#i'm not crazy right. like. this tracks right.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 2

Summary: Jungkook gets mistaken as your father but jumps at the opportunity to show them exactly who he is to you. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.6K~ Warning: Suggestive language but nothing crazy lol a/n: So this is another ask by an anon and it was something I'm sure y'all have been curious to see so I figured why not make it a little longer 🤭 p.s. written in one sitting so barely edited Start from the beginning

"Here you go!" the lady at the register says, handing Jungkook one of the shopping bags.

She had been looking at the both of us, no doubt trying to figure out our relationship but went with the one that might seem the most logical with an age difference as big as ours.

"You're lucky! I wish my dad would still buy me clothes at my age. I miss those days where I wouldn't have to worry about anything, especially money" she says, no doubt trying to make conversation while she folds the rest of the clothes and places them inside the second bag

"No you see he's not my-" "She does call me Daddy but I can assure you, I'm not her father" Jungkook jumps in, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer, making things a lot more intimate than they had been before.

"I- um-" I stammer but Jungkook decides to make matters worse, looking to gain my confirmation. "Right Bunny" he says, placing a kiss on my neck and making me shudder, completely mortified by this whole situation.

"Oh would you look at the time! We better get going if we want to make it to that thing in time" I say while shaking off his embrace, trying to get away from here as soon as possible.

When I reach out to take the second bag Jungkook gets to it faster and already has a comfortable grip on the handle. "It's okay baby, I got it" he says, going out of his way to sound sickeningly sweet but also extremely intoxicating at the same time.

I smile painfully at him and squeeze out a quick thank you to him and the poor cashier and hightail my way out of there.

"I'm sorry sir I shouldn't have assumed" the girl apologizes but Jungkook tones down the playful nature and assures her that he understood where she was coming from.

"It's alright. I just like to embarrass her when I can" he admits and she laughs, understanding our dynamic just a little bit more. "Have a good day sir" she say, wrapping up the conversation and he returns the sentiment and thanks her for her help.

When he finally decides to leave the store he saunters out to me, his eyes clearly showing his continued amusement from the little spectacle he put on back there.

"I hate you" I pout and he chuckles in response. "Why do you have to do that every time?" I question, dragging out the last word and it only gains me and even more playful Jungkook.

"Because you look so pretty when you're looking at me like that" he says, placing both bags in his left hand and using his right to pinch my cheek, no doubt warm to the touch from the embarrassment I couldn't help but feel back there.

"Let's just go" I say, rolling my eyes at him and making my way out of the shopping center, him following with a bounce in his step before he catches up to me and grabs my hand, making me stop to look at him.

"Let me make it up to you yeah?" he say, the once playful eyes changed to one's full of hunger. I can feel my cheeks start to warm up again, this time from desire instead of embarrassment because I know exactly what's in store.

I don't bother to dignify his words with a response and simply continue on my quest back to the car but the fact that I've held onto his hand and made sure he was following me still made him chuckle, finding me absolutely adorable.

"That eager huh?" he asks and I huff in response. "I'm done with being in a bad mood today so you've got a lot of work to put in mister" I grumble and he laughs at my reasoning, knowing deep down I'm buzzing with excitement. 

"Don't I always?" he says and I stop in my tracks, glaring up at him, "So you think I'm a piece of work huh?" I growl and he holds back his laughter, finding my efforts of being intimidating so endearing. 

"No, I just love taking my time with you" he says, caressing my face and making my sour mood start to fade away, "Isn't that right Bunny" he says, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on my lips leaving me wanting him even more. 

"Shut up" I say and stomp away, done with his teasing and needing him to put his money where his mouth is. If he's claiming he wants to make it up to me then he's doing it in a very strange way. 

"You know I thought this shopping trip was supposed to be fun and make me feel better" I say once he's finally caught up to me right before I take the crosswalk to get to the parking lot. "I'm having fun. Aren't you?" he teases, acting completely oblivious making me even more upset. "No, I'm not" I say through gritted teeth. 

"Come on Bunny you know I'm just teasing" he says popping the trunk and placing the bags in it before closing it and going to open my door. 

"Hey" he say, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me close, "You know I love you right?" he says once I've cuddled into his chest and I nod, breathing in his scent which always brings be a sense of comfort. "I love you too" I mumble and he kisses me on the forehead before letting go and opening my car door. 

