul #the lost boys marko

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posttexasstressdisorder · 9 days

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Music

How Bob Dylan Viciously Cut His Competition Down to Size

THINK TWICE

In this excerpt from “Talkin’ Greenwich Village,” veteran journalist David Browne revealed how Dylan could make his fellow folk singers shrink with a “withering gaze.”

David Browne

Published Sep. 16, 2024 5:00AM EDT

Michael Ochs Archives/Getty

The below has been excerpted from Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital ©2024 David Browne and reprinted by permission from Grand Central Publishing/ Hachette Books /Hachette Book Group.

As the scene was growing more amped up, in every way, its unofficial clubhouse remained the Kettle of Fish. But with Bob Dylan’s success and the pressure and attention that came with it, the dynamics at those gatherings began to shift. In 1964 Robert Shelton of the Times watched—with a sense of wonderment rare for such a fixture on the scene—as Dylan entered the Kettle one night with the Supremes and members of the British band the Animals, whose sulking, electrified makeover of “The House of the Rising Sun” had given the ballad an audience far beyond the coffeehouse crowd. Those pop stars were a departure from the small, insular posse Dylan generally preferred, one that protected him and, many thought, egged him on as he dissected the peers and strivers at the Kettle on any given night. For extra privacy, Guido Giampieri would close and lock the front door at a late hour.

Dylan’s gang was usually led by Bob Neuwirth, his road manager, side-kick, and would- be bodyguard. An artist by trade and education, the Ohio- born Neuwirth had attended art school in Boston, where he learned to play guitar and banjo and eventually made his way into the Village; Dylan would recall first seeing him in the audience at the Gaslight. Neuwirth’s barbed-wire gibes and hipster persona were also of a piece with Dylan’s. As a source told Rolling Stone a few years later, regarding Neuwirth’s arrival in New York in 1964, “Dylan started to change at that time. Part of it was Neuwirth; he was a real strong influence on Dylan. Neuwirth [was] stressing pride and ego, sort of saying, ‘Hold your head high, man, don’t take shit, just take over the scene.’ He was the kind of cat who could influence others, work on their egos and support those egos.” Neuwirth’s striped pants would soon be seen behind Dylan on the cover of Highway 61 Revisited, the album that announced, as much as any, that the folk revival had passed its expiration date.

Thanks to his work with Dylan on records and on stage, including playing with him at the chaotic Newport Folk Festival, Kooper was often at Dylan’s table and saw how perilous it could be for anyone in the vicinity. “If Dylan focused on you, you were in trouble,” he said. “He could out- think anybody.” David Blue was a recurring member of the posse, although, as Ramblin’ Jack Elliott would recall, he was rarely if ever the brunt of Dylan’s withering gaze or comments. “Blue had a certain kind of stature,” said Elliott. “He was a large guy, way bigger than Bob, and he had a certain composed personality.”

Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital

Hachette Books

To Dylan biographer Anthony Scaduto, Van Ronk theorized that Dylan zeroed in on particular targets for a reason: in Van Ronk’s mind, they all wanted to “get rich,” too. Whatever the motivation, the atmosphere could be fraught. “The level of ‘rapping,’ as we called it, was tough,” said Arthur Gorson, the manager who sometimes found himself amid the Kettle gang. “People fell by the wayside. They would talk about songs and someone would say, ‘Hey, man, you can’t use that word—I used that word.’ Eric Andersen was slightly damaged by Neuwirth’s taunts.” Andersen would later pen “The Hustler” about Neuwirth and those times in that bar. In the fall of 1965, Dylan him-self would unveil “Positively 4th Street,” a stern single that sliced and diced someone—or some group—who hadn’t supported him. He never specified who, but some in the Kettle posse wondered if it were one of them.

One especially tense evening, Andersen witnessed Dylan lacing into Phil Ochs. As Dylan drifted from topical writing, Ochs fully embraced it—and was being lauded for it within their world. Reviewing Ochs’s performance at Newport in 1964, Shelton opined that he was “rivaling Bob Dylan as a pro-test spokesman.” Broadside also weighed in, commenting, “Ochs is much more deeply committed to the broadside tradition.” With one album under his belt and a second, I Ain’t Marching Anymore, due in the early months of 1965, Ochs was primed to be an even more socially conscious voice of his generation than Dylan was, and the two men had a “love- hate thing,” as Paxton put it.

