#bloody hell joe

[joes-sha-la-la-la-girl]

So I decided to get a Joe Elliott phone case… only now it won’t come off. It’s stuck on my phone and I have to go to appointments with it on, getting weird looks 😭😭

(Ignore the dirty mirror) 😭😭

@elliotts-personal-property

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From Joe’s IG.

I am not fixating on the size of his biceps.

I am not.

😳😳

[thatboleyngirl77]

NOTHING PREPARED ME FOR EPISODE FOUR 😭

[cantquitu]

x

[kylewalker-peters]

Only managing to loan Rodon out for the season do we know that we can sell players? They can leave forever? They do not have to stay with us forever?

[m-50a]

Top Trump Ally Goes OFF THE RAILS With THIS New Claim

[burreauxsworld]

Ours To Keep | Joe Burrow

Smut/18+, Angst, Fluff

Takes place at the beginning of the 2023-2024 season. Reader is Joe’s assistant, and they are really good friends, whose lives are about to change forever.

Shit. This was never supposed to happen. This never should have happened. None of this should be happening. Your breathing picks up as you stare down at the the plastic stick in your hand. The two bold pink lines staring back at you, taunting you. Punishing you for getting intimately involved with, Joe Burrow, your boss. Your heart felt as if it was going to burst out of your chest.

Fuck. Joe. You scrambled around, dropping the stick onto the bathroom counter and bolted toward your bedroom. You’d lost track of time. You have to be at work in 15 minutes, and it’s a 30 minute drive. He shouldn’t be too mad. I mean you guys are friends, maybe even a little more. Definitely a little more after today.

Let’s go back to how this whole thing happened.

Flashback / January 2023

Your tires came to a screeching halt in front of Joe’s mansion. After a frantic call, where Joe was damn near crying into the phone begging you to come over, to say you were worried would be an under statement. He gave you no insight on what you were about to walk into. You slammed your car door, and shivered. Regretting only wearing leggings and a long sleeve sweater in the cold Cincinnati weather. You rushed toward the door, and entered the house with your spare key.

“Joey?” You called out. The place was trashed. Glass broken everywhere, cushions from the couch thrown around the room, wine stains on the white carpet. “Joe?!” You yelled, a little more frantic, moving toward the living room. Joe sat in the center of the living room, on the floor. His head in his bloody hands, and an empty bottle of grey goose laying next to him. “Joey, what happened? Are you alright?” You frantically ask, kneeling down in front of him, just nearly missing a piece of glass.

He looks up at you, and your heart nearly shatters. His eyes bloodshot, and cheeks stained with tears. “Oh, Joey” you frown, pulling him into a hug. It had been a rough few months for Joe. After finding out his girlfriend of 5 years, fiancé of a few months, had cheated on him. She was gone that night, and you were there to pick up the pieces within an hour. Joe was distraught. You’d never seen him like this in the 3, almost 4 years you’d been working for him. Usually he was Joe Cool, everything just rolled off his back, but this was different.

If anyone knew Joe, they knew how much he loved Olivia. Hell, he would’ve went to the ends of the earth for her if it would’ve made her happy. You actually almost lost your job in the beginning because Olivia had gotten jealous, but the two of you ended up becoming great friends. You often had dinner with her and Joe on late work nights.

So when he discovered the messages in her phone, his heart was broken. Completely shattered. A big fight had happened, and Olivia was gone that night. You’d received a number of text messages from her before Joe even called you, telling you how sorry she was and she hoped you’d stay friends. That went out the window as soon as you heard what happened.

“I tried. I really did,” Joe slurs, motioning to the empty bottle next to him. “It’s okay. Let’s get you to bed, I’ll clean up” you told him, attempting to help him to his feet. However, his 6’4 stature compared to your 5’1 stature didn’t make it easy. “You don’t have to clean up. I’ll hire someone in the morning” Joe slurs, and you scoff. “The last thing you wanna deal with is people you don’t know. I’ll take care of it” you tell him. “Alright, hold onto the railing” you order, bracing yourself for the journey up the stairs.

“Joe, hold onto the railing” you scold, when he reaches his other pen toward you halfway up the stairs. “Joseph, you’re going to make us both fall. Put your hand back on the railing” you order, and her frowns but does your bidding.

After what felt like an eternity you made it to his room, him falling onto his back on the soft mattress. “I’m gonna go clean up. You get some sleep okay? You have practice tomorrow” you told him, knowing he was gonna feel like absolute shit in the morning.

“Don’t go. Please stay with me. I don’t want to be alone” he pleaded, and you shook your head. Knowing this wasn’t what he needed right now. “You need to sleep-“

“Please stay. I’ll give you a raise”

“Joe, I don’t need a raise” you argue, and his pouty face makes you crack. “Fine, I’ll stay. But only until you fall asleep” you told him, kicking your shoes off.

End of flashback

It wasn’t only until he fell asleep. You ended up falling asleep too, and woke up tangled in his limbs the next morning. And you were correct, he did feel like absolute shit and practice went horrible that day. Nothing sexual had happened that night, just sleeping. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you were in his bed again, only this time, no sleeping happened.

Flashback / February 2023

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re in the living room having dinner and watching a movie. The next, you’re sprawled out on his bed with your face shoved into his pillows and your hips up in the air. Skin slapping skin, your moans, and his grunts fill the room. Your loud moans muffled by the pillow.

Joe wraps your hair around his hand and pulls your head back, hard. “Wanna hear you,” he grunts. He slaps your ass with his other hand, and you let out a loud moan. “Fuck, Joey! Right there!” You cry out. “Yeah, right there? Fuck you’re taking me so well, baby” he groans, slapping your ass again. “This pussy was made for me. Fuck” he grunts.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum!” You whine loudly. “I’m gonna cum so hard” you grit your teeth. You gasp when his free hand reaches around to toy with your clit. “Cum for me baby. Cum all over this dick”

You yell out his name like a mantra as you come undone. He wasn’t too far behind you, grunting loudly as your walls squeezing him hard. “Fuck baby” he moans. “Milking me dry” he taunts, smirking while he unravels your hair from his hand. Weakly, you fall against the mattress, and he drops down next to you. Both of you trying to catch your breath.

“What just happened?” You ask, your voice to shaking from your orgasm. “I don’t know. But I’m not mad at it” Joe says, letting out a breathy laugh. “Joe, this can’t happen again,” you murmur. “It’ll complicate things” you conclude, looking over at him. He nods in agreement.

“We just act like it never happened,” Joe confirms, and you agree.

End of flashback

But it did happen again. It happened a lot more. It’s now July, and the two of you haven’t stopped fooling around since the first time. Now it was coming back to haunt you. What the fuck were you gonna tell Joe? You sigh as you pull into a spot outside of Paycor Stadium. Conveniently, right next to Joe’s Porsche.

Quickly getting out of your car, you rush toward the door. Practice started about a half hour ago. You hoped Joe wouldn’t be too upset with you.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Gabby, Ja’Marr’s assistant jokes as you walk into your shared office. “Don’t worry, he’s not mad. More worried than anything because you’re never late. Why are you late, by the way?” Gabby asks, as you set your stuff down. “Lost track of time. Took an everything shower this morning,” you lie, and she smirks.

“Who’s getting the goods?” She questions, and you roll your eyes. Pulling out your phone, you make an online appointment with your gynecologist for tomorrow. Maybe the test was a false positive, doubtful, but you could hope. “No one. Just needed an everything shower” you told her, laughing slightly. “Are you okay?” She questions, noticing you seem slightly off.

“Yeah, I’m good. Being late to work throws off my entire day” you lie, and thankfully she believes it. Her phone chimes, and she sighs. “Duty calls. See you out on the field” she says, before leaving the room. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Hiding this was gonna be harder than you thought.

