Can He Spit In My Mouth Next

OH MY GODS??

cosmic kiss

alien!josh kiszka x female!reader

a/n: if this fic is familiar to you that is because i wrote it last year during spooky season & posted it to my old blog, stardustschords. i’ve added to it a bit and now i’m reposting. my best friend @alwayzthere helped me with the ideas here last year when i wrote this. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.

warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+. in this fic, josh is an extra-terrestrial being. all parties are consenting. josh has magic hands and an even more magical tongue. (i have added a disclaimer to the end in case the “plot twist” doesn’t make sense.)

tags: pls let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. @alwayzthere @strangersingold @garbagevanfleet @harmonyhous @obetrolncocktails @godlygreta @gardenvanfleet @singingmangoes @tripthelight-fanfic @theweightofstardust @teddiie @gretavanfleas @brokenbellz @jordierama

“aliens aren’t fucking real, daniel. you’re ridiculous. the fact that you drug me out into this cornfield in the middle of the night is bullshit!” you spew, angry that you’d once again agreed to danny’s shenanigans. apparently sam was unavailable, so daniel forced you to accompany him on his overnight attempt at proving aliens did, in fact, exist.

“i brought blankets and snacks!” he says, flashing you a warm smile, but you didn’t reciprocate. “it’s cold as fuck out here danny, this is so dumb.” you chide, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. you watch as he pulls out some filming equipment, and he giggles as you ask where he got it from. “i borrowed it from the twins.” he goes on to explain to you that cell phone cameras are less likely to capture paranormal or extra-terrestrial activity, so it’s better to use film cameras or disposable.

the twins were sam’s older brothers. jake was the younger twin, by five minutes, which josh made known every chance he got, and he was talented and musical and just fun to be around. josh, however… was a different story. to say you had it bad for josh was an understatement. he was theatrical, loud, and he carried himself with such a lovely, confident air. any time you saw his smile you swore you could take off in flight. you’d told daniel about your crush, but you could never tell sam, because you knew he’d rat you out.

you scoffed at daniel, scolding him for borrowing their equipment for such an idiotic idea. he shook his head at you before going back to setting up.

when he was done he helped you lay out the blanket, and you just sat with him for a while and talked. “danny, this is dumb. can we go home?” you question, but he shakes his head no. “we have to wait! i know aliens are real and i saw online that tonight was the perfect night. just be patient, y/n.”

“this is like when linus spent all night waiting for the great pumpkin.”

☆☆☆

you tried to be patient, but you fell asleep. you were convinced you’d been having some strange dream until you opened your eyes to a solid white room, and your body strapped to a very cold metal table. you blinked your eyes rapidly, unsure of what was going on, and you saw two people standing over in the corner.

in your dream, you remembered a bright light droning down upon you and danny, but after that, everything went black. the people in the corner walked over to you, and you noticed a strange looking woman and…. josh?

you looked over at him and he smiled at you, and all you could do was cry. “please let me up from this table, josh. this isn’t funny. you guys got your halloween prank.”

you saw the woman next to him, who had the strangest eyes you’d ever seen, jotting your every word down on to a notepad. “hello, young one,” josh stated, reaching out to wrap a strand of your hair around his finger, “i am not your friend josh. we are extraterrestrials, and i have taken the form of that whom you most desire.”

tears began to flow even more as you realized that danny HAD told josh of your crush. he looked over at the woman, who you’d assumed he’d hired on for the act, and made a face at her, to which she continued to write. “look, i know this is funny to you guys. i’m sure you probably hired all these people that you knew from your acting and had them help you set all this up, but josh, i’m begging you. please let me go home.”

“listen, pet. i’m sorry that this is confusing for you. since you don’t believe me, i can show you if you’d like.” he speaks, his tone soft and endearing. you shake your head yes at him, and he slowly reaches out to trace a finger up your arm. the moment his digit traced your skin, you felt vibrations begin to flow through you, and the place where he touched you began to glow iridescent.

you stare at him with a bewildered look, but he just flashes you that beautiful smile. “i know this is confusing, and you can still call me josh if you’d like.” you aren’t sure what to say, so you keep quiet. he turns to the woman and nods once and she exits the room. once she’s gone, josh unhooks you from the few wires attached to your forearms and lets the straps binding you to the table loose.

you rub your arms to soothe where the restraints had been and you looked over to josh - the alien - to see what he’d say next. you sat up from the table and glanced around the room. he smiled at you before reaching out and tucking your hair behind your ear. “would you like to know why you’re here?” he asked, and you shook your head yes. you still only half believed this was happening. “i’m very interested in human-kind… and their carnal desires. because i can take the shape of your greatest desire, i’d like to know the reactions you’d give to him if he were to touch you. does that make sense?”