At the Kettle one evening, Dylan and Ochs got into a verbal match that ended with Dylan dismissing Ochs as merely a singing journalist (which, in Dylan’s defense, wasn’t too far from the truth at that point in Ochs’s career). Andersen, who had grown close to Ochs (he had encouraged Andersen to add more verses to “Violets of Dawn”) and would often crash at the apartment where Ochs lived with his wife, Alice, was suitably offended. As Andersen observed (and Scaduto also reported), Dylan turned on Ochs another night as well: “You oughta find a new line of work, Ochs. You’re not doin’ very much in this one.” As an appalled Andersen recalled, “He said it right to Phil’s face and really insulted him, and I said, ‘Stop picking on him. Cut it out.’” Dylan, said Andersen, retorted, “Look, I’m buying all the wine here. I can say whatever I want to say. What do you want me to talk about, the sunset over the Hudson and the deep blue sea?”

For a brief period, Ochs and Dylan were both managed by Albert Grossman until Ochs felt he wasn’t receiving the attention he deserved, and late in 1965 he asked Gorson to take over. (In a poke at the name of Grossman’s company, ABG, Ochs asked Gorson to use his initials for his own management firm, which became AHG.) But Ochs had an emerging star power of his own: cov-ering his January 1966 debut at Carnegie Hall for the Times, Shelton felt that Ochs still needed some seasoning and admonished his melodies and guitar playing but noted that the audience was “predominantly teenaged.”

Later that year, in preparation for recording Pleasures of the Harbor—a lavishly produced record intended to be his moment of arrival as a full- on record-ing artist—Ochs introduced songs like “Outside of a Small Circle of Friends” and “Flower Lady” at Carnegie Hall. The latter—seemingly about a mysterious middle- aged woman who would walk into Folk City and sell bouquets of flow-ers, supposedly purloined from cemeteries—was set to one of his most sumptu-ous melodies. He and Dylan weren’t far apart in some ways: they’d both grown up with rock and roll and eventually turned to acoustic music. With Kooper adding one of his recognizable keyboard parts, Ochs even recorded a plugged-in remake of his antiwar rouser “I Ain’t Marching Anymore.” But he and Dylan remained mirror images of the Village, the acoustic and the electric, the old world and the new world, circling each other and staring each other down.

David Browne is a senior writer at Rolling Stone--and author of eight books, including ‘Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital,’ who moved to New York to attend NYU and never left. He started covering the city's music scene long ago for the New York Daily News.

David Browne

#and fuck your softwall daily beast!

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missvelvetsstuff · 2 years

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Where you goin, Star?

Summary: Reader meets Bucky when the truck hauling her show horses breaks down as she is trying to leave for an event and he works for the mechanic. Passionate, secret love affair ensues. After a confrontation with her father, Bucky decides she deserves better than a poor biker like him and leaves town with his friends Steve and Sam.

Three years later, reader is trapped in an abusive relationship and about to give up hope of things ever improving, when Bucky comes back.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Chapter 3

Warnings: swearing, mild violence, forced miscarriage, angst, animal death

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of the bbq, Star had brunch with her parents which ended in another argument with her father.

"Dad, I'm not marrying John Walker. No way in Hell. He's abusive and rude. Besides he already has a girlfriend. Why can't he marry her?"

Alexander Pierce sighed heavily. He appreciated his daughter's strength but not when she opposed him. "John's now ex girlfriend, isn't the right kind of woman for his career. He is retiring from the Army and running for Congress. You are the right kind of woman. You have good breeding, an excellent education, a good reputation....not to mention your physical beauty. You would make a handsome couple."

Star looked confused "I've met Olivia Hoskins. She went to high school with John, they've been together for years. She is lovely and well educated too. I don't see what the problem is." she paused and her eyes grew wide "Oh my God dad. It's not because shes black? Please tell me that's not it."

He looked at her impatiently and spoke to her like she was a small child. "Sweetheart, don't be stupid it's not because of her skin color."

I'm sure she's a lovely young woman but she comes from nothing. Her education was paid for with scholarships but all the education in the world can't prepare you for this high powered life the way being raised in it can. You've always had the best and I've always expected the best from you. Wife of the future president is the best life possible. You will influence everything he does, in a gentle, loving way, while you stand behind him.

She could never be what you will be."

"That's fucking disgusting. You think I would be a better wife when I don't agree with conservatives these days? When I can't stand John? I'm not that good of an actress."

He chuckled "I'm sure we can find some incentive for you to behave appropriately."

Star rolled her eyes "Not bloody likely. I have to go. I'm meeting some friends" she stood up, gave her mother a hug and left.

Her mother tried to change her husbands mind "Honey, I don't think she would be happy with John. Maybe-"

She almost fell out of her chair when he slapped her "Now sweetheart, look what you made me do." He grabbed her chin tightly and forced her to look at him "Don't question me again or I'll send you away on another 'vacation'. Understand?"