You began to pull out your laptop when you hear a light knock on the doorframe. “Hey, you okay? You’re never late” you look up and make eye contact with Joe. “Yeah, I’m all good. Just lost track of time while getting ready. I’m sorry,” you apologized, and he raised an eyebrow. “You never lose track of time. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He asks, stepping into the office with concern written on his face. “Joey, I’m sure. Just more mad at myself than anything. I swear-“

“You’re lying.” He says, eyeing you. “Excuse me?” You ask, feeling slightly offended. “You do this thing where you play with your bracelet when your lying. I noticed it last year when you’d lie to guys about why you couldn’t go out with them” Joe said, laughing slightly. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong now?” Joe asks, leaning on your desk closer to you.

“I’m okay, Joey. Promise”

He sighs, but lets it go. Until you open your mouth to speak again. “I’ll be late again tomorrow. I have a doctors appointment in the morning”

“Y/N-“

“Joe, it’s nothing. I told you I’m fine, now can you please drop it” you snapped, and immediately regretted it when he frowned. You never snap at him. Other people, definitely, but never him. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out right now, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you” you say, walking around your desk to stand in front of him. You think he’s mad when he moves away, but you realize he’s just shutting and locking the door.

“Baby, talk to me” he urges, and you cringe at the pet name. Not because he called you it, you’re used to that since you guys started sleeping together, it’s the name itself. Your breath feels like it’s caught in your throat. You’ve never been nervous around Joe, but this was different. Your lives are changing. You’re afraid of what might happen once you say something.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry. Come here” he pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back while you softly sob into his chest, getting mascara on his practice jersey. “It’s just me. You can tell me anything” he reminds you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

Finally you pull away and look into his eye. Here we go.

“You might wanna sit down for this” you tell him, and he shakes his head. “I’m good right here”

“Joey…” you trail off, your voice cracking. His concern for you growing, and you can see it in his face. “I—I um…took a home pregnancy test this morning” you start, not looking up at him, but you can feel his body tense up. “It was positive” you say, letting out another sob.

“Joey, I’m pregnant.”

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Line art from part 4

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :) I greatly appreciate the support and kind words this little story has received. Take care!

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie

@luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter

@cmbghost @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula

@opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs

@strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

@astraluminaaa @mehjustalasshere @corruptowlette @youllgetafuneral

@lyenera @kcmizzz @s-rinaldi-18

[joes-sha-la-la-la-girl]

[i-love-fordsy]

Bill, say a swear word >:3

Fuck you

A

Arsehole

Asshat

Asshole

B

Bastard (slang)

Big black cock

Bitch (slang)

Bloody

Blowjob

Bollocks

Bugger

Bullshit

C

Chicken shit

Clusterfuck

Cock (slang)

Cocksucker

Coonass

Cornhole (slang)

Cox–Zucker machine

Cracker (term)

Cunt

D

Damn

Dick (slang)

E

Enshittification

F

Faggot

Feck

List of films that most frequently use the word fuck

Fuck

Fuck her right in the pussy

Fuck Joe Biden

Fuck, marry, kill

Fuckery

G

Grab 'em by the pussy

H

Healslut

J

Jesus fucking christ

K

Kike

M

Motherfucker

P

Paki (slur)

Poof

Poofter

Prick (slang)

Pussy

R

Ratfucking

Retard (pejorative)

Russian warship, go fuck yourself

S

Shit

Shit happens

Shithouse

Shitposting

Shitter

Shut the fuck up

Shut the hell up

Slut

Son of a bitch

Spic

T

Taking the piss

Twat

U

Unclefucker

W

Wanker

Whore

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.9k words]

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. "Evenin'." "Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?" His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you. "Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

An incident occurs when Sebastian Sallow is having a drink.

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, grief, swearing, non-explicit sexual assault (this is not committed between Sebastian and the bar girl; I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care!)

2: universal constants

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.

"Oh yeah, one of Sebastian's?"

His lips press into a line. "I'd rather not be referred to as one of Sebastian's, but yes, we are reluctantly acquainted."

"What's this about thanks, then? Haven't seen him in a coupla' days."

"Precisely." His smile is genuine, but practiced. "He's trying to turn over a new leaf with his drinking habits, and I'm lead to believe you were the catalyst."

You snort. "I told him to sod off, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, I do like you. Yes, I'm afraid his sister's death hit him hard, and despite encouragement, I've never been able to help him overcome the grief. But you... you did. Without trying, no less."

You shrug. "Just told him to pull himself together or take his shit elsewhere."

"And I believe those words, coming from a near stranger, were exactly what he needed to hear, so I am grateful."

It's good to hear that you helped pull him from the pits – though that pang rolls through you again. You try squash it, but it resolutely shrinks until it's in a corner of your heart you can't reach.

"Sure you can't be grateful by putting money in my till?" you say to distract yourself.

Ominis lets out an amused sniff. "Very well, you've earnt it. A pot of breakfast tea will do."

"... Breakfast tea."

"Yes."

"In a pub."

"Yes."

"At eight o'clock at night."

"Do you always question your patrons' beverage of choice?"

"Only the bizarre ones. Sit at the bar, tea coming up."

You pour it for him. He uses his fingers to discern the coin value of his payment, and when he puts his cane aside, feels for the teacup's handle too.

"Thank you." He takes a sip, and the steam glistens on his skin. "Very nice."

"Just a Twinings blend."

He purses his lips, but does not comment – a move so unlike Sebastian you struggle to see how they're friends at all. Sebastian is beer, muscle and opinions; Ominis Gaunt is tea with his pinkie out, slender hands that have never seen labour, and quaint contemplation in near-silence. His accent is clipped and precise, each syllable like a dagger strike.

"You've been friends a long time?" you ask, too curious about this undrawn curtain of Sebastian's life.

"He works with me in law enforcement," Ominis says. "We're detectives."

Your eyes go wide. Sebastian is a bloody policeman?

"I take it by your silence that you're surprised."

It would explain why he's so... distractingly muscular. "A drunk officer?"

"He's been on extended leave since Anne was— since her passing."

"I see." Extended leave this long? Is that where your taxes are going? To keep Sebastian watered? "I'm glad he's got work, but can't see him enforcing the law for toffee. If anything it seems like he'd break it."

Ominis smiles with dark amusement. "I can understand the sentiment, but he is excellent at his job, though I'll never admit it to his face."

"Been doing it a long time?"

"Since I finished school. Sebastian is a more recent acquisition and works under me. I helped him secure the job."

"Really? What was he doing before?"

"Now that," he says, bringing the cup to his lip, "is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

You leave Ominis to his tea, though steal the occasional glance to check up on him. He doesn't need it, never speaks, never acknowledges anything around him. Halfway through his pot Bonny asks whether he's lost his way to Mayfair and needs a carriage called, but Ominis politely, amusedly, declines, and thanks her for her kindness.

"Another?" you ask, when all that's left of his teabag is mushy dregs.

He stands to replace his coat and tugs his hands into leather gloves. "Thank you, but I must be going. If you would," he says, before you wish him farewell, "I'd like to ask for a favour."

Suspicion erodes your curiosity. "With?"

"Sebastian is haunted by many demons." His voice is monotone, but ironically it's those unusual eyes that give him away, tightening ever so slightly. "I have no doubt he's trying to give up his addiction—"

"Stop there, Mr Gaunt," you say quickly. "I ain't no doctor. I run a pub. I sell drink. I can't get Sebastian to quit."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I only ask that you monitor his habits in my stead." He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "His welfare is important to me, and I would like to be kept informed if he ever... relapses."

It's not a business card, but a scrawl of a landline number on... parchment?

"Please telephone if there are any issues."

Ominis couldn't be any more different from Sebastian, looks, mannerisms, attitude, yet this one request speaks of how much he cares. You smile, endeared at their brotherly relationship, and idly wish there was someone in your life that would care about you as much.

You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know.