“not really,” you respond, “i still don’t really believe you. this is so weird.” he lets out a soft laugh and runs a hand along your arm, sending shockwaves through you. “you should trust in me, pet. i won’t hurt you” he says, leaning in to you to smell your hair. he places a soft kiss to your ear before asking, “is this okay? may i touch you?”

you nod your head yes and so he reaches down to wrap his hand around your wrist before squeezing it. you can feel the vibrations running up your arm again, matching your heartbeat and creating a deep thrum through your chest. his other hand glides along your jawline, cupping it, and he pulls his face away from your hair to make eye contact with you. before you can register what you’re doing, you grab him by the back of the head and kiss him, your lips meeting ungraciously.

you feel him laugh into your mouth before indulging you for a short moment. his lips are soft and pink and taste vaguely of strawberry, and though it may not be the real josh, you feel drunk from his kiss. he pulls away after a minute or so, and you can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you await his reaction. “i see you’re quite impulsive” he says, rubbing his hands up both your arms. you let a soft laugh fall from your lips before telling him, “i’d never have the guts to do that to the real josh.”

he stares at you for a moment before asking if he can continue, and you tell him yes. he leans back into you, pressing kisses to your jaw, and slowly starts to work his way down your neck. he skirts his fingers just below the hem of your shirt, and suddenly, you feel bold once again. you grab the thin material and whip it over your head, tossing it down to the floor. his eyes widen for a moment as he notices your lace bralette, but then he reaches a hand out to cup your breast over it.

he gradually begins to trail kisses down your neck and into the valley of your breasts before he slips a hand under the bralette and works it over your head himself. you let him take it off you and he throws it down to meet your shirt, and then trails even more kisses over your newly exposed flesh. you arch forward into his touch and you hear him hum in satisfaction as he latches his mouth around one of your nipples. the feeling of his mouth on you with the added vibration that you’re given from his touch is making your brain cloud, and you close your eyes so as not to get dizzy. he pulls away from you softly to ask you to look at him, and you try your best to keep your eyes open.

once he’s satisfied with the work he’s done on your chest, he continues down your stomach, dropping to his knees on the floor. he looks up at you through his eyelashes and you feel your heart melt, until he asks you, “may i taste you?”

you don’t think that you can ever speak again, much less answer his question with a single word, so you just nod your head yes and lean back slightly on the table. he slowly pulls your pants and underwear down your legs, and then he helps you position yourself so that your knees are bent and your feet are flat on the cool metal. he leans into you slowly, pressing kisses to your thighs, and then slowly begins to roll your clit with his tongue. you make eye contact with him and he takes it as encouragement to continue, and you mewl as you feel his strong hands wrap around your thighs to hold you closer to him.

at first when you feel his tongue prodding at your hole, you jump, but then your body melts into him as a wave of euphoria washes over you. at first it feels gentle, as it would if you were being eaten out by a normal human… but then it changes. you can feel the muscle begin to grow thicker and longer inside of you, and josh curls it upward to press into your g-spot. his grip on your thighs changes as he begins to radiate vibration back into you, and you’re sure the noises leaving your body are other-wordly.

you stare down at him, his face pressed into you, and you think you’re going to black out when he flashes you a wink. his tongue is so deep inside of you that you can feel it hitting your cervix, and you struggle against his grasp as you try to push yourself farther down onto him, if at all possible. you feel him laugh against you and the added vibration of his voice almost knocks you over the edge. every languid movement he makes inside of you pushes you closer and closer to your impending orgasm, but just before you cum, he stops. he moves his face away from you and stands, and you almost begin to sob from the loss of contact. “it’s okay, don’t cry,” he says softly, leaning back into your neck and kissing you, “we aren’t done. i just want to feel you cum around me, that’s all.”

he begins to suck and bite at your neck slowly, painting the skin with pink and purple marks. you’ll be glad to reminisce over those for the next few days. you grab his shoulders and push him backwards slightly before gripping your fingers into his hair and pulling him towards you, your mouth meeting his clavicle. you bite into it gently, because if you get marks so does he, alien or not. he moves slightly to lift his shirt over his head and you blush realizing that you’re completely exposed to him while he’s been fully clothed.

you watch him as he tugs his pants down his legs, following with his underwear. his cock springs upward against his abdomen and you find yourself blushing at the sight of it. it’s beautiful, like him, and you wonder if that’s what josh ACTUALLY looks like naked. as if he can read your mind, he hooks a finger under your chin and whispers, “what you’re seeing is what you get, baby.”

you lean back a little farther on the table and he places himself between your legs, slowly inching his cock towards you. you whimper as you feel him slide it through your folds and tap it against your clit. once he’s done teasing he pushes into the hilt, and the feeling of him buried inside you is almost enough to make you cum right then. he begins to rock himself in and out of you slowly, and you grab onto his hands and squeeze them hard. you’ve never been made to feel this way before, and your body isn’t sure how to react.

every inch of your body is slowly being coated with pleasure, and every movement from josh is a driving force tipping you over the ledge. “cum for me, it’s okay” he assures you, and you can feel yourself slipping after only a few moments of him fucking you. it doesn’t take long for him to cum either, his body working over yours with soft grunts and pants. once he’s finished he pulls out, and then sweetly helps you clean up before you slip into unconsciousness.

☆☆☆

your body jolts awake suddenly, and after rubbing your eyes a few times you realize you’re in daniel’s room. you look over to the floor and see a pile of blankets there, so you assume that’s where he slept. he walks casually through the door, scrunching his hair with a towel, and smiles at you.