She nodded, shaking and trying to hold the tears back until he left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Star got home, Bucky was waiting for her. He could tell she was agitated "What's wrong Star?"

She shook her head "Just my asshole father. I don't want to talk about it. Let's go have some fun" she kissed him hard on the mouth.

When she pulled back he was panting "I know some fun we could have here. No one will care if we're late." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him, kissing her neck.

Star pushed him away "We can do that when we get home. I don't want to show up late, looking and smelling like sex. What would your friends think?"

Bucky smirked "The friends who complain about the smells in the clubhouse from our sex? They'd probably thank me for keeping it away from them."

Star shook her head "You're insatiable Jamie"

"Only for you Star."

"Better not be anyone else. I'd hate to have to kill you."

Bucky kissed her "Never anyone else. No one could ever measure up to my Star. You're it for me baby."

She looked at him curiously and whispered "You mean that, Jamie?"

"Of course Star. I love you and nothing will ever change that." He said sincerely.

"Oh, Jamie. I love you too." She kissed him again. "But we still need to go. Let me change real quick." She came out of her room a few minutes later in jeans, boots and a peasant blouse with something in her hand.

"Happy Birthday, old man."

Bucky grinned "You didn't need to get me something."

"Just open it"

Inside was a photo album full of pictures of her in barely there lingerie and the last few in nothing at all. She pulled down the shoulder on her blouse to show him she was wearing the first set.

"Something to keep in mind for when we get home."

Bucky smiled lasciviously "I'm going to destroy you tonight baby. Make sure you eat enough to keep your strength up."

When they arrived at the clubhouse, he led her to the large back yard and everyone cheered. Steve was the first to approach them and gave Star a big hug. "Welcome to the asylum. I don't know how you do it but I've never seen Bucky so happy. Thank you."

A tall black man with an eye patch and a 'kiss the cook' apron came up to them "So you're this Star I keep hearing about. Barnes is pretty smitten and I can see why." He hugged her.

"I'm Col Nick Fury, I own the garage where he works and I started this little club."

Bucky explained. "Nick was our C.O. in Iraq. Steve was our captain and I was sergeant, you know Peggy already. We met Sam, Thor and Loki there" he pointed people out as he named them "Jane is Thor's girl, Darcy is Jane's friend and Loki's something. The blonde over there is Danielle or something, she is sitting on Jack Rollins. The redhead is Wanda, the guy next to her with the frosted tips is her twin brother Pietro. The antisocial asshole smoking by the fence is Zemo, claims to be a baron in some former Soviet country but the twins are from the same country and never heard of him. Thinks he's above all of us."

Bucky looked around "The kid behind the bar is Peter, he's a prospect which means he's not a full member yet and we get to boss him around" Bucky grinned and shouted "Hey Parker, how about something to drink for my girl? You remember Star, don't you?" As he pulled Star into his lap.

Peter smiled then his face flushed when he remembered meeting Bucky's girl, walking in on them having sex in the kitchen. When he spoke his voice cracked a bit "Yes sir. What does the lady like?"

Star smiled at him "Can you make an on the rocks margarita? If not I'll teach you."

Bucky smirked as he watched Peter pulling up the recipe on his phone and carefully measuring the ingredients out and pouring them into a clean glass.

Peter walked over to them and handed Star her glass and a cold beer to Bucky who winked at him "Good job, kid"

They all chatted and while Star was getting to know them, the back door opened and a tall man, but not as tall as Bucky, with curly dark hair and a face that had been through too much, walked into the yard.

Nick turned around from the grill "Rumlow! Nice of you to drop by. When did they let you out?"

Rumlow scoffed "A few hours ago. I tried to call for a ride but no one was picking up." He looked around and saw Star, a lecherous grin taking over his face.

"I see we have new meat, no wonder y'all were distracted. What's your name, sweet butt? Can I have a turn when Barnes is done?"

Bucky bristled "Hands off Brock, she's no sweet butt, this is Star and she's mine."

Brock looked disappointed "No fair claiming them before everyone gets a taste. She looks delicious, too."

Bucky growled and pulled Star closer to him. "You touch her and I'll knock those ugly scars right off your face. I ain't playing Brock. She's with me and I'll fuck anyone up who messes with her."

"Fine I won't touch her." He looked at Jack and the girl on his lap. "Looks like it's the three of us again, Dana."

The girl looked angry "It's Dot dammit. Why can't any of you get my name right?"

Brock smirked "Cuz we don't care what your name is as long as you open your legs. Or mouth."

Nick scolded "What the fuck Brock? You just got back and you're going to be an asshole? Do you need a nap or a time out?"

