#I left the verse set up vague

[the-blackest-spider]

STARTER PROMPTS : Assorted Secret Agent / Spy Prompts

Accepting (Mutuals Only)

@poeticphoenix​ left a message: "Do you know how to drive this thing?"

"I would hope so," a small snort left the petite woman as she tossed some red curls that had slipped over her shoulder back, "it is my bike after all." a hint of smugness was wrapped around her words before she moved to straddle the metal beast with a touch of grace. Just about any movement she made was like that, fluid as a dancer's, even when fighting brutally there was a beauty to it.

She eyed the other redhead with some curiosity and amusement, both showing in the deep green of her eyes and the slight curve to her full lips. A thought, an idea crossed her mind, causing her head to tilt a little while she continued to look at him, those rogue strands of red once again slipping over her shoulder.

"Do you like it?" She inquired before tossing him an offer, "I can take you for a ride if you want." She only had one helmet, which she held out to him out of habit and politeness.

[kiigan]

starter call @heartsandwishes

ㅤOf all the things Itachi had expected/hoped to be surprised by after leaving his homeland behind, certainly ice cream had not made it to the initial list - yet here he was now, more than ready to revise his priorities. Not that ice cream, in and of itself, was anything that extraordinary, even. What with Wutai having been turned to the general tourist resort it was nowadays, exotic snacks made especially [and having a super expensive price tag slapped on them] for tourists could easily be found at every corner of the main streets.

This one was... peculiar, though. Salty, but also sweet.

ㅤ«Sea-salt, was it?» The title was appropriate, given the uncanny mix of flavors. In fact, it was making him curious enough to go and check the ingredients, later. Maybe even spare the time to learn the recipe. Once he returned home, he could try his hand at making some for his little brother. Glancing back at Xion, who'd so kindly introduced him to this tiny masterpiece, he smiled after another lick. «I can see why you were talking so highly of it.»

[feilien]

@crosseddestiny said: “[ assist ] sender finds receiver has fallen down, so they rush to their aid and help them stand again (from frank okay i'll leave your askbox alone now)"

{♚ x PROMPTS FOR COMFORTABLE INTIMACY ||  Accepting x}

 The instructions had been clear, but by no means easy: scout the area for potential supplies, and report back to their small settlement and his grandfather to see if he deemed it worth sending some men out. 

 It was his first time out by himself, and Matt was determined to prove he was capable of taking on a more important role. And while he could certainly hold his own in a fight — human, or otherwise — he hadn't been ready for how big of a toll simply having to survive in the wild would take on him. He'd brought along rations, sure, but realization that it wasn't enough had set in quickly. There were no supplies to be found nearby, and he had to travel much further than initially anticipated.

 Water had run out about two days ago and he had yet to find a reliable source he could drink from. And there was no denying that it was taking a toll on him. Survival skills never had been his strong suit. And now, as he could feel his body growing weaker, Matt regretted not being a better student and practicing harder. Little too late now, of course.

 He wasn't sure when exactly he'd passed out. But when he came back to, someone was helping him back up. His first instinct was to pull away, to assess and possibly eliminate the threat, but his body refused to listen. Instead, he simply slumped more against whoever was evidently helping him. It clearly wasn't one of those abominations, or else he'd probably be dead by now. Not that that wasn't a possibility still, of course. "I have nothing," he muttered, lifting his head enough to be able to look at the other. "So if you plan on killing me, just save us both some time and get it over with."

[gas-stxtion-a]

closed starter for @triggerbigger

"Sooo..." Jack trails off, searching every corner of his brain for a conversation topic. It's weird enough to be seeing the Onceler again after their incredibly brief and awkward first meeting several months ago, but knowing that he's Tony's fuckbuddy makes it feel weirder somehow. Not that it matters--Jack truly doesn't care who Tony's having sex with, nor does he care that the Onceler is stopping by the gas station (presumably in search of Tony).

But, like, come on. What is Jack supposed to do in this situation aside from stumble his way through small-talk while Tony's on the phone with the owners?

Finally, Jack realizes he's been quiet for way too long, and he's making the situation worse, and he needs to say something. So he says the first stupid thing that comes to mind.

"Aren't you hot?" he says. "Like, in that suit, I mean. Like, it looks nice n' all, but it's so fucking hot out. It's, like, over ninety fucking degrees out and you seem fine." That's almost definitely an exaggeration, but in his defense he hasn't checked the exact temperature in a few hours. It feels hot, and that's what matters.

It occurs somewhat belatedly to Jack that that was a very rude thing to say, but he doesn't know what else to say.

[telndas]

❝ perhaps you think that i am something i’m not. ❞

The sea, a constant drum in her ear. Slow, steady, an ebb and flow just like the wind that tries to pull free all that is not. Suhani does not see it often: the crystal waters jutting up against white sand, beautiful as they rightfully are. The heat of the sun is enough to push her away, keeping her more inland, where the great oaks and grassy plains thrive. Yet here she sits, despite the thoughts, despite the want for a better source of shade.

Her gaze turns upward then, squinting towards the impeccable blue sky before her lithe hand raises to give it some reprieve for just a moment. It is merely noon still. There is a fuller day ahead that remains to be seen.

❛ Perhaps you think that I am something I’m not, ❜ @serpeinte says.

❛ Perhaps, ❜ Suhani agrees, lowering her hand so that it rests back upon her lap. There is nothing to pull up here, upon the stone-lined streets just beyond the wooden docks that creak just as much as a ship during a storm. Instead, her hands clasp and wring at each other while she looks now at the captain; her gaze a steely thing. ❛ It is a stretch to ask someone like yourself for a ride upon your ship, but it is for a good cause enough that I must try. ❜ It does not help that there are no other options either, or ones that Suhani is able to trust. The objective has not been spoken of, but attempting trust on that alone brings to mind of her own foolishness. It does not stop her yet.

❛ I know not your story. Perhaps that is my folly. ❜

[savior-of-humanity]

I think you may have a concussion. - kelly @ guts

"I'm fine," came his growling, yet slightly slurred response. Hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, it was frankly the only reason why he was still standing, what with the blood that dripped profusely from a wound hidden somewhere in his hairline. "I don't need your help."

The wound that was caused by the scores of dead that surrounded the Black Swordsman. Dead that were unlike anything the Spartan would have ever seen in her life - for they looked like demons, crawled straight from the old Christian mythos. It was apparent that all of them, despite their near-overwhelming numbers and enormous sizes, had been slain by the man's own hand. Bisected and dismembered and slaughtered. But even they, these nightmarish beasts that crawled straight out of Hell itself, were not the only bizarre thing of the scene that lay before Spartan-087.

The man, first off, wore armor that looked almost downright primitive in comparison to Kelly's own - like something straight out of the medieval era. There was not a hint of modern technology on the man whatsoever; even the prosthetic arm that made up his left forearm was fashioned of iron and leather straps. Secondly, even with him being somewhat slouched and hunched over, it was apparent that he was tall; had he been standing straight, he would've only been half a head shorter than Kelly in her armor.

And then there was the sword.

It wasn't really so much a sword as it was an enormous hunk of iron, refined into the shape of a blade - so large and long that it was nearly as tall as the swordsman himself. Blood and ichor and gore, still warm and steaming, soaked the blade where it still clung to it - and yet, the man who wielded it had only the single head wound. Though, there was also the oddity of a curious mark on his neck; a brand of some kind, which had once wept profusely with now-drying blood. It wasn't an injury left by his foes but rather an old wound that had been re-opened with the stress of battle.

The man made an effort to properly stand, attempting to lift the blade - he only managed a couple of inches before his legs wobbled, threatening to buckle and collapse beneath him, and the tip of the sword was promptly forced back into the ground with a heavy THUNK and a quiet "Shit." from the swordsman's lips.

He didn't like this. Being so weak, and vulnerable. Not with this knight, this woman, who bore armor and arms unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Guts wasn't one who admitted physical weakness, let alone the need for help, so easily.

"...Alright. Maybe I do have a concussion. So what? I can take care of myself, lady."

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | two

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. mentions of hickies, but i try to be as vague as possible. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, mention of biblical verses, reader has several pet names (little dove, sweet girl, darlin’ girl, baby, babygirl), angst, jealousy, hints of possessive Joel, hints of soft dom Joel (if you squint), reader talks about leaving her faith/family, Esther makes an appearance, Seth also makes an appearance idk he’s nice to reader but we still hate him and will hate him even more in the next chapter. SMUT. mention of virginity (brief), reader is inexperienced but she’s not clueless, masturbation (female, minor mentions of male masturbation), public sex, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: 11.8k

Your soft, breathless moans fill the church just like a sweet, angelic hymn—a song of praise, devotion and adoration for the rugged older man whose lap you were currently straddling, your legs resting on either side of him as he sat in the wooden pew, his long, thick, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. Your pale blue blouse was unbuttoned and open for him, both cups of your plain, cotton white bra pulled down to give him access to more of you and your smooth, supple skin to ravage.

“Joel,” you gasped out his name, hands tangling in his unkempt salt and pepper curls as he flicked his warm tongue over a sensitive, hardened nipple—it only added fuel to the flames burning deep in your lower belly when he moved his mouth to the other, his lips wrapping around the peak to show it the same amount of attention. He lifted one of his hands and he cupped the breast that his mouth just abandoned, his fingertips brushing against the gold cross that was hanging from the long, delicate chain clasped around your neck. You still wore it every single day despite being the furthest you had ever been from your faith—there was something oddly fascinating about seeing the religious symbol next to all of the marks that Joel left on you, how it was surrounded by all of his sinful love bites. Your hands gripped at his hair even harder, breath catching in your throat as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, giving it a hard but pleasurable pinch. Arching your back, you found yourself grinding your hips into his in an attempt to relieve the intense pressure building between your thighs. “Joel, please—please, I need more.”

Groaning, Joel released your breast and trailed his mouth up north, his lips latching onto the delicate spot right under your jawline. He suckled gently at your pulse point, being careful so as not to leave a visible mark behind. The ones he left on your chest and shoulders were easier for you to hide, but your neck was out of the question seeing as your father made you wear your hair up in braids all the time—you wouldn’t be able to cover them up. The primal in him almost craved to send you back to him with your neck covered in his hickies. Joel wanted to make it known to your father that there was now a real man in your life, one who planned to break the chains and set you free from a life of control. You’d yet to fully express your desire to leave, however if and when the time came, Joel wouldn’t hesitate in taking you away from him. 

He would take good care of you, protect you, keep you safe, and the only worship you would know from that point on would be Joel’s worship of your body every single night in his bed. 

“Christ, darlin’ girl,” he groaned into your neck, his fingers digging harder into your hips. Surely, you’d have bruises there in the morning. “Keep it up and you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, babygirl.”

Desperately, you rubbed your soaked clothed cunt against his bulge. He was rock hard and throbbing for you, straining against the zipper of his jeans. It wasn’t enough to feel him through his clothes, not anymore. You needed more of him, so much more. You dropped your hands from his hair and reached down for his own, picking them up off of your hips and moving them to your thighs. You guided them underneath your skirt and slid them up higher and higher, closer and closer to where you needed him the most, where you were aching for him to finally touch you. As Joel’s fingertips brushed the crease in between your thigh and your hip, along the soft, thin cotton of your panties, he jerked back, pulling his hands out from underneath your long skirt. 

“No, little dove,” Joel chastised, lightly shaking his head at you. “Not tonight, sweet girl.”

“Joel,” You whined out his name. “It’s been almost a month! Are you kidding me right now?” You kept your word to him—for over three and a half weeks, you had been patient, just like he’d asked you. You had been sneaking out and meeting him in the old church house every night, spent hours upon hours sitting with him in the pew, or at least, you started the night sitting with him but at some point, you’d end up sitting in his lap instead. Half naked, hands tangled in his hair, your lips swollen with his kisses that you’d become so addicted to. He would never let it go further than that, though, and it was really beginning to wear your patience thin. It really did seem as though he planned on making you wait an eternity for him. You let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Okay, so if not tonight, then when?”

He leaned back against the pew, mulling it over in his mind for a minute. “Don’t know yet.”

You stared at him in utter disbelief, gaze wide. 

He didn’t know yet?

“Joel,” you said his name slowly. “Do you not—is it because you don’t want me? Is that what it is?”

Joel’s hands reached up and he cupped your face, cradling it gently in his palms. His eyes met yours.“Of course I fuckin’ want you,” he said, shaking his head again. “More than anythin’ I want you, baby.” He paused and bucked his hips upwards, brushing his hard on against you through your panties. “You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?” When you didn’t respond, Joel gave your face a soft, but firm squeeze as he bucked again, eliciting a moan from you. “Just asked you a question, little dove.”

Breathless, you nodded and replied, “Yes, Joel. I feel it.”

“Then don’t ask somethin’ like that ever again,” he warned you, firmly. “That understood?”

You lifted your hands to his, fingers curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “It’s just that I don’t understand it. If you want me, why haven’t you touched me?” You could hear the little tremble in your own voice—you hoped Joel hadn’t caught it, but the softening in his dark brown eyes made it clear he had. “I want you to touch me. You have my full consent, you know. I want this, Joel. I want you so badly. Please, just touch me already.”

“Baby, I told you. I don’t wanna rush it with you—”

“But why not?” you pressed, cutting him off. “Why wait when we both clearly want it?” Unable to help yourself, you exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “Why wait when I’m already sitting in your lap half naked with my breasts in your face?”

Joel sighed. He knew you were trying to lighten up the mood. “Baby—” he trailed off and softly grazed your cheeks with his thumbs. He tried to think of a response to give you but the truth was, Joel didn’t have an answer for you—he himself didn’t seem to fully understand why he was so hellbent on taking his time with you, waiting when he could have had you back on the first night and every night since.

He wasn’t just torturing you. 

Hell, he was torturing himself too. 

When he would go back home, Joel would fist his cock, his heart pounding almost violently inside of his chest, guttural grunts and groans spilling from his lips as he came to the mere thought of you. He almost found it amusing that you had the audacity to think he didn’t want you when every night, he’d shoot his load onto his stomach as he moaned out your name over and over again quietly underneath his breath. 

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, if not so much fucking more.

But there was something holding him back from it and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

For as much as Joel enjoyed spending your nights together with you straddling his lap, mouths fused with one another as he copped a feel of your body, making out like a couple of horny teenagers sitting in an old car on some hill that overlooked their tiny town—he vaguely remembered those nights in the cab of his dad’s old pickup—he found it wasn’t the only reason he looked forward to your company.

He liked being with you, liked being in your presence. 

He actually liked talking to you. 