Shooing the thought away, you stuff the note down your apron. If Sebastian collapses on your turf, at least the responsibility is on Ominis' shoulders. You can be a messenger. It seems a fair deal.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Ominis bows his head slightly. "I appreciate it, madam. Thank you for your time." He half-turns, then adds wryly, "I would say I hope to hear from you... but I sincerely hope I don't."

Sebastian Sallow appears three days later.

You're bone-tired, fighting the yawns that sprawl across your face. Owing to your parents, you went to sleep late – but his arrival wakes you like a slap. He looks different: fresh and clean, colour to his skin, and groomed, with a beard that no longer threatens to overrun his face. He catches your eye and heads straight for you, and you can't help but feel like he sees you, and nothing, no one, else.

"Miss me?" he says with that velvet tone as he takes his usual spot.

"Eh," you say, shrugging. "I only missed your money."

"And I only missed your beer. Stout back?"

"New shipment came this yesterday. Pint?"

But he raises one of his hands.

"No. Half-pint... please."

You make a face and switch to a smaller glass. Despite the reduced size it near-vanishes down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, and relief collapses his brow like he's broken the surface after too long underwater. His knuckles are white, clenched so hard, and two protruding blue veins converge at his wrist.

"Can I—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Another half-pint, please?"

You think about Ominis, and the note in your apron.

"How about a break first?"

After a beat, he nods.

"Beer garden's open." You tilt your head to the back door, where Bonny is slaloming through a rowdy group of patrons. "Might be nice to distract yourself with fresh air."

"Nah. Then I can't bother you."

"What makes you think you're bothering me?"

"Two things are universal constants, bar girl." He rolls his shoulder, and the muscles in his forearm strain. "How much I like to win is one of them."

"Uh huh. What's the other?"

"A man doesn't kiss and tell."

"Shame. Might actually be relevant to your so-called 'winning'."

"On the contrary, the more I bother you, the less you'll be able to stop thinking about me." He tilts his head. "And I'd take that as a very big win."

You snort and flick a wet cloth at him as you go to leave – but his breathy laughter echoes.

His schedule becomes erratic, unpredictable. One week you see him daily, nursing his beer and doing his utmost to bother you (his words)... then the next week he won't appear at all, space taken by another annoying, but less charming, alcoholic. You're loath to admit you miss him on those days.

"Heard Ominis paid you a visit?"

Today he's trying – with emphasis – to nurse his half-pint slowly. His fingers circle around the rim.

"Yeah." You snort, squeezing a cloth into a glass. "Oddball, sorry to say."

Sebastian barks a laugh. "Don't be sorry, it's true. Posh git."

"Is he blind?" Shit, that sounded rude. "Er, hard of... sight?"

"Yeah, but he can still see bullshit a mile away. Never fell for any of my pranks at school."

It did make you wonder how Ominis could be so competent in his field. A drunk detective, fine, plenty of those on the force, but a blind detective? That was unheard of.

"Maybe you're just bad at pranks," you tease.

"I'll have you know, in first year I got him stuck in a tree when he was fast asleep. No one found him until next morning after he yelled his voice hoarse. Don't give me that look. He dunked me into the lake next day."

The lake. What sort of school did he go to?

"He told me you're a detective."

"Sort of."

"You're his assistant."

"That's what he said? Prick."

You cross your arms. "So it's not true?"

"He's above me in rank, but I sure as hell wasn't his assistant." His eyes trace you up and down, warming your cheeks. "What else did he tell you?"

The note weighs heavy in your apron. Should you say something? Ominis made no request of keeping it secret, but you don't want Sebastian to feel undermined, or worse, babied. He may be a drunk but he's still an adult man and capable of making his own decisions, no matter how stupid.

You wet your lips and decide, against your better judgement, to share. "He asked to give him a bell if something ever happened to you."

You wait for a twitch of his expression, betraying indignation or hurt, but Sebastian merely shrugs.

"Typical bore. He's been trying to get me to quit since I started. Surprised he deigned to come here himself and didn't send Garreth instead."

"I think," you say, feigning shock, "he might care about you."

"Can't have that. You say he gave you his telephone number?"

You roll your eyes. "I said you were bad at pranks, didn't know you were unoriginal too."

"He can't retaliate if I'm not there."

"'Ello, Mr Sallow!"

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly.

"Evenin'."

"Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?"

His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you.

"Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

You blush. "I— you look— pale."

"Pale?" Bonny leans closer, then tuts. "Oh, your face is a bit peaky! You under the weather? Poor lamb. Get that drink down yous." She skips off with her next round. "You'll be right as rain in a jiffy!"

You clear your throat when she goes. "I'm sorry. She's new—"

"It's all right, she means well." He stares at his drink like he means to down it, but instead says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Looking out for me."

"I ain't done a thing, Sebastian."

His lips press to the rim of the glass, and it mists with his breath.

"Not yet."

/////

You're saved from answering by a high-pitched giggle. Bonny flutters a hand at a rowdy customer, a man in his fifties, belly so swollen with drink it flops out his shirt. He stands with his arms raised.

"Cor, you are a beaut, aren't you, Miss Bonny?"

She swipes the used glasses from his table. "You should drink more, ain't never been kinder!"

They laugh together. You shake your head, turn back to Sebastian. "Just don't fall asleep—"

The giggle turns into a shriek. Glass shatters. You spin back – Bonny has dropped the tray, shards glimmering all over the floor like granulated sugar. The patron raises his arms again, but this time she backs away, and this time there is fear in her eyes.

"N-No— don't touch—!"

"What're you on?" the patron bellows over her, all trace of comradery gone. "Clumsy girl, dropped your tray!"

You snatch a broom on the way over. "What's going on?"

But the man is angry now, pointing accusingly at her. "She dropped her tray! I tried to catch her! I did!"

You stand between them. "Happens all the time, no bother. Sit down, sir. Next drink on the house."

He backs down, satisfied.

You aren't.

Bonny's hands tremble when you turn to her, noting the way her face is drawn. It's like she sees the world in grey for the first time.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes, Miss."

A piece of you breaks. "Sure?"

"R-Really, Miss, right as rain, I am." Her smile wobbles. "Just— I was silly, dropping them glasses—"

"Take a break." You don't touch her, but gesture to the stock room behind the bar. "Sit out back for a bit. I'll get Helene to stay with you, keep you company."

Tears fill her eyes. "A-Am I fired, Miss?"

"God above, no. Just... take deep breaths." You make sure you look her in the eye when you add, "It's not your fault."

But she moves sluggishly past you, eyes vacant.

"Isn't it?"

/////

Helene goes to her aid without complaint. You sweep the shards away and procure more drinks for the rowdy patrons, but your blood boils. You've been here eight years, you've seen the best of humanity... and you've seen the worst. Him, that pig – he's the product of a society that thinks their entitlement extends to taking what they want without ever accepting a no.

You bin the shards and almost collapse on the counter with exhaustion. Dealing with horrible customers is part of the job, but there's something especially vile about dealing with this sort.

The Pig laughs loudly with his friends – at the same time, only a wall away, Bonny is sobbing.

"I saw him."

You jolt at Sebastian's voice. God, you forgot he was there. His hands are shaking, but not from withdrawal – from anger.

"I saw him touch her." His voice is low and dark. "I should break his hand."

You wish he would. It would be but tiny retribution for what's owed, for how badly the Pig has irreparably altered Bonny's life. She's young, innocent – she doesn't deserve to fear the world because of it.

"It's our word against his," you murmur. "He won't face no justice."

Sebastian doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the man with hatred. Those kernals of goodness you know exist are now enveloped by black vines, poisoned by the desire for revenge, as dark and deeply-rooted as the stairs paved to hell.

"Don't do anything stupid," you warn.

"I wouldn't."

"You got that look in your eye."

"I always have this look in my eye."

Well, that's true at least. You lean towards him, voice crisp. "If you do anything in retaliation you will put Bonny in danger. And me too."