“did you sleep okay?” he questions, and you give him a strange look. “i had this crazy ass dream, actually. how’d we get back here?”

he tells you that he got bored after you dozed off and decided the trip was dumb, so he helped you into the car and you just came back and crashed at his place. you nod, your focus still lingering on the dream you’d just had. “go get cleaned up,” he says, tossing you a hoodie, “we’re picking the kiszka’s up and going to breakfast.”

you walk down the hall to his bathroom and inspect yourself in the mirror, sucking in a sharp gasp when you see your neck littered with marks… so you hadn’t been dreaming all along. you wash up and change your clothes before meeting danny outside, slipping into the front passenger seat next to him. he makes the short drive to the boys apartment, and you laugh as you see them stroll outside.

jake hops in behind you, wishing you a good morning and giving you a soft smile before smirking at the marks you’ve got on your throat. josh clambers into the car next, scooting himself into the middle seat. he says nothing, but he has a playful grin on his face. next comes sam, and as he gets in the car he curses and tells josh to “scoot the fuck over.”

josh doesn’t oblige, but you can tell they’ve been bickering all morning because jake seems to have had enough. he grabs josh by the collar of his shirt and yanks him closer to his side, and your breath hitches in your throat as his left clavicle is exposed to you. a bite mark in the shape of your mouth is forming there, deep and purple.

josh doesn’t say a word, but he meets your gaze in the rearview before winking at you, and then sticking out his tongue tauntingly.

•••

disclaimer: josh was an alien the whole time. lived an entire life on earth as an alien. he probably is one in real life. who’s to say?

OHHHH MY GODS

Deeper, Deeper, Deeper

Josh x Male! Reader

Warnings: Deepthroat, gagging, spit mentioned, breath play, minor degradation, sub!josh, m!Sub, M/M

Josh was excited for the end of tour, since it meant he could be a little rough with his voice.

The second Josh stepped off stage at their last show, he high-tailed it back to his hotel, not bothering to get out of his stage suit or his makeup. All day he’s thought about one thing, and one thing only: Being done with tour means he can be rough with his throat again. Or, well, you can be rough with his throat again, more accurately.

Josh wouldn’t call himself a deviant, but the man had his kinks. Unfortunately, when you’re a singer, you rarely find the time to risk losing your voice for a few days so you can deepthroat your partner’s cock. It’s one of the things he always looks forward to when taking a break from tour and recording.

He slipped into his hotel room, an excited grin on his face as he saw you waiting for him on the bed. He locked the door behind him and approached you, his hips swaying slightly with each step. The sequins and rhinestones on his jumpsuit glinted under the dim light in the room.

He climbed up onto the bed and right into your lap, that grin still on his face.

“Hi there, baby,” He mumbled, his arousal already growing under his velvet suit. You kissed his cheek, then his lips, knowing exactly what he wanted as he palmed you through your pants.

“My, my,” You spoke, your voice low as you trailed your fingers up to his neck, “You seem rather eager to get my cock down your throat. You really need it that bad, Joshua?”

He inhaled sharply as you lightly squeezed his throat, his eyes flashing with excitement and desire. “Mmm, fuck… Yes I do, baby. I’ve been thinking about it all day long,” He admitted as he groped over your hardening length, feeling it throb beneath your pants.

Leaning down, he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent. He popped the button of your pants open and tugged down the zipper, lifting your hips to get them off of you. Josh’s eyes lit up as your cock sprung free, a low whistle escaping his lips, “I never get tired of seeing you like this…”

He laid back on the bed, letting his head hang off the edge. His curly brown hair hung loose, a mess after so many shows. He looked up at you from upside-down with a lust filled gaze, parting his glossy lips in invitation.

As you slowly pushed your cock past his lips, Josh’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a muffled moan around your length. His tongue swirled around the head, teasing the sensitive underside as you slowly pushed more of your cock into his hot, wet mouth. At the same time, you reached out to palm his through his jumpsuit, a dark spot already visible on the fabric by the head of his cock. He rutted against your hand, the sequins and rhinestones of his jumpsuit catching the light.

As your cock hits the back of his throat, his nose was buried between your legs, right in your balls. He inhaled as best as he could at that angle, urging you on with a needy whimper. Despite the gagging sensation, he relaxed his throat to take you as deep as you could go, determined to swallow every inch of your cock.

You growl out a moan as an obscene bulge is visible on his throat from your cock. He whined as you traced it with your fingers, the vibrations sending tingles of pleasure through your length. His hips bucked against your teasing hand, the hard ridge of his clothed erection seeking desperate friction. He tried to bob his head, taking more of your cock in and out of his mouth. Drool dripped from his lips to the plush carpet at your feet, making a mess of his face. You could only imagine what his eyeliner looked like.

One of his hands came up to fondle your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. You groan, and begin slowly face-fucking him as he hung off the bed. On a particularly rough thrust, he gagged loudly, and you pulled off for a moment, letting him gasp in a bit of air.

“You’re doing so fucking good, baby… Wanna keep going?” You asked, stroking his cheek.

He looked up at you with a wild, lust crazed grin, “F-fuck yes… Just like that (Y/N)… Use my fucking throat like a cock sleeve. I can take it,” He rasped, his voice already wrecked. He opened his mouth wide, lolling his tongue out in invitation as he looked up at you with desperate, pleading eyes, urging you to continue.

You complied, and Josh took your cock deep into his throat again. Drool and tears ran down his face as he gagged and choked around your intruding cock. You fucked into his throat with careful thrusts, your balls slapping his face with every thrust forward. His own cock throbbed urgently in his jumpsuit, the wet spot growing larger as his arousal rose. He kept grinding his hips up into your hand, desperate for any friction he could get. The sound of his choked gags, your pleasured grunts, and the slap of skin against skin filled the room.