There was something so endearing about you, the way you talked about working in the town’s schoolhouse and how you absolutely adored spending all day with a bunch of little ankle biters. He liked that you’d been comfortable enough to tell him of your life before the outbreak, about how, despite the religious, strict upbringing, you’d had a decent childhood. You spent your afternoons after parochial school at the river skipping rocks with your sisters. You were the rebel of the three, pulling your braids out in the car on the way to morning mass and spilling your juice on your dress on purpose—you told him about the way your parents would have to put you outside in timeout for being unable to sit still during services and Joel couldn’t help but laugh when he pictured a little girl with messed up hair and a dress stained with grape juice, feet dangling as she sat on some bench outside of a church with the other children who couldn’t behave themselves. 

“It got so bad my mother had to start bribing me,” you’d told him with a sheepish little grin one night. For once, you weren’t in his lap. Instead, you sat in the pew while Joel laid back, stretching out on the bench with his head in your lap. His gaze had been fixed on you as you lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp through his hair over and over. “It was the only way. The night before church, Mama, she would tuck me into bed and promise me she’d spoon extra strawberry ice cream into my bowl for dessert all week if I behaved during service.” 

“Was strawberry your favorite?” he’d asked, curiously. 

“It was. What about you, what was your favorite?”

“Was more of a chocolate kinda guy myself,” he’d answered, closing his eyes as you continued to toy with his curls. 

Joel looked forward to spending his time with you. After his long, grueling patrol shifts, all that he had to go home to was a silent house, the air under his roof filled with unmistakable tension. Ellie had told him she was thinking of turning the garage behind the house into her own space—when he offered to put his past experience as a contractor to good use, she shut down his offer for help, mumbling something about having already asked Tommy. His brother confirmed it, informing him he’d be helping Ellie move into the garage that same week.

That night, seeing you had been the one thing, the one fucking thing that kept him from heading over to the bar to pitifully drown himself in bourbon. 

“Joel?” Your soft voice snapped him from his train of thought, your fingers squeezing his wrists. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine, darlin’ girl.” He offered you a small smile, his thumb sweeping your bottom lip. “You’ve been a real good girl for me, sweetheart. And I promise, you’ll get what you’re askin’ for soon. But not tonight.”

You pouted against his finger. 

“C’mon baby, put the lip away,” Joel chuckled and pushed it back in with his finger. He let both of his hands fall from your face and pulled at the cups of your bra, gently tugging them back into place. “All I need from you is a little more patience, alright?” 

“Fine,” you huffed out in defeat, rolling your eyes.

“Y’know, you’re awful cute when you’re annoyed,” he remarked with a playful smirk. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and with his lips still against your skin, he murmured, “S’real late, little dove. I need to get you home now.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and climbed off his lap. 

You started buttoning your blouse, but Joel stood, reaching out to stop you. “Wait. Let me do that for you, baby.” 

Dropping your hands to your sides, you swallowed harshly, arousal pooling between your legs all over again as you looked down, watching his hands. Oh God, how those large hands of his just did you in—how was it possible that watching those hands do something as sweet and innocent as buttoning up your blouse for you had your cunt aching, dripping down the insides of your thighs?

“Joel,” you managed to choke out his name. 

He finished with the last button. “Yes, darlin’ girl?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He touched your cheek and smiled wistfully. 

“Just wanna take care of you how I can, that’s all.”

Turning your face, you pressed a kiss into his palm with sweet affection he hadn’t known in well over two decades. 

After switching off all the lights in the church, Joel locked the door and slipped the key under the mat where you kept it hidden. He took your hand in his and the two of you started the fifteen minute walk to the residential side of the commune. Your place was down the road from his, a two story white and yellow cottage you shared with your family. Joel walked you up the front porch steps to the door, dropping your hand. He kept his voice quiet as he turned to face you. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, same time.”

“Tomorrow night, same time,” you parroted. 

Joel leaned down, brushing your lips with his own, softly. “Go on and get some sleep, my little dove.”

Your eyes widened slightly—had Joel meant to say it like that? My little dove?

Had he meant to call you his little dove? His? 

“Goodnight, Joel.” You bit back a smile and turned towards the door, opening it. Slipping inside of the house, you closed it behind you quietly before you carefully tiptoed your way up the stairs. The house was older and the hardwood floors creaked as you walked down the hallway. Slipping off your oxford shoes, you carried them in your hands as you tried to make it to your bedroom without waking one of your sisters—or worse, waking your father. He was a heavy sleeper, but you still took extra care not to make any noise as you padded past his door. Finally, you made it to your bedroom and slipped inside. 

Breathing out in relief, you flipped on the light and turned around only to see one of your sisters there in your room, perched on the foot of your bed with a small smirk on her face. You dropped your shoes on the floor and let out a small, startled yelp. 

“Leah!” you gasped, a hand flying to your chest. It surprised you that neither the sound of your shoes hitting the floor nor your scream woke Lydia—she was in the bedroom on the opposite side of your paper thin wall. “You just about gave me a heart attack! I thought you were an intruder!” you hissed. “What are you doing in here just sitting in the dark?”

Leah’s smirk widened. 

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why Joel Miller’s walking you home at two thirty in the morning, my sweet baby sister.” She watched with a glimmer in her eyes as all the color drained from your face. “Is he the person you’ve been sneaking out to see?” 

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “Oh stop it right now, Leah. You and Lydia already know that I go to the church house at night to pray—”

“For hours?” Skeptical, she raised an eyebrow and stood up, walking over to you. “And where does he come into play in all this? Hmm?”

You quickly racked your brain. “He, um, he was—he was walking home from the bar. He saw me as I was leaving the church and he was nice enough to offer to walk me home so I didn’t walk alone.”

Leah snorted. “That’s bullshit. For one, the church and the bar are on opposite sides of the commune and two, Joel Miller isn’t a fucking gentleman who just offers to walk a lady home on a whim. You two were together all night, weren’t you?”

“Of course not, all he did was walk me home—”

She reached out, roughly tearing open the front of your blouse and sending buttons flying all over the room. 

“Leah!” You pulled the fabric over your chest but it was too late—she had seen the marks that littered your chest and shoulders. 

“Oh, he did more than just walk you home.” Leah’s eyes widened slightly. It was hard to tell if she was shocked—or if she was impressed. “Wow. I did not think you had it in you, baby sister.” She shook her head and sat back down. “And with Joel Miller? Of all the fucking men in the commune—you decided to go for the most feared man in Jackson? I mean, how the hell did that even fucking happen?” 

You hung your head in defeat.

There was no way around it.

You’d been caught. 

“It’s—it’s a long story.”

She patted the spot next to her. “Well, it’s the end of the world and we’ve got nothing but time.”

Sighing, you took a seat beside her. You started to tell her all about what happened the night you had decided to leave The Tipsy Bison alone—how Kent had assaulted you, how Joel had saved you before the unthinkable happened. You told her how you’d taken Joel to the church to clean up his hand, how you asked him to kiss you after patching him up.

“Wait a minute, Kent called me a slut?”

You glared at her. “Leah.”

“Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “So you and Joel have been seeing each other ever since?”

“Almost every night,” you admitted. “Except when he gets stuck with evening patrol. Or has a double shift. He had to do a few of those as a punishment for what he did to Kent.”

Leah let out a small, nonchalant, “Hm.”

“You know, for somebody who just discovered I’m seeing a man who’s twice my age, you don’t seem to be the slightest bit surprised by it.”

“Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t remember the way that man was staring at you that day when walked by him at the stables,” she grinned at you. “I knew Joel had a thing for you when I caught him staring at you. I just didn’t think he’d act on it,” she added as she leaned back into her elbows. “You do know what people around here say about him, right? I’m sure you’ve heard about things that he’s done—he’s killed people. With his bare hands, too.”

She didn’t sound all too concerned. 

She sounded like she was curious about it. Fascinated, even. 

“I’m sure he did what he had to do to survive—the same way most people in this town have. Besides, Joel isn’t the monster people make him out to be.” You paused. “I see a different side of him, Leah.”

Leah chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

“Leah!” You smacked her leg lightly, biting back a small laugh. It was a relief, having her to confide in without receiving any kind of judgment. 

There was a brief, momentary silence, broken only when she asked, “So—the church house, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty fucking hot. Makes me wish I would have thought of that myself.” Leah’s smile faltered and she sat up. “Please tell me you wipe down the pew the that he fucks you in, though.”

You nearly choked on your own breath of air. “No! I mean, it’s not like that,” you sputtered out. “We do get together at the church but we don’t—we don’t do that. We haven’t done anything.”

“Your tits are covered in hickies. You can’t possibly tell me that you’re still a daisy fresh girl,” she said. 

“Unfortunately, I still am,” you muttered, sourly. 

“What do you mean?”

“I want him to—” You stopped, unable to say it. 

Leah raised an eyebrow. “To fuck you?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. “Yes.” 

“You won’t burst into flames if you say it, you know.”

Ignoring the jab you continued on, “But he won’t. I keep asking him, but he won’t touch me. He keeps telling me he doesn’t want to rush it and he wants to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I knew. I want him so bad but he won’t budge. I’ve practically begged him to just take me already.”

“You little sinner,” Leah teased. 

“Being with him doesn’t even feel like a sin. It feels so right, Leah.” Peering at her, you confessed, “It’s like the closer I get to Joel, the further I step away from God—from our faith.” Without thinking about it, you reached up and clasped your cross. You had expected it to trigger some kind of emotion in you but as your fingers curled around it, you found you felt absolutely nothing. “And the scariest part of it all is that I don’t even feel an ounce of guilt for it.”

“Well, I would say that’s a fucking good thing.”

“Papa would be so ashamed that I have strayed so far away from our faith.”

“Oh please.” Leah rolled her eyes and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. Papa doesn’t have to know.”

“But Leah—”

“We’re already living in fucking hell, baby sister, so you might as well start enjoying yourself.” Pausing at your door, she shot you a teasing little wink over her shoulder. “What better way to start than to get fucked by big, bad Joel Miller?”

Leah disappeared, quietly closing the door behind her before you could even think of how to respond to her. 

Later on, in the earlier hours of the morning, you’d found yourself tossing and turning in your bed.

The ache between your legs made it impossible to fall asleep. 

Rolling onto your back, you stared up into the dark of your bedroom, chewing nervously on your lip as you slipped a hand under your quilt and brushed a finger along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

You’d never in your life touched yourself. Sure, you had been tempted once or twice before—but as of late, the urge was becoming too difficult to resist. 

The throbbing between your legs wouldn’t stop.

You needed relief. 

Release. 

Hesitantly, you slipped your trembling hand under the elastic band of your bottoms, fingers anxiously skimming along the elastic band of your panties. It took a minute or two to work up the courage—but you finally slid your hand into your underwear. You closed your eyes, fingers brushing against the soft curls on your mound. Moving your hand lower and lower, you slowly dipped your index finger, sinking it in between your folds. You gasped out softly, the feeling of your own wetness igniting a fire that you knew you would only be able to put out by making yourself come. 

You thought about Joel and imagined it’s his hand in between your thighs instead of yours. You softly grazed your clit with your index finger once, twice, and then started rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine. 

Suddenly, you withdrew your hand. 

Less clothes—this would feel so much better with less clothes. 

Kicking the quilt off your body, you peeled off your pajama bottoms and panties, sending them to the floor along with the blanket. Eagerly, you pulled at your oversized t-shirt, yanking it over your head. After discarding that too, you leaned back, resting comfortably against your pillows as you dove your hand between your legs. The other cupped one of your breasts, pinching and rolling a hard nipple as you rubbed your clit. Soft, quiet little moans begin to fall from your lips—remembering Lydia was just on the other side of the wall, you bit down on your bottom lip in an effort to keep the noise down. 

You could feel Joel’s hands and mouth on you, still smell his scent on you from earlier. 

Woodiness, spice, and musk. 

It’s become all too familiar to you.

Just like his touch, just like the sound of his voice.

“You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?” 

Just the thought of that man had you on the edge and you moved your fingers faster, the wet sounds of your own slick filling the air around you. As your desperation mounted, you imagined Joel’s fingers plunging into you—long and thick, stretching your pussy out in an effort to warm up your tight, virgin walls to take his cock for the first time. 

The coil that was wound up deep in your belly was close, so close to snapping. You thought about his goodnight to you at your front door, and it was the way Joel had called you his little dove that pushed you right over the edge. You clawed at your sheets as your cunt convulsed, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing. Biting down on your lip again, you tried your hardest not to moan out Joel’s name. 

Just up the road, Joel was up in his bedroom lying in his bed, trying not to groan out your name as he came too.

You covered your mouth, stifling yet another yawn with the palm of your hand. 

The late nights with Joel were starting to catch up with you and waking up early for Sunday morning services had been particularly difficult for you that week. You’d overslept, but still managed to get up, get dressed and make it to service on time—still it meant nothing when your father expected his girls to be present at the church house two hours prior. All three of you helped set up for mass and while it was often Leah whom he scolded for not showing, later that morning it was you who would be on the receiving end of his agonizingly long lecture about honoring obligations, especially those to God. 

You weren’t looking forward to it. 

Sighing, you leaned back against the pew. You and your sisters always sat in the front—the very same bench that you straddled Joel’s lap in every night. 

You sagged slightly against Leah who chuckled as your father began delivering his sermon. The topic on the table that morning was lust of the flesh. 

“How appropriate,” she whispered, nudging you in the ribcage with her elbow. “Better pay attention.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, elbowing her right back. 

Lydia, who sat on the opposite side of you, leaned over, pressing her lips against your ear. “Um, since when does Joel Miller come to church?”

“What?” You shot her a strange look before taking a glance over your shoulder, following her gaze—it threw you for a complete loop to see him standing at the very back of the church near the doors with his rifle hanging over his shoulder. Throat bobbing harshly, you whipped back around in your seat.

What was he doing here?

“Jesus, he can’t bring a gun in here!” Lydia hissed, shaking her head. “Is he insane?”

Leah, who had caught onto the slight commotion, glimpsed over her shoulder. She put a hand on the pew between your bodies and lightly pinched your leg, fingers squeezing the flesh on the side of your thigh causing you to jump slightly in your seat. 

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“He wants you to meet him outside.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Why else would he be here?” Leah rolled her eyes at you. “And besides, he’s gone.” 

Perplexed, you looked over your shoulder again. 

Your sister had been right about the latter. 

Joel had seemingly vanished into thin air. 

“Don’t make it so obvious,” she murmured. “Give it a minute or two and then go—pretend that you have to use the bathroom. And don’t take too long,” she added. “Or it’s going to seem suspicious. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Smoothing your skirt, you waited two minutes just to be safe and then leaned over towards Lydia. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

“But I thought you hated using the outhouse.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “A girl’s got to pee.”

Excusing yourself, you stood up and quickly made your way around to the side of the church, making your exit as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, everyone was too focused on your father to notice you making an exit. 

Once you’d slipped through the first set of double, wooden doors, you exhaled the breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding back. You then pushed through the second set of doors, stepping out onto the porch of the church house. 

You looked around, but there was no sign of Joel.

“Where did you go?” you mumbled to yourself. 