"Let's go home okay?" he say and I nod walking closer but before I'm able to sink down into my seat he smacks my ass. "OW! What was that for?" I whine, rubbing the spot he abused as he dryly chuckles. "That was for rolling your eyes at me back there Princess. Think I wouldn't notice huh?" he says in a deep taunting voice that he knows can push me into submission. 

I shake my head and he gives me a mischievous smile before telling me to get in the car. 

"I thought you were supposed to be making it up to me" I pout once he gets in the car beside me. "Don't worry Darling, once I'm done with you, you'll forget that you were even mad at me to begin with" he says so casually, making my stomach do a flip, my thighs always clenching together, thinking about what lies ahead.

"Just let Daddy take care of you yeah? Gonna make you feel all better" he teases and although I act like I hate it when he talks to me like that, I know he'll always make good on his word. "Don't call yourself that" I groan, trying to hide how easily the simplest words can make me so needy. 

How has he trained my body to react to him so well. I guess it's my fault for letting him have his way with me time and time again. After all, he was my first and I wouldn't want it any other way. 

"You okay baby?" he asks, concerned that he's truly made me upset from how I had spaced out for a second there. "I'm okay" I say plainly and he nods, putting the car into drive and starting on our short journey back home. 

"Thank you Daddy" I say playfully making him choke on his spit, not expecting me to call him that since I had been so against it just moments ago.

"For what?" he questions through coughs and I can't help but laugh. "For all of the things you bought me today" I say and he leans over and grabs my cheek, turning me to face him to share in a sweet kiss while stopped at the red light. 

"You're welcome baby" he says, rubbing his nose against mine before pulling back and sitting properly in the drivers seat, placing one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh as we continue on our journey once the light turns green. 

"Don't think you're getting away with not showing me how pretty you look in them once we get home though" he says squeezing my thigh and and letting me know exactly what he meant but he chooses to voice it anyway. 

"Need to fuck you in that babydoll nightgown I got you" he growls, "Been thinking 'bout it since I saw it" he growls and I feel myself getting even more wet with every sinful word that drips from his lips. 

"You can't just say that" I say, hiding my face in my hands and he chuckles, using one hand to spread apart my thighs with ease, rubbing a finger along my clothed center to see the damage he's already done.

"Baby's so worked up that she could probably cum from my words alone huh?" he taunts and he doesn't let up the entire time, making me absolutely helpless against him. He knows exactly how I want it and he lets me know that I'm not leaving to bed today, or tomorrow and maybe even the next day. 

"Gonna fuck this little attitude right out of you" he says, pulling into the garage and shutting it behind us. "Upstairs. Now" he commands when he turns off the car and opens the trunk to pull out the bags, making sure to bring up everything because he meant what he said.

Wouldn't be surprised if some of the lingerie doesn't even last a day. But then again it never really does... 

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[kirby0strombolli]

R U Mine?

matt sturniolo x reader

Summary: After a heated argument, Matt is determined to win back what's his.

Warnings: cursing, kissing, smut.

A/n: Based on R U mine? by Arctic Monkeys!

matt's pov

In my mind, when she's not right there beside me.

I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be

I don't want to be here.

As I trudged through my shift at the coffee place, every moment felt like an eternity, and I was already having a pretty shit day so far.

I'd currently spilled hot tea on myself, was late to work, and pissed on by a dog.

And hungover from last night.

So, to say the least, today was a shit day.

And I was on edge. She wasn't replying to my texts. She was all that I could think about. I couldn't focus on anything today.

Glancing at the previous messages I'd sent her last night, which she'd read, I sigh, my mind in a thousand places.

y/n <3 me R U mine? 04:25 ✓✓

Carrying a heavy tray of coffee, I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster, to see the girl I'd loved for so long, but it seemed to mock me, ticking away at a snail's pace.

The dull hum of the espresso machine behind me grated on my nerves, and the chatter of customers grated on my ears.

Everything was fucking annoying me.

Before I even have the chance to turn back to my tray, I feel an elbow in my face. Caught off guard, I drop the tray, and the shattering sounds meet my ears first.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth together.

I don't yell. I don't even act. I don't turn to meet whoever it was who had just pushed me off the edge.

'I'm going crazy.' I tell myself, 'being away from her'.