The loathing cracks. "You?"

"He's got a big group of friends! You think either of us will get off scot-free if their mate winds up in some alleyway with a black eye? Bonny won't talk, but they know I might – they'll know he got beat up because of me. You look like you can throw a punch, Sebastian, but you must not."

He hesitates. The black claw with its vice grip holds tighter. Then:

"I look like I can throw a punch?" He smirks, killing the moment. "Because I have muscled arms?"

Relief trickles through you. He understands. He's placated. He won't do anything – for Bonny... and for you.

"Don't get cocky about it," you sniff.

"You've been looking at my arms?"

They're hard to miss, especially with the sleeves rolled up, veins like cords, glistening with sweat and freckles and tattoos and good God you are blushing. It must be nice to be enveloped in those arms, in his protection. You turn away, clamping your jaw and feeling guilty about having such sordid thoughts after everything that's happened.

He takes the opportunity to flex them, and your traitorous eyes dip to them again, to the muscle contorting, straining against his skin.

"Don't do anything stupid," you snap again.

You put the conversation out of your head when you go into the back room.

When Sebastian comes that Saturday night, the pub heaving with customers, he brings a friend.

"This is Xander," he introduces, looking mightily pleased with himself. "Or should I say, Police Inspector Xander, Scotland Yard."

Panic bolts through you, and your gaze flickers to the stock room.

Xander ruffles, pretending to look put-out. "Off-duty, but yes. Hello, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Off-duty or not, Sebastian has no idea what he's done bringing him here, no idea what he's risking. Play it cool. You shoot daggers his way, but they might as well be made of foam.

"Nice to meet you," you say through your teeth. "You know each other through work?"

Xander chortles. "Actually, Mr Sallow—"

"Please, you know I said to call me Sebastian."

"Quite! Sebastian and I met entirely by chance at the local farmer's market a few days ago. Turns out we both have a love of southern French cheeses! Say, did you try the Roquefort I suggested? Scoffed mine with my wife, I did."

Instantly you can tell this is all balderdash, because there's no way Sebastian Sallow, the drunken, tattooed stranger with more skeletons in his closet than freckles on his face, has any interest in cheese.

"I did," he panders. "I had some with those sourdough crackers from Harvey Nichols. Delicious."

Xander blusters. "Why, and I the exact same! How bizarre! Almost like you read my mind!"

"I've also," he brings out a round package made of... leaves? "brought some Banon cheese to try."

"Banon! Another favourite of mine!" He waggles a finger at Sebastian. "You know I never believed in fate and destiny, but I dare say some higher power has intervened to bring you into my life. God perhaps, or magic!"

"Magic?" Sebastian laughs. "As if."

There's certainly something rotten in the air, and it's not the Roquefort on Xander's breath.

Sebastian pledges to buy everything after Xander makes his order and finds a table. When he sidles to the counter, armed with a handful of coins, your faux smile drops into barely-restrained outrage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sallow? Because I swear to God—"

"Sallow now? You remind me of one of my school teachers."

"Don't joke! The police cannot be here."

"Why not? You hiding something?"

"They just can't," you say quickly. "I know you've brought him because of that incident – he won't be able to do anything."

"He's off-duty." Sebastian is a lazy cat on a balmy summer's day. "Just here for a drink with me."

"He may have fallen for your French cheese nonsense—"

"I like rocky fort, thank you."

"— but I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Staring at my arms again? You've got to stop that, bar girl. It's very perverse."

You grind your teeth together as you make the drinks. Sebastian is infuriating— no, infuriation, the very thing itself, rather than its pompous vessel.

"This isn't about your male ego," you snarl, when you hand both glasses to him. "It's about keeping Bonny safe."

His face changes instantly. "Is she all right? Is she here today?"

"No. I'm paying her some time off."

And good thing too, because the Pig has come every day since. He's over on the same table, laughing with the same group of friends, slurping at the same drink.

"If you get her hurt—"

"I won't." It's stony, hard truth. "On my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much to me."

He grins.

"It will."

After locking the stock room, you keep a close eye. He's left his barstool free to sit with Xander at the corner table, the two exchanging animated conversation over slices of Banon and sourdough crackers. All the hairs raise on your neck. Sebastian drinks and drinks, but it's easy to tell he's taking his time, doesn't indulge as much as he usually does. He's not trying to forget.

He trying to stay alert.

Whilst you're serving the local darts club, Sebastian stands, a swift movement you catch in your periphery. He mumbles something to Xander and heads towards the bar – but not to you, to Edith, one of the other barkeeps. You might've been hurt if not for the troublesome glint in his eye.

With too many customers you can't stop to chat, though you scrutinise Edith to see what he wants: five measures of straight vodka. A man trying to give up drinking does not order that many small glasses of pure alcohol... especially not when he and Xander, and the Pig and his friends, make five.

But you're too slow to stop him when he swiftly takes the tray from Edith's hands.

"You're busy, I'll carry it."

Sebastian turns his back to you – it's only for a second, but it's a second too long. Your trust whittles, you leave the darts club with half their orders and storm after him, catching his arm inches away from the table.

Muscle. You shouldn't notice, you're angry with him and he's about to do something reckless for God's sake, but his forearm is so hard and sturdy that a wild thrill runs up your spine. Imagine if he pulled you close, wrapped those sturdy arms around you, carding his fingers through your hair—

"Any excuse to touch my arms, bar girl."

You snatch away, blushing, irate. "Whatever you're about to do—"

"It's all in hand. On my word, remember?"

You trust Sebastian Sallow about as far as you can throw him.

... Yet you find yourself stepping away.

The Pig and his friends falter at first, but Sebastian is ignorant and cheery, almost like he's honoured to hand out the drinks.

"On me tonight, gentlemen," he announces. "Life is great, I got a promotion at work and I've finally scrounged up enough to finally propose to the bonny lass I've been seeing in secret. Achilles, you too, my friend!"

You end up hugging the wall close by as Xander and the men cheers to him. The Pig's friends are too drunk to notice Sebastian is a regular, too drunk to notice he was there last week. The Pig snorts as he raises his glass.

"Might do you better to leave it, boy. Women – ain't nothing good from them."

With a sinister smile, Sebastian downs his glass, and claps Xander on the back when he does the same.

"Well, gentlemen," Sebastian bows his head with a flourish, "my friend and I will leave you be. Do have a pleasant night!"

"I never have a pleasant night." The Pig hiccoughs. "Every time I go home, I wank myself off and cry because I can't get any woman to love me."

You go utterly still.

One of the Pig's friends chimes in with, "Me too."

"I use a sock," says the other.

"I just want a good fuck," the Pig mutters, though he turns red, like he's fully aware of what he's saying. "And not one I had to buy off the street. Bobbies are cracking down on my favourite spots, the bloody meaters."

Your gaze slides to Xander, whose face has turned iridescent with anger. You think the Pig and his friends will stop now – surely they can't embarrass himself anymore, surely they won't. But the truth spills out of them; they loudly confess their darkest, most humiliating secrets, crimes you never want to hear repeated, desires that make your stomach turn. The Pig declares to assaulting Bonny like it's nothing.

"And even she turned me down!" He sweats but doesn't stop. "The fucking audacity, after she flirted with me for so long!"

Xander marches forwards, brows cutting into his eyes, and produces his ID from his jacket pocket. "Police Inspector Achilles Xander of Scotland Yard. I think I've heard enough. All three of you will follow me to the station."

"What?" the Pig roars. "But I— we've done everything wrong!"

"I understand that perfectly well, sir!"

The Pig goes redder. "N-No, I— I buy prostitutes almost three times a week and avoid my taxes— fuck—"

"Really, sir! This is extremely inappropriate!" When the Pig flails, saying nothing, Xander harrumphs. "You'll all follow me outside as I call for backup! Sebastian, I apologise, we shall have to catch up another time."