Maybe Leah had been wrong after all. 

You walked down the steps and around the side of the church only to find him leaning against the old building, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle. 

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you approached him. 

“Well good mornin’ to you too, my little dove.”

Your heart fluttered wildly inside of your chest.

There it was again. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, sheepishly. “I’m just—I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.”

Joel stepped towards you. “I know. I’m on my way to the stables to head out for mornin’ patrol,” he explained. He placed his hands on either side of your waist to pull you closer to him. “Wanted to see you, baby.”

“You did?”

He chuckled softly. “What? That strange?”

“We’ve never seen each other during the day.” You frowned at him. “Isn’t this kind of risky, Joel?”

“Ain’t no one around but us.” Joel leaned his head down, brushing his mouth softly against yours. He was warm and still tasted like his morning coffee. Pulling away slightly he stated, “There’s somethin’ I have to tell you, too. I ain’t gonna be able to meet up with you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Did you get stuck with double patrol again?” Your disappointment was evident in your tone. Tommy and Maria had already reprimanded him for Kent’s beating, were the double shifts still necessary?

Joel shook his head.

“No. Tommy’s birthday is today. They’re throwin’ a big party for him at The Tipsy Bison. M’real sorry—” 

Flashing him a sincere smile, you lifted your hands and placed them on his chest, assuring him, “Joel, there’s no need to apologize for anything. It’s your brother’s birthday. I wouldn’t expect you to miss it just for little old me, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t, sweet girl. S’just that—”

He paused, momentarily hesitating. 

“What is it, Joel?”

“Wish I could take you with me. Y’know, as my—”

Joel stopped once again, his neck burning. 

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “As your date?”

“I was gonna say as my girl. But yeah, that works too.”

His girl. 

Your heart fluttered again. “I would love that. More than anything.”

“Your old man, he wouldn’t like that, though.”

Your smile faltered. “Joel, please. Don’t—”

“I ain’t wrong, sweet girl. What would your dad say if he knew you were with someone like me? A man twice your age with more blood on his hands than the fuckin’ town butcher.”

“He wouldn’t approve—but I don’t care, Joel. I just don’t care. I like you,” you confessed, clutching his jacket. “I like being with you. And I know who I am, it makes things complicated, but—” Stopping, you chewed apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“But what, little dove?” he prompted. “Tell me.”

“Maybe—maybe things could change someday,” you said, softly. 

Realizing what you meant, Joel’s brows shot up. 

“You would leave?” 

“I would,” you confessed. “For you Joel, I would.”

He couldn’t believe it. “Don’t go sayin’ somethin’ if you don’t really mean it. Might get my hopes up.”

“But I do mean it,” your voice was earnest. “Really, I would, Joel. I would do anything to be with you.”

Joel took one look into those sweet, innocent little doe eyes and groaned. “Fuck, darlin’ girl. C’mere.”

Crashing his lips to yours, he spun you around and pinned you up against the wall of the church. Next to you was an open window—you could hear parts of your father’s sermon coming from inside as you melted into Joel’s arms. His tongue brushed along the seam of your mouth, silently demanding more. Your lips parted, granting him the access that he’d been seeking. His tongue curled with yours and he swallowed every little moan and whimper, drinking them down just like water. 

Joel reached down and lifted your long floral skirt, slipping a hand underneath the lace trimmed hem of it. His rough, callused fingers dragged up your thigh and over your hip, lightly grazing the band of your panties. 

“Joel,” you gasped, tearing your mouth from his, a look of complete shock crossing your features. He couldn’t be serious—in broad daylight? Outside of the church where your father was preaching to the congregation at this very moment?

But even the shock of it all did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the arousal from pooling between your thighs. 

Joel skimmed your cheek with the tip of his nose. 

“You wet for me, baby?” Before you could respond to the question, he cupped your cunt through your panties, eliciting another small gasp. “Oh fuck, my sweet little dove. You’re fuckin’ soakin’ for me.”

Heart pounding painfully against your sternum, all you could do was nod your head and fist the lapels of his jacket even tighter. Your knees trembled and you were grateful to be securely pinned between a wall and this big bulk of a man, otherwise you’d be a crumpled heap on the ground by now.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he cooed, though he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I—oh Joel,” you mewled his name as he cupped you harder in his hand. 

Smirking, Joel pulled the damp cotton fabric aside and slid his index finger along your slit, your sweet slick coating his digit. “What do you want, my little dove?” He asked quietly against your cheekbone. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but it seemed as though you’d forgotten just about every word in the English language.

“Gotta tell me, sweetheart.” His finger grazed over your clit, sending shock waves through your whole body. “Use your words, babygirl,” he coaxed, nuzzling your cheek. “Gonna have to tell me what you want from me. Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you ask me for it.”

“I—I want you to touch me. Please, Joel, touch me more. I need you to touch me more.”

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

He slowly pushed a finger into you, biting back his groan—you were wet, warm, and so fucking tight. 

“Joel,” you moaned out his name. 

Joel quickly covered your mouth with his opposite hand. “Shh,” he shushed you. “The window’s wide open. Someone could hear us if we’re too loud. M’gonna need you to be real quiet for me, alright? Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your reply muffled by the palm of his hand. “Mhm.”

“That’s a good girl.”

His hand dropped away from your mouth. 

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, holding a cry as he pushed his finger further inside of you. It didn’t hurt, but you felt the pressure between your hips intensifying—on several nights you’d plunged your own fingers into your throbbing cunt in effort to pleasure yourself, but his were just so long and so thick and he reached spots you simply couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried. 

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. You think you can take another one? Hm?”

Your legs spread further apart for him in reply.

“Eager little thing,” Joel chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before slipping a second finger into you. He bit back guttural groan—if your pussy felt this fucking good around his fingers, then how would it feel around his cock?

“Oh God,” you hissed, bucking down into his hand as his thumb swept your clit in a circular motion.

“He ain’t here, little dove,” he murmured. “S’just me.”

Releasing his jacket, you grasped at his shoulders. Your skin stretched taut over your knuckles as you held onto him, silently willing yourself to somehow stay tethered to this earth. 

Joel dropped his head into the hollow of your neck and slowly began to pump his fingers in and out of you. “This sweet little pussy feels so fuckin’ good.” He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, his fingers curling inside of you and hitting a spot that made your knees tremble. “But y’know what, I bet it tastes even fuckin’ better.” He lightly nipped you on your chin and withdrew his hand from between your legs, sinking down onto one knee. 

You watched with wide, shocked eyes as he took a hand and bunched your skirt in his fist to keep the fabric out of his way. With his other hand, he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder. It brushed lightly against his rifle. 

He placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee. 

Heart pounding with anticipation, excitement, and apprehension, you reached down, tangling both of your hands in his soft hair. 

As Joel began trailing his lips further up the inside of your thigh, part of the sermon carried out of the open window, your father’s voice loud and clear as he preached to the congregation. 

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification: 

that you should abstain from sexual immorality…”

Joel glanced up at you. “Y’tell me if you want me to stop—”

“Don’t,” you choked out. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Planting one final kiss on the inside of your leg, he pulled your panties aside and brought his face into the apex of your thighs. His mouth met your warm core, his tongue slipping between your slick folds.

Your father’s voice continued on—he sounded too close. He often paced around as he preached, and he must have drawn closer to the window. “…that each of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor…”

You bit back a helpless whimper as he dragged his flattened tongue up, down, and then up again, lips tasting every inch of you he possibly could. 

“…not in the passion of lust…”

Joel pushed your skirt up even further, completely exposing you. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he swirled his tongue around the swollen little bundle of nerves, groaning into you as he lifted his other hand, thrusting two fingers into your pussy.

“…like the Gentiles who do not know God.”

Your fingers gripped his curls like a vice, your nails scraping against his scalp—with every lick, suckle, and kiss of his tongue and thrust of his digits, your release drew closer and closer.

“Joel,” you whispered his name, desperately. “Joel I’m so close, I’m so so close—”

He groaned into your cunt, the vibration of it along with the way his thrusts quickened and the way he devoured you like a man starved sending you right over the edge you’d been teetering on. Feeling you convulse around his fingers, Joel pulled his mouth away from you and quickly rose to his feet. He had made it just in time—sealing his mouth over yours, he muffled your loud cries of pleasure.

His lips, his tongue, they lingered with the taste of you. 

Joel’s fingers slowed as he helped you ride out the crashing wave of pleasure. Letting go of your skirt, he slipped his arm around you, holding you steady against himself so that you wouldn’t keep digging your back into the wall. “I’ve got you, darlin’ girl. I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips. His gaze met yours as he grazed your clit one last time, sending aftershocks throughout your body that made your knees buckle. Smirking, his arm tightened around you. “So fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”

He withdrew his hand from between your legs and brought it up to show you—you felt the blood rush to your cheeks at the sight of his fingers. You’d left them dripping, coated completely with your slick.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His command was firm, but still soft, gentle. You did as Joel told you—your eyes fixed on his, you parted your lips slightly, just enough for him to slip his fingers into your mouth for you to lick clean. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you slowly sucked your release off his digits, a hint of shyness in your half lidded gaze. “You like how you taste, don’t you, my darlin’ girl? Hm? Like how fuckin’ sweet you are?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nodded, and then released them with a small, wet pop. 

Joel groaned. He had half a mind to put you down your knees right then and there and have you take care of the straining in his jeans. Instead, he let go of you and checked to make sure your skirt looked okay. He then reached up and smoothed your hair, saying, “You gotta go back inside now, little dove.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of Lydia calling out your name caused you to jump slightly. 

She must have come outside looking for you. 

“Go,” he nudged you. “I’ll head around the back of the church so she don’t see me.” 

Joel started to whirl around to take off in the other direction when you caught his arm, stopping him.

“Baby, what are you—?”

Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek softly. 

The innocence of it, and the smile you flashed him after the fact, knocked the fucking wind out of his lungs.

He watched, mouth agape, as you spun around on the heel of your shoe, hurrying back to the front of the church house to meet your sister.

It was late in the evening.

You were sitting cross legged on your bed—Lydia’s laying on the small, circular shag rug on your floor surrounded by several composition books and plastic, single subject folders. “Toss me some of those,” you said, waving your red marker in the air. “I can help you get through them quicker.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Um, don’t you have your own students’ homework assignments to grade?”

“Lyd, I teach three, four, and five year old children. I’m not exactly having them write papers trying to interpret Shakespearean sonnets,” you giggled. “It doesn’t take that long to grade alphabet worksheets or stick figure drawings.” You waved the marker once more. “So, do you want me to help you or not?”

Before she had the chance to respond, the door to your bedroom burst open and Leah waltzed inside donning a strapless, floral printed dress. Her locks were out of their braids, cascading down her back and a pair of strappy brown sandals, which she’d secretly traded a pair of earrings for in exchange, adorned her feet. 

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Lydia asked, shaking her head as she sat up. 

“We,” she emphasized, “Are going to a party.”

You frowned. “If you’re referring to the party down at The Tipsy Bison, that’s a party for Tommy Miller they’re throwing. It’s his birthday today, Leah. You can’t just show up to someone’s birthday party on a whim or uninvited. That’s just bad manners.”

“Actually, I bumped into Maria Miller at the bakery this afternoon when I went to buy rolls for dinner—she was picking up Tommy’s cake. She mentioned the party to me and extended the invitation.” Leah grinned. It’s almost like she’d forgotten about how she had tried getting into her husband’s pants just months ago while she was still pregnant with their son. Leah swore she didn’t remember that—which part of you honestly believed. She had been drunk out of her mind the night she tried making a move on Tommy Miller. “She said that we were welcome to join in on the festivities. So come on, ladies. Put on your best and let’s get going!”

“Sorry, I’m going to have to sit this one out,” Lydia said with a sigh. She gathered all of her things and stood up. “I have a dozen papers to grade. But you two go on and have fun.” She walked towards your door, elbowing Leah on the way out. “Behave.”

“Don’t I always, big sister?”

Scoffing, Lydia glanced back at you. “Please make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?”

“Wait a minute, why do I have to babysit her?”

“Because you’re the good one.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Leah muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she piped innocently. 

Rolling her eyes, Lydia bid a quick goodnight, then disappeared.

“Well come on then,” Leah walked over to you and grabbed your arm, dragging you off your bed. “We need to get you out of these drab clothes and into something cute!” 

You huffed, “What I’m wearing is just fine—”

“Don’t you want to get all dolled up for Joel?” She teased, lowering her voice as she pulled you to her bedroom just across the hallway. She shoved you inside and then closed the door behind her. “Look all nice and pretty for him?”

“Leah, I can’t talk to him at the party,” you told her as she lifted her hands and started taking the pins out of your braids. “It would raise an eyebrow—the last thing I want is for people to talk and it getting back to Papa. Or to put Joel in a weird spot at his own brother’s birthday party.”

She raked her fingers through your hair, taking out your braids. “Well at the very least, you can be eye candy for him to enjoy,” she stated with a smirk as she fussed around with your locks, which were textured from your braids. Once she was satisfied with your hair, Leah made her way over to her closet and started to dig inside a cardboard box that she kept tucked at the very back of it. She plucked a garment from it and tossed it over her shoulder at you. “Here, wear this one. I think Joel would like it on you.”

The dress was beautiful—a vibrant daisy yellow with a detailed eyelet embroidery and thin straps. You held it against yourself and let out a small scoff as you said, “Leah, I can’t wear this.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” She threw a worn, tan leather cowboy boot at you, followed by the other. “I don’t have another pair of sandals but these go with the dress a hell of a lot better than oxfords do.”

You shook your head furiously. 

“I can’t wear this dress, much less out to the bar. It’s way too short—it’s inappropriate.”

Leah snorted. “Honey, Joel Miller made you come in his mouth outside the church house and a short dress is where you draw the line? Seriously?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then clamped it shut—she made a fair point. Without giving your sister anymore grief, you stripped out of your skirt and blouse and slipped the yellow dress on. You reached up take off your cross, but decided against it and left it alone.

Less than an hour later, the two of you walked arm in arm into The Tipsy Bison. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, looking around in awe—the bar had been completely transformed and you almost didn’t recognize the place. The bar’s owner Seth liked to keep the place dim, but since it was a special occasion tonight, he’d strung lights across the room from ceiling to ceiling. He had also taken all the tables and chairs and moved them all aside, creating a makeshift dance floor. In a corner of the bar, a band had set up to play live music. Currently on the microphone was Pamela, a woman who ran the town’s general store, singing a lovely rendition of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘cause I’ve built my life around you 

but time makes you bolder…”

“Come on, let’s go grab a drink!” Leah tugged you over towards the counter. The both of you went up to Seth, who was helping his bartenders serve the dozens of party guests. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Two glasses of whiskey, please. I’ll have mine neat and she’ll have hers on the rocks.” 

You wrinkled your nose.

You didn’t even like whiskey.