You knew you were getting close, that band of pleasure getting tighter and tighter with every thrust. You stroked Josh through his jumpsuit, wanting to get him off too. His whimpers and gags are loud, and you knew he’d need air any second. One particularly rough thrust made him moan around your cock, and you were done.

Josh gagged and choked as you buried your cock deep in his throat, your hot seed spilling down his throat. The sensation of you being so far down his throat was what pushed him over the edge, and he came undone with a muffled scream around your pulsing cock. He yanked his head back, gasping and sputtering, your softening dick slipping from his lips with a wet pop.

There’s a large dark spot on his jumpsuit, while drool, tears, and makeup run down his face as he gulps in much needed air, his chest heaving. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

His voice was absolutely wrecked, no doubt useless for the next few days. It was worth it though, Josh thought, a dazed, satisfied grin on his messy face as you coddled him.

Every time I see a siblings x reader threesome fic:

I will not hear your technicallities on this, you don't have to justify it to me, just yourself.

I haven't written in a while but I feel like I should share I was working on this insane highschool sanny fic where they were cast in the one act play "Ray and Milo"-Chris Sheppard because that is the gay penguin play and I'm a huge theatre nerd and I'm debating on picking it back up for sillies idk

proud to say I know which photo

based on that one image on twt idk Sorry...

oh this was so beautiful. this will be the reason I learn how to line dance

Boots, Beards & Betrayal

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Danny finds a new pass time while Greta Van Fleet is off from touring that doesn’t involve the Kiszka’s, and they are less than accepting.

Warnings: language, assless chaps, Sassy Sam, Sunglasses at night - indoors, theft if you squint, alcohol consumption, a super bendy, a flexible guy named Ryder, shameless flirting, and the misuse of an Applebees 2 for $20 meal…

AN: This idea was born from seeing a random line dance tiktok while i was talking to @tripthedharmadivine! I actually sent her a very long message that started with "Imagine if you will -" and proceeded to fill her inbox with the most unhinged very shortened rough draft of this. She is a real one because she puts up with me, lol! 💜😘I also need to thank @writingcold because she read it first to make sure it wasn't too out there, and to make sure I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's. She is an amazing human that one! And she also puts up with all of my harebrained ideas, and usually has some kind of input to make them better! 💜😘 LOVE YOU BOTH LONG TIME!

It all started with a girl.

Well, kind of.

Really, it started with Daniel Wagner following a girl into a honky tonk on a Thursday night - cowboy boots clicking like a metronome for the unhinged, disco ball spinning just a little too fast, the air thick with cheap beer, cigarette ghosts, country twang, and the scent of heartbreak that had been marinating in the floorboards since 1973.

He didn’t even get her name before she disappeared into a sea of denim, rhinestones, and the kind of joy only found in synchronized stomping. She was gone in an instant. Vanished between a man in assless chaps and a woman drinking tequila straight from a glittery boot.

But it didn’t matter. Because something else caught his eye.

Line dancing.

Structured chaos executed with wild precision. Absolute boot-stomping, fringe-flapping anarchy in 4/4 time. The dance floor moved like a single, glittery organism, every heel-toe and clap echoing like gospel. Boots stomped in perfect rhythm to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” and something deep in Daniel Wagner’s soul - something dusty and long-dormant, shifted.

He stood there, eyes wide, transfixed. A grown man with calluses from drumsticks and emotional walls like Fort Knox, now practically weeping over a grapevine step.

He didn’t know where the girl went after that.

He didn’t care.

Within minutes, he was in the corner of the bar, hunched over his phone, trying to learn the Electric Slide from a YouTube tutorial titled “Beginner Line Dancing for Southern Moms.” His concentration was absolute. The bar could have been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed unless the flames tapped to the beat.

And that’s where everything began to fall apart.

~~~~~

By the next Thursday, Daniel had returned.

Voluntarily. Eagerly.

Wearing a pearl snap shirt and a belt buckle so large it could pick up satellite channels. His boots were polished. His confidence was unearned. But dammit, he knew two whole line dances now and half of “Fancy Like.”

The bartenders greeted him with a nod. The DJ called him “New Boots.” A bachelorette party asked for a photo with him after he did the worm during a line dance break. He’d never been more alive.

And like any man in the first stages of a sudden identity crisis, he threw himself in completely.

By week three, he had purchased a denim vest embroidered with “Boot Daddy.”

By week four, he was attending practice. With a group. On purpose. In a church basement where everyone brought snacks in Tupperware and spoke in hushed reverence about the “Chattahoochee Slide Incident of ’19.”

Daniel didn’t understand it all. But he felt it. In his boots. In his bones.

At home, however, things were beginning to unravel.

He stopped replying in the group chat. He missed three rehearsals. He turned off his read receipts.

Josh tried calling him twelve times in one day. Sam drove by his house and swore he saw a hay bale in the driveway. And Jake… Jake refused to speak of it. Every time someone brought up Daniel’s name, he simply looked out the window and whispered, “He was the glue.”

By the fifth week, the others were fully convinced Daniel Wagner had been abducted by the Honky Tonk Underground.

“Guys,” Josh whispered one evening, holding up a blurry photo he’d found online. “This was taken last Saturday. That’s Danny. That’s him. In a hat. A real one. Not ironic. And look at his hips. They’re swaying.”

Sam leaned in, horrified. “He’s become one of them, and he looks... happy.”

Jake’s sunglasses glinted under the overhead light. He hadn’t moved in hours, but now, slowly, mechanically he reached down and pulled on his boots.

The others fell silent.

Josh swallowed. “What are you doing?”

Jake stood, slow and deliberate. He cracked his neck. “We’re going to get our drummer back.”

Sam grabbed the random zucchini laying on the kitchen counter, “Danny would understand,” was all the reason he gave. 

Josh grabbed a tambourine,  “For distraction purposes,” he clarified.

Jake grabbed the keys.

And with all the gravity of a rescue mission gone too far, they climbed into Jake’s jeep - an old thing with too many bumper stickers and a distinct smell of regret - and tore off into the night, following the distant sound of fiddle strings and heartbreak.