The Pig and his friends hang their heads as they're escorted out the pub. Sebastian is more than contrite about cutting short the chat with his cheese companion – all an act – and when the door clatters shut, he reclaims his normal stool and finishes his beer in three long, languid gulps. His tongue flickers out, catching the froth at the corner of his mouth; it reminds you of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"What— how—" You swallow thickly, trying to keep your voice down. "How'd you get him to talk?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

His smile is like an omen.

"Remember when I said I wasn't going to heaven? I meant it." He's quiet now, but exuding aggression in the way a lion's presence alone can subdue its pride. "Hell won't just welcome me with open arms — it will roll out the red fucking carpet."

But then his gaze softens, and you can almost believe all that anger, that power, those black vines steeped in vengeance... are a lie.

"You were right. Much as I wanted to drag him into an alleyway and beat him until his own mother wouldn't recognise his face, sometimes you have to work smarter, not harder. And I will never take kindly to sick bastards abusing innocent people." He takes a deep breath. "It's not much, but I hope Bonny finds some peace of mind now."

You're nearly speechless. "You did all that for Bonny?"

He seems to ponder the question.

"And someone else."

When he meets your eye, you're paralysed.

"If one universal constant is how much I like to win, then the other is how hard I'll fight for the people I care about." He says it gently, with a half-smile that makes your stomach flip. "I'll let you guess which one I live by more."

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT]

thank you to my tag list: @okay-j-hannah @morelikeravenbore @vylaris. please let me know if you'd like to join/ be removed ❤️

[Divider credits]

[noforkingclue]

Patching Up (River Cartwright x reader)

Summary: the last thing you were expecting was a beaten up Cartwright to turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night. But here he was and you had no other choice but to patch him up and to talk

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites spngingerbread21,  @layazul,  @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You groaned softly and turned over in bed, pulling the covers over your head. When you heard your buzzer ring again you knew it wasn’t just some cruel dream. Glancing at your phone you were temporarily blinded by its screen and cursed when you saw it was two in the morning.

Whoever was at your door was going to pay.

Unless it was Lamb in which case you would have to wake up pretty quickly.

“Yes?” you said sleepily as you answered your intercom, silently hoping that it was a prank

“L/n?”

“Cartwright?” you could feel the exhaustion being replaced by anger, “what the fuck do you want?”

“Can I come up?”

“No. Now piss off.”

“Wait! Please, L/n. I… just please.”

You bit your lip as you contemplated what to do next. In your six months at Slough House you didn’t have too much to do with the infamous River Cartwright. Maybe it was because nothing had ever really happened when you had joined. You had heard about their previous ‘adventures’. Roddy in particular was keen to big up his role in them. Lamb had commented that now you had joined everything would go back to the way things should be. His joes back luck charm, if things were to continue how they should.

“Fine,” you said eventually, “but you fucking owe me one.”

You pressed the buzzer to let him in and waited for Cartwright by your open door. You pulled your dressing gown tightly around you and hoped that your angry expression would mask any sort of curiosity. That didn’t last long when you saw Cartwright slowly come up the stairs.

“Fucking hell River,” you said as you ushered him into your flat, “what the fuck happened to you?”

“Guess.”

“Either The Dogs or Lamb.”

“The first one.”

“Fuck.”

Any form of potential violence against him had disappeared at the sight of his bruised and bloodied face. He gave you a small smile and quickly winced as you, gently, pushed him into your kitchen. Once you were sure that your flat was safely locked up (how safe it would be if The Dogs came to get you, you didn’t know) you turned your attention back to your patient.

“I have questions.” you said

“Not surprised.”

“Firstly, what did you do to piss off Duffy this time? Or was it just your general existence that annoyed him.”

River grunted in response so you assumed the latter. You grabbed an ice pack from your freezer and wrapped it in a towel.

“For your black eye,” you said, “hold this against it for about ten or twenty minutes. Should reduce the swelling.”

“I know how to deal with a black eye.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Now, my other questions.”

“Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes,” you grabbed a bowl of warm water and some paper towels, “out of everyone in Slough House, why me? Like I understand not Lamb or Roddy. But you’ve known Lousia and Catherine for longer than me. Marcus, well, I’m sure he’d patch you up but I doubt his wife and kids would appreciate a bloodied spook turning up on their doorstep. As for Shirley…”

You trailed off and shrugged.

“I’d say 50-50 on whether she’d help or just laugh.”

“Thanks.” River said dryly

“You’re welcome.”

River hissed slightly when you wiped at his nose a little harsher than necessary. You gave him a pointed look as you leant against your kitchen table. You tilted his head back and said,

“I don’t think your nose is broken.”

“It’s not.”

“And you should know.”

“Repeating a ‘joke’ from earlier. Running out of material?”

“Not when you’re right in front of me. You provide me with an endless source.”

You frowned when you saw him holding his ribs.

“And your ribs? Are they broken?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You should probably get that checked out.”

River let out a grunt of acknowledgement and you rolled your eyes. That was River for ‘I know you’re right but I’m not going to do that’.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” you said as you continued to clear him up

“Which was?”

“Why did you come to me?”

River bit his lip and looked away. You grimaced when you saw that expression and you knew that getting River to answer that question was going to be a struggle. You tossed a bloodied tissue into the bowl of now pinkish water and sighed.

“Well it’s late,” you said, “so you can crash here tonight. Your shirt is going to need to be chucked in the wash to get the blood out. Sooner rather than later so the blood doesn’t set in but I guess you knew that already.”

You were expecting some quip about you wanting to see him shirtless but none came. You pursed your lips and started to move away when River’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. He wasn’t looking at you and he absentmindedly rubbed circles against it.

“I came to you,” he said slowly, “because I trust you.”

Trust.

Trust in your line of work was a dangerous word. You couldn’t help but be surprised at this admission. Trust was something that could be exploited by the wrong people. You weren’t expecting this admission of weakness from River.

“You trust me.”

River glanced up at you and gave you a small smile.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I… trust you too. I’ll grab a spare pillow and blanket and you can have the sofa.”

You had almost left the room when River called,

“Oh, and y/n-”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice and you called back,

“Say what I think you’re going to say and I’ll kick you out!”

[cultofdixon]

Taking care of you

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Reader • The Claimers did a number on Daryl, but thank god you and Rick showed them not to fuck with their family. After witnessing you take care of Daryl and his injuries, Rick couldn’t keep the obvious to himself • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Canon Violence

Requested by: Anon

That was it

The last punch the unfortunate Claimer thrown at Daryl, was met with bullet and the ring of the gun was linked to the woman that the archer had claimed to keep the disgusting men from harming her.

Y/N.

“Someone get—-“ Joe was cut off by Rick taking him out with a harsh teeth driven bite into the throat and that gave Michonne her window.

The distraction of their leader and colleague meeting their fates, gave Michonne the window to take out the Claimer behind her and for Y/N to kick up Rick’s hatchet from the ground firmly grasping it in her hand. Before throwing it at another Claimer’s chest knocking him back.

It was a bloody mess. Rick and Michonne went for the Claimer that was harming Carl, then finishing the job to the leader and Michonne’s Claimer.

Leaving Y/N to help Daryl up to his feet before kicking down the approaching Claimer but as he went down, he grabbed her leg forcing her into an uncomfortable split. The archer weakly but gained enough strength to save her from his grasp by crushing the lights out of him.

The five were going through it.

Michonne comforts Carl as the two took up the car to sleep in and hopefully forget some of the horrors from just a few hours ago. Rick kept an eye on their surroundings while trying and struggling to calm his inner demons.

Which left the two to lick their wounds, or more so Y/N care for Daryl’s wounds with the supplies she had and have collected from the dead. She was about to use the last of her water to clean up the dried blood on his face but he stopped her and told her to continue to use the rag she currently had damp instead of wasting a useful resource.