You could never choke down more than a sip, two or three if the ice watered the liquor down enough. 

“Of course, Leah.” Seth nodded. He looked over at you and did a double take in the middle of his pour that almost made him miss the glass. He let out a low whistle. “Well, look at you! Never seen you this dressed up before.”

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Leah beamed proudly. 

“Just about the prettiest thing in the whole room,” Seth remarked with a wink as he placed your drink in front of you. “You two girls have fun but be careful. There’s a lot more drinking going on than usual—any one of these heathens bother you, you come tell me and I will kick their behinds out of this party. Got it?”

“Thanks, Seth!” you both chirped in unison. 

Taking Leah’s hand, you led her across the bar and over towards a small vacant booth to sit. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone came over to whisk your sister away from you for a dance. You could see, out of your peripheral vision, a group of drunk patrolmen crammed together like sardines in a tin in the booth adjacent to yours throwing glances at Leah already. 

“They’re looking at you too, you know,” she said in a matter of fact tone, lightly clinking the rim of her glass to yours before taking a drink. 

“Well, they’re wasting their time,” you mumbled as you lifted your glass to your lips and took a careful sip of the bold amber liquid. It burned, making you cough and sputter violently. “Nope, I can’t do this. Here,” you shook your head and shoved your glass towards her before standing up. “I’ll be right back, I’m going back to the bar to ask Seth for a glass of water or something.”

Cutting across the dance floor, you were quick but careful not to bump into anyone as you made your way back to the counter. 

“Back for another already?” Seth asked, chuckling as he took the bar towel in his hands and draped it over his shoulder. “I really didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”

Smiling sheepishly, you admitted, “I’m not.”

“Ah, I see now.” He nodded in understanding. “I’ve got fresh squeezed lemonade?”

You grinned. “Lemonade sounds really good, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

As you stood there waiting, you leaned against the counter and glanced over your shoulder, your eyes subtly scanning the room for Joel. There were way too many people—more than half the town turned out for Tommy Miller’s birthday and the bar had to be well over its maximum capacity. Exhaling a tiny sigh of defeat, you grabbed the glass of lemonade Seth set in front of you, kindly thanking him for it. Whirling around on the heel of your boot, you froze for a second realizing someone had been standing behind you waiting for you to move, so close you’d nearly crashed right into his broad chest.

“Oh, m’sorry about th—” 

The man you’d almost ran into began apologizing, but then abruptly stopped short, his familiar, dark brown eyes widening in complete and utter shock. 

“Hi Joel,” you breathed, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. 

Joel hadn’t necessarily dressed up for tonight, but he wore a much nicer shirt than his usual denim or plaid—instead, he’d gone with a long sleeve brown corduroy button up. The material fit snug over the broad planes of his chest and his shoulders. If that alone wasn’t enough to make your knees go weak, then the way he’d left the top two buttons undone would finish the job. 

“What are you doin’ here?” 

“Maria extended the invitation to us,” you said in a small, shy voice—you didn’t quite know how to act with Joel with so many people around. Part of you worried people would notice and start talking. The other part of you couldn’t care less if they did. You feared your father finding out, and yet at the same time, you were ready for him to know that you had a man in your life, a man that you were certain you were slowly but surely starting to fall for more and more with every passing moment. “She invited us all, but it’s just me and Leah here tonight.”

Joel’s gaze swept over you, his throat going dry as sandpaper. “You look real different,” he said, doing his best not to let it linger too long. 

Nervously, you asked, “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different.” He’d murmured it so quietly, you almost didn’t catch it over the music. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful.”

A bashful little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Thank you.”

Before another word could be exchanged between you and Joel, a stunning woman with short brown hair, intense eyes, and slender, mile-long legs only further accentuated by her tight denim skirt came up beside him. She slipped her arm through Joel’s and shot him a perplexed look. 

“Joel? What’s taking so long with those drinks?” 

The color instantly drained from Joel’s face.

Simultaneously, your heart dropped, deep into the pit of your churning stomach. 

The woman’s eyes flickered over to you.

“Wait, you’re one of John’s daughters, aren’t you? Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said with a kind smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met each other since I got to Jackson, but I’m Esther. I work in the commune’s infirmary. You work over in the schoolhouse, don’t you?”

“I do.” You offered her a small smile in return, hoping that it didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Joel tried meeting your gaze, but you refused.

“You must teach Ellie’s class, then,” she stated, an unmistakable hint of relief in her tone.

Because what other reason could Joel Miller have to be talking to you of all people at this party?

“Yeah, that’s it. I teach Ellie’s class.” Gripping your glass so tightly in your hand you were worried that it would shatter, you cleared your throat and in the most polite voice you could possibly muster under the circumstances, you said, “I should probably be getting back to my sister. It was very nice meeting you, Esther.”

Without even bothering to wait for her to respond, you stepped around Joel and quickly hurried back to yours and Leah’s booth. You slid into it, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over. 

Leah frowned. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Afraid you would crumble if you spoke, all that you could do was nod over towards the bar where Joel and Esther were waiting for their drinks. She had a hand on his back, rubbing affectionate circles into it as she lightly rested her head on his shoulder. 

“Fucking asshole!” She hissed, angrily. “I ought to go up there and give him a piece of my mind—”

You cut her off, sounding miserable. 

“For what, Leah? For being with someone who is a lot closer to his age than I am? Someone who isn’t a strict preacher’s daughter?” Your voice broke off slightly and you paused to recollect yourself. “Why did I ever think someone like him could ever—God, I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew you couldn’t completely blame yourself, after all, it wasn’t like you had made up all those nights you’d spent with Joel in his arms or just imagined all the things he had said to you. 

Still. It didn’t make you feel any less foolish, like an incredibly naive, dumb little girl who hadn’t known any better. 

“Good evening, ladies.” 

Pulling your face out of your hands, you looked up, your gaze meeting that of a handsome young man with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Offering you a polite smile, he extended his hand. 

“I hate to see such a pretty girl look so down. How about a dance or two to cheer you right up?”

Glancing over at the bar, you could see Joel’s eyes were now fixed intently on you as Esther chatted with one of the female bartenders behind the counter. 

You didn’t even hesitate.

Turning back to him, you accepted his hand. “I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

He knew what you were doing. 

Oh, he knew exactly what you were fucking doing.

And it was working like a goddamn charm. 

Joel leaned back into his chair and kept a cool and calm, collected demeanor on the outside—despite feeling anything but on the inside. 

Jealously bubbled in the veins underneath his skin as he watched Nathan, a young man who couldn’t be much older this his late twenties, reach for your hands, placing them on his shoulders. Joel inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the patrolman taking your waist, pulling your body flush against his own as he led you in what had to be your third or fourth dance of the evening, this one slower than the rest of them as the band struck up a romantic ballad.

He wrapped his fingers around his glass, holding it in an iron grip as Nathan held you even closer, way too fucking close for his liking. Joel had half a mind to walk out onto the dance floor and rip you out of his arms. It would cause a scene though, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at his own brother’s birthday party.

And then there was you. 

You weren’t making things any easier for him. Your arms wrapped around the man’s back, fingers lost in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck—smiling up at him with a flirty little glimmer in your eyes. If Joel didn’t know any fucking better, he’d think you were actually enjoying yourself with Nathan. But it didn’t matter whether or not it was just an act, you being in the arms of another man bothered him.

It fucking bothered him. 

“Don’t go rearrangin’ that kid’s face too.” Tommy’s voice came from beside him. Maria had gone back to the house to check up on Noah—Ellie offered to watch him for the night despite never having been around an infant before in her life. Being the worry wart mother that she was, Maria decided to swing by and see how the teenager was faring alone with a five and a half month old. Esther, who had finally grown sick and tired of being brushed off by Joel all evening, decided to go with her, leaving the two brothers alone. 

Joel turned to look at him. 

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted his glass to his lips, draining the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. 

“Spare me the bullshit, Joel. You’ve been watchin’ those two like a fuckin’ hawk all night long. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on between you and the girl?” 

“Nothin’s goin’ on between us.”

Tommy snorted. “Then why do you look like you’re just about ready to go over there and knock Nate’s fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

“Just makin’ sure he don’t step outta line with her, that’s all. After what happened with Kent—”

“Whose nose you fuckin’ shattered with your fist,” Tommy interjected. “It ain’t ever gonna heal right. Hope y’know that.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “He’s lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill him after what he tried to do to her, Tommy.”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ Kent didn’t deserve it, but that ain’t the way we handle things around here.”

Joel rolled his eyes. 

“You and Maria gave me this lecture already.”

“I know, but a reminder don’t hurt.” Tommy traced a circle around the rim of his glass. “I ain’t stupid. I know that somethin’s been goin’ between you and that girl. And whatever it is—it needs to stop, Joel. It’s bad enough that she’s half your fuckin’ age but she’s also one of the preacher’s daughters. When I told you it was best to keep your distance from his girls, I said it for good fuckin’ reason, brother.” For the sake of not stirring up an argument at his own party, Tommy decided to leave it at that. He stood from the table and picked up his empty glass. “M’gonna go get a refill. Can I get you one too?”

“No thanks,” Joel mumbled, a slight bitter edge to his tone.

“Hey.” Tommy lightly clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, Joel. Alright?”

When Joel didn’t respond, Tommy shook his head, dropped his hand from his shoulder, and made his way across the bar over towards the counter.

Shoving his brother’s warning out of mind without giving so much as a second thought, Joel glanced over towards the dance floor once again. The song had just ended and the band announced that they were going to take a brief five before their next set started. Setting his glass down, Joel watched your every move, and more importantly, Nathan’s every move. 

Standing on the tips of your toes, you’d whispered something into his ear with a small grin before you planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, you spun on the heel of your boot and started off towards the bathrooms located at the back of the bar. 

Trying to be as subtle as possible, Joel stood from the table and followed suit. He caught up to you in the short, dimly lit hallway and once he saw that the coast was clear, he grabbed your arm with one hand and covered your mouth with the other hand to muffle the sound of your scream. “S’just me!” Joel hissed into your ear, pushing you through the nearest door—the bar’s supply closet. Once inside the tiny room, he locked the door, flipped the light switch, and turned to face you. 

You stood there absolutely seething.

“Joel, what is the matter with you?” you spat angrily at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack just now! What’s your problem?”

“Could ask you the same fuckin’ question,” he shot back, though he kept his voice low, calm.

For as mad as he was, he didn’t want to raise his voice at you. 

“Let me out.” You started towards the door, but he was quick to block it. “Joel, let me out right now.”

“Not ‘til you explain to me what you were doin’ out there dancin’ with that little prick all fuckin’ night long.”

Lifting your chin, you feigned innocence. “Oh, you saw us?”

Joel glared at you. “Don’t you play dumb with me, little dove.”

The sweet nickname that once put a smile on your face suddenly made you feel sick to your stomach.

“First of all, don’t call me that, okay?” There was a slight, trembling edge to your tone. “And second, I honestly could have sworn that you were too busy with your girlfriend to even notice me and Nathan—oh, and speaking of Nate, he’s out there waiting for me to come back from the bathroom right now, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping side so I can leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Listen, you got the wrong idea about Esther, darlin’ girl. The wrong fuckin’ idea.”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid or something?”

“Just wait a second, let me expl—”

You cut him off with a scoff. 

“You know, you really had me fooled, Joel. I fell for it, I fell for all of it. Do you even realize I was willing to leave my family for you?” You curled your hands into tiny fists at your sides. “Everything that I have ever known and built my entire life around, I would have walked away from it all just to be with you.”

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh. 

“Christ, can you just let me fuckin’ explain?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, your gaze fell, dropping to the floor as you gave him a chance to speak. 

“Esther, she ain’t my girlfriend.” He paused briefly, then added, “but I ain’t gonna lie to you either, sweet girl. She’s someone that I used to—”

Joel paused once again, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, but you beat him to it. 

“Sleep with?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “But it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Tommy and Maria introduced us months ago. He wanted me to meet somebody I could settle down and build my new life with here in Jackson. Nothin’ came out of it except for a few months of meaningless sex.”

“Joel, I don’t want to hear about you screwing her. Please, just let me out,” you pleaded, trying for the door once more.

“Baby, stop.” Grabbing your shoulders firmly, Joel walked you backwards and pinned you against the wall. “Look at me.”

“No,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze just like you had earlier that night back out in the bar. 

“Look at me.”

Finally, you brought your eyes up to meet his. 

“When I started seein’ you, I put an end to it. Told Esther I couldn’t keep on doin’ what we were doin’ and it had to stop,” Joel explained. “But she hasn’t been able to accept I want nothin’ to do with her. She’s fuckin’ been all over me tonight and I let her for the sake of not causin’ tension at the party. She’s my sister-in-law’s best friend and last thing I fuckin’ wanted was for Esther to go cryin’ to Maria about me again. But then I saw you here and—” He trailed off. 

“And what?”

Joel dropped his hands from your shoulders. “And I stopped carin’ about anythin’ else but you, darlin’ girl. Nothin’ else fuckin’ mattered to me but you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He stepped back, lightly shaking his head. 

“‘Cause I think I’m fallin’ for you, little dove.”

Joel wasn’t just making the confession to you. 

He was making it to himself. 

Your breath hitched in your throat and you grasped at the wall behind you, your fingernails scraping at the old, chipped paint. 

“It’s the reason why I haven’t—m’afraid if we take the next step, it’s gonna ruin things, y’know?I don’t wanna lose what I’ve got with you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losin’ you.” 

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. “Joel, I can promise you, you’re not going to lose me.” You stepped forward, delicately placing both hands on his chest. Even through the thick fabric of his shirt you could still feel his heartbeat thumping against the palm of your hand. Hard. Fast, almost too fast. “You couldn’t lose me. It’s just not possible.”

His own voice was just above a whisper. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m falling for you too.”

Tilting your head up, you stood on the toes of your boots and brushed your lips against his softly. Joel slipped his arms around your waist and he whirled you around, pinning you between himself and the door. His tongue swept roughly along your lower lip before coaxing its way into your mouth without any kind of resistance on your part. He reached up and cupped the back of your neck in his palm. 

“Joel,” you whimpered his name into his mouth as your back arched off the door, demanding more of his touch.

Breathless, Joel pulled his mouth away from yours eliciting a desperate, frustrated moan from you. 

“No, please don’t stop,” you whined, pressing your chest into his. “Please.”

“That little stunt you pulled out there,” he said, his lips ghosting yours, “I ain’t all too happy ‘bout it. I hope y’know that.” Although he was teasing you, there was a seriousness to it. “Tried to make me jealous, didn’t you, babygirl? Well, it fuckin’ worked. Got me all riled up.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Accompanying the apology with a sweet, innocent bat of your eyes, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and dragged a hand slowly down the length of his chest. “Let me make it up to you?”