Brock sat down with a beer "I just need to cut loose, get rid of that trapped feeling jail always gives me."

Zemo speaks for the first time "I'm down for some trouble. Maybe meet some new girls, whatshername is getting boring." He looks Star up and down "You have any friends you'd like to invite, pretty Star?"

She shuddered and pressed up against Bucky who glared at him.

Steve shook his head "Isn't cutting loose how you ended up in jail in the first place? Maybe just hang out and have a few drinks. Stay out of trouble for a minute."

Nick looked at him pointedly "Crime isn't really our thing anymore."

Star looked at Bucky questioningly "I thought all bikers were criminals"

Bucky chuckled "A lot of them do some crime but not all. We found Brock, Jack and Pietro running a chop shop when we finally came home. Nick bought their garage and this house. We all sat down and decided we didn't want that shit over our heads. Nowadays, except for some substances that are occasionally procured for personal use, we are all clean. Brock has a hard time keeping in line."

Nick smiled at Bucky fondly "These are good boys for the most part, a little rough around the edges but good hearts. After all we went through I couldn't stand the thought of them turning into petty criminals."

Star basked in the glow of this family that had no blood ties but seemed more caring and accepting than her own parents. Her mother tried but her father didn't want to be soft on Y/N. She'd rather be Bucky's Star than Y/N Pierce with all the trappings that entailed. She would prefer a simpler life with her horses and dreamed of the day she would be able to leave it all behind.

The bbq was a great success as most of the group made fun of Bucky for another birthday with joke presents that implied Bucky had been making up his new girl.

Brock made a couple of inappropriate cracks and couldn't seem to stop staring at Star but she just ignored him even though he grossed her out.

They drank too much and shared a couple of joints so decided to crash there instead of driving back to Stars house. She brushed her teeth and washed her face before changing into one of his t-shirts.

When she walked into his room Bucky whistled "You know I love you in my clothes doll but I recall a certain outfit that I was planning on destroying."

She smirked "Maybe I'm still wearing it and thought this would make it easier for an old man like you. I don't wanna wear you out too quickly."

Their coupling was different that night. Still passionate but there was more behind it. Like meeting his family and being accepted made them both more sure of the relationship, that it was real and could last.

They only slept for an hour or two when her alarm went off and he groaned, pulling her closer "No Star, stay here with me."

She chuckled sleepily "I can't Jamie. Animals depend on me, people depend on me. You don't have to take me home, I'll call an uber."

He growled "Not a chance my girl is riding with a stranger when I could have her on the back of my bike. I'll be dressed in a sec."

They basked in the glow of what felt like a new chapter of their relationship but when they arrived at her house the glow was dulled. A black Rolls Royce was parked in her driveway, Clint standing next to it, and her stomach clutched when she saw her father waiting on the porch.

"Y/N, I'm glad you're home. I was so worried" he said with a hint of sarcasm.

She removed her helmet and dismounted the bike speaking softly "Why don't you go Jamie and I'll deal with this."

Before Bucky could answer, her father spoke up. "No, actually I'd like to speak to your friend as well. Jamie, is it?"

Bucky could sense her fear but this man didn't scare him so his turned the bike off and dismounted. He offered his hand to her father "Mr Pierce, James Barnes."

Pierce looked at Bucky like he was dirt and didn't offer his hand. "Maybe we should go inside, don't need the neighbors talking."

Y/N grabbed Bucky's hand and pulled him inside, brushing past Clint who looked at her with disappointment.

Once they were all inside she turned and looked at her father "What do you need dad? I have a busy day to get started."

Pierce looked at Bucky with a sneer "I need you to end this little rebellion and settle down with John. You know you can't beat me and I don't want anyone to get hurt."

She glared at her father "Stop throwing around threats. I won't marry John and I will walk away from you and this bullshit life in a heartbeat so drop it."

Pierce saw the determination in her eyes and decided to take a different approach. "Fine but this isn't over. We'll talk soon." And left with Clint.

Star was shocked he backed down so easily. "Be careful Jamie. He probably has more plans, my father never backs down."

Bucky smiled and kissed her "Don't worry, Star. I'm always careful and I'll never let anyone hurt you."

Star went to work, heading back to the barn as Bucky left.

When Bucky went out front he saw Clint still waiting "Mr Pierce would like to speak with you privately. Would you like to follow me?"

Bucky nodded and climbed onto his bike, following Clint to an office building and then to the top floor where he stepped out of the elevator into a busy office. A receptionist greeting him and showed him into Pierce's office.

Pierce waved him over to a chair. "Look James. I know how stubborn my daughter can be so I'm hoping you'll see some sense. I'm sure you care about her, maybe you really do love her but you have to realize it can't work between you.