Rick heard the small bickering from the two and turned to watch Y/N grab Daryl’s chin listening to the man grumble but cave. He let her clean up the blood on his face to check the wounds there after she had bandaged parts of his abdomen.

“Is Y/N injured?”

“I checked already” Daryl informs Rick as Y/N quickly glanced to him showing the small bandage on her cheek while she mainly suffered small cuts and bruises.

“I’m thinkin’ we should find shelter that can cover all of us under a roof. There’s a neighborhood near by”

“Sounds perfect. Gives time for Carl and Daryl to rest”

“I ain’t need any—-“ Daryl winced when he tried to get up as Y/N smacked him gently in the chest. “Fine.”

“You need help up?”

“I’ve got it. But if he needs help walking can…?” Y/N asks without asking to help support Daryl with her to this neighborhood and of course Rick agreed.

As the retired sheriff left the two to check and tell the others what’s to happen, Daryl gently turned her head toward him to check the bandage but more importantly the bruise that came with it.

“If we find a home with more supplies. Then I can try and stitch the gash in your leg” Y/N interrupted his thoughts as he was about to object but the worry in her eyes pierced right through his chest. How could he argue with her?

“As long as theirs alcohol to numb it”

“Never took you for a man that would need a little anesthesia” Y/N giggles a little at the thought, as Daryl admires her voice for a moment. “If we find it. You’ll—-“

“Drink it. Numb my brain from what yea doing”

“Ah, that’s what you meant” She giggled once more before getting up off the ground and picking up her belongings. “Maybe you’ll be in luck” she revealed the travel size bottle she had acquired from her time before Daryl found her while in the Claimer’s group.

When the two were in the claimer’s group for a day or two before running into Rick and the hell that followed after it, Daryl tried asking Y/N what happened to her in the time apart since he told her everything from his end. All she told him was “it wasn’t as bad as what happened to you” and left it at that.

As the group started to move to this neighborhood, Rick brought up. Rick helped Y/N help Daryl walk to the best still standing house so they wouldn’t have to barricade much. It was a one story with two bedrooms. But since someone had to take watch, Daryl opted to stay on the couch in the main area of the house that spilled into two rooms. Dining and Kitchen.

“You’re not going to be able to do anythin’ if you can barely walk” Rick comments once they had set the archer up on the couch.

“Least I can see a few entrances from where I’m set”

“I’ll stay out here and we’ll alternate throughout the night” Y/N states watching the tension in Rick’s stance relax.

“Alright. Well let’s barricade the door, then turn in for the night” Rick states pushing Daryl back down when he tried to get up and help as Y/N squeezes his shoulder on her way past the couch.

Once the main room doors were blocked with items they found closest to it. Dining room table for the kitchen’s door leading to the backyard, console for the front door in the living room. Then Y/N went to help Daryl lay down and elevate his leg while Rick got Carl situated in one of the rooms to sleep in with Michonne doing one last sweep of the place for items. She set all her findings on the coffee table in front of the two, leaving them to go through it while she also went to check on Carl before taking up the other room as Rick was going to stick with his son on the floor.

As Y/N found a sewing kit within the mix, she had Daryl roll up his pants to reveal the bandage had already seeped through the dressing. It definitely needed stitches.

“Gonna sterilize that needle?”

“Since when do you know what to do?” Y/N glanced over at him before returning her attention to getting her supplies prepped.

“I pay attention to when yea helped Hershel back at the prison, even the farm”

“Hm. You were a squirmer at the farm. Fish out of water”

“Oy. I got shot and impaled” Daryl scoffs. “What kind of bedside manner is this”

“You want me to be soft and gentle? When I’m about to pierce a needle through your skin?” She scoffs picking up the needle and getting a thread through it after pouring some of the alcohol from earlier on it.

“You promised”

“Okay yeah” Y/N rolls her eyes smiling as she handed the rest of the bottle to Daryl before not waiting another moment to stitch up his leg after cleaning it the best she could.

It was painful but he held on.

When the group finally turned in for the night and Daryl was taking on a shift, he mainly sat up watching the entrance/exits every now and then before looking down at the sleeping form on the floor right beside the couch.

Daryl watches her person sleep for a little while but the second he looked away, the mood changed. He fully sat up listening to her sob in her sleep.

What could she be thinking about? His worry got him as he moved his leg over wincing slightly and leaning over to nudge her awake. Which she did and quickly wiped away the tears. Like this has happened before.

“Sorry, was I snoring?”

“Nah…you’re just…” Daryl didn’t want to say it, if Y/N particularly didn’t want to.

All she did was look up at him with the sadness from whatever she dreamt written all over her face. She got up from the floor picking her jacket up along the way as she used it as a blanket.

“Lay down”

“Sorry?”

“Can you just” Y/N frowns gesturing for him to just do what she asked, he did and watched her move his injured leg over before climbing on top of him.

Her head instantly placed itself on his chest as the rest of her body relaxed and loosely drape over him as she had her legs between his to avoid his injured one. But to also not fall off the couch.

Her anxiety made her think that he would toss her off, and then she would know. But the archer brought his arms around her keeping her close as humanely possible.

“Get some sleep alright?” He whispers to her as she snuggled into him while he fixed her jacket to cover her.

The morning came and Rick found himself staring down at the two. He didn’t want to wake Carl and Michonne was rationing the food they found for breakfast that morning. So she was also there to notice the two laying on top of each other. He gave her a quick glance as she shook her head indicating to just let them sleep for now.

But when a few hours passed since that moment and the two were closer yet still being a bit awkward. The second Carl left with Michonne to check out the neighborhood, Rick shut the door harshly startling the two when Y/N was checking his wound.

“Y/N, you’ve got a minute?”

“Sure, just let me finish” Y/N gave him a puzzled look as to why he had to shut the door like such. “Don’t touch it, alright?”

“Doctor’s orders” Daryl shot her a smile before watching her leave with Rick, which brought his own confusion to his face.

As the two stepped out, Y/N assumed it was to do a perimeter check or to get Michonne and Carl wherever they may be within the neighborhood.

“So, where have you been before—-“

“You like Daryl yeah?”

The assumption made Y/N stop in her tracks giving him a deadpan look while he did his hands on the hips followed with the intense glare.

“Why are you—-“

“Why were yea sleeping together?”

“To keep fucking warm at night—-“

“Nah that ain’t it. If yea didn’t like the guy some sort of way you wouldn’t—-“

“I wouldn’t assume, Rick.” Y/N hissed. “You don’t get to know what happened last night because one part of it I’d like to forget…but none of the parts including Daryl. He was there for me when I needed it and I appreciated it”

“So…you’re just gonna deny the obvious”

“I DOUBT HE LOVES ME BACK” Y/N yells at her friend making his posture relax and take a step back. “I like what we have and I don’t want to go away like that—“ she snapped. “I love Daryl Dixon with all my heart…but I can’t lose him. I lost enough in this world. I don’t want to lose him”

Maybe he should’ve talked to Daryl first Rick thought watching her head back to the place they were holding up in.

Once the group regained a bit of their strength, they started to make their way toward this sanctuary that they’ve seen several signs for. Rick pulled Daryl to hang back, letting the three take the lead and ultimately pulling him away from Y/N who he was beside.

Y/N glanced back at the two watching them talk about something as she wishes she stuck back to listen but she wasn’t in any mood to talk to Rick at the moment.

“Want me to watch out ba—“

“You need to get your head out of your ass and tell her how you feel.”

Daryl felt lost in his own head in the sense that his thoughts were racing. Oh. It was obvious? Not. That obvious. She doesn’t know. Or does she? Why the FUCK is Rick bringing this up?

Rick felt as if the light in Daryl’s head went out as he instantly punched him in the arm to snap him back into reality.

“The hell am I supposed to even go about it?”

“I don’t know! But do something before you lose her”

Now that was a bit wrong of Rick. To implant the thought of losing her when she’s very much alive and right in front of him with a respectable distance. Doesn’t matter. She could be across the country or right in front of him and he’s fear of losing her every second. Rick stating such as if it were fact, made his anxiety get the best of him.

And that anxiety ate him when she suggested something stupid.

“Nah, you’re coming with us”

“It’s best to approach this at every angle and if they only see one coming through the front door? Then they won’t expect you four investigating the place further”

“I know you’re gonna hate me saying this, Daryl. But we’re going with Y/N’s plan” Rick states starting the walk to the other side of the place with Carl following shortly behind him as Michonne waited for Daryl.

The two shared an exchange without words as Y/N brought Daryl into her arms for a moment. He had gripped onto the back of her jacket with an unbreakable grip but it felt like a cue to separate when Rick whistled indicating he’s about to head in.

But the fear that came with watching her walk away…grew worse with time.

And the fear turned into anger and anxiety when the guy running the joint, Gareth, tossed a beaten up Y/N to the floor right in front of the feed trough that they learned the hard way was a blood collection for slaughtering animals. Daryl tried to break through his ropes to try and do something, while Rick was close to tearing everything apart the second he was set free.

The man did, to be clear. The second the distraction they really need, the explosion, took Gareth and his aimed gun at Y/N’s head away from the scene. She gave Rick a look and the second the wild man broke free, she lifted herself off the ground wincing in pain and taking the knife she had in her boot—a place no one looked—and threw it at one of the men’s throats as Rick instantly went for the other. Both going down and Rick went for Daryl first with releasing as the archer quickly removed his gag on his way over to Y/N latching onto her.

“I should’ve stuck with y’all” She weakly laughs as Daryl pulls away for a moment looking into her eyes seeing the confusion write itself on her face when he didn’t say a word.

Next thing she realized was Daryl pressing his lips firmly against hers. Y/N wanted desperately to keep the kiss going but they were both interrupted by Glenn yelling their names to get them off their asses and out of there.

Once collecting the rest of their family and meeting up with the one that gave their saving window, Carol, Daryl pulled away while Rick talks with Carol on their way over to wherever they were going to be beside Y/N.

“I’ve loved you since I first met you” Daryl whispers to Y/N as she turns to him smiling warmly trying her best not to let the overwhelming feelings get the best of her. But when the tears formed he gently took her wrist stopping the two. “Y/N…”

“I was just…so afraid of losing you” She silently sobbed as he carefully wiped away her tears before kissing her cheek and bringing her into his arms.

“You have me. You’ll always have me”

[choke-me-joey]

Birthday Boy

Joseph Quinn x female reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, RPF (don't like, don't read, don't bitch), pure birthday smut, blowjobs, swallowing, use of sex toys, anal, squirting, creampie, it's just pure filth and I'm not sorry.

Not proof read bc I'm too horny for that and my fingers type faster than my brain works.

You'd agreed on no presents.

No presents, no fuss, nothing, just the day spent together doing absolutely nothing, surrounded by all the bloody unpacked boxes in your new home. That's all he wanted before the madness of filming for A Quiet Place began.

Oh, and a little lie in.

So at 10am when your internal body clock simply will not allow you to sleep anymore, you pop to the bathroom without waking him. You then decide to wake the birthday boy up with a blowjob, slowly taking your time, palming his cock to full hardness through his boxers, and then slipping them over his slim hips to about mid thigh, taking him into your mouth.

He groans in his sleep, but hasn't yet pulled the duvet off of you, so you know he isn't fully awake. You swallow his cock down, holding him in your throat until your eyes water and your gag reflex kicks in, quickly coming up for air and using your mouth on his balls instead.

"Fuck," Joe grunts, throwing the duvet off of you. You smirk at him whilst still tonguing at his sack.

"Happy birthday, Joey." You coo, before sucking the head of his cock softly, your hand slowly jerking the rest of his thick shaft.

"Hmm, god I love you." he laughs, a breathy and raspy sound that makes your pussy throb. You take him into your throat once more, and his hand rests gently on the back of your head. "Fucking hell, babe, gonna make me cum doing that."

Your eyes flick up to him as if to say "that's kind of the point" and you pull up a little, hollowing out your cheeks and moving your mouth up and down. Joe starts to breathe heavier, his grip on your hair getting tighter. You know he's close, so you deep throat him again, nose brushing up against the neat hairs at the base of his cock. Your free hand plays with his balls, and he grunts loudly, moaning as he shoots his load down your throat.

You swallow everything he gives you, humming at his taste. When he's done, you pull off, placing a kiss to his softening cock and pulling his boxers back up. You crawl back up the bed and Joe pulls you against him, holding you close. He kisses your head.

"So, how does it feel being 29?" You smile, fingers lightly ghosting over his stomach and chest. You playfully pinch his nipple and he flinches, both of you laughing. He slaps your bum.

"Well, after that, I'd say being 29 feels fucking good. Give me a few minute and I'll probably say it feels exactly the same as being 28." He says, a soft smile on his face; post orgasm glow looks good on him. "Which is still amazing. I've got my beautiful girl in my bed, we own a lovely house together-"

"You're an international star about to shoot his first proper film," you tease, making him scoff.

"Shh." He silences you with a kiss, his soft and plush lips moving with yours in perfect tandem. "It's been a bit of a mad year, hasn't it?"

"Just a bit. But I'm so proud of you, babe." You cup his cheek with your hand. "I love you, happy birthday baby."

"I love you too, darling. Thank you." He yawns, stretching a little. He reaches over to the bedside table for his glasses, meaning he's going to try and get up. You pin him to the bed, and he looks at you in confusion.

"I've got a little surprise for you," you say, pecking his lips once more.

"Love, I didn't want anything," he groans and you laugh.

"Trust me, you're going to want this." You tease, peeling off your pyjama shorts. His demeanor quickly changes.

"Oh?" He smirks as you kneel beside him on the bed, stripping off your PJ tshirt so you're completely naked for him. You grin and turn around, bending over to reveal the butt plug sat snugly in your ass (a product of your trip to the bathroom before you woke him up). He chokes out  "Oh my god."

"Wanna fuck my ass, birthday boy?" You look over your shoulder at him, lowering your chest to the bed even more, arching your back so your ass moved up even more for him. Joe laughs in disbelief, stripping himself of his boxers and kneeling behind you, tapping his now hard cock against your soaking pussy.

"Is that even a question?" You can hear the grin on his face. You'd only done anal a couple of times before, and not for a while at that. You'd taken advantage of his hectic schedule to get yourself prepped for his birthday, using various plugs and toys on yourself until you were sure, with a little prep from him when you were actually doing it, that you'd be able to take him. You pass him a small bottle of lube out of your bedside drawer. "Do I even need this, babe? You're soaked already," Joe pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, both of you hissing at the feeling. The butt plug made it tighter, and the pleasure greater for both of you. He slides in easily, bumping your gspot a few times. "Gonna fill up all your holes today, baby. Sound good?"

"God, Joe, fuck yes," you whine, clawing at the sheets, pushing back against him. "Really need you to fuck my ass first though."

"Alright, alright, I was just warming you up a little bit baby." Joe chuckles at your eagerness before pulling out, marvelling at how your pussy and ass looked all spread out for him. He smothers his cock in lube before carefully removing the plug. "Fucking Christ," Joe groans at the sight  of your hole, waiting ready for him. "You've been preparing for this, haven't you? Filthy girl."

He circles two lubed fingers around the ring of muscle, pushing them in with ease. You whine at the sensation, your cunt practically dripping onto the bed below you. He adds a third finger, the stretch only burning a little but it soon dissappears as he fucks you with his fingers, stretching you in preparation for his cock. "Think you're ready baby? Think you can take me?"

"Joe, please!" You beg, your neglected clit almost painfully swollen now. Joe reaches under you and gently rubs circles onto your clit as his cock slowly pushes in to your ass.