“And how’re you gonna do that, little dove?” Joel’s voice grew hoarse as he felt your hand going lower and lower, over his stomach and down towards his belt buckle. 

Fingers brushing over the brass, you smirked, “I’m sure I can think of something.” 

Joel bit back a groan, feeling the blood rush to his cock. Before he could say anything, you pressed a feather-soft kiss into his neck, your hand cupping him through his jeans. “Fuck,” he hissed the curse through gritted teeth. He planted his hands on the door behind you on either side of your head as his knees buckled slightly. 

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” you cooed into his warm, flushed skin. Just as you started sinking to your knees, he stopped you. 

“Wait. Not here. Ain’t putting you on your knees in some dirty fuckin’ supply closet next to mops and brooms,” he gruffed. “M’gonna take you home to my place.”

You frowned. “But what about—”

“Kid’s at Tommy and Maria’s babysittin’ Noah. Ain’t comin’ back ‘til tomorrow. Besides, she’s livin’ in the garage now.” He unlocked the door and took your hand. “C’mon.”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes as he pulled you out of the closet. “People are going to see—”

“Exactly. Want everyone to see you’re mine.”

Swallowing harshly, you let Joel lead you back out to the bar where the party was still in full swing. 

You felt the heat prickling at your face and neck as several people stopped in the middle of what they were doing and began to whisper. Even Leah, who had been dancing, stopped mid-shimmy, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of Joel Miller openly holding your hand in his. 

“Joel,” you murmured nervously from behind him. “Joel, everyone’s staring at us.” 

He held your hand even tighter. 

Let them.

[effloradox]

Means To An End

pairings: hitachiin twins x gn!reader, ohshc x gn!reader

summary: tensions are running high in the host club when the twins start to fight over a comment made by Haruhi. as their best friend, everyone expects you to have the answers but when you failed to notice any tension between the two of them, you’re left wondering if you don’t know them as well as you thought.

notes: set during episode 1.05 (the twins fight), works in the same verse as We Want You Here but is fine as a stand-alone fic too

word count: 2.2k

There’s trouble in the air. You’d say you can smell it, but with all the rose bouquets scattered around Music Room 3 it’s hard to get away from the floral smells that all your friends, hosts or otherwise, are perpetually laced with. Yesterday had been normal as far as you could tell, even if you had left school early for an appointment, but when the twins’ car had arrived at your home to pick you up to take you to school you’d been surprised to see them sporting new hair colours.

“Should I be worried about that?” The two of them raised an eyebrow in unison before your eyes drifted up to their hair. You couldn’t deny that the blue and the pink suited them really well but they’d never expressed an interest in dyeing their hair before. Not to mention how much their mother loves their natural hair colour. To dye it on a whim with no deeper purpose would be seen as a crime in her eyes. Yuzuha Hitachiin is not a woman to cross, you don’t want to think about the arguments had over this new development in the twin’s appearance. They exchange one more glance between themselves before Kaoru finally answers your question.

“It’s a means to an end.” You take a few moments to mull over the vagueness of his words, staring hard at the blue, before replying.

“Am I going to be dragged into the middle of it?”

“We’d prefer it if you didn’t.” At Hikaru’s words, the tension in the car seems to evaporate and you finally relax into your seat. You drop your bag onto the seat next to you, smoothing a crease in your uniform.

“Suits me just fine.” The rest of the journey is filled with small talk and petty gossip, just the way you like to spend your morning journey to Ouran. By the time the three of you have arrived at school you’re almost used to their new looks.

It takes until your lunch period for you to actually find out the reason for the twins’ weird behaviour. Your involvement in various clubs and extracurriculars had kept you busy and away from your friends aside from shared classes where you’d been too busy studying for upcoming exams to pay attention to your idiotic best friends. You finally had a moment of peace on your way to the dining hall when a commotion drew your attention. The pink and blue hair makes it incredibly easy to identify the twins and you can only watch in mild horror at the food fight that has broken out between the two of them. You’d been more than content to turn on your heel and head back where you came from when a foreign pair of arms grab you, pulling you down a corridor not far from the dining hall.

“I demand you tell me what’s going on with those shady twins!” It takes you a few beats to realise that it’s Tamaki that pulled you away. You’re more than used to being manhandled by the twins but Tamaki doesn’t seem like the type to do so unprompted to anyone but Haruhi. When Kyoya appears in front of you as well, you begin to suspect maybe he put the Host Club King up to the mild kidnapping he’s just committed.

"I have no idea Tamaki-Senpai.” Your words send the blonde into a predictable fit of despair and it becomes clear to both you and Kyoya that he will no longer be an active part of this conversation. The two of you are more than used to tuning out Tamaki’s breakdowns so it’s easy to pick up the conversation without his involvement.

“It’s in your best interest to tell us everything you know (Y/N).”

“They told me not to get involved. I’ve learned to trust them when they say that.” You can tell your answer hasn’t pleased the megane but you can’t really find it in yourself to care much. If the twins told you not to get involved, you’re more than happy to let whatever this is blow over without it affecting you as well. Since you’re not a host and whatever they’re doing doesn’t affect your classes together you’re more than happy to watch from the sidelines. If it truly is just a means to an end like Kaoru said it was, you can’t imagine whatever they’re doing will last longer than a day or two. “I’ll see you both at the club after class for my usual appointment.”

It’s only when you’ve started to walk away that Kyoya responds to your statement in a monotone voice that somehow feels more calculated than usual. “If things continue the way they have been, we might be unable to fulfil your usual appointment. We’re down a pair of loving brothers you see.” You stop walking at his final words, turning on your heel to face him.

“What do you mean?” Your question, plus the blank look that appears on your face, instantly brings Tamaki out of his fit as he looks at you with an expression you can’t quite read. You place it somewhere between bewildered and perplexed but there’s another part of it that you find yourself disliking.

“Haven’t you heard? Hikaru and Kaoru are fighting.” It almost feels like the world stops spinning for a few moments as you process Tamaki’s words. The problem is that the world starts spinning again and you can almost feel the system error taking place in your mind as you wait for the blonde to tell you he’s joking. When Tamaki doesn’t rescind his sentence you feel the first prickle of anxiety starting in the back of your mind.

“They don’t fight.” Tamaki merely blinks at you owlishly.

“They’ve been fighting since yesterday. It started at the club.”

"If they were fighting, I would know."

“Is it possible that you don’t know them as well as you thought?” Part of you knows that Kyoya doesn’t mean his question to sound as harsh as it does but it still stings somewhere deep inside you.

The twins might not have fully opened up to the host club yet but you know them. There’s no way they could be fighting; there’s no way you could’ve misread the car journey that badly to miss some sign that there was disharmony between them. They’re never fought in all the years you’ve known them.

“I’ll guess we’ll find out after classes are over.” Your tone sounds more defeated than you’d care to acknowledge and you’re quick to turn away from the two hosts before you spot any kind of pity growing in their expressions.

It’s almost a relief when your free period starts and you can spend your time as you wish. Normally you’d seek the twins out, or vice versa, but something about your earlier conversation with Tamaki and Kyoya is replaying in your mind and the idea of sitting and stewing in a crowded library sounds like the worst thing on earth. You find yourself walking through the grounds of the academy, hoping some fresh air and sunlight will do something to improve your mood. It almost works until you hear a loud shout from behind you.

“Hey! (Y/N) wait!” You start to quicken your pace when you hear two sets of footsteps coming up behind you but it’s not long before Hikaru and Kaoru catch up to you. They come to a stop a few paces behind you, waiting for you to turn around and face them. The bright colours of their hair make you feel sick.

“What gives?”

“Yeah, why’d you ditch us?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to wrap it up soon.” It’s clear your comment isn’t what the twins were expecting from you when they flinch back at your tone.

“What're you talking about?" You narrow your eyes at them.

“Your means to an end. Whatever the end is, I hope it’s worth it.” The way the two of them look at each other when you speak sends a wave of irritation over you that you rarely feel towards your best friends. It feels like they're in on some joke that you've been left behind on and you don't enjoy the feeling.

"Don't be like that."

"Yeah, it's not a big deal." Hikaru's blasé tone does nothing to soothe your irritation.

"Kyoya seems to think it is. He also seems to think I don't know you well enough to notice that you're fighting." Your words get the first serious reaction from the twins as they look at you with an unreadable expression on their faces.

"When did Kyoya say that?" Hikaru's tone is cold and you can't tell whether that's directed towards you or Kyoya. Or both. Maybe both.

"During your little display at lunch. Him and Tamaki pulled me out of the dining hall to try and work out what the fuck is going on."

"He had no right to involve you."

"Yeah, it's none of their business."

"Actually it's entirely their business if it directly affects the host club. Which it seems like it has since Kyoya’s cancelling appointments.”

“It’ll be over soon, we told you.”

"I don't know why you're pretending to fight, but I want no part of it. You told me you didn't want me involved and I was fine with that but now I am involved and I want out."

"We didn't mean for this to happen to you."

"I know."

“We’re sorry.”

“…I know.” Kaoru is the first to approach you, waiting for your reaction. When you don't take a step back, he approaches and pulls you into a hug. His brother is quick to follow and the three of you spend the next few moments entwined in silence. You listen for their breaths and even your breathing so that you're all in sync.

Their synchronicity is an ability that is as innate to them as breathing and it always feels special when they let you in for moments like this. It's only when your breathing is completely in line with theirs that you begin to untangle yourself from their arms. The events of the day feel like they’ve hit you with full effect and you’re left feeling weary.

"I'm going to go home. I'll see you tomorrow." The twins let you go without protest, the weight of their gaze heavy on you as you walk towards the main building of Ouran. After muttering some excuse about feeling unwell, it’s not long before you’re in your car on the way back home and it’s all you can do to put the events of the day behind you.

When you wake up the day after, you’re honestly not sure what to expect when one of your maids tells you that the twins' car has pulled up to take you to school. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, in fact it'd be more unusual if they didn’t, so it’s not hard to see that your maids are confused by your hesitancy to go to school. You climb into the car and sit in your usual seat, barely looking up at your companions as you grab your seatbelt and secure it. It’s only when you look away from the seatbelt that something odd about the energy in the car hits you.

It takes you a few seconds to realise why something feels off. They’ve switched colours. The weight of their eyes on you makes you shift in your seat and the seatbelt suddenly feels far too restrictive.

“Aren’t you worried about frying your hair if you keep changing it?” The smiles that appear on your friends' faces immediately settle your anxiety. If this was some test, you’ve definitely passed it.

“No one else noticed.” In a way, you’re unsurprised by that. The two of them pretend to be each other so frequently that you can only imagine their house staff have long since given up trying to work out who’s who.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cruel to give people a way to tell you apart only to pull the rug from under them by changing it immediately?”

“We don’t want everyone to know who’s who.”

“Yeah, it takes away from our mystique.” It’s a fair comment, one you can’t refute, but there still seems to be a gaping hole in their logic.

“Some people will still know.” You gesture to yourself as an example, watching as their smiles seem to get a fraction wider.

“Yeah.”

“You'll know.”

“Looks like you do know us well enough after all.” Hikaru’s words take you by surprise. The three of you have never been the type to be overly doting on each other and you’re not sure if you’re reading the situation right.

“You did this for me?”

“Of course!”

“Can’t have Kyoya thinking he knows everything, can we?” Hikaru’s words touch you in a way you don’t think you’d be able to put into words, and as soon as the moment is with you, it’s passed; as is usually the case with the twins.

“So! You missed the craziest love confession after school yesterday…” As Kaoru goes into a tirade about some poor girl who tried to confess to Haruhi, it’s all you can do to bask in the moment of harmony with the two of them.

A/N: I’m kind of obsessed with the concept of the twins having this long suffering friend figure in their life, I think it’s such a fun avenue to go down with Ouran fics.

series masterlist

[pealeii]

les mis us tour on november 21, 2024 !!

javert (nick rehberger) said “no 😒” so snootily

the valjean (nick cartell) was INCREDIBLE. his “FLIIIGHT” note in the prologue was an inSANE high belt. and he did it while twirling around?? like WOAH.

the bishop (randy jeter) said “my friend :) you left so early” so gently

the factory girl who fought fantine was genuinely great??? like when she said “sleeping around” she made a little gesture and got all up in her face about it

before fantine died, valjean and her hugged 🥺

the thernadiers were GREAT. we had a panel with the actor of marius (jake david smith) and thernadier (matt crowle) and thernadier said he had a newer take on the character that he described as more of a jester, and you could tell! he really leaned into the physicality. i liked it

when madame did the sign of the cross thernadier just like. flopped his hands vaguely around

stars was fucking incredible. like WHAT. such a stoic javert…and a RICH voice. absolutely gorgeous rendition

javert and gavroche had this little moment after javert cleared everyone away where they just looked at each other like “ok……..respect.”

KYLE ADAMS GRANTAIRE IS BETTER THAN I COULD EVER IMAGINE

during red&black grantaire kissed combeferre on the head and later sat on his lap. he was also just SO CUNTYY. he crossed his legs in the most CUNTY way and just traipsed around and messed around with people and SERVED

when grantaire said “let’s give them a a screwing they’ll never forget” he empasized screwing like “let’s give them a screwing 😏💅 they’ll never forget”

ALSO!!!!! his and gavroche’s friendship was amazing !!!! like they would hug all the time 🥺🥺🥺 they had so many little moments. after grantaire’s verse in drink with me gavroche came over and hugged him on the legss!!! 💔💔😫😫 and when gavroche died (holy shit) grantaire ran over and hugged him and tried to wake him like WTFFF 💥💥💥💥💔💔💔

OKAYYY OH MY GOSH eponine (mya rena hunter) was amazing!!!!!!!! her on my own gave me CHILLS WOAHAHAH SHE WAS INCREDIBLE!!

AND MARIUS AND COSETTE WERE SO SWEET <3333 THEYRE DYNAMIC WAS EVERYTHING. like the cosette (delaney guyer) was SO short it was adorable. also her voice was naturally high and i really enjoyed it

marius was great. when he said “marius pontmercy” in heart full of love he bowed to cosette so goofily 😂

ALSO A LITTLE FALL OF RAIN!!!!!!!!!!! WTF!!! It was done so intimately—marius and eponine were so close to each other in their own corner and the whole stage was dim except a spotlight on them, and they sang so softly to each other it was like you were leaning into this conversation between just the two of them it was 💔💔💔💔💔💔😭😭😭😭

also during that song at one point gavroche tried to come over but grantaire pulled him back

and bring him home holy shiT. he started so quiet and gentle, but then his voice just SOARED as he got into it. just WOAH.

also!! when valjean read marius’ letter he stopped at the “well” when marius is writing about how cosette loves him as well. so like “love me as…well 🤨” SOO funny. bc he’s always so *valjean* and serious yknow but that break was so good

JAVERT’S SOLILOQUY. HOLY SHIT. he did my FAV thing of screaming the first two lines which 10000/10💥💥💥💥💥💥 and when he jumped, the set just like UNRAVELED around him (like how he himself was unraveling!!!) and he stayed suspended in midair while being moved back

at the end when valjean dies, he had the same candlesticks that the bishop gave him set up!!