~~~

The honky tonk loomed ahead - loud, pulsing, alive. From the outside, it looked harmless enough. Neon lights. A wagon wheel. A banner advertising “Thirsty Thursday Boot Scootin’ Bonanza.”

But the trio knew better.

Inside that barn-shaped dive was a cult. A rhythm-based utopia. Their drummer - their friend - was somewhere in there, two-stepping further from sanity with every chorus of “Friends in Low Places.”

Jake killed the headlights a block away.

They parked in an abandoned Sonic lot and approached on foot, sticking to the shadows like denim-clad ninjas. Sam crawled behind a row of hay bales. Josh rolled unnecessarily across gravel, smearing dust and dirt all over his pants, that somehow made them shimmer and sparkle like glitter. Jake simply walked, slow and deliberate, sunglasses reflecting the honky tonk’s blinding marquee like some kind of country-themed action hero.

As they reached the entrance, they paused.

“Remember,” Jake said, voice low, teeth clenched around a toothpick that he had picked up somewhere along the way. “We go in quiet. Observe. Blend.”

Josh nodded. “Got it. Stealth.”

Sam gave a thumbs up. “I brought disguises.”

He pulled out three mustaches. All the same. All far too large.

Jake blinked. “That won’t work.”

“It will if you believe,” Sam whispered ominously, already sticking his on upside down.

They slipped inside with the slow-motion gravitas of an early 2000s action movie. Boots hit the floor in perfect sync. The bar lights strobed dramatically, though that might’ve just been a power issue. Everything slowed down - the glitter in the air, the whirl of the disco ball, the swirl of fringe and flannel moving as one.

Time didn’t stop, exactly. But it did sway to 4/4 time.

Jake scanned the crowd.

Josh gasped. “There. At the bar. It’s him.”

Daniel Wagner. Wearing a shirt that read “LINE DANCING SAVED MY LIFE.” Laughing with a woman in fringe and a man named Skeeter, who had a full sleeve of cowboy boot tattoos and the confidence of someone who'd line danced through a tornado.

“He’s… happy,” Sam whispered again, like it was the worst thing that could possibly be true.

They didn’t move. Just watched. Observed. Absorbed.

The bar smelled like spilled whiskey, deep-fried regrets, and…. glitter? A banner hung above the stage: “HONKY TONK ROYALTY: Line Dancing King & Queen Showdown”. The stakes? A trophy shaped like a rhinestoned boot, Honky Tonk King & Queen t-shirts, and a $50 gift card to Applebee’s each.

The music was loud. The crowd was louder.

Josh stared wide-eyed from the back of the bar. “...Did that sign say queen?”

Sam elbowed him. “Focus. We’re here for Danny.”

Then, as Sam turned to look at him, without warning - Josh was gone.

He slipped into the crowd, tambourine tucked under his arm, hips beginning to twitch dangerously to the beat. Sam cursed and ran after him. “DON’T YOU DARE CONGA LINE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Jake stayed in his spot.

Watching.

Waiting.

Planning.

They’d come for a rescue.

But the honky tonk had other plans.

Jake adjusted his belt buckle - pointlessly, but aggressively - and stepped into the fray.

The moment he crossed the dance floor’s threshold, something shifted. The lights hit him like judgment. The beat pulsed beneath his boots. A fiddle wailed from the speakers with the kind of violence that sounded… personal.

He was in the belly of the beast.

Line dancers moved in precise formation, parting just enough to let him pass like some kind of denim Moses. A woman in a pink cowboy hat winked at him. A man in sequined overalls offered him a Bud Light. 

Jake didn’t falter, just continued moving.

He stalked forward, sunglasses still on despite the dim lighting, scanning for Daniel - his brother in rhythm, lost to the glittered cult. He passed a couple practicing the “Honky Tonk Hipslap,” a bartender doing shots with a man wearing a bolo tie shaped like a scorpion, and an elderly woman who looked him up and down and whispered, “Gahlee boy, you look like trouble.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Ma’am,” before he made his way toward the stage for a better view of his surroundings.

Sam, still chasing Josh through the crowd, came to the middle of the dance floor and stopped dead in his tracks.

Daniel. Dead center of the dance floor. Mid-“Tush Push.” Beaming. Alive in a way Sam hadn’t seen since they played Red Rocks. Surrounded by people who were cheering him on like he was homecoming royalty.

Sam’s chest tightened.

And then the music stopped.

A voice boomed over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new challenger.”

The crowd turned.

Sam froze. “I’m not—”

But it was too late. The dance floor had closed in around him. The DJ hit the intro to “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” like it was a war cry. A woman handed Sam a fringed vest. Someone put a solo cup in his hand. The lights dimmed.

The crowd chanted: “DANCE OFF! DANCE OFF!”