I'm pulled back to reality when I hear disapproving chatter, and my eyes snap open, to be met with annoyed faces.

Clenching my jaw, I almost rip my apron off my body, slamming it on the nearest table before grabbing my stuff and storming out the coffee shop, the door slamming shut behind me.

As I stepped outside, not daring to look back, as if it were planned, thunder rumbled overhead, unleashing a torrent of rain.

Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, mirroring my turbulent mood.

Great. Just- great.

With a sarcastic quip muttered under my breath, I quickly made my way to my motorbike, rain pelting down on me mercilessly.

But as I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, I stop in my tracks.

Without looking, I knew who it was. Her.

With my head bowed against the rain, I pull my phone out, checking the notification.

I was correct.

As I read the message, my heart jumped to my throat.

y/n <3 me R U mine? 04:25 ✓✓ y/n <3 We need to talk. mine in 10. me make it 5. ✓✓

I sigh in relief, and, not wasting a moment, before revving the motorbike engine, throwing my helmet atop my head, and steadying myself with a deep breath.

I could feel my clothes clinging to my skin, soaked through, but I hardly noticed.

I was numb.

All I could think about was the message I'd just received from the girl I couldn't even live without.

I couldn't help myself.

Even under the influence of alcohol last night, she was the only thing I could think about.

About her being mine.

And I can't help myself

All I wanna ever say is, "Are you mine?"

As Matt revved his motorcycle through the pouring rain, each drop felt like a palpable reminder of his urgency.

The rain pelted against his helmet, the sound mingling with the roar of the engine as he raced towards her house.

With each passing moment, his anticipation grew, the image of her lips haunting his thoughts.

The rhythm of the rain matched the pounding of his heart as he neared her apartment.

Each streetlight illuminated the path ahead, guiding him towards his destination.

In his mind, there was only one thing that mattered – for her to be his.

And as he approached her house, his pulse quickened with the promise of what awaited him beyond her door.

Without bothering to park the motorbike, I jump off, tearing my helmet off before making my way to her door.

I stop outside her door, staring at the white paint that coated it's frame.

The as if my thoughts spoke out loud, the door opened, revealing y/n.

Her eyes seemed to shine in the dull light of her apartment room, and the way she bit her lip left me feeling dizzy.

And the way her tiny shorts accentuated her curves...

As my eyes roam over her figure, I can feel hers on mine, too.

"What are you staring at, loser?" she teased, a playful smile gracing her lips.

My heart skips a beat, caught off guard by her words, and I look down nervously.

But as I feel her hands on my face, my anxiety disappears, replaced with desire as I look up, lips pursed about to reply.

She's a silver lining, climbin' on my desire

Before I could say anything else, she pulled me into a kiss, her hands buried in my soaked hair.

Pleasure surged through me as our lips met, the taste of rain and desire mingling in the air.

My hands roam eagerly over her body, pulling her closer to me as my hands rest on her waist.

As we pull apart, she winks with a sly smile and grabs my hand, electricity shooting through me.

Without a word, she backed into the room, drawing me with her like a magnet. I followed willingly, the intensity of her gaze pulling me closer.

Then, as soon as we were inside, our lips met once again, mine moving against her soft ones with urgency.

In the midst of our embrace, I kick the door closed behind us, the sound barely registering as we lost ourselves in each other.

I feel her smile against the kiss and we stumble backward together, willing to find the bed.

As we stumbled backward, we ended up on her unmade bed, our bodies entwined as we lay on our backs, staring up at the ceiling.

Our breaths slowed and I turned to her, scooting closer, my lips hovering above her collarbone.

I pressed my lips slowly, trailing down her neck, biting softly as I felt her tremble against me, yearning for more.

As I make my way back up to her lips, she gently pulls away, and smashes her lips against mine again.

This time the kiss was needy, full of light moans as I prod my tongue at her lower lip before slipping into her mouth, fighting for dominance.

I detach my lips from hers, panting for breath, watching her swiftly unbutton her shirt, pulling it over her head.

''Well, that was quick.'' I smirk and she hits my arm playfully.

I admire her semi-exposed breasts, peaking over the top of her bra, I feel myself get even harder than I was when she opened the door.

I groan as she palms me through my black sweats, my erection clear.