[pouralaura]

spit triptych

[saluting emoji] it's art for sickos

tags: spit, wine, cum (in that order), nsfw obviously

1

The restraints Raphael most often uses are his own hands, larger than Eris's and more than enough to hold her down.

This time, though, he's trussed her wrists up prettily in red silk ties so that he can have both hands free to toy with her as he fucks her into the mattress. One shifts into the sharp claws of his devilish form as he drags fingertips down her side, leaving raised red welts in their wake. The other --

"Open your filthy mouth," he grunts, a thumb pressing against her lower lip. "Show me that lovely tongue."

He catches her jaw in his hand before she can wriggle away and settles his thumb and forefinger in the hollows of her cheeks, preventing her mouth from closing. The heat of his hips against the backs of her thighs is searing as he presses her legs down towards her chest. Folds her in half.

"And -- look at that! -- I've caught my mouse once more," the devil coos, and it turns into a snarl as he draws back and thrusts his hips forward again. Makes her whine. "Down comes the claw, my dear."

Oh, how she likes him like this: harsh and unforgiving and dangerous and triumphant. To be fair, she likes him all ways; passion bleeds through in whichever role he plays, whether he's on top of her or underneath her or in the middle of a delectable sandwich with Haarlep on the other side or pressing her against a wall with his hips. But when Eris can see the victory glittering in his eyes (brown against white or fiery orange against black), when he declares his power over her with verse or sex or both, Raphael looks like he was made for this. Made for her to see; for her to be so captured by.

Ah! My sweet caged bird, he'd cooed when he'd finished binding her wrists before. I wonder how quickly I can coax out your lovely song this time?

To his delight, it hadn't taken long. She's long since discarded her inhibitions with him; knows he'd bottle and drink her sobs and moans to excess. He's always claimed to love a fight -- and she'll give him one, when they're both of a mind -- but my, my, how he loves a victory that much more.

Eris keeps her eyes wide and alert, gaze burning hotly into his as he spits harshly, warm and wet and claiming, into her mouth that he still holds open. His victory. A sick thrill pulses through her as she feels him hit her tongue, still tasting vaguely of her cunt from when he'd licked her nearly to delirium not twenty minutes before. Catches sight of the glimmer of sadistic mirth that lies behind his gaze; flutters around him in fear and want on the verge of her own end.

Raphael's fingers withdraw from her cheeks only to press up hard on her chin, closing her mouth around its contents, tipping her head forcefully back against the bed into the soft rumpled sheets.

"Swallow," he pants, and Eris can hear the strain in his voice, can feel him so rigid inside of her, and knows he's close.

So she does as he demands. Opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue to show him there's nothing left, and then she swallows too his responding groan, guttural and satisfied, when he claims her mouth again with his own. Feels him pulse, spill inside of her, shudder over her; feels him mouth the word Mine against her when, spent at last, he buries his face into her neck.

2

The sound of a wine bottle being uncorked echoes across the high-ceilinged room.

"If you're pouring, bring me some, won't you?" Eris asks airily from her spot on the gold-brocaded lounge, looking up from her novel.

She expects Raphael to snap his fingers in a typical show of pretentious prestidigitation and poof a second empty glass into existence, but he doesn't.

Instead he slowly pours a single glass; sets the bottle down on a nearby desk with a soft clink. Stalks towards her chair with full vessel in hand, eyes narrowed and on her hotly, predatory as the fox to which he so often likens himself. Shirt halfway unlaced -- he looks sinful.

She hopes he doesn't notice the gooseflesh along her bare legs. Their situationship has spanned months already and still this look on him makes her toes curl in pleasure and anticipation, embarrassing as it is. So affected by him, she is; but he is the same way with her.

But for now, she feigns exasperation. A little game.

"What?"

Raphael stops in front of her. Eris watches the bob of his throat as he takes a long, savoring sip and swallows, then follows the trail of deep olive-toned skin down into the wiry coarse hair on his chest. She doesn't have to admire him from afar for long, though, because he next moves his body over hers on the sofa, sliding a knee between her thighs and leaning in to capture her mouth in a kiss. It's clear he has no intention of playing the same game as she.

Not at all a disappointment.

She smiles against him as they part their lips together.

He tastes, unsurprisingly, of wine. Generous and sensual with his indulgent tongue, he leisurely paints the inside of her mouth with the rich, dry tang of the deep red liquid in his glass. Eris lets her eyes flutter closed, the hand holding her book falling limp as her devil slips warm fingertips through the gap in her silk robe to palm her breast.

"And what is it that you think you're doing?" she asks wryly (and a little breathlessly) when Raphael finally withdraws, mouth quirking up in a crooked little smile.

"Bringing you what you've asked for, little mouse," he says, rumbly and low and melodic, and takes another mouthful of wine.

Eris realizes what he's about to do only a split second before he actually does it, and it's not enough time to prepare. He kisses her again, but this time he parts her lips with his, pushing the rich, spiced drink between them.

Rivulets of red run from where their mouths are joined down Eris's chin and neck, collecting in the divots of her collarbone and seeping between her breasts. She can feel the wine continuing to spill from her lips, dampening her cheeks even as she swallows, as he shares more and more of it until there's none left and she's sucking decadently at his tongue while he drags his fingertips down her belly to unfasten her robe. His mouth follows before long.

"I haven't caused you to lose your place, have I?" he questions patronizingly between hot sticky presses of his lips and tongue, following the translucent wet red paths down her body. "What a travesty that would be."

Finally able to regain at least a shred of composure, Eris marks her page with a small scrap of parchment and sets the book on the end table within her reach.

"Lucky for you," she sighs pleasantly, watching him map with his tongue a tickling trail that dips into her bellybutton, "you've simply proven a very lovely -- and wet -- distraction."

"Shall I stop?" he purrs, and she knows he already knows what she'll say.

She shakes her head, heat pooling in her belly as he moves lower. "Best finish what you've started, you insatiable beast. Make a mess of me."

"That is every last inch my intention."

3

Raphael is terribly, painfully close.

His little mouse, wide steely blue eyes so penetrating, pretty lips so stretched around the girth of him, so much for her even in his human form. He feels her tongue travel up the underside of his cock before she takes him into her throat fully, sinking down and closing her mouth just enough to give him a gentle, dangerous graze of teeth along the line her tongue just finished tracing. Squeezes him at the base, light fingertips caressing his full, tight balls. Enough to drive him to the edge, but not enough to push him forward. To cross the last threshold.

She knows just how to coax a gasping, moaning song from his chest. His darling -- his sweet indulgence -- of his own making.

(Not entirely of his making, of course; but my, how he loves to consider her his own.)

The devil tightens his fist in Eris's short hair as if he's the one in charge of this exchange. He's not, but she humors him anyway. Her sparkling gaze as she looks up at him in response, half pleasure, half chastisement -- she does love it when he pulls her hair, just as he does when their roles are reversed -- pushes him over the edge. His gasp becomes a groan, mixing with her satisfied little hum as her warm, wet mouth finally floods with him.

He loosens his grip when she's taken all he has to offer. Sighs contentedly; watches her slither back up his body to straddle his thighs. Her eyes glitter with mirth.

"You've brought me to ruin again, blue cherry," Raphael rasps with a smile.

And Eris smiles back.

Before he can close his mouth, she opens hers. Lets the hot mixture of his milky cum and her saliva drip from her lips and spatter across his chin, his cheeks, onto his tongue, and Raphael sighs in utter satisfaction.

The sharp, sour taste of her, of himself, of them together ekes out a last twitching drool of thick release from his tip. Eris looks down and swipes her thumb over his weeping cockhead, bringing the last of him to her lips, pink tongue darting out to collect its due and catch as well the straying droplet threatening to dribble down her chin. His sweetling -- so deliciously debauched -- bends then to kiss Raphael's filthy sex-slicked mouth, lips wetly sliding against his, and he's filled with a surge of pride and delight and lust for his little hedonist as he indulges in her; as they lick each other clean of them both.

[bp-zb1fics]

hi! i read your yujin post and i LOVED IT and it kinda inspired this idea/request

male reader and ricky have been close friends for a long time. reader was always the sociable one who dotes on ricky all the time while ricky was always quiet and more intimidating one. one time reader gets sick and expects to take care of himself but to his surprise ricky comes over to take care of him (maybe because ricky was always in love with male reader?🫢)

you can adjust or even skip this one if you want😅

Tall & Handsome & will take care of you~

pairing: ricky x reader

genre: highschool au (same verse as shy, shy, shy fic), fluff, romantic tropes

tw/tags: long time friends meet again, banter, yunseo cameo, slightly jealous lovelicky, swearing, kisses, dog mafia as protect yujin’s eyes squad, sickness (not serious), hand massages, squishmallow gift, ricky is taller than you for plot purposes

wc: 1905

summary: you’ve known ricky for a long time but he still manages to surprise you.

a/n hi anon! thanks for requesting this, i really had fun with the ricky/reader dynamic and since you loved the yujin request so much, it only made sense for me to set it in the same universe. For those who read shy, shy, shy~ I left a little easter egg that will definitely tie up to the part two of that fic that was requested by another lovely anon so keep an eye out for it!

Check my pinned for more fics~

part 2

As the class vice president, you were tasked to assist Park Gunwook, your class president, in greeting and orienting the new students. When the teacher ushered them in, the first one you saw was a tall, unfairly attractive brunette boy. You and Gunwook exchanged glances. How the fuck could someone be that good-looking? 

The first new student who introduced himself as Kim Gyuvin also looked vaguely terrified of Gunwook who decided to spend the summer bulking up. Discreetly, you rolled your eyes. Sooner or later, he’ll find out that the intimidating impression was a front and Gunwook was nothing but a big baby that whined at you to get out of class president duties he disliked. 

Your attention is directed to the other new student who walks in, blond hair expertly parted, silver necklace and earrings gleaming. He’s also tall, unfairly attractive and worst of all, you knew that face.

“Ricky?” You sputtered out.

You’ve known each other since he was a scrawny kid with a mouth full of braces. While you kept in contact when he had moved overseas, he never mentioned anything about moving back and more importantly, transferring to your school.

The teacher, Gunwook and Gyuvin all freeze as you throw your arms around your long-time friend. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, you little shit?” You hissed into his ear while you tried to squeeze the life out of him with your hug. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“He’s an old friend.” You tell the teacher enthusiastically after you’ve released him and let him introduce himself to your dumbfounded companions. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

Only now, he’s tall, blond and stupidly handsome, you think. You really need to get yourself together. 

After getting over the shock of that is Ricky, you’re your usual bright, chipper class vice president self, showing him and Gyuvin where they’ll be sitting, what the class schedule is like and including little tips about each class. They draw quite a few stares, most likely for both being over 180 cm and looking like models. 

Still, you get through the day with Gyuvin being less afraid of Gunwook despite the latter’s uncomfortable staring which you’ll need to talk to him about later. Because no Gunwook, even if the new student looks like a damn prince, we don’t stare at him for that long. The class resident joker, Kum Junhyeon, seems to have taken a shine to Gyuvin which is good because he’s making friends but also bad for the chaos you see in your future.

Meanwhile, Ricky seems to be unbothered, settling in almost immediately. He looked so comfortable that you’d almost think he’s been in this class the whole time. You’re still most definitely ambushing him at lunch break. There’s going to be a lot of catching up to do.

__________________________________________

Three absolutely chaotic years later…

“Ricky!” You scold the blond while shoving another snack into Yujin’s hands. “Stop it, you’re scaring him.”

While his glaring dials down, it’s still obviously there and Yujin gulps before thanking you and hurrying back over to where his own class president is being doted on by Junhyeon, Gunwook and Gyuvin. You’ve taken to calling those three the dog mafia, their joint antics always go big but also a little clumsy.

Frowning, you walk over to Ricky who’s finally stopped glaring and swat him weakly.

“You scared away the baby. You know how excited I get whenever those three bring them over.”

Ricky has the audacity to look unfazed, reaching to take one of the snacks you’re holding.

“They were taking my snacks.” He stated simply.

“Excuse me mister, your snacks?”

“Yep.”

You give him a look and he stares back, shameless. Then a ridiculous thought pops into your head and you smack him playfully.

“Awwww, is little Lovelicky jealous?” You coo almost imitating the aegyo voice that Junhyeon likes to do.

“....Nope.” He answers without missing a beat. You pout, smacking him again.

“God, you’re no fun.”

You turn to the dog mafia and pause when you see that they’ve got their hands over Yujin and his friend’s eyes.

“Uh…what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Gyuvin fires back.

“We’re protecting our children from the horrific sight of our cool ice president and class vice prince flirting.” Junhyeon chimes in, scrambling words as per usual.

You sigh and look at Gunwook for help. He shrugs.

The chaos you see in your future indeed.

__________________________________________

“Ah, excuse me.”

You look up from packing your things. Gunwook’s already stepped out, the latest student officer meeting having wrapped up. 

“Ah, Yunseo-ssi, what can I do for you?” You say, smiling at the other boy. 

Ji Yunseo is the vice president of one of the other classes in your year. He’s also unfailingly nice and never a pain to work with which you can’t say is true for some other officers. Along with Gunwook, he’s always been supportive of the ideas you propose.

“Wahh we’ve been working together for three years, don’t you think it’s about time we speak casually?” He says, playfully thumping your arm.

You stifle a giggle as you finish placing everything in your bag and return his banter. 

“Ah it’s because we’re colleagues, Yunseo-ssi, got to stay professional.”

Yunseo smiles at you, watching as you heave the bag over your shoulder.

“Let me carry that for you,” he offers.

You’re about to decline politely when the bag is lifted off your shoulders.

“I’ve got it.”

You turn just to see Ricky slinging the bag over his own shoulder like it weighs nothing. His expression is the usual impassive, almost holier-than-thou that he does particularly when Junhyeon and Gyuvin get up to their shenanigans.

“Ricky-ah, it’s okay, I can hold it.” You reach for the bag only for him to hold it out of your grasp. Huffing at him, you turn to Yunseo who’s smile seems a little less bright, eyes flicking between you and Ricky.

“What were you saying?” You ask him, still bright and chipper so not to dampen the mood like your best friend has.

“Ah nothing. I’ll see you at the next meeting.” The other boy says almost too politely before walking off.

You frown after him. “Weird.” You comment before turning back to the blond.

“I swear I can carry that by myself.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, give it here. Ya, stop holding it over my head like I can’t reach it.”

“...”

“Ugh, fine. God, you’re impossible.”

__________________________________________

In your defence, you didn’t think that a few late nights (a whole lot, more likely) would end up with you getting sick. Except you do. Get sick.

You wake up with your head pounding something fierce, your nose stuffy and an itchy throat. Picking up your phone, you send a quick text to Gunwook explaining your unfortunate situation. Making a mental note to check the cabinet for cold and flu medicine later, you pull the blanket over your head and pass the fuck out.

When you wake up again, someone’s running their fingers through your hair. Before you can make a guess, you smell his cologne, expensive yet comforting even with your stuffed up nose. With much effort, you slowly open your eyes to see a familiar blond head staring down on you with an oddly soft expression.

“...time is it?” You slur, almost missing the hand in your hair as he lifts it up to check his watch. Apparently you’ve slept almost the whole day away. You attempt to get up only for your body to drop back onto the mattress like a deadweight.

Ricky sighs. Suddenly there are hands propping you up gently. A glass of water and fever reducer tablet is given to you and he watches intently as you take it, snatching the tablet packet and glass out of your hands before you can attempt to reach and place it on the bedside table. 

“I brought your notes.” He said, gesturing to the stack on your desk. “Gunwook made copies of his, I’ll come back tomorrow and until you get better.”

“Wahh, you don’t need to spoil me, Ricky-ah.” You scold half-heartedly. He doesn’t try to dignify you with a response.

“You should get more sleep.” He says instead. And he stays till you fall asleep.

Over the next few days, you find out that Ricky is, in fact, not joking when he said until you get better. He’s at your home after class everyday without fail, bringing copies of Gunwook’s notes and maybe a few extra things that he insists are for the good of your health. While you didn’t know how a giant pink squishmallow would help you get better, you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Damn, even if I know they’ll probably make my headache worse, I kinda miss Gunwookie, Gyuvinie, even Junhyeonie.” You say offhandedly as Ricky massages your hand, claiming some sort of health reason that you didn’t even care to question.

“That’s exactly why I told them not to visit until you’re better.” Ricky comments as he presses his thumb up and down your palm in a motion that was quite soothing actually.

“Don’t lie to me Ricky-ah, you just want to keep me for yourself, no?” You joke.

The silence that follows is suddenly heavy as Ricky continues to keep his eyes on your hand. And then-

“And what if I do?”

Your mind goes blank for a second, watching his face, his expression not changing. He must be joking with you, right?

“Aigooo, does Lovelicky have a crush?” You shoot back weakly. 

His fingers stop massaging your hand. He looks up. To anyone else, his expression would be the same but for you, there were certain tells, the slightest pink at the tips of his ears, the subtle way he swallows, the earnest hopefulness in his eyes when he says-

“Yes….”

“....I’ve always liked you.”

__________________________________________

Yujin is confused.

“So they weren’t dating before?” He asks Gyuvin, the older patting his cheek indulgently as they watch you hand feed Ricky snacks, stealing kisses in between bites.

“Nope. Our lovely vice president was oblivious as always and ice prince over there was too busy scaring away the competition to realise that he hadn't even popped the question.”

“But they’re dating now?” Yujin says right before Ricky catches you in a longer kiss, Gyuvin squawking and covering Yujin’s eyes.

“You really don’t need to keep doing that, hyung.” Yujin retorts once Gyuvin deems you two wholesome again. Nevermind that you’re halfway sitting on Ricky’s lap which the blond looks almost too happy about.

“But you’re A BABY.” Junhyeon chimes in dramatically after losing interest in the conversation between Gunwook and the president of Yujin’s class.

“Might be a good idea to ask your class president out before you end up like them, Yujin-ah.” Gyuvin sagely advises after following the younger’s gaze to said conversation.

Yujin’s nose wrinkles. “Ew hyung, we’re just friends.”

“Well friends can hang out too?” Gyuvin points out. “And- OHMY! GUYS!”

“THE CHILDREN!” Junhyeon screams helpfully.

Ricky looks up from where he’s been blowing a raspberry on your neck in retribution for you poking at his sides and shoots them a withering look. You giggle as he plants one last kiss before getting up to mess with Gyuvin.

It’s been an interesting year so far and you can’t wait to see where the rest of it takes you with Ricky on your side.

[rom-e-o]

I've always wondered how Connie and Scrooge (modern or otherwise) would react to my Percival and Thorne, considering how different they are as characters and the whole 'Marley is NOT dead to begin with and is also Scrooge's husband' thing.

Here's Percival's notes from my Google docs:

Born to Zachariah Winthrop Scrooge and Kathleen Quill Scrooge, conceived in a drunken tryst gone wrong, Ebenezer is the co-CEO of his and Jacob’s multinational, multi-billion pound tech conglomerate, Asplex Industries. Known as the Shark of London in the world of business, Ebenezer is renowned for his cunning and ruthlessness, tied only with his terrifyingly true ability in the art of inventing high-quality technological innovations, closer to the realm of madness.

And here's Thorne's:

Born to Gene Thorne and Lilith Knight under the name Alexander Thorne, and adopted by Abel and Lenore Marley at ten-years-old, Jacob is the co-CEO of his and Ebenezer’s multinational, multi-billion pound tech conglomerate, Asplex Industries. Known as the Snake of London, Jacob is known for his charismatic nature and silver tongue, able to predict market trends with incredible ease and convincing subsidiaries to sign with them by speaking only the truth.

I don't really touch upon it too much on the fic, though I will get back to rewriting it I SWEAR, but Percival ends up getting back on good terms with Belle and her husband Richard (Dick Wilkins) who were childhood friends of both him and Thorne.

And we also know how Percival ALMOST fucked up his relationship with Thorne (*cough* Percival didn't think they were married because it wasn't legal in England before 2015 but Thorne did and Thorne thought Percival didn't love him and that this was all transactional *cough)

They get therapy don't worry

Honestly I feel like Connie and Scrooge would see Percival and Thorne very differently, and Connie herself would feel some level of kinship with Thorne thanks to her experiences with Orin.

But honestly those are just some of my thoughts ngl- ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ooooh, this is such a fun question! There would be some interest, for certain.

My Scrooge and Connie’s personalities from their modern to classic renditions don’t vary too much in disposition (aside from their speech patterns, the presence of different amenities, etc.) so I feel both sets would react similarly in both timelines, but differently from each other, haha.

My version of Scrooge tends to lean a bit introverted, is a slight (intense) perfectionist, and can be a little shy and skittish. Some might even call him nervous, but only in his personal life, because romance is so new to him again, and it’s been a long time since he’s wanted anyone in his life. He doesn’t want to mess anything up. Professionally, he’s always charming, well-spoken, and a true gentleman. Handsome, too. An Adonis, which is his nickname, haha.

I think he’d see Percival and Thorne, firstly, with intrigue. His business partner is still alive, and they’re … together? When I started “Begin Again” I decided to make it vague if Scrooge and Marley were business partners or more, and to what degree. Their relationship is left extremely vague. After Isabel, he really had ONLY Marley as companionship. So, a version of him and Marley being a couple is not a concept that completely blindsides him. I hc him and Connie as both bi/pan (especially because Scroogey has so many lovers and OCs that love him across universes - it just feels right.)

I think he’d ask how he was still alive, and if there really was something he could have done to save his partner (in the classic verse or modern verse.)

Finding out about the car accident and aftermath would remind him of his own redemption, and I think he’d find comfort in knowing that he was given a second chance across many timelines. And seeing him reconnect with Belle and Dick, something he has yet to do in the modern verse but has in the classical one (I am in the same boat of needing to get back to writing fics, including this one, so I feel you lmao) would give him reassure.

“I must say, our backgrounds of ruthlessness are…similar. Your resilience is inspiring."

As for Thorne, I think he'd want to learn more about him and kind of compare him to the Marley he knows. How similar are they? He's got the same charisma, that's for certain.

The funny thing? My Scrooge LOVES sparkling water, and Thorne finds it refreshing, as we’ve learned from their dinner date. For some reason, I see him feeling victorious.

A: Haha, finally, someone else who understands that is a perfectly lovely beverage. Please continue to give your husband grief.

C: Darling! You shouldn’t inspire a married couple to fight. Especially you and Marley.

A: Normally, I wouldn’t, but like you said, it’s a version of me from another universe. Fair game, my dear. Trust me, we’ve all earned our fair share of teasing. 😌

Speaking of Connie, she’s never met Marley, but she’s heard stories upon stories. To meet him from another would would be like meeting a celebrity!

I think she would find kinship with Thorne, exactly like you said, because of what she faced with Orin. Also, he provides Percival with love and companionship, and they become a couple and family.

She adores Ebenezer, so to know that he found love in that universe with another, let along one he has such a storied past with, brings her happiness.

"I'm glad he's loved in your universe too." <3

Also, Connie finds out about the boxing, and begs to be taught, haha. She only know pilates, and promises to be a good student. "I have an ex-husband I may need to punch one day. Can you give me some pointers?"

I feel like I just barely scratched the surface, but I think there is a lot of fun stuff these four could get up to, haha.

I totally feel you about fic writing, haha. It's always worth the wait when you publish (the characterization, the banter, the imagery ... top-tier across the board), so please don't worry about taking those beats to make sure you love it! I will be SO READY to keep reading those updates!

[starsfic]

Sibling Home

Random fic idea where the deal Shamura struck with the Mystic Seller involved a promise to not fall into the fear of the future like the Fox did.

With the promise broken with the genocide of the sheep and Shamura in purgatory, the Mystic Seller decides to give Shamura an opportunity to change.

-_-

Kallamar, in his opinion, was settling into the cult... fine.

Did he sometimes foam at the mouth remembering the power he used to have? Yes, but he had been powerless as a teenager until Shamura found him and he had survived. Did he sometimes get violently angry and scared at the fact that he and Narinder were in the same area again? Yes, but Narinder seemed to be doing everything in his power to keep as far away as he could. Did his ears hurt and sometimes he couldn't hear? Absolutely, but it was fine. The Lamb was... decent and made sure he didn't die. The cult was even versed in sign since the Lamb didn't really talk outside sermons.

Yes, Kallamar was fine. The Lamb had been nice enough to set him up in the healing tent, allowing him to bring new discoveries and lessons to the doctors there. Heket and Leshy visited him on his lunch break to talk and gossip (if burrowing through the ground and making him jump was considered visiting by Leshy). Kallamar had even been seeing a few cuties!

Yes, all was fine...

"Um, can all of you leave? Not you, Kallamar, I need to talk to you."

Until today.

Kallamar felt sweat bead up as all the healers left. Nobody was hurt or injured, so he couldn't have them as shields. It was just him and the Lamb, and the Lamb was talking.

"WHATEVER IT IS NARINDER DID IT-"

"Kallamar?"

The quiet, familiar, voice made him freeze. The Lamb stepped past, revealing familiar lavender fuzz. It was contained in brown pants and a cream sweater that had been thrown out years ago when Leshy outgrew it. (None of the siblings had never truly dropped the habit of hand-me-downs.) Ichor-stained bandages were no longer wrapped around their head, except for a small bandage across their forehead. Still, Kallamar lurched forward on instinct, hands moving to keep Shamura's skull together...

Except their skull wasn't cleaved. Instead, a small cut was across their forehead.

"What happened?"

"I tripped," Shamura said. They sounded dazed, but their voice was clear and full, not the stumbling sentences that Kallamar had grown used to over the centuries. "There was a rock." A hand raised and pressed against his cheek. "You...you look so much older."

Kallamar didn't respond to that, raising his eyes to the Lamb. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I freed them from purgatory, and they came out like this," The Lamb gestured to teenage Shamura, much younger than the day Kallamar had fallen to them. "I asked the Mystic Seller, and they said it was because Shamura broke their deal. This is apparently so they can redeem themselves."

Kallamar glanced down, in time to see the Purple Crown blink as it formed around Shamura's wrist into a makeshift bracelet. He bought back the insult that rose up at the sight- his crown hadn't tried to make a break for him- and focused. "Okay. I have no idea how to fix this." Or even if it could be fixed. Another thought occurred to him. "Have the others seen-?"

"Oh, no. I might be light-hearted, but I'm not an idiot."

"Good, because I don't know how to explain a-" He turned his attention back to Shamura, who looked vaguely annoyed at being talked about. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm-" Shamura paused. They blinked. Panic lit up their eyes. "I don't remember. I don't..." They rubbed their forehead, eyes darting back and forth. Kallamar fought back a wince, remembering older Shamura panicking, trying to remember something that they just read. "I remember you and Narinder and...two others-"

"Yes?"

Oh, fuck. Fuck life and whoever made Lamb think it was a good idea to bring Shamura to Kallamar. Narinder stood in the healing tent, hand visibly bleeding, and staring at their oldest sibling. Shamura stared back, eyes going wider.

"Nari?"

"...Nope."

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

hi! i saw your request post, and can i request a gender neutral anthony story in which the reader and anthony hate each other, but reader and benedict are best friends?

Pride Before The Fall (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

AN: Thank you for reading my post before you sent this in! I hope you like what I've written. I left the ending kinda vague since you didn't specify if you wanted a resolution - which I think I'd be down for writing over a series of mini blurbs (rather than a full on fic) like something people can send asks in and I respond with a blurb type. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in!

Content Warnings: Reader is gender neutral, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // Read Before Requesting

The park was a hotspot for the daytime proceedings of every season. Families promenading together, arranged around picnic blankets beneath canopies, young couples awkwardly finding their feet through small talk whilst being stalked by a member of their staff who would record all said to memory then regurgitate it to the rest of the household staff once they’d returned home. Sunshine pleasant enough to be basked in, flower perfuming the air with romance, ducks gliding across the lake, it was ever bubbling with the life of society.

It was precisely why Anthony had chosen to take a turn about the lake with Miss Harper. He maintained a brisk pace with his feet and his mouth, asking many questions to decide whether to rule her out of his mission to find his Viscountess. On paper, she seemed ideal: a cellist who spoke French and was well-versed with a waltz. However the sentences were strung together in a strained sense and Anthony found himself already deciding who he would speak to next.

As he and his walking partner drew towards his family, he spied – in the near distance – you. His stride staggered a tad before he negotiated with himself to carry on forwards. His gaze was set on you, speaking with Benedict, though from this distance, Anthony could not tell. Benedict withdrew his sketchpad from behind his back and held it up. You grabbed for it, but he held it just out of reach, walking backwards and teasing you as you bounded after him until you both reached the Bridgerton picnic.

Side by side, you and Benedict always had been bosom buddies. You knew about Benedict’s penchant for art before he told anyone in his family. It was this relationship that irked Anthony so.  

Anthony hastily bid Miss Harper goodbye then, with a quick adjustment of his coat, he propelled himself back to his family.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, intending for it to be addressing everyone present.

However his stare was concentrated on you and your bowed head, leaning over Benedict’s sketch book. When you finally noticed you were being spoken to by someone who was not your best friend, you did not rise to courtesy, only offering a blank faced “Good afternoon, my lord” before returning to your conversation with Benedict. Anthony did his best to hide his disdain.