Y/N might say she doesn't care about money but she's always had everything she needed and then some. She's never struggled in her life. She might believe that your love is enough but for how long? How can she be happy in that clubhouse that you share with your degenerate friends? John Walker comes from a good family and has a bright future, a real shot at becoming president one day. Do you think that a mechanics wife compares with being first lady?"

Bucky grimaced "What about her inheritance from her grandmother?"

Pierce shook his head "Not happening. My lawyers have already found a few loopholes so I can tie that money up in court for years, she'll never see a dime if she marries you."

Bucky sighed defeatedly "I love her sir and won't leave her unless she wants me to."

Pierce smiled evilly "What if I sweeten the pot for you? You walk away from my daughter, tonite, and I'll set you up in another city. But you have to leave and don't try to contact her after you leave here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Star was done working for the day she saw she had a text message from Bucky.

'I love you, Star. No matter how things look or what people say, please remember I will always love you.'

She smiled but was confused. When she tried to message back, then call him, she was blocked. That made her scared so she tried to call Steve, then Sam. They had blocked her too. She started to panic and jumped in her truck to go to the garage. When she got there Nick was closing up, he looked at her sadly.

"Miss Pierce. How can I help you?"

Star looked at him in shock "Miss Pierce? Yesterday it was Star. What happened?"

Nick coughed "Nothing miss, just addressing you appropriately."

She shook her head "Whatever. Where's Bucky?"

Nick shook his head "He left. Took Steve and Sam with him."

Star started to panic "What do you mean left? Where is he? Where did they go?"

"I'm sorry miss. I don't know. They came in this morning, said they were leaving, grabbed their tools and left."

She started fighting to hold her tears back. "Why would he do this? He blocked me, they all did. I don't understand."

Nick just shook his head sadly.

Star took off for her father's house, crying and cussing. She slammed the door when she came in and started yelling "Dad!DAD!! You bastard! What did you do?"

Pierce came down the stairs calmly, smiling "Y/N dear, lovely of you to stop by. To what do I owe-"

She cut him off "You know goddamn well why I'm here. What did you do?"

He shook his head, chuckling "I simply helped the boy see reason. Convinced him that he would be holding you back and offered a handsome sum for him to start elsewhere." He paused, smiling widely "Next weekend you will announce your engagement to John and start planning the wedding of the season."

Star snapped "No fucking way. I will never marry him. I'm going to find Bucky, I have to tell him I'm pregnant. I took a home test this morning after he left."

Pierce scowled "Well that won't do" and waved someone in from the hall. "Brock, could you take care of that for me?"

Brock nodded and smiled cruelly "My pleasure, sir."

Star looked at Brock wide eyed "You?"

Brock nodded "yeah, Me. You know, I saw Barnes when he was leaving, asked what he wanted to do about you. He just shrugged and told me 'if she comes back looking for me, you can have her' and winked"

Brock punched her in the stomach. Hard. Over and over until she couldn't hold herself up any more, then kicked her a few times for good measure.

In between her sobs she yelped and curled into a ball "Daddy, please. I love him, I want....your grandchild. Please"

Pierce looked at Brock "call Dr Zola to check on her. Then take her home."

When Star woke the next morning her body ached and it took her a few minutes to remember what had happened before she started crying again. She stayed in bed, refusing to answer the phone or door. She didn't understand how Bucky could say all those things but just take her fathers money and leave. She had never felt such pain in her life.

Around dinnertime she heard knocking again and was ignoring it until she heard her door fly open. She got out of bed and looked to see who it was. Her father and John Walker came in with Brock trailing behind.

John reached for her but she flinched away "It's ok sweetheart, I know you're hurting but once we marry it'll be better for you."

Star stood up straight and spat at him "I won't marry you John. I don't know how many more ways to say it."

He looked at her questioningly "You sure about that honey? I'll bet I can convince you" and nodded to Brock.

Brock quickly grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her as he followed Pierce and John to the barn. He dropped her onto the floor in the middle of the barn.

Pierce looked at her coldly "Are you sure you won't marry him?"

Star nodded "positive"

He nodded to Brock who walked up to the stall marked "Charlie", pulled put his gun and fired it twice.

Charlie grunted and fell over.

Star jumped up and ran to his stall, screaming "CHARLIE!!" and fell next to his lifeless body, sobbing.

Pierce threw his handkerchief at her "I hope you see how serious I am now. If you aren't at the party this weekend, dressed and ready to act like the fiance of the man you love then Brock will come back for Lulu.

Have a good week, dear."

Chapter 4

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #biker au

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