#i luv this image it speaks to me

[gayleafpool]

im one final late sory tumblr user gayleafpool 😿

this is exactly what i needed it will fuel me for the three others i have to take

[cat-got-your-tongue]

Drunk texting

DP&W!Logan x Fem!reader: featuring Wade

Summary: logan goes out with Wade and won't stop calling and texting your phone

CW: fluff | mention of alcohol | dirty talk | failed attempt at sexting | mature language | mention of sex | drunk logan |

Word count: Over 1k

Authors note: Hi, please be kind. I'm still trying to get back into writing. Not proofread. Requests are open. Divider by @saradika-graphics

My work will always be 18+ Minors do not interact or read.

It was 2:00 am on a fucking Wednesday night and your phone was blowing up. Wade had dragged Logan out to have some "bonding time with peanut." Which was code for which of them could get drunk the fastest. It always led to the bar being completely drained of alcohol — usually with one of them coming home with a bruised eye (Wade).

Logan could drink, and so could wade. But he has such a high tolerance that the amount of alcohol he consumed in order to get completely drunk would probably kill the average man. Not good. That meant longer days spent working so he could pay off the tab. You didn't mind most of the time. Since he needed a break and have some fun every once in a while.

Your phone lights up next to your bed. You tried to ignore it, but it kept happening over and over. The loud buzz vibrating on the night stand. You groan and throw your pillow over your head. No use. The sound just kept getting louder and louder.

You sit up in bed and grab it, the bright light making your eyes water a bit. You look down, and your eyebrows shoot up. There were about 46 text messages, and over 10 missed calls. All from logan and a few from wade.

You open your text message app to read what the hell was so important that he had to blow your phone up in the middle of the night.

Lo 💕: miss you.

Lo 💕: Wades tupee is crooked, not telling him tho

Lo 💕: luv u ba.yb

Lo 💕: gonna fkc u wen I get home

Lo 💕: gonna have u soking my dick

Lo 💕: stop ignore me

Lo 💕: [image]

Your eyes were still trying to adjust to the screen of your phone as you read through every text message logan has sent. You sighed, looking at the picture he sent you. You could tell he was absolutely trashed. He was in the run-down bars bathroom. The lighting in there was dim, and the mirror was dirty. He was holding his semi hard cock in one hand and had the bottom of shirt in between his teeth. The sight alone had you squeezing your thighs together. His abs were flexed and a little sweaty, making his happy trail stick to his skin. You had to take a deep breath and calm yourself.

You clicked back and went over to the texts Wade had sent you. You were trying to get your mind off of the selfie logan sent.

Wade: don't worry pookie is fine.

Wade: he's got his tits out like a slut.

Wade: okay now he's fighting

Wade: Okay now he's fighting ME

Wade: I'm not even drunk. I've been having the bartender give me water the whole night 😈

Wade: is he in heat ??? All he's been talking about is fucking

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. You knew the second wade got logan through that front door it was over. Just as you had that thought, the door went bursting open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang.

"Speak of the devil." You mumbled under your breath. You walked out and saw Wade throwing logan back onto the couch.

He turned to you. "Sunshine here decided to start hmmm his fourth bar fight of the night, so we got kicked out."

You ran your hand down your face and looked down at where logan was slumped over. "Bad night?"

"Nah, luckily, he got whiskey dick of the claws, so no one was shanked." Wade shrugged as he readjusted his toupee. You fought the urge to laugh when you remembered logans text from earlier.

You let out a sigh of relief that no one was actually hurt tonight. You don't know what you'd do if you had to bail logan out of jail. Knowing Wade, he'd probably would just break him out.

"Well thank you for taking him out tonight. He's been......kinda down lately." You spoke as your eyes were still trained on your boyfriend.

There was pause before he spoke up again. He knew how much his friend could get into his own head and overthink.

"No problem. I'm gonna leave you two alone before he wakes up and tells me how much he wants to eat your ass again." Wade gave you a sympathetic pat to your shoulder and quickly hauled ass out of your apartment.

He wasn't gonna stick around incase logan decided to whip out his cock. You couldn't blame him.

Your face got hot, and you groaned again. Logan always had such a way with words. The thought of him telling Wade anything about your sex life was enough to make you want to go hide under your blanket. Now you were wondering what the hell those two talk about when you or Vanessa were not around.

A low grumble sounded from logan as he woke up. His eyes were dropping, and his speech was slurred. He looked around, confused as to where he was until he saw you. He gave you a weak smile and patted his lap for you to sit.

"C'mere" logan hiccups. "Been missin' ya all night." He tried reaching for you.

You immediately slapped his hand away.

"Nuh, uh, I'm gonna make you some water, and you're gonna sleep on this couch until you're sobered up." You shook your head and backed away.

"Then maybe just maaaybe you can have me in the morning. Deal?"

Logan pouted and sunk deeper into his spot. You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. You couldn't deny the sad pout on his face was cute. He looked so annoyed with you, but he didn't have it in his heart to be mean. Never to you. No matter how drunk logan got, it still didn't keep him from having that soft spot for you.

"Why don't you stand between my legs and lemme eat your pussy then." He slurred again.

"Jesus christ." You muttered and went into the kitchen to pour him some water.

You'd think you would be used to his dirty talk by now. Yet he still managed to surprise you with it. If he wasn't drunk off his ass right now, you would have peeled off all your clothes and let him have you right there on that couch— letting him stuff his cock so deep in your pussy it made your legs tremble before he even started moving. You shake your head of those thoughts and continue getting him his water.

By the time you came back, he had already passed out. You sat the water down and helped him into a more comfortable position. Throwing a blanket over him, you placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. Quickly, you went back into your bed to get some sleep. You're sure by morning he would be back to normal. He didn't get hangovers much. Maybe you'd take him up on all of his all of those offers once he's sober.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: While on deployment far away, Simon takes a little time one night to video call you and talk you through you touching yourself to the sound of his voice.

***I'm giving something new a go. This is strictly through Simon's point of view as if he is directly talking to you; he is the only one speaking***

Word Count: 5.6 k

Warnings:

The jingle plays repeatedly until the video call connects and the image of you pops up the screen, laying on your side propped on your elbow as you seem to be just waking up for the day. A few stray rays of sunshine creep in from the side of the picture and shimmer through the strands of your hair so that even in your sleepy, disheveled state you still look like a painting. Simon keeps his camera off for the moment, but his voice comes through clear as day over the speakers; the connection is actually decent this time around. 

“Well ‘ello there gorgeous. Surprised to hear from me? It��s been a fuckin’ minute, hasn’t it? I know it’s pretty early there, but I finally have a bit of time now that everyone’s asleep and I wanted to see ya.”

Simon keeps his voice low and hushed, trying not to draw attention to himself as he lays in his cot in the dark, the only light coming from the screen of his phone. His earbuds are plugged in so that he can hear everything with keen precision while keeping the others in his team from listening, just in case. 

“You been doin’ alright there, luv? Keepin’ it all togetha for me till I get back? I know this time it’s been a bit longer, but it ain’t gonna be forever. I’ll be back before ya know it and then you’ll have me all to yourself.”

There’s a look on your face, something he immediately notices. A glint in your eye, a twitch of the corner of your mouth, a shift of your body as you adjust yourself under the sheets. Your texts to him over the past week, wondering when he would have time to actually call, were getting more and more desperate sounding and now reading your body language through the camera he is able to put it all together.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart? Care ta tell me what it is? Or should I guess? Cause I think I ‘ave a pretty good idea ‘a what’s goin’ on.”

He watches you bite your lip as you look away, a heat blossoming in your cheeks that flushes throughout your face. There it is, the sign he’s looking for. There’s only two reasons why your cheeks flush like that and you aren’t known to be drinking this early in the morning.

“Are ya missin’ me real fuckin’ bad, is that it?”

You look back up into the camera and give a distinct nod. He understands it well, as he has been pining for you since the day he left. That’s the other reason he has been trying to find time to make this call: he’s been missing his girl real fucking bad and needs some special time with you and only you, even if it’s just for a short video chat now that he is on the tail end of his assignment and he doesn’t have to put as much focus into his work.

“Trust me, you ain’t the only one, sweetheart. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to fuckin’ see ya and there’s things I’ve been missin’ too: that pretty face a yours, wakin’ up next to ya layin’ in bed, the sound of your hummin’ comin’ from the kitchen as ya make breakfast…”

He trails off a moment with his thoughts as he lowers his voice until it’s barely above a whisper, leaning his lips into the microphone built into his headphones just in case any stray ears are listening in. Simon thought he’d be able to get through a bit of small talk before starting in on this stuff, but it seems like your need for each other cannot be contained once you’re in proximity. 

You get him riled up without even trying. He clears his throat and continues the thought. 

“...and if I’m real honest, I’ve been missin’ other things too. The more intimate things like you naked underneath me, the sensation of your legs wrapped ‘round my waist, makin’ those sweet little sounds whenever I hit the right spot. It’s been fuckin’ eatin’ me alive out here, not been able to take care of it. I swear every goddamn time I’m away from ya it’s like I can’t help thinkin’ about ya nonstop. Can ya blame me? I mean, look at ya, luv. You’re a goddamn dream. Christ, I’ve been gettin’ hard just thinkin’ ‘bout what I’m gonna do to all those gorgeous curves the fuckin’ minute I get back.” 

He can hear your already staggered breathing hitch and it makes him smile; it’s cute the way you are always so down bad for him. Just bringing up a few stray thoughts and a mention of his cock and you are already burning. But maybe you were burning a little before that too.

“That’s what you’re missin’ too, yeah? Havin’ me there with ya, doin’ what we do best? Ya don’t have to tell me, I know my sweet girl gets fuckin’ needy when I’m not ‘round to keep her satisfied. From the way you keep messaging me, trust me I know. Bet it’s been fuckin’ lonely there all by yourself; betcha been achin’ for somethin’ to help ya get some relief. I know ya don’t like usin’ your toy all the time…Is that why ya wanted me to call?”

You stutter out some objections, hoping not to sound too desperate as you don’t want him to think that’s the only reason to answer his call. Simon isn’t bothered by it one bit; he can tell you need something to take the edge off. He can always tell… and he wants to help.  

“Ya don’t have to hide it from me, luv. It’s clear as fuckin’ day; I’m already makin’ ya flustered, I can hear it as ya talk. Don’t think I forgot whatcha told me a while back. How ya like the sound ‘a my voice. Ya said it makes ya wet. Is that what ya need now, baby? Need me to talk ya through it and help ya get off?”

You squirm again under the covers, clearly trying not to make it obvious that you are rubbing your thighs together. Simon has barely started the dirty talk and already your body is responding to him in that most primal way. Who is he to deny his sweet thing of what she needs? 

“Yeah, that’s what ya want, isn’t it? To listen to my voice while ya touch yourself? Cause I really fuckin’ wanna give my pretty girl some extra attention right now. Make sure she doesn’t go without me even when I’m away. And if this is the only way I can do it, I wanna make sure ya come. I need to hear it again ‘fore I forget what it sounds like when ya orgasm ‘cause of me.”

Goddammit, Simon’s getting worked up just from talking about helping you get off, so much so that his cock begins to twitch in his pants and he has to adjust himself in the bed with a deep, muted grunt, pulling at the fabric at his crotch to give him more room to grow. He watches you get more excited at the prospect of having his attention, even if it’s only for as long as it takes for you to climax. Any bit of his attention makes you feel like the most gorgeous thing in the entire fucking world and that’s why he gives it all to you.