“I take it Miss Harper was not to your standards?” Benedict probed, snapping his book closed upon realising that Anthony was not leaving them alone. Before Anthony could retort, he and Benedict caught your confused expression, your nose adorably wrinkled with your brow.

Touching your hand as if delivering grave news, Benedict spoke sombrely, “Haven’t you heard? Dearest Anthony is seeking out a wife.”

You took a second, then you let out a sardonic huff: “God help her.”

Pride flared up, Anthony countered, “You still clinging to my brother’s arm as tightly as you do to spending your life alone?”

“Better alone than in your company!” That was what made you stand and leave with the last word being a quick farewell to the Bridgerton family (with your back to Anthony).

Benedict sighed loudly, pushing himself up, “Why’d you have to do that? Now I’ll have to listen to them ranting about you again.”

Turning his head to follow your retreating form, Anthony asked with his voice catching in his throat, “They talk about me?”

“Every time you so much as breathe in their direction. I swear I’ve not seen a couple so concerned with each and unmarried.”

With a pat on his brother’s shoulders, Benedict jogged after you, to continue delighting in your company. Anthony let out a haughty scoff.

“They’re already gone, brother,” remarked Eloise, not taking an eye off her book.

So Anthony planted himself in a chair, his back rigid, and pretended to making notes on his next potential partner.

Regret resumed digging its grave in his stomach as he saw you link arms with Benedict and begin strolling along the dirt path. It was far too late to curate any sense of kinship with you; it had been too late for a while. But he’d rather suffer in his emotions in silence and still get those tongue lashings from you than admit defeat and confess his affections for you only to receive your malicious delight and eternal humiliation.

Little did he know that, across the lake, as you were finally allowing Benedict room to breathe and discuss his latest painting, you let Anthony linger in the corner of your eye with a prayer of thanks for your defensiveness, for you would not know what to do if you had not left sooner – lest Anthony, the beholder of your heart, say anything more to break it.

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 1

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

A light breeze passed through the sky, causing the trees above to rustle, their leaves singing the melodious tune of spring. The sky above was painted a clear, baby blue, with hardly a cloud to be seen. Something about the air in Eastern Europe felt different. While the maiden couldn't quite describe it, she loved it all the same. Down below, a young maiden held a bag of seeds, taking small handfuls and tossing them along the ground. The tune of nature was casually interrupted by chickens pecking at the dirt and idly wandering around the maiden's skirt.

Smiling contentedly, the maiden hummed to herself as she fulfilled her daily chores. After feeding the now-clucking chickens, the maiden returned inside and set her bag on the table, ready to repeat the same chore the next day. As well as the many others that occupied her time. She didn't mind it, though. After all, what was the point of being awake if you weren't doing anything? Idleness was for the weak. And she, (y/n) (l/n), was anything but.

She gazed around the room and saw her father at the table, reading the family bible, practically eyeball-deep in study. Her father, a self-proclaimed student of religion, could often be found spending his spare time studying the text, occasionally bringing his daughter in for conversation. Smiling, (y/n) walked up to him.

"Hello, Father," she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. Her father laughed in response and rested his hand on her forearm.

"Why hello, my little girl. Tell me, did you finish all your chores already?" He smirked up at her after she let go.

"Indeed I did. Say, which book are you in now?" She asked, peering over his shoulder to gaze at the old, weathered pages.

"The book of Matthew," He said promptly, looking back at the book.

"What part?" (y/n) asked.

"The part where the Lord is cleansing the temple. Serves the merchants right, if you'd ask me!" He scoffed before turning back to his daughter. "Say, how about you take a seat. I would love to tell you about something I noticed within the text earlier today."

His daughter shook her head, smiling. "Sorry, but I can't. I promised my friend Adeline we would head out into the forest for berry-picking today."

"I see," he nodded. "Well, it is already quite late in the afternoon, and I would hate for you to miss it."

(y/n) leaned down and gave her father a kiss on the head. "Do not worry, father. I should be back in plenty of time for you to tell me about what you found. I look forward to it."

After saying their goodbyes, she grabbed her handwoven basket and left out the front door before walking down the dirt pathways of her little village. While she enjoyed spending time with her friends, she loved time with her father even more. After her mother passed a year prior, her father remained her companion through the seasons. As such, she inherited much from him, including his love of study and analyzing every last bit of text to the finest, most minute detail. Biblical stories and doctrine took on a whole new meaning when you took the time to analyze the context, though this wasn't always looked kindly upon. If anything, it was more accepted to go with whatever interpretation the church gave you. But that would never stop people like (y/n) and her father from thinking for themselves. There is, of course, truth in ancient texts, but it takes a discerning eye to unravel the complexities that lie beneath.

While lost in thought, she nearly missed the young woman standing by her front door, waving her down. Her long blonde hair bounced around as she waved frantically, calling out (y/n)'s name.

"Oh, hello Adeline," (y/n) stopped and smiled, allowing the blonde a moment to snatch up her own basket and bound toward her friend.

"Hello, (y/n). You seemed lost in thought there for a moment," She commented, playfully linking her free arm with (y/n)'s.

"A little," she admitted as the two walked along. "How has your day been?"

Adeline rolled her eyes and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. "Boring. Nothing more than cleaning laundry and mending. I am surprised that I even have time for this."

(y/n) chuckled. "Well, seeing as we do have time for this, let us make the most of it!"

"Agreed!" Adeline gave a small cheer in response, swinging her basket through the air.

The two young women had been friends for years. For (y/n), it was hard to imagine a life without Adeline's relentless joy and optimism. When times were hard, (y/n) knew she could rely on her upbeat personality and outlook on life to bolster her spirits. As the two walked along they soon made it to the outskirts of town before being greeted by two knights sitting on their horses, keeping guard. The Teutonic Knights.

The Teutonic Knights were monastic warrior monks clad in white with black crosses on their chests and cloaks. Knights were sent there by both the Pope and the current Holy Roman Emperor for the sake of spreading Christianity, as well as to expand the Germanic kingdoms, though that second reason was not as often talked about. The area in which (y/n) and her friends and family now lived used to be pagan territory before the knights came through years ago and pushed them back, claiming it for Christian families and settlers. Her own family settled in the area in hopes of starting a new life, as well as many other families looking for another place to call home. The knights in the area where she lived typically found themselves guarding the new locals rather than going out to conquer. That was left to the knights even further up north.

As (y/n) and Adeline approached the knights, one of them stopped the two maidens.

"Halt. Tell me, where are you going this fine afternoon?" He announced.

"Berry-picking," Adeline answered. "Would you care to join us?" She smiled cheekily, earning an eye-roll from (y/n), remembering that, while Adeline was an absolute sweetheart, she was also a relentless flirt.

"Funny, but no," the knight chuckled in response. Adeline and the knight proceeded to have a small back-and-forth, leading to (y/n) beginning to ignore them.

As she tuned out their idle chatter, her attention turned to the other knight beside him. A quiet, stoic man who, unlike his companion, wore his hood up and over his head, partially obscuring his face. However, the shade from the hood could not disguise the sharp, ice-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the shadows. He appeared bored with his job, staring listlessly at the surrounding trees just outside the village. After a few moments, the knight turned to look at (y/n), feeling her eyes on him. In any other instance, she would quickly look away. But she couldn't. Those eyes were mesmerizing as if piercing straight through her. Only after he furrowed his brows, giving her a confused look, did she have enough sense to look away, feeling her face going red.

After looking away, her friend Adeline said her goodbyes to the other knight and pulled (y/n) along into the forest. As they walked along, Adeline rambled on about the knight she was just speaking to.

"You know what? I am starting to think that knight likes me." She giggled.

"Adeline," (y/n) shook her head, "you would do best to avoid flirting with them. You do remember that the knights take a vow of celibacy when they join the Teutonic Order, right?"

"Well yes, of course I do!" She stated as the two maidens stooped down upon finding a bush full of berries ready for picking. "That won't stop my imagination, however." She gave a sly wink to (y/n), who could only respond with a cross between laughter and another eye-roll.

As the two girls went to pick, the air was filled with casual chatter and conversation. Speaking of all manner of things. Life, the weather, hobbies, chores, stories, and so on. It was only near the end when the sun began to set and the girls picked themselves up off the ground, now having full baskets, that the conversation took an interesting turn.

"Say, (y/n)," Adeline began as she linked her arm with her friend, beginning their short trek back home. "Have you thought about marriage yet?"

"Is that a proposal?" (y/n) joked, laughing when Adeline rolled her eyes in response, stifling a small giggle.

"You know what I mean, (y/n). I am asking if you have given any thought as to when you want to get married? Or to whom? We aren't getting any younger, you know."

(y/n) sighed. "I'm not sure, Adeline. I have mostly been focusing on taking care of things at home and making sure my father's taken care of. Ever since my mother passed, it's been on me to keep the household running, more or less."

Adeline nodded, taking in her response. "That's fair. Though I will say, I saw you looking at that knight earlier. Care to tell me what that was about?" She smiled, nudging (y/n) in the side.

"Adeline!"

"Kidding, I'm kidding! Calm down, (y/n)." Adeline attempted to laugh off her teasing, only for (y/n) to shrug.

"He just seemed interesting. He seemed far more quiet and withdrawn than the other knights we've seen," (y/n) admitted. Not to mention those eyes, she thought to herself.

As if right on cue, the maidens approached the knights standing at the edge of the village. The more talkative knight greeted the two with a small nod. Meanwhile, the other one, still with his hood up, watched the two maidens walk past with veiled interest. For a split second (y/n) glanced in his direction, only to quickly look away, earning a suggestive smirk from Adeline as she nudged her friend.

"Oh yes, very interesting," she whispered. (y/n) only laughed and shook her head. After reaching Adeline's home, (y/n) bid her friend farewell.

"We will do this tomorrow, yes?" (y/n) asked.

"Always," Adeline assured her.

After giving their farewells, (y/n) made her way back home, the sky now painted with vibrant reds and firey orange. After entering in through the front gate and door, she found her father asleep at the dining table, his head resting on the family bible. Smiling to herself, (y/n) walked forward and gently took the bible out from under his head, lest he potentially drool on it (again). After gently placing a small pillow under her father's head and giving him a kiss goodnight, she surveys the room around her after placing the bible to the side.

I suppose scripture study will have to wait for tomorrow. As for now, I might as well get to bed. Yawning, she went to her small room and dressed in her nightgown before slipping under the blankets.

She slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the vicious dangers that lay in wait once the sun went down.

Next Chapter

Next chapter is here! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter, and please let me know what you think!

[future-crab]

I spent all day reading Laura Jane Grace's memoir and felt compelled to try writing something in that sort of non-fiction/memoir/personal essay style. I'm not really sure if this is worth posting, but you can blame @unusualshrimp for encouraging me.

Laura Jane Grace’s memoir has got me thinking about diaries, and about writing down important memories before they have a chance to fade too much. And honest to God, I think seeing her in concert might be one of the best memories of my life. Walking down well-lit Cleveland streets on a warm early-summer night, just barely cooled off from a sweltering early-summer day, humming fucking M*A*S*H to myself as I left the show – a song she wouldn’t release for another few months, and that I wouldn’t even especially like in its studio-recorded form – I was as happy as I’d ever been.

My cousin’s apartment was only a block or two from the venue, and despite the late hour, I had plans to meet up with them after the show. I wished, suddenly, that they lived farther away. I wanted this walk to last forever. 

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. A modicum of propriety kept me from actually singing it out loud, but it looped in my head, over and over, the buoyant, infectious rhythm of it setting the pace of my steps. I hadn’t caught the rest of the chorus, or if I had it hadn’t stuck, so I just filled in the space in my head with nonsense.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. La da da da da-di da da da da, So ba-da killing yourself today. The chorus ended, then began again. The verses hadn’t stuck either. Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight…

My scuffed platform boots bounced against the pavement. I wondered if the people passing by could tell – from my outfit, from the stench of sweat and booze and weed drifting off me, from the Laura Jane Grace tee shirt tucked between my body and my bag because it was too hot to put it on, from the big, doofy grin on my face – that I had just come from a concert. As far as I was concerned, I was glowing like those big sodium-yellow streetlights overhead.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. La da da da da-di da da da da, So ba-da killing yourself today… 

Was it “killing” or just “kill?” I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I couldn’t relate to the song at all, just then. Unhappiness was a vague and unconvincing memory. Life was joy and sweat and sticky heat, and shouting along to True Trans Soul Rebel in a packed, tiny room that smelled like tobacco and body odor.

The world didn’t feel real. The street, the lights, the air that never quite stirred into a breeze. I wasn’t used to such complete and uncomplicated hapiness. I had felt it after other concerts before – driving back to a crappy Long Island motel room after MCR, sprinting away from Mr. Small’s through a sudden torrential downpour after an unexpectedly excellent LS Dunes show, wandering the South Side with my sister after seeing the Crane Wives together, unable to make any conversation beyond Holy shit, that was a good show! – and I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but in that moment it still felt like it might.

I bounded up the three flights of stairs to my cousin’s apartment more loudly than I should have, and more quickly, too – I was out of shape and asthmatic, but joy had given me strength. I probably wasn’t very good conversation. I was still incoherent from the glow of the concert, convinced that such insights as, She played Black Me Out, and, like, obviously she was going to play Black Me Out, but holy shit Black Me Out was incredible! were not only interesting but important. 

It turns out my cousin’s boyfriend knew her work. When I mentioned Against Me!, he went, “Oh, man, that’s her? I didn’t recognize her new name – I used to listen to them way back before she transitioned!” We chatted about the band, about the venue, about the show. I tried, probably without success, to impart what it had felt like, because it had felt incredible. I was hot and tired and miserable through both openers, because I’d had a long drive to Cleveland that morning and spent just about every minute since on my feet and in the sun. She took the stage at 10:00 pm, and at 9:59 I was wondering if I should just head home early, because even if I could stay on my feet through the entire set, there was no way I’d enjoy myself. And then the instant she stepped into view, it was like a switch had flipped. I was grinning from ear to ear. I must have looked insane, but I wasn’t about to care. I will never understand the kind of stage presence some people have – it feels like a magic trick.

Eventually I had to go back to my hotel – my cousin and her boyfriend were too polite to hint that I should leave, but I could tell that they, at least, needed to get some sleep. I was still too wired to even attempt sleep for another few hours, but I managed to resist the temptation to keep them up all night. As I stepped out into the stairwell – old fashioned art deco tiling spreading out in pretty black-and-white patterns down three storeys to the exit below – my radiant joy dimmed just slightly.  The song in my head had lost some of its energy, but it looped dutifully on.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight… 

I stepped out into the hot summer night aware that eventually – not soon, but eventually – I would come down from this high. I’d fall asleep, the sun would rise – though not necessarily in that order – and the day I saw Laura Jane Grace perform would give way to just some Sunday in May. But for just a moment, it had felt like that night would never have to end.