You both moan loudly at the feeling; him because God, you're so fucking tight and warm around his cock and you because you're so full, so fucking full and his fingers are so good on your clit-

"Joe!" You cry out, cumming before he can barely get the head of his cock inside you.

"Holy shit, already?! Barely got my cock inside you, babe, fuck you wanted this didn't you?"

"Fuck, yes, Joe, wanted it so bad, please, please, please-"

You're babbling beneath him, begging and moaning as he bottoms out inside of your ass. He stays there for a minute, swatting your cheek as you whine and protest wanting him to move.

"Wait a minute, baby. Don't want this to be over just yet, yeah? Be a good girl and let me fuck you, okay?"

You nod, whimpering. You cry out as you feel his (clean) fingers thrust into your pussy at the same time as he pulls out and slams into your ass. You've never, ever been this full, you didn't think it was possible. Joe had used his fingers on your ass before when he was balls deep in your pussy but this...this was heaven.

Joe starts moving faster, grunting with each thrust.

"God, you feel so fucking good, baby, so fucking tight around my cock. Not gonna last long, gonna cum in this pretty little ass, yeah? Fill you up, maybe put that plug back in and make you walk around with my cum in your ass all day, yeah?"

You can't form a sentence to respond to him because you're cumming again, this time squirting over his hand and the bedsheets, your body going limp as you cry out. "Fucking hell, Jesus baby, you just got tighter, shit, tell me I can cum in your ass, want you to say it-"

"Cum in my ass, Joey, please!" You moan out and Joe curses again.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck, gonna cum, shit, baby, I'm cumming-!" With one last slam of his hips, Joe groans and cums, shooting deep inside your ass. You moan with him, feeling his cock twitch.

Joe then collapses on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty. He trails soft kisses over your back and shoulders. He slowly pulls out of you and shoots you a wicked grin, before slipping the butt plug back into your ass.

"Joe..." you whine, a matching dopey grin across your face. "Didn't think you were actually serious."

"Deadly serious, love, about that and about everything else. Give me 5 minutes and I'm fucking that pretty little pussy of yours, think she needs some attention, hmm?"

"Whatever you say, birthday boy, but I'm gonna need about 10 minutes."

"Happy fucking birthday to me." He grins, flopping back onto the pillows.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Bill Bramhall, New York Daily News

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 7, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 08, 2024

By rights, tonight’s post should be a picture, but Trump’s behavior today merits a marker because it feels like a dramatic escalation of the themes we’ve seen for years. Please feel free to ignore—as I often say, I am trying to leave notes for a graduate student in 150 years, and you can consider this one for her if you want a break from the recent onslaught of news.

Yesterday, Trump ranted at the press, furious that the American legal system had resulted in two jury decisions that he had defamed and sexually abused writer E. Jean Carroll. He was so angry that, with his lawyers standing awkwardly behind him, he told reporters: “I’m disappointed in my legal talent, I’ll be honest with you.”

Today, Trump held a rally in Mosinee, Wisconsin, a small city in the center of the state, where he addressed about 7,000 people. A number of us who have been watching him closely have been saying for a while that when voters actually saw him in this campaign, they would be shocked at how he has deteriorated, and that seems to be true: his meandering and self-indulgent speeches have had attendees leaving early, some of them bewildered. In today’s speech, Trump slurred a number of words, referring to Elon Musk as “Leon,” for example, and forgetting the name of North Dakota governor Doug Burgum, who was on his short list for a vice presidential pick.

But today’s speech struck me as different from his past performances, distinguished for what sounded like desperation. Trump has always invented his stories from whole cloth, but there used to be some way to tie them to reality. Today that seemed to be gone. He was in a fantasy world, and his rhetoric was apocalyptic. It was also bloody in ways that raise huge red flags for scholars of fascism.

Trump told the audience that when he took office in 2017, military officers told him the U.S. had given all the military’s ammunition away to allies. Then he went on a rant against our allies, saying that they’re only our allies when they need something and that they would never come to our aid if we needed them. This echoes the talking points put out by Russian operatives and flies in the face of the fact that the one time the North Atlantic Treaty Organization invoked the mutual defense pact in that agreement was after the attacks of September 11, 2001, in support of the U.S. 

He embraced Project 2025’s promise to eliminate the Department of Education and send education back to the states so that right-wing figures like Wisconsin’s Senator Ron Johnson can run it. He reiterated the MAGA claim that mothers are executing their babies after birth—this is completely bonkers—and again echoed Russian talking points when he said these executions are happening—they are not—but “nobody talks about it.” He went on: “We did a great thing when we got Roe v. Wade out of the federal government.” 

He reiterated the complete fantasy that schools are performing gender-affirming surgery on children. “Can you imagine you're a parent and your son leaves the house and you say, Jimmy, I love you so much, go have a good day at school, and your son comes back with a brutal operation. Can you even imagine this? What the hell is wrong with our country?” Trump’s suggestion that schools are performing surgery on students is bananas. This is simply not a thing that happens. 

And then he went full-blown apocalyptic, attacking immigrants and claiming that crime, which in reality has dropped dramatically since President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris took office after a spike during his own term, has made the U.S. uninhabitable. He said that “If I don’t win Colorado, it will be taken over by migrants and the governor will be sent fleeing.” "Migrants and crime are here in our country at levels never thought possible before…. You're not safe even sitting here, to be honest with you. I'm the only one that's going to get it done. Everybody is saying that." He urged people to protest “because you’re being overrun by criminals.” 

He assured attendees that "If you think you have a nice house, have a migrant enjoy your house, because a migrant will take it over. A migrant will take it over. It will be Venezuela on steroids." He reiterated his plan to get rid of migrants. “And you know,” he said, “getting them out will be a bloody story.” 

He went on to try to rev up supporters in words very similar to those he used on January 6th, 2021, but focused on this election. “Every citizen who’s sick and tired of the parasitic political class in Washington that sucks our country of its blood and treasure, November fifth will be your liberation day. November fifth, this year, will be the most important day in the history of our country because we’re not going to have a country anymore if we don’t win.” 

He promised: “I will prevent World War III, and I am the only one that can do it. I will prevent World War III. And if I don’t win this election,... Israel is doomed…. Israel will be gone…. I’d better win.” 

"I better win or you're gonna have problems like we've never had. We may have no country left. This may be our last election. You want to know the truth? People have said that. This may be our last election…. It’ll all be over, and you gotta remember…. Trump is always right. I hate to be right. I’m always right.” 

Trump's hellscape is only in his mind: crime is sharply down in the U.S. since he left office, migrant crossings have plunged, and the economy is the strongest in the world.

Then, tonight, Trump posted on his social media site a rant asserting that he will win the 2024 election but that he expects Democrats to cheat, and “WHEN I WIN, those people that CHEATED will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the Law, which will include long term prison sentences so that this Depravity of Justice does not happen again. We cannot let our Country further devolve into a Third World Nation, AND WE WON’T! Please beware that this legal exposure extends to Lawyers, Political Operatives, Donors, Illegal Voters, & Corrupt Election Officials. Those involved in unscrupulous behavior will be sought out, caught, and prosecuted at levels, unfortunately, never seen before in our Country.” 

Is it the Justice Department indictments that showed Russia is working to get him reelected? Is it the rising popularity of Democratic nominees Kamala Harris and Tim Walz? Is it fury at the new grand jury’s indicting him for his attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and install himself in power? Is it fear of Tuesday’s debate with Harris? Is it a declining ability to grapple with reality?

Whatever has caused it, Trump seems utterly off his pins, embracing wild conspiracy theories and, as his hopes of winning the election appear to be crumbling, threatening vengeance with a dogged fury that he used to be able to hide. 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[moviesludge]

@syzygyhenosis replied to your post “I was only able to catch a little bit of Joe Bob...”:

Bloody muscle body builder in hell? "The Japanese evil dead" they call it

​Good call. I actually giffed this one last year