"Fuck." I bite the inside of my cheek as I look down at her, her hair dishevelled, her cheeks flushed, the red marks on her neck stating she was mine.

She still looked beautiful.

But I needed to know one thing.

"Before I do this, I need to know one thing." I lick my lips, awaiting a response.

"I'm ready, Matt." She looks up at me through my eyelashes, her hands reaching for my belt.

I shake my head, the question floating in my head.

She cocks her head, confused.

I brush away a strand of her hair, my nerves kicking in.

"Well, are you mine?" I bite my cheek hard, prepared for the worst.

She looks up in realisation, and with a smirk she replies;

''Fuck yeah.''

"Say it." I demand, pounding into her from behind, the room full of breathy moans and the squelching of my length inside her perfect cunt.

She says something inaudible into the pillow, letting out short whimpers after I grip her hair and lift her head from the pillow.

"Want to hear your pretty noises, yeah? Now say it." I grip her hips harshly and pound impossibly deeper into her, hitting that sweet spot several times as she yells my name.

"Fuck, matt...I'm yours." She whined, bucking her hips up to mine, her knuckles turning white from grasping the sheets.

"Good girl." I grunt, "Gonna come..." I'm barely finished as I feel her release around me, her cunt squeezing around my cock as I release my load into her.

I ride out our highs, with my head thrown back in ecstasy, hips snapping against hers, never wanting to stop as I hear her cries from under me, fuelling me to go on.

Eventually, my pace slows, and I slowly pull out, patting her ass, as I sit up, pulling my boxers back on.

I lean back against the frame of the bed, my arm resting on her hip.

When she doesn't move, I gently climb over her, and lay next to her, looking up at the ceiling.

"You good?" I ask, peering over at her, concerned.

"That was the best sex i've ever had." She slowly turns around to face me, her voice hoarse.

"mhm?" I smile, running my tongue over my teeth with a slow, deliberate motion, the gesture seemingly innocent yet undeniably seductive.

My eyes locked with hers, holding her captive in the intensity of my gaze, as if silently conveying my unspoken desires.

God she looked so good right now.

She nods, a small smile plastered on her face.

I grin, momentarily placing a kiss on her cheek before jumping up to the bathroom.

"All you and that pretty little cunt." I smirk, grabbing a towel and wetting it.

Before making my way back to her, I turn the water on, and grab some towels.

When I return back to her, she's barely sitting up, her lips red, hickeys along her neck, hair a mess.

She still looked like an angel.

"Hey, beautiful." I kneel on the floor, gently prizing open her legs, settling the towel above her cum-covered pussy.

"Who said I wanted to stop?" I look up at her; She has a smirk on her face as she moves the towel aside, caressing my face.

"I want your face in between my thighs so bad," She whispers, and I feel my just soft dick get hard again in the matter of seconds.

I swallow hard, gripping her thighs,"Yeah, ma?" She nods, biting her lip and I lower my face down, not breaking eye contact, working my way up to her cunt, peppering kisses down her thighs, biting harshly as she lets out gasps and soft moans, enough to make me come in my pants, there and then.

When I finally reached my destination, I paused, taking a moment to admire the sight before me. Her thighs were spread wide, her pussy glistening.

With a slow, deliberate motion, I spread her folds apart, not being able to resist the urge to bury my face between her thighs, to explore every inch of her with my tongue.

I traced slow circles around her clit, relishing in the way she squirmed beneath me, her hands clutching at the sheets as she begged for more.

I don't need to look up to tell she's enjoying this as she begins to grasp my hair, pulling on the strands lightly, making me groan, the vibrations from my voice making her even more wet.

I lick a stripe up her wet cunt, my eyes rolling to the back of my head at how good she tasted.

"taste so good, ma."

I can hear her hitched breaths and quiet whimpers, each sound of hers edging me to go faster. I begin to swirl my tongue over wet pussy, my nose brushing over her clit.

"don't stop, matt" she whines, bucking her hips up onto my face.

I plunge my tongue into her cunt, dripping with her slick arousal, and thrust it aggressively into her, my head buried deep between her legs.

Her broken moans and sobs go straight to my throbbing erection, not helping me as I swirl my tongue in and out of her, the lewd sounds enough to push me over the edge.

Her hands find their way to my hair again, and this time she pulls my brown locks hard, the pain subsiding into pleasure, and as I hum against her clit, she presses the back of my head impossibly closer to her throbbing pussy.

"Fuck, Matt- I'm close..." She gasps, in between pauses.

I mumble something inaudible in between her thighs, flicking my tongue over her clit at an ungodly pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna-" she whimpered, her voice strained with the intensity of her impending release.

But before she finished her sentence, I felt her squirt on my face, and her body arched against my face as I continued to plunge my tongue impossibly deeper into her, helping her riding out the waves of her orgasm.

Slowly, my pace stops, and I reach up to kiss her, savoring the taste of her arousal on my lips. As we pull away, I lick my lips, holding eye contact.

"So, how are you?" I ask, my eyes scanning her body.

"Good," She giggles against my chest, her cheeks flustered. I straddle her, pressing a kiss to her nose as she squirms underneath me.

I look down at my pants then back up at her.

"You really do know how to make me come."

[fallenclan]

Pebblefreeze & Human Drabble

by Dragon Anon

"Another newcomer, ey?" Human jolted at the sound of a gravelly voice. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the grey she-cat approach. Well, mostly grey. Her tail was a brilliant reddish color, standing out starkly against her pelt. 

"Ah, hello," Human murmured uncertainly. The she-cat grinned, as if delighted only to be acknowledged. 

"I'm Pebblefreeze," she mrrowed.

"How'd you get a name like that?" Human tilted his head, gaze sweeping over the cotton-pelted 'Pebblefreeze' once more. 

"It's a warrior name."

"Oh, I know about that. Thistleskip taught me. I just mean... you look more like a 'Pebbleflame' to me."

Human flinched back when the she-cat let out a growl, only to realize she was laughing a few seconds later. "Pebbleflame! Ha! If only Maplestar had thought of that one."

"Maplestar?" 

"He was our clan's leader back when I was a 'paw." 

"Ah."

"..."

"What?"

"You never told me your name, silly."

"Oh, uh! I'm Human."

"...and how'd you get a name like that?"

...

"This is my dad, Evie," Pebblefreeze purred. "And the cat cuddling with him is Crowflame."

"We are not cuddling, Pebblefreeeze," Crowflame hissed. "It's drafty in this den. Maybe if the apprentices had actually done their job and brought back those goose feathers..."

"I seem to remember a certain apprentice getting bit by a goose once..." Evie hummed thoughtfully. "Who was that again?"

"Be quiet, Evie."

"Blizzardfang always had delightful stories about your apprentice days..."

"Evie," Crowflame growled.

"Stop teasing him, dad." Pebblefreeze sat down, shaking her head solemnly. "You're only reminding him of a traumatic childhood event. Truly, quite insensitive of you."

Crowflame snorted, rolling to his paws and stomping out of the elders' den, although Human thought he heard the tom mutter something along the lines of "I'm too old for this."

"Anyway," Evie yawned, shifting to his paws. "Who's this?"

"I'm Human," Human replied quickly. It still felt surreal to him that so many clan cats actually knew their parents. Had grown up with them. Human could barely remember his own mother's face, let alone her name. Idly, he wondered if Pebblefreeze had siblings too. 

"Hi, Human. I'm dad," Evie replied nonchalantly.

"Pebblefreeze already introduced you," a tawny-spotted cat rasped, slinking forward from the back of the den. Human started. There were so many cats in FallenClan, he could hardly keep track of them. "I'm Mothspots."

"Hi." Human ducked his head, feeling a bit timid. 

"My sister's around here somewhere too..." Pebblefreeze murmured thoughtfully, glancing around the den. "I think."

"Willowsplash and Bub went out on a walk, actually. You're welcome to wait for them in here, if you want. I'm sure I could tell Human plenty of stories about your kittenhood..."

"Oh, please do!" Pebblefreeze chortled. "Sit down, Human. You'll love this."

...

"What happened to Hopethistle?"

"What?"

"Sorry. I mean, your dad mentioned her being Cherrystar's sister. I, uh, know about Cherrystar's sudden death, given how it happened pretty recently before I joined the clan. I haven't heard anything about Hopethistle, though."

"She died a long time ago." Pebblefreeze shrugged, gaze growing distant for a few moments before refocusing on Human. "We don't actually know what happened. Just... found her dead one day."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Human grimaced, feeling suddenly ashamed for asking.

"Don't be. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I was a lot more troublesome back then."

"More so than you are now?" The words were out of Human's mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a pang of alarm. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Ha ha! So you do have some fire in you after all! C'mon, why don't I show you where Hopethistle and I used to sneak off to together? We used to drive our mentors crazy."

" . . . all right."

...

"Rah! I'm the strongest warrior ever!" Frozenkit yowled, bounding across camp in a few long strides. "Surrender or die!"

"Guess I'll have to surrender then," Pebblefreeze grinned, dramatically falling to her side. "Please, be merciful!"

"Nuh uh! I'll protect you, momma," Tempestkit yowled, tackling Frozenkit. Human took a worried step forward, but Pebblefreeze shot him an amused glance. He sat down again. 

A few pawsteps away, Tinykit looked up from a snail he had been observing all morning with Palekit. "Watch it! You could break his shell if you fall on him," Palekit hissed. 

"What shell--hey! Frozenkit, you hit my eye!" 

Human shot an imploring gaze at Pebblefreeze, and this time she nodded in confirmation. Stepping forward, the tom gently detangled his kits. "Are you all right, Tempestkit?

"Mhm," she sniffled slightly. "I'm tough."

"Sorry, Tempest," Frozenkit peered at her sister. "It was an accident."

"It's okay."

"Why don't we all go find a nice spot and curl up, and I can tell you kits a story about the twolegplace?" Human rumbled. 

"Can I stay out here with Palekit?" Tinykit asked.

"I can stay out here and watch him," Pebblefreeze hummed casually. 

"Thank you. You really don't mind-?"

"I don't," Pebblefreeze chuckled. "Go on, but make sure it's an exciting story or they'll be demanding I tell them a different one later."

"Of course," Human purred. With a contented sigh, the tom swept up Frozenkit and Tempestkit with his tail, letting his daughters ride on his back as he padded towards the nursery.

Pebblefreeze rested her chin on her paws, hoping that Bluefern and Newtscar were watching, wherever they might be.

-🐉 (pebblefreeze & human drabble.)

(beetle note: YOU NEVER MISSSSSS THIS IS SO GOOD!!! i love the exploration of pebblefreeze and human's friendship,,,, theyre the silliest)

[taylortruther]

I'm sorry but people are crazy if they think all the vault tracks were written when she claims they were. Look me in the eye and tell me rn that Slut and Suburban Legends don't sound like they were plucked right out of Midnights. Also no way did 19 year old Taylor write ICSY and think she had a shot of actually putting it on Speak Now. Some songs I get, she obviously didn't write Timeless or Bye Bye Baby in 2021, but then you have All Too Well 10mv...which is like so obviously penned in recent times. I get it, everyone had higher hopes from that song and she wanted to make it perfect and I bet the original draft was very haphazard, but it's ludicrous to pretend like she sat down in 2012 and predicted Jake's pattern of dating young girls in the future. Let's just call a spade a spade, people. A lot of those vault tracks are so profoundly different from what the original eras were, it's really hard to suspend our disbelief and take her word for it. Also 'You All Over Me' has way too good writing for her to not have released it in 2008. Certain songs are like...I can't imagine why she'd keep this in the vault for so long, unless she just wrote it last week.

look you in the eye?

[7clubs]

ORV EPILOGUE SPOILERS.

Okay so I made a random ramble thread on twitter about my ORV Epilogue headcanons/interpretations and it's become apparent to me that. Uh. My perspective is somewhat unique so here:

ORV Epilogue is a huge callback to the Disaster of Floods, and a certified Disconnected Film Theory™ moment.

When the system starts to regain power and reactivate, one of the first things said (by HSY), as the stories start to reform is "Disconnected film theory?!" and my IMMEDIATE thought was this:

This phenomenon was activated because we, aka a Kim Dokja of a different timeline, have met him through our reading of the story, and through this, KDJ regains his memories. The parts of ourselves that came directly from KDJ such as loving this story and the characters, or perhaps our own "memories" of him that were formed by the act of reading ORV.

Because why else mention DFT specifically? The fact that the systems have restarted and the storytelling is continuing were enough to signal that Kimcom's efforts could have worked, that they've successfully gotten the story out, and KDJ's fragments to wish for his return...

But DFT being mentioned naturally made me think back to its introduction, where it is most prominently utilized: the Disaster of Floods, where the two Shin Yoosungs started to have their memories, their 'films' mixed up...

Kim Dokja used his First Person POV skill at this point, and viewed the world through 41st Shin Yoosung's eyes.

DFT's initial stake in this scenario is that it's there so that, when active, if you killed one timeline's version of a character, the other one would also die, thus the party's dilemma as to whether to spare the child Yoosung. And later on, it activates when he meets the Oldest Dream...

But THIS film-related memory-fuckery also stuck out to me. Not only that... I feel like it might be implied that this happens because of an outside force: Kim Dokja.

Are you still with me. Okay. Two more things:

Why call back to the Disaster of Floods? If not to also remember how, in this scenario, the wishes of the Constellations [thus, readers] wrote the ending?

Aren't we, the reader, a fragment of Kim Dokja, the outside force in this situation?

Haven't we been using the same skill as Kim Dokja the entire time?

also, Disaster of Floods happens relatively early on, so it just scratches my story structure itch if it comes back as a bookend.

tl;dr basically. We brought him back. And we gave him back his memories.

Through the combination of 1. our imagination, our wish for KDJ to wake up, and 2. our own memories entangling with KDJ's through disconnected film theory.

DFT, in turn, activated because 1. we are him from a different timeline and 2. met him through the story that 3. kimcom busted their ass to deliver to us <3

[couldtheycatchkillerqueen]

Regarding the recent post:

Killer Queen is too short ranged of a stand to affect most sleuths and it's not in Kira's character to drop Sheer Heart Attack at the police departament and hope.

Kira generally doesn't have many ways to deal with characters that: Work in teams. Work from far away. Have any sort of records showing that they're invastigating him.

The man had to be bailed out by Bites the Dust and still lost Most sleuths wouldn't even let Kira get away for long enough for him to aquire Bites the Dust so that's not even something to consider in most of these cases.

{But you're really ignoring one thing: It can't be detected by anyone but Stand Users. Why would they think they needed to investigate Yoshikage Kira specifically? There's no evidence of the killings, since in canon, even the police didn't try to investigate the mysterious disappearances. The sleuths would mostly not be able to understand that Killer Queen exists, and even if they assumed it was something supernatural, there's still no evidence. And the man managed to impersonate another man in front of his family, landlord, coworkers, and everyone who may have talked to Kosaku on the street, with only the man's child catching on. Had Hayato never thought to set up a camera in his parents' room, Kira would have never been caught at all. And Kira doing poorly against teams of people investigating him doesn't line up when he's gotten away from them twice (he would have escaped Jotaro and Koichi were it not for Act III, and he did escape the entire Duwang Gang when they were chasing him by severing his own hand), plus managing to keep his identity secret from EVERYONE except Hayato until the kid figured out how to use the time-loop to his advantage. You're right that most of the time Killer Queen wouldn't get to Bites the Dust, but it would be because Kira wouldn't need to. He has eliminated people in broad daylight before, and he could do so again when against someone who can't see Stands.}

[imminent-danger-came]

Anyways. Wukong was WAY too chill with MK being a Moneky. Just like "Yeah hahaha we're both monkies! Isn't that so cool!" the whole entire special. LIKE NO. THAT'S NOT COOL. YOU SO CLEARLY KNEW ABOUT THIS

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

My parents and I watched the season 3 finale of Star Wars: Rebels tonight and I can't believe my mom was the one who was like "WHY ARE THEY* ALL DYING?!" and I was the one being all, "don't worry I'm sure it will be fine." this is the most role reversal we have ever done.

(*to clarify I mean the rebels in general, the main cast was fine)

[pearl-kite]

where did all these completed IFs I played as demos come from, how am I supposed to keep up with all of them @_@

[jlf23tumble]

jen i don’t know if you saw but a week or so ago louis said in an interview (to bbc if i’m not mistaken) that he would love some commercial success on this new record. i thought it was really interesting that he openly said it like that bc it’s not usually something we see from 1D member is it? but my question is, do you think it is possible for louis/fitf to be commercially successful?

Mannn, do I wish people would read the full article/watch full clips, because that's not what he said, if this is the interview you're talking about! He says:

Given that his early experiments in dance-pop remain Tomlinson's biggest-selling songs, could these two new tracks signpost his way back to the mainstream?

"Listen, I would love some commercial success on this record, don't get me wrong," he says.

"Will it get played on radio? I have no idea. But if it doesn't it won't be the end...

"I love my tour bus, I love my fans, I love travelling the world."

....as for "is it possible," I personally don't care, I feel like he's had INCREDIBLE success to date, and I also feel like it's a pointless thing to worry about as a fan, especially today. I haven't heard this album yet, so I have no idea if it matches well with all the markers of success, which is what, tiktok plays? streams? radio play? charts? specific sales? You can move those goalposts all day long and call whoever you're judging a winner or a loser, and it's honestly one of the most boring, depressing things about any fandom, I genuinely do not care what "success" looks like for rich white millionaires, they already made it, bb, and good for them! The fact that he enjoys touring so much--and will make an incredible amount of money doing so--means he's got success on several important fronts locked down, we can all relax, let Jesus take the wheel

[hierneneuro]

i hate how much attention my mom gives to my brother compared to me :( this sounds so childish but it's always been like this. in general i work pretty hard and try to do well, get good grades etc and it seems like he doesn't even try and he's going nowhere and gets so much attention for it. 'oh he needs help oh he needs the attention' well i would like a little bit of acknowledgement too !! i'll hear my mom on the phone with my brother sounding super animated and interested but then when i wanna talk to her about my recent good grades or my plans for next semester she's like tired and disinterested like she just doesnt care :(

[regularshcw]

margaret tag dump !

🐦 margaret // ic / i don't think i've ever realized how awesome you are 🐦 margaret // musings / we leave early ; get there with plenty of time ; no getting off track ; no craziness 🐦 margaret // about / i'm not seeing anyone right now ; guys are jerks 🐦 margaret // likes / aesthetic / my dad used to bring me here when i was little 🐦 margaret // music / i know they're kinda old ; but i remember them from when i was a kid 🐦 margaret // starter call / oh wow ; you guys look like rockstars ! 🐦 margaret // visage / her pretty face and those long long legs

[lunarr-stuff]

....happy vent :')

[zincbotted]

had to stop reading due to time constraints right when trickster jane jake and roxy got to dirk and i need to keep reading aaa

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

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So, the headcanon that ghosts fight to socialize, and also to teach baby ghosts how to use their powers, right?

Johnny 13 is in Gotham. No particular reason, he's just hanging out. He manages to goad the day shift bat kid into a motorcycle race! Fuck yeah, what's better than harassing high school aged superheroes?! Anyway, he and this kid are tearing up the streets and the kid whips out some crazy fucking shadow powers. Um? What happened to Batman doesn't like metas??? (Obviously Batman isn't actually prejudiced against metas, he just logically doesn't want to deal with superpowers + fear toxin and shit, but... his PR could use some work on this front...) Well then, Johnny has crazy fucking shadow powers too, so OBVIOUSLY he needs to compare notes with the yellow kid. By escalating.

Duke Thomas is having a No Good Very Bad Week. This crazy blond dude on a bike is TESTING HIS PATIENCE. And is a total bad luck magnet, the ONLY reason nobody's gotten killed by their chases is that Duke can see when something terrible is about to happen just in time to prevent the crazy coincidence of the moment. Also he can drive through walls? Duke learned that he can take his bike through shadows, that's pretty cool, but this whole situation is still very frustrating. HE IS TOO YOUNG TO HAVE A NEMESIS!!! He asks Babs to run some facial recognition magic and the only match is some guy who died in a motorcycle wreck like twenty years ago??? Duke compiles a file to present to the Batfam, fully expecting them to call him crazy when he explains his theory that his nemesis is a ghost.

Batman: That tracks actually. I've dealt with a dead highwayman who calls himself Gentleman Ghost, and there's a ghost on call with the League. Here, have some nth metal gear, it's ghost proof, good investigating :)

Duke: *TheSignal.exe has stopped working*

Duke finally manages to catch his ghost guy! He goes to question him about why he feels a need to be such a nuisance.

Johnny 13, grinning, not answering shit: Hey, you guys are detectives or whatever right? Have you ever tried hiding in the shadows under someone's clothes to stalk them?

Duke: ***TheSignal.exe has stopped working***

Duke: WELL NOW I'M GONNA