Daniel stepped forward, face flushed, breathless, smiling. “Sam?”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “We came to bring you back.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Then dance for me, bitch.”

And with that, the crowd roared, the beat dropped, and Sam Kiszka - bassist, brother, reluctant savior - was dragged into the most aggressive line dance showdown in honky tonk history.

It started innocent enough.

Sam threw down a decent heel-toe combo. Nothing fancy. An attempt at a little old school mashed potato with a dash of the twist, and a few claps, just trying to keep pace with Daniel’s frighteningly natural rhythm. The crowd whooped, forming a circle like a country-western fight club, drinks sloshing and boots stomping in chaotic support.

Daniel grinned and spun - a perfect lasso-motion with his arms - his fringe cutting through the air like judgment.

Sam mirrored it.

Then Daniel body rolled.

And that’s when everything went sideways.

Sam hesitated. A body roll? Here? In daylight, with his brothers watching? But the crowd cheered. Encouraged him. Demanded it.

He rolled.

It betrayed him.

His back cracked like a haunted attic door. His hips lied about their range of motion. Jake gasped as he heard the crack from the edge of the dance floor. Someone yelled, “OH NO HE DID THE SPINE SHIMMY.”

But Sam kept going.

Fueled by pure spite and one tequila shot he deeply regretted, he doubled down. Hands in the air. Shoulders rolling like he’d been possessed by the ghost of a jazzercise instructor. Daniel answered with a slide, a spin, and a devastating finger-point.

Sam couldn’t lose.

So, naturally, he attempted a pirouette.

Why?

No one knows.

Not even Sam.

He lifted his arms. Planted his foot. Turned - once, twice - too many.

His other boot caught on a discarded cowboy hat. He flailed. Time slowed.

The crowd gasped in one collective inhale as Sam went down, limbs flailing like a noodle in a car wash. He hit the floor with all the grace of a wounded armadillo.

A hush fell.

Then, the DJ whispered reverently: “Fatal pirouette.”

Daniel extended a hand. “Nice try.”

Sam, flat on his back, groaned. “Tell my bass… I died line dancing.”

Jake facepalmed before choking out a laugh.

Josh shouted as he danced the funky chicken, “I TAUGHT HIM THAT SPIN!”

Sam’s head whipped around from the floor.

“No,” he croaked, eyes narrowing like a man who’d seen too much. “No.”

He sprang to his feet with the speed of someone who had absolutely no business springing to their feet.

“There he is!” he barked, pointing like a preacher spotting sin. “Josh, no!”

But it was too late. Josh had fully committed. His shirt was unbuttoned to his navel, his hair fluffed by the honky tonk air like a shampoo commercial in slow motion. He was doing a cowboy shimmy that felt deeply illegal in at least three states.

Sam tore across the dance floor, dodging boots, fringe, and pure chaos. “I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU START TWERKING—”

Josh cackled and galloped toward the back exit, two-stepping his way into legend.

Sam chased after him, red-faced and limping slightly, yelling, “YOU’RE RUINING OUR FAMILY NAME!”

Sam chased Josh through the back exit, boots skidding over gravel, past a smoldering ashtray and someone’s forgotten purse. But when he rounded the corner—

Nothing.

No Josh.

Just an empty lot lit by the neon hum of a flickering "Longneck Saloon" sign and the faint echo of laughter on the wind. Sam spun in a circle, hands on hips, muttering curses under his breath before trudging back into the honky tonk with the solemn air of a man who had seen things.

And then - there he was.

Daniel.

Cowboy hat tilted just so, arms locked with that same mystery girl, stomping and spinning like he’d been born in a barn and raised by honky tonk angels. His shirt clung to him in all the right places. His smile could light up all of Nashville. The dance floor glowed around him like a stage ordained by heaven and Bud Light.

Sam stopped cold. Jaw slack. Eyes wide.

He was watching a miracle. Or maybe a cult recruitment.

Josh sidled up beside him, whispering with reverence, “…Is he glowing?”

Sam’s fists clenched. “She corrupted him.”

They were just in time for the final round.

Josh shrugged off his jacket with Broadway flair, grabbed the nearest twink - whose name, it turned out, was Ryder - and shouted, “Partner me UP!”

Ryder screamed with delight. They twirled directly into the spotlight, as Josh summoned super bitch telling Danny to “fuck off” as Ryder twirled him around the floor to the sounds of Hank Williams Sr singing “Hey Good Lookin” in  a blur of sequins and commitment.

Sam tried to follow. He really did.

But fate, and someone’s discarded bolo tie had other plans.

He tripped, windmilled, and dominoed straight into three contestants and a bar stool, landing in a pile of denim, feathers, and mild embarrassment. The judge held up a hand. “Eliminated.”

Furious. 

Petty.

Sam resorted to throwing peanut shells on the floor trying to make Danny’s dancing partner slip and fall.

When those failed?

The chair he was sitting in came next.

It arced across the dance floor like a majestic, wooden missile, slow-motion and poetic. The impact was cinematic. Danny and the girl were mid-spin when it struck—shocked betrayal frozen in time as they toppled together like romantic bowling pins.

Josh and Ryder went down next. Legs tangled. Sass flying.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The DJ whispered, “Y’all… it’s a massacre.”