“But I need ya to do somethin’ for me in return. Somethin’ to help me help you. Can ya do that for me, baby?”

He watches as you nod your head up and down into the camera with enthusiasm, not even waiting to hear what it is he is going to ask you to do. Clearly, you would do anything for him, all he has to do is name it. God, he loves you needy for him, let’s him know that he is treating you right.

“I need ya ta sit up, push your computer to the edge of the bed, and angle the camera down for me. Lower. A little more, that’s it. Good girl. Now, take off the blanket and let me see whatcha got hidin’ under there.”

The computer is pushed further away so that your body is in full view and the camera is now pointed directly into your lap as you remove the blanket hiding your lower half, complying without a single word. Once free, your tank top catches his eyes as it hugs tightly to your breasts while your tiny, cotton sleep shorts leave almost all of your thighs exposed; Simon is eating up every last pixel that he can see. 

Those thick, juicy lower limbs of yours are his absolute favorite and if he could be there now he would already be between them. This is definitely a good idea.

“Wanna be able to see that you’re enjoyin’ listenin’ to me. Ya want me to see it, yeah? Wanna show me how much ya miss me, don’t ya? Course ya do, sweetheart. You’re too fuckin’ good to me. Always makin’ sure I get my fuckin’ fill of such ya; my pretty girl.” 

Simon puts a little extra breathiness into his voice, accentuating his gravelly tone to make you blush like crazy as that wetness gathers at your core. He’s gonna pull out all the stops tonight to make sure that you will be content… at least for the next few days. 

“I think we need a bit more, yeah. Get a real good view. Take off your pants and spread your legs nice and wide for me. Let me see that beautiful little pussy that I’ve been dreamin’ of. Just like that. Little wider; there ya fuckin’ go. O-oh fuck, looks like you’re already drippin’ for me.”

The light catches a faint glistening from the slit between your satiny petals and he can hardly find the air to fill his lungs as his mouth begins to salivate. Acting off of pure instinct, your hand travels down between your legs and almost reaches your cunt before he comes to his senses and scolds the action by snapping his fingers into the mic. 

“Ah, ah, I know you’re achin’ bad, but no touchin’, not till I fuckin’ say. Does my voice turn ya on that much ya can’t even wait for me to really get it goin’? I’ve barely even started and you’re already unable to stop yourself. I wanna make this good for the both of us, but I can’t do that if ya get ahead of yourself. Just breathe a minute.”

An idea pops into his head, fueled by the intense throbbing in the crotch of his pants. He hadn’t thought that he would be getting involved like this, it is risky given his current situation, but his body is saying otherwise. There’s no stopping him when you are giving him such a feast for his eyes to devour.

“Maybe ya just need an incentive to take it slow. Somethin’ to keep your ass in line. I got somethin’ for that, baby.”

The metallic sound of a zipper being undone and a sharp hiss of air between his teeth is heard over the call before the camera is turned on. Simon points the phone at his face for a moment and pulls up his mask slightly to give you a quick smirk before bringing it down to rest on his thighs as he points it straight at his lap. Through the dimness that surrounds him, the focus adjusts and through the opening created at the top of his pants that big fucking dick comes into full view on screen. 

A rush of adrenaline floods his limbs as he hears you inhale sharply, a stray ‘fuck’ escaping your lips at the sight of it throbbing into the palm of his hand. It is swollen at the tip and jumps with his pulse.

“This is all for ya, darlin’; no one else gets to have this fat fuckin’ cock all to themselves, ‘cept you. Have ya missed it? Missed seein’ how fuckin’ big I am? Yeah ya have; I bet your droolin’ over yourself, aren’t ya? Mmm… my horny little princess, always so hungry for me. Are your lips itchin’ to wrap themselves ‘round it now that ya see it after all this time? You remember how well ya gag on it, yeah? My hand on the back of your head, pushin’ ya down as far as ya can go, your spit dribblin’ from the corners of your mouth, can hardly catch a breath as ya choke...”

Simon has to stop and reel himself back in or risk getting too worked up and he can’t take care of you if he’s out of his goddamn mind. That imagery has you quaking and he can see your body vibrating as you are itching to touch yourself and that’s when he knows exactly what he is going to do to get you off. Taking a deep breath he clears his throat, putting the control over himself to the forefront of his thoughts and starts again.  

“Well, if ya wanna keep seein’ it, I need ya to behave for me and follow my direction. You and I are gonna play pretend for a bit.”

Now more settled he gives his length a stiff stroke up and down slowly, making sure that the camera is glued to his movements. You can’t look away; those big doe-eyes are locked on as if you are wishing you could reach through the screen and touch him with any part of you that you could get to it first. It takes you a couple of minutes to notice anything other than the object of your desire, but as you look up Simon’s dark gaze meets yours through the shadow. 

“Ya like this, yeah? Me strokin’ my cock like this for you to watch? Ya know what’s gonna be even better? How fuckin’ good it’ll feel havin’ it buried deep inside ya again, fillin’ ya to the brim. Ya wanna be full of me again, don’tcha sweetheart? Come on, show me, use your fingers and let me see how much ya miss this fat fuckin’ cock stretchin’ ya out.”

You insert a finger through the lips of your pussy, thrust it inside your entrance, and begin rhythmically stroking against that sensitive bundle as you keep your eyes fixated on the screen to watch Simon stroking it right along with you. He gives you a minute to get started before he speaks again.

“That’s not enough if ya wanna pretend it’s me, pretty girl, I think ya need another two fingers in there at least.”

Simon is trying to stay calm, but it is taking every ounce of his willpower to watch you touch yourself and not immediately blow his load while grunting loudly at the feeling of coming so fast; still, he tries to keep his voice down so no one near can hear him. Slowly you insert another digit and then another so that your first three fingers are now resting just inside your hole, but again that isn’t enough for him. He wants to make this as real as he can. 

“Ya need to go deeper, all the way to the knuckles. Ya know I like to fuckin’ have it down to the base until ya can’t take another inch. Need this to be accurate, like I’m really there with ya.”

You comply, pushing up inside you until the entirety of your fingers are gone and you cannot get anymore in. Simon moans deep in his chest, pleased at how well you are following his orders. It takes some force, but the stroking of his hand sticks to a steady rhythm as he sets the speed for what’s to come. 

“Good girl, that’s it. Now slow it down, keep it steady, and listen to my voice, ya got it? We are gonna do this together. I want ya ta picture me crawling into bed and movin’ right up against ya. My hand turns your head towards me so I can start kissin’ those fuckin’ sweet lips of yours. So warm, so soft, the longer I kiss ya the more I need until I run my fingers through your hair so that I’m holdin’ the back of your head in my grip as I shove my tongue nearly down your throat. I’ve been starvin’ baby and soon I have our mouths pressed so tight together ya can hardly breathe. Just eyes closed, tongues tasting each other, gettin’ absorbed in the way they feel until our mouth’s are fuckin’ raw and burnin’. Only then do I start goin’ down your jawline and neck, so much deliciously smooth skin for me to taste.”    

The sound of tiny, breathy moans hits his ears and his heart thumps heavily in his chest. He hadn’t lied when he spoke about how he misses your music and the sound of it now has him in a goddamn stranglehold. Mix that with the live feed of you thrusting your fingers in and out of your tight hole as the natural lubrication starts to drip down your fingers with each stroke and he has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself sane.

“Gotta make sure you’re whinin’ and beggin’ me to give ya more before I move on. I’ll pull your top over your head so I can get at those gorgeous tits of yours. Fuck… gonna smother my face between them as I give them the care they need, kissin’ and bitin’ all that soft flesh to leave marks where I’ve been. Each one is gonna be in my mouth so I can use my tongue to flick ‘round your nipple as ya run your fingers through my hair to egg me on until ya can feel it in your clit.”

As he speaks he watches you fall back against the pillows and lift up your t-shirt to expose half of your chest. From this angle he catches a glimpse of the underside of one of your breasts, the edge of your nipple just within view before you cup it in your hand to massage the tissue against your palm and pinch the nipples as if you are trying to make his words come to life. 

“Can ya feel it baby? Can ya feel my hot fuckin’ mouth all over your tits? Christ, I swear I can taste them now; I want ‘em in my goddamn mouth so fuckin’ bad. Got my mouth waterin’.”

He has to swallow hard to stop himself from choking on his own saliva as his lips tingle, recalling the sensation of them against your skin as his hips begin to snap his cock up into his palm harder. 

“Ya know I’m gonna be so worked up that your not even gonna know what’s happening as I shove ya onto your back so that I can move down the bed and rip ya outta your fuckin’ pants. I need ya completely fuckin’ naked so that I can spread your thighs wide open. Gotta make sure I can get between them; wanna have plenty of space to play.”

Again you mimic his words, opening your already spread legs even wider the same way you’d have to do if he were to get in between them. If Simon’s heart thumps any faster it��s going to burst out of his chest; watching you act out this made up scenario is more erotic than he could have dreamed it would be.

“Imagine the feelin’ of my lips kissin’ up the length of those gorgeous thighs. With how much ya been missin’ me they’d already be so fuckin’ sensative that you’d be squirmin’ as soon as I make contact with my mouth. Maybe I’ll even give them a nibble, just for good measure. Ya always do look best wearin’ all my marks everywhere.”

His grip around his cock tightens as he listens close and catches your hummed reply before it sounds like your mouth falls open so that you moan a bit louder as your movements on screen begin to quicken and your hand switches positions to your other breast. Your fingers are starting to furiously pound into you, the pace picking up with each passing second as your desperation spills over at the sound of his voice describing all that fucking pleasure. But Simon is there to reel it all back in.

“Ah, ah, look up at me princess. Slow it back down there. That’s it, nice and steady for me. Don’t want this to be over too soon. Keep your eyes on my hand and follow my pace. We’re gonna get there together, alright?”

Picking your head up so that you can see the screen, your eyes focus on his hand and your strokes settle back to match his, though it does not go unnoticed how you do that little whimper of protest. It’s not easy being the bad guy in this situation, but Simon knows the more denial now, the harder you’ll come and the longer you’ll stay satisfied. And if there is one thing he will never stop doing is making sure his baby is satisfied. 

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweet thing. I promise we are almost there, just a bit more. Now, where was I? Oh yes, teasin’ those gorgeous thighs of yours. See I can’t move on until I’m happy with my work and I want those little red and purple blotches to be coverin’ all that pretty skin. Ya like when I claim ya like that? Makin’ it obvious that you’re mine? Anyone who sees that is gonna know that you’re bein’ taken care of.”

An open-mouthed moan and a nod of your head is all he’s getting now as you are too out of your mind to form words anymore at this point. Your half-lidded eyes gaze back at him as if you are trying to will him to come through the screen and pound you into the mattress; goddamn he’s going to fuck you so good when he gets back.

“Since I’ve decorated those beauties, I think they’ll need to be displayed and I can’t think of a fuckin’ better place than perched right on my shoulders. Besides, ya know what’s comin’ dontcha? That goddamn sweet little pussy has been callin’ to me since I got down there and now it’s finally time to give it the attention it deserves. Such a pretty thing, those soft petals of yours. You know I’m gonna have to give them a few kisses for good measure.”

Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad now the tastebuds along his tongue prickle as tries to capture that specific sweet, tangy taste in his memory. Why in the hell do you have to be so goddamn perfect?

“You will be pleadin’ with me, callin’ my name over and over until ya feel it. My warm tongue pushin’ itself against your lips and spreading them apart to move in between them. God, that first fuckin’ taste of ya is always my favorite, sweetheart…like goddamn honey. Gonna drag my tongue up the entire length of your cunt to make sure I get as much of ya in my mouth that I can. Then I reach your clit and that’s where I stay. I’ll be suckin’ and lickin’ to my hearts content while you buck against my face all you want; I like it when ya get rough with me. Nothin’ is gonna get me off of ya though, I got ya fuckin’ secured to my face with a tight grip that isn’t gonna let up no matter how ya move.”

The sound of you whimpering fills his ears and it makes his head feel like he’s floating. Your hips are bucking against your hand desperately and he knows you want to go a bit faster, but you are sticking to his set speed like a champ. He takes a couple of minutes to just watch you, wanting to etch this moment permanently in his brain, before he continues.

“I’m waitin’ for it, that moment ya go silent. That’s when I know it’s about to happen and I brace myself to feel your thighs crush against my head and block in my ears like a vice as ya come on my tongue. Do ya know how much I fuckin’ love when ya do that? Bein’ locked to your pussy like that, I would fuckin’ suffocate on ya and not even think twice. Keep me strapped to ya as long as ya want, baby, I’m gonna sit through it all until ya have nothin’ more to give to me. My tongue don’t tire easily, as ya already know.”

Your head falls back, but Simon can still hear you clearly repeating mindlessly your enjoyment of everything that he is talking about with moaned ‘yes’s and whined pleas to Jesus. 

“Can ya picture it? Me sittin’ back up, your cum all across my face? I will probably look like a wild beast with my mouth shimmerin’ and sticky, but I don’t fuckin’ care. Ya make me feral, so deranged that nothin’ else matters ‘cept you. Everything will go faster then: me gettin’ to my knees, pullin’ your hips onto my thighs as your legs still sit on my shoulders, my tip pressin’ against those damp petals covered in my spit and your cum. Eatin’ ya out gets me hard enough there’s no need to wait. Imagine the way it’ll feel when I’m pushing my tip through the threshold and stretching ya out completely. You’ll be cryin’ out as I help ya fit me all in…right down, all the way, fillin’ that cunt.” 

He’s panting now, the vision created in his mind so vivid that as he stimulates himself it feels too real. Of course his hand would never compare to your pussy, but with everything happening it is as if his brain is being tricked into believing that he is fucking you.

“Ya know I ain’t gonna waste anytime, not when I get ya wrapped ‘round me. It’ll be so wet and tight that I just begin poundin’ and poundin’ so hard that it has our bed squeakin’ underneath us from the fuckin’ force, slammin’ into the wall, makin’ your tits bouncing up and down as I go all in, your eyes waterin’ as get so fuckin’ deep it’s almost painful. Goddammit, baby, I want to see your eyes roll back in your head as it overwhelms ya.” 

His abs are clenching, simulating the act in real time as his limbs begin to feel heavy and the coil inside his stomach tightens. Heat is now rushing through his veins like hot water, making him warm from the inside out and it only fuels his imagination more.

“Or maybe I flip ya over and help ya up onto your knees, pullin’ outta only long enough to get ya situated holding onto the wall. Visualize me tuggin’ your hair in my fist to make your back arch so I can thrust right back in. Ya better make sure ya got a steady brace cause I’m gonna reach ‘cross your body and down the front of ya to that swollen clit, strokin’ it with my fingers as I thrust into ya from behind and I need ya to push back onto me. I wanna be able to whisper in your ear all them filthy things like how no one else can make my cock feel this good and how this pussy belongs to only me.”

It’s too much, too much buildup that he is not going to be able to hold off for very much longer. This is going to have to end one way or another and soon it is not going to be a choice anymore. His hand picks up the pace. 

“Go a little faster. That’s it, faster, baby, faster. I’m about to fuckin’ blow and your gonna come with me. Come on, come on… f-fuck… you’re so beautiful like this. No one looks better a fuckin’ mess than you do. And I wanna make ya so goddamn filthy baby. Where ya gonna want me to come, hmm? On your face, on your tits, your stomach… or maybe I won’t pull out at all. Stuff ya full until it’s drippin’ outta ya and I can watch once I’m done. You just imagine it where ya want it most, sweetheart.”

His hand is furiously stroking around his cock with an iron tight grip, running from tip to base, coating his hand in precum so that the next stroke is even smoother than the last. Faint whines escape his closed lips as he tries to stifle the sound by clamping his mouth shut. The entirety of his chest feels like it’s on fire and setting the phone down a second he rips the damned t-shirt he still has on up off his torso and over his head, only releasing his cock for the split second it takes to throw it off that arm and onto the floor. Quickly he grabs the phone and sets it back up. 

“You’re close, yeah? Ya got this, just keep lookin’ at me with those pretty eyes and stay with it. All ya gotta do now is just let go. Good girl, that’s it, let go for me. Come for me, baby, let me hear it.”

Simon watches your thighs shaking and toes curling into the mattress as you call out his name in a pitiful cry and your entire body vibrates, nearly shooting off the bed as you come and come hard. The welling of pressure deep inside him reaches its peak and with the sound of your cry it causes his body to clench, sending him rocketing over the edge violently as a muted grunt echoes in his chest. He angles is cock upward towards his stomach as the warm ejaculate pumps out of his tip, coating the muscles and hair along his abdomen as he milks himself through it until he has no more cum left to release.   

Vision hazy, legs vibrating, cock still twitching as his grip loosens, Simon takes a few minutes to simply breathe. The phone gets ignored for a moment as it lays resting on his thigh. Once he is able to calm enough to function, he picks back up the device and stares into the screen. You are laying flat on the mattress now, chest heaving up and down. Your legs are still splayed open and he can see the glorious product that he helped create catching the light as it coats the outside of your lips.  

“Fuck, ya did so well for me, sweetheart. God, that was fuckin’ fantastic.”

You roll to your side and look into the camera with a crooked, sleepy smile and he mimics it with one of his own. That should be all, everything that he had wanted to happen had in the best way, but there’s one thing he has left to do, one thing he wants to see before he lets you go. One last thing to replay in his mind to give him something to daydream about along with the rest.

“Bring the camera up closer, wanna see your beautiful face all flushed. There’s my sweet girl. Looks like I’ve made a mess of things for ya, but I don’t think ya mind much. I do want ya to do one more thing for me, though. I need ya ta clean up since I ain’t there to do it myself. Nothin’ too strenuous, just take your fingers and stick ‘em in your mouth; get all those juices off with your tongue. There ya go, lick ‘em clean, don’t ya waste any of that fuckin’ goodness.”

You do exactly as he says, using your tongue to pull your fingers between your lips where you suck and lick with gusto until they come back out completely clean and you show them to him with a smile. In that moment you are a goddess, the most gorgeous being he has ever laid his eyes upon, and Simon can only stare on at you in awe that he is so fucking lucky to have such a creature all to himself. 

“Fuck, I’m one lucky bastard,”  he says, barely audible.

There’s a bit of rustling that he can hear now coming from somewhere close and he knows his time is up. At least he got to finish what he started giving you everything that he can, though he does desperately wish he could stay on the call with you a bit longer, but he knows if he doesn’t end it now he might never do it and he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing you like this. Gotta pull the bandaid off quick or else. 

“Hate to end this here, but it seems like our time is up. Wish I could stay, but ya know how it is. If I don’t go now I ain’t ever gonna do it. We’ll talk again soon, promise. You have a good day, pretty girl, alright? Dream of me later tonight, yeah? Cause I’m fixin’ to be dreamin’ of you.”

You blow him a kiss and with that the call ends; he is left back alone in the silence of the night in his bunk- alone. He grins to himself as he puts his phone away and cleans himself up, thinking about you laying back in bed exhausted, but content, all because of him and his efforts. And he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’ll get the chance to get you off like this again before his deployment ends. 

God he fucking hopes so.

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (ii) - pt 1 here!!

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : matt is still a grumpy ass but y/n can't seem to get him off of her mind.

warnings : idk uhhh matt’s rude but in a love hate kinda way 😋! also alcohol/drinking (i headcannon everyone 21+!)

mickey speaks : shes finally hereeeee and shes kinda long. im hoping to post more consistently!! luv u guys enjoy <3 ignore the fact that the pic above has a yt girl in it this story is for everyone i promise !!!! i just liked the little green vibe ok? ok.

THIS IS PART TWO GO READ PART ONE FIRST DUH!!!!

AND of course you see matt again.

only a month ago, you were introduced and forced to spend an hour of your time in close proximity to him, no matter his disinterest. yet, also, only a month ago, were you gifted with the cutest tiny tattoo that continues to surprise you a little whenever you lift your shirt before a warm shower.

it hasn’t bothered you nearly as much as you'd assumed - only disrupting your life with the caution you now take to avoid irritating the skin at your lower stomach. though some nights you grow lazy, you’ve maintained a very disciplined attitude of incorporating time in your morning and nightly rituals to ensure the tiny hello kitty inked on you is properly cared for.

contrary, your interactions with matt bothered you far more than you assumed. your sub-concious must've held onto your attempts to break past his careless attitude (that greatly opposed your own people-pleasing nature) just to pettily haunt you. but you've you forced yourself to get over it at this point. you just had to after one night, the week following your tattoo appointment (and after a long day of rude professors and pretentious customers blaming you for their own mistakes), you broke down to andrea:

you sniffle before your voice breaks again, "everyone's just mean. and- and i was so fucking annoying last saturday. it keeps playing over in my head. i'm so embarrassed and i just know he hated me, but i dont know why?! i thought i was nice enough. he could've just smiled or maybe just- i-"

andrea pauses from petting your head, "honey, you're not still talking about the guy who tatted you, right?" you look up at her from your head's soft spot in her lap with glossy eyes and a quivering lip.

"dre-" you choke.

"oh my god! no! y/n, you can't take shit like that personal. not everyone enjoys talking or happiness for that matter, you can't hold on to something like that. i promise he's not too hung up on it himself." she wipes away one of your pitiful tears.

and here he is, standing across the room from you at a party.

you definitely did not expect to see matt (who’s mild attitude was clearly fueled by socializing) in this scene but you guess that la parties are just like that. as long as you know someone who knows someone you’re easily in, that's how you tend to get into these events at least. though an insta stalk would tell you matt has enough clout to get himself in, he and his brothers have built quite the brand for themselves among la socialites.

once your eyes spot him over the shoulder of some guy who just introduced himself to you, they can’t seem to move. you watch as matt smiles for a photo with a few others. matt. smiles. okay, so maybe it was a you problem. he doesn’t hate everyone maybe just you.

though, your thoughts are denied as quickly as his face drops. he doesn’t even care to look at how the image may have turned out like the rest of the group. instead, his eyes opt to watching the people around him as he sips his weak drink.

great, now you’ve become the weirdo watching him watch other people.

until his eyes catch your cautious yet curious stare from across the room. your cheeks heat and you’re immediately shifting your eyes back to the man in front of you.

matt almost smirks at his luck. no fucking way the scared sweetheart he’d tattooed just a few weeks ago is here. he looks away when someone lays a hand on his shoulder to bring him back into the conversation. you're surprised that he continues to look back over to you after adding his input.

the guy finally acknowledges your disengagement with the story about his new motorcycle and turns to see what exactly you’re staring at. he sees matt and turns back to you, “you know him?”

“yeah. well not like know-know we only met once, he gave me a tattoo.”

“oh, cool,” he looks back over to matt and turns back to you once again, “is he bothering you?”

your face scrunches initially, “no, it’s fine.” you smile at him, not wanting to give him the impression that matt did anything but exist (which apparently is enough to capture your attention).

“good. wanna go grab another drink and tell me more about this tattoo?” a charming smile morphs on face and you nod your head easily, taking his hand and leading him towards the bar outside of this large home. and away from matt.

“two-” you look over to the man beside you, “wait is this an open bar?” you ask him genuinely and he laughs a little at your aloofness.

“yeah,” he nods.

“perfect, we’ll take two kamikaze shots pretty please!” you smile at the bartender who seems to be enjoying her night quite a bit and squeeze his hand when you realize it’s still in your own. he looks down at your attached hands then back to you.

you turn your body to face him more directly and lean up to his ear, cupping your hand and whispering, “i’m so sorry, i think i forgot your name.” you were starting to feel bad and just had to confess.

you lean back and bite your lip to hide an awkward smile, and he somehow smiles harder than he already was, “it’s-”

“ashton!” you hear a voice yell hurriedly and now some dark haired guy is pulling him away from you and repeatedly saying “code red!” in his face. and suddenly, without any indication he’d enjoyed your short lived time together, he’s gone.

you try not to sulk but he was an attractive guy with easy conversation, so you at least hoped to get his number by the end of the night.

instead, you’re left leaning against the bar hoping those shots come around soon. you decide to update your friends on your night:

Y/N

cute guy lefttttt :(

REMI

noooooo he was so cute 😫

Y/N

don’t remind me

ANDREA

where r you now???

Y/N

outside bar, im waiting on shots

Y/N

come find me💔💔

your head shoots up from your phone when three guys practically ram themselves into the bar near you, a few people around them laughing obnoxiously.

"god damnit, chris! we said we were going slowly!"

"shhhh. you are so loud, matt!"

“excuse me, can we get some water? none of the sparkles or bubbles and shit, just water, please.”

“next time i'm speaking for myself! what if i wanted the bubbles?”

you lean your head a little to get a full view of the three recognizable faces. chris, with his arms dangled over his two brothers’ shoulders clearly obliterated and slurring his words (but excited to be there nonetheless). a blonde one, you haven’t gotten the chance to meet yet, with two nose piercings and a commanding voice. and matt, with his signature pout, even poutier now that chris’ weight is causing him to hunch over slightly. you guess you were bound to run into them.

you wonder if andrea was right in saying matt hadn’t held onto your exchange. you wonder if when he saw you earlier he remembered you for your friendly smile rather than your annoying nagging. or did he even remember you at all? did he only look at you because you were staring him down first? okay, where the fuck are those shots?!

“no way!" you hear chris’ voice screech upon recognizing you from across the bar, "y/n!?”

you look over and see him shockingly excited to see your face again. you smile in an attempt to not allow your nerves about matt get to you. you are never one to deny a conversation after all.

“oh my god! hi!” you reply as chris unwraps himself from his brothers and moves closer to you.

“how’s your tat treatin’ you?” his eyes express so much excitement he reminds you of a little kid. you’re very flattered to see someone feel so much emotion due to your mere presence.

“oh, it’s still so cute, no regrets so far. i love it.” you smile and he nods while you’re speaking.

he turns around and sees his brothers and a few friends remaining in the other side of the bar talking amongst themselves. “yo, get the fuck over here! why are you guys so far?” he encourages them with a hand wave.

you wave as well, trying not to be a total stranger- even if you are.

the blonde guy leads them over and hands chris a glass of water that must’ve been waiting on him.

“cheers,” chris smirks and takes a sip before a disgusted look takes over his face, “gross. my god! why do they make this shit so bland?”

the blonde boy rolls his eyes in amusement, mumbling, "just drink it," before approaching you kindly. "hey, i’m nick by the way."

“y/n, nice to meet you! i met chris and matt when i got my tattoo done at your shop a while ago.” you explain kindly.

before nick can get another word in a female voice is squealing, “you’re y/n?! hi, i’m asha, i don't know if your remember but we talked on the phone that one time!” a tanned girl with soft cheeks and dark loose curls moves herself in front of the boys.

“of course i remember, how could i forget that insane frog story? it's so nice seeing you in person finally!” you gush.

suddenly chris is beaming, “aww wait guys this is so cute! i’m feeling like we should all hug!” he nods to his brothers who are quick to shake their heads no.

“i don’t think..” nick starts.

“nooo! let’s hug!” chris argues and opens his arms wide gesturing for everyone to hug him.

౨ৎ

after sharing a very drunk and messy group hug you all continue to talk until chris finally blurts, "i gotta go pee so bad guys, " he laughs, "but i need people with me because if i walk in on someone puking, then what? i'll die from my severe" (its not severe at all) "emetophobia and no one will ever know?"

you and asha (who you've found is actually so similar to you) both laugh at his crisis.

matt just breathes a laugh.

"chris, there’s no reason to go further with the fear factor when no one said they wouldn't come with you. i’m coming, so you're not gonna die, let's go." nick shakes his head.

“you don’t understand, nick i would be dead and covered in- i can’t even say it, dude,” chris’ voice fades as they walk away.

"wait, i'll walk with you guys inside! 'm... getting cold out here!" asha suddenly says removing herself from your side and waving goodbye with a drunk smile.

"it's not cold at all, she's trippin'" matt speaks watching her run and practically jump onto nick, causing the three laugh while leaving the crowded yard.

you just shrug and lean onto the bar again, making eye contact with the bartender who looks as if she only just remembered your existence but also seems to mentally question where the other guy went and how you managed to replace him that quickly.

"are you always so nice about everything?" matt questions, leaning his forearms on the bar, still looking at you.

"what?" you look over to him now, feeling almost sick at his proximity.

he mocks you with a high tone in his voice, "'it's soooo nice to meet you! it's soooo nice seeing you!' it sounds exhausting, to be honest."

"didn't realize having manners got you jail time," you breathe.

"and i never said it did."

"well, i don't have to be nice to you if it bothers you so much," you shrug.

"aw, sunshine, you'd do that for me? you're too sweet." he almost laughs at his own sarcastic comment.

you lick your bottom lip out of habit, "why are you still here? don't you have friends you should be ignoring?" you hope he can't tell just how frustrated he's making you.

“you must think you know me.”

“i know you don’t like me.”

“wrong, again.” he smiles and points his finger at you.

“oh, you just don’t like anyone then?”

he glances away before responding, “what's the fun in telling you?”

you huff in defeat, wanting nothing more than those shots right now. though your subconcious hopes the bartender continues to prioritize her flirting customers over you just so you can continue this addicting back and forth with matt.

"you know, that’s the thing with people like you. you think everyone owes you everything." he shakes his head.

"people like me?” you scoff under your breath, “matt, why are you still here?"

he can pick out the offense in your tone, "oh shit, that was true? i was fucking with you, sunny!"

"you don't know anything about me," you laugh and shake your head.

"alright there are those kamikaze shots for you! so sorry about that major delay, honey!" the bartender sets the shots in front of the both of you and smiles at you apologetically.

"don't worry about it, thank you!" you hand her a spare five dollar bill from your back pocket.

when she's gone you finally notice matt's widened eyes.

"what's up with your face, now?"

"you gave her a tip for pouring you some rankydank, fuckin' low level shots after you've waited long enough for her to apologize?" he seems genuinely shocked.

"she only makes money off of tips," you roll your eyes, picking the shot up and gesturing towards the second shot for him to take.

"that's all you," he raises his hands towards his chest.

"oh my god, do it, matt."

he shakes his head and points to you, "you take your shot, sweetheart."

"i knew you wouldn't, pussy," you say under your breath before smirking as you down the alcohol you've been craving since you first saw his face.

upon your insult matt is immediately taking the shot along side you. and just as both of your faces adjust to the taste, matt's phone begins to vibrate.

he grabs it and you attempt to hide your own curiosity by asking the bartender for a lime to suck on (not daring to ask for alcohol again because you simply don't want to be hung up at this bar for any longer).

"yeah, yeah still here," matt plays with his bottom lip and looks down at you with your mouth full of lime. he thinks you look pretty adorable, especially under the blush pink fairy lights hanging above the bar. "'kay, i'll be quick. alright, nick. i will. bye."

he puts his phone away and wipes his mouth, "that shit was fucking vile, by the way."

"okay, drama queen."

"mhm," his face falters back into his usual pout, "well i gotta go, but, um, nick wanted me to invite you to this get together thing we host at the warehouse, it's in like a month but, you know, come if you want." he shrugs.

"tell him of course i will, but only because he asked." you smile sarcastically.

౨ৎ

ANDREA - 12:39 AM

y/n where are you we are both so confused rn help

ANDREA - 12:45 AM

hellooo????

ANDREA - 12:47 AM

GIRL WE'RE OUTSIDE AND WE DONT SEE YOU TF

Y/N - 1:06 AM

WHERE ARE U GUYS RN I JSUT SAW TATTOO GUY AGASSN IM LOSUNG MY MIND JUST A LUTTLE BIT

Y/N - 1:06 AM

I WAS AT THE OTHER OITSIDE BAR IN THE FRONT(?) YARD!!!!! but its ok im gonba find u guys

౨ৎ

a few days later matt comes across your instagram story, forgetting he had followed you in the first place. it was a picture of you and your friends from the same night he had seen you again. it's a simple mirror photo where you're all smiling but besides your soft skin and cute outfit, matt's attention focuses on frank ocean's pyramids playing over the story.

you see the notification later that day when you finally get time on your phone:

matthew.sturniolo liked your story

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

[bunicate]

omgeee mimi you hafta to mister yang hes such a icky and pervy old man! 💗💗 >w< every time you wear a tiny skirt he gets sooooooo sooo hard hes supposed to be your father figure but he wants to see your tiny cute pussy hehe 💗💗 he would cheat on his wife if he had one to be with a cutie younger girl (>/////<) 💗💗 !!!!!

- 🍄

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ warnings ꒱ྀི daddy kink. age gap. me not making any sense below cuz I’m deeply in luv with weltie.

mister yang believed himself to be an irredeemable man. he’s taking advantage of your pure young heart . . he knows he’s a father figure of some sort and his desire to protect you birthed something much more forbidden. instead, welt found himself conjuring up thoughts of your naked body — images floating around like clouds in his mind. 

pretty, doe eyes, plump trembling lips, the soft timbre of your voice, and your thighs revealed from your tiny skirts all tugged on his heartstrings. you were young enough to be his daughter and you behaved like it too. stubborn, smart, a little bit shy, and thoughtful just like how he’d want her to be, and that furthered his shame. 

he painfully remembers such thoughts even when sheathing his cock between the apex of your thighs. even as he uses the flesh until his seed paints the outside of your skin. even while he slaps his fat tip on your clit—rubbing his length all over your sloppy pussy, until you’re begging for your beloved daddie to put it in. 

welt knows better than to chase after such young women, specifically ones that idolize him paternally but you make it difficult to keep away. he is not immune to your naivety, your eagerness to please, and that tiny little cunt he can spend hours fucking. your moans, so innocent and docile can send waves of burning pleasure straight to his cock. 

especially when you whine out “mr. yang” and he has to coax you into calling him daddie instead. 

“I think we are way past the point of you speaking to me so professionally, wouldn’t you agree ?”

he’s reserved, even when fisting your skirt and pumping your limp body up and down his leaky cock. welt draws patterns on your skin, his sanity slowly weakens with each drag of his hips despite appearing the opposite.

he’s been good at being avoidant around you. he’s been able to refrain from touching, only settling on looking but now that you're finally underneath him, petite cunt gaping, his control is no longer within reach. 

“daddy —dada” you hiccup in between shallow breaths. the force of his thrusts robbing the air you breathe and you are forced to dig your nails on the wooden desk to keep yourself steady. every probe of his tip rubs your insides stroking the warmth inside of you to flames.

“that’s much better, sweetie . . “ his thumb rubs the sides of your lips collecting the drool escaping.

“how beautiful .” he dips his finger in your mouth and presses down on your tongue. your lips pulled together, puckering around the digit obediently as you begin to suckle. 

“daddy is so proud of you. look how good you are for me.” he angles himself to fuck you deeper, your breast jumping with every jerk of hips 

“hnn— too much—!” you babble with his appendage still buried in your mouth. your tight cunt puffed and creamed from his cock as you grew restless. welt didn’t slow down, he huffs into the side of your neck, 

“It’s okay, i got you. relax for me.”

his other hand reached down to play with your sodden clit. 

“papa isn’t done with you yet, I have a pretty pussy to fill.” 

welt babbles. he’s a man with infinite wisdom. he’s so mature and so articulate. he has to express how fascinating you are. was this the body of a younger woman? so soft to the touch, so wet and tight ?

he has an analytical mind, it is only natural that your daddie takes his time to caress and suck every inch of you. and he’s unintentionally foul-mouthed. he has a habit of talking too much and describing every detail . he pulls his cock out from between your walls and all he can talk about how amazing it is to see your hole gape from his cock. he’s enamored by your chubby lips being split apart to welcome him. 

“your pussy appears to be swollen. . . It seems like it was my doing,” and you can even detect something shy of cockiness in his inflection.

welt zeroes in on every twitch every squelch and he has to describe in vivid detail. even the drip of your cunt from the sound of his deep voice . . he’s so <33

[vg-k]

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ 𝒲hy did I do this event?

- Well, first of all I saw several blogs doing events which made me want to do one too, since I think it will be something fun. That's why I plan to use this event as a way to interact more with the blogs on this platform and get to know each other better.

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ ℋow the event works

- You will have to make a moodboard with one of these icons. (You can decide the style, in addition to using any other resource, it will only be necessary to include one of these images).

- You are completely free to include a photo of an idol, whether from gg, bg or soloist

- examples: 🍮1 👩🏼2 🍦3

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ ℋow to join

- Reblog this post and tag 3 friends or a blog that you like

- Comment joining in your language, if you speak Spanish comment "unirse", if you speak Portuguese comment "participar" and tell something about yourself (it could be a talent you have or something you like) (It is with the intention of getting to know each other better :)

- use the hashtag #vg-k  𝒯 ell me: event and tag me in the post. Having done all that you will be officially participating

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ ℐmportant

- The more creative your moodboard is, the more chances you have to win -You can edit the images if you want, use dividers, gifs and everything you want

- The event will end on February 29, any entry to the event after that day will not be taken into account.

- The results of the event will be published in my account, a few days after the event ends.

- Winners please dm me, to claim prizes

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ 𝒫 rizes

- All prizes will be personalized and made by me

- Winners will be able to decide if they want their prizes to be published or sent privately.

- 1st place: 100 reblogs on my reblog account @gojofetish + 3 custom wallpapers + 5 custom moodboards + 3 insta packs and 3 twitter packs + 3 headers + 2 packs of 5 locs + 3 packs of dividers in this style 🕊

- 2nd place: 80 reblogs on my reblog account @gojofetish + 2 custom wallpapers + 3 custom moodboards + 2 insta packs and 2 twitter packs + 2 headers + 1 pack of 5 locs + 2 pack of dividers in this style 🕊

- 3rd place: 60 reblogs on my reblog account @gojofetish + 1 custom wallpaper + 3 custom moodboards + 1 insta pack and 2 twitter pack + 2 headers + 1 pack of dividers in this style 🕊

- 5 special mentions (They would be the people who were in 4th, 5th, and 6th place) : 20 reblogs on my reblog account @gojofetish + 2 custom moodboards

✼　｡ﾟ･ ⌛ tags ! I tagged them because I like their blogs.

@baesol @jenfaery @bambicito @fuckici @yeritos @iluvrei @japnz @froopis @wonflirtz @wiotas @7hyein @fairymiese @umiena @jeonqham @jnthri @v6mpcat @misdior @tyunlouv @p-oisn @i04rei @yoonitos @gigittamic @y-vna @jeonzio @l-unitas @poeticore @sugarino @tookio @y-unjis @alfaire @deaimachi @i-kyujin @menhpy @h-aewo @jkghost @florietas @dollijongs @s-heon @koosuvi @i6gyu @muruffin @wonysela @gaecoo @eun-luv @giraisol @galavande @v6que @huesudos @flwzai @yeossemble

Thank you from now on for participating.

[caustinen]

Omg I’m actually so in love with your Hollywood au 😭😭 do you have any headcanons for them? Like how they started dating, or what they do on a daily basis, general domestic things!!

Hi!! Sorry I took so long to reply but your ask sent me SPIRALLING — this whole au was such a random quick thing and I never expected it to go anywhere, but thinking of a response to this I got so into it I might actually manage to write something!

Just the first meeting hc got so ridiculously long that I’ll respond to the domestic hc’s (I HAVE SO MANY) on a separate post and tag you! Thank you for the inspiration luv 💘

HOLLYWOOD AU! First meeting:

Their first impressions are not very good… John hasn’t made it big yet but he’s definitely getting some attention so he decides to relocate to Hollywood and find a good PR-team around himself despite having always thought that the marketing/branding side of his profession is capitalistic nonsense — and while he has changed his attitude to the exctent of ”if you can’t beat them join them”, he’d still expect all the suits to be cold business men who don’t care about the art of it all.

Gale on the other hand expects all actor clients to be self-obsessed nepo pricks; he’s been climbing in the industry steadily for years and enjoys the challenge of bringing the best versions of people out and finding them their best options (he takes pride in being very good at what he does) but since initially he ended up in the industry through his love for film, he’s also often annoyed by the up-and-coming stars who only care for the fame.

Loud, relaxed and seemingly no-care-in-the-world John fits this prejudice perfectly, as does John’s expectation for an uptight, borderline rude PR-executive in a suit — at the end of the meeting he chooses a much more laid-back seeming guy called Brady to represent him, and Gale is relieved he’s not stuck with him, he really is, despite the teasing, annoying smile of that bastard refusing to leave his mind for the rest of the day.

Their second meeting is somehow WORSE, in a week or so a meeting runs long so Brady invites John to after-work drinks. Gale looks so different out of his suit (now in a white t-shirt and black pants that hug his waist tightly, hair mussled and curlier after a long day of running his hands through it) that Bucky is absolutely blinded for a second and goes to introduce himself flirtily. Gale stares at him for a bit before informing him they met last week and while John is able to laugh it off with the others, this doesn’t exactly help with Gale’s image of him (why can’t i get that smirk off my mind when he couldn’t even bother to note me??)

It doesn’t help that Bucky gets very drunk and keeps seeking his company, not caring he’s only receiving grunts as reply to his stories told draped over the blonde’s shoulders as Gale sips on his non-alcoholic beer (he also shares the Buck story and starts calling him Buck like in the show), and whatever progress John might’ve done to make him almost smile a couple of times is undone immediately as he flirts with everyone else just as much when he leaves Gale’s side, cementing him in Gale’s mind as a playboy who’s gotten a bit too into his own head with his modest success lately and decides to forget all about him.

After that they run each other a couple of times at the office and social gatherings, and things are civil enough, they chat briefly each time but there’s some strange tension between them that makes Gale uneasy and John confused and a bit frustrated because he usually gets along with everyone but this man just seems to be immune to his usual charm; he can’t understand why the man is seems so cold and barely ever speaks up, that sweet smile he rarely sees him show others is completely wasted on him in his opinion.

They only properly meet again at a premier of John’s new movie a couple of months down the road, the first one under Gale’s firm, and end up in the backroom between the red carpet and John walking into the theater post-film (Brady is busy with organizing everything) and it’s TENSE, they’ve never been in a room by just the two of them and John is obviously nervous wreck which makes him antsy and Gale isn’t making any effort to make small-talk to ease his nerves (he’s not a natural at that okay, and esp with John he doesn’t know what to say)

Only when John is basically doubled over on the couch groaning into his hands as the film approaches its end Gale is forced to interfere. ”Why are you so upset?” ”They’re gonna hate it.” Gale is thrown off, never expecting to see this vulerable side underneath all that loud confidence. ”They’re not gonna hate it.” John scoffs. ”And how would you know?” Gale frowns, annoyed. ”Listen, it’s not Casablanca but you had to know that walking into the project, and you give it enough life to keep the tension up ’till the end. This is your best work since Thorpe Abbotts so just sit back and relax.”

John stares at him, mouth open, despair forgotten for a while. ”You know my work?” he asks, blindsighted, and Gale blushes and turns away. ”Maybe. I go to most films they show in my local theatre so don’t make too much of it.” John doesn’t have time to digest the words properly before he’s ushered to take the applause of the crowd, but it stays with him.

Things shift after that. John starts to pay attention to what Gale says, and realizes while he might speak rarely, when he does it’s always meaningful and thought-out. When Brady wants to make him do some new audition tapes he asks him to bring some of his collegues for second opinions, and he’s satisfied to see Gale roll up to the little studio they’ve rented one afternoon.

Wanting to impress Gale apparently works wonders because he feels like he reaches a new level with scene they’re working with, and the feedback reflects this. Even Gale gives him an approving nod, which somehow sends butterflies down his insides.

He turns his show-off when they go for drinks as a group next time to actually have a conversation with the blonde, and it turns out Gale is OBSESSED with old hollywood — whenever things were bad in his childhood home (often) he’d hide himself into the world of fiction of all kinds, and he’s seen an obscene number of films and loves learning trivia about it too, film star biographies are his favorite genre of books. He used to go to his little local movie theatre so much he was eventually offered a job there and could help with picking the movies, but his brief dreams of being an actor were never realized as he knew he needed a less pecarious job to give himself the stability his childhood home didn’t offer.

Learning these pieces of information draws John even more facinated with him, and Gale seems to be laughing at more and more of his jokes too. Once Gale lets his guard down he has also started to see John underneath the bravado, and makes mental notes to check out the books he recommends and he might even lightly flirt back these days, secretly enjoying the those dark, observant eyes fixed on him and squeezing into a surprised smile.

All in all, it’s been going better for a while until a faithful day, when they’re doing another auditiong tape. Bucky’s been rejected from a film he really wanted earlier that day, and his previous film has gotten some lukrwarm reviews upon getting into streaming services, so he’s in a shitty mood, and the unimpressed faces Gale keeps making annoy him to no end.

They call it a day and they agree to meet at a bar closeby to start the weekend and get everyone’s spirits up. The beer only serves to make Bucky more upset tho, espescially when he sees Gale hitting it up with someone who walks up to him, laughing at his stuff and looking relaxed in a way he never quite does with him. A bit drunk and a lot angry he follows him to the bathroom, Gale noticing him as he walks in with the same swing of the door. He turns around and greets him, the smile from talking to that whatever dude still lingering on his lips being John’s final straw.

”Oh, so you can be happy? Thought it was fucking impossible to achieve.” Gale’s smile immediately drops and his posture shifts, arms crossing over his chest. ”What are you talking about?” ”You’re always making those faces no matter what I do. You’ll ruin your pretty face with all that frowning.” ”What on earth are you-” ”When I try to talk with you. Or when I do a scene and you’re supposed to help but you just keep looking at me like I’m an idiot. I don’r get it.”

Gale starts to get upset too now, something John has never seen before, his calmness finally breaking. ”What do you want me to say?!” ”I don’t know, be fucking supportive for once?!” ”I am being supportive by being honest! Do you think that was the best you can do?” It surprises John, but he’s already too worked up to back down. ”Well what if it is?” They’ve gotten closer to each other in the empty men’s room, and Gale’s hands are no longer crossed, he’s pointing at John’s chest and staring him down. ”You have so much goddman potential, John Egan, and it’s killing me to see you waste it like that. Reach for something bigger. Get more complex charachters, more nunaced scripts. If it takes you hating me to hear that then so be it.” John scoffs despite the blush trying to creep to his cheeks. ”Well since you know fucking everything maybe you should help me find those roles.” ”I’m not your agent, or your publicist, or your mom, or your boyfriend, I don’t see how it’s any of my-” They’re practically yelling at each other, and without thinking John takes the wrist of Gale’s hand poking his chest to his and pushes it down so they’re chest to chest, noses almost touching, so close they’ve gotten. ”Maybe you could just help me out if you didn’t hate me so much.” John isn’t yelling anymore, and all of Gale’s nerves are on fire, he can feel John’s breath on his cheeks, his own pulse pounding in his chest. ”I don’t hate-” And that’s as far as he gets before John crashes their lips together, the small movement inevidable as the sun coming up each morning.

Gale makes a muffled sound into the kiss and goes to grab his shirt, pulling him closer as John reaches to cup the back of his head. The kiss is just as messy and teethy and perfect as the months of growing tension between them has promised. Gale wants to climb him and bite him and drag him down the floor, his own desire punching air out of him as John stumbles until his back hits the wall, his big hand protecting his head from the hard impact. They are lost in it until their lips are swollen and bruised and they’re both more than half-hard after being pressed so tightly together, and Gale bites his abused lips to silence a moan trying to escape him as John dips down to suck and lick on his sweaty neck, his own hand tangling in his curls and pulling and feeling victorious as John makes a choked sound. He pulls until their eyes meet again, and he’s sure his own pupils are as big as John’s as they stare at each other for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath like they just ran a marathon. ”You drive me fucking insane,” Gale grits at him, and John laughs a short sound. ”I drive you insane?! You’re the one prancing around… Being all, you know, intelligent and sexy with your James Dean features and Paul Newman eyes.” Gale stares at him for a little bit, mouth open, before pulling him into another kiss.

They go back to Gale’s eventually (Gale comes back to himself enough to realize he does not want to be caught with all his collegues on the other side of the bathroom wall) and they make out for a while more, little less heated but just as passionate, but when it’s getting more intense again John has a moment of clarity and pulls away. He’s drunk and tired and overwhelmed and he doesn’t want this to be just a hook-up. Gale understands but asks John to stay the night anyway and he ends up sleeping on his coach that night. It’s a bit awkward in the morning because neither of them really knows what to say and John’s just about to leave, thinking this was a mistake after all, when Gale suggest they’d watch a movie, and the nervous hope in his face grips John’s heart enough to realize there’s no walking away from what he’s started to feel for this man. They watch a film, and another, and by the third the funny commentary both of them make has shifted into the movie playing in the background as they make out, Gale in John’s lap, and it feels right.

John ends up staying the whole weekend, they just watch films and make dinner together and get to know each other. John is scared he’ll overstay his welcome but Gale makes it feel natural, and the exciting newness of it all is addicting, and perhaps exactly because they’ve had to overcome so many of their own prejudices about the other everything feels more vibrant and exciting. Seeing Gale relaxed and smiely and silly and nervous as he rolls his eyes at him when he sings along to the radio as they cook makes his heart miss a beat. He’s completely prepared to not go further than kissing for now but after a delicious, footsie heavy dinner on Sunday evening at Gale’s kitchen they finally end up in bed, and it feels just right that their first time together is slow and searching and absolutely perfect, and they get the final confirmation that their chemistry seems to be working out pretty fucking well.

After that weekend, John never accepts a role without running it by Gale first (they often read them together naked in bed on the weekends, making each other giggle while dramatically imaging the scenes while leaning into each other amongst the fluffy pillows), and within a year he’s a rising star and his name is on everyone’s lips, but he’s only got one pair of lips in mind.

It isn’t just smooth sailing after that either, navigating a relationship and his career and the publicy, but as slow as their love might have started it’s all the more steady for it, and it never stops growing.

SORRY THIS GOT SO INTENSE!!! Literally all of this came to me as I thought how to respond to your ask so thank you for being a major motivation 🖤

[ozzgin]

hey beaut, can i request a yan ben drowned ticci toby nd ej with a chavvy reader from england ? like first impressions and their dynamic,, thank yuuu xxx

What a quirky request, haha. Very unexpected. I’ll let you know that I’m not too familiar with this stereotype, but I’ve seen a fair amount of social media examples, so hopefully it’s at least a little bit authentic.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Chav! Reader

Featuring Ticci-Toby, Ben Drowned and Eyeless Jack with a British chav reader that wins their hearts.

Ticci-Toby

He wouldn’t call it downright stalking, but Ticci-Toby has been observing you for a while now. Sometimes from afar, sometimes from a closer distance (such as your bedroom window), but his presence has always been concealed nonetheless. After thorough consideration he decides to approach you. You’re standing at the bus stop in your squeaky puffer jacket when you notice the pale stranger in unusual garments. You nervously chew on your gum and clutch your bag before finally speaking up. “What’re you staring at, luv?” His eyes immediately light up. Did you… did you just call him love?

Needles to say he’s over the moon. Only later does it occur to you that he doesn’t seem to grasp common slang, nor metaphorical talks for that matter. He takes things quite literally and you have to consider your wording before opening your mouth. That doesn’t stop you, however, from having a response ready at all times. That’s what Ticci-Toby really likes about you, you’re always there to ground him. It’s your raspy, mildly annoyed voice that snaps him out of his terrible paranoid episodes. He’s come to cherish the awakening “Are you mental, mate?”

He finds hanging out with you very comforting. In fact, both of you have started this little ritual of him draining his chatty moods while you sit in front of a mirror and do your makeup, interjecting every now and then with a little feedback. He gets to empty his brain of all the erratic thoughts and simultaneously admire your appearance. You’re perfect. For him, particularly.

Ben Drowned

Once again you’re woken up by the loud static in the living room. You drag your legs over to the TV with a knackered groan and slap the remote. Your ex partner had forgotten their video game at your place and ever since you’ve been getting outlandish messages and images stuck on the screen. Who would even play this? Did the game somehow mess up with your TV? This time it won’t turn off despite your attempts. The screen is frozen and you can make out a faded, pixelated text plastered in the corner: “It’s lonely here. Would you join me?”

Ben is fascinated by you and has been so ever since he’s been brought to this place. The forgotten video game was not unintentional: Ben had a fair amount of amusement from haunting your partner, and in a moment of despair they hoped relocating this cursed item would put the focus on someone else, like you. Although you’re rather oblivious to his scare tactics. This time is no different, but now he’s no longer interested in terrorizing you. Quite the opposite. How would you respond to his flustered confessions?

Being with Ben is a surreal experience, given that he can switch between the physical and digital realm with ease. He enjoys teasing you and lately he’s been cheeky in different ways, such as engaging in playful banter regarding your style and accent. It’s all in good fun and you do enjoy his humor. Though you wish he’d skip the riddles that only confuse you most of the time, or the sudden disappearances.

Eyeless Jack

Despite your repeated promises to yourself that you won’t go overboard with drinking ever again, here you are blacked out after a particularly lively party. To your defense, you didn’t expect to be woken up by some bizarre creature, and similarly it seems the man didn’t anticipate you’d be shaken out of your intoxicated state. You can see the glistening of a sharp tool in his hand and instantly sober up.

Both of you are stuck, contemplating the next move. Should Jack just kill you now? If he’s fast enough, you won’t have time to scream for too long. Then again, he does take pride in his silent surgical extractions. A messy fight would just go against his purpose. Your nostrils expand as they begin to accommodate to his presence. You sniff loudly a few times and gag involuntarily. Something stinks. “It’s you. You smell so shabby!” you exclaim and abruptly get up, reaching for your handbag that had been abandoned next to your bed earlier. You aggressively rustle its contents until you finally pull out a Victoria’s Secret perfume bottle. Satisfied, you begin spraying around the hooded man. He can only stare at you, speechless. “I cannot!” you keep repeating in disbelief.

Jack had snuck into your apartment hoping to leave with a fresh kidney and instead ended up perfumed and insulted by a drunken character. It’s this shameless unpredictability that has gotten him hopelessly interested in you. He loves to see your reactions and finds you greatly entertaining. On your end, you find him a proper, quirky lad, although a bit of a nutter. You’re also getting better at tolerating his intense odor that reminds you of black pudding. On one occasion Jack has offered to share his grisly nightly hunts with you, but you casually refused because you’ve got to stay snatched.

[tokiwarcube]

May i suggest an nsfw charles x afab!reader fic where the reader is shy and sweet in general but a loud/vocal desperate sub during sex? Maybe w some elements of humiliation n roughness??🤞🤞 honestly take this anywhere i luv ur writing sm i have faith u would do this justice 🫡 ☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

WAAAAA, thank you so much!! Faith of this caliber is truly the highest compliment 🦇🖤🦇

Partially inspired by this post, talks of silk rope shibari/bondage. Might expand this into something more someday? I could have gone harder with the humiliation and subsequent drop into desperation, me thinks, especially if there are. others. who fall into the same camp as me in that regard🖤🖤🖤

Either way, 1k drabble below the cut! Enjoy!

Too much, and not enough — it’s a contradiction of course, but in the moment you don’t have time to think about the inconsistency of your wanting. Not when the soft rope tugs so pleasantly at your skin, keeping you anchored both to the moment and to your position of complete and utter submission. You feel like a doll, the way you’re put on display — on your knees with your arms behind your back, expertly tied knots accentuating every curve of your body — and it doesn’t help that the man behind you refuses, refuses to indulge you further.

He taps a rhythm against your throat as you lean back onto him — your only support in this precarious position — as his clothed cock presses gently at your dripping cunt. You want so desperately to rock back into him, to gain some sort of stimulation, but you can’t — not when you’re bound like this.

His free hand roams slowly across the expanse of your body, taking its time in the re-exploration of all that is you, but notably missing all of the places you want it most. Blunt nails on ribcages, on thighs, grasping at your chest — it’s a patient kind of torture, made purely to drive you mad.

You can’t be sure how long you’ve been pleading for — it feels like its hours, dizzy as you are off of lust — but you know well enough by now that he doesn’t need that much time to reduce you to this. Hell, the simple act of tying you was enough to leave you fuzzy in the head. Strong hands pulling you this way and that as he knotted the silk rope imparted a heat in your core, sparking where his hands first touched before washing over your body in waves — the tying could have lasted hours with his patience… or perhaps only minutes, with his efficiency. It doesn’t truly matter to you, now — all that matters is Charles, and how badly you want his hands on you.

“Charles,” you beg, breathless with equal parts want and exertion, “please, please touch me?”

“I am touching you.” He taps his fingers against your throat once more, collected as ever.

“Fucking, God—”

His fingers flex around your throat in warning — no true pressure applied, but the message comes through clear enough: Behave. You bite back another swear at the motion, breath shaky beneath his palm. A pause as he tests your submission, your recall of his unspoken commands, before rubbing his thumb over your pulse fondly. It’s then that he takes his hand from your throat, instead grasping your jaw in his hands to force you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says, “and tell me what you want. Clearly, now.”

You swallow, willing your voice to stay steady in spite of your growing fervor.

“Please, fuck me?”

His lips upturn subtly, and finally, finally, the hand pressing against your hip eases you further unto his clothed cock. Your face flushes as he presses more insistently at you, spreading your wetness as the pressure becomes more pleasurable, closer to what you need.

“Good, good,” he says, as casually as he might speak during a damnable business deal, “Is this what it takes, to get you to use your words?” A well-timed buck of his hips has your mouth parting in a keen, and he presses on. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep you tied up, now would it?”

The mental image has you shuddering — bound beneath your clothes, paraded around in secret. And with all things, he catches your interest as it blooms.

“Pretty little thing. Is that want you want, hm?”

Words mix in your head, syllables crashing into eachother in velvet waves of lust — it’s nearly impossible to pull together any form of a sentence, and so distracting is your sudden incompetence that you hardly notice when he peels his boxers down. What you do notice, however, is when the head of his cock comes to press at your entrance. The “yes” that falls from your mouth is desperate, pitching higher as he runs himself through your dripping folds, and warps into an unintelligible cry as he slides into you.

Everything is so electric, every micromovement sparking a new wave of euphoria, and each sensation is only doubled when you’re given a glimpse of your lover. He’s a vision, with his normally well-kept hair now mussed, stray strands plastered slick to his face without his glasses to impede them. And those pretty green eyes you’ve come to love are dark, devouring each little reaction you give — entirely on display, and unable to shy away.

Tied up as you are, the pace is left entirely to Charles — and somewhere in the back of your mind that still has some semblance of coherent thought you surmise that all of the teasing must have affected him too, with how he bounces your body against his cock. Mocking words fall from his lips, rumbling against your back and going straight to your core, and you can’t help the needy agreement that comes from you in turn. You’re like a toy in his strong hold, hips meeting again and again with a fervor and desperation so unlike his usual demeanor.

It’s not long before your walls are clamping down on him, trembling in his arms with a garbled cry and some semblance of “thank you.” And you’re content to let him take further from your body as you ride out your orgasm, especially when his voice drops, swearing hoarsely into the skin of your throat. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your hips before he bucks into you with a particularly deep thrust, pulling you flush against him as he cums with a cry of his own.

Too much and not enough. Shy but vocal. Collected but desperate. It’s contradiction after contradiction, but as you pant against one another in the afterglow, you can’t find it in you to care.

[xxsycamore]

𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙃𝙐𝙍 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙔𝙑𝙀𝙎 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮

↬ 💌 Arthur & Yves reassuring you about your body image, sprinkled with some extra words of affirmation.

Arthur Conan Doyle x f!Reader; Yves Kloss x f!Reader • rating: G • tags: Fluff; Comfort; Insecurity; Body Image; Food • wordcount: 1, 354 • masterlist

For my darling @maries-gallery 💕

ARTHUR:

It's nothing new for Arthur to barge in your shared bedroom, full-well knowing you've just taken a shower - to pretend he's merely looking for something in his belongings, but never exiting the room without stealing a kiss or two.

Today, as usual, you squeal and tie your towel more securely around your form when you see him entering - but while your affection is genuine when you do return the romantic gesture, the way you strictly prevent the fabric from revealing anything leaves an impression on him.

"Shy, Luv? It's not like there's something I haven't seen under that skimpy towel..."

You smack him playfully and change the topic, neither falling prey to his teasing nor going all the way to push him out through the door and lock from the inside. He brushes his earlier suspicions off as nothing, and goes to the wardrobe instead.

"Need help choosing an outfit for the day, doll? Anything specific in mind? Color?"

There's something heartwarming in letting him pick for you, a way to get to know which articles of clothing he loves on you - but the smile disappears from your face when you see him pick up a dress from the depths of the wardrobe.

"Oh my, hello there. How about this one? I can't recall you sporting it in awhile."

You shake your head and sigh, putting an inevitable start to a difficult conversation, hoping that letting it out would at least make things a little better.

You tell Arthur that you've been avoiding certain clothes lately as you just couldn't feel right in them. The image in the mirror produces a cruel comparison most often than not, with dolled-up ladies crossing Paris' streets, their striking forms clad in fashionable outfits, each one prettier than the other. While you're fortunate to be able to acquire what they're wearing via Comte's limitless generosity, the resemblance ends there. Even the dress that Arthur held out just now, soaked in happy memories, seems to have suited your body better at some earlier point in time. Now, you're not so sure.

Somewhere amidst your confession, Arthur has had you seated on the sofa, rubbing gentle circles into your hands. The gesture prevents those hot tears from spilling past the corners of your eyes, and your lover listens to all you have to say before speaking.

"I could say something was troubling you lately. So, that's what it was, hmm? You're in luck, my dear, because I do happen to have a sharp eye, and besides... not to boast, but, I doubt another chap knows your body better than me. I could even compete with you, if needed. I assure you, you haven't changed a bit; it was this morning when I kissed your eyelids good morning and you opened them for the first time of the day to greet mine - the same eyes I love and adore - and then you let me brush your hair because I couldn't stop complimenting the way the morning sun kisses its ends and colors them with its rays. You asked if I ever get tired of it, no? Same as when I compare our fingers, how I compliment the good pair they make when intertwined. You're still the woman I fell head over heels for. So don't let those thoughts erase the beautiful smile from your face, Luv. It's the smile you're always wearing best."

YVES:

Being Yves' lover means having eyes on you every time you're spotted together - or maybe it's him who they're looking at? With his natural looks and the boost coming from his top-notch fashion sense, he's quite eye-catching, and you don't blame others for staring...

With the lately rising insecurities you have about your body come some pretty nasty thoughts: some of which, but not limited to, your lover and his perception of you. Next to the beautiful Yves, you feel your form strikingly unmatching - is someone as observant as the fifth prince able to deny how you mar his image?

It gets worse each time freshly baked sweets are brought into the Domestic affairs faction's office - a bunch of hands nearly bumping into one another in their haste to secure a treat for themselves; full-mounted exclamations of tasting something utterly delectable accompanied by chewing noises. This is just how it is when Yves bakes. And while the princes have surprisingly and wholesomely learned to save a piece for you (even though they're SURE Yves must bake some kind of super-duper special sweets exclusively for his lover!), you don't take advantage of your privilege today again. Someone cheers with "Yay, more for me!" while others jokingly ask if you're being picky about one of the ingredients again - a frequent lie of yours.

Small excuses work with them, but you didn't realize that Yves saw the exchange this time. His brows are furrowed when he approaches you.

"Come with me. I need to talk to you."

Listening to him, Yves' words catch you by surprise as you learn how the situation appears in his eyes. You've been avoiding showing up with him in public; you've been refusing to eat most of what he bakes, you've even refused to wear some of the outfits he picked specially for you.

"You should at least let me know if you don't like my sweets so I can change the ingredients... not that I'm making them all for you! I mean, my brothers eat them too, but... oh, well! They can just make do with what they have!"

No, it's pretty obvious that he bakes everything with you in mind first and foremost... his true tsundere nature brings laughter to your lips, and you feel a little more at ease. And here you thought he nearly lost interest in you.

Before he can get even more confused and hurt by you laughing at him, you take a deep breath and confess what's been troubling you. It's hard for your voice not to waver, and you avoid Yves' clear blue eyes that are getting wider in surprise by the second.

When he takes your hands and makes you meet his gaze, he's furrowing his brow again. You can tell he's going over his words carefully before he lets them flow, the strong emotion making it harder for him.

"I can't believe you! You worried me a lot, making me wonder if you're sick or if you're unhappy being associated with me. Forgive me for thinking this. It's just something that has happened before, because of who I am, so for a second I thought you wouldn't want to be seen with the infamous fifth prince. I'm sorry for doubting you. Now that I know the real reason behind your behavior... I want to tell you something. I can't change the way you look at yourself, or to make you love your body, but I can promise you I always look at you with love. Ever since we became lovers, it's like I want to show you off... don't laugh! I mean it! And it applies to all of you - your looks, but also your sharp mind, your bright personality, your smile, the emotions written in your eyes. And people won't see all of that, and I actually prefer it that way. You're perfect the way you are, but there will always be perfect things about you that only I can see. I keep them to myself because it's embarrassing sometimes, but I will make sure to share them with you more often, seeing that a certain someone is blind to the truth of just how perfect she is! But please know, that just as you accept me for who I am, I too accept you for who you are. What your body looked like, and looks like presently, or how it might change in the future, I already fell inlove with it once, because it's yours. I'm not good with words, so make sure to take notice of my actions too, if you will! And don't hide from me... I want to be here for you when those thoughts come troubling you again."

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[sweetmoons]

Let's talk about the representation of EDs in Heartstopper season 3

TW: Discussion of Eating Disorders, OCD, self harm, and other mental health topics.

*Some spoilers*

So I just watched season 3 of Heartstopper today and I really really wanted to talk about this because I haven't seen many people talking about it and it's so important to me. Before I say anything, I do want to clarify that the reason I'm speaking about this is because I have struggled with disordered eating for about 6 years now, I'm in recovery currently (yippie!) but it is something that was and still is a big struggle in my life, so I want to comment on how I feel Heartstopper captured that experience.

I will just say from the beginning I think this is the best representation of an Eating Disorder I've personally seen in a piece of fictional media. If anyone has any better examples let me know I would love to check them out, but in my personal experience this is the best I've seen and it honestly shocked me. In the comic Charlie's Eating Disorder is a big part of him definitely but they don't talk too much in detail about how it's tied into his OCD, likely because of comic length restrictions. Now personally I don't have an ED tied to OCD, but I have a friend recently who was doing a project where he was trying to find non-villanizing depictions of OCD in movies and TV, and he was practically tearing his hair out in frustration at how little anyone EVER said OCD by name. So when they in detail talked about how EDs are sometimes caused by body image issues but there's also EDs caused by compulsions (which is what Charlie has) I was honestly so shocked (in a good way).

Just them mentioning how EDs can be caused by compulsions (and also sometimes cause more compulsions) was more than I've seen in any show I think. But when we get to the depiction of what Charlie is actually experiencing I think it shines even more. Now obviously not everyone has the same experiences with their ED but some of the reactions and feelings from the characters hit so close to home that I cried.

Charlie saying he thinks about food almost all day, him lashing out and getting angry at people around him when they try to force him to eat, Charlie saying he's not sure if "I'll ever go back to normal. Whatever normal is." All of those moments resonated so hard with me. And the depictions of relapsing with self harm and not eating were a nice depiction too, showing that just because he started getting help doesn't mean he was magically fixed, and Geoff saying to him "Relapsing doesn't negate all the progress you made." HOLY FUCK That is SUCH an important message for people to hear holy shit.

AND I LOVE LOVE LOVE THAT NICK BEING HIS BOYFRIEND DOESNT MAGICALLY FIX HIM!!! I feel like in a lot of media just with depictions of any mental health disorder, when the mentally ill character has a partner and their partner is like "I luv u pookie bear 🥺" the mentally ill character is just suddenly okay??? Like having a partner was all they needed??? But they emphasized so much how Nick couldn't "fix" him, not only because Charlie needs more help than from just one person, especially professional help, but also because NICK IS JUST A CHILD HIMSELF!!! That's such an important message for kids watching to hear and something I wish I heard as a teenager.

Also the general reaction of people around him to his eating disorder was very accurate to my experience. Charlie's extended family making comments about his appearance and weight despite everything and saying that he seems "like nothing ever happened" just because he got treatment. Oh my god that's so accurate. The line of Charlie saying "I hope I get Grandparents that don't comment on my weight" made me laugh because OH MY GOD that shit reminded me of family gatherings so much. Plus Charlie's frustration of everyone treating him like he's fragile, won't even lie it made me tear up because that's something I personally still struggle with to this day from family. The strong message to the audience that just because someone's disgnosed as mentally ill doesn't make them any less of the person they were before their diagnosis is so so so nice to see.

Sorry this was a lot of me yapping because honestly this is so significant to me and I know it would've been so nice for me to see this 6 years ago when I was 15 and first started developing an ED. But I think Heartstopper is truly doing something incredibly amazing with representation in their show that hasn't been done much in the past and I'm so happy to see this.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #53: 2002

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Nickelback, Ashanti, Nelly, Nelly and Kelly Rowland, The Calling, Vanessa Carlton, Linkin Park, Fat Joe, Usher, Puddle of Mudd. End description]

More information about this blog here

We're starting to see post-grunge start to take the place of alternative rock in the pop charts, with the rising popularity of Nickelback, The Calling, Puddle of Mudd, Creed, 3 Doors Down, and other similar acts. Despite the immense popularity (or perhaps because of it), post-grunge continues to be a controversial label among rock listeners for the genre's tendency to favor pop-friendly melodies and "simpler" subject matters.

Speaking of controversial rock subgenres, this year also contains a single from one of the best-selling debut records at the time (going 12 times Platinum), Linkin Park's In the End off the album Hybrid Theory. And with that (or parallel to that) came the rise of nu metal and rap metal in the mainstream. It's notable because, at least not since glam metal in the 80's, there hadn't been a subgenre of metal that really blew up with mainstream non-metal audiences to the point where it came to define that moment in time for many. (I know Metallica was able to spread past the confines of genre listeners, but that didn't really lead to a thrash or heavy metal craze among people who wouldn't have already been predispositioned to listen to it).

Nu metal is also incredibly fascinating to me personally because it really shows how "genre" can differ whether you're approaching it from a music-listening perspective or a marketing one. If I had to boil "nu metal" down to a simple set of characteristics, it would be "a subgenre of metal that favors shorter runtimes, takes heavy influences from hip-hop sound and culture, and is often associated with the early 2000s". But if you asked marketing teams at the time, "nu metal" would probably be defined as, "the popular rock music we can't market to the alternative rock crowd". That could be why, to this day, you often see bands like Linkin Park, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Staind, System of a Down, and even Evanescence lumped together under the descriptor, even though I think they don't all have much in common other than the time period, song length, and popularity. If you're marketing on the radio, it makes more sense to squish them together instead of trying to split hairs over subgenres. Only a few (and by "few" I mean "one") of these artists I've listed will be featured in future polls, but I wanted to ramble about this anyway.

Anyway, despite the immense amount of money brought in by albums like Hybrid Theory, the record industry was still scrambling to find ways to get people to pay for music again. In 2002, Nokia released the first polyphonic ringtone, which allowed the phone to play several notes at once. With cellphones growing in popularity, this may be the solution the record industry was looking for.

[viravos-simper]

Aaravos/the merciful one theory

TDP - Aaravos/The merciful one theory

Part 1

We’ve all been asking ourselves the same daunting question, who are they?

They’ve only been seen twice; in the statue with Aaravos, and a leaked image from s6 ep1. Known by the tital ‘the merciful one’, we know nothing about this seemingly important character, who may be a significant part of Aaravos’s backstory. I have some thoughts in which I am here to share.

At this point in time, I'm sure everybody has seen a glimpse of these leaked season 6 images floating around the internet; and everyone can't help but wonder what may be happening in this scene. While there are so many thrilling possibilities to what is amidst, I have crumpled together bits and pieces of engaging ideas and intriguing thoughts to form my theory on who this mysterious person might be. A daughter; specifically Aravos's daughter.

Let's start our story here, with this picture:

In this image, it looks as though Aaravos is pleading with someone. Asking, or perhaps begging them for/to do something. Seeing as though the other person is referred to as 'the merciful one' maybe he's asking them to spare the humans, saving an enter race doomed to be disposed of seems quite merciful.

My reasoning for saying Aaravos's daughter instead of a lover, friend, or possibly another leader, is because of this:

This post does say 'the' elven leader, and not 'an' meaning it could refer to someone such as Aditi. As well as the fact that this passage only refers to this person with the pronouns she/her, while the merciful one is confirmed non-binary and uses they/them. Still, we do not know who the writing was talking of before this part; meaning if they were speaking of Aaravos, the term 'the elven leader' still stands.

So even with new information that might prove this theory false, it still provides some interesting ideas.

------------------------------

Part 2

My friend (@6coco_nut9 on tiktok) originally thought of some of this, luv ya brah <3

If you look at the pictures at the top of the page, you can see that Aaravos is in fact NOT crying in front of the merciful one, as the silhouette in front of him has long hair and tmo has short hair.

If you look closely at the silhouette with Aaravos, you will notice some things:

Similar colors in different lighting

Same ear placement

And the gold accent on their clothing next to the hair (which Aaravos has in the same spot)

This leads me to believe that Aaravos is looking at a reflection of himself (this is where Coco's idea comes in); and that maybe Aaravos is having a flashback to this moment:

He's looking at his reflection in the water when tmo comes into play. This ties into the 'tmo is Aaravos's daughter theory' as maybe he is crying because he is asking for help.

-------------------------------

BONUS THEORY!

(For context, this is Aaravos’s voice actor)

Leola is Aaravos’s mother. Change my mind.

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 13

Chapter 13: Choices

Words: 6700

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

Aelin does what Aelin does. It doesn’t end well.

Snippet below the cut. Read on Ao3

The coolness of the night air reached his face and somehow, Rhys felt it, even though he didn’t have full control over his own body. Orcus was still puppeting his limbs but growing weaker and weaker, as if he was getting sleepy. Rhys almost laughed at the absurdity that monsters could even get tired. The stars winked at him through the small window overhead and Rhys was able to turn and face them, a small comfort in the growing darkness.  “They are out there somewhere. You’re family? Loved Ones? Your home? Come now Rhysand, we are no longer strangers, you can tell me everything” Orcus crooned, using his vocal chords to speak the words into existence. Rhys cringed inwardly.  “Fuck off.”  “Not interested. However, I am interested in learning more about you. When we return you to your home I will need to have learned a great deal about you.”  “I will never let you leave this place, even if I have to … die.”  Rhys almost choked on the word knowing that his death meant Feyre’s but if it would keep all of the rest of their world safe from the foul thing inside him, he would do it. He knew Feyre would be glad to do it as well. Nyx would be well taken care of. Even without his parents, Nyx would thrive.  “Tell me about your world, young one.” “No.” “Tell me what sweet things I will find there. Show. Me. Your. Memories.” The last word was accentuated by Rhysand’s grunts of pain as Orcus lanced through his mind, trying to find the information he sought. Rhys screamed louder and louder trying to hide away all of the pieces of himself he didn’t want seen. His powers, most of them, and his most precious people he safely locked away but the rest of it was fair game.  Orcus gorged on Rhysand’s memories like it was fine wine, getting drunk off Rhys' anguish. “So much power. But where is it? You clever child. Hiding it from me. But… you can’t hide everything can you? You’re still mine and I have such great plans for you, for us. You can’t hide it all forever.” Rhys screamed and cried out as the invasion of his mind continued. He was being ripped to pieces and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Soon, images of Cassin, Azriel, Mor and Amren flashed across his mind.  “No!” He slammed his memories closed but it was too late. As an image of Feyre holding his sweet Nyx faded from view, Orcus began to chuckle.  “Hmm.” He mused, “Will they be able to tell that daddy isn’t home do you think? Oh the fun we shall have together.”  

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ... Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77

[spookyangeladdams]

haiii!! ❤️🦇

welcome to my blog, spookyangeladdams!!🦇

i’ve finally got round to making (at least a filler version) intro post!!!

my name is angel or angelina, i’m 23 & from london, my little age is 1-8 and im queer and genderfluid! i use any pronouns but mostly prefer they/them so you cant go wrong with them!! 👻

i am autistic/adhd/t1d/hypermobile and a multitude of other conditions but i won’t list them all haha!! kinda tldr: i am disabled/chronically ill 🫶🥀

i luv:

house md

the addams family

the umbrella academy

the orville

good omens

macabre / spooky stuff

sharks

the ocean

halloween

elementary cbs

criminal minds

nature

rainbows

gaming

modelling with clay

baking

makeup

cars

asmr

edm

music in general

theatre and theatre tech

game theory & co

chuckle sandwich

the sturnilos

james marriott

tommyinnit

jack manifold

aimsey

billzo

ranboo

tubbo

shelbygraces

caitiibugzz

renee rapp

kallmekris

willne

eddy burback

~

mood boards!!

specifically dni, aside from the standard dni: no k-nk/agepl-y/abdl/ddlg etc/transphobes/queerphobes/fatphobes/anti agere/tories/ed/sh/wilbur, dream, or george supporters/m@ps/p-dos/no trauma dumping/ transmeds/anti endogenic systems/anti systems in general/anti blm/israel supporters/russia supporters/ anti science/the list goes on, use common sense!! 🙏🎃

mdndm = minors don’t dm me! i don’t mind minors interacting but i am an adult, even in little space. please look after yourself online!! also i dont use tumblr dms anyway🪦

i am not a regular poster but i love putting together mood boards that directly relate to my little space, i won’t take requests because if i don’t personally understand it i might misrepresent it and i don’t want to do that to anyone else’s safe space!!! i also don’t have the energy or time!!

any pics/gifs/videos etc that i post or reblog are not mine unless i explicitly say so, i get most of my images from pinterest which dont have sources 99% of the time ☹️

okay, have a great day and remember your little space is valid and a safe space, it’s a coping mechanism and supported by licensed professionals around the world, whether it’s voluntary or involuntary for you!!! everyone experiences it differently, for different reasons, and embraces different parts of age regression so please be kind and respectful and honour others’ dnis when you know what they are!! ❤️🪦🦇

more on little space:

http://bit.ly/3PuslbQ

mental health hotline international directories: