#me in the neighborhood picking everyone's weeds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toxicanonymity · 1 year

Note

Uhhhh nightwalks Joel and reader getting high off their asses and then fucking

harder - 420 special, can read alone.

2.8k | Joel x f!Reader | night walks masterlist

IMG: dark profile shot of Joel that says, "lift heavy, talk dirty, smoke weed" and "night walks" in the bottom left.

He slowly rubs your thigh and says, “It's ok, pumpkin. Shouldn’ta had the windows open. Got hot workin' out.” He gets up and closes the windows, pulls the shades down, and double-locks the door. He dims the lights, too. It’s still pretty hot inside. You unzip your hoodie, and he wets his lips as you take it off.

Ty 420 Anon, yard-spying bj anon, @missannwinchester, @xdaddysprincessxx , and everyone for all the great Qs, comments, and ideas. 👖

WARNINGS: 18+ Non-outbreak, AU pothead neighbor Joel, reader smokes, unspecified age gap, drinking, fingering, oral, unsafe vaginal sex (PIV), light choking, hard drug use, bad ideas. Mild dubcon bc drugs? (she has the intent before the drugs)

You start taking your night walks again. You keep seeing your creepy neighbor Joel out in the wild anyway, and your efforts not to fuck him have been not only futile but increasingly weak. You’re walking your first lap around the neighborhood and a car pulls up to Joel's house. A young woman gets out of the car. She goes around back to his man cave where the door must be open because it sounds like he’s lifting weights. Your stomach drops and your heart races. Who is she? His estranged wife–if he even has one, you've never seen her–can’t be your age, can she? Then again, if he can pull you . . . are you just one of many?

Despite your best efforts, it doesn’t leave your mind. When you come back around the neighborhood, your curiosity gets the best of you and you quietly prowl into the back of his yard. His lights are on, so you can see clearly and it makes your insides turn. In the window to the right, Joel is in the middle of sitting down. He rubs his nose and eases back into the sofa with his hands behind his head, elbows out. A look of pleasure spreads across his face. and he says “oh yeah.” In the window to the left, she’s kneeling on the ground in front of him. The gap between the windows spares you the explicit details. Joel looks down, watching her and licking his lips and man, he looks hot. Yeah, it actually turns you on.

His eyes drift to the window and you quietly slink away before he sees you. You walk around the block one more time and light up a joint, hoping to push away your traitorous gut reaction to this development. You have all these thoughts like I should’ve given in. . . .I should’ve come when he invited me. . . He finally gave up on me. . . You know these thoughts make no sense. They make you feel dirty. He’s so skeezy and vile. He’s been preying on you. That’s what you want?

As you approach his cul de sac for the third time, she’s driving away. That was so fast, you have to wonder if he paid her.

“Evenin’, pumpkin.” His voice startles you from the treeline. He’s standing where you were.

You don’t say anything. You take a hit of your joint.

“Yeah I bet you had a pretty good view from here,” he says.

Your heart races and your face gets hot.

You respond, “Have a good time?”

“Oh yeah, always a good time. You wanna try it?”

You scoff but almost, briefly entertain the idea. “I’m good. How much does a blow job cost these days anyway?” You instantly regret the question. Probably sounded resentful.

“Depends how much you’re buyin’.”

“What?”

“Ahh, blow job,” he says. You're embarrassed by how loud he says it. He slowly walks closer to the street – closer to you – then stops when he’s a couple of feet away. He crosses his arms and his biceps bulges under his tight t-shirt. “Blow job. . . that’s what you thought? Well damn. I’m flattered, pumpkin. All jealous of my dealer spendin’ time with me.” As usual, you hate it when he’s right.

“That’s what you call ‘contactless pick-up’?”

“That ain’t the weed girl.”

He walks around you slowly, like you’re a steak he’s about to carve up, then he puts his hand on the back of your neck and lowers his voice.

“That’s Michelle Pfieffer, baby. Not Mary Jane.” He looks at your joint and you hand it to him. He's totally lost you. "Never seen Scarface?" He takes a hit, inhales, and holds. His broad chest swells with his lungs. Then he strokes your temple and squints at you, like he’s reading you, as he brings his mouth less than a centimeter from yours and exhales. You breathe him in so cleanly, so greedily, barely any of it escapes into the air around you. You hold, then turn your head to release the smoke. It was too much, too soon, but you couldn’t turn him away. After successfully resisting a glance for several minutes, your eyes fall to the ample bulge in his PJs, sending a warm rush to your core.

He smirks and strokes the nape of your neck. You don’t say anything. You just stand there marveling at how genuinely hot he is. Beautiful, even. Shit, you’re really high.

“C’mon,” he says and rotates around so he’s next to you, slightly behind you. He squeezes your neck, and his forearm is resting between your shoulder blades when he starts walking you towards his basement. You barely resist at all. “Real bad girl shit, you’re gonna love it.”

By the time you’re halfway to the door, his hand is no longer on your neck. It’s drifted down to give your ass a brief squeeze, and for the first time since finding out his real intentions, you’re walking into his basement quite willingly.

He nods to the couch. “What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever.” You move a throw pillow out of your way and sit down.

On the ottoman in front of the couch, there’s a mirrored tray with a credit card, loosely rolled $100 bill, and white powder residue. She was doing a line, not sucking his cock. Now you’re even more embarrassed.

Joel comes around the sofa and gives you an IPA.

He sits down right next to you, manspreading with his hand on his inner thigh and his other thigh flush with yours. He slowly rubs your leg and says, “It's okay, pumpkin. I shouldn’ta had the windows open. Got hot workin' out.”

He gets up and closes the windows, pulls the shades down, and double-locks the door. He dims the lights, too. It’s still pretty hot inside. As he slowly crosses the room, he wets his lips and watches you unzip your hoodie You fold it up and set it in your lap.

"You gotta try this shit." He gets out his drug box.

You hesitate and decline.

“Girl as bad as you, never done hard drugs?”

“Tried it, didn't like it. It was gross.”

“Bet it was cut with somethin’ gross. This is good shit. maybe later though. Hmm?" He turns to face you, strokes your inner thigh, and studies your face.

"Yeah I'm already high as fuck" you admit.

He laughs. “High as fuck . . . that makes two of us, pumpkin.” You can see it in his eyes, too. He extends his beer to cheers yours.

"Got all stressed out seein' me with another chick?"

You take a long sip and observe the tent in his pants, resenting that he's right as usual. He takes a long sip too then puts it down. He leans in close, puts his mouth against your ear. "You don't have to say it," he whispers as he takes your beer out of your hand and your sweatshirt out of your lap, setting them on the table without fully leaving your space. His cold hand slides between your legs, lightly trailing up your inner thigh over your thin joggers. Then he adds, "I can feel it."

You’re already turning to face him. Your legs open, making room for him. “Yeah, that’s right” he says.

You lean back, he gets between your legs, and his hands prowl up toward your shoulders, caging you to the couch. He presses the hard silhouette of his cock into your inseam. Then his mouth latches onto yours and your chest swells into him, your nipples hardening against his tight undershirt. He makes room then his hand slides up under your undershirt – no bra – taking the shirt with it. You help him pull it over your head. Then he cups a breast and palms your hard nipple and your back arches. You’re throbbing for him.

“too hot for these,” he says, hooking fingers into your joggers. He begins to pull them down, then pauses when they’re at your knees. He spreads you open with both thumbs and plants his mouth for a taste. He licks and moans “Mmm’ into your cunt, then plunges his tongue inside, making your hips lift into his face.

He comes up for air and says, "god damn you're hot," palming himself over his pants. He finishes pulling your joggers off. "Hotter every fuckin time." He returns to grinding into you and sucks your neck. Holy fuck, he's hard. So hard. Your mouth falls open with a soft moan.

"Yeah, you feel that? C’mon, let's get wild, baby." He grinds into you a couple more times, says “yeah,” then sits back on his heels and gets the coke baggie. He picks up a small key ring from the coffee table. Joel opens the bag and dips a key into it, getting the smallest little mountain of white powder on the end of the key, then he puts the baggie down on the tray.

"C'mere a sec. It's just a little," he says. You sit up while he makes a vertical fist and puts the smallest hill of white powder on the flat web between his thumb and forefinger. It doesn't look like much, so you play along, closing a nostril and bringing your nose to his fist. You inhale and he says "attagirl," then with the same hand, he grabs your jaw and pulls your mouth into his for an aggressive kiss. The back of your throat is dripping nasally, but you're tingling all over as his tongue invades your mouth with his hand holding your jaw. Then that hand loosens and slides down to your throat and he pushes you back down on the couch, your head landing on the throw pillow.

"Don't worry, pumpkin. All yours tonight, every inch,” he says, stroking himself through his pants. That sends a bolt of desire right through you. His hand slides down your chest over your stomach to your dripping pussy and he says "you taste real fuckin good, you know that?" as he fingers you. Then he licks his thick digits clean.

He pulls down his waistband, frees himself from his PJ pants, then changes his mind and takes them off entirely. He lays his hips onto yours, his stiff cock resting on your mound and you tilt your hips in search of friction. God, you need him so bad. His face returns to your neck and you claw at his t-shirt. He takes it off and admires you with red, half-lidded eyes while he's still sitting upright.

"God you look so fuckin hot. . . “ He runs his hand lightly over your stomach, between your breasts, and back. You badly want him inside you.

He takes the baggie and dips the key in it again. “Gotta do it, ‘fore I get you all sweaty.” Then the cold metal on your cleavage makes your nipples harden and he inhales deeply. He carefully draws a thin line along your cleavage, all the way up to your clavicle, then admires his work.

"Baby you're the hottest thing ‘ever been in this room," he says and your heart swells a little, to your embarrassment.

You watch him in a trance, wanting him back against your buzzing body. He picks up and tightens the rolled up bill. He strokes his naked cock with his other hand then lets it fall between your legs. Your hips tilt, and his tip meets your entrance, nudging at your tight, wet hole while he braces himself on the couch. Your legs open a little wider for him. Your body is drunk with need. Then he brings his head to your chest, the bill to his nose, and snorts the whole line, up to the bottom of your throat, and in the same swift motion, he plunges his stiff length into you with a groan, and you moan at the stretch of his girth.

He tilts his head back and sniffles, staying inside you as he does it. Jesus, who knew a cock could be so hard, or feel so good. He retreats half way then pushes all the way into you again, bottoming out with a shudder.

“God damn, baby,” he says, then begins to move his hips fluidly. He feels so unequivocally good, you can’t even pretend he doesn’t. No part of you can. In a fucked up way, you feel like you’re exactly where you want to be in life, on the couch of this creep’s basement. He grunts as he buries his rock-hard length inside you and sucks at your neck. His cock fills you up just right, just the right amount of stretch, and the way he moves his hips, he’s rubbing you just right, too. All you want is more of it.

“Harder,” you hear yourself say.

“What now?” he smirks with a hint of disbelief.

“Harder, Joel.” He heard you the first time, he just wanted to hear it again. “Fuck me harder.” Your hips lift into his and you wrap your legs all the way around him. He rolls into you smoothly again, nodding, and you feel it building in your core. You watch him in anticipation - his glistening biceps. His absurd triceps. His strong torso. Something animalistic comes across his face.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes.

He slams into you with a grunt, and you moan. You don’t bother trying not to. Not tonight. He hooks his arms under your shoulders for leverage and pounds into you again and again, to the hilt each time, grunting, breathing heavily. You gasp. He’s hitting that spot just right and he knows it. You’re close to coming. His messy hair bounces as he rails you.

“Thought you’d never ask, baby,” he says.

He moves one of his arms under your knee, putting that leg on his shoulder, and keeps railing you. It feels like your whole torso is being filled by him. You groan loudly, overwhelmed by him all up in your guts. It’s like he’s been holding out on you – he was already so good and this is just ridiculous.

“Fuckin’ love this pussy,” he pants, looking at you like a work of art as he fucks you. Your back arches and you writhe under him, so close to the edge. He somehow pushes even further.

“And you love this cock, don’t ya?” You nod, tears prickling your eyes. Sweat falls off his chest onto yours as he pummels you.

“Fuck yeah,” he growls.

“Yeah,” you pant, practically a whisper. You could do this all night.

He slams into you hard again, tripping you over the edge, and you repeat “Yeah,” louder, which turns into a moan as you squirm under him through your waves of pleasure and your body jerks.

“I know, baby,” he says. “Attagirl, yeah, come on this cock.” You continue to contract, and manage to stammer, “Oh God, don’t stop.”

As your climax wanes, he hooks both his arms under yours again and says “c’mere,” as his hips roll into you more gracefully again. He kisses you, and moans into your mouth as he fucks you, and you quickly feel it building again. You moan and he says, “hell yeah.”

He pulls out and your gut reaction is”no,” before he can even help you into straddling him. “Well hot damn,” he says and sits back for you to ride him.

You push yourself up by your elbows, then begin to climb into his lap.

“All yours, baby. Ride it.”

You can’t sink onto him fast enough. You both grunt as your bodies are joined. You roll your hips into him and his large hands move you on his cock. He takes a nipple into his mouth and your head falls back. You still can’t get over how hard he is. You could do this all night, you think.

But it isn’t long before his breath changes and you know he’s gonna come. Yeah, you know he’s about to come, and yet, you can’t bear to tear yourself off his cock. He pulls you down flush against him with a groan and holds you there. His head falls back. His hips lift, and he pulses enormously inside you, sending you for your second time. You whine “Oh, God,” as you clench around him. And he moans, lifting his hips into you with each rope. Then you cut his moan off with your lips on his, and he groans into your mouth.

You sit on his lap with his cock still inside as you catch your breaths. Eventually, he gives your ass a squeeze and says, “God I’m thirsty.”

You agree, and get off him. He hands you your beer and you take a long swig.

“I’m spent, pumpkin. Got too fuckin’ high. You tired?”

Yeah, you are.

“Alright, let’s take a nap and do that again,” he says.

And you stay.

A/N: I'm curious if anyone recognizes this situation, because it's based on a movie/scene that inspired the neighbor & drugs premise of night walks to begin with. I know where we're picking up from here thanks to @missannwinchester 👖 and still have many night walks ideas on the board from y'all, brewing and welcome.

TAGS

NW: @tehweeana@lokanda@blackvelveteen1339@cutesyscreenname@ele-meno-p lmk if i missed you

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxiousus @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda

#night walks!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #creepy!joel #creepy!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️#night walks #nightwalks☠️#420 anon #cw dubcon

1K notes · View notes

dazednstoned · 1 year

Text

Modern Rdr2 hcs:

-Abigail dresses like it's the 2000s (I'm talking miniskirts, low rise jeans, heeled flip flops w the fucking sparkles). She will never change too.

-Charles and Arthur go on dates to those adoption events to pet all the dogs and cats

-the whole gang frequently gathers for family bbqs. Every time someone ends up getting punched, passing out, or storming off

-Abigail puts Jack on one of those backpack leashes for kids (John too if we're being honest)

-Tilly, Karen, and Marybeth do full goodwill, garage sale, and vintage market days. They do not mess around either

-the only thing hosea knows how to do on his phone is play chess

-Sean still can't read in modern time

-john plays guitar and writes really horrible love songs for Abigail

-Javier and john r for sure in a band together, they're pretty good when they sing the songs Javier wrote

-Lenny and Sean co-parent an extremely neglected widgetable

-Arthur listens to facebook reels on full volume in public w no shame. Isaac is mortified every time

-john has various tattoos, half of them are god awful. He definitely got Abigail's name or initials tattooed somewhere and she was livid

-Karen gives herself piercings with a really shitty piercing gun

-arthur and John work together in construction, an auto shop, or in the equestrian field.

-Dutch has a very rigid and lengthy skincare routine

-john uses 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, but he says it's 3 in 1 bc it also counts as bodywash

-Tilly is the only one of her family to graduate college (Arthur dropped out of hs when Eliza got pregnant and john never went)

-Hosea is one of those old people you just see walking around the neighborhood at like 8am

-john and Arthur don't wear sunscreen or put on lotion. Abigail sometimes manages to force some sunscreen on John's face before he goes to work tho

-bill refuses to go to gay bars but uses Grindr

-Abigail cuts John and Jack's hair bc she refuses to pay for something she thinks she can do herself (she cannot do it herself)

-Kieran is a hair braiding god. I'm talking French braids, fish tails, you name it.

-john owns a really shitty pick up truck. Jack was either conceived or birthed in the backseat of it (maybe both)

-Sean falls for those free iPhone scams every time

-the only videogame charles plays is stardew valley. He thought it would be relaxing, it wasn't.

-Tilly and Mary Beth are in a book club together

-Abigail is the type of parent to not let her kid play w nerf guns or watch pg13 movies (John is the exact opposite)

-Sadie spends her weekends at rage rooms

-everyone's fridges are covered in drawings Jack made for them

-John, Javier, and Sean game together. Violence always ensues

-dutch does not tip waiters

-john tried to play catch w Jack once and ended up getting hit in the groin by a baseball. He didn't know 4 yr olds could throw that hard

-Abigail and Karen (& sometimes Charles) drink cheap wine together every Sunday and discuss the dumb things their boyfriends did that week

-Lenny and Hosea do the wordle everyday

-Jack is in little league soccer. John sits back drinking a beer as Abigail shouts at the referee

-Abigail got a tramp stamp of a little bow when she was 17 (she regrets it)

-Hosea exclusively sends emails

-Abigail hides John's weed socks bc she doesn't want Jack to see and "fall into a life of drugs" when he's older

-Arthur is a hiking dad through and through. While John is a sit on the couch drinking a beer w his kid in his lap kinda dad

-uncle is the old drunk that lived in the same trailer park as Abigail and John did when Jack was a baby. He kinda just stuck around after

-Miss Molly O'Shea would be a makeup god and u cannot convince me otherwise

I might do a pt 2 late in the future!

923 notes · View notes

sturn3 · 5 months

Text

✮⋆˙ reflections- the neighborhood ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

bbf!chris, who has been best friends with your older brother for aaaaages.

bbf!chris, who never seen you as more than his best friend's annoying little sister.

bbf!chris, who loved scaring boys away from with your brother.

bbf!chris, who would come in your room, mess your hair up, flex in your mirror and go bother your brother.

bbf!chris, who would randomly grab big portions of your food and stuff them in his mouth.

bbf!chris, who would have burping competitions with your brother. seriously, ew!

bbf!chris, who broke your heart when he announced he was going to prom with summer jones. did she even know his favorite color? his favorite mac miller song?

bbf!chris, who started noticing you more and more when he'd come back home for holidays with your brother from college. he couldn't help but notice how much longer your hair had gotten, your new belly piercing, more revealing clothing, and you genuinely were glowing.

bbf!chris, who followed you out of your brother's room when you caught them smoking weed, a habit they had recently picked up in college. in fear that you'd snitch on them, he ran after you. that moment he panicked so much, you looking up at him expectantly, he didn't even think it through what he'd do when he got this far, so he did the unexpectable. he kissed you.

bbf!chris, who was dying over how much you avoided him after that kiss, your brother was starting to notice it too. asking him a couple of times what was going on, chris not giving him any information or anything. your brother though, couldn't help but threaten him to not make a move on you. too late. the forbidden fruit was sweeter.

bbf!chris, who was trying to read your mind as you sat across from him at the table. picking at your food with your fork. you raised your head up, not expecting him to be directly looking at you with his big blue eyes. freak.

bbf!chris, who was currently stuck with you in a 7 minutes of heaven. awkward silence filling the room, the tension could be cut with a knife. "so, why did you do it?" you caught chris off guard. "why did i do what? kiss you?" he said confused, "yeah, why did you do it? you know my brother would freak out and you know about my stupid middle school crush on you so tell me why did you do it." you said in one breath. chris was looking at you like he had seen a ghost, he didn't know the reason you were avoiding him was because you were scared of what you were feeling. "you had a crush on me??" he said squinting his eyes and trying to suppress a smile. "yeah, yeah. don't act like you don't know. everyone did. my parents, your parents, your brothers and even mine," you admitted "well, do you still have a crush on me? cause i could work with that." you both smiled like idiots at each other and immediately kissing.

rip bbf!chris, who was caught by your brother kissing you😕😕 no, no, he didn't die, he was just made to do a thousand push ups, mow the lawn, clean your pool and beg for forgiveness.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you

189 notes · View notes

rubberfuckey · 1 year

Text

summary: After a worried phone call from Wheezie, you decide to come back to Kildare. Third part!

part one part two

wc: 1.9k

a/n: third part! as always, let me know what you think, working on part four as we speak (:

masterlist

talk to me

JJ rolled the weed and John B brought a case of beer to the dock as you mentally prepared yourself for the stories you were about to hear. Wheezie had texted you to say she was going to hang out with a girl from her class and she’d see you later. It took an hour, and input from everyone for the story to conclude. You opened your mouth to reply, having been silent for the entirety of it, but the words couldn’t escape your mouth. Tears filled your eyes as you tried to blink them away. Rafe the murderer? There’s no way they would lie about something like this. You got up and walked back to shore without saying a word, Sarah following as you sat in the grass watching the tide roll in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you. He’s just dangerous, I didn’t want you to come back and get close to him again. It’s not safe.” Sarah said she leaned her head on your shoulder. You just nodded. Your phone dinged and you looked to see it had been a text from Wheezie. “Wanna get some ice cream?”

As she read it, Sarah moved, “How long are you here for?” You hadn’t even thought about it, too focused on just getting here.

“Probably a few days” you shrugged.

She nodded and offered to drop you off at your house to get your car to pick Wheeze up, but a long walk sounded like exactly what you needed to help you process right now.

You said your goodbyes to everyone and started the long walk back to your house.

As you walk up to your house, you noticed an extra car in the driveway, a Range Rover. Of course, who else would it be but Rafe, sitting on your porch talking to your parents. Your hands trembled with anxiety as you made your way to the lounger your parents were sitting on and took the seat next to them.

“Ah, Y/N, just the girl we were talking about.”

You gave them a tight-lipped smile, “Hey guys. Hi Rafe?” you said with a hint of confusion as you nodded in his direction. He ignored your tone and just smiled at you.

“So what’s up? What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Well, we didn’t really get much of a chance to talk at the club earlier, I wanted to see if we could catch up before you go back to school.”

Your parents watching the whole scene did not help your nerves in this situation, they looked at you as they waited for your answer. They secretly hoped that you two would work things out. It would be perfect, two kids from two of the most affluent families on the island, starting their own lives together to make more rich babies. That couldn’t be further from your plans after what you were just told.

He tried again, after not getting a response from you the first time, “Maybe we could just take a walk around the neighborhood?”

Way to corner me, Rafe. What would he do if you said no to that? Yell in your face? Shoot you? Kill you too? Or maybe just try to drown you like he did to his own sister? You just couldn’t imagine him doing any of those things.

“Sure,” you whispered. He said his goodbyes to your parents and placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you off the porch.

It was quiet, you were not going to be the first to speak and Rafe didn’t know what to say.

“So what’s new with you?” he asked, grasping at straws for conversation.

“Not much, just buried in school work. I don’t really have time for anything else.”

“Make any new friends? Any new love interests?” It was obvious he was trying to seem calm and slyly asking about your relationship status, but the tension was still palpable.

You just shook your head, “Sofia seems nice.”

“Yea, she is. She’s a good friend,” he emphasized the last word.

You nodded, acting uninterested. He huffed and stopped in his tracks after not getting the reaction out of you that he had hoped for. You stopped walking and turned to look at him behind you, “What?”

“Y/N I miss you. It can’t be this weird between us forever, we should be able to have a simple conversation. I’m sorry, for everything. For ruining us, for hurting you, for pushing you out of the entire fucking state. I need you back here. Things haven’t been the same since you left,” he stopped, tears forming in his eyes. Not being able to hold back anymore, you decide to let him know that you know.

“You killed her, Rafe. You killed the sheriff, you shot Sarah and then tried to drown her, and you’ve terrorized every single one of the pogues every single day since I left. You melted down a god-forsaken priceless artifact. Your problems run deeper than our break up.”

His mouth fell open, and tears started welling up in his eyes. “Wait, Y/N,” he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away from where he was standing, “Sarah told you all that stuff?”

“You’re not even going to try to deny it?”

He looked away towards an elderly man walking a dog down the street, “I’ll tell you everything, Y/N, I swear. But not here, will you please come back to Tannyhill? Somewhere we can talk in private?”

“Sure, going to an empty house with you right now seems like a great idea, Rafe.”

He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at your sarcasm, “You know I would never do anything to hurt you, and it wouldn’t even be empty. Wheezie will be there.”

Wheezie, shit. Forgot about the ice cream. You don’t know why, but you believed him. He was still just Rafe, right? He would’ve never dreamed about hurting you before. You turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your house to get to his car.

The drive was silent, just Rafe quietly trailing behind you as you led the way. Rose was getting out of her car as you two walked up to the front door, Rafe reaching from behind you to open it for you. Rose gave you a knowing look, watching as he pulled you up towards his room and out to the balcony. More silence, great. It was quiet for the first few minutes you were up there with him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to make some sense of what to say.

“I’ve been really struggling. I needed help- I need help,” he paused, but you just let him keep talking, “What I did, it was so bad, it was so beyond fucked up. I wish I could take it all back knowing what I do now. I was trying to protect my family, I was trying to save my father. I did this for everyone, Ward, Rose, Sarah, Wheezie. I wanted us to be a family again. She wasn’t going to let that happen, she was gonna take him away. And then Sarah, Sarah just couldn’t stop running her mouth. She wanted us to be separated, so she tried to steal what was rightfully ours for her little pogue boyfriend, and she was going to snitch on me. Then who would take care of us? I had to try to do something, I was being proactive. I know it was wrong, okay? I fucking know that. I wish I didn’t do half of the shit I did. I tried to tell him ya know? I told him I needed help, that something was wrong with me. I didn’t want to keep hurting people. But he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t care, he didn’t listen,” he hiccupped, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You sat there listening, heart breaking at this broken man in front of you. You don’t know why but you needed to touch him. You got up and pulled him into a hug, he bent down to hide his head in your shoulder.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m so sorry, I ruined everything.” He sobbed and panicked as he repeated those three statements into your neck.

You rubbed his back as he cried, what were you going to do now? Your eyes filled with tears at the thought of how much pain he’s caused and how much pain he’s been through himself. Exhausted from the drive and all the emotion from the day, you rested your body back on Rafe, holding each other up.

“Y/N? Can you stay? Finish your classes online and transfer back here?”

You sighed, you knew you couldn’t. But who else would get him the help he needs?

“I can’t do that, you know that.”

“How long are you going to be here before you go back?”

“I’m not sure, Rafe. I have to go though, I promised Wheezie ice cream tonight. She is the whole reason I came back, I can’t just neglect her.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s the reason’ you came back?”

You froze unsure of what to say to keep him from getting upset.

“She called me, she’s grieving and she was worried about how you were holding up.”

He just nodded quietly, “I like ice cream.”

To say Wheezie was shocked to see you and Rafe leaving his room together to get her is an understatement.

“You mind if Rafe comes? He offered to drive and pay, no matter how many toppings we get,” you asked.

“Uh, no I didn’t,” you elbowed him in the ribs before he backtracked, “fine, I did.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Let’s go.” Wheezie skipped passed Rafe grabbing your arm to link with hers, laughing as you fought over who got shotgun. You won. The ice cream was great, and the drive back to Tannyhill was filled with giggles and singing along to the radio as Rafe stayed quiet, watching Wheezie really smile for what seemed like the first time in months, and you laugh without a care in the world. Maybe everything would be okay?

Wheezie asked you to come back in the house, she needed a girl's night and Sarah was still MIA. She picked the movie while you popped the popcorn, Rafe watching you from where he sat at the kitchen island.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m really not sure, I’m here on a whim.”

“Well if you’re not too busy, maybe we could hang out? Tonight has been great.” He spoke cautiously, not wanting to push any boundaries.

You nodded as Wheezie walked into the kitchen, inspecting the popcorn situation.

“Okay, well. You guys have fun, I’ll be just upstairs.”

You both watched him walk up the stairs until you heard his door close and his footsteps stop.

“Okay, what the fuck? You guys are talking like everything’s fine?” she asked immediately.

“Hey! Watch your mouth!” you scolded, with a smile on your face, “I don’t really know what to tell you, dude.”

“Do you still love him?”

Your eyes went wide at the bluntness of her question.

“I don’t know, Wheeze,” Yes, so much it scares me. “Are we watching this movie or what?”

You both made yourself comfortable on the sofa, as she started Mean Girls for what has to be the thousandth time. After Mean Girls, you decided to watch another movie, shooting your parents a text that you would be home tomorrow. Neither of you made it through the second movie, both passing out in the living room within the first half of it.

part four

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks imagine

310 notes · View notes

karmic-vibes · 2 years

Text

If I Can Dream

21 - Deep in my Heart, There’s a Trembling Question

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr / lazyjunebug on twitter

cw: bullying, name calling, misgendering/incorrect use of pronouns

Year: 1995

“Papa, daddy, can I help you garden?” Bobby asked.

“Of course, sweetie, why don’t you help me pick some weeds,” Eddie said.

He explained to her what the weeds looked like and how to properly pull them up from the ground. He sent her over to the edge of the fence to pick up some where there were no flowers, so she wouldn’t accidentally pull up any of Steve’s perennials.

Steve went back to watering the lawn as Eddie laid some mulch near the deck. Bobby was singing and humming to herself as she pulled up the weeds and its surrounding grass. As she worked her way down the fence, the neighbor’s kids, and their friends, stormed into the backyard. Bobby politely waved hello before returning to the yard work.

As she continued plucking up blades of grass, she heard the kids taunting her. She pouted and tried ignoring them the best she could, but their torments only got louder and louder as they approached the fence.

“What’re you doing?” The neighbor boy asked.

“Gardening,” Bobby smiled.

“No, you’re just pulling grass.”

“No, my daddy and papa said I’m pulling weeds.”

“Dad and papa? You mean dad and mama?”

“No… daddy and papa…” She pointed to her fathers by the deck.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Mom? I don’t have a mom.”

“Everyone has a mom.”

“I don’t…”

“Freak!” One laughed.

“I’m not a freak,” she teared up.

“Cry baby!” Another taunted.

“Go cry to your mommy, weirdo!”

“I don’t have a mommy,” Bobby sniffed. “I have a daddy and a papa…”

“So you have two homos as parents,” one laughed. “Go cry to your homos.”

Not knowing what the boy’s words meant, Bobby wiped her runny nose on her mustard yellow sweater, and ran over to Eddie. She tapped him on the shoulder to pull his attention away from the flower beds.

“Hey, bug, what’s up? You all done with the weeds?”

“Papa,” she sniffed.

“Oh, my goodness, you’re crying.” He brushed the excess dirt off his hands before pulling Bobby into a tight hug. “What’s wrong? What happened? You bump your knee again?”

“No…” She wiped a tear off her cheek as Eddie pinched her nose go collect all the excess snot (wiping it into the lawn).

“Then what happened?” He looked at his sad daughter, pushing her hair behind her ears as she cried.

“Mrs. Smith’s son–”

“Eric?”

“Mhmm, Eric was calling me names and told me to go cry to my mommy, but I told him I didn’t have a mommy, then he called you and daddy something, and he said I wasn’t doing the weeds right, and–” She ran on in one breath.

“Whoa, Bobbs, slow down,” Eddie said. “First of all, you don’t need a mommy, okay? You have two loving daddies and that’s what matters, okay? Second, ignore them when they call daddy and I names, okay? It’s not important and it doesn’t hurt us, so it shouldn’t hurt you. They’re just being mean.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Bee–”

“Papa!” she interrupted. “They called you names!”

“Alright, I tried being nice about this. You want revenge? Full blown horror movie style?” She eagerly nodded. “Let’s go. Don’t tell dad.”

The two snuck into the house as Steve continued to work his way throughout the lawn. Eddie dug through their stowed away Halloween decorations for something to scare the neighborhood kids.

“Clean your face off, bug,” Eddie muttered as he grabbed a damp washcloth. He properly cleaned her face before sliding on a Jason Voorhies mask. “Give ‘em hell, kiddo.”

Eddie made his way to the backyard and watched Bobby chase after Eric and his friends. Steve’s attention was finally torn from the yard work when he heard all the children screaming. He saw his little one chasing several boys with a fake machete and a serial killer mask.

“Edward!” Steve yelled as he stormed the deck.

“Yes, Steven?”

“Are you responsible for that?”

“Possibly.”

“Christ,” he sighed.

“I’m not stopping it.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

They two let Bobby run around a bit longer before Mrs. Smith scolded Eddie and Steve for letting their child do such a thing. The two snickered to each other before calling Bobby back over to the yard.

“Are you two really laughing? She traumatized my son!” Mrs. Smith yelled.

“Oh, shut it, your son started it,” Eddie scoffed. “Next time, raise your son to not call our daughter names. Alright?”

“Eric, is that true? Were you calling Bobby names?”

“No,” he lied.

“My daughter is a tough girl who doesn’t cry at much. Whatever your son said really upset her,” Eddie said.

“And you called my daddies names!” Bobby added.

“And you called us names,” Eddie reiterated.

“Eric, in the house, now!” Her son cowered before dragging his feet inside. “Sorry for disturbing you all. Just, next time, Bobby, please don’t charge my son with a fake knife, okay?” She nodded in response. “Thank you, dear.”

A couple weeks went by and Eric hadn’t bothered Bobby since—or so the boys had thought. One afternoon, as the two were getting ready to head out and pick her up from school, the home phone rang. Eddie, being in the middle of writing a song, didn’t even hear it, so Steve wandered off to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?” Steve answered.

“Hi, may I speak with either Steve or Eddie Harrington?”

“This is Steve, how can I help you?”

“I’m principal Gibbons, I’m calling to inform you of an incident that occurred earlier today.”

“An incident? Is Bobby okay?”

“Yes, Bobby is fine, Mr. Harrington. It’s just…” Principal Gibbons sighed. “Bobby has been displaying some violent behaviors lately.”

“I’m sorry, what? That doesn’t sound like my little girl.” Steve shook his head in disbelief.

“Mr. Harrington–”

“Please, call me Steve—Mr. Harrington is my father, and I’m trying very hard to be nothing like him.”

“Apologies, Steve. Anyways, she got into a fight earlier today.”

“She what‽” he yelled.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie called.

“Bobby just got in a fight at school.”

“Did she win?”

“Ed–”

“Did she win? It’s a simple question, Steve.”

“I’m not asking if she won! Christ, forgive my spouse.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be right down.” Steve hung up the phone and threw his jacket on. “Ed, come on.”

“We’re going now?”

“Yes, Edward, we are. Our daughter got into a fight, lord knows if she’s hurt! We need to go, now!”

Steve dragged Eddie to the car and sped off to Bobby’s school. They swung into the parking lot and ran in to meet with the principal. They found Bobby sitting outside the office, glancing at the floor, kicking her feet back and forth.

“Bobbs, what happened?” Steve asked, kneeling to meet her gaze.

“Did you win?” Eddie asked.

“Not the time!” Steve grit his teeth. “Bobby, I thought we raised you better than this. What happened?”

“Eric…” she whimpered. “He called me names again, then called you guys names, and then he said that papa is actually my mommy and I got mad and hit him…” She rushed out in a single breath, as she often did when she was anxious. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

Steve sighed in defeat as he pulled his daughter in for a hug. He gently rubbed her back as he heard Bobby holding in tears, sniffing back her emotions.

“You can cry, Bobbs, it’s okay,” Steve whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm…”

“He didn’t hit you back or pull your hair or anything, right?”

“No, daddy.”

“So you won!” Eddie threw his arms up in celebration.

“Yeah,” She giggled, wiping her eyes.

“We’ll talk to Mrs. Smith—Eric can’t keep doing this to you.”

“Harringtons,” Principal Gibbons called.

“Come on.”

Steve extended his hand to Bobby as the family walked into the office. Everyone got settled in the office as the principal prepped the paperwork.

“So, Mrs. Smith is threatening to press charges.”

“Whoa, what? No, absolutely not. Eric was the instigator here. Bobby was only standing up for herself and her family.”

“That’s not what Mrs. Smith and her son said.”

“I trust my daughter first and foremost. It wouldn’t be the first time Eric has started something like this, either. The Smith’s are our neighbors and Eric has a history of taunting Bobby. I can’t say I blame her for finally snapping.”

“Okay, Bobby, what did Eric say that started the fight?”

“He called me a ‘freak of nature’, said I have ‘homos for parents’, and that my papa is actually my mommy…”

“Eddie, Steve… we brought this concern up to you two when you were enrolling her.”

“But why should our lives have to impact hers? Yes, I’m a trans man and yeah, we’re two guys that are married, but that shouldn’t affect Bobby’s life. Especially her education. This is supposed to be a place of acceptance and learning, but instead you’re turning it into a place where people can openly bully her and then have her get punished for sticking up for herself. It’s not fair, Gibbons,” Eddie sneered. “People can call my husband and I all the names they want, but the second they bring Bobby into it, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Mrs. Harrington–”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Eddie, please,” Steve urged.

“Stay out of this, Steve. Gibbons, we love our daughter and we value her safety and well being more than anything in the world. Her mental health falls into that, understand? She is a good, sweet kid who doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I will be damned if she stays at a school where the staff openly allow her to be bullied, and one where I’m openly misgendered.”

“Eddie, it was an honest mistake,” Gibbons backtracked.

“Save it, alright? Let’s go.”

Eddie swung Bobby’s backpack over his shoulder and led her out of the room. By the time he was out the front door, Steve stood up and leaned over Principal Gibbon’s desk.

“With all due respect, Miranda, you don’t get to treat my family like this. Understand? Bobby is the sweetest child I have ever met—Eddie and I work hard to be sure of it. She would never hurt someone else without good reason. Hell, this is the first time she’s ever hurt anyone at all. She’s just a little girl who loves her family, especially her papa. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, and I couldn’t be more proud. I love my family and I’m proud of who we all are. How dare you think you can treat us like this.” Steve straightened himself out before heading to the door. “Bobby will be withdrawn as soon as we find a replacement school. One that accepts us, Gibbons. And if you even think about disciplining my daughter and not Carol’s hellion, then you’re going to have a much bigger problem on your hands. Understood?” She nodded and gulped back any response. “Good.”

Steve slammed the door and joined his family at their car. He ran his hand up and down Eddie’s back as he buckled Bobby into her car seat. He leaned over, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“We’re proud of you, bug,” he smiled.

“Yeah, really proud,” Eddie added. “What you did was super brave. I know I couldn’t’ve done what you did. Hell, I couldn’t even tell people I was a man until I was nineteen.”

“Wait, what?” Bobby asked.

“What’s up?” Eddie straightened out her jacket and rested against the door.

“You had to tell people you were a man? Do I have to tell people I’m a girl?”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Do we have to tell people what we are?”

“Oh… I think I know what she’s getting at,” Steve said. “Bug… okay, I’ll… we’ll… let’s talk when we get home.”

Steve rushed the family home and ushered Bobby into the living room, where he sat her between himself and Eddie.

“So, bug,” Steve started. “Papa is your papa, but, at one point in his life, he wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Bobby, I wasn’t always a papa,” Eddie said. He looked to Steve and took a deep sigh. “I used to, technically, be a mommy.”

“How? You’re a boy.”

“You’re right, I am, but I was born a girl, and legally, I still technically am—it’s how daddy and I were able to get married. My name wasn’t always Eddie, sweetheart. I was born as Eden… not Eddie.”

“So, does that mean I’ll become a boy too?”

“Not necessarily,” Eddie chuckled. “I was always a boy, but I was stuck in a girl’s body. Now, through the help of some very nice doctors, and daddy’s support, I’m a boy in a boy’s body.”

“Oh… okay.”

“I’m still papa, and I always will be, but the whole reason you got here was because I was born as a mommy. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, papa, I do.”

“Okay… just know, there’s nothing wrong with who I am, and there’s nothing wrong with daddy and I loving each other. We’re all born as who we are and we can’t change that.”

“And at the end of the day,” Steve added, “we will always love each other, and we’ll always love you. Okay? We’re a little different than most families, but we’re happy and love one another… and that’s all that matters.”

587 notes · View notes

kylowritten · 1 year

Text

Why Me?

Pairings: Phillip Altman x F!Reader

Summary/Excerpt: "There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion. Next on the list: falling in love with Phillip Altman."

Warnings: cussing, recreational drug use, talking about sex, making out, partial nudity

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: The title of this should actually be "Why is Adam Driver so Fucking Adorable"

This fic is a part of the prompt exchange with @juniperwoodwell

There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion.

"It's not a setback," you tell your reflection. "It's just a...readjustment."

The woman in the mirror hardly looks convinced. But you promptly ignore her, grab your purse, and head out the door to meet your Uber. You aren't so desperate as to rectify the failing relationship with your mother by asking her for a place to stay — God, you couldn't even imagine the state of your childhood bedroom — so you rented the cheapest motel room that you could find.

The door swings shut behind you and the sound of your heels on the weed-clotted pavement joins in with the symphony of cicadas. Humidity presses against you like an unwelcome embrace from an elderly relative. Flippantly, you think that you should've packed a travel size hairspray, or deodorant into your purse, but your thoughts have been far away from appearances and personal hygiene.

You had one thing on your mind.

You clarify that the driver is here for you, and climb into the backseat. An old country song floats through the speakers. You're barely out of the Motel 8 parking lot before trepidation fills you — high school wasn't a grand experience (but was it for anyone?). As soon as you flung your cap on the air, you swore you would never come back. So why were you now?

The car abruptly halts at the side of a curb. You look up from your phone, which you've had nervously clasped on your lap, tapping away meaninglessly. The houses that surround you are distinctly suburban, nice, but not overly so, like most of the neighborhoods here.

"What's going on?" You ask. "I need to go to the high school."

The driver meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. "I'm picking up another rider."

"What? No, I didn't want Uber pool."

"Sorry, kid," the driver replies. "I'm the only Uber in town, and everyone is going to the same place."

Great, you think, sinking back in your seat. Not only were you going to have company, but it was going to be some chum from your class. Worst case scenarios run through your head: an ex boyfriend? The mean girl? But a surprising warmth forms in the pit of your stomach when the new rider flings open the door and crouches down to get inside. "Shit, fuck," the rider declares as they hit their head on the car.

Then, rather ungracefully, Philip Altman folds himself into the backseat besides you.

He doesn't realize who you are until he's finished rearranging his long legs and muscular form, barely succeeding in making himself comfortable in the backseat of the car. You're staring at him when he finally glances your way, and a blush dusts your cheek as his eyes light up. "Is that you? In the flesh?"

"I know, I'm surprised too," you say.

"What are you doing here?" He excitedly asks, then shakes his head. "Don't answer that, I know why. I guess I just didn't think that you were the reunion type."

You raise a brow. "And what type would I be?"

"You know," he said, as if you did. He jostles your side in a companionable fashion. When you don't register what he's implying, a look of shock takes over his handsome features. "What? The hot girl? You seriously don't know."

You fix him with an incredulous look. "C'mon, Phillip."

He holds up both of his hands defensively. "I'm being completely honest. I swear on my father's grave, bless his soul," he adds, then tilts his head. "Can you still swear on people's graves?"

"I heard about that," you say, softly. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." A look passes over his face, one that you can't quite read, disappearing quickly. "Fortunately, I have coping mechanisms. Adult ones."

He pulls something from his back pocket: a joint.

You glance at the driver, then Phillip. "I haven't..." you trail off, gesturing with your hands, "since high school."

Amusement flickers across his face. "We're going to our high school reunion, don't you want to reunite with something else?"

You order the driver to drop you off a few blocks away from the high school. Phillip grabs your hand and tugs you out of the car, throwing a "thank you" over his shoulder. You're both giggling as you find an alleyway to duck into, an uncontainable smile unfurling on your mouth as Phillip strikes up his lighter.

He takes a long drag, then hands it to you. You fumble with it. "Do I even remember how to do this?" You ask, to no one in particular.

Phillip grins at you, smoke streaming steadily from his mouth. "It's like riding a bike," he remarks. "Except the bike is made out of smoke and the road is made out of good times."

He finishes this intelligent analogy right as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale. You snort and then choke on your laughter, and then on the smoke, inducing a coughing fit that is not at all remedied by Philip's own howls of laughter. "Dumbass," you say, swatting his arm.

You snatch the joint back from him once you're satisfied that your coughing fit is over. The weed hits your lungs, pungent and powerful, and you can feel the tension begin to melt from your body. You tilt your head back and gratuitously blow out the smoke, watching as it rises into the air, twisting and turning. When you look back at Phillip to proffer the joint again, he's already staring at you. It's in this moment that you remember all of the rumors in high school.

Although you didn't necessarily run in the same circles, you saw each other at the occasional party or school function. The rumor then was that he was an apologetic flirt and playboy, hopping from one eager girl to the next.

The rumor didn't matter to you in high school, you had your own shit to figure out.

But now, looking at him, illuminated in the hazy dusk light, there's a tightening in your stomach that high school you had never acted on.

Smoke breezes past your face as Phillip exhales, drawing you from your trance. His brows pull downwards. "Everything okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Perfect," you tell him. You pause. "Can I tell you the real reason I'm here tonight?"

He feigns offense. "You mean it wasn't to smoke some shitty weed with me in a dark alley like a couple of prepubescent hoodlums?"

This brings a smile to your face, but you ignore him. "Promise you won't laugh." Phillip makes the motion of crossing his heart. Taking another drag and summoning your courage, you tell him, "I never had sex in high school. So I thought that by coming back I could fuck someone from high school and it would kind of, like, settle the score."

"Oh." Philip's lips twitch with barely retrained amusement.

"You said you wouldn't laugh!" You tell him. "It's stupid, I know."

"I don't think it's that stupid," he assures you. "There's some people who genuinely want to relive their high school days and reconnect with their peers."

He says this as if it ranks only just below murdering a bunch of baby orphans.

"I guess," you say. You feel relieved to have said it out loud, like Phillip was a priest and you were confessing your sins to him. When he changes the topic, reserving his judgement if he had any, it only solidifies your trust in him.

You waste almost half an hour, smoking and swapping stories about your lives since high school. You thought, going into tonight, that you would have to embellish yourself and your achievements, but you didn't feel that need with Phillip. He made you feel safe. Worthy. It was an excellent precursor to the reunion; you no longer felt nervous, and upon realizing that you were going to be unfashionably late, Phillip pinches the top of the joint and shoves it back into his pocket before once again seizing your hand. Another thing to add to the litany of things you never thought you would do: run giggling, hand in hand, with Phillip Altman through the front doors of your high school.

Horribly loud music washes over you as you check in at a table, giving your name to a girl that you don't even remember. Quickly, you scribble down your name on a name tag and slap it on your chest. Phillip snickers as he scribbles something down, sharpie scratching against the material. He proudly slaps it on his chest.

It reads: Phillip Assman.

The girl at the front table makes a face.

You, however, find it absolutely hilarious.

Philip eventually ushers you away, still cackling, as more last-minute people trickle in through the door. He grabs your shoulders and directs you into the gym where the reunion is actually being held. Streamers with your school colors are taped limply on the walls. Several high-top tables occupy the gym floor, most of them crowded around by former students deep in conversation. There's a bar on one side of the gym, and a DJ booth on the other.

You open your mouth to ask Phillip if he wants a drink, right as he's flagged down by someone standing around one of the tables. You don't recognize them. He waves and moves as if to join them, but stops and addresses you, "I'll be right back."

You watch him leave, ignoring the small kernel of disappointment inside you.

Whatever, you think. It's not like you came together. He was just a guy that had the same Uber with you and you shared a joint. Not a big deal.

Straightening your shoulders, you turn on your heel and march over to the bar.

Alcohol, as it turns out, is a wonderful crutch for social interactions. You drift awkwardly through the gym, catching up with a few people whose friendship have gradually eroded over time, and pretending to be enjoying yourself. Your high helped, clinging to you like a weed-fueled security blanket. But you maintained a vague impression that you made a mistake coming here.

No one had magically gotten more attractive or interesting in the years since you graduated. There was one guy from your freshman algebra class that you bumped into while waiting in line for the bathroom, a guy who you probably would've totally fucked under different circumstances. But your mind kept wandering, and you ended up making up some half-ass excuse and scurrying away from his blatant attempts at flirting.

Because, infuriatingly enough, you only had one guy on your mind.

Unhappy with this realization, you quickly do your business and then hightail it for the parking lot. You're embarrassed that you even came, you're embarrassed about why you came, and you're embarrassed that - not unlike a high school girl - you can't stop thinking about the stupidly good-looking guy you interacted with for only a few moments. "Idiot," you mumble to yourself, pushing your shoulder into the door and stepping outside.

The cold sobers you up considerably, and you ditch the red solo cup you'd been carrying for the last hour or so. You needed to just go back to your motel. In the morning, you could forget that this ever happened and erase Phillip Altman from your mind.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You stop and turn, your heart pumping out a traitorous rhythm as Phillip emerges from the front doors and jogs over to you. Fuck, how did he manage to even look good in the shitty glow from the streetlights? He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"You're not leaving, are you?" He glances over your head, scanning the lawn as if expecting to discover a reason for your departure, then back to you. "Come out here to puke or something? Those bushes right over there are --"

"No," you interrupt, sharper than you intend. You sigh, and try to soften your voice. "I shouldn't have come here. I-I'm going home. Well, not home, but my motel room."

You're rambling. And you're aware that you're rambling, but it's doing nothing to deter it.

"You can't leave," he says.

You arch a brow. "What? Why not?"

He withdraws the joint from his pocket, which admittedly looks a little more crumpled than the last time you'd seen it. "This joint is legally binding. You have to finish it with me."

"Or?"

He shrugs. "We probably shouldn't find out. You know, just in case."

"Phillip -"

"We could go back to your room," he says. Recovering, he adds, "If that's okay. Or even that dark alley. It was warm and inviting, not to mention sanitary. We could go back there."

You smother your grin. It's not fair, that you've just reconnected with this man who you knew only in the abstract before, but now have become utterly transfixed by him. He has a magnetism about him that you can't ignore.

You feel yourself thawing. "What about all of your friends?" You ask, gesturing towards the school. "You can't just leave them."

Phillip makes a face. "Who cares?" He grabs your hand - did he do that a lot? Grabbing hands randomly? - and hauls you to the curb, where he expertly flags down an awaiting Uber driver. "M'lady," he says, as he holds the door to the backseat open for you.

The drive back to the motel is spent with you discreetly (read: not discreetly) sharing the joint and blowing the smoke out the cracked window. Your Uber driver seems less than impressed with you by the time you tumble out, but Phillip assuages your poor behavior with a generous tip. The heady combination of alcohol and weed, and Philip, fuels you.

There's no saying who makes the first move -- your mind is swimming with elation from your company. But it happens sometime between the car pulling away from the curb and reaching the room of your motel. Phillip pushes you up against the side of the building, peppering your neck with kisses and whispering dirty things in your ear as you fumble for the key card. He feels so warm and comfortable and secure, and you desperately want to undress him, to explore him with your hands and your mouth and discover what he's like as he unravels.

The door clicks as your key card finally registers. "Finally," Phillip all but growls.

You squeak as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he nudges the door open with his foot and marches you inside. You're both still giggling like kids between desperate, hungry kisses, his hands reaching under your shirt and your hand disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

It's only when you're both left in your underwear that Phillip pauses.

You look up at him. He hovers over where you lay, sprawled out on the bed. He's infuriatingly, devastatingly handsome, even when traces of doubt line his features.

"What's wrong?" You ask. "Is everything okay?"

Philip's mouth opens then shuts, as if deciding on what to say. "Why me?"

"What?"

"Why me?" He repeats, in no way clarifying himself. Phillip quickly elaborates, "You said that you went to the reunion just so that you could fuck someone from high school."

You struggle to find a response. "Why not you?"

"I mean, is this--" he waves his hand as if hoping to magically conjure the words that he's searching for, "--is this just nothing? I mean, I'm fine if you want to just settle some score and use me for my body but I'd like to know so I can charge you afterward."

His tone is nonchalant, light hearted, but there's a vulnerability lurking below.

You sit up on your elbows. It's difficult to address him like this, when his naked torso is practically staring at you in the face. It would be difficult for anyone to concentrate. But you want to be serious, truthful, because you found something in Phillip tonight that you have never found in anyone else. It was too early to call it love, of course, but there was a deeper connection that you would be foolish to so hastily get rid of.

"I'm not saying that I wouldn't whore you out," you tell him, "but I can promise that I don't want to do this for some dumb reasoning. I mean, sure, that's why I came here tonight, but I didn't expect to meet you." This admission sounds highly cliche, and it brings a blush to your face. "What I'm trying to say is--"

Phillip interrupts you with a goofy smile. "Say no more."

There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion. Next on the list: falling in love with Phillip Altman.

#phillip altman #phillip altman x reader #this is where i leave you #why me?#fanfic #ADCU #writers #writers on tumblr

69 notes · View notes

4kennels · 12 days

Text

Happy Tails Grooming

Brett and Mike my “new masters” jumped out of the cab of the pick up truck and come around to the back and open the wire gate of the large pet carrier, cage.

Mike pulls out a leash and attaches it to my collar. The pull me out and tell me to stay on my hind legs until they command otherwise.

As they tug me we walk across the parking lot toward the front entrance of a business called the “HAPPY TAILS GROOMING.” Brett and Michael chat and chuckle along the way as I follow silently behind looking straight ahead, ignoring the murmuring from the milling shoppers who notice our arrival, as best I can.

But come on... this is easily the highest level of humiliation I've ever experienced. I am dressed in a black leather dog collar, a pair of daisy-duke denim shorts, a t-shirt with DAWG printed in large letters. Thevt-shirt has been cropped off just below my pecs, i am wearing flip flops. I am being lead by a noisy silver chain leash.

Then a shout from my left takes the humiliation to another level,

"J. C. Webster? I can't believe my eyes!

J, C. is that you? What happened, dude, bad batch of weed?"

I don't want to look, but it's a reflex thing and I turn my head to the left, effectively confirming that it is indeed me...

Mike says “…yes, it's J.C. Webster almost naked in girl's jean shorts that are so small they don't even cover his bush, dog collar around his neck, and lady's flip flops complete his outfit; lovely!”

I'm also the only individual who isn't wearing a normal shirt or top of some kind. And normal masculine shorts.

Brett: “Yes, it's him... say hi, J.C.”

Oh God! I'll never be able to show my face in Atlanta again. The guy who shouted to me is Neil Bankers, my former next door neighbor at my pre-bankruptcy home. He's shorter than me so I always beat him at one-on-one basketball and afterward I wasn't a good-sport about it either, taunting and mocking him and so forth. So, oh yeah, he'll definitely be happy to spread the news in my old neighborhood about the new me.

He's with his buddy, Dwayne Jackson, who calls over, "Woof, woof, grrrr!" and people, that none of us know, laugh out loud and point me out to those who haven't spotted me yet. That's followed by other mocking catcalls, but my eyes are burning from the heat of my face and there's a hollow echoing in my ears, so I don't register much of what is yelled in my direction. When we finally walk into the dog grooming shop everyone laughs even louder... me wearing a dog collar going into a dog grooming shop...

ha, fucking, ha! Ya know, I can't ever remember seeing Mike enjoying himself this much... ever!

Inside Happy Tails Grooming there are a number of people talking among themselves waiting for their groomed dogs to be brought out to them. All talking stops when we walk in, silently everyone openly stares at me. My entire body is blushing and there's no place to hide. It's deafeningly silent now and I get the most intense urge to adjust my package, but don't dare. In the silence time crawls to a standstill and all I can hear is my heart beating and a noisy- nose-breather who turns out to be an old guy standing to my right.

This old fellow finally touches my shoulder, and asks, "What are you?"

Good question.

I ignore him as a huge bear of a man comes out from behind a door to my right, he's leading a beagle and a collie on leashes. Both dogs obviously have been recently washed and groomed. A booming voice from the man, "Here ya go, Robert. Snooky is beautiful again."

He hands the dog's leash to the rude old man who'd asked me what I was, then the Bear of a man booms out, "Here ya go girls, Icetea is ready to go home," and hands the leash of the beagle to two butch looking ladies who smile and give Barry a thumbs-up. "Please pay at the register ."

Then, to the remaining woman, "Pearl is ready too, I'll get her for you."

Turning to us, He speaks loud enough so everyone can hear, "Let me guess... which one of you needs a wash and a cut," and he laughs in a boisterous, but friendly way, as Brett's saying, "I'm Brett Knight, remember me; Junior's brother?" He takes hold of the leash attached to my collar, and now in a whisper all could hear,

"How could I forget you or your brother, buddy! You boys brought that long haired man to be groomed. Your doggie play is right up my alley. What is your pup’s name?”

Not having named me or called me anything but DAWG, Brett and Mike consider and exchanged options.

Finally Brett said “Fido.”

The big man continued, “This one will take about twenty minutes. Do you want to come back... or do you want to wait."

Brett says, "We'll be back," and they leave.

Barry grins and orders, "Down boy and I'll walk you into the washing station."

I'm so used to getting down when told to, I do it and the person waiting for Pearl gasps, as the big man, who's apparently Barry, is saying, "I'm kidding with you, boy! Get up."

I get up pretending I was kidding too, and follow him inside. Well, what the fuck... he does have me on a leash.

Inside the grooming space there's that unmistakable smell of dogs, and that unpleasant strong smell of the perfume in dog shampoos.

Barry says, "Strip, and I'll lift ya into that big tub at the end so you can soak."

There's a medium size dog in the tub next to the big one, he's looking at me with his ears pointing up.

Naturally I hesitate... I mean, "Get undressed, are you shitting me?" I'm smiling, like I get the joke, but he's sincere this time, and says,

"No, Fido... this time I'm not kidding. Unless bathed properly, I won't groom a dog, no matter from the human species or canine species! And, no offense, but you smell like a toilet."

That goddammed dirty rag Mikey used on me earlier! Still, I'm hesitating because this is so far from real life experiences that it boggles my mind.

He's nice about it when he says, "Make-up your mind, buddy... I've got a lot of grooming to do before eight o'clock tonight. I'm good with this kinky stuff, I'm down with and my boyfriend and I dabble in it ourselves. You'll either go along with Brett's wishes, or you won't... I don't force anything on anybody. You need to want me to do it, before I'll do it. Okay?"

What can I do? Brett and Mike have already gone, maybe Brett didn't know about this naked bath... what the fuck, I'm not going to give him an excuse to whip me again. Resigned once more to my fate, I pull off the flip flops and peel off my t-shirt, saying, "Yeah, let's do it."

Barry takes over and starts to unbutton the daisy dukes. I impulsively attempt to stop it, but he is in control, saying laughingly , "Don't worry, I've seen penises before, on you dogs and even a man or many and, frankly, penises aren't much different from breed to breed."

His eyes briefly get big when he checks me out. This unbelievably embarrassing situation has shrunken my dick to the size it was when Brett swatted it with the fly-swatter. He bites his lip, then real quietly murmurs, "Okay, we got ourselves a real little puppy/baby boy here."

As the color of my blush darkens and spreads to my chest, he puts a large hand at the back of my neck, then stoops down to gets his forearm under my knees and picks me up like I weight five pounds.

'Humiliating' simply doesn't cover it.

Without any noticeable strain, he holds me away from his body and then a boy comes in the backdoor... Barry stands there holding me, smiling at the boy. He's about twelve, a shocked expression on his cute face as it registers that a five foot-eight-inches-tall man with a tiny dick is naked in Barry's arms. There's no apparent fucking end to my humiliation... 'humiliation?" there has to be a stronger word than humiliation to describe this stuation. My whole body turns red.

Barry says, "Oh, hi, Roy. Just a sec, buddy..." as he's taking three steps to the big tub and then sits me in the doggie bath of luke warm water. Roy stares at me like he's just seen a space ship land from outer space, but I can't look back at him. The water I'm sitting in smells strongly of dogs and that peculiar cloying smelling dog shampoo I mentioned earlier. Now I'm surrounded by it as I sit on the bottom of a large dog's bathtub with my knees up and out of the water, water reaching up to my nipples. There are soap suds and other unidentifiable matter floating in the water making it too cloudy for me to see to the bottom. Many different kinds of dog hairs float on top of the water sticking to the suds and to me. The skanky water, the dog hairs, plus the small matter of a twelve year old boy gawking at me sitting naked in a doggie bath, combined to have me on the verge of puking, but I pull myself together. Gravel or something like gravel on the bottom of the tub is prickling at my buttocks, and it's totally gross!

Roy, still staring dumbfounded at me, says, in a monotone voice, "I'm collecting for the newspaper, Barry."

Ignoring Roy, he says to me, "Would ya stand-up for a second, buddy? I gotta grab that bungee cord down there somewhere."

I slowly stand up and Roy gets a second look at my shriveled dick. He looks up at me and I look away, then glance back to see him pointing at my penis, then pulling his hand back to cover his mouth, laughingbquietly. I'm surprised my fucking head doesn't burst into flames I'm so embarrassed.

Barry is clueless, he pulls a bungee cord up from the bottom, saying, "I'm busy now, Roy; can ya ask Steve at the register for the money, I'd appreciate it, honey."

Roy says, "Um, sure... why you washing a man in the big dog tub?"

Barry laughs, and says, "He just wanted to try it, honey... you run along now."

I glance over at him and when he sees me looking he points to my crotch, and then back at me holding his fingers an inch inch apart and I again avert my eyes gasping.

Roy giggles... I hate giggling! He leaves the shop walking out the door Molly and I came through a couple minutes ago. I can hear him saying to someone, Molly's grooming a tall naked man with a one inch teenie weenie." Tears of rage form in my eyes... how much humiliation can one guy take?

Barry is humming a soothing sound, unconcerned about the interruption, he quietly says, "Let's get you secure in here so you can enjoy your soak."

Pulling a thick bungee cord from the other side, under my knees, and then pulling on the cord raising my knees further out of the water, she attaches thebcord to this side. Elevating my knees like that would have dunked me backwards under water except Barry anticipated that and got his big hand behind my neck just in time. He then strings another bungee cord lower, just in front of my ankles, pulling my ankles back and I'm pretty much secured in place.

My face is still hot and red from my encounter with Roy, but logic tells me I'll never see him again in my life so I'm willing myself to put it out of mind. Barry's oblivious to my distress; he sweetly asks, "Can you hold onto the sides for a few minutes yourself, puppy? I'll be right with ya soon as I finish Lance. You just enjoy soaking in there for a while, okay?" He's being very nice about everything, but "COME ON!!" I'm naked in a fucking dog bath, for christsakes, and this place is as busy as Grand Central Station!

Lance is apparently the poodle in the smaller cage. Barry carries him to the grooming table and hooks a slip collar around the pouch's neck, then a bungee cord is stretched just under his belly in front of his hind legs. The dogs been washed and dried already, his white hair very clean looking and fluffy. Barry wastes no effort, everything is done efficiently, but not in a hurried manner.

He likes what he's doing, I guess. Music plays in the background although Barry himself is mostly silent except for calming sounds he makes as he handles the dog. He cups the poodle's snout to manipulates the head as he uses clippers to groom the dog in a typical poodle cut. First the bare clippers get the belly and back and parts of the leg etc. Then, a clippers over comb method is used to evenly cut the longer hair areas. It's a silly looking cut if ya ask me, but it's what the dog's master wants.

Brett left instructions for my grooming too, "Not shaved Barry, but down to the scalp. A buzz cut."

He'd said, "You got it, buddy!" So that's that; and, ya know what... after a while you can accept just about anything. It's like I told Mike..."Boys like Me, who get bullied all the time, begin to accept it and even think they somehow deserve the bullying. Nothing specific, just that they deserve to be dominated and humiliated." That's pretty much where I am now, I guess.

Brett just overwhelms my senses, one outrageous humiliation after another. It's never over and now there's Mike to contend with too, a tag-team match... and as a result, here I am getting groomed at Happy Tails Groomers.

Barry takes about ten minutes with Lance. While he's grooming him, me and the pointy eared dog in the bath next to mine, watch his every move. As I said,

Barry's a large man. He's almost a foot taller than i am and almost three times as wide as I am, with huge hands and thick wrists. Done with Lance, he pets him and is tender with him, cuddling with him like i wish i had someone do me. Lance, contented and happy, yips a couple of times and is then put back into a cage where he immediately lies down and goes to sleep.

Barry pets the pointy eared dog sitting in the bath next to mine and murmurs comforting sounds to him before finishing with, "I gotta do this big puppy first, hope ya don't mind, Butch ," as the dog focuses on Barry's every word, looking alert. Then, before he can begin washing me a bell sounds and he goes out front to see what's up. He's a loud talker out there and I can hear him talking to the owner of her next grooming appointment.

A minute later Barry's back leading another medium size dog, of unknown breed, into the cage next to Lance's. Lance immediately wakes up and the two dogs go about smelling each others asshole through the bars.

Barry plucks the sponge from the tub he washed a dog in earlier, squeezes doggie shampoo onto it, and drops it into my bathtub, saying to me, "Pinch your nose closed, puppy, I'm dunking you under." With unhurried, smooth movements, he places his meaty hand partially behind my neck leaving his thumb over the front of my shoulder, I got my nose pinched closed as he knocks my other hand away from the side of the tank and firmly pulls my torso down dunking my head, shoulders, and chest and stomach into the yucky water. I'm submerged from the top of my head to just above my dick with my thighs, knees, and most of my calves out of the water draped over the bungee cord. I'm holding my breath for all I'm worth with eyes tightly closed. Barry's using the dog-bathing sponge in his left hand to scrub my face and head, then behind my neck and shoulders. Long strokes under my arms and down my sides. He manipulates my body with the one hand shoulder grip and at one point my head comes up near the surface for a second and then is forced down again as the sponge forcefully scrubs my chest. I desperately need to breath and try sitting up using the bungee cords for leverage, but my stomach muscles are no match for Barry's hold on my shoulder. The dog hair and germ infected soapy/shampooie water feels almost greasy and I force myself not to think about it. Barry methodically wipes the sponge over my torso, then reaches under to get my back. A few more swipes over my head and she pulls me up. I come out of the water gasping for oxygen, sputtering and spitting out water that slipped past my lips, "How many dogs get washed in this water before he changes it, anyway?"

But, oh man, it's so wonderful to be able to breathe again. My whole body, covered in dog hairs, is tense as my heart pounds and my chest heaves, but at least there's oxygen available to breathe.

Barry continues to be unconcerned about any of my many distresses; apparently dogs get panicky too and he's used to it. Being sure of his skills he remains calm, quietly making soothing noises and then soothingly says, "You're fine, puppy... no worries. Oh, did Barry keep ya under too long? If I did I'm sorry. Arms out in front, please... and don't worry so much, I've got ya, you're safe."

He squeezes the back of my neck and continues with, "This is fun for me, doing you boy puppies, I mean... and especially one as cute as you. Never fear though, I'm not going to hurt you." He adjust his palm behind my head supporting me and that, plus the way he talks, has a very calming influence on me and there's something trustworthy about him too, so I loosen my death grip on the sides of the tub and hold my arms out in front of me as he requested. Barry uses the sponge to wash up and down both arms, then extra scrubbing on the palms of my hands which are dirty from walking on all fours. Leaning over me he reaches the bottle of doggie shampoo and squeezes another good amount on the sponge, all the time easily holding my head out of the water with his other hand. He says, "Relax, okay? What's your name, cutie?" Falling under his control I all of a sudden feel like a little boy, I squeak out, "J.C. Webster," sounding like a little kid. He goes, "Well, relax, J.C., or maybe i should call you FIDO. I've got control of everything, can't ya tell?" I mumble, "Yes, sir, ah... do you expect anyone else to come through? It's kinda embarrassing." He goes, "Probably not, but what's to be embarrassed about. Roy's seen naked males before, I'm pretty sure."

I'm thinking, "Getting washed and groomed in a dog grooming salon? I don't fucking think Roy's seen that a lot!"

And he says, "What's to be embarrassed about?" Is he out of he fucking mind?! Anyway, he doesn't appear to have a mean bone in his body, plus he has a calmness about him and he's nice, so I lay back against his hand and let my arms float among the dog hairs and, whatever else is floating there, and more or less just surrender myself totally to his care. "Good puppy" he purrs, "Let Barry take care of you. Okay, puppy?"

Now I'm in one of those trances, feeling like I'm in a dream, like I'm floating on air. I'm also getting kinda used to the strong odor of the dogs and their shampoo by now too so I let myself drift off into Barryworld, mumbling, "Sure, it's okay, thanks sir. This is nice." And, this mood he's put me in is nice... he has such a calm manner about him, it's no wonder dogs instinctively trust him. It's peaceful knowing he'll be kind to me too; so different from the way I feel when I'm under Brett's or Mike’s control. Using the sponge, freshly covered in doggie shampoo, he washes my groin area with me opening my legs wide giving his full access to my little pecker and long scrotum, she murmurs, "Good boy, let's get your hiney now, okay?" I go, "Okay, Barry," as he's reaching under me running that sponge back and forth in my crack, them he's rubbing the sponge all over both my bubble butts, then the back of my legs and up to my knees. A few more swipes over my asshole, Barry smiles, and in baby-talk, says, "Let's make sure Barry cleans your bumper real good." I smile back at him as I drift off into space.

He moves to the front of the tub to finish washing me so I again hold onto the sides keeping my head above the dirty water. He washes my calves and then my feet. "You have nice big feet and long toes!" he quietly says, as he's wiggling my big toe. I smile at that too; it's wonderful being under the control of someone who's nice, who's kind. Barry drops the sponge into the tub and takes large nail clippers off a side table. Holding my foot out of the water by cupping the heel in her palm, she cuts my toenails down to the quick. The nail clipper looks like a regular one only stronger with a spring to help cut through tough dog's nails. They cut through my toenails like cutting through nothing at all. Finished with the nail clipping of the first foot, he massages it, digging his thumbs into the arch until it almost hurts, but not quite. When the water presses against the top of my toes it feels funny. I've never had my toenails cut down this far before; the sensations of the water against new toe areas is strange. He finishes with my other foot and is now holding one of my wrist in his large hand cutting my fingernails the same way he did my toenails. After he cuts them, my fingernails are so short only the pink part remains, looking like they have pale pink nail polish on them.

Finished both hands, he unhooks the front bungee cord and casually picks me out of the water, his arms under my knees and his other meaty hand behind my neck; I like the way Barry's carrying me. It's like I weight nothing at all and I feel like putting my arms around his neck the way I did with my daddy when I was a toddler... but I don't.

Looking back at the tub and the dirty water, I see my finger nails floating on top of the water mingling with the dog hairs. Dog's toenails are probably dense enough to sink slowly to the bottom of the tub and could be the prickly things I sat on when first put into the doggie bathtub. "Pinch your nose again, puppy. We've going for a dip in the rinsing tank." It's a large deep plastic container that looks like a small above-ground pool. I pinch my nose with both hands, squeezing my eyes shut tight, like a three year old might do before being dunked in the pool by his mommy, "Wheeeee!" He dips me in, totally submerging me with water up to his muscular shoulders. Then up out of the water, then right back down into the water again. Pulling me out entirely now, me dripping with water, still some dog hairs clinging to me, but cleaner ones this time. Thinking this wasn't all that bad, I wipe the water out of my eyes and open them to see two girls and a guy come in the same back door Roy used. All of them are about twenty years old, maybe a year or two older. The girl points at me, and says, "Oh my God! What the hell, Uncle Barry? Ya taking in the homeless now?"

They all laugh nervously as Barry's setting me on the drying table. I'm on all fours because that's the way she set me down. My dick shrinks even more, to a bare nub, and my face is glowing red, the heat on my shoulders is uncomfortable... all from my blush. The three unexpected guests slowly walk around the tank to get a better look, as Barry says, "Oh, hi, Cheryl. Cover your eyes, honey, or you'll embarrass FIDO."

Barry's hooking me up the same way he did with the poodle; a slip collar around my neck, pulled tight. I'm comatose by now and anything anyone says sounds like a repeating echo. I look straight down at the table top without moving a muscle, hoping perhaps if I don't move no one will notice me. Barry's movements continue to be unhurried and efficient, and as he stretches a bungee cord under my belly down near my groin and another one over the back of my knees, he says,

"He not a homeless person, just one of you college kids goofing around with some friends... a dare of some kind. A kinky dare and you know me and kinky, don'cha, Cheryl. We go together like bread and butter."

I can't move forward or backward, completely immobilized and my brain is frozen, while my body's on fire. Each second feels like an hour!

Molly takes what looks like a Q-tip, but larger, and swabs inside each of my nostrils, I try to move my head but the collar just tightens on my neck, my head barely moves.

He goes, "It's okay, relax, FIDO," then to Cheryl, "What can I do for ya, honey?" Cheryl's beside her uncle now; to entertain her two friends she's straining her neck taking an exaggerated look under me at my almost non-existent dick. Without answering Barry, Cheryl directs a question at me instead, "Did you have an accident with your penis, or something? And your bag of nuts, what do ya call that? It's long." One of the boys says, "Scrotum, Cherly... it's the god-damnest scrotum I ever saw." The boy and the other girl come over to peer at it. The other boy says, "I knew a kid in high school who had an infantile penis like this, but not this small." Then to me, he asks,

"Whadda you do, lay across the toilet when ya gotta pee?" Barry's like, "Shhh, enough of that naughty talk! You'll hurt his feelings." In my head I'm counting to one thousand as fast as I can blocking out whatever these horrible college students are saying. Around one hundred I lose count and hear the first boy say,

"Uncle Barry, come on, we wouldn't embarrass anyone for the world, but that scrotum is destined for the carnival. You know, pay an extra dollar to see the world record holder for longest scrotum behind the curtain." Cheryl's persistent with her question, and she reaches over to poke my one inch dick, asking me again, "What happened?" I couldn't talk, I'm only capable of making whiny sounds as Barry says, "Okay, Cheryl your friends are embarrassing him now. Stop it! Look how red he is right down to his bumper. What can I do for you?"

As he's chastising Cheryl for embarrassing me, he inserts a thumb into my mouth and pinching either side of my jaw bone with her other hand forcing my mouth to open, then plugs it open with a rubber stopper and checks inside with a penlight. The three college students snicker and talk quietly behind their hands, then laugh in bursts. Barry clicks on a large electric tooth brush and brushes my gums and teeth with it, as Cheryl's going, "Ewwwww. Do you use that on the dogs?" Molly says, "Enough, Cheryl! Why are you here?" Cheryl giggles, then asks, "Can we borrow your Jeep for a few hours? We'll have it back by the time you close." Cheryl's right... the toothbrush is undoubtedly the same toothbrush she uses on the fucking dogs; why would she have one for humans? This, the college kids and the doggie toothbrush, is really too much and puke rushes up from my stomach. I gag stopping the puke at the back of my throat as

Barry recognizes the situation and forces my head back and up at an awkward angle, stopping the vomit from getting into my mouth. "Now you've upset him, Cheryl. Don't be such a bitch, okay." He said it in a sweet way though, not angry, as he continues the dental hygiene part of my grooming. As the big dog toothbrush twirls on my teeth at the back of my mouth, near my throat, I gag repeatedly but he has my head totally immobilized and, as usual, ignores my discomfort. "Okay Cheryl, you know where the keys are," then to the boy "Artie, would you hold his head in this position for me a second, I need to get a tool to scrap some tartar off his back molars. Artie laughs, but says, "Yeah, sure," and grabs my head twisting it further up, neither of us speaks as Barry scrapes my back teeth with something that feels like a chisel, then sprays water from a bottle into my mouth and a doggie mouthwash refreshes my breath.

Barry looks inside my mouth with the penlight again, as Artie says to no one invparticular, "This is without question the oddest goddamn thing I've ever seen," and everyone, including Barry, has a good chuckle over that. Just when I'm positive my ass is going to catch on fire with humiliation Barry tells Artie he can let go of my head, he gives one painful final push up and then releases me.

I've a pounding headache now and the vomit's right at the back of my throat. Barry says, "Hey, he's just a curious kid who wonders how a dog feels getting groomed. Go on all of you now, let me finish up with this big boy." Then it all caught up with me and I did throw up in my mouth... not a good thing. Little by little I swallow the puke at the back of my throat as Barry pets my head making some of those soothing sounds he'd made while grooming the poodle, as the three uninvited guests leave, giggling and laughing out loud, Barry says, "Sorry about that, J.C., but you don't need to be embarrassed. You can't help it if you have a one inch dick." As if that's accurate or is all there is to it! Good grief, he's awfully nice but out of touch. Come to think of it, I guess he'd need to be out of touch to dog groom a college student.

Molly, with me still secured to the drying table, goes through a series of massages and rubs that, along with her soothing voice, manages to calm me down. They're nobody here but me and Barry now and that's such a relief! Barry murmurs, "That's a good boy,"as he goes back to work, this time swabbing my right ear with one of those big q-tips, then the other ear. Throwing the swabs away, he gets a larger one, dips it in some cream and walks behind me to swab out my asshole. My body jerks, and he quietly says, "Almost done," as the swab twirls inside my hole,

Then further up until it's twirling on my prostate making my dick twitch and was really arousing me. I was breathing heavily

“With puppies we have to expess the dogs anal glands. Is puppy okay?

I was starting to drooling and approaching an orgasm when out comes the swab and into the trash it goes.

It's all so mind-blowingly bizarre, but it feels good and we're along so I fall back into a serene trance... so grateful I'll never see any of those college kids again. It's peaceful and I'm grateful for that. Ripping open a sterile pad, Molly pours something from a brown bottle on it, then reaches under me and pull back the foreskin of my little cock to wipe the head with the pad. I hop a half inch off the table and he gently pats my ass, making those calming sounds again.

Turning his finger over, he wipes inside my foreskin all the way around, the liquid feels cold. "That's a good puppy," he coos, as she tosses the sterile pad in the trash. Patting my head, he quietly says, "I'll get you dry and then you're ready to be groomed." Flicking a switch on what looks like the world's biggest hairdryer causes it to nosily blows a huge amount of warm air over me. It's like being in a wind tunnel. As my body dries, the doggie hairs stuck to me dry as well and are, one by one, blown off my skin and up against the back wall to drift down joining other dog hairs on the floor from earlier washings.

As I'm being dried, Barry washes Butch, who has patiently waited in that medium size tub next to the one I was in. Butch observed every move Barry made while washing me and when he picked me up and brought me to the rinsing station the dog moved to the other side of his tub and watched every move Barry made there too. Butch now gives all his attention to Barry as he's bathing him. The dog's infatuated with Barry apparently, and so am I. He washes him just like he did me except the dog is only about one sixth my size and he doesn't tense-up like I did, so it went much faster. Then Butch is dipped in the rinsing tub and hooked up next to me in a similar manner to the way I'm hooked up. As soon as the dog is set down he shakes his body spraying me with rinse water, but the wind tunnel soon dries that too. I'm quickly as dry as I've ever been in my life, but the warm air continues blowing on me as Barry's busy doing something else. He's carrying a large sheep dog from the end cage to the washing tub, basically doing everything the same way he'd handled me; the dog and I weigh about the same. Barry sits him in the same larger tub I'd recently been bathed in, then hooks him up with two bungee cords so he can't jump out; he's just as immobile as I'd been. Only the top of his back, his tail, and his head are out of the water as he stands docilely, with an expression of almost embarrassment on his face.

My turn again... the wind tunnel is turned off and a smaller version of it is turned on for Butch. Barry unhooks me, picks me up with one arm under my buttocks and the other across my chest and again without apparent effort, carries me to the same grooming table he'd groomed the poodle on. Same routine of a slip collar around my neck tightly, then one bungee cord stretched under my belly near my dick, and one across the back of my knees. I'm totally immobilized once again. Snapping on the same clippers he used on the poodle,Barry takes hold of my jaw and easily manipulates by head this way and that as he runs the doggie clippers over my head. First across the front above my forehead and the half inch long hairs from there fall past my eyes followed quickly by another bunch of short hairs sheared to the scalp by the clippers.

He bends my head way over to the side and shears the very short hairs from there down to the back of the head. Bending my head to the side and to the left he runs the clippers up one side of the back of my head, then again, and again as I feel the short clippings falling on the back of my neck and shoulder. He goes over all areas on this side of my head one more time, pressing the clipper tightly against my scalp. Running his fingers over half my shorn head he goes back over a number of spots with the clippers, just to be sure. The same procedure for the other side of my head and I'm as docile for him as the sheep dog or poodle had been. Satisfied, the clippers snap off and he brushes the clipped hairs off me using a big soft brush that smell strongly of... what else, dogs.

"Okay, puppy, you've just got a shadow of hair left on your head. I could lather it and take the shadow off with a straight razor but Brett wants it like this for now." He's unhooking me as he's talking, then picks me up the same way as before; I'm as docile for him as I've ever been in my life. He says, "It will upset the dogs if you're standing around while I wash and groom them so I'll put you in a cage until Brett comes for you, it won't be long," and he. opens the door to the cage he just took the big sheep dog from and I crawled inside, my dick peeking out from it's hiding place as I get more comfortable with being under Barry's control. My long scrotum hangs down as I look out through the bars of my cage watching Barry wash the sheep dog. He's calmly and quietly murmuring many of the same things to him that he'd murmured to me.

Lance is two cages down, he picked his head up momentarily when I went inside my cage, but then he went back to sleep. I actually feel like a dog, wish I was one and Barry was my owner.

Much longer than 'just a few minutes' passes as I watch Barry finish the sheep dog's bath by dipping him in the rinsing tank. After hooking him up in front of the drier, the front bell sounds. "That'll probably be your mast..., er, I mean, Brett. He's come for you FIDO, let me check. When Barry's in the reception area he's much different than back here with us dogs. Here he's quiet and calm, out front he's loud. I easily hear him say, "Of course he's ready, honey. He was ready twenty minutes ago... I've got him in a cage. That'll be twenty-five dollars, pay the cashier."

I'm thinking, "Twenty five dollars! I gotta pay for this?" I'm out of my trance now and feeling claustrophobic in this cage.

In the lobby, Barry's saying, "He's got a lot of razor nicks on him. I could shave him and groom him professionally for ya weekly, without razor nicks, but that'll cost forty-five dollars."

I can barely hear Brett ask, "Every week?" and Barry's like, "Yeah, I had a regular customer pass away so I got this time spot open, but it needs to be every week or it's not worth it to me." Brett asks Mike, "What do you think? We'll deduct the money from his paycheck of course. Barry could bath him, groom him and shave him every Monday." Mike’s like, "Awesome idea! And while he's at the groomers, we can go to a movie.”

Brett like, "Sure, Mike,"

then to Barry, "Book him in for Mondays at four-thirty."

He's saying, "He's a doll or I wouldn't accept him as a regular, but with him it's doable."

So, my fate's sealed for this treatment every week, more then this treatment, he'll be shaving my legs and balls, and whatever. The word 'mortified!' doesn't adequately describe my state of mind right now. But, what’s new.

Barry comes in and lifts me out of the cage and then without thinking he starts carrying me outside, and I scream, "My clothes!" As he's putting me down, he laughs and says, "Oh, I forgot. Most of my clients don't wear clothes. Hope you enjoyed your spa treatment. And guess what... you're gonna be a regular!

I'll see ya next week." He's expecting I'll be thrilled about that. Oh, what the hell, he's a nice person so I'm not taking it out on him, it's not his fault. I say, "Yeah, that's really something," and he looks at me funny, like I'm not appropriately enthused, so I add, "You did a wonderful job. Thank you!"

He looks pleased now and my eyes get a little teary because he's gentle and nice to me and nobody else has been either of those things lately. I turn my head away and start over for my clothes, but Barry takes hold of my arm, and says, "Could you let me check something before you get dressed, honey?" I go, "Ah..." and I look at the door leading to Brett, and ask, "Ya think it'll be okay with with Brett?" He waves at the door, and says, "It'll only take a minute or two, he can wait. Let me get you up there on the table a sec, okay?"

Before I can answer, he casually picks me up with a hand under each arm pit, saying, "I wanna see what kind of a razor situation we have here so that I'm ready for you next Monday." He holds me over the table in a way that makes me bend my knees and I just naturally get on all fours. He smacks my ass saying, "Can you get over a little, honey?" I crawl over thinking, "He don't know his own strength. Jesus! That smack on my ass was harder and stings more than a paddle hitting me!" He mumbles "I'll make it quick, sweetie," as he's putting the slip collar over my head again and adjusts the bungee cords, immobilizing me. Force of habit, probably.

It's amazing how incapacitated a few taut bungee cords can make you. Barry's behind me spreading my buttocks and feeling between my legs, "Just want to see how extensive the shaving areas are." His big hands wrap around the front of my thighs, up next to my dick, "Feeling for stubble," he says, and I go, "But I don't shave there". His hand travels down my thigh then back up. He says, "I can feel you haven't been shaving here, but there are fine, almost invisible hairs here that need to be shaved if one's to do the job properly; I'll get them for you, I'm a professional." Then he's spreads his fingers wide and feels along my back and shoulders and then down my sides until fingers on either side of me are traveling down my dick, then back up lifting it as a finger feels along the underside of it. He then goes back to spreading my butt cheeks, saying, "I'll shave around your heiny hole too for the same reason; fine hairs."

A shudder goes through me then as the realization of how little control of my life I have... he telling me what he's going to do, not asking if I want it done. Barry's a very nice person, but it's apparent he's aware of the master/slave relationship that Brett and Mike have me in and that's the reason he's so comfortable taking control of me; that reason, plus he's used to always being in control of his dogs. But, come on, this is abject humiliation of the worse kind, and with Barry I don't even get to enjoy the sexual action I get from the boys when they're abusing me. But, as always, I come back to this:

"What the fuck can I do about it?" The answer to that question, at this time is,

"Nothing!" except make the best of it and cooperate so it goes as easily as it's possible to go under the circumstances.

As I contemplate my humiliating situation, Barry's adjusting the bungee cords, then he gets both hands on my hips and turns me over onto my back. The slip collar tightens around my neck for a second, but he adjusts that, then spreads my legs wide so that each ankle is held in place somehow by the bungee cord arrangement. Next he spreads and tucks my arm under bungee cords and I'm spread eagle on the table feeling totally on display. As he lifts my cock, he says, "I'll be shaving you on your back like this for the most part, and finish the job with you on all fours. In order to insure you don't make sudden movements causing me to nick you with the razor, you'll be secured like this." Everything he says is in a matter of fact manner, knowing neither the dogs nor me will complain or contradict him. He's totally in charge of us. "You'll find it's a pleasant experience. I have had it done to myself by a friend a few years ago, so I speak from personal experience." With a couple of fingers he's feeling around my dick, then down my scrotum to lightly squeeze my balls, then his fingers are under my balls, and finally he pulls my scrotum up, and says, "I see Brett's stretching your scrotum for ya. If you want I can pierce this and insert a nice ring or stud. You think about it, okay. That'll cost eighty-five dollars, but is well worth it." I make a noncommittal grunt because I don't want to hurt his feelings; he's nice, but the last thing I want is a stud in my stretched scrotum. I'm going to be enough of a freak having a foot long scrotum as it is. That's how long it'll be by the time Brett's through with me. After rubbing all around my belly and chest, Barry starts unhooking the bungee cords, saying, "You don't have much noticeable body hair, just the fine ones everybody has, but I like you so I'll be giving you pretty much a full body shave. Once you see how it feels to be shaved you'll want to do it all your life." I say, "Not my head though, right?" Barry lifts me down, and says, "That's up to Brett, honey... not me. If ya ask him nicely, maybe he'll let you keep the fuzzy hair you got on your head now." I feel my scalp and can just detect a fine sandpaper feel... boy, it's short alright. As I get dressed he turns his attention to the sheep dog. I say, "Bye. Barry," as I'm leaving, and he goes,

"Bye, puppy. See ya, next Monday."

3 notes · View notes

hash-driveway · 7 months

Text

Down With Me (Chapter Two)

Also on AO3!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Just when Roxie had felt acclimated to Sunnyvale’s events, she had to get used to what Ricky, Bubbles, and Julian got up to when they were together. Ricky grew weed out of his car, in which he also lived. He also parked it in Lucy’s driveway, which she failed to mention to Roxie. Roxie had noticed how little Lucy spoke of Ricky while he was away, always wondering why. Now that Ricky was back in the trailer park, things seemed to make a bit more sense. Roxie was happy to finally have a weed dealer again since she moved, and she appreciated the fact that he offered her a fair price.

Bubbles lived in his shed like before, but he was out and about a lot more. He would accompany Julian and Ricky on their jobs around town. At first, Roxie had the impression that they were actual handymen, and they got locked up for something innocuous. As it turned out, Julian was the one who orchestrated most of their jobs, which usually involved stealing or conning their way into some money. She didn’t know what exactly they were in jail for most recently, but she didn’t really care to find out by asking.

Julian was a fairly quiet guy. He kept to himself most of the time, but was friendly with everyone in the park. When Roxie went on her runs, sometimes he’d be getting his mail or taking the garbage out. She’d try to stop and say hi to him, partially to have an excuse to be near him. After a while, he would be outside nearly every time she was. There was something about Julian that made her want to be friendly, to come out of her shell. It freaked her out a little.

Through their conversations, Roxie came to realize that Julian was sort of a protector of their community, which was something that she certainly wasn’t used to. Living in the city meant fending for yourself, making sure that nobody was following you home or trying to pick your pockets. In Sunnyvale, it was different. Amidst the chaos of the bottle kids and Lahey’s debauchery, this little trailer park was the most tightly-knit neighborhood that she’d been in a while.

On this particular morning, she decided that she would take a rest day– stay in bed a few minutes after her alarm went off, be slow to rise. Still dressed in her pajamas, a tank and sweatpants, Roxie dragged herself out of bed and stepped into her slippers. She brushed her teeth in the bathroom, and headed to the kitchen. As she began brewing her coffee, there was a knock at her door.

Furrowing her brow, she opened her door to see Julian standing outside it, taking up most of the door frame.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, blue eyes boring into hers with concern.

Confused, Roxie cocked her head to the side, “Yeah? Are you okay?”

There was a pause. Julian seemed to be thinking to himself before looking a little embarrassed, “Sorry. It’s just that you’re usually out by now. Thought you were sick or something.” He trailed off a bit. Julian’s apparent concern for Roxie amused her. He raised his free hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You didn’t wait around for me, did you?”

“No, I just… fuck.” Yeah, Julian was definitely embarrassed. Roxie was a bit flattered. It felt nice to know that he thought of her, that she was a part of his routine just as much as he was a part of hers.

“I was just about to make breakfast,” she said, giving him a warm smile, “Do you want to come in?”

Julian took a sip of his drink and smiled, “Fuck yeah.”

She stepped aside and welcomed him into her trailer. Julian practically had to duck to get through her door. Once inside, she made them some scrambled eggs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have much else right now. I’m never very glamorous when I cook for myself.”

Julian shook his head, “No problem. Thanks, Roxie.”

Silence fell for a moment as the two of them began to eat together. They both sat next to each other on her cheap bar stools at the other side of the counter.

“How are you liking living here?”

“Oh, I love it.” She sighed, “So much more peaceful than my old place. I used to live in the city, and to be honest, I hated it. So much commotion. And the neighbors sucked. Didn’t know how to have a good time. Sunnyvale kind of reminds me of where I grew up, so it was nice to be able to be in a place that was familiar.”

“If we know how to do anything here, we know how to party,” Julian responded, “What brought you here?”

She thought for a moment, glancing at her feet as she considered lying to Julian about the real reason why she was in Sunnyvale. Julian leaned his arm against the counter, drink in hand, waiting patiently for a response.

“I, um, left a really, really bad relationship.”

Julian didn’t say anything. He just nodded, listening.

“He made more money than me, held it over my head constantly,” she tried her best to sound like the memories of her ex throwing a vase at her head didn’t haunt her on a daily basis, “Anyway, I found out he cheated on me with my best friend. He freaked out, threatened to kill himself, then threatened to kill me, so I just… skipped town. I needed a fresh start, you know?”

When Roxie looked back at Julian, his demeanor had changed. He was now leaned in a bit closer to her, brows furrowed, a concerned expression on his face.

“Sorry, I dumped all of that on you. Pretty intense, I know.”

“No, Roxie, no,” he reassured her, “He sounds like a fucking dick. You changed your phone number, right?”

“Of course,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed by his response. She rarely expected people to believe how awful her relationship was without all of the gruesome, traumatic details. It stirred a feeling deep inside of her that left her feeling confused.

“Good,” Julian sighed, leaning back a bit, “Dicks like that are trouble. If he ever comes around, let me know.”

That feeling turned into warmth in her chest. She choked back a lump in her throat, which perplexed her further. He believed her? Just like that? He wanted to protect her? No, there had to be a different reason. People didn’t just…care about her.

“I will,” was all that she could utter before a loud banging at her door made her jump out of her skin.

“ROXIE! HAVE YOU SEEN JULIAN?”

Julian shook his head and walked over to the door, opening it and immediately berating Ricky for being so aggressive.

“Rick, calm down. What’s wrong?”

“Lahey and Randy are fuckin’ with my dope plants, they keep telling me that I need to stop selling on the promperty, which is bullshit because how else am I gonna make a living for my family? And they keep bitching about how I haven’t paid my lot fees. This shit’s so fucked, Julian.”

Julian sighed and told Ricky to go back outside, and that he’d figure it out in a second. He quickly took their plates to the sink. He regarded Roxie before leaving, his palm resting on her shoulder.

“You ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

She nodded and gave him a grateful smile, finding herself unable to speak at the feeling of his hand on her skin and the softness of his stare.

After Julian said goodbye, Roxanne was left to sit in the silence of her trailer. She tried to process the sudden mix of emotions that engulfed her as she cleaned up her kitchen.

#julian #julian tpb x reader #julian tpb #julian x reader #trailer park boys fanfiction #trailer park boys x reader #mwrites #tpb #trailer park boys selfship #trailer park boys

4 notes · View notes

z0m813 · 3 months

Text

i went outside today, to a little spot behind my house where some wild blackberries had been growing. there was a huge bush, outstretched and covering all the little weeds growing on the forest floor. i had spotted the bush a few weeks ago, on my search for yarrow. i had promised to circle back to it, but alas, i was too late. it's been hot here in virginia, not as hot as places like texas and california, but still, we've felt the effects of that unrelenting sun beating down on us from 5am to 9pm. the animals have felt it, the insects have felt it, the trees have felt it. when i went back to check on that little bush unfortunately it too had felt gods hand too closely, hot like fire, unending pressure, rough hands that don't know to hold fragile things gently. saddened, i made way back to my yard, not a berry in hand. what a shame for natures food to go to waste behind those bars of briars. before i made it to my porch, however, my neighbor called over. Mary, her name was. she made some remark about my dog who had been barking, quite annoyingly to an elderly woman minding her business i suppose, but i made my way over to converse with her nonetheless. she was picking berries off from her blueberry bush. as we talked, she told me about her refrigerator which hadn't been working since june 23rd, and then her church's outreach program, and then the japanese beetles that had recently held our neighborhood captive. she handed me over a reused strawberry container and i just plucked blueberry after blueberry, listening to her talk. had she known of the secret blackberry bush behind the house? did she know that i had come back empty handed? she didn't, and yet here i was, berries now in hand. i'm doing a project for english class, a 10 page paper with the question, "are humans inherently selfish?" my proposition, although optimistic, is that people are not born selfish, but rather created that way as a product of their environment. i think today was a reminder that i'm on the right track. there is so much bad in the world, so much pain that we cannot control, so much hurt and destruction. that little blackberry bush shriveled up due to humanity's lack of care for this earth- global warming at its finest. and yet i was able to hold company with a little old lady, chatting away and picking blueberries from her personal blueberry bush. she let me keep about half of the lot, even though she commented on how this would probably be the last bit of the year. a fine reminder that not everyone is selfish. not everyone is greedy. there are more of us out there than we think, although that's just my theory. admittedly i am an anarchist at heart and that may shape my opinions. surely that little old lady isn't one. but she shared her berries with me, expecting nothing in return but a pleasant talk. and isn't that anarchism in its purist form? people taking care of each other even when the world's gone to shit.

#z0m813 #poetry #spilled ink #quotes #spilled thoughts #anarchism #anarchy works

3 notes · View notes

imbadatparking · 7 months

Text

Vanessa’s house is the biggest on the block. It sits at the top, overlooking the rest, a beautiful white gate growing unidentifiable purple flowers that change to yellow and blue as the year drags on. The gate is always locked, but the contrasting garden that thrives in the front yard makes it all seem welcoming anyway. I’ve never been inside, but the rumors say that there’s a life-sized painting of Vanessa’s great grandaddy hanging above the real fireplace, that Vanessa has a trust fund in her bank account, that the only reason they live here, instead of somewhere where they’re surrounded by people like them, is because of Vanessa’s daddy’s work.

Her’s may be the biggest, but Charlie’s and oSamantha’s are pretty close. They were no small feats, even looming next to Vanessa’s, with their tall structures and shameless flaunting, even more so considering the other buildings they stood near. The rows of houses get bigger and bigger the further you drive up the hill. The people are haughtier, and the grass, in an almost funny way, is literally greener on the other side.

We live at the bottom, and not very proudly. Stock gray tin roof that causes water to run down its tilted surface, across the rusted gutters, into the house in a way that drip, drip, drips into the bowls we place on the concrete floor. There are only a few houses that look like ours, and the kids sit at the curbs and play jacks and trade dimes and nickels for quarters at the corner store. Past that, the road tilts at an almost 45 degree angle, and another layer of wealth is added for every new house.

It was hard to get used to at first. In Illinois, there wasn’t a Vanessa’s house or a Charlie’s house or a Samantha’s. Our old neighborhood wasn’t divided from those with money and those without. Everyone there had the same gateless front yard where nothing but weeds grew, the same hole in the big toe of their shoe, the same fifty-cent deck of cards to entertain themselves.

I never used to be ashamed of where I lived, because I never had to worry about looking good in front of kids with money, but ever since we moved here, it’s been different. Vanessa told me I could pretend her house was mine, so the embarrassment isn’t as bad, but that doesn’t change the fact that I know where I live. No, I say, pointing to the sad, poverty-wracked building, that’s not where I live, I actually live there, and I’d point from my bus seat to the top of the hill, admiring the way Vanessa’s gleans in the sunlight like gold underground, feeling pride in a place I didn’t even live in. After Illinois, when Mom needed a change of scenery and Daddy needed a reason not to drink, that’s the place we picked. The biggest house on the hill. The one that overlooks the rest.

| k. - @nosebleedclub prompts. march v. drive up the hill

4 notes · View notes

pioneeringpsychonaut · 1 year

Text

April 2023 Gratitude

I'm grateful for coffee and couch naps.

I'm grateful that E came home!!!!!!!!!

I'm grateful for the ability to plan my financial future, and the opportunity to daydream.

I'm grateful to have O on my side at work.

I'm grateful to discover a new joy--ecstatic dance!

I'm grateful for my body and for the pleasures of movement and adornment.

I'm grateful that I've learned how to pace myself at Kfest!

I'm grateful for the chance to sleep beside my partner.

I'm grateful for the trust in community, my partner, and myself, to organize a public drawing scene, and for the silliness and scintillation it inspired.

I'm grateful to be gaining confidence in expressing boundaries, and to have a relationship to trust that my partner will hear me.

I'm grateful to live in a place with interesting and unique international food options.

I'm grateful for the beautiful neighborhood I live in, and for the opportunity to take meandering walks with friends.

I'm grateful for G and how we always seem to be on the same journey, and how I always leave our hangouts with a full cup.

I'm grateful for baby goats!!!!!

I'm grateful for A--and for trusting her and us enough to be vulnerable, and that feelings were reciprocated!!

I'm grateful for weed and reality television, and the excuse of a rainy day to enjoy both.

I'm grateful for the pleasure of having a routine and a local favorite somewhere other than my hometown.

I'm grateful for cool new friends who have their shit together.

I'm grateful for Fatou, for living somewhere where I can walk home from a concert, and for being brave enough to dance and groove at a show even when everyone else chose to stay seated.

I'm grateful, once again, to have friends in my neighborhood that make cozy chill hangs possible.

I'm grateful for the training that I've had to prepare me for difficult conversations with students in crisis.

I'm grateful for a weekend away, the chance to get dressed up, look at some sexy art, and hit on girls.

I'm grateful for coffee, and Daiso, and the ability to pause challenging conversations.

I'm so goddamn grateful for Hawai'i, and in disbelief that work paid for my chance to visit--for warm clear water, for the chance to take myself out and enjoy my own company, for tan lines.

I'm grateful for my team! For the pleasure of coaxing a friend into her first ocean swim, and getting vulnerable, and for meal-memory-delicious roasted taro.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to rediscover solo travel, and the pleasures of fostering connections from afar--sharing a Hawaiian sunset over FaceTime with my mother.

I'm grateful for ube pancakes, for the hotel hot tub, and a long enough trip to pace myself when I need to.

I'm grateful that I pushed myself to adventure and have one of the best days of my life: hiking Diamond Head, snorkeling with sea turtles, parasailing with K, and fireworks in the evening to cap it off.

I'm grateful to be brave enough for a spontaneous tattoo, and to be home, and for E for picking me up at the airport!!

I'm grateful for a whole day to sleep, and for E for surprising me with my favorite breakfast pastry!!

#gratitude #gratitude journal #april 2023 #wow this was a busy great month

1 note · View note

lajecauniverse · 2 years

Text

You said

give me all of it and I will carry it..It’s time for you to rest. I know the plans you have for me to prosper me...and give me a new life. I remember where I was 6 years ago and you brought me out. I’m still embarrassed that I brought over my very rich cousin to stay in the basement where I lived, a place with second hand furniture and lots of cigaret butts and weed; things she's not used to. I remember how she left before I even got up that night...to me, she was disgusted cus back in DR, she had lived her entire childhood in a mansion and her new home is penthouse. To this day, I want to yell at my entire family, that God brought me out and I got a two bedroom apartment in one of the best neighborhoods in NYC, which is a highly achieved goal, and. in a healthy relationship with a very hardworking, humble and sweet man.

In reality, I don't have to yell it out; my ego does. My ego wants me to take revenge on everyone who ever treated me bad...the evil is going against what God is still doing.

I almost died. I became dependent on Xanax for a few years. Had to be maybe 5 years when I couldn’t do anything without it or weed. I was also drinking a lot and occasionally doing E or Cocaine. The family said something about me having to pick one: pills or alcohol, cus I was blacking out every time I was at a party with them...I chose Xanax and stopped drinking sometime around 2018 and became celibate....

My prayer time was consistent and anyone can say, yea but you are high...well, I needed God and God didn’t turn me away when I needed to cry my turmoils and mood swings. I vividly remember my talks with God, my devotion to God in my heart and my desire to find what would make me feel safe....I took Xanax because I was angry and needed to pretend or fake that I was ok in front of everyone...I took Xanax because it would help me forget for a bit, that I was at an unhappy job, I felt horribly about my weight gain due to drinking and eating from anxiety, and I didn’t want to face life alone....in 2016, my companion left...and I had started taking psych meds to not be so angry that I had someone who wouldn't provide and would never work along with me to build a great life but was gonna go once a better opportunity came along...and he did...I kept it honest when I was asked, you cheated? Yes I did cheat...I’ve never been a cheater, but I was high and drunk while working and leaving work at 12am to go party some more with whoever happened to be around. Blacking out and then wondering what I did, the next day.

I didn’t deal with the trauma of betraying someone and them leaving. I cared about the person yet I betrayed them..but it took me until I quit the Xanax January 31st, 2020.

The past few years, all of the things I didnt confront, bombarded me....all the anger I repressed while under the influence of Xanax. To take a personality test and finding out I am extremely disagreeable when for years, I was agreeing and following others’ leads? So now, that I am back, I am telling God to remove all the vengeful feelings inside of me and to give me a spirit of love. Nothing else matters but what God thinks of me...when people know your story, they are quick to judge, but when God who sees it all, can lift you up and call you His, nothing and no one else matters. What they think is their own perception and not the truth. No matter what*

0 notes

kithtaehyung · 3 years

Text

fireworks (3tan) | myg

title: fireworks pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) rating/genre: pg ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au, new years ; angst summary: both you and yoongi hit up the same cul-de-sac for new years, and realizations flood in - one of them being that you really can’t do fireworks. warnings: house party, pining, alcohol consumption, weed mentions, angst.. i mean yeah lol there’s angst but don’t hurt me!, fuckboi!yoongi is a warning in itself note: surprise! i got this idea while ringing in the new year (and it’s incredibly fitting since i also started 3tan on january 1st, 2021.) if you haven’t gotten around to three tangerines yet, i highly encourage you to read that first since this is from the same universe :D it would make more sense! event: ❅ holiday in handcuffs ❅ hosted by @bangtanbathhouse ⤖ spaces: I5, J5, G9, H9, I9 word count: 4.1k drop date: january 3rd, 2022, 9:27pm est ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

Around you, the crisp winter air is different, and not solely because of sparks and drifting smoke.

You’re smiling with your friends as they take pictures to commemorate the end of a shit year. All throughout the neighborhood, multiple people are out and about, mingling on lawns or sitting in their garages to enjoy the flashes of color painting the sky.

Like everyone, you find yourself having a good time, though you didn’t expect much since this past year had not been the best. Between fallouts and failures and unexpected events, you never want to revisit the last three hundred and sixty five days ever again.

Except for one.

One day that you absolutely will go back to—time and time and time again.

And, in a turn of events, the one person you shared it with is currently at this same block party.

You heard from your brother that they were hitting up the same place, so you knew Yoongi would be there. But that knowledge still didn’t stop your heart from jumping whenever you caught sight of him, jacket sleeves rolled to his elbows and Nikes standing out on concrete.

So now, mingling in front of a house two doors down, you sneak glances to catch any sight of him. Wondering how he’s enjoying himself tonight.

For the most part, he’s drinking with your brother and a few other guys. People come up to them intermittently and he’s quick to dap them up or give side hugs to the ones that look especially happy to see him. Witnessing those again, you huff out a tiny laugh; it seems like nothing has changed.

But holy hell, he looks good. It’s a damn shame you won’t be able to have the same amount of contact as the last time you saw him. Maybe never again, in fact.

You try not to think about that.

Suddenly, a shout of your name rings across the cul de sac, and you turn your head to see a couple more of your childhood friends stumbling their way over.

Oh, shit! You haven’t seen them in forever! Delighted, you scamper to the edge of the sidewalk, getting crushed in a hug before you can even say hi.

“What the hell! I didn’t know you’d all be here.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone’s here.”

“So good to see you!”

You engage in conversation for a bit until you realize they are way too tipsy already, so you tell them to get their asses inside, earning protests and giggles. As they walk into the open house, you smile at their bouncing shoulders and thrown back heads. It really is nice to see familiar faces.

But another familiar sight has you faltering as you turn.

The same couple houses down, Yoongi stands with a drink in his hand.

And it’s more than obvious that his eyes are on you.

Temporarily thrown, you don’t know what to do. Do you wave? Do you ignore him? Wait, why is his gaze so obvious! Can’t other people see you? Why can’t you just pick something!

Finally deciding with a gulp, you lift your hand in a slight wave, earning a lazy arm raise back.

Oh, god. Why is that gesture enough to destroy you? You need to go before you look like an idiot. You probably already do! Go, go, go. Now.

Panicked, you spin on your heel, fast walking into the house without a single glance over your shoulder.

————

You’re able to effectively avoid Yoongi for most of the night. But when the countdown is nearing and everyone shifts outside to set off fireworks, you realize that you’ll be out in the open with him again.

With liquid courage, you face your jitters head-on. Laughing, joking, and teasing with your friends always serves to distract you from the lows of life anyway. Tonight is no different.

It’s a new year, a clean slate. Everything will be left behind and dissipating like the explosives cracking above your head.

However, you start to realize that the sounds and bursts are a little too much. Or it’s the fact that some of the guys aren’t too careful with the boxes and tubes, which makes you afraid one of them will tilt and fire in dangerous directions.

So you excuse yourself to retreat. But what’s your plan? What will save you from embarrassment?

Champagne. You want champagne for the new year! Obviously. Perfect.

When you wander into one of the houses away from your friends, you realize that this one is cleared out—save for a few that chose to stay inside to smoke. Stepping through an open foyer, the music that washes over you is chill, tonight’s live broadcast fainting slipping through old school hip-hop.

You find the kitchen easily, happy that it’s still relatively stocked with bottles and cups and empty, shallow plastic containers. Nice. It would’ve been annoying to walk next door.

Leaning against the counter, your slightly buzzed hands find a bottle of champagne and a cup you hope is unused. The current song has you humming along, pouring without thinking and enjoying the quick moment of silence in a bustling night.

Until you hear a muffled laugh that clenches your chest.

Flinching, you cease pouring your drink before you hear a door open and a bunch of guys burst inside. Surveying to the group, you recognize most of them as your brother’s friends, but your eyes snap to the one you absolutely know the most.

You flash a smile as they greet you and throw obligatory happy new years on your shoulders, and the hugs you get are friendly enough. When Yoongi gets his turn, his breath has the same alcoholic tint that yours does as he greets with a low,

“Sup.”

“Hey,” you grin, leaning into his one-armed hug a little too much. “Long time, no see.” It’s a vague comment to everyone else, but the look in Yoongi’s eye holds a lot more understanding.

“No kidding.”

You don’t get another word in because the rest of the boys are as boisterous as always, taking what they can from the smattering of bottles on the counters.

“Gimme some. Hurry the fuck up!”

“Hold on, shit!”

“Y’all slow as hell.”

“Get yourself some then? The fuck?”

Your brother doesn’t seem to be with them, so you figure he’s with another circle or found someone for the night already. In which case, gross.

Yoongi’s arm slips behind you to grab a solo, and you feel his heavy jacket run across your back, your body stiffening on impact. He, however, seems completely unphased as the disruption finally settles in the kitchen.

“Damn, I need a hit.”

“Same.”

“Bet. Yoong, we’re heading out back.”

“K. Be out in a sec.”

Wait.

He’s staying here?

With you?

As you watch the jostling and squeaks of sneakers clear out, you try not to let excitement or whatever other troublesome emotions spill out of your eyes. Even though the heat from Yoongi’s body radiates into your back, making anything incredibly hard. Focus. Focus!

Swallowing, you do your best to keep your expression neutral while feeling anything but. It’s after they all retreat out the back door that you decide to face him again.

Only an outstretched red cup graces your vision.

“Lemme have some of that,” Yoongi orders with a flick of the solo towards a bottle next to you.

“Sure.” You quickly pour him as much as he wants before setting the alcohol down with a heavy thud. As you lean on the counter, you stare at the opposite side of the kitchen and wonder what the hell to do next.

Not once did you guess you would be somewhere alone with him tonight. The situation makes you more buzzed than any amount of alcohol can.

“How’s life?” you suddenly blurt, to which Yoongi snickers over the rim of his cup.

He responds with a teasing lilt, like he knows you regretted your question. “Life’s good. You?”

A drawn out, unsure sound stems from your mouth, and you hold your own solo to your lips in an attempt to keep them from uttering something else embarrassing. “Life’s… good. Nothing too bad.”

“That’s all we need, right?”

“I’ll say.” You take a sip of alcohol, loving how it tastes like courage and stupidity. “How’s the music thing?”

“What?”

Curious, you turn to face Yoongi staring, brow cocked and shoulders tense. Why does he look guarded? Referring to a vision from before, you explain, “I saw equipment on your desk.”

“When did y—oh.” Rough fingers slide across the back of his neck as he looks around, continuing in a much lower voice, “It’s going.”

“Riveting,” you respond, highly amused by his lack of detail. “Don’t forget me when you’re famous and doing hour-long interviews because you can’t shut up.”

In a fleeting moment, you see light burst onto tile as Yoongi laughs, his eyes creasing tight. “Ass,” is all he says back, but it’s enough to have you grinning and burning up beside him.

After that, the little bubble of awkwardness around you pops, and conversation flows a lot more freely. Yoongi stays longer than you expect him to, but still not enough to fill a mysterious gap in your chest.

“Well, I gotta go,” he says after a few more words are exchanged. “But, hey. If you’re looking for a nice spot for fireworks, go upstairs. This house has a sweet balcony view of the whole neighborhood.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You nod before thanking him, wondering how he picked up on your hesitance to stay outside by the street. “I’ll check it out.”

Yoongi smiles before he’s tugged away from you, and you see one of the girls from before on the other side of his arm, liquor sloshing out of his cup and onto her uncaring skin.

“I found him!” she shouts to a random group before you hear amusement spill out of her capture’s mouth.

And you’re suddenly left to yourself.

Interestingly enough, it doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. After all, that exact same scenario is something you’ve seen dozens of times before. Nothing new.

Besides, the New Years countdown is happening soon—at least, from what you can hear on the TV—so you join everyone else gathering in the cul de sac. When you get out there, you find your friends and they greet you with drunken hugs and bright, hopeful eyes.

“We’re going into Jimin’s!”

“Oh, my god, she’s so loud.”

“I don’t care! New years, bitch!”

Mirth shoots out of your mouth as you help the nearest idiot past the threshold of Jimin’s place. Immediately, the humidity of numerous bodies is palpable, and you want to get the damn countdown over with so you can leave.

Pop blasts throughout the rooms as the living room TV is turned up, and everyone gathers to watch the animated host start a longtime tradition in front of a crowded city block. The countdown is echoed by multiple voices, raising in intensity as it gets closer and closer to zero.

Even you start joining in as it reaches ten, looking around the room at all the people wanting the year to fucking end. Not too far away from your spot, you notice Yoongi and your brother with their friends, red cups raised high.

And your heart drops faster than the ball at a sudden realization.

You.

Yoongi.

Living in two separate worlds while being mere feet away from each other.

Muffled shouts of happy new year or a much more explicit version clog your ears, but you don’t get pulled to the present until you get a kiss from one of your drunk girlfriends on the cheek. The wet and mushy nature of it alone is enough to snap your focus straight again, and you face them with fake disgust. Grinning, you playfully shove them while sporting a slightly weakened heart. “You sloppy bitch!”

“You liked it, don’t lie!”

“Wait, do that again I didn’t see it—”

“Fuck off, Tae!”

You can’t help but erupt in more laughter; your friends are idiots and you love them. In the corner of your eye, you think you catch Yoongi watching you before you turn to smile at him, too, but what greets you is something entirely different.

One of the girls from earlier pulls him down for a kiss.

No. Stop. You can’t feel like this. The sight makes you falter in your celebration but you quickly turn away to distract yourself. Cheering, friends, new year. Anything. Anything to ignore the dark, uncalled for feeling coalescing in your belly.

This is normal. Normal, normal, normal. This has happened so many times before. That’s it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Completely ordinary.

You don’t see Yoongi when you look again.

————

More champagne and distraction is what you need, so that’s exactly what you retrieve. Any drinking game offered has you participating, and they are temporary respites from unwarranted disappointment.

But after most of your friends start to head out or are forced to go home by more sober and logical people, your tipsy form retreats to the next house over—the one with the treasured balcony. One moment you’re surrounded by people ringing in the new year with shouts and laughter; the next you’re watching the night while drinking champagne alone.

At least it isn’t entirely quiet. Not with the loud people in the backyard and booms of fireworks. But, even still, it’s enough to let your mind finally wander. To fantasize a world unlike the one you’re in now.

What would it be like? To be that girl easily tugging Yoongi away? To be a person that can pull him down for a kiss in public and not have someone else jumping his bones?

As you watch bright lights leave smoke marks on the sky, you imagine yourself in their shoes. Unbothered. Unchained from any obstacles they didn’t choose to have. Holding on to that one moment in time that you wish you could go back to and stay in forever.

And as your breath wisps around your face, summer has never felt so far away.

Overly rueful, you shoot empty laughs into your cup, your eyes pricked from the cold and absolutely, positively nothing else.

————

You don’t know how long you stay up there, but it’s enough time for winter to burn the tips of your ears. Maybe your brother will be looking for you soon and it’ll be time to go. He better be able to take you home because you are not getting into your friends’ cars.

Home sounds good right about now anyways. You can lock yourself in your room and pretend that your heart isn’t slightly, kinda, terrifically wounded.

As you turn, the sliding door opens.

And the person that walks through is just as shocked to see you as you are them.

You would have thought that seeing Yoongi after that kiss would devastate you. But it doesn’t.

Instead, at the sight of him, you feel strangely… Okay. Maybe it’s the amount of alcohol in your system, or the serendipitous nature of the moment, or the way his fingers grip his beer a tad harder. Whatever it is, you smile without teeth before commenting, “I see someone started the year off right.”

“I dunno,” Yoongi responds, running a hand through his hair as he ambles over to the railing, a safe distance from you. Like he should. “She damn near ripped my tongue out.”

“I don’t blame her. Yours is annoying.”

“Wow.”

Laughing, you extend your glass toward him, trying to come to terms with how far away he has to keep you.

Even though it hurts, at least you can live with that one memory. The one, beautiful memory that changed your entire life.

“Here’s to a happy fuck last year!”

Yoongi raises both brows. You have no idea why.

Until you suddenly realize what your statement could also imply, and your next words trip over each other flying out of your mouth, “Oh, fuck. I meant—I meant the whole year, not like… Umm.”

Making a fool of yourself always seems to work. He laughs at you before clinking your glass. “Happy fuck last year.”

Hearing him say it back is so much worse. If it wasn’t for the sudden bursts of light and hues, you would’ve been retreating into your own head.

But you’re too enamored by the fireworks. Excited, you turn to face the neighborhood rooftops, marveling at the pops and sparkles of color shining above their shingles. It’s a sight to behold. A warm sight during a chilly night.

Squealing unwittingly, you think this is the best way to experience a night like this. Observing fireworks from a distance and not worrying about potential harm, the mini spectacles lull you into a strange sort of peace.

There exists another reason why you’re so calm, though. With just one other person on the balcony with you, you no longer feel alone. At all. Intriguing how one person can make such a difference—or is it because that one person is Yoongi?

More bursts of brilliance boom and break spots in the dark night, and you rest your cup on the railing before gripping the wood with both your hands.

Hands down, this is the most content you’ve felt all night. And the most contemplative. You almost feel nostalgic for the exact same moment you’re living, which you didn’t think was possible until now. Softly, words leave you in puffs of white,

“It’s so weird how you can love something you’re afraid of.”

You don’t expect an answer; you don’t even expect any kind of acknowledgement.

But a beat of silence passes before Yoongi responds, “Geez, you talk just like your brother.”

It’s an empty tease. You know you can speak freely with him, especially after he drilled it into you so long ago. It’s been months, and yet you feel like it’s only been days. Heart somewhat healed from fresh starts and hope, you continue, “I mean, I dunno. I just think it’s interesting. I love fireworks, but apparently I am terrified of them.”

You hear the swig of beer before Yoongi places his glass on the wooden railing, fingers lazily resting on its surface. Some other festive explosives set off in the distance, and you can hear the telltale sounds of sparklers going off in the cul de sac.

“So you like the idea of them but not the real thing?”

Smiling, you turn to face him, admiring his side profile for the upteenth time that night. “I guess so. Weird, right?”

Yoongi keeps his eyes on the night, his lips pursing together in thought.

Turning back to the expanse beyond the balcony, you want to know what he’s thinking.

Scratch that. You admit to yourself that you want to know a hell of a lot more than that. You yearn to know why his life is good, what he thinks about you now, and even the little things, like if he even likes fireworks himself.

“Who cares if it’s weird,” he finally responds in a low tone. “If you love it, that’s just facts.”

If there’s one thing you love about Yoongi, it’s his ability to make everything make sense. At his words, validation fills some of the cracks in your soul.

But you also feel emotions that you know you absolutely should not recognize or entertain seep in. Those need to be flushed out immediately.

More shouts about the next countdown erupt from below, and your heart sinks a few more floors. You know your friends that are still here would want you down there with them. Chest slightly caved, you relent.

“I should go.”

“Yeah.”

His quick agreement cuts through you. Motivating yourself to walk away, you hate how empty you feel when you have to say goodbye.

“Have a good new year, Yoongi,” you whisper as you leave the railing and something more behind. “See you around.”

“Same,” he murmurs back, hands in his jacket and hair catching slightly in the wind. “See ya.”

When you step through the sliding door, you shut it behind you.

And you don’t make another stride.

Seconds and seconds pass, but you still remain. Like you forgot something and refuse to leave without it. Why do you feel this way? Why does it feel like you need to go back?

And then you remember. You’re an idiot and you left nothing but your drink. So you turn back around to go fetch your abandoned glass.

Only to see Yoongi on the other side of the door.

Your heart leaps into your throat, scared shitless because of the shock but also something even more frightening. What is this feeling? Why does it feel momentous?

Why do you feel like crying?

As Yoongi slides the door open, you stay completely still. “I left my dr—”

“Fireworks scare the shit outta me, too.”

His eyes are scanning the room while a hand softly tugs your hip forward, and before you know it, you taste beer and warmth and summer on your lips. Your eyebrows jump impossibly high at the contact, and urgency pushes you into him immediately, drinking as much of him as you can.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. There are people here. Your brother is somewhere in this house and you have absolutely no idea where.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Because Yoongi is kissing you knowing damn well what could happen and it’s igniting a fire in you that will last and last and last. Your hands are frantic in the way they grip the front of his thick jacket, squeezing until your knuckles hurt. And you’re saying something into his lips but you don’t know what the fuck it is. All you know is that he’s responding incredibly loudly through the way his tongue darts into your mouth to shut you up.

You’re not in a random house anymore; you’re in his place. You’re making your way through his living room. You’re thrown onto his sheets.

You’re finding refuge in his arms.

But just like that, the kiss stops.

Yoongi and you pull away at the same time, both hyper aware of your surroundings and the rowdy happy new year shouts a floor below. Your breathing is shallow, like you ran ten thousand miles without pause; Yoongi simply looks like he watched you from the sidelines, smug.

His little breaths of amusement fill the space between you as he hands you your liquor, and you take it before even realizing what’s happening.

“Now go have fun, doll. Don’t spend tonight alone.”

You can only stare at the silver around his neck, wanting to go back to the last time you’ve seen them this close. “Oh…” You know how you want to respond to that, and you know that he knows how you want to respond to that.

So you don’t say what you want to. With a heavy heart, you meekly respond, “Okay.”

“Your kisses got better.”

What?

Your eyes shoot up from the ground as you regard his mouth in a relaxed curve.

Yoongi didn’t need to say that. Or swoop in for a kiss that you’ll be thinking about ten years from now. But he did, knowing the possible consequences and doing it anyway.

Lips puffed and chest burning, you grin—a real grin—giddy and floating high above the cloudless, smoke-filled new year sky. “Thank you.”

He looks at you like he wants to say something, to tease you. But he doesn’t. “No sweat,” is all he replies with, a forearm resting on the sliding door. “Now go.”

So you do exactly as he says, walking through the gameroom and realizing that there is a lot more color in it than when you drifted in the first time. It’s not until you get to the exit that you suddenly spin, a sense of deja vu coating your bones.

“Yoongi?”

He’s still watching you. “Hmm?”

“If I ever… need another favor…?”

Reaffirmation. You need to be okay with whatever he says, but you at least want to be sure. At least, the alcohol in your body and the thoughts in your brain need to know.

Yoongi’s face flashes with multiple possible emotions and answers. Will he say yes? Will he say no? Your feet stay solid on carpet but his silence has you dangling off a precipice.

But you’re tugged to safety as a corner of his mouth lifts, his deep voice holding you close.

“You know where to go.”

And the lights in his eyes remind you of fireworks.

A/N: y’alll tell me why i cried while writing this dsfjdlkjf i love this couple so fcking much it’s actually so scary. :’))) i hope you all enjoyed this surprise drop! if you’re new to the 3tan world, welcome in! happy to have you; we have fun here :D ++ feedback box (new!): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#bts fic #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts reactions #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bangtanbathhouse #dailydaegu #holidayatbathhouse #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #3tanf #SURPRISEEEE #ryenwrites #*latest #blacklist tag for fics:#*ryenfictalk

2K notes · View notes