The honky tonk was chaos - upturned chairs, groaning dancers, peanut shells raining like confetti.  Amid the wreckage, Sam, Josh, and Danny regrouped by the jukebox, breathless and covered in varying degrees of sweat, sawdust, and shame.

Josh rubbed his elbow where he and Ryder had gone down. “You launched a chair, Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms. “It was symbolic.”

“Of what, exactly?” Danny asked, brushing sawdust off his shirt. “Your inability to cope with losing to a guy doing the Cha Cha Slide in cowboy boots?”

“You were glowing,” Sam snapped.

Danny’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You had that weird... twinkle thing going on,” Sam mumbled. “It was unnatural. Like you’d been kissed by Dolly Parton herself.”

Josh threw his hands in the air. “You assaulted all of us because Danny found his rhythm and I found a very flexible man named Ryder?”

“He flipped into a dip, Josh!”

Josh smirked, “Twice.”

“Okay, ENOUGH,” Danny said, running a hand through his hair. “We lost. No trophy. No t-shirts. No bragging rights. No Applebee’s gift card! Thanks to Sam’s cowboy WWE debut.”

They stood there, glaring, stewing in collective irritation and disappointment, when a sudden quiet washed over them.

Sam looked around. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

They all turned.

Scan of the bar - no sunglasses at night. No boot scuff trail. No awkward attempt at dancing with a drink in each hand.

Josh frowned. “He was at the bar when we came back in.”

Danny squinted toward the shadows near the back booths. “He’s not with tequila boot lady…”

Sam’s voice dropped. “You don’t think he left, do you?”

They fell silent. Something cold slid down their spines, replacing the whiskey warmth.

Josh glanced at the exit. “C’mon. We better find him before he signs up for karaoke. You know how he gets.”

Danny grabbed his hat. “Or worse - tries to slow dance alone.”

Sam shivered. “The horror.”

But just as they turned toward the exit, a sharp twang split the air.

All three froze.

Heads turned toward the stage where a small crowd had begun to gather, gasping and whispering.

And there he was.

Jake.

Standing dead center under the spotlight, stage lights catching in his hair like some tragic honky tonk messiah. He held a fiddle in his hands - wrong, completely wrong - like it was his SG. His fingers fumbled across the strings with the uncertainty of someone trying to butter toast with a spork.

Josh whispered, horrified, “Is he trying to play that thing?”

Jake squinted. Turned it upside down. Back again.

Then he began to pick.

Random, discordant notes at first - like a drunk mosquito tapping out Morse code.

Danny winced. “This is how revolutions start.”

But then—

Magic.

Like someone flipped a switch or poured moonshine on a gremlin.

The notes twisted into something terrifyingly familiar. Fast. Faster. Too fast.

Orange Blossom Special, but played like he was being chased by demons. The fiddle let out a scream of sonic chaos, and Jake leaned into it like he was summoning ghosts. His foot stomped the beat. The bow blurred in his hand.

Josh’s jaw dropped. “He’s - he’s shredding.”

Danny blinked. “On a fiddle.”

It was unhinged. It was magnificent. It was enough to make Roy Hall dance a jig in his grave and possibly rise to request an encore.

The bar went silent - then erupted.

Boots stomped. Hats flew. Someone screamed, “GET IT, VIOLIN JESUS.”

Sam, jaw clenched, whispered, “He’s possessed.”

Josh just stared. “He’s glowing.”

Danny put a hand to his heart. “I think I’m in love.”

The DJ's voice boomed over the speakers.

“Alright folks, the FINAL round of the line dancing competition is about to begin! Get your partners ready and your boots to stompin’!”

Sam, Josh, and Danny paused, then exchanged looks after noticing Jake was gone again..

"Now where'd he go?" Sam whined as Jake seemed to have disappeared from the stage.

“Maybe he’s in the crowd,” Josh muttered.

“Or backstage?” Danny suggested.

They didn’t see him anywhere. No Jake. No sunglasses. No unnecessary flair. Nothing.

Defeated, they retreated to the bar and claimed a corner with prime viewing. Sam ordered three whiskeys and a bowl of something suspiciously labeled "nacho-adjacent."

Minutes passed.

Competitors twirled. Couples spun. Fringe shimmered under the disco ball. And still - no Jake.

“Maybe he really did leave,” Danny sighed.

“He wouldn’t,” Josh said with conviction, then added, “Unless the bar ran out of bourbon.”

They were just about to give up when it happened.

“DON’T GIVE ME NO LINES, AND KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!” blared from the speakers, somehow played at double speed, nearly indecipherable.

And there on the edge of the dance floor — he emerged.

Jake.

But not just Jake.

Oliver Reed.

Fake beard askew. Cane tucked under one arm. Cowboy hat tipped rakishly to the side. He was dressed in his full, absurd alter ego getup, and his feet were flying.

An Irish jig. A literal, blazing, heel-kicking, toe-tapping jig. To the Georgia Satellites.

His limbs moved faster than physics should allow. The cane twirled. His loafers clicked in rhythmic fury. The entire bar ground to a halt.

One by one, the other contestants slowed, confused, mesmerized.

Josh’s jaw dropped. “What... what is happening?”

Danny shook his head in awe. “He’s... glowing.”

Sam’s fists clenched. “The honky tonk corrupted him.”

The music hit its final frenzied beat just as the DJ leapt to the mic.

“Well folks, I think we’ve got a clear winner here! Give it up for... OLIVER REED!”

The bar erupted.

Jake bowed. The beard fell off mid-spin.

Nobody cared.

The crowd was still roaring as Jake—er, Oliver Reed strutted off the dance floor, cane twirling and beard now draped over one ear like a rogue opossum.

Sam was the first to intercept him.

“What was that?” he demanded, eyes wild. “You jigged. To Southern rock. In disguise. After vanishing for half an hour!”

Jake blinked, still catching his breath, chest heaving. “I blacked out. I think I heard the spirit of Johnny Cash tell me to take it personally.”

Josh doubled over, laughing so hard he had to lean on a bar stool. “What even is our life right now?”

Danny pointed at Jake’s feet. “You were hovering. I swear to God. I saw sparks.”

Jake grinned, barely able to stand. “I don’t remember anything. Someone just handed me a fiddle and said ‘prove it.’”

Sam threw up his hands. “YOU CAN’T EVEN PLAY THE FIDDLE.”

Jake shrugged. “Apparently I can now. I think the beard unlocked something.”

Josh wiped tears from his eyes. “I—no, I can’t—Sam, please be madder, this is killing me.”

“I am mad!” Sam shouted, gesturing wildly. “You disappeared. We thought you’d been abducted by honky tonk cultists. Then you teleport onto the dance floor dressed like a grandpa and win the whole damn thing??”

Jake patted his shoulder solemnly. “The beard chose me.”

Danny leaned in, still trying to breathe through his laughter. “You okay, Sam? You’re looking a little... emotionally unstable.”

“Don’t. Start with me,” Sam growled, pacing a tight circle. “We were disqualified because of my chair, and somehow you still won with a cane and a jig.”

Josh nudged Jake, eyes sparkling. “You know he’s just mad because he is jealous of Ryder’s bendy flips and dips.”

“Ryder was limber,” Jake acknowledged, nodding.

“DON’T MAKE THIS ABOUT RYDER,” Sam wailed.

“Too late,” Danny said. “This is now Ryder canon.”

Sam turned in place like a malfunctioning Roomba. “I hate this bar. I hate line dancing. I hate Georgia Satellites. And I especially hate that Jake looked good doing that jig.”

Jake slung an arm around his shoulders. “We’re all winners tonight, Sammy-boy. But especially Oliver Reed, and well… interestingly and profoundly me”

Sam let out a long-suffering groan as they exited the bar. 

~~~~~

They all gathered at Applebee’s to cash in the coveted gift card Jake - sorry, Oliver - had won through his stunning display of foot fury and disguise. A true hero’s feast was in order.

Josh, having crowned himself with the neon purple Honky Tonk Queen shirt he’d pilfered from Jake’s prize pile, entered the restaurant with the flair of a man arriving at the Met Gala, finger-gunning the hostess and announcing, “Royalty has arrived.” He refused to sit unless someone pulled out his chair. No one did.

Jake insisted on drinking only from his rhinestoned boot trophy. He brought it in tucked under his arm like a newborn, cleaned it with a napkin, and poured root beer in it with the reverence of a sacred ritual. “It tastes better this way,” he claimed, while clinking it gently against the salt shaker in a lonely toast to himself.

Sam, always on a different wavelength entirely, asked the server if the cook could incorporate the zucchini he’d brought from home into his meal. “It’s organic,” he explained, placing it on the table like an offering. “And emotionally bonded to me.”

The server blinked. “Sir, this is an Applebee’s.”

Danny, ever the oasis of reason among unrelenting nonsense, had quietly ordered a 2-for-$20 meal and was aggressively guarding both plates like a dragon hoarding treasure. The glint in his eye said don’t even think about it.

“No, Sam,” he said, not even looking up from his riblets. “I don’t want to share.”

“But you got the spinach-artichoke dip and the—”

“No.”

Josh tried to flirt with their waitress by telling him he’d just won a major dance competition. When he asked what the prize was, Jake leaned in and said, “A boot and a trauma bond.”

Sam, stewing in his seat, kept muttering things like “I was the real Honky Tonk Queen,” and “If I had better arch support, I would’ve won.” He also started Googling “line dancing legal loopholes.”

Josh, mid-way through a chicken tender, caught sight of himself in the reflection of the napkin holder and whispered, “God, I do look good in purple.”

Jake, still sipping from his trophy, declared, “Oliver Reed never dies. He just line dances into legend.”

Danny sighed, wiping his hands slowly with a napkin. “I should’ve gone home with the mystery girl. Or literally anyone else.”

Josh finally raised his regular glass - he’d given up trying to steal the boot - and made a toast, voice raw from laughing and inhaling mozzarella sticks.

“To chaos, twinks, and aggressive footwork.”

Sam raised his zucchini.

Jake raised his rhinestoned boot.

Danny did not raise anything. He just kept eating, silently accepting the fate of being the only sane man left in Applebee’s.

freak in the sheets as well as in most other locations

OH HE'S EVIL

"I hope you left your souls at the door....cause if you didn't, we'll probably take them with us tonight"

Jacob Thomas Kiszka, Sir. What the actual fuck!

@jakeyt @tripthelightfandomtastic @edgingthedarkness @hailthegodsong @jakekiszkadaily @jakescaravel @gretavangroupie @triponthelight @jakeysbuttsheeks @gvfreak

Did y'all hear and see this?

the amount of () in joshs caption I can't he's so silly

jake just say you're a cocksucker godamn bro

Thoughts are